MARIGOLD CHALLENGE #26
AUTHOR: Dreamflower
RATING: G
CATEGORY: General
SUMMARY: Merry and Pippin have to give advice to a travelling tinker.
AUTHOR’S NOTES: Marigold’s elements were a hot bath and a tinker. The challenge was to include an original idiom.
DISCLAIMER: Middle-earth and all its peoples belong to the Tolkien Estate. I own none of them. Some of them, however, seem to own me.

TRAVELLER'S TALES 

“Mr. Took! Mr. Brandybuck!” Nob called to them pleasantly from The Prancing Pony’s stable yard.

“Hullo, Nob!” said Pippin. Merry gave a greeting as well, as they dismounted and allowed him to take the ponies’ reins.

“It’s good to see you again, sirs!”

“Yes, well, it’s the first week of the month,” Pippin responded, removing his gloves and wiping his brow with the back of his hand. His livery was uncomfortably warm in the Wedmath* afternoon. Yet he was on official duty, so he would just have to put up with it. The first week of the month was when he met the King’s Messenger in Bree, to find out if there were any messages from the King, and to send any messages South from the Shire.

Merry had pulled out a handkerchief and done the same. “Nob, has the King’s Messenger arrived yet?”

“No, sir, Mr. Brandybuck. But he should be here any time now.” Nob looked at the ponies admiringly. “Come now, you handsome lads, let’s get you into a nice cool stall, and get that tack off you.”

He led them away, clucking and chatting to them. Merry and Pippin watched after him, amused. “He certainly approves of Stybba and Sable,” said Merry.

“He’s going to spoil them,” chuckled Pippin.

Merry drew his handkerchief across his face once more. “Well, let’s go and let old Butterbur know we’ve arrived. Perhaps he can be persuaded to draw us baths before teatime.” For both hobbits felt very grimy and uncomfortable after their ride.

“Ah,” said Pippin with a happy sigh of anticipation. “A hot bath would be just the thing.”

Merry nodded in agreement, and the two hobbits went into the inn.

A short while later, the grime of their ride washed away, and fresh and clean livery having been donned--though they left off the mail and armor, due to the heat, the two hobbits made their way down to the common room. Both of them thought a couple of beers sounded far more refreshing than a pot of tea.

“It’s good to see you once more, little masters,” said old Barliman amiably, as he brought a pitcher of beer and two tankards to their table. “Knowing hobbits as I do, I am sure you would like somewhat to eat. I have stew simmering, or I can bring you a cold platter if you prefer.”

Merry and Pippin glanced at each other, and then Merry said, “The platter if you please, Mr. Butterbur. I think it far too hot for stew, although it is pleasant enough in here.” The large room had doors open at both ends to allow a cross-draft, and the thick stone walls and high ceilings helped keep it cooler as well.

A few moments later, Barliman’s son brought a large platter to the table, piled high with sliced cheese and sliced meat: ham, roast beef and hard sausage--and young vegetables: carrots, green onions, stalks of celery, sliced cucumbers, mushrooms. There was also half a loaf of sweet brown bread, and in the center of the platter was a small bowl of savory dipping sauce. Merry and Pippin grinned and tucked in with pleasure.

The platter was very nearly empty. Merry was thoughtfully nibbling at a bit of ham, and Pippin, as was his habit when they reached the filling up of corners stage, had begun to roll the cheese into little balls before popping it into his mouth.

“Excuse me, small sirs? Might I beg a word of you?” The hobbits glanced up; it was one of the Big Folk. He spoke in an unfamiliar accent, and clearly was not a Breelander. But he appeared friendly enough.

“Certainly,” said Merry easily. “Please sit down with us, and I will ask for another tankard.” He gestured, and one of the potboys brought over another Man-sized tankard. Pippin filled it with beer from the pitcher.

“My name,” said the stranger, “is Tibalt Tinkerson. My people originally came from the lands east of Erebor, but many of them settled there when the Evil One began to once more hold sway in those lands. But my father was a tinker before me, and we wandered much in other lands in pursuit of our trade until things began to grow dangerous.”

Merry and Pippin nodded. They had begun to understand that many Men who had foregone travel in the years leading up to the War of the Ring were now once more feeling it safe to journey in the pursuit of their trade.

“I am Meriadoc Brandybuck, at your service,” said Merry.

“Peregrin Took, at your service,” Pippin added.

“I could not but help noticing that you both bear the devices of far kingdoms, of the new King in Gondor, and of Rohan. Yet the innkeeper tells me you are hobbits of the Shire.”

“This is true.” Pippin’s tone was both curious and cautious.

Merry looked at the tinker astutely. “What is it that you wish of us?” His manner was polite but neutral.

“I am hoping that you can give me a bit of information. Up until about ten years ago, I often travelled the Great East-West Road in pursuit of my trade. But at that time things began to grow more and more dangerous for lone travellers. Rumors of war, and of foul creatures abroad, roving bands of ruffians and even orcs began to be encountered. I attached myself to a large party of Dwarves who were returning to Dale, and rejoined the rest of my family. But now the War is over, and the Evil One is gone--I would like to return to my trade. Yet I found to my dismay that I was turned away at the Brandywine Bridge, and told that no Men may enter the Shire without special permission, by order of the new King!”

Merry and Pippin exchanged glances. Then Pippin said, “I’m sorry to bring a gift to the wedding, but that is absolutely the truth. You must have signed permission from the Thain, the Master of Buckland, and the Mayor in order to go into the Shire now. This edict was made by King Elessar, and ratified by a convocation of the heads of all the major families of the Shire. The King himself has said he will abide by it. It is only in a trial period right now, but in seven years it may either be made permanent or be rescinded, depending on how well it works. So far the only Men to have received permission have been the Men who brought the edicts for ratification, who were representatives of the High King himself, and of the King of Rohan.”

The tinker sighed. “I was very much afraid that it might be something of the sort.” He shook his head. “This is not going to be especially good for trade.” He looked at Pippin quizzically. “What did you mean, ‘sorry to bring a gift to the wedding’?” he asked.

The two hobbits glanced at one another and chuckled. Merry gestured for more beer at the table, and Pippin leaned back and put his hands behind his head. “Well, that’s a saying we have in the Shire. To ‘bring a gift to the wedding’ is to be the bringer of bad news. We say that because it widely believed in the Shire that to bring the gift to the wedding, rather than giving it properly ahead of time, is bad luck.”

“Well,” said the tinker, “it is bad luck for me. I do not suppose I stand much chance of getting such permission.”

Merry shook his head doubtfully. “I do not know. We can convey your request to the Thain and the Master, but how they would respond is up to them. And the current atmosphere in the Shire is unlikely to be welcoming to most Men, especially as you are not one of the King’s Men.”

“There is that,” said Pippin, “and Aragorn--that is to say--King Elessar--would not wish the edict to be cast aside for any light excuse. He would want the trial period to be a fair one.”

Tibalt looked startled. “You know of the King’s intent? But, yes! You must be two of the hobbits who travelled into Mordor and cast down the Evil One! The story was brought to Dale and the Lonely Mountain on the wings of Eagles!”

“We are two who travelled South; but it was not we who went into the Black Land,” said Pippin.

“That was our cousin, Frodo Baggins, and his dear friend Samwise Gamgee. We were unfortunately separated from one another during the journey.” Merry’s eyes clouded briefly, as he thought of that horrid time when they had been apart from one another, and the even worse time when he had been alone…

Now the tinker was truly fascinated, and soon Merry and Pippin found themselves telling the tale of the Quest, from their meeting, right there at The Prancing Pony to Rivendell and beyond. When one of them faltered, hesitant to tell of his own deeds, the other was quick to fill in. But it was clear that their greatest admiration was for their cousin and his friend.

It was a long tale, and a hungry and thirsty one, and old Barliman brought a meal to the table of sliced pork and fresh bread and a soup of beans. Those at the table were so engrossed at the tale, that they scarcely realized they had attracted a crowd of listeners. There was no scoffing now, as once there would have been, when the two spoke of foul monsters, and of the coming of the King, and the great battles of the South, and the casting down of the Dark Lord. For the Bree folk had seen enough in the past year or more to no longer doubt the travellers’ tales as they had at first. (Though some occasionally muttered doubtfully to themselves about “Strider” being King.)

The tale wore down, as Merry and Pippin explained what they had found when they arrived home in the Shire.

“So now, Master Tibalt, you can see why King Elessar thinks it a good idea to keep Men out of the Shire, at least for the time being,” said Pippin.

“We had a delegation of King’s Men in the Spring, but even they found some trouble among the hobbits,” Merry added. “Our folk know now that a King’s Man can be more or less trusted, but I am afraid that any others that are unknown will be suspected of being ruffians.”

Tibalt sighed and nodded.

Merry looked thoughtful. “Perhaps you could go into partnership with some of the Dwarves. I know that they can be clannish, but they also know a good business opportunity when it presents itself.”

The Man brightened, “That is an excellent idea! I do have a few friends among the Dwarves who make that journey--I will approach some of them, and see what they may say. I thank you for your time, sirs, and as I have had a long day, I shall retire now.” He rose, and bowed courteously as he took his leave, and headed for his own chamber in the Inn.

Merry and Pippin looked at one another. “You know,” said Pippin sadly, “I am wondering if this edict is not going to be more trouble than it is worth.”

Merry shrugged. “Time will tell, cousin. We’ve had a long day. Why don’t we retire? If the Messenger arrives tonight, he can wait until morning.” He stood up and place some coins on the table, for the beer and the meal, and the two of them trudged down the passageway to the room Barliman Butterbur kept for them--the self-same room they had been unable to sleep in for fear of Black Riders long ago.

But things were different now.

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*Wedmath--the Shire equivalent of August