S.R. 1400
Pearl is 25 = 16.5
Nell is 21 = 14
Merry is 18 = 12
Vinca is 15 = 10
Pippin is 10 = 6.5

Elements from the word “FIDDLE”: Pervinca, Brandywine Bridge, An eagle, A dangerous fire, A throne room, Rory Brandybuck.

Dry as Tinder

Of the Took children only Pearl and Pimpernel really understood the reasons they and their sister and brother had been sent to Brandy Hall. It was because of the limp leaves on the trees, the shriveled crops in the fields and the creeks that had disappeared. It was because of the animals of the Took herds that were getting noticeably thin. It was because of the drought.

Pervinca and Pippin knew it was dry, they knew that Mum and Da were worried, the farm hands not as willing to jest and play as before, but they didn’t really know how bad a drought could be for the inhabitants of the Shire. Paladin and Lanti had sent the children off before he and their workers began the slaughtering of the flocks of sheep and the small herd of cattle. It would be hard enough on the older lasses but they feared the two youngest would be badly upset by the desperate action.

Things were a bit better in Buckland. The Brandywine flowed from Lake Nenuial and apparently there were rains still falling upon the Hills of Evendim, for the river was still flowing strong and full. Though it was back breaking work, the fields of Buckland that ran along the river’s edge were kept alive and growing with water hand pumped from the river. Teams of hobbits worked the pumps at intervals around the clock to keep the thirsty fields supplied with life giving water. Hobbits of the East Farthing also were pumping the Brandywine to water their fields so there was a belt of green along the west bank from a bit south of the Hills of Scary to the Brandywine Bridge, then along both banks from the Bridge to where the river and the border of the Shire parted ways. They were all willing to work as hard as they could. Other than the strips of land along the river, only the North Farthing north of the Bindbale Wood was having normal rains. The hobbits of the north and those on the banks of the Brandywine knew they were most likely going to be feeding the whole of the Shire come next winter.

After the Took children’s initial excitement of being at the Hall, of staying with their aunt, uncle and cousin, and the Brandybuck’s joy at having them there, the days began to plod by. The youngsters hadn’t known that clear, sunny days could feel so heavy. Indoor games had become boring and they could only play outside in the very early morning or when the sun was barely hanging above the horizon in the evening. The rest of the day was simply too hot with nary a breeze to stir the stagnant air.

Then, there were the lightening storms. All flashes of light and booming noise . . . but no downpour of rain. It was the nineteenth of Afterlithe, the Tooks having been at Brandy Hall nearly seven weeks, when another of the lightening storms struck.

“What’s the matter with everyone?” Vinca asked her sister Pearl. “Why are the grown-ups looking so afraid of the storm? You’re the oldest, Pearl, do you know?”

Pearl knew. She hugged her sisters tightly while Merry and Pippin huddled together. She wouldn’t lie to them. Not that the adults had lied, but they had hedged the truth.

“Fire, Vinca.” The words were soft, Pearl’s voice nearly steady. “They are afraid of fire. The grass is dry. The trees are dry. Buckland is dry except the land right along the Brandywine. The lightening can start fires and with everything so dry the fire can travel quickly over the ground.”

“And the grass and trees and everything will be gone, Vinca.” Nell added.

Vinca’s voice was shaky, her eyes were large with concern. “And birds and squirrels and field mice and . . .”

“Yes, Vinca,” Pearl cut her sister off before she named every small creature she could think of. “Unless they run away they will . . .” She really didn’t want to use the word ‘die’. “They will be gone too,” Pearl finished in a small, quiet voice.

Oddly, it was Pippin who grasped the worst of it. “And byres and houses and holes and hobbits. They will be gone too, won’t they, Pearl, if they don’t get out of the way? But the byres and houses and holes can’t run away. But the hobbits will, won’t they, Pearl? Won’t the hobbits all run?”

“Yes, the hobbits will run, Pippin.” Pearl hoped she sounded more confident than she felt. She knew, as she was sure Nell did and maybe Merry too, that the grounds around the Hall had not been watered as much as the nearby fields. There had been talk amongst the grown-ups that they had best see to the crops above all else. The level of water in the Brandywine might start to drop. The drought might spread through the North Farthing to the region of the Hills of Evendim. They would be needing food more than Brandy Hall needed green grass and shrubbery.

“Grandpa Rory will make sure the hobbits run to safety, Pip.” Merry said, hugging his young cousin before tousling his hair. “Either run or go deep inside the Hall to the inner most rooms. There’s been droughts before Pippin and the Hall has always been safe.”

Vinca and Pippin looked at each other. They weren’t really all that sure of their siblings’ and cousin’s confidence, but they had no choice but to trust them.

Pearl, Pimpernel and Merry all looked at each other. They knew it was fear of fire that had caused the Took’s parents to send them to Buckland. Their home in Whitwell was a house, not a hobbit hole, and much more vulnerable to fire. Also, the Tookland was drier than Buckland.

“How about a story?” Pearl asked. “How about the Elf King and the Day the Eagle Flew Into His Throne Room?”

It was a silly tale, long in the telling. All the heads around her nodded, so Pearl began the story. “Once upon a time, in the halls of an Elven King . . .”

The children all huddled closer together.

It was after midnight when the messenger arrived at Brandy Hall and The Master’s personal servant ran to Rory Brandybuck’s bedchamber.

“Master Rorimac! Master, sir! It’s happened sir. Fire. Fire near to the Hall, sir.”

Old Rory Brandybuck quickly shook off his drowsiness as Old Tom held out his dressing gown. “The runners?” He asked as he stuck his right arm in its sleeve. He looked at his wife who had rolled over, blearily blinking her eyes. “Fire, Menegilda,” Rory said, raising his voice so she could hear him.

“Send Buttercup in to help me on your way out, Dearest,” she replied as loudly.

“The runners are out already, sir. You did well havin’ those meetin’s and goin’ over what’s been done before when the droughts have come. There’s been no bad panicin’, sir. Just everyone goin’ about what they know to be doin’. No need even to be soundin’ the Horn Call as it seems the only spot in much danger is right near the Hall and the Hall itself, and well, we know what to do.”

“Good, good, Tom. Which way is the wind and where is the fire now?”

Tom helped the Master get his left arm in its sleeve and immediately, the old hobbit was fumbling at tying the belt. “It be to the north and east with the winds bein’ nearly out of due north.”

“Not good then.” Rory finished with the belt and was moving as quickly as his old legs would go toward the door. “At least that is not the side of the Hall where most of the windows are. But that still doesn’t guarantee that the smial won’t be breached. I’m off to my small office, Tom. Send anyone not sure what they ought to be doing to me there.”

“At once, Master Rorimac.”

The two hobbits went in opposite directions down a main tunnel of Brandy Hall.

Pippin looked out of his bedroom window. He and his sisters along with most of the other residents of the Hall had been wakened then herded into several of the tunnels and apartments that were the deepest into the center of Buck Hill. They were to stay there, away from the rooms with windows or rooms with walls close to the surface of the hill.

But this was Pippin Took. He had sat just fine in Merry’s Aunt Lilly and Uncle Marmadas’ everyday sitting room while Merry had been with him. But Merry had got distracted by cousin Merimas. He stood up to talk to him and had not said anything to Pippin for what seemed to be a very long time to the little lad. During the first moments of those fifteen minutes, Pippin’s mind had been running at high speed with questions. Where was the fire? How big was the fire? Could you smell the fire if you were near to a window? Did it look like any old fire? Like a fire in a grate in a fireplace? Like an outside fire like the ones they would sing songs around and cook sausages over most summers? Was it loud? Could you hear it snap and crackle from the Hall? Could you see it, smell it, hear it from a window? Could he see it, smell it, hear it from his window? Seven minutes into the fifteen that Merry spent talking to Merimas, Pippin got up and quietly left the apartment.

The fifteen minutes had only seemed a few minutes to Merry. “Pippin, what do you . . .” Merry didn’t finish his question to his little cousin. He turned back sharply to Merimas. “Where’s Pip?”

Merimas shrugged. “He was there just a moment ago.”

The two lads split up to search around the room full of people. Then the bedrooms in Merimas’ family’s apartment. Then the other rooms.

Merry really didn’t want to tell Pearl that Pippin was gone.

The sky was orange. Orange and grey and black. Sometimes, it was bright white and light grey with only a hint of the orange. That was when more lightening flashed. The orange would flicker and dance on the grey and black of the clouds in-between the flashes of lightening.

Pippin decided that the orange must be the fire. Well, the light from the fire at least as it looked like firelight on the walls and ceiling of a room. And really, he thought, weren’t the clouds like a ceiling over Buckland? He was up on top of a cedar chest that normally sat at the foot of his bed. It had taken a good bit of shoving to move it beneath the window which was only a few feet away, but he had been forced to get under the bed to start his pushing. Pippin was good at bracing himself as best he could with his hands and pushing with his feet and legs.

He opened the window. Yes, he could smell the fire. It smelled like a campfire. Maybe they really should go out and roast sausages, he thought, and his tummy growled. The air was getting warmer. The orange light was getting brighter. He could hear an odd roaring noise.

Rory Brandybuck’s small office was a place he usually went to be alone. It was tucked away at the quiet end of a quiet tunnel deep inside Buck Hill. His official office was on an outside wall with windows overlooking the fields that rolled softly down to the Brandywine River. The door to the small office was thrown open.

“ ‘S changed, sir,” Tom panted. “Wind’s changed. ‘S comin’ straight for the Hall, Master Rory.”

Rory stood. “From the east or the north, Tom?”

“North an’ they’re sayin’ a bit westerly now.”

“Could hit the west face of the smial, then.”

“Yes, sir.”

Rory moved around his desk to stand beside Tom. “All the adult hobbits that can be spared from other tasks are to go one each to every room with a window on the west side of the Hall and see that all windows are closed and shuttered. Each one is to carry a bucket of water with him and one of the small horns to sound an alarm. Hopefully, the windows and shutters will hold the blaze out, but in case it doesn’t . . . Well, I don’t know how much good the buckets of water will be, but better than nothing it’s to be hoped.” They started out the door. “I’ll go to the north end of the smial, Tom, and gather all the hobbits I can find that direction. Get some others to help you get as many of us as possible sent to the west-center and southwest sections.”

They gave each other a sharp nod and once more parted company in opposite directions.

It really was rather fun, standing on the chest, leaning out of his window. Pippin had always loved the smell of a campfire. The lights on the clouds had changed. Yellow had joined the orange that pulsed and danced, lighting the fields and trees now as well as the clouds. And he had never heard a fire make that roaring noise before. It nearly drowned out the more familiar popping and crackling noises that the lad could also hear.

The breeze became oven hot and Pippin’s hair floated on the updrafts. Sparks began falling like fireworks. It was all so pretty. The roaring was growing louder. He didn’t hear the door to his room bang against the wall as it was flung open. Pippin screamed as Saradoc grabbed him about the waist with one arm while reaching to close the window with the other.

Pippin and Saradoc saw flames licking the outside of the glass for a few seconds before Merry’s father slammed the shutter closed. As he ran from the room Saradoc heard the sound of the window shattering mixed in with the roaring of the furious flames. He set a horn to his lips and blew a harsh grating screech. It was all he had thought and breath for. Saradoc ran down the tunnel, Pippin still dangling by his waist, tucked under his uncle’s left armpit.

“Forth room . . . on left,” Saradoc shouted as best he could to two hobbits carrying sloshing water buckets who suddenly appeared in the tunnel. They nodded and ran on, turning into the door of Pippin’s room.

Saradoc ran down three more tunnels, going ever deeper into the hill, before he stopped and slowly slumped to sit cross legged on the floor. He clutched his nephew to his chest, his right hand kneading the lad’s golden brown curls. It had all been much too close. Like his own Merry, Pippin was his family’s only male child, the only heir to Paladin’s line. That and the lads were both simply good, solid, lovable youngsters who were very dear to both families. Pippin had been crying a bit hysterically as Saradoc had carried him off, but he was slowly relaxing and drawing slower breaths as he wrapped his arms around his uncle’s neck.

“You . . . you scared me, Uncle,” the small lad finally managed to say.

“I’m sorry, Pippin-lad. But you know, you scared us. Your Aunt Esme and I, your sisters and Merry were all very frightened when they couldn’t find you. You should have stayed at Cousin Marmadas and Lilly’s sitting room.”

Some hobbits walked by swinging empty water buckets in their hands. “It’s all well, sir,” one stopped and said to Saradoc. “The shutter got hot but held. The fire has passed over now, but the outside of that shutter is all scorched.” The Master’s son nodded and the hobbit went on his way.

Pippin pulled back a bit to look at his uncle. There were soot smudges on his small face that tugged all the more at Saradoc’s heart. Too near. It had been altogether too near a thing.

“But I found out all my answers, Uncle! I had all sorts of questions about the fire that everyone was talking about, and I found out all my answers. I could smell it, and it smelled like an outside fire. And I could see it lighting up the clouds like a ceiling. And then, I could even see the flames, Uncle Saradoc. And it made ever so much more noise than an indoor fireplace fire and even more than a campfire fire. And I thought perhaps we should roast some sausages, and my tummy growled because that sounded good and I was ever so hungry.”

Pippin finally paused to catch his breath. He put his small hand up to his uncle’s cheek, finally noticing the odd, strained look on the grown-up’s face.

“I’m sorry, Uncle Saradoc. I didn’t mean to scare you all.”

Saradoc kissed the lad’s sooty cheek. “I know, Pippin. I know. You had questions you needed to have answered.” He hugged his nephew tightly again. “You Tooks and your endless questions,” he said under his breath, but he was smiling as he said it. “What do you say to finding some sausages to roast over the indoor fireplace fire in our sitting room hearth, Pippin?”

“Yes!” the child happily replied as Saradoc rose to his feet to find the rest of his young charges, Pippin still held tightly, tenderly to his side.