For Marigold’s Challenge #13
My starter was:
What was Merry's journey to and arrival in Ithilien like?

A/N: Oh dear, what to do with such a question?
It isn’t as though this hasn’t had innumerable
LOTR fanfiction stories written about it.
But then again . . .

Remember

Supper had been eaten. The table had been cleared of dirty dishes, which were then washed, dried and put in the cupboard to await first breakfast on the morrow. The embers in the parlor hearth had been nudged about, blown upon with the small bellows, then a couple fresh logs placed just so upon them. Soon a proper blaze was brightening the room.

The middle aged, nicely dressed hobbit tending the fire turned as an elderly, similarly well dressed hobbit came slowly into the room.

“Merrin, my son,” the elder said as he eased himself into the rocking chair. “You always have laid a right nice fire. It’s one of your gifts, m’lad.”

“Well, thank you Father. ‘Tis good to know you feel that way.” Merrin smiled lovingly at his father, the old hobbit said that nearly every evening.

Soon the young ones, Other (pronounced like the “o” in “o’clock”– ther) and Jebbin, scampered into the room. With an upheld hand, their father brought them to a halt.

“You helped your Mum with clearing up from supper?” Merrin asked his sons.

“Yes, sir,” they chorused.

“You’ve both had your baths? I can see you are in your night shirts and dressing gowns, but you didn’t go skipping on your baths to get in here sooner,” he leaned down to the lads’ level and squinted his left eye at them, “did you?”

“No, sir.” The two were chuckling. They knew the routine well.

“Well then . . .” Their father paused to achieve the full effect. “I would suppose it is alright for you to have a story.” Merrin held up his hand once again to still the bouncing up and down before it started. “If, and only if, that is acceptable to Grand Da.”

“Is it, Grand Da?” asked Jebbin.

“Can I sit on your lap?” asked Other, being the youngest of the two lads.

“Yes to you both, my dears,” old Othin said, eyes twinkling.

Soon everyone, including Merrin’s wife, Clary, were comfortably seated and ready for a tale.

“Well,” began Grand Da Othin. “Shall we continue on where we left it all off last night?” Everyone nodded. “Well then, I’ll just ask you two bright lads if you remember what I’ve been telling you about and why.”

“All about the Travellers, Grand Da, because it is S.R. 1819 and four hundred years ago this very year they saved the whole world,” said Jebbin with the authority of a lad well schooled.

“And ‘cause we’re de . . . de . . .” struggled Other.

“Scended,” whispered Jebbin, “Descended.”

“De-scen-ded,” Other got his mouth around the word. “ ‘Cause we’re descended from Meriadoc the Magnificent.” Other smiled proudly at getting all those big words out correctly.

“Yes indeed, my smart lads, that is the what and the why of it. Well done! Now where was I . . .” Old Othin thought a bit before smiling broadly. “Yes, yes. With our own Meriadoc the Magnificent on his way to the Happy Reunion.”

“Our noble ancestor had remained behind in the Houses of Healing in the great White City of Minas Tirith. Not, mind you, that he needed any healing himself, for he had not allowed himself to faint from the evil Black Breath of the Witch King, nor to be wounded by him. He hadn’t tried to kill the evil Witch King, only struck the legs off of him, because when the foul being had proclaimed, “No living man may hinder me!”, Meriadoc the Magnificent was unsure if race or gender was being referred to. When he saw that his mighty blow had only de-limbed the creature, he thought he would let the Lady of Rohan have a go. Of course she, being taller, went for the Witch King’s head thus killing him. But she swooned, so our noble ancestor lifted her up and bore her upon his sturdy shoulders from the battle field to the Houses of Healing.”

“But . . . but . . . Grand Da?”

“Yes, Other m’lad?”

“How’d he manage that? Wasn’t she a Big Folk?”

“You’re forgetting stuff, Other,” Jebbin sighed while rolling his eyes. “Meriadoc the Magnificent had already drank that Ent drink that made him and Peregrin the Peerless grow. They were both a whole five feet one and three quarter inches by then.”

“Oops,” Other giggled. “I forgot.”

“Yes, most correct, Jebbin,” the lads’ Grand Da said, then continued on. “He carried the White Lady across the battle field, dodging arrows and spears while hacking and skewering every orc in his path with his mighty sword, Orc Slayer. Peregrin the Peerless came upon them as he finished killing all the orcs that were cluttering up the main street of the White City. He said, ‘You just worry about carrying the Lady, Meriadoc, my cousin. I’ll safeguard you both with my trusty blade!’ His deadly sword, Troll’s Bane, had not yet earned its name.

When the time came for the Army of the West to march forth to the Black Gates of Mordor, Meriadoc the Magnificent would not abandon the one who had taken his side against the wishes of Good King Theoden by bearing him upon her horse into the battle. ‘She cared about me in my time of need, I shall not leave my Lady Eowyn in hers.’ So it was that Meriadoc the Magnificent stayed behind while Peregrin the Peerless went forth, the lone representative of the Shire Folk in the Battle Before the Gates.

While he remained in the city of Men, our noble ancestor saw to much of the early efforts of repairing the damage inflicted by the Armies of Sauron. Everywhere the people turned, he was there directing the builders and tending to the needy, while never neglecting the care of his Lady. When the gloom of despair threatened to swallow the hope of the Big Folk, he strove to rally them, and the arrival of the Eagle was no surprise to him. ‘Did I not tell you, foolish Men, that the Hobbits of the Shire do not fail? Did I not tell you that my cousin, Frodo the Faithful and Fearless, along with Samwise the Stalwart, would succeed where others would perish? Prepare now! Soon you will receive your King, whose reign has been given to him by the Hobbits of the Shire!’ The crowds cheered as with those words he inspired the Men to even greater efforts in making their repairs.

The day after the next, riders arrived. Supplies and healers were urgently needed to tend those wounded before the Black Gates. Meriadoc the Magnificent had observed the Men-healers, he knew their ways and their herbals. He took charge of the ordering of the workers and supplies then rode his mighty horse, Stybba . . .”

“Horse, Grand Da? Don’t you mean his pony?” little Other interrupted.

“You’re forgetting again, Other,” said Jebbin. “He’s really tall. Him and Peregrin the Peerless were the tallest hobbits ever. Now quit interrupting the story.” He turned to his Grandfather. “Go on, Grand Da.”

“Meriadoc the Magnificent rode upon his mighty horse, Stybba, at the head of the long column of wagons bearing the supplies and healers to Osgiliath, where he directed the loading of the goods onto ships which then went down the river to Cair Andros. Being a Brandybuck and an excellent boat-hobbit, he took command of the lead ship. After they made land again, he once again ordered the loading of wains before leading the way to the encampment in Ithilien, knowing the way as he had studied all the maps in the library of Minas Tirith before heading on the journey.

When Meriadoc the Magnificent arrived at the encampment, after directing all the unloading of the provisions, he oversaw the work of the healers. With his vast knowledge of tonics and poultices, he took charge of many of the injured soldiers. In particular, Meriadoc tended to the needs of his injured cousin, Peregrin the Peerless, who singlehandedly killed two trolls only to be crushed beneath the second as it died. Due to his Brandybuck cousin’s skills, he rapidly recovered from the brink of death and was up and about in one week’s time.

Meriadoc the Magnificent and the High King Elessar worked together to save the lives of Frodo the Faithful and Fearless and Samwise the Stalwart. It was only because of the presence of our noble ancestor, that the Ring Bearers survived. And so it was because of The Brandybuck, because of Meriadoc the Magnificent, that the Travellers had the Happy Reunion. The High King and King Eomer of Rohan, realizing that they would have been helpless without the knowledge and strength of Meriadoc the Magnificent and the prowess in battle of Peregrin the Peerless, would have made them princes of their realms. But the cousins refused. ‘We have our own people to help. Our own country to serve.’ And so it was they were instead made Knights of the Realms of Rohan and Gondor.”

Everyone in the cozy parlor burst into applause and cheers.

“And now,” said Clary. “It is time for two hobbit lads to give their good night hugs and kisses all round and head to their beds.” She set aside her knitting and rose from her chair. Jebbin and Other thanked their Grand Da, hugged and kissed he and their father then went with their mum down the tunnel to their room. Soon only the small lamp on the night-stand was burning and the lad’s room was quiet.

“What ya think, Jebbin?” Other muttered sleepily. “Four hundred years is a long time . . . yawn . . . I can’t count that big. Do ya think Meriadoc t’ Magnificent really . . . yawn . . . did all that?”

“Of course he did, Other. Brandybucks have told Brandybucks that story all those years. You aren’t going to say they were lying, are you? You know we Brandybucks only tell the truth.”