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Halflings  by Elemmírë

Bilbo's Challenge

By: Elemmírë

Summary: So just how did Bilbo come up with the ‘Merry Old Inn’ song? What inspired him to write it and when? A story in which Bilbo faces writing his own tale challenge. Written special in honor of Marigold's Tale Challenges in general, and this one in particular.

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings does not belong to me, nor am I making any profit off either its story or characters.

Author's Note: This was originally written for Marigold's Tale Challenge 31, which had to at least mention Bilbo.

 

'He took to writing poetry ... and though many shook their heads and touched their foreheads and said "Poor old Baggins!" and though few believed any of his tales, he remained very happy to the end of his days, and those were extraordinarily long.' ~J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit; 'The Last Stage'

 

Bag End, Hobbiton

Afterlithe (July), 1381

Bilbo knew it was quite childish of him, but he desired nothing more than to throw his ink-laden quill across the study. He had been working for over a week now on this particular project and had little to show for it. He was certain he was going to miss his self-imposed deadline and disappoint. He frowned at the short list of items Frodo had half-heartedly scrawled in response to his uncle's request for a writing challenge. An inn, a fiddle, a hornéd cow, silver spoons, the Sun. All items on the list had to be included, hence the challenge, but how was he going to make this work?

Bilbo reread the few stanzas written on the scrap of parchment before him and shook his curly head in disdain. "No, no! This won't do at all! It's far too predictable ... too Baggins-like. I need something more exciting than this drivel. Something more Adventurous, even bordering on the ridiculous perhaps."

But it could not be just any poem, it had to be a poem worthy of the attention of his most favorite hobbit relation. "And one that will put a smile on his dour little face," Bilbo mumbled to himself.

Frodo had been much too melancholy during the Master of Bag End's last visit to Brandy Hall located in Buckland. Not that the orphaned lad didn't have reason enough to be unhappy, but Bilbo had promised Frodo he would write him a poem and set it to music in time for his next visit, two weeks from now.

"And write it, I shall," Bilbo stated, taking up his quill once more, determined as only a Baggins could be.

* * * * *

'Then in desperation he began a ridiculous song that Bilbo had been rather fond of (and indeed rather proud of, for he had made up the words himself).' ~J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring; 'At the Sign of the Prancing Pony'

 

Brandy Hall, Buckland

(under a grove of apple trees near the Brandywine River)

Bilbo didn't think he had ever felt so nervous before ... well, except for perhaps that time during his Adventure when he was accidentally left behind in the tunnels and passes running through the Misty Mountains. He stood fingering the things in his pockets, as he was prone to do when making a speech to an audience, while little Frodo sat on the green grass before him with his legs folded beneath him. The child looked up expectantly at his uncle, awaiting. Yet he continued to have the most bland expression on his sad, pale face.

Bilbo cleared his throat and began.

There is an inn, a merry old inn

beneath an old grey hill,

And there they brew a beer so brown

That the Man in the Moon himself came down

one night to drink his fill.

The ostler has a tipsy cat

that plays a five-stringed fiddle;

And up and down he runs his bow,

Now squeaking high, now purring low,

now sawing in the middle.

The landlord keeps a little dog

that is mighty fond of jokes;

When there's good cheer among the guests,

He cocks an ear at all the jests

and laughs until he chokes.

They also keep a hornéd cow

as proud as any queen;

But music turns her head like ale,

And makes her wave her tufted tail

and dance upon the green.

And O! the rows of silver dishes

and the store of silver spoons!

For Sunday there's a special pair,

And these they polish up with care

on Saturday afternoons.

The Man in the Moon was drinking deep,

and the cat began to wail;

A dish and a spoon on the table danced,

The cow in the garden madly pranced,

and the little dog chased his tail.

Was that a hint of the old sparkle in his eyes, I saw just now? Bilbo wondered, as he continued to sing. His voice gained strength when the corners of Frodo's rosy mouth did indeed turn upward in the slightest hint of a smile, dimpling his cheeks. Frodo shifted position and now sat on his bottom with his knees hugged to his chest, as he listened to his uncle sing.

The Man in the Moon took another mug,

and rolled beneath his chair;

And there he dozed and dreamed of ale,

Till in the sky the stars were pale,

and dawn was in the air.

Then the ostler said to his tipsy cat:

"The white horses of the Moon,

They neigh and champ their silver bits;

But their master's been and drowned his wits,

and the Sun'll be rising soon!"

So the cat on his fiddle played hey-diddle-diddle,

a jig that would wake the dead:

He squeaked and sawed and quickened the tune,

While the landlord shook the Man in the Moon:

"It's after three!" he said.

They rolled the Man slowly up the hill

and bundled him into the Moon,

While his horses galloped up in rear,

And the cow came capering like a deer,

and a dish ran up with the spoon.

Bilbo looked his nephew in the eye and Frodo gave a shy smile in return. The old hobbit removed his hands from his pockets, giving his magic ring a final squeeze, before gesticulating animatedly to the words of the song he wove. He was elated to see the little one sitting before him begin keeping time with his furry foot.

Now quicker the fiddle went deedle-dum-diddle;

the dog began to roar,

The cow and the horses stood on their heads;

The guests all bounded from their beds

and danced upon the floor.

With a ping and a pang the fiddle-strings broke!

the cow jumped over the Moon,

And the little dog laughed to see such fun,

And the Saturday dish went off at a run

with the silver Sunday spoon.

The round Moon rolled behind the hill,

as the Sun raised up her head.

She hardly believed her fiery eyes;

For though it was day, to her suprise

they all went back to bed.*

Bilbo felt nothing but relief when at the end of the song, Frodo broke out into peals of laughter. Bilbo had never heard a sound so beautiful before. The lad's indomitable spirit was back.

"That was so silly, Uncle!" Frodo exclaimed. "Cows don't jump over the moon and dishes do not run with spoons!"

Bilbo bent over and tweaked the lad's sharp nose set between large blue eyes that were now filled with a mirth that hadn't been seen in over a year. "Well now how do you know they do not do those things, Frodo-lad, when you aren't looking?"

Frodo jumped up from the ground and hugged his uncle tight about the waist, tottering on his tip-toes. "Thank you, Uncle Bilbo. I ... I had forgotten what it felt like to laugh," the nearly thirteen-year old hobbit child whispered.

Bilbo swung Frodo's slight body into arms and held him close. All of his hard labor and frustrations penning the silly tune were now seen in a new light, knowing his efforts had been greatly appreciated by whom they were meant for.

"You are most welcome, my dear boy," he said and kissed the dark curls as Frodo rested his head against his uncle's shoulder in content.

For years thereafter, whenever Frodo needed cheering up, Bilbo sang 'A Merry Old Inn.' Frodo had deemed the song as being utterly ridiculous and totally unpredictable for being written by a Baggins ... but it never failed to make him smile and laugh.

~The End~

* Text by J.R.R. Tolkien in Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, Chapter 9: -At the Sign of the Prancing Pony

 




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