Apologies to Pansy Scruttle:

In “Closing Time”, as first published, Merry drunkenly referred to a lass with whom Frodo had once been quite, shall we say, frisky. Merry, in his drunken stupor, identified the lass as Pansy Scruttle. However, the lass in question was actually Posy Goold. Pansy Scruttle, it is to be noted, is a perfectly respectable lass of high moral scruples who lives in Bywater. Posy Goold is the vixen of Brandy Hall who seduced Frodo into nearly losing his, erm, innocence. Merry feels awful that a good lass’s reputation should be so tarnished because he allowed liquor to loosen his tongue and cloud his better judgment. He apologizes vehemently for any damage that might have been caused by his error, both to Pansy as a proper lass and to Posy, who chafes at the idea that she could possibly have competition.

 
 
 
Epilogue – Ode to Rivendell

Gondor
Forelithe 1419 SR

“I’d say that’s it, Sam,” Frodo said, sitting back and peering at the drying ink.

“Thank ‘ee for your help, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said. “I’d not have finished it otherwise.”

“You give yourself far too little credit,” Frodo said. “Most of the work is yours, I just helped with the rhymes when you needed it.”

“Still, you helped and I appreciate it, sir,” Sam said. “I was floundering, as you might say, and knowing as you didn’t think it was so awful helped to keep me going.”

“Nothing you have ever written is awful,” Frodo assured, “this least of all. It’s funny and absolutely perfect. Bilbo would approve of it highly.”

“You think so?” Sam asked.

“I do indeed. Shall we show it to the others?” Frodo asked.

“I’m not sure, sir. It could still use some tweaking,” Sam said.

“It’s perfect, Sam,” Frodo said again, standing and taking Sam’s arm. “Come, this should be interesting.” He smiled and there was a sparkle in his eyes, and that was enough for Sam.

“As you wish, Mr. Frodo.”

Sam took up the parchment and led Frodo into the parlor, where Merry and Pippin were polishing their swords. They looked up and smiled, delighted to see Frodo in such high spirits. Legolas and Gimli sat on the porch, sharpening their knife and ax respectively, and Gandalf sat by the window smoking a pipe and looking thoughtful. Seeing that Sam was holding something and clearly wanted their attention, Merry and Pippin put aside their swords and sat back in their seats, wiping their hands on their rags. Gandalf tapped on the window and motioned for the others to join them inside. Once all were assembled and seating, Sam began.

“Well, I have somewhat as I was wanting to show you,” he said.

“Did we get a letter?” Pippin asked.

“Nay, it’s a poem I wrote, with Mr. Frodo’s help,” Sam said.

“Well, let’s hear it then,” Gimli said.

“I don’t know. Mayhap we should wait until Strider can be here,” Sam said uncertainly.

“We have dinner with him and the others tomorrow,” Gandalf said. “Would you rather wait until then? It would be quite all right.”

“No it wouldn’t!” Pippin exclaimed. “You can’t make us wait that long now.”

“Come on, Sam, read us your poem,” Frodo encouraged, sitting next to his cousins.

Sam cleared his throat and put one hand behind his back; he needed the other to hold up the parchment. He had not yet memorized the poem in full, and besides, he felt that some parts would be more easily recited if he was not looking directly at his friends.

Ode to Rivendell

Oh to Rivendell,
Where the Elven spell
Comes down to rest upon your door;
And within your walls,
And down your wide halls,
You couldn’t think to hope for more
Than a better place
Than this peaceful space
To stop and lay a weary head;
Or to sit and think,
Or just eat and drink,
‘Tis the finest of all homesteads;
There is more to this
Fair haven of bliss
Than what first appears to the eye;
If you’ll take a seat,
And put up your feet,
I’ll attempt to tell you all why:

There are Elves of course,
And Glorfindel’s horse
Is faster than all other beasts;
No wound too cloven
For Elrond Half-Elven,
His guests never miss a grand feast;
There are friends anew
Met o’er bowls of stew,
And old friends are met by the Fire,
‘Tis singing and dancing,
Not just for romancing,
And Arwen’s fair voice to admire;
Throughout the long night
By pale firelight
Many a strange tale you can hear,
Then ‘way to your bed
To lay down your head
And drift off to dreams full of cheer.

There are dwarves as well
Who rest in the ‘Dell,
From the Mountain do they both come;
And Men arrive too
From wond’ring the Blue
Both fouler yet fairer than some.
From legend Glóin springs
With cake of all things,
Son Gimli invites us to tea;
We sit and we chat
‘Bout mealtimes at that
And afterwards do they both flee.
Boromir proffers
A generous offer;
Skills of war in us does he hone,
Yet there is no doubt
The best form of clout
Comes shaped like a well-placed pinecone.

He shows us to fight,
With skill and not might,
So our foes we’ll be able to beat;
But the point is moot
That out of their boots,
Men have most unusual feet;
Yet alone he’s not,
Both Elves and Dwarves got
No better feet, nor does the wizard;
So it becomes clear
Why hide of a deer
Must protect their poor toes from blizzard;
He makes up for all
By being so tall
He can reach ‘bout near anything;
And in the midnight
He’ll sneak us a bite
Of biscuits or fruit topped with cream.

What else do we learn
‘Neath the pine and fern?
Elves don’t measure time by the hours;
By their own counting
Their years amounting
The exact same number of ours;
And even Lindir
Young as tween year
Can be conned into trying a prank:
Elrond’s chair: success.
Gandalf: expects us.
He has only himself to thank
For face of honey,
Sticky and runny,
‘Tis a prank older than Bilbo;
‘Neath Tookish smiles
And Brandybuck wiles
Their mischief and cunning it does show.

Yet more than just this
Did happen amidst
The calm, soothing realm of the ‘Dell;
‘Tis target practice,
Much to distract us
From missing home and kin as well;
Letters we do write
Case that they just might
Come to the Shire the faster;
And lessons there are
From that land afar
Like telling from ‘Mister’ and ‘Master’;
Rules for gift-giving,
And for receiving;
The jobs of Thain, Master and Mayor
Are figured by them
To be just as grim
As walking down a dragon’s lair.

Yet what do we find
Placed far out of mind?
A ten-hole golf course in the valley,
And so we do play
All the live long day
And near knock the head off an ally.
By quick Elven sight
The ball in mid-flight
Is caught by Legolas Greenleaf;
Come back from scouting,
He’s greeted by shouting
Of a livid duffer in great grief.
But right all is made
As plans ready laid
For ridding the ‘Dell of this terror;
An elf and a man
Would take up the stand
To correct Elrond’s great error;

Golfers retire
To Hall of Fire,
Conspirators have not much time;
The golf bag they took
And both the art books
To commit unspeakable crime;
They hid them away,
Where at I can’t say,
And morn found the golfers in Blue;
Thieves acted aloof,
Yet their crime was proof
That dreams do indeed become true,
For everyone else
Had readied themselves
For ‘nother day of golf glories;
Instead they discovered
From madness recovered
The hobbits and so were their stories.

Now Strider returns
With questions he burns
‘Bout trainings and friendships and jests.
He wants to know why
Just Frodo and I
Are but two hobbits on the Quest.
Let Merry and Pippin
Come along skippin’,
They’ll keep us all quite entertained;
But Elrond resists
‘Til Gandalf insists;
They fill the last spots that remained.
But time it is not
For worry and fraught;
There’s yet chance to fish by the pool;
And let’s not forget
That ale is well met
But rum turns us all into fools.

There’s much more to tell
Of life in the ‘Dell,
I could go on forevermore
‘Bout races of Elves,
And Dwarves’ secrets Selves,
And Men and their Kings of great lore;
Or even the trees
With needle-like leaves,
And flowers that bloom beyond autumn;
Fast-flying snowballs,
Running down the halls,
Comparing twins from heads to bottoms –
Of their feet, I mean.
Of all to be seen
There remains one truth yet to tell:
While ‘tis not the Shire,
There’s much to admire,
For there’s no place like Rivendell.

Sam bowed, and his friends clapped and cheered heartily.

“Well done, Sam!” Merry said. “But I am not a duffer.”

“That was Mr. Frodo’s idea,” Sam said quickly.

“You betray me Sam,” Frodo said with feigned dismay.

“I prefer my head to stay on my shoulders, Mr. Frodo, and not be sent flying down a rabbit hole,” Sam replied.

“I would never do that to you Sam,” Merry said with a wink. “Who would cook for us if you weren’t here?”

“Well, I quite enjoyed the prose. A stand up job, old chap,” Pippin said to Sam.

“‘Tis a fine lay indeed, Master Hobbit,” Gimli said. “I was wondering the other day whatever came of your poem. I couldn’t have put it better myself.”

“Thank ‘ee,” Sam said.

“It’s quite uplifting,” Legolas said. “Much different from the sorts of lays I am accustomed to hearing. Boromir would have enjoyed it.”

“Indeed he would have, as will his brother when he hears it tomorrow,” Gandalf said.

“So that’s what happened to those golf clubs?” Merry said, turning to Legolas. “You know what this means?”

“No. What does it mean?” Legolas asked cautiously.

“We’ll have to introduce this fine game to Gondor,” Merry announced and grinned. Beside him, Pippin’s face lit up and he sat up eagerly, already designing a course based on the one in Tuckborough. “Really, Sam, it’s not all that awful. You make is sound like torture. We need to ensure the people of Gondor experience it for themselves, so they can appreciate it for what it really is.”

“Torture?” Sam suggested.

Frodo laughed at this and the others joined him, even Merry and Pippin despite themselves.

“But where would we build a golf course?” Pippin asked.

“Well, that is the tricky part,” Merry said. “The city doesn’t have much by way of greenery. We can ask Faramir tomorrow over dinner. Perhaps he can suggest a likely place.”

“And Gondor will never be the same,” Gimli said despairingly and they all laughed again.

The End!
 
 
 

GF 8/25/08

The stories for the identity challenge in the previous chapter are listed below, in order of reference:

In the Bleak, Cold Winter
A Mid-Year’s Walking Trip
In Darkness Buried Deep
My First Camp Out
Babysitting Pippin
A Grand Tradition
Under the Harvest Moon
A Day in the Life
In a Flash
A Night to Forget
The Evil Necromancer
The Trouble with Lads
The Trouble with Lasses
Moon Over Tookland