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From The Journal of Meriadoc Brandybuck  by Grey Wonderer

Hi,

This is just a quick note with a bit of an explanation. This story was written in response to a request from Marigold who, after reading "Splendor in the Grass a story that I wrote for the Waymeet Summer Block-buster Challenge, sent me a very Pippish email asking me to write about the ‘creature in the meadow’ from “Splendor in the Grass”. Her suggestions and lovely Beta are so much a part of this story that I feel as if she should be listed as co-author as well as Beta.

Hope you enjoy it and my thanks to Marigold for all of her help!

GW 11/29/2006

Authors: Grey_wonderer and Marigold
Beta and plot bunny and lots of wonderful ideas by: Marigold
Rating: PG
This takes place when Pippin is 17 and Merry is 25.


The Unwelcome Visitor

From the Journal of Meriadoc Brandybuck

Pippin is asleep now, though how he can manage such a thing after the evening that we’ve just had is beyond me. I am safe in my own room and yet I keep looking over my shoulder. The fire in the hearth burns brightly and two lamps are lit but still I imagine a darkness creeping up on me from the far corners. I can hear Pippin’s soft, even breathing. The sound should comfort me but just now everything makes me nervous. I have never been so utterly terrified.

I am glad that this is my personal journal and that no one else shall have need to read it because my hand is still shaking as I write this. I had thought to wait and record this particular entry after I’d had a chance to calm down but for some reason I feel compelled to get the events of the evening down on paper and so I begin.

It was rather late for a walk to the meadow but Pippin and I were both a bit bored. I had thought that we were walking aimlessly with no real destination in mind but I soon discovered that we were, indeed, nearing our special place, our hidden meadow.

The meadow itself is very hard to explain so I will simply say that when I was twelve and Pippin was but four we stumbled upon it. We visit the meadow when we can and until tonight, I have never been frightened there. Tonight was different. As I record all of this in my journal I realize that I may never want to return to the meadow again. I don’t know how Pippin will feel about that but as I see it, the meadow is unsafe.

It was just after supper but still light and Pippin was restless. He was pacing about the parlor and coming dangerously close to knocking something breakable over with his every move. He is seventeen and sometimes it seems as if he has no sense of balance at all. He is awkward and impulsive. The two are a dangerous combination in a parlor filled with china and glass keepsakes. My mum, who guarded these fragile possessions throughout my own awkward period, was becoming more and more tense by the second. Finally, when I had to making a rather splendid diving catch in order to save a dainty bud vase from certain doom, I decided to take Pippin outside for a while. I am quite sure that my mum uttered words of thanks under her breath as we left.

Pippin and I simply started walking and it wasn’t until we had nearly reached the meadow that I knew exactly where we were going. I have no idea if Pippin knew because I didn’t ask him. At the time I was pleased by the fact that we were going to the meadow. Pippin had been visiting for nearly a week now and this was our first trip to the meadow since he’d arrived carrying a large leather satchel which bulged at the seams, his fishing pole, his rucksack, a book of adventure stories that Frodo had given him, a sack full of his mother’s homemade ginger cookies and his favorite hat. Pippin has a tendency to pack as if he might be staying forever. I blame this on the fact that his older sisters have taught him to pack. Most lads don’t bring enough with them but Pippin packs like a lass. I tease him about it when I want to set him off.

As we reached the meadow Pippin gave a yell of delight and ran out into the tall grass at full speed. I remember laughing and following him. I chased him, allowing him to best me for a time and then easily caught him and tackled him. We wrestled about in the grass with me pinning him, releasing him and then pinning him again until both of us were breathless. Pippin is much younger than I am and painfully thin so I have to be careful not to hurt him when we wrestle. He thinks he is much stronger than he is and that is partly my fault for holding back like I do. Some might think that this is unfair of me but I like to think that I am helping to build his confidence. Pippin, who is very prideful when it comes to his physical abilities, would be angry at me for not giving my best in these contests but I simply haven’t the heart to let him know how out-matched he truly is.

We caught our breath and then decided to sit beneath our favorite tree and read for a while. Pippin had brought along that book which I mentioned earlier. We searched around in the high grass and found his rucksack with the book neatly tucked in among some food supplies that we had taken from the kitchen on our way outside. Pippin had tossed the rucksack off when we’d begun to wrestle.

The meadow is ringed by trees but Pippin and I have a favorite one. It is a large oak. It looks older than the rest of the trees and it gives the best shade. It also has the best trunk for leaning against. It is wide enough for both of us to rest our backs against comfortably. We settled ourselves against the tree and I spread out our food while Pippin opened the book to a story that he enjoys and began to read aloud.

It was actually Frodo who taught us to enjoy reading in this fashion. Frodo likes to take a book with him wherever he goes and he enjoys reading aloud to others. At some point, I can remember begging Frodo to let me read the story to him. Ever the patient older cousin, Frodo allowed me to do the reading though I was still a beginner and not terribly sure of myself. To my surprise, Frodo suffered though an entire poorly read chapter before suggesting that it was his turn to read. I didn’t know it at the time, but Frodo’s patience was making me a better reader. It built my confidence and improved my skill all at the same time. The best thing about it all was that I thought I was merely having fun. Later, when Pippin had learned to read, Frodo allowed him a turn also. I can remember that I was not nearly as patient as Frodo had been and I kept correcting Pippin and urging him to hurry. I even told him that he was spoiling the story for all of us with his poor reading. Ever the determined, competitive sort, Pippin was not deterred by my rudeness. He persisted and eventually became a much better reader than I.

Pippin was reading each of the characters in the story with a different voice. All of them still sounded like Tooks but they all sounded like different Tooks. The midsummer sun was still in the sky and the meadow was still bright and cheerful. I could hear birds singing off in the distance and see colorful butterflies fluttering among the meadow’s many flowers. Pippin read on while I sat with my eyes closed leaning against the oak and eating an apple from the rucksack.

I must have dozed off at some point in the story. The last thing I can recall was that the brave hero was sneaking quietly into the woods to rescue his sister who was being held captive by a band of river pirates. When I opened my eyes I saw at once that it was now dark. Not just dark, but pitch black in fact. I looked into the sky but I could see no sign of any stars nor could I see the moon. At the time I assumed that this meant it was about to rain. I stretched and looked over to my left for Pippin. He was also sleeping. He lay on the damp grass with his book still open. For some odd reason, the grass beneath Pippin seemed to be glowing. The glow was not at all a pleasant glow like the light from one’s parlor fireplace. It was a rather sickish looking yellow. It made me nervous but I was still in the process of coming fully awake and so I didn’t pay proper attention to this odd light. The evening dew had fallen and so everything was slightly wet and there was an unseasonable chill in the air. I can remember thinking that we were in trouble with my parents because we had failed to check in with them since supper. I wish this had been our only problem.

I yawned and stretched and then took one foot and nudged Pippin who jerked awake. “What?” he asked sitting up quickly. I remember laughing at him because he looked so confused.

“We’ve taken a nap out here and when we get home, we’re going to have some explaining to do, Peregrin Took,” I said.

He looked about us and frowned. “It’s too dark here, Merry,” he said and he actually slid over closer to me. His voice sounded like that of a frightened ten-year-old and I may have laughed again.

“It’s night time you little ninny,” I said. “Naturally it’s dark. Now find your rucksack and let’s start for the Hall before my mum sends out a search party.”

“They’d never find us,” Pippin whispered.

I shivered a bit and this was my first moment of fear. I knew he was right about that. You see, I don’t think anyone can find this meadow except Pippin and me. I know exactly how that sounds. It sounds completely daft and if anyone else had said this to me I would have been ready to have them carted off to a healer. Still, I know it to be a fact just as I know that my father is the Master of Buckland and that Pippin hates thunderstorms. I felt Pippin push up against my side with the book pressed to his chest just then. “There’s something in here,” Pippin whispered.

“Don’t play games now, Pip,” I whispered back.

“There is something here, Merry,” Pippin whispered. “I don’t think it likes us much.”

Sometimes Pippin knows things that he shouldn’t know. It’s a Took ability. Not all Tooks have it but those that do are not to be ignored. My mum has it, Bilbo Baggins’ mum, Belladonna Took Baggins is said to have had it, and they say that Everard Took has it too. Pippin has it. It comes as naturally to him as eating comes to most Hobbits. He doesn’t make a grand display of it or treat his talent as if it makes him important nor does he offer to explain it but when he says something like ‘I don’t think it likes us much,’ I know that he is reciting a fact even if I have no idea how he came by his knowledge.

“What doesn’t like us?” I whispered.

“I don’t know that part. It won’t let me see,” Pippin whispered. He shivered and I put my arm around him in an effort to settle him. “It’s here in the meadow now but I don’t know where it is or what it is, only that it is.”

“We need to go,” I whispered firmly, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Do you have any idea if we can get out of the meadow through the trees behind us, or do we have to go out the way that we came in?”

“There is only that one way out,” Pippin said quietly as if I should know this already but I didn’t. Sometimes Pippin forgets that I do not have very much of the Took Sight. He assumes that if he knows something then I must have known it first because I am older. He isn’t always right about that.

I looked across the vast, dark meadow to the point at which we entered it and took a deep breath. I realized that the eerie yellow light was covering all of the meadow, shooting up through the grass as if it was coming from the very earth itself. The light was making it easy to see in the dark meadow but it was unnatural and it worried me terribly. The meadow had never looked so large to me. I had never fully considered its size until that frightening moment. I was not sure if either of us could out-run whatever it was that Pippin knew was there but it was clear that we would have to do so. I put my hand on Pippin’s arm and said quietly, “Put the book down underneath the tree, Pip. You can’t run as fast if you have it in your hands.”

“But Frodo gave it to me,” Pippin whispered, the regret plain in his voice.

“We’ll try to come back for it later on but right now, if Frodo were here I am sure he’d agree with me on this, Pip. Put the book down,” I said.

“My rucksack is here somewhere,” Pippin whispered. “If I can find it then I-“

“We are leaving them both behind,” I said, meaning it.

Pippin wanted to argue the point but he could see that I was right.

“What’s that smell?” I asked suddenly. I could smell something foul but I couldn’t quite place the odor. It was a bit like rotting fish but different in some way. Pippin didn’t answer me. He gave his beloved book a last squeeze and gently placed it underneath the tree just next to him. “I’m a’feart Merry,” he whispered.

“Me too,” I said. I was not about to lie to him in that moment. Not when both of us might have been speaking our final words to one another. He is only seventeen but he was still entitled to the truth. I sensed a change in the air and Pippin’s shoulders tensed up as behind us we both felt a strange heat at the same time, faint at first, then growing hotter. “We have to be fast,” I said. “Pippin, you have to run like you’ve never run before and you can’t look back no matter what you hear, do you understand?”

He nodded. I knew that we must not see whatever it was that was in the meadow with us. Sometimes, though it is very rare, I have a bit of the Tookish Sight myself. I never enjoy the experience because things have to be extremely dire for me to experience it. My Sight isn’t like Pippin’s. Sometimes he knows something casual like who will be coming to visit or what we are having for tea. Sometimes he knows where lost things are and can find them. Sometimes he knows when we are in mortal danger. I only know bits and pieces and only when things are at their absolute worst. I knew at that moment that we couldn’t look upon whatever it was that was lurking in our meadow. I swallowed hard and repeated, “Do you understand?”

“Don’t look at it no matter what,” Pippin said. It isn’t exactly what I said but it was exactly what I meant. Pippin knew what I knew. Somehow that was of very little comfort to me just then.

“When I say to, I want you to get up and run for the path as fast as you can,” I told him.

“You’re coming too,” he whispered nervously. “I won’t go without you.”

“You aren’t going without me,” I said. “I will be right behind you.”

“You run faster than me,” Pippin reminded me. “You should go first. You can make it out quicker.” His voice quivered as he said this.

“That is why you are going first,” I said. “I won’t leave you so you had better run as fast as you can or whatever it is will have us both, understand?”

He nodded, his face grim in the growing yellow light. Whatever was illuminating the meadow was now brighter and stronger but no less unpleasant.

“Now!” I said. I said this louder than a whisper but not nearly as loud as it sounded. My voice seemed to echo oddly across the meadow and bounced back to me as if I had shouted down a well. Terrified, I pulled Pippin to his feet and shoved him forward. He began to run and I followed him.

Pippin’s footfalls also seemed to echo and I felt as if I were running through deep mud. My steps seemed slow and the effort to run seemed to be pulling the breath out of my lungs. I focused my attention on the space between Pippin’s shoulder blades and continued to run after him not daring to think what might be following us. I knew it was back there and I knew that it was coming. I could feel the heat. Something about whatever it was that now pursued us seemed to give off heat and that heat was growing. I only hoped that we were far enough ahead of it to make it to safety.

I was cold all over and getting colder but I felt a desperate sweat beading up on my forehead. The heat at my back did nothing to warm me. I felt as if freezing water was flowing throughout my body even as that terrible heat built up strength behind me. I could hear my own heart beating in my ears. It was so loud that it was nearly able to drown out the sound of my breathing, which was coming in ragged gasps. I stared at Pippin’s back and willed him to run faster. It was as if I was trying to push him forward with my eyes. It seemed to me as if we were running in place but I knew that this couldn’t be so.

There was suddenly fetid breath at my back and a growing, terrible heat. I could smell the scent of rotted fish that was not quite the same as rotted fish. I seemed to sense something reaching for me and I pulled forward nearly running into Pippin. With a strength born of fear, I came even with my younger cousin, wrapped one arm about his waist and lifted him off of the ground. I continued to run with him tucked in next to my side like a roll of carpet. I could feel his heart pounding in his thin chest as I hung onto him for all I was worth. Something was coming for us and I didn’t know if I could outrun it. I did know that Pippin couldn’t.

I reached down inside of myself for a last bit of speed and just as I came near the way out of the meadow, something behind me caught hold of my ankle and I screamed. A nasty, sick, twisted feeling moved through me but whatever it was lost its grip and I was able to stumble towards the end of the meadow with Pippin. Both of my feet left the ground as I jumped for the entry way and hurled us forward. Behind me I heard a loud rush of air like a hissing sound and felt a burst of searing heat, then there was a pop just as I landed on my face in the dirt.

There wasn’t time for anything more. We were outside of the meadow on the path that would lead us back to the familiar road home, and I prayed, to safety. Pippin was sprawled on the ground like a rag doll. I pushed myself to my feet and then pulled him up beside me. He was shaking so violently that I was afraid he’d faint on me but he didn’t. We were on our feet and running side by side when something hit the ground behind us. I pulled Pippin forward because he seemed as if he might stop and turn around. I knew that would be a horrible mistake.

“Run until you reach the Hall!” I shouted.

Pippin and I did so. We continued to run until we reached the outside door to my family’s apartments at Brandy Hall. I pulled it open and shoved Pippin inside. I slammed the door behind me and leaned against it hoping that we hadn’t led something evil out of the meadow and to my home. My breathing was coming in harsh gasps and I know that my eyes must have looked like those of a mad Hobbit. Pippin was standing before me shaking and looking deathly pale. His shirt was covered with dust and damp with sweat. His hair was limp and his face was tear-streaked. In spite of the fact that I am the older cousin I turned to Pippin and asked because I was convinced that he knew, “Are we safe?”

He swallowed hard and nodded. “It’s still in the meadow. It can’t come here.”

I locked the door with my trembling hands and tried to get my breathing under control. I heard my father’s voice calling from the kitchen. “Merry, is that you, son?”

“Yes,” I managed, hoping that he couldn’t hear the fear in my voice. “Pip and I are going to bed now.”

“You two are late,” he called. “You know better than to worry your mother like that.”

“We’re sorry,” Pippin called out and I was surprised at how normal he sounded. He still looked as if he might faint but his voice was clear and even.

“Go to bed, then and we’ll discuss it at first breakfast,” my father called out. “Oh, and Merry?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Lock the door, will you?”

Pippin and I looked at one another and laughed nervously.

Once we were safely in my room, I turned to Pippin. “What do you suppose that was out there?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Pippin said. “All I know is that it can’t come here whatever it is. It can’t leave the meadow.”

“We can’t ever go there again,” I said as I pulled off my sweat-soaked shirt.

“Not at night,” Pippin said. “It isn’t there in the daytime. That’s why we’ve not seen it before. We’ve never been there at night before.”

“We can’t go back,” I said firmly.

Pippin nodded. I know he doesn’t agree with me on this point and that the argument will come later when both of us have more strength but at that moment he was willing to let it go. When the argument does come I will be ready for it. I know that I will never feel safe in the meadow again, not after this. In fact I am not entirely sure I will ever feel completely safe anywhere again. Just knowing that something like that is out there somewhere makes feeling safe very difficult.

We cleaned up and crawled into my bed. Pippin hardly ever sleeps in my room now that he is older but tonight I need him here as much as he needs to be here. He curled up next to me and before I could even get comfortable, he was asleep. I lay awake tossing and turning and I finally gave it up. I crawled out of bed and came over to my desk to write in my journal. I know that I won’t wake Pippin because he is a very sound sleeper. I have no need to fumble about lighting lamps because Pippin and I have left them lit. Neither of us wanted to sleep in the dark tonight.

Funny thing about the dark, when we were in the meadow I couldn’t see the moon or the stars but now as I sit at my desk which faces the window I can see plenty of stars lighting the night sky and a full moon casting its light on our garden. The thick, smothering darkness that we felt in the meadow is gone. I suppose Pippin is right; whatever was in the meadow can’t come here. I am very grateful for that. I am almost grateful enough to try and convince myself this never happened, but there is a nagging pain in my ankle as I sit here at my desk. It makes the events all too real and I dare not examine it further now for fear I will go utterly mad. Instead, I will crawl into bed next to Pippin, pull the blankets tight around us and be grateful for the safety of Brandy Hall.

Postscript: eight months later

In spite of the fact that I was the last one to fall asleep, I was the first one awake. Pippin was stretched out over most of my bed with both feet sticking out from beneath the covers and his face turned up to the ceiling. I slid out from beneath the arm that he had flung across my chest and eased out of bed quietly. It was hard to imagine the terror of the night before with the morning sunlight streaming into the room and Pippin looking so relaxed. My terror returned when I stood as a searing pain travelled up my leg.

I felt as if cold, icy fingers were touching my heart and holding it prisoner but I managed to limp over to the window and sit down on my desk chair. I noticed that my journal was still lying open on the top of the desk and I quickly locked it in one of my drawers to prevent a certain curious Took from finding it when he woke up. (The part of this you are reading now was written some time later after the sheer terror of the events had faded slightly.)

I took a ragged breath, looked at the sunlight streaming in the window above my desk so as to keep a grip on the present and then I crossed the injured leg over the other for a look. The moment is forever frozen in time as one of the worst of my life. All of the sunlight in Middle-earth cannot chase away what I saw when I looked at my ankle. I shivered violently and I was nearly sick. If it weren’t for the fact that I had not yet eaten breakfast I am sure that I would have been sick. If that terrifying unseen creature had caught us…

I managed to stop shaking and I took a good look at my ankle, daring to run a finger over it so that I could feel the tiny, red, welts there. There were a great number of them and they could have been teeth marks but for the fact that they were raised rather than indented. They were small and even and as I traced them I noticed that they formed the shape of three, long, thin, finger marks.

I once saw the print of a hand on the side of a small hobbit lad’s face when I was not more than ten. I asked my mum what had happened to the child and she quickly pulled me away explaining that the lad had likely been slapped by an angry parent. I was startled by this because I could not imagine such cruelty and could think of nothing that a small lad might do to merit that action. The print on my ankle looked like a slap mark.

My mind raced as I examined the injury closer trying to see if the surface of the skin had been broken but I could find no evidence of that. The tiny welts resembled insect bites but they did not itch nor were they terribly painful when I touched them. A heat radiated from them and I could feel that heat even before my hand made contact with the marks. There was a dull, throbbing pain in my ankle that seemed to burn when I moved my foot. I wondered about the hand that held me for a brief second. Does it only have three fingers? Are there more fingers and it simply didn’t manage to get a proper grip? What sort of skin must it have to have left these marks? Could this be a bite that only looks like the slap of a misshapen hand?

Pippin mumbled something from the bed and then yawned. “What is the time, Merry?” he asked.

“I don’t know, Pip,” I confessed, tucking my foot under my desk. My voice sounded a bit thick to me but I was hoping that Pippin would take that for sleepiness “I only just woke up a minute ago.”

“I do hope we’ve not missed first breakfast,” Pippin said as he sat up.

I gathered my wits and smiled at him. “If we have then we shall make up for it by eating extra helpings at second.”

“I’m off to find the privy,” he grinned and he jumped out of bed and was out of the door moving as if he’d been up for hours.

I looked back down at my ankle and decided not to mention it to him. I did not decide this out of a desire to protect him but more out of a need to ignore it all. I didn’t want to talk about it and I didn’t want to think about whatever it was that so very nearly had me – us - in its clutches. I also didn’t want to explain this to a healer or my parents. I knew that Pippin would insist on a healer just as I would have done if it were his ankle. I stood and took a few steps about the room. It hurt but not so much that I couldn’t walk without limping. I thought I could keep it a secret if I was careful. For all of his perceptive Tookish insights, Pippin doesn’t always notice the things that are right in front of him. I counted on that. I refused to allow myself to think that this injury might be life-threatening because if it was, I doubted there was anyone in the Shire who would have known what to do for it.

Later that morning at first breakfast, my father gave Pippin something that nearly caused us both to faint. My father held out Pippin’s rucksack to him and then frowned at my younger cousin. “You could have lost this,” my father said sternly. “Old Tully found it near the road and brought it up to the Hall this morning. He recognized it as belonging to you, Pippin.”

With shaky hands, Pippin took the rucksack and looked up at my father. “Thank you,” he said nervously.

My father mistook Pippin’s nervousness for a fear of being punished for leaving his rucksack out overnight and he said, “I’m not going to give you a lecture this time, but you do need to remember to take proper care of your things, Peregrin. Understand?”

“Yes, Uncle Doc,” Pippin said.

When we were alone and were able to check the rucksack we found Pippin’s book inside it, apparently unharmed but still a bit damp from the dew. Pippin had undeniable evidence of our nighttime adventure just as I did.

When the first of many arguments about the meadow came a week later, I managed to stand firm. I kept us away from the meadow for a full six months but then I gave into Pippin’s insistence that the evil is only there at night. We have begun to visit the meadow again but only in the daytime and if one of us wants to take a nap the other one stands watch. I never want to be in the meadow again after dark. Never. If I should be tempted all I have to do is look at my ankle. There is still a shadow of the print that whatever was in the meadow left there. It is not actually a scar and I can only see it faintly but it is there. I think of it as a warning and I am no fool. I will not ignore a warning nor will I allow Pippin to become careless. The meadow is magic but not all magic is good. Magic that comes in the night and leaves a chill on your skin and raises the hair on the back of your neck is to be avoided at all costs. We’ve been lucky once but if we should ever again venture into the meadow at night there will be no escape, for the creature knows us now. It will never forget that we cheated it of its prey. It hates us now, I know that with every bit of the Tookish Sight that I possess. I look over at Pippin and wonder exactly what he knows in his own heart but I will not ask him. It is too soon to talk of that night. I made a silent vow to never again enter the meadow at night. The unfortunate things about such vows is that they often come back to haunt you.

The End

GW 08/05/2006






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