talechallenge03 (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} talechallenge03) wrote,@ 2004-03-31 17:21:00 |
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Good Memories, Like Good Stories by Jeodo Brandybuck
The hobbits stumble across some family history...
SUMMARY: Canon; During the quest, Pippin begins his search for courage.
LENGTH: 3437 words. COMPLETE
RATING: G
CATEGORY: General
PAIRINGS: None
AUTHOR’S NOTES:
At the time of this story, the ages of the hobbits are as follows: Pippin is 28, Merry is 36, Sam is 38 and Frodo is 50.
DISCLAIMER: There are a number of phrases, including the opening paragraph, taken both directly and indirectly from J.R.R. Tolkien’s books The Hobbit and The Fellowship of the Ring and interspersed throughout this story. Because crediting them as they appear would break up the flow of the text, the author advises the readers that, should they see an extra sparkle of wit or brilliance in the following story, it undoubtedly belongs to Tolkien’s work.
DISCLAIMER: The characters and settings are the creation of J.R.R. Tolkien, lord and master of the art and craft of writing. I only borrow them to enjoy thinking about them – not in an attempt to gain profit by them.
GRATEFUL THANKS: Thank you, Marigold, for beta-ing this piece of fiction under great time constraints.
DEDICATION: To you, dear readers
STORY STARTER:
Pippin was a little ahead of the others. Suddenly he turned round and called to them. “There is a path here!” he cried.
When they came up with him, they saw that he had made no mistake: there were clearly the beginnings of a path, that climbed with many windings out of the woods below and faded away on the hill-top behind. In places it was now faint and overgrown, or choked with fallen stones and trees; but at one time it seemed to have been much used. It was a path made by strong arms and heavy feet. Here and there old trees had been cut or broken down, and large rocks cloven or heaved aside to make a way.
J.R.R. Tolkien “Flight to the Ford” The Fellowship of the Ring
Good Memories, Like Good Stories
Pippin was a little ahead of the others. Suddenly he turned round and called to them. “There is a path here!” he cried.
When they came up with him, they saw that he had made no mistake: there were clearly the beginnings of a path, that climbed with many windings out of the woods below and faded away on the hill-top behind. In places it was now faint and overgrown, or choked with fallen stones and trees; but at one time it seemed to have been much used. It was a path made by strong arms and heavy feet. Here and there old trees had been cut or broken down, and large rocks cloven or heaved aside to make a way.
They followed the track for some while. The forest lay heavy with dank shadows and Pippin shivered miserably, for a cold, grey haze had settled on the woods last night, surrounding everything and extinguishing Pippin’s courage as thoroughly as a candle snuffer. Strider had looked grim when he examined Frodo’s wound, and Merry, Sam and Pippin huddled next to the paltry fire that the Ranger had allowed them to build, trying to bolster their remaining courage by pretending that they weren’t horribly afraid. Since the nightmarish events at Weathertop, Frodo had moved in and out of a dream world, sometimes imagining horrors that weren’t really there, and sometimes reviving until he was almost himself. Events had taken on an aura of unreality, like a terrifying tale from which they couldn’t escape.
Pippin shook his head, trying to think about something happier. The memory of Bilbo telling stories in his comfortable study at Bag End came to Pippin’s mind, and he thought back to his younger days, when the idea of adventuring seemed like the most thrilling and agreeable lark possible.
“Weren’t you scared, Bilbo?” asked seven-year-old Pippin eagerly, pushing his feet closer to the fire.
“Of course I was,” said Bilbo. “I was quaking right down to every hair on my toes! But there was nothing for it. It was rainy and cold and we were very hungry. No, young Took, adventures are not all pony rides in May sunshine! How I wished I was at home in my snug little smial, safe and warm!”
Pippin glanced over his shoulder at Frodo, who sat on the sofa with Sam. Merry was beside Pippin, pulling a pan of roasting nuts from the hearth. He chose a large nut, peeled the shell away and handed the nutmeat to Pippin. Pippin’s round eyes didn’t leave Bilbo’s face as he munched on the treat, and he curled his toes several times against the warmth of the fire, snuggling back into Merry and waiting to be agreeably frightened again.
But now, years later on his own adventure, Pippin found that there was nothing agreeable about being frightened at all. His feet felt cold and clumsy as he scrambled over fallen branches and he hurried to keep up with the others, hoping that Strider would soon find the promised road. Despite the fact that it was late in the morning, the thick trees made the forest dim and shadowy and Pippin glanced quickly from side to side, trying to appear braver than he felt. The horrifying memory of the Black Riders lingered in his mind and he shivered as he remembered their menacing figures relentlessly advancing. His own terror and inability to protect Frodo weighed upon his mind, and the scary parts from Bilbo’s tales only served to make his pulse quicken uncomfortably.
“All right there, Pip?” asked Frodo. Pippin looked up at his cousin who sat uneasily astride the pony, and he grew fearful as he noticed how pale Frodo’s skin seemed in the dim light. However, he managed a smile and took hold of Frodo’s foot by way of comfort, although whether it was for himself or Frodo, he wasn’t sure.
Pippin knew that Frodo’s wound continued to torment him, but when he had peeped over Strider’s shoulder as the Ranger had changed the dressing, the damage didn’t look very bad. It was just a cold, white mark that was already closing, but Frodo grew paler as they travelled and Strider was clearly worried. Pippin glanced at Sam, who still kept a loose hold on Bill’s reins, although Bill was proving well able to find his own path. The gardener’s expression was strained and his eyes appeared as though he carried the weight of the whole world on his back. Merry marched ahead with Strider, discussing the most likely direction toward the Road for the Ford of Bruinen. The path was growing broader and clearer, but the shroud of darkness formed by the thick leafy dome of the forest was increasing with every step.
Merry and Strider halted, examining the face of a low cliff. As Sam led Bill forward, Pippin followed and saw with alarm that there was a rough door hanging by one hinge out from the stone wall. Strider and Merry cautiously entered the darkness, and Pippin, unable to help himself, crept forward and peered inside.
“‘Mutton yesterday, mutton today, and blimey, if it don’t look like mutton again tomorrer,’ said one of the trolls.
‘Never a blinking bit of manflesh have we had for long enough,’ said a second...”
“They don’t really eat big people, do they, Bilbo?” interrupted Pippin. He was huddled closely to Merry, who was now stuffing his own mouth with roasted nuts.
“They do indeed, Master Took,” said Bilbo. “And hobbits, too, I imagine, when they can get them. And there we were! Thirteen lost dwarves, one very frightened hobbit and no sign of Gandalf at all! What was one lone hobbit to do?”
“Would you have been scared, Merry?” asked Pippin curiously, turning his head to look at his cousin.
“I believe I would have been, Pip,” said Merry. “But you know, Bilbo and the dwarves were terribly cold and hungry – and lost, too.”
“We were,” said Bilbo, “and an empty belly can sometimes inspire bravery of a foolhardy nature.”
Broken jars and bones were strewn about the floor of the cave and Pippin stumbled away hastily.
“Surely this is a troll-hole, if ever there was one!” said Pippin. “Come out, you two, and let us get away! Now we know who made the path – and we had better get off it quick.” What were they thinking? They should know better than to linger inside of a troll’s lair.
His cousin and Strider emerged from the hole, and Strider gently put aside Pippin’s fears about the occupants returning. Uneasy, Pippin turned to Merry, who winked at him, giving every appearance of having just returned from some high-spirited escapade. The tweenager turned red about the ears and his eyes lowered, ashamed that he had shown his fear in front of the Ranger.
Merry grinned and joined Pippin, nudging him with his shoulder. “Come on, Pip,” said Merry. “Strider says that it’s all right. Come walk with me.” He dropped his voice. “Give Strider a chance to talk with Frodo and see how he’s feeling. We’ll go on ahead and make certain that the path is smooth enough for Bill to travel without jostling Frodo too much.”
The cousins crept ahead down the dark path. Pippin felt a little better to see that Merry seemed to leave some of his bravery back with Strider.
“Merry,” whispered Pippin. “Are you certain that there isn’t any troll about anymore? What about Frodo? Why isn’t he feeling better? And don’t you think we should be stopping for luncheon soon?”
“Good heavens, Pip,” whispered Merry, continuing his pace. “Don’t you ever run out of questions? No, I don’t think that there is any troll – not anymore, anyway. It seemed long deserted. No, I’m not surprised that Frodo isn’t better yet – that was a terrible assault and he’ll certainly need more time to recover. And yes, I’m almost ready for some luncheon. Now I have a question for you.” He dropped his voice even lower and drew his cousin closer.
“Yes?” whispered Pippin.
“Why are we whispering?” he asked.
Pippin frowned. “I don’t know,” he murmured. He paused for a moment and looked around. “It just seems like we should be careful out here. Perhaps the troll hasn’t gone.”
“Pip, Strider already said, he doesn’t think that there is any – ” He halted abruptly and backed away until Pippin ran into him, and they both fell backward. Then Merry scrambled to his feet, dragging Pippin after him as they plunged back the way they came.
“‘And can yer cook ‘em?’ said Tom.
‘Yer can try,’ said Bert, picking up a skewer...” Bilbo stopped as he observed a struggle going on at his feet.
“Pippin, stop digging into my chest,” complained Merry. “If you back up any more, you’re going to be behind me – sorry, Bilbo.” Merry untangled Pippin from his waistcoat and turned his cousin around. Pippin looked shamefaced.
“Would you like me to stop for a while, Peregrin?” asked Bilbo.
“No, don’t stop,” begged Pippin. “They didn’t really skewer you, did they?”
Bilbo made a pretense of checking his belly. “No. No holes there. And I’m very glad they didn’t, for I was wearing my favorite waistcoat,” he added. Frodo laughed. “But they were prepared to hold my toes in the fire until I revealed my companions to them. No, trolls are nasty, wicked creatures and you’d better hope that you never come across any, for they might very well like nothing better than a morsel of tasty little hobbits!” Merry nipped at Pippin’s ear and Pippin giggled.
Merry and Pippin stumbled up the path frantically. “There are trolls!” Pippin panted. “Down in a clearing in the woods not far below. We got a sight of them through the tree-trunks. They are very large!”
The hobbits timidly followed the Ranger as he investigated the looming trolls, carrying only a stick. But not until Strider broke his stick across the back of one of the unmoving trolls and Frodo began to laugh did Pippin’s heart start to slow its furious pounding. “Well!” Frodo said. “We are forgetting our family history! These must be the very three that were caught by Gandalf, quarrelling over the right way to cook thirteen dwarves and one hobbit.” Merry’s fear gave way to an abashed grin and Sam chuckled as he helped Frodo down from Bill’s back. Strider pulled down an old bird’s nest from behind the ear of the troll, handing it to Pippin and Pippin joined in the laughter in an attempt to hide his nervousness.
While Sam and Merry started to prepare a meal, Pippin kept a suspicious eye on the trolls. Strider, meanwhile, knelt on the ground to tend Frodo, who huddled in his cloak, but otherwise seemed to be feeling better.
“Pip, how about you scouting around and seeing if you can find anything to stretch out this meal?” asked Merry. “What we’ve got here doesn’t seem like it could fill up a proper tea tray.”
“It’s rather late in the year for berries,” said Pippin doubtfully, staring into the dark woods. But glancing at Strider, he picked up one of Sam’s pans and started searching in the woods alongside the path.
He was disappointed however, for the only berries he found were well past any possibility of eating. Searching the gloom anxiously, his eyes lit up as he noticed a patch of mushrooms growing near the stump of a tree. He knelt and examined them carefully before starting to pick them.
“A nice pickle we were all in now,” said Bilbo. “Me, hiding in a bush and all thirteen dwarves neatly tied up in sacks, listening to three angry trolls decide whether they should roast them slowly or mince them fine and boil them or just sit on them one by one and squash them into jelly!"
“That’s not how you make jelly,” offered Pippin. “I watched once when one of our cooks – ”
Merry clapped his hand over Pippin’s mouth. “That’s how trolls make jelly, Pip,” he said. “Aren’t you glad we don’t make it that way?” Pippin made a face and wriggled.
“They had just decided to roast us – I remember,” said Bilbo, “when – ”
“Would they have skewered you first?” interrupted Pippin.
Bilbo frowned. “I suppose they would have,” he said impatiently. “Now, they had just decided to roast us when – ”
“That would have been a pretty big fire,” continued Pippin.
“Shhh, Pip,” said Merry. “Suppose you let Bilbo finish his story,” He looked down and noticed Pippin’s white-knuckled grip on his waistcoat. He lowered his voice and whispered in his cousin’s ear, “Is this story getting a little too scary for you?” he asked, thinking that Pippin might be using the questions to delay the story. Pippin raised his eyes toward Bilbo in a panic, worried that the other hobbits would laugh at him, but the old hobbit was occupied answering a question for Frodo and Sam. Pippin nodded. “We can stop if you want,” whispered Merry, “but remember – it’s only a story. It can’t hurt you and I’ll be right here.”
Pippin considered for a moment and then whispered in Merry’s ear. “We can keep listening if you’re here.”
“Pip?” Pippin jumped, spilling the pan of mushrooms. “Pippin?” called Merry. “Where are you?”
“I’m here,” said Pippin. He quickly gathered the tumbled mushrooms with trembling fingers as Merry entered the clearing.
“What’s taking so long?” asked Merry. “Oh! Well done, Pip! These will fill out the menu nicely,” he said. “Come along. Frodo seems to be feeling a bit better and Sam’s got everything set out – except for these,” he added. “Is anything wrong?” he asked as they returned to the clearing.
“No, nothing,” said Pippin.
“See what our heroic hobbit has foraged for us!” said Merry, motioning to the pan of mushrooms. Pippin beamed at the applause of the hobbits and bowed dramatically before Frodo, who laughed softly and accepted the pan, wincing as his shoulder gave a particularly trying twinge.
The sun finally struggled through the trees, heartening the hobbits nearly as much as the addition to their mid-day meal, and it was almost a cheerful party that started back on their way through the woods. But as they trudged along for several miles, the forest’s gloom seemed to resettle on them. Pippin jumped every time Bill cracked a twig under his hoof, a reaction not missed by Merry. He slowed his pace and took the reins from Sam, motioning for Sam to join Strider. Sam had been hoping for a chance to have a private word with the Ranger about his master’s condition, so with a worried glance at Frodo, he trotted ahead. Frodo didn’t even notice the change, but seemed to travel in a daze, his eyes fixed ahead but not focused on anything.
“Anything on your mind, Pip?” asked Merry. Pippin shook his head and tramped forward. “Are you certain?”
“I suppose it’s just this gloomy place, Merry.” Pippin smiled ruefully at his cousin, but it was a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t you feel it, too? It’s like one of Bilbo’s tales, but without the warm hearth and capital fun that was always part of listening to his stories.”
Merry nodded. “I miss those stories, too, Pip. But they’re good memories.”
“Good memories,” sighed Pippin. He thought back to the giant stone trolls they had left behind and remembered Bilbo’s voice, deftly alternating back and forth between a deep growl and a nasal whine.
“‘If you wants to sit on the last one, sit on him. Which is he?’
‘The one with the yellow stockings,’ said Bert.
‘Nonsense, the one with the grey stockings,’ said a voice like William’s.
‘I made sure it was yellow,’ said Bert.
‘Yellow it was,’ said William – ”
“Do dwarves wear stockings like big people?” asked Pippin.
“Don’t interrupt, Pip,” said Merry. His arms were tightly around his cousin and his eyes were shining in excitement at the story.
Bilbo raised an eyebrow at the young Took and leaned forward. “And the trolls began to argue, back and forth about who said what – ”
“But Bilbo, who did say wha – ” Merry clapped his hand over Pippin’s mouth again and shrugged apologetically at Bilbo.
Bilbo harrumphed and continued. “‘Now stop it!’ said Tom and Bert together. ‘The night’s gettin’ on, and dawn comes early. Let’s get on with it!’
‘Dawn take you all, and be stone to you!’” rumbled Bilbo, leaping to his feet, and Pippin jumped back in delight. “And with that, my lads, Gandalf stepped out! You see, Gandalf kept the trolls bickering and quarrelling until the light came and made an end of them – such is the cleverness of wizards.” Bilbo settled back into his chair and lit his pipe in satisfaction while the lads applauded wildly.
“Here’s something to take notice of,” said Strider, pausing beside a large stone in the grass. “Do you see the roughly carved marks on it? It has become weathered through the years, but I fancy you can still make out Dwarvish runes when you see them.” Sam, Merry and Pippin crowded around the stone and examined its mossy surface.
“There!” said Merry. “That must be the stone that marked the place where the trolls’ gold was hidden. How much is left of Bilbo’s share, I wonder, Frodo?”
Frodo looked at the stone, and wished that Bilbo had brought home no treasure more perilous, nor less easy to part with. “None at all,” he said. “Bilbo gave it all away. He told me he did not feel it was really his, as it came from robbers.”
“Mr. Bilbo is an honorable hobbit,” said Sam to Strider. “And as brave a hobbit as ever took a breath of air.”
“Indeed,” replied Strider, with a smile. Behind Strider’s back, Pippin nodded firmly.
They rested for a few moments, looking around the bank as the long shadows of the evening began to stretch across the land. Merry’s words echoed in Pippin’s mind: “I miss those stories, too, Pip. But they’re good memories.” Good memories. Like good stories – but neither one is real, thought Pippin despondently. All of Bilbo’s good stories put together can’t help us at all – they’re just stories.
“All right then, Pip,” said Merry, interrupting his thoughts. “You can’t fool your cousin now. What’s troubling you?”
Pippin stared down at the ground, feeling thoroughly ashamed. “Oh, Merry. I...” He hesitated, and then burst forth in an agonized whisper. “I’m afraid. That’s all there is to it,” he admitted. “I’m not brave like Bilbo, or like you. I thought I would be, but I’m not. It’s not just a story now, and it can hurt us.” He blinked and his green eyes were bright. “It’s already hurt Frodo. We’re just hobbits, Merry. What can we do against the dangers of all this –? ” He waved his hand toward the dark shadows of the woods.
“We can do what we can, Pip,” said Merry. He put his arm around his cousin. “None of us are feeling terribly brave right now,” he whispered. “But as Bilbo once said, there’s nothing for it. We’ll just have to do the best we can.”
“But Merry, there are terrible things out here,” said Pippin in an undertone. “What if we meet a real troll?”
“Well, if there’s one thing I’m not afraid of, it’s meeting a troll – at least, not as long as I’m with you.”
“What could I possibly do against a troll?” asked Pippin. He looked up at his cousin, astonished to see that Merry was smiling as if a troll were no more than a trifle.
“It wouldn’t have a chance. You would talk it to death,” chuckled Merry, “just like Gandalf did.” Merry subsided and turned from Pippin, surveying the small party standing on the ridge.
Pippin frowned and considered his cousin for a moment. Merry’s jaw was set and his eyes were on Frodo, but his gaze went beyond his cousin. He didn’t look frightened, but there was a new wariness in his expression and determination in his bearing. With a rush of understanding, Pippin saw that his cousin was just as worried as he was, but whatever dangers lay ahead, Merry was willing to face them for the love of their older cousin. Pippin took a deep breath, feeling his heart swell in admiration. “We can do what we can,” he repeated softly. The words weren’t profound, nor did they promise any easier path. But there was good hobbit sense in them, and Pippin found himself smiling as they shouldered their packs and started on their way again.
The end
The hobbits stumble across some family history...
SUMMARY: Canon; During the quest, Pippin begins his search for courage.
LENGTH: 3437 words. COMPLETE
RATING: G
CATEGORY: General
PAIRINGS: None
AUTHOR’S NOTES:
At the time of this story, the ages of the hobbits are as follows: Pippin is 28, Merry is 36, Sam is 38 and Frodo is 50.
DISCLAIMER: There are a number of phrases, including the opening paragraph, taken both directly and indirectly from J.R.R. Tolkien’s books The Hobbit and The Fellowship of the Ring and interspersed throughout this story. Because crediting them as they appear would break up the flow of the text, the author advises the readers that, should they see an extra sparkle of wit or brilliance in the following story, it undoubtedly belongs to Tolkien’s work.
DISCLAIMER: The characters and settings are the creation of J.R.R. Tolkien, lord and master of the art and craft of writing. I only borrow them to enjoy thinking about them – not in an attempt to gain profit by them.
GRATEFUL THANKS: Thank you, Marigold, for beta-ing this piece of fiction under great time constraints.
DEDICATION: To you, dear readers
STORY STARTER:
Pippin was a little ahead of the others. Suddenly he turned round and called to them. “There is a path here!” he cried.
When they came up with him, they saw that he had made no mistake: there were clearly the beginnings of a path, that climbed with many windings out of the woods below and faded away on the hill-top behind. In places it was now faint and overgrown, or choked with fallen stones and trees; but at one time it seemed to have been much used. It was a path made by strong arms and heavy feet. Here and there old trees had been cut or broken down, and large rocks cloven or heaved aside to make a way.
J.R.R. Tolkien “Flight to the Ford” The Fellowship of the Ring
Good Memories, Like Good Stories
Pippin was a little ahead of the others. Suddenly he turned round and called to them. “There is a path here!” he cried.
When they came up with him, they saw that he had made no mistake: there were clearly the beginnings of a path, that climbed with many windings out of the woods below and faded away on the hill-top behind. In places it was now faint and overgrown, or choked with fallen stones and trees; but at one time it seemed to have been much used. It was a path made by strong arms and heavy feet. Here and there old trees had been cut or broken down, and large rocks cloven or heaved aside to make a way.
They followed the track for some while. The forest lay heavy with dank shadows and Pippin shivered miserably, for a cold, grey haze had settled on the woods last night, surrounding everything and extinguishing Pippin’s courage as thoroughly as a candle snuffer. Strider had looked grim when he examined Frodo’s wound, and Merry, Sam and Pippin huddled next to the paltry fire that the Ranger had allowed them to build, trying to bolster their remaining courage by pretending that they weren’t horribly afraid. Since the nightmarish events at Weathertop, Frodo had moved in and out of a dream world, sometimes imagining horrors that weren’t really there, and sometimes reviving until he was almost himself. Events had taken on an aura of unreality, like a terrifying tale from which they couldn’t escape.
Pippin shook his head, trying to think about something happier. The memory of Bilbo telling stories in his comfortable study at Bag End came to Pippin’s mind, and he thought back to his younger days, when the idea of adventuring seemed like the most thrilling and agreeable lark possible.
“Weren’t you scared, Bilbo?” asked seven-year-old Pippin eagerly, pushing his feet closer to the fire.
“Of course I was,” said Bilbo. “I was quaking right down to every hair on my toes! But there was nothing for it. It was rainy and cold and we were very hungry. No, young Took, adventures are not all pony rides in May sunshine! How I wished I was at home in my snug little smial, safe and warm!”
Pippin glanced over his shoulder at Frodo, who sat on the sofa with Sam. Merry was beside Pippin, pulling a pan of roasting nuts from the hearth. He chose a large nut, peeled the shell away and handed the nutmeat to Pippin. Pippin’s round eyes didn’t leave Bilbo’s face as he munched on the treat, and he curled his toes several times against the warmth of the fire, snuggling back into Merry and waiting to be agreeably frightened again.
But now, years later on his own adventure, Pippin found that there was nothing agreeable about being frightened at all. His feet felt cold and clumsy as he scrambled over fallen branches and he hurried to keep up with the others, hoping that Strider would soon find the promised road. Despite the fact that it was late in the morning, the thick trees made the forest dim and shadowy and Pippin glanced quickly from side to side, trying to appear braver than he felt. The horrifying memory of the Black Riders lingered in his mind and he shivered as he remembered their menacing figures relentlessly advancing. His own terror and inability to protect Frodo weighed upon his mind, and the scary parts from Bilbo’s tales only served to make his pulse quicken uncomfortably.
“All right there, Pip?” asked Frodo. Pippin looked up at his cousin who sat uneasily astride the pony, and he grew fearful as he noticed how pale Frodo’s skin seemed in the dim light. However, he managed a smile and took hold of Frodo’s foot by way of comfort, although whether it was for himself or Frodo, he wasn’t sure.
Pippin knew that Frodo’s wound continued to torment him, but when he had peeped over Strider’s shoulder as the Ranger had changed the dressing, the damage didn’t look very bad. It was just a cold, white mark that was already closing, but Frodo grew paler as they travelled and Strider was clearly worried. Pippin glanced at Sam, who still kept a loose hold on Bill’s reins, although Bill was proving well able to find his own path. The gardener’s expression was strained and his eyes appeared as though he carried the weight of the whole world on his back. Merry marched ahead with Strider, discussing the most likely direction toward the Road for the Ford of Bruinen. The path was growing broader and clearer, but the shroud of darkness formed by the thick leafy dome of the forest was increasing with every step.
Merry and Strider halted, examining the face of a low cliff. As Sam led Bill forward, Pippin followed and saw with alarm that there was a rough door hanging by one hinge out from the stone wall. Strider and Merry cautiously entered the darkness, and Pippin, unable to help himself, crept forward and peered inside.
“‘Mutton yesterday, mutton today, and blimey, if it don’t look like mutton again tomorrer,’ said one of the trolls.
‘Never a blinking bit of manflesh have we had for long enough,’ said a second...”
“They don’t really eat big people, do they, Bilbo?” interrupted Pippin. He was huddled closely to Merry, who was now stuffing his own mouth with roasted nuts.
“They do indeed, Master Took,” said Bilbo. “And hobbits, too, I imagine, when they can get them. And there we were! Thirteen lost dwarves, one very frightened hobbit and no sign of Gandalf at all! What was one lone hobbit to do?”
“Would you have been scared, Merry?” asked Pippin curiously, turning his head to look at his cousin.
“I believe I would have been, Pip,” said Merry. “But you know, Bilbo and the dwarves were terribly cold and hungry – and lost, too.”
“We were,” said Bilbo, “and an empty belly can sometimes inspire bravery of a foolhardy nature.”
Broken jars and bones were strewn about the floor of the cave and Pippin stumbled away hastily.
“Surely this is a troll-hole, if ever there was one!” said Pippin. “Come out, you two, and let us get away! Now we know who made the path – and we had better get off it quick.” What were they thinking? They should know better than to linger inside of a troll’s lair.
His cousin and Strider emerged from the hole, and Strider gently put aside Pippin’s fears about the occupants returning. Uneasy, Pippin turned to Merry, who winked at him, giving every appearance of having just returned from some high-spirited escapade. The tweenager turned red about the ears and his eyes lowered, ashamed that he had shown his fear in front of the Ranger.
Merry grinned and joined Pippin, nudging him with his shoulder. “Come on, Pip,” said Merry. “Strider says that it’s all right. Come walk with me.” He dropped his voice. “Give Strider a chance to talk with Frodo and see how he’s feeling. We’ll go on ahead and make certain that the path is smooth enough for Bill to travel without jostling Frodo too much.”
The cousins crept ahead down the dark path. Pippin felt a little better to see that Merry seemed to leave some of his bravery back with Strider.
“Merry,” whispered Pippin. “Are you certain that there isn’t any troll about anymore? What about Frodo? Why isn’t he feeling better? And don’t you think we should be stopping for luncheon soon?”
“Good heavens, Pip,” whispered Merry, continuing his pace. “Don’t you ever run out of questions? No, I don’t think that there is any troll – not anymore, anyway. It seemed long deserted. No, I’m not surprised that Frodo isn’t better yet – that was a terrible assault and he’ll certainly need more time to recover. And yes, I’m almost ready for some luncheon. Now I have a question for you.” He dropped his voice even lower and drew his cousin closer.
“Yes?” whispered Pippin.
“Why are we whispering?” he asked.
Pippin frowned. “I don’t know,” he murmured. He paused for a moment and looked around. “It just seems like we should be careful out here. Perhaps the troll hasn’t gone.”
“Pip, Strider already said, he doesn’t think that there is any – ” He halted abruptly and backed away until Pippin ran into him, and they both fell backward. Then Merry scrambled to his feet, dragging Pippin after him as they plunged back the way they came.
“‘And can yer cook ‘em?’ said Tom.
‘Yer can try,’ said Bert, picking up a skewer...” Bilbo stopped as he observed a struggle going on at his feet.
“Pippin, stop digging into my chest,” complained Merry. “If you back up any more, you’re going to be behind me – sorry, Bilbo.” Merry untangled Pippin from his waistcoat and turned his cousin around. Pippin looked shamefaced.
“Would you like me to stop for a while, Peregrin?” asked Bilbo.
“No, don’t stop,” begged Pippin. “They didn’t really skewer you, did they?”
Bilbo made a pretense of checking his belly. “No. No holes there. And I’m very glad they didn’t, for I was wearing my favorite waistcoat,” he added. Frodo laughed. “But they were prepared to hold my toes in the fire until I revealed my companions to them. No, trolls are nasty, wicked creatures and you’d better hope that you never come across any, for they might very well like nothing better than a morsel of tasty little hobbits!” Merry nipped at Pippin’s ear and Pippin giggled.
Merry and Pippin stumbled up the path frantically. “There are trolls!” Pippin panted. “Down in a clearing in the woods not far below. We got a sight of them through the tree-trunks. They are very large!”
The hobbits timidly followed the Ranger as he investigated the looming trolls, carrying only a stick. But not until Strider broke his stick across the back of one of the unmoving trolls and Frodo began to laugh did Pippin’s heart start to slow its furious pounding. “Well!” Frodo said. “We are forgetting our family history! These must be the very three that were caught by Gandalf, quarrelling over the right way to cook thirteen dwarves and one hobbit.” Merry’s fear gave way to an abashed grin and Sam chuckled as he helped Frodo down from Bill’s back. Strider pulled down an old bird’s nest from behind the ear of the troll, handing it to Pippin and Pippin joined in the laughter in an attempt to hide his nervousness.
While Sam and Merry started to prepare a meal, Pippin kept a suspicious eye on the trolls. Strider, meanwhile, knelt on the ground to tend Frodo, who huddled in his cloak, but otherwise seemed to be feeling better.
“Pip, how about you scouting around and seeing if you can find anything to stretch out this meal?” asked Merry. “What we’ve got here doesn’t seem like it could fill up a proper tea tray.”
“It’s rather late in the year for berries,” said Pippin doubtfully, staring into the dark woods. But glancing at Strider, he picked up one of Sam’s pans and started searching in the woods alongside the path.
He was disappointed however, for the only berries he found were well past any possibility of eating. Searching the gloom anxiously, his eyes lit up as he noticed a patch of mushrooms growing near the stump of a tree. He knelt and examined them carefully before starting to pick them.
“A nice pickle we were all in now,” said Bilbo. “Me, hiding in a bush and all thirteen dwarves neatly tied up in sacks, listening to three angry trolls decide whether they should roast them slowly or mince them fine and boil them or just sit on them one by one and squash them into jelly!"
“That’s not how you make jelly,” offered Pippin. “I watched once when one of our cooks – ”
Merry clapped his hand over Pippin’s mouth. “That’s how trolls make jelly, Pip,” he said. “Aren’t you glad we don’t make it that way?” Pippin made a face and wriggled.
“They had just decided to roast us – I remember,” said Bilbo, “when – ”
“Would they have skewered you first?” interrupted Pippin.
Bilbo frowned. “I suppose they would have,” he said impatiently. “Now, they had just decided to roast us when – ”
“That would have been a pretty big fire,” continued Pippin.
“Shhh, Pip,” said Merry. “Suppose you let Bilbo finish his story,” He looked down and noticed Pippin’s white-knuckled grip on his waistcoat. He lowered his voice and whispered in his cousin’s ear, “Is this story getting a little too scary for you?” he asked, thinking that Pippin might be using the questions to delay the story. Pippin raised his eyes toward Bilbo in a panic, worried that the other hobbits would laugh at him, but the old hobbit was occupied answering a question for Frodo and Sam. Pippin nodded. “We can stop if you want,” whispered Merry, “but remember – it’s only a story. It can’t hurt you and I’ll be right here.”
Pippin considered for a moment and then whispered in Merry’s ear. “We can keep listening if you’re here.”
“Pip?” Pippin jumped, spilling the pan of mushrooms. “Pippin?” called Merry. “Where are you?”
“I’m here,” said Pippin. He quickly gathered the tumbled mushrooms with trembling fingers as Merry entered the clearing.
“What’s taking so long?” asked Merry. “Oh! Well done, Pip! These will fill out the menu nicely,” he said. “Come along. Frodo seems to be feeling a bit better and Sam’s got everything set out – except for these,” he added. “Is anything wrong?” he asked as they returned to the clearing.
“No, nothing,” said Pippin.
“See what our heroic hobbit has foraged for us!” said Merry, motioning to the pan of mushrooms. Pippin beamed at the applause of the hobbits and bowed dramatically before Frodo, who laughed softly and accepted the pan, wincing as his shoulder gave a particularly trying twinge.
The sun finally struggled through the trees, heartening the hobbits nearly as much as the addition to their mid-day meal, and it was almost a cheerful party that started back on their way through the woods. But as they trudged along for several miles, the forest’s gloom seemed to resettle on them. Pippin jumped every time Bill cracked a twig under his hoof, a reaction not missed by Merry. He slowed his pace and took the reins from Sam, motioning for Sam to join Strider. Sam had been hoping for a chance to have a private word with the Ranger about his master’s condition, so with a worried glance at Frodo, he trotted ahead. Frodo didn’t even notice the change, but seemed to travel in a daze, his eyes fixed ahead but not focused on anything.
“Anything on your mind, Pip?” asked Merry. Pippin shook his head and tramped forward. “Are you certain?”
“I suppose it’s just this gloomy place, Merry.” Pippin smiled ruefully at his cousin, but it was a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t you feel it, too? It’s like one of Bilbo’s tales, but without the warm hearth and capital fun that was always part of listening to his stories.”
Merry nodded. “I miss those stories, too, Pip. But they’re good memories.”
“Good memories,” sighed Pippin. He thought back to the giant stone trolls they had left behind and remembered Bilbo’s voice, deftly alternating back and forth between a deep growl and a nasal whine.
“‘If you wants to sit on the last one, sit on him. Which is he?’
‘The one with the yellow stockings,’ said Bert.
‘Nonsense, the one with the grey stockings,’ said a voice like William’s.
‘I made sure it was yellow,’ said Bert.
‘Yellow it was,’ said William – ”
“Do dwarves wear stockings like big people?” asked Pippin.
“Don’t interrupt, Pip,” said Merry. His arms were tightly around his cousin and his eyes were shining in excitement at the story.
Bilbo raised an eyebrow at the young Took and leaned forward. “And the trolls began to argue, back and forth about who said what – ”
“But Bilbo, who did say wha – ” Merry clapped his hand over Pippin’s mouth again and shrugged apologetically at Bilbo.
Bilbo harrumphed and continued. “‘Now stop it!’ said Tom and Bert together. ‘The night’s gettin’ on, and dawn comes early. Let’s get on with it!’
‘Dawn take you all, and be stone to you!’” rumbled Bilbo, leaping to his feet, and Pippin jumped back in delight. “And with that, my lads, Gandalf stepped out! You see, Gandalf kept the trolls bickering and quarrelling until the light came and made an end of them – such is the cleverness of wizards.” Bilbo settled back into his chair and lit his pipe in satisfaction while the lads applauded wildly.
“Here’s something to take notice of,” said Strider, pausing beside a large stone in the grass. “Do you see the roughly carved marks on it? It has become weathered through the years, but I fancy you can still make out Dwarvish runes when you see them.” Sam, Merry and Pippin crowded around the stone and examined its mossy surface.
“There!” said Merry. “That must be the stone that marked the place where the trolls’ gold was hidden. How much is left of Bilbo’s share, I wonder, Frodo?”
Frodo looked at the stone, and wished that Bilbo had brought home no treasure more perilous, nor less easy to part with. “None at all,” he said. “Bilbo gave it all away. He told me he did not feel it was really his, as it came from robbers.”
“Mr. Bilbo is an honorable hobbit,” said Sam to Strider. “And as brave a hobbit as ever took a breath of air.”
“Indeed,” replied Strider, with a smile. Behind Strider’s back, Pippin nodded firmly.
They rested for a few moments, looking around the bank as the long shadows of the evening began to stretch across the land. Merry’s words echoed in Pippin’s mind: “I miss those stories, too, Pip. But they’re good memories.” Good memories. Like good stories – but neither one is real, thought Pippin despondently. All of Bilbo’s good stories put together can’t help us at all – they’re just stories.
“All right then, Pip,” said Merry, interrupting his thoughts. “You can’t fool your cousin now. What’s troubling you?”
Pippin stared down at the ground, feeling thoroughly ashamed. “Oh, Merry. I...” He hesitated, and then burst forth in an agonized whisper. “I’m afraid. That’s all there is to it,” he admitted. “I’m not brave like Bilbo, or like you. I thought I would be, but I’m not. It’s not just a story now, and it can hurt us.” He blinked and his green eyes were bright. “It’s already hurt Frodo. We’re just hobbits, Merry. What can we do against the dangers of all this –? ” He waved his hand toward the dark shadows of the woods.
“We can do what we can, Pip,” said Merry. He put his arm around his cousin. “None of us are feeling terribly brave right now,” he whispered. “But as Bilbo once said, there’s nothing for it. We’ll just have to do the best we can.”
“But Merry, there are terrible things out here,” said Pippin in an undertone. “What if we meet a real troll?”
“Well, if there’s one thing I’m not afraid of, it’s meeting a troll – at least, not as long as I’m with you.”
“What could I possibly do against a troll?” asked Pippin. He looked up at his cousin, astonished to see that Merry was smiling as if a troll were no more than a trifle.
“It wouldn’t have a chance. You would talk it to death,” chuckled Merry, “just like Gandalf did.” Merry subsided and turned from Pippin, surveying the small party standing on the ridge.
Pippin frowned and considered his cousin for a moment. Merry’s jaw was set and his eyes were on Frodo, but his gaze went beyond his cousin. He didn’t look frightened, but there was a new wariness in his expression and determination in his bearing. With a rush of understanding, Pippin saw that his cousin was just as worried as he was, but whatever dangers lay ahead, Merry was willing to face them for the love of their older cousin. Pippin took a deep breath, feeling his heart swell in admiration. “We can do what we can,” he repeated softly. The words weren’t profound, nor did they promise any easier path. But there was good hobbit sense in them, and Pippin found himself smiling as they shouldered their packs and started on their way again.
