Title: The Good in Everything

Author: Rachel Stonebreaker

Email: reach me through fanfiction net

Rating: G

Characters: Sam, Pippin, a troll named Sawg and a bird or two and some mice and a cameo by Rosie.

Publish Date: March 2005

Summary: Sam cautions Pippin to remember that there can be good in nearly everything.

Disclaimer: JRRT created these wonderful creatures. His estate owns all rights. I just take them out to the pub for a drink now and again. I do NOT make any money, fame or other gain from them. Don't sue. It's bad for your karma.

Authors Notes: This is in answer to Marigold's Challenge 14 as seen on The World Wide Web livejournal's talechallenge14 (sorry you have to build your own URL as ff has rules about inserting URLs)

Part of my story must take place in Mordor after the Quest. After the Quest in Mordor? Was there anything left after the Quest? Was there anyone there? I commented to Marigold that maybe a few orcs or a troll or something might be there … But as I haven't written anything in years, AND as I asked for this challenge, I accepted. Naturally, there is a Pub in it. Sort of.

The flowers referred to in this story are Rhodochiton Atrosanguineum and Iochroma. They are similar in colour and both have bell shaped flowers though Rhodochiton Atrosanguineum grows significantly further south than the Iochroma. I've never seen "common" names for either so I made them up for this story. Purple Bells and Purple Trumpets respectively.

Beta: The kind Dreamflower email for her address pointed out many helpful things most importantly (as I do love my Pub Series) that I'd gotten it wrong to have a pub open so soon after the Scouring as they'd all been closed down and probably trashed and that I hadn't a clue about writing Sam. She insists, how did she put it, that I had a clue about Sam because I "had the bones of his personality" I just needed a few pointers. Nah. She added some depth to my Sam. She's a good beta pointing out areas that are in need of more development (yeah, and just why was Pippin in Hobbiton just hanging out anyways considering the mess that was waiting at home). She also found some truly weird British spellings, such as titbit instead of tidbit (weird to Americans that is).

Chapter 1: The Good in Everything

Sam finally had a bit of time to himself. It had been weeks and weeks it seemed since he'd been able to just sit down and breathe. The late afternoon sun waned as he took the opportunity to look about at the progress on rebuilding Bag Shot Row. Quite a bit of work still to go but a decent amount done in the past week. He was pleased more than he thought possible, considering. A good number of folks had been contributing as they could when their own duties and needs didn't claim all of their attentions. It appeared that Samwise Gamgee was becoming a Shire-wide name and more than one Hobbiton hobbit felt proud to be associated with him. This was a blessing and a curse. The good of it was folks wanted to help where they could in the planting and building and the hauling and cleaning. The downside was folks didn't just help, they chattered and gossiped and talked and wasted time. "Can't be helped" mused Sam. "Tis the nature of hobbits." Still it was a nice breath of fresh air to find himself alone for a moment and able to look at all the good that had been done lately.

"Sam? Are you still about?"

Oh, no. Just when he thought he'd have a moment of peace, Pippin was no doubt in need of something. With a sigh, Sam reflected shortly on the brief quiet he'd managed to steal before reminding him that at least Pippin was one of the hard workers.

"Aye. I'm just watchin' the sun settle. She's a right pretty sight." Sam responded as an answer to the tween's obvious need for company. After a moment of staring off into the west, he noticed Pippin hadn't continued in his usual fashion of chattering like a magpie. Sam didn't turn completely but instead just looked over his shoulder. Saying nothing he gave the younger lad one of his best, "tell me about it" looks he'd developed out of the old habit of not being able to acknowledge woes in someone considered his better. Not that Pip ever really lorded himself above Sam, it was just such an old habit; Sam didn't even realize he'd done it. And Pippin tended to have amazingly easy to console woes.

Pippin looked about ready to bite the bait but again, uncharacteristically, he stayed quiet. He had turned to stare into the westering sun, imitating Sam's stance. They stood together, in the quiet Sam had hoped for earlier and now worried about. The sun dipped so low its halo grew muzzy and soft. With a deep sigh, Pippin finally broke the silence and started to talk. Sam drew a silent breath and prepared himself for the onslaught. Whatever the worry, trust Pippin to make it larger than it needed to be. Tweens! He wondered how the Gaffer ever raised six of them.

"Why is it most hobbits love to hear stories but when I tell them about some of the things that happened to us, their eyes go glassy and they look to not understand?" Pippin asked as a matter of fact. He stared into the now orange and pink sky.

"Are you worried you can't tell a story anymore? Is that's what's got your tongue tied?" Sam guffawed good naturedly as he slapped Pippin on the back. "Tain't nothin' a good pint o' beer and some cheese an' bread won't fix. Come on, let's go find us some and you can tell me any tale you want to. I'll listen. And I'll warrant I'll like it, too." He tried to guide the youngster towards the path that lead on down into town. Pippin would have nothing of it and he pulled away from Sam's gentle grasp.

"It's not that, Sam!" Pippin answered almost bitterly. "It's … it's …" his voice trailed off and he turned away from the sunset. The shadows hide his face.

Taken aback, the older hobbit's eyes widened and he decided he'd better not open his mouth again for a moment just to let the lad finish.

Looking down at the ground, Pippin continued, "It's just that when I tell about parts I think should really matter, like how Frodo saved us all, or how Strider finally decided to meet his fate and become king or how the elves are so very important because they help keep the beauty in the world, or… well, just about anything about the Good in things, my audience just loses interest." He sighed again. "I used to tell such good stories." He sighed even more heavily if that were possible.

Sam considered this admission for a moment before deciding it was time to do one of the things he did best, dispense common hobbit sense. This was about more than just telling stories but encouraging Pippin in a simple matter seemed a good place to start. "You did tell good stories. And you still can. Just remember how Old Mr. Bilbo used to tell how t' do it." And in a voice fairly imitating Bilbo Baggins, Sam recited one formula for A Good Tale, "Take a hero, add a horrible monster or a rousing event (or both), mix them together with a lot of gestures, vary your pitch, and wind it up with a bang!" Sam clapped his hands at the end for emphasis. "Folks want to hear exciting things. Good we've got. We live Good. They'll be wantin' action, … mostly. Now, I've heard your old tales about action afore and they're good. Why not tell some o' your new stories like those old excitin' tales? Just put some upstandin' hobbit such as yourself or Mr. Merry or some fascinatin' outsider like Strider or Mr. Gimli in as the hero and tell the truth about the horrors you overcame and you'll have folks' attention again. You'll see." He patted Pippin solicitously just a bit worried that Pippin was thinking such deep thoughts. It wasn't like the lad to get so involved in a worry. His worries were usually very easy to clear up. Perhaps it was just a phase of growing up, he hoped. Having a very thoughtful Pippin around was mighty strange.

"I can't talk about those hard times just yet." Pippin said looking Sam in the face. "I really want to talk about Good right now. Not Evil. Not Bad. All the exciting stories that might catch folks attention that I can think about right now, well, they don't really have Good Endings. Except maybe Frodo and you being saved by the Eagles. And maybe about Treebeard and all. But Merry tells those two rather nicely and I'm not going to step on his stories." Pippin sighed again and rubbed his shoulder.

This was definitely more than a worry about entertaining folks. "What could it be?" Sam thought. He watched as Pippin absentmindedly pressed at the shoulder which had taken such a beating in Pippin's last battle. "There are all those battle stories. Tell about some of those." Sam offered.

"What? About Merry nearly dying and still carrying on with his arm all stiff which, by the way, he won't let on still bothers him but it does?" Pippin pouted. He didn't dare mention anything about Frodo. That was far too near the bone. He sighed yet again to stress his misery.

Sam caught the involuntary flicker of Pippin's eyes towards the half finished Smial. No, he'd not make any suggestions about stories of Frodo. Frodo wasn't doing too well at the moment and they were all worried. That's why he was down at the Cotton's instead of helping out here. But that was a whole different story. Sam's concern at the moment was cheering up this sad excuse for a usually exuberant Took. This was going to be harder than Sam thought. If stories about Merry's valour reminded Pippin of bad thoughts and obviously they were going to leave out stories about Frodo then they'd need to focus on something closer to home. "What about how you stood so bravely in the front lines as a Guard of the Citadel?"

"Oi, the one about me getting squashed by a troll?" he rubbed his shoulder again. It was the one that had been dislocated when the troll fell on him. It still ached something fierce whenever he used it but he wasn't going to let on. The thought flashed though his mind that he was acting just like Merry and that irritated him even more. He noticed Sam watching him and smiled wanly. He wasn't going to be like Merry and ignore his pain.

"Still bother's you, don't it? I've got some of that ointment that'll heat it up to help loosen it." Sam offered.

"Thank you. It is getting better. I just need to take it easy and let it rest when it gets like this. I wish I hadn't been on the lee side of that troll though." His smile grew wistful as it often did when he thought about his luck at getting squashed by the troll he quite amazingly killed with a single blow. He usually managed to be quicker when escaping falling objects.

Sam noted the smile, he was on the right track. "That story certainly would do the trick. It's a good story. You've got a hero, a monster, some action. A big bang endin'." Sam clapped again, just for accent. "And you're livin' happily ever after." Sam pursed his lips and then added, "Sort of."

But Pippin wasn't quite ready to give in. Yet. Right now he did not wish to be reminded of the fact that though he'd saved a fellow soldier's life with his actions he still wound up nearly dead. While that really was almost hero action, and he admittedly didn't want to be like Merry and ignore that he had been seriously hurt, he was more in a mood to feel sorry for himself than to play along with Sam's attempts to cheer him. "Where's the Good in that story? I got squished by a troll before the hour was out. I worried everyone when they couldn't find me. Gimli had to spend all day finding and rescuing me. I couldn't even drag my sorry arse out from underneath that monster. Remember, Sam, I'm in the mood to tell about Good." Pippin flattened his lips into a hard, tight line, back to his earlier peevish attitude. He sighed through his nose.

This was most definitely going to be harder than Sam thought. The lad didn't really want to be consoled. He wanted to argue. This time it was Sam who sighed. "There's Good in everything, Master Peregrin" he added the juvenile honorific because he was feeling the need to remind Pip that he was acting mighty young right about now.

"Un-uh. There surely is not." Pippin crossed his arms over his chest in his classic battle of wits stance he usually reserved for one of his cousins. But none of them were about so he'd have to settle for Sam, though he'd not admit to himself winning an argument was his whole goal when he started the conversation. He wanted a Strong Discussion as Merry called his attempts at arguing his point and he was feeling bad-tempered.

Sam couldn't help it, he rolled his eyes to the sky above and mouthed silently, "why me?" Taking the youngling by the arm and steering him towards the road that led down to town, he began his attack, "Aye, you know very well that there is Good in nearly everything. You just have to look for it. You're not lookin'. That's all. Name me something and I'll tell you the Good you can weave into your story. If you just make sure you've got the action, people will listen and you'll get your lesson across."

They talked all the way to Old Holman's Barn. Sam, like many a hobbit, hoped The Green Dragon would reopen soon, but Sharkey's men had done more than just close it down. They'd used it as a meeting place and all but tore it all to pieces inside on account of them being Big Folk and not fitting into the built in benches along the back wall nor under the hobbit-sized tables or rightly under the lower beams. It'd been made a truly awful mess but like the rest of The Shire Rebuilding Effort it was coming along. In the meantime, hobbits, being creatures who liked their social attachments, comfort, food and drink, and not necessarily in that order, set up a way station in Old Holman's Barn. It actually belonged to Grigory Bramble of Willowbottom, him having inherited it from Prisca Sandybanks who was Old Holman's niece. But as Willowbottom is in the East Farthing and Hobbiton is in the West Farthing, Grigs hadn't really been using the property for much except leasing it out to grow oilseed and hay and so when approached by Bisco Darnswool to use the barn as a meetin' place where they could store a keg or two of new beer, he agreed. After all, it was for a good cause. And he got his ration of beer for free.

As they walked Sam came up with some titbit of decency or some obvious wonderment that was guaranteed to interest a hobbit for every single stirring tale Pippin could think up. The truth of it was Pippin knew there was Good to be talked about in any one of his stories. It was just that he was tired and bored and a smidgen perturbed, having worked hard for days on end doing mundane work with not one crumb of excitement. He'd been sent by his father to oversee the distribution of the extra food from The White Downs to the East Farthing and Hobbiton and Bywater. It was a boring but necessary job and he unknowingly resented being stuck in the middle of what was actually a fairly boring place without friends to help devise amusements. Merry was furlongs away in Buckland doing his work, Frodo was still down at the Cottons most of the time and Sam was terribly busy all of the time. Too busy to humour a young Took. In fact nearly everyone he knew well was far too busy doing "very important work". And most of the local hobbits were still too awed by his size and "wild" way of talking that they were afraid of him when he got close. His Tuckborough accent mixed with his natural exuberance peppered with the new phrases and ideas he'd picked up on his travels really frightened some of the Hobbiton folks. His own people had adjusted quite quickly to his new ways, they being Tooks and just a touch wild themselves. But he was helping Sam these past few days, in Hobbiton, where propriety and sobriety and boredom ruled. Pippin couldn't help himself, he liked being the centre of attention and he wasn't right at the moment. At least not in the way he liked. It wasn't the pat on the back, "How have you been, tell us a story" sort of attention. More like, "Oh, glory be, there goes that harebrained young Took! The one who rode off after his cousins before he was of age, what was he thinking, now look at him, and oh! How BIG he is!" sort of attention.

And then there was the matter that he was frightfully hungry as well. He'd been hungrier before, most of the first part of their journey, actually. But he hadn't expected to be hungry once he got back to the Shire. He'd been dreaming of all the lovely things he'd eat and the tasties his mum would make, and the fruits of a good harvest he'd get to enjoy. He hadn't expected rationing. It wasn't so bad at home at least but in Hobbiton, it was still the rule. He'd been hungry every day he'd been in the West Farthing, not wanting to eat more than the others, considering how low stores had been there and how they all worried about making do until the remaining supplies squirreled away by Sharkey's men could be located and redistributed. Tuckborough had held out against the thieving of Sharkey's men but they couldn't very well give away all their stores with the onslaught of winter though they'd given away all they could spare just to make sure no one truly starved. Pippin wasn't starving, literally, but he was so very hungry. And he was tired. Woefully tired. He was working right alongside Sam but for some reason he just couldn't keep up. Sam's Gaffer had suggested that maybe Pippin had just grown too fast in too short a time and he was catching up. He didn't care about the reason. He "had a burr under his saddle and was ready to kick" as his sister, Pimmie used to say about a particularly mean pony they had. So, he found himself arguing with the one person who took the time to try to humour him. He felt just a little bad about it but he stuck with his prickly attitude clear through most of their rationed half pints and meagre plate of fresh bread, pickles and cheese.

Feeling much better with some food and drink and the friendly atmosphere, Pippin finally conceded he'd lost his battle. And he didn't feel too awful about it. It was the power of food, rest and a good spot of ale. "Weeeell, I suppose, just this once, Samwise, you must be right" he said, out of the blue after he'd polished off most of the cheese.

Sam stopped chewing a crunchy pickled carrot and nearly choked. Still coughing a bit and taking a sip of his ale, he couldn't believe what he'd heard. "Just like that, your givin' up? After all the arguments and complaints and whingin'? We get a little food in your belly and that's that?" Sam should have stopped while he was ahead but he was a tad stunned.

"Alright. If I must. Tell me, then, of the Good in The Troll that Squashed Peregrin Took." Pippin sat back munching on the last spiced pickled beet.

"You survived."

"Not Good enough. Too obvious."

"The troll died."

"Also too obvious. Besides, The Good needs to be IN the troll or some stirring event that happened because the troll died. So far, I haven't done anything that's all that wonderfully Good to account for the troll dying. You said, 'There's Good in almost Everything.' Where's the Good in a troll, alive or dead? Blasted monsters. Always mucking about slashing and squashing and …" the more he thought on the ill luck of a dying troll landing on top of him, the madder he became.

"I get the idea." Sam sat back and pondered. If a dead troll wasn't allowed to be Good in and of itself then the Good must be in how it serves a purpose; either dead or alive. Well, he was the first to admit that there wasn't much Good to be found in a live troll. So, it'd have to be in the dead troll. He was going to have to think on this.

Satisfied that he didn't have to concede after all, Pippin gladly finished off the food and finally stopped pestering Sam with his peevishness. Feeling down right cheerful, he added his voice to the already rousing chorus of "Blind Tom's Billy", a sillier song he'd not heard in a month of Trewsdays.

End Chapter 1