The moon rose high above the hills of the Eastfarthing. It was a
quiet night; one filled with the silence and peace only a Shire evening
could bring. The stars shone out in their radiance, adding their light to
the soft glow of the moon. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying
the soft echoes of the voices of the past on its wings. The leaves of the
trees rustled, adding their own unique dialogue to nature's conversation.
In the soft light of the evening, there was but a single candle lit in the great caverns of Brandy Hall; and that candle was making its way down the great corridor to the main entrance. Its bearer was a young hobbit; lean in build and rosy of face. The curly brown hair that crowned his head was at the moment covered by the hood of the red cloak that he wore. As he walked down the hall, he felt as if his heart were sounding off the walls and could be heard in the farthest reaches of the great home of the Brandybucks. But that feeling of excitement, the rush of adrenaline as the door closed behind him and the fresh night air rushed to meet his face; that was exactly the reason he went on such adventures.
"But you're not out yet, lad" he reminded himself, and continued on towards the door.
The hallway seemed to stretch on forever as the tiny hobbit ran with as much speed as his young legs allowed towards the door; even though his feet were bare, they made no sound as they struck the floor. The light of the candle flickered and bounced off the walls, making shadows and shapes appear that would never have even come to the imagination in the full light of day. Just when he was beginning to feel that he could have gone no further, he came to the door.
"Just a little shove and . . ." as he pushed the door, there emitted from the hinges a very high-pitched and very audible squeak. The hobbit's tiny hand remained where it lay on the soft oak of the door, applying no further pressure. "This was supposed to be oiled!" he thought to himself. The little rebel remained where he stood, waiting for a sign that the door's outburst had woken any of the sleepers in the great hall. When after a few moments he heard nothing, he decided to continue.
As the door was already partially open, the hobbit squeezed through the gap, maneuvering his body in ways he hadn't thought possible. Just a few more inches and he would be free! As, at last, his foot slipped past the door, he felt as if he had been released from time in prison. He stood, his eyes closed, breathing slowly and taking in the night air. As the wind rushed about him, it blew his hood off of his head, and caught his brown curls in its wake. A smile spread slowly across the hobbit's face, and with one last look back inside, to make sure no one was following, he extinguished his candle, set it at the doorstep, and set off.
The young hobbit raced down the path that led away from Brandy Hall. It was getting on near midnight, and it had taken him quite a bit longer to escape than he had imagined.
"Pip's certainly going to be in a state if I don't get there soon," he thought to himself. "Well, he'll just have to wait. I'll get there when I get there. But I'd better not linger, all the same."
The path wound along in its usual manner, twisting and turning with the rise and fall of the earth. The hobbit ran along at a breakneck speed (at least as far as hobbits are concerned) westward towards the river. As he ran, he passed through land that was as familiar to him as his own skin. The tiny hobbit homes and holes of Buckland, the trees and even the curves and stones of the path had been a part of him since he was born. It was thus that he made his way to the banks of the River Brandywine and the Buckleberry Ferry with little thought as to where his feet were leading him; they knew their way.
After dodging a few overhung limbs, and nearly waking up one of the neighbor's dogs, the Ferry finally appeared in view. The hobbit stepped on to the small raft, loosed the rope that held it to the Eastern shore, and shoved off. While still mid-stream, he heard the sound of a quiet call: two short, high-pitched tones followed by one longer, lower note. The hobbit gave a similar call in response: one long high-pitched call, dropping to a short, lower note, and then rising again. If anyone but the two hobbits had heard the exchange, they would have thought it no more than birds in the night; little did they suspect that nearly an entire conversation had taken place.
As the raft reached the Western shore, a small figure could be seen standing, hand on hips, rather indignant. The hobbit was smaller in build, and younger than his companion; his eyes blazed with the fire of youth and adventure (and of being delayed in beginning the quest). His hair, too, was brown and curly, but of a darker hue than his friend's, and deeper. His brown cloak hung behind him, just a little too large for his small form, while the vest and breeches he wore fit him almost perfectly. As the raft floated into his view, and its captain disembarked and tied the rope to the western pier, the hobbit on the shore spoke.
"It surely took you long enough to get here tonight, Merry. I was just about to leave you hear to wander by yourself when I heard your response call." He quipped.
"Pippin!" Merry replied. "You knew I was coming. I just had a little trouble getting out tonight, that's all. Old Rory was visiting, and wouldn't leave for all the Shire. You can't exactly sneak out while everyone is still awake, now can you?"
"Well, no. But you haven't known trouble until you've had Pearl on your heels." Pippin responded in kind. " 'You're up to something, I know it!' she says." he chirped, in his best imitation of his sister. "Well, I'm glad she's not really as wise as she thinks she is. I don't think I could have taken one more minute of it!"
With that, both of the hobbits erupted in a fit of laughter. Peregrin Took and Meriadoc Brandybuck were once again on one of their escapades, and nothing would bring their high spirits down. Both were young, even by hobbit standards; Merry being only 25, and Pippin a mere 17 years old. But their youth only added to their sense of adventure. As the two hobbits stood on the shore, laughing, Merry noticed a small basket at Pippin's feet.
"What'd you bring there, Pippin?" he asked, motioning to the basket. If his senses served him correctly, he already knew. There was quite a familiar scent rising to meet him.
Pippin reached down and picked up the basket. "Oh, these?" he said. "They're just the mushrooms that we, shall we say, acquired, last week."
" I thought so. And seeing as how they are half mine, I think I'll take a couple." Merry said, stifling a laugh. He reached across, acting as if he was only going to take his share, but instead, he snatched the entire basket out of Pippin's hands. Pippin let out a cry of dismay, and immediately pounced on his friend, intending to get his well-deserved supply of food back. Within minutes, both were on the ground, their clothes covered in the gritty soil of the banks of the Brandywine.
"Give it here!" Pippin yelled through his laughing.
"And what for!" Merry countered.
The banter continued back and forth, the hobbits paying no heed at all to the inhabitants of the small town nearby. Their argument was cut short when they heard the sound of a door slamming, and dogs barking. A male voice could be heard from nearby, inquiring, "who's there!" The hobbits looked at each other, wide-eyed and smiling.
"Run!" Merry shouted.
The hobbits dashed off as fast as they could away from the river; tripping, stumbling and laughing as they went. The stones of the path were strewn every which way as the hobbits scurried along. The sounds of the dogs pursued them for a few moments, but soon they were once again on their own in the countryside of the Shire. When they had finally settled down, caught their breath, and regained control of their laughter, Merry noticed Pippin's face fall slightly.
"What's the matter there, Pip?" he asked.
Pippin's face contorted, showing both the pain of loss, and a feeling of complete incompetence. "I've left the mushrooms!" he squeaked.
Merry couldn't help but laugh at his friend's seemingly never-ending focus on food. "Not to worry, Pip." He said. "I'm sure we'll be able to round up some more." Pippin's face seemed to brighten a little at the prospect. "Come on, then. Let's walk."
As Merry started along the path that led to Tookland, Pippin picked himself up and scampered after him. The two friends roamed the terrain of their homeland, enjoying the freedom that came when there weren't parents hovering about, watching their every move. They spoke of many things; the Shire, the rumors out of the Northfarthing, and the great tales of the Old Took. After a while, Merry paused in his walking, and looked up at the stars.
"What do you ever think we'll do with ourselves, Pip?" He asked, quizzically,
taking a spot on the soft grass of the clearing they had reached.
"Well, not much I suppose." Pippin responded. "That is, if you consider being Thain nothing," he continued, and puffed out his chest in his most pompous manner.
"Pippin!" Merry scoffed, throwing a small bit of earth at his friend and cousin.
Pippin dodged the intended blow with amazing agility, and sat down next to the other hobbit. "Oh, come now, Merry-lad. We both know that being Thain isn't exactly in my future. Besides, I'm not quite sure that I'd really want the job anyway. Too much responsibility, if you ask me." Pippin began to pick at the grass as he spoke. "Although . . ." his voice trailed off.
"What?" Merry prodded.
"Oh, nothing. Nothing." Pippin responded.
Merry knew that there was something on Pippin's mind, but he also knew enough not to prod. Instead he pulled out his pipe, and relaxed back on the grass, looking up at the stars. The two hobbits sat in silence for a few moments, but after a short time without talking, Pippin could take it no longer.
"It's a pity Frodo couldn't be here, isn't it?" he said, remembering their cousin.
Merry let out a puff of smoke and spoke. "Aye, that it is Pippin. That it is. It's been far too long since Frodo's been in Buckland. I reckon he's forgotten what the Old Forest is like at night," he said, chuckling. After a few moments thought, he added "What say we pay him a visit?"
Pippin's eyes sparkled with the prospects of traveling to Hobbiton. He'd always loved visiting Bag-End; Frodo and Bilbo were quite the hospitable hosts, and they always made their guests feel quite welcome.
"Wonderful!" Pippin exclaimed. "But how would we ever get away?"
"Oh, it shouldn't be too difficult," Merry mused. "As long as we let the old Brandybucks and Tooks know where we're going, I'm sure they wouldn't mind letting us visit Frodo. I'd wager it's likely they'll be pushing us out the door."
"You're probably right," Pippin said.
"Tomorrow, then. After we've told where we're headed to, we'll meet back by the Ferry. Right after supper would be best, probably." Merry decided.
Pippin let out a sigh. "Right. I'll be there if you will," he said. "It should be great fun!"
With that, the hobbits made their way back to the Ferry, chattering like birds as they went. Thoughts of seeing Frodo and visiting the heart of the Shire kept their spirits bright, even in the dark of the early hours of the morning. They soon reached the ferry, and found the scene much as they had left it. As Merry once again prepared to cross the Brandywine, he called to his cousin.
"Hey, look here Pip. Your mushrooms are quite in tact." He said, bending down and picking up the basket Pippin had dropped.
"Well, you don't say," Pippin remarked, taking the basket from Merry. "I still say they're mine."
"Say what you will, cousin." Merry scoffed, pushing the raft away from the bank. "Just don't forget them at home tomorrow. We'll need some sort of meal to take us from here to Hobbiton."
Pippin stood on the shore, laughing. As he watched, the figure of Merry on the raft floated further and further away. With each passing moment, the evening fog made the image less clear, and within minutes, he could see nothing but shrouded grey mist. On the raft, Merry saw a similar sight; Pippin's small form faded to nothing as he reached the Eastern shore. When the raft slid onto the bank, Merry secured the rope, and began the road home. Tomorrow would indeed be an interesting day.
In the soft light of the evening, there was but a single candle lit in the great caverns of Brandy Hall; and that candle was making its way down the great corridor to the main entrance. Its bearer was a young hobbit; lean in build and rosy of face. The curly brown hair that crowned his head was at the moment covered by the hood of the red cloak that he wore. As he walked down the hall, he felt as if his heart were sounding off the walls and could be heard in the farthest reaches of the great home of the Brandybucks. But that feeling of excitement, the rush of adrenaline as the door closed behind him and the fresh night air rushed to meet his face; that was exactly the reason he went on such adventures.
"But you're not out yet, lad" he reminded himself, and continued on towards the door.
The hallway seemed to stretch on forever as the tiny hobbit ran with as much speed as his young legs allowed towards the door; even though his feet were bare, they made no sound as they struck the floor. The light of the candle flickered and bounced off the walls, making shadows and shapes appear that would never have even come to the imagination in the full light of day. Just when he was beginning to feel that he could have gone no further, he came to the door.
"Just a little shove and . . ." as he pushed the door, there emitted from the hinges a very high-pitched and very audible squeak. The hobbit's tiny hand remained where it lay on the soft oak of the door, applying no further pressure. "This was supposed to be oiled!" he thought to himself. The little rebel remained where he stood, waiting for a sign that the door's outburst had woken any of the sleepers in the great hall. When after a few moments he heard nothing, he decided to continue.
As the door was already partially open, the hobbit squeezed through the gap, maneuvering his body in ways he hadn't thought possible. Just a few more inches and he would be free! As, at last, his foot slipped past the door, he felt as if he had been released from time in prison. He stood, his eyes closed, breathing slowly and taking in the night air. As the wind rushed about him, it blew his hood off of his head, and caught his brown curls in its wake. A smile spread slowly across the hobbit's face, and with one last look back inside, to make sure no one was following, he extinguished his candle, set it at the doorstep, and set off.
The young hobbit raced down the path that led away from Brandy Hall. It was getting on near midnight, and it had taken him quite a bit longer to escape than he had imagined.
"Pip's certainly going to be in a state if I don't get there soon," he thought to himself. "Well, he'll just have to wait. I'll get there when I get there. But I'd better not linger, all the same."
The path wound along in its usual manner, twisting and turning with the rise and fall of the earth. The hobbit ran along at a breakneck speed (at least as far as hobbits are concerned) westward towards the river. As he ran, he passed through land that was as familiar to him as his own skin. The tiny hobbit homes and holes of Buckland, the trees and even the curves and stones of the path had been a part of him since he was born. It was thus that he made his way to the banks of the River Brandywine and the Buckleberry Ferry with little thought as to where his feet were leading him; they knew their way.
After dodging a few overhung limbs, and nearly waking up one of the neighbor's dogs, the Ferry finally appeared in view. The hobbit stepped on to the small raft, loosed the rope that held it to the Eastern shore, and shoved off. While still mid-stream, he heard the sound of a quiet call: two short, high-pitched tones followed by one longer, lower note. The hobbit gave a similar call in response: one long high-pitched call, dropping to a short, lower note, and then rising again. If anyone but the two hobbits had heard the exchange, they would have thought it no more than birds in the night; little did they suspect that nearly an entire conversation had taken place.
As the raft reached the Western shore, a small figure could be seen standing, hand on hips, rather indignant. The hobbit was smaller in build, and younger than his companion; his eyes blazed with the fire of youth and adventure (and of being delayed in beginning the quest). His hair, too, was brown and curly, but of a darker hue than his friend's, and deeper. His brown cloak hung behind him, just a little too large for his small form, while the vest and breeches he wore fit him almost perfectly. As the raft floated into his view, and its captain disembarked and tied the rope to the western pier, the hobbit on the shore spoke.
"It surely took you long enough to get here tonight, Merry. I was just about to leave you hear to wander by yourself when I heard your response call." He quipped.
"Pippin!" Merry replied. "You knew I was coming. I just had a little trouble getting out tonight, that's all. Old Rory was visiting, and wouldn't leave for all the Shire. You can't exactly sneak out while everyone is still awake, now can you?"
"Well, no. But you haven't known trouble until you've had Pearl on your heels." Pippin responded in kind. " 'You're up to something, I know it!' she says." he chirped, in his best imitation of his sister. "Well, I'm glad she's not really as wise as she thinks she is. I don't think I could have taken one more minute of it!"
With that, both of the hobbits erupted in a fit of laughter. Peregrin Took and Meriadoc Brandybuck were once again on one of their escapades, and nothing would bring their high spirits down. Both were young, even by hobbit standards; Merry being only 25, and Pippin a mere 17 years old. But their youth only added to their sense of adventure. As the two hobbits stood on the shore, laughing, Merry noticed a small basket at Pippin's feet.
"What'd you bring there, Pippin?" he asked, motioning to the basket. If his senses served him correctly, he already knew. There was quite a familiar scent rising to meet him.
Pippin reached down and picked up the basket. "Oh, these?" he said. "They're just the mushrooms that we, shall we say, acquired, last week."
" I thought so. And seeing as how they are half mine, I think I'll take a couple." Merry said, stifling a laugh. He reached across, acting as if he was only going to take his share, but instead, he snatched the entire basket out of Pippin's hands. Pippin let out a cry of dismay, and immediately pounced on his friend, intending to get his well-deserved supply of food back. Within minutes, both were on the ground, their clothes covered in the gritty soil of the banks of the Brandywine.
"Give it here!" Pippin yelled through his laughing.
"And what for!" Merry countered.
The banter continued back and forth, the hobbits paying no heed at all to the inhabitants of the small town nearby. Their argument was cut short when they heard the sound of a door slamming, and dogs barking. A male voice could be heard from nearby, inquiring, "who's there!" The hobbits looked at each other, wide-eyed and smiling.
"Run!" Merry shouted.
The hobbits dashed off as fast as they could away from the river; tripping, stumbling and laughing as they went. The stones of the path were strewn every which way as the hobbits scurried along. The sounds of the dogs pursued them for a few moments, but soon they were once again on their own in the countryside of the Shire. When they had finally settled down, caught their breath, and regained control of their laughter, Merry noticed Pippin's face fall slightly.
"What's the matter there, Pip?" he asked.
Pippin's face contorted, showing both the pain of loss, and a feeling of complete incompetence. "I've left the mushrooms!" he squeaked.
Merry couldn't help but laugh at his friend's seemingly never-ending focus on food. "Not to worry, Pip." He said. "I'm sure we'll be able to round up some more." Pippin's face seemed to brighten a little at the prospect. "Come on, then. Let's walk."
As Merry started along the path that led to Tookland, Pippin picked himself up and scampered after him. The two friends roamed the terrain of their homeland, enjoying the freedom that came when there weren't parents hovering about, watching their every move. They spoke of many things; the Shire, the rumors out of the Northfarthing, and the great tales of the Old Took. After a while, Merry paused in his walking, and looked up at the stars.
"What do you ever think we'll do with ourselves, Pip?" He asked, quizzically,
taking a spot on the soft grass of the clearing they had reached.
"Well, not much I suppose." Pippin responded. "That is, if you consider being Thain nothing," he continued, and puffed out his chest in his most pompous manner.
"Pippin!" Merry scoffed, throwing a small bit of earth at his friend and cousin.
Pippin dodged the intended blow with amazing agility, and sat down next to the other hobbit. "Oh, come now, Merry-lad. We both know that being Thain isn't exactly in my future. Besides, I'm not quite sure that I'd really want the job anyway. Too much responsibility, if you ask me." Pippin began to pick at the grass as he spoke. "Although . . ." his voice trailed off.
"What?" Merry prodded.
"Oh, nothing. Nothing." Pippin responded.
Merry knew that there was something on Pippin's mind, but he also knew enough not to prod. Instead he pulled out his pipe, and relaxed back on the grass, looking up at the stars. The two hobbits sat in silence for a few moments, but after a short time without talking, Pippin could take it no longer.
"It's a pity Frodo couldn't be here, isn't it?" he said, remembering their cousin.
Merry let out a puff of smoke and spoke. "Aye, that it is Pippin. That it is. It's been far too long since Frodo's been in Buckland. I reckon he's forgotten what the Old Forest is like at night," he said, chuckling. After a few moments thought, he added "What say we pay him a visit?"
Pippin's eyes sparkled with the prospects of traveling to Hobbiton. He'd always loved visiting Bag-End; Frodo and Bilbo were quite the hospitable hosts, and they always made their guests feel quite welcome.
"Wonderful!" Pippin exclaimed. "But how would we ever get away?"
"Oh, it shouldn't be too difficult," Merry mused. "As long as we let the old Brandybucks and Tooks know where we're going, I'm sure they wouldn't mind letting us visit Frodo. I'd wager it's likely they'll be pushing us out the door."
"You're probably right," Pippin said.
"Tomorrow, then. After we've told where we're headed to, we'll meet back by the Ferry. Right after supper would be best, probably." Merry decided.
Pippin let out a sigh. "Right. I'll be there if you will," he said. "It should be great fun!"
With that, the hobbits made their way back to the Ferry, chattering like birds as they went. Thoughts of seeing Frodo and visiting the heart of the Shire kept their spirits bright, even in the dark of the early hours of the morning. They soon reached the ferry, and found the scene much as they had left it. As Merry once again prepared to cross the Brandywine, he called to his cousin.
"Hey, look here Pip. Your mushrooms are quite in tact." He said, bending down and picking up the basket Pippin had dropped.
"Well, you don't say," Pippin remarked, taking the basket from Merry. "I still say they're mine."
"Say what you will, cousin." Merry scoffed, pushing the raft away from the bank. "Just don't forget them at home tomorrow. We'll need some sort of meal to take us from here to Hobbiton."
Pippin stood on the shore, laughing. As he watched, the figure of Merry on the raft floated further and further away. With each passing moment, the evening fog made the image less clear, and within minutes, he could see nothing but shrouded grey mist. On the raft, Merry saw a similar sight; Pippin's small form faded to nothing as he reached the Eastern shore. When the raft slid onto the bank, Merry secured the rope, and began the road home. Tomorrow would indeed be an interesting day.