XIII. Packing for a Long Trip



Gandalf was a bit confused the next morning. Surely, he of all of the occupants of Bag End should be the last to awaken, for his age lengthened his sleeping requirements. But when he woke the next morning, the house was silent. No laughing, no humming, and no (to his surprise) sounds of cooking. He chuckled as he went to the pantry. "Well, maybe I'm not as old as I look..." he murmured in amusement. He rattled around in the cupboards until he found the raspberry preserves. Then he went to the bread box and cut off a hunk of bread, jellied the piece, then bit in and chewed it thoughtfully. Presently, he heard the light patter of feet in the hall. He turned to see Pippin nearing the doorway. The hobbit yawned and mumbled something along the lines of "Gd mrning, Gandllf."

"Well, good morning Pippin! You and I are the first awake it seems."

Pippin poked around in the pantry with mild interest. "Where's Poppy and Sam? I want breakfast, and I can't cook."

"As I have said, we are the first ones awake," said Gandalf, setting some water to boil.

"Really?" asked Pippin.

"Really."

"Wow." Pippin looked around. "This is weird," he said, shifting uncomfortably on his feet and twirling the belt on his robe. "It's almost bizarre. Unnatural. Maybe I should go back to bed..."

"What's 'bizarre' and 'unnatural', Pip?" said Merry, who was rubbing his eyes as he padded into the kitchen.

Pippin peered around the pantry doorframe. "Oh, um, I guess it's not so weird now that you're up. It's just that everyone else is asleep...What time is it anyway?"

Gandalf looked out the window at the warm, yellow sun and judged the time from it's position. "It is a quarter of an hour before the tenth," he said.

"No wonder I'm hungry!" exclaimed Merry. He helped Pippin find some syrup and went to the porch for the delivery of milk and eggs. "It's pancakes, I suppose," he mused. "That's all I know how to cook."

Soon, the kitchen was full of the delicious smell of pancakes, but the kitchen was very messy. Pippin had attempted to help Merry to prepare the meal, and as a result, little foot prints of flour had been tracked all over the floor, and egg shells were lined up on the counter right next to a group of splatters of batter on the wall.

"Oh, my goodness!" gasped Poppy as she came into the kitchen and took in the scene. She stared open-mouthed at Pippin. He looked like he had been rolled in flour. "How did you...?--- Hmm. Maybe I don't want to know."

Pippin decided to give her an answer anyway. "Well, um, the flour bag had some faulty stitching, and when I set it down, it went POOF!" Pippin made an explosive face, then went on, "And then, well, I couldn't see, and um, Merry was stirring the batter at the time. When he saw me, he slapped his spoon in the batter and started laughing...."

"And then Pippin got real mad 'cause I laughed at him. He picked up the flour sack and made like he was going to hit me with it, and so to keep him from attacking me, I had to defend myself,"added Merry, demonstrating with his spoon how he had slowed Pippin's attack by bombarding him with a sticky face-full of batter.

"And then," Poppy growled sarcastically, adding to the story, "I came into the kitchen and I told you that you were cleaning this up. You made the mess, not me."

"Of course. We're always stuck with cleaning things after we have fun, aren't we, Pip?" said Merry.

Amazingly, the mess was cleaned up by the time Frodo woke up, and breakfast was on the table by the time Frodo had formulated the day's plans.

"Sam and Rosie will be back tomorrow night, and we'll only have time for two days of packing before we leave," said Frodo, "I suggest we start now, because we'll be packing for about a six-month trip. We won't take a cart, because we may have to leave the road if it gets dangerous, so pack up in the saddle packs. Use your own horse's saddle for weaponry, clothes, and must-have personal effects that you'll use every day. Bill will carry the other supplies."

"I want to be in charge of food," volunteered Pippin.

"Fine. Merry, would you mind being treasurer?" asked Frodo.

"No problem."

"Sam may not have time to pack cooking supplies," Frodo mused. "I might as well pack his pan set and roasters for him. But I don't know what utensils he prefers to use."

"I'll deal with the utensils; I've watched him cook, and I know what he uses," said Poppy.

"Great. That just leaves one last thing..." said Frodo, and he furrowed his brows as he considered this earnestly.

"And what's that?" asked Gandalf.

"Security," said Frodo, looking at Gandalf hopefully.

"I'm not battling Balrogs on this trip, Mr. Baggins. It nearly killed me last time," insisted Gandalf. "In fact, I might actually leave you fellows when we stop at Bree. I've got a few errands to run."

"Such as?" Frodo cast a questioning look at him, but Gandalf just smiled enigmatically.

"Fine. Keep your secrets," sighed Frodo. "I suppose we will all just have to carry swords and hope for the best after you leave, Gandalf..."

"That you will, and you'll do fine."



* * *

The next night, the saddles were almost packed and lay in a pile on the sitting room floor. Sam and Rosie crept quietly around them.

"They're in the kitchen," said Sam, a little disappointed. "We're late for dinner."

"Are you complaining that we spent a little extra time at the cottage?" Rosie entreated.

Sam turned and smiled. "No. Definitely not," he said, and he kissed her tenderly to prove his point. He took her hand. "Come on. Let's join the party," he whispered, and led her into the warm kitchen. The company was seated around the oak table.

"Hullo, Mr. and Mrs. Gamgee!" exclaimed Merry who raised his glass to them.

"Sorry we're late..." Sam apologized, and turned a little red. Pippin raised his eyebrows suggestively, then snickered.

"Come on and sit down! It's a rainy day and you need a warm meal," invited Poppy.

The newlyweds sat next to each other and Sam put a hand on Rosie's thigh under the table. "What have we missed?" Sam asked.

Frodo shrugged. "Oh, nothing much; packing mostly. Did you bring some things with you to pack, Rose?"

"Yup, and Sam bought me a traveling cloak for this trip. I'm so excited! Will I really get to see the elves?"

"Yes. We're going to Rivendell, and maybe Lothlórien. Either way, we're going to places full of elves," assured Frodo.

"Sam's told me all about them--but are they really ten feet tall?"

Merry laughed. "Oh, Sam! Ever the exaggerator."

"They're tall," said Gandalf, "about twice your size. But they're not so intimidating as one might think. They are as tall as most wizards."

"Frodo can teach you how to greet an elf proper, Rosie. Can't you Frodo?" Sam said.

"Avo bedin farn mae," said Frodo, a bit sadly. (I don't speak well enough.)

"See?" Sam said, thinking that Frodo gave an affirmative answer.

"Wow!" Rosie breathed. The soft sounds of Sindarin had never been heard in her ears, and she found that she liked the language very much.

"My Elvish is horrible," Frodo asserted, "but I'll try and teach you some on the way."







XIV. Rapiers and Roads





On the morning of the third day after Sam and Rosie's return, the hobbits set out for the East Road while the sky was still pink and dew was in the grass. They traveled till noon, then stopped for lunch by the stream that ran along the East Road and let the horses drink. Pippin, Merry, and Sam practiced fencing, and managed to impress and entertain the ladies in their company as they did so. Rosie and Poppy nibbled teacakes as they sat on the rocks by the stream and watched the hobbit-lads spar. Gandalf and Frodo studied the maps, unrolling the large scrolls over a tree stump and mulling over the details of their journey. Every once in a while, they turned to watch the hobbits racing around on the sand by the stream bed as they parried with their deft little swords and shouted playful taunts at each other.

"Come on, Merry! Take your best shot," Pippin dared. Merry made a wide stroke with his sword and Pippin jauntily hopped backwards to miss the sharp point. "That was your best? Ha!"

Pippin gave the flustered Merry a fast little swipe with the tip of his sword. "Ouch! Watch it, Pip!" Merry yelped, and he grabbed at the scratch on his arm.

"Okay, all right. Break it up," said Sam. "Fun is only fun until someone gets hurt."

"Like you?" Pippin quipped, then made a playful jab at Sam. "Come on, Sam! Have a go! Draw your weapon!"

"Yes, Sam! Do it!" cheered Rosie, who hopped up and down excitedly on the large flat rock on the sandbar and clapped her hands.

Sam made a nervous little gulping sigh, but he drew his sword, if only for the sake of satisfying his bride. Pippin brandished his weapon with bravado and said, "Come on, then!"

The two hobbits circled each other twice before Pippin made a lunge at Sam, and Sam met his sword with a parry, then used his weight to thrust his opponent's sword backwards. The swords sprang apart. Then Pippin and Sam both lunged and closed the distance, and the sound of their swords clashing echoed through the poplar trees that grew in a zigzag around the stream. Pippin was full of tricks, and he used his longer limbs to his advantage. He made wide, arcing strokes and brought them down with great power. It soon became too difficult for Sam to block the strokes, and he was forced backwards into the stream. Pippin continued his onslaught while Sam tried to keep his feet from slipping over the wet rocks and plants in the water around his ankles. One of Pippin's strokes was successfully deflected by Sam and fell to Sam's left side. Not wanting to be hit by Pippin's rapidly falling weapon, Sam jumped out of the way, and in the process of landing, slipped on an algae-covered stone and fell into the water. He landed with a tremendous splash. Rosie howled with laughter.

"All right, Pippin. You've proved your point, you bully!" Merry said, pulling Sam out of the water. "You're the best swordsman, but I still say you don't fight fair."

Pippin snorted and sheathed his sword. "I do too fight fair! You're just jealous."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not!"

"Wait!" sputtered Sam, who was squeezing the water out of his cloak. "There's only one way to settle this. Good old hobbit-sense!"

"And that sense would be--?" Pippin queried.

"Mr. Pippin, to prove that you are a fair fighter, you have to fight a fair fighter and lose. That way, we know you'd fought without tricks," Sam said.

"That makes no sense at all! How do we even know what a fair fighter is?" Pippin challenged.

"We know who is NOT a fair fighter," Merry grumbled. "It shouldn't be hard to find a fair one if we follow the process of elimination."

Sam squeezed more water out of his cloak and bit his lip as he thought. "Frodo! Mr. Frodo's a fair fighter!"

"But," Pippin stammered, "Frodo doesn't fight!"

"Precisely. If he doesn't fight, then he doesn't fight unfairly," said Sam, rather matter-of-factly.

"That makes no sense at all!" Pippin shouted again, aghast.

Merry scratched his head and mused, "Actually, if you think about it, it kind of does."

"I'll get Frodo," said Sam, and he turned and ran up the sloping bank to the poplar trees. "Mr. Frodo!"

Frodo turned from the large leather map he was holding and raised his eyebrows. "What, Sam?"

"We're, um, having sort of a contest, and we were needing you to prove something for us," Sam stammered. "Would you...Could you spar with Pip, just to prove he's not a fair fighter?"

"What?"

"Just a little fight...No, a friendly competition. Oh please, please, Mr. Frodo!" Sam begged.

Frodo sighed and cast a forlorn look at Gandalf, who chuckled and stroked his beard. "Well, now. Frodo, you learned how to fight fair from Bilbo. I also know that he taught you not to fight with the sword unless it was absolutely necessary, but I see no wrong in fighting for the sake of exposing the truth."

Frodo put up his map and followed Sam down the pebbly slope. "This is ridiculous," he mumbled. When they approached the bank, Poppy and Rosie cheered and clapped.

"Ready, Frodo?" asked Pippin, unsheathing his sword.

"Yeah," said Frodo. He pulled Sting from its sheath and it made a beautiful sibilance as it slid from the leather. He readied himself with a practiced stance.

As was his nature, Pippin lunged first, and Frodo noticed immediately that his lunge was far to long and deep. Frodo parried the strike with a short lunge of his own, keeping his weight on his back foot to help him bear the force of Pippin's blow. Pippin returned upright from his lunge immediately, and he parried with Frodo again with a simple, waist-high quarte.



"Come on, Mr. Frodo! Get him!" Sam urged.

Pippin was quick and threw many successful blows that Frodo parried weakly. It appeared that Pippin had him in a retreat, as Frodo was forced backwards many times by Pippin's lunging strikes. In truth, Frodo was merely studying his cousin's habits, and soon he formulated a plan. Frodo purposefully retired back two steps and feinted a high terce above Pippin's shoulder, forcing Pippin to duck and drop into his low lunge. Pippin darted down low for Frodo's ankle, hoping to force him to jump backwards awkwardly, but Frodo easily stepped aside from Pippin's thrust. Pippin cursed when he realized that he had thrown himself too far forward. Not being met by a heavy parry from Frodo that would help to counter his momentum, Pippin lost his balance. He caught himself with this left hand as he fell forward, then rolled over so that he was once again facing up and staring at the sun overhead. He sighed when a shadow fell over him and he saw that Frodo had the point of Sting, prime positioned, at his throat. His Adam's apple bobbed.

"That mandritto lunge is too deep," Frodo said, taking his sword away from Pippin's neck. "You overkilled." He sheathed Sting and helped Pippin to his feet.

"But did I fight fair?" Pippin asked, hoping to still prove that.

Frodo gave him a pat on the back, and some of the sand from Pippin's fall fell from his cloak in a tawny cloud. "A wise hobbit once told me that 'the only people who fight fair are the ones who don't fight with swords.' So...I suppose neither of us fought fair."

Pippin scratched his head. "Okay. I guess that makes sense..."

Sam, Merry, Rosie, and Poppy were still in a rather mild state of shock. None of them had expected Pippin to lose, yet here they had witnessed it. After a few moments, they recovered and applauded enthusiastically, laughing the whole time.

"Way to go, Frodo! That's showing him what for!" shouted Sam.

Pippin turned towards Sam in a huff. "You-You knew he was going to beat me. You KNEW Frodo could fight, didn't you?"

Sam sheepishly nodded his head. "I knew he was able to beat you, yes. But I didn't think he actually would."

Frodo turned a bit red and kicked a pebble away from his foot. "I thought you could use some humility, Pip."

"You know what I think?" Pippin growled. He poked Frodo in the chest and gave him a deadly look. "I think you're worse than Gandalf when it comes to teaching me lessons!" Pippin exclaimed, then he fell into a fit of laughter and gave Frodo a friendly thump on the back. "I guess I should thank you for keeping me in line," he said at last.



Pippin was rather quiet and introverted for the remainder of the day. Well, he was quiet until the company reached The Lantern, anyway. The little inn at the western edge of the Whitfurrows was bustling with activity. They arrived just in time to order dinner and various malts from the busy and attractive barmaid. As was his custom, Pippin entertained the company by telling jokes and flirting with the waitress. After about the second* helping, the hobbits began to reach that sleepy, content, complacent state of comfort that comes from a full stomach at the end of a busy day. Rosie, who was not used to travel, fell asleep at around eight o'clock on Sam's shoulder. Sam halted the after-dinner conversation to take her to bed. He knew that the morning would come too soon.



*or third, if you counted Sam's plates; fourth if you counted Merry's.







XV. The Pony



They set out early the next morning, though a bit reluctant, but the horses had been well-tended and more rested, it seemed than the travellers. By noon, they had gone as far as the Old Forest, and near the not-so-distant roads ahead, they could see the rolling green hills of the Barrowdowns. When they drove past the Barrowdowns, Pippin swore that he could hear Goldberry singing in the fields, and the company was inclined to believe him, for Goldberry's lilting soprano and the song of a meadow lark were not so very different.

The evening rolled over the hills in glorious bands, but the hobbits did not look back to see it. They were nearing the West gate of Bree. Pippin noted as they approached that the gate had been replaced by one much stronger since the last time they had been there. They dismounted before the heavy walnut wood gates and Merry reached up and pulled the rope on the large iron bell. It had a distorted ring from a crack in the side. The peep shutter drew back from the watch window, and a scruffy-faced man stared out. Seeing nothing at the high window but Gandalf, who motioned downward, he bent and opened the lower window. He seemed relieved to see hobbits. "Good Eve, Gentlemen, and Ladies, too. Names and business?" he quieried.

Gandalf bent down and answered for them. "I am Gandalf the White, and here are some hobbits of great note, for whom I can vouch. We've come to stay at the Pony."

"Oi, Gandalf! Yessir, thought I recognized you," said the guard. There were clanking and creaking sounds as slid the hard wood bar blockade from the door. It swung open. "Yea, the Gandalf the Wizard. You're the fella who blessed the beer at that Inn, they say," the man said. He let them file in with their ponies. "Come in and bless some more, will ya?"

Gandalf chuckled and tilted his head as he passed him at the end of the line. "Of course I will, good sir. Have a good evening."

The man gave him a wave and closed the gate after them. He began to bolt the gate again when he suddenly realized something. "'Have a good evening,' did he say? That's a blessin'!" the man whispered, awed.. "I been blessed! I WILL have a good evening!"

* * *

Barliman Butterbur received them at the front of the pub. "Gandalf and the Shire hobbits! Good to see you all!" he exclaimed, and shook Gandalf's hand exuberantly. "Aye, there's a wee bit more of you than usual," he commented, noticing the ladies. "A few more rooms, then? I'll see what I can do. But first, you'll want to eat; I know how hobbits are!" He showed them to a great oak table by the large west-facing stained glass window. The evening light streamed in through the window and the colors of the glass fell on their faces in mottled reds and blues. "Do you need menus, or do you know what you want?" Of course, by now most of the company knew the menu, and they ordered a nice meal.

A few more groups of travellers came into The Pony during dinner hour, one of which was a group of hobbit-lads and lassies who sat at the table directly behind Frodo and his friends. At one point during the meal, one of the lasses managed to get her chair leg caught on the hem of Poppy's dress. Neither of them noticed it until Poppy tried to shift her chair so that Pippin could go to the bar for another ale, and finding the process of moving difficult, she examined her hem. The girl behind her turned around quickly and opened her mouth to apologize, but no words came to her mind when she saw Poppy's face. Her eyes flew around the table at Poppy's companions, and she finally focused on Poppy again. "I'm sorry--Mrs. Underhill, is it?"

Poppy paled, and Pippin laughed as he bent down to separate the chair leg from Poppy's dress. "Did you hear that, Frodo--er, 'Mr. Underhill'? Seems somebody thinks you're married."

Frodo at first seemed to ignore the comment and turn back to Merry, then suddenly he whipped his head around. "Wait, what?"

"The lady in reverse 'o me just called Poppy here 'Mrs. Underhill.'"

Frodo turned very red and stuttered confusedly, "Why would she-? I never--"

The girl who addressed Poppy as "Mrs. Underhill" straightened in her chair, but paid Frodo's startled sputtering no heed. She smiled conspiratorially at Poppy and said, "I didn't think you'd come back this soon. It's nice to see you looking so well, though."

"It's good to see you, too, Patchouli," said Poppy (though she would have rather not have seen 'Patchouli The Mouth'), and she shifted to let Pippin fetch his ale.

It seemed that the odd conversation had ended, but Patchouli was not easily turned aside. She was an unstoppable gossip. She spoke loudly and expressively. "I didn't quite catch the names of these fellows you are travelling with," prompted Patchouli, "but they're very handsome." She tossed her sausage curls and lowered her lashes at Merry, who was debating with Frodo and Gandalf about whether to allow Pippin to drink so much.

"They're friends of Freddy Bolger's," Poppy said dismissively.

"Oh, and when did you meet them?" she pressed.

"Over in Buckland."

"Buckland? These are Bucklanders? Oh my!"she exclaimed and clucked her tongue. "Strange folks, dearie. Do be careful! I'd hate for you to wind up like that Whitfoot girl. Scandalous! And a niece of the mayor's too..." Patchouli sighed dramatically. "Oh, but I've said too much. I can see that I've upset you. I didn't mean to...I tend to rattle off sometimes, I suppose." With that, Patchouli turned back to her table, shaking her curly chestnut head.

Poppy sighed and turned to the table, relieved to have escaped the Gossip of Staddle, if only for a little while. Pippin returned, sporting a large pint of frothing ale.

"Yo, ho ho! And a bottle of-umm-beer," he sang unsteadily, and took a swig.

"I think you've already had enough," said Merry. Pippin had already downed a full pint before this one.

"Nay. Just getting warmed up," Pippin said. He smugly took another sip and set the glass back on the table.

"Hmm," said Poppy. She snuck her hand around Pippin's mug and took a hearty sip, then she slid the mug back towards him with an experienced air. Pippin's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What?" she asked innocently. "I'm on a journey. That was a drink for courage."

"I didn't see you as a drinker is all, Miss." Pippin explained. "I just didn't expect that."

"Really? Me neither. Good beer, though."

"The finest in Middle Earth. And I speak from experience," said Pippin, then added, "Elvish wine is a close second."

"They make wine? But, I thought the elves were against decadence."

"Oh, well, yes they are. You see, that's why Elvish wine is in my second place."

"What do you mean?"

"You can't get drunk on Elvish wine," he said, taking another sip from his mug and enjoying the warmth in his veins. "That's half the fun of drinking, don't you know?"

"Huh," said Sam. "If you're getting drunk tonight, don't expect us to wait up for you when we go tomorrow morning. You'll just have to survive the over-hang."

Rosie giggled and put her hand in Sam's and snuggled into his shoulder. "I don't care about tomorrow, but do we get our own room tonight?" she whispered.

"Um. Let me think...Yes. We rented a four-bedroom suite. Eight beds," he said. "We should have our own room."

"Let's go to bed, then," she murmured suggestively in his ear.

"But, I'm not tire--oh," he stopped as realization dawned on him. He flushed and smiled mischievously. "Oh..." He stood up quickly with Rosie on his arm, and the two excused themselves, much to the amusement of the rest of their companions.

"Newlywedss," muttered Pippin. He took another drink.

"That'll be you one day, Pip," said Frodo.

"No way. It'll be youu," he slurred dubiously, raising his glass to his lips and closing his eyes as he took another long sip.

"Foolish Took, you're drunk out of your wits, aren't you?" charged Gandalf, raising a bushy eyebrow.

"Tipsy and gettin' Tipsier...Tipsy-er. Is that a word?" asked Pippin.

"It is, but only when you're drunk. Here, let me have that. You've had quite enough," said Poppy.

"You just wanna drink it yerselff," Pippin growled defensively.

"Yes, and are you planning on stopping me?" she asked, sliding the mug away from him.

"No. 'Cause you'd be a realll-y--real cute drunk..."slurred Pippin, patting her on the head as though she were a child and giving her a reassuring smile. Then, the liquor took hold and any and all emotions surfaced. He looked rather upset, and he muttered sourly, "Why-y-y aren't I a cute drunk? Hmm? No one ever says I'm a cute drunk...." He his face contorted like he was about to cry, or maybe sneeze, but instead, his face suddenly relaxed. His chin dropped into his chest and he began to snore.

"Well," said Frodo, "at least he's quiet now."

Merry snickered and gave Pippin a poke, then a shake, as he attempted to rouse him. "Pippin. Pip! Pippin?"

Pippin gave a little snort and slumped onto the table, then he lay still.

"He's a goner; might as well let him sleep it off," said Merry. He set Sam's empty chair on one side of Pippin's chair and Rosie's vacant chair on the other, then he coaxed Pippin to stretch out over the three seats. "It's funny, you know it?" Merry observed, peering around the darkening corners of the pub. "This place just doesn't seem like the old Pony without Strider lurking in the corners all mysterious-like."

Poppy was intrigued. "Strider?"

"The King of Gondor," answered Frodo.

"This king lurks in the dark corners of pubs?"she asked, raising a cinnamon eyebrow.

"Maybe now would be a good time to tell you about Strider, or Aragorn, as is his right name," Frodo suggested.

Gandalf took the cue, and he leaned back in his chair and told the tale of Aragorn's life: from his youth in Elrond's house, to his years spent in the exile of the wilderness. He summarized his tale with this statement: "He has learned, these nearly ninety years, of various cultures and arts. He has the wisdom of the elves; and his blood, though he at first denied his lineage, is bluer than the Anduin. After many wounds and brave deeds, he proved his virtue and finally claimed his crown, as was his destiny to do so."

"It's just like a fairytale!" exclaimed Poppy, her eyes shining in the candles with awe. "And to think that soon I will see him for myself - - a living legend."

Frodo was busy scribbling notes in his little leather notebook. After a while, he stopped writing and looked up, amazement in his eyes. "Is Strider really that old? Nearly ninety? I thought that he had only the blood of mortal men."

"Ah, I did not say that he was immortal. The blood of the long-living Dunedain flows rich in his veins. The blood of the Edain men, especially the royal line, prolong youth and strength. In days of old, the Dunedain lived life spans of more than two centuries, for their bloodlines were enriched by intermarriage with the elves."

Frodo scrawled this last bit of information on his notebook with his charcoal pencil, then flicked the book closed. "So that solves the mystery of your poem, Gandalf: 'The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost.' His 'roots' are his lineage, and the 'frost' is the winter of time."

"Very astute," said Gandalf. "And while I would like to discuss the symbolism with you further, I feel my old strength beginning to wither. So, if you do not mind, I should like to retire."

"It is getting late, I suppose," said Merry. "We all ought to head to bed. Sam and Rosie have had enough time to themselves."

The company laughed until they all broke into yawns. Gandalf slowly stood and bent to gather the sleeping Pippin in his arms, and then the whole company bid "Goodnight!" to Butterbur, then they crept down the long hall to their beds.







XVI. The Marsh



-May 7-



"Time to get up! Up, up!" said Merry cheerfully, opening the curtains and letting in the early morning sunshine.

Pippin opened one eye, then immediately shut it again as his green iris contracted painfully in the bright light, shrinking his pupils into tiny dots.

"Come on, Pip! Let's get some breakfast in you."

Pippin groaned and rolled over on the bed, plugging his very sensitive ears. His head was pounding with every sound coming from Merry's mouth. He turned his head away from the glaring window and saw that Merry's bed was already made, and Merry was already dressed. Smells of breakfast wafted under the door and made his stomach churn.

"Pippin, I told you not to drink so much. Don't expect me to feel sorry for you! Get up, before you make everyone wait."

So Pippin did get up, but very, very slowly. He lethargically went through his morning routine, then shuffled off to breakfast with his hands in his pockets, muttering to himself.

* * *

When Pippin and Merry made their way into the pub, Gandalf was already leaving.

"I shall meet you all in Minas Tirith," he said, gathering his ash-wood staff and his pipe. He stuck his pipe into the twisted end of his staff, then turned and addressed the hobbits. "Farewell, dearest of hobbits!" he said fondly, then with warning added, "Do not return to the Road until you pass through Rivendell! There is danger still."

"And you be careful, Gandalf! We wish you a safe journey until we meet again," said Frodo, hugging his old friend.

Gandalf smiled down at him. "Worry not for me. But-- keep an eye on young Peregrin while I am gone," Gandalf said, giving a wink.

"Both eyes, as often as I can spare them," promised Frodo.

Gandalf smiled and gave him an approving pat on the head, then turned to leave. "Goodbye!" he called.

"Goodbye!" said the hobbits, in a chorus of their pleasing voices. The great door opened and closed, and Gandalf was gone.

Breakfast was eaten in nervous silence, and packing was conducted nearly as quietly. When the hobbits finally left the inn, not as much as a dozen words had been spoken among the six of them. Finally, Frodo broke the silence as he lead Strider through the gate.

"We'll head Northeast, following the tree line of Chetwood until we nearly reach the northern border of the woods," he said, pointing to the thick woods. "We'll stop for lunch then, Sam. As Gandalf and I figured, directly due east from there is the narrowest span of Midgewater. If we can manage to pick our way through in less than five hours, we'll have dinner in drier country, and we can rest."

All went well on the road that morning, though it rained. Yet they plodded, sheltered, under the bordering trees of Chetwood until the rain ceased. After lunch, they traveled on again. The ground they traveled soon grew marshy; the mud stuck to the horses' hooves, and dark brackish pools dotted the land as they entered Midgewater. Early midges floated in the air, and attacked the hobbits and the ponies with their pinching bites. The ponies hated them just as much as the hobbits, it seemed, for they swished their tails angrily and tossed their manes to keep the insects at bay. For hours they toiled and picked through the swamp, sometimes riding, sometimes leading the ponies. Always, they were tormented by the blood-sucking midges. One of the midges was especially persistent, and it flitted around Violet, the gentle, grey-spotted mare that Poppy had borrowed from Farmer Cotton. Poppy tried swatting the bug repeatedly, and the insect finally relented after she gave it a snapping flick. It dipped down and twirled from her sight.

The bug flew in a rather straight path from Poppy's mare, and onto the nose of Rosie's nervous pony, Starbuck. The famished insect bit the pony hard, right on the nostril. Starbuck whinnied in surprise, and tossed his mane in an attempt to shoo the bug off of his nose. Thus distracted, the poor pony lost his footing, and his hoof slipped into a pit of mirky water. Starbuck panicked and reared up, and Rosie struggled to hold onto his mane.

"Rosie!" cried Poppy in alarm.

Poppy slipped from her saddle and ran to Rosie and Starbuck. She attempted to grab the horse's reins and calm him, but his round hooves slipped again on the marshy ground, and he threw himself into another desperate fit. He strove to find his footing, and when he found it, he bolted away in a tempest of panicked horseflesh. In the process, he jolted Rosie violently from the saddle and tore the reins from Poppy's grip. Both lasses fell off the sandbar and into the brackish water with a muddy splash and a chorus of surprised squeals. Poppy's mare, Violet, startled by the splash and the screaming girls, bolted off into the swamp.

"Rosie! Poppy!" Sam cried, and he rushed to the edge of the pool in concern. The rest of the company found the whole thing quite amusing, and chuckled as they dismounted from their saddles.

"It's not funny!" Rosie growled, pulling a muddy leaf out of her scummy hair.

"Oh no! Violet's gone!" Poppy moaned, as Merry helped to pull her from the water.

"She can't get too far in this swamp. Asides, she's got Starbuck to keep her company, and together, they'll find Sam again. They like him too much to stay away for too long."

"I'm sure she'll be fine, but...." She looked down at her sopping-wet traveling dress. "My clothes are in her saddle pack!"

"Oh no! My clothes are in Starbuck's pack, too!" gasped Rosie.

"Well, maybe our clothes will dry before bed if we keep on moving," said Poppy. She picked up her wet skirts and twisted the water out of her petticoat. "Well, that's a bit better... Come on, Rose, It's not so bad."

"Not so bad!"snorted Rosie. "I'm soaked! I'm muddy and, oh! My hair!" She moaned, despairing at the sight of a sullied golden tendril hanging in her face. "What a mess I've become!"

"Can you hold on for an hour, Rose?" asked Frodo. "We're nearly through, and there is a stream, if I remember right, that flows out of the Weather Hills. You can clean up there."

Rosie pouted and sniffed indignantly. "Yes. I guess so," she sighed.

So the girls tramped reluctantly through the marsh, calling their horses as they went. Finally, the drier ground and the sound of rushing water called them out of the swamp. The babbling stream was in sight.

"Oh, sweetness of the heavens!" exclaimed Rosie. "That's more like it!" She called as ran towards the stream eagerly.

"Wait, Rosie! We can wash ourselves and our dresses, but what about dry clothes?" Poppy wondered.

"It's going to get frigid tonight, ladies,"said Pippin, then he added, "Not that I mind you running round with naught on, but you'll catch a cold faster than you can fall off a horse."

Sam brushed a muddy strand away from Rosie's face. "Rosie can wear some of my clothes, if she doesn't mind."

"Oh, thank you, Sam! That's so sweet," said Rosie. She gave him a thankful little kiss.

"I'd give you some of mine, Poppy," said Pippin, "but I haven't got an extra belt, and petite as you are, you'd need one to keep the breeches on you."

"I've a leather belt, but, oh, wait," stumbled Merry. "The notches on it wouldn't adjust small enough for you...We really need to find some clothes your size."

The hobbits were searching for a solution to the clothing dilemma as Frodo dug around in his pack until he found the map, then he dismounted from Strider the Pony with a light rustle and a thump. He folded up the map as he came towards the other hobbits. Merry's eyes lit up as a thought came to him. "Frodo," said Merry, "Miss Poppy's in a bit of a catch, being that her clothes are on her horse and all. And since you're a slender sort for a hobbit...I was wondering if..."

"She can borrow some of mine," he finished. "I don't mind." He went to his saddle and opened a soft leather pouch. He brought out a folded bundle and brought it to Poppy. "I know you won't like wearing a fellow's clothes, Poppy. But don't worry. We'll find Violet and you'll be right as rain soon enough."

Poppy took the bundle with a soft 'Thank-you;' then she went to a rather secluded area of the stream with Rosie to bathe and change. The fellows gathered firewood and lit a fire as Sam prepared dinner.

In less than a half hour, Rosie approached the fire as she toweled her clean golden curls. "Do I smell Sam's cooking?" she asked.

"Sure do!" said Sam, slicing 'taters' into the rich soup. He stopped and looked up at her, then gave a low whistle. "Well, Mrs. Gamgee...don't you look pretty."

"Oh, stop it, Sam!" said Rosie. She felt very uncomfortable, and couldn't really tell whether Sam's statement was sarcastic or genuine. Sam never lied, and she actually looked rather attractive in Sam's dark brown breeches and blue cotton shirt. She had modified the outfit a bit: since the sleeves were a bit long, she had rolled them up to her elbows, and to show off her necklace and prized bosom, she had unbuttoned the top of Sam's shirt.

Poppy timidly stepped from the dappled evening shadows of the trees. She sighed and tugged a bit at the hem of the borrowed shirt and tucked it into the borrowed breeches. "If Rosie's brave enough to do this, than so am I," she muttered to herself. She ruffled her red curls, still drying in the evening air, and sauntered casually to the campfire. At once, she felt several eyes on her.

"What? Do I look amusing?" Poppy asked sourly, her hands on her hips. She looked down at herself. She was wearing a comfortable cream muslin shirt that buttoned up to her throat, sturdy blue cotton breeches, and a braided leather belt that she tied at her waist.

"It's just a bit-- strange-- seeing you in pants, I mean," stuttered Merry. "It's not everyday you see a lady wearing a fellow's things. . . "

"Let alone a lady in my things," added Frodo, "but you look very nice in them."

"Thank you, Master Baggins," she said, dipping in a polite little curtsy. When she rose from the curtsy, she heard Sam call: "Dinner's ready! Come n' get it!"



Dinner was warm and filling, and the ladies volunteered to clean up while the lads headed down the stream to bathe. The lasses finished cleaning early and went to find their blankets buried in the packs piled by the base of a large poplar tree. As Poppy rifled through the pile, she came across Frodo's map. Curious, she took a peek at the old leathery scroll, and saw that their course had been carefully charted by Gandalf's hurried script and Frodo's graceful hand. She traced her finger over the beautiful lines and curves that showed where they had traveled, and then to where they were going. Her finger stopped when she saw the line that marked tomorrow's journey. There was something odd about it. She was positive that this line and the mile markings were made by Frodo, but the line looked different from his usually graceful writing. Whereas most of his lines were bold and strong, this line, the one that traced in a broad curve around the landmark called "Weathertop," wavered as though it had been drawn by a shaking hand.