To the reviewers -
Iorhael - Thank you for your lavish praise! This story, as all the others, did cost me some effort at times. There was a bit of pondering going on here and there.
Peony - Thanks for coming by! This story is actually almost completed in my files so you'll see updates quickly. Bramblethorn will definitely use the grain as something to give him power over Frodo and his companions.
Daonering - Bramblethorn and Emma's Evil Merry are certainly alike in many ways. Both are terribly manipulative.
FrodoBaggins1982 - The idea of the sabotage of the harvest came to me while I was on vacation in August. I was sitting by the pool with my hair dripping in my eyes, scribbling on a notepad and muttering things like, "Yes, that should work..." My husband must have thought I was nuts.
CuriousCat - Yep, ol' Bramby is back, and naughtier than ever. More to come!
GamgeeFest - If you want to throttle Bramblethorn already, just wait! He's definitely going to be deserving of that sentiment.
Tavion - Bramblethorn is very debonair in his own way, isn't he? The title of the story can be taken somewhat literally, as you'll see in future chapters. That weed is nasty and there's only one way to really get rid of it.
Endymion2 - The weed is (thank goodness) purely fiction. Its rapid rate of growth was based somewhat on a real plant, Kudzu, which grows in the southern US. I've never encountered it myself, but I've read that it just takes over and is a real nuisance.
Camellia Gamgee - Took - I've missed you and all my other devoted readers too!
Trust No One - Bramblethorn is the closest thing to a mobster that a hobbit can be. He's a real control freak. If you have time to read the other fics he stars in, that's great. This one will give a little bit of background, but it can stand on its own.
Aelfgifu - At last, I've had time to start posting! Can you draw more pics as the story progresses? There's an award for the best fictional plant? That's interesting!
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
By the way, Emma has drawn a picture for this story and it's on her site http://www.geocities.com/aelfgifuemma/RATM.html
Maybe she'll draw more? HINT!
_______________________________________________________________________
Chapter 1 - Invasion
~*~Buckland~*~
The morning sun shone brightly on the shoulders of a blonde - haired hobbit and upon the back of the pony he rode at a leisurely pace. Merry patted the pony affectionately as he dismounted and surveyed the field of wheat with a frown. It had grown well for the first few weeks, but had taken a sudden turn for the worse.
"Ned, do you have a moment?" Merry called to the sturdy hobbit who was tending the field.
"Mornin', sir," Ned answered, straightening and rubbing at his lower back. "A moment's rest from me labors to chat is a welcome thing, it is."
"And well deserved," Merry said. Ned was a hard worker and had several young apprentices from Brandy Hall in his charge. He knew his craft and could teach the lads a great deal about farming. The fact that Ned was working this particular field gave Merry pause, as Ned's skills were more than adequate to the task of producing a good wheat crop, far better than what seemed to be sprouting in the field now.
Ned was shaking his head as he looked at the sparse patches of wheat. "Mr. Merry, this crop is givin' me fits. It grew fine until a couple of weeks ago, and now it's being forced out by this nasty stuff." The farmer held up a green, leafy sprig of a vine with red seedpods.
"What in all the world is that?" Merry asked, having never seen the plant before.
"Somethin' I haven't run into before in all my years of growin' wheat an' barley," Ned responded. "It sure takes on strong, whatever it's called."
"Do you think it's to blame for the damage to the fields?" Merry's brow creased as he examined the weed.
"I ain't found anythin' else I can blame it on," Ned told him. "This stuff grows faster than my lads and I can root it out, an' it doesn't seem to take kindly to sharin' the soil with any other growin' thing."
"We must find out what it is and how to get rid of it," Merry said gravely. "I'll check the library for any descriptions or drawings of something like this. In the meantime, please keep up your efforts to dig it out."
Ned nodded. "I'll have my lads pullin' it up with both hands," he promised.
Merry took the sprig from Ned and thanked him, riding back toward the Hall. A feeling of dread was growing within him at the thought of what the weed seemed to be doing to the crops. What was it and how had it got there? How far had it spread? Was it just the one field, or did it threaten more of Buckland's farmlands?
Merry dismounted and handed the pony's reins to a stable boy. He headed straight for his father's study, intending to inform the Master of Buckland of the trouble. This could prove disastrous, he knew. The last harvest had not been up to standards due to dry weather, and the supply of grain in the stores had been dwindling. A good harvest was needed in order to make the Hall properly ready for the winter.
The door to Saradoc's study was ajar, and Merry could smell the pipe smoke drifting out into the hallway. He sighed as he rapped lightly upon the doorframe and entered the room as his father acknowledged his presence.
"How are the crops looking today, Merry?" Saradoc asked, raising his gaze from the ledger in front of him.
"Certainly no better, if not a little worse," Merry said frankly and produced the weed sprig to show his father. "Ned's found his field full of this. Have you seen it before?"
Saradoc frowned as he examined the sprig. "No, I can't say I have." His frown deepened as he realized something. "Ned's been growing wheat since he was a lad. He doesn't recognize this either?"
"No, he doesn't. It's disturbing." Merry shuffled his feet, trying to dispel some of his nervous energy. "I plan to check the library for any references to it, but would you mind if I asked Frodo and Sam to come? Sam's the best gardener in all the Shire if you ask me, and his Gaffer might have told him about something like this."
"I would never object to Frodo or Sam visiting under any circumstances, but I wish they were happier circumstances than this," Saradoc replied as he chewed on the stem of his pipe. "Please invite them, by all means." He looked up at Merry questioningly. "Has Ned begun removing this plant as best he can?"
"He said his fellows will be dedicated to the task," Merry confirmed. "I'll speak to the other farmers and see whether they've encountered this thing as well. I hope they haven't, if it's as nasty as I think it is."
Saradoc nodded. He had ridden among the fields himself the previous week and had already noticed the crops becoming patchy and sickly - looking. "Hopefully Samwise will know something about it and how to best get rid of it."
Merry gave a nod and bade his father farewell as he left to write a message to send to Hobbiton. He penned the note quickly and had it dispatched with haste to the post runners then retired to the library for the remainder of the day to seek information on the weed that was invading the fields of Buckland.
Hours later, he slumped wearily over books and sheets of parchment, having found nothing by way of description or lore regarding the mysterious invader. He retired to spend a night marred by fitful sleep and visions of acres of green vines with red seedpods.
~*~Bag End, Hobbiton~*~
"Sam, I've a letter from Merry," Frodo called as he opened the garden gate. "It seems Buckland is being plagued by a weed that's escaped identification. He wonders if you might be willing to accompany me to Brandy Hall to offer your opinion."
Sam leaned on the hoe and his gaze left the patch of potatoes to rest on the letter in Frodo's hand. "You mean there ain't any at the Hall who can say what it is?" This came as something of a surprise, since Brandy Hall had produced and employed some of the most knowledgeable farmers in the Eastfarthing.
"No one has been able to put a name to it yet or say where it comes from," Frodo answered. "They're quite perplexed and rather worried, from the sound of things. The crops aren't doing well, and following the last harvest, that's very bad news indeed."
Sam nodded. "I'm more than willin' to go, Mr. Frodo, but how long will we be?" Sam always thought of Bag End's gardens before anything else, and the idea of being away and unable to tend them troubled him.
"I don't think we'll be away for very long, Sam," Frodo assured him. "Perhaps a few days." His expression brightened somewhat as he said, "It will be good to see Merry again."
"That it will, Mr. Frodo," Sam agreed. "When are we leavin'?"
"Tomorrow morning, I think," Frodo replied. "I'll send a reply to Merry's message immediately so they'll at least know we're on our way. Will your Gaffer mind us taking the wagon? We'll get there sooner if we use it, and Merry seems rather anxious."
"He won't mind it, I reckon," Sam said with a nod. "I'll make sure an' have it ready by first light so we can get an early start."
Frodo smiled. "You're a priceless treasure, Sam," he said as he folded the letter and went back toward the smial to send a response.
"Thank 'ee, Mr. Frodo," Sam replied with a smile and resumed the tune he had been whistling as he tended the vegetables.
~*~Brandy Hall, Buckland~*~
Frodo's letter was brief, but affirmative, and Merry regarded it as the only good news of the day. Eight fields, three of wheat, three of barley and two of corn, were being attacked by the vines with the red seedpods. The pods matured at an alarming rate and broke open easily, allowing their contents to sprout into the now greatly reviled vines.
Merry had spent a long day riding through the fields and questioning the workers, learning which areas were contaminated and which were free of the leafy plague. He had even gone to Farmer Maggot to see if he or any other farmers of the Marish had seen the weeds in their fields. Much to Merry's relief, Farmer Maggot had replied in the negative, and had been quite disgruntled to discover that he had never seen the plant before.
"Never in all my days have I seen such an odd thing growin' on my lands, an' I hope I never do," Maggot had said emphatically. He had then fixed Merry with a stern gaze and said, "Is all of Buckland rife with it now?"
Even as he replied that it had only been found in several fields, Merry realized there was something odd about that very fact. If the seeds were carried by the wind or by birds, they should be everywhere, not just in a few parts of Buckland. Was it a particular kind of crop the weed would grow amidst and nowhere else? Merry's head ached horribly from just pondering the questions and he gave up his considerations in favor of a pipe full of Old Toby.
Children ran in the courtyard of the Hall, laughing and playing in innocent joy. Merry watched them and felt something cold slither up his spine. There were many children in the Hall now, more than in recent decades. A lean winter would be hard on them, especially. Merry wished for a moment that he were once again a carefree golden - haired lad with naught to worry about but being caught in the act of perpetrating one prank or another.
He sighed and entered the Hall, making his way back to the library to continue his search for information. Any book he found on agriculture or herb lore he read patiently, seeking any sign of the destructive weed, spending long hours and late nights perusing pages in the dim candlelight. He would be grateful when Frodo and Sam arrived to help.
He seated himself in an armchair and began working his way through the stack of books he had set aside as being possible sources of information. Midway through the first one, his eyes closed and refused to open to any command. The book slipped from his hands and dropped to the floor, forgotten. It was in that very same position, slumped in the armchair with his chin on his chest, that Saradoc found his son hours later.
"Merry, wake up." Saradoc shook Merry's shoulder lightly. "You'll get a knot in your neck, drifting off in a chair like that."
Merry groaned and scrubbed a hand across his face. "Have to find it," he muttered. "I have to find something about that dratted weed."
"Later, my lad. You've had a long enough day as it is. Frodo and Sam will be here soon to ease the burden from your shoulders." Saradoc picked up the fallen book and replaced it on the table. "You've had no luck as yet?"
"No. Not a thing. Not a word, not a drawing, not the briefest mention of anything of the sort." Frustration was evident in Merry's tone. "At this rate we'll be undone by something we can't even name."
"If you work any harder at it, folk will name it Meriadoc's Bane," Saradoc cautioned. "I'm very glad of your diligence, Merry, but you must rest when you're tired and eat when you're hungry."
"Eat what?" Merry asked gravely. "Every bite I take reminds me of the one I may not this winter."
"I share your fears, but we mustn't stop living today because of what may or may not befall us tomorrow." Saradoc clasped Merry's hand and pulled him to his feet. "Now, off to bed with you. A proper night's rest will put everything in a new perspective."
"I wish I had your confidence," Merry said to his father.
"When you see a few more seasons you will," Saradoc assured him. "I've seen times of plenty and times when things seemed terribly bleak, yet I've seen the people of Buckland survive them all. I hope that your life is long and prosperous, and that you see many more of the joyous times than the hard ones."
"I hope so too," Merry said sleepily. The two left the library and Merry walked the length of the corridor at his father's side, wondering how his father had dealt with the first such crisis he had met with as the Master of the Hall.
~*~ To be continued ~*~
Iorhael - Thank you for your lavish praise! This story, as all the others, did cost me some effort at times. There was a bit of pondering going on here and there.
Peony - Thanks for coming by! This story is actually almost completed in my files so you'll see updates quickly. Bramblethorn will definitely use the grain as something to give him power over Frodo and his companions.
Daonering - Bramblethorn and Emma's Evil Merry are certainly alike in many ways. Both are terribly manipulative.
FrodoBaggins1982 - The idea of the sabotage of the harvest came to me while I was on vacation in August. I was sitting by the pool with my hair dripping in my eyes, scribbling on a notepad and muttering things like, "Yes, that should work..." My husband must have thought I was nuts.
CuriousCat - Yep, ol' Bramby is back, and naughtier than ever. More to come!
GamgeeFest - If you want to throttle Bramblethorn already, just wait! He's definitely going to be deserving of that sentiment.
Tavion - Bramblethorn is very debonair in his own way, isn't he? The title of the story can be taken somewhat literally, as you'll see in future chapters. That weed is nasty and there's only one way to really get rid of it.
Endymion2 - The weed is (thank goodness) purely fiction. Its rapid rate of growth was based somewhat on a real plant, Kudzu, which grows in the southern US. I've never encountered it myself, but I've read that it just takes over and is a real nuisance.
Camellia Gamgee - Took - I've missed you and all my other devoted readers too!
Trust No One - Bramblethorn is the closest thing to a mobster that a hobbit can be. He's a real control freak. If you have time to read the other fics he stars in, that's great. This one will give a little bit of background, but it can stand on its own.
Aelfgifu - At last, I've had time to start posting! Can you draw more pics as the story progresses? There's an award for the best fictional plant? That's interesting!
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
By the way, Emma has drawn a picture for this story and it's on her site http://www.geocities.com/aelfgifuemma/RATM.html
Maybe she'll draw more? HINT!
_______________________________________________________________________
Chapter 1 - Invasion
~*~Buckland~*~
The morning sun shone brightly on the shoulders of a blonde - haired hobbit and upon the back of the pony he rode at a leisurely pace. Merry patted the pony affectionately as he dismounted and surveyed the field of wheat with a frown. It had grown well for the first few weeks, but had taken a sudden turn for the worse.
"Ned, do you have a moment?" Merry called to the sturdy hobbit who was tending the field.
"Mornin', sir," Ned answered, straightening and rubbing at his lower back. "A moment's rest from me labors to chat is a welcome thing, it is."
"And well deserved," Merry said. Ned was a hard worker and had several young apprentices from Brandy Hall in his charge. He knew his craft and could teach the lads a great deal about farming. The fact that Ned was working this particular field gave Merry pause, as Ned's skills were more than adequate to the task of producing a good wheat crop, far better than what seemed to be sprouting in the field now.
Ned was shaking his head as he looked at the sparse patches of wheat. "Mr. Merry, this crop is givin' me fits. It grew fine until a couple of weeks ago, and now it's being forced out by this nasty stuff." The farmer held up a green, leafy sprig of a vine with red seedpods.
"What in all the world is that?" Merry asked, having never seen the plant before.
"Somethin' I haven't run into before in all my years of growin' wheat an' barley," Ned responded. "It sure takes on strong, whatever it's called."
"Do you think it's to blame for the damage to the fields?" Merry's brow creased as he examined the weed.
"I ain't found anythin' else I can blame it on," Ned told him. "This stuff grows faster than my lads and I can root it out, an' it doesn't seem to take kindly to sharin' the soil with any other growin' thing."
"We must find out what it is and how to get rid of it," Merry said gravely. "I'll check the library for any descriptions or drawings of something like this. In the meantime, please keep up your efforts to dig it out."
Ned nodded. "I'll have my lads pullin' it up with both hands," he promised.
Merry took the sprig from Ned and thanked him, riding back toward the Hall. A feeling of dread was growing within him at the thought of what the weed seemed to be doing to the crops. What was it and how had it got there? How far had it spread? Was it just the one field, or did it threaten more of Buckland's farmlands?
Merry dismounted and handed the pony's reins to a stable boy. He headed straight for his father's study, intending to inform the Master of Buckland of the trouble. This could prove disastrous, he knew. The last harvest had not been up to standards due to dry weather, and the supply of grain in the stores had been dwindling. A good harvest was needed in order to make the Hall properly ready for the winter.
The door to Saradoc's study was ajar, and Merry could smell the pipe smoke drifting out into the hallway. He sighed as he rapped lightly upon the doorframe and entered the room as his father acknowledged his presence.
"How are the crops looking today, Merry?" Saradoc asked, raising his gaze from the ledger in front of him.
"Certainly no better, if not a little worse," Merry said frankly and produced the weed sprig to show his father. "Ned's found his field full of this. Have you seen it before?"
Saradoc frowned as he examined the sprig. "No, I can't say I have." His frown deepened as he realized something. "Ned's been growing wheat since he was a lad. He doesn't recognize this either?"
"No, he doesn't. It's disturbing." Merry shuffled his feet, trying to dispel some of his nervous energy. "I plan to check the library for any references to it, but would you mind if I asked Frodo and Sam to come? Sam's the best gardener in all the Shire if you ask me, and his Gaffer might have told him about something like this."
"I would never object to Frodo or Sam visiting under any circumstances, but I wish they were happier circumstances than this," Saradoc replied as he chewed on the stem of his pipe. "Please invite them, by all means." He looked up at Merry questioningly. "Has Ned begun removing this plant as best he can?"
"He said his fellows will be dedicated to the task," Merry confirmed. "I'll speak to the other farmers and see whether they've encountered this thing as well. I hope they haven't, if it's as nasty as I think it is."
Saradoc nodded. He had ridden among the fields himself the previous week and had already noticed the crops becoming patchy and sickly - looking. "Hopefully Samwise will know something about it and how to best get rid of it."
Merry gave a nod and bade his father farewell as he left to write a message to send to Hobbiton. He penned the note quickly and had it dispatched with haste to the post runners then retired to the library for the remainder of the day to seek information on the weed that was invading the fields of Buckland.
Hours later, he slumped wearily over books and sheets of parchment, having found nothing by way of description or lore regarding the mysterious invader. He retired to spend a night marred by fitful sleep and visions of acres of green vines with red seedpods.
~*~Bag End, Hobbiton~*~
"Sam, I've a letter from Merry," Frodo called as he opened the garden gate. "It seems Buckland is being plagued by a weed that's escaped identification. He wonders if you might be willing to accompany me to Brandy Hall to offer your opinion."
Sam leaned on the hoe and his gaze left the patch of potatoes to rest on the letter in Frodo's hand. "You mean there ain't any at the Hall who can say what it is?" This came as something of a surprise, since Brandy Hall had produced and employed some of the most knowledgeable farmers in the Eastfarthing.
"No one has been able to put a name to it yet or say where it comes from," Frodo answered. "They're quite perplexed and rather worried, from the sound of things. The crops aren't doing well, and following the last harvest, that's very bad news indeed."
Sam nodded. "I'm more than willin' to go, Mr. Frodo, but how long will we be?" Sam always thought of Bag End's gardens before anything else, and the idea of being away and unable to tend them troubled him.
"I don't think we'll be away for very long, Sam," Frodo assured him. "Perhaps a few days." His expression brightened somewhat as he said, "It will be good to see Merry again."
"That it will, Mr. Frodo," Sam agreed. "When are we leavin'?"
"Tomorrow morning, I think," Frodo replied. "I'll send a reply to Merry's message immediately so they'll at least know we're on our way. Will your Gaffer mind us taking the wagon? We'll get there sooner if we use it, and Merry seems rather anxious."
"He won't mind it, I reckon," Sam said with a nod. "I'll make sure an' have it ready by first light so we can get an early start."
Frodo smiled. "You're a priceless treasure, Sam," he said as he folded the letter and went back toward the smial to send a response.
"Thank 'ee, Mr. Frodo," Sam replied with a smile and resumed the tune he had been whistling as he tended the vegetables.
~*~Brandy Hall, Buckland~*~
Frodo's letter was brief, but affirmative, and Merry regarded it as the only good news of the day. Eight fields, three of wheat, three of barley and two of corn, were being attacked by the vines with the red seedpods. The pods matured at an alarming rate and broke open easily, allowing their contents to sprout into the now greatly reviled vines.
Merry had spent a long day riding through the fields and questioning the workers, learning which areas were contaminated and which were free of the leafy plague. He had even gone to Farmer Maggot to see if he or any other farmers of the Marish had seen the weeds in their fields. Much to Merry's relief, Farmer Maggot had replied in the negative, and had been quite disgruntled to discover that he had never seen the plant before.
"Never in all my days have I seen such an odd thing growin' on my lands, an' I hope I never do," Maggot had said emphatically. He had then fixed Merry with a stern gaze and said, "Is all of Buckland rife with it now?"
Even as he replied that it had only been found in several fields, Merry realized there was something odd about that very fact. If the seeds were carried by the wind or by birds, they should be everywhere, not just in a few parts of Buckland. Was it a particular kind of crop the weed would grow amidst and nowhere else? Merry's head ached horribly from just pondering the questions and he gave up his considerations in favor of a pipe full of Old Toby.
Children ran in the courtyard of the Hall, laughing and playing in innocent joy. Merry watched them and felt something cold slither up his spine. There were many children in the Hall now, more than in recent decades. A lean winter would be hard on them, especially. Merry wished for a moment that he were once again a carefree golden - haired lad with naught to worry about but being caught in the act of perpetrating one prank or another.
He sighed and entered the Hall, making his way back to the library to continue his search for information. Any book he found on agriculture or herb lore he read patiently, seeking any sign of the destructive weed, spending long hours and late nights perusing pages in the dim candlelight. He would be grateful when Frodo and Sam arrived to help.
He seated himself in an armchair and began working his way through the stack of books he had set aside as being possible sources of information. Midway through the first one, his eyes closed and refused to open to any command. The book slipped from his hands and dropped to the floor, forgotten. It was in that very same position, slumped in the armchair with his chin on his chest, that Saradoc found his son hours later.
"Merry, wake up." Saradoc shook Merry's shoulder lightly. "You'll get a knot in your neck, drifting off in a chair like that."
Merry groaned and scrubbed a hand across his face. "Have to find it," he muttered. "I have to find something about that dratted weed."
"Later, my lad. You've had a long enough day as it is. Frodo and Sam will be here soon to ease the burden from your shoulders." Saradoc picked up the fallen book and replaced it on the table. "You've had no luck as yet?"
"No. Not a thing. Not a word, not a drawing, not the briefest mention of anything of the sort." Frustration was evident in Merry's tone. "At this rate we'll be undone by something we can't even name."
"If you work any harder at it, folk will name it Meriadoc's Bane," Saradoc cautioned. "I'm very glad of your diligence, Merry, but you must rest when you're tired and eat when you're hungry."
"Eat what?" Merry asked gravely. "Every bite I take reminds me of the one I may not this winter."
"I share your fears, but we mustn't stop living today because of what may or may not befall us tomorrow." Saradoc clasped Merry's hand and pulled him to his feet. "Now, off to bed with you. A proper night's rest will put everything in a new perspective."
"I wish I had your confidence," Merry said to his father.
"When you see a few more seasons you will," Saradoc assured him. "I've seen times of plenty and times when things seemed terribly bleak, yet I've seen the people of Buckland survive them all. I hope that your life is long and prosperous, and that you see many more of the joyous times than the hard ones."
"I hope so too," Merry said sleepily. The two left the library and Merry walked the length of the corridor at his father's side, wondering how his father had dealt with the first such crisis he had met with as the Master of the Hall.
~*~ To be continued ~*~