Disclaimer: Hey, if I was Tolkien and owned all of his... um... stuff...
then I would be a) rich and b) a lot smarter than I am. So there.
A/N: Hey! It took me forever to upload this, and I really didn't
change anything! But okay! Please don't kill me, anyone!
2. The Ballad of Gwath and Merry
Merry pored over the day as he swished around the last remains of his ale, staring into it as if hoping to find a few answers to his queries.
/Let's see . . . so far, I've criticized a wizard, made nasty jokes about Sam, run very fast into steel armor, and . . ./
He sighed.
/And then there was the afternoon./
***
Pippin and Draugwen had raced off after the mushrooms, leaving Merry to wonder exactly what was going on with that strange hobbit-girl, and how precisely this odd mind-reading other one was still here. Alone. With him. On the road. With no one but them . . .
Gwathwen sat down in the road suddenly; even though she /knew/ what was going on, it still confused her.
"My sister," she said neutrally to Merry, "is mad." She laughed when Merry looked at her, startled. "Not just in general, mind you," she explained. "She's mad about your cousin. It's like a disease." Then she murmured, under her breath, "A somewhat contagious one . . ."
"What was that?"
"Nothing, nothing . . ."
Merry stared for a moment at her. /You know, I've never seen any Bolger as strange as these two. But they don't seem dangerous—in fact, rather nice, in their own way—what I've seen of them in the past two minutes, in any case./ "Well, I suppose she's all right," he said. "I believe you, though."
They sat in silence for a while. Then Gwathwen asked shyly, "Merry . . . what was your favorite place? On the journey to Gondor, I mean."
"My favorite place?" /That's an odd question./ "Well," he said hesitantly, "I suppose that would have to be . . . Fangorn Forest, I guess. Yes, with old Treebeard!" He smiled fondly at the memory. "It was beautiful there. It's only too bad I wasn't there at a more peaceful time."
Gwathwen smiled too. "How would you like to go back?"
"Huh?" Merry's jaw dropped. "To . . . to Fangorn? How—"
"Just don't let go of my hand!" Clasping Merry's fingers as tightly as she could, she pulled out a small, diamond-shaped mirror on the end of a chain around her neck. She traced the engraved Elvish G-rune on the back, then turned it over and whispered, "Fangorn Forest!" into the mirror. The glass fogged up, then cleared to show, not her own face, but the inside of a strange forest, with a somewhat confused-looking Ent staring back at Merry. "Close your eyes!" Gwathwen whispered quickly, then closed her own and poked Merry's shut, as he was still staring at the Ent in the mirror.
They both disappeared, as suddenly as if they had blinked . . .
***
And appeared in another place when they opened their eyes.
"Wh . . . where are we?" Merry whispered. He knew, of course, but he didn't believe himself, nor what his head was telling him.
"Halflings!" boomed the Ent. "It's Merry, back again! We thought we'd seen the last of you!" He picked Merry up and examined him.
"Welcome back to Fangorn, Merry," Gwathwen said happily, smiling up at the other hobbit, dangling more than twenty feet above the ground.
"/You/ did this?" Merry asked with no little astonishment. "Why – How – Is this really Treebeard?" He cocked his head amazedly at everything around him.
"Yes, I did this, Merry," said Gwathwen. "Why? Well, I thought you'd enjoy it. How? Well, to be frank and slightly cliché, that's for me to know and you to find out. Is this really Treebeard? Yes, if you want to call him that. You could also call him Fangorn or that rather tall fellow over there who doesn't really want to be called a tree /at all/. Now, Merry, would you be so kind as to transfer yourself to Quickbeam for a bit while I have a meeting with the Ents?"
"Do I have a choice?" Merry asked, slightly overwhelmed.
"No, probably not." Gwathwen smiled. "Treebeard, would you /please/ turn him right-side-up again?"
"Oops. Sorry," said Treebeard, and then tossed Merry up in the air and caught him the right way up. "Better?"
"Yes, but don't throw him any more," Gwathwen said, pitying Merry, who was looking rather nauseous. "Treebeard, hand him over to Quickbeam and then follow me, would you? I'll be back soon!" And she ran off in her bare feet to the circle of Ents, which Merry hadn't noticed before, in the clearing nearby.
"Hello!" said Merry to Quickbeam, who was suddenly holding him.
"Hello," said Quickbeam.
Merry watched Treebeard stroll off, his strides nearly as long as Bag End's partially-uncharted main hall. Then he looked at Quickbeam quizzically. "Do /you/ know what's going on?" he said.
"Yes," boomed the Ent, "but Gwathwen has instructed me not to tell you. She says you'll know soon enough."
"I hate suspense," Merry grumbled.
"Did you known you've grown a bit since I last saw you?" inquired Quickbeam.
"Yes," Merry said dryly. "I'm the second tallest hobbit in the Shire, Quickbeam . . . actually, if you want to be picky, the second tallest hobbit in history. But then, who's counting?" He said this with a disgruntled sort of pride.
"Ah, then the Entdraught did you good!" Quickbeam smiled. "Would you like more? I would be able to get you some quite quickly—"
"No, thank you!" Merry said quickly, shaking his head. "It's bad enough towering over everybody's head without towering any taller than I already do!"
"Suit yourself," Quickbeam said; "although it's odd to me that you would not want to grow tall and spread your branches to reach the sun!"
"Quickbeam?"
"Yes?"
"I don't have branches."
***
They stayed in Fangorn Forest for a while after Gwathwen had completed her meeting with the other Ents, walking with Treebeard and Quickbeam and climbing on rocks by a small, shallow pool. Merry and Treebeard showed Gwathwen Treebeard's cliff, and the Entmoot; they showed her the way the Ents had traveled to Orthanc five years ago, and sang the song for her that had led Treebeard and the Ents into their battle.
Mostly, though, they just sat in the sun, Merry smoking his pipe, Gwathwen watching the sky and the trees, and Treebeard watching them both. (Ents, while slow, are not by any means stupid.) It was peaceful, and Gwathwen was quite happy; she had always wanted to come back to Fangorn for a while. She would need to come back again, later, when she had more time. She had a fairly good idea of what would happen next. She glanced sideways at Merry.
The other hobbit looked troubled, puffing thoughtfully on his pipe. He blew a large smoke ring and watched it float up above the trees and then northwest, towards the Shire.
"Merry?"
He started. It was Gwathwen.
"Are you all right, Merry?"
"Yes. Yes, I'm fine!" Merry exhaled forcefully. /What am I doing, making her worry? She's done me a good turn!/
"Merry, something's wrong. What's wrong?"
"Nothing!" he snapped.
Gwathwen looked shattered. "I'm sorry, Merry," she muttered, looking at her feet. "I had to come to Fangorn, and I thought you'd want . . ." She trailed off.
/Now look what you've done!/ "No, Gwathwen, I'm glad I'm here!" he assured her. "It's just that . . . I mean, I'm enjoying this, I really am, but I want to know why we're here; I have this sense, this irrepressible feeling, that something's wrong, but no one will tell me what it is."
"Oh, so /that's/ it! Merry, I keep /telling/ you," Gwathwen said with a bit of exasperation, "you'll know soon enough, all right? When we get back to the Shire, we'll gather together Frodo and Sam, and Pippin and the rest. Then we'll tell you."
"Well, when are we going back?" Merry asked impatiently.
"Whenever you want to go back, Merry." Gwathwen smiled. "We came here because /you/ wanted to, remember?"
"And you had something to do here."
"Well, yes, there was that, too," Gwathwen conceded. "But there was definitely a large 'you' reasoning in there somewhere."
"Can't we go now, then?"
"Are you sure?" Gwathwen frowned. "Didn't you want to see Treebeard, and all the other Ents?"
"Yes, but . . ." He sighed. "Can we come back soon?"
"Yes, we could do that."
"Then I want to go. Something's very wrong, and I want to help with it. I /need/ to help with it, otherwise I won't trust myself again."
Gwathwen sighed, and suppressed a smile. "Very well, then. Take my hand." She pulled out the mirror again, traced the rune, and took them back to the Shire.
***
They reappeared in Frodo's front hall.
"Frodo?" Gwathwen called down the hall.
"You know Frodo?" Merry was baffled. "Who else do you know?"
"Quiet, Merry. I'll tell you later."
Just then, Frodo came running down the hallway. "Gwathwen! And Merry! How /are/ you two?" Then he looked down and started chuckling. "I suppose I know where /you've/ been!"
They both looked down. Their hands were still clasped tightly from the journey, and they were standing very close together, and sweating from walking in Fangorn.
"Aah!"
They sprang apart like they were on fire.
"Frodo!" scolded Gwathwen, blushing. "You're being crude!"
"Sorry, sorry," he said, winking. "It's just, what with everything you've told me about—"
"/Shut up/!" Gwathwen hissed, looking nervously at Merry, who was just standing there, looking lost.
"Well, anyway," Frodo continued, ignoring the seething looks of hatred and confusion directed at him, "you're just in time for the party! Come on in! I decided not to have a big party this year," he continued as he led them into one of Bag End's many dining rooms, "as Sam's little ones are, well, little, and they might get scared of all the people. Gandalf's a bit disappointed, as are the others, truth be told, because he can't do his fireworks this year. But what can I say? They might frighten the little ones."
Merry stared at Frodo. "Are we talking about the same Gamgees?" he asked. "Because the ones who I'm thinking of love people and would do anything to get to go to one of your big birthday parties. They've also, incidentally, been looking forward to Gandalf's fireworks for who knows how long, and, if I remember correctly, ambushed him, this morning, in fact!"
"I told you no one would buy it, Frodo," said Gwathwen (whose blush had not yet faded completely). "Nobody's /that/ stupid."
Frodo sighed. "Of course, it's hardly likely. Well, Merry, I'll tell you: Once, many years ago, my cousin Bilbo said this of the presence of the Ring: It made him feel stretched, like 'butter over too much bread'. I, unlike Bilbo, am dealing with the absence of the Ring. I do not feel any great stretch; but I feel a great need, like Smeagol did; and I do not know how to counteract that need. I do not know how to get rid of the need; but it hinders my days, and it must be blotted out in some way. I did not feel that it was appropriate, nor that I would be able to handle it, if I had a full-out birthday party this year."
Merry stood in silence for a moment. Then he said, "Well, /finally/ someone's /telling/ me what's going /on/! /Thank/ you, Frodo. Okay. We can go from here."
Frodo stared at him, slightly astonished at his outburst; then he laughed, and winked again. "Well, Merry, has our Gwath been keeping things from you? I'll assure you, she's keeping more than just the current situation from you—"
"Crude!" Gwathwen shouted, blushing again. "You're being crude, Frodo!"
"How is that crude?" Merry asked, puzzled and annoyed. "What are you keeping from me? Gwathwen!"
"Nothing. Pay no mind to Frodo, he's feeling a bit ill," Gwathwen muttered angrily, glaring with narrowed eyes at the master of Bag End. She looked about ready to spit either fire, acid, boiling oil, or all of the above.
"You may as well wait in the party room until Pippin and Draugwen have come," Frodo said, and winked (/again/). "They've taken even longer than you have. I wonder if—"
Suddenly Gwathwen grabbed him by his shirt-collar and began shaking him quite vigorously. "Do /not/—," she snarled through gritted teeth as she shook him, "/ever/—insinuate—that my—sister—is—impure! You—will—pay—next time!" With that, she put him down and dusted off her hands. "Come on, Merry. Let's go visit Sam and Rosie," she said calmly, leading him into the next room. He looked over his shoulder and watched poor Frodo gurgle and twitch on the floor.
/Alas for the hobbit that makes crude jokes in front of Gwathwen Bolger/, he said to himself, quite intimidated.
***
"Gwathwen! We're here!" shrieked Draugwen at the top of her voice.
"Yes, Draugwen, I can hear that," Gwathwen growled. She banged on the side of her head to make sure she hadn't gone deaf. "Merry?"
"Hmm?" Merry looked up from his reminiscing.
"Bring that ale over here, would you? And if you're going to get food, get it now. Oh, and get some pipeweed as well, would you? You and Pippin are owed some explanations."
"Yes! Finally!" Merry grabbed the basket of mushrooms from Sam's hands ("Hey! Get your own shrooms! Those are mine! Mr. Merry, I'm warning you . . .") and plopped down next to Gwathwen.
"Sam, why don't you come too? And Frodo, and the rest of you," Gwathwen said, and beckoned. "It's for all of you to hear."
then I would be a) rich and b) a lot smarter than I am. So there.
A/N: Hey! It took me forever to upload this, and I really didn't
change anything! But okay! Please don't kill me, anyone!
2. The Ballad of Gwath and Merry
Merry pored over the day as he swished around the last remains of his ale, staring into it as if hoping to find a few answers to his queries.
/Let's see . . . so far, I've criticized a wizard, made nasty jokes about Sam, run very fast into steel armor, and . . ./
He sighed.
/And then there was the afternoon./
***
Pippin and Draugwen had raced off after the mushrooms, leaving Merry to wonder exactly what was going on with that strange hobbit-girl, and how precisely this odd mind-reading other one was still here. Alone. With him. On the road. With no one but them . . .
Gwathwen sat down in the road suddenly; even though she /knew/ what was going on, it still confused her.
"My sister," she said neutrally to Merry, "is mad." She laughed when Merry looked at her, startled. "Not just in general, mind you," she explained. "She's mad about your cousin. It's like a disease." Then she murmured, under her breath, "A somewhat contagious one . . ."
"What was that?"
"Nothing, nothing . . ."
Merry stared for a moment at her. /You know, I've never seen any Bolger as strange as these two. But they don't seem dangerous—in fact, rather nice, in their own way—what I've seen of them in the past two minutes, in any case./ "Well, I suppose she's all right," he said. "I believe you, though."
They sat in silence for a while. Then Gwathwen asked shyly, "Merry . . . what was your favorite place? On the journey to Gondor, I mean."
"My favorite place?" /That's an odd question./ "Well," he said hesitantly, "I suppose that would have to be . . . Fangorn Forest, I guess. Yes, with old Treebeard!" He smiled fondly at the memory. "It was beautiful there. It's only too bad I wasn't there at a more peaceful time."
Gwathwen smiled too. "How would you like to go back?"
"Huh?" Merry's jaw dropped. "To . . . to Fangorn? How—"
"Just don't let go of my hand!" Clasping Merry's fingers as tightly as she could, she pulled out a small, diamond-shaped mirror on the end of a chain around her neck. She traced the engraved Elvish G-rune on the back, then turned it over and whispered, "Fangorn Forest!" into the mirror. The glass fogged up, then cleared to show, not her own face, but the inside of a strange forest, with a somewhat confused-looking Ent staring back at Merry. "Close your eyes!" Gwathwen whispered quickly, then closed her own and poked Merry's shut, as he was still staring at the Ent in the mirror.
They both disappeared, as suddenly as if they had blinked . . .
***
And appeared in another place when they opened their eyes.
"Wh . . . where are we?" Merry whispered. He knew, of course, but he didn't believe himself, nor what his head was telling him.
"Halflings!" boomed the Ent. "It's Merry, back again! We thought we'd seen the last of you!" He picked Merry up and examined him.
"Welcome back to Fangorn, Merry," Gwathwen said happily, smiling up at the other hobbit, dangling more than twenty feet above the ground.
"/You/ did this?" Merry asked with no little astonishment. "Why – How – Is this really Treebeard?" He cocked his head amazedly at everything around him.
"Yes, I did this, Merry," said Gwathwen. "Why? Well, I thought you'd enjoy it. How? Well, to be frank and slightly cliché, that's for me to know and you to find out. Is this really Treebeard? Yes, if you want to call him that. You could also call him Fangorn or that rather tall fellow over there who doesn't really want to be called a tree /at all/. Now, Merry, would you be so kind as to transfer yourself to Quickbeam for a bit while I have a meeting with the Ents?"
"Do I have a choice?" Merry asked, slightly overwhelmed.
"No, probably not." Gwathwen smiled. "Treebeard, would you /please/ turn him right-side-up again?"
"Oops. Sorry," said Treebeard, and then tossed Merry up in the air and caught him the right way up. "Better?"
"Yes, but don't throw him any more," Gwathwen said, pitying Merry, who was looking rather nauseous. "Treebeard, hand him over to Quickbeam and then follow me, would you? I'll be back soon!" And she ran off in her bare feet to the circle of Ents, which Merry hadn't noticed before, in the clearing nearby.
"Hello!" said Merry to Quickbeam, who was suddenly holding him.
"Hello," said Quickbeam.
Merry watched Treebeard stroll off, his strides nearly as long as Bag End's partially-uncharted main hall. Then he looked at Quickbeam quizzically. "Do /you/ know what's going on?" he said.
"Yes," boomed the Ent, "but Gwathwen has instructed me not to tell you. She says you'll know soon enough."
"I hate suspense," Merry grumbled.
"Did you known you've grown a bit since I last saw you?" inquired Quickbeam.
"Yes," Merry said dryly. "I'm the second tallest hobbit in the Shire, Quickbeam . . . actually, if you want to be picky, the second tallest hobbit in history. But then, who's counting?" He said this with a disgruntled sort of pride.
"Ah, then the Entdraught did you good!" Quickbeam smiled. "Would you like more? I would be able to get you some quite quickly—"
"No, thank you!" Merry said quickly, shaking his head. "It's bad enough towering over everybody's head without towering any taller than I already do!"
"Suit yourself," Quickbeam said; "although it's odd to me that you would not want to grow tall and spread your branches to reach the sun!"
"Quickbeam?"
"Yes?"
"I don't have branches."
***
They stayed in Fangorn Forest for a while after Gwathwen had completed her meeting with the other Ents, walking with Treebeard and Quickbeam and climbing on rocks by a small, shallow pool. Merry and Treebeard showed Gwathwen Treebeard's cliff, and the Entmoot; they showed her the way the Ents had traveled to Orthanc five years ago, and sang the song for her that had led Treebeard and the Ents into their battle.
Mostly, though, they just sat in the sun, Merry smoking his pipe, Gwathwen watching the sky and the trees, and Treebeard watching them both. (Ents, while slow, are not by any means stupid.) It was peaceful, and Gwathwen was quite happy; she had always wanted to come back to Fangorn for a while. She would need to come back again, later, when she had more time. She had a fairly good idea of what would happen next. She glanced sideways at Merry.
The other hobbit looked troubled, puffing thoughtfully on his pipe. He blew a large smoke ring and watched it float up above the trees and then northwest, towards the Shire.
"Merry?"
He started. It was Gwathwen.
"Are you all right, Merry?"
"Yes. Yes, I'm fine!" Merry exhaled forcefully. /What am I doing, making her worry? She's done me a good turn!/
"Merry, something's wrong. What's wrong?"
"Nothing!" he snapped.
Gwathwen looked shattered. "I'm sorry, Merry," she muttered, looking at her feet. "I had to come to Fangorn, and I thought you'd want . . ." She trailed off.
/Now look what you've done!/ "No, Gwathwen, I'm glad I'm here!" he assured her. "It's just that . . . I mean, I'm enjoying this, I really am, but I want to know why we're here; I have this sense, this irrepressible feeling, that something's wrong, but no one will tell me what it is."
"Oh, so /that's/ it! Merry, I keep /telling/ you," Gwathwen said with a bit of exasperation, "you'll know soon enough, all right? When we get back to the Shire, we'll gather together Frodo and Sam, and Pippin and the rest. Then we'll tell you."
"Well, when are we going back?" Merry asked impatiently.
"Whenever you want to go back, Merry." Gwathwen smiled. "We came here because /you/ wanted to, remember?"
"And you had something to do here."
"Well, yes, there was that, too," Gwathwen conceded. "But there was definitely a large 'you' reasoning in there somewhere."
"Can't we go now, then?"
"Are you sure?" Gwathwen frowned. "Didn't you want to see Treebeard, and all the other Ents?"
"Yes, but . . ." He sighed. "Can we come back soon?"
"Yes, we could do that."
"Then I want to go. Something's very wrong, and I want to help with it. I /need/ to help with it, otherwise I won't trust myself again."
Gwathwen sighed, and suppressed a smile. "Very well, then. Take my hand." She pulled out the mirror again, traced the rune, and took them back to the Shire.
***
They reappeared in Frodo's front hall.
"Frodo?" Gwathwen called down the hall.
"You know Frodo?" Merry was baffled. "Who else do you know?"
"Quiet, Merry. I'll tell you later."
Just then, Frodo came running down the hallway. "Gwathwen! And Merry! How /are/ you two?" Then he looked down and started chuckling. "I suppose I know where /you've/ been!"
They both looked down. Their hands were still clasped tightly from the journey, and they were standing very close together, and sweating from walking in Fangorn.
"Aah!"
They sprang apart like they were on fire.
"Frodo!" scolded Gwathwen, blushing. "You're being crude!"
"Sorry, sorry," he said, winking. "It's just, what with everything you've told me about—"
"/Shut up/!" Gwathwen hissed, looking nervously at Merry, who was just standing there, looking lost.
"Well, anyway," Frodo continued, ignoring the seething looks of hatred and confusion directed at him, "you're just in time for the party! Come on in! I decided not to have a big party this year," he continued as he led them into one of Bag End's many dining rooms, "as Sam's little ones are, well, little, and they might get scared of all the people. Gandalf's a bit disappointed, as are the others, truth be told, because he can't do his fireworks this year. But what can I say? They might frighten the little ones."
Merry stared at Frodo. "Are we talking about the same Gamgees?" he asked. "Because the ones who I'm thinking of love people and would do anything to get to go to one of your big birthday parties. They've also, incidentally, been looking forward to Gandalf's fireworks for who knows how long, and, if I remember correctly, ambushed him, this morning, in fact!"
"I told you no one would buy it, Frodo," said Gwathwen (whose blush had not yet faded completely). "Nobody's /that/ stupid."
Frodo sighed. "Of course, it's hardly likely. Well, Merry, I'll tell you: Once, many years ago, my cousin Bilbo said this of the presence of the Ring: It made him feel stretched, like 'butter over too much bread'. I, unlike Bilbo, am dealing with the absence of the Ring. I do not feel any great stretch; but I feel a great need, like Smeagol did; and I do not know how to counteract that need. I do not know how to get rid of the need; but it hinders my days, and it must be blotted out in some way. I did not feel that it was appropriate, nor that I would be able to handle it, if I had a full-out birthday party this year."
Merry stood in silence for a moment. Then he said, "Well, /finally/ someone's /telling/ me what's going /on/! /Thank/ you, Frodo. Okay. We can go from here."
Frodo stared at him, slightly astonished at his outburst; then he laughed, and winked again. "Well, Merry, has our Gwath been keeping things from you? I'll assure you, she's keeping more than just the current situation from you—"
"Crude!" Gwathwen shouted, blushing again. "You're being crude, Frodo!"
"How is that crude?" Merry asked, puzzled and annoyed. "What are you keeping from me? Gwathwen!"
"Nothing. Pay no mind to Frodo, he's feeling a bit ill," Gwathwen muttered angrily, glaring with narrowed eyes at the master of Bag End. She looked about ready to spit either fire, acid, boiling oil, or all of the above.
"You may as well wait in the party room until Pippin and Draugwen have come," Frodo said, and winked (/again/). "They've taken even longer than you have. I wonder if—"
Suddenly Gwathwen grabbed him by his shirt-collar and began shaking him quite vigorously. "Do /not/—," she snarled through gritted teeth as she shook him, "/ever/—insinuate—that my—sister—is—impure! You—will—pay—next time!" With that, she put him down and dusted off her hands. "Come on, Merry. Let's go visit Sam and Rosie," she said calmly, leading him into the next room. He looked over his shoulder and watched poor Frodo gurgle and twitch on the floor.
/Alas for the hobbit that makes crude jokes in front of Gwathwen Bolger/, he said to himself, quite intimidated.
***
"Gwathwen! We're here!" shrieked Draugwen at the top of her voice.
"Yes, Draugwen, I can hear that," Gwathwen growled. She banged on the side of her head to make sure she hadn't gone deaf. "Merry?"
"Hmm?" Merry looked up from his reminiscing.
"Bring that ale over here, would you? And if you're going to get food, get it now. Oh, and get some pipeweed as well, would you? You and Pippin are owed some explanations."
"Yes! Finally!" Merry grabbed the basket of mushrooms from Sam's hands ("Hey! Get your own shrooms! Those are mine! Mr. Merry, I'm warning you . . .") and plopped down next to Gwathwen.
"Sam, why don't you come too? And Frodo, and the rest of you," Gwathwen said, and beckoned. "It's for all of you to hear."