Estella Bolger was born into a musical family. Her parents, along
with Griffo Boffin and Adelard Took, formed a popular pub band
that was much in demand at the local tavern, the Pink Ouliphant,
as well as the more well-to-do hobbits' birthday parties. Odovacar
could pick up any instrument and coax a tune out of it, but the
mandola and guitar were his particular favorites. With a strong
and true voice, Rosamunda was known as the Songbird of Budgeford.
It was said she could make even a tough old gaffer cry with the
rare ballad out of Tuckborough, but much more commonly she would
have all the hobbits on their feet, clapping, dancing and singing
along. Not a difficult task, mind you, as hobbits love a good song
and dance almost as much as food and drink.
So it was no surprise when Estella's Mum and Da started hinting
around at a special present that might appear for her on Da's next
birthday.
Da's birthday came late that year, or so it seemed to the
impatient Estella. Ever since hearing old Odo Proudfoot dash off
the "Pincup Reel" at Bilbo's last birthday party, she had longed
for a fiddle of her own with all of her six year-old heart.
Finally, finally the day arrived. Rosamunda, Fatty and Estella sat
around the kitchen table as Odovacar gathered the presents from
their various hiding places. Estella sat more or less patiently as
Mum and Fatty made a great show of opening their gifts, but when
Da presented a gift to Digger, the family terrier, she squeaked in
protest.
"Oh dear!" exclaimed Da, "Did I have something for you? Hush now,
let me think," he said, with a wink to Mum, "Where did I put
that?" He bustled about, pretending to search various hiding
places in their cozy hobbit hole. At length, he went to the linen
closet and pulled out a small, oblong case. Setting it carefully
on the table, he told Estella to open it. She fumbled with the
latches and finally got the case open. Inside lay a worn, beaten
old fiddle. It was a student model, about half the size of a
regular fiddle. The finish had worn off years ago, it bore a great
many scratches and the left side sagged in a bit. Estella thought
it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.
"I'm boooored!" whined Estella. The teen had insisted on
accompanying her Father and brother when they made their annual
journey to Hobbiton to negotiate grain prices. As was their
custom, they stopped at Bag End to sell some of their crop
directly to Bag End. Odovacar, Fatty and Frodo were huddled around
Bilbo's old reading desk, poring over various documents to ensure
they would arrive at a fair market value. When they finally
reached a consensus they would draw up the necessary papers and
have them signed in red ink. This was not what Estella had in mind
when she'd begged to be included on the trip.
One of the dark curly heads lifted and Estella found herself on
the end of a rather stern look from her Da. Estella choked back
another complaint and sighed dramatically instead.
"Estella," said Frodo, without looking up, "If I remember right
Bilbo had a music room around here somewhere. Why don't you try to
find it?"
Estella narrowed her eyes suspiciously, "Really?"
Frodo chuckled. "Yes, really. Bilbo never learned to play, but he
always had a fondness for musical instruments. I imagine he has
quite a collection of Elvish instruments in Rivendell."
Fatty gave Frodo a fond smile. "I'm sure he does."
"What are you waiting for?" asked Frodo. "Off with you, lass. Hop
to it!"
Estella jumped up and scampered down the hall.
Peace reigned for almost half an hour.
The high, thin sound of a fiddle reached their ears. It was a
slow, halting scale, up and back down again and again, this time
too flat, that time too sharp, the next time a strange mix of the
two. Slowly the scale improved in accuracy and then speed. The
scale became arpeggios and then waltzes, hornpipes and reels.
The hobbits stopped to listen.
"She sounds good," offered Fatty. "She's long outgrown her baby
fiddle."
Odovacar grunted. "You know we can't afford extras this year.
Maybe if the harvest is a little better next year." He sighed and
rubbed his forehead. "Let's get back to work, shall we?"
Sam and Frodo helped the Bolgers take their bags out to the wagon.
As Sam was saying his good-byes, Frodo ran back inside. He came
back carrying a gleaming fiddle case.
Estella's eyes locked onto the case, and her heart sank. She was
every bit as proud as her father and could never accept charity,
even from someone as well-meaning as Frodo.
"Frodo," began Odovacar.
Frodo held up a hand to forestall him. "I am demanding a very high
price in exchange for Bilbo's fiddle." He turned to Estella,
"You'll have to decide if you're willing to pay such a price."
Estella swallowed and forced herself to look away from the fiddle
case. "Wha-what is it?"
Frodo looked at her solemnly. "You must promise to give me a tune
every year for your birthday. Can you do that?"
Estella glanced at Da, who gave a slight nod. Sam took the fiddle
out of Frodo's hands just as Estella flew into his arms with a
squeal of delight.
Frodo laughed. "I'll take that as a yes."
"Yes! Oh, thank you Frodo! Thank you!"
Sam and Frodo stood outside Bag End watching the Bolgers disappear
down the road, Estella still hugging her new fiddle to her chest.
She couldn't breathe. Why couldn't she breathe? Estella hacked and
coughed, choked by the very air she was trying to breathe. Then
everything went from gray to black.
"Estella! Estella wake up!" She awoke to her mother's voice, which
was shrill with fear. She had been carried outside to the side of
the road.
"I'm awake Mum." She could hear screaming, the sounds of panic and
a strange rushing noise. She opened her eyes to a sight that would
be burned in her memory for the rest of her life.
Against a backdrop of blazing fields and hobbit-holes, hobbits
were being chased through the streets by towering men. Any hobbit
that got caught was shaken, beaten and interrogated until they
could no longer speak. Mum and Da pulled Estella to her feet as
the men neared their own hole. Then the panicked river of hobbits
swept them up and pulled them apart.
"Mum! Da!" Estella screamed as she ran, but she had no choice but
to keep running and running and running.
Estella's injured lungs could take no more. She had to stop, but
she was afraid of being trampled. Up ahead she could see the
Budgefield Bridge. She looked quickly around, but could see no
men, so she darted out of the crowd and underneath the bridge. For
a while all she could hear was her own ragged breathing. Then she
became aware that the sound of hobbit feet was fading, to be
replaced by the slower, heavier tread of the men.
"Think that's far enough?"
"Reckon so. That'll learn 'em. Next runt that tries to stir things
up'll get ratted out by 'is own before 'e gets far."
"Figure we got the Bolger runt's shack?"
"Reckon. If'n there's a house left standing, I didn't see it."
"It'll make a nice surprise for the runt if he ever gets out o'
them lockholes."
The men's rough laughter rang in her ears long after they had
gone.
Estella didn't know how long she lay there shivering. She found
herself stumbling through the ruined landscape toward her home. If
the still smoldering grass burnt the bottom of her feet, she
didn't feel it. She didn't feel anything, really. It was all too
unreal. Everything in her hole was a nightmare version of itself.
Then she saw it. Her fiddle. Broken, twisted, charred.
Estella knelt on the ruined floor and wept. Sam. Pippin. Merry.
Frodo. Fatty. Mum and Da. They were all gone and nothing would
ever be right again.
Her parents found her hours later, rocking back and forth, singing
the same song over and over, (the only words they could make out
were; "all shall fade, all shall fade,") and cradling the remains
of her fiddle to her chest.
"And now for your present," whispered Estella to Frodo with a wink
as she passed him on the way to the stage.
"My dear hobbits!" she said, raising her voice over the din and
babble of a successful hobbit party. "I shall now present you with
a song from the land of Gondor, with a few adjustments for present
company." Estella caught Merry's eye and they shared a smile as
the cheers and noisy conversations quieted to a nervous murmur.
Most of the hobbits looked skeptical, and a few were downright
scandalized. But Estella counted off the beat and the band started
in on what was clearly a drinking song. Perhaps this foreign music
would be tolerable.
Estella sang:
Come all you jolly fellows and join us in song,
Let thunderous harmony sound.
For if hobbits still sing then the world's not so wrong,
And the rafters will ring in a round.
But a hobbit can't sing if he's troubled at heart,
As melodies over you steal,
So bring us a drink and we'll each sing our part,
And our voices with clarity peel.
Bring us more ale here and without fail here.
We'll go on singing till each song is sung,
Pass round the jugs now; fill up your mugs now,
We shall not stop now that we have begun.
And if you have a song sir as we go along sir,
You're next to sing but you're never to think,
We'd let you sing dry sir that's a foul lie sir,
A drink for each song and a song for each drink.
Well the first is a song of the great raging sea
Let thunderous harmony sound
And the far foreign lands that our sailors do see
And the rafters will ring in a round
And the next is a song of green meadows and fields
As melodies over you steal
Of the farmer and the ploughboy and the earth's bounteous yield
And our voices with clarity peel.
Bring us more ale here and without fail here.
We'll go on singing till each song is sung,
Pass round the jugs now; fill up your mugs now,
We shall not stop now that we have begun.
And if you have a song sir as we go along sir,
You're next to sing but you're never to think,
We'd let you sing dry sir that's a foul lie sir,
A drink for each song and a song for each drink.
Well we'll sing of the orchards and the wheat fields of Buckland
Let thunderous harmony sound
And of hard times we've known when our money's all spent
And the rafters will ring in a round
And the Tuckborough hills with their sheep and their corn
As melodies over you steal
And of lassies we've courted on a fine summer's morn
And our voices with clarity peel.
Bring us more ale here and without fail here.
We'll go on singing till each song is sung,
Pass round the jugs now; fill up your mugs now,
We shall not stop now that we have begun.
And if you have a song sir as we go along sir,
You're next to sing but you're never to think,
We'd let you sing dry sir that's a foul lie sir,
A drink for each song and a song for each drink.
Oh we'll sing of the wars and the victories dear
Let thunderous harmony sound
And of foes we have vanquished with arrow and spear
And the rafters will ring in a round
But we'll sing of the widows and the sons they have lost
As melodies over you steal
For there's no battle fought without counting the cost
And our voices with clarity peel.
Bring us more ale here and without fail here.
We'll go on singing till each song is sung,
Pass round the jugs now; fill up your mugs now,
We shall not stop now that we have begun.
And if you have a song sir as we go along sir,
You're next to sing but you're never to think,
We'd let you sing dry sir that's a foul lie sir,
A drink for each song and a song for each drink.
Well now to conclude and to finish our tale
Let thunderous harmony sound
We'll sing one last chorus and then sup some ale
And the rafters will ring in a round
So some other fellow may now take the floor
As melodies over you steal
And sing us a song may we hear many more
And our voices with clarity peel.
Bring us more ale here and without fail here.
We'll go on singing till each song is sung,
Pass round the jugs now; fill up your mugs now,
We shall not stop now that we have begun.
And if you have a song sir as we go along sir,
You're next to sing but you're never to think,
We'd let you sing dry sir that's a foul lie sir,
A drink for each song and a song for each drink.
Bring us more ale here and without fail here.
We'll go on singing till each song is sung,
Pass round the jugs now; fill up your mugs now,
We shall not stop now that we have begun.
And if you have a song sir as we go along sir,
You're next to sing but you're never to think,
We'd let you sing dry sir that's a foul lie sir,
A drink for each song and a song for each drink.
Sam, Frodo, Merry and Pippin sang along loudly, and soon nearly
all the hobbits were joining in the chorus. A few of the braver
and drunker hobbits even attempted the verses, albeit off-key and
generally with the wrong words.
Other fellows did take the floor as soon as the cheers and
"huzzahs" died down, and the hobbits sang and danced well into the
night to more familiar tunes.
"So," said Estella as she returned to their table, flushed with
success, "did you like your present Frodo?"
"I did!" he exclaimed, raising his mug to her, "But, Estella,
where's your fiddle?"
"Oh," she replied lightly, "I don't play anymore."
.
"It's beautiful Merry, but you know I don't play anymore." Estella
couldn't take her eyes off of the exquisite instrument in Merry's
hands.
"At least have a look at it," entreated Merry. "It took forever to
get a proper hobbit fiddle out of the Rohan craftsmen. They kept
trying to add too many strings and silly things like that."
Estella gingerly took the fiddle from him. It was a rich mahogany
color, burnished to a high shine. The tuning pegs, rather than the
typical round shape, were carved to resemble horses' heads. The
detail was incredible, down to the bridle and reigns. The bridge
was made to look like an upturned saddle. The fiddle was inlaid
with gold around the edges. At the end of the fiddle, instead of a
plain scroll, the instrument finished in a carving of the curled
leaf of the athelas plant. It was truly a work of art.
She reluctantly handed it back to Merry and turned away.
"Well," said Merry, "if you don't mind, we'll just keep it around.
Who knows, little Faramir may want to use it to practice one day."
He could see her tense, but she continued to walk toward the
kitchen.
Merry awoke to the plink, plink of fiddle strings being plucked. A
few moments later he felt Estella return to bed. When he turned to
her she said, "It needed to be tuned." Merry nodded, closed his
eyes and smiled into his pillow.
the song Estella sings at her birthday party is a traditional
English drinking song that I stole and adapted for my own
nefarious purposes
with Griffo Boffin and Adelard Took, formed a popular pub band
that was much in demand at the local tavern, the Pink Ouliphant,
as well as the more well-to-do hobbits' birthday parties. Odovacar
could pick up any instrument and coax a tune out of it, but the
mandola and guitar were his particular favorites. With a strong
and true voice, Rosamunda was known as the Songbird of Budgeford.
It was said she could make even a tough old gaffer cry with the
rare ballad out of Tuckborough, but much more commonly she would
have all the hobbits on their feet, clapping, dancing and singing
along. Not a difficult task, mind you, as hobbits love a good song
and dance almost as much as food and drink.
So it was no surprise when Estella's Mum and Da started hinting
around at a special present that might appear for her on Da's next
birthday.
Da's birthday came late that year, or so it seemed to the
impatient Estella. Ever since hearing old Odo Proudfoot dash off
the "Pincup Reel" at Bilbo's last birthday party, she had longed
for a fiddle of her own with all of her six year-old heart.
Finally, finally the day arrived. Rosamunda, Fatty and Estella sat
around the kitchen table as Odovacar gathered the presents from
their various hiding places. Estella sat more or less patiently as
Mum and Fatty made a great show of opening their gifts, but when
Da presented a gift to Digger, the family terrier, she squeaked in
protest.
"Oh dear!" exclaimed Da, "Did I have something for you? Hush now,
let me think," he said, with a wink to Mum, "Where did I put
that?" He bustled about, pretending to search various hiding
places in their cozy hobbit hole. At length, he went to the linen
closet and pulled out a small, oblong case. Setting it carefully
on the table, he told Estella to open it. She fumbled with the
latches and finally got the case open. Inside lay a worn, beaten
old fiddle. It was a student model, about half the size of a
regular fiddle. The finish had worn off years ago, it bore a great
many scratches and the left side sagged in a bit. Estella thought
it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.
"I'm boooored!" whined Estella. The teen had insisted on
accompanying her Father and brother when they made their annual
journey to Hobbiton to negotiate grain prices. As was their
custom, they stopped at Bag End to sell some of their crop
directly to Bag End. Odovacar, Fatty and Frodo were huddled around
Bilbo's old reading desk, poring over various documents to ensure
they would arrive at a fair market value. When they finally
reached a consensus they would draw up the necessary papers and
have them signed in red ink. This was not what Estella had in mind
when she'd begged to be included on the trip.
One of the dark curly heads lifted and Estella found herself on
the end of a rather stern look from her Da. Estella choked back
another complaint and sighed dramatically instead.
"Estella," said Frodo, without looking up, "If I remember right
Bilbo had a music room around here somewhere. Why don't you try to
find it?"
Estella narrowed her eyes suspiciously, "Really?"
Frodo chuckled. "Yes, really. Bilbo never learned to play, but he
always had a fondness for musical instruments. I imagine he has
quite a collection of Elvish instruments in Rivendell."
Fatty gave Frodo a fond smile. "I'm sure he does."
"What are you waiting for?" asked Frodo. "Off with you, lass. Hop
to it!"
Estella jumped up and scampered down the hall.
Peace reigned for almost half an hour.
The high, thin sound of a fiddle reached their ears. It was a
slow, halting scale, up and back down again and again, this time
too flat, that time too sharp, the next time a strange mix of the
two. Slowly the scale improved in accuracy and then speed. The
scale became arpeggios and then waltzes, hornpipes and reels.
The hobbits stopped to listen.
"She sounds good," offered Fatty. "She's long outgrown her baby
fiddle."
Odovacar grunted. "You know we can't afford extras this year.
Maybe if the harvest is a little better next year." He sighed and
rubbed his forehead. "Let's get back to work, shall we?"
Sam and Frodo helped the Bolgers take their bags out to the wagon.
As Sam was saying his good-byes, Frodo ran back inside. He came
back carrying a gleaming fiddle case.
Estella's eyes locked onto the case, and her heart sank. She was
every bit as proud as her father and could never accept charity,
even from someone as well-meaning as Frodo.
"Frodo," began Odovacar.
Frodo held up a hand to forestall him. "I am demanding a very high
price in exchange for Bilbo's fiddle." He turned to Estella,
"You'll have to decide if you're willing to pay such a price."
Estella swallowed and forced herself to look away from the fiddle
case. "Wha-what is it?"
Frodo looked at her solemnly. "You must promise to give me a tune
every year for your birthday. Can you do that?"
Estella glanced at Da, who gave a slight nod. Sam took the fiddle
out of Frodo's hands just as Estella flew into his arms with a
squeal of delight.
Frodo laughed. "I'll take that as a yes."
"Yes! Oh, thank you Frodo! Thank you!"
Sam and Frodo stood outside Bag End watching the Bolgers disappear
down the road, Estella still hugging her new fiddle to her chest.
She couldn't breathe. Why couldn't she breathe? Estella hacked and
coughed, choked by the very air she was trying to breathe. Then
everything went from gray to black.
"Estella! Estella wake up!" She awoke to her mother's voice, which
was shrill with fear. She had been carried outside to the side of
the road.
"I'm awake Mum." She could hear screaming, the sounds of panic and
a strange rushing noise. She opened her eyes to a sight that would
be burned in her memory for the rest of her life.
Against a backdrop of blazing fields and hobbit-holes, hobbits
were being chased through the streets by towering men. Any hobbit
that got caught was shaken, beaten and interrogated until they
could no longer speak. Mum and Da pulled Estella to her feet as
the men neared their own hole. Then the panicked river of hobbits
swept them up and pulled them apart.
"Mum! Da!" Estella screamed as she ran, but she had no choice but
to keep running and running and running.
Estella's injured lungs could take no more. She had to stop, but
she was afraid of being trampled. Up ahead she could see the
Budgefield Bridge. She looked quickly around, but could see no
men, so she darted out of the crowd and underneath the bridge. For
a while all she could hear was her own ragged breathing. Then she
became aware that the sound of hobbit feet was fading, to be
replaced by the slower, heavier tread of the men.
"Think that's far enough?"
"Reckon so. That'll learn 'em. Next runt that tries to stir things
up'll get ratted out by 'is own before 'e gets far."
"Figure we got the Bolger runt's shack?"
"Reckon. If'n there's a house left standing, I didn't see it."
"It'll make a nice surprise for the runt if he ever gets out o'
them lockholes."
The men's rough laughter rang in her ears long after they had
gone.
Estella didn't know how long she lay there shivering. She found
herself stumbling through the ruined landscape toward her home. If
the still smoldering grass burnt the bottom of her feet, she
didn't feel it. She didn't feel anything, really. It was all too
unreal. Everything in her hole was a nightmare version of itself.
Then she saw it. Her fiddle. Broken, twisted, charred.
Estella knelt on the ruined floor and wept. Sam. Pippin. Merry.
Frodo. Fatty. Mum and Da. They were all gone and nothing would
ever be right again.
Her parents found her hours later, rocking back and forth, singing
the same song over and over, (the only words they could make out
were; "all shall fade, all shall fade,") and cradling the remains
of her fiddle to her chest.
"And now for your present," whispered Estella to Frodo with a wink
as she passed him on the way to the stage.
"My dear hobbits!" she said, raising her voice over the din and
babble of a successful hobbit party. "I shall now present you with
a song from the land of Gondor, with a few adjustments for present
company." Estella caught Merry's eye and they shared a smile as
the cheers and noisy conversations quieted to a nervous murmur.
Most of the hobbits looked skeptical, and a few were downright
scandalized. But Estella counted off the beat and the band started
in on what was clearly a drinking song. Perhaps this foreign music
would be tolerable.
Estella sang:
Come all you jolly fellows and join us in song,
Let thunderous harmony sound.
For if hobbits still sing then the world's not so wrong,
And the rafters will ring in a round.
But a hobbit can't sing if he's troubled at heart,
As melodies over you steal,
So bring us a drink and we'll each sing our part,
And our voices with clarity peel.
Bring us more ale here and without fail here.
We'll go on singing till each song is sung,
Pass round the jugs now; fill up your mugs now,
We shall not stop now that we have begun.
And if you have a song sir as we go along sir,
You're next to sing but you're never to think,
We'd let you sing dry sir that's a foul lie sir,
A drink for each song and a song for each drink.
Well the first is a song of the great raging sea
Let thunderous harmony sound
And the far foreign lands that our sailors do see
And the rafters will ring in a round
And the next is a song of green meadows and fields
As melodies over you steal
Of the farmer and the ploughboy and the earth's bounteous yield
And our voices with clarity peel.
Bring us more ale here and without fail here.
We'll go on singing till each song is sung,
Pass round the jugs now; fill up your mugs now,
We shall not stop now that we have begun.
And if you have a song sir as we go along sir,
You're next to sing but you're never to think,
We'd let you sing dry sir that's a foul lie sir,
A drink for each song and a song for each drink.
Well we'll sing of the orchards and the wheat fields of Buckland
Let thunderous harmony sound
And of hard times we've known when our money's all spent
And the rafters will ring in a round
And the Tuckborough hills with their sheep and their corn
As melodies over you steal
And of lassies we've courted on a fine summer's morn
And our voices with clarity peel.
Bring us more ale here and without fail here.
We'll go on singing till each song is sung,
Pass round the jugs now; fill up your mugs now,
We shall not stop now that we have begun.
And if you have a song sir as we go along sir,
You're next to sing but you're never to think,
We'd let you sing dry sir that's a foul lie sir,
A drink for each song and a song for each drink.
Oh we'll sing of the wars and the victories dear
Let thunderous harmony sound
And of foes we have vanquished with arrow and spear
And the rafters will ring in a round
But we'll sing of the widows and the sons they have lost
As melodies over you steal
For there's no battle fought without counting the cost
And our voices with clarity peel.
Bring us more ale here and without fail here.
We'll go on singing till each song is sung,
Pass round the jugs now; fill up your mugs now,
We shall not stop now that we have begun.
And if you have a song sir as we go along sir,
You're next to sing but you're never to think,
We'd let you sing dry sir that's a foul lie sir,
A drink for each song and a song for each drink.
Well now to conclude and to finish our tale
Let thunderous harmony sound
We'll sing one last chorus and then sup some ale
And the rafters will ring in a round
So some other fellow may now take the floor
As melodies over you steal
And sing us a song may we hear many more
And our voices with clarity peel.
Bring us more ale here and without fail here.
We'll go on singing till each song is sung,
Pass round the jugs now; fill up your mugs now,
We shall not stop now that we have begun.
And if you have a song sir as we go along sir,
You're next to sing but you're never to think,
We'd let you sing dry sir that's a foul lie sir,
A drink for each song and a song for each drink.
Bring us more ale here and without fail here.
We'll go on singing till each song is sung,
Pass round the jugs now; fill up your mugs now,
We shall not stop now that we have begun.
And if you have a song sir as we go along sir,
You're next to sing but you're never to think,
We'd let you sing dry sir that's a foul lie sir,
A drink for each song and a song for each drink.
Sam, Frodo, Merry and Pippin sang along loudly, and soon nearly
all the hobbits were joining in the chorus. A few of the braver
and drunker hobbits even attempted the verses, albeit off-key and
generally with the wrong words.
Other fellows did take the floor as soon as the cheers and
"huzzahs" died down, and the hobbits sang and danced well into the
night to more familiar tunes.
"So," said Estella as she returned to their table, flushed with
success, "did you like your present Frodo?"
"I did!" he exclaimed, raising his mug to her, "But, Estella,
where's your fiddle?"
"Oh," she replied lightly, "I don't play anymore."
.
"It's beautiful Merry, but you know I don't play anymore." Estella
couldn't take her eyes off of the exquisite instrument in Merry's
hands.
"At least have a look at it," entreated Merry. "It took forever to
get a proper hobbit fiddle out of the Rohan craftsmen. They kept
trying to add too many strings and silly things like that."
Estella gingerly took the fiddle from him. It was a rich mahogany
color, burnished to a high shine. The tuning pegs, rather than the
typical round shape, were carved to resemble horses' heads. The
detail was incredible, down to the bridle and reigns. The bridge
was made to look like an upturned saddle. The fiddle was inlaid
with gold around the edges. At the end of the fiddle, instead of a
plain scroll, the instrument finished in a carving of the curled
leaf of the athelas plant. It was truly a work of art.
She reluctantly handed it back to Merry and turned away.
"Well," said Merry, "if you don't mind, we'll just keep it around.
Who knows, little Faramir may want to use it to practice one day."
He could see her tense, but she continued to walk toward the
kitchen.
Merry awoke to the plink, plink of fiddle strings being plucked. A
few moments later he felt Estella return to bed. When he turned to
her she said, "It needed to be tuned." Merry nodded, closed his
eyes and smiled into his pillow.
the song Estella sings at her birthday party is a traditional
English drinking song that I stole and adapted for my own
nefarious purposes