Bree
In which Merry is dull and mature, and Goldilocks is quite Tookish
There are some things that never change.
For all that I have witnessed in my life -- the return of the King, the overthrow of the Dark Lord, the dawn of a new age -- it has become apparent to me that there are still things in this world as unchangeable as the mountains. Mere hobbit-lads who could not fathom the world beyond their borders are now knights of the Mark and of Gondor. We are husbands and fathers. We have left behind the carefree larks of youth and taken on the mantles of Master and Thain.
And yet, for all this change, this one thing remains true:
Pippin is a complete and total fool.
A simple trip to Bree, to take care of some trade agreements and to hear the news of the world that always reaches Bree, perched as it is on the crossroads of the East Road and the Old Greenway, long before we catch wind of anything in the Shire. That's all it was supposed to be. One night at the Prancing Pony, and then back to Buckland for dinner at the Hall the next day.
I should have invited Berilac instead. I realized this too late, when Pippin showed up with a swarm of children.
"They're not a swarm," Pippin said as he greeted me with a hug. "They are only three, Merry. You won't even know they're with us. The younger children up at Bag End have the common pox, so I just couldn't leave Faramir there as I'd planned, and poor Sam and Rose looked ready to collapse, what with tending to the sick ones and trying to keep the well ones out of trouble. 'Lo, Estella!" he called suddenly as my wife appeared in the corridor, and he bent to give her an enthusiastic kiss on the cheek.
"Hullo, Pip," Estella answered, returned the kiss with a bit more reserve. "So we've you to thank for the three starving wildlings in the kitchen?"
"They're not starving," Pippin protested, clearly affronted at the implication that he had not properly cared for said wildlings on their trip to Brandy Hall.
"They're children, they're always starving," Estella said dryly, and pinched Pippin's cheek to show that she meant no harm.
"I hope they don't eat you out of the smial before we've returned, Stel," I told her, and she smiled wickedly at me.
"Oh, but Merry-love, Goldilocks informs me that she is going to Bree with Mr. Pippin," she said. "That they all are going to Bree with Mr. Pippin and Mr. Merry, and won't it be a grand time, actually leaving the Shire! She can barely find time to shovel food into her mouth for trying to tell me about it as fast as she can."
I snorted. "Well, she'll just have to rid herself of that notion," I said firmly.
Pippin coughed slightly. "Well, you see, Merry, it's just that I promised them," he said, and at least had the good grace to sound abashed.
"And you don't want him going back on a promise, now do you, Merry?" Estella said, and patted my arm as I wordlessly open and shut my mouth. "It's just three little children, and they will be in the care of the Master and Thain themselves. Surely those dashing heroes can handle three little hobbits on a one-night trip?"
I gave Estella an impressively severe look, and she laughed outright in delight. "Oh, yes, you are certainly in for a fun trip," she said, and laughed again as she turned and walked down the corridor. "Come along, lads, I shall see if there is any food yet remaining in the kitchen that might be fit to serve our Thain."
I turned the severe look on Pippin, but his face was all big, bright smile. "Now, don't grumble, Merry," he said soothingly, and slung an arm around my shoulders. "It shall be a splendid time! I have been assuring Faramir for ages now that soon he will do a little travelling, and this seemed the perfect opportunity. And you wouldn't want to ask him to leave Goldilocks and Hamfast behind, now would you?
"Pippin, they're much too young," I began, but he just grinned at me.
"Oh, don't carry on so," he said cheerily. "Like Estella said, surely such dashing heroes as the two of us can handle three little hobbits on a one-night trip. What could possibly go wrong?" At first, I thought Pippin might actually be right. We had to take a cart, of course, rather than ride ponies, to accommodate the children, but all three of them were in good spirits and on good behavior as we set out. There was much crowing about the leaving of the Shire as we trotted out the Gate, but soon after, the three of them settled down in the back of the cart and set to playing a word game to keep themselves amused. Pippin joined in after a while and soon had them squealing with giggles.
"Do you think, Mr. Merry," Goldilocks said, standing up in the back of the cart and wedging herself in between my and Pippin's shoulders, "that we should stop and visit Tom Bombadil?"
"I think, Miss Goldilocks," I answered without hesitation, "that we should go straight on to Bree so we can be there to have our supper."
"That is not very adventuresome," Goldilocks observed, but I was not about to be goaded by a 10-year-old lass.
"Well, I suppose I have turned out dull and hobbit-like in the end after all," I answered, and Pippin snorted. Faramir, though, laughed somewhat evilly.
"Goldilocks thinks that you and Father may have made Tom Bombadil up," Faramir said smugly.
"Goldilocks!" I said in reproach. "You don't think that, do you? Your father knows he is real enough!"
"Well, I may have just checked with Daddy, to be certain," Goldilocks said hastily, ducking her head down.
"Yes, and then you said that we should try to find out for ourselves, just to be certainly certain," Hamfast said. I turned my head slightly, just enough to see that both lads were grinning madly at the trouble they were getting Goldilocks into.
Pippin was giving Goldilocks a wounded look, and she flushed. "Well, there was all that silliness about you meeting a grogach in the South Farthing and drinking ale with him, and then the whole story about the dancing dwarves and Daddy said it simply couldn't be true, for no dwarf he's ever known would dance, and also what you said about the Tooks coming from Faïre and not being proper hobbits at all," Goldilocks said defensively.
"Oh, I see," Pippin said, still wearing the hurt expression that had been serving him so well since childhood. "You think I am full of nonsense and tall tales."
"You rather are, Father," Faramir said, with no seeming concern for the crushed look on his father's face.
"Goldilocks," I said, "there is a difference between telling a good story and telling a falsehood."
"Oh, I know, Mr. Merry," she said quickly. "I know Mr. Pippin would not lie to us. But I just thought that perhaps Tom Bombadil was a story too. He does sing and dance quite a lot, and I don't understand how Goldberry is the river's daughter. It doesn't really sound like something that is real, and not a story."
Well, that was certainly true, and I could not contest it, so I simply said firmly, "Well, it is all real, and not a story." Then, I added, "And we still are not going to stop and see Tom Bombadil."
Goldilocks sighed in resignation and flopped back down into her seat of blankets.
"I think, Goldilocks," Faramir said with insight, "that Tom Bombadil might not be someone you go to see, but rather someone that you happen to see. Right, Father?"
"Just so," Pippin said, and his mournful look dissipated somewhat. "There are many things in this world, Faramir, that you cannot find by looking for them."
"That seems a silly way to manage things," I heard Goldilocks mutter, and Hamfast giggled. He popped up between our shoulders and pressed himself affectionately into Pippin's side.
"I don't mind not going to see Tom Bombadil," he said. "We might have to go into the Old Forest, or near the Barrows. I think I should rather see Bree, and meet Barliman Butterbur. He is most certainly real."
"As real as the earth, Hammie," I said, and he smiled up at me. "And you don't even need to go looking for him to find him. In fact, he's right hard to miss."
"Does he really serve the best beer west of the Mountains?" Faramir asked. "May we try it?"
"No," Pippin and I said as one, and then Hamfast flopped back down to join his companions and all three of them giggled and whispered, no doubt planning how to steal their first tastes of beer.
If they got into no further trouble than a sip or two of beer, I thought, I would be a content hobbit. As I'd said, old Butterbur was difficult to miss, the plentiful years now visible in his girth. He was slowing down with age, and his eldest son was running much of the business now, but it was still Barliman who greeted you when you stepped in the door.
"Hello, Mr. Butterbur, sir," Faramir said, walking right up to him as Pippin and I herded the young Gamgees and our bags inside. "I am Faramir Took and my father says we are to have two adjoining hobbits rooms and we will take our supper in there and would you please be so kind as to join us if you have the time?"
Barliman shook Pippin's hand solemnly. "A great honor to meet you, young master," he said seriously. "I would have known you for Mr. Took's son had I passed you on the street. And who are your companions?"
"We are Goldilocks and Hamfast Gamgee, sir," Goldilocks answered, and I saw that for all her bravado, she was hanging back behind Faramir, while Hamfast hung back behind his sister. "Mayor Gamgee is our father."
"Indeed," Barliman said. "Then the Pony is full of honored guests this evening. I shall have to accept Mr. Took's offer of supper then, for never let it be said that Barliman Butterbur slighted visiting dignitaries."
This made the children grin and squirm with delight, and over their heads, Barliman winked at Pippin and me. "Now, Hob here will show you to your rooms and where you can wash up, and I'll send the Thain and the Master right along behind you . . ." He guided them toward the corridor as he spoke, and a chipper young hobbit led them away.
"Ah, Mr. Brandybuck!" Barliman exclaimed with delight, turning back and shaking my hand heartily. "And Mr. Took! A pleasure, a pleasure, always my pleasure! And triply so this day with your young companions! Mr. Took, that is a fine young lad you have there, I would have known him for yours in an instant."
"Yes, he's got the Took features all right," Pippin said, letting Barliman yank on his arm like it was a water pump. "You're looking well, Mr. Butterbur."
"I am, I am, and I shall join you for dinner if my lack-witted children can be trusted not to burn the inn down while I sit and rest my tired body for a spot," he said. Behind him, his eldest son, Bartleby, said, "We've not burnt it down yet, Pap!" Barliman ignored him.
"We thought supper with the children and then Pippin and I would come out to the common room for a spell," I told him. "We've some business early in the morning, and then we'll be off."
"Oh, so short a visit?" Barliman asked with regret. "Ah, well, I know you are busy, and because of it the Shire is thriving like never before. Not that we're doing poorly ourselves here in Bree. But I'll give you all the news at supper. Hob!" he bellowed suddenly. "Hob! Come show these guests to their rooms!"
"We know the way," Pippin hastily reassured him, lest the shouting continue. "At supper, then?"
"Yes, yes," Barliman said, but his attention was already distracted by a loud clanging coming from the kitchen. "What are those fools doing?" he muttered, and raced off.
"It is good to know that some things don't change," Pippin mused as we went down the corridor.
"It is indeed," I answered. The news from Bree was good, the supper was fine, and the rooms were comfortable. In short, everything was as we had expected it, and I anticipated a pleasant evening in the common room, followed by a satisfactory business trade in the morning and an uneventful trip back to Buckland.
The children were impressed with everything, and behaved so well that I was quite glad we'd brought them. They were especially taken with Barliman, and hung on his every word. As usual, he had not only news of Bree and the Crossroads, but of the dwarves, of Rivendell, of the King's men in the West, and -- an item of great thrill to the children -- a rumor of trolls near the foot of the Mountains.
"Do you suppose they would come so far as Bree, Mr. Butterbur?" Goldilocks asked breathlessly. "Do you think the gates would keep them out?"
"Well, the mountains are a good step away from Bree, Miss Gamgee," Butterbur said, "but one must always be vigilant. Since the King has come, though, we've little trouble here in Bree. It is near as safe as your Shire, though perhaps a bit more colorful, what with so many travellers coming through. No, save some dark rumors and some homegrown haints, we've naught to fear."
"Haints?" the children chorused.
"There are haints in Bree?" Goldilocks demanded, and Faramir added, "Real haints? Have you seen one?"
Hamfast, though, said stoutly, "There are no haints. My dad said so, because Millie Underhill said that Lotho Sackville-Baggins is a haint at Bag End and Dad said that was pure nonsense, and I've sure never seen him there."
"That is pure nonsense, Hamfast," Pippin said firmly. "Though I can't tell yet if Mr. Butterbur's haints are or not, as he hasn't told us about them yet."
"Pippin!" I hissed in disapproval, but he winked at me in amusement.
"Oh, let them have their scary story," he whispered. "Don't you remember when there was nothing better than one of Frodo's shivery tales? What about that one about the dwarf hand in the cellar of Bag End? We loved that."
"You didn't love it so much when you were scared half out of your wits," I answered, but then bit my tongue and let Butterbur tell his tale. Perhaps I was getting too dull and responsible, I mused, to try and take this bit of fun away from the children.
"Well, there is one in particular that I'm quite certain is not nonsense," Butterbur was telling the children. They were leaning in toward him, eyes huge and ears tilted forward. "I'm sure your fathers have told you about old Bill Ferny. Well, a worse villain Bree has never known, and we were right glad to see the dust on his heels, let me tell you. More's the shame that he went to stir up trouble in the Shire, but Mr. Brandybuck here sent him fleeing into the night and that was the last anyone ever heard of him.
"Or at least heard of him in this life." Butterbur lowered his voice and looked around the room as if checking for eavesdroppers. He leaned in closer to the children. "See, wasn't a person in town, Big or Little, who would take Ferny's property once he was gone. Nasty, filthy shack it was, though it had been a nice enough little place when he first moved in. So there it sat, alone at the edge of town, and no one ever paid it much mind. Until a number of years ago, folk starting hearing, well, strange sounds coming out of it at night."
"What strange sounds?" Faramir whispered.
"Moaning," Butterbur whispered back. "And sometimes even wailing. It's said that Bill finally came to a bad end, and his wandering haint found its way back home, and now it's trapped in there, alone and miserable. I've heard it myself, walking past that house on an evening. Makes the hair on the back of your neck stand right up, those noises do. A few brave souls have gone in there at night, but all have coming running back out in terror, for as soon as someone sets foot over the threshold, Bill starts up a screaming to stop your heart. For myself, there's not enough gold on this earth to make me set foot on that property after the sun's gone down. I knew Bill in life, and I'd rather steer clear of his haint, the poor, restless spirit."
With that, Butterbur straightened up and took a long drink of his ale, signifying clearly that the story had ended. "Oooooh," the children chorused with equal measure of fright and delight.
"That is a good story, Mr. Butterbur," Faramir said with approval.
"Oh, a story, is it?" Butterbur said. "Perhaps. How can a person tell what is the story and what is not? There's strange truth in stories, children, and don't forget that."
"That may be, Mr. Butterbur," Pippin said, standing up, "but the thing stories are still best for is bedtime. Which it now is. Children, thank our host, please."
A collected, "Ohhh," several groans, and then three "Thank you, Mr. Butterbur", and then Pippin herded them off to their bedroom, leaving Butterbur and me alone. I poured us both a fresh ale and sat back down.
"That is a good story, Barliman," I said. "And you tell it well."
"Aah," he said. "Thought you might like it. Tis true, about Bill's old house. Who's to say it's not his haint down there bothering the neighbors? Perhaps he felt he hadn't been enough of a hindrance while he was still alive."
"I really don't see how that is possible," I answered wryly, and Butterbur nodded sagely.
"I'll drink to that," he said, and raised his glass.
A spell in the common room turned into several hours in the common room and firm verification that whatever Gandalf had done to Barliman's beer still had lingering effects. There was a party of dwarves from the Blue Mountains having a trade meeting with several of the town's merchants, a group of noble-looking men from the area near Lake Evendim, and some fishermen from the mouth of the Brandywine, so the news was far-reaching and of keen interest to both Pippin and myself. We had taken one trip past the mountains, to Rohan and Minas Tirith, since our Faramir was born, but our ability to travel, with small children and wives at home, was not what it had been in the freedom of the Crickhollow years.
I did not mind, though. I would not trade life with Estella and the children for regular trips abroad, and I look forward to the day when Periadoc are Éowyn are old enough to travel with me to Rohan, and see the Golden Hall for themselves. For now, I could find adventure enough in Bree.
And to be certain, travelling with Pippin is always an adventure. Especially when he insists on travelling with small, curious companions. Sam swears there isn't a drop of Took blood in his veins, but sometimes I think he must be mistaken, for surely no one but a Took could get themselves into the kind of trouble his children seem to attract. Well, at least two of his children that I could name.
The merchants had gone and I was talking to the dwarves near the fire when Pippin came back from looking in on the children and tugged on my jacket elbow, sloshing my beer.
"Steady on, Pippin," I said irritably.
"Step outside and talk to me for a moment, cousin," he said, and took the beer out of my hand, finishing it off in a gulp.
"Pippin!" I admonished, and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"If you'll excuse us, my good dwarves," he said to my companions, and bowed deeply. While the dwarves were still bowing back, he grabbed me by the collar and hauled me outside.
"Peregrin Took!" I said, torn between annoyance and concern. "What is the matter with you?"
"Here, Merry, though I don't think you'll need it," he said, and pressed my sword into my hand. I noticed suddenly that he was wearing his, and tried to remember if he had been doing so all evening. "Doesn't hurt to be safe," Pippin said, and began hurrying me along the street. "Come on, come on, the sooner we get there the better chance there won't be trouble."
"Where are we going? And what kind of trouble?" I asked, but followed his lead as quickly as I could, catching his sense of urgency.
Pippin was shaking his head and chuckling as he trotted down the main street. "Really, the things they get in their heads," he said. "You have to admire their spirit. Even so, Faramir's going to be of age before I let him out of Tookland again."
A horrible thought came into my mind then. "Pippin," I said, "the children weren't gone from their beds, were they?"
"Of course they were," he said. "They've gone to Bill Ferny's house, to be certainly certain that his haint isn't there."
"How do you know?" I asked, suddenly picturing myself having to explain any number of horrors to Sam and Rosie.
"Oh, Merry." Pippin waved dismissively at me. "How do you think I know? It's what I would have done, isn't it?"
Well, it was, of course, there was no arguing that. And there we were, outside Bill Ferny's old ruin of a house. It was dark and uninviting in the dim light cast by the moon and the light coming from the few nearby houses. The gate was open.
Pippin loosened his sword in its scabbard. "Well, cousin, shall we face the haint together?"
I clapped a hand to his shoulder. "Come on," I said, and led the way down the path.
It was pitch black inside the shack, and the old floor creaked ominously under my feet. "Hullo?" I called. "Anyone here?"
For a moment, there was no sound at all, and then several things happened at once. There was a loud, unearthly wailing, quickly joined by several loud, very earthly, very shrill screams. Something crashed to the floor to my left, and then I was knocked down by a noisily shrieking creature that fixed its paws in my hair. As I lay there trying to catch my breath, something else scurried over my outstretched arm, and there was a gust of air and more shadowy shapes rushed by me. Pippin shouted, and suddenly vanished from the doorway.
I did the only thing I could and scrambled to my feet, the creature still clinging to me, and dashed for the door. "Pippin!" I called, suddenly frightened something had happened to him. The creature clinging to me shrieked again and bit my hand. I bit back a curse and tumbled out the front door.
My hand throbbing, I reached down and wrenched away my attacker, who kicked at me furiously and screamed again at the top of her little lungs.
"Goldilocks!" I yelled, and she stopped fighting and burst into tears.
"Mr. Merry!" she wailed, and reached her arms out to me. "Mr. Merry, there really are haints!"
"Oh, Goldilocks, sweetheart, there most certainly are not," Pippin said from behind me, and I turned to see him smiling at us, a trembling lad wrapped around each leg. "Look over there. Look at what your haint really is."
Scurrying across the ground, hissing and twitching with outrage, was a very large, very fat hedgehog. Even as we watched, he raced past us back toward the house, paused at the door, and turned to give us one final, menacing glare of disapproval.
"See?" Pippin said, stroking both lads' hair. "Bill Ferny's haint is nothing but a mean old hedgehog who doesn't approve of naughty children who sneak out of their beds at night to come and bother him."
"A hedgehog?" Goldilocks squeaked, her arms in a stranglehold around my neck. "A hedgehog is Bill Ferny's haint?"
"So it would seem," Pippin said, and began trying to pry the lads from his legs. "Come along, now, you're both all right. Let go, and we can get you all back into bed safe and sound, and I shall protect you from everything that goes bump in the night."
"A hedgehog?" Goldilocks said again, letting go of my neck and sitting up in my arms. "A silly hedgehog is Bill Ferny's haint? Well, that's no good! That's not scary at all!"
"It's scary enough for hobbit lasses who are going to have to tell their parents how they snuck out of their beds in a strange town and went into a dark, dangerous old house," I told her, and suddenly Goldilocks looked scared enough to satisfy any storyteller.
Pippin had managed to transfer Faramir's grip from his leg to his coat, and to coax Hamfast into his arms. "Now, that is a scary story, isn't it, Goldilocks? And completely, certainly real," he said. "I shall enjoy hearing you tell it." He smiled cheerily into Goldilocks' regretful face, and then led us back toward the Pony, Hamfast clinging to his neck and Faramir tripping over his heels.
Goldilocks regarded me solemnly with much the same look that Pippin had used so many times to convince me to hide his misdeeds. "Oh, I don't think so!" I said. "Not this time! I hope that you enjoyed your glimpse of the world outside the Shire, Miss Goldilocks, for I don't think you'll be seeing much beyond Bag End for some time to come."
She sighed and leaned forward against my chest. "I know," she said. "It did not go quite as I had planned. There was a gust of wind that blew the lantern out, and then we could not find one another or the door, and then the haint started making an awful row. It was too scary even for me, I think."
"I didn't think it possible," I said calmly, and began following after Pippin. "Remember this night the next time you have such splendid ideas, Goldilocks."
"I shall try," she said with a sigh, and then tightened her arms around me. "Thank you for rescuing me, Mr. Merry. I'm sorry about your hand."
I patted her back with the hand in question, the marks from her small, sharp teeth still throbbing slightly. "Any time, Goldilocks," I said.
"Why, Goldilocks, wherever did you hear such dreadful things?" I replied without hesitation. "So far as I can recall, I have always been a well-behaved, respectable gentlehobbit."
"Mummy said you wagered and imbibed and cavorted, though I'm not quite certain what she meant by those last two things," Goldilocks replied, and Hamfast added, "And Dad said if there was a to-do, you were likely at the bottom of it."
"You see, children," I said sagely, "that is a story that you heard about me in my youth. Certainly you can't imagine such a dull and mature hobbit as myself being a horrible lad."
"I can," Faramir said. "Auntie Pearl says you were incorrigible, and that Father just blindly followed after you from one misadventure to the next. She says it's miraculous either of you survived your tweens. I think the story is that you were ever well-behaved at all."
Goldilocks was examining me shrewdly but I kept my eyes fixed on the ponies. "Well, Miss Goldilocks, what do you think? Was my good cousin worse than you could ever hope to be when he was a lad, or was he the apple of the Shire?" Pippin asked her seriously.
"I think," Goldilocks said, still looking at me hard, "that Mr. Merry is not so dull and mature as he imagines himself to be." Then, to my surprise, she leaned forward and bestowed a hasty kiss to my cheek before hurtling herself back into the bottom of the cart.
"Well, I suppose that might be true," I conceded, and Pippin snorted.
"He supposes you might be right, Goldilocks," he called over his shoulder. "Now, I, on the other hand, have always been just as dull and mature as I am today."
"Mr. Pippin, you're not dull in the least," Hamfast reassured him, but Faramir and Goldilocks laughed with glee.
"Perhaps," Faramir said, "in the stories someday you will be, Father."
"I can only hope," Pippin said with a sigh. And with that, we rounded a long curve to see the Brandywine sparkling with the setting sun, home at last.
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(Frodo's shivery tale about the dwarf hand in Bag End is the invention of the fantastic Shirebound, and can be found in Chapter Six of her story "Master of Bag End." Many thanks to her for letting me reference it. And many thanks to Marigold for the beta. Don't listen to her if she tells you Goldilocks is my Mary Sue, for I was a well-behaved, respectable child who would never do the awful things she does.)