As the day progressed, the old man seemed to be able to elicit more and more stories from the pair of their adventures, odd little idiosyncrasies, and even some tales of their friends during the time of the War of the Rings. Many of these recollections fell on the hobbits, or Halflings, from the happy, but, like all other lands except that of men, fading land called the Shire, just east of these ports.
Indeed, there were so many tales, that only a few are recorded here, and most have been forgotten by the cleansing tide of the years. But, as all reading these stores may know, Gimli grew very fond of Merry and Pippin, or Master Meriadoc of Brandy Hall and Thane Peregrin.
"Mischievous little buggers, they were," Gimli chuckled, suppressing the odd lump in his throat. "And more than a few accidents they've gotten us into. But we've had good times."
The old man put out his pipe after seeing that he was running out of Longbottom Leaf, the best of 1436, Shire Reckoning, and looked intently upon the elf and dwarf. "But were they not captured by Saruman during your journey? They were rescued by the Ents, but how was it that they survived?"
The elf gave a small smile at this memory. "Why, Flotsam and Jetsam, of course, Master!"
Flotsam and Jetsam
Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli sat down, almost with awe, at the table of Saruman's watch house as the two hobbits bustled back and forth between the storehouse and the table, heaping their plates with bacon, eggs, some apples, and even wilted vegetables. It was practically magic how they disappeared, and then appeared again with the same dexterity, bearing more and more food from the wizard's pantries.
"How, by the Isildur's watery grave, did you come up with all of this?" Aragorn asked in astonishment, though his wide eyes did not stop him from consuming the food placed before him as fast as he could. The night at Helm's Deep and now this hasty journey to Isengard had taken a toll upon his stomach, and the bacon and eggs tasted especially good, though he suspected that they were only half-cooked; it was impossible to start a good fire with all the waters of the Isen flowing through every corner of Orthanc.
Gimli muttered something incomprehensible, and Merry took it as an assent to the man's question. His mouth was so full that his cheeks represented that of a chipmunks', and Pippin could not help but stifle a giggle as the dwarf's beard bobbed up and down like a squirrel hanging onto a tree and shaking in the wind.
The building they were in could hardly have been called a watchtower, for it was only a ramshackle hut pulled together with a few pieces of wood. Pippin scratched his furry head, wondering how it had not fallen when Treebeard and the Ents had pulled open the dam to set the Isen forth.
"Yes, tell us," Legolas inquired. Though he was eating in a much more refined way than the other two, it was clear that even he had grown tired of the taste of lembas.
"Well, it was easy enough," Merry confessed with a grin, and he and his friend plopped themselves down at the rickety table. In a careless fashion, he scooped up an apple and bit into it, swinging his legs, for the chair was much too high for him. "We just stumbled on this little place for some shelter and…"
"And what in the Shire are we supposed to do in here?" Pippin asked, his good humor failing him for once, for he was both scared and shaking by the creaking and ripping coming from outside.
Both hobbits were waist deep in the clear water of the Isen, and the flow did not at all look like it was going to subside. "I don't know Pip," Merry answered, trying to keep his voice steady. "But we're coming in here because we're not in the Shire anymore."
Pippin waded forth, feeling the chill creep up his legs to his hips, and then his chest. "I reckon I should have a bigger reputation than the Old Took after this," he muttered to himself, but his friend heard him.
"And a more notorious one," Merry rolled his eyes, stepping after the younger hobbit, who was clearly shaking; he suspected that it was not the coolness of the water. "As if any respectable hobbit would go adventuring." He gave a curse that Pippin had not heard in the Shire since his father almost stepped into a boat.
Merry peered through the gloom, only pierced in a few places by the makeshift windows, where the rising sun was streaming in. With the water dragging at his legs, he walked over to some of the other windows, but found that he was much too short to even reach the bottom of the shutters. "Hey, Pip," he called. "Come here and give me a hand!"
The other hobbit turned and sloshed through the debris, kicking aside the floating bits of wood and other filth before reaching the window. Going on his toes, he flicked open the shutters with the very tips of his fingers, while Merry stared in disbelief. "You're taller!" he cried, his mouth open.
"Who?" Pippin asked, pushing the shutters out even further, then leaning back down so he was on the balls of his feet again.
"You!" his friend cried.
"Than what?"
"Than me!" Merry said exasperatedly. Sometimes, Pippin was just not the sharpest tool in the shed. Forgetting to stick Gandalf's fireworks into the ground during Bilbo's 111 birthday party had been a dead giveaway of that.
"I've always been taller than you!" he retorted, putting his hands on his hips, which was slightly hard, as his hips were under water. He then cursed and tried to wring out his sleeves, but Merry was intent upon the other hobbit's height.
"Pippin, everyone knows I'm the tall one," he tried to explain patiently, remembering measuring back in the Shire just last fall. "You're the short one!" He then bit his lower lip, remembering his homeland and gazed out the window. It was hard to believe that it had only been a few months since they had set out from the Shire because Sam had revealed Frodo's plan to leave his home and go to Rivendell.
Pippin did not seem to notice his friend's silence but continued to speak. "Please, Merry. You're, what? Three-foot-six? At the most? Whereas me, I'm three foot-seven, three-foot eight."
The other hobbit came back to the present and squinted at Pippin. "Three-foot eight?"
But the other had already forgotten about the issue of their height as he stared out the window. The shutters opened directly to a wonderful view of the tower of Isengard, where they could clearly see the White Wizard standing at the summit of the tower, a white speck against the pale morning sunlight. Next to him, swathed in black, stooping and hunchbacked, the exact opposite of the straight-backed Saruman, was Wormtongue, greasy and servile.
Merry felt his lips draw back in disgust as he watched the two, and he clenched his fists at his sides, a fury he had never known before burning inside him as he thought about the destruction the wizard had made. He did not even know if his friends were alive. Gandalf, he was not so worried about, but what of Frodo and Sam? Could they still be alive, somewhere, fighting hopelessly against the Dark Lord?
And what of Strider, Gimli, and Legolas? Where were they?
He turned to Pippin, and suddenly, he was very glad that he still had him with him, though the young hobbit had gotten him into loads of trouble along the way. He was grateful for all the laughs and good times that Pippin had given him, as he would have gone mad if he had not had something to chuckle about when the Orcs had captured them or when they had been thrown into the care of Treebeard. The Ents still frustrated him, as he could not help but hate Old Entish.
Turning to Pippin, he decided to take a lighter mood on things, though he had matured immensely from the hobbit that had left Brandy Hall to help Frodo to Imladris. "He doesn't look to happy, does he?" he asked, indicating Saruman.
"Not too happy at all, Merry," the younger hobbit grinned, cocking his head as he looked up at the pair on Isengard.
"Still, I suppose the view would be quite nice from up there," Merry commented, feeling a grin slide across his face. Pippin had that quality with most people.
"Oh yes," the younger smiled with a slight bit of sarcasm. "It's a quality establishment. I hear the staff are very good." They both shared a laugh, but the other still could not believe that Pippin was taller than him. Creeping behind him as the younger hobbit continued to admire the "greatness" of Isengard, Merry put a hand up, trying to measure their heights.
"What are you doing?" Pippin asked, finally noticing and turning around.
"Nothing, nothing," the other hobbit answered hastily, pushing his hands deep into his vest pockets, for at least they were still out of the water. He scratched his head and looked back up, once more at the tower of Orthanc, and sighed. "The world's back to normal, that's all." He remembered Frodo and Sam, then Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli, and muttered in an undertone, "At least, ours is."
Pippin had not heard the last part of his friend's speech, and protested to the first line, "No, it isn't! I'm starving!" His stomach rumbled loudly beneath his yellow outer tunic, as if assenting with its master.
Merry raised an eyebrow, but his stomach began to complain as well, and he could not deny the fact that they had not eaten any decent food since they had been captured. There had been the crumbs of the elf-bread, and then they had drunk the draughts of Treebeard, but that could not have counted as a proper meal, for it was liquid.
"Well, good luck trying to find something decent to eat around here," he replied, sloshing away from the open window. The entire storeroom looked brighter now, as there was more light and the sun was starting to rise. A small, square, picnic basket floated by and he checked it for some food, but in vain. The basket was empty, except for a small nest of mice, cowering and squeaking as water threatened to come in through the holes of the woven straw. "Probably dead rats and moldy bread," he concluded in disgust and stepped past the basket.
"Hey! There are apples!" Pippin cried in delight, picking up the small, red fruit from the floating material. He walked up, happily, next to Merry, who took the apple for examination. Other than a few bruises, it looked fit enough to eat. "Look!" The younger hobbit pointed to the small trail in the water. More of the small fruits floated innocently among the debris, almost in a straight line towards a pantry that they had missed, in the far corner of the room.
Both surged forward, eager to see where it led.
Opening the door to the place, they both gasped in eager excitement. "Saruman's storeroom!" Merry said in exhilaration. It appeared that they would not starve after all, for the shelves above ground were piled high with packets of dried fruit, preserved vegetables, and even a few jugs of ale. On hooks, hung slabs of salted pork, drying beef, and even some fowls that looked as if they had been freshly killed.
Both turned to the corner of the pantry then, and gave small cries of wonder at the two large barrels, issuing forth a familiar, grassy smell. "I don't believe it!" Pippin shouted, astonished and waded over and put his hands in to see if the leaf was still dry. Most of it was a little soggy, but still good.
"It can't be!" Merry came over as well.
"It is!"
"Longbottom Leaf?" the other stared and brought some of the weed to his nose, taking in the memorable scent. His olfactory senses heightened as he smelled something that had come from his homeland. "The finest pipe-weed in the South Farthing!"
"It's perfect!" Pippin again cried in glee, already doing the math in his little head. "One barrel each." He was already fishing his pipe from his waistcoat when he suddenly realized something. "Wait. Do you think we should share it with Treebeard?"
Merry was in too good of a mood to knock the younger hobbit over the head for his stupidity. His pipe was out and he was already loading it with Longbottom Leaf. "Share it?" he questioned. He paused for a second and chewed his lower lip. "No, no," he finally answered, seeing the logic in it all. "Dead plant and all that. Don't think he'd understand." Leaning in closer, though there was no one to hear, he muttered, "You know, could be distant relative."
"Oh," Pippin replied in the same undertone. "I get it." He touched his nose and said in a deep voice, "Doooonn't be haaaaaaaaasty."
Merry had already placed his pipe in his mouth. "Exactly," he patted his friend on the hand. "Barrruuuum."
By then end, the others were laughing too hard for Merry and Pippin to continue with the story. The two hobbits only stared, slightly amused, but more bewildered than anything, for they could not see the hilarity of their situation.
Finally, as the three others calmed, Gimli spoke. "Where are those barrels of Longbottom Leaf? You could not have smoked it all in such a short period of time." The dwarf felt himself for a pipe and continued, "Besides, I always thought that the pipe-weed from the Shire was better that the stuff we grow back at home."
Pippin immediately grinned and disappeared, going back towards the storeroom. The water had receded since when they first found it, so only his toes became a little sodden from the puddles that still remained on the ground.
Aragorn wrinkled his nose, and removed a pipe from beneath his cloak. "Aye, I have smoked some of the leaf they export from Erebor." From his tone, it was obvious that he had not liked it.
The hobbit soon returned, and Legolas turned back to his wine with distaste as the four others began to wreathe themselves in smoke.