Well, here it is, the last chapter, finally finished! Apologies for the ridiculously long wait. Descriptions of the Old Forest and the Bonfire Glade are, as usual, based on those in The Fellowship of the Ring, as is the dialogue of a certain characterThe full story behind the Bonfire Glade can be found in FotR chapter VI: "The Old Forest," as told by Merry himself.

I hope you've all enjoyed this small piece of hobbitiness; I've certainly enjoyed writing it. As always, please review, and a big thank you to those who have previously done so.

The sound of clapping faded as soon as the gate had clanged closed behind them; whether because it had stopped, or because it was muffled by an unknown power of the Forest, Merry didn't know. He kept walking, out of the tunnel and into a grassy hollow. He jogged up the slope onto level ground, and then stopped and looked around him, eager for his first glimpse of the wider world.

The enormous trees towered over him. He could feel their disapproving glares as an almost physical force—but they didn't have faces, let alone eyes. Instinctively, Merry shrank back towards the hedge, the gate, and safety. Saradoc put a hand on his shoulder.

"The trees are never pleased when we enter their domain. But they are used to Adventurings by now, and they know we mean them no harm. Just make sure you keep your voice low, and make no violent movements—it may inspire them to anger."

Merry's mind boggled at this. His father was talking about the trees as if they were creatures—not only that, but conscious and intelligent! Who ever heard of a tree with a mind of its own? Merry had a feeling, though, that if ever a tree could think for itself, this Forest would be its home.

"There is a path not far inside," Saradoc continued, "which leads to a place called the Bonfire Glade. Once we have found it, and I have told you its history, I expect our hour together will be up, and I shall leave you—though you will still be watched closely, and no harm shall come to you."

Merry had been told this ever since he had first found out about Adventurings from Berry, but it didn't make him any less apprehensive. In fact, it only added to his questions. If his father was no longer there, and (he was quite sure) the trees would rather cause him harm than shelter him from it—who would be watching? Who could live in here, so close to the Shire and yet beyond its borders, always ready and waiting for the next wide-eyed young hobbit to be in need of protection? But, more importantly—

"How will I find my way back?"

Saradoc chuckled. "I shall bring you back, of course. You are hardly expected to remember the way home by yourself after a single glimpse!" He hoisted his pack higher on his shoulders. "Come, time is running away from us, and our path needs finding."

"I thought you knew where it was?" asked Merry, as they marched towards the eaves of the Forest.

"Paths inside the Forest shift and change in a queer way. Nobody knows who, or what, makes them, but we know the trees can and do move about when nobody is looking. Perhaps they are the path makers."

"They can move? I thought that was only a story."

"There is often a grain of truth in even the wildest of rumours, Merry. Remember that next time you hear one of old Mr. Bilbo's tales. That hobbit has seen more than most give him credit for."

"Frodo says he talks about all sorts of strange things—Elvish legends mostly, and goblins and kings and the sea. And of course there are always wars and fighting—that seems to be going on all the time. It makes me glad to live in the Shire, and to only be hearing about it. Although…" Merry's voice grew wistful.

"Some parts of it sound wonderful—high and noble and, and beautiful. I should like to meet an Elf one day. Not that I think it would make a lot of difference to them—they must have so many more important things to think about. And so brave and strong! They always seem to be fighting something evil, and they nearly always win. Sometimes I feel like I want to be in a battle too, just listening to all those stories. I feel like I could fight like they did, all those years ago. Mr. Bilbo says he was in a real battle, with Elves and Dwarves and goblins riding wolves, but he didn't fight. He went and hid somewhere until he saw the Eagles in the sky. But I wouldn't hide!" He sounded fierce and proud now, this tiny creature not even three foot tall. Merry was seeing himself at the front of a great army, leading a charge against a mass of goblins riding their wolves. Their own army was smaller, but they had everything that was good and true on their side, and in the end they would gain the victory, with Merry at their head…

Saradoc looked sharply at his son, who had a distant look in his eyes as he imagined the triumph at the end of the struggle. Here was a side of Merry he had never seen before. The lad looked set to follow in Mr. Bilbo's footsteps and more, at this rate. If that adventurous spirit endured beyond childhood, he would be a hobbit to be reckoned with.

Saradoc was presently forced to pause in his musings as they came in sight of a broad path; having seen it many times before, he knew it was the one they were seeking.

"Ah! Here it is," he said cheerfully.

Merry looked up with a start, and shivered. They had already come some way into the forest; the sun and sky were blocked from their view by masses of tree-limbs, and the sense of ancient disapproval that they had first felt on the eaves of the forest had been growing steadily stronger, the further they advanced. But Saradoc knew the most important thing was to keep Merry's spirits up, and he strode forward confidently. Merry had to trot at his side to keep up, all the time glancing anxiously about him as if a hidden assassin were about to leap from the trees and attack at the slightest provocation.

Presently they saw daylight in front of them along the path. The trees in front of them suddenly came to an end, and they emerged into a broad open field, blinking in the sudden strong sunlight. In the Shire it would have seemed a wild, untended wasteland, but after the dank gloom under the trees it looked domestic and welcoming. It was covered in long, scrubby grass and overgrown with nettles, thistles and tall plants going to seed, most of which Merry didn't know the names of. The leaves of the trees around it were greener and grew more closely, enclosing the glade in a thick leafy wall. The sunlight was bright around them, as the sun had risen fully during their time in the Forest. Merry began to feel a little better now that he was out from under the trees and, what was more, he could see the sky. He drew in a deep breath of relief and let it out slowly, smelling the smells of summer grass. Beside him, Saradoc looked around him with satisfaction.

"I suppose you're wondering what a patch of grass is doing in the middle of a wood?" he said presently.

As a matter of fact Merry hadn't been, but now he remembered that this was supposed to be a place with a history—which he was meant to hear today.

"Go on, then," he said, sitting down on a fallen branch, "let's have it! I feel quite ready for a story."

So Saradoc told Merry the tale of a long-ago attack on the great High Hay of the Shire by the trees of the Old Forest, and the bravery of a band of hobbits who strode in, hacking and burning, driving the trees back to their homes. In the process some of Merry's questions were answered. The trees could indeed move, and quickly, though it was hard to catch them doing it. And, he supposed, they really could talk to each other, too; how else could they have planned a strategic attack? Surely not by waving their branches around in complicated sign language. Merry had to stifle a giggle at the thought of these disapproving old trees swishing and gesturing madly in an attempt to make themselves understood.

Presently Saradoc's story ended; he stood up from his perch on a rock and squinted at the sun. "It looks about time I left you, Merry," he said at last. He smiled at the sudden look of dismay on his small son's face. "Now then, remember what I have been telling you! No harm can possibly come to you, and even if you do feel in the slightest danger, you have a horn and a knife to protect you. Help will never be far away."

Merry stood up straight and squared his shoulders. A slight breeze ruffled his curly hair.
Saradoc laid a firm hand on his shoulder. "Good man." And he strode back into the darkness beneath the trees, never looking back.

For a moment Merry felt very small and lost, surrounded by these great tall trees hemming him in. But the feeling passed after a few moments, and he began to explore his surroundings. He walked around the edges of the Bonfire Glade, with the story of its creation running in his mind. The glade was peaceful and sunlit in the morning calm. It was hard to imagine fires and axes at work amid the deep groaning of old, old wood—hobbit voices shouting, a cloak of shadow spreading as hundreds of trees advanced and retreated, but always too quick for spying hobbit eyes—the long green line of the hedge dark, silhouetted against torchlight and firelight and standing strong still, the sturdy frontier…

Merry came back to his senses. One thing he had learned so far today—he had no lack of imagination. He walked to the middle of the glade and checked for nettles before sitting down and rifling in his pack for something to snack on. Breakfast in the Shire seemed woefully long ago and far away. As he bent over he felt something hard sticking into his thigh, and he suddenly remembered the knife. Now would be as good a time as any to have a proper look at it.

He straightened and pulled it out of its sheath, admiring the way the little blade flashed boldly in the sun. He had never held a real, dangerous knife before, only kitchen knives for chopping things up. But their blades weren't as highly polished as this one; their handles weren't as richly decorated; they didn't have dragonflies imprisoned in stone at the top; and they didn't have this atmosphere of pure adventure. Merry held the pommel stone of amber up to the light and watched the rich, warm glow. The dragonfly's wings glittered from a distance of who knew how many years.

He admired the knife for a few more minutes and suddenly,for no discernable reason, felt very bold again. What if he left the Bonfire Glade and actually went into the forest by himself? Wouldn't that be something? He was sure not even Berry would have been so brave. Merry smiled grimly to himself. He'd show them how it was done!

He packed everything up again and set off for the edge of the glade, looking very determined. Reaching the edge, he peered through a gap in the trees. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light after the brightness of the clearing. All he could see were rows and rows of gnarled old trees, bent and twisted, their boughs turning in every direction to obscure as much light as possible. All of a sudden he perceived that they weren't just blocking out the sun—they were reaching forwards, grasping, clutching—they could see him, they were angry, they were coming! His knife would be no use—his breath came in short gasps, hardly enough to speak, let alone blow a horn—the others would never find him, he would be lost somewhere deep in the forest for ever—maybe someday, another more fortunate Adventurer would find his bones—Merry was rooted to the ground, unable to look, unable to look away, feeling himself being pulled forward by an inexorable force, strong as wood and soil and the ancient strength of many passing ages…

But what was that? A shaft of light? No, everything was still and dim; this was no vision, it was a sound. A singing sound; a song, but with no real sense to it, just a string of light nonsense piercing through the dark blanket of stuffy tree-wisdom.

Hey dol, merry dol, ring a dong dello

Bright blue his jacket is, and his boots are yellow!

Merry took a deep breath and tore his gaze from the long avenues of trees before him. He glanced around for the source of the sound, but all that caught his eye was a small flash of colour, brief enough to make him wonder whether it had been there at all.

Ring a dong, hop along, fal lal the willow

Tom Bom, jolly Tom, Tom Bombadillo!

Merry walked steadily backwards away from the trees and sat down underneath a small overhanging clump of foxgloves.

Fear no alder black! Heed no hoary willow!

Fear neither root nor bough! Tom goes on before you!

Merry lay down in the soft grass and closed his eyes. He struggled half-heartedly against it, but gradually sleep stole up on him and before he knew it, he was dozing peacefully.

Hey, come merry dol, derry dol, my darling

Light goes the weather-wind and the feathered starling…

Saradoc had a moment of panic when he returned to the Bonfire Glade and could see no sign of his son. Searching under bushes, he soon caught sight of the dark green cloak. It appeared to be covering a slumbering twelve-year-old hobbit. Trust Merry to be so relaxed on his first expedition into the Forest that he'd fall asleep! Saradoc shook his son gently awake. To his surprise, Merry's eyes fluttered immediately open; he looked as if he had merely been resting his feet. He smiled calmly up at his father, who was taken aback at the strange look in his son's eyes. Merry looked older, wiser; full of understanding and at peace—a very different hobbit from the excited and slightly nervous young lad who had gazed in awe at his first sight of the new world only an hour or so ago. Saradoc decided there were some things about his son he would never really understand.

They walked back to the gate in silence. Merry had a lot to think about: the strange dreams of long ago, high and noble times, that he had had sleeping in the Bonfire Glade; the invisible singer that had rescued him; and why didn't he feel sleepy, as he should, or hungry, as he always did? In fact he didn't feel like he wanted anything. It was a strange feeling, to be completely contented.

His father was bursting with curiosity, but there was something about the thoughtful look in Merry's eyes that told him to leave the questions until his son had solved his own problems.

Eventually, they reached the hedge; chattering voices floated out through the gate, unconcerned and enjoying the excuse for a picnic. Walking down through the dell towards the gate, Saradoc and Merry were spotted by Berry and Frodo, who had appointed themselves the lookouts.

"Adventurers ho!"

Every hobbit stood up and applauded loudly, accompanied by cheers and whistles, as Saradoc unlocked the gate and ushered Merry forward. Merry felt some of his old self returning, and began to enjoy all the attention. He had done it; he had made it through the Adventuring! He had seen with his own two eyes that there was more in the world than what lay inside the Shire's borders. He was a real Brandybuck now, a hobbit of the world.

Merry was triumphantly escorted towards an extra-large picnic basket, and felt his appetite return with a vengeance. Frodo and Berry had been snacking happily since his departure, which did not of course mean they weren't delighted to "keep him company" again, hobbits being what they are. As a result, Merry was free to enjoy his second breakfast – or maybe closer to brunch – without interruptions for a while, before his cousins began to bombard him with questions.

"Aren't those trees awful?" Berry began, with a shudder.

Merry nodded. "I think they almost caught me when I tried to explore a little."

Both Berry and Frodo stared at him wide-eyed. "You went exploring?" whispered Berry, sounding scandalised.

"What, didn't you?"

"Of course not, I'm not stupid! I don't want to be crushed by some tree-root! I stayed in the Bonfire Glade and kept an eye on those branches."

Merry felt a little disheartened. Maybe he had overstepped the mark by straying out of the open space? He had thought he was being daring, but perhaps he had just been foolhardy and it was a wonder he was still in one piece.

Frodo caught his look of dismay and laughed. "Berry is a coward, don't mind him. I wasn't particularly interested in exploring by myself either during my Adventuring; I felt I'd seen quite enough walking up to the Glade with Berry's father. I sat down under a bush and wrote a poem about the forest for most of the hour I spent in there."

"But what do you mean, they almost caught you?" said Berry, still intrigued.

Merry related the story of his narrow escape, and the mysterious happy singer who had saved him and lulled him to sleep under a bush, where his father had found him half an hour later.

"I've never heard of that happening to anyone," said Frodo when he had finished.

"Well, it's perfectly obvious what happened," said Berry confidently. "You must have fallen asleep and dreamed the entire thing! It's the only explanation."

"I suppose I must have," said Merry, rather disappointed at this justification for his story – though he couldn't think of anything else that made sense. It had not felt like a dream at the time, though, and he definitely could not remember falling asleep before it had happened. What was more; he could remember the entire thing.

Frodo nodded and agreed, but looked at Merry strangely. It was clear he didn't quite believe Berry's version of events either. Berry himself continued eating, satisfied he had solved the mystery.

Merry looked back at the Hedge guarding the forest and continued to wonder what had really happened to him out there. Maybe there were things out there not even old Mr. Bilbo knew about – and they had helped him. Perhaps he, too, would fight in an army one day, and see Elves and dragons and treasure under mountains. Perhaps the Shire would one day be a home waiting for him at the end of an adventure.

One day, he would walk back through that gate and find that mysterious singer with his flash of bright blue, and see for himself what was really out there.