CHAPTER 12

Menelcar stayed a week at Brandy Hall. The Master and Mistress put him up, giving him a pallet in one of the guest rooms. He spent the day wandering about Buckland, sometimes with Pippin and Merry, sometimes with Frodo, but often on his own. The hobbits of Buckland were not nearly so shy of him as those in the Shire proper had been, and he often found himself at the center of gaggles of tiny hobbit children, who demanded songs.

In the evenings, he and Pippin performed to much acclaim in the main dining room of the Hall.

Merry took a break from working on the ferry for a day, and when he went back to the job, it was with a fresh mind, and the determination to delegate some of the job. Suddenly, he seemed to see his way clear, and he realized that he did not have to supervise every single board and post, and that perhaps perfection was impossible. And when he did work on it personally, he had Pip at his side, curious and sometimes helpful with his observations.

But when Frodo had confided in him what had very nearly happened, Merry had been appalled.

“He was going to leave the Shire? With that Man? Frodo, how could he have thought to do that to us?”

“Well, unfortunately, he and Paladin were butting heads again. And somehow, Paladin had made him think that he was a burden to you, so he thought he’d spare you the nuisance of his presence.”

Merry rolled his eyes. “Daft Tooks. All of them. Uncle Paladin ought to know better than that after all these years. And Pippin ought to know better than to believe him.”

“Your mother’s a Took.”

“Not anymore. She had the good sense to marry a Brandybuck.”

Frodo chuckled. “A poor excuse for trying to get out of being half Took, I’d say.”

Merry gave his older cousin a little swat to the back of his head. “Well, anyway, Pip’s as Tookish as they come.”

And Frodo nodded his agreement. They didn’t come any more Tookish than Pippin.

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On Menelcar’s last day, he and Pippin walked by the Brandywine. “I wish you could stay in the Shire longer, Menelcar. I’m going to miss you dreadfully.”

“I know, Pippin. I’m going to miss you as well. You know I had quite looked forward to having you go with me.”

Pippin looked away, a bit abashed. “I’m sorry. I should never have told you I could come. But, oh, it would have been *lovely*!”

“It would indeed, until you became homesick. I have seen you here, with your cousins. I do not think that you would thrive very well away from them for long.” From observation, Menelcar had come to the conclusion that hobbits needed to be around other hobbits. They wore their hearts on their sleeves, and even the adults were far more moved to laughter, tears and embraces than were Men. Pippin, he realized now, would soon have wilted away from other hobbits, especially those he loved most.

“I suppose,” said Pippin. “I’ve always wanted to go on adventures like old Bilbo did, but I always wanted Merry and Frodo to come, too.”

“Well, perhaps that might yet happen.” Though Menelcar doubted it. He thought that the Thain would be keeping a sharp eye on his heir from here on out.

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That evening in the main dining hall, after an especially fine late supper, the tables were pushed back to make room for music. In addition to Pippin and Menelcar, Esmeralda had brought forth her own fiddle, a fine instrument that had been a gift from old Bilbo at his last Birthday Party. Merry’s cousin Doderic had a crumhorn, and his other cousin Berilac had a drum. The music rang out and filled the Hall.

Menelcar sang several songs of the south, including the rousing song about when the King returned; then he and Pippin sang some of Bilbo’s songs, and then Pippin sang a Buckland favorite:

The water runs free, laddie, laddie,
Comes now Mistress Spring,
Lifting up her pretty flowered skirts
To dance in the stream.
Laddie, come sing now, come sing.

The water runs low, laddie, laddie,
Comes now Mistress summer
With her skirts sky blue and grassy green,
To wander so slow.
Laddie, come sing now, come sing.

The water runs chill, laddie, laddie,
Comes now Mistress Autumn
Turning leaves to gold and scarlet flame,
As she wends her sweet will.
Laddie, come sing now, come sing.  

The water stands still, Laddie, sparkling
Jewels for Mistress Winter
With her bright skirts of snowy white,
Sweeping over the hill
Laddie, come sing now, come sing. (1)

Then they sang another song of Buckland, about the legendary Old Tom Bombadil, who lived in the Old Forest, and boated upon the Withywindle.

And then, alternating verses, they sang a song of birds:

Hi! says the blackbird, sitting on a chair,
Once I courted a lady fair;
She proved fickle and turned her back,
And ever since then I’m dressed in black.  

Hi! says the blue jay as she flew,
If I was a young man I’d have two;
If one proved fickle and chanced for to go,
I’d have a new string to my bow.

Hi! Says the little leather winged bat,
I will tell you the reason that
The reason that I fly in the night
Is because I lost my heart’s delight.

The song went on for several more verses, each detailing how a different bird had been jilted or spurned by his lady-love. Finally it concluded

Hi! Says the robin with a little squirm,
I wish I had a great big worm;
I would fly away into my nest;
I have a wife I think is best. (2)

Then, with only Menelcar’s harp, and Pippin’s fiddle they played a sad, slow melody, that soared sweetly and hauntingly through the hall. The fire had died, the candles burned low, and heads were leaning against loved ones. As the notes died away, Menelcar stopped playing, and with his voice alone, sang one last song.

Now Lords and Ladies blithe and bold,
To bless you here now am I bound;
I thank you all a thousand-fold
And pray you shall be whole and sound;
Wherever you go on grass or ground.
May it so be that nought you grieve,
For friendship that I have here found
Against my will I take my leave.

For friendship and for favours good,
For meat and drink you heaped on me,
A stranger who among you stood,
Now keep you comely company.
On sea or land where’er you be
May it so be that nought you grieve.
Such fair delight you laid on me
Against my will I take my leave.

Against my will although I wend,
I may not always tarry here
For everything must have an end.
And even friends must part, I fear;
Be we beloved however dear
Out of the world death will us reave,
And when we brought are to our bier
Against our will we take our leave.

Now good day to you, goodmen all,
And good day to you, young and old,
And good day to you , great and small,
And grammercy a thousand fold!
If ought there were that dear ye hold,
Full fain I would the deed achieve
Now may you be kept from sorrows cold
For now at last I take my leave. (3)

There was not a dry eye in the Hall; Pippin’s tears were falling freely down his face, and he turned to embrace the minstrel, who had all he could do to finish the song before he too had succumbed to tears.

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In the grey light of morning, Pippin stood, with his cousins by his side, and waved good-bye to Menelcar, and to his dreams of the life of a bard.

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(1) From “The Shire Songbook” by Lindelea, found on Stories of Arda, and used by permission

(2) Folksong “The Bird Song” found at http://www.contemplator.com/child/birdsong.html

(3) Adapted from “Gawain’s Leave Taking” found in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, Pearl, and Sir Orfeo, translated by J.R.R. Tolkien