When the Dwarf Came A-Visiting ~Míriel

            Chapter 5 ~To Stop A Snoring Dwarf...

            Thanks to my mom for telling me all the ways she tried to stop my dad from snoring!  

            Thunder rumbled.  The ground shook as everyone ran for cover.  None were safe from the terrific quaking of the ground and the thunder of the sky.

            At least, that’s what it felt like standing next to the snoring Bombur.  He was lying on his back, hands folded over his stomach, as he snored; blissfully unaware of the pain that he was causing the other sleepers.  I wondered how in the Shire (or would it be the Iron Mountains?) any of the other Dwarves managed to put up with this deafening noise.  Maybe they put his bed in a cave far, far, into the ground where no one could hear it.  Or maybe they stuffed their ears so they could sleep at night.  Then maybe, since they hadn’t found a solution to the snoring, they had decided to send Bombur away forever!  Horror rushed through me.  The thought of Bombur staying in Bag End forever was unbearable, although I lived in Tookborough; I visited Bag End quite frequently.   I liked sleeping in my nice bed with the feather mattress.   I liked being able to eat without going to the market every day.  Most importantly, I liked being able to sleep!

            Something had to be done.  The first and easiest solution was to somehow get Bombur to stop snoring; although that would prove to be easier said than done.

            “So,” Merry said, surveying the sleeping Dwarf, “What should we try first?”  None of us had had much experience involving snoring relations before, and therefore Frodo, Merry, and I (well, mostly Frodo) had come up with a list of solutions that we thought might have some effect.

            Frodo thought for a moment.  “When Da used to snore, Mum would push him onto his side.”

            “Let’s try that then!” I said cheerfully.

            “All right,” said Frodo.  We all climbed up onto the bed; Frodo on one end, Merry on the other, and I in the middle.  Frodo then instructed us in a whisper (which was hardly necessary; Bombur was snoring so loudly) to slip our hands under Bombur and shove upwards, causing him to roll over.

            “On three,” whispered Frodo.

            “Three,” said Merry, shoving with all his might.  Frodo and I joined him.  We could feel Bombur ever so slowly beginning to rise upon his side.  He was a quarter inch up, now a half inch, now quite possibly a whole inch!  What incredible progress we were making!

            For all of our incredible progress, I knew that we couldn’t keep it up for long.  Judging by the lovely lavender shade of Frodo and Merry’s faces, (and the heat of my own) we had about another thirty seconds until whatever strength we had gave out.

            We managed to raise Bombur another whole half inch before our arms gave out.  And give out they did.  As our arms for all practical purposes collapsed and we flew off of the bed onto the floor, I watched sadly as all the progress we had made on Bombur was wasted.  He rolled right back into the same position he was before, although he was now snoring with a renewed vigor, as if in defiance at our attempts to stop it.

            Merry was staring at Bombur in disbelief, but Frodo had his brow furrowed.    Uh-oh.  I knew exactly what that meant: Frodo was getting another idea.

            “I’ve got it!” Frodo whispered several seconds later.

            “You certainly do,” Merry said dryly; “I heard that stupidity was going around.  Let us just hope that neither of us catches it.”

            Frodo ignored Merry and turned to me. “Pip, crawl up there and plug Bombur’s nose shut!”

            Merry was right.  Frodo had gone crazy.  “Fro, I don’t think,” I began.

            Frodo waved a hand in dismissal of my comment.  “Come on, Pip, don’t be silly.”

            I looked up at Bombur, whose enormous stomach was rising and falling with each snore.  From where I was sitting, Bombur looked like a gigantic mountain, a gigantic mountain that my cracked Cousin Frodo wanted me to climb.

            “You crawl up there.  You plug his nose.” I said crossly. 

            “Yes, Frodo, why don’t you crawl up there?” Merry said in agreement.  I smiled to myself.  Good old Merry, always backing me up, always on my side.

            “I’m far too large,” Frodo said primly.  “Pippin, you really are the only one of us little enough to do it.  But, since you will not, I suppose that we all should simply go back to bed and try to sleep through all this, this, horrid, deafening, earsplitting, thunderous snoring.

            “You know Pip,” Merry said thoughtfully, “you are just the right size.”

            Traitor.  “But, then I’d have to stay there all night!” I protested.

            Frodo shrugged.  “I’m sure Bombur makes a much better mattress than does the floor in your room.  You could simply lie on his chest and hold his nose shut while you both sleep peacefully.”

            With that kind of logic, and that traitorous Merry nodding with everything that Frodo said, I knew that I had no choice.  I must climb that incredible mountain otherwise known as Bombur.

            I took a deep breath as Merry gave me a boost onto the bed.  I sat for a moment and watched Bombur before turning to Merry.

            “If I die, you’re going to live to regret it.”

            I then started inching my way across Bombur.  It wasn’t that bad; although I had the strangest thought that now I knew how the ants felt when they crawled across bread and jam.  It was harder for me however, as I had to coordinate my movements with Bombur’s breathing, stop every few seconds to put my hands over my ears to block out the deafening snoring, and try, above all, not to awaken Bombur.

            Soon I had inched my way onto his chest, and now I was staring up his very large nostrils.  I watched in fascination as they flared widely with each breath and snore.  One could see up his nose, and if in the proper light, I’m sure that you could see right up to his brain!

            Annoyed whispers from Frodo and Merry reminded me that there was work to be done.  I reluctantly took my hands off my ears and reached for Bombur’s nose; quickly plugging it in one swift movement.

            Now, considering the many events that proceeded to occur from this movement, I have several things that you must first know to truly understand.  First, my cousin Frodo is an idiot.  Second, plugging one’s nose does not cease snoring.  Actually, snoring is sometimes caused by the plugging of one’s nose from illness such as a cold or any other sickness that affects the sinuses.  Being completely and utterly insane, and an idiot to boot, Frodo knew none of this when he sent me on this mission. 

            Alas, no one could have guessed how Bombur would have reacted from the simple plugging of his nasal passages.  I was aware that although he continued to snore, he reached up and brushed my hand away.  When it remained, he tried again.  (Dwarves sleep very heavily, and nothing short of the smell of breakfast could wake them up, although the same applies to older Hobbits, as well.)

            Unfortunately for Bombur (and me!) my hand did not move.  I was much too terrified to breathe, let alone move my hand.  Bombur shook his head from side to side, and then he did the worst thing imaginable—he rolled over.  I somehow rolled with him, and the next thing I knew, my very breath was being squeezed out of me.

            My life flashed before my eyes.  What flowers would they use at my funeral?  What would they inscribe on my tombstone?  “Peregrin Took—Beloved in Life, Squashed in Death.”  Would Frodo and Merry carry the guilt of my demise forever?

            Frodo and Merry.  There was still hope!  “Frodo!” I cried in an extremely muffled voice.  “Merry!”

            No one came to my rescue.  They had fled the room when they saw what had happened.  I was alone.

            Well, not completely, I realized.  There was still Bombur.

            “Bombur!” I shouted, thrashing.  “Bombur, for the love of pastry, wake up!”

            I could feel him stirring above me, and I shouted again.

            The second time proved to be best.  As soon as he realized where the strange voice was coming from, he rolled off of me in a hurry.  I immediately burst into tears. 

            “Now, what’s wrong, Master Peregrin?” he asked softly.

            “Merry and Frodo were mean; they wanted you to stop—oh! You were snoring ever so loud, and you wouldn’t roll over, and it’s all their fault!”

            At least that was what I meant to say.  What I said was this:

            “MerandFrowamean (sniff) wantedtostop (sniffle) snoringeverwouldroll (sniff) alltheirfault!”

            I did eventually manage to say it correctly, and Bombur laughed quite heartily when he heard what had transpired.  To say the least, I was much relieved.  I did not know what Bombur might have done had he been mean-spirited, and I was glad I did not have to find out.

            The best part happened next, though.  Bombur decided that since I couldn’t get to sleep, I needed a good story.  Putting an arm around me, we lay on the beds as he told me the story of Smaug, but it was slightly different then Bilbo’s version.

            “And then when those goblins captured us in the Misty Mountains, let me tell you Master Peregrin, I would not go down without a fight!  I pulled out my sword and began slashing left and right.  Killed quite a good many goblins I did too, before they set at least a hundred to take me down.  Caught me off guard, they did, came at me from behind...”

            I soon fell asleep, lost in the world of goblins, trolls, swords, and wizards.

            And I don’t think that I heard any more snoring the rest of the night.

Special thanks to reviewers OrangeBlosson Took, Hai, and Miss Aranel.  You reviews are much appreciated.