_{A/N: This story was actually written after Part II, Once Upon a Memory, at the request of Marigold. Characters and places are all the same, minus my O.C.s from the first story. This story reveals what happened in the woods prior to their arrival at “the pub”.}

_{Beta: Marigold}

PREQUEL TO A MEMORY

A small group of hobbits passed quietly under the boughs of tall oak trees deep inside the woods of Bindbole. The only sounds that echoed round them were the chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves high in the Wedmath air. It was summer, but the sun had not shown her face since the morning before, weeping her displeasure in the form of misty rain. Each meal had been cold and cheerless, not being able to find dry kindling, thus, leaving the young hobbits a bit out of sorts.

Merry half listened to a tune Bilbo whistled as he led the way down the path, walking stick in hand. Frodo walked just ahead of him when Merry decided to take a look behind. He stopped, seeing the youngest of the four trailing a good 100 feet behind. Merry let out an exasperated breath, “I knew we shouldn’t have brought him along! Look--he’s lagging again.”

Both Bilbo and Frodo halted in their trek, turning to watch the wee lad struggle up the small incline. “My legs hurt,” whined Pippin, a bit winded. “I need to stop for a minute.”

“The last time we stopped you said your hands hurt, and before that, your thumbs hurt! You always need to stop, Pip,” said Merry, “that’s the trouble. You’re too young for this.”

“I am not!” shouted Pippin, his high-pitched voice shrouded by the mist. “I’m just a little tired--I’ll feel better after I’ve had a sit.”

“We’ll be in these woods forever unless Pippin finishes the last mile to camp,” said Merry to Frodo. “And all I want is a hot meal and a hot bath. This rain is driving me mad!”

Frodo gave a long sigh, the two youngest had been at each other all day long. “We’re all tired, Merry. I’ll settle this,” he said, then walked toward Pippin.

Pippin became worried. “What are you going to do?”

“Carry you,” said Frodo, then stooped down with his back to his youngest cousin. “Pig-a-back. Come on, up you go.”

Pippin clung to Frodo and then hopped onto his back. Frodo got a firm hold under Pippin’s scrawny legs then walked forward. As the twain passed by Merry, Pippin caught his cousin’s eye and stuck his tongue out at him.

They had walked on for another ten minutes when Bilbo unexpectedly stopped in the path. “Look! There’s a mother rabbit and her babies.”

Pippin peeked his head round Frodo’s, “Where? I want to see!” All of a sudden, Pippin had renewed strength; he squirmed out of Frodo’s grasp, landing on the wet ground.

At the sound of intruders, the rabbits all took off hopping then disappeared in the mist. Pippin ran after them.

“Pippin!” Frodo and Merry yelled in a chorus. “Come back!”

They could hear Pippin’s muffled answer, “I just want to see--” and then he shrieked. The sound of foliage, roots, and twigs breaking loose from the earth resonated on the nearby trees. Merry and Frodo, then followed by Bilbo, ran up to the brink of a steep ravine, listening to soft whimpering and then all out sobbing of an injured child. Merry instantly started down the hill.

“Wait! You’ll fall down with him!” said Frodo, grabbing his cousin’s arm. “Sam always puts rope into Bilbo’s pack.”

Bilbo quickly shrugged off his rucksack while Frodo began rifling through it until he found what he sought. Frodo held up his prize, “Rope!”

“I hope it’s long enough,” said Bilbo.

Frodo tied one end of the rope around Merry’s waist then let out just enough needed as the teen descended the gorge. Merry felt his way down until the misty rain engulfed him, however, his tough, leathery soles were no match for the slippery mud. He gave a shout as his foot gave way, sliding for much of the way down, feeling the sting of brambles scratch against his legs. He finally stopped not far from Pippin.

For his part, Frodo fell forward with Merry’s momentum, sliding part way in the mud until his body slammed against an old log. The rope continued to pull forward, burning his hands as he desperately tried to regain his hold. It finally stopped when Merry did.

“Hoy, Merry! Are you all right?” Frodo yelled into the mist. “Merry!”

“I’m all right,” a voice floated upward.

“Tie the rope round Pippin, then we’ll bring him up together,” instructed the tween.

Down below, Merry made his way toward the whimpering lad. “Pippin, I’m here. It’s Merry,” he said, hoping his voice would comfort the child. He soon saw a large boulder with a small bundle of hobbit-child at its base. He crawled toward Pippin on his hands and knees. “Pip, it’s me.”

As soon as Pippin felt his beloved cousin draw near, he cried more. “My knees hurt, Merry. And my wrist.”

Merry carefully took his dear friend in his arms, cradling him, then kissed his muddy cheek. “I’m here,” he soothed the child, “but we must get you back up there. It’s going to get dark soon.”

Hurting and smarting, Pippin was quite cooperative. “Ouch!” he’d cry if he tried to use his left hand for anything.

“I’m sure Bilbo will get you to a healer as soon as possible,” responded Merry as he set Pippin to ascend the hill. “I’m sorry I was a grouch before.”

Pippin sniffed, “I’m sorry I stuck out my tongue at you.”

After much toiling upward, Merry at last saw his dear cousin’s face. Frodo reached out to take Pippin’s upper arm rather than his hand or wrist, ignoring the burning sensation in his hands; it was more important to see to injured Pippin at the moment. “Is anything broken?” he asked Merry.

“Maybe his wrist,” replied Merry, then promptly lost his footing again. He slipped onto the same log that Frodo did, wounding his chin in the process.

Relieved to see Pippin standing on his own was heartening to Bilbo, but then he noticed the bloody cuts and abrasions on the lad’s knees. Even Pippin’s cheek was beginning to bruise. “Bolewood is yet two miles yonder,” he said, pointing southward. “We shall take turns carrying the lad.”

And that they did; for two miles they traded off carrying their wee burden, but mostly Frodo and Merry carried Pippin. Before long, they saw the twinkling of lanterns in many windows between the thinning trees, then rewarded by the sight of houses and the nearby sound of murmuring, hearty laughter, and mugs clinking together in salute.

“A pub,” said Frodo, too weary to shout his excitement. Merry, walking beside his dear cousin, said nothing. He, too, was exhausted beyond words; his arms felt weak.

Only Bilbo still had enough energy to pick up the pace to the porch. “Ollie’s Faunt?” he said, reading the sign over the door. “What the devil…?”

TBC