_{For Challenge 19 - yours is to include these four elements in your story:}

_{P. Injured or ill Pippin
I. An oliphaunt
P. A pub
P. Bilbo}

 ONCE UPON A MEMORY

“Do you have a room available?” asked Bilbo to the proprietor of the Inn. He indicated to the tweenager behind him holding a small lad in his arms. “My young cousin took a terrible spill down the ravine in the woods and now we also are in need of a healer. Is there a healer nearby?”

Here in Bolewood--a tiny hamlet on the south-western edge of the Bindbole Wood--the inhabitants saw very few stranger-hobbits. “Hattie Blackthorn,” the younger hobbit slowly replied, absently wiping a mug dry with the towel in his hand as he gaped at the strangers. “She lives half a mile from the miller.” The proprietor eyed the injured child still sniffling in the arms of the tween in addition to the other lad. All three lads were scruffy in appearance, mud caked on their wet clothes and in their curls. They looked a bit shaken and exhausted. “I have two rooms t’ let if ye care for ’em.” The gaping hobbit recovered from the surprise of seeing new faces then introduced himself. “’Name’s Ollie--at yer service.”

Ollie didn’t see the lips of the two older lads twitch nearly into a smirk; they merely looked at each other, too tired to laugh.

“Thank you, Ollie,” answered Bilbo, placing two silver pennies on the counter, “My name is Baggins--Bilbo Baggins, and I at yours. However, we must first see to the lad, if you please.”

“Aye,” nodded Ollie. “My wife Mira will help ye settle int’ ye rooms an’ show ye the bathin’ room.” He gave a sharp whistle into the pub portion of the inn; it rose high above the clattering mugs, pipe smoke, and low mumbling. “Hi! Tom! Run down t’ Hattie’s an’ tell ’er she’s needed by these nice folk.” He watched to make sure Tom did as was bid him, waiting for the village courier to grab his hat and cloak from the multitude of pegs near the door. Ollie gave a friendly smile, “No need t’ go trampin’ in the damp weather with a hurt child an’ all.”

Bilbo blushed, chuckling softly. “I fear that is all we’ve been doing for the past two days. We shall wait here for Mistress Mira.”

Not long after Bilbo uttered his last word, a bubbly, plump hobbit-matron appeared from behind the heavy curtains that served as a partition to their apartment. “I heard m’ name bein’ passed round, Ollie. What have we here?” She then spied Pippin in the arms of Frodo; blood oozing from cuts on both knees, various abrasions and bruises on his slender limbs and face. “Lawks! The poor laddie! Follow me quickly,” she said, leading the way into the back rooms. “I’ve not seen ye round here b’fore--where d’ ye come from?” Mira spoke over her shoulder as she led the way with a lantern. She figured a few quick questions on the way couldn’t harm anything. Moreover, after thirty-six years of marriage, she knew her husband would be wanting as much information as she could give him about the strangers.

“From Hobbiton,” Bilbo answered. He kept his answers short, hoping the nice, but nosy matron would get the hint that he liked his privacy.

“Don’t mean t’ pry,” said Mira politely, “but we don’t get a lot o’ visitors from other parts.”

Opening the door to their room, Mira set about turning down the bed linen while the young lad with light-brown curls kindled a fire in the hearth. She watched as the lad with dark hair laid the whimpering child upon the bed. Mira then stood for a moment surveying the looks of worry and exhaustion etched in their young faces.

Bilbo took his seat upon the bed to comfort Pippin and then somewhat properly introduced himself and the lads. Further formalities would be out until learning that Pippin had no broken bones.

“Come lads,” she said to the dishevelled teen and tween, waving them in her direction. “Ye’re probably wonderin’ where the bathin’ room is.” She opened the wardrobe to indicate where the fresh towels and flannels were kept. “I’ll have Bluebell bring ye a couple o’ Ollie’s nightshirts t’ wear until I can get yer clothes washed and dried.” Frodo and Merry kindly followed the matron out of the room to see where they should go later, however, only after the healer arrived and assessed their younger cousin would they indulge in a hot bath.

Not long after Mira left the “stranger-hobbits” to themselves the foursome heard footfalls out in the hall accompanied by a singsong high-pitched voice. “…fetch water for the kettle and have Mira set it to boil, if you please, Bluebell.”

Merry got up to answer the knock. “Hullo, laddie, is this the room where a Mr. Baggins is staying?” asked the lady. She looked about as plump as Mistress Mira although shorter in stature. This lady wore a red cloak wrapped about her, dampened from the misty rain, with a large brimmed hat upon her head. It was made from straw with a bright red sash fastened to it, then tied neatly into a bow under her chin.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Merry. “Are you the healer?”

“I am,” she replied, “Are you the injured child?”

“No, ma’am”, Merry said with a anxious expression. He opened the door wider for the healer to fully take in the situation.

While scanning the room inside, the healer responded, “My name is Emerald Blackthorn--folks call me ‘Hattie’ due to my fondness for hats.”

“Come in, please,” Bilbo called out from across the room. “The child is here on the bed.”

“There you are, lad!” smiled the healer, taking off her colourful hat and cloak. “I’ve been looking all over for you! I heard you and the ravine had a nasty run-in.” Frodo took her belongings, hanging them upon a wall-peg near the door.

Pippin immediately stopped whimpering, sensing the warm bedside manner of the healer.

“What is your name, son?” asked Hattie.

“Pippin,” the child sniffled. “My wrist hurts.”

“Let’s see about it then,” she said, taking the lad’s arm. Hattie felt up and down until Pippin gave a yelp. She then took the other arm, repeating her examination, and then did the same for his legs. After studying his eyes and face, she again took his wrist in her hands, kneading it until Pippin winced, crying out in pain.

“Can you move it?” asked the healer.

“Yes, but it hurts when I do.”

Still probing the area of his injured wrist, Hattie cocked an eye toward the lad. “You’ve broken this before haven’t you?”

Pippin looked for reassurance from Bilbo and his cousins then nodded. “A couple of years ago when I was eight.”

“You’re ten years old already?” Hattie asked in a comical gesture that made even Pippin smile. The healer never said that she would have guessed him to actually be eight years old, but that would indeed hurt the child’s feelings.

“I’ll be eleven next spring!” said Pippin, his green eyes sparkling with pride.

Hattie smiled, giving a wink to the rest of the hobbits. “Well, laddie,” she leaned in to Pippin as if speaking only to him, “even after the bindings come off, bones are still mending for a while. I don’t think you broke your wrist this time--you’re lucky. I believe you most likely upset it a little. I am going to leave you for a bit to prepare a special tea just for you,” she tousled his muddy curls, “and so that your family can clean up your cuts and scrapes.”

Hattie looked over to Bilbo sitting on the other side of the bed. “I shall return in half of an hour--enough time for this wee one to have had a hot bath.” She reached into her leather sack, taking out a small bottle. “Apply this ointment to his scrapes afterward. It might sting a wee bit,” she said to Pippin, “but I know I’m dealing with a very brave lad, aren’t I?”

“Sting?” said Pippin wide-eyed. For a moment, he actually thought to beg out of all this and take the chance of his wounds going septic. Nevertheless, there was something that he liked about this healer; she seemed…warm, speaking directly to him on his level, not to someone else about him--neither treating him like a faunt. “All right--maybe this time.”

Prompt to the minute, the four hobbits heard knocking upon their door. “Hullo again!” said Hattie, entering the room. “How is my young patient?” Behind her walked Bluebell bearing a tea tray with two teapots, five teacups, and enough sweet cakes for all. The serving lass set it upon the eating table then quietly left.

“Not so good,” answered a weepy Pippin. “That stuff didn’t just sting.”

“I’m sorry,” said Hattie, taking her place upon the bed while holding what appeared to be a pile of clean linen strips, “but you’re faring much better than some grown-ups that I’ve known.” She then proceeded to snugly wrap the child’s wrist with them. “Now, I want you to keep this on for me for a fortnight. Your mummy or dad might want your own healer to look at it, too, but I think--he or she?” she suddenly interrupted herself to prompt the child.

“She,” said Pippin, providing the correct gender. He winced as the healer wrapped the tender part of his wrist.

“I think she will agree with me.” Hattie smiled, “Are you ready for your special tea?”

“Why is it so special?”

“Because I put special ingredients into it so that you will take your ease and so that your wrist won’t hurt so much. So--are you ready?”

Pippin hesitated for just a second then nodded; his wrist and arm indeed were throbbing.

Hattie poured steaming dark liquid from the teapot into a teacup then handed it to the child along with a sweet cake. She smiled at the lad, “No good to be easy on an empty tummy!”

“Yes, ma’am.” Pippin thought the tea smelt sweet--much like honey, with a warm scent of cinnamon. He took the cup and carefully sipped. In the meantime, Hattie proceeded to smear more salve on his knees and wrap one that had acquired a deep scrape during his fall. Pippin sniffed in the aroma of more cinnamon.

Afterward, Hattie went over to the other two lads, previously covered in mud as well, but by now had taken a hot bath along with their younger cousin. She took Merry’s chin in her hand then lifted it just a tad.

“You went in after him, didn’t you?”

Merry blushed, “Yes, ma’am.” Hattie kneaded a bit of salve into a staunched open cut under his chin, then examined his legs, which were covered in bramble scratches. She did the same for these with the salve. Hattie spoke softly to Merry, “Is he your little brother?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Merry answered, “Yes.” He absently rubbed at a tiny spot between his thumb and forefinger. Frodo saw it, but said nothing.

Next, the healer approached Frodo. She took one of his hands in hers, upturning it. “You brought them both up with a rope, correct?”

Frodo gazed at both palms, reddened and marked with rope burns that would undoubtedly blister soon. “Yes.”

Hattie tenderly rubbed the salve into them and then bandaged his right hand, the one bearing the deeper burn. “I can tell that you love your brothers deeply,” she commented.

Frodo thought to correct her, but found he rather enjoyed the misunderstanding. “I do,” he replied with a smile.

Baffled, Pippin looked over to Bilbo, who ever so slightly shook his head and then signalled with a wink of his eye to put-off whatever question the child was about to utter.

When Hattie finished with Frodo, she went over to the eating table then poured tea from the second teapot and offered sweet cakes all around. She finally sat down in the settle near the hearth, taking a bite of her own delicious sweet cake. “The finest sweet cakes in the Northfarthing!” she said, then rinsed it down with a sip of her hot tea. “Compliments of Ollie’s Faunt.”

Merry and Frodo suddenly burst into laughter, much more lighter at heart now that Pippin was feeling better--and with no broken bones.

“I’ve never heard such a name for an inn!” said Merry, still laughing.

“We have the Green Dragon, Bywater has the Ivy Bush, but…” Frodo trailed off, also chuckling.

Merry continued for his cousin, “Not to mention The Oak Leaf Inn in Tuckborough and The Carriage Wheel in Bucklebury--”

“Or the Golden Perch in Stock!” Frodo chimed in, “but never have we heard of Ollie’s Faunt!”

Hattie marvelled at the lads who only minutes ago were anxious over their little brother. At seeing their amusement, even Hattie broke out in unrestrained laughter.

Bilbo only raised his eyebrow--wondering just how many pubs and inns these lads have visited…

With huge, innocent green eyes, Pippin looked to Hattie, “Does that mean Mr. Ollie has seen an oliphaunt? You know, *‘Grey as a mouse, Big as a house, Nose like a snake…’”

“No, no!” said Hattie, wiping away tears of laughter. “It means that poor Ollie named his pub soon after his only child was born. Her name is Heather Millstone, and she’s about three months away from bearing her first child. She married one of the local fellows last year, and for as much as she has begged her father he refuses to change the name of his establishment. She is his pride and joy…and always will be.”

A good deal more conversation had passed when Pippin gave a great yawn and then closed his eyes. Minutes later, teenaged Merry lay back upon the bed where he and Frodo sat, curled up and fell asleep. When Frodo’s eyelids grew heavy, Hattie decided that it was time to leave; her task was done for tonight. She would return after breakfast in the morning to have one last look at Pippin’s wounds.

* * *

Pippin dusted the crumbs off his surcoat then took another bite of the sweet delicacy. No good to show up for duty looking a mess.

“Good morning, Pip,” said Merry, joining his dearest friend at the table. “Those look tasty.” Seeing a platter full of the sweet rolls, Merry reached for one. “This will do until we get a proper breakfast.”

“The server is brining it any minute,” said Pippin, taking a draught of his tea. “Merry…” he began, “Does the taste of these rolls remind you of anything--or anyone?”

“Mmm!” Merry responded, “Cinnamon!”

“But whom does the cinnamon remind you of?”

Merry thought for a long moment then a slow smile appeared on his lips. “Hattie!”

“Yes!” said a gleeful Pippin. “As soon as I tasted the spicy-sweet flavour, I instantly remembered the big straw hat and red sash.”

“I remember her more for the enormous blue hat she wore the next day,” Merry laughed. “It actually had a bluebell flower sticking out of the green sash.”

Now Pippin laughed, “And Ollie’s Faunt!”

“Sam and Frodo saw one on their way to Mordor,” Merry said with a knowing look.

“I want to see one in the wild, not in battle,” said Pippin, suddenly feeling adventurous again.

“Perhaps another time--when duty isn’t calling us.”

“Perhaps,” agreed Pippin. “I know--let’s go visit Ollie’s Faunt when we get back to the Shire. I should like to see old Hattie again.”

“As should I,” said Merry, “but first things first. Let’s get through our duty today.”

“All right.” Reluctantly, Pippin returned to the present, however, he set his mind to visit the Northfarthing upon their return…and Ollie’s Faunt.

The End