Rabidsamfan suggested that a discussion on terms of respect in the Shire might be interesting. I pored over the books and found all the instances of the Shire-hobbits using (or not using) terms of respect and have discovered their rules for who they call by what title and when amongst their fellow hobbits. The hobbits were also kind enough to fill me in on a few other rules not covered in the books and clarify a couple of oddities (such as when Sam refers to Merry as “Master Merry” in the Old Forest – a bit of forgetfulness on his part, which is very understandable as Merry was being eaten by a tree at the time and Sam quite had other things on his mind). It’s all very confusing to me, but of course makes perfect sense to them. Any glaring errors are my fault as a translator. Here goes!

I shouldn't write when I'm sick! lol
 
 
 

“What’s the good of Minas Tirith anyway? To him, I mean, begging your pardon, Master Boromir,” [Sam] added… ~The Breaking of the Fellowship
 

Chapter 8: A Mister, A Master

His father had warned him against getting too involved with the hobbits. “They’re dear and charming enough but you’ll get nothing but headaches for it,” Glóin had said with a sage shake of his head. Yet when Gimli woke that morning it all still seemed so innocent and harmless - until that afternoon when he would become hopelessly entangled in quite an astonishing and baffling event.

Unaware of what the day was about to bring to him, Gimli stretched his arms and scratched his beard, slowly shaking off the cobwebs of a most glorious dream. He had dreamt of many things that he would jot down later when he had the time but for now the most important one was an answer to a riddle that had been bothering one of his new friends for the last several days.

He could still see it all quite clearly, that night the riddle was first presented to him: the red-orange glow of the fires dancing with the shadows on the walls in the Hall of Fire; the elves singing their ethereal songs and playing their instruments, some plain and common, some odd and intricate; and Frodo and Sam sitting alone to one side of the room. Frodo had been asleep, dozing lightly with his head on the arm of the settee. Beside him sat Sam and between them on the cushion of the settee was a piece of parchment with many scratched out words written upon it. At Sam’s feet was a forgotten inkwell, the quill soaking proudly in the blue ink, waiting for its master to put it to good use. Sam listened to the elves, a puzzled look on his usually cheerful face.

“You’re up late, young master,” Gimli had said to him. “Even your master sleeps already.”

Sam had torn his eyes from the elves and for the first time seemed to notice that his master was indeed asleep. He pulled the blanket off the back of the settee, shook it out and covered his master gently, taking great care to tuck the ends around Frodo’s feet and shoulders. In his sleep, Frodo sighed deeply and burrowed further into the cushions. He mumbled something that sounded like, “Look at all the mushrooms, Sam!” and sunk back into his dreams.

Sam whispered, “You go and pick your share, Mr. Frodo,” then pulled the parchment out from under the blanket. He held it up for Gimli to see what looked like many failed attempts at a poem.

“It’s no good,” Sam stated.

“I didn’t know you were a poet,” Gimli had replied. “The dwarves have a love of songs, though there are many who would be surprised to hear it.”

“You make such wonderful things though,” Sam said, thinking of the sparklers and dwarf-candles at Bilbo’s Party, among other things. “Folk as make such pretty things would be wanting to write about them, and if they’ll write about that it only stands to reason as they’d write about other things as strike their fancy.”

“Indeed,” Gimli agreed, impressed with the hobbit’s simple logic. “I hear you make gardens that are the envy of all the Shire, and that the earth blooms brighter wherever you have passed. That is truly a rare gift.”

“You’ve been listening to Mr. Merry’s stories again,” Sam said, off-handedly discounting the compliment as hobbits were bound to do. “He always goes on and on. Anything I know about gardens I learned from my gaffer, and anything I know about letters I learned from Mr. Bilbo, but I’m no poet, leastways not a very good one. I dabble every now and then, little bits of nonsense mostly. I don’t know what I was thinking, getting it in my head as I could capture Rivendell any better than old Mr. Bilbo did. He said as Rivendell was the perfect place for anything you wanted to do. How do you top that?”

That had been Friday and Gimli now thought he had the answer. He hopped out of bed and dressed, and went in search of the hobbits. By default, this took him towards the kitchen and dining hall.

It was now the first of December, according to the hobbits’ strange way of counting days, and while Sam had been correct about the first snow not lasting very long, there had been a couple more storms since then and the ground was again covered with a thin layer of snow. Gimli stayed clear of the courtyards in case an eager halfling was laying in wait for some poor unsuspecting soul; he wanted to find the hobbits, but not like that! Everyone in Elrond’s house by this time knew to keep clear of hobbits and snow, a lethal combination no matter who the assailant was. The threat of imminent attack, combined with the colder air, meant that the inner hallways and passageways were crowded more than usual as everyone made their way down to the dining hall.

As Gimli reached the corridor outside the dining hall, high-pitched cheers erupted from the nearby courtyard. Gimli chuckled and waited with a few of the elves to find out who was the victim of this latest attack. A few moments later, Erestor came into the corridor off the courtyard, bemusedly dusting snow from his hair and eyes.

“You should know better than to walk through the courtyards, Erestor,” Lindir said with a laugh. He himself had been beamed in the back by Sam just a few days before, a favor he had immediately repaid much to the hobbit's delighted surprise.

“I was in a hurry,” Erestor said. “I forgot. Where is Elrond? I have news of some of the scouting parties. They are beginning to return.”

“He’s already in the dining hall, and surely that news could have waited a few more minutes so you could go the safe way around,” Lindir teased, following his friend into the hall.

Gimli walked in behind them and looked about quickly. Surprisingly, he saw Merry and Pippin already at their table waiting eagerly for the food to appear. They were craning their necks toward the kitchen doors, so much so that Gimli thought their heads would fall off their shoulders. None of the other hobbits could be seen, for very obvious reasons, so Gimli waited by the door. A few minutes passed and a handful more elves entered into the hall before Gimli heard the voice he was waiting for.

“Excuse me Mr. Gimli,” Sam said at his side.

“Good morning, Sam!” Gimli said but before he could say anything else, Sam rushed ahead.

“Have you seen my master? He was up and gone already when I woke and he’s not in Mr. Bilbo’s room. Neither is Mr. Bilbo, for that matter. They must have gone off together somewhere, but I don’t know where.”

“Is that so?” Gimli said with a laugh. He would never have suspected the old hobbit and Ring-bearer to be the ones behind this latest snowball attack, but all the evidence pointed towards them.

He laughed again as a moment later none other than Glorfindel strode into the hall, wiping snow from his lapel and neck with distracted swipes of his hand. Gimli understood then Erestor’s haste in alerting Elrond of the returning scouts, for Glorfindel was one of many who had journeyed abroad. Glorfindel went directly to Elrond’s table and soon he, Erestor and Elrond were bent in quiet conversation.

Sam watched the elf lord pass with resigned bemusement. He had just spied Merry and Pippin sitting innocently at the hobbits’ usual table, and he put two and two together just as easily as everyone else there. He could only sigh and shake his head and be grateful that Glorfindel was too distracted with his errand to be annoyed.

Gimli finished chuckling and turned to address Sam again when the two Bagginses entered the hall. The culprits were laughing jollily, being obliged to lean against each other for support, and they were wiping their hands with suspiciously damp handkerchiefs. Their cheeks were tinged pink from the cold and the knees of their breeches were damp. Frodo shivered just the slightest bit. To anyone else it would have been nearly indiscernible but to the vigilant Sam it was a red flag.

“Mr. Frodo!” Sam said, gaining his master’s attention.

“Hullo Sam!” Frodo greeted. “Morning Gimli.”

“Mr. Frodo, you’re chilled clear through,” Sam observed and slipped off his jacket. “You’ll catch a cold sir and what with you just recovering and all-”

“Sam, don’t fret so,” Frodo said, still laughing. He hastily stuffed the handkerchief into his breeches pocket and allowed Sam to slip the jacket over his shoulders. “I’m perfectly healthy, better than ever.”

“You’ve been up to something,” Sam said to the both of them, a hint of a smile now on his own lips. He could never remain stern when his master was so happy.

“You’re quite right, Sam,” Bilbo stated. “We’ve been looking for Erestor. Have you see him? Ah! There he is. And see here! Glorfindel is back. He must have just returned. Did you know he was back, Frodo?”

“I didn’t,” Frodo said, going along with the ruse. “I only just now saw him when you pointed him out.”

“Well, I think I’ll just trot off and see how they both fair on this fine morning,” Bilbo said with a wink, and off he trotted toward the high table, chuckling silently to himself.

Frodo shook his head and watched after Bilbo with open fondness. “He always was the worst influence on me,” he said happily, then took Sam’s arm. “Come, Sam, let’s take our seats before they bring out the food and Merry and Pippin eat it all.” He led Sam toward one of the many lower tables lined up against the far wall that overlooked the forest beyond. The hobbits liked to eat there and watch the birds playing in the trees. Merry and Pippin saw them and waved them over, questioning expressions on their faces.

Only after they had already joined the younger hobbits did Gimli remember he had been waiting by the door in hopes of having a private word with Sam. He huffed in frustration and went to his own seat at the center of the hall. He would now have to wait for the afternoon, when the hobbits finished their training session with Boromir.  

That afternoon, Gimli found the cousins in the library sitting on the floor and poring over various maps of Middle Earth. Some of the maps were quite plain while others were intricate and crowded with the various names of all the places of importance, and the hobbits found them fascinating. Or rather, Frodo and Merry found them fascinating and they were examining the maps in close detail, while Pippin sat against a divan, combing through a stack of tomes and looking at the illustrations within.

“Here’s Isengard,” Merry said, pointing to a spot on the map. “That’s where Gandalf said that one wizard who turned evil lives. Saruman. We’re not going that way, I hope.”

“It wouldn’t be wise to,” Frodo agreed. He pointed to another section of the map. “Noman-lands. I wonder how it got that name.”

“It doesn’t sound very cheerful.”

“Eep!” Pippin suddenly squeaked and hurriedly put aside the tome he was holding, making sure the covers were well closed.

Merry and Frodo looked over their shoulders at him, their eyebrows cocked. “What’s your problem?” Merry said. “Did you come across a picture of your legendary Necromancer* or something?”

“Or something. There were naked ladies in that one,” Pippin said with eyes wide, pointing accusingly at the seemingly innocent book and with a tinge of regret for having discarded it so quickly. “Am I allowed to see that?”

“No,” Merry said, regarding the book with renewed interested. He started reaching for it.

“Don’t even think about it, Merry,” Frodo ordered and returned to the map.

“Found one of the books of art, did you Master Pippin?” Gimli said, gaining the hobbits’ attentions. “It’d be wise to choose your books with more caution if you’re sensitive about such things.”

“But everything’s in Elvish, and it’s supposed to be art,” Pippin pointed out. “I was expecting flowers or cows, or things of that sort.” He chose a different book and started flipping through that one with a definite air of caution.

“Is Sam not with you?” Gimli pressed on, determined not to get sidetracked yet again. He knew enough by now to know that if he gave these hobbits an inch, they’d take the whole mine!

“Hard to believe isn’t it?” Merry said, still eyeing the art book with a calculating air. “I wouldn’t have thought it possible for Sam to be away from Frodo’s side for more than a minute, but thankfully Elrond was able to extract him from my cousin’s hip without too much damage to either.”

Frodo looked up from the map and said, “He went down to the stables to walk Bill. He should be back shortly if you want to wait.”

“I think I’ll go down and meet him,” Gimli decided as Merry’s hand slowly started inching back towards the book. Frodo just nodded, peering back down at the map and tracing the line of a river with his finger. Pippin was puzzled by the latest illustration he had come across and was turning the book this way and that trying to figure out what he was looking at. “I’ll escort Sam back here to you.”

“Thank you Gimli,” Frodo said with distraction just as Merry’s hand enclosed the book. Without looking up, he sternly added, “No, Merry.”

“But Pippin got to see,” Merry argued as Pippin finally figured out what he was looking at. His eyes grew wide once more and his face flushed scarlet but he did not put down the book.

Gimli removed himself quickly before anything more could transpire. With all the hobbits accounted for – Bilbo was spending the afternoon with Glóin – Gimli cut through the nearest courtyard to the path that led to the stables.

He heard their voices before he rounded the last corner. Their words were indecipherable at first but even from that distance he could tell that Boromir and Sam were having an argument of some sort. Gimli slowed his pace and cautiously stepped around the corner of the house and toward the corral. He glanced across the riding circle where the hobbit and soldier were standing just outside the stables, both of them completely oblivious to their chilly surroundings. Now it was Gimli who stared in astonishment at something he never expected to see. The steadfast warrior was growing ever frustrated and whatever they were arguing about, one thing was clear: Sam was not about to back down.

“It just doesn’t make sense!”

“Of course it does!”

“How does it make sense?”

“Because it’s the Rules.”

“The Rules. The Rules! Always with the Rules.”

“The Rules are important, Master Boromir.”

“And they dictate even this then, I deem.”

“They don’t dictate nothing. They just make sense, so we follow them.”

“You keep saying they make sense but you have yet to explain it to me logically.”

“I would if you’d just listen and let me finish.”

“Who could listen to that? All those conditions and exceptions and subdivisions! It's more complex than any laws we have in Gondor!”

“Subdivisions?”

“You say it to Gandalf, so why don’t you say it me?”

“You’re not a hobbit.”

“Neither is Gandalf!”

“He’s a wizard and he’s been visiting the Shire long since before I was born. He’s friends with the Tooks. Why, the Old Took himself used to have grand fireworks from Gandalf on his birthdays, or so it’s told.”

“Ah-ha! Gandalf! You didn’t say ‘Mr. Gandalf’ just then. Your Rules are rubbish.”

“I wasn’t talking to him just then. I don’t have to call him ‘Mister’ if I ain’t talking to him. I already explained that!”

“Fine, fine. So if I were to go to the Shire, then I’d be a ‘Mister’?”

“You don’t know anyone there.”

“I know you!”

“But I’m just a gardener.”

“I know Frodo! And Merry and Pippin.”

“True, and Mr. Frodo’s important in Hobbiton and Bywater as such things go, but that don’t really mean naught to the Shire in general. Now if you were to get on with Thain Paladin that’d be telling something.”

“Isn’t the Thain just your version of a Steward? I’m the Steward’s son!”

“Has your father ever been to the Shire?”

“Of course not!”

“Then I can’t help you there.”

Gimli thought about turning around and pretending he had never been there, but his curiosity once again got the better of him. He walked around the corral to where the Gondorian and halfling stood, Boromir’s hands gesturing in exasperation and Sam’s arms stubbornly folded across his chest. “What is this arguing?” he asked.

“Good morning, Mr. Gimli,” Sam greeted cheerfully.

“Now why is he ‘Mister’? He’s never been to the Shire either,” Boromir pointed out and the argument commenced.

“No, but his father has. Glóin is good friends with Mr. Bilbo.”

“But Gimli’s not even related to anyone important among his people.”

“Gimli is Dain’s third cousin once removed.”

“Third cousin once removed? What does that even mean? I’m the Steward’s son!”

“Dain’s a king, and that puts him higher than anyone among hobbit folk, even if he is just a dwarf. Your dad’s just a Steward, and as you say, we already got us a Thain. There’d be naught for your dad to be doing in the Shire as it sounds to me that all he can do is make war. Why, he can’t even till a field, meaning no disrespect.”

“In what conceivable circumstance would a Steward be wasting time on a farm!”

“Farming’s a noble and important profession, Master Boromir. Without farmers, you’d have naught to be eating. Folk need farmers more than they need another Thain.”

“Well no, not by your idea of a Steward.”

“Now see here, there ain’t no cause to be insulting the Thain. That’s Mr. Pippin’s father you’re speaking of.”

Frodo, Merry and Pippin joined them then. Wondering what could possibly to be taking Sam so long to get back from the stables, not to mention Frodo’s growing desire to get his cousins as far away from the art books as possible, they had come to the stables to seek their friend. They were just as astonished as Gimli to find Sam and Boromir exchanging such heated words. None of them knew quite what to make of it, and they stood frozen in shock for a time while the argument continued without so much as an acknowledgement of their presence.

“Still, my father is an important man in Gondor. He’s a Ruling Steward, just as powerful as the King!”

“But he ain’t related to the King, now is he? And even if he were, you’d have no way of knowing it! Your family tree has giant gaping holes all over it. How can you possibly hope to keep track of your relations like that? It’s very sloppy to say the least.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Master Elrond’s got a whole store of family trees and lineages in the library. Mr. Merry found them shortly after Mr. Frodo woke up and we had a look-see.”

“Master Elrond. Now why is he ‘Master’ when he’s in charge here?”

“He’s the master of this house and his people. Besides, everyone here calls him that, that or Lord Elrond, whereas you’re only a captain general. I explained all this already.”

Frodo finally untangled his tongue and spoke up as the man and gardener paused for breath. “What is all this noise?” he asked.

Gimli shook his head. “I’m still trying to figure it out. Something to do with ‘Mister’ and ‘Master’.”

“I got that much. Sam, what is going on?” Frodo asked.

Sam huffed in frustration and visibly calmed himself before addressing his master in a more normal, if still frazzled, tone of voice. “Master Boromir asked me why I call him ‘Master’ instead of ‘Mister’ when I called him ‘Mister’ once when we first met. I was trying to explain the Rules to him but he keeps interrupting me with one question after another and everything's getting jumbled. Honestly sir, I think he's spending too much time with Mr. Pippin, meaning no disrespect of course. Anyway, we started arguing and I guess it just got out of hand. But that’s still no cause for you to be saying as Thain Paladin don’t do nothing.”

“My father’s The Took and the Thain,” Pippin said, coming to his father’s defense.

“Uncle Pally does plenty,” Merry said.

“I didn’t mean it that way. He misunderstood. Besides… he said it first,” Boromir finished lamely, then suddenly laughed as he realized how foolish this had all become. “Sam is right. We have allowed this discussion to get away from us.”

“Sam, if he wants to be called ‘Mister’ then just call him ‘Mister’,” Merry said. “The Rules don’t apply to Big Folk anyway. Really, you could just call him Boromir if you wanted.”

“I know that,” Sam said, “but he doesn’t want me to call him 'Mister'. He just asked why I call him ‘Master’ and I was trying to explain to him how I fit him into the Rules as best I could, what with him not being a hobbit and all, and well… It got out of hand, like I said.”

“The Rules don’t apply to Men?” Boromir asked. “Why didn’t you mention that earlier?”

“I did! I said ‘well, you’re not a hobbit and all, but I figured as you’d be a Master because you’re a captain general.’ That’s what I said,” Sam repeated with frayed patience.

“Captain general?” Merry asked.

Sam shrugged. “Well, I figured it’d be like his profession.”

“Oh,” Merry nodded. “That makes sense.”

“How does that make sense?” Boromir asked.

"It's the Rule," Merry explained.

Seeing that the argument was threatening to begin again, Frodo jumped between the two and held his hands up for silence. “Please, can we continue this discussion somewhere else where isn’t quite so cold?”

“The library!” Pippin volunteered eagerly.

“No! You are not going back to that library until all those books have been cleared out. That goes for you and Merry both,” Frodo said.

“Why would you be wanting to remove the books from the library, Mr. Frodo? Isn’t that the purpose of a library?” Sam asked.

“Not now, Sam,” Frodo said. “Now follow me, all of you.”

“But—” began Gimli, wondering just when and how he had become entangled in this mess. He realized too late that he should have heeded his father’s warning more closely. All he had wanted to do was speak with Sam and now he looked to be in for a lecture.

“All of you, and I want no more discussion until we are inside,” Frodo said and glared up at Boromir, silently challenging the man to argue with him. Boromir only nodded.

Frodo led them back up the path and into the Hall of Fire, which was thankfully devoid of anyone. He ordered them all to sit on the settee and then stood before them, looking between Boromir and Sam as he tried to figure out where best to begin this discussion. At length he said, “Sam, how far into the Rules did you get?”

“I got up to about to the second rule of the working class,” Sam said.

Frodo nodded. “Very well,” he said.

“You didn’t get very far,” Pippin noted then quickly silenced himself when he received another of Frodo’s glares.

“Now, I will recite the Rules to you Boromir but only if you promise not to interrupt,” Frodo said.

Boromir agreed, grudgingly remembering when he had attempted that same rule with Pippin only to be overruled by Frodo and the others. He knew better than to argue at this point though.

Frodo cleared his throat and began his lesson. “The Rules of Address can be a complicated matter for an outsider to understand, but all hobbits learn all The Rules with their first lessons, after cooking and family relations, at the beginning of their Manners. The Rules are quickly committed to memory and all hobbits follow them. The Rules of Address do not apply to familial bonds as families will decide amongst themselves how they will address their relations. Therefore, the Rules of Address apply only to non-familial relations and are laid down as follows.

“Rule 1: The Mayor of the Shire is to be called Mayor followed by his proper full name, unless the Mayor should give you leave to address him otherwise. The Thain of the Shire is to be called Thain followed by his proper first name. The Master of Buckland is to be called Master followed by his proper first name. The wives of these authorities are to be called Lady followed by her proper first name in formal gatherings, or Mistress followed by her proper first name in informal gatherings.

“Rule 2: Peers may address each other however they so choose. Non-peers should address each other using the appropriate title as stated below followed by the last name of the one being addressed unless otherwise agreed amongst themselves to use first names, or as otherwise noted below.

“Rule 3: All hobbits will address all their fellow elders as Mister. For rules of address for lasses, refer to Rules 8 through 10.

“Rule 4: While it is not necessary to use proper titles when speaking of one’s betters amongst your peers, it is a sign of deepest disrespect and insubordination to do so when speaking directly to your betters. However, should the speaker be a child who has not yet had his or her lessons in these Rules, that child should be immediately forgiven and gently corrected.

“Rule 5: Hobbits of the working class will address their fellow betters as stated below. For rules of address for lasses, refer to Rules 8 through 10.

“Rule 5a: Junior hobbits are to be called Master followed by their first name. Once a junior hobbit reaches the age of 28, at that age being distinguished as halfway through his tweens and so therefore able to begin to take on more adult responsibilities, it would be appropriate, though not necessary, to address the junior as Mister; however, should the junior be the child of your employer, refer to rule 6a.

“Rule 5b: Once a hobbit comes of age, he is to be addressed as Mister, except as stated in Rule 1.

“Rule 6: Servants and other hired hands will address their fellow master or employer as Mister followed by his last name. For rules of address for lasses, refer to Rules 8 through 10.

“Rule 6a: A servant’s master is the first authority in the house he or she serves. Therefore, children of the household, whether they be past the age of 28 or not, will be addressed as Master followed by their first name, until they come of age. Once the child is of age, he is to be addressed as Mister followed by his first name so as to distinguish him from the proper master of the house.

“Rule 7: Should a fellow hobbit be of a specialized profession or be a recognized authority on a matter of importance, for courtesy’s sake he should be referred to as Master no matter what his social standing in recognition of this honor.

“Rule 8: The rules of address for a lass follow the same social restrictions as those for a fellow, except as stated in Rule 1 and as further stated below.

"Rule 8a: A lass who is unmarried is to be addressed as Miss.

"Rule 8b: Once a lass marries, should she be of the common class she will be addressed as Missus. Should the married lass be of the gentlehobbit class, she will be addressed as Mistress.

“Rule 8c: Should a lass be widowed prior to bringing forth a child and before the fifth year of marriage, it would be proper, at her discretion, to refer to her again as Miss. Should she have a child or her loss be after her fifth year of marriage she will continue to carry the title of Missus or Mistress until she reaches her elder years, those being the years when she is no longer physically able to produce new life. At this time, she is to be addressed as Widow if she so chooses.

“Rule 9: A healer is to be addressed as Miss while in her occupation – that is, while she is wearing her healer’s attire – even on the rare occasion that she should be married. On the rare occasion that a healer is a fellow, refer to Rule 7.

"Rule 9a: A healer’s apprentice is to address her mentor as Mistress at all times so as to designate herself as the apprentice.

“Rule 10: Should a lass be of a specialized profession, other than a healer, or be a recognized authority on a matter of importance, for courtesy’s sake she should be referred to as Miss or Mistress, depending on her marital status, no matter what her social standing in recognition of this honor.

“Rule 11: When first addressing a hobbit whose social standing and/or marital status and/or profession is not made clear to you, you are to address the fellow as Mister and the lass as Miss to avoid unwittingly insulting the hobbit you are addressing. Said hobbit will then gently correct you if you are wrong.

“Rule 12: While Rules 4, 5, 6 and 8 do not directly apply to gentlehobbits when addressing their peers or those of the common class, courtesy and politeness is the mark of a true gentlehobbit and should ever be your guide when addressing others, no matter their station.

“And those are the Rules of Address. As you can see they don’t apply to Big Folk, but as you are a person of a specialized profession – a captain general of your people – it does make sense that Sam address you as ‘Master’ if he’s going to call you anything, Boromir. Do you have any further questions?” Frodo finished.

“Can we go back to the library?” Merry asked with an impish grin.

“Boromir?” Frodo said, easily ignoring his cousin.

“I have one,” Gimli said. “Would it be possible for me to speak with Sam now that the lesson is over? 'Tis the only reason I’m here in the first place and I’ve yet to speak two words to him.”

“You were looking for me?” Sam said with surprise.

“Yes. I’ve an idea for your poem,” Gimli stated.

“You do?” Sam said, perking up at this announcement. He looked beseechingly at Frodo. “Is it all right, Mr. Frodo?”

“Go on, Sam. Not you two,” Frodo said as Merry and Pippin began to rise to follow Sam and Gimli out of the Hall.

“But we already know all this,” Pippin protested as Merry said, “We’re not going to go back to the library, cousin – except to get the maps of course.”

“I still don’t understand why Gandalf gets to be called Mister,” Boromir stated, still trying to understand. Why did hobbit laws have to be so confusing?

“I suspect it is because Sam has always called him Mister and Gandalf never instructed Sam to call him anything different,” Frodo explained. “Hobbits are creatures of habit, Boromir, and we don’t break those habits easily.” 

Sam and Gimli happily left the discussion behind, leaving the Hall of Fire in the direction of the kitchen, where tea would soon be ready for the hobbits. Sam waited eagerly for Gimli to elaborate on his earlier statement but when the dwarf remained in deep thought, he ventured, “You said as you had an idea for my poem, Mr. Gimli?”

“Eh? Oh, yes," Gimli said, shaking himself from his reverie. "Look, Sam, to prevent any further upset I think it’d be best if you called me Master Gimli, or simply just Gimli. Boromir is a stout and valiant man, but he does tend to be a tad sensitive about such things.”

“Very well, Master Gimli, if that’s what you want,” Sam said, easily accepting the condition. “So, about my poem?”

“Ah, yes. You said you were wanting to best Bilbo’s description of Rivendell,” Gimli started as they turned up another corridor.

“That’s right.”

“My advice is this: don’t.”

“Don’t?”

“In your mind, you will never be able to excel those fine words of your former master. He is too dear to you, and therefore so too is anything he may write,” Gimli explained. “To try to best him would only bring you constantly to your own shortcomings when compared to his talents. So instead of trying to best him, try only to best yourself. Describe Rivendell in your own words, with no regard to anything else.”

Sam considered this until they reached the kitchen then he nodded and smiled gratefully. “I think I’ll try that then. Thank you Master Gimli.”

“I’m glad to help Sam, though I know that was not the help you were hoping for,” Gimli said. They entered the kitchen and found the elves as they just finished setting the tea tray. “Now if I were to describe Rivendell, I’d say it’s like a city carved out of a deep cloud that has come down from the heavens to rest for a time upon the earth.”

“I like that!” Sam said. “You’ve a way with words, Master Gimli, and don’t be mistaking it.”

"I've a way with many things, Sam, including it seems how to get involved in things that are none of my business," Gimli said, thinking again of his father's advice. "It is ever my downfall."

"I don't know about that sir, but I thank you still and I'll get right to work on my poem tonight," Sam said and took the tea tray back to the Hall of Fire, a bit of prose already beginning to form in his mind.
 
 
To be continued…
 

GF 12/4/06
 

* - for more on Pippin's legendary Necromancer, refer to "The Evil Necromancer" in my "Of Merry and Pippin" series.