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The Year of Departure  by PIppinfan1988

Beta by: Marigold and Llinos

Summer's End

Crickhollow, Buckland, 30 Winterfilth 1420, S.R.

“Pip!” Merry called to his cousin once more. Pippin sat on the sofa beside a lovely young lass engaged in light conversation with her. In his hands, Merry balanced a tray of tankards overflowing with beer for the party guests. “We need the apples! There’s a sack of them in the cellar -- and don’t forget to wash them first.”

Merry loathed interrupting the lad’s cosy conversation, but there were guests to attend to. Together they were hosting a Summer’s End party and were kept busy with various requests for more beer, more party fare, or more fruitcake. The fruitcake, a Summer’s End tradition, was rather popular because of the brandy Estella had added to her recipe.

“All right, all right,” Pippin grumbled good-naturedly, then rose to perform his task. “I’ll be right back,” he smiled to the comely maiden still sitting on the sofa. “Can’t have a Summer’s End Party without dunking for apples.”

Just before he turned to walk away, Pippin observed Frodo sitting all alone on the other side of the room. Pippin looked over the party room; Fredegar sat in the opposite corner listening to a group of lads talking, Merry and he were busy being hosts, but where was Sam? Would he not keep his master company with simple conversation? He went over to Frodo and then carefully leant over the back of the chair, asking him of Sam’s whereabouts.

“He took Rosie to their bedroom,” Frodo answered casually, then returned to his people-gazing.


To Pippin, there was something in his cousin’s eyes that made him wonder what sort of temperament Frodo was in; whether he was lonely for company, or genuinely wanted to be left alone. Not being able to read Frodo unnerved Pippin to no end.

Pippin felt he knew Frodo almost as well as he knew Merry, however, he had noticed of late that their eldest cousin did seem to have a melancholy about him, or perhaps he was just pensive, but mostly he seemed sad. Pippin thought perhaps a bit of humour might help; before the Quest one of his witty remarks would often set Frodo to laughing...well, that was before the Quest.

Pippin bent closer to Frodo and whispered into to his ear, “We know they’re married and all, but you really must to speak to Sam about his and Rosie’s party habits. Running off so quickly to the bedroom sets a bad example for us tweenagers.”

Frodo looked away from Pippin, but the tween caught the hint of a smile. When Frodo turned his face back to his younger cousin, his countenance was more composed, though a sparkle still gleamed in his eyes. Frodo took Pippin’s hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. He wanted to remember the warm touch of the lad’s slender hands. “I hope you plan to behave yourself this evening. Merry and I can’t be child-minders with all of these guests around.”

“That’s all right,” laughed Pippin. “I’ll just mind myself!”

“That’s what I’m worried about.”

“Truly, Frodo,” Pippin implored sincerely, “are you feeling well?”

Frodo mustered an amiable smile to comfort his friend. “I am feeling well, thank you. But Rosie is another matter.” Frodo raised a finger to his lips to convey secrecy. “They want to give you, Merry, and Fredegar a surprise later.”

Pippin raised his eyebrows in mock disbelief and smiled. “A surprise? I doubt that would be a surprise to anyone who knows them. When is the bairn due?”

“Hush, Pippin! We shall let them be the ones to make any announcements,” said Frodo.

“Very well,” said Pippin, resigned to the fact that he now had a “secret” to keep for the rest of the night. He imagined the difficulty he would have this evening while trying to contain his joy for Sam and Rosie before the big “shocker”.

Pippin fetched the apples from the cellar, washed them as instructed, and then joined his cousins and friends with alternately dunking their heads into the barrel for the prize apple. It was customary for one apple to have coins pressed into it as an additional reward for the catch. In the end, it was Menthe who won the treasured fruit.

Next, there was the entertainment.  Tradition held that performing something artful would appease the shadows, the spirits of the dead. Pippin chose to sing a song, as did most of the other guests, but there was also poetry, musical instruments, and dancing. Merry did something different this year in that he offered to sketch anyone who would be a willing subject. He was a skilled artist and quick with a piece of charcoal in his hand.

Before all was said and done Merry had unconsciously sketched the face of Frodo, Pippin, Sam, Fredegar, and himself all on one parchment. Merry had no notion of what moved him to draw this picture of the five of them, but he did it anyway.

Frodo was impressed, as always, and praised his cousin's art. “What a wonderful talent you have, my dear cousin,” he said to Merry. “I think that is one of the best examples of your work.”

“You can have it, Frodo,” offered Merry without any forethought.

“Really?” asked an astonished Frodo.

“Really! I’d be delighted if you took it, Cousin,” Merry replied, quite pleased with his own handiwork and basking in Frodo’s appreciation of his craft.

Frodo possessed other samples of Merry’s drawings that he had been given over the years, but none matched this particular picture in detail or beauty. This was indeed Merry’s best effort, and Frodo immediately knew what he would do with this gift. He gratefully took the portrait from his cousin, his eyes brimming with tears. “Thank you, Merry. I shall treasure this forever.” Fortunately, no one caught the undercurrent of the last word.

Much later in the evening, when the exuberance of the party began to die down, the attention of the guests turned to other activities. By this time many guests had already left for the night. Mostly it was Merry’s closer related cousins who stayed for the pleasure of company. At length, it was Cousin Celandine who suggested ghost stories.

“Oh, please tell us one, Merry!” she said eagerly. “You Travellers were in the Outlands for over a year -- you must have seen something to make a ghost story out of.”

“Are you sure you want a ghost story?” Pippin asked uneasily. “I can think of other fun things to celebrate Summer’s End.”

“No!” came the general consensus from the younger set. Celandine spoke up again. “Summer’s End is the beginning of darkness, shadows and spirits, Pippin. We don’t want to hear about kings and princes this time.”

Pippin looked at his fellow Travellers for support. He saw no concern or anxiety in their eyes, though he himself never really enjoyed ghost stories. Pippin thought to steer the party guests back towards parlour games, music, or dancing. He started to rise from his chair to fetch his violin, but then heard Frodo speak up.

“This night isn’t only about shadows and spirits, Cellie,” said Frodo, obviously encouraging the lass. Everyone’s eyes turned towards him.

“What else is Summer’s End about?” she asked, baiting her cousin with a wry grin. “Please don’t tell us that it’s all about the fruitcake!” Light laughter emitted around the room at hearing her witty remark.

“Actually,” said Frodo, his face a portrait of utter seriousness. “It’s about dunking for apples.” The guests erupted in more laughter.

“And all this time I thought it was the beer!” Merry quipped. In addition to his own curiosity being piqued, Frodo seemed to be enjoying himself, which was something Merry had dearly hoped to see tonight. Frodo had learnt from the best in how to tell a great story -- Bilbo.

While the laughter resounded in the room, Sam and Rosie came out of their bedroom to thank their hosts and to bid everyone a good night. Apparently, the ride to Buckland had worn out Rosie more than they thought it would. Finally, they made their big announcement to the delight of all present.

Frodo looked over to Pippin, giving him a wink. Pippin responded with an impish grin; he had kept Sam and Rosie’s secret safe.

After the couple returned to their bedroom and the laughter and chatter of the guests died down, the former subject did not change as Pippin had hoped. Frodo continued his point.

“I’ve sat at the feet of some very notable lore masters,” he said, “who gave me an account of what they believe began as what hobbits now know as Summer’s End, which includes many of our traditions along with...well, evil spirits and shadows.”

“Who, may I ask, are these lore masters you speak of?” asked Celandine’s brother, Ilberic.

Frodo was glad that someone requested names, names always proved useful in validating a story. “Gandalf the wizard, for one. Lord Elrond of Rivendell, and Thranduil, King of the Elves of Northern Mirkwood. Are these names suitable to you, Ric?”

The folks of Buckland were well aware of the wizard and his talents as a maker of firecrackers and old stories. Elrond and Thranduil, some knew from Bilbo’s tales. Ilberic sagely nodded his approval.

“Tell us everything, Cousin Frodo!” said Celandine. Enthusiastically, she left her chair then grabbed a floor pillow to sit at Frodo’s feet. “Don’t leave one bit out!”

“Very well,” said Frodo, and then asked for more tea. Storytellers need much to drink in order to keep the tongue lubricated. Tea, beer, other fermented drinks, and water, have all been useful for this task. Frodo went on, “On our homeward journey we stopped in Rivendell. While there I had the opportunity to listen as Lord Elrond related to me some history that he and King Thranduil observed of hobbits that most are not aware of.”

With all attention on him, Frodo spoke in a low, calming voice, as is tradition when telling tales with an eerie feel to them.

“It all happened hundreds of years ago, before Fallohides became a wandering people and settled in Bree, and then the Shire. As our own annals tell us, the Fallohides were the ones to cross the mountains north of Rivendell. King Thranduil had observed their growth as a people, and then Lord Elrond watched as they took the long journey across the mountains. With hobbits coming to the forefront in recent years, Lord Elrond and King Thranduil put pieces of our puzzle together. It was Lord Elrond who related to me the events that I am about to tell you.

“He mentioned to me that The Greenwood, now known as Mirkwood, was probably where the Fallohides were first known to live. During that time the hobbits dealt much with the Wood Elves; in fact, it was the Wood Elves who taught the hobbits to play music, hunt, and many other skills that have great worth in our society.

“After a time, however, shadows and dark things had taken hold over Mirkwood and began to intensify over the years. The hobbits started to hear evil whispers in the night, the trees moaning and creaking without so much as a wisp of a breeze. Children were frightened of the trees, adults moved about in groups; no one dared to venture deep into the woodland alone. Folks became uneasy, moving away further and further north and out of the Greenwood. It wasn’t long before they had removed themselves altogether from the immediate area. One family, going by the name of Shavun, unwisely lingered behind.”

Frodo paused in his tale to take a sip of freshly brewed tea. This served to increase the his listeners’ interest, and also to hide the grin that so badly wanted to form on his lips. He looked over the faces of the guests all around the room, each one appeared engrossed in his story. Not one word was spoken among them during the brief respite; it was as if the spell would be broken. The expression on young Celandine’s face, a combination of wonder and dismay, almost set Frodo to laughing.

Setting down his teacup, Frodo continued. “One day, the eldest son wandered into the woods all alone. Why he did so no one knows to this day, but he apparently ventured too far and got lost. He never returned home. For a very long time his family looked for him. They even enlisted the aid of hobbits that had moved a great distance from the Wood. Weeks later they found his body under a tall tree, nearly degraded to a skeleton by that time.”

At this part, the faces of Frodo’s audience winced.

“The hobbits believed the lad had been lured into the woods by some evil creature and then was murdered.”

“Probably by a wicked Troll!” Doderic interjected. 

“Hush, Dody!” Celandine admonished her brother. “I want to hear this.”

Frodo waited until he had their undivided attention before resuming his story. He let his gaze shift to his favourite cousins, Pippin and Merry; each had a mischievous gleam in his eyes. Frodo ignored them, moving on with his tale.

“Meanwhile, the evil whispers heard within Mirkwood increased and drew nearer to the northern borders of the Wood. Oftentimes the hobbits sensed the presence of evil trying to lure other young or unwary hobbits into its snare. Now very frightened, the Fallohide hobbits held a Moot to see about avenging the lad’s death. It was decided that the following evening they’d go into the woodland and seek out the vile creature who’d carry out such a malicious deed on a young hobbit.

“Deeper and deeper they walked into the thick forest armed with torches and bows and arrows. Dark, it was, full of strange noises and scents. Each one stepped carefully and as silent as any hobbit could. No sooner had they reached a clearing than they spied a tall goblin, grotesque in appearance, half hidden behind a large tree trunk.

‘Come out and show yourself, coward,’ said the hobbit leader.

‘I’ll come out all right!’ the goblin replied to the hobbit, walking towards them...and then --

"LEAPT!, grabbing one of the hobbits by the leg!” Frodo shouted the last part, then with snake-like reflexes grabbed Doderic’s leg and began pulling hard with it. “Just as I’m pulling yours now!”

Quite surprised when Frodo yelled, Doderic jumped out of his skin and yelped, while Celandine shrieked, backing away from the commotion.

Pippin and Merry roared with laughter as did some of the other guests, although a few laughed more out of stunned confusion.

“Oh, you!” Celandine shouted. “Did any of that really happen?”

“Only the part where the Fallohide hobbits probably lived among the Elves of the Woodland Realm for a time before crossing the mountains. The rest I sort of made up, although there truly was evil lurking in the southern region of Mirkwood.”

“I’ll never believe another tale of lore told by you ever again,” Ilberic laughed.

Once again, Frodo scanned the room, taking in all of the jollity, the laughs, and the smiles of his dearest friends. He gave a playful wink to Merry and Pippin, committing their happy faces to memory.

One of his last tales had been told.

Until next time....





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