It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door…You step into the Road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to.
Welcome to the Middle-earth Journeys Annual Yule Creative Writing Contest!
This year’s contest will center around our website’s theme of ‘Journey’. We hoped that our site would spur our members into journeys of their own, whether into Tolkien, or into artistic or academic adventures, or journeys of personal discovery. Many of us have found truer and deeper and more creative selves through the writings of The Professor. Wouldn’t he be pleased?
In keeping with this theme, we ask you to imagine and write about a Journey in Middle-earth. The writing should be creative, not scholarly. It could be prose or poetry, and may be of any length. It may also be illustrated. It might be about one of the journeys that take place in any of Tolkien’s writings or it might be about a fictional persona of your own journeying in Middle-earth. Remember that the proper citation of sources is still a requirement if you use quotes from Tolkien's writings or illustrations from another artist. Remember also that this is a Yule contest and so Yule themes, whatever those may be, will be in keeping with the spirit of the season.
The following week, registered members of Middle-earth Journeys will vote on the best submission. Deadline for submission has changed and will be midnight on the Professor's birthday, January 3, 2011. As per the unwritten but generally understood rules, website moderators may submit entries, but are ineligible to win the prize. The coveted Annual Yule Contest prize will be a book (since we are focused on Tolkien's writings ). The book can be by Tolkien, himself, or a reference book by another Tolkien scholar. PLEASE ... no hard to get or costly manuscripts or editions. Voting will cease at midnight, January 10.
So dust off your creative tools and once again make the Middle-earth Journeys Annual Writing Contest a part of your Yule preparations!
Last edited by Riv Res on Tue Dec 14, 2010 4:35 pm, edited 3 times in total.
YAY! So excited to see a new Yule Contest challenge posted!
Riv, I noticed that you did not include a word limit for these entries. In the past, we've had a 1000 word limit. Is that still the case this year?
Lindariel
“Therefore I say: Eä! Let these things Be! And I will send forth into the Void the Flame Imperishable, and it shall be at the heart of the World, and the World shall Be.”
The following week, registered members of Middle-earth Journeys will vote on the best submission. Deadline for submission has changed and will be midnight on the Professor's birthday, January 3, 2011. As per the unwritten but generally understood rules, website moderators may submit entries, but are ineligible to win the prize. The coveted Annual Yule Contest prize will be a book (since we are focused on Tolkien's writings ). The book can be by Tolkien, himself, or a reference book by another Tolkien scholar. PLEASE ... no hard to get or costly manuscripts or editions. Voting will cease at midnight, January 10.
Edited again: Contest deadline has been extended to January 15 to facilitate real life!
Happy holidays to one and all at Middle-earth Journeys from the Lindariel Family!
P.S. A story is percolating in my brain. Just need time to write it!
Lindariel
“Therefore I say: Eä! Let these things Be! And I will send forth into the Void the Flame Imperishable, and it shall be at the heart of the World, and the World shall Be.”
A Yule haiku! go for it, Merry - and good luck with your travelling. We also have snow making things interesting. I do have an idea for the competition but so far no time to work it up into anything. So fingers crossed for the period after Christmas.
A Merry Christmas and a Cool Yule to all at MEJ, and may 2011 bring you all what you've dreamed of!!
"Torment in the dark was the danger that I feared, and it did not hold me back.
But I would not have come, had I known the danger of light and joy."
My story is coming along, but -- fair warning -- it looks like it will be on the looooooooooong side. I hope that's OK, because I think I've lucked on a really wonderful idea.
BTW, Meliel is also writing a story -- another looooooooong one! What can I say? Story-telling runs in the family!
Lindariel
“Therefore I say: Eä! Let these things Be! And I will send forth into the Void the Flame Imperishable, and it shall be at the heart of the World, and the World shall Be.”
Since my story is turning out to be quite loooooooong, I thought I'd go ahead and start posting it in installments. Here is the first. I hope you enjoy it!
A Middle-earth Journey
It was a very modest-sized package, really – a specially prepared treasure with a message secreted inside, wrapped with judicious care in a lovely green cloth, and tied with red and gold ribbons. Next came a layer of oil cloth to protect the contents against the weather, and finally a heavy brown paper covering closed with sturdy twine. “There,” the hobbit said, as he patted the package with a satisfied smile, “that should see you safely on your way.”
After carefully stowing the package inside a saddle bag with his traveling clothes, the little fellow quickly cleared away the paper, cloth, shears, twine, ribbons and other detritus from his gift-wrapping project, and set about stocking his other saddle bag with the travel food that had been carefully gathered together on the kitchen table. When most of his neighbors were just sitting down to first breakfast, this hobbit was bundling himself into his fur-lined, hooded winter cloak, bright red scarf, and sturdy gloves and quietly slipping out the kitchen door with his belongings, pocketing the key. Within moments, he had slipped through the back garden gate, down the path, over the hedge, and was making his way quietly to the stables at the foot of the hill.
“Good morning, Clover,” he whispered to his sturdy Shire pony in the third stall, “there’s a good girl. Did you have a nice rest and a lovely breakfast?” The pony whickered a fond greeting and greedily accepted a sweet, withered winter apple from her Master’s hand. It took only a few minutes to spread a warm blanket on Clover’s back, strap on the saddle and bridle, and settle his saddle bags, water- and wineskins, a bedroll (just in case), and a nosebag of oats in place, and soon the hobbit was leading the pretty chestnut pony out into the winter sunshine.
A groggy stablelad stumbled out just as the hobbit was leaving, stammering, “Oh, g-good morning, sir! Wasn’t expectin’ no customers so early!”
“That’s quite all right, Milo-lad,” chuckled the hobbit, “I woke up this morning fancying a visit with some friends over in Frogmorton.”
“Very good, sir,” said the lad, running a practiced hand over the pony’s flanks. “You’ll have no trouble with your Clover, sir. She’s in fine fettle, and I just checked her shoes yestere’en. You’ve fine weather for a ride today.”
“Excellent!” exclaimed the hobbit, tossing the lad a silver penny and then mounting the pony with practiced ease. “If anyone inquires, tell them I expect to be back in a week, with plenty of time to spare for Yule preparations. Why don’t you buy that lass of yours a pretty ribbon for the New Year?”
“Oh, yes sir! Thank you, sir!” Milo goggled, as he stared at the generous tip. “I’ll do just that, sir. My Maybelle will be right pleased!”
With a sparkling laugh and a wave, the hobbit urged Clover from a walk to a gentle trot and was soon on his way down the road, taking the fork toward Bywater and the Great East Road, murmuring, “That should take care of any busybodies nosing into my affairs.”
It was indeed a very fine morning. The air was crisp, fresh, and still as Clover warmed from a trot into a smooth canter, and the hobbit dipped a hand into his food bag, fished out a piece of sharp cheese and a roll, and commenced eating a cold second breakfast as he scanned the familiar countryside. The road from Hobbiton to Bywater was well traveled and maintained, and as Clover skimmed along the smooth highway, she and her Master soon began encountering the occasional farmer carting winter foodstuffs for the Hobbiton market, as well as other tradesmen and craftsmen going about their business. There had been a hard frost the night before; the Bywater Pool was partially frozen, and the dry grasses, bushes, and tree branches glistened and sparkled in the morning light.
They passed through Bywater with a cheerful wave to the proprietor of The Green Dragon, sweeping off his porch in preparation for the customers who might decide to drop in for elevenses as they completed their morning shopping, and a nod to the Quick Post runner on his daily rounds. At the Three Farthing Stone, they paused a bit for Clover to have a drink and to let Clover’s Master stretch his legs, sip some of his watered wine, and munch on an apple and some sausages for elevenses, before joining the other travelers on the Great East Road, heading to Frogmorton.
The hobbit relaxed into his pony’s smooth gait, wrapped the fur-lined cloak closer about his body, and contemplated the rise and fall of the Green Hill Country to his right and the continued meanderings of The Water to his left. It was an easy, pleasant ride, in spite of the cold, and the hobbit was happy to be off on a bit of an adventure. He’d been rather restless lately. Even the flurry of preparations leading up to Yule weren’t enough to tire and settle him by the end of the day. This little diversion was just what he needed.
At length, they drew near the intersection with the main road from Greenfields and Oatbarton in the North Farthing and stopped at the broad meadow that served as a popular wayside. There, the hobbit joined a small group of travelers who had also paused on their journey to build a quick fire and have some luncheon. While rummaging around in his saddle bag for a fresh handkerchief to use as a napkin, the hobbit’s package slipped out and slid to the ground.
“Oh sir!” cried a little lass, “Here, you have dropped your package.”
Clover’s Master turned with a smile, “Why thank you, my dear. Goodness, you must really have enjoyed your raspberry tart!’’
“How did you know I had a raspberry tart with my luncheon?” inquired the round-eyed tot.
“Well,” said the hobbit, wetting the corner of his handkerchief from his waterskin and dabbing at the child’s cheeks and chin, “because I see raspberry jam here, and raspberry jam there, and – Goodness me! – raspberry jam on your fingers as well!”
“Oh!” the lass giggled, as the soft cloth skittered around her face, “That tickles!” Then she added, a bit chagrined, “I’m afraid I got some raspberry jam on your package, sir.”
“That’s quite all right,” the hobbit replied, wiping the worst of the stickiness away with the damp cloth, “No harm done. That’s what the brown paper is for, after all – to protect what’s inside from the dust and dirt of travel. Here,” he added, handing the child a piece of toffee from his pocket, “A little something to thank you for helping me.”
And that’s how the package got its first stain on the 20th of Foreyule.
The rest of the hobbit’s trip to Frogmorton was quite uneventful, and he arrived at The Floating Log in plenty of time to see Clover comfortably stabled and enjoy afternoon tea at the fireside before retiring to his room to rest a bit before freshening up for dinner. As he lounged on the comfy bed, he reached into his front pocket to draw out the lovely silvered envelope with the neatly folded letter on thick creamy-white stationery that had appeared on his doorstep a few days ago. The elegant silver Tengwar read:
Greetings Elvellon! You are most cordially invited to join our Company in the hills above Woodhall on the 21st of Foreyule to celebrate the Winter Solstice as is the custom of our people. This year, our celebrations will be particularly blessed, as the Solstice will coincide with a full eclipse of Isil. If you bring your package, I shall be able to advise you at that time of the appropriate contact you should make in Bree to see to its safe delivery. We would rejoice greatly to have the pleasure of your esteemed company. With respect and fondest regards, G
Returning the letter to his pocket with a soft smile, the hobbit ruminated drowsily before succumbing to his nap, “I’ll spend a lazy morning here at the Inn and leave for Woodhall after luncheon. There will be plenty of time to meet the Company up in the hills before the sun sets.”
*****
After the promised lazy morning, complete with both breakfasts in bed, a proper elevenses in the common room with a full pipe and pleasant conversion by the roaring fire, and a delicious, robust lunch to start him on his way, the hobbit merrily greeted and resaddled Clover and prepared to set out across the countryside toward Woodhall. Curious inquiries about his destination were kindly returned with vague statements about visiting an old friend there before proceeding to see relatives in Buckland.
It was another lovely, brisk day, and Clover and her Master thoroughly enjoyed their afternoon ride through The Yale, across the road to Stock, and up into the hills above Woodhall. The sun was slowly declining as they entered the quiet forest, and Clover’s Master dismounted to lead her among the silent trees. They had gone perhaps half a mile into the darkening wood, when the hobbit spied a shimmering glow peaking through the trunks of a thick stand of oak trees ahead.
“Mae govannen, Elvellon!” called a soft voice from the branches overhead. The hobbit looked up with a broad grin, as a dark-haired elf descended nimbly from his hidden perch in the tall pine.
“Lord Gildor!” cried the hobbit, as the tall elf knelt to embrace and kiss him on both cheeks, “Well met indeed! Elen síla lúmenn’ omentielvo!”
Gildor Inglorion’s silvery grey eyes flashed with pleasure, and he laughed heartily as he stood to take Clover’s reins from the hobbit’s tiny hands and guide them into the elven encampment. “Ah, my Elvellon, indeed you were well-named,” he mused. “My scouts have been looking for you since the lunch hour, but I told them, ‘Nay, he will arrive at dusk, as is appropriate for our celebrations.’ And here you are! Come see our preparations!”
In a lovely glade beneath the tall oaks ahead, Gildor’s wandering company had prepared a sumptuous encampment with small comfortable tents, a roaring bonfire, and even a roofed enclosure for their horses. “Look, my friends! Our long-awaited guest has arrived!” cried Gildor in his bright tenor, and several elves hurried forward to welcome the hobbit, usher him to a soft cushion by the fire, and take charge of settling Clover comfortably.
The evening was spent in quiet merriment, sampling delicious foods and a sparkling wine that warmed the hobbit’s cheeks and loosed his voice to share some of the traditional songs of his people, much to the elves’ enjoyment. When the Evening Star appeared over the clearing on its magical voyage across the night sky, the little fellow rose to his feet, lifted his glass, and gently chanted, “Aiya Eärendil Elenion Ancalima!” (“Behold Eärendil Star [of] Long-Light!” * from “Shelob’s Lair,” TTT).
Gildor blinked at his guest in quiet astonishment, and then rose along with the rest of the company to join the hobbit in his lovely toast to Gil-Estel. “I thank you, Elvellon, for your tribute to our beloved star,” the elf lord murmured, as he helped the hobbit back to his cushion by the fire.
“Ah, my friend,” replied the little fellow, “I have come to take great comfort in watching the Mariner on his nightly voyage during my travels. How I do love the stars!” he exclaimed, spreading his arms wide to encompass the great panoply of the nighttime sky. In his exuberance, the hobbit’s goblet arm accidentally bumped into a young elleth passing by with a tray of sweetmeats. The remaining wine sloshed over the sides and dripped down into the hobbit’s open saddle bag, splashing the brown paper covering his precious package.
“Ooops!” exclaimed the embarrassed halfling, “I do beg your pardon, my dear! I hope I haven’t upset your tray!”
“Think nothing of it, Master Elvellon,” the elleth replied, “My tray and I are quite all right, but I am afraid you have spilt wine into your bag!”
“Oh, no harm done,” sighed the hobbit, as he dabbed at the package with his napkin. “My gift is quite well protected – from the elements and apparently also from me!” and they all laughed merrily.
And that’s how the package got its second stain on the 21st of Foreyule.
As the midnight hour approached, and Arda’s shadow gradually covered the brightness of Isil, Gildor rose to his feet and a young warrior brought forward a large tray containing a great silver flask and many small crystal cups. An elleth, the youngest member of the Company, also brought forth a circlet of holly. Lifting the flask in his hands to the heavens, Gildor softly intoned, “Yéni ve lintë yuldar avánier mi oromardi lissë-miruvóreva Andúnë pella, Vadro tellumar ne luini yassen tintilar i eleni óryo airetári-lírien. Sí man i yulma nin enquantuva?” (“The long years have passed like swift draughts of the sweet mead in lofty halls beyond the West, beneath the blue vaults of Varda wherein the stars trembled in the song of her voice, holy and queenly. Who now shall refill the cup for me?” * from “Farewell to Lorien,” FOTR). He then filled all of the small cups with miruvor from the silver flask.
Gildor lifted the first cup and presented it to the company’s esteemed guest, as the warrior circled the fire, sharing the remaining cups with the company. When the eclipse reached its zenith, and Isil appeared as a darkened sphere encircled by a golden light, Gildor knelt before the young elleth, and she bound the circlet of holly about his brows, singing quietly, “On this darkest and longest of nights, we honor you, our chosen Lord in Exile. May the Lady bless you. May you lead us in Her Wisdom. May we find our path homeward with your leadership. May we once again behold the Light.”
Then Gildor rose, received his cup from the young elleth’s hands, raised it to the heavens, and upon the stroke of midnight, he drained his cup with the rest of the company, and then began singing, the members of the company joining one by one to swell the beautiful chorus, “A Elbereth Gilthoniel, silivren penna míriel o menel aglar elenath! Na-chaered palan-díriel o galadremmin ennorath, Fanuilos, le linnathon nef aear, sí nef aearon!” (“O Elbereth Star-Kindler (white) glittering slants down sparkling like jewels from [the] firmament [the] glory [of] the star-host! To-remote distance far-having gazed from [the] tree-tangled middle-lands, Fanuilos, to thee I will chant on this side of ocean, here on this side of the Great Ocean!” * from “Many Meetings,” FOTR).
Lindariel
“Therefore I say: Eä! Let these things Be! And I will send forth into the Void the Flame Imperishable, and it shall be at the heart of the World, and the World shall Be.”
When Clover’s Master woke the following morning, he couldn’t quite remember how he had gotten into his soft, warm bed inside the guest tent that had been prepared for him. His last memory from the magical night was humming along happily to a lovely tune performed by Lindion, the company’s harpist, and sipping from a mug of hot mulled wine. Oh dear! If his memory was correct, then he was also leaning like a sleepy ‘faunt against Gildor’s elbow at the time! How embarrassing!
Slowly and gently, the hobbit rolled to his side and carefully sat up, fully anticipating the dizzy, pounding head and queasy stomach normally associated with the over-enthusiastic imbibing of unknown spirits. But to his surprise, he felt both quite well and very well-rested. He washed up, using the covered bowl of warm water and the towel someone had kindly provided, and dressed quickly, emerging from his tent to find the wandering company busily breaking camp and tending to their horses in preparation for departure.
“Ah, my friend, you are awake at last!” called Gildor with a broad grin. “Come join me by the fire to break your fast, and let us talk about the safe delivery of your package!”
“Good morning, Lord Gildor,” the hobbit blushed, as he took a seat by the elf lord, who was still wearing the ceremonial holly circlet he would bear until the turn of the New Year. “I hope I didn’t do anything foolish last night. If my last memory is correct, I can only assume I fell asleep practically in your lap! My profoundest apologies for behaving like a drunken ‘tween instead of an honored guest!”
“On the contrary, my dear Elvellon!” Gildor replied, “You were a most charming guest! I am deeply gratified that the wines of the Eldar ushered you so gently into Irmo’s arms for a blessed sleep and sweet dreams and deem it a great pleasure to have had the privilege of seeing my dear friend and guest safely to his bed.”
The hobbit gladly accepted a bowl of porridge and dried currants with a relieved sigh, “Well, I am glad to hear it! I would hate for your folk to think that hobbits are lacking in simple courtesy, and especially after such a splendid night! How honored I am to have been included in your ceremony!”
They exchanged further pleasantries as the hobbit consumed his breakfast, and then Lord Gildor turned to the subject of his guest’s special package. “I have it on good authority that a trusted messenger will be in the village of Bree at least until the 24th of Foreyule. I should think that your Clover could manage such a trip quite well, especially if, as you say, you can travel the distance from Buckland to Bree in the company of one of your cousin’s delivery wagons. If you must stop along the way between Buckland and the Greenway, take care to stay well away from the Barrow-downs; they are most unwholesome and dangerous to travelers.”
“Who is this messenger?” asked the hobbit, “And how shall I know him?”
“He is known to the Breelanders as One-Eye,” replied Gildor, with a wry twist to his mouth, “but his proper name is Bregor, son of Brandir, and you will know him right away by the black patch he wears over his left eye. He is a tall, impressive, and rather grim man, one of the Rangers of Arnor. Why the Bree-folk are so suspicious of the Rangers escapes me, but they are the hardiest and most trustworthy of men, and more importantly, they have the regard and allegiance of Lord Elrond of Imladris. I assure you that your package will be in the best of hands, and that Bregor and his fellow Rangers can be trusted to deliver it safely and secretly.”
“Well, if you and Lord Elrond have confidence in this man and his friends,” the hobbit mused, “then I can hardly ask for a better recommendation. Where should I look for this Bregor One-Eye?”
“At the Inn of the Prancing Pony,” advised Gildor, “and that is also where you should make your lodgings. The men of the Butterbur family have been the proprietors for many years, and they cater most kindly to hobbits of the Shire who come to trade with the folk of Bree and the other villages of the Chetwood. I suspect your cousin will tell you the same. Bregor will be looking for you at the Inn, but he will not approach you. The proprietor is likely to warn him off, out of deference to your safety, unless you ask for him and are seen to be approaching him of your own free will. It is rare but not unheard-of for hobbits to do business with the Rangers from time to time. Your woolens and porcelains are greatly prized by the folk of the Angle, where the Rangers make their homes.”
One of Gildor’s warriors led a well-rested and fully-tacked Clover forward, and the hobbit noticed to his astonishment that his guest tent had already been disassembled and his belongings carefully repacked and stowed in their proper places on the pony’s saddle. “Well, my friend,” said Gildor, “it is time for us to bid you a fond farewell. I regret that I am unable to deliver your package myself, but it is the duty of our wandering company to accompany and protect those of our folk who wish to depart for Aman and see them safely to Mithlond and Lord Cirdan’s care at the Havens. Alas, our road takes us in the opposite direction of your package.”
“Think nothing of it,” replied the hobbit as he embraced the elf lord, “I find myself most restless for a bit of travel, and this trip to Bree suits me perfectly. Thank you again for your kind invitation and wonderful hospitality. Namárië.”
“Namárië, my dearest Elvellon,” replied Gildor. He murmured a soft elven blessing into Clover’s ear while stroking her lovely mane, and then he gently lifted the little fellow into his saddle, embracing him a final time. “Safe journey to you, and a blessed Yule!”
With the company’s cries of farewell ringing in his ears, the little hobbit left the forest above Woodhall and wended his way down the gentle slopes to join the road to Stock and from there to the Causeway leading to the Buckleberry Ferry. The elves had kindly restocked his food bag with a number of excellent morsels from their feast the previous eve, and the hobbit enjoyed munching his second breakfast and elevenses from the saddle, washing them down with swigs of the excellent elven wine that had replenished his wineskin. He was humming quite happily by the time he reached the Ferry, and enjoyed a safe and uneventful passage across the Brandywine, arriving at Brandy Hall in the early afternoon.
“You’re early! How delightful!” cried The Brandybuck, as he rushed from the front door of Brandy Hall to greet his cousin. “We were hoping you’d be here by teatime. I don’t like to think of you traveling in the dark this time of year. We’ve already finished luncheon, but I’m sure cook can put together a plate for you. Come in! Come in! The stablelad will see to your pony and bring in your bags!”
“If you don’t mind,” the hobbit said quietly to the stablelad, slipping him a silver penny, “I’d like to take that bag myself.”
“No problem a’tall, sir,” the lad grinned, pocketing the penny and handing over the bag containing the special package.
Over late luncheon, which had a way of turning into afternoon tea, the hobbit regaled his Brandybuck relatives with the story of his trip. “Where is this special package?” asked The Brandybuck, as he handed another cup of tea to the young hobbit lad who had claimed the honor of serving their guest.
“Why, it’s right here in my bag,” said the hobbit, as he drew out the package, just in time for the child to trip and slosh a bit of tea on the brown paper.
“Oh dear,” sobbed the little lad, “I’m so sorry, Cousin!”
“Nonsense!” soothed the hobbit as he dabbed the tea away with his napkin, “no harm done! You see, this paper has already withstood a blob of raspberry jam and spill of wine. I assure you, the gift inside will be just fine!”
And that’s how the package got its third stain on the 22nd of Foreyule.
After tea, The Brandybuck retired to his study for a private conversation with his cousin. “I’ve made all of the arrangements for you to travel along with Wilcombe and the wagonload of trade goods he’s taking to Bree tomorrow. You’ll be leaving right at dawn in order to make the trip all in one day. I don’t advise lingering on the Great East Road, especially after sundown. Make for the Inn of the Prancing Pony and give Butterbur my regards. He’ll give you a pleasant hobbit-size room and see to it that you’re well cared for.”
“That’s just as Lord Gildor advised,” replied the hobbit. “With any luck, I’ll be back here just as my shipment of Yule gifts arrives for the family, and we’ll have an early Yule celebration together before I must go back to Hobbiton to oversee all the final preparations for the holiday.”
“Well, I don’t envy you travelling in this season,” stated The Brandybuck emphatically, “much too cold for my tastes! This friend of yours must be very special to warrant so much trouble over a Yule gift.”
“As long as it stays fair for another two days, I’ll be just fine,” the hobbit soothed. “And yes, indeed, this friend is well worth the effort. Besides, I’ll have Wilcombe’s company, and we can always stay an extra day, or shelter in the wagon if the weather turns against us. I’ve certainly traveled in worse conditions, and on foot! This is a short easy trip by comparison. Don’t worry about me, Cousin.”
Lindariel
“Therefore I say: Eä! Let these things Be! And I will send forth into the Void the Flame Imperishable, and it shall be at the heart of the World, and the World shall Be.”
At the crack of dawn on the 23rd, the hobbit bid farewell to his Brandybuck kin, and he and Clover joined the Buckland trader Wilcombe on the pathway up to join the Great East Road at the Bridge of Stonebows and depart the Shire for their trip to Bree. Once he’d settled his team into a steady pace, Wilcombe proved to be good company, and the two hobbits enjoyed sharing bits of news, family stories, drinking and traveling songs, and other tales to pass the time.
They had a bit of a scare mid-way in their trip, when a wild dog crashed through the brush separating the Road from the Barrow-downs on their right and nearly careened into the wagon. Wilcombe fought to control his frightened team, and the hobbit clenched his teeth and held Clover steady, as the dog flew by them, baying wildly; whether it was in terror or in pursuit of some sort of prey, they never learned. Once the ponies had calmed, they urged them quickly forward. After putting more than a few miles between themselves and the unnerving experience, the hobbits pulled into a meadow to the left of the Road and stopped to praise, rest, water and feed the still skittish animals and share some luncheon and a stiff drink themselves.
As the hobbit was fussing with Clover’s tack and resettling his various bags in preparation to resume their journey, the saddlebag at his feet wobbled and tipped over, spilling some of its contents out on the ground, including the package. “Oh dear, sir,” said Wilcombe, as he helped the hobbit gather his things back into the saddlebag, “looks like you got a bit of mud on your package there.”
“Ah, well,” sighed the hobbit, wiping what he could off on the frozen grass, “no harm done. As you can see, the brown wrapper has already collected its share of dirt. The contents aren’t breakable, so I’m sure it’s just fine.”
And that’s how the package got its fourth stain on the 23rd of Foreyule.
They arrived at the Gate to Bree at dusk, and were shown in by the Gatekeeper without too much fuss. Wilcombe bid the hobbit farewell and drove his team on to the marketplace to unload his goods at the shop owned by the Brandybucks’ hobbit trading contact in the town. Clover’s Master easily spied the sign for The Prancing Pony and made his way eagerly over to the Inn, where he was met by a friendly hobbit named Nibs, who took charge of Clover and promised to deliver the Master’s belongings to his rooms. Taking only the bag containing the package, Clover’s Master tipped Nibs generously and entered the warm, well-lighted inn.
“Greetings, little Master,” beamed the Inn’s proprietor, Mr. Butterbur, “Welcome to The Pony! Always pleased to have visitors from The Shire. Now, how might I serve you?”
“I thank you for your welcome, Mr. Butterbur,” replied the hobbit, as he removed his gloves and doffed his heavy winter cloak and scarf. “Let me first extend to you the regards of my cousin, The Brandybuck of Brandy Hall. He recommended your Inn to me most highly, as did Lord Gildor of the Wandering Company.”
“Did they, indeed? Well, it’s always a fine thing to hear that The Pony has such a good reputation outside of the Chetwood,” Butterbur rumbled pleasantly. “We do pride ourselves on havin’ the best Inn, the best cook, and the finest beer and ale to be found in these parts. Will you be lodgin’ with us, little Master?”
“Most certainly,” stated the hobbit emphatically. “I shall need a hobbit room for the night. I do wish I could stay longer, but I am meeting a business contact here this evening to settle a trade matter, and then I must return to The Shire in the morning. Yule is nearly upon us, and I have preparations to attend to that won’t wait.”
Nibs arrived at that moment with the hobbit’s baggage, and Butterbur quickly showed him to a small comfortable room with hobbit-sized furniture and left him to settle in and wash up for dinner. “I’d be right pleased to send a meal here for you after your long journey today,” said the kindly man, “but I suppose you’ll wish to take dinner in the common room and meet your tradin’ partner. If you give me ‘is name, little Master, I’d be pleased to look out for ‘im.”
“Yes, you’re quite right, Mr. Butterbur,” the hobbit answered, pleased that the Man provided him with a natural opening to inquire about the Ranger. “I am to meet with a man by the name of Bregor One-Eye. I understand he represents the Rangers of the Angle. Do you know him?”
“Oh,” frowned Butterbur, “well . . . yes . . . I do know One-Eye and ‘is Ranger folk. Their coin is good, and they can be handy to have about in a pinch when there’s ruffians and cutthroats to handle. Never known ‘em to cheat a fellow out of ‘is money, either. But they’re a rough lot, all grim and silent. Always arrivin’ all dirty and lookin’ as though they’d spent a month in a ditch. Are you quite sure you wish to have doin’s with such-like, you bein’ so small?”
“That’s quite all right, Mr. Butterbur,” the hobbit replied, patting the kind man on his arm. “That’s why we handle our business dealings with the Rangers in public places, like your Inn. I have a sample of our woolens to share with him, and then we will conclude a new trade agreement with the Angle for both Shire woolens and porcelains.”
“As you wish, little Master,” said the Man, somewhat doubtfully, as he prepared to leave the hobbit to his evening ablutions. “I’ll look out for Ole One-Eye and tell ‘im you’re here.”
The common room was sparsely populated that evening. Most of the regulars were home with their families preparing for Yule, and the Inn was hosting just a few travelers who hadn’t yet reached their holiday destinations. Butterbur spied the hobbit as he entered the dining area and nodded his head toward a table in the corner by the roaring fireplace. A tall man sat at the table with his back to the wall, his uncovered eye warily scanning the room, a smoking pipe cradled in one palm and a tankard of hot spiced cider in the other. His dark hair was streaked with grey and fell in long bedraggled curls about his shoulders. Despite the patched-over scar that spoke eloquently of the injury that had claimed his eye, he was still a good-looking man, hale, broad-shouldered, and powerful. He spotted the hobbit almost immediately and inclined his head briefly as the little fellow made his way across the room.
To the hobbit’s surprise, rather than rising and towering over him, the Man instead slid from his chair to rest one knee on the floor and greet his small guest face-to-face. “Bregor, son of Brandir, at your service, Master Elvellon,” the Man rumbled in a pleasant, cultured baritone. “There is no need to speak openly of your errand; I am aware of the need for secrecy. Shall we instead speak of trade between my people and yours?”
The little hobbit smiled, laying his package casually on the table, and to Bregor’s astonishment, reached out and took the Man’s large hand in both of his small ones and said, “I am very pleased to meet you Bregor, son of Brandir. What do you say to a hearty dinner and a tankard of Butterbur’s finest ale? Could I interest you in some Old Toby perhaps? Or do you prefer Longbottom Leaf?”
Bregor gaped at the hobbit for a moment and then suddenly burst into laughter, a broad grin transforming his grim face into the handsome likeness he had borne in happier days, his sea-grey eyes sparkling with rare good humor. The unheard-of merriment brought Butterbur bustling back toward them from his counter, but before the astounded innkeeper could speak, the hobbit called out, “Ah, Mr. Butterbur, there you are! Bring us your finest dinner fit to satisfy the appetite of a very hungry hobbit and an even hungrier man, and two tankards of your best ale! I predict a most satisfactory outcome from our negotiations!” He then gestured back to the table and politely asked Bregor, “Shall we sit, my good sir?”
Lindariel
“Therefore I say: Eä! Let these things Be! And I will send forth into the Void the Flame Imperishable, and it shall be at the heart of the World, and the World shall Be.”
Nope! This is NOT the 4th installment of my journey. Just a little note to encourage everyone to go ahead and post their entries whenever they are ready. Don't worry about interrupting my beloved monster.
FYI -- this is a 12-day journey! I hope to post a 4th installment later today.
Lindariel
“Therefore I say: Eä! Let these things Be! And I will send forth into the Void the Flame Imperishable, and it shall be at the heart of the World, and the World shall Be.”
I can't wait to find out what's in the stained package! I'll have to come back to read the third part later on, but this is a wonderful story, Lindariel!
Mine will be much more modest - I was aiming at a poem - and I would post it if I'd got around to writing it yet .
Now let the song begin! Let us sing together
Of sun, stars, moon and mist, rain and cloudy weather...
). The book can be by Tolkien, himself, or a reference book by another Tolkien scholar. PLEASE ... no hard to get or costly manuscripts or editions. 
Voting will cease at midnight, January 10. 
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I can't wait to find out what's in the stained package! I'll have to come back to read the third part later on, but this is a wonderful story, Lindariel!
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