Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About Hobbits

[gamgee_fics]

Title: Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About Hobbits (But Were Too Afraid to Ask)
Rating: G
Warning: Beverage
Genre: Humor, Gap-Filler
Length: Novel
Summary: Why exactly would hobbits feel compelled to give away presents on their birthdays? What’s a twelve-mile cousin and how do I get one? What’s with the foot hair? And where exactly do they put all that food they eat anyway? A Rivendell fic, with a twist.


Continued from Chapter 14



Epilogue – Ode to Rivendell

Gondor

2 Forelithe, 1419 SR


“I’d say that’s it, Sam,” Frodo said, sitting back and peering at the drying ink.

“Thank ‘ee for your help, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said. “I’d not have finished it otherwise.”

“You give yourself far too little credit,” Frodo said. “Most of the work is yours, I just helped with the rhymes when you needed it.”

“Still, you helped and I appreciate it, sir,” Sam said. “I was floundering, as you might say, and knowing as you didn’t think it was so awful helped to keep me going.”

“Nothing you have ever written is awful,” Frodo assured, “this least of all. It’s funny and absolutely perfect. Bilbo would approve of it highly.”

“You think so?” Sam asked.

“I do indeed. Shall we show it to the others?” Frodo asked.

“I’m not sure, sir. It could still use some tweaking,” Sam said.

“It’s perfect, Sam,” Frodo said again, standing and taking Sam’s arm. “Come, this should be interesting.” He smiled and there was a sparkle in his eyes, and that was enough for Sam.

“As you wish, Mr. Frodo.”

Sam took up the parchment and led Frodo into the parlor, where Merry and Pippin were polishing their swords. They looked up and smiled, delighted to see Frodo in such high spirits. Legolas and Gimli sat on the porch, sharpening their knife and ax respectively, and Gandalf sat by the window smoking a pipe and looking thoughtful. Seeing that Sam was holding something and clearly wanted their attention, Merry and Pippin put aside their swords and sat back in their seats, wiping their hands on their rags. Gandalf tapped on the window and motioned for the others to join them inside. Once all were assembled and seating, Sam began.

“Well, I have somewhat as I was wanting to show you,” he said.

“Did we get a letter?” Pippin asked.

“Nay, it’s a poem I wrote, with Mr. Frodo’s help,” Sam said.

“Well, let’s hear it then,” Gimli said.

“I don’t know. Mayhap we should wait until Strider can be here,” Sam said uncertainly.

“We have dinner with him and the others tomorrow,” Gandalf said. “Would you rather wait until then? It would be quite all right.”

“No it wouldn’t!” Pippin exclaimed. “You can’t make us wait that long now.”

“Come on, Sam, read us your poem,” Frodo encouraged, sitting next to his cousins.

Sam cleared his throat and put one hand behind his back; he needed the other to hold up the parchment. He had not yet memorized the poem in full, and besides, he felt that some parts would be more easily recited if he was not looking directly at his friends.

Ode to Rivendell



Oh to Rivendell, 

Where the Elven spell

Comes down to rest upon your door;

And within your walls, 

And down your wide halls,

You couldn’t think to hope for more

Than a better place

Than this peaceful space

To stop and lay a weary head;

Or to sit and think,

Or just eat and drink,

‘Tis the finest of all homesteads;

There is more to this

Fair haven of bliss

Than what first appears to the eye;

If you’ll take a seat,

And put up your feet,

I’ll attempt to tell you all why:



There are Elves of course,

And Glorfindel’s horse

Is faster than all other beasts;

No wound too cloven

For Elrond Half-Elven,

His guests never miss a grand feast;

There are friends anew

Met o’er bowls of stew,

And old friends are met by the Fire,

‘Tis singing and dancing,

Not just for romancing,

And Arwen’s fair voice to admire; 

Throughout the long night

By pale firelight

Many a strange tale you can hear,

Then ‘way to your bed

To lay down your head

And drift off to dreams full of cheer.



There are dwarves as well

Who rest in the ‘Dell,

From the Mountain do they both come;

And Men arrive too

From wand’ring the Blue

Both fouler yet fairer than some.

From legend Glóin springs

With cake of all things,

Son Gimli invites us to tea;

We sit and we chat

‘Bout mealtimes at that

And afterwards do they both flee.

Boromir proffers

A generous offer;

Skills of war in us does he hone,

Yet there is no doubt

The best form of clout

Comes shaped like a well-placed pinecone.



He shows us to fight,

With skill and not might,

So our foes we’ll be able to beat;

But the point is moot

That out of their boots,

Men have most unusual feet; 

Yet alone he’s not,

Both Elves and Dwarves got

No better feet, nor does the wizard;

So it becomes clear

Why hide of a deer

Must protect their poor toes from blizzard;

He makes up for all

By being so tall

He can reach ‘bout near anything;

And in the midnight

He’ll sneak us a bite

Of biscuits or fruit topped with cream.



What else do we learn

‘Neath the pine and fern?

Elves don’t measure time by the hours;

By their own counting

Their years amounting

The exact same number as ours;

And even Lindir

Young as tween year

Can be conned into trying a prank:

Elrond’s chair: success.

Gandalf: expects us.

He has only himself to thank

For face of honey,

Sticky and runny,

‘Tis a prank older than Bilbo;

‘Neath Tookish smiles

And Brandybuck wiles

Their mischief and cunning it does show. 



Yet more than just this

Did happen amidst

The calm, soothing realm of the ‘Dell; 

‘Tis target practice,

Much to distract us

From missing home and kin as well;

Letters we do write

Case that they just might

Come to the Shire the faster;

And lessons there are

From that land afar

Like telling from ‘Mister’ and ‘Master’;

Rules for gift-giving,

And for receiving;

The jobs of Thain, Master and Mayor

Are figured by them

To be just as grim

As walking down a dragon’s lair.



Yet what do we find

Placed far out of mind?

A ten-hole golf course in the valley,

And so we do play

All the live long day

And near knock the head off an ally.

By quick Elven sight

The ball in mid-flight

Is caught by Legolas Greenleaf;

Come back from scouting,

He’s greeted by shouting

Of a livid duffer in great grief.

But right all is made

As plans ready laid

For ridding the ‘Dell of this terror;

An elf and a man

Would take up the stand

To correct Elrond’s great error;



Golfers retire

To Hall of Fire,

Conspirators have not much time;

The golf bag they took

And both the art books

To commit unspeakable crime;

They hid them away,

Where at I can’t say,

And morn found the golfers in Blue;

Thieves acted aloof,

Yet their crime was proof

That dreams do indeed become true,

For everyone else

Had readied themselves

For ‘nother day of golf glories;

Instead they discovered

From madness recovered

The hobbits and so were their stories.



Now Strider returns

With questions he burns

‘Bout trainings and friendships and jests.

He wants to know why

Just Frodo and I

Are but two hobbits on the Quest.

Let Merry and Pippin

Come along skippin’,

They’ll keep us all quite entertained;

But Elrond resists

‘Til Gandalf insists;

They fill the last spots that remained.

But time it is not

For worry and fraught;

There’s yet chance to fish by the pool;

And let’s not forget

That ale is well met

But rum turns us all into fools.



There’s much more to tell

Of life in the ‘Dell,

I could go on forevermore

‘Bout races of Elves,

And Dwarves’ secrets Selves,

And Men and their Kings of great lore;

Or even the trees

With needle-like leaves,

And flowers that bloom beyond autumn;

Fast-flying snowballs,

Running down the halls,

Comparing twins from heads to bottoms – 

Of their feet, I mean.

Of all to be seen

There remains one truth yet to tell:

While ‘tis not the Shire,

There’s much to admire,

For there’s no place like Rivendell.


Sam bowed, and his friends clapped and cheered heartily.

“Well done, Sam!” Merry said. “But I am not a duffer.”

“That was Mr. Frodo’s idea,” Sam said quickly.

“You betray me Sam,” Frodo said with feigned dismay.

“I prefer my head to stay on my shoulders, Mr. Frodo, and not be sent flying down a rabbit hole,” Sam replied.

“I would never do that to you Sam,” Merry said with a wink. “Who would cook for us if you weren’t here?”

“Well, I quite enjoyed the prose. A stand up job, old chap,” Pippin said to Sam.

“‘Tis a fine lay indeed, Master Hobbit,” Gimli said. “I was wondering the other day whatever came of your poem. I couldn’t have put it better myself.”

“Thank ‘ee,” Sam said.

“It’s quite uplifting,” Legolas said. “Much different from the sorts of lays I am accustomed to hearing. Boromir would have enjoyed it.”

“Indeed he would have, as will his brother when he hears it tomorrow,” Gandalf said.

“So that’s what happened to those golf clubs?” Merry said, turning to Legolas. “You know what this means?”

“No. What does it mean?” Legolas asked cautiously.

“We’ll have to introduce this fine game to Gondor,” Merry announced and grinned. Beside him, Pippin’s face lit up and he sat up eagerly, already designing a course based on the one in Tuckborough. “Really, Sam, it’s not all that awful. You make it sound like torture. We need to ensure the people of Gondor experience it for themselves, so they can appreciate it for what it really is.”

“Torture?” Sam suggested.

Frodo laughed at this and the others joined him, even Merry and Pippin despite themselves.

“But where would we build a golf course?” Pippin asked.

“Well, that is the tricky part,” Merry said. “The city doesn’t have much by way of greenery. We can ask Faramir tomorrow over dinner. Perhaps he can suggest a likely place.”

“And Gondor will never be the same,” Gimli said despairingly and they all laughed again.

 
 
 



The End!
 
 




GF 8/25/08