1. Books, Parents and Grandparents
Ivy - the daughter of Merry and Éowyn - belongs to . I have only borrowed her to write a small series of birthday ficlets for Aranel. Ivy's full story (a wonderful story that everyone should read!) can be found here:
"The Roots of the Ivy"
Warning! Spoiler Alert! If you have not read "The Roots of the Ivy" completely yet and you mind being spoiled, do not continue reading!
Happy birthday, Aranel! I hope you like this!
Books, Parents and Grandparents
"Willow? What are you doing in there?" Merry entered the bedroom of Ivy and Pippin. His daughter and her husband were away for a week of well-deserved "couple"-time, while Merry and Éowyn had moved in to watch their grandchildren. Some just as well-deserved family time, Merry thought.
Willow quickly put down a book she had been reading, hastily covering it up with a silken scarf. Blushing hotly, she scowled at her grandfather. "I miss them."
Merry's stern expression softened at once. "I know, dear. But they will be back soon." He frowned at the book on Willow's lap. "However, missing your parents is not a reason to go through your parents' things. Maybe you should go now and help Éowyn in the kitchen for a bit!"
The girl stared at him for a moment, looking quite pale. Then she fled from the room, leaving scarf and book behind.
Merry sighed. He had not wanted to scare Willow. But surely his granddaughter deserved a reprimand for entering her parents' bedroom and looking into things that weren't meant for her eyes? He walked over to the bed. Why did they have a book in their bedroom anyway? Books were valuable and should not be left lying about. He shook his head, then he smiled, as a thought occurred to him. They had probably been reading to each other at night and simply forgotten to put the book back before they left for their holiday. He'd simply put it back in the library, and ask Éowyn to fold up the scarf properly so it would not wrinkle; he simply had no hand for such things.
He drew the scarf aside, astonished at the smoothness of the purple fabric. He picked up the book. It was small, and obviously old; the corners were softly rounded from use. There was no title on the cover though, and no ornaments or picture that held a clue as to its contents. Merry drew his brows together in a puzzled frown. He could have sworn that he knew every book of Pippin's library by heart. While the library of his son-in-law and best friend was one of the most extensive collections of books in the Shire, both Tooks and Brandybucks were voracious readers and sharing the contents of their libraries almost on a daily basis. Merry did not recognize this book at all. Strange. Strange. What should he do now? Merry indecisively waved the book in his hands up and down. Put it back? But he did not like the thought of opening his daughter's night stand. It did not seem proper. After all she was long grown, a married woman with a score of children, with the oldest almost old enough to be married... Take it to the library? But if he did not know what it was, he would not be able to put it back where it belonged.
Merry frowned at the book once more. This was the kind of moment he really hated; standing in Ivy's and Pippin's bedroom, like an intruder on their intimacy. He huffed angrily. Even now he sometimes felt a bit discomfited by seeing his best friend kiss his daughter. He would remember the two of them with Ivy when she had been just a baby, or a toddler, and would have to force himself to see her again as she was now: a beautiful woman, wife and mother.
Well, he told himself, what harm can there be if I take a peek inside that book, so that I can put it back where it belongs. After all Willow had her nose in it already. Drat that girl. Why do teenagers always have to be so difficult? And it will only get worse once she hits her tweens.
Merry shook his head, clearing away thoughts of recalcitrant granddaughters and opened the book. He stared at the page. He turned the page. His eyes grew round. He turned another page. He gulped. He skipped a few pages. And gasped. He closed the book, feeling his blood throb in his ears. He opened the book again. His eyes nearly popped out of his head, and he felt a hot blush rise to his cheeks. "I'll kill him," he whispered. "I'll kill him."
Then he screamed: "Peregrin Took, you filthy pig, for THIS I will KILL YOU!"
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.