Here are the entries for the first round of the RotR Writing Contest.
Quote:
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HM.
Extra large cookies will be given out to those who vote.
Entry 1 - The Dragon
Fireworks. Fireworks, littering the sky in their vibrant rainbow shades, the way that sugary sweet frosting powdered over Pippin’s favourite cakes. The young hobbit watched with glee, one of those cakes which he had swiped from a nearby table in one hand, mounting fear and excitement building up inside him.
Bilbo’s birthday party was turning out better than he could have dared to imagine. Fireworks! Ale! And food, tables laid out with more food than they needed. It was the stuff of dreams, and the whiz-crackle-zoom bang of Gandalf’s soaring fireworks made it even more like a fairytale.
Looking around him, Pippin found that he had been rooted to the spot as he watched the firework displays in glee. He took a bite from the cake and pattered off across the grass to find Merry. Where was he? On a night like this he needed someone to explore with, and Merry was his chief companion in mischief.
He passed several tables where hobbits families sat and dined and drank to their heart’s content; many of the older hobbits had already taken out their pipe-weeds and were puffing away, exhaling silvery smoke like chubby dragons. There was another swooping sound from Gandalf’s general direction and Pippin turned, not wanting to miss anything.
A swoop of silver dust soared into the air; at first the little speckles of glitter appeared just like normal sparklers, but as Pippin leaned closer to get a better look, almost tipping over a jug of ale from one of the tables in the process, they shimmered in the air and sprouted wings, fluttering upwards like silver butterflies, circling in on themselves, then exploding into a shower of blue rain.
“Oh!” Pippin felt his voice plucked forth from his throat. There was a small tap on his shoulder, and he turned round, knocking into an elderly hobbit, who shrieked in protest as he toppled to the grassy ground. Aghast, Pippin spun round. Meriadoc Brandybuck peered over his shoulder.
“You young rascal!” the old hobbit cried, shaking his fist as he lay on the grass, and one of his clan rushed forward to help him up. A general outcry had arisen around the table, of relatives jumping to their fallen grandfather’s aid, stout grandsons and nephews rising from their seats to sort out that impertinent Took.
“Run for it!” Merry grabbed Pippin by the wrist and dragged him across the grass, barging through a group of hobbits as he pulled Pippin along. Pippin’s feet moved fast, his heart hammering.
Merry pulled him sharply round a corner so that they could hide behind the party tent. Pippin clutched his stomach, trying to get his breath back.
“I hope that family doesn’t hold a grudge,” he said, glancing up at Merry.
Merry laughed. “He wasn’t badly hurt,” he said. “And anyway, by the time you show up again they’ll have had too much of the Gaffer’s brew to remember you knocked down that old chap.”
“I hope so,” Pippin said. There was another whoosh and bang from the other side of the tent. Gandalf seemed to be having fun tonight. He’d brought a fairly big supply of fireworks, and intended to put on a good show.
Pippin paused. “I wish we could have a go at doing fireworks like Gandalf,” he said, sighing wistfully. “It looks so much fun! Did you see the ones that turned into butterflies?”
“No,” Merry answered cheerfully. “I was helping myself to some cheese scones. But I agree with you. Gandalf can’t have all the fun for himself.”
Pippin waited. Merry was smiling, that smile he wore when he had an idea, usually an idea that would get them both into a lot of trouble.
“Let’s go and find his supply,” he said.
Visions of himself lighting fireworks and laughing jovially as everyone marveled at the beauty of the majestic sparkling lights filled Pippin’s mind to the brim. How wonderful it would be! And he would be a hero; everyone would be so impressed, and they’d rush to put a mug of ale in his hand. More mugs of ale might follow. Then he’d regale them all with tales of his fireworks.
“Alright!” he replied, his eyes alight. “Let’s go and find them! “
Merry grinned and tugged at his arm. “Come on,” he said. “They’re sure to be around here somewhere.”
Neither of them thought how angry Gandalf would be if he knew they were going to rifle through his fireworks, nor did the catastrophe of the consequences of their mischief enter their minds. Their sole focus was to find the fireworks stash and make a display of their own.
“There they are!”
They approached the wagon of fireworks like dwarves who had struck mithril. “Go on,” Merry urged Pippin, who was staring at the fireworks hoard in amazement.
Swiftly, having been brought back to awareness, Pippin sprang up into the wagon and searched through the pile. There were all kinds of fireworks here; rockets, wheels… he grinned. He held up one as a suggestion; it looked big enough. Merry, it seemed, had already known what sort of firework he wanted them to try.
“No, the big one, big one!” he said, shaking his head.
Finally, Pippin held up a huge, red firework; it was a rocket, and shaped like a dragon. Merry let out a gleeful cry. Pippin looked at the firework in his hands; it was awfully big. “Where will we let it off?” he said uncertainly.
Within a few moments, having snuck inside the tent so no one might know what they were doing – it was meant to be a surprise – the firework was alight, and it sat in the grass, sparkling. Merry and Pippin stood on either side of it like proud mother ducks, until it started hissing somewhat sinisterly.
Merry’s eyes were wide. “You were supposed to put it in the ground!”
“It is in the ground!” Pippin cried as Merry shoved the fireworks towards him, and he shoved it back.
“Outside!”
“This was your idea!”
Then, without warning, the rocket shot up into the air through the top of the tent, the force of the blast pushing Merry and Pippin to the ground, the black smoke marking their faces. Coughing, as they crawled out from the collapsed tent, they watched with growing excitement as the dragon firework soared through the air.
It soared like a real dragon, glowing golden, shooting over the heads of the hobbits; they clapped and cried out in delight at first, but then it turned and whizzed over their heads, causing them to topple over their tables in panic as it looked like a real dragon was attacking them. But then it shot over them and exploded into a rain of beautiful golden showers, and their faces were glad once more as they clapped anew.
“That was good,” Merry said.
“Let’s get another one,” Pippin said in agreement.
Suddenly, a fierce grip on one of each of theirs ears twisted painfully, and they cried out, looking upwards at the grim face of Gandalf the Grey.
“Meriadoc Brandybuck. And Peregrin Took. I might have known,” he said. He did not look pleased in the slightest.
He was quick to inflict a punishment, and soon had them cleaning the ale mugs and washing dishes as the party guests settled down, awaiting Bilbo’s speech. Merry brought a stack of dishes over to the table at which Gandalf sat smoking his pipe, and the wizard looked at him sternly.
The warning was clear. Do not mess with my fireworks again, you young hooligans.
But they both knew it had been worth it to see that dragon soar through the skies, terrifying and amazing everyone, at their command. They had had their fun for tonight. They were covered in soot and washing dishes, but, they had set loose the best firework of the night.
Pippin gave Merry a rueful grin over his stack of dishes. Gandalf peered at him from beneath his big, grey eyebrows and Pippin quickly went back to washing dishes.
Grumpy. Pippin scrubbed at an ale mug as applause for Bilbo ripped through the night and cries sang into the air for him to begin his speech.
Little did any of the hobbits know, but now the fun would really begin.
Entry 2 - Untitled
Elanor looked up with shining eyes at her father. "What is this daddy? It sounds so pretty!" Her tiny hand held a dirty piece of paper.
"What's this, my dear?" Sam said as he gently took the paper from her and sat in a comfortable chair. Elanor climbed into his lap and rested her golden hair against his chest as he began reading.
"When evening in the Shire was grey
his footsteps on the Hill were heard;
before the dawn he went away
on journey long without a word.
From Wilderland to Western shore,
form northern waste to southern hill
through dragon-lair and hidden door
and darkling woods he walked at will.
With Dwarves and Hobbits, Elves and Men,
with mortal and immortal folk,
with bird on bough and beast in den,
in their own secret tounges he spoke."
Sam's voice began to falter as he recalled the emotions of that journey. The scrawling handwriting was his own, taken down in that moment of peace in the elven city. Continuing on, he smiled as he came to the last verse.
"The finest rockets ever seen:
they burst instars of blue and green,
or after thunder golden showers
came falling like a rain of flowers.
That was a poem Mister Frodo wrote on our trip. About our friend Gandalf." His eyes softened as he recalled the golden Lothlorien, covered in elanor flowers, and the joy of finding Gandalf again in Minas Tirith. His reverie was interrupted by Elanor's high voice.
"What about the rockets, daddy?" she piped. "What are rockets? They sound so pretty!" Sam laughed at her enthusiasm.
"The fireworks! I can still see them the night of Mister Bilbo's party. Gandalf had shown up days before with cartfuls and carfuls of packages. We all wondered what they might be, but he wasn't showing anybody. He just kept himself all closed up here with Mister Bilbo. I couldn't go in to garden neither. The time I tried he showed up right behind me. 'Master Samwise,' he says in his gruff voice, 'I wouldn't get into that if I were you. It's best not to meddle in the affairs of wizards.'
Then the party came. Gandalf came riding down from Bag End with his packages behind him. It was early yet and the green only had about a score of hobbits. He set the packets down in the big tent and disappeared inside. I was helping Mister Frodo with some scones, and didn't see Gandalf again."
"But what does that have to do with rockets?" Elanor had pushed herself up and was looking a Sam pentuantly. "I wanna hear about them!"
"Patience 'Nor!" Sam's eyes twinkled as he came to the best part. "It got darker and still no sign of Gandalf. Mister Bilbo was acting oddly, to be sure, and I could see Mister Frodo was that worried about him. I was just about to ask about it when poof!" Elanor gasped. "The sky turned from dark to light! Silver streaks flew around my head and exploded! Then there was a whistling sound and blue and green lights sparkled above the party like flowers! It was that Gandalf's doing. He had fireworks in his tent and was shooting them off to celebrate the birthday! It was like every hobbit got two presents - one when they came and one full of shining rockets! He even had a firework that let off golden butterflies." Elanor laughed and clapped her hands in delight, and her father grinned with her. Then his voice dropped to a whisper.
"We had all been enjoying the rockets, but do you know what happened next?" Elanor's eyes went wide and she shook her head. "A dragon appeared! It soared over us three times!" Her child's mouth was agape and she looked up, half expecting to see the dragon reappear. "The third time, it nearly knocked us over, we were that scared running from it. I fell down, and then --BANG!" Elanor jumped as Sam shouted the word. "It exploded! Pippin had gotten the biggest and best firework out of the tent and set it off without Gandalf knowing! He had to spend the next hour washing the dishes." Sam chuckled at the memory and Elanor giggled with him.
"So those were the rockets? Mister Gandalf's rockets?" She touched the paper gently.
"Yes love. Mister Gandalf's rockets. There's not been such a sight in the Shire since."
"Not even when you and Uncle Frodo came back home?"
Sam's face clouded at the memory of their return. No, there had been no celebration then. Too much needed to be rebuilded, healed. And they had been. "No, not even then." He tickled her under the chin. "But that's what stories are for, lass! Now come, let's go to the garden." Lifting her off his lap and tousling her golden curles, Sam beamed down at her. Elanor skipped ahead of him out of the room, singing in her high voice a song about flowers and rockets. Pausing for a moment, Sam lay the scrap of paper next to a red book on his desk. Then with a final glance back, he followed his daughter out of the room.
Entry 3 - Brighter
Sam knew from the instant he first saw Rosie Cotton that she was the one.
She was beautiful, he thought one evening at the Green Dragon. She had the prettiest curls, lovely rosy cheeks, and a smile that to Sam seemed to light the room.
Like fireworks, he thought. Like the fireworks they sometimes had at birthday celebrations, only a thousand times brighter.
The first time Sam danced with Rosie was at Bilbo’s birthday party. Most of the hobbits were waiting for the display of fireworks Gandalf promised.
His fireworks couldn’t begin to compare to the ones Sam was seeing.
Entry 4 - Untitled
The autumn breeze swept through the house, bringing the enticing smell of the world outside. It told stories of a wonderful world waiting to be marveled at.
Peregrin sighed. There was several mountains of paper stacked on his desk and his study was strewn with books. Some had even managed to make their way to the shelves on the back wall. He looked around and wrinkled his nose before setting down his quill. The hobbit stared out the window to the fading world outside.
The duties that now rested on his shoulders were felt keenly as he thought back to a day almost forty years earlier. A day in which four hobbits had set out. It was much like this day. It had smacked of the same enticement; the same subtle calling. Pippin could do nothing but reminisce about the years long gone... “No.” He said suddenly and stood up. There was too much beauty in the world on this day for it to go unnoticed. He stopped to take his carefully hung elven cloak off its silver peg and pin it before walking out the open door.
The Shire was a flaming dream; dressed in yellows and oranges and the occasional bright red. Pippin wandered through the woods around Tuckborough, smiling at the scampering squirrels and stopping here and there to pluck a stray blackberry which had miraculously escaped the Gathering. The wind idly played with leaves, tearing them from their trees or flipping them up from the crunchy clearings.
When he reached the end of the tree-line, he stopped and stared at the puffing chimneys below him. He basked in the homey scene before sighing again. It was not often that the hobbit was melancholy. Autumn always seemed to bring the same longing and the inability to fulfill it pained him increasingly.
He needed one small glimmer of a time long ago...
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“Pa!” Faramir greeted his father with a broad grin and a massive hug. “Ma was going to call the neighbors and start looking for you.”
Pippin pretended to choke on the hug before laughing helplessly. “Your ma frets too much. Is that mushrooms I smell? Come on, you’ll freeze your toes and then your ma wont let me have any.” He winked and went into the hole. Faramir carefully closed the door.
As Pippin hung his hood, Faramir looked at his father uncomfortably, “Um... Pa.”
Pippin turned his head and frowned. “What’s wrong son?”
Faramir cleared his throat. “Goldilocks came along. I was visiting Uncle Sam and...” He left it hanging.
Pippin smiled warmly and took his son’s hand. “I understand. Is Sam...”
“I think so.” The reply came enthusiastically.
Pippin chuckled, “Alright then. Come on. Let’s not keep your Ma waiting.”
The kitchen was aglow with firelight, and the two hobbit-ladies were fussing over the steaming dishes. Diamond began scolding her husband almost before he entered.
“Peregrin Took! You had better clean the dishes all week and weed my garden next spring! That and you’re going to clean up that dusty study of yours. Tomorrow!”
She delivered that ultimatum by smacking down the potato salad bowl onto the table.
The Thain stifled his smile, putting on a sheepish expression. “Yes dear,” he muttered humbly and sat down. His wife glared suspiciously at him and sat down.
Goldilocks was hiding her giggles behind her hand as she seated herself between Pippin and Faramir. She had been seeing The Thain and his wife since she was a baby, and she loved them very much. They were perfectly suited to one another. She hoped she could be so well suited to Faramir one day...
The meal was a cheerful affair, as meals in the Shire often were. Once the plates were pushed back, and everyone was feeling very full and sleepy, Faramir got up.
“I almost forgot. Uncle Sam asked me to give you this. He said that you must have taken it out the last time you were at Bag End and forgot to pack it. Said it was important.”
The young hobbit left the room for a few moments and returned with a long wooden box in his hands. Pippin stared at the box with naked longing, snatching it as soon as it was in reach.
“Thank heavens!” He stroked the box, unaware of the stares before getting up. “I have... Some more work to do.” He ignored them all and strode out into the dark hall till he reached his study. He carefully closed the door behind him.
The moonlight turned the books and scrolls into an eerie, deserted, foreign place. Pippin quickly went to light a fire. He sat down in front of the small flames and rubbed his hands. He stared at the box before him, transported to a very different place.
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They had ridden to the Grey Havens, a painful journey for them all. For they knew that Gandalf and Bilbo along with the Elves would be leaving this land forever.
Pippin had felt the pang as he saw Gandalf turn towards them, smiling sadly. “Goodbye dear friends.”
In that one sentence Pippin felt the world crumble around him, and tears sprung to his eyes. “Must you Gandalf?”
The Wizards nodded slowly and sighed. “I will miss the Shire-folk and their love to laugh and their willingness to give joy.”
Sam had tears running down his face and Merry was sniffling. Pippin was staring at the old man. ‘He’s really leaving. Forever. Who will remember him once we are gone?”
He rummaged through all his memories of the Maia. The one that stood out the clearest in his mind was one of the wizard laughing at Bilbo’s Party as he lit a firework. It had exploded with a bang, and from it there had been a million different smaller explosions - each more beautiful than the last. In blues and greens and pinks and oranges...
Pippin burst into tears, and hugged the white-robed Gandalf.
Smiling down at the hobbit, he strokes his head. “For you Peregrin Took - I have something.” Sniffing and sobbing, he pulled away to look at the wizard. Gandalf smiled gently and pulled out a box.
“This is for when it seems as joy has left the world; for a time when life becomes bleak and you are in need of hope.”
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Now the hobbit slid the cover off. Inside lay a single, rocket-shaped firework. The fire sparkled in his tear-filled eyes as he thought of the Wizard.
For forty years he had taken out the box on Frodo and Bilbo’s birthday and has toyed with it. Last year he had been visiting Sam at Bag End, along with Merry. The three of them had stayed up all night, talking or simply staring at one another. Sometimes silence spoke better than words.
Stoking the old box, he stared into the hearth, tears streaming down his cheeks. He wished Merry and Sam were here...
An idea popped into his head. One that made him dry his tears and stand up. He knew when he would use the firework. And he knew when.
He knew that he would be called to Gondor in the spring - it had been a two years since King Elessar had called him. And Sam would be busy with all the spring planting and all the awakening that came with spring.... Yes. Now was the time.
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The wedding of Goldilocks Gamgee and Faramir Took was held on October the 22nd.
Pippin and Merry were sitting together watching the happy couple when Sam joined them.
“Hope you Halfling Princes still enjoy a spot of good ale!”
Sam was holding three brimming silver tankards and had an enormous smile on his face.
“Most definitely good Mayor!” Merry bantered taking a mug and grinning. “We couldn’t let the rest of the party have all the drink!”
Pippin smiled at his two friends, and took the drink in silence.
Sam and Merry looked at each other questioningly. Pippin was usually the one with the jokes.
“Pip, is... is everything alright?” Merry places a hand on his shoulder.
Pippin blinked before nodding. “Yes. Everything' alright. Or it will be. ‘Scuse me.”
He strode off into the crowd leaving two confused hobbits behind him.
The mallorn tree Sam had planted all those years ago stood in all its majesty. Pippin patted its huge trunk on the way to the open field beyond. He hoped he wouldn’t frighten the guests.
He took out the box and slid it open. The rocket seemed to glow in the dark and Pippin smiled. This seemed like so many years ago...
He carefully places it in the ground, aiming it for over the party some 300 yards away. He struck a match to it and...
There was a wondrous explosion, followed by a fiery circle appearing in the sky. The circle turned in on itself and hundreds of smaller explosions followed. The ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ of delight from the crowd and the cheering of the hobbit-children filed Pippin with a joy like none before. He walked back to the party as the remaining flaming specks turned to birds and flew off into the distance before exploding into millions of stars over the river.
He reached Faramir and his bride as the last of the stars fell. His son turned to him with tears in his eyes.
“Thank you father,” he said simply.
Pippin embraced him.
As he walked away, the Peregrin wiped away his tears. And this time they were tears of joy.
x] 
