And then.. [Short Story Competition!] - CLOSED

[Winddancer]

Competition number 3!

The sun was just beginning to set on another idyllic day in Hobbiton, when suddenly a blood-curdling scream pierces the crisp air..

Deadline 13th January!

[Winddancer]

A little under a month to go! <3

[Aikári Salmarinian]

Utchuk

[The Good Hunter]

The Great Buckland Breakfast Bake-Off

Hobbiton Village was the most idyllic place in all the Shire. This was not a simple matter of conjecture or unsubstantiated opinion being bloviated about by blitzed out blokes at the Green Dragon. There had been a competition a few years past that had all the folks astir. What town was best? Hobbiton Village won by such a large landslide it was determined that the contest need not be held ever again because these opinions would not change. Naturally, the conversation then turned from “what is the best town in the Shire?” to “what is the best town in all the world?” and as hobbits would have it, Hobbiton was again brought forward. If it’s the best place in all the Shire, then logically it must be the best place in all the world. Every hobbit agreed to this from the contrarian tweens to the old fuddy-duddies who frown at people from their garden porches. It was autumn now in Hobbiton Village, and the entire town was fringed and decorated by reds and oranges of all possible hues and variations. There was a buzz in the air. Amidst the heady scents of pine, cedar, and oak the pervaded the town there were whispers of “the competition” that would be getting announced soon. Stonemasons working on the roads and pathways debated endlessly over who they thought were the favorites; bakers, starting in the early pre-dawn hours, mused over where the competition would take place; candlemakers argued about who was going to win so fervently that, for a good half hour, the actual profession of making candles was forgotten. Gardeners, clearing out the red, orange, and brown leaves from their gardens, were so engrossed in fanciful visions that they often forgot what it was that they were doing. In short, all of Hobbiton was zealously enthusiastic about the “Great Buckland Breakfast Bake-Off”.

None were more excited that Brandon Blackwood (of the Tuckborough Blackwoods). He was not a baker or a gardener or a stonemason, and his excitement could be characterized as nervousness. Brandon Blackwood had a mission to accomplish. He was going to breaking into Lavinia Dewfoot’s house and steal her cookbook. It was not his idea, to be sure, he was not much a cook even when compared to the likes of Jorgy Underash or Bolton Crisptwig. Brandon was perfectly happy not having anything to do with the Bake-Off. Yet here he was, doing his best to pretend to be natural as he watched across the street. The sun was still in the processes of rising, a great golden egg sending rays of light in every direction. Brandon licked his lips and smoothed his curly black hair, a nervous habit of his. It was now or never. He could feel butterflies pounding at his stomach as he stepped closer, moving as furtive as he could without looking like a sneaking goblin.

The window was surprisingly easy to open. Brandon had expected the task to take at least four minutes to complete (this was his first time actually being a burglar) and was at a loss for words when the window simply swung open. It was just big enough for him to slither inside. The kitchen (nearly every room in this particular house was a kitchen) was massive and filled with more bowls and spoons and skillets than Brandon knew what to do with. Lavinia Dewfoot, the winner of the previous eleven Bake-Offs, was as serious about cooking as Brandon was serious about nothing at all. She was the best chef in the Shire, and therefore the best chef in all the wide world. Not even the elves of Rivendell or the Grey Havens could compete with her. And thank breakfast she was not one a Sackville-Baggins about it. She was free with her food and with her kitchen. Often, it was the highlight of a hobbit’s year to be invited to a meal with Lavinia. She was a culinary alchemist, spinning turnips and yams into gold. Brandon and his sister Beatrice had been invited to a breakfast a few years back. The poached eggs still haunted his dreams with their deliciousness and the muffins were topped with the most delightful ham. Brandon felt a few pangs of guilt as he crept through the house. If this had been Lobelia’s house, he would have pranced about merrily, sticking all sorts of odds and ends into his pockets just to spite the old bat. Lavinia was different. She was a kindly soul who never horded her knowledge or looked down her nose at those less culinarily inclined. He wouldn’t have been here at all if he weren’t being paid a sum of money so vast it made his head spin.

Brandon was a bored, semi-wealthy, hobbit just come of age. He had very little skills that aided in the family business (he wasn’t really sure what that was, being wealthy the Blackwoods sort of just existed) and had jumped around listlessly from one apprenticeship to another without retaining any of the necessary skills to be a librarian, an accountant, a postal worker, or a toymaker. He was good at drinking and wandering, but there was no way to make a career out of that that he’d found. So here he was, breaking into the home of one of the nicest hobbits in all the Shire.

He did his best to creep through the house as quietly as he could. He had no idea where one might keep a cookbook, especially when the house had more than one kitchen. He checked in drawers (wincing at every squeak and squeal of the wood) and cabinets and never found a thing. He found a spoon that looked like it was two hundred years old and a tea set that looked more of use to the big folk than a hobbit, but no cookbook. He was on his third kitchen when he found it. This was the kitchen with the oven, a great brobdingnagian thing that looked like it was the mouth of a dragon. It cast a shadow on the wall that made Brandon nearly jump in fright. He was already on edge here, a massive furnace/oven that looked like it wanted to eat him was the last thing he expected. He was still not sure the thing would not come to live and devour him when he found the book in a locked drawer near a sink. He picked the lock, his eyes jumping over and over again to the oven making sure it was staying put. He pulled the book out and was immediately disappointed. It was a cookbook, bound in leather with fancy writing scrawled on the front, but it was no thicker than a poetry chapbook. How could the most amazing chef in all the world not have a cookbook that was as big as a king’s tax ledger? He expected something more in the “doorstopper” size, not something he could slip under his shirt. This couldn’t be right, could it?

Brandon didn’t get the chance to check. There was a scream behind him. A scream so loud and so unexpected that he jumped high enough to hit his head on the ceiling and screamed almost just as loud. He was so scared of the oven that he forgot that Lavinia was, in fact, still in the house somewhere (again, this was the first time he had actually done any burglaring). His head was swimming, from smacking it on the ceiling, and his stomach felt like it was about to turn inside out. For a heartbeat, he just stared at Lavinia and she stared back. There wasn’t any light in the kitchen yet, the sun’s rays were coming from the wrong direction, so he was reasonably confident that she couldn’t make out his face.

“Young man, you put that book down before I call the Sheriffs!”

Brandon’s eyes bugged. Normally he was prone to what his mother dubbed “half-expressions” but in this moment he had a full look of terror. Brandon was turning out to be a terrible burglar. He was much better suited to, well anything other than this.

He leapt to the window, doing his best not to knock anything over in the process (he wasn’t rude after all), and performed something that could be called a swan dive by people who have never seen a swan or knew what one was. He bumped his head hard on the way out and landed in the grass with all the grace of a caught fish. He bounced off the soft grass and rolled ass over teakettle to the bottom of the hill. Miraculously, through it all Brandon was able to keep a hold of the recipe book. He held onto that little book as though his life depended on it. He stood up, wobbled a bit, then broke into a dash. He could hear her yelling and screaming. It would only be a moment before a mob of angry hobbits formed and he was chased into the Water. Violence was not a very hobbit like thing, but when it happened, it happened. The last real incident was a few months ago at the Market when Wisteria Pumpkinberry slapped the ever-loving goober out of Lobelia Sackville-Baggins for calling Jorgy Underash a goofy little freak. It had caused quite a stir that was still talked about in the Green Dragon as “the slap”. Brandon had missed it, but he’d heard so many different accounts that it almost seemed amazing Lobelia was still alive.

None of that was helpful at the moment though. Brandon didn’t have time let his mind wander. He had to escape the wrath of an angry chef! He brushed himself off and darted north as quickly as he could, out of eyeshot from the open window. She hadn’t seen his face yet and he wanted to keep it that way. He bounded over a small fence and narrowly dodged stepping on a massive yellow gourd. He did a fancy (not really) dance to avoid the rest of the vegetables in the garden and bounded over the next fence into another yard with rosebushes. It was painful. That’s all that really needs to be said there. He stifled as yelp of pain as thorn pricked at him from a dozen different angles. He managed to escape without losing too much blood (or any really) and was able to hide and catch his breath as he rounded a corner. He took the book out from under his waistcoat and stared. There was something hauntingly alluring about this book. The golden filigreed text shimmered in the autumn morning light. He could feel a warmth in the book that seemed to come from within it. He reverently touched the edges of the cover and pulled it open to the first page. The parchment was old. Very old. And it smelled of earth ironworks. On the second page there was a pressed lily with a note written on the page “for my dear Lavinia, for all the joy you’ve given the community for so long, Bilbo Baggins”. Great, as if Brandon didn’t feel bad enough already. He turned the page quickly and looked at the table of contents. There were so many recipes, so many entries on so many pages. How? How was that possible? Brandon’s head began to swim as he looked at the endless list of things from “apple fritters” to “zucchini bread” and everything in between; literally everything. How was there space in this tiny book? There were far too many entries than there were pages. Even if the script was written by trained ants. He turned the page, then another and another and another. The more pages he turned the more seemed to appear. The book never got any bigger, the pages and writing stayed the same size, and the book never got heavier or lighter.

“Elven magic,” he mumbled absently. “Has to be elven magic.”

In truth he had no idea. He’d heard elven magic could do all sorts of things, it was basically a catch-all for anything weird and unexplained. He felt very weird holding a book made by elven magic. It had been given by the one and only Bilbo Baggins. He knew elves and dwarves and all sorts. It made sense to Brandon. The book felt hot in his hands, but he wasn’t sure if it was the book or his own guilt. Half of him wanted to go back and return the book, the other half wanted to drop the book right here in this yard and pretend to have nothing to do with all this.

In the end, he kept the book. He had to. At this point he was too deep into the whole plot. His buyer would be more than a little miffed if he came up empty. There were few hobbits he feared with the same gusto as Lobelia Sackville-Baggins or his mother, Bellatrix Blackwood née Elderwheat. His buyer was in that category. No matter how much his guilt weighed on him, Brandon was going to give the book over. He put the book back under his waistcoat and hopped the fence with a casual air (which was hard to pull off, mind you). He did his best to saunter or stroll, even to trudge here and there as he went so as not to draw attention to himself. He could hear the sounds of flustered and flummoxed hobbits all about. The entire community was in an uproar and there would be breakfast to pay for all this.

He made his way to the Ancient Fox Inn. It was an out of the way inn on the road up to Scary. It was a creepy place, as creepy as an inn run by hobbits could get at least. It was old, much older than the Green Dragon, and didn’t have near as good house ale. The common room was full of pipeweed smoke and burnt bacon smells. There wasn’t much of a hearth or view either. Brandon could see why this place didn’t get as many people as the Green Dragon (other than them being in the opposite directions). The common room was full enough though, at least a dozen or more hobbits milled about, grumbling to their table about this and that and how unfair it was that the Mill was extending holiday leave for new employees and giving paternity leave for new fathers and such. Brandon did his best to avoid looking at any of them, including the rather sad faced pubmistress who was forced to endure the same talk table after table and still produce a smile. His client was in the back, in a private alcove with a single candle on the table.

“A little on the nose, don’t you think? It’s all a bit dramatic.” Brandon said as he sat down.

Tarquin Dormer did not look amused. He was a grouse faced man with pinched eyes and a sour disposition. “You have something against my favorite meeting place?”

“Ah… no… sir,” Brandon flushed and began to fidget.

“Well don’t be coy. Where’s my cookbook?”

Tarquin Dormer was a hobbit who didn’t like to lose. Yet that’s exactly what he did when it came to the Bake-Off. He’d never beaten Lavinia. Never even came close. The best he’d ever placed in the contest was fifth. Brandon assumed he wanted the recipe book because he thought it would finally give him an edge. Brandon was not about to disagree. Tarquin was wide and grumpy and could pinch hard enough to draw blood, and he also had friends in places that could make Brandon’s life a headache. In short, he was a right git. Brandon produced the book and set it on the table. Tarquin’s eyes glittered green, which was odd since he had brown eyes. Greed, Brandon thought, it had to be from all the dragon greed. He snarled and snatched at the book. Brandon knew he would though and grabbed it back.

“Not so fast, Master Dormer. Do you know who this book came from?”

“Of course, I do you idiot coal bitter! It’s Lavinia’s,” he hissed in a tone barely considered a whisper.

“No,” Brandon corrected, biting the inside of his cheek. “Do you know who gave it to her?”

There was a look of confusion on the greedy hobbit’s face. “What are you on about? Just give me the book!”

Brandon held the book close, out of reach across the table from Tarquin. “This book was given to her by Bilbo Baggins hisself. There’s elf magic in this.”

“Elf magic?” he said in loud, not whisper, voice. “Have you cracked your head open? Ain’t no such thing in the Shire.”

Brandon didn’t feel like proving it. He didn’t want to open such a precious book in an environment such as this. It felt wrong. Like trying to plant bluebells in a horse’s trough. He didn’t let go of the book.

“Alright, fine. You win. It’s an elf book. Still belongs to me know, eh? Now give it here.”

Brandon didn’t move, he shook his head.

“Really boy? You trying to hold out of me now? That’s just like a Blackwood.”

“Holding out?” Brandon asked in a laugh. “Master Dormer you haven’t even paid me yet.”

“Are you impugning my honor, you good for nothing tween!” Tarquin’s face looked dangerously like a lobster’s.

“Well…” Brandon said before looking away, trying to focus on anything other than the hobbit’s red faced indignance. “You haven’t.”

“Fine, you want your gold, young brat. Here,” a small red bag of gold clinked on the table. Brandon stared at it for some time, trying to will himself into accepting the situation. Slowly, his fingers relaxed their grip on the book and he placed back on the table with painstaking, molasse in winter slowness. The moment the book touched to old, varnishless wood, Tarquin snatched it up, giggling to himself as he did. Brandon felt his stomach go sour. He took the red bag and placed it in his breastpocket.

“Aren’t you going to count it?” Tarquin said with an ungenerous helping of snark.

“Wouldn’t that impugn your honor, Master Dormer?”

The girthy hobbit guffawed and slapped the table loudly. “You’re a smartass Blackwood. Your mother should have slapped that out of you by now.”

Brandon got up to go, his business concluded here. “What? You’re not going to stay for a Fox Lager?” Tarquin sneered and waved the bar mistress over. “Or have you got no stomach for it?”

Brandon smiled as genuinely as he could muster, which was not much. He bowed, trying to hide that fact. “No sir. I… I have places I need to visit.”

Tarquin was already ignoring him. The recipe book was opened on the table, glowing with a faint inner light. Tarquin was giggling and muttering to himself like some half mad fisherhobbit. Brandon didn’t bother repeating himself.

He was halfway back to his home when he pulled the page he’d torn out. He looked at it long and hard. It was a recipe for biscuits, chocolate ones. He wasn’t much of a cook, but maybe with Lavinia’s guidance he could muster up something edible.

The weeks went by and finally the Great Buckland Breakfast Bake-Off took place. Even with all the controversy surrounding it, Lavinia had no trouble taking home her twelfth win in a row. It was not even close. She blew away the judges and everyone in the audience with a delicate quiche and blueberry scones. Tarquin Dormer placed eighth. Brandon felt more than a little vindicated. As it turned out, Lavinia didn’t need the recipe book because she’d memorized every single recipe in there and when Tarquin tried to use it at the contest, the entire thing turned up blank, except for a single page that seemed to be missing. Brandon nearly burned his house down trying to make the biscuits. Even reading the great Lavinia Dewfoot’s instructions could not help a hobbit who didn’t know how to fry an egg.

[Aikári Salmarinian]

Frost: Lovely story and interestingly reading! Loved it.

[Winddancer]

5 days left!

[Fuin Elda]

The Pie.

"The PIE!" Came the terrible shriek that could only come after the distinct and horrifying splut of a sound as the juicy caramel apple pie landed, lattice side down, in the dirt of the flower box under the kitchen window frame where it had been left to cool.

Indeed this was the worst atrocity to happen in many years. Worse in fact than the time that Mrs Maggot didn't realize Fang had licked the mixing bowl clean when she mixed up the wild berry filling for her country fayre pie entry that one year. This was an Granny Appy Smith pie that had fallen, which meant there were several young hobbits that had been hoping for dessert that would not be getting any.

This was a tragedy and horror story that might only be matched by the later invasion of the Shire by Sharky and his men.

[Zôrzimril]

The Birthday Scream

“Aaiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!”

The Roper family’s cozy little hobbit hole had never before played host to such a sound. Even throughout the three Roper children’s infancies, their father, Ned, had never heard such an ear-splitting cry.

“But . . . but Peony!” exclaimed Ned, who was thoroughly confused. “It’s just a little puppy! I thought . . . I thought you wanted one,” he added, rather forlornly. The brown and white puppy wiggling about in his arms paused to reach up and lick him on the chin. Ned laughed in spite of the screechy circumstances and gazed down at the puppy with growing affection.

The youngest Roper child (and their only daughter) sank to her knees and wailed once more. From the kitchen, there came the sound of glass shattering.

“Heavens above, Peony Roper! You stop that screaming, or I’ll teach you a thing or two!” cried Jade Roper, her hands deep in sudsy water and a scowl marring her fair features. One of her grandmother’s fine crystal glasses had burst into a thousand tiny pieces at Peony’s latest scream. The fragments of glass now littered the cool tile floor on which Jade stood. “Gilbert! Gilbert, where are you?” she hollered over her shoulder.

“Just here, Mum!” answered Gilbert’s voice. He made his way down the hall, humming pleasantly, and stopped at the sight of his sister and father in the sitting room.

Peony had buried her face in her hands, and she was heaving with great sobs. Ned was struggling to keep his grip on the puppy, for it had decided it was not satisfied with licking his face: it wanted to follow the sound of Jade’s shouts, too.

Ned sighed and wrapped an arm around the warm puppy’s belly. This was not the reaction he’d expected from his youngest child. Why, just yesterday she’d been jumping up and down at the fence outside Farmer Maggot’s fields, dying to catch a glimpse of his dogs. And those three were terrors of the highest degree! This little fellow, on the other hand, was positively adorable. Gilbert exchanged a look with his father, and - shrugging - moved into the kitchen.

“Hold your horses, young Roper!” Jade snapped. She tossed aside the towel on which she’d just dried her hands. “Take a look around you, and tell me you want to walk into this kitchen?”

Gilbert jumped back from the kitchen door at the sight of all the sparkling glass shards strewn about.

“What happened here?” he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he turned and said, “Don’t move, Mum. I’ll fetch the broom.”

Jade shook her head. She was as impressed with Gilbert’s sensitive nature as she was with Peony’s stubborn and demanding demeanor. How could two children born of the same parents and raised under the same hill be so different? she asked herself for the thousandth time. Quick as a flash, Gilbert was back with the broom. He proceeded to sweep the glass, being careful to avoid brushing any of it onto his mother’s feet.

“Was this the last of the Gamma’s glasses, Mum?” he asked solemnly.

“I’m afraid so, honey. But never you mind about that. Let’s just get all the pieces taken care of so we can go see what all the fuss is about. I hate to think of your father trying to placate Peony alone.”

At the same moment, Ned was attempting - without much success, exactly as Jade feared - to calm his daughter’s nerves. “Come now, Peony,” he said bracingly. “There’s worse things than getting a puppy for your birthday, aren’t there?”

Peony lifted her head and looked up at him through eyes glistening with tears. She heaved a few huge breaths and began to sob again.

Ned sighed. “I’m afraid you might just have to be my puppy, little one!” he whispered to the dog. It licked his nose and wagged its tail. Gilbert and Jade entered the room, and there came a knock at the front door.

“Why, who could that be?” they all (except Peony, who was still crying) asked in unison. Gilbert reached the door in the blink of an eye, and upon opening it laid eyes on his big brother Odo, the eldest Roper child.

“Odo!” cried Jade. She rushed to the door and enveloped him in a hug. “So glad you could make it! You’ve missed dinner, I’m afraid, but never mind that - there’s always plenty of leftovers in the pantry for a hard-working farmer like you, and then there’s still the cake to come. Come in, honey, come in!”

Odo, making note of the scene playing out in the sitting room, paused on the threshold. “Erm,” he murmured to his mother, “what’s happened? Did Peony hurt herself?”

“Oh no, just a little overreaction. I’m not sure she likes the puppy we got her, is all. But we’ll love it and cuddle it and find it a wonderful home if it doesn’t work out.”

“Ah.” Odo looked mighty guilty all of a sudden. “Well, the thing is . . . I’ve brought a similar present for Peony.” It was at this moment that Gilbert and Jade glanced down at the basket Odo was holding. Inside, wrapped in a fuzzy blue blanket, was a little puppy with a coat of pure gold.

“Oh, stars above!” cried Jade.

“Aww, look at him! Or is it a girl?” Gilbert gushed, reaching down to pat the puppy on the head.

“It’s a girl. And I only brought her over because I thought Peony liked dogs!” Odo hissed.

“Not to worry, my dear, there’s no harm in it,” Jade said soothingly. “I just can’t understand what’s gotten into Peony! It’s like she’d never seen a puppy before. But she’s always after me to take the long way home from the market so we can see the Boffins’ pugs!”

The sounds of Peony’s crying had, by now, died down a bit, and so the family thought it might be a good moment for her oldest brother to make his appearance. “Happy birthday, Peony!” Odo said. Peony gave a great sniff.

“H–h-hi,” she stammered as she caught her breath. “Hi, Odo.”

“I’ve brought you a birthday present! But if you don’t like it, we can always go to the market and pick you out something different.” Here, Odo set down the basket with the sleepy golden puppy in it. Peony took one look at the dog and let out another a great screech.

“Oh, really now -” Ned protested, barely keeping his grip on the white and brown dog as it struggled to jump down and meet the golden puppy.

“I’m sorry!” shouted Odo above Peony’s screams.

“PEONY!”

The whole Roper family - including Peony - started and looked around for the source of the sudden, harsh shout. To their shock, it was Gilbert who’d risen to tower over his sister. Peony hiccuped.

“Come now, Peony!” Gilbert admonished.

Apparently even my most angelic child doesn’t possess endless patience! thought Jade, with a hint of pride.

“Pa and Odo brought you two beautiful dogs as birthday presents! And all you can do is cry about it? Where’s the decency in that?”

Peony shuddered as she took a deep breath.

“It . . . it’s just . . .” she began. A fat tear rolled down her cheek.

“I JUST LOVE PUPPIES SO MUCH!!” she wailed, and dissolved into delighted sobs once more.

[Rillewen]

2976, Third Age
A couple of miles from Scary, Eastfarthing of the Shire

"Gladh, take a look at this." Gwedhion whispered, pausing to kneel by something on the ground. Gladhrion knelt by his older brother, frowning. There was a thin rope stretched across, just about ankle-height, almost completely covered from sight by the brush and leaves. The two rangers looked up at each other and shared a smile.
"Someone's been setting traps around here. Let's find out why, shall we?" Gladhrion suggested, matching his brother's whisper.
Gwedhion traced the thin cord to its source. "That's very..clever," He mentioned softly. "Set off the trip cord, and this knot comes untied, and sends those huge logs toppling down on us before we'd have a chance to leap out of the way. That would be hard to avoid." He commented thoughtfully. "Watch your step, Gladhrion. There may be more. I almost didn't see that rope, and the logs blended in with the rest of the trees."
"Of course." The younger ranger refrained from rolling his eyes. He'd been doing this for years now, why did his brother always feel the need to remind him about this or that, or treat him like he were still a novice at this Ranger lifestyle?

The brothers carefully ventured on, slowly, thoroughly studying the ground, the trees, everything that could be made into a trap, they checked it. "Over here," Gladhrion called at last, keeping his voice down. Gwedhion came to his side, careful where he stepped. "What've you got?" He asked in a hushed tone.
"Looks like a pit.. I'll bet there's very sharp, pointy sticks waiting at the bottom." He pointed out the well-blended ground there. "See, you can just make out some boughs stretched across the opening... whoever put it there took great pains to make sure it was very well-hidden."
"Think it's them?" Gwedhion asked thoughtfully, examining the edges of the pit his brother had found.
"It could be." Gladhrion nodded thoughtfully. "They are quite good at traps and this sort of thing, we know that much."
"But this far into Hobbit lands?" Gladhrion glanced around, frowning. "We're only about a day's journey northeast from the Hobbit's capital city."
"Yes, well, we haven't had much luck in locating them anywhere else. Perhaps that's because they've been hiding out here, where we haven't thought to look? The last news we had of them indicated they might be somewhere in the North Downs, possibly near the Branduin." Gladhrion reminded him. "Stands to reason we might be getting close to their headquarters, with all these traps about." He mentioned.
Gwedhion smiled, nodding. "Good thinking, brother."
"I'm not new at this, Gwedhion." Gladhrion reminded him, slightly annoyed.
"No, you aren't." His older brother agreed. "Anyway, I agree. I think we may have finally found these bandits," He was almost as eager as Gladhrion was to find the bandits who had slain the people of their village and stolen many young maidens as captives. For years now, the brothers had been tracking these outlaws down, trying their best to locate them, and stamp them out for good. Now, perhaps they had succeeded, or were about to. "Any tracks?" He asked.
"Yes, right here." He pointed to some tracks in the dirt near the pit.
"Can you be serious, please?" Gwedhion rolled his eyes. "Those are our tracks, though we ought to have been more careful about leaving any."
Gladhrion offered a faint smile to his brother, wishing he'd have more of a sense of humor sometimes, and glanced around carefully. They both spent quite a while, moving slowly and carefully around the area, searching for more signs of the bandits being near.

Eventually, the brothers crouched among the shrubs at the top of a ridge, overlooking a very settled camp. There was even a small cabin in the midst, no doubt where the bandit's leader dwelt. "It's almost a small village!" Gladhrion murmured under his breath, surprised. "How is it that we've been unable to find this for so long?"
"They have it well-hidden. And Hobbits don't get out of their holes and explore very much, from what I hear," Gwedhion replied, just as quietly. He gazed down at the camp, frowning. "Those are the bandits, I'm sure of it. Those two, see... they're arguing over their spoils. I'm sure that stuff came from the merchant's wagon that was robbed a couple of days ago."
Gladhrion's jaw tightened and he made a move to head down the ridge toward the camp, but his brother caught his arm and held onto him firmly. "Gladh, we'd be better to wait til night." He warned him in a hushed whisper. "If she's even still alive, you aren't going to have any luck in rescuing her if you get yourself killed, in the process."
Gladhrion hesitated, then sighed, nodding as he settled in again beside Gwedhion. "Yes. You're right." He sighed again, looking down at the camp, his brows furrowed with worry. "She has to be down there. She just...has to be."
Gwedhion paused briefly. "Gladhrion... I know you don't want to hear this again, but-"
"Then don't say it again." Gladhrion cut him off, scowling. "You're right; I don't want to hear it. She has to be alive, Gwedhion." The desperation in his voice prevented Gwedhion from pressing the issue, though he feared that his brother was in for another huge heartbreak, very soon.

Waiting was the worst. For several years, Gladhrion had waited, tormented inside at the thought of his beloved being held captive by those evil men, trying his best not to imagine what sort of terrible things they might be doing to her. She was a beautiful girl, last time he saw her. The last time he saw her.. when the bandits were dragging her away with them. When he was unable to save her, knocked out while fighting far too many foes at once. His mother had been slain in that raid, and he'd never forget the horror of that day. How had these years treated Merilien, he wondered, refusing to believe that she might be dead. She was a survivor, if he ever saw one. She'd never give up, and she must know that he would be searching for her, coming to rescue her. She wouldn't give up hope, he was sure of that.

The darkness of night finally stole across the bandit camp. The two rangers watched, waiting for the right moment. The camp fires slowly were put out as the men started to go to their tents for the night.
"Now?" Gladhrion could hardly stand the waiting.
"Just a bit longer, to give them time to get to sleep." Gwedhion answered quietly.
Gladhrion stared down at the bandit's campsite, anxious to search for his lost love. 'A bit longer' seemed to take an eternity, but at last his brother deemed it sufficient time to go down there. He held out a hand to stop Gladhrion, as the latter appeared set to run down the hill and charge the camp.
"Remember, stealth is our advantage. The two of us are no match for all of them, at once." He cautioned Gladhrion. "I suggest that we split up... you work your way around the camp counter clock-wise, and I'll work clockwise.. check every tent, eliminate all foes-"
"You needn't tell me this, Gwedhion." The younger brother whispered, a bit irritated. "Counter clockwise, right. Let's go." With that, he set off down the ravine, using all the stealth he possessed. Her life may depend on this mission being successful.

The first tent Gladhrion came to had a man inside, snoring steadily. The ranger frowned, seeing no sign anywhere of any captives yet, but he was certain they must be somewhere. The bandits had been in operation for many years, raiding villages and taking captives every so often. He knelt by the sleeping bandit and clamped a hand over his mouth, while the other hand placed a dagger at his throat. Jolted awake, the bandit's eyes grew round as he stared up at Gladhrion. "I know you take captives, at times," Gladhrion whispered, leaning in close. "Where are they? Where would I find the girls?" He paused, letting the question sink in, then added, "I'm going to move my hand away, and if you utter one noise besides the answers to those questions, then my knife is going to open your throat up, got that?" He pressed the edge harder against the man's throat for emphasis, his grey eyes hard as stones.
When the man gave a vague, frightened nod, he slowly moved his hand away. "Now where are they? The maidens you savages stole from their homes. Where?" He insisted.
"I don't know what you mean," He answered, confused. "We ain't had any.. uh..company in a while."
"What about Merilien?" Gladhrion felt fear beginning to filter into his heart; fear that she was, in fact, gone. Forever. "Where is she? What did you do with her?"
"Who?" The man stared up at him blankly.
Before Gladhrion had a chance to try and explain any more, the man grabbed his wrist, trying to pull the knife away, wrestling him for it. "Intrud-" He began to yell, but Gladhrion switched the knife to his other hand and kept his promise. He sighed, wiping the bandit's blood on the blanket. He listened for a moment, waiting to make sure that no one had heard his attempted alarm, then relaxed slightly and moved on to the next tent. The increasingly more distressed ranger repeated his interrogation over and over again with each tent he visited, but didn't get any satisfactory answer. To his growing despair, he continually got answers like, 'I don't know anyone by that name' or 'We don't really get around to learning names of our captives' or 'we haven't got any captives right now', and so on.

Gwedhion, meanwhile, made his way toward the first tent in his path, then swiftly ducked behind some bushes as a man walked past. There were sentries, then. He should have expected that. Waiting until the sentry had moved just past his location, Gwedhion then leaped out behind him and hooked an arm around to cover his mouth, while the other pressed a dagger point to his back. The man jumped in surprise, then stood tensed, waiting.
"Make any sounds and I'll put an end to you, understood?" The ranger whispered. A terse nod from the bandit reassured him that he did understand.
"Are there any women in camp?" Gwedhion demanded. He moved his hand away slowly, to let him answer.
"J-just one." The man answered, startled.
"Only one?" Gwedhion frowned, surprised by that, but pressed on with his questioning. "Where is she?"
"She's.." He motioned toward a structure, near the center of camp. "In the cabin, with Dave."
"What happened to all the girls you bunch have stolen from nearby villages over the last few years?" Gwedhion demanded, keeping his voice low.
That brought a hesitation from the man.
"Answer me." The point of the dagger dug deeper into the bandit's side.
"Dead... Viper killed them all..."
Gwedhion felt his heart sink, partially in sorrow for all of the lives that had been lost, but primarily for his brother's sake, knowing what devastation this news would bring to him. While he was momentarily distracted by his grief, the bandit suddenly tried to break away from him. Swiftly, Gwedhion ended the outlaw's life before he could get away and alert the others to the brother's presence in the camp.

He sighed, looking down at the body, and then dragged it into the bushes where he had, moments ago, been hidden. The cabin, then. He had to see who this woman was. Perhaps... well, it was worth checking out, at least. He knew his brother wouldn't be satisfied until he knew for sure, and so with that thought in mind, Gwedhion stole across the dark camp and stood beside the door, pausing to listen. The man inside was certainly enjoying his female company, by the sound of it, causing Gwedhion to cringe a little for the thought of what the captive woman must be enduring. At least he could spare her from further.. unpleasantness. Trying the door, he found it unlocked, and entered swiftly. In one rough move, the ranger yanked the bandit away from the helpless victim of his 'fun', and drew his sword. "You'll do no more harm-" Before he could finish his declaration, the startled man grabbed for a weapon, but Gwedhion slew him before there was much of a fight.
"What's going on here!? Who gave you the right to come barging in here?" The woman demanded, furious.
He turned in surprise, and was relieved to see she had covered herself with a robe. Lowering his sword, he stared at her in stunned disbelief. "Merilien?"
She scowled, folding her arms as she glared at him. "Gwedhion. Imagine seeing you again... and just what are you doing here? I suppose you thought you were rescuing me, hm?" She sneered. "You just killed my man, and I will make you pay for that." She lunged at him with a short sword.
Gwedhion was completely speechless for a few seconds, growing more and more confused with every word. He swiftly dodged from her attack, further confused. "Gladhrion and I..have been searching for you. For years. He refused to give up..." He raised his sword, preparing to block any further attacks.
"He's an idiot," She snapped. "And you're an idiot for letting him keep searching. He should've forgotten about me, moved on with his life." She laughed, twirling her sword briefly before leaping toward him again with a quick slash.
Gwedhion swiftly blocked it, knocking her blade aside. "Stop this! We've come to rescue you."
"Rescue me, ha! I suppose he still thinks that I was taken against my will, all those years ago?"
Gwedhion couldn't help staring, confused by the change in this woman. He had known her since she was a little girl, his brother's best friend since childhood. Those two had played together every day, and later, when Gladhrion began to come with Gwedhion to do different missions, Gladhrion had convinced him to let Merilien come along, too. She'd been almost like a little sister to him, once upon a time. "How could he possibly forget about you? He loves you more than anything in life." Gwedhion pointed out softly. "What's happened to you, Merilien? What are you doing?"
"Don't call me that," She retorted, again attempting an attack, which was hastily parried. "I left that pathetic village of my own accord, went along with my real friends." She smirked as she picked up another short sword, twirling them both slowly as she spoke. "You fools never did figure out that I was working with the bandit group, I guess. You never were all that smart.. roaming the woods in search of trouble to fix... always cold and hungry, lonely all the time, always with empty pockets and people shunning you.. I gave up that miserable life for a much better one." She gestured to a pile of jewels and coins strewn about on the table, grinning.
Gwedhion watched her, frowning as he began to understand. Part of him wanted to warn her not to harm herself.. the girl he once knew as a child, but he stopped himself, remembering she was far from that young girl, now. She had changed, drastically. The words she was saying now made his blood run cold, and something in his memory stirred as a final piece to a long-standing puzzle finally fitted in place. "You..." His jaw dropped as the realization hit him. "You were working with the bandits, all those years ago...warning them if we were close to catching them... telling them where we'd be..."
"You finally figured it out," She smirked. "You two were so gullible, sometimes it was all I could do not to laugh at you while you searched out the false trails that I laid for you!" She did laugh, now, mockingly, as she leaped forward again, attacking now with double swords.
As he ducked and blocked her attack, Gwedhion couldn't believe what he was hearing. The girl he had known, Merilien, had always wanted nothing more than to be a ranger, just like them, just like her father had been. "Merilien... why?" He backed off to put space between them.
Her laughter turned to a snarl. "I told you not to call me that! I shed that name years ago. I'm not the little girl you used to take along on your adventures, Gwedhion. Merilien Thangur is dead. I'm Viper now."
Viper. The name struck him almost as if he'd been bitten by one. "Dead... Viper killed them all..." The bandit sentry had said. "You... killed all those innocent girls," He was stunned to realize the truth. "Why?"
Merilien.. or Viper, rather, paused and then gave a scoffing laugh. "That was a long time ago. I guess back in those days, I thought it'd be more merciful." She shrugged.
Gwedhion gave a small nod. Mercy. He could understand that. "You can come with us, Meril. Gladhrion will be thrilled to have you back. You can start over-"
"Do you really think that's what I want, you idiot?" She laughed. "Please, don't be so stupid. I've got everything I want here! I'm the leader of these men. I'm rich... they do everything I say, and they bring me anything I want... ." She shook her head. "No, I've no interest in 'starting over', but I would like to see Gladhrion again, one last time." She smiled, though it had a sneaky look to it, Gwedhion thought. "I'd like to see how he reacts when I tell him all that I've just told you..." She grinned, then lunged for him again, trying to trap him against the corner.
"No." Gwedhion avoided her slashing blades, planting one foot against her chest and shoved her back, away from him. At last, the stunned feeling passed and his voice held a hard edge to it again. "I can't let you do that." If Gladhrion heard these terrible things, any of it, it would destroy him... it would rip his heart to shreds. Gwedhion couldn't bear to see his little brother be hurt like that for a second time. Better that he believed that Merilien died years ago.
She stumbled back a few steps, then laughed at his words. "Oh, you think you're going to stop me?" She grinned, raising her blades again. "I'm going to kill you, Gwedhion, just like I killed your mother, and then I'll do the same to your brother... but not before I've watched his pathetic face get that stupid, hurt look when I tell him how foolish he was to have ever believed I really loved him."
The startled expression on Gwedhion's face told, better than any words, how he felt at hearing this news.
It brought another laugh from the bandit leader as she moved slowly toward him. "Yes... that was me, Gwedhion... not them." An unpleasant grin spread across her face.
"You.. you killed our mother?" He shook his head, unwilling to believe such a thing. "You.. did it to prevent her from...suffering at the hands of these men, surely..."
"No, not at all." She scoffed. "See, she was going to tell everyone about me. She was a lot smarter than you boys. She figured out that I was working with the bandits." She shrugged. "I had to kill her, or.."
"How could you..?" He shook his head in disbelief. "She loved you like you were her own daughter!"
"The same way I'm going to kill you, now." She told him flatly, and lunged for a swift stab.
Gwedhion twisted out of the way easily, and backed away. "You truly have changed." He accepted, highly disappointed by it all. "I will not allow you to hurt my brother, though."
"You won't be alive to stop me!" She laughed and faked a stab, followed by a swift slash toward his side, hoping he'd jump right into it.

Gwedhion raised his sword to block her attack, instead, and followed up with several attacks in rapid succession, forcing her to block and parry hastily. He was done blocking and evading, now that he knew she was beyond remorse. He saw Viper's eyes widened slightly as he stopped simply defending and began to truly fight. One of the swords was knocked from her hand, and she backed away, struggling to find an opening to slay him. "Did you forget that I had a hand in teaching you to fight?" He asked with a wry smile, though he didn't feel like smiling at all. Her betrayal hurt him deeply... he couldn't even imagine how much it would hurt Gladhrion.
"That may be," She smiled, circling him slowly as their fighting paused, each waiting for an opening. "but I've had many years to train with my men, away from you and your idiot brother."
"Seems to me your fighting skills have deteriorated." He mentioned, remembering a time when she used to spar against Gladhrion, and could sometimes defeat him.
That irked her, apparently, and she leaped forward with a growl, slashing for his middle. Gwedhion leaped back, one hand catching her wrist while his other, moving in a scissor-like motion, slashed his sword across her own middle, leaving a long, deep gash.
She gasped in shock, instantly clutching her wounded middle.
Gwedhion stepped back. "You are the fool, Merilien." He told her softly. "You had everything, and you gave it up for...what? A lot of fancy things, money you can't even use because you're an outlaw... living out here in the middle of the woods with a lot of men who have as much loyalty as...you have." He scowled. "You gave up all that which truly matters for things that don't.. and I'm truly sorry for you."
She looked up at him with a glare. "I despise you... and him.. and all you rangers!" Her face transform into the most hate-filled snarl he'd ever seen as she leaped up and lunged at him again, intent on finishing him off as he stood looking down at her.
Gwedhion was a little caught off-guard by this move, but swiftly caught her sword-wrist, twisting it around, and took it from her. Acting purely on instinct, after so many years of fighting enemies, he used her own sword and stabbed her in the ribs. Immediately, he felt a twinge of regret, letting her fall to the floor. "I'm sorry, Merilien," He murmured, watching as she died very soon after.

Gwedhion stared down at her body, full of mixed feelings about the whole matter.
"What have you done?" Gladhrion's horrified voice tore Gwedhion from his thoughts, and he looked up to see that his brother had just entered through the partially open door. "Meril!" He rushed forward and fell to his knees beside her, eyes wide in horror. "No, Meril...please... no!"
Sorrow, and sympathy for his brother's pain, ripped at Gwedhion's heart, but he couldn't say a word.
"What.. did you do?" Gladhrion cried, pulling her into his arms. "She's still warm..." He looked up and stared at Gwedhion. "Wh...what happened?"
"I... I'm sorry." That was all Gwedhion could say past the lump swelling up in his throat.
Gladhrion stared in confusion, then looked down at her, and back up at him as his eyes widened a little more. He slowly stood, facing his brother. "You... you did this, didn't you?" He accused. "How could you?!" He demanded, when Gwedhion didn't deny it.
"Gladh... I-"
"Why!?" Gladhrion shoved him as hard as he could with both hands, furious. "We came here to rescue her, not kill her!"
"I'm sorry Gladhrion... I had to," Gwedhion could hardly bear this torment, knowing how hurt Gladhrion must be, and how could he tell him all those things she had said?
Gladhrion noticed the dead guy off in the corner, narrowing his eyes as he turned back to Gwedhion. "You've spoken before of what suffering all those captives must be endured, and that they may wish for death. What, did you think to kill her for mercy, to end her suffering? As if she couldn't possibly recover from all of this horror?"
"Gladhrion, you don't understand..." Gwedhion felt miserable, having to be the one who killed her.
"Oh, I understand perfectly! You murdered the woman I loved!" His shout was filled with all the pain and emotion raging through his heart as he swung a fist at his brother.
Gwedhion dodged the blow, stepping back. "Gladhrion! You're wrong, she... she wasn't the same girl you loved, please, trust me!" He pleaded with his little brother.
"Trust you?! You murdered her! How could you do this?" Gladhrion grabbed a candle set in a heavy brass holder, the first thing that came to his hand, and flung it at Gwedhion, desperate to do some harm to the object of his fury, the one who had caused him this ultimate pain. "I didn't even get a chance to speak to her!" His voice broke with emotion as tears brimmed in his eyes. He lunged at Gwedhion, trying to pound at the source of his pain, as if that might make it go away.
Dropping his sword, Gwedhion reached up and caught his brother's wrists before any of his blows could land. "Gladhrion, believe me, you... wouldn't have wanted to," He tried to assure him, though he knew Gladhrion wouldn't believe it.
Gladhrion yanked his hands free, glaring heatedly at him as he shoved Gwedhion back, then snatched up the sword that his brother had dropped. "You traitor... murderer! How could you do this!"
"Gladhrion, put that down." Gwedhion ordered him sternly. His sorrow gradually became replaced with anger, that his brother should accuse him like this. "You really want to know why? She was trying to kill me! She was going to kill you, too."
"You're lying, Meril was only defending herself, because you were trying to kill her! And she'd never hurt me, she loved me!" He swung the sword now.
"You really are a fool, Gladhrion." Gwedhion retorted. He reached swiftly to grab his brother's arm, and swiftly disarmed him, tossing the sword out of both their reach. "She changed, Gladhrion. She was the traitor, even before she left us. She admitted it to me!"
"You're lying!" Gladhrion struggled, and broke free, then struck Gwedhion with a strong hook punch.
Staggering slightly from the unexpected blow, Gwedhion glared at his brother. "She left with them of her own free will, Gladh, she told me so."
"I won't listen to your lies!" The angry young man yelled back at him, passionate in his anger and hurt. "I saw her dragged away! I watched those bandits grab her, I know better than to believe any of that!" He tried to hit Gwedhion again, but ended up taking a punch to the face, himself. He stumbled back against the nearby wall, a hand going up to his jaw, glaring.
"Listen to me, Gladhrion," Gwedhion stepped closer, trying to make his younger brother believe the truth. "She was working with the bandits for years before she went with them. She was their leader for Eru's sake! She killed all those other captives.. she was the traitor, she-"
"No! She didn't do anything like that! If she did anything, they forced her to do it!" Gladhrion insisted, tears streaming down his face by now. "Get away from me! I hate you!" He shoved his brother away.
Gwedhion glared back at him, his anger growing steadily with every remark from his brother. "She killed our mother, Gladhrion." He snapped. "She killed her to keep her from telling everyone what I'm telling you now."
"You'll say anything to cover your own evil deed, won't you? How dare you try to tarnish her name!" Gladhrion glared, shaking in his wrath. "You liar, Meril loved mother. She'd never hurt her, or anyone. How dare you... I wish it were you lying there, instead of her." He stood with fists clenched, glaring with fury. "Go away, I never want to see you again!"
Gwedhion stared back at him, quite stung by those words, and his scowl deepened as his temper took over at last. "You'd rather have a murdering traitor than the brother who saved you from her? Fine!" He growled. "If that's the way you want it... you're dead to me, Gladhrion." He snatched his sword from the floor and put it back in its sheath. "Dead! I no longer have a brother." With that, he stormed out of the cabin, slamming the door on the way out. He heard nothing else for a moment, and no bandits came forth to challenge him, which implied that all the other bandits must have been dealt with at his brother's hand. He almost wished there were still some around, so he could fight them and vent his anger a little, but perhaps it was for the best. He strode away in anger, deciding he ought to at least go and disarm all the traps he could find, which these bandits had laid around their camp to deter any unwelcome visitors.

Climbing up to the top of the ridge, where only hours ago he and Gladhrion had waited in eager anticipation, he stopped in his tracks. A hear-rending sound rose up from the midst of the bandit camp; a wail, or scream, full of bitter anguish and grief, ending in a sobbing sound. Gwedhion turned and gazed down at the cabin below, knowing that his brother was hurting, perhaps more than he ever had before. He knew Gladhrion didn't mean all those things he said.. but just couldn't accept the truth right now. That cry of grief that echoed around the hills nearly ripped his heart out, and Gwedhion felt a twinge of regret for the words that he, too, had said, and took a step back toward his brother. But no, he reminded himself of the state of mind Gladhrion was in right now. He needed some time to come to terms with all of this... time away from Gwedhion. Perhaps, one day, when he'd had time to accept the truth, he might welcome Gwedhion's presence again, but right now it would only anger him and stir his passion back up. With a heavy sigh, the ranger turned and went on his way, his heart sinking as he set off to find a trap to disarm. Would Gladhrion ever forgive him, he wondered?


(Character bios for Gladhrion and Merilien)

[Aikári Salmarinian]

Tarawen: Nice tale!

Rillewen: Exciting to read!

[The Good Hunter]

That's not Sil.

[Aikári Salmarinian]

Frost: Found it out and corrected! Thanks.

[Winddancer]

And hereby concludes the 3rd Short story comp! Man you guys made it hard on me..

And for the first time ever, we have a tie! Frost and Rillewen, congratulations!! <3

I will be squeezing some coins from the NPF asap!

Thanks to all the wonderful entries and keep an eye out for the next one which will be in KD! :D

[The Good Hunter]

Huge congrats to @Rillewen! Excellent stories all around, these were a lot of fun to read!

And now that that's said and done, since we know you can all write amazing Shirefolk stories, get to the Farthings thread and start filling it up!!

[Zôrzimril]

Yay, big congrats you two!

Thank you for running the competition, Windy!