Okay, a disclaimer. Nothing is mine. None of the characters are mine. I was just creative with it. Hats off to Prof. Tolkien, everyone!

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For once, Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took were something other than hungry.

They were bored, stuck in a tree flet in Lorien, and they didn’t know where everyone else was. Somewhere in the woods, no doubt. The two hobbits guessed at where their friends were, but they remained bored out of their minds.

The idea was Pippin’s, of course. “Let’s go through everyone’s bags, and see what they’re carrying around.”

“What?” said Merry. “Why would we wanna do that?”

“Maybe we’ll find something interesting.”

Rifling through his pockets, Merry pointed out, “Pippin, what could be more interesting than this–” he held up a carrot, broken in two — “or this?” — a pouch of pipeweed. “Which is all I’ve got in mine, that and some extra clothes.”

“Come on, Merry. I’m bored.”

“I KNOW YOU’RE BORED!”

“You don’t have to yell at me,” Pippin pouted, and started to clamber down the ladder. Merry looked over the edge of the flet at him. Pippin waved, and Merry climbed down too, not to be left out of the fun.

The Fellowship’s bags were clustered at the bottom of a tree. “Property of Gondor,” Merry read off one of the bags. “DO NOT TOUCH.”

“Well, whose do you think that is?” said Pippin, mostly seriously.

Merry ignored him and pulled it open. “Let’s see. He’s got ‘Stewardship for Dummies’, ‘How to Deal with Being the Favorite’, ‘History of the Rings of Power’, aaaaaaand… ‘The Broken Line of the Kings of Gondor’. Does this guy carry around anything but books?”

“Oooh, ooh, let me see.” Pippin pushed him out of the way. “A Gondor flag. A Gondor scarf. A Gondor travel brochure. Wonder why he’d need that? And, oh, there’s Gondor—eeuww, Gondor underwear?”

Both hobbits burst out laughing, stuffed Boromir’s things back in his bag, and moved on to the next one. Merry peered inside. “Lembas. Lembas. A bottle of shampoo.”

“Legolas?” Pippin giggled.

“Duh.”

“So… what else?”

“Lembas. Lembas. More shampoo. Conditioner. Mousse. Three hairbrushes, one, two, three, four, five, six, SEVEN combs, a bottle of hairspray, a pack of hair elastics, more lembas, a magazine featuring none other than Legolas himself as ‘Elven hottie of the year’–”

Pippin stifled his laughter.

“–a hair dryer with nothing to run it on, and a large mirror.”

Pippin yanked the mirror from Merry. It fell to the ground and shattered. “Um…” They started picking up all the pieces of glass with speed almost unimaginable from two hobbits, and, not to be discouraged, they then moved on to the next bag.

“It’s really heavy. What does Gimli cart around?” huffed Pippin as he pulled the bag out from underneath the others. “Bricks?” He looked in it. “Nope. Rocks.”

“Rocks? Why rocks?”

“I seriously have no idea. Loads of rocks, a picture of Galadriel, another picture of some dwarves–”

“What does it say?”

“Um… Greetings from the Mines! Wish you were here, Sis.”

“Sis? As in ‘sister’?” Merry scrutinized the picture.

“Um… yeah, I think.”

“But she’s got a beard!”

There was a noise. Pippin shoved the picture back into Gimli’s pack, which he closed surreptitiously.

“Whassat?” he whispered.

“Dunno. Elves, maybe.”

Nothing happened, and the troublesome duo continued to raid bags. The most thought-provoking (as they’re hobbits, that’s really not saying much) thing they found was a lacy, heart-shaped card in Aragorn’s bag, shoved deep into the pages of ‘Kingship of Gondor for Dummies’.

“I can’t read cursive, Merry, what does it say?”

“Uhm… ‘I love you Ary darling,’ and then something in Elvish, and then, ‘love, Arwen’. Aragorn’s got a girlfriend!”

“We knew that, remember?”

“We did?”

The food bag, of course, was a particular object of their attentions. But they were soon distracted…

“Wozthibiggen?” mumbled Pippin, through a mouthful of fruit.

“Parmud?” said Merry, and swallowed. “Pardon?”

“What. Is. The. Big. One?” enunciated Pippin.

“Don’t know, Pip, but I think it’s Sam’s.”

Pippin stuck his head into Sam’s backpack. “Hey! There are POTATOES in here!”

“And you’re surprised?” said Merry, rolling his eyes. “What else?”

“Some pans. And–what the–” Pippin pulled out a small bag, tied neatly.Inside it was a small stack of papers.

“Letters?”

“Yeah, I guess, but who would be sending Sam letters?”

Pippin unfolded one. “Um… Haha! Get this, it starts: ‘Dearest Sammie, you’ve been gone far, far too long.’ ”

“Pip?”

“I’m not done. ‘Where did you go, anyway? I wish you’d come back, love. I’m lonely. I miss you, and I’ve been waiting for you to come home to Hobbiton ever since you left.'”

“Um, Pippin?”

“It goes on… ‘Sam darling, you have to come back soon. I shan’t ever get married if you don’t. Love–‘ ”

“Pippin, you might wanna–”

“What? And it ends ‘Love and kisses, Rosie.’ Well, who would have–”

“OY! PIPPIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNN! PUT THOSE DOWN, THEY’RE NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!” shouted someone right behind him. Pippin whirled around, only to find himself facing a red-faced, angered Sam.

“And quit laughing, Merry!”

Fifteen minutes later, from an angry Galadriel: “I will NOT have unruly hobbits chasing each other around while you are in my land. IS THAT CLEAR? And give me that frying pan, Samwise Gamgee.”