Hell’s Kitchen

 

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I do not own Lord Of The Rings…nuff said.

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They had been walking since first light, and it was clear that the energy levels and morale of the Hobbits was low. If they didn’t stop soon, Strider would have a mutiny on his hands.

“This dell is sheltered”. He announced. “We are unlikely to find a better campsite before nightfall”.

In unison the Hobbits dropped their bags, falling to the ground in a somewhat uncontrolled heap.

“Thank you”. Merry said to the sky. “I’m aching in places I didn’t even know could ache”.

“My feet feel two sizes to big”. Frodo looked down. “They are two sizes too big”.

“And my stomach is too empty”. Pippin said, prompting Merry to roll his eyes and Sam to start sorting his pots and pans. This was the moment Pippin had been waiting for all day. “I was thinking that I might try cooking tonight”.

“What?” His cousins chorused.

“I want to learn to cook”. Pippin stated. “I’ve never tried it before”.

“Oh yes you have”. Frodo and Merry both shivered slightly as they remembered. Neither Bilbo nor Bag End’s kitchen had ever truly recovered from Pippin’s first culinary experience.

“Well if I can’t remember it I can’t have been that old”. Pippin argued.

“I’m willing to teach Mister Pippin a thing or two about the kitchen sirs”. Sam said, fishing around in his bag. “Here we are, taytes, can’t go wrong with taytes”. Sam lay the five potatoes, bought in Bree, on the cloth in front of him. “I’ll show you what to do Mister Pippin, and then you can have a go for yourself”.

Pippin’s eyes lit up as he sat down in front of the potatoes. Frodo and Merry couldn’t help but be impressed at his studious approach, listening carefully to Sam, asking questions if he didn’t understand, and nodding attentively when he did. Finally the Gardener announced him ready to attempt the ‘taytes’ and Pippin carefully carried the cooking pot over to the fire and got to work.

Strider, sat in a shadowed corner with his pipe lit, sighed. “This could go one of two ways”. He murmured under his breath.

By this time darkness was starting to set in, the light of Pippin’s cooking fire casting dancing shadows across the dell. The Tweenager worked diligently, and to everyone’s surprise silently, save for the odd bit of humming or song he broke into as he checked the boiling water.

“Water”. Frodo suddenly broke out. “We need to fill the canteens”. How could he have forgotten?

“There was that river we passed”. Sam suggested.

“Should we be leaving Pippin alone?” Merry whispered, not wanting his youngest cousin to hear.

“He seems to be doing okay Mister Merry, and Strider is looking after him”.

Strider appeared to be asleep.

“Sort off”. Sam added.

“We’ll only be ten minutes, what could he possibly do in ten minutes?" Frodo announced the argument finalised and hurried over to inform Pippin of their whereabouts.

***

Pippin carefully sliced the loaf, every now and again looking over at the cooking pot. It had been simple enough, he felt almost patronised. Still, if it gave them more confidence in his abilities to be useful to Frodo’s quest, then he was willing to see it through. He got to work buttering the bread.

The other Hobbit’s had been gone for quite a while, and Pippin was having trouble deciding if Strider was awake or asleep in his corner, the embers of his pipe dying out. Finally footsteps filled the Dell, followed by laughter from Frodo and Sam at one of Merry’s jokes.

“Well Pippin how is dinner looking?"

Pippin stood up. “I boiled the water, heated the pot, and covered the potatoes just like you said Sam”. Pippin stated proudly. “They have been on there for ages now, they should be finished soon”.

Sam nodded, impressed. “Haven’t had a good ‘tayte’ in ages”. He announced, placing the filled canteen in his bag. “Did you remember to clean them Mister Pippin?"

“Yes”. Pippin rolled his eyes.

“And you checked the heat of the pot like I showed you?"

“Yes Sam”.

“And you pricked them?"

“Yes…what?” Pippin, on hearing this, physically paled. “Prick?”

“Made little holes in the potatoes, to let the heat out”.

Pippin pales even more. “Holes?"

In one fluid movement, the Hobbits rushed towards the cooking pot, yelling at the nearby Strider. “Get if off the fire!"

They were too late.

The lid shot into the air, disappearing in the night sky before landing less than a foot away from the unsuspecting Strider, who seemed to leap even higher in response. This was followed by all that remained of the potatoes shooting across the campsite with the force of a bomb, prompting everyone to dive behind the nearest rock. The explosions ended as quickly as it began, with potatoes and coal covering the campsite indistinguishable from each other.

Strider, from where he was sat, lit his pipe again.

“This could go one of two ways”. He murmured under his breath as he listened to Frodo speak.

“And that Sam, is why we never let Peregrin cook”.