“It’s stuck.”

The look generated by these two simple words would have been enough to melt iron had the owner of the glaring eyes not also been trying to wriggle his body about like a large worm.

“Thank you for that stunning observation, Cousin!  Now what do you propose we do about it?”  Peregrin Took snapped waspishly.  His curls, normally untidy and sticking out in every direction were now stuck to his forehead with sweat as he tried, once more, to disengage his arm from the tree that firmly held it. 

Meridadoc Brandybuck, said observant cousin, was curiously circling the treacherous tree, trying to figure out how in all of Middle Earth his young kin had gotten into his current predicament.

“What the blazes did you do?” he finally demanded, coming back around to stare his cousin down. 

 “I was trying,” Pippin said with as much dignity as his position would allow, “to get a kitten out of the hollow.  I heard it mewling all the way down the path, rotten little thing!”  He punctuated the last statement by violently twisting his body once more in a vain attempt to free his arm, only to have a sharp pain shoot up through his hand and all the way down to his shoulder.  “Aaaghh!” he yelped.

 “Well then stop doing that!  It hasn’t worked the last seven times you tried it, I doubt it would work the eighth!” Merry growled in exasperation.   “Honestly, Pippin, only you would get his hand stuck in a tree trying to rescue kittens in the King’s own garden, and a Knight of Gondor at that!”

“Exactly!” Pippin cried, trying to emphasis his point with an awkward hand flail.  “I am honor bound to help all those in need, and the kitten was in need.  Of a good thrashing!” he finished, slumping forward in sudden weariness.  “Little brat crawled right over my arm and down my leg as though I were nothing more than a climbing post!” he added indignantly. 

 The two hobbits looked at each other for a moment before the hilarity of the situation finally got to them, and they broke up into peals of laughter.  Pippin leaned against the tree, fighting for breath as tears ran down his face, Merry not much better off.  Each time they looked at the other it only set them to giggling even more, until at last, smiling, they managed to speak calmly.

“Seriously, though, Merry, my arm is really starting to hurt.  Please help me to think of something before I am caught!” Pippin entreated, laying his head against the rough bark of his captor.  

“I’ll head to the kitchen and see about getting some butter.  I figure we can do what we did when you got your head stuck in that banister a few years back,” Merry murmured thoughtfully.     

 Pippin winced at the reminder of one his lesser moments, but nodded in resignation.  “Just go quickly,” he begged.

 Merry paused only long enough to smile encouragingly before running swiftly off in the direction of the kitchen, leaving his younger kin to fend for himself.

It was, Pippin later reflected, inevitable. 

Not long after Merry had left he started to hear voices floating his way down the garden path.  Familiar voices.  Of people he did not want to find him at the moment.  He closed his eyes, trying once more to struggle his arm loose, only to feel another sharp pain followed by the sensation of sticky warmth trickling into his fingers.  He growled softly to himself. 

“Rotten, no good, stupid, wretched little cat!” he hissed, trying to raise himself up slightly in the vain hope that better leverage would help him, as his arm was stuck at an upward angle, the hole being slightly above his shoulder.      His fingers had begun to loose feeling quite some time ago. 

 His foot slipped and he banged back against the tree, not quite able to stifle the anguished squeak that escaped him before he could bite his lip. 

 “What was that?” one of the voices asked softly, and he cursed.

 “What is what?  I heard nothing, Elf.  The flowers must be speaking to you again.”

“No, Gimli, I am certain I heard something, coming from over there.”

Pippin groaned and tried as hard as anyone could who had their arm stuck in a tree to become invisible.

“What in the world –“

To no avail.

“Hello, Legolas, Gimli,” he greeted them glumly, not looking up at them as they crashed through the hedges to get to his side.

 “What trouble have you gotten yourself into this time, young Hobbit?” Gimli demanded, then stopped short upon seeing the situation.  He burst out into great guffaws, laughing so hard he actually snorted.

Legolas, for his part, was doing an admirable job of keeping his face straight, though it took a moment before he could speak.  “Pip-lad, what have you done to yourself?”

 “I was trying to rescue a kitten,” he explained again, with as much dignity as was left to him. 

Gimli fell to the ground laughing, snorting and choking as he fought for breath.  Legolas’ lips twitched, though he did not smile. 

“And were you successful?” he asked instead.

 “Mew?”

The elf and hobbit looked down at the small bundle of brown fur that was slowly winding itself around Legolas’ legs, looking for all the world like the sweetest of beings.  Pippin knew otherwise.  The look he gave Legolas was too much, and finally the elf succumbed.

When Merry arrived back with a large bowl of oil, rather than butter, it was to an even more unusual sight then he had left.  Pippin was standing on Gimli’s back, who was on all fours and scowling fiercely, as Legolas vainly attempted to wrestle Pippin’s arm out of the tree’s clutches.

 “Owww!  Legolas, stop!” Pippin yelped, trying to jerk away from the sharp pain shooting down to his toes and nearly falling off of his precarious perch. 

 “Blast it, Peregrin Took, watch where you step, that’s my hip, not a stair!” Gimli yelled. 

 “What in the Shire is going on?” Merry asked incredulously. 

 Legolas turned to him, eyes lighting up at the sight of the oil. 

 “Good, bring it here, Merry.  I think I almost got it the last time, with that I should be able to wiggle him free.  Gimli, be still for a moment.  Pippin, lean forwards a little, yes, just like that, all right now, on the count of three!” Legolas instructed, as he liberally poured oil over the young hobbit’s arm.  Pippin winced, but did as he was told, and on the count of three, with Legolas pulling and Merry tugging on his waist, he twisted and wiggled and felt his skin give way.  With a sharp curse he fell backward, bringing elf, cousin and dwarf with him, as Legolas landed on Gimli and sent him on his stomach with a great “woof!” of air.

“Thank goodness!” Pippin gasped, cradling his oily, bleeding arm to his chest and wiggling his slightly blue fingers.  “I thought I would never escape that monster, and years from now countless generations of Gondorians would be paying admission to feed me and watch me do my business!” 

 Merry snorted in laughter as Legolas helped Gimli to his feet, all of them crowding around the ruffled hobbit to assess the damage.  Merry hissed at the sight, all humor leaving him as he took in the great gash that ran from mid forearm to wrist. 

 “You should have Aragorn look at that,” Legolas murmured, his own mirth leaving him.  He quickly unwound the sash around his waist and wrapped it firmly around Pippin’s arm, kneeling down as he did so as not to tower over his wounded friend.

“Aye, it looks rather nasty,” Gimli sighed, scowling, and shook his head.  “All for a kitten,” he harrumphed.

 “Well, what did you want me to do, leave it there?” Pippin asked, irritated and in pain. 

 “Of course not,” Legolas soothed, tying off the improvised bandage.  “Come, Pippin, let us go find Aragorn and see what he can do for this.”

 “Do for what?” a curious voice asked off to their left, and the four friends looked up to find said King standing in the center of the pathway, looking at the strange gathering with a bewildered look on his face.

 “Your young knight has been rescuing kittens, Aragorn, and has taken hurt,” Gimli explained with a wry smile. 

 “Aye, and would have still been stuck in that tree if not for you three,” Pippin agreed, wincing as Aragorn climbed over the hedge and knelt down to investigate his friend’s arm. 

Legolas smiled gently as he placed a hand on Pippin’s curly head, winking to Merry as he responded, “What are friends for, Pippin?”

 “Aye,” Aragorn agreed, looking up from his investigation to smile at the four of them. 

Something passed between them all, then, something that could never have been spoken, but was known nonetheless.  A knowledge of friendship and love that surpassed humorous rescues and battered egos.  That no matter what the situation, they could count on each other to be there. 

Even if they laughed the entire way.