“Come now, Master Pippin, it’s not so bad, really.”

The young hobbit looked sourly up at Sam as the two of them trudged through the muddy woods, scowling as his foot sank nearly up to the knee in a cold, squishy puddle.

He cast a suffering glare to his companion.

“All right,” Sam agreed to that silent complaint, helping the eight-year-old pull his trapped appendage out of the mud.  “It could be a sight better, but really, Master Pippin, it’s not as bad as all that.”

A large raindrop landed on the Took’s sharp nose at that moment, and his scowl deepened as he stared cross-eyed at it. 

 “Sam, the supply wagon lost two wheels, the horses ran away, we haven’t eaten since breakfast this morning, it’s been raining all day, we’re cold, tired, and still have about two hours to go before we reach the Inn.  And when we get there Frodo and Merry will probably be too drunk to comprehend what has happened let alone help us.  How, pray tell, is it not so bad?” Pippin snapped.

 Sam had to admit the lad had a point, but tried to push that thought aside as he wrapped his arm around the slender shoulders and started them both moving again.

“It could be snowin’ rather than rainin’,” he replied, and received a smile for his effort.  “And we could have three hours to travel rather than two.  And even drunk, I think Mister Frodo and Mister Merry will be able to help us, if only to get us to a hot bath.”

Pippin sighed mournfully, stumbling over the uneven ground as rain began to fall in earnest. 

 “I just want to eat some supper and go to bed,” he whispered pitifully, sniffing slightly.

Sam frowned, not liking the sound of that sniffle.  After all, he thought to himself, Master Pippin is disposed to illness, and this tramping about in the muck can’t be good for him.

“Come on, Lad, we’ll be there soon enough,” he said comfortingly. 

The young Took was silent as they continued on, sloshing through the rain with a determined stride.  After a while, though, even Sam began to feel miserable, and there was not more talk between them. 

After what felt like an eternity they finally spotted the Inn where they were supposed to meet the other two, and their stride lengthened considerably. 

 “We’re almost there, Lad,” Sam said reassuringly, smiling down at the small hobbit next to him.  “Soon we’ll be having a warm supper and a hot bath!”

Pippin nodded, smiling up at the gardener weakly as they made their way to the front of the Inn, the name obscured by splattered mud and rain. 

 “Remind me never to let Frodo live this down,” he whispered loudly to Sam as they entered, both of them sighing as the warmth of the fires in the common room settled about them.

They looked around, seeking out the two familiar forms that had landed them in their predicament. 

“There they are,” Sam said, relieved, as he pointed to where Frodo and Merry were standing near the back of the room, talking to three others Sam did not recognize. 

 As they approached, though, Frodo’s voice raised, his hands making a placating gesture.

 “Calm down, Lotho, before you say something that you will surely regret,” Frodo was saying, though his eyes had turned hard.  It was apparent to the eight-year-old that his eldest cousin was not only sober, but terribly angry as well.  “Now we offered to buy you an ale to replace the one Merry dropped.  If you don’t want it, then let it be and leave us alone.”

Merry was scowling fiercely at the Slackville-Baggins, though he, too, was far from drunk and was wisely allowing Frodo to take the lead.

“I said I don’t want no stinking ale!” Lotho bellowed, and the room became silent.  The large hobbit’s fist balled, and before any could move, he took a swing at Merry while one of his cronies tried to do the same to Frodo.

Something snapped inside of Pippin, and he let out a roar that sounded something like, “RoooooaaaaaaarrrrrrrDon’tyoutouchmyMerry!” before launching himself at the inebriated hobbit. 

 He was vaguely aware of Sam doing something similar next to him, and then he was on Lotho’s back, biting, kicking, and screeching into the other’s ear. 

 Frodo, who had dodged the intended blow as easily as Merry had, exchanged a startled look with his cousin as two sopping mud-creatures pummeled their would-be attackers.  They had both taken an involuntary step back at the roar, but now, as they watched in amazement as both Sam and little Pippin kicked, bit, hit, and screamed, they shared another shocked look before wading into the fray.

 “Pippin, you stop it this instant!” Merry yelled at his young cousin, trying to pry him from Lotho’s back while at the same time avoid the larger hobbit’s flaying fists.  “Get off of him!”

“Sam, stop, it’s all right!” Frodo yelled at his friend, trying to get between the gardener and the two drunks he was beating soundly.  “Please, stop!”

With great effort the two rescuers were finally calmed down enough to desist their angry thrashings.  Frodo, Sam, Lotho and Merry all stood around the two bloody hobbits on the floor, Pippin held firmly in Merry’s grasp as he panted, ignoring the angry tears making muddy tracks down his dirty face. 

 “Does the great Frodo Baggins need a whelp to fight his battles for him now?” Lotho sneered, ignoring his bloody lip and nose as he glared at the three older hobbits. 

 Frodo opened his mouth to answer and was cut short as Pippin screamed again and launched himself, somehow, out of Merry’s grasp.  Small as he was, the force of his body hitting the other sent them both to the ground, where he proceeded to shriek and hit as hard as his small fists permitted him to.

 “Don’t you talk to my cousin that you way you nasty, evil, no-good, filthy hobbit!” he yelled. 

 “Pippin, stop it!” three voices yelled in horror, Frodo, Sam, and Merry moving to pull him off the cowering form on the floor. 

 “Master Pippin, that’s enough!” Sam shouted, reaching him first and hauling him off Lotho without effort. 

 For a moment the young hobbit continued to kick and scream, fighting his friend as he struggled to get back to his opponent even as Sam tried to calm him down.  Then, as the other continued to talk soothingly to him and hold him firmly, he went limp, all the fight leaving him at once as he started to sob.

“It’s all right, Pip-lad, it’s all right,” Sam soothed, turning his back to Frodo and Merry, who were non-to-gently picking Lotho up.  He did not want the young hobbit to see what they might do.  “Hush, Pippin, you did a good job, it’s all right now, it’s over.”

The eight-year-old continued to sob into Sam’s already soaked clothes, his little body shaking as he clung desperately to his friend.  A few moments later, Merry was beside him, adding his soothing voice to Sam’s.

 “Hush, Pippin, hush,” he coaxed, and offered his arms to Sam.  Sam relinquished his burden with a small sigh, looking over his shoulder to where Frodo had been, though the other was nowhere in sight.

“Frodo is taking out the trash,” Merry growled, absently rubbing Pippin’s back.  He only then seemed to notice the appearance of his two friends, and did a double take as he took in Sam and Pippin’s muddy, wet condition.  “What happened to you two?” he demanded.

“I want a bath!” Pippin wailed miserably, burying his head in Merry’s shoulder. 

“All right, Pip-dearest, we’ll get you one,” Merry soothed, holding the shivering form closer.  “Come on, Sam, you could use one as well, and can tell me what happened on the way.”

Sam followed eagerly, the call of a hot bath outweighing the grumbling of his stomach.

 “You mean you walked all the way from the market to here?” Frodo demanded incredulously sometime later, staring at a much cleaner and sated Sam as they sat around the fire in Merry’s room. 

 Pippin lay wrapped in blankets on the bed, exhausted from his tiring day, Merry next to him. 

Sam nodded, taking another drag from his pipe. 

“No wonder the two of you looked as though you had been dipped in mud,” Frodo sighed, a gleam coming to his eyes.  “I must say, though, that it gave Lotho quiet a shock to be set upon by two mud-beasts.”

 Sam laughed with the others, his eyes twinkling. 

 “Aye, and one of them shrieking fit to bring down the roof at that,” he added, smiling at the sleeping bundle on the bed.  “Poor lad, he’s had a rough day.”

 “I never realized he could be so vicious,” Merry murmured as he stroked still damp curls from the little brow. 

 “He was defending his family, Mister Merry,” Sam said softly, his eyes moving to where Frodo was staring out the window, seemingly lost in thought.  “Even a little one such as him has teeth when those he loves are threatened.”

 A laugh from Frodo startled him, and twinkling blue eyes swiveled to meet the gardener’s.  “I’m sure Lotho can attest to that,” Frodo laughed.

“You gave a good accounting yourself, Sam,” Merry pointed out, grinning.

 “Like I said,” Sam smiled, and if there was a bit of steel behind his eyes, the others did not comment on it.  “Never get between a hobbit and his loved ones.”