"Juggling"    by Tialys

In which Pippin is sick, Frodo is captured, and juggling can always entertain.

"No, Pearl! I wanna get up!"

Frodo Baggins halted at the scream upon the realization it had sounded from the doorway he had almost naively strode past. That would have been a mistake. Flattening himself against the wall, Frodo prayed he could remain out of sight to the room’s occupants until the storm had passed.

Frodo and his uncle had been staying at the Smial’s for the better part of the Yule holiday when their visit had been sorely interrupted by a sudden outbreak of winter colds, effecting a large portion of the children living or visiting that Yule. Peregrin Took, young son of the Thain and host of the scream now reverberating through all Tookland, had also managed to catch the traveling virus and had been commissioned by his eldest sister, Pearl, to remain abed so as to not infect his cousins with the illness. He was none too pleased.

Attempting to slide quietly along the wall, Frodo carefully formed his retreat from the open doorway, but the impertinent floorboards denied him his desired secrecy. A high-pitched whine from the wooden planks eagerly reported his location to his cousin and Pearl Took appeared in moments from within the dreaded chasm formally known as Pippin’s bedroom.

"Frodo!" The quick plea was squeaked before Frodo had even completed his running turn. Trapped in Pearl’s line of sight – and staying only for the sake of politeness – Frodo winced into his lower lip and painstakingly turned to face his cousin. Politeness was highly overrated.

Pearl had always prided herself in her precise and mature sense of style and neatness. The hair should always be just so, the dress of no lesser importance in appearance either. Alas! Neatness was also overrated in itself – or rather underrated in difficulty of maintaining. Pearl’s golden curls hung in stiff wisps from their once-beautiful tie. Her partly rolled up sleeves were wrinkled and uneven, one having fallen from its roll and was now dangling from her arm. Worst of all, her gleaming eyes were now piercing her unfortunate elder cousin, who, reading the gaze, was already stuttering his polite farewells.

"Hullo, Pearl-dear! Isn’t the weather fine today?" No response, though Pearl did notice the hobbit’s light, retreating tread and began closing the gap between them with uncanny grace and speed. "In fact," Frodo stammered, "it is such a fine day I simply must go examine it closer. Very nice to see you, but I must --"

"Frodo-dear!" The mock term of affection sounded quite traitorous to the captured tween, but he bore his fate in pained silence. "Yes, it is lovely weather is it not? You know I simply abhor retaining you from the great beauty of our gardens here, but my poor brother has been asking of you all day. He hasn’t seen his favorite cousin as often as he would prefer – what with his illness and all – and it would mean ever so much to him if you would look in on him for a few hours." Frodo grimaced at his cousin’s poorly utilized use of sarcasm, knowing full well he was not the favorite – his Brandybuck cousin Meriadoc having retained that position for many years – and also knowing he could in no way prove the fact incorrect at the moment.

Now properly facing his cousin, Frodo drew a shaking breath, set a sickeningly fake smile on his face, and drew into play all the charm he felt possible to produce to counter such horrid acts as Pearl was committing. "Dear cousin, I so wish I could – you know that, right? – but I have just remembered that Bilbo has been wanting a word with me all morning. Now surely I cannot refuse such a simple request, can I?"

"No, of course not, Frodo. Then I am sure you would not find it difficult to do the same for my simple request."

Cruel fingers wrapped in a steel grip around Frodo’s arm and he found himself being born away into the feared chamber of yellow-painted walls that was his youngest cousin’s room.

The usually cheery room was unsettlingly dark with the curtains drawn closed – strongly reminding Frodo of the fact that he was now prisoner in the dreaded room. Though the brightly colored walls generated a bit more light, the atmosphere of graphic unhappiness hung thick in the air. Assorted toys and other items that had failed to amuse the Thain’s heir littered the floor and Frodo was pleased to find his path hampered by their glorious presence. Not to be so easily defeated, Pearl daintily extended a foot and brushed the offending items to the side with a falsely perky "There we go!" Finding nothing else to bar her escape, Pearl bid a hasty good-bye to her victim, a motherly command to Pippin to behave, and was gone.

Resigned at last to his doom, Frodo carefully navigated the path to Pippin’s bed. His little cousin was propped up with an assorted collection of colorful, embroidered pillows – evidence of his three adoring elder sisters and their numerous lessons in stitchwork. Pippin’s hair was in a state far worse than his sister’s had been – probably due to the fact that the young Took’s hair was always in a state far worse than anyone’s. Pippin sat stone-faced in his enforced upright position, arms locked together across his chest, icy glare fixed on his toes – buried as they were beneath three layers of blanket. He made no acknowledgement of his cousin’s entrance and only slumped lower in his bed when Frodo approached.

With infinite caution, Frodo eased himself down to sit on the edge of the bed, clearing his throat carefully before attempting speech. "Hullo, Pip." No response from his cousin. Perhaps it would be easier this way. "How are you feeling?" Frodo asked – then winced. ‘How is he feeling?! Idiot! He’s sick and stuck in bed.’

The ice being broken – or at least cracked – for the moment, Pippin finally raised flashing green eyes to his cousin, a pout fixed unwaveringly on his face. "I wanna get up, Frodo. I’m bored." It was not an outburst, for that Frodo was glad, but it was also not fixable.

"I know you are, Pip," Frodo assured him, "but you are also sick. You’ll heal faster if you stay in bed and rest." Simple reasoning to the bookly Frodo, outright dumb to the feisty Pippin, who just stared at Frodo, his gaze showing he sadly realized that his poor cousin had gone mad. Reading his cousin’s gaze, Frodo sighed in defeat and fell back onto the bed with a martyred groan.

"Well, Pip," Frodo said, "what shall we do about that? If I let you up Pearl will kill me." Not literally... he hoped. ‘Eru, help me!’

"You can beat her, Frodo! You’re bigger than her!" Pippin’s childlike faith in Frodo was touching, even if it was also depressing in this situation.

"Pip," Frodo reasoned again, "you know I cannot do that! You wouldn’t really want me to hurt her would you?" ‘Please say no, please say no.’

Silence met Frodo’s straining ears and he sat up in suspense, waiting for Pippin’s next words.

"But I’m bored, Frodo!" Pippin whined, willing through volume to make his cousin understand his predicament.

Frodo chewed his lip in desperation, searching his cousin’s mournful face in hopes of finding brilliance there. And he did. Frodo sprang from the bed, nearly tripping over a large stuffed bear from beside Pippin’s bed, and twirled to face his cousin. "Wait just a moment, Pip. I’ll be right back." And he was gone.

Pressed against the paneled walls of the Great Smials yet again, Frodo carefully crossed the expanse of twisting hallways and entrances to his guest room. He was careful this time to not be caught as before – if anyone found out that Paladin Took’s precious little child was sick, alone, and unwatched, an uproar was soon to ensue.

Reaching the safe haven of his room, Frodo dragged his leather-bound trunk from beneath the bed and rummaged through the case’s many compartments. Emerging from his room triumphant, Frodo retraced the hazardous path back to Pippin’s room, his treasure clutched protectively to his chest.

"Here we are!" He announced as he reappeared in Pippin’s room, finally depositing his prize onto the bed topmost comforter. Pippin leapt eagerly from the confines of the blankets, crawling forward to closer inspect the items. Laying atop the daisy-bordered quilt lay three brightly painted balls: red, green and blue. All shone with a colorful sparkle in the room’s dim lighting as they clinked together merrily on the bed. Beaming in anticipation, Pippin at last tore his gaze from the balls and back to his cousin’s smiling face.

"What are they?" Came the excited whisper – wove with the thrill of sharing in some important secret which only the two speaking may know of.

Grinning back, Frodo hefted the red ball in his hand, testing the weight. "These, Pippin, and juggling balls. Dwarves made them years ago and Bilbo gave them to me to play with on rainy days."

"Or when you were sick?"

"Yes, that too."

"What’s julging?"

"Juggling? Well, its hard to do, Pip. It took me many rainy days to get good at it."

"Show me!"

Frodo smiled slyly at Pippin, tossed the red ball to his other hand and picked up the blue ball in the other. Pacing off a few feet from the bed, he flicked his right wrist lightly and the blue ball floated into the air. Captivated, Pippin followed the ball’s travel as it floated up then down again to Frodo’s other hand. Right before the blue ball would have hit the already present red one, Frodo snapped his other wrist and sent the red ball in a similar arch through the air to his right hand. He stopped for a moment and looked to Pippin, measuring his response hopefully.

"Wow!" Pippin rocked back on the bed, clapping his hands in appreciation. "Do it again! Faster!"

Frodo smiled in triumph at his cousin’s exclamation. "Oh, I can go much faster than that, Pip."

To the endless delight of Pippin, Frodo reached back to the bed and lifted the green ball in his hand where it joined the blue one in his palm. "Watch close, now!"

For a good half hour Frodo held his audience of one captive with the wondrous tricks he could perform with the shiny colored balls. They flew brilliantly through the air, arching like a rainbow and falling, always to an empty, waiting hand.

Tiring in the end, Frodo sighed in finality and sank back down to the bed with a much more humorous groan than previously. "Remember, Pip," he breathed, "juggling can almost always entertain you."

Pippin grinned and through his little arms around his favorite cousin. "I’ll remember, Frodo. Promise."

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"Really, Pippin, I’m fine. I can get up now."

Pippin grinned good-naturedly and pressed his cousin back against the bed using only his thumb. Frodo had awakened from his healing sleep only the other day and the healers had unanimously labeled him too fragile to be up and walking yet. Frodo’s feet were wrapped in bandages – the trek through Mordor’s rough landscape having torn their soles profusely – and deemed unsuitable for walking on for a few more days. Pippin – having the been the first hobbit Aragorn could locate – had been gifted the feared task of ensuring that the ring-bearer stay abed until given permission to rise. The task was proving harder than the knight of Gondor had anticipated, Frodo having acquired much of his spirit back only hours after awakening, if not his full strength.

"Frodo," Pippin pressed gently, "Strider said you’re not to be up and about until your feet heal completely. If you --"

"Pip, they’re wrapped up. They’ll be fine!"

"— walk on them before then you could infect them and then we would have to cut your feet off and we really don’t want to have to do that, cousin." Pippin ended this with a sparkling grin and turned his back to Frodo, searching through a shelf of bandages and ointments.

"Pip, what --"

"Here we are!" Pippin turned from the shelf with two rolls of bandages in his hands and a smirk on his childlike face. "I bet you never thought I would ever be able to do this!"

"Pippin, I don’t need any more bandages, I’m fine."

Pippin chuckled. "No, silly! I’ve learned to juggle! Just like you taught me. And since you seem quite bored at the moment, I shall entertain you with my amazing abilities!"

Practically skipping to the foot of the bed, Pippin positioned a bandage roll in each hand and deftly began throwing them in the air with surprisingly gentle grace, catching them each time.

Frodo could not help but grin affectionately as his cousin proceeded to start walking in circles around the room, still continuing to juggle the pale bandages. "You said it yourself, cousin," Pippin explained matter-of-factly, "juggling can always entertain you."

As Frodo finally submitted, leaning comfortably back against the pillows, there came a soft knock and the large wooden door swung open. Pippin stopped his juggling and turned to greet the visitor, but was met by a startled cry instead.

Samwise stood in the doorway in shock at the sight; his master slumped back against the pillows and Pippin standing beside the bed with bandages in his hands. It was all too much for the gardener so soon from awakening himself and he rushed to the bedside in panic.

"Mr. Frodo, are you alright? Sir! Mr. Pippin, what happened? What’s wrong?"

Recognizing the voice instantly, Frodo jerked up in bed, grabbing Sam’s arms and hastily repeating reassurances over Sam’s cries, shaking him into silence when he became too frantic to listened.

When the surprise of the situation wore off, Pippin could hold in his amusement no more and collapsed on the floor in a fit of giggles. Ignoring the fierce glares the ring-bearers sent him he managed to gasp, "You were right, Frodo! Juggling can always entertain you!"

May 11, 2004