Disclaimer: None of these precious hobbits are mine, they all belong to JRR Tolkien.

Written for Marigold’s Challenge #4: “Well, we really are in the frying pan now.”

ROSIE, MARIGOLD, DAISIES, AND PIPPIN

“Pippin, leave Gandalf’s staff alone!”

The teenager startled at his cousin’s presence. “I’m only looking at it! What harm is there in only looking?”

Frodo snorted, “Plenty! Especially if the observer is Peregrin Took. Shall I mention a few examples of harm?”

“I thought you were in the kitchen talking with Gandalf and Merry,” Pippin replied, eyes still fixed on the ominous staff.

“I was,” said Frodo, grabbing a pinch of Pippin’s shirt and dragging him towards the door with him. “But we need more wood for the stove so we can make biscuits for tea. Come along--you can help.” Pippin never saw the grin on Frodo’s face when his cousin took the lead through the door.

After Bilbo’s Long Expected Party, Gandalf disappeared from the Shire for a few years, though he returned recently, making brief visits to Frodo. This year he was already on his second visit since the spring thaw. Gandalf made it a point to arrive at night, stay a few days, and then be off again before sunrise. Merry and Pippin happened to be visiting their cousin Frodo while the wizard made his appearance at Bag End.

“Gandalf ought not to leave dangerous things like that lying around,” Pippin complained, while Frodo pulled him outside to the far side of the porch.

“Who said it was dangerous?” Frodo crouched down to hand up pieces of wood to Pippin.

“No one, really. You and Gandalf seem to regard it as such. Merry’s the only one who tells me it’s harmless.”

“Never you mind what Merry says about the staff,” Frodo let the last piece of wood drop with a bit of force in the teen’s arms for emphasis. “If you touch it, there’s no telling what might happen.” When Frodo stood up, he saw his friend Sam working in the garden. “Hullo, Sam!” he called over, looking up to the blue heavens above the Shire. “A bit warm for weeding the garden today, isn’t it?”

“Hullo, Mr. Frodo,” Sam greeted in return. “It’s a lovely day for weeding, I say. My

Gaffer noticed the daisies had lots o’weeds growing and asked me to clear’em out. With all the rain we’ve had lately, I’m happy to be out in the sunshine.”

“I’ll have Pippin bring you a glass of cool water.” Frodo nodded to his younger cousin, “Go on, Pip. Take the wood in to the kitchen, then fetch Sam a glass of water.” Pippin followed his elder cousin’s orders, stepping inside the door. Frodo stood with his hands in his pockets watching the fifteen-year-old vanish into the depths of Bag End.

“Sam!” he whispered, drawing closer to the gardener, “we must keep Pippin away from Gandalf’s staff at all costs until after supper. Would you be so kind as to allow him to keep you company out here?”

Sam scratched his head, “I don’t understand, Mr. Frodo, but…I don’t mind Mister Pippin being out here for a while--though he’s a bit big for minding over anymore.”

“It’s not that sort of minding, Sam,” Frodo explained, “just keep him occupied out here.”

* *

Pippin surveyed the rich, dark soil around the daisies, wondering why he was even out here helping Sam. His little clump of weeds paled in comparison to Sam’s hefty stack. He watched the tween-aged hobbit absorbing himself in his work. Pippin’s attention was drawn away from his task when he heard the pleasant laughter of lasses walking up the lane from Bagshot Row towards the village road.

“Hullo, Mister Pippin,” said Marigold, then gaped at the lad assisting her brother. She jested, “Is my Sam not behaving himself that Mister Frodo set you out to watch over him?” She and Rosie set down their market baskets, stopping to observe the two lads working in the garden.

“Sam’s behaving himself nicely, Marigold,” answered Pippin, blushing red to the tips of his pointed ears when Marigold addressed him. He suddenly found a host of weeds to pluck, attempting to make his pile look the same size as Sam’s--and impress Marigold.

Sam focused on his work, though he dared a few glances up at the girls, catching Rosie’s soft brown eyes more than once. “Mr. Frodo asked that--” then Sam remembered Pippin wasn’t supposed to know about keeping him busy. “Mr. Frodo thought I might need a bit of help today, being warm and all.”

“You’re doing a fine job, Sam,” Rosie complimented. “The daisies look beautiful--almost as if they could sing!”

“This is hard work,” said Pippin, wiping away what little sweat had formed in the last few minutes. In a grand gesture he tossed a few weeds onto his mound then looked up at Marigold, “Looks like I may need to start another pile soon.”

“The daisies do look beautiful, Sam,” Marigold agreed with her friend, avoiding Pippin’s remark. Truth was, it made her a bit uncomfortable knowing that the young Took was her admirer. By now, it was general knowledge that Pippin’s father would be the next Thain, and that the young lad sitting near her feet would follow his father in due course.

Pippin separated himself from the conversation, slightly crushed that Marigold didn’t take notice of him. After a few minutes, the girls hurried off to the market before it closed for the day.

* *

Merry walked into the sitting room of Bag End and saw the teen sprawled out on the couch quietly resting. Something had to be amiss; Pippin was normally energetic and full of mischief. Merry walked up and laid a hand on his cousin’s forehead. A little warm from working in the garden with Sam perhaps, but no fever. “Are you sleeping, Pip?” he asked.

“No,” Pippin answered reflectively, “just thinking.”

“Thinking about what?”

“Stuff.”

“What sort of ‘stuff’?”

“Just stuff.”

“All right,” Merry said, sitting down in a chair nearby. “Seems you don’t want to talk about it.”

Pippin let out a long breath, “Do lasses notice you, Merry?”

“In what way?”

“You know--that way.”

Whenever it came to talking about lasses with Pippin, Merry felt that he was walking a labyrinth with his young cousin. He reminded the lad, “You must elaborate, Pippin; I can’t read your mind.” He listened as Pippin told about the conversations in the garden. Merry sighed; at fifteen, Pippin was on the cusp of discovering the opposite gender, and his first crush on a lass was Sam’s own sister, Marigold. Sam knew about it, Frodo knew about it, Marigold knew about it, and of course, Merry knew about it. The only person seemingly unaware of his obvious play for Marigold’s affections was Pippin himself. To everyone except Merry, he professed to be merely a…good friend. Merry, who was closer than a brother, was the only one privy to Pippin’s inner-most feelings, and he was concerned over his young cousin’s attempts to impress a more mature Marigold--a lass seven years older than Pippin.

“I just need to do something that will catch her attention,” said Pippin wistfully.

“Pippin, I don’t think--,” then Merry stopped. The wheels began turning fervently in his conniving head as an idea formed. “Wait! I know--why don’t you take Gandalf’s staff and use it on…” he trailed off in thought. All Pippin had to do was play with it for a minute…

“I don’t follow you,” Pippin replied. “What does Gandalf’s staff have to do with my problem?”

Merry had to think fast. “I don’t know…put a spell on…the garden; make the flowers bloom twice as much. No, on Frodo’s daisies! Yes, that’s it! Make them sing like Rosie said.”

“Make the daisies sing?” Pippin’s brow crinkled in thought, then smiled as the scene played out in his young mind. “Yes! I will make the daisies sing!”

“Remember you have to use Gandalf’s staff,” Merry reminded him, grinning…just hold onto the staff while I inform Frodo of the deed...

* *

Pippin stood before the humongous staff in the foyer considering what he would do once it was in his hands. Was the overgrown walking stick connected to the wizard in some fashion? The second he touched it, would Gandalf know? Merry was not far in the background observing his cousin, sinking his teeth into an apple--grinning ear to ear and willing Pippin to grab it.

Frodo leaned out of the kitchen doorway and announced supper. Seeing Pippin about to lay his mitts onto Gandalf’s staff, Frodo cried out, “No! Keep away from Gandalf’s staff, Pippin!”

The young Took was startled momentarily, then resumed his deliberations. Merry, on the other hand, attempted to hinder his elder cousin’s warning. “Pay him no mind, Pip. Frodo’s feeling a bit possessive over Gandalf’s staff.”

“Me--feeling possessive?” Frodo approached his young cousin, “I’m not the one encouraging the lad to play with an instrument of power--it’s not a toy, mind you.”

“I didn’t say that it was,” Merry responded. “I only wanted our cousin to feel free to examine it for a bit--in his hands, of course!”

Frodo locked eyes on Merry, “I already called supper.”

Merry was quick to point out standard protocol, “But no one’s eaten, so officially, supper is not served yet.”

Frodo produced a few morsels of raw carrot from his pocket; the rest of it he used to add into his pot of braised beef earlier. He popped one into his mouth. “I’ve just eaten!”

Confident that he could outwit his older cousin, Merry replied, “No, that isn’t in the rules. We all must sit down at the table then begin supper together.”

Early that morning, Frodo and Merry had taken a wager as to how long Pippin could keep away from Gandalf’s staff before curiosity got the better of him. Frodo’s bet was that Pippin would wait at least until after supper. Merry, on the other hand, had experienced his younger cousin’s curiosity on many occasions. His bet was that the teen would only wait until the first and best opportunity presented itself, then Pippin’s resolve to behave himself would melt like butter as he succumbed to the lure of the magical staff.

“Let’s ask Pippin what ‘the rules’ are,” Frodo turned to speak to their cousin, but the lad had disappeared--and the staff was missing, too. “Pippin!”

* *

Pippin had a bit of trouble opening the gate to the garden while holding the bulky rod in his hands, but he worked it out. So far so good; Gandalf wasn’t running frantically outside the door of Bag End wanting to know who had pinched his staff. Pippin walked resolutely towards the daisies.

Now what was he supposed to do--chant some sort of rhyme? Pippin closed his eyes, pointing the staff in the direction of the same flowers he and Sam spent a couple hours weeding earlier. In a loud voice, he commanded, “Sing!” He stood still for a moment, listening for music; nothing. He tried again, speaking more forcefully, “I order you to sing for me--Peregrin Took, hobbit-teen of the Shire!” He listened again--and again, there was no sound except for the twittering of birds in the treetops above. Presently, he heard the voices of Rosie and Marigold walking back down the lane, returning from the market. Pippin was growing desperate. Staff in hand, he lifted it up high, letting it peak at an arc; intending to strike it upon the ground before the daisies. Perhaps that would wake them up to sing.

At that same moment, Sam stepped into the garden armed with a sprinkling can. Seeing Pippin about to wallop his flowers with the great rod, Sam ran forward, “Mister Pippin! What are you doing?”

Pippin whirled around towards the intruding voice, then heard glass shattering. He froze in place; he’d broken Frodo’s garden window with Gandalf’s staff.

“Mr. Pippin, are you all right?” Rosie cried, running up towards the young teen. She and Marigold had just come into view of the garden when she heard glass breaking.

Sam put down his sprinkling can, looking the lad over and making sure he was not injured by flying glass. Shards of Frodo’s window pane lay all about the garden. “Begging your pardon, Mister Pippin,” said Sam, gently taking the staff out of the younger hobbit’s hands. Pippin seemed a bit stunned by the situation.

Marigold asked, “What were you trying to do, Mister Pippin?” Then she recognized the wizard’s staff in his hand. “Isn’t that--” but she didn’t get to finish her sentence.

“Which one of you lads is the thief?!” Gandalf shouted through the broken window, and wearing a very grim countenance.

Sam said to Pippin, “Well, we really are in the frying pan now.”

“Sam didn’t take it,” Pippin answered mournfully, stepping forward. “I did. I’m sorry, Gandalf. I was only trying to…” but Pippin couldn’t finish his sentence. He would be mortified if Marigold knew about his true feelings.

Gandalf took in the view of the four young hobbits. No harm had been done--except for the window, but why should young Peregrin want to use his staff? Why out in the garden? In the flash of an instant, Gandalf’s heart received the answers to all his questions in this matter, and then smiled. He bent his thoughts on the garden. Soon, Rosie and Marigold stiffened, after that, odd expressions formed on Sam and Pippin’s face.

“Do you hear what I hear?” Marigold was the first to gather her wits, cautiously strolling up to the daisies.

“Yes!” Rosie said, then followed her friend. “The daisies are…singing!”

“The daisies…the roses…,” Marigold knelt down to listen more closely, “and the marigolds, too!” The tween laughed. “Mister Pippin, did you do all of this? This is wonderful!”

A wide smile formed on Pippin’s face when Marigold addressed him. She noticed him! The tips of his ears a rosy red, he looked at the Grey Wizard still standing in the window. The giggles and laughter of the lasses reverberating all around him. Pippin thought he saw Gandalf smile at him. He would never forget this moment; the sound of daisies singing, and the kindness of and old wizard.

* *

“I still cannot believe that my own flesh and blood took wagers on my behavior!” said Pippin. The entire household and guests were all seated round the kitchen table eating supper. Yes, it had *finally* been served!

“I met his wager because I felt that Frodo’s proposal of Pippin shunning Gandalf’s staff until after supper was far too enticing--for a young hobbit-teen, that is,” Merry quickly added, then playfully cocked an eye at his elder cousin. “Why did you offer me that proposal, Frodo?” Anything to make it sound as if it were all Frodo’s idea. Merry understood that the wizard considered him a responsible young hobbit,--so why dash Gandalf’s image of him?

“I met your wager, dear cousin,” Frodo grinned wickedly at Merry, “because I thought our young Pip had grown up some since last summer and figured he would be able to forego his temptations,” Frodo answered. “Well…he may still need to practice self-control, but he has indeed grown up a little.”

Gandalf held his cup out to Pippin. The teen asked, “More tea, Gandalf?” Pippin was doing Gandalf’s bidding for the rest of today, and most likely until the end of his visit. It was the price of Pippin pilfering the wizard’s staff. “And another roll, if you please, Peregrin,” added Gandalf.

Frodo was delighted with the arrangement; this way the tall wizard wouldn’t have to be subject to the low ceilings in Bag End, and he would be able to sit and relax for a bit. A very fine arrangement, indeed! “Ready to retire to the sitting room?” Everybody stood up to leave the table. “Except you, Pippin.” he said. “The dishes still need to be cleared and washed.” This was Frodo’s price of a broken window.

As Pippin washed the supper dishes and scrubbed the cauldron, his thoughts were ever on the flowers singing in the garden that day…and on Marigold, smiling sweetly at him.

The End