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Of Hygiene and Hobbits

By Elendiari

   “I would like to propose a wager.”

    Seven pairs of eyes turned to look at Merry Brandybuck. Merry smiled at them and continued, taking advantage of the fact that Aragorn was nowhere to be seen.

   “Boromir, how is it that you manage to always look so clean and gentlemanly, even when we’re on the road?” he asked.

    Boromir shrugged. “I just wash in handy streams, Master Brandybuck,” he said.

    “Then why doesn’t Strider? He ought to keep as clean as you,” Merry pointed out.

    Frodo looked up from his food, surveying the Company. They were camped for the day in a lush, green section of Hollin, one that was a veritable water park of hot springs. Legolas had taken the watch, and Aragorn had gone out scouting. Now that Frodo thought about it, the Ranger was sort of grubby. All right, he was very grubby. Merry was right, Boromir was the more hygienic of the two. And Aragorn was supposed to be the King…

   “What do you propose, Merry?” Frodo asked.

   “I propose that we somehow make Strider look cleaner. At least his hair. We can…we can braid it, or something,” Merry replied.

    The companions traded looks. Interest was clearly growing.

    “And how should we make it a wager, young hobbit?” Gimli asked. “You did say wager.”

    Merry smiled, a sly smile that instantly put all of the Big Folk on their guard. “If we-meaning my dear cousins, Sam, and I-succeed in getting Strider’s hair clean and looking nice, the rest of you will do our chores for a week. If we don’t, we will do one extra hour of keeping watch, each.”

   This was met by silence. Sam was the first to speak.

   “Meaning no disrespect, Mr. Merry, but how did the rest of us Shirefolk get dragged into this? I don’t really want to do extra watch hours.”

    “Sam’s right, Merry,” Frodo agreed. “How did we get into this?”

    Merry waved a hand at them. “Don’t worry, we can’t lose, Frodo. So, do we have an accord?”

   Boromir traded glances with Gimli, and turned to look at Legolas, who was perched on a rock above them. Both the Elf and the Dwarf nodded. Gandalf just shook his head at them.

   “I will remain the impartial witness to this wager,” he said. “Do as you will.”

   Boromir turned back to the hobbits. “We have a wager.”

 *****

    Aragorn came back to the camp a short time later. To his surprise, none of the members of the Fellowship were sleeping, as he had thought they would be. Gimli was sharpening his axe, Legolas was keeping watch, Boromir was shaving with his sword, and Gandalf was smoking his pipe. The hobbits were grouped together, whispering. They all looked over at him as he came up, and those calculating looks were enough to give the Ranger a sinking feeling.

   “We haven’t been tracked, and this land is devoid of all life,” he said. “Is all peaceful here?”

 Boromir nodded, his face utterly innocent. “Yes, of course, Aragorn,” he said. “Nothing interesting has happened at all.”

  Given the surreptitious looks he was receiving from all and sundry, Aragorn was highly disinclined to believe this. He sat down warily, and began searching his pack for frogs, stones…anything…while contemplating ways that he could have offended the hobbits. His thoughts were broken as a cheery voice began to speak, right next to him.

   “Strider, can I show you something?” Pippin asked.

   Aragorn looked up, and found himself face to face with the youngest hobbit. The lad was wearing a bright and pleasant expression, and Aragorn’s wariness doubled. “Of course, Pippin.”

   Pippin grinned broadly and sat down on the Man’s lap. Why do I feel that he is trying to pin me down? Aragorn wondered. The Took pulled a small, slender tube of woven reeds from his pocket and held it up.

   “Most people seem to think that hobbits are incapable of keeping prisoners,” Pippin said conversationally. “However, we Tooks have developed a way of ensuring that anyone who commits a crime is unable to escape. This is a Finger Trap. Allow me to demonstrate.”

   Before he knew quite what was happening, Aragorn found his two forefingers encased in the woven tube. The tube was uncomfortably tight, and he found that he could not remove his fingers from it.

   “Pippin,” he growled. “Let me go.”

   Pippin grinned at him cheerily. “In a minute, Strider. See, the Trap does not allow use of the hands, and so the captive cannot get away.”

   “Yes, I can see that,” Aragorn sighed, yanking at the Trap, to no avail. “Will you kindly let me go?”

    Pippin seemed about to reply when Frodo came over to them. “Hullo, Aragorn. Do you have time to listen to me?”

    “Yes, it appears that I do,” sighed Aragorn, glaring at the hobbit in his lap.

    “Oh, good,” Frodo replied, and sat down next to Pippin, securing Aragorn’s fear that he was being pinned down. “I think that I shall teach you some children’s rhymes, so that you can teach them to your own children, someday. Tell me, Aragorn, do you know the Muffin Man?”

  “The Muffin Man?” Aragorn yelped, utterly bemused.

  “The Muffin Man,” Frodo replied easily.

   “Yes, I know the Muffin Man,” Pippin replied.

   Aragorn looked from one to the other in complete bemusement. What was going on?

   It was at that moment that the attack came. Merry and Sam came up behind him and seized his hair.

    “Hold him, Sam!” Merry cried.

    Aragorn opened his mouth to protest, and was momentarily blinded and choked as water from the hot spring was dumped over his head. He struggled to get away, only to find that Frodo and Pippin were clinging to his legs, and Sam had a firm grip on his jerkin.

    “Hold him!” cried Merry again, springing forward with a cake of soap in his hand. “I’ve got his hair!”

     The next few minutes were the most embarrassing of Aragorn’s life. His companions sat nearby and watched in amusement as the hobbits pinned him down and scrubbed his hair with the sweet-smelling soap of Rivendell’s bathhouses. Aragorn weakly considered fighting them, but decided not to make anymore of a fool of himself after Pippin’s sharp little fingers pinched in hard as he tried to shake them off.

    Imagine, the Heir of Isidur being tormented by hobbits, his fingers stuck in a trap of woven reeds, Aragorn thought bleakly. What did I do?

   One more water skin of hot water was poured over his head, than Merry was cheerfully scrubbing him dry with a blanket.

   “Nothing like a good bath, eh, Strider?” he said, and Aragorn growled.

   Boromir, who had been watching the whole episode, coughed and glanced at Legolas. The Elf was still scanning the horizon, turning in slow circles up on his rock, but he grinned broadly at the man when their eyes met. The hobbits had fulfilled half of their wager. If they succeeded at the next bit, Boromir thought, he would never doubt them again. That they had gotten this far was amazing.

   Merry pulled a brush from his coat pocket and proceeded to drag it through Aragorn’s hair. Ignoring the ranger’s yelps of pain, Merry brushed until the last knot was out. He remembered that Arwen had told him that Aragorn had lived in the Wild for years, and he rather doubted that anyone had taught him the value of hygiene. Remembering the lessons his own mother had drilled into his head, Merry had no qualms about attacking. As soon as Aragorn’s hair was straight and detangled, he pulled a pretty green ribbon out of his pocket and began weaving the man’s hair into the complicated braid that was often used on ponies’ manes and tails. Gimli began to chuckle.

   “Why the long face, Aragorn?” he asked. “You’re looking quite pretty.”

   “I suppose that you would like to be subjected to this?” Aragorn replied icily. “It’s humiliating.”

   Boromir smiled at him. “Aye, but it’s very amusing. Where did you get the ribbon, Merry?”

  Merry tied the end of the braid off and surveyed his handiwork with satisfaction. “My sweetheart, Estella, gave it to me before we left the Shire. She had a suspicion that I would be going away, and gave me this to remember her by.”

   “You’d better be grateful, Aragorn, that he used such a nice ribbon on you,” Frodo murmured, quite serious. “Merry does love Estella.”

   Aragorn glared at the Ringbearer as he and Pippin climbed out of his lap. Pippin reached for his finger trap, but Frodo stayed his hand.

   “Leave that for a bit, Pip, or he’ll take the braid out while we sleep,” he said. Pippin nodded, and they walked away.

    Aragorn stared after them, dumbfounded. The whole episode had likely taken fifteen minutes, and now the hobbits were settling themselves down to sleep.

   “Wake us when breakfast is ready,” Merry said cheerfully. “Don’t forget your end of the wager.”

   “Wager?” Aragorn turned to the rest of his companions, thunder all over his face. Legolas hastily turned away, Gimli busied himself with his axe, and Boromir whistled slightly. “What wager?” Aragorn demanded.

   “The wager that they could get you clean,” Gandalf said, blowing a smoke ring from his mouth. “And it looks as though they have succeeded. Get some sleep, Aragorn.”

   Aragorn stared at the wizard, then glanced down at his fingers in the trap. “Can you help me with this, Gandalf?”

  The wizard didn’t reply, but reached over and squeezed the sides of the trap. Aragorn’s fingers came out, and the wizard pocketed the woven reeds.

   “I never should have introduced this to the hobbits. Don’t take Merry’s handiwork out,” he warned, eyes twinkling. “Dire consequences may follow.”

   Aragorn sighed and lay down on his bedroll. The world was doomed.

The End.