It was extremely dull. I had never been one of the best hobbits to socialize, except when it was an all out party, with plenty of drinks to go around and incalculable sources of mischief. This was one of those dull parties that people just stood around, drinking tea and talking of the latest gossip in whispered voices. This was the kind of party that younger generations of hobbits thought older hobbit gaffers enjoyed. In actuality, it was incredibly dreary.

I looked around for Merry. Perhaps he could help me out of this mess, but no; he had fallen asleep in one of the wingback chairs in a corner near the fire where the children were playing quietly. For a moment I cursed our aging bodies. If we had been younger, both of us would have sneaked off ages ago, and would, by this time, be enjoying some “borrowed” groceries from Farmer Maggot. Instead, I was stuck listening to young Mrs. Hornblower rant on about the wonders of husband’s flock of sheep. As I said earlier: It was incredibly dreary.

“…And I says to him, I says, ‘Bongo, dearest,’ I says, ‘the sheep should be left to roam as they will!’ I says, ‘they will find the best foodstuff for themselves if left to their own devises.’ And he says to me, ‘that just may be the key, dear.’ And I says, ‘of course it is!’ And so we let the sheep do as they wanted, and they haven’t been fatter since! And the wool they’re producing! It’s divine, truly!” She stopped for a breath finally.

“Yes, Mrs. Hornblower,” I said. “Your husband’s skill is just what so many of the shepherds are missing these days.” I tried desperately to be polite, but I think I might have failed. “I am dreadfully, sorry, my dear, but could you possibly excuse me? I see a group of some of the smaller guests who have been terribly neglected.”

I left before she could say a word. Not that I had been lying, quite the opposite. There was a group of hobbit children who looked very lost, alone and very frightened of what they saw as important hobbit grown ups. No doubt their parents had told them to be on their best behaviours because: “this is Thain Peregrin’s birthday, dears. We don’t want to ruin it for him, so why don’t you go sit in that lonely corner over there and leave Mummy and Daddy alone for a little while. And don’t make mischief!” I could just hear it. How completely depressing! I walked up to them and they stopped their game to stare at me with wide, frightened eyes.

“Hello, there!” I said, grinning. “May I join you? I’m afraid all those grown ups are very boring.”

One of the younger lasses giggled but was quickly shushed by the older lad sitting next to her.

“Yes, Thain Peregrin, sir. Please do join us,” an older lass said stiffly.

I waved a hand dismissively at her. “Don’t be so stuffy! Call my Uncle Pippin or something. Titles are so gloomy!”

The little lass giggled at me again. I smiled at her as I slowly sat down, noticing that my right arm was aching. Rain tomorrow, sure enough. “Come here, you little imp!” I said to her playfully. Oh, the innocence of the young! None of the older children would have dared approach me, but this little lass came forward and plopped herself in my lap without any hesitation. “And what is your name, sweetheart?”

“Athelea,” she lisped in a cute way.

“Well, Azelea,” I said, holding her comfortably on my crossed legs. “How would you and your friends like a story?”

Her wide, innocent brown eyes widened as she smiled happily. “Really, Uncle Pippin? A thtory? Would you really tell uth a thtory?”

“Of course!”

The children, interested, and quickly losing their fear, gathered closer. One of the older lads piped up. “Could we hear about the tree people?” he asked. I smiled.

“They’re called Ents, silly,” another girl said in disdain.

“Fine, then,” he answered unperturbed. “Ents. Could we hear that story?”

“No, no, I want to hear about the Black Riders!” an older lad said.

“What about the troll? Was that really you, Uncle Pippin, under that troll? Tell us about the troll!” a curious, and very enamoured, lass asked.

“What about an elvish tale? Those are always so romantic!” an older lass begged. It drew a number of disgusted looks from the lads.

“Can we hear about Lord Boromir?”

“Please, what about Aragorn?”

“I want to hear about magic! You know, Gandalf’s magic!”

The only one who was patiently waiting for the story was little Azelea in my lap. An idea came to me. They had never heard this story, I was certain. Very rarely would Merry and I remember it. Even Sam had forgotten it most of the time. So many other things had crowded our minds that this seemed to be a very small, insignificant adventure. It might, however, be exciting to the children now arguing in front of me.

“Now, now, enough of that!” I said. Everyone quieted. “Could I pick the story?”

No one had expected me to actually asked permission from them, and they were quite thrown by that. The children slowly nodded their heads in assent.

“Thank you,” I said very politely, again catching the older children off guard. “Hmm…” I said, pretending to think hard. “I know! I believe this is a story that you have never heard.

“All I remember from Caradhras was that it was so cold. I was freezing, as were my companions, but my worry for them had dimmed. All I wanted was to sleep. No one would let me. I remember it was Boromir who was sheltering Merry and me, trying to keep us as warm as possible. Boromir was so big, I thought he could never be cold, but he was. I remember that I started to fade into sleep, and even after Boromir shook me awake, I was still groggy and hardly cared about the world. Finally, everyone decided that the mountain had defeated us and that there was no choice but for us to go back down the mountain the way we had come. I remember that Frodo had said, ‘We will go through the mines,’ and briefly I wondered why Frodo had said anything. We hobbits rarely made any comments about where we followed the others; we just followed where they led with few questions. Well, few important questions, that is. I had plenty of questions for everyone and I was never hesitant about asking them, much to the chagrin of all of my companions.

“We were still far above the base of the mountain, but the snow, which had been well above the Big Peoples’ waists, had dropped to about our ankles, and the sky, which had been dark, menacing and dangerous, had dissipated. It seemed almost as though the mountain had known what it was doing in battering us with snow and biting winds. The snow soon dropped from around our ankles to our toes and then it disappeared into nothingness.

“And the view! I had finally woken up, and I was not so cold as before. We hobbits had finally been set down to walk on our own and we were trailing after the others, our eyes at our feet, just in case there was a stray rock that could trip us. On the other hand, I was looking around with interest. Hollin stretched out beneath our feet like a huge carpet. Dotted here and there, I could see the ruins of white stone. Thankfully, Merry was there.

“’Pippin!’ he said, pulling me back from a ledge. ‘Watch where you’re going! You nearly walked off that cliff!’

“’But, Merry! Look! Isn’t that amazing?’ I asked him, pointing to the map of Hollin stretching out at our feet.

“’Oh, sure, Pip. Just don’t walk off the side of the mountain, alright?’ Merry had never been comfortable with heights and our adventures didn’t help him much!” I whispered conspiratorially to my audience, who giggled and looked over at a now awake and scowling Merry. We all giggled at him.

“When we finally got to the base of Caradhras, it was evening and would be dark soon. We set up camp at the base of a small hill. There were white boulders all around the top of the hill, as though it was wearing a crown of white stone separated by scraggly trees. Merry, Sam and I started to get supper going; Merry and I were bringing wood in for the fire while dear old Sam was working on getting the ingredients out of his pack and the pony’s. While we worked, we began to understand where we were going as the others talked.

“Boromir was against going through the mines. ‘We do not know what the enemy expects!’ he said. ‘Perhaps he watches all roads and, in that case, to enter Moria would be to walk into a trap!’

“I jolted in surprise. I suppose I should have realized they were talking about the Mines of Moria, but my little mind had not made the connection between where we were and where Moria was. I opened my mouth to say something to Merry, but he shushed me. I did not want to go into the mines. There were legends, even in the Shire, of the mysterious and evil place of Moria. It was the last place I wanted to be.

“Boromir was not finished with his argument. ‘We could go through the Gap of Rohan and go on to Gondor. Is that so dangerous a road?’

“Aragorn fought back. ‘The Gap or Rohan leads us past Isengard. We cannot risk travelling so close to Saruman’s domain.’

“’Is not Moria more dangerous by far than Saruman?’ Boromir had asked.

“Gandalf nodded. ‘There may be orcs there, yes, though many orc clans were destroyed in the Battle of Five Armies. If there are orcs there, it could prove ill for us. Quite possibly, though, there may be a chance that Balin and his company are still within the ancient caverns.’ I noticed that Gimli brightened noticeably at this statement. Balin was a cousin of his who had travelled to Moria in an attempt to reclaim it for the dwarves. Plus Gimli had been trying for many days to persuade Gandalf and Aragorn to take the road through the mines.

“Despite the fact that the path had been chosen, Boromir was still inclined to argue. ‘Is there no other path we might take? The name of Moria is black.’ This earned a hard glare from Gimli and a calculating look from Aragorn.

“’No, Boromir. Not one that would take us far out of our way and cause more delays than we can risk,’ Gandalf answered.

“Frodo came and sat beside Merry and me, while Sam started to mix the stew that was hanging over the fire. He shivered and drew his cloak tighter around his shoulders while the wind decided to pick up in intensity. It howled and moaned in a way that I thought that perhaps there was a cave nearby that the wind was whistling through.

“’How the wind howls!’ Frodo said and shuddered again. I nodded in agreement.

“For a moment we all sat still, listening to the wind. ‘How the wind howls!’ Aragorn repeated in understanding. ‘It is the wolves! They have come west of the mountains!”

“’Come!’ Gandalf shouted. ‘To the top of the knoll. We can make a stand there!’ Sam grabbed the stew and his pack while Merry stamped out the fire and I grabbed my pack and the pony’s. Soon, eerie standing stones and large trees reaching to the skies like grotesque hands surrounded us. We huddled inside the stone circle, frightened of the wolf voices that were carried on the wind.

“Boromir was clearly uncomfortable. ‘The wolf that one hears is worse than the orc that one fears,’ he said to himself, seeming to try and reassure himself.

“’That is true,’ Aragorn said, ‘but it is also said that where the warg howls, there also the orc prowls.’

“None of us were in a cheerful attitude. The big folk and Gimli all had drawn their weapons and had them at the ready, just to be safe. We hobbits followed suit, though, to me, our short swords would be of little use if we were forced to fight these wargs.

“I started to mutter to myself. ‘I wish I had taken Elrond’s advice. I am no good after all!’

“Sam heard me, though I hadn’t meant for anyone to overhear what I had said. ‘My heart’s right down in my toes, Mr. Pippin, but we aren’t eaten yet!’ There was a fierce howl that made both Sam and me jump. Merry was right behind us, Frodo tucked in behind him. ‘There are some stout folk here with us and whatever may be in store for old Gandalf, I’ll wager it isn’t a wolf’s belly!’ His words were supposed to relieve me, but they did not. If anything, I felt worse.

“Through the night, we took turns watching in pairs, though dear Legolas never slept. Being an elf, I suppose he didn’t need sleep as we mortals did. Growls, howls, and moans made it impossible for us to sleep, or if we did, it was worse than the waking; our dreams were filled with bright, shining eyes, reflecting the firelight, and flashing white teeth, as long as my thumb. Dreams and reality seemed to blend for me, at least. I didn’t know if I was actually seeing wolves or not.

“A huge black shape filled the space between two of the boulders, growling and ready to spring. This was no nightmare, I knew. This was a real wolf, ready and willing to sink it’s teeth into us. I thought it was looking right at me.

“Gandalf would have none of it, though. He strode forward and held up his staff. ‘Fly, hound of Sauron, if you value your foul skin!’ Gandalf roared. ‘For I will shrivel you from tail to snout if you come within this ring!’

“The wolf leapt!” At this, all the children gasped and sat back as though the wolf was leaping right out of my story at them. I almost chuckled, remembering how, as young lads, Merry and I would do the same for Bilbo’s stories. “It ran past the stones towards us! But before it could reach us, Legolas loosened an arrow into the beast’s chest, sending it hard into the ground with a hideous howl of pain. With that, the wolves seemed to all disappear.” I paused then, for effect, luring my audience into a false sense of security.

“They all disappeared, until just before dawn.

“I remember Gandalf, yelling orders to build up the fire. I remember how we all stood ready, our weapons in hand to defend ourselves as best as we could. Merry was beside me, Sam was on his other side. All three of us were surrounding Frodo as best as we could, waiting. We did not have to wait long.

“Great black shapes slunk in the shadows between the stones, eyes winking red in the firelight. The attack came, but no wolves reached us hobbits. I almost wished that there would be one wolf to get past one of our protectors. I felt so small, so helpless, like a piece of baggage. I wasn’t doing anything to help. None of us could help; we were too small. I just wanted one wolf to come forward towards us hobbits. The chance never came.

“Gandalf suddenly seemed to grow. He became larger and more menacing with every pulse of our little fire. The giant Gandalf stooped and took up a flaming brand and walked towards the wolf pack. They fell away before him, but they did not cease their attack. Gandalf threw the burning branch towards the wolves, shouting terrible words of magic. As he ended his words of magic, there was a fearful crack, almost as loud as thunder! With that, one of the trees burst into flame. Fire jumped from one tree to another, turning each tree into a ball of fire with a brilliant flash. Just as the flames nearly encircled us, Legolas shot one more arrow. It sped forward, and embedded itself in the chest of a great wolf chieftain. That was the final blow. The wolves fled at that and the fires that crowned the knoll died down into ashes.

“Sam regained his composure first. Merry and I were still to stunned and awed to speak. Frodo was giving us a very superior half smile. ‘What did I tell you, Mr. Pippin?’ Sam asked me. ‘That was an eye opener, make no mistake! Nearly singed the hair off my head!’

“Morning dawned bright and clear. We searched for the remains of the standoff, but found only the arrows Legolas had shot. All were undamaged, except one. Of the arrow that caught the last wolf chieftain in the chest, only the tip remained.

“From there, of course, we went on to Moria, but that is a different, and a much darker, tale. That will be saved for another day,” I finished.

Suddenly, I was accosted by groans and pleads.

“Oh, please, Uncle Pippin! Tell us another?”

“Yes, please?”

“Please, please, Uncle Pippin, please?”

“Just one more story?”

“Thank you for the thtory, Uncle Pippin,” Azelea said sweetly.

“You’re very welcome, Lady Azelea,” I answered her.

“Children!” A very angry hobbit mother strode forward. If I had to choose between facing a giant, angry Gandalf, and this hobbit mother, I’d choose Gandalf in a heartbeat. “What are you doing, bothering Thain Peregrin! And on his birthday!”

I slowly stood up, sliding Azelea from my lap. “Oh, now, they weren’t bothering me at all!” I said.

“Uh-uh!” one of the youngsters piped up. “Uncle Pippin was just telling us a story!”

“You are to call him Thain Peregrin!” she scolded.

I was getting a little fed up with her. As though any hobbit wouldn’t want to spend time around the children! “Now, really!” I said. “I asked them to call me Uncle Pippin! It’s so much more friendly!” I seemed to have cornered her. She opened and closed her mouth in surprise. Seizing my opportunity, I turned to the children. “Is anyone up for a raid on the pantry?”

In the kitchen, surrounded by children eating their favourite foods, Merry caught up with me.

“That was a very good telling, Pip,” he said, smiling. “Not exactly how I remember it, but a good story none the less.”

“Of course it isn’t exactly how you remember it, Merry!” I chastised.

Merry pretended to look affronted. “Are you saying my memory is bad?”

I smiled serenely at my cousin. “Of course not, Merry. I never said that! All I meant was I changed it a little, just to make it more exciting and believable for the children. They would never believe everything, you know.”

“I suppose they wouldn’t would they?” Merry asked.

“No,” I answered, shaking my head. “But, Merry, about your bad memory…”

“Don’t even go there, Pip.”