A/N: Thank you to Melilot Hill for the title! :)

No Small Matter

"Da…?" First came a breathless little voice, and then a curly head, and then the rest of Farry Took, and it was then that Pippin realised his special spot for thinking and smoking on the hill had finally been discovered.

After handing him an apple, Faramir plopped himself down beside his errant father with a sigh, and stared off into the distance, munching an apple of his own; leaving Pippin to frown at him, perplexed, for a moment, before giving into curiosity.

"How did you know I was up here, Farry?" he asked. "I’m supposed to be in Whitwell this afternoon."

"I know," Farry said, after he had swallowed a mouthful of fruit. "But I asked Mama, and she said you were here."

"She did?"

Faramir nodded. "She said you hadn’t gone yet, even though you said you had. And you’d probably be wanting something to eat. And she knows you come up here every day, but I wasn’t to tell you that, bec – oh." Faramir tailed off and gave him a guilty look.

"Why, lad?" Pippin persisted, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Because she thinks you like being up here by yourself and it would spoil it for you… Sorry, Da." Faramir leaned a little closer to his father and sighed. "You’re not busy though, are you? What do you do up here?"

"Nothing very important," Pippin admitted. "I just don’t like sitting in that office all day, so I come out here to do my thinking." He took a bite of his apple and said nothing for a moment. "But I think I’ve done all the thinking I can do for one day, Farry. What’s your reason for coming up here, then?"

Faramir sighed again. "I just wanted to be on my own – well, on my own with you. It’s nice up here, Da."

They shared a smile, but Faramir’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, and Pippin wondered what could be bothering the normally cheerful lad so much. Faramir had never been the sort to bottle things up, and he doubted it would be long before he found out.

Faramir nibbled around the core of his apple without revealing anything else for a few more minutes, and then heaved another frustrated sigh as he threw the remains into a bush, and muttered, "I’m fed up as well."

Pippin nodded, "I thought as much."

"Well, it’s not fair," he sighed, as he jumped up and paced around restlessly in front of Pippin, kicking half-heartedly at a crop of dandelions. "Remember I told you about the play I wanted to be in?"

"The one about the Battle of Greenfields," Pippin nodded, his brow furrowing.

Faramir nodded. "Well, I auditioned to be the Bullroarer today. But lots of the other lads laughed and said that I can’t be him because I’m too short." With a thump, he was on the ground at his father’s side once more, looking up at him woefully. "I’m easily the best at acting him, Da, but they chose stupid old Addy instead."

Pippin put his arm around the lad’s shoulder and smiled down at him sympathetically. "What did they choose him for? I daresay he’ll make the least convincing Bullroarer in the whole class. No-one will believe he’s brave enough to ride into battle. That lad wouldn’t say boo to a goose, let alone a marauding orc."

Faramir smiled weakly and looked up at his father. "It doesn’t matter if he’s a good actor, Da. He’s just the tallest, so he’ll look more like the Bullroarer than I will. Lots of the lads are taller than me. Even some of the lasses are." His voice wavered, and despite his temptation to smile, Pippin’s heart went out to the lad. Faramir had always been sensitive about his height, but this was the first time he’d been disadvantaged by it, and it was clearly upsetting to be made to stand out in such a way.

"You’ll catch up, dearest," he began, knowing how inadequate such words were, but unsure how else to deal with this problem for the time being. He got out his pipe and lit it, needing something to occupy him. "Some lads and lasses grow up faster than others, that’s all. There will be other plays, won’t there? Or perhaps you could play Bandobras’ brave sidekick. That’s always a good part," he grinned, winking at his son.

Faramir poked him in the side, grinning despite himself. "Bandobras didn’t have a brave sidekick, Da."

"I’m sure he must have done. A forgotten story, yet to be told," Pippin declared grandly. "A story that only a fine actor such as Farry Took could bring to life!" He puffed on his pipe thoughtfully for a few moments, conjuring up the beginnings of a plot in his head; and then he realised that his son had gone quiet, and when he turned around he was dismayed to see tears in Farry’s eyes.

"Lad, it wasn’t that bad an idea," he said softly, feeling at a loss, and hoping he might at least be able to raise a smile.

"Serembold said I’m going to be the smallest Took that ever lived," Faramir said eventually, swallowing a couple of times. "And you must be disappointed that you’re my Da because you’re so tall and strong, and brave, and I’m not any of those things… He – he called me Thain Faramir the Feeble." He flushed, and went quiet again.

Pippin thought he might have laughed heartily at such a lot of nonsense, if it wasn’t for that familiar rush of anger and guilt running through him, reminding him of older battles; and the worry and shame in his sweet lad’s eyes. "What did you say to that then, dearest?" he asked quietly.

"I didn’t say anything," Faramir mumbled. "I hit him, and then I ran off."

"Well, he deserved it," Pippin replied, the vehemence in his tone surprising himself, and making Faramir look up at him, his eyes wide. "You know that everything he said is ridiculous, don’t you?"

"Yes... I mean, I think so…" Faramir sighed, "But it might not all be silly, Da. It might be true – I might be the smallest Took that ever lived! It’s not fair, you know. Nobody would say anything if you and Mama weren’t so tall. Everyone thinks you’re so brave and special, and they all know you’re my Da, but even if they didn’t, they wouldn’t believe it, would they? I’m not a bit like you."

Pippin nearly choked on the mouthful of smoke he had just inhaled as he heard this, and gazed down into Faramir's wide, earnest eyes, that little face so hauntingly similar to the one he used to see reflected back at him in windows and ponds. "Faramir Took, that is now the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard today! You are like me, more than you realise. For one thing, anyone who didn’t believe you were my son would need to be blind, or mad... or both. How many times has your uncle Merry called you Pip, when he wasn’t thinking?"

Faramir frowned. "I suppose he does it sometimes, after a few ales."

"Well, he talks more nonsense when he’s been drinking, it’s true; but that doesn’t change how much you remind him of me, when I was a lad. He said as much the day you were born, you know."

"But do you think I’m like you, Da? Do you wish I was taller?"

Pippin shook his head fervently, grinning down at his precious only son. "I couldn’t be more proud of you, you daft lad. You’re already a better hobbit than I promised to be at your age. You could be half-Baggins you know, with that clever, thoughtful nature of yours, and that curious love of books, and if there were anything better than being all Took, then that would be it. I wouldn’t care one bit if you were one foot tall, or seven," he declared.

As his son met his gaze, they both burst out laughing. "If I was seven foot tall, I’d be half-Man; half-Hobbit," Faramir giggled. "You’d have to send me to live in Gondor, and ride out and visit me sometimes to see how I am."

Pippin kissed Faramir's cheek, and then lay back on one elbow, puffing on his pipe and blowing a lazy smoke ring into the air. "Do you think the Men of Gondor would look at us together, and wonder if you were disappointed that your father was a Halfling?" he asked.

"Don’t be silly! They’d never think that. You’re a hero in Gondor."

Pippin smiled. "Even though I’m so very small in their eyes." He reached up to ruffle his son’s hair, and added, "What does height matter, dearest, when some of the greatest heroes throughout the world of Men are also the smallest?"

Faramir shrugged. "It doesn’t, I suppose." He looked down at him sadly, "I know you’re right about that, Da, but Men know that Hobbits are meant to be small. I’m not meant to be small. I’m meant to be tall, like you."

"But I’m not meant to be tall," Pippin frowned, beginning to feel a little confused. For a moment there, he had thought that invoking some of the lessons he had learnt on his travels might convince the lad, but it seemed that Faramir was already quite familiar with these, and they would be no help after all. "How many times have I told you that I wouldn’t be tall at all if it wasn’t for the Ent draughts?"

Faramir was sceptical. "Lots of times. But… is that really true, Da? I’ve always thought it might be something you and Uncle Merry just made up to make me feel better?"

Pippin gaped at his son, struck dumb in astonishment. "Since when did you doubt any of my stories? This isn’t a Father Yule sort of tale that you grow out of when you’re old enough to know better, my lad. It may only be an incidental part of the story, but it happened sure enough." He shook his head unbelievingly. "Your Uncle Sam couldn’t believe it either, you know. He quite readily accepted our tales of walking, talking trees, and Merry and I having a hand in bringing down Isengard, but the idea of us growing several inches taller than Hobbits should be was too much for him to take in, and he could see the difference with his own eyes."

Faramir smiled gamely. "All right, then. I was just wondering. I just thought that maybe everyone thought you were taller when you came back, because you had a uniform and you were a Knight, and a hero and everything, when they were really just imagining it…."

Pippin’s eyes narrowed as he perceived that his son was still unconvinced, at least, that height had ever been much of an issue for this hero of the Shire. An idea came to him suddenly, and he stood up abruptly and pulled Faramir with him. "How would you like to come to Whitwell with me?" he asked as he began striding down the hill with Faramir at his heels. "I’ll tell you a little story on the way. It’s one I’d almost forgotten about, and if you don’t believe it, there’s something I can show you when we get there that should prove it to you."

Faramir nodded vigorously. "What sort of story is it?"

"It’s a story about a little hobbit lad. He was a year older than you, and ten times more daft, and he was very keen to grow up."

"This is about you," Faramir guessed.

Pippin only grinned in reply.

*TBC*

Pippin felt as though he’d been waiting about in the cold for ages before the Brandybucks arrived. He’d been allowed to keep watch from the farm gate on two conditions: that he wrap up warmly and take Frodo with him, and now he was so hot and bundled up in his matching hat, scarf and mittens (and an over-large woollen pullover besides), that he was beginning to wish he’d made less fuss about all this and decided to wait inside instead.

That was until the first sounds reached his ears of a horse and cart approaching further down the lane; with one excited glance at Frodo and a leap from the fence, he was running as fast as he could down the lane to greet his cousin.

Merry was his favourite cousin. He was more than a cousin really, for Merry had been there as long as Pippin had ever known, and all of his very best memories had Merry in them. He was funny, and clever, and everything that Pippin wanted to be. Best of all, Merry wanted to be his friend too, and to teach him things, even though it was hard sometimes, when he wanted to do things that he was too young or too little for. Pippin felt very lucky to have a cousin like Merry, who was good-natured and generous, and didn’t tease him like some of his other cousins were fond of doing. 

He loved Frodo just as much as Merry, but in different ways. Frodo was rather special and interesting and Pippin rather hoped that Frodo thought he was a bit special as well, since the older hobbit didn’t spend much time with many other lads Pippin’s age. Frodo was grown-up, but not in a boring sort of grown-up way, even though he was unnecessarily fond of books. He was clever and mysterious, and fun too, always ready to tell an exciting story or play a pretend game of foreign places and battles.

Pippin loved him for all those reasons, but mainly because it seemed that Frodo was always there beside him, when he most needed him – when he was ill, or frightened. Those blurred half-awake memories from unhappy times in his short life so far had made it difficult to say whether Frodo had always been there when Pippin had thought he was; but what it came down to was that, wherever Frodo was, Pippin felt safe, and it didn’t really matter then what was real and what was a dream.

Merry jumped out of the carriage as soon as it rounded the bend and the little hobbit lad jumping up and down on the bank had come into sight. Pippin was instantly engulfed in a great big Brandybuck hug, which was all warm and snuggly, in that familiar Merry way.

“You’ve grown, Pip!” Merry cried, holding him out at arms’ length to get a better look at him. “These are all new winter clothes, if I’m not mistaken.”

Pippin beamed as he got the reaction from his cousin that he had been hoping for. Normally he hated it when relatives told him he’d grown, because he never had, and they never meant it. They just said it because that’s what older hobbits were supposed to say. But Merry never did that unless it was true. And he had grown.

Frodo appeared behind them then, and Merry found a spare arm to embrace him tightly too; releasing Pippin so his feet were once more on the ground. After a moment of staring up at his cousins, as Merry related a piece of Brandy Hall news to Frodo, Pippin’s grin became a frown.

“Merry!” he exclaimed furiously, causing both cousins to look down at him in surprise at his change in tone. “You said if I’d grown as much as I said I had, then I’d be nearly as tall as you! But I did, and I’m not! I’m still not even nearly as tall as you!” he said accusingly, including Frodo in his frown as though he were also in on some kind of conspiracy merely because he was also much taller than the youngster.

“I said nothing of the sort,” Merry replied, turning wide eyes on Frodo to emphasise his innocence, as he found his elder cousin frowning at him just as sternly as the younger one. “I said you might catch up to me one day. But I’ve grown a bit too, Pip. I’m sorry you thought you’d nearly be as tall as me. But I couldn’t really help it,” he added sheepishly, though the way he drew himself up to his full height as he said this gave neither cousin any doubt that he was really quite satisfied with the turn of events.

“You could have said, Merry.” Pippin sulked. “I was looking forward to seeing you ever so much. I wanted you to see how much bigger I am. But now you’ve grown so much, I’m even shorter than I was before. You’ve made me shrink!” he protested shrilly, and stalked off toward the farm ahead of the others.

“Come on, Pip,” Frodo intervened, as he and Merry followed. “You haven’t got any shorter just because Merry’s bigger than you. He may be growing like a sprout just now, but he’ll stop eventually. And then you’ll catch him up, dearest. You’re still a bit too young for that anyway.” As Pippin turned around to give Frodo a not entirely satisfied smile, but enough to thank him for being on his side, he caught his cousin frowning again at Merry, and shaking his head; and this time it seemed that Frodo was clearly more worried than irritated. 

“What are you frowning for?” he asked, glaring at them both. He huffed and carried on walking as fast as he could, knowing that his cousins could catch him up with no difficulty at all with their longer legs, if they decided to.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he called back to them, his heart suddenly beating faster. It wasn’t fair. He’d been well for a whole year, and all everyone ever seemed to think about was if and when he’d get sick again. They probably didn’t even think he would ever catch Merry up, but he would, and faster than they expected him to, if he could help it. If he could just not get sick anymore, he’d surely end up just as tall and strong as Merry, and then that would show them, all of those horrid relatives that were always clucking and shaking their heads sympathetically at him.

Merry and Frodo were at his side moments later, talking over his head. “Has Pippin discovered some kind of Tookish sixth sense, do you think, Frodo?” Merry asked. “I don’t know how else he could tell what I’m thinking.”

“It can’t be,” Frodo replied. “I thought that was something Tooks just tell each other because it makes them sound more interesting. Although,” he paused, “I suppose that if I can’t understand what Pippin is talking about, and I hardly ever know what you’re talking about, then Pippin must know something I don’t.”

Pippin stopped, and put his hands on his hips, looking from one to the other with a stubborn frown. “That’s not funny.”

“Pippin…” Merry said, starting to bend down so he could meet Pippin’s eye, and then seeming to think better of it, and standing up again. “I haven’t seen you for ages. Don’t be upset – I don’t know what you thought we were thinking, but we weren’t thinking it, I promise.” He frowned, apparently unsure about this, and then shook his head dismissively, giving his little cousin a smile, his keen eyes searching Pippin’s face for a clue as to what the lad was thinking.

“Has something upset you that you haven’t told us about, dearest?” Frodo asked, his hand moving to the back of Pippin’s head in a soothing gesture he’d used since Pippin was very small.

Pippin climbed back up onto the fence, and Frodo and Merry stood before him, each taking one of his mittened hands in theirs. His grumpy expression faded, and he looked at his dearest cousins that he’d managed to upset even though that was the last thing he’d wanted to do, feeling the unwanted prick of tears in his eyes.

“I want to be big and strong, and never get sick, and never frighten you, or mum and da, or my sisters. I don’t want to be ‘little Pippin’ anymore. I don’t want to be little. I want to be a big lad who can go out in the snow at Yule and play with the other big lads and not be stuck in bed on my own.” He heaved a deep sigh and played with the ends of his scarf, not used to being this frank.

He glanced up to see his cousins sharing a look, and heaved another exasperated sigh.

“Dearest,” Frodo ventured. “We love you very much just the way you are. Maybe even more so. It rather hurts my heart to think of you being big one day and not caring one bit what an old hobbit like me will have to say about anything --”

Pippin snorted despite himself. “You’re not old, Frodo.”

“And even if you were,” Merry added, with a meaningful glance at Pippin, “Pippin and I would still care every bit as much about what you have to say.”

“Because we love you too,” Pippin finished, nodding firmly.

Frodo squeezed their hands, smiling. “So you see, Pippin, there are some things about ourselves that we would rather not be, but which make us part of who we are to those that love us best. Pippin – before you know it, you will be taller than Merry is now and thinking about all the responsibilities that you’ll inherit when you come of age. Don’t wish for that too soon, for I will be the same age as Bilbo by then! … and that’s not supposed to be funny, Merry-lad,” he interrupted himself, with a glare at Merry, who seemed especially tickled by this image.

In spite of his admonishment of Merry, Frodo seemed relieved that his speech had lightened the mood, though his expression grew serious again as he turned back to Pippin. “We don’t love you just because you’re the littlest, Pip. You are very dear to our hearts for all the reasons that make you our Pippin and we want you to be just as happy and big and strong… in time… as you do.”

Merry nodded. “We’re rather counting on it, actually, since a special gift is making its way to the farm and under the Yule tree as we speak.”

Pippin beamed, tears now forgotten, and moved his cousins aside as he jumped off the fence. “I wish it was Yule today!”

“Well, let’s do something today, before Yule, to mark this moment and give you a lasting memory of just how right we always are,” Merry said, taking Pippin’s hand and heading off in the direction of the barn. “Frodo, have you got your knife with you?”

“I do. A hobbit should always be prepared. And that’s a useful lesson for you, Pippin, as you will see on Yule morn.”

Pippin tried to keep his impatience in check and not pester his cousins to reveal their surprise to him before they meant to. For now, he was content to be part of whatever activity they had in mind that would include him, trusting that they always would, as long as he could join them. As they started to trudge through the snow towards the barn, huffing and puffing in the crisp air, he made himself a promise that nothing would stop him from being out and about with Frodo and Merry in the year to come. Just the thought made him feel better, and he smiled, and let go of Merry’s hand to leap ahead.

“What’s in the barn that’s so special, Merry?” 

***

“This one was you?” Faramir asked in a hushed voice, and then laughed, and spoke again in a normal tone. “You were shorter than me.”

“So I was,” Pippin grinned, running his fingers over the grooves in the wood that had borne witness to years of high expectations, disappointments and surprises. “This was Merry that same year – and this was Frodo.”

As he spoke, he pointed to carved notches, each higher than the last. “And then you can see how I grew – not very much at first, but then when I was in my teens and I wasn’t ill so often, I did start to make some progress at last.”

He smiled a faraway smile as he studied these signs of a distant past. “But I never did quite catch Merry up.”

He lifted his son up to show him the last two grooves, one a fraction taller than the other.

“Frodo had to stand on a box to measure us that time. It was a few months after the War, and we all came here for my birthday, and decided to settle our disagreement once and for all. I was quite glad though, really, that Merry was still taller than me, and not everything had changed.”

Faramir smiled, entranced, and brushed his fingers over the grooves too. “Frodo carved these?”

Pippin nodded, silent for a moment, wishing suddenly to be young again, and to feel no shame if he should want to cry for Frodo.  But he had someone to protect from grief now.

“At the time, they wanted to prove to me that it was impossible for a hobbit to shrink, I suppose, and to show me that I really was growing, even if I was rather slow at first,” he explained.  “Frodo and Merry’s Yule gifts to me that year were a cloak and a knapsack and walking stick so that I could join them on their long walks. It was always a very sore subject for me that I was too small and sickly to go out on such big adventures with them, but of course most lads my age didn’t have such big friends and didn’t even imagine doing such things until they were tweens.”

Faramir nodded as Pippin spoke, a light of understanding in his eye. “I suppose you were a bit like me, then. Most lads don’t really think about wanting to be a hero one day, because their dad’s aren’t one.”

Pippin smiled as he listened to his lad, his heart full of pride. Faramir was still reverently tracing his hands over Frodo’s carvings as though trying to link himself in some way with moments that had happened so many years ago.

“Well, I have no doubt whatsoever that you will be very wise and good at the least, which is all I would ask.”

Unwilling to stop telling his childhood story, Pippin carried on: “You know, I wished I could go out adventuring much more than I was able to at first that year. Even though your grandparents saw that being outdoors was good for me, they were concerned I’d get worse ideas the more time I spent with Frodo after Bilbo went away. You know enough about our family history to understand why.”

“Yes. Although you don’t have to worry about me getting ideas now, do you?” Faramir asked innocently.

“Well, you’re certainly not going anywhere without me for at least ten years,” Pippin replied quickly and firmly. “But, no, the world is not the same as it was. I still marvel that you are growing up in a Shire that knows of a King.”

“I’m the only lad in the Shire whose da serves the King!” Faramir exclaimed proudly.

“Yes,” Pippin grinned, suddenly amused by the thought of what Merry would say if he were there with them. “And let that be a lesson for you, that this little hobbit who was just a year older than you, had no grander ideas at the time than to catch up to his cousins one day. Now you see where that got him, I hope that you’ll have more sense and be glad that you are just where you are. You have so much to be proud of, and not because your father ran off when he was a tween and got mixed up in something that was too big for him.”

He paused, and smiled to himself. “Don’t wish for your time too soon! … Frodo told me that himself, and you know that he was much wiser than me.”

“Frodo is part of who you are, so you must be wise too,” Faramir replied lightly, a fact he seemed to have always known to be true, and he took his father’s hand. “I promise I won’t get bothered again about not being tall yet. But can we start our own height wall? I’m getting hungry. We could do it in the pantry while we wait for tea.”

Pippin swallowed past a sudden lump in his throat at his son’s inexplicable wisdom at such a young age. “Yes, dearest; let’s be off, then. I’m not sure what your ma will say about us carving up the pantry. Perhaps we can do it in my study instead.”

He cast one look back at the wall of the barn and let the warmth of the good memories ease the sadness he’d felt as the years had rolled away before him. The warmth of good memories and of the bright future his boy had, thanks to his dear Frodo.