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I thought it might be helpful to have brief summaries available for each of the short stories in "Postcards From the Shire," in case anyone is looking for a story featuring a certain character or timeframe :) 1. A Gift For Sam 2. Pippin's Scarf 3. Of Haircuts and Hobbits 4. An Autumn Afternoon 5. The Tooth Dwarf 6. Better Than Tonic 7. A Hobbit for all Seasons 8. Snow Day 9. A Short Cut to Mushrooms. 10. The Damp of the First Spring Rain 11. Number the Stars 12. Spring Fever 13. To Catch a Thief 14. You Don't Have to Know Everything 15. Moving Day 16. Rainy Afternoon 17. Do It Again 18. The Sandhobbit 19. Newborn 20. Dribbles: Hobbits in General & Young Merry and Pippin 21. Diamonds of the Earth 22. Double Bubble 23. A Sticky Yule 24. A Moment's Peace 25. Least Expected 26. Hobbit in the Box 27. A Gift Farewell 28. Whistling Lesson 29. Better to Walk With a Friend 30. Unquenchable 31. Watching and Waiting 32. In Good Company 33. Trust to Friendship 34. In the Grey Twilight 35. A Took by Any Name 36. Bedbugs 37. At the Brandywine 38. Guess Who? 39. At the End of One Quest and the Beginning of Another 40. Helping Hands 41. Everything Bright 42. The World Ahead 43. Renewal 44. Namesake 45. Found 46. The Smell of Elves 47. Inseparable 48. A Bath-time Song 49. Such an Hour 50. A Hammock of Hobbits 51. The Apology 52. An Afternoon Snack 53. Breakfast 54. And the World Sleeps 55. Stories and Tales 56. A Yule Visit 57. At the River 58. Home Again 59. Pervinca's Homebrew 60. Climbing Lesson 61. Watching 62. Unaligned 63. Lunchtime 64. All in Good Time 65. A Little Encouragement 66. A Gift from the Sea 67. Questions and Answers 68. The Baby and the Bathwater 69. Blackberries 70. Five Things I Like About You 71. A Thoughtful Gift 72. Cool Sunlight and Green Grass 73. All in the Research 74. A Merry Meeting 75. Almost Perfect 76. Baking Day 77. The Northern Lights 78. A Fine Match 79. A Pair of Swings 80. Of Endings, Happy and Sad 81. Looking After Frodo 82. Well Met 83. Mathom 84. Pippin's Logic 85. Dark Dreams
A Gift for Sam Sam's hands trembled as he undid the wrapping. "For me, sir?" "It was mine when I was a young lad," Frodo explained. "I know Bilbo has been teaching you your letters, and I thought you might like something of your own to read." Sam stared at the book in his hands and tried to give it back. "Thank you, Mr. Frodo, but I can't accept this. It's much too fine a thing for me." "Nonsense," Frodo said. "I want you to have it, and since it is my birthday, you must be agreeable." His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "It is a story about Elves, you know." "Elves, sir?" Sam asked excitedly. "Does it have magic and battles and all those fancy words Mr. Bilbo knows?" "Yes," replied Frodo, smiling as Sam opened the book and carefully turned the pages. "And poems, too, which I know you will enjoy, Sam." "It's got pictures," Sam said in wonder, "pictures of the loveliest Elves! But they're all lovely, aren't they, Mr. Frodo?" "The loveliest of all beings," Frodo said. "Would you like to meet an Elf, Sam?" "No, sir, not me," Sam replied, blushing. Frodo raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Why not?" "Well," Sam answered, "I would have nothing to say, leastwise nothing important, and maybe it would be better if I just looked at one of them from far away." Frodo smiled, watching as Sam closed the book and smoothed down the cover. "Do you think we'll ever see Elves, Mr. Frodo? Maybe one'll have to come through the Shire someday." "Perhaps," Frodo replied, "someday." Pippin's Scarf “What have we here?” Merry asked. He lifted his cousin high into the air and gawked at his choice in clothing. “Are you cold, Pippin?” “No,” Pippin said, shaking his head so his too-large knitted hat drooped over one eye. Merry smiled and folded over the brim so he could see Pippin’s face. “He does this all the time,” Eglantine said, smiling as she watched the two cousins from where she sat by the fire sewing. “Don’t you, Pippin?” she asked. Pippin did not answer, but instead took one end of his scarf and wrapped it around Merry’s neck. “Now Merry’s warm, too!” he crowed, and laughingly patted his mittened hands on his cousin’s chest.
Of Haircuts and Hobbits It was going quite well until Pippin caught sight of the scissors. He had sat still (well, mostly) as his mother combed through the tangles in his curls. He had barely protested (it sounded more like a squeak, if Merry had to describe it) when his sister splashed some water on his hair (though, knowing Pervinca, she might have “accidentally” wet her brother a bit more than necessary). But when Eglantine reached for the scissors, glinting silver in the bright sunlight, Pippin’s little face scrunched up in horror, and he began to wail. “No, no, no, no!” he cried out, narrowly missing his mother as he kicked out his legs. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, dear,” Eglantine said, placing a hand on her son’s shoulder in an attempt to soothe him. Pippin wriggled away from his mother’s grip and slid from the chair, nearly falling in his haste. He ran to Merry, burrowing in his side. “Merry!” he shrieked, clinging to his cousin. “I’m scared.” “Hush, now,” Merry said, rubbing Pippin’s back. “What are you scared of?” Trembling, Pippin only sobbed harder. “That it will hurt me because it’s very, very bad and it hurted Pearl!” “The scissors?” Merry asked, glancing over at his aunt. Eglantine was standing beside them now, dabbing at Pippin’s tears with a handkerchief until he turned away and hid his face in Merry’s shoulder. “A few weeks ago, the knife slipped as Pearl was peeling the potatoes,” she said softly. “She was not hurt seriously, but there was a lot of blood. Pippin was there when it happened, and quite frightened, and now I suppose the poor lad has things a bit confused.” “Can’t it wait, then?” Merry asked. “Until he’s not so scared?” “Well,” Eglantine began, tapping lightly on her chin. “I suppose it could, but his hair is already so long and with Pimmie’s birthday party tomorrow…” She sighed. “Besides, if we let it go this time, it will only happen again the next time I try to give him a haircut.” Pippin shuddered, a hiccupping a sob, and Merry continued to rub his back as he thought. An idea came to him. He had just had a haircut himself before leaving Buckland, but…“You could cut my hair, Aunt Eg. If Pippin sees that it doesn’t hurt me, maybe he’ll let you give him a trim.” Eglantine smiled gratefully, and kissed Merry soundly on the cheek. “Did you hear that, Pippin? Would you like to watch as I cut Merry’s hair?” Pippin shifted slightly so that one eye peeked warily over Merry’s shoulder. “Yes,” he whispered, sniffling. “All right then,” Eglantine said, reaching for the scissors. Pippin watched, wide-eyed, as his mother snipped off a few of Merry’s golden curls, just barely, and held them up for her son to see. “Look at how brave Merry is,” she said, squeezing her nephew’s shoulder in thanks. “So brave that we are finished already.” Pippin inspected the curls in his mother’s palm, comparing it to what was still on his cousin’s head, and nodded. He leaned close to Merry then and whispered in his ear, “Did it hurt you?” “No,” Merry whispered back. “If you want, I can hold your hand when it’s your turn. Just in case.” Pippin smiled a little, and rubbed at his eyes, still filled with tears. “I want to be brave just like Merry,” he announced, and though he squeezed his eyes shut and clutched his cousin’s hand tightly, he was.
An Autumn Afternoon “Try it Merry, it’s fun!” Pippin exclaimed. He ran back a few paces and then launched into motion, running as fast as he could and hurtling himself into the pile of leaves, sending orange and red and gold flying through the air. “Pippin, we’re supposed to be raking these, not using them as cushions,” Merry said, a little impatiently because, after all, he was Much Too Old for This Sort of Thing. Breathless, Pippin trotted to Merry’s side. There were leaves in his hair and Merry was tempted to pick them out until Pippin (rather rudely) snatched the rake from his hands. “Merry, just try it once,” he pleaded, tugging on his cousin’s arm. “We can race each other.” Merry rolled his eyes, and Pippin grinned mischievously, knowing from years of experience that his cousin would not need much more convincing. “Never mind, Merry,” he said, shrugging as he changed his tone to one of indifference. “It’s all right if you’re afraid that I’ll beat you…” “What?” Merry squawked. “You will never, ever outrace me, Peregrin Took.” Pippin smiled cheerfully, “I might.” He turned on his heel, then, and ran toward another pile of leaves. “Pippin!” Merry called, and then, hesitating no longer, followed his cousin. The sound of laughter and shouting made Frodo lift his head. He set down his quill and glanced out the window, a smile slowly stretching across his face as he watched his cousins push each other into the leaves. This is what he had set out to save.
The Tooth Dwarf “Merry! Merry, wake up!” Pippin whispered, shaking his cousin by the shoulder, undeterred even when Merry shrugged him off and turned away, pulling the blanket over his head. “Something’s wrong!” Any hope of sleeping was driven away by those two words, and Merry hurriedly disentangled himself from the blankets and sat up. “What’s wrong, Pip? Did you have a bad dream? Are you sick?” he asked, already checking for a fever. “No,” Pippin said, his eyes filling with tears. “I think I broke something.” “What?” Merry cried, trying to keep his voice down. “Did you fall out of bed?” He grabbed Pippin’s arms and patted them, not sure what he was looking for, but the healer had done this when his cousin Berilac broke his arm last summer. “Not there, Merry,” Pippin said with all the impatience of the very young. “Here!” “Your tooth?” Merry asked in surprise before laughing in relief. “It’s not funny!” Pippin exclaimed, folding his arms and glaring at his cousin. “My tooth is wiggling and I can’t stop it.” “Pippin, your tooth is not broken, it’s just loose.” Merry explained, forcing himself to remain sober. He poked at the offending tooth with the tip of his finger. “It’ll fall out very soon. All of them will, eventually.” “But how will I eat without any teeth?” Pippin asked, horrified. Already his eyes were filling with fresh tears. “New ones will grow in their place, bigger ones, and you’ll even grow more teeth in the back of your mouth,” Merry said. “And then I’ll be able to eat even more, because I’ll have more teeth! Right, Merry?” Pippin asked, needing extra assurance. “Right,” Merry replied. Satisfied, Pippin crawled into Merry’s lap and sat there, wiggling his tooth for a moment. “What happens when my tooth falls out, Merry? Can I keep it?” “If you want to,” Merry answered. “But wouldn’t you rather leave it out for the Tooth Dwarf?” “The Tooth Dwarf?” Pippin asked, turning so he could see Merry’s face. “Who’s that?” “When your tooth falls out, put it under your pillow for the Tooth Dwarf. Every night he waits until all the children are asleep and travels around the Shire, and collects the teeth of all the little hobbit lads and lasses, and leaves a coin in return.” “A coin!” Pippin exclaimed, already calculating how many sweets he would be able to buy. “But why does the Tooth Dwarf want our teeth?” Merry contemplated this for a moment before smiling. “The Tooth Dwarf brings all the teeth back to the caves and gives them to the other dwarves to make, uh, jewelry. You know from Cousin Bilbo’s stories how much dwarves like jewels. Well, hobbit teeth are very valuable for them, since they don’t have any hobbits where they live.” “Ohhh,” Pippin said. He wiggled his tooth some more. “When will my tooth fall out, Merry?” “Are you in a hurry for a visit from the Tooth Dwarf?” Merry asked teasingly. He inspected Pippin’s tooth again and nodded. “It’s very loose. I wouldn’t want it to fall out while you’re asleep so if you want I can pull it out for you.” “Will it hurt?” Pippin asked, trying to sound brave but failing miserably. “It might,” Merry replied. “Or you can just wait until it falls out on its own.” Pippin debated this for a moment before smiling. “I won’t be scared if you pull out my tooth, Merry. Besides, I want the Tooth Dwarf to visit me.” “All right, then,” Merry said, retrieving a clean handkerchief from his nightstand. He grasped Pippin’s tooth and lifted it away, dabbing gently at the tiny trickle of blood. “Here it is,” he said, handing the tooth to his cousin. “It didn’t hurt at all,” Pippin said, accepting his tooth and turning it over in his hands. He poked at the empty space in his mouth. “Feels better now, too. Thank you, Merry.” “Any time, Pippin,” Merry said, ruffling his cousin’s curls. “Now, put the tooth under your pillow for the Tooth Dwarf and go right to sleep, or else he will not visit you.” “Will he visit me if I stay here?” Pippin asked, already claiming one of Merry’s pillows as his own. “I’m too sleepy to go back to my room.” “Yes, losing teeth does take a lot out of you,” Merry agreed, tucking the blanket around Pippin’s shoulders. “And don’t worry; the Tooth Dwarf will not have any trouble finding you here.” “I’m glad,” Pippin replied, already half asleep. “Good night, Merry.”
Better Than Tonic Pippin lay on his side, and though he faced away from the door he knew by the drafty air creeping into his room from the hallway that it had been opened. He remained perfectly still, waiting, but heard no footsteps, no sound of breathing other than his own. A light dip in the mattress was followed by another, and another. Pippin tensed, waiting for something (another cool cloth, perhaps, though a bitter mouthful of tonic was more likely) but nothing happened. Something soft dragged across his arm – another blanket? Squeezing his eyes shut for the inevitable attack, Pippin did not see the pair of blue eyes hovering close to his own. There was a light whirring noise, and Pippin’s eyes flew open just as the tiny bundle of fur settled itself in the crook of his elbow. With a smile, Pippin reached for the miniature creature, which stared back at him curiously. He smoothed his hands over white fur with orange patches before reaching for the tiny scrap of parchment tied with a yellow ribbon around the kitten’s neck. I’ll bet you were expecting more tonic. Laughing hoarsely, Pippin finally turned over to see Merry standing in the doorway, grinning.
A Hobbit for all Seasons Spring “You must wear your cloak, Pippin. It’s not warm enough yet to go without.” “All right,” Pippin grumbled good-naturedly, holding still long enough for his cousin to clasp the cloak beneath his chin. Then they set off, Pippin’s hand in Merry’s, and their packs pleasantly weighed down by lunch. “Do you think we’ll have an adventure today, Merry?” Pippin asked, swinging their hands between them. “I certainly hope so,” Merry replied. “But you must be careful, Pippin. Don’t wander off. I wouldn’t want to lose you.” His hand tightened unconsciously. “Don’t worry, Merry. I wouldn’t want to lose you either.” Summer “Our first real adventure,” Pippin sighed. “I wish we could tell Frodo right now.” “Ssh!” Merry hissed. He glanced around; fortunately the other patrons weren’t paying them any attention. “There won’t be an adventure at all if you keep chattering away about it. This is meant to be a secret, Pip.” He shook his head in mild irritation. “I have half a mind to take Freddy instead.” “Lucky for me that Freddy doesn’t want to go,” Pippin replied amiably. “Besides, if I stay behind then who knows what trouble I might get into without you to look after me. Don’t you think I’ll be safer with you and Frodo and Sam?” “Persuasive little Took,” Merry groused. “Fine. I suppose you may come along, but only if you stay quiet when you must, and don’t wander off and do anything foolish.” Pippin smiled charmingly. “I promise, Merry. Don’t worry so much.” Autumn Faramir ran up, trailing a cluster of cousins behind him. “Da! Uncle Merry is going to take us adventuring!" “Is he now? And where are you going, Farry?” “Just exploring,” Faramir replied excitedly. “He said you may come along too, if you want. Please, Da, say you'll come.” Pippin pretended to think it over. “All right, you've convinced me.” He crouched down to whisper in his son's ear. “We’ll need to keep an eye on Uncle Merry. He has quite a knack for finding trouble on his adventures.” Faramir glanced at his Uncle Merry and they both began to laugh. Winter They sat side by side on an enormous boulder, pipes in hand, and gazed at the rugged landscape around them, still familiar even after so many years. Merry was silent, as he’d often been during this long journey, and though it unsettled Pippin he knew better than to question it. “A bit of lembas now would be nice,” he remarked instead, and rummaged through his pack for some bread and cheese. “Here Merry, have something to eat.” With a silent nod of thanks, Merry accepted the food, and Pippin smiled a little, glad to see his cousin eating. The sun rose higher, and soon it was time for them to move on. Pippin held Merry by the elbow, and together they walked to where their ponies grazed in the long grass. “A lifetime of adventuring,” Merry said finally. He glanced over at Pippin with a grin. “Ready for one more?”
Snow Day “It’s just not fair that Merry is snowed in.” Pippin sighed despondently and leaned his forehead upon the cool glass of the windowpane. “Don’t worry, Pippin,” Frodo replied from his seat by the fire. “Merry will be here as soon as the roads are safe enough for travel. He should be no more than a week late and certainly will arrive well before you have to return home.” Pippin turned to look at Frodo and seemed on the verge of rolling his eyes. “That’s not what I meant, Frodo,” he explained. “It’s just that Buckland has had the best snow for years now, and I’m terribly jealous.” “Oh, Pippin,” Frodo said with a laugh. “Perhaps Merry will bring the snow with him when he arrives.” Pippin sighed again, louder this time, and returned his forehead to rest upon the glass. “I doubt it, though it’s the least he could do for being so late.” Through the reflection of the glass Pippin saw the cushion Frodo heaved at him hurtling toward his head, and managed to duck in time, an unenthusiastic smile upon his face. * “You don’t know the half of it.” Merry sighed dramatically. “Nearly three feet of snow since November, and it’s been so cold that hardly any of it has melted away.” “Three feet,” Pippin said dreamily. “I’d like to see four feet of snow, so that it would be over our heads.” Merry smirked. “Three feet is over your head, Pip.” He ducked the pillow his cousin flung at him. “Oi! Stop that. I’m exhausted from all this snow – shoveling, making sure the animals don’t freeze to death, traveling all this way on icy roads.” He picked the pillow up from the floor and placed it behind his head before shutting his eyes. “But Merry, I just want snow,” Pippin said, his voice utterly miserable. “It’s been years now since I’ve seen it. I can barely remember its color!” Merry snorted at that but did not open his eyes. “Perhaps next year,” he murmured, and drifted off to sleep. Pippin, mournful as ever, watched Merry sleep for a few moments before tucking himself into his cousin’s side and dropping off to sleep as well, exhausted by his own gloom. Standing by the window, Frodo studied the grey clouds moving in from the east with a smile. * “I can’t escape it,” moaned Merry. “I left Buckland hoping to see sunshine and grass again, and not more of this.” He scooped up a handful of the snow covering the windowsill and sifted it through his fingers. “Well, at least Pippin will be overjoyed,” Frodo said. “All I heard about for two weeks was snow, snow, snow.” He glanced at Merry, eyebrows raised. “Pippin seemed more concerned over the absence of snow than the absence of you.” “Why am I not surprised,” Merry grumbled, shutting the window with a definitive snap. “He’s completely obsessed with snow.” “Actually, I’m surprised that he is not awake yet,” Frodo said, taking a long glance down the hallway toward his cousin’s room before turning back to Merry with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You don’t suppose we should wake him, do you?” A slow smile spread across Merry’s face as a thought formed and took hold in his mind. “As always, Frodo, you make perfect sense. Why should we deprive Pippin even one minute of the snow he so wanted to see?” A quick nod and a shared grin were all Frodo and Merry had time for before they took off running down the hall to Pippin’s room. * “It’s just not fair,” Pippin complained as he wiped the snow from his eyes and nose with the edge of his scarf. His face was red from trying – and failing – to escape his snow-wielding cousins. “Two against one is terribly mean, even for the both of you.” Pippin frowned as Frodo and Merry laughed harder, slumping against a tree trunk in an effort to stand. Looking up at the branches, Pippin noticed how they were buckling under the heavy weight of the snow, and wondered if he should warn his cousins when another thought crossed his mind instead. With a particularly naughty grin upon his face, Pippin crouched down and carefully packed a large, heavy snowball. After one final glance at Frodo and Merry, Pippin threw the snowball at the uppermost branches of the tree. His aim was sure, and as he had anticipated, the snow fell from the branches, landing squarely on the heads of his giggly cousins. Pippin smiled amidst their squawks of outrage and half-hearted threats. Revenge certainly was a dish best served cold.
A Short Cut to Mushrooms It is a truth universally acknowledged that a hobbit in possession of a large supply of mushrooms must be in want of a dining companion or two. “You've got an awful lot of mushrooms there, Frodo,” Merry ventured, his eyes straying to the overstuffed basket at the center of the table. “Do you need any help eating, I mean, cleaning, them?” “I’m managing quite well, thank you,” Frodo replied quickly. He slid the basket away from the pair of tiny, grubby hands creeping slowly across the table. “May I help you, Pippin?” Pippin hid his hands behind his back and smiled sweetly at his cousin. “I was just looking.” “Right.” Frodo felt a presence over his shoulder, and whirled around to see Merry setting three plates on the table. “What are you doing?” Merry paused in mid-motion, a dish hovering in the air just inches above the table. “Oh, that’s right,” he said, glancing through the window with a grin. “Sam needs a plate, too!” Turning again, Frodo saw Sam standing outside the window with a sheepishly hungry expression upon his face. Frodo relinquished the basket, causing his cousins to squeal with joy and wildly gesture for Sam to come inside and join them. Immediately, Sam went to work cleaning the mushrooms, which Merry and Pippin divided with the care that one would normally devote to counting gold. Frodo smiled to himself as he watched. He was more than willing to sacrifice a few mushrooms for those he loved best.
The Damp of the First Spring Rain “Want some pie, Merry?” Merry gazed down at his smiling cousin, surrounded by mud pies in various stages of completion, and hid a smile. “Not right now, thank you.” With a shrug Pippin turned back to his latest creation, a particularly enormous mud pie that was sure to collapse right into his lap in a few moments. Merry shook his head – he never quite understood why his cousin always begged to go down to the river to play in the mud, though he supposed that it gave Pippin a good excuse to have one of his beloved baths. Shivering a little, Merry glanced up at the sky. It had been sunny when they set out this morning but now there were dark clouds swiftly rolling in, and the air was growing heavy with dampness. “Let’s go back now, Pip. It’s getting chilly, and I think it’s going to rain soon.” “No!” Pippin squealed. “No, no, no, no!” At the last no he flopped on his back, landing on a mud pie with an unmistakable squish and laughed gleefully. “Come on, up you go.” Merry hauled Pippin to his feet and shook his head at the state of his cousin’s hands and clothes. “You’re filthy, you know. Let’s get you cleaned up, and then we’ll find some real pies to eat.” “These are real pies,” Pippin explained patiently. He managed to slip away and headed toward an untouched patch of mud closer to the river. “You’re going to get sick playing out here, and then what will I do with you?” Merry called as he scrambled after Pippin. The ground was slick and in his haste Merry slipped, landing in a muddy trench, and was rewarded for his pains by Pippin’s unmistakable giggle. As Merry turned to glare at his cousin the skies opened up, letting loose such a fierce stream of rain that Pippin disappeared into the mist. “Pippin!” he cried, shaking the wet hair out of his eyes as he struggled to his feet. A movement to his right, and Merry turned to see Pippin, with his arms outstretched and his head titled back, spinning round and round and laughing with such joy that Merry found it impossible to suppress a smile of his own. “What are you doing?” Merry shouted over the roaring rain. “Cleaning off the mud!” Pippin yelled back, grinning and seeming quite pleased with himself. He stopped spinning abruptly, and swayed on his feet, still smiling. “You ridiculous little Took,” Merry said fondly as he scooped up Pippin and headed toward the warm smial. “What we both need is a bath.” Pippin wrapped his arms tightly around Merry’s neck and snuggled into his shoulder. “And then some pie!”
Number the Stars “How many stars are there in the sky? And what are their names? Merry, do you know?” “Millions, I suppose.” Merry rubbed at his eyes tiredly. “Far too many to name.” Pippin frowned. “But everything has a name.” He kicked off the blankets, heedless of Merry’s irritated grumbling and sat up, studying the sky intently. At length his face brightened, and he declared, “We’ll just have to name them ourselves, then.” “You’ll run out of names before you’re half finished,” Merry replied, though he could not suppress a small smile. “Aren’t you a little tired, Pippin? We spent the entire day walking. Anyone else would be-” he paused to yawn enormously “-exhausted.” “No,” Pippin insisted, though he retrieved the previously discarded blankets and settled them once more over Merry and himself. He wedged his tiny form into Merry’s side, rearranging his cousin’s arm so that it wrapped securely around his own waist. “I’m not at all sleepy, Merry. What should we name that star over there, the one that’s twinkling?” Merry sighed, just a little, and forced his bleary eyes open. “I think you’re right, Pippin. All of the stars must already have names. Perhaps Bilbo would know, and we can ask him tomorrow when we reach Bag End.” He could tell that Pippin was about to ask something else, and so he hurriedly spoke again. “For now, I think we should count the stars. It might help Bilbo to remember all their names, if we first remind him how many stars there are.” Thinking this over, Pippin finally nodded, his curiosity quelled for the moment. “You had better start counting first, Merry. I lose track of numbers sometimes.” His sheepish smiled turned into a sizeable yawn, and he snuggled closer to his cousin. Nearly laughing with the absurdity of it all, Merry began to count, starting with what he hoped was the beginning. “One…two…three…” “Don’t lose count, Merry,” Pippin murmured sleepily. “Sshhh, I won’t,” Merry whispered, but Pippin was already asleep. *** The day had been a long and exhausting one, but Merry knew that he would find no rest tonight. It was only then, as he stared out the too-large window, did he recall that he and Pippin had never finished counting the stars, nor had they bothered to ask Bilbo their names during that visit to Bag End so long ago. Merry shook his head a little, thinking of all the missed opportunities he and Pippin had had along the way, of all the people they might have asked – Gandalf, Elrond, Galadriel…all of them were sure to have known such a thing. Well, it was too late now to ask anyone. And so Merry spent that night, and the ones that followed, assigning a number to each star and hoping that by the time he finished, Pippin would be at his side once more.
Spring Fever A/N: Originally written for the "Spring Fever" challenge at hobbit_ficathon on LJ. It had been the worst winter in recent Buckland history, but for Merry the cold and snow and ice were a distant and half-forgotten memory in the midst of sunshine and flowers and fresh green grass beneath his feet. Merry strolled along the Brandywine, his hands in his pockets and his face warmed by the sun. It was wonderful to be outdoors again, surrounded by nature, and he settled happily beneath a blossom-covered tree. The very picture of relaxation, Merry shut his eyes and fell into a light sleep, waking a short time later with a strange itching sensation around his nose. Merry sat up, blinking quickly in the strong sunlight and, wrinkled his nose. A blossom had landed on his chest and another on his neck, and he gathered both up, smiling briefly though his nose grew more and more itchy. He rubbed his nose with his hand, and was rewarded with a series of sneezes in quick succession that left him breathless and teary-eyed. Sighing deeply, Merry attempted to stand, but sneezed again and again, each time more fiercely than the last, until his poor nose and chest were weak and exhausted. Crossly batting away another blossom, he tried to clear his now-constricted throat while twisting his shoulder into an uncomfortable position in an attempt to scratch away the sudden itchiness spreading across his neck. A twig snapped behind him, and Merry peered around the tree trunk, his eyes tearing up so badly that he could barely make out Pippin’s blurry form settling beside him. “I thought I would find you here,” Pippin said, shaking his head as he shot Merry an exasperated but fond gaze. “My dear Merry, will you ever learn?” “I’m just so tired of being cooped up indoors,” Merry said, his voice groggy and thick. “I only wanted some fresh air.” He punctuated his words with a thundering cough, and followed that by sneezing eight more times in a row. “My poor Merry-lad,” Pippin murmured, retrieving a wad of handkerchiefs from his pocket and tenderly wiping Merry’s red and watery eyes. He pressed another handkerchief to Merry’s nose and dutifully held it in place as his cousin blew his nose. “Lovely,” Pippin said, tossing the handkerchief onto the grass and tugging Merry closer. Pippin’s face felt blessedly cool against Merry’s own, and he sighed a little before a wracking cough shook his entire body. “You’ve got a fever,” Pippin muttered. He pulled back Merry’s collar and inspected the red and itchy-looking bumps rising on his neck. “And a rash as well. What did you do, roll around in a flower bed?” “Nrrgh,” Merry replied indignantly, and sneezed into Pippin’s hair. “What am I going to do with you?” Pippin said, holding Merry tight for another moment before pulling him to his feet. “A bath first, and then some ointment for your neck and tonic for your nose and throat. We should have enough saved from the last time.” Merry made a face that turned unintentionally frightful by his bright red eyes and nose. “It’s not fair,” he protested thickly. “I know,” Pippin said, linking arms with his cousin as he led him back to their little house. “But at least you will get to have a nice long rest in bed – preferably until July.”
To Catch a Thief The hobbit’s eyes darted back and forth beneath his mop of brown curls. Satisfied that he was alone, he stealthily crept forward to the enormous box. Standing on his toes to peer inside, his eyes widened as he saw the array of colors. Leaning forward even more until his entire body was nearly submerged, the hobbit continued to rummage through the carton with his tiny hands. “Bilbo Baggins!” The hobbit yelped at the dreaded, but not unexpected, shout and fell into the box with a thump. A large hand reached inside and plucked the squirming child from the sea of blue and red and green and gold. Beneath the wide brim of his hat the wizard glowered at Bilbo, and the poor young hobbit shook with fright. “A box of fireworks is no place for a hobbit to explore,” Gandalf said sternly. “You should have asked first if you wanted to see them.” After a moment of staring down the trembling hobbit, Gandalf retrieved a blue cone-shaped object from the box. “Most of them are too dangerous for children,” Gandalf admitted, “but I keep a few special ones aside for my favorite lads and lasses.” Bilbo looked away, certain that he would never be this wizard’s favorite. With a wave of Gandalf’s hand the cone burst into light, a steady stream of stars and dragonflies flowing from its top. Bilbo’s eyes widened at the sight but he made an effort to be obedient, and stayed silent. “For you, my lad,” Gandalf said gently and handed it to Bilbo with a smile. Bilbo stuttered his thanks and scampered away, eager to show his friends. The wizard laughed a little as he watched the would-be thief disappear into the crowd. He would have to remember to keep an eye on that hobbit.
You Don't Have to Know Everything A/N: Originally written for a hobbit_ficathon challenge on LJ. *** "You know, Merry." Merry blinked once, twice, and a third time, and peered at Pippin over his tankard. "Know what, Pip?" Pippin raised his eyebrows quizzically, and set his mug down with a thump. "What?" Merry's brow furrowed. "What do you mean, what?" he demanded, hiccupping loudly on the last word, and Pippin grinned at the bird-like squawk. "I believe I asked you first, Merry," he replied pleasantly, propping up his chin on his hand and eyeing his cousin. "No, you said, 'you know,' which is not a question," Merry sniffed, punctuating each word with a tap on Pippin's chest. "And at any rate, I don't know." Pippin's eyes intently followed Merry's finger as it poked his waistcoat. "Know what, Merry?" "I don't know, you ridiculous Took!" Merry thundered, slamming down his tankard, although he wasn't all that angry Pippin giggled loudly. "Of course you know me, you blockheaded Brandybuck!" he cried. His giggles turned to uproarious laughter, and soon the room started to spin and Pippin had to rest his head against the sticky wooden table as tears rolled down his face. Merry was laughing too, but he was also terribly thirsty, and when he tried to take a drink mid-laugh, he choked. His laughter scared away, Pippin sat up quickly and pounded Merry's back with his fist, a gesture that not only stopped his cousin's coughing but also knocked him off the bench and onto the ground. Confused, Merry gazed around the room from where he sat in a heap at Pippin's feet before staring up at his cousin, who seemed far too tall. "What's happened?" It took a few attempts for Pippin to haul Merry back onto the bench and rearrange his cousin's limp arms and legs. Merry slumped to the side, and nearly tipped over again, and when Pippin caught Merry he nearly fell over too. Finally they leaned on each other; each cousin tucked neatly against the other, and somehow managed to stay on the bench. For a few long moments Pippin wracked his brain, trying to recall Merry's question from before, and a slow smile spread across his face as he remembered. "I don't know," he declared loudly, and nodded firmly for good measure. Slowly, Merry lifted his head from Pippin's shoulder and gazed at his cousin questioningly. "Know what, Pip?" Pippin frowned, thinking about it, before realizing that he had no answer. He turned to Merry, leaning close until his nose nearly touched his cousin's. "What?" he asked eagerly. Blinking a few times, Merry tried to focus on something that wasn't moving, and chose Pippin's ear. "What do you mean, what?" he asked it. Looking over his shoulder, Pippin tried to see who Merry was talking to. "I don't know," he repeated, shrugging, and rested his head against his cousin's shoulder. He yawned loudly, and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. "I just don't know," he repeated, quieter this time. Merry wrapped his arm around Pippin's shoulders and leaned his head against his cousin's with a smile. "That's all right," he said. "You don't have to know everything."
Moving Day A/N: Written for a hobbit_ficathon challenge. “Well, that’s the last one,” Merry said as he and Pippin carried the heavy trunk inside and set it down in the wide hall already littered with furniture, crates of books and sacks of clothing. Mopping his sweaty brow with a handkerchief, Merry looked around at their many belongings and sighed, thinking of the work that lay ahead. “Well, Pip, let’s get some of this cleared away so we can walk,” he said, beginning to make a path in the crowded passageway. When no response was heard from Pippin, Merry turned and looked through the doorway, shading his eyes from the bright sunlight. His cousin sat in the now-empty cart, his legs dangling over the edge. “Oi, Pippin!” Merry called. “Come back inside, we’ve got to get some of this put away before tonight.” Pippin made no attempt to move and Merry sighed again, this time in annoyance. Muttering something about lazy Tooks, he marched over to the cart, but one look at his cousin’s face was all Merry needed to realize that a gentler approach was necessary. His cousin had kept up a steady stream of chatter as they travelled across the Shire and unloaded the cart, but now, it seemed, that Pippin had fully realized what he had done by moving out of the Great Smials. Without a word Merry swung up the back of the cart and settled himself beside his cousin. Together they sat in silence as the warm sun beat down against their faces until Pippin began to speak. “No one understands, Merry,” he said quietly, “except for you and Frodo and Sam. It hurts my parents and sisters to see me in a dark mood, and not smiling all the time, and it hurts me that they can’t understand.” “I’m glad they can’t understand, and that my parents can’t either,” Merry replied softly. “We saw too much, Pip, did too much. I wouldn’t want any of them to experience that.” “Neither do I,” Pippin agreed. “It’s just that I thought we would be able to forget all the bad things that had happened. But all anyone ever wants to hear about are our adventures, and they want the stories to sound fun and exciting, without giving any thought to the dangers behind them.” He sniffled loudly, and rubbed away the tears dripping down his face. “Oh, Pip,” Merry said, smiling sadly as he wrapped an arm around his cousin’s shoulders and pulled him close. “We were the same once, you know. We thought Bilbo’s adventure was nothing more than a walking party with dwarves for company.” Pippin let out a short, sniffly laugh. “But we’re not like that anymore, Merry, and we will never be that way again,” he said, sighing shakily. “I thought everything would be like it was before we left, and that when we came home things would go back to normal, and we could be happy and carefree again. It was such a foolish thought.” “It’s not foolish at all,” Merry replied. “During all those long months we always thought of home. And now that we’re back, we are the ones who have changed and are different. The Shire is still the same, and it’s still home. That’s a comforting thought, at least.” Merry searched Pippin’s face and the small smile forming there encouraged him to continue. “We just need some time to adjust,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “And I think our families need time to get used to us. We’ve changed so much, Pip. It must have been a terrible shock to them to see how different we have become. It will get better – or, at least, easier.” “I hope it does,” Pippin whispered. “But it never did get better for Bilbo, did it? Everyone always kept on thinking he was strange after he came back.” He looked up at Merry with concerned eyes. “Do you think that will happen to Frodo, Merry? I worry about him, you know, living all alone in that big smial. I wish he would come to live with us here at Crickhollow.” “Frodo will be all right,” Merry said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “He has Sam to keep him in line, after all. Besides, you know that Frodo needs his quiet time, to read and write and think. And there’s never any quiet when you’re around,” he added, bumping Pippin with his shoulder. “Oi!” Pippin cried, feigning insult as he deftly hopped down from the cart. “I was sitting out here minding my own business while you carried on, yelling at me from the house.” “Speaking of which, our little house is a mess. I can hardly get my feet past the door. We’ll need to start unpacking – that is, of course, if you still plan on living with your noisy cousin,” Merry said with a smile. He made to follow Pippin, but slipped a little, and Pippin quickly extended a hand to help Merry down. “Of course I will,” Pippin replied with a grin. “You need someone to keep you in line, too, you know.” “Yes,” Merry agreed with a laugh. “I certainly do.”
Rainy Afternoon It rained long and hard on the fourth day of Pippin’s visit to Buckland, and so he and Merry retreated to the many store rooms of Brandy Hall, where the numerous pieces of cloth-covered furniture handily served as fierce goblins and hideous trolls. As the older cousin, Merry always got to play the best parts, like Bilbo and Gandalf and Elrond and Thorin Oakenshield. Pippin did not mind, and was happy enough to play all of the other dwarves if it meant that he was included in Merry’s games, though he often struggled with their unusual names. As the leader of their company, Merry marched them through the long tunnels and in and out of every room until finally they reached Rivendell, and an exhausted Pippin was allowed a few moments’ rest from his travels. Rivendell was located in one of the newer store rooms, and as Pippin looked around he recognized some of Merry’s old toys and the trunks that held the family’s winter clothes. An unusual object tucked away on a shelf caught his eye, and Pippin darted across the room to have a better look at it. “No, no, no,” Merry said impatiently. “The Misty Mountains are the other way!” Thoroughly ignoring his cousin, Pippin stood on his toes and stretched out his arm, but could not reach. “Merry!” he called, pointing a small, chubby finger. “What is that?” With a sigh Merry crossed the room and glared up at the shelves, though he grinned suddenly when he saw what his cousin was pointing at. “That’s Frodo’s old butterfly net!” he cried, grabbing it eagerly. “I wonder what it’s doing here.” “A butterfly net?” repeated Pippin, eyeing it curiously. “Can you really catch butterflies with it?” “Of course,” Merry replied, swinging the net through the air with a swish. “It’s still in good condition,” he noted approvingly. Pippin’s face grew troubled. “What happens to the butterflies, Merry? Do they die?” he asked, thinking of the times he had seen fish caught by nets. “Not if you set them free,” Merry replied. “You just take a nice look at them and let them fly away. At least that’s what Frodo and I always did.” His eyes grew sad, and he frowned at the net in his hands. Pippin crept over and snuggled into Merry’s side, hugging him gently. “Can we do that, Merry? After it stops raining?” he asked quietly. Merry smiled. “Yes,” he said, and hugged Pippin tightly in return.
Do It Again Merry found Pippin in his bedroom. He was standing on the seat of the rocking chair and tightly holding onto its high back as it rocked back and forth. "No, no, no!" Merry cried, darting forward and stopping the chair's movement. "You mustn't do that, Pippin," he said firmly. "It's very dangerous. You might tip over!" Pippin dropped down to the seat of the chair and gazed up at his cousin with large, tear-filled eyes. "Sorry, Merry," he whispered, and screwed up his face, ready to cry. "It's all right," Merry said quickly, scooping up Pippin in his arms and settling them both in the chair. "Let's rock back and forth, just a little," he offered, and slowly moved the chair to and fro. Pippin beamed and clapped his hands, tears forgotten, and maneuvered himself so he sat facing Merry. "Sing my song!" he crowed, and clutched his cousin's hands tightly in anticipation. Merry grinned. Pippin's "song" had been Merry's once; he had learned it from Frodo, who once held claim to it, years before. "All right," he agreed, and rocked the chair a bit more as he began to sing: "See, saw, Knock at the door. Who's there? Pippin's there! What does he want? He wants a biscuit. Where's the biscuit? In his pocket!" Following years of tradition, Merry dipped Pippin with a flourish at the word "pocket," and his cousin shrieked with laughter as he hung upside down. "Again! Again! Please, Merry?" Pippin squealed, bouncing a little as Merry dutifully began to sing again. This time Pippin joined him in singing, though he made up the words he could not remember. "Swing, strong," he sang at the top of his lungs, and Merry laughed, having too much fun to correct his cousin or to bother slowing down the chair, which was now rocking very quickly. "Again, again!" Pippin demanded every time, and with each song the chair's rocking grew faster and faster until they were speeding through the air as the floorboards creaked in protest below. So wrapped up in song and laughter, neither hobbit noticed until the chair suddenly lurched forward, balancing precariously on the very edge of the rockers. For half a moment they seemed to hover in midair. Pippin's eyes went very round and Merry had just enough time to clutch his cousin tighter before they finally tipped forward, hurtling to the ground with a thunderous crash. Trailed by her daughters, Eglantine ran through the door and felt her heart give a funny little twist when she saw the overturned chair with Merry's legs sticking out beneath it. But then she heard her son's voice, muffled but clearly overjoyed. "That was fun, Merry!" Pippin was saying. "Do it again!" ((The silly little song here is something my grandma used to sing to my cousins and me (but it was "mine" first!). I have no idea where she got it from, so I'm not sure if it's a nursery rhyme or what. All I know is that for the purposes of this story I changed the original words from "some money" to "a biscuit." The original didn't seem hobbity enough to me!))
The Sandhobbit “Uncle Bilbo.” The scritch-scratch of the quill continued across the page and Frodo sighed from the doorway. “Uncle Bilbo,” he repeated, louder this time. Bilbo’s head did not look up from his task, but remained bent over the desk as he wrote furiously. “Uncle Bilbo!” Startled, Bilbo dropped his quill and pushed away his book, blocking it from sight with his shoulder. It was only then, when he turned his attention to the doorway, that he saw the reason for his disturbance. “Frodo,” he said, fighting to remain appropriately serious, “what seems to be the trouble?” Clad in his nightshirt and looking very grumpy, Frodo cast down his sleepy eyes to the floor. There, perched on his foot was Pippin, his tiny arms curled tightly around his cousin’s calf and his neck craned around to gaze at Bilbo with a smile. “Hullo!” he said cheerfully, waving at the old hobbit. “I think Frodo is mad at me.” “I can’t imagine why,” Bilbo said, watching in amusement as Frodo slowly limped his way into the study, Pippin still firmly attached to his leg. “Why are you keeping your cousin awake, Pippin? Frodo is getting old and needs plenty of rest.” “But you’re still awake, and you’re much, much older,” Pippin pointed out guilelessly. “Ah, yes, that I am,” Bilbo admitted as Frodo stifled a laugh. “Though I don’t feel it at all, my lad, not a bit!” Reaching down, he untangled Pippin’s arms and legs from around his cousin and lifted him onto his lap. Frodo, finally free of his burden, retreated to the large, cushiony chair by the fire with a grateful sigh. “I’m sorry to bother you,” he said around a yawn. “But I couldn’t get Pippin settled for bed. I don’t know where he gets the energy,” he added, gesturing to his young cousin who had turned his inquisitive gaze to Bilbo’s book. “No trouble at all, Frodo-lad, no trouble at all!” Bilbo replied, edging his book away from the tiny hands inching toward it before turning to face the hobbit in his lap. This was the first time that Pippin was staying at Bag End without his family, and Bilbo wondered if he was homesick. “What’s wrong, Pippin? Do you miss your family?” For a moment Pippin wavered. “Maybe a little,” he admitted before throwing his arms around Bilbo and mashing his face into his waistcoat. “But I’m having lots of fun with you and Frodo, so please don’t send me home yet!” “All right, we’ll keep you a little while longer,” Bilbo replied, patting Pippin’s curls with a chuckle. “Now,” he added, clapping his hands together briskly. “How about a bedtime story?” “Tried that already,” Frodo replied, yawning enormously. “I read him two stories, in fact, and I gave him warm milk and biscuits, and fluffed his pillows and tucked him in. Nothing works. If anything, he’s more awake now.” “But did you tell him about the Sandhobbit?” Bilbo asked, winking at Frodo over the top of Pippin’s head. “The wha – oh,” Frodo replied, recognition dawning. “No, I didn’t. It must have slipped my mind.” “Who’s the Sandhobbit?” Pippin demanded, tugging on Bilbo’s sleeve. “Well,” Bilbo began hesitantly. “Can you keep a secret?” “Oh, yes,” Pippin said eagerly. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise!” “Good, good,” Bilbo replied in relief. “Now tell me, my lad: in the morning, have you ever noticed that there is sand in the corners of your eyes?” Pippin thought about this for a moment, one hand unconsciously reaching up to rub at his eye, before nodding slowly. “The Sandhobbit puts it there,” Bilbo continued. “He is the hobbit in charge of making sure that all the children in the Shire are asleep. Every night he travels from smial to smial and adds the name of each sleeping child to a long list he keeps. Then he places a bit of magic sand around their eyes, to make their dreams happy and peaceful.” “The Sandhobbit does this every night?” Pippin asked, wide-eyed. Bilbo nodded firmly before hurriedly continuing, already anticipating the next question. “Many children have stayed awake night after night trying to catch a glimpse of the Sandhobbit, but he wishes to remain hidden. Only the Elves have seen him. They told me so, when I met them.” “Ohhh,” Pippin whispered, awe-struck. “Do the Elves give him the magic sand?” “No, the Sandhobbit must go all the way to the Sea, and walk along the shore to find it. I think,” Bilbo added, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “that the Sandhobbit is a Took. You remember the story of Isengar, don’t you, Pippin?” “He went to Sea!” Pippin replied with a grin. “Do you think he found the magic sand first, Bilbo?” “I am certain of it,” Bilbo replied with a smile as Pippin yawned. “And now I think it is time for you to go to sleep. You wouldn’t want to miss a visit from the Sandhobbit, would you?” Pippin shook his head and smiled as he hopped down from Bilbo’s lap. “Come along, then,” Bilbo said, taking Pippin’s hand and leading him to the door. “Frodo? It’s time for bed.” There was no reply, and when Bilbo and Pippin turned they found Frodo drooling onto the cushions, fast asleep.
Newborn The baby called Frodo was fast asleep and wrapped snugly in a soft blue blanket when he was gently laid in Bilbo’s arms. Bilbo glanced eagerly at the tiny face and smiled to find the familiar Baggins features there, with a bit of Brandybuck as well. The infant shifted and came awake with a yawn, and Bilbo froze, wondering if he should return the child to his mother. But Frodo stared serenely at him with a pair of enormous, impossibly blue eyes, and reached out with one tiny, waving fist, which Bilbo caught in his own hand with a smile. Dribbles: Hobbits in General & Young Merry and Pippin
* * * Here is the first, a dribble on hobbits in general: Happiest with those they love best, sharing what they love Then I wanted to write a bit more about my two favorite hobbits and so I wrote one regular dribble and then did an inverted dribble (which I'm not sure is allowed, but was very fun) :) Here is young Merry and even younger Pippin: A tiny figure stole into the room, trembling a little. “Pip?”
Diamonds of the Earth A/N: I feel like I'm cheating, as this does not take place in the Shire, and is not from the point of view of one of the Shire-folk, but it is about hobbits, and in the interests of keeping things neat I'm posting this drabble here in "Postcards From the Shire." :) It had been easy for Gimli to underestimate the hobbits at first, what with their laughter and jests, their gentle love of friends and food and nature. It had been easy for him to mistake their reluctance to fight for weakness, the uninhibited joy they so often found in life for hopeless idealism. Their resilience had been a surprise to some members of the Company, their unquenchable spirit something to give others strength, their presence a blessing sorely missed. Now Gimli knew hobbits better. Now he knew they were strong, stronger than the hardest diamonds found deep in the earth.
Double Bubble Heavy rain pelted loudly against the windows, but the two young hobbits hunched over the kitchen table paid little attention to the storm outside. Pippin leaned halfway across the table, his face near the old, chipped mixing bowl in the center, watching curiously as his cousin carefully tipped the contents of a small, still-steaming pot inside. “Will it really work, Merry?” "It should," Merry replied, vigorously stirring the melted soap so that it fully blended with the water, creating a frothy, bubbly mixture. "Of course I've never made it myself. Frodo used to make it for us to play with when I was even younger than you are. I wrote to him about it before your visit. I thought it would be something fun to do with you." Pippin narrowed his eyes suspiciously at his cousin's words. He remembered all too well what had happened the last time he had tried one of Frodo's 'experiments.' "Are you sure it isn't some sort of trick, Merry?" he asked anxiously. Merry fought back a laugh. He had forgotten how sensitive both cousins remained about that incident, even several months later – Pippin because he had been tricked so thoroughly, and Frodo because his hair had smelled of rotten potatoes for days afterward.* "Don't worry, Pip," he replied. "I don't think our cousin would try something like that again. Hand me the sugar, please." “Sugar?” Pippin echoed skeptically. It still sounded like some sort of a prank to him, but nonetheless Pippin slid the sugar bowl to his cousin, watching intently as Merry spooned in a small amount. Only time, and an end to the stormy weather over Buckland, would reveal if Frodo had succeeded in another prank. An opportunity arose two days later. The dark storm clouds finally drifted away, leaving a warm, sunny summer day in their wake. By the early evening the grounds were mostly dry, though some muddy puddles remained, and Merry and Pippin, surrounded by a strange assortment of objects, had settled themselves beneath a tree. Between them were a large jar and a flat, empty basin. Two lengths of wire, twisted into crooked circles with handles, lay half-hidden in the grass. "Well," Merry said, grinning as he reached for the jar. "Let's see if Frodo has tricked us again." Carefully he poured the soapy liquid into the basin, miniature bubbles forming almost immediately. His initial doubt forgotten by now, Pippin was nearly twitching with anticipation. "Can we try it now, Merry? Please?" he asked eagerly. "All right, all right," Merry laughed, setting the empty jar aside and handing one of the wires to Pippin, keeping the other for himself. "You first, Pip." Pippin grinned up at his cousin before dipping the wire into the basin. "Oooh," he said, wide-eyed as he lifted it to the sky. Suspended within the wiry circle was the soapy liquid, looking like some sort of magical glass: thin and fragile and reflecting every color of the rainbow as the sun shined through it. Merry glanced up, smiling, as he dipped his own wire in the basin. "Hurry, before it drips away," he urged, nodding toward the small trail of soap sliding down Pippin's wrist. Taking a deep breath, Pippin blew on the wire. A small, wobbly bubble emerged, floating a short distance away before popping. Wriggling happily, Pippin immediately dipped his wire into the basin again, though he spared a few moments to watch in unchecked awe as Merry skillfully blew out a long string of bubbles, each one a perfect, clear circle that soared lightly away. "How do you do that?" Pippin asked when his next attempt yielded another wobbly, though somewhat larger, bubble. "I don’t know," Merry replied, shrugging a little. "It’s just practice, I suppose. Remember, I’ve done this before. Keep trying, Pippin. You'll get it eventually." But Pippin sighed heavily. "Everything always needs practice," he said with a frown. "Writing, drawing, running fast..." He trailed off, heaving another sigh before sending a large gust of air toward the wire. To his surprise, three bubbles appeared. "Look, Merry," he cried, pointing as his trio of bubbles floated higher and higher, drifting to the tallest branches of the tree. "Great work, Pip!" Merry exclaimed, ruffling his cousin's curls before he sent another stream of bubbles to the sky. Together they blew more and more bubbles, laughingly pointing out the small and lopsided ones, and exclaiming in delight at the better ones. Soon it became a lighthearted contest, with each cousin competing to create the largest bubble ever. “I’m glad that you asked Frodo how to make this bubble mix. And that he didn’t trick us,” Pippin said later, when the last rays of the summer sun were disappearing from the sky. He peered inside the basin, where only a bit of the soapy liquid remained. “Can we do this again tomorrow?” he asked hopefully. Merry grinned down at his cousin. “Of course.” *A reference to my story "Just a Bit of Fun" A few additional notes: A/N: This was written as a holiday ficlet for Shirebound, and also takes place in her "Quarantined" universe.
Yule preparations were in full swing at Bag End. While Frodo measured ingredients and stirred the mixing bowl, Merry carefully cut the dough into shapes: stars, boats, and even hobbits. Armed with icing and small sweets, Pippin stood at Merry's elbow, waiting to decorate, as Sam kept a close eye on the treats already baking so that none would burn. Scamp darted around the room, barking excitedly and waiting for something sweet to fall to the floor (as it often happened, in this kitchen). Bilbo entered the room, carrying four identical packages. "Come here, lads! These just arrived in the post. There is one for each of you," he said, smiling mysteriously. The hobbits hurried over, their eyes wide and curious, and eagerly tore through the wrappings. "Marshmawwos!" Pippin squealed in delight. "These must be from Estel!" Frodo cried. Scamp wagged her tail at the sound of Aragorn's name and scampered off, presumably to watch for him. "There was also a note," Bilbo said, handing it to Frodo. "What wonderful news!" Frodo said, scanning it quickly. "Estel wanted to send our presents early because he may be late, but he plans on visiting us for Yule." All five hobbits grinned at each other, delighted. "Look, there's more," Merry said, peering over his cousin's shoulder. "'I’ve heard that marshmallows are even better when toasted.'" Merry glanced up at Frodo. "Toasted?" Sam wrinkled his nose. "Like bread, sir?" “I’ve a better idea,” Bilbo said. “Half a moment!" Disappearing into the storeroom, he returned with a handful of long wooden skewers used to roast small pieces of meat over a flame. The young hobbits each took a skewer and placed a marshmallow at end, encouraging Bilbo to join them. They then held the marshmallows over the fire until they turned brown and puffy, and ready to eat. So eager to try their gooey treats, they all nearly burnt their tongues as they chewed their way through the stickiness. “What did you think?” Bilbo said when at last the toasted marshmallows were gone. "Estel was right," Frodo replied. "I like them better this way." Sam was more uncertain. "They were a bit messy," he said, rubbing at his sticky chin. Merry and Pippin shared a mischievous glance. "We’ll need to try another before we make a decision," Merry said, grinning broadly. <>Everyone laughed, and no one stopped Pippin's hand from creeping toward another marshmallow. A/N: Written for Periantari as a holiday ficlet, from a plot bunny she requested.
A Moment's Peace Gandalf left the two hobbits sitting together in silence. Cold and fatigued after his ordeal, Pippin sank back against the bracken. Merry watched him for a moment, less angry than anxious, before collecting Pippin's blanket, which lay in a tangled heap nearby. "Here," he said, speaking for the first time since he had been woken by the sound of screaming. "Wrap up in this, you're shivering." He peered closely at Pippin. "Are you all right?" Pippin was trembling from fear, not from cold, but he accepted the blanket gratefully. At least Merry was speaking to him now. He would not, before, and that had bothered Pippin as much as the memory of what he had seen in the stone and the sound of that foul voice that still rang in his ears. Pippin smiled weakly. "I'm fine now." Merry smiled back, just a little, and brushed a couple of wayward curls out of Pippin's eyes. "I was terribly worried about you. First it seemed you would never come back, and then your voice sounded so strange." "I'm sorry," Pippin said. "I don't know why I did it- well, that's not true at all. I wanted another look at that stone. But I'm sorry I did it, and made you angry. You're very angry with me, aren't you?" he asked, feeling very young and small and foolish. "Of course," Merry replied, though he smiled. "I'm mad at myself, too, for not doing something to stop you. I should have known that you wouldn't put it out of your mind so easily." He sighed. "Well, what's done is done, and even Gandalf thinks everything could have turned out worse. And that's something, isn't it?" Pippin nearly laughed at that. "I'm not used to Gandalf being so cheerful." "Neither am I," Merry agreed. "Come on," he said, tugging Pippin down so that they both lay on their makeshift bed. "Gandalf won't stay cheerful for long, and when tomorrow comes he'll be back to his grumpy old self, hurrying us along to Helm's Deep. Let's sleep now." "I don't want to sleep," Pippin whispered. "Every time I close my eyes I see that stone before me, glowing. I'm afraid I'll dream about it, and that he will see me, somehow." "All right," Merry said gently, reaching for his hand. "Just rest, then. I'll stay with you." At that moment a shadow fell over them.** **J.R.R. Tolkien, The Two Towers, "The Palantir" A/N: Written for a hobbit_ficathon challenge on LJ
Least Expected The air was too warm and still, and Merry was practically asleep on his feet by the time he found the shade of the willow tree. It was his responsibility to lead his friends through the forest, and so far it had not been going as well as he had expected. The forest was sprawling and always changing, and it seemed that no matter which direction he chose it was always the wrong one. Perhaps a rest would do them all some good, and allow him to find his bearings. It was cooler beneath the branches of the willow, and Merry called for the others. Pippin followed, and together they slumped at the base of the tree, but Frodo protested (Merry’s mind was too muddled to understand what his cousin was saying) and Sam was nowhere in sight. As he drifted between wakefulness and sleep, Merry barely noticed Frodo wander away, muttering to himself. Beside him Pippin was already fast asleep, snoring gently and practically curled into the tree itself. Merry yawned and nodded off, feeling sleep draw him away from the waking world. When Merry opened his eyes again all he saw was utter darkness. At first he thought it was nighttime, but the air was even closer and more oppressive than before, and when he called for his cousins he heard Pippin’s muffled, panicky voice beside him, followed by a cruel voice whispering in his ears. Well, Merry thought, his drowsiness fading into dread. I hadn’t expected this. A/N: Written as a holiday ficlet for Pipwise. Hobbit in the Box From his spot on the floor, Pippin watched the proceedings with wide, curious eyes as the other children opened their gifts, exclaiming loudly whenever they received an oft-wished-for toy. As for Pippin, he was content enough to amuse himself with a ribbon that had been cast aside from a recently opened gift, and he was quietly gumming on it when Merry came over and sat beside him, a package tied with a red bow in his hands. Eyeing the package with interest, Pippin let the soggy ribbon drop from his mouth and turned his attention to Merry. "This one is for you, Pippin," Merry said, scooping up his young cousin and settling him in his lap. He placed Pippin's hands on the brightly wrapped gift and smiled. "Go on, open it." The adults in the room shared an amused glance as Pippin immediately tugged the ribbon loose and stuffed the end of it in his mouth. "You must help your cousin open it, Merry," Saradoc reminded him gently. Nodding, Merry gently removed the ribbon from Pippin’s grasp and set it aside. Pippin's eyes followed it mournfully, and he whimpered a little in protest until Merry set the package, now with the paper only loosely covering its sides, before him once more. "Now try it," Merry said again, watching with an expectant grin as the baby batted away the wrapping to reveal the brightly painted wooden box underneath. His tiny brow crinkling in curiosity, Pippin peered closely at the mysterious box. Hardly able to contain his excitement, Merry placed Pippin's hand on a wooden crank that jutted out on one side. "Look, Pip," he said, keeping his hand over Pippin's as they slowly turned the handle together. "It plays music." Pippin stared in wonder as the box began to play a cheerful tune. Merry hid a grin and Pearl, Pimpernel and Pervinca stifled their laughter, watching as Pippin squealed and bounced in time to the tune. The music went faster and faster, and a wide smile spread across Pippin's face as he leaned closer to the box. Just then the lid snapped open and out sprang a wooden figure. It was intricately carved into a smiling hobbit wearing brightly-colored clothes and with jingling bells attached to its hands. Despite its cheerful appearance, it startled Pippin, causing him to squeal again, this time in surprise, and fall back against Merry's chest with a thump. This was just one moment in a lifetime of teasing, and of looking after, his cousin and Merry held Pippin close, ready to comfort him, as the baby scrunched up his face as if to cry. A laugh escaped instead. A/N: Written as a holiday ficlet for Auntiemeesh. A Gift Farewell The Gaffer's tale of the mysterious stranger asking about Frodo made Sam uneasy, but Rosie Cotton was there, with her brother Tom and Sam's own sister, Marigold, and he often found his attention turning to her. "So you're going off to Buckland," she said at last. Sam winced. It seemed that Rosie was not very happy with him. "The Gaffer says that folk there are strange." But Sam shrugged. "I've got to do for Mr. Frodo," he said simply. Rosie nodded, understanding that. "Well, here's something for you, then," she said, pressing a soft bit of fabric into his hand. * * * Frodo and Pippin stood at the gate, waiting. Pippin laughed out loud as Sam ran up. "I know we're trying to avoid attention, but you didn't need to wear a bag over your head, Sam!" he said. Blushing, Sam patted the shapeless felt. "It's no bag, Mr. Pippin. Rosie Cotton made it for me. She said it's a hat." Pippin grinned but said no more, and Frodo hid a smile, making some lighthearted complaint about his pack. Soon they started down the lane, and Sam, glancing once more up the hill, straightened his hat and fell into step behind them. A/N: Written as a holiday ficlet for _insilence. Whistling Lesson Pippin wriggled with delight. He could hardly keep the grin off his face. For the first time ever, he was going to teach Merry something. "I learned this from my da," he said proudly. "None of my sisters can do it, but I know you will, Merry. You can do everything." Merry laughed. “Well, show me, then.” Pippin cupped his hands tightly together so that his thumbs were lined up side by side. "First, put your hands like this, Merry." Merry did as Pippin instructed, and then leaned over and peered closely at his cousin's hands for a long moment before studying his own. "All right," he said at last, after he had made some changes. "Now what?" “That’s it!” Pippin said. He raised his clasped hands to his lips and blew; a deep, low whistle sounded. “It’s easy,” he added with a grin. “Now you try it, Merry.” Merry mimicked what Pippin had done, but no whistle was heard, just the sound of air blowing against his hand. "It doesn't work," Merry said, frowning. "What did I do wrong?” Pippin frowned as well, he could not imagine Merry doing anything wrong. It seemed that everything Merry did was always right. "I don't know," Pippin said at last. He blew into his hands again, and an even clearer whistle sounded through the air. "Are you keeping your hands folded together?" "Yes," Merry replied, but he checked his hands again just to be sure before trying once more. After several attempts he still could not manage a whistle. "Nothing," he said, leaning against the tree trunk with a disappointed sigh. Sadly, Pippin stared down at his hands, still clasped together. He had failed, and it hardly seemed fair that he should continue whistling when Merry could not. But Merry seemed to read his thoughts, and he nudged Pippin with his toe. "It's all right, Pip," he said, smiling. "I suppose I'm just not a very musical hobbit. But I would like to hear some more of your whistling. Do you know any songs?" Pippin's eyes lit up. "I know lots of great songs, Merry!" he exclaimed with a grin. "Do you want to hear one of Bilbo's old ones? It goes like this…"
A/N: This was written for Anso the Hobbit as a holiday request ficlet. Better to Walk With a Friend Though it was raining lightly, Sam continued to trim the grass beneath the kitchen window. Once he finished this patch, his work for the day would be complete. A loud, startled yelp sounded nearby. Setting his shears aside, Sam jumped to his feet to have a look around. Going in the direction of the sound, he hurried toward the gate, where he recognized immediately the hobbit lying in a heap on the ground. "Mr. Merry!" he cried, hurrying to his side. "Hullo, Sam," Merry replied. Blood trickled down his brow, and when he sat up he fell back, lightheaded. "Here, now," Sam said, helping Merry into a sitting position and pressing a handkerchief firmly to his forehead. "Put your head down, sir, 'til the dizziness passes." Merry complied, and in a few moments he felt better. "Thanks, Sam," he said, smiling sheepishly. "I slipped and hit my head on the gate." He glanced into Bag End's dark windows. "Where's Frodo? Don't tell me he's asleep already." "Mr. Frodo is gone away, sir. I don't think he was expecting you," Sam said anxiously. "He left for the Smials yesterday, and said he'd meet you there." "Well, yes, that was the plan," Merry said, shivering a little. The cold and damp was giving him a chill, and he still felt a bit wobbly. "But Pippin's birthday isn't until the end of the week, and I didn't expect Frodo to leave so early. I thought I'd stop by on my way, and we'd walk together. It's always better to walk with a friend, Sam." "I know it is, Mr. Merry," Sam agreed. "And I know I'm not Mr. Frodo but now you can walk with me down the Row. The Gaffer and I'll see that you wash up and get a bit of warm supper in your belly. And begging your pardon, sir, I don't think you should be travelling more tonight. You can stay with us, or else I'll ready a room in Bag End for you, if you want. I've the key, and I know Mr. Frodo wouldn't mind." "You needn't go through all that trouble, Sam," Merry replied, smiling gratefully. "I wouldn't mind a visit with you and the Gaffer." Smiling in return, Sam helped Merry to stand, keeping his arm securely around his waist and together they started down the Hill to the warm and cheerily lit smial below.
A/N: This was written for Legoline as part of the holiday ficlets I'm writing for my LJ friends. Unquenchable When Merry arrived with the breakfast tray he was surprised to find Pippin awake, considering how nightmares and difficulty breathing had plagued his sleep the night before. But Pippin was awake - awake and glaring right at him. "I'm not going to be good company today," he said by way of greeting "And why is that?" Merry asked calmly, knowing his cousin's attitude was not really meant for him. "Are you in pain?" "No. Well, not much more than usual," Pippin replied shortly. He yawned enormously, and rubbed at his eyes with his good hand. Despite his cousin's grumpy behavior, Merry's heart melted. He climbed up beside Pippin and wrapped his arm gently around his tense shoulders. "Still feeling tired, then?" "I'm always tired lately. You know that," Pippin replied, less sharply than before. Slowly his shoulders relaxed, and he willingly leaned against Merry. "It's exhausting to be cheerful all the time, you know," he added. "And I have tried to be cheerful every day since I woke up." "I know," Merry replied. "And we love you for it, Pippin. But you don't have to force yourself to be cheerful when you're not. Especially when you are not feeling well." "I think everyone rather expects it of me," Pippin said with an aggrieved sigh. "Maybe we do," Merry confessed. "That doesn't mean you have to pretend. You're entitled to a gloomy day every now and then." "Most days I don't mind being cheerful. I even like it," Pippin admitted, his mouth turning up slightly at the corners. "But today I felt like I had nothing to smile about, which I know is silly. We're all here, aren't we?" "Yes," Merry replied. He could not help but hug Pippin tighter. "We are." "Well," Pippin said, grinning. "That's worth a smile, at least."
A/N: This was written for i_love_lotr as part of the holiday ficlets I offered to write for my LJ friends. Watching and Waiting It was distracting, to say the least. No matter how deeply Frodo buried his nose in his book, he still felt the child's gaze upon him. Finally Frodo glanced up and met the eyes of his young onlooker. Startled, Sam at once dropped the sack he was holding, scattering seeds and earning a sharp word of reproach from his father. A quick apology and Sam was staring at Frodo once again. With a sigh Frodo snapped his book shut and went inside. "He's not like Merry at all," Frodo said to Bilbo the next morning. "Merry would smile and say hello. Sam just… stares. Why does he always stare at me?" "Because he's never seen anything quite like you before," Bilbo chuckled. "Frodo, for as long as most people can remember, I've always lived here alone. Now I've adopted a tween as my heir, from across the River, no less." He smiled sympathetically. "You must get used to it, dear boy. People find you interesting." Frodo wrinkled his nose. He had spoken to Sam just once, the day Bilbo had introduced him to his new neighbors. It had been a comfort to Frodo to find someone nearly Merry's age living nearby, but he had quickly grown frustrated by Sam's unwillingness to speak. "Sam is often shy," Bilbo continued. "And I wouldn't be surprised if the Gaffer told him not to bother you. Perhaps you should speak to Sam first, to get to know him better." Considering this, Frodo wandered outside. At one end of the garden the Gaffer was digging with a spade, at the other Sam was weeding the flowerbeds. Making up his mind, Frodo quietly dropped down beside Sam, whose eyes went wide with surprise as the young master joined him in weeding. Frodo smiled. "Good morning, Sam…"
A/N: Written for Dreamflower as part of the holiday ficlets I offered to write for my LJ friends. In Good Company Autumn was drawing to a close, and the air was chill enough that the hobbits bundled up in cloaks when they ventured outside. They walked together, though Merry and Pippin soon darted ahead and disappeared into the trees as Frodo and Sam continued behind at a more leisurely pace. "When will Lord Elrond decide?" Pippin asked once they were out of earshot. "Everything was so urgent and gloomy after the Council but nothing has been done for two months. I thought everyone was in a hurry." "Two months is hardly a long time for an elf," Merry said with a laugh. "There are many preparations to make. If you took more than a passing glance at a map you would see how difficult it is to plan a safe route." Pippin grinned at Merry. "Why should I bother with maps when I have you? Besides, who would listen to us? No one wants us to go with Frodo- not even our cousin." "Don't worry about that," Merry replied. "We'll find a way, even if we're forced to follow them like hounds. We've spent far too long keeping an eye on Frodo and making plans of our own to be left behind." Pippin smiled, reassured. "It'll take more than a few elves and wizards for Frodo to rid himself of our company," he said. ***** Frodo watched as his cousins ran ahead, crunching red and gold leaves beneath their feet. "Merry and Pippin mustn't go with us, Sam. It's bad enough that you have already been chosen. I couldn't bear to see all my dearest friends dragged into this." "Begging your pardon, Mr. Frodo, but your cousins wouldn't call it 'dragged'" Sam replied. "You've only heard a little about the Conspiracy, as Mr. Merry likes to call it, but it went on for months, sir, and there was a great deal of planning and watching and waiting that you don't know about even now." "Besides the eavesdropping, you mean," Frodo said, amused. Sam nodded fervently. "Mr. Gandalf was right when he said you shouldn't go off alone. And I know Lord Elrond will choose you good companions, but you need other hobbits besides me, if you take my meaning. It would do you good to have your cousins around, Mr. Frodo." Frodo frowned, but despite himself he felt strangely relieved. "I suppose it would," he admitted with a trace of a smile. A/N: Written for Grey Wonderer as a holiday request ficlet. Usually Merry and Pippin wandered through Rivendell together, but this morning Pippin ventured outside for a walk and a smoke alone. He walked for a bit through the gardens, and before long he found Gandalf sitting on a bench, blowing smoke rings into the empty branches of a nearby tree and looking less grumpy than usual. "Hullo, Gandalf," Pippin said, climbing up beside him. The wizard smiled down at him. "Where are your cousins this morning, Peregrin?" "Frodo is always with Bilbo and Sam, going through that book, and Merry decided he would rather spend time with maps than with me this morning," Pippin replied with a sigh. Gandalf chuckled and sent another ring of smoke to the sky. "It would do you some good to join Merry now that you are part of the Company." Pippin's smile faltered, and he turned aside to tap his nearly empty pipe against the bench. Beneath furrowed brows, Gandalf watched him curiously but said nothing. "Lord Elrond didn't want me to go at all," Pippin said at last. "Though he almost allowed Merry to go without me. Why did you convince him to let me go, Gandalf?" he asked, searching the wizard's aged face. For a long while Gandalf sat quietly puffing away on his pipe, until Pippin wondered if he would ever respond. At last the wizard spoke. "This will not be Bilbo's tale of there and back," Gandalf said, casting a shrewd eye at Pippin. "There will be dangers, more than I can foresee, and certainly more than you can imagine. Nonetheless I would have you come with us. It may have been against his heart, as Elrond said, to let you go, but it is against my heart to separate you from your cousins. I do not know what role you will play before the end, my lad, but I sense that it is something of importance." Pippin's eyes grew wide. He could hardly imagine doing anything important or useful, other than keeping an eye on Frodo, which he and Merry and Sam had done for so long anyway. And as for dangers, they almost seemed impossible, here in Rivendell with Gandalf at his side. Pippin grinned up at Gandalf, but the wizard harrumphed. "Besides," he said, as grumpily as ever, though his eyes twinkled, "I have always found it best to keep a Took where I can see him." A/N: Written for Voontah as a holiday request ficlet originally posted on my LJ In the Grey Twilight His thirst finally quenched, Pippin leans back against the tree trunk, his legs dangling just above the stream. Even in the dim light of the forest he is able to see where his wrists and ankles have been rubbed raw by the ropes, along with the whip scars spiraling around his legs. Pippin longs to dip his legs in the cool and soothing water, but his feet are filthy, and he would rather wait until Merry is finished drinking. Merry cups his hands for another drink and Pippin stares at his wrists. They are worse than his, since they had been bound more tightly and longer, and there is dried blood in places. "Oh, Merry," Pippin sighs, shaking his head. "You've had a terrible time of it." Sliding over, he takes Merry's hands in his own and carefully rolls back his sleeves. Then, Pippin plunges Merry's arms into the stream and, as gently as possible, cleans the blood from his wrists. "Well, I could have done with better company," Merry admits, and there is an almost amused gleam in his eyes as he watches Pippin work. "All except for one, that is. I rather liked having him there with me." Smiling, Pippin pauses in his task and leans over to drop a kiss on Merry's brow, right on the brown scar he is not yet used to seeing. At least Merry's grin is the same. A/N: Written for Marigold as a holiday request ficlet. A Took by Any Name Yawning hugely, Pippin wandered into the kitchen. He had passed Merry in the passageway as his cousin went to wake Frodo, and Fatty had eaten already and gone outside to have a look around. Only Sam was there now, cooking another round of breakfast. "Good Morning," Pippin said, pouring himself a cup of tea before standing at Sam's elbow. His nose twitched at the smell of eggs, sausages and bacon sizzling in the pan, and he stared at them longingly as his stomach gave a loud rumble. "'Morning, Mister Pippin!" Sam said, glancing over his shoulder with a grin. "I'll have your breakfast ready in half a moment." Pippin blinked sleepily. "Did you just call me Mister Pippin?" he asked incredulously, wondering if he was truly awake. Frowning, Sam removed the strips of bacon from the pan and arranged them in a dish. His ears had turned a bright shade of red. "I didn't mean any harm, sir," he replied, casting a doubtful glance at Pippin. "It just seems more fitting to call you 'Mister' now, if you follow me." "But you called me 'Master Pippin' only yesterday," Pippin pointed out as he helped himself to a crispy piece of bacon and munched on it thoughtfully. "Why the sudden change? Not that I mind it, of course. In just a few months I'll be twenty-nine, you know. I'm nearly out of my tweens." "I know," Sam replied, hiding a smile. "Though most days I can't help but think of you as young, not when I remember how you were small enough to fit inside a wheelbarrow." Pippin smiled as Sam continued. "But when I heard Farmer Maggot call you 'Mister Pippin' yesterday I got to thinking and I realized you're not such a little lad these days, what with you helping Mister Merry with the Conspiracy, as he likes to call it, and leaving the Shire with Mister Frodo." Sam shrugged a little as he set a set a heaping plate on the table for Pippin. "It hardly seems proper to call you 'Master Pippin' after all that.' "Thank you, Sam," Pippin said, grinning up at him as he tucked into his breakfast. "I'm glad of it. Now I won't feel too young amongst such elderly hobbits," he added with a laugh as Merry entered the room, followed by a very bleary-eyed Frodo. "I know you are not talking about me, dear cousin." Frodo said as he shuffled over to the table. "You should be grateful that you are accompanying such seasoned travellers. You could learn a thing or two from your elders, Pippin- namely how to keep up. You certainly have not mastered that yet." Before Pippin could protest Merry plopped down beside him on the bench and stole the last piece of bacon from his plate. "Enough lazing about, Pippin," he said. "You had better get your pack ready. We're leaving soon." "All right, all right," Pippin exclaimed, heading back to his room with his cousins' laughter echoing after him. He shook his head in exasperation. Sam may not consider him 'Master Pippin' any longer, but his cousins would never forget that he is the youngest. A/N: Written for Lily as a holiday request ficlet. Bedbugs Frodo shut his eyes tightly as Pippin's shrieks and squeals grew louder. After a day of running after his young cousin and trying to think of new and interesting ways to keep him occupied, Frodo was exhausted and wanted only to sleep. But before he could do that, he needed to get Pippin settled for the night, and his cousin simply refused to cooperate. "Pippin," he called once, but his cousin ignored him as he continued to jump on the bed, laughing gleefully. Frodo's head throbbed more with every loud, creaking bounce and he thought quickly. He needed something to distract his cousin. "Pippin!" Frodo said again, raising his voice in desperation. "You must stop that jumping right now! Have you forgotten about the bedbugs?" Freezing in mid-jump, Pippin crashed down to the bed with a noisy thump "Bedbugs," he repeated, trying out the word. He eyed his cousin critically. "I've never heard of them before, Frodo. Are they real or something made up?" "Of course they're real," Frodo replied quickly. "I can't believe that you have never heard of them. Everyone knows about bedbugs." Pippin wrinkled his nose, obviously trying to remember if anyone had ever told him about bedbugs before, and finally deciding that they had not. "Please tell me about them, Frodo," he said at last. "Are they scary?" he added, glancing warily at his bed. "It depends on whether you think tiny, slimy bugs with lots of sharp, little teeth are scary," Frodo said, hiding a grin as Pippin's eyes grew wide. "I'd imagine that some little lads might find them interesting." "And…and they live in beds?" Pippin asked, his voice wavering. Frodo nodded solemnly. "Most of the time they just sleep, but if they're disturbed by lots of tossing and turning…or jumping…" His voice trailed off, and Frodo shook his head gravely. Pippin stiffened. "What happens? What do they do?" he whispered. "They bite," Frodo replied. He knew it was mean of him, but it was just so much fun to tease Pippin, who always seemed to believe everything he said. Tonight was no exception. Pippin shivered as he looked at his pillows and blankets, rumpled from his vigorous jumping. "Why haven't I ever seen a bedbug?" he asked at last, trying to sound brave and failing miserably. "They're so small that they are nearly impossible to see, especially in the dark," Frodo replied. "They can be anywhere." The look of sheer disgust on Pippin's face forced Frodo to stifle a laugh with a fake, enormous yawn. "It's getting late, and I'm very sleepy," Frodo said. He bent down to kiss his cousin on the forehead. "Goodnight. You had better get to sleep before you disturb any other strange creatures." Pippin shuddered, but nonetheless put on a brave face as he shifted awkwardly. It seemed that he was trying to burrow in his blankets without actually touching them. "Goodnight," he squeaked, squeezing his eyes shut. "Goodnight," Frodo said with a smile. "Sleep tight, and don't let the bedbugs bite," he added as an afterthought, feeling quite pleased with his rhyming, before he took the candle from the bedside table and fled to his room for a good, long laugh. Still smirking, Frodo changed into his nightshirt and crawled into bed before blowing out the candle and snuggling deep in the blankets, content. At least, he would be content if only his arm were not so itchy. And his leg, Frodo thought, scratching absently behind his knee. His scalp felt prickly as well, and Frodo scratched his head before flopping onto his back, trying to get comfortable somehow. A few moments later, Frodo tiptoed into Pippin's room. His young cousin was sound asleep, a fact Frodo noticed with chagrin as he carefully slipped beneath the blankets. "Frodo?" Pippin said groggily, opening one bleary, yet immediately mischievous eye. "Did you find a bedbug? I haven't seen any yet." "Hush up," Frodo grumbled, burrowing close to his cousin, who giggled in the darkness. At the Brandywine The cousins stood together, watching as their boats bobbed momentarily in the water swirling around the dock, before they flowed swiftly down the river, disappearing from sight. Guess Who? A/N: Pippin is 6 and Frodo is 28. His head bent over a sheet of parchment, Frodo sat at his desk writing a letter to Paladin and Eglantine, diligently telling them of their son’s visit to Bag End and all the fun they were having together. He was in the midst of recounting the walk he and Pippin had taken with Bilbo that very afternoon when he heard the floorboards creak loudly behind him. Smiling to himself, Frodo dipped his quill into the ink, deliberately paying no attention to the footsteps creeping closer. His desk faced away from the door, and now Frodo remembered why he preferred it that way. It made it so much easier to ignore younger cousins. As quietly as possible, Pippin tiptoed across the room. He could not help the noisy floorboards, however, and at one tremendous creak he froze in panic, drawing in a sharp breath that he was certain his cousin had heard. Pippin clapped his hands over his mouth and waited, half-expecting Frodo to turn around and discover him. But when several moments passed and his cousin remained engrossed with his letter, Pippin smiled in relief and stealthily continued to cross the room. Soon he reached the rug, which muffled his footsteps entirely, and in no time at all he stood behind Frodo’s chair. Nearly bursting with pride for having successfully crept up on his cousin, Pippin stood on the tips of his toes and covered Frodo’s eyes with his hands. Frodo fought back a laugh. All that sneaking around for this? Well, he thought as he carefully set down his quill, he had better make it worthwhile for Pippin. “Bilbo, is that you?” he asked. There was no answer, of course. Pippin grinned, knowing better than to give himself away. “Who’s there?” Frodo asked. “Sam?” Pippin shook with silent laughter. Frodo forced his face into an expression of worry. “Oh no,” he said, adopting a fretful tone of voice. “It must be a goblin, or worse. Perhaps even one of Bilbo’s trolls.” He sighed in defeat. “I suppose he’ll turn me into to jelly now, and spread me across his toast.” Frodo shivered despite himself. “I shouldn’t like to be turned into jelly.” Pippin frowned. He had not meant to frighten poor Frodo. “I’m not a goblin or a troll. I’m Pippin!” he cried, dropping his hands from Frodo’s eyes and wrapping his arms tightly around his cousin. “I wouldn’t ever let someone turn you into jelly, Frodo. Not ever!” he added fiercely. “Then I am glad to have you as my protector,” Frodo said, turning around and hugging Pippin tightly in return. He smiled at his young cousin. “That was a wonderful prank, Pippin. You had me completely fooled,” he added. Pippin’s eyes lit up with pride and he crawled into to Frodo’s lap, grinning. “What are you writing?” he asked, peering down at the parchment. He only knew enough of his letters to cover a sheet of parchment with his full name spelled out in his large, wobbly writing. “I’m writing to your parents, telling them all about your visit,” Frodo replied, taking up his quill once more. A sudden impulse came to his mind, and he found himself speaking. “Would you like me to help you write a letter?” “Oh yes,” Pippin said eagerly. He glanced back at Frodo. “If I tell you what to say, will you write it all down for me?” Frodo nodded hesitantly, already wondering why he had suggested such a thing. His cousin always had a great deal to say and there was no stopping him once he got started. There was no telling how much Pippin would expect him to write. Pippin clapped his hands in glee. “Thank you, Frodo! I have so much to say.” He crinkled his brow in thought, oblivious to Frodo’s stifled groan, and began to speak. “Dear Mum and Da, Frodo is helping me write a letter. This is Pippin. Today Frodo and Bilbo and I went for a walk and we saw a large, strange bird in the woods, and we ate apples as we walked, and then we picked mushrooms and Bilbo is making a mushroom pie for supper and I was trying to help but I think I got in his way because he told me to go bother Frodo and so…” Pippin trailed off. “Are you writing all this, Frodo?” “Yes, Pippin,” Frodo said, grinning in spite of himself. “It’s all very interesting. Do go on.” Pippin grinned and continued his rambling. “So then I found Frodo in the study and I decided to bother him like Bilbo said and I sneaked up behind him and he thought I was one of the trolls from Bilbo’s stories, and that I would turn him into jelly. Frodo was very scared, and I suppose he would have cried if I hadn’t-” “Hmm,” Frodo said, stilling his quill with a frown. “Perhaps we ought to tell your parents a little more about that mushroom pie. I think your mum would like to know how Bilbo makes it.” “That’s a good idea,” Pippin agreed quickly. “Now I am going to tell you how Bilbo makes mushroom pie so that Mum can make it for me when I come home. First he cleans the mushrooms, and then he slices them…” A/N: Written for a Pipathon challenge on LJ. Thank you to Pipwise for the beta! At the End of One Quest and the Beginning of Another "It's a bit like coming home, isn't it, Merry, for all the time we've spent here," Pippin said, nodding toward the Tower of Orthanc. Looking quite out-of-place amidst the clear water and green orchards surrounding it, it stood not far from where the hobbits now sat and smoked, resting alongside the other travellers after their ride. "Though it seems a more comfortable place now than it did when we last saw it," he added with a grin. "Treebeard and the Ents have been busy," Merry noted, admiring the absence of stone and steam and smoke that had so cluttered Isengard after the battle. "Where are those Ents? Do you think we will see them today?" Sam asked, his voice hopeful. Two tall trees now stood marking the path toward Isengard and he squinted up at them curiously, as if expecting them to suddenly spring to life. "If I know Treebeard, he saw us arrive, and he already knows who and how many we are, and what we are doing and saying," Pippin said, laughing as Sam warily glanced around, looking for watchful eyes. "I'm sure he will be along soon enough, but there is no use being hasty when it comes to Ents, Sam. They walk and talk and do things at their own pace." Sam looked doubtful but Frodo laughed as he once did, so loudly and full of mirth that it sounded strange amongst the quiet trees. "Well, that's something I didn't expect – Pippin telling Sam to be patient!" He laughed again and shook his head. "You, my dear cousin, have grown in more than just height," he added, wagging a finger at Pippin. Just then they heard a hoom-hom sounding in the distance, and the travellers looked up to see Treebeard and Quickbeam coming along the path. Sam's eyes grew round and he timidly hung back, staring as the Ents greeted the company. Treebeard knew more about what they had done in the far-off places of the world than even Pippin had expected, and he praised each person in turn until at last his piercing gaze settled on Frodo and Sam. "Hm, hoom, now, Merry and Pippin, these must be your kinsfolk," he said, his eyes twinkling brightly. "I have heard much about them as well." Frodo bowed in greeting, but Sam stared in awe at Treebeard. "Bless me, but Hal was right," he cried, and promptly burst into tears. Treebeard's eyes flickered in confusion, and he looked down at Sam in concerned bewilderment. A sudden memory came to Pippin and he gasped aloud, wondering how he could have ever forgotten it. "Of course," he muttered half to himself and, heedless of the confused stares he was attracting from both the Ents and his fellow travellers, excitedly turned to Sam, who was furtively wiping his nose on his sleeve. "I just remembered something," Pippin said, babbling in excitement. "Once during a visit to Bag End, Frodo sent me to the market and I overheard Ted Sandyman talking about you, Sam. I didn't say anything at the time, but he said you were getting to be as cracked as any Baggins, because you said that your cousin had seen a walking tree." Sam glanced apologetically at Frodo. "He did say those horrible things, Ted did, but Halfast did see an elm tree walking across the North Moors. Our Hal wouldn't lie about that," he said with a mighty sniffle. "Of course he wouldn't," Pippin said, soothingly patting Sam's shoulder to the amusement of their friends. He glanced up at Treebeard with a grin. "Perhaps one of the Entwives did make it to the Shire!" Treebeard muttered to himself, a sound like low, rumbling thunder in the distance, and his eyes flickered, bright and green. "Hoom, you are very hasty, Pippin," he said. He swayed for a moment in thought and tugged at his mossy beard. "But you may be right. I did think that the Entwives would like your country." "I'll look for them," Pippin said suddenly. "There are Tooks in the Northfarthing. When we get home I shall write to them and ask if they have ever seen anything. They might know just where to start searching." "And Hal and I will help you, Mr. Pippin," Sam said with a firm nod. "I'm sure he hasn't forgotten what he saw and where he saw it and I know a thing or two about plants," he added, straightening his shoulders before he flushed and cast a worried look at the Ents. "Begging your pardon, sirs. I meant no harm." Treebeard rumbled again, this time in laughter. "Hoom, well, perhaps you will find them. Send word to me if you do. I am glad that ‘hobbits' were added to the old lists after all," he said, his eyes twinkling merrily as the conversation turned to Saruman. --- "Well, Sam, what do you think of the Ents?" Pippin asked him later, after Treebeard and Quickbeam had left them and the travellers were preparing to leave Isengard. "They're not quite what I expected," Sam said slowly. "After hearing you and Mr. Merry speak of the Ents and all they did I thought this Treebeard and his folk would look like warriors and not be so treeish, if you follow me. I didn't expect him to look at all like that tree Hal saw. And his eyes! I've never seen anything like them. Why didn't you say anything about his eyes, Mr. Pippin?" "I would have, if I had known how to describe them," Pippin mused thoughtfully. "Even now I can't think of the right words to use. After the orcs, and the Forest being so dim, Treebeard's eyes were the first bit of light and brightness that Merry and I had seen in, well, in days. It's…it's not easy to describe something like that." Sam nodded. "I understand," he said. "They remind me of the Elves, the Ents do. So happy and sad and strange, all at once." "You're right," Pippin agreed. "And even though they've both been here for so long, it feels like they're always leaving." He looked toward the cluster of trees that Treebeard and Quickbeam had disappeared into. "I don't want the Ents to disappear, Sam. I wish we could find the Entwives for them." "Perhaps we will, Mr. Pippin," Sam said and he, too, gazed in the same direction. "Perhaps we will." Helping Hands Pippin crouched in the dirt, digging, as Sam stood beside him, leaning on his spade. It made him uneasy, it did, being made to watch when it was really his work to do. But the lad had insisted, and Sam didn’t dare to argue with him. Not that Pippin was bad-tempered, for all that his cousins spoiled him. Sam had never met a more good-natured child, and it was for that reason alone that he only grumbled a bit whenever Pippin trailed him through the garden, which happened often enough, during his visits. “Like this, Sam?” Pippin asked, looking up. His face was streaked with dirt, and he watched nervously as Sam peered closely at the neat little row of holes he had just dug. Nodding, Sam smiled and patted Pippin’s curls, made warm by the strong sunlight overhead. “You’re a right good help, you are.” Pippin grinned in delight. Everything Bright Everything is very bright when Pippin wakes; the sun that is warming his face is also shining in his eyes. But he squints and struggles to see because even though he knows he has slept for far too long he still feels tired and hurt, too tired and hurt to move anything but his eyes. These he casts about the tent; Gandalf’s robes are so white they nearly blind him, and the sunlight glittering off Gimli’s mail is no better. It is not until he settles on Merry that his eyes adjust and he can see. Merry is peering at him closely, his brow furrowed they way it always does when he is worried or weary, and now he is both. It pains Pippin to see his cousin that way, and he wonders how long Merry has waited there, watching him. But Pippin does not mention it, he just smiles softly and squeezes Merry’s hand. Merry grins, his cares falling from his face. Pippin’s smile grows stronger. He thinks he has never seen anything better. The World Ahead Pippin climbed as high as he could before his knee started to ache, and then he found the familiar place where two branches forked and made a nice enough seat. He rested there, his back against the trunk and his legs dangling high above the ground. Below him the hills and fields stretched out into the distance. The Great Smials seemed small from this height, but even on the ground home seemed too small to Pippin, its ceilings lower and its walls closer than he remembered. There were days when the feeling of being smothered grew too overwhelming, and the only way Pippin could bear it was to distance himself for a time from the concerned looks and well-meaning words his family offered him. Each time he wandered further away, and lately Pippin found himself drawn more often than not to Buckland, and to Merry. It was becoming more and more difficult to turn his feet toward home. Well, Pippin thought, wiggling his toes. I can always come back. Renewal The sky was dark over Isengard. The hobbits sat near the gate, watching Treebeard idly tear down more of the walls. At last Merry turned to Pippin. “It’s getting late,” he said. “And Treebeard may not be tired yet but I am. Let’s go find somewhere safe to sleep, away from this gate and the tunnel.” Pippin nodded but made no attempt to move. “Merry,” he began. “Where do you think the others are right now? I was so certain we would see Strider and Legolas and Gimli by now. You don’t think anything happened to them, do you? Like Boromir, and Gandalf,” he added quietly. Merry frowned and slipped an arm around his cousin’s shoulders. “I don’t think so,” he said. “I think we’ll see them again someday, perhaps sooner than we think.” “Frodo and Sam, too,” Pippin said, nodding firmly. “We would know it somehow, if something happened to our friends.” He smiled wistfully. “I just wish we could see everyone again.” Hooves clattered loudly on the road, and the hobbits glanced up in time to see a rider clad in white approach. Namesake Diamond was asleep, but the baby was awake, and Pippin took him out into the kitchen. He pulled a chair close to the warm glow of the hearth and sat there, cradling his son. Found Faramir walked along the busy street, peering into every corner and archway. Most people stepped aside to let him pass, but others came up to speak with him, and though Faramir greeted them kindly he did not linger long. There was one person alone that he wished to find now. Perhaps just a little further, he thought, continuing down the street. He could not have gone far… There, huddled in the doorway of a shop was a tiny figure, crying. With a sigh of relief Faramir crossed the street and crouched down beside him. “Farry?” The child glanced up in surprise, sniffling. “Lord Faramir,” he squeaked, throwing his chubby arms around the man’s neck and holding on tight. Faramir smiled and reassuringly patted the child’s back. “You do not have to call me that, Farry. You may simply call me ‘Faramir.’ After all, it is your name, too.” He gently pried away the hobbit’s arms so he could look into his small, troubled face. “What happened?” “I got lost,” Farry said, rubbing at his nose with his sleeve until Faramir gave him a handkerchief. “I was looking in this window and when I turned back Da was gone. I tried to find him, but there were so many Big People around, and I didn’t see him anywhere, so I came back here.” Faramir glanced up at the shop they were sitting in front of and smiled. Of course the bright display of sweets and cakes and biscuits would steal any child’s attention. “It was very wise of you to return to this place,” he said. “If you would have continued to wander along this road you would have soon found yourself in another circle of the city, and would not have been discovered so quickly.” “I thought I would be lost forever,” Farry admitted, shuddering. “Not when every soldier and guard who can be spared is looking for you,” Faramir said. “Come, let us find your father. He is nearly frantic with worry.” “Da is afraid?” Farry asked, amazed. He gripped the small wooden sword he wore at his waist in imitation of his father, a beautifully carved gift from the King himself. “But Da is never afraid. Not like me.” “You are more like your father than you know,” Faramir said, hiding a smile. “And in more than just appearance. As you grow older you will realize this.” Standing, he scooped up Farry and strode down the street. “Let me bring you to him. He is searching for you on the next street, and I know he will be overjoyed to see you.” Farry smiled gratefully but nonetheless clung tightly to Faramir’s shoulders. The ground seemed awfully far away… The Smell of Elves ‘Have you often been to Rivendell?’ said Frodo.
‘I have,’ said Strider. ‘I dwelt there once, and I still return when I may. There my heart is; but it is not my fate to sit in peace, even in the fair house of Elrond.’ Strider’s voice trailed off into broody silence, and he quickened his pace. The hobbits glanced at each other. “That Strider is nearly as close as Gandalf is,” Merry whispered to Sam, who nodded in agreement. From his perch on the pony Frodo involuntarily rubbed his shoulder as his thoughts drifted to Bilbo. He felt certain that they were travelling on the same road his uncle had taken so long ago. It seemed that his own adventure had turned more dangerous already… “Rivendell must be a lovely place,” Pippin said, his clear, cheerful voice interrupting Frodo’s gloom. Frodo shook his head, ridding himself of his thoughts, and smiled at Sam and Merry, both of whom were watching him in concern. Pippin was watching him too, and grinned before running ahead to trail behind Strider, his small feet trying desperately to catch up. “Is it, Strider? And what do elves smell like?” Merry snorted back a laugh, Frodo shook his head in dismay, and Sam’s eyes grew round with horror as they awaited Strider’s reaction. For his part, the man stopped so short that Pippin nearly collided with him. “What did you say?” he asked, turning to peer down at the young hobbit smiling guilelessly up at him. “I asked you about Rivendell. From Bilbo’s tales it seems like a lovely place, and I should like to see a grand waterfall or two,” Pippin replied. “I also wanted to know what elves smell like.” “What they smell like? Where did you get such an idea?” Strider asked, and if his voice sounded grave and almost menacing to the other hobbits, Pippin seemed to take no notice. “Oh, it was something Bilbo said,” he replied breezily. “I always used to ask him to tell me about his adventures before he left. He said when he saw Rivendell his first thought was, ‘Hmm! it smells like elves!’” Frodo and Merry both snickered at Pippin’s spot-on imitation of Bilbo’s voice, and even Sam smiled warily. “But Bilbo never said just what elves smell like, and I’ve always wondered. When we met Gildor and the other elves on the road I didn’t notice if they smelled or not, but I was still recovering from seeing that Black Rider, I think. I did notice that their clothes were very clean and beautiful, the sort of clothes you wouldn’t wear on a journey, or at least, wouldn’t be able to keep clean for long. So I can’t imagine that the elves in Rivendell would smell bad.” Pippin cast an appraising eye at Strider. “Well, I thought you would know.” Strider glared down at him for a long moment before he laughed, a rich, happy sound that transformed him from grim to quite cheerful. “Now that is a very interesting bit of information,” Strider said. “I shall have to remember that. I know of a few in Rivendell who would find delight in such a tale, and there is a friend of mine I wish to discuss this further with. But for now, come along Master Took!” he added, clasping the hobbit’s shoulder and still grinning broadly. “Let us scout these hills while the others follow behind, and I shall tell you a little more about the elves.” Pippin grinned back at his cousins, clearly pleased at the prospect of getting a tale out of their often quiet travelling companion, and nearly skipped off with Strider. Merry shook his head fondly at Pippin’s retreating form and glanced up at Frodo. “He does have a way of asking questions, doesn’t he?” “Pippin is a little too charming for his own good,” Frodo replied, smiling. The pain in his shoulder had diminished somewhat by his cousin’s antics, and not for the first time was Frodo glad that Sam, Merry and Pippin were with him. “He will make friends wherever he goes.” Merry and Sam reclaimed their places on either side of Bill and led him along, as Frodo settled back, watching Pippin and Strider climb a large hill just ahead. It seemed Strider was telling some sort of tale, if Pippin’s wide eyes and curious expression were any indication. The hobbits followed along in silence until at last Sam spoke. “Mr. Frodo?” “Yes, Sam?” “What do elves smell like?”
Inseparable "He's fast!" Merry exclaimed in surprise as he watched the baby swiftly crawl the length of the nursery. He had not seen his little cousin since Yule, and though the baby had been crawling then, it was with none of the speed he was displaying now. Pearl looked up from her book and smiled. "Pippin will be walking by himself soon," she said proudly. "Already he can stand and take some steps, if someone is helping him." "When did you start calling him 'Pippin?'" asked Merry. As soon as his family had arrived at Whitwell a few hours ago he had noticed that no one, not even Aunt Eglantine and Uncle Paladin, called the baby 'Peregrin.' So much had changed since he had last seen his Took relations. He was glad that Pippin was a friendly baby who never shied away from anyone. Though he had not remembered Merry at first, Pippin needed no prodding from his parents to hug and smile at his cousin. After just a few hours of playing together, the pair had grown inseparable. "Well, he started calling himself that," Pearl admitted. "It's how he pronounces 'Peregrin.'" "He says, "Peh-pun,'" Pervinca said, giggling. "Sounds almost like 'pigpen'" "Pervinca! That isn't nice," Pearl scolded. She shook her head and sighed. "He's said 'Pippin' for so long now that I think he really believes it is his name." "I think Mum and Da wish they'd named him 'Pippin' instead," Pimpernel said with a grin. "Having a nickname isn't so bad," Merry said. After all, Peregrin was nearly as funny a name as Meriadoc. "No it isn't," agreed Pimpernel, who often envied Pearl for having the nicest name in the family. She and Pervinca were sitting on the lid of the toy chest, and now she poked through the pile of playthings lying nearby. "Pippin, come here," she said, waving an old, shabby stuffed lamb at the baby, who now sat at Merry's side, shaking his head and refusing to come to his sister. "Pippin! Oi, he never listens to me," she said, tossing the toy aside. "You're boring, that's why," Pervinca replied matter-of-factly, and was rewarded with a sharp look of reproof from Pearl and a sharp pinch in the side from Pimpernel. "Ow!" she howled. "I'm telling on you!" "Not if I tell on you first," Pimpernel retorted, and went to pinch Pervinca again. "Stop it!" Pearl hissed, reaching over to snatch Pimpernel's hand away just in time. "You'll upset the baby!" Both Pimpernel and Pervinca rolled their eyes. Pearl always said that at the slightest bit of conflict, and they both wondered what she would say when their little brother grew up. Pippin, meanwhile, was not the least bit upset by his squabbling sisters. In fact, he seemed delighted by it all. "Prr, Pim, Bin, ow," he said, laughing and pointing at each sister in turn. "Prr, Pim, Bin, ow!" Merry snickered at his cousin's accurate commentary but in truth he felt sorry for Pippin. The only lad in a whole smial of sisters… "You'll just have to visit me a lot," he said quietly. "As often as you can so your silly sisters don't make you silly too." Pippin rested his head on Merry's shoulder and snuggled close, clinging tightly to his cousin's sleeve. "Mrrrr," he said in contentment. "Mrrr an' Peh-pin!" "That's right," Merry said firmly. "That's us." He gently pried his cousin's hands away and pulled him to his feet. "Come on, let's see if you walk as well as Pearl says." Hand in hand they slowly circled the room, pausing often because Pippin liked to point at various objects and listen as Merry recited their names, often attempting to sound them out himself. "Book." "Buh!" "Pillow." "Pill!" "Lamb." Merry held up the previously unwanted stuffed lamb and made it dance in the air. Pippin giggled. "Lam!" He eagerly accepted the threadbare toy from his cousin and hugged it tightly to his chest. Pimpernel glared at them. "It's nothing but a boring old toy," she huffed. "You would think it was made of gold for all his carrying on." Pervinca smirked to herself. Along with the lamb, Merry and Pippin collected an equally ratty pony on their walk. Now they sat together beneath the window and Pippin giggled and clapped as Merry crawled around with a stuffed toy in each hand, pretending they were running races. "Who won this time, Pippin?" he asked, breathless. "Lam!" Pippin exclaimed, waving his hands excitedly. "No silly, it was the pony!" Merry said, making it gallop across Pippin's knees, and causing his cousin to kick his legs, laughing. "No, po! No!" Pippin squealed. He crawled to the wall and reached up for the window ledge, pulling himself to his feet to escape the very wild stuffed pony. But the pony continued to follow Pippin. He shrieked and giggled and toddled away, away from the window and away from the wall. He was walking on his own for the first time. Merry dropped the toy and stepped toward his cousin, arms outstretched and ready to catch him if he fell. "Pip!" Pearl leapt to her feet and rushed forward, followed by her sisters. "Pippin!" they exclaimed. Pippin was the only one who remained calm. He had stopped walking once the fearsome pony had dropped to the floor, and now he stood in the middle of the room, watching curiously as Merry hurried toward him on one side, and Pearl, Pimpernel and Pervinca charged toward him on the other. He glanced this way and that, and faced with the prospect of a much-loved cousin and a gaggle of equally loved, but very silly, sisters, he chose the former. "Mrrr!" he said, tottering over to his cousin and grabbed him around the knees, burying his face in his leg and peeking back at his sisters, who stood watching him in amazement. "Mrr!" "It's all right, Pip," Merry said, patting his curls. "The three of them together are worse than a pony any day." "Well!" Pimpernel said, clearly insulted. Pervinca stuck out her tongue. Only Pearl seemed to take no notice of Merry's words, and instead crouched down to gather Pippin into an enormous hug. "Pippin, you walked!" she exclaimed, squeezing him tight. "Won't everyone be so surprised?" Merry took one glance at Pearl's face and grimaced. She was all misty-eyed and smiling, the same way his mother looked sometimes when Merry did something especially nice. He just knew that if Pearl kept on like this, she would be crying in no time. Pippin must have sensed this, because he whined and wriggled and whimpered, trying his best to get away. "Mrr!" he cried desperately, peeking over Pearl's shoulder. Merry smiled sympathetically. "Pearl, if you keep squashing Pippin like that, he may never walk again," Merry said. Immediately Pearl released her brother, who hastily stumbled away, nearly falling once but quickly righting himself. He tottered to Merry's side and reached for his hand. "Mrrr!" Now that Pippin could walk, things would be different, Merry thought happily. Soon they could go off on their own little adventures away from pesky lasses. He glanced down at the tiny cousin who stood beside him. Pearl stood and straightened her skirts, wiping her eyes and laughing. "Now you'll never be rid of him," she cautioned. Merry smiled. Somehow he did not think he would mind it all that much. A/N: Pippin is 6 years old, making Bilbo 106! Frodo is 28 and Merry is 14. A Bath-time Song "I think," Bilbo said, watching in amusement as Frodo and Merry divested Pippin of his muddy cloak and jacket, "that I am looking upon the messiest, scruffiest and happiest lad in all the Shire." A grin lit up Pippin's small, dirty face. "We saw lots of birds, and a big shaggy dog, and I found gifts for everyone." He dug in the pockets of his grass-stained breeches and retrieved two handfuls of oddments that Bilbo made certain to fuss over. "This is for Frodo," Pippin began, holding up a smooth, almost perfectly round white pebble, "and this is for Merry," he added, displaying a flat grey stone, "and these are for my sisters," he continued, rattling three large acorns, "and this one is for you!" It was a smallish rock, rough in texture and tawny in color. Bilbo plucked it out of Pippin's fingers and studied it closely. "I thought it was gold," Pippin confessed, anxiously watching his cousin's face, "but Merry said it couldn't be, and Frodo just laughed." Bilbo weighed the rock in his hand, considering. "I do believe it is, my lad," he concluded. "A remarkable find. The last time I saw gold of this quality was in Smaug's hoard. I thank you, Pippin, but are you certain you want to part with this? It's quite valuable. Wherever did you find it?" "Oh, just under a hedge," Pippin said. "You can keep it, Bilbo. I can always find more." He turned to Frodo and Merry and grinned. "I knew it was gold. Let's go back and look for more!" Frodo and Merry shared a pained glance; an afternoon spent traipsing through woods and over hills with Pippin had left them exhausted and famished. Bilbo smiled to himself. He knew the two older ones loved Pippin dearly but the child was a bundle of energy. It was no easy task to keep Pippin occupied for an entire afternoon, but by all appearances his cousins had done well. "Perhaps tomorrow, Pippin," Frodo said at last. "If you crawl around in the dirt any more today folk will mistake you for a goblin." "Besides, it's almost supper," Merry added sensibly. That caught the attention of Pippin's stomach, which rumbled loudly at the prospect of a nice hot meal. "All right," Pippin acquiesced. "We can look for gold tomorrow." He started for the kitchen, but Bilbo was quicker. "Bath first, then supper," he said firmly, taking Pippin by the hand and turning to Frodo and Merry. "There is a chicken pie cooling by the window along with some potato soup. If you lads wouldn't mind warming them up and setting the table, I'll see to Pippin's bath." Frodo and Merry nodded and headed to the kitchen, already plotting to make some mushroom toast as an appetizer and to retrieve the apple tarts from the larder for afters. In the meantime Bilbo and Pippin made their way down the corridor. As Bilbo heated a kettle of water and filled the bath, Pippin helped by gathering all the soaps and towels he would need – he washed his hands first, so as not to leave handprints and smudges on the clean linens – and stacked them all neatly on the shelf beside the tub. "Do you have any more of the special bubble potion?" he asked eagerly. "Of course! What good is a bath without bubbles?" Bilbo replied, hiding a grin. The "special potion" was nothing more than liquid soap mixed with lavender oil, something Bilbo had created himself years before when Frodo was just a small child visiting Bag End alone for the first time – a small child who was a very reluctant bather. The bubbles had kept him occupied long enough for Bilbo to wash his hair, and the soap had done a permissible job of cleaning the rest. It was such a success that Bilbo sent three bottles of it home with Frodo, and later received more than one grateful letter from Primula and Drogo in return. A generous dose of the potion was poured into the water, and a mass of bubbles rose to the surface. Bouncing from foot to foot in excitement, Pippin quickly shed his clothes and with a loud whoop and an enormous splash he plopped into the tub. "Sorry Bilbo," he said immediately, peering over the tub's edge at the water and bubbles pooling on the floor. “I didn’t mean to.” "No trouble at all, my lad, no trouble at all," Bilbo said, and with his foot he mopped up the mess with a towel. "There now, it's as dry as ever." He handed a bar of soap and a cloth to Pippin. "Here, wash off some of that grime." "Mum doesn't like it when I splash," Pippin admitted as he scrubbed at an elbow. "Neither does Da or my sisters. Or Frodo and Merry…" "What a pity," Bilbo said, retrieving a jug from the windowsill. "I like nothing better than an enthusiastic bather. Frodo was miserable about it as a young lad; it was always a fight to get him in the water. As for Merry, well, I only had the task of bathing him a couple of times, and it was all business with him – wash behind the ears and between the toes and then out of the tub without even one good splash, that was Merry. I do appreciate a good bit of splashing – and singing – in the bath. Close your eyes for a moment, Pippin." Pippin dutifully squeezed his eyes shut as Bilbo poured water over his head. "Do you splash and sing, Bilbo?" he asked curiously. "Certainly!" Bilbo said. He squinted behind Pippin's ears, wondering how the child had managed to get mud there as well, and scrubbed them vigorously. "I know several bath songs, all very nice, but I do have a particular favorite." "Will you teach it to me?" Pippin pleaded as he scooped up handfuls of bubbles and covered his arms with them. "Please Bilbo?" Bilbo grinned and, needing no further encouragement, lathered up Pippin's curls and began to sing. "Sing hey! for the bath at close of day Pippin giggled. "This is a funny song!" "It gets better," Bilbo promised. He motioned for Pippin to shut his eyes again and poured another jug-full of water over his head. "O! Sweet is the sound of falling rain, O! Water cold we may pour at need Pippin grinned and nodded so vigorously at "better is Beer" that Bilbo frowned, picturing Eglantine's face when her son came home singing of drink – or worse, telling his mother that Bilbo had said it was all right to let him have some beer. Well, it was too late now, Bilbo shrugged, and continued through to the end of the song. "O! Water is fair that leaps on high At the last line Bilbo scooped his hands together and sent a stream of water high into the air, thoroughly splashing Pippin, who squealed and laughed and kicked his legs, sending a new flood of soapy water over the edge of the tub and to the floor. "Again, again!" he cried in delight, and Bilbo laughed and began the song anew. Pippin was a fast learner of words and music, and soon he was singing and splashing along with him. In hardly any time at all every trace of mud and soap had been washed away, and good hobbit-sense ultimately prevailed before there was more water in the air and on the floor than in the tub. "I really like your bath song, Bilbo," Pippin said as he was lifted out of the water and wrapped in a large, fluffy towel to dry. Without being asked, he retrieved the mop from the corner as Bilbo emptied the tub. "I'm going to sing it all the time now but maybe I won't splash as much." The mop was too large and awkward for him to wield properly, and he merely swished the water from side to side, making the puddle larger than it already was. Bilbo chuckled and took the mop from him. "Run along now and put on some clean clothes. I'll finish up in here." "And then we'll have supper?" Pippin asked hopefully. "We certainly shall," Bilbo replied. Pippin grinned and hugged his cousin tightly. "Thank you, Bilbo," he said, and scampered off, still wrapped snugly in his towel. As his footsteps padded down the hall Bilbo heard his high, childish voice echoing back, "Sing hey! for the bath at close of day, that washes the weary mud away…" Bilbo half-hummed and half-sang along. "A loon is he that will not sing," he murmured as he made quick work of mopping the stone floor. "O! Water Hot is a noble thing!"
*The song is from The Fellowship of the Ring, Chapter V, "A Conspiracy Unmasked" A little something for March 25, Ring Day and Gondorian New Year...and the anniversary of Pippin killing the troll and saving Beregond's life, nearly at the expense of his own. It is inspired by and its title comes from Pippin's line in The Return of the King, "The Black Gate Opens," when he draws his sword and says, 'This was made for just such an hour.'
A/N: It's the summer before the Party so Pippin is 11, Merry is 19, and Frodo is 32. Strung between two trees lining the rose garden at Brandy Hall was something that looked very much like a large net to Pippin's eyes. He crept close to it, touching the web of soft rope before turning to his cousins, perplexed. "What is it?" "It's called a hammock," Merry said. "Da says that men on ships sleep in them, because they take less room than beds, and won't roll across the deck when the Sea is rough." Pippin laughed with the delight of a child who has stumbled upon the absurdity of grown-ups (or older cousins). "Then why is it here in the garden? I don't see any water." "Because," Merry said evenly, "if it is good enough for a man to sleep in, it's good enough for a hobbit." He shook his head. "Honestly Pippin, don't you know a good chance for a nap when you see one?" Pippin wrinkled his nose. "Naps are for babies," he protested. "We should be playing, or swimming, or fishing. Right, Frodo? Frodo?" Frodo stood by the hammock, inspecting the intricately woven ropes and the securely tied knots almost in awe. "Where did your father find this, Merry?" "Last month he and Uncle Mac came across some Big Folk travelling along the East Road," Merry explained. "They had just come from a Sea voyage, and had whole waggon full of strange things they were looking to sell. They had a bundle of hammocks, and Da just couldn't resist buying one." "It would be a lovely place to read," Frodo said, smiling to himself. He patted his pockets, and when he discovered that he had no book at hand he nimbly clambered onto the hammock and stretched out in the exact center. "Or a good place for a nap," he added with a yawn. "Frodo, not you too," Pippin exclaimed. Frodo yawned again and shrugged contritely, shutting his eyes as the hammock swung lazily in the breeze. Pippin turned despairingly to Merry, but he was too busy climbing onto the hammock to notice. "Oi, don't go to sleep yet, Frodo. Move over first." Both hobbits burrowed comfortably in the sagging hammock. Pippin looked from one cousin to the other. They seemed to be on the verge of falling asleep. "What about me?" Pippin asked. Receiving no response, he insistently jabbed Merry in the side with one small, chubby finger. "Merry! Frodo!" "Thought you didn't want to take a nap, Pip," Merry mumbled. "'Naps are for babies,'" Frodo added sleepily. "I didn't say that I wanted to nap," Pippin said quickly. "I just, well, I want to see what a hammock is like. That's all." He dug his toes into the soft grass and waited. Merry cracked open one eye and glanced over at Frodo, who had done the same. Both of them were trying hard not to laugh. "Well," Merry said at last, "I suppose there is enough room for you. What do you say, Frodo?" Frodo studied Pippin for a long moment. "All right," he replied, yawning hugely. "Help him up, Merry. And don't tip us over." Pippin grinned as he was lifted onto the hammock, then he scrambled over Merry to settle between his cousins, tucking himself neatly against their sides. "Well? What do you think?" Merry asked. "I like it," Pippin said. He squinted up at the sunshine glinting through the leaves overhead and stretched out his legs, causing the hammock to rock slightly. "Can we swing?" he asked suddenly. "Can hammocks swing, Merry?" "A little," Merry replied. "Not like a proper swing, of course." He yawned enormously and gestured to Frodo. "But I don't think our cousin would like it if we started swinging now." Pippin glanced at Frodo, who lay with his arms pillowed beneath his head and his mouth half-open. He was fast asleep Shaking his head, Pippin turned back to Merry, whose eyes were growing heavier by the moment. "It is an awfully good place for a nap," Merry said almost apologetically. His eyes slipped shut. Pippin struggled to suppress a yawn. "I'm not tired." "Me neither," Merry agreed. In moments he had dozed off, and Pippin was trapped between his two sleeping cousins. Pippin glanced from side to side and sighed. The sunlight was making his eyes grow heavy, and he yawned again and snuggled close. Maybe he would close his eyes, just for a little while…
The Apology
“…It was just a quick glance and I was very young at the time. I’m terribly sorry, Bilbo,” Merry concluded, fiddling with the buttons on his waistcoat. His eyes drifted to the book with its familiar red cover, closed and clutched tightly in Bilbo’s hands.
Guiltily Merry turned away, peering instead out the window overlooking a sunlit glade. In the distance he could hear the faint sound of singing, accompanied by a bird chirping nearby. When Merry turned back Bilbo’s head was bent, his chin nearly touching his chest. He seemed to be shaking.
“Bilbo?” Merry said, alarmed. His cousin drifted off to sleep often and without warning, but now Merry worried that something was seriously wrong. When he placed a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder the old hobbit looked up, laughing.
“My dear boy,” he barely managed to say. “Tell me, which part did you read?”
Merry grinned in relief. A/N: Written for the "Crawling Baby" challenge at wee_hobbits on LJ. An Afternoon Snack "He's like a cat," Merry observed. His wooden blocks forgotten for the moment, Merry watched as Pippin slithered out from beneath the sofa and crawled across the room. "He finds a way to fit anywhere." Frodo briefly looked up from his book. "And he is as curious and mischievous as any cat I've ever seen," he added with a grin. Pippin crawled to the far end of the room, glancing back often to see if his cousins were watching. When he was satisfied that they were he wriggled into the small space beneath the armchair by the window. He poked his head out once, smiling and chattering senselessly at Frodo and Merry, and then tucked himself neatly beneath the chair, hidden entirely from view. Merry stood but Frodo stopped him with a laugh. "You're playing right into his hands," he said. "Pippin has been at this all afternoon, hiding and waiting for you to find him. The little imp just wants attention." Frodo shook his head. "You spoil him, Merry." Merry did not even try to deny it. "But what if Pippin thinks we're ignoring him, Frodo? He might cry, or be angry or – or get into all sorts of trouble. "Trust me," Frodo said. "Pippin just wants to see you crawling around after him. Leave him alone for more than a few moments and he'll quit his hiding place soon enough." Merry frowned and hesitantly sat back on his heels. "All right," he said, reluctantly turning to his blocks once more. Several moments passed. Pippin's chattering grew louder and more insistent, before it stopped altogether. Merry glanced frequently at the chair by the window, wondering when Pippin would emerge while Frodo continued to read, thoroughly enjoying the quiet. At last Merry could wait no longer and he scurried across the room, ignoring the disappointed shake of Frodo's head. "Maybe Pippin fell asleep," he said. "You wouldn't want Aunt Eg to come in here and see that we're letting Pippin sleep on the floor." He knelt before the chair and peered beneath it. "Frodo!" he exclaimed, sitting up in alarm. "Frodo, come look!" "What is it Merry?" Frodo asked, dropping his book and hurrying across the room. "He's – he's eating something back there," Merry replied. He glanced up at Frodo, wide-eyed. "I think he's keeping food in his pockets!" "Are you certain?" Frodo asked. Based on Pippin's extremely healthy appetite, even with his limited diet of soft foods, he doubted that the baby could manage to save food for even a few minutes, let alone a few hours. He crouched down beside Merry and had a look for himself. In the gloom beneath the chair Pippin had wedged himself on his side against the wall. His eyes sparkled with mirth and he grinned at his cousins, obviously enjoying himself immensely. Frodo narrowed his eyes and studied the baby. "Pippin is not eating anything, Merry," he concluded. "He was probably just chewing on his fingers because he's teething. Babies do that." He moved to stand. "But Frodo, I saw it!" Merry cried. "He has food in his hands. White stuff. I think he hid bits of bread in his pockets." Although he was unconvinced Frodo looked beneath the chair once more. Perhaps Merry was right; Pippin's hands were balled into fists. "Open your hands, Pippin," he said. Pippin giggled and waved his hands around, smiling at Frodo in perfect innocence. "Let me see what you're hiding." Frodo reached beneath the chair and took hold of the hand nearest to him. The fist was clenched so tightly that Frodo could not loosen it. "Peregrin Took," he said, trying his best to sound like a stern grown-up. It worked. Pippin's hand opened, revealing a small bit of fluff. "Dust!" Merry exclaimed right in Frodo's ear. He seemed to be in awe of his baby cousin. "Pippin's been eating dust!" Frodo winced and rubbed his ear. "There's no need to shout, Merry. I'm right here." He frowned at Pippin and shook his head. "This is not for eating, Pippin!" he said, holding up the bit of dust. "Dust is not food. No." The baby's brow furrowed as he seemed to ponder Frodo's words. At last Pippin smiled and unclenched his other fist, revealing another, larger glob of dust. "Good lad," Frodo said, smiling. He reached out a hand. "I'll take that, Pippin." Pippin grinned back and, more quickly than anyone could react, shoved the dust in his mouth. Merry laughed with glee. "I told you he was eating, Frodo!" he crowed. "He'll eat anything!" Frodo was less overjoyed. He half-crawled beneath the chair himself and grabbed Pippin, pulling the baby out. He sat his cousin on his knee and tried to pry Pippin's mouth open, determined to relieve him of the dust before he swallowed it. "Ow!" Frodo cried, snatching his hand away. With his one tooth Pippin had managed to bite his thumb. "He's teething," Merry supplied helpfully. "Babies do that." Frodo shifted his glare from one cousin to the next. "Yes, I know," he replied evenly. "Open your mouth, Pippin." Clamping his lips shut Pippin shook his head, and Frodo watched in dismay as he swallowed. The dust was gone. Frodo shut his eyes, imagining just what Eglantine would think of this. "What do we do with him now?" Merry asked, watching as Pippin patted Frodo's face with dusty hands. "Should we bring him to Aunt Eg?" When Frodo finally opened his eyes he looked pained. "We'll feed him," he said simply. "If he's hungry enough to eat dust – and I don't think there is any need to worry your Aunt Eg about this, Merry, no need at all – then there's no telling what he'll try to eat next. Pippin ought to have a biscuit or a dozen." At last Frodo smiled. "And I think you and I deserve something for our trouble. A bit of pie perhaps, or some of that apple cake." A slow grin crept across Merry's face. If Pippin was this good at wheedling snacks now, he could only imagine what things would be like when his cousin was a bit older… Pippin gurgled happily, undoubtedly thinking the same.
Inside the sunlit kitchen two curly heads bent over a pan. Standing on a chair, Pippin clutched Bilbo's shoulder for balance with one hand as the other held a half-eaten triangle of toast, and he watched open-mouthed as his cousin masterfully turned a glob of batter into a recognizable shape. Pippin’s eyes lit up even more than they already did, and he grinned a jam-smudged smile as the tall figure ducked through the doorway. "Gandalf!" he cried. And the World Sleeps The sun sank lower in the sky, bathing the land with a deeply golden light and casting the trees into shadow. A gentle breeze caused the leaves to rustle overhead, and a few insects buzzed as they took flight. It was nearly Pippin's bedtime, but he lay beside Merry in the soft grass, enjoying the last few moments of the pleasant summer day until his parents came outside to collect them, and send them straight to their beds. He was too busy thinking to remember that he was sleepy. "Where does it go at night, Merry?" Merry rolled onto his side, his chin propped up by his hand, and gazed down at Pippin. "Where does what go?" "The sun," Pippin replied. "Where is it going now? And where does the moon go in the morning? And what about the stars? Why don't they stay out all the time?" "What should I answer first?" Merry dropped back down to the grass with a laugh. He thought quickly. "It's not easy to light up the whole world. The sun and the moon and the stars need time to rest. Now the sun is tired and is going to sleep, but the moon and stars are awake, and so it's their turn. The sun will come back in the morning, when it's rested." "But what if the sun is very tired, and wakes up late?" Pippin asked, yawning. "Sometimes I sleep late." "Well," he said slowly, "when that happens we have clouds and if the sun or moon is really tired, we have rain or even snow." "Oh," Pippin said. He rubbed at his eyes. "You always know everything, Merry. I'm glad I asked you." He yawned again and snuggled close to his cousin. "Not everything," Merry admitted, stifling a yawn of his own. One hand drifted toward Pippin's head, and he gently stroked his curls. "But enough to answer curious questions." Pippin murmured a reply and his breathing evened out as he drifted off to sleep. The sun at last disappeared and the moon and stars grew brighter in the sky. The lights in the windows of the smial gleamed brighter, and soon the door opened, revealing Eglantine. She peered outside and smiled, disappearing for a moment to retrieve her husband. Then they both stood in the doorway with smiles on their faces as they watched their two favorite lads, fast asleep. Stories and Tales Faramir scrambled up Merry’s knee and made himself quite at home in his lap. As always Merry was struck with how much the child looked like Pippin, with the same sharp nose and wide green eyes - expectant eyes, he realized. He clearly wanted something. “A story?” Merry guessed. Farry grinned, nodding eagerly. “Will you tell me about all the adventures you and Da had? Please?” Merry pretended to hesitate, trying not to laugh as Farry grew anxious, his legs swinging restlessly and his hands fidgeting in his lap. “Once upon a time, there were two hobbits named Merry and Pippin…”
A Yule Visit "Well," Frodo said, dusting off the flakes of snow clinging to his cloak before hanging it on the hook by the door. "You didn't think that I would miss visiting you at Yule, did you?" He went into the sitting room, leaving Merry and Pippin in the hallway. That is exactly what they had thought, since Frodo had not joined them for Yule the year before and when they had invited him again this year he not only declined again, but he also politely refused their offer of visiting him. And so it had come as a surprise to Merry and Pippin when they returned home early from the Brandy Hall festivities and discovered Frodo arriving at the same moment; a solitary figure walking down the lane, his face half-hidden by his scarf. Merry went ahead to the kitchen to put the kettle on as Pippin followed Frodo. They could hear Merry’s voice trickling in from the other room. "More ridiculous than a tween," he grumbled. "Gallivanting across the Shire in this weather, alone and on foot.” His voice grew louder. “Don't let Frodo out of your sight for a moment, Pippin. There is no telling what mischief he'll get into next." Pippin couldn't find it in his heart to scold Frodo, not when he was so happy to see him. Instead he took up the woolen blanket folded on the back of the sofa and wrapped it around his cousin’s shoulders with a flourish. He hesitated a moment, before lifting a corner of the fabric and crawling beneath it himself. One arm wrapped around Frodo’s waist and he snuggled close to him as he had always done. "Merry and I thought of going to Bag End anyway, only then we thought perhaps we shouldn't surprise you. I'm glad we didn't, or we should have missed you on the road." Pippin rested his chin on his cousin’s shoulder and smiled. "I'm glad you're here Frodo, even if it was so very foolish of you." A few traces from Frodo’s last illness lingered - he was pale and the skin around his eyes was worn - and did not go unnoticed by Pippin. But Frodo waved away Pippin’s unspoken concerns. “I was restless. I couldn’t get a shred of writing done. I’m not used to a quiet smial any more, and it was too quiet without Sam and Rosie. And then I kept thinking of the both of you. The last time we celebrated Yule together we were somewhere in the wild. And I thought - well, it hardly seemed right." Pippin shifted, letting his chin slide from Frodo's shoulder and resting his cheek there instead. He didn't care much for Frodo's words, they seemed ominous somehow, as if Frodo was planning something, or thinking of planning something, when all he was saying was the truth. It had been a few years since they had spent Yule together in a normal fashion, with cozy surroundings and family gathered around. And Pippin supposed that his cousin couldn't help being the same old restless Frodo, even now. Glancing across the room Pippin noticed Merry leaning against the doorframe, his arms folded across his chest and watching them both, scrutinizing. Pippin recognized that particular look on Merry's face, and he knew he was trying to puzzle something out. If Frodo noticed it (and Pippin was certain that he did) he chose to ignore it. All he said was, "Stop frowning, Merry, and come here. There is room enough for you. I hope you don't think you're too old for hugs." "You don't deserve a bit of encouragement after your naughtiness," Merry said, although he crossed the room willingly enough and burrowed beneath the blanket on Frodo's other side all the same. "What shall we do with him, Pippin? Throw him back out into the cold?" The kettle whistled shrilly, and Pippin untangled himself from the blanket. "Perhaps we'll feed him first," he said, and left the room to prepare their tea. He added a plate of biscuits and a little less than half of an apple pie to the tray, along with their tea, and brought everything back to the sitting room. In the flickering light of the fire he could see flecks of gold in Merry's hair, and wisps of silver in Frodo's. As they ate they spoke of Frodo’s journey from Hobbiton and the goings-on at the Hall. Then they sat in companionable silence, listening to the logs crackling in the grate and the icy wind rattling the windows. After a time Frodo rose and wandered over to the mantle, poking through the collection of trinkets and other oddments arranged there. Pippin glanced at Merry; there were two faint lines between his brows and his eyes were closed tight, as if he had a headache. The sound of a book creaking open drew Pippin’s attention back to Frodo. His cousin stood by the bookcase in the corner, holding a small, worn book in his hands and turning the pages slowly. “Oh,” Pippin said, smiling. “You’ve found it.” “I’d wondered what had become of it,” Frodo said, his eyes skimming the pages, remembering. When Pippin was just a very young lad and visiting Bag End alone for the first time he had begged his cousin for stories so often that Frodo copied down a few of the child’s favorites, the ones he asked for again and again, into a book, and sent it home with Pippin when he returned to Whitwell. In later visits Frodo added to the book, including his favorite stories, as well as Bilbo’s and Merry’s. Sometimes Frodo even made up stories, almost always about a brave young hobbit named Pippin who had the most marvelous adventures, visiting the lands of elves and dwarves but always returning home in time for supper. And so it was that every time Pippin visited Bag End a story or two was added to the book, until finally they ran out of pages. After that the book remained at Whitwell, and then at the Great Smials, a cherished token of childhood that Pippin had made certain to bring with him to Crickhollow. “I’m glad you kept it,” Frodo said, shutting the book. His eyes lingered for a moment on the worn cover before he went to replace it on the shelf. “Give us a story, Frodo?” Pippin asked, smiling. Merry sat up, looking interested, his frown lines gone. “Well,” Frodo’s voice trailed off as he flipped open to the first page and stared for a moment at the familiar words of the tale written in his own hand. He glanced from one cousin to the other, smiling a little before returning to his place between them. “All right,” he said, and began to read. At the River Waist-deep in the Brandywine, Merimac held the giggling child high in the air. Frodo looked for his parents and found them seated beneath a tall tree on the shore, smiling and waving at him. Taking advantage of the lad’s momentary distraction, Merimac loosened his grasp, allowing Frodo to slide slightly toward the water. Frodo slipped through the air with a shriek. A rushing noise pounded in his ears and Frodo, so certain that he would fall into the river with a splash, thought he felt the water wetting his toes, even though he was quite safe in Merimac’s loose but secure hold. The golden water swirling below drew closer, and Frodo squeezed his eyes shut, his arms flailing. At what seemed to be the last possible moment, Merimac’s hands tightened and he lifted the child up again. Frodo laughed, reaching toward the cloudless sky with the sunlight at his back.
Home Again The sound of hooves on the road startled Paladin and, without bothering to fetch his cloak, he hurried outside in time to see the riders dismount, surrounded by a growing crowd. His eyes were drawn to one lad with his back to him, standing taller than the rest and dressed in black and silver with a sword gleaming brightly at his side. Paladin wondered who the stranger was. Had help arrived, from Buckland perhaps? Something about the set of the stranger's shoulders and the curl of his hair as it rested against the back of his neck seemed familiar, and yet did not prepare Paladin for the shock he felt when the lad turned at last, revealing a face so like his own. A face that Paladin had feared he would never see again. A series of emotions passed over Pippin's face, from joy to guilt to apprehension. The reins fell from his hand and he took a hesitant step forward before stopping, seemingly rooted in place. For all that his fine but rather outlandish garb lent him strength and confidence, suddenly Pippin looked young and lost, and much in need of his father. In just two steps Paladin was at his side. The crowd's curious chatter dropped to a hushed murmur, but Paladin hardly noticed as he pulled Pippin into a hug, reassuring him as he always had. Though he felt small and old when he looked up to meet Pippin's eyes, Paladin smiled. "My son." Pippin smiled back.
A/N: Written for the wee_hobbits Food Challenge on LJ. Pervinca's Homebrew Pervinca liked plans and ideas. And she always liked the ones she thought of best of all. One afternoon she dragged Pippin from (what she thought was) a silly game that involved lining up rocks and twigs and pretending that they were Bilbo and the dwarves, and that he was Smaug. "Come on," Pervinca said, hauling her brother to his feet and pressing a pail into his hands. "I need you to help me pick grapes." "But I-" Pippin's protest was forgotten when Pervinca fixed one of her frosty glares upon him. "It'll be fun," she promised, grabbing her pail and slinging an arm over her brother’s shoulder as they went behind the smial to where vines of wild grapes grew by the fence. "We're going to make something." At this Pippin perked up. Imagining a jar of delicious grape jam - his favorite - Pippin eagerly filled his pail with dozens upon dozens of sweet, plump, juicy grapes. Soon they had picked enough and they headed indoors, their brimming pails bumping against their knees. The kitchen was empty, their mother and Pearl having gone to visit a neighbor and Pimpernel helping their father tend to the ponies. Pippin perched on a chair as Pervinca pushed one pail toward him, keeping the other for herself. "First we have to crush them," she instructed. Rolling up her sleeves to her elbows, Pervinca plunged her hands into the grapes. "But ‘Vinca," Pippin said hesitantly. "What are we making?" "Wine," Pervinca replied with a grin.
Pippin needed a boost to reach the lowest branches, but after that he proved himself to be an excellent climber, not once faltering or wobbling. Nonetheless Frodo kept one hand hovering at Pippin’s back as he followed behind, ready to steady his cousin if necessary. When they climbed as high as Frodo dared (which was daringly high for most hobbits) they perched on a sturdy branch, the sun warming their faces and their legs swinging in the breeze. Pippin tucked himself close against Frodo’s side and looked down in awe at the thin ribbons of smoke curling into the sky from the chimneys below and the small shapes moving along the road before they disappeared into the trees. At last Pippin smiled and turned to Frodo. “It didn’t seem like we had climbed all that way,” he said, “when we were climbing.” “That’s what I always think,” Frodo laughed. “All right, Pippin. Are you ready now for your next lesson?” “Oh, yes,” Pippin nodded eagerly. “What is it, Frodo?” Frodo grinned. “How to climb down.” Watching A/N: This ficlet takes place in my Star AU which includes "Stars and Sniffles," "The Stars Will Light Your Way," and "Upon the Wings of an Eagle," all of which are posted here at Stories of Arda. The idea for this particular ficlet came from a request of Gryffinjack's, and this is for her. Unaligned Frodo sat alone on the step, idly twirling the unlit pipe in his hand as he watched the stars flicker in the sky. “I’m sorry I never believed you, Pippin.” Pippin jumped, startled both by Frodo’s awareness that he was there and by his apology. Closing the door behind him, Pippin dropped down beside him. “What did you not believe?” he asked, not knowing whether he should be amused or alarmed. “I never believed in your stars,” Frodo said, his smile embarrassed as he faced Pippin. “Not that I thought you had lied to me all those years ago; I thought it was the fever talking. But then, after Gandalf told me how we nearly lost you, and Merry too, and how your stars helped bring both of you back.” Frodo shook his head, and Pippin watched in concern as gloom and despair weighed his cousin down. “I don’t know what I would have done if I had lost you.” “But you didn’t,” Pippin reminded him with a gentle smile. “I’m here, and Merry is just inside cooking our supper, and Sam is at Bag End with Rose and the baby. We went there and back, just like Bilbo. Didn’t we Frodo?” “Bilbo,” Frodo murmured. There was still grief in his eyes and Pippin wondered if he had said the wrong thing. For so long now Frodo had been melancholy- not always, but in their past few visits it seemed that his cousin was finding it more and more difficult to find joy and cheer. Once Pippin had known all the best jokes and tales and songs that were certain to bring a smile to Frodo’s face, but now it seemed that every time he tried to comfort or reassure his cousin, he failed. But there was one thing he had not tried… “Did Gandalf tell you,” he asked, “that my stars watch over everyone I love?” Frodo smiled. “That’s a lot of work for two small stars,” he said. Pippin laughed. “I thought the same at first,” he said. “But it’s true, Frodo. And I would like to share them with you. Gandalf’s not here to call them down, as he did for Merry and me, but perhaps there’s a way we could ask them to visit you somehow.” He shrugged, suddenly aware how silly or childish his idea might seem. “I just want to help you, Frodo.” Frodo’s smile was the first genuinely happy one that Pippin had seen during his visit. “You and Merry and Sam help me more than you’ll ever know. It’s very generous of you, Pippin but I think- I think the stars are best left to you.” He nodded encouragingly. “I’ll be all right.” Hoping to hide the doubt he felt, Pippin smiled. “Are you certain, Frodo? I just know that my stars wouldn’t mind.” “I am,” Frodo replied. “Although perhaps- will you point them out to me, Pippin? I would like to be able to find them anywhere.” “Of course, Frodo. Do you see the pair twinkling? There they are.” Pippin grinned as he watched his cousin discover and admire the stars. “Maybe they’ll help you just by watching them.” He had to hope for that, at least. For a long while Frodo sat watching Pippin’s stars as they winked down at them. At last he smiled a little. “Perhaps they will.”
A/N: Pippin is 12, Merry is 20, Frodo is 34 Lunchtime Frodo sat at the table, amused and feeling rather helpless as he watched his cousins dash around the kitchen. “Are you certain that you don’t need any help?” “Yes!” they insisted. “Anyway,” Merry added as he scooped out the (slightly charred) contents of the pots onto the platter Pippin held. “We’re finished.” A heaping plate was set before Frodo, and his cousins watched expectantly, waiting for his approval. The fish was overcooked and the vegetables were dry but Frodo had already decided that it was the best meal he had ever tasted. After all, it had been cooked with love. A/N: The character of Glory and this interpretation of Berilac are borrowed from Glory Underhill's "Glory's Story" series, posted on her Livejournal, in which both characters are clock makers. All in Good Time “A watch that runs backwards?” Glory peered closely at the watch’s face, frowning. It was pristine, showing no sign of damage. There was no visible reason why it was running so strangely at all. She handed it to Berilac to inspect. “It doesn’t always run backwards,” Pippin explained. “Sometimes it stops completely, although it always starts again, eventually. Other times it runs normally, or sometimes even faster than it should.” “When did this start?” Beri asked, returning the watch to Glory. “I only noticed it- well, just a few months ago.” Pippin’s eyes were wide and hopeful as he glanced between Glory and Beri. “Could you look at it? Please?” “This watch is very important to Pippin,” Merry said quietly, speaking for the first time since he and Pippin had come seeking their advice. “I remember when you fixed Frodo’s watch, Glory. I’d never seen him happier.” Glory clicked the watch shut, and with the edge of a fingernail she traced the words Pippin, with love, Frodo engraved on the back before nodding. “We’ll do our best,” she promised. They took the watch apart and cleaned it. But when they put it back together it ran as it had before, ticking slowly at times and faster at others, its hands moving ahead as often as they went backwards. Again they took apart the watch. This time they replaced the mechanisms with ones from another watch that they knew were working properly- and to their surprise, they discovered that now the watch did not work at all. The hands remained stubbornly still, and it was only after they returned the original gears to it did the watch tick again. “We did all that we could,” Glory said when they returned it to Pippin some weeks later, at their next visit to Brandy Hall. “I just can’t understand it,” Beri said. He smiled apologetically. “If I didn’t know any better I’d think it was bewitched.” “I’ve wondered that myself,” Pippin admitted quite cheerfully for someone whose watch was still broken. When he snapped it open and saw the bigger hand slowly creeping backwards before coming to a stop he laughed and held it up for Merry to see. “What do you think of my broken watch now, Merry?” he asked, still grinning. “Will you finally admit that I’m right?” “I think it’s all rather unbelievable still,” his cousin answered. He glanced at the watch and shook his head. “And yet, time did move so strangely in Rivendell and Lothlórien…” Pippin nodded happily and studied the watch. “According to this, Frodo and Bilbo are just about have their supper,” he said. “What don’t we join them?” Merry offered. Pippin clicked the watch shut and slipped it into his pocket before linking arms with his cousin. “Why Merry, that’s the best idea you’ve had all morning!” After thanking a very bewildered Glory and Beri for their trouble, the cousins left the room, heading to the kitchen. As their voices faded down the hall Glory recalled Merry’s suggestion and shook her head. Supper less than an hour after second breakfast! “Brandybucks,” she huffed. Berilac lit his pipe and shrugged. “Tooks,” he replied succinctly.
*And just to explain things further, Berilac is of course a Brandybuck, and Glory is half-Took :)
A Little Encouragement Neither the cold, nor the rain, nor the icy wind caused the Company to fall into a tense silence. Just three days out of Rivendell, they were already getting on each other's nerves. Gandalf was grumpier than ever, snapping sharply at whomever irritated him, and it seemed that everyone did at one time or another. Legolas and Gimli were bickering, and Boromir was moody, glaring distrustfully at Aragorn every now and again. Aragorn was quiet and brooding, and even Bill was disagreeable, stubbornly planting his hooves in the ground so that Sam required Merry's assistance in leading the pony. Although they kept to themselves and tried to ignore the behavior of their companions, the hobbits could not help but notice the tension that grew each day. When they next made camp they had a hurried, whispered conversation before they crawled into their blankets, wondering if their plan would work. When they woke, the hobbits took their meals and separated. Frodo sat beside Gandalf on a nearby rock for a quick smoke and some advice. With Bill's reins in hand, Sam crept over to Aragorn, under the guise of wanting to know how to calm the pony. Merry sidled up to Boromir, asking for further clarification on a fighting technique that he and Pippin had learned. Pippin plopped down between Legolas and Gimli, sharing breakfast and a rollicking tale with them. Soon it was time to break camp and continue on their way. For the first time since Rivendell, the uneasy silence that had fallen over Company disappeared, and things were almost cheerful. "Merry has just asked for another lesson in swordplay," Boromir said, clasping Aragorn's shoulder as they walked. "When we next camp, will you join us?" "I would be glad to," Aragorn replied, looking interested. "But I have just noticed a small wound on Bill's leg that must be tended. I promised Sam that I would help him look for a few herbs and roots that we might use for a healing ointment." "I shall gladly help you in your search," Legolas offered. "You might have a need for this," Gimli said, holding out a small axe. "It is excellent for cutting roots and saplings." "Thank you, my friend," said Legolas as he gratefully took the axe. The hobbits glanced at each other, pleased, and behind them Gandalf chuckled. "Quite a clever plan, my dear hobbits," the wizard said, his eyes twinkling. "Why Gandalf," Pippin said breezily. "We don't know what you mean!" "Impertinent Took," Gandalf grumbled good-naturedly. "Very well, keep your secrets; I certainly have my own." With a wink he strode forward to lead the Company on their way. "Thank heavens for hobbits! They do make the heart glad, and put a spring in one's step." A Gift from the Sea Their hearts heavy with grief the hobbits remained at the shore until the ship disappeared from sight. When at last they turned, Círdan approached and presented each with a beautiful, delicate shell, shining gold and silver in the pale moonlight. "When you have need," Círdan said, "listen to these, and they will ease your hearts." One by one the hobbits lifted the shells to their ears and with wonder they heard the Sea, not lapping against the nearby shore, but inside the shell. And though they did not speak, their hearts lifted. They would hear the Sea from the Shire. Questions and Answers “Why do you have hair on your face?” Beneath the wide brim of his hat Gandalf’s eyebrows knit together as he peered down at the young hobbit with the inquisitive eyes standing before him. “Bilbo Baggins, is it – Belladonna’s lad?” he asked after a moment of puffing on his pipe. At the child’s nod, the wizard chuckled lightly and sent a smoke ring skywards. It hovered for a moment before soaring over the Great Smials and disappearing into the clouds, far away from the bright lights of the party below. “I suppose I might ask,” he said after a time, “why don’t you have hair on your face?” Bilbo raised a hand to his chin, apparently pondering Gandalf’s question, or trying in vain to locate a few hairs. Finding no adequate response, he let his hand drop in favor of eagerly asking more questions. “How do you make fireworks? How old are you? And why are you so very large?” “Bilbo! Where are your manners?” Belladonna demanded as she approached them. She frowned at her son, who seemed less embarrassed by the questions he had posed, and more embarrassed that he had been caught asking them. “Sorry, Mum,” he said quickly. Bilbo glanced uncertainly at the wizard. “I’m sorry, Gandalf.” But Gandalf smiled indulgently. “It is no trouble at all. I’ve grown used to the curiosity of Tooks…and even the occasional Baggins,” he replied, glancing from Belladonna to Bilbo. “In fact, I seem to recall being asked similarly impertinent questions by a young lass many years ago.” Belladonna laughed. “That may be, but we shall not disturb you with any more questions tonight,” she said, sending her son a pointed glance. “Come along now, Bilbo, and have something to eat. I think Gandalf is going to set off more fireworks soon.” “More fireworks!” Bilbo exclaimed, his eyes shining. “Will there be more snapdragons and lilies?” “Certainly!” Gandalf replied. In fact, he had not planned on setting off more of those particular fireworks, but he had a soft spot for children and if snapdragons and lilies would make young Bilbo smile, then Gandalf would see to it that there were more of those before the night ended. Bilbo grinned in thanks and took his mother’s hand as she led him back to the party. “Mum, I don’t think Gandalf was going to answer any of my questions,” he whispered as they left, though not quietly enough to escape the wizard’s sharp hearing. “He never does,” replied Belladonna. She had faced this disappointment long ago. Gandalf watched them leave, waving as the child turned back to smile at him. Then he turned thoughtful, puffing on his pipe as he pondered the unique spirit he had sensed in the young hobbit. Bilbo was quick of mind, curious, and had inherited from his mother a certain boldness that, regrettably, Gandalf suspected would fade as he grew older. At least, until the opportunity came when that particular trait would prove useful. Something told him he ought to keep an eye on Bilbo Baggins... The Baby and the Bathwater "May I?" Frodo asked. "When it's warm enough, we like to bathe Pippin outdoors," Pearl said. She left Frodo and Pippin in the passageway and ducked into the bathing room, retuning a moment later with the small tub they used for the baby, now empty, as well as towels and soap. "That way there is less to clean up later," she explained. Frodo nodded. It seemed reasonable enough, and he was delighted that he would not have to mop the floor afterwards. Outside Pearl spread a towel on the grass and Frodo settled Pippin on it, before he went to fill the tub with water. When he returned Frodo set the tub in the shade of a tree and Pearl draped a towel over a low branch, creating a bit of shelter from the road. "Are you certain you won't need any help?" she asked, obviously doubting him. "I am," Frodo replied quickly. He lifted Pippin high in the air and grinned. "We're going to have lots of fun, aren't we Pip?" Pippin giggled. "Very well," Pearl said as she headed inside to help her mother and sisters with the baking. For a moment Frodo frowned after her. Was it his imagination, or had Pearl been struggling not to laugh? His eyes eagerly fixed on the tub, Pippin wriggled impatiently in Frodo's arms, calling his cousin's attention to the task at hand. Kneeling on the ground, Frodo quickly undressed the baby and plunked him in the cool water. Pippin delighted in baths and unlike so many other babies he never cried or fussed. Now his high, childish voice began to sing, half in nonsense words, as Frodo lathered his hair. Frodo smiled fondly as he listened. Even Merry had not been so agreeable to bathe – for all that he was a Brandybuck and loved the water, young Merry had a rather no-nonsense approach to bathing, and was never inclined to sing, or even talk, while washing. As Frodo rinsed Pippin's hair the baby grew silent and peered up at his older cousin, smiling placidly. "Bath, Fro-oh?" "Whoa!" Frodo shouted, furiously rubbing his eyes to get the soapy water out of them. "Pippin, stop!" "No bath?" Pippin asked, pausing in his attempt to splash again. He looked up at Frodo with wide, innocent eyes. "Fro-oh, no bath?" Frodo glared at Pippin for a long moment. Was the little imp mad? Then, very slowly, Frodo found himself smiling against his will. "If you were a little older I would dunk you for splashing me like that," Frodo confided as he struggled to lift his very wet and very wriggly cousin out of the tub. He wrapped Pippin snugly in a towel and wagged a finger at him. "One thing is for certain – you're frightfully dangerous. I pity your sisters. I suppose I'll have to keep a close watch on you from now on." "Pppfft," Pippin said, clearly undaunted. "Hmmph," Frodo agreed, standing. Holding Pippin securely on his hip, he wandered a short distance away to sit beneath the open kitchen window. The smell of bread baking wafted through the air and Frodo stretched lazily across the sunlit grass, settling the baby on his lap as Pippin began to sing again. Frodo listened with a smile. He was glad he had a little cousin to look after once more. Blackberries A/N: Berilac is 15, Merry is 13, and Pippin is 5. This story was written for Lily, and the characters of Toby and Mr. Greenhill are borrowed from her. They can be found in her stories "Master's Heir, Master's Son" and "Punishment," both of which are archived at this site. Merimac retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his sweaty brow. It had been a long afternoon of tending to the ponies and as soon as he and Toby were finished grooming and feeding them he planned on heading back to the Hall for a nice, relaxing bath. He had just begun brushing the last pony when he heard frantic voices calling him. "Da! Uncle Mac!" Quickly Merimac stepped out of the stall just as Berilac and Merry raced through the stable, panting for breath and their eyes full of panic. "We've lost Pippin," Merry blurted. Berilac frowned at him before turning to his father and Merimac listened with concern as his son explained what had happened. "It was that Mr. Greenhill," he said. "He came running after us, yelling and screaming, and Merry and I ran off in opposite directions. We each thought Pippin was with the other, and it was only when we met up at the Hall that we realized he wasn't there." "Please, Uncle Mac," Merry said, looking truly frightened. "Please help us find Pippin. He could be anywhere." From the berry stains on each lad's hands, Merimac had knew what had caused old Mr. Greenhill to frighten them to such distraction that they had managed to forget their cousin. However he set that knowledge aside for the moment and focused on the situation at hand. Glancing over at the farmhand Toby, who had paused in feeding the ponies to listen to their conversation with wide eyes, he said, "I need you to finish tending to the ponies. I'll be back as soon as I can." "Yes, sir," Toby said, returning to his task as Merimac led his son and nephew outdoors. It was not a far walk to Mr. Greenhill's farm, and Merimac thought it best if they first retraced Berilac and Merry's steps. Pippin's legs were far too short to keep up with two running teens and if they were lucky, they would find him on the road. But the road was empty and Merimac's heart sank as he hurried along. What if something had happened to Pippin? Did Mr. Greenhill have dogs? He had not kept them in the past, but perhaps he had them now that he was older. Merimac shuddered inwardly at the memory of Farmer Maggot's enormous dogs, as well as the farmer's treatment of Frodo the last time he had been caught pilfering his mushrooms. But Mr. Greenhill never punished children so harshly… A loud sniffle told Merimac that his nephew's thoughts were close to his own. At his concerned glance, Merry turned his face aside, furtively dashing the tears from his eyes. Beside him Berilac bit his lip, his face pale and anxious as he scanned the fields for Pippin. But there was no sign of Pippin as Merimac walked up the path to Mr. Greenhill's smial. He glanced back to see if the children followed but saw that they both stood rooted to the ground, clearly unwilling to face the old farmer again. "Come on, lads," Merimac said sternly. "First you are going to apologize to Mr. Greenhill and then you are going to ask him to help us search for Pippin. No one knows his lands better than he, and we could certainly use the help." With a resigned glance at one another Berilac and Merry followed Merimac to the smial's bright blue door. Merimac knocked once and then stepped aside, leaving the children on the step together. The door opened to reveal Mr. Greenhill, whose ruddy, cheerful face darkened into a glare at the sight of Berilac and Merry. "You," he grumbled. "Back for more berries, eh?" Catching sight of Merimac standing to the side the old farmer added, "Begging your pardon, Mr. Brandybuck, but I caught these lads picking through my blackberries this afternoon." "I know, Mr. Greenhill, and I apologize for their behavior. But I think the lads have something to say as well," Merimac said, sending the children a sharp look that made Berilac wince and Merry gulp. "We're sorry, sir," they said, one after another. "It won't happen again." "That's what they all say," Mr. Greenhill replied, though the first traces of a smile began to spread across his wrinkled face. "But they don't often leave me something for my trouble." The children glanced at each other and, much to Merimac's surprise, Berilac spoke again. "If you please sir, we would like to make it up to you." Obviously torn between wanting to make things right and wanting to find his cousin, Merry nodded. "Berilac and I can help you with your chores or – or anything, sir, as soon as we find our cousin Pippin." The farmer's wizened face creased into a wide grin. Stepping aside, he ushered them through the door. "I think you'll find what you're looking for in the kitchen, Master Merry," Mr. Greenhill said with a wink. A smile spread across Merry's face and he broke into a run. "Pippin! Pippin!" he yelled, racing down the hall with Berilac at his heels. Chuckling, Mr. Greenhill followed close behind with Merimac. Inside the kitchen Pippin was perched snugly on Mrs. Greenhill's lap. In one hand was a small cup of milk and in the other was a nearly-finished blackberry tart. Pippin's mouth was stained with berry juice and crumbs littered the front of his shirt. "Hullo!" Pippin greeted them quite cheerfully and Merimac stifled a laugh as the child immediately turned back to his snack, clearly not realizing how worried Merry and Berilac had been. "I noticed right away that the older lads had left the wee one behind, but they were too busy running in fright to hear me yelling after them," Mr. Greenhill told him, still chuckling. "I was going to bring the little lad straight back to the Hall but my wife was so charmed by him that she couldn't bear to send him away without a little snack." "Thank you for your generosity," Merimac said, clasping the farmer's shoulder. "But we really ought to be going now." Pippin seemed reluctant to leave Mrs. Greenhill's comfortable lap and her delicious blackberry tarts behind. Berilac and Merry's mouths watered as the farmer's wife quickly consoled Pippin by presenting him with a plate filled with the treats. "Thank you!" he said, grinning and waving from his perch atop Merimac's shoulders. With a final word of thanks for the Greenhills' hospitality Merimac left the kitchen. A quick glance behind told him that his son and nephew were following him. "Oh no," Merimac said firmly. "You lads promised Mr. Greenhill that you would do some chores in payment for the berries you stole. I don't expect to see you two back at the Hall until supper – at least." Shoulders sagging, Berilac and Merry nodded and shuffled after Mr. Greenhill. As Merimac closed the gate behind him he saw them hard at work already, weeding the kitchen garden. Pippin glanced back at them sadly, and Merimac thought it was a good time to have a little talk with the child. "Pippin, you know that taking something without permission is very, very bad, right?" "Yes, Mac." Pippin said seriously. "Very, very bad." "And you must never do that, right?" "Yes, Mac." Two small hands clutched at Merimac's shoulders as Pippin spoke again. "Mr. Greenhill told me all about you today." Merimac cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Did he?" "Yes," Pippin replied. "He said you used to steal berries from him all the time, lots and lots of berries, and your da didn't know what to do with you, and once-" "Why don't you have another tart, Pippin?" Merimac interrupted, grabbing one of the treats and handing it to him. Pippin eagerly accepted it and fell silent, munching on the snack that had so easily distracted him from Mr. Greenhill's tales. Merimac smiled to himself. His secrets were safe, at least for the moment.
Five Things I Like About You The storm began as Frodo was getting ready for bed. Lightning flashed, illuminating his room, and thunder sounded in the distance. A steady rain began to fall and a fierce wind caused the branches to scrape against the windows. An especially loud rumble of thunder was met with a startled cry, followed shortly by the sound of little feet scurrying down the hall. Frodo opened his door just in time for Pippin to barrel into him, grabbing him around the legs with a frightened expression upon his face. "Bad storm, Frodo," Pippin whimpered, casting a fearful eye at the window. "I know," Frodo said, patting his cousin's curls in reassurance. "But that's all it is, just a storm. A little rain and wind, nothing more." He winced as thunder crashed overhead, punctuating his words and making Pippin tremble in fright. "I don't like it," Pippin said when the noise passed. "Neither do I," Frodo confessed. It was not like Pippin to let something like a storm upset him so, but Frodo supposed that being away from home and his family had something to do with it. Lifting Pippin up, Frodo plunked him down on the bed and settled beside him. "Let's sit together for a while until the storm passes. We can’t all be like Bilbo and be so immersed in writing or reading that we lose track of everything else. I suspect he’s still working in his study, and has not even noticed all the thunder and lightning.” Frodo laughed a little at the thought but another crackle of lightning lit the room and revealed the troubled expression on Pippin's face. "I'm sorry, Frodo," he mumbled, tugging on a loose thread on the quilt. "Whatever are you sorry for?" Frodo asked, surprised. "The storm is hardly your fault." "But you were going to sleep and now you have to stay up with me because I'm being such a-a-." Pippin wrinkled his nose, trying to remember the word. "A nuisance." "Where did you get that idea?" Frodo asked, hiding a grin. Pippin mumbled something that sounded distinctly like "Pervinca." Frodo sighed. Pervinca was often hot-tempered and spoke without thinking. This was not the first time she had said something hurtful to her brother, and Frodo was certain it would not be the last. "You are not a nuisance at all, Pippin," Frodo reassured him. "Really?" Pippin seemed quite surprised at this. "Even though I'm always in the way and too little to do anything fun?" From the glum expression on his cousin's face Frodo could tell that Pippin was again repeating Pervinca's words. "Oh, but that's not true," Frodo replied lightly. "If you were really so wretched, Bilbo and I would never invite you to visit with us for a whole week." When his words did not garner a smile, Frodo continued. "I am very grateful that we're family, Pippin. In fact I could think of a whole list of reasons why I am so glad that you are my cousin." Astonished, Pippin hardly flinched at the next roar of thunder. "A whole list about me?" he exclaimed. "Shall I tell you about it now?" Frodo asked. At Pippin's eager nod he laughed. "Very well. First of all, you are an excellent companion: cheerful and friendly and easy to please. Bilbo and I are always sad to see you go home and anxious to have you visit again." A smile crept across Pippin's face. "You're very generous, always finding or making some little gift, even when it is not your birthday," Frodo continued. "Just yesterday you gave Bilbo those lovely stones you found in the garden, and today you drew me that beautiful bird." Pippin beamed as Frodo continued. "You're very helpful. You dry the dishes after meals and you give Sam a hand in the garden, even though he never asks for your help.” "I like helping," Pippin shrugged. "And I think Sam needs help sometimes too, even if his da doesn't think so." "That's one of my favorite things about you, Pippin," Frodo said, impressed by his cousin's keen observation. "You learn about people because you always have your eyes and ears open – and you ask plenty of curious questions.” At Pippin’s yawn, Frodo decided there was time for just one more. “Finally, I love having you for a cousin, Pippin, because for some strange reason you actually like my stories even though they are never as good as Bilbo's. You even tolerate my silly rhymes, and laugh at my awful jokes." "They're not awful. Well, not all of them," Pippin amended with a giggle. He hugged his cousin tight. "I like your list, Frodo!" Frodo laughed and ruffled Pippin’s curls. "I'm glad you did." He gestured to the window. "Look, the storm has passed." Pippin's eyes grew wide; he had been so busy listening to Frodo that he had quite forgotten the storm. It was still raining but the thunder had subsided to the occasional low rumble in the distance. Branches no longer twisted in the wind and lightning flashed only intermittently. After a moment of watching the suddenly calm weather Pippin rubbed at his eyes tiredly. "I suppose we might try and get some rest now," Frodo said, feeling rather sleepy himself. "But I have to tell you my list first," Pippin protested, fighting another yawn. "About why I like having you as a cousin." Frodo recognized that determined glint in his cousin's eyes and knew that Pippin would not give into his own exhaustion and settle down to sleep until he had said what he wanted to say. "A list about me, you said? Well of course I must hear all about it." Wriggling happily, Pippin claimed one of his cousin’s pillows as his own, apparently settling in for the night. "It's a very long list," he confided, taking no notice of the look of dread on Frodo's tired face. "I'm glad you're my cousin because you don't think I'm a baby or a nuisance," Pippin began with a grin. "You're also very smart and you almost always know the answer to everything and even if you don't, you never say 'Because I said so' like some grown-ups do." Frodo smiled. When he was a child he had never liked having his questions dismissed, either. "I love your stories and you write down my favorite ones in the book you gave me," Pippin continued, smiling as he thought of the book that always travelled with him between Whitwell and Bag End, its pages slowly filling with Frodo's careful writing and quickly becoming worn from many hours of happy reading. Frodo smiled in return, pleased that Pippin was so appreciative of such a simple gift. Pippin’s eyes were growing heavier and more difficult to keep open. He hardly noticed as Frodo tucked the blankets around him. "You take Merry and me camping and even if we don't have any adventures you don’t mind if I pretend that we're Bilbo and the dwarves," Pippin added, burrowing deep in the blankets and snuggling close to his cousin. The thoughtful expression on his face was disturbed by a tremendous yawn, and his eyes slowly slipped shut. With a yawn of his own, Frodo blew out the candle on the nightstand. Just as he drifted into a doze, Frodo heard Pippin speak again. “Hmm?” he murmured, hovering momentarily between wakefulness and sleep. “I can’t think of another reason why I like having you for a cousin, Frodo,” Pippin mumbled sleepily. “I just do.” Frodo smiled and tucked an arm around his cousin. No other reason could have made him happier. A/N: For Lily :) A Thoughtful Gift Merimac paused beside the leafy, low-hanging branches of a tree. It was one of his favorite trees, an old one he had often climbed as a child. It was sniffling. More precisely, someone hiding high in the tree was sniffling. Squinting, Merimac peered between the branches. “Frodo?” The sniffling stopped abruptly. Several long moments passed in which only birdsong and the leaves rustling overhead could be heard. “Frodo,” Merimac said again, more impatiently this time, and was soon rewarded by the sight of ten furry toes followed by a pair of dirt-smudged knees. Reaching up, Merimac took hold of Frodo’s waist and lifted him down from the tree. His young cousin’s eyes were red-rimmed and glistening with tears and his lower lip was trembling. “What’s wrong, scallywag? Why were you hiding – and crying?” Burying his face in Merimac’s shoulder Frodo mumbled a response. “What did you say? Speak up, lad,” Merimac said. When Frodo did not answer, Merimac sighed and turned toward Brandy Hall. “All right then. I’ll just bring you back to your mother and maybe you’ll tell her what is troubling you.” “No!” Frodo cried, desperately clutching at Merimac’s shoulders. “No Mama! Mama’s mad at me.” Merimac furrowed his brow in concern and gently peeled his cousin from his shoulder so he could look Frodo in the eye. “Why is your mother angry with you? What happened?” Instantly Frodo began to cry again. “Because she was h-having tea with Auntie Gilda a-and Esmie and she said I c-could stay if I was good but then I dropped my glass and it b-broke in pieces.” Frodo paused to gulp for air. “A-and Mama yelled and told me to get away before I hurt myself and I s-spoiled everything and now she’s mad at me, Mac.” Hiding a smile Merimac located a handkerchief in his pocket and dried Frodo’s tears. He was certain that the poor lad was taking the incident far too seriously. It was not like Primula to become so angry over so small a thing, and if she had yelled at Frodo, or even spoken sternly to him, it was likely because she was concerned for his safety around the broken glass. But Frodo was so sensitive, and never wanted to disappoint anyone, that of course he would be upset and frightened if his mother reprimanded him even a little. “I don’t think your mother is angry at all,” Merimac said. Frodo looked up at him in surprise, and Merimac went on. “She may have yelled but only because she was worried that you would hurt yourself, Frodo. In fact, she’s probably worried about you right now. How long have you been hiding in that tree?” Frodo shrugged guiltily. Merimac shook his head fondly. “Well, it’s up to you to make things right now. Lucky for you that I know just what would cheer up your mother…and you, too,” he said. “Really?” Frodo’s eyes brightened. “What? Tell me, Mac, please tell me!” “All right, all right,” Merimac laughed, setting Frodo on his own two feet and taking him by the hand. “But first let’s get you cleaned up…” A short time later Merimac led a timid Frodo by the hand to the rooms where his family stayed while at the Hall. Behind the door there was silence, and Merimac assumed that Primula’s guests had long finished their tea and left. He knocked on the door and waited, and gave Frodo a reassuring wink. Frodo’s answering smile was wobbly, and he clutched his hands more tightly behind his back, making sure to keep them hidden. The door swung open, revealing Primula. “Mac!” she exclaimed in surprise, and smiled in relief to see Frodo standing beside him. “There you are, Frodo! Why did you run off like that, dear?” “I’m sorry, Mama,” Frodo said, looking up at her sadly. “About the glass, too.” With a quick glance at Merimac, Frodo brought his hands out from behind his back, revealing a bouquet of bright, sweet-smelling orange flowers, and handed them to his mother. “For you, Mama.” Primula’s eyes went wide in surprise and she crouched down to hug her son. “Thank you, Frodo,” she said, burying her nose in the soft petals and sniffing. “What a sweet, thoughtful gift.” Frodo fidgeted nervously. “Are you still very mad at me?” “I was never mad at all,” Primula replied. “I was worried that you would be hurt, not angry that you had broken the glass.” She kissed Frodo’s cheek and stood, extending her hand. “Come inside. I need you to help me find a vase for these beautiful flowers you picked for me. Besides, it’s nearly time for dinner and we must get you out of those clothes. Were you climbing trees again?” “Yes, Mama.” “Hmmph.” Primula glared half-heartedly at Merimac, who shrugged in feigned innocence. Never mind that her nephew had taught Frodo how to climb trees. Today Merimac had delivered her son home safely. “Thank you, Mac,” she said with a grateful smile. “We’ll see you at dinner.” Merimac nodded, catching Frodo’s eye. His young cousin grinned up at him, tugging on his sleeve until he crouched down. “You were right. Mama did like the flowers,” he whispered loudly in Merimac’s ear. With a wave Frodo followed his laughing mother into their rooms, and Merimac disappeared down the hall, whistling happily.
"...I wish I could see cool sunlight and green grass again!” It is not the first time that Pippin has been allowed out of bed, but it is the first time that he is being allowed outside, out of his tent and into the fresh air. Aragorn is pleased to see Pippin healing so well and so quickly, though his right arm remains in its splint and the bandages are still wound tightly around his ribs. One of Merry's arms goes around his waist, and Aragorn's hand grips him beneath a shoulder. Together they help Pippin slide to the edge of the cot and stand, steadying him when he wobbles on his feet. For a few moments his ankle throbs fiercely, but the pain gradually subsides to a dull, nagging ache as Pippin slowly walks across the tent, supported on either side by his friends. At the entrance to the tent the young guard assigned to the King holds open the flap and watches curiously as the small procession passes. Pippin smiles up at him in thanks, before turning his face aside, away from the bright glare of sunlight that he has grown unaccustomed to after spending so many days in the dim interior of the tent. Bowing his head, Pippin studies his feet. They look small and pale against the vibrant green of the grass, and he shivers as a cool breeze rustles the leaves of the trees overhead. Merry's arm tightens reassuringly around his waist, and Pippin takes a deep breath of the fresh, fragrant Ithilien air, and looks up. The sky had been filled with smoke and ash at the Black Gate, but now it is clear and cloudless, bright and blue. Pippin finds it difficult to look away, and is dimly aware that they have stopped walking, that Aragorn is watching him in concern and Merry is calling his name in a low, urgent voice. There is cool sunlight shining upon his face and soft green grass beneath his feet. Pippin takes another deep breath and the joy bubbling deep in his chest suddenly escapes in the sound of clear, delighted laughter. Over his head Merry and Aragorn exchange a perplexed glance. "Pippin," Merry says, his voice wavering between amusement and worry. "Are you all right? Can you walk any further?" "Oh, yes," Pippin says. He takes one step, and then another, and grins broadly. "Why Merry, I think I could run."
Note: This ficlet was inspired by a few questions Dreamflower had in response to a quote I posted in my journal. The quote in question is: 'All right!' said Pippin. 'I will follow you into every bog and ditch. But it is hard! I had counted on passing the Golden Perch at Stock before sundown. The best beer in the Eastfarthing, or used to be: it is a long time since I tasted it.' "Come on, Pippin. This way!" Merry said, disappearing into a field of tall grass that swayed gently in the breeze. Pippin, who was still making his way down a rather steep hill, could just see the top of his cousin’s curly head above the grass. "Oi, Merry! Wait for me!" he said as he scrambled after him. In his haste Pippin nearly slipped on the damp, muddy ground before regaining his balance and continuing his descent at a more sedate pace. Emerging from the grass, Merry leaned on his walking stick and watched in obvious amusement as his cousin finally reached the bottom of the hill. Pippin stooped to retrieve his own walking stick, which he had dropped in the excitement, and frowned at the mud now covering it. "I don't suppose we might take a bit of short cut," he suggested hopefully. Merry raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess. A detour through Stock?" he asked with a knowing smile. "Only as part of our research," Pippin said quickly. "Frodo might want something to eat or drink, or a bit of rest, along the way. I think we ought to investigate every inn between Bag End and Crickhollow, so we’ll be prepared.” “I think you’re already quite familiar with the inns, Pippin,” Merry replied with a grin. “Though perhaps we may plan another expedition soon and visit some of them – for research, of course. But now I think we ought to continue on our way. We've just a month left before Frodo leaves, and we must be prepared to travel long distances each day if we are going to accompany him." "Of course we must do what's best for Frodo," Pippin agreed with a fervent nod, and though he headed toward the grassy field he could not help but glance longingly in the direction of Stock. "It's just been ever so long since we visited the Golden Perch," he added with a sigh. Merry laughed and slung an arm around his cousin's shoulder. "Perhaps we ought to adjust our plans and do some of that investigating you suggested today. We could stop at The Fiddler's Elbow in Bucklebury on our way back," he said, his eyes twinkling. Pippin's face lit up with a grin. "Lead the way, Merry!" he said. The two cousins disappeared into the grass, their plans for that evening – and the future – never far from their minds. A Merry Meeting Though Merry had not yet met his new cousin he had heard him, wailing in the night. His mother assured him that the high, thin sound of the baby's crying was a good thing, a sign of healthy, healing lungs, and Merry thought his mother must be right, for surely babies were supposed to cry, not cough. But he'd heard his cousin cough far too much during the three long, dreadful days since Merry and his family had arrived at Whitwell. Although he had not seen him, Merry loved his cousin already and could not help but worry about him. And yet – When Merry finally met his cousin, the first thing he noticed was the small nose already showing signs of being distinctly, Tookishly sharp. In the flickering light the baby's soft, sparse curls shone gold and red and brown but his eyes were a clear and vivid green, just like his father's.
Notes: (1) This is a companion piece to Dana's One At A Time, in which her Tunnellys make their first appearances in the world. I would like to thank Dana for participating in the Original Character Exchange Program and conspiring about Tunnellys with me. Two of Dana’s characters, Orchid and Tolbric, are mentioned here and belong to her. (2) Tib, Opal, Tuleric (who will be called Tully when he is older) and Topaz Tunnelly all belong to me. And so does Mistress Lilac Grubb. :) I. S.R. 1381 When Opal was apprenticed to Mistress Lilac Grubb, she had been taught to demonstrate perfection at all times, for perfection was not often found in nature. She must keep her instruments spotless, her satchel bulging with any and every supply she could ever need, and her demeanor calm in all situations, because it was always possible that something would go wrong. And at times, things did: a long and painful labor, or a baby born before its time, a sickly child or mother. One could not control nature, but one could control her actions. A midwife, said Mistress Lilac, must always hope for the best but be prepared for the worst. And so Opal had been quite surprised by the ease in which her first child entered the world. She felt her pains around midday, and waited calmly in a chair while Tib fetched Mistress Lilac. Then she had settled on the bed and breathed and pushed and, before long and without any trouble, held her son, her little Tuleric, in her arms. His eyes were dark, and his hair darker, and there was a tiny dimple in his chin. His cheeks were ruddy like his father's, and his skin soft and new. Opal could hardly believe he was finally here, and all hers. Tib laughed when she told him this. "I hope you'll share him with me sometimes," he said, kissing her brow. "Of course," said Opal, leaning against her husband, their baby cradled between. "When he needs changing."
Though there was just a month before her own babe was due, Opal insisted on attending to the birth of her nephew. It was Orchid's first after all, and her sister-in-law was terribly nervous, though she did her best not to show it. And Opal was very glad she was there, when the birth turned out to be so long and difficult; a trying time for all, though at last a healthy lad was born, little Tolbric. It had been a trying time, and now Opal would find time to rest. Less than a week passed before Opal woke with pains of her own. It was too soon, but she had guided many an expectant mother through a false labor before, and so she breathed deeply and tried to relax. But the pains came faster and stronger; this baby wanted to be born now. Mistress Lilac would not have called it a perfect birth, but she was not there – there had been no time to fetch her, and the task fell to Tib. He was a healer, and had of course delivered babies before, though not as many as Opal. But his hands were steady and sure, and soon he held his daughter. A healthy lass, despite being early; Tib said her lungs were clear. "I think," Opal said later as she admired their daughter. Little Topaz, bright and radiant, and, from the moment she barged into the world, as bold as any Took. "She wanted to meet her cousin." Baking Day The kitchen at Bag End was warm and cozy and smelled of the peppermint candles flickering on the windowsill. An array of bowls and baking pans littered the table where Pippin sat covered in flour from the top of his curls to the tips of his furry toes and watching with wide eyes as Bilbo carefully cut the dough into fanciful shapes. There were stars and crescent moons, trees and ponies, and even little hobbit lads and lasses. "How do you do it, Cousin Bilbo?" he asked in an awed voice. Bilbo smiled at Pippin's unchecked amazement. He had given the lad a bit of dough to play with, which Pippin had rolled and stretched until it resembled a long and slithering garden snake. But now it lay forgotten in a bed of flour, still waiting for Pippin to decorate it as the child watched Bilbo work instead. "Oh, it is quite simple," he replied. "I just cut the dough here, and there..." With a knife he drew a shape in the dough, forming a star, which he placed on the baking pan for Pippin to decorate. "Will I be able to do that when I'm older?" Pippin asked eagerly. He was still too young to use knives and scissors. "Certainly," Bilbo said kindly. "Though I do hope you will still help me decorate the biscuits." Pippin grinned up at him. "I will, Cousin Bilbo. I promise!" Bilbo smiled in return. He very much enjoyed Pippin's help – and his company – while they baked. Frodo and Merry had approached Bilbo the evening before, asking him to keep Pippin occupied for a short while. Normally they did not mind it when their younger cousin tagged along, but now they needed some time to wrap and hide Pippin's Yule gifts without worrying that he would happen upon them and ruin the surprise. And so, when Frodo and Merry had disappeared after second breakfast, Bilbo had quickly distracted Pippin by asking him to help with the baking. Armed with finely chopped nuts and sweets of various sizes and colors, Pippin decorated some of the biscuits as Bilbo cut them into shape; the rest they left untouched, for those they would paint with icing after they were baked. Soon Frodo and Merry would join them, as it had become something of a tradition for the cousins to spend a day baking together in preparation of Yule. But for now Bilbo and Pippin worked together, and their voices at times lifting up in song and filling the room with Yuletide cheer. A/N: Pippin is 7, Merry is 15, Frodo is 29 and Bilbo is 107. Pippin had been asleep for just two hours when Frodo gently shook him awake. “Frodo?” he said groggily. “Is it time for breakfast?” “Not quite,” Frodo laughed. “But I think you and Merry will like this just as much.” “Bilbo too?” Pippin asked as he was bundled in his blanket and lifted up. “Yes, Bilbo too,” came a chuckling voice near the door. Rubbing his eyes, Pippin looked over Frodo’s shoulder and saw Bilbo standing there with Merry. Both were wearing their cloaks, as was Frodo, and Merry was just as tousled and bleary-eyed as Pippin. Smiling sleepily, Pippin rested his head on Frodo’s shoulder and dozed as he was carried outside. The cold night air woke him again. Pippin shivered, burying his face in Frodo’s shoulder for warmth, but at Merry’s awed cry he lifted his head. They stood beneath the great tree atop Bag End, facing the north. High above the sky was an inky black lit with tiny stars, but all along the horizon it glowed a dark shade of red. “Is it a fire?” Merry wondered, shifting closer to his cousins. Pippin clung tightly to Frodo. “No,” Frodo quickly replied. He held Pippin close and wrapped an arm around Merry’s shoulder, trying to soothe them. “They are the Northern Lights,” explained Bilbo. “It’s quite a rare occurrence to see them in Hobbiton; they are far more common in the Northfarthing. Look, my lads!” he added with a grin. “The colors are changing.” A/N: Tiberic and Opal Tunnelly are my original characters, as are Mistresses Lilac Grubb and Gladiolus Brownlock and a few others mentioned here (though two of those mentioned are canon characters, found on the Took family tree). The characters of Ben and Orchid (Goodbody) Tunnelly belong to Dana and can be found in her story One At A Time. I. S.R. 1377 There was a sickness, a fever, in the Great Smials that winter. Whole families were ill and for days now Adelard Took lay abed, delirious, not knowing that the fever had swept through the nursery, and his little Reginard and Emerald, and even tiny Amethyst, had not been spared. Not knowing that another of his children would soon be born. Ruby, too, burned with the fever and cried for her husband, not understanding why he didn’t come to her, why she was surrounded by strangers. Opal held her hand and whispered to her, offering comfort while Mistress Lilac examined her and determined that, yes, the baby was still alive. One of the healers came in – no, not one of the healers but an apprentice like Opal herself. Tiberic Tunnelly was his name, not that Opal had been introduced to him – there was no time, too many were ill to bother with formalities. But he smiled reassuringly at Opal now, the first smile she’d seen in so many days, and it lit the room. Opal smiled back. This baby would be born, healthy and whole, and Ruby would live, and Adelard and the other children too. They would see to that.
It wasn’t until Midsummer that Opal saw him next – not that she was thinking of Tiberic Tunnelly at all. She was far too busy; Mistress Lilac did not allow idling and there was always another baby to deliver. No, Opal did not think of Tiberic Tunnelly – he had gone to Bree or Staddle or some other outlandish place, it was said, for he had family there. Not that he’d shirked his apprenticeship: his master was a Took, and they’d gone together to learn healing techniques from the Big Folk, it was rumored. The Big Folk! Mistress Lilac had sniffed at that, saying it’s no wonder that young Tiberic was a bit odd, with his father from the Outlands and his mother some wild, wandering Took. So Opal didn’t see Tiberic until she spotted him at the Great Smials’ Midsummer feast. He saw her too, and left his friends to speak with her. His cheeks burned bright red and he took her hand in his icy cold one. “Miss Opal,” he said gravely. “Will you dance with me?” When she agreed Tiberic smiled, the very same smile that Opal remembered and (was surprised to discover) had kept close to her heart.
That spring Mistress Gladiolus Brownlock, longtime healer of Whitwell, retired and Tiberic was unexpectedly released early from his apprenticeship to take her place. His master insisted that Tiberic was more than qualified for the task, so Tib left the Smials and returned home to Applegrove and his brother Ben. It was strange at first to adjust to his new role, but all went quite smoothly and the people liked him. Tiberic was utterly miserable. One afternoon Ben led Tib through the orchards, past the brook and willow trees before stopping abruptly. “For you,” he announced, his wide-spread arms encompassing the rest of the property. His property, as the eldest son. “A wedding gift.” Tib gaped at him. “But I’m not – that is, I haven’t-” Ben grinned. “And now you have no excuse not to.” The next morning Tiberic rode out to Tuckborough, to Mistress Lilac’s smial. She wasn’t there, and neither was his Opal – the neighbors said they’d gone to Tookbank for a birth. Tiberic sat in the doorway, waiting nervously until they returned home that evening. Then, right on the doorstep, he dropped to his knee and asked for Opal’s hand. And Opal kissed him soundly, and said yes.
The wedding was held at Applegrove on Midsummer’s Day, and was well-attended by their friends and relations; even Tiberic’s family from Bree made the long journey. The weather was fine, if a little windy, and when Opal tossed her rose and peony bouquet the breeze lifted it up and delivered it right to the hands of her cousin Orchid Goodbody. Not that Opal had needed a tradition to tell her that her cousin was sure to be next, not when she saw the way Orchid and Ben looked at each other. There was feasting and music and dancing, and Opal and Tib went around hand in hand to welcome their guests. They were young, and in love (and rather hopelessly so at that) and people called them a fine match, and a good team: they would both serve Whitwell long and well in the years ahead. Later, when it grew dark and the party neared its end, Opal and Tiberic will slip away unnoticed (or at least politely ignored). Then they will make their way through the apple orchard, past the brook and the willows, and across the fields to where their smial – their own little home – waited for them. A Pair of Swings The Master’s garden at Brandy Hall was a large, square patch of land surrounded on all sides by hedgerows. At the center of the garden was a tall, sturdy tree with high leafy branches that gave shelter from the hot sun on long summer afternoons. One day a pair of swings appeared in the garden, hanging from the branches of this mighty tree. They were painted in bright colors, one orange and the other yellow, and though the seats were wide enough to fit two small lads quite comfortably Rorimac made certain that there were two swings in the garden, one for each of his sons, and that they were hung on opposite sides of the tree, with the trunk in between. Being so close in age Saradoc and Merimac were accustomed to sharing their playthings and were absolutely delighted to have a swing each. Epic battles were fought in the garden as each lad tried to swing higher than the other, boasting all the while. But sometimes one swing would sway gently in the breeze, empty, as Saradoc and Merimac took turns pushing each other. Higher and higher would one brother soar, before returning to the one waiting below. *** Frodo found Merry perched on one of the swings in the garden. It was one of their favorite haunts, this pair of swings that had belonged to Saradoc and Merimac when they were lads. Sometimes Berilac joined them, and Frodo raced around, pushing both his cousins. But more often than not Frodo and Merry spent time there alone, swinging higher and higher until it seemed that their feet touched the sky. Merry did not lift his head as Frodo approached. Frodo crouched down before him, and in the twilight he saw the tears trailing down Merry’s face. “Are you going to take one of the swings with you, Frodo?” Merry asked, digging his toes in the dirt. “When you leave?” “No,” Frodo said quietly. He was crying too. “One is yours, and the other is Berilac’s. They belong here.” “But you love the swings,” Merry protested, looking up at last. “I’ll give you mine, Frodo, and you can hang it from that big tree on top of Bag End.” Frodo smiled and hugged Merry close. “I’d like both swings to stay here so that when I visit you, we can play together like always.” Merry smiled a little at that. *** Merry settled Pippin on one of the swings – not an easy task, for his cousin was eager to play and was content to drape himself over the seat, head and arms and legs hanging down as he spun around dizzily. He did not hurt himself, as Merry feared, and all the spinning calmed Pippin enough that he allowed his cousin to seat him properly on the swing. Pulling the swing back, Merry held Pippin high above the ground for a long moment before letting go. Pippin shrieked with delight as he flew through the air, and Merry ran to the other swing so they could begin their contest to see which one could swing higher. But no sooner had Merry sat down did he hear the sound of little feet shuffling through the dirt and grass, and Pippin appeared around the trunk. He scrambled onto the seat beside Merry, grinning up at him. “Pippin,” said Merry. “You’re supposed to use the other swing.” “But I want to stay here,” Pippin explained, snuggling even closer to Merry. “With you.” Merry smiled. “All right,” he said, backing up. “Hold on, Pippin!” Then he let go and they soared through the air, laughing. "…And they all lived happily ever after. The End." Frodo closed the book gently and set it on the bedside table before glancing over at his cousin. Instead of finding Pippin asleep as he had hoped (and had rather expected after a long day of tramping through the fields, shouting and leaping around Bag End, and otherwise expelling enough energy and exuberance to have sent Frodo to bed hours before) he found his cousin wide awake and frowning in thought. Frodo studied Pippin warily. Any attempt to engage Pippin in a conversation now would only serve to delay his bedtime even longer. Then again, if Pippin's questions were not answered, there would be no sleep for anyone tonight. "Is everything all right, Pippin?" he asked hesitantly. "Well," Pippin replied, his eyes downcast. "I was just thinking that they didn't all live happily ever after. The dragon didn't." Frodo hid a smile. His cousin was soft-hearted and always grew sad when something terrible happened in a story, even if it happened to a large and intimidating dragon. "That is true, Pippin. But the battle ended and there was peace throughout the land, and the prince married the princess. That is why the people were happy," he explained gently. "I know," Pippin said, nodding sadly. "I just feel sorry for that poor dragon. It wasn't his fault he could breathe fire, and he wasn't mean like Smaug. He even helped save the princess from the goblin king." He looked up at his cousin. "It's just very sad, isn't it Frodo?" "It is sad," Frodo replied. "Sometimes stories don't end happily for everyone involved, Pippin. But I think that the dragon would have been happy for the prince and princess, and would have wished them well." "I think so too," Pippin said. "He did seem very nice." He snuggled close to his cousin and yawned. "Maybe you can tell me another story about that dragon before I go to sleep." With a smile Frodo hugged Pippin tight. "All right," he agreed, tugging the blanket up to his cousin's chin. "Once upon a time…"
Looking After Frodo Merimac closed his eyes, feeling the first throbs of a powerful headache pounding against his forehead and temples. Why had he ever volunteered to look after the baby? Frodo's wailing grew even louder, and Merimac winced. How could someone so small make so much noise? He glanced over his shoulder at the door, willing Primula or Drogo to enter the room. They did not, of course, for they had gone to the market at Bucklebury and would not return for at least another hour or two. And the rest of his family – and all of Brandy Hall – seemed determined to let Merimac handle the situation alone. There was nothing wrong with the baby. Frodo was not hungry, his clothes were not wet, and he was not feverish. As far as Merimac could tell – and he had checked each several times, just to be certain – there was no logical reason for his incessant crying. Merimac had tried rocking him to sleep in the cradle, singing to him, reciting silly poems and childhood tales he thought he had forgotten long ago. But nothing seemed to work, and Frodo looked even more miserable than Merimac felt. When the wailing rose to a piercing shriek Merimac cringed and leaned over the side of the cradle, peering closely at the baby and desperately wishing he knew how to calm him. Just then Frodo's arms reached up and his tiny hands latched onto Merimac's collar, clinging tightly. His face was red and tear-streaked, and he hiccupped in mid-sob. Suddenly, Merimac knew just what to do. Carefully he lifted Frodo, supporting his neck as Primula had taught him. The crying soon subsided, though the baby shuddered and his breath hitched. Merimac held him close and rubbed his back soothingly until at last Frodo was calm. "I can't wait until you learn how to speak," Merimac said quietly. "It would have saved us both a lot of trouble if you had been able to say that you wanted me to pick you up." Frodo squeaked a protest. "I know it is not your fault," Merimac replied, patting the baby's soft and silky curls. "I can hardly blame you. I should have known better. But I'm not used to looking after babies, Frodo. I hope someday when I have children that they never cry." "Pffth," Frodo replied, resting his head on Merimac's shoulder. "Yes, you're right," Merimac sighed. "That's hardly realistic." He tilted his head to peer down at Frodo. The baby had forgotten his tears and now looked up at Merimac with large, expectant eyes. "Don't worry. I'm not going to put you down now that you've finally stopped crying," Merimac assured him. "But what shall we do now?" Frodo reached one hand toward the window. Merimac turned and saw that it was raining. He had been so preoccupied with trying to calm Frodo that he had not even noticed the unexpected storm approach. Dark clouds blanketed the sky and a steady rain had begun to fall, pattering against the windowpane and rushing in rivulets down the grassy hills. The market would close early, and soon Primula and Drogo would return to the Hall. But Merimac would not mind if they were a little late, so he could go on watching his cousin. He did not find it so terrible, now that he knew how to calm the baby. Taking a seat on the rocking chair, Merimac continued to hold Frodo. The baby murmured quietly to himself in some language of his own, and snuggled closer to Merimac, burrowing into his warmth. Together they awaited his parents' return. Well Met Peering up beneath his bushy brows and the wide brim of his hat, Gandalf stared hard into the highest branches of the tree. It was true that it had been well over a year since he had visited the Tookland, but he did not suppose that its trees had suddenly begun sprouting young hobbit-lads in his absence. “Now let us get you back home before your family begins to worry,” the wizard said, retrieving his staff. “We must see if we can find you something warm to drink, and perhaps I might even tell you and your sisters about the Eagles,” he added with a wink. Paladin's face brightened, already forgetting his perilous adventure with the promise of a snack and a story. "But Gandalf, home is ever so far away!” he exclaimed. “Won’t you please tell me the story now?” The Tooks’ smial lay just down the road, not a long distance for Gandalf but terribly far for a little lad with short legs. Paladin fixed a wide-eyed, pleading gaze upon the wizard, and Gandalf grumbled good-naturedly to himself. Tooks. "Well, I suppose there is no harm in telling you a little about the Eagles now," Gandalf agreed with a smile. Straightening his hat, he strode down the path as Paladin grinned and snuggled close, listening eagerly as Gandalf began his tale. ***
Note: This story is based on a small piece of dialogue in my story First Meeting, in which Gandalf mentions to Pippin that he had once rescued his father from a tree. A/N: Written for Shirebound on her birthday :) Mathom Pippin sniffled noisily. "Do you think Mama and Papa will like it, Frodo?" he asked in a small, worried voice. "Oh, I think they'll like it very much," Frodo replied, smiling in reassurance. "Every faunt gives his parents flowers on his birthday. But this – this will be something very different, and very special." At this Pippin smiled brightly, his tears immediately forgotten, and Frodo was struck by the complete trust he saw in young cousin's eyes. Pippin had been so eager to select some of the bright, colorful flowers that had just begun sprouting in the garden as mathoms for his parents. But a fierce storm on the eve of Pippin's birthday destroyed all of the small, early spring buds, leaving the child heartbroken. With the Brandybucks expected to arrive in just a few hours and the party to begin shortly thereafter, it was Frodo who came up with the perfect solution just in time. As Pippin watched curiously, Frodo spread a thick, sturdy sheet of parchment on the table before pouring a small amount of blue paint into an old, chipped dish. Then he unbuttoned Pippin's cuffs and rolled up his sleeves before plunging his cousin's hands into the paint. Pippin giggled, wiggling his fingers. Smiling, Frodo let his cousin play with the paint for a moment before they turned to their task. Carefully he eased Pippin's hands out of the paint and pressed them onto the parchment. Pippin's eyes widened in awe at the sight of his two small handprints. "Those are my hands, Frodo!" he exclaimed in delight. "Of course they're your hands, you goose," Frodo said with a laugh. "Now let us write your name." He dipped the first finger of Pippin's hand in the paint once more and helped him to write his name in large, slightly wobbly letters beneath the handprints. When they were finished Frodo stood back to admire their handiwork. He was certain that Paladin and Eglantine would cherish the small set of handprints, not just today, but even more so when their son was grown. "I think your parents will be very happy with their mathom, Pippin." "Thank you, Frodo," Pippin said. He held his arms out for a hug but Frodo quickly ducked away, laughing. Pippin might not be dressed in his party clothes yet, but Frodo was, and he did not want to see tiny blue handprints across the front of the new brocade waistcoat Bilbo had given him for Yule. Instead he hoisted his cousin up, making sure to keep him at arm's length, and carried him to the door. "Clean hands first, and then hugs," he said firmly. "Lots of hugs," Pippin declared, giggling. Frodo grinned. "You didn't think I would settle for just one, did you?" he replied as he carried his very small, and very giggly, cousin down the hall to the bathing room. When the last member of the Company crossed the rope bridge, they stood together on the opposite bank and gazed back at the Silverlode. With an amused smile, Legolas approached the youngest hobbit. "You did well, Pippin," he said. "Although I must confess I was surprised, after you complained so heartily about sleeping in the flet. I thought you must have a terrible fear of heights." "Oh, no," Pippin replied. "It's really quite simple. If I fall into the river, I can swim. But," he added with a cheeky grin, "I can't bounce if I fall out of a tree!" A/N: Thank you to Dreamflower for the beta. Italicized quotes are from The Return of the King. March 15, S.R. 1420 Pippin woke in the deep of night, disoriented and not knowing what had awakened him. He could recall no dream, no nightmare that had startled him into such sudden wakefulness. The fire was low in the grate and the house was silent save for the tapping of branches against the windowpanes with each gust of wind. For a moment Pippin lay there, blinking in the darkness, before sitting up in a rush as he remembered the date. Tugging the blanket along as he slipped from the bed, Pippin flung open the door and peered down the hallway. A cold draught swept along the passage, ruffling his hair and causing him to shiver. The front door was open, and Pippin hurried to it, calling his cousin’s name as he went. There was no answer. Once outside Pippin glanced around, his heart hammering wildly in his chest until he finally spotted Merry standing half-hidden against the hedge that lined the path. A rush of relief washed over Pippin, and though he wanted nothing more than to dash down the path and retrieve his cousin, he forced himself to approach Merry slowly, thinking for some reason that it would be for the best. In the darkness Pippin could see that Merry’s eyes were open, but his gaze was vacant, as if he were looking toward faraway lands, and he rubbed at his right arm almost absently. He was sleepwalking, Pippin realized with a shock. Merry had always slept like a log, and it was only since they had returned home that his sleep was plagued by nightmares. But never before had Pippin witnessed his cousin sleepwalking and now as he crept down the path he heard Merry muttering to himself. Pippin remembered the old goodwives’ tale, the one that warned against waking a sleepwalker. But now that he could hear snatches of words – the king, and Éowyn – Pippin thought it would be best to try and wake his cousin, or at least guide him away from such dark dreams. “Merry,” he said, softly but as cheerfully as he could manage. He draped the blanket around his cousin’s shoulders and clasped his hands. Both were cold, but the right was positively icy. “Come now, Merry. Let’s go back inside before you catch a chill.” “Where is the king?” asked Merry in a slow, hollow voice. “And Éowyn?” Pippin could see that he was still not awake. “Don’t you remember, Merry?” Pippin replied lightly. “Éowyn is with Faramir now. They live in Ithilien.” Merry blinked slowly, as if trying to remember, and for a moment Pippin thought he was coming awake. But then he shook his head, and his eyes were still distant. “But I can’t use my right arm, Pippin, not since I stabbed him. And my sword burned all away like a piece of wood,” he said. “I know, Merry,” Pippin said quietly. “But that happened long ago, and now you’re just having a bad dream. Won’t you wake up and come with me?” Again Merry was slow to respond, but at last his eyes cleared and he was awake. “Pippin,” he said, glancing around in surprise. “What happened? What are we doing outdoors?” Pippin smiled in relief. “You were dreaming,” he said simply. “Come on, let’s go inside. You’re freezing!” “So are you,” Merry observed. Pippin was shivering in his thin night shirt. “Nothing a little tea won’t help,” Pippin said firmly as he led Merry along the path and back into the house, shutting and locking the door behind them. “I’ll put the kettle on right now, unless you would rather go back to bed straight away?” “No,” Merry replied quickly, following Pippin into the kitchen and sitting heavily at the table. “Not yet. I don’t want to…dream about that any more.” He bowed his head, cradling his right arm close to his chest. “I’m sorry, Pippin.” “Your arm was hurting all day, wasn’t it?” Pippin asked quietly as he set out the cups and saucers. “Yes,” Merry whispered. “And you said nothing about it,” Pippin said. “You seemed little quieter than usual today, but I thought you were only remembering. I didn’t know that you were in pain.” He sat beside Merry and took his hand. It was still cold to the touch but not as frigid as it had been while Merry was dreaming. “I wish you would have told me, Merry, and that I would have realized it sooner. I would have looked after you better.” “You did well enough,” Merry replied with a rueful smile. “And I should have suspected that something like this might happen, but I didn’t. I suppose we know now, for the future.” Pippin smiled and squeezed his cousin’s hand. “Well, I’ll be keeping you under a close watch from now on, Merry. I can’t have you wandering off into the Old Forest. I don’t want to find Old Man Willow settling down to a nice supper of hobbit any time soon.” Merry laughed just as the kettle whistled. Pippin went to prepare the tea and together they sat at the table, drinking in silence, until both were calm enough to return to sleep. And sleep they did, peacefully and dreamlessly, until well after dawn. |
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