(Not So) Simple Adventures

Author: Pendora

Rating: PG (for a bit of angst)

Disclaimer: All these dear Hobbitses do not belong to me *sobs uncontrollably*

Author’s Notes: This is my first complete LotR fan fic, so bear with me here. The two questions I was given to answer were: What are Pippin’s thoughts after waking up outside the Barrow, and when was the first time he journeyed to Buckland on his own? The only way I could get this to work was to switch between the two stories, which might make it a bit confusing. Also, I swap between first and third person when I switch between flashbacks and present, I’m not sure if that’s allowed, if not, I guess I just broke the rules *evil cackle* The flashbacks take place in the autumn of 1405, which makes Pippin 15 (or 10, in Man years). Some quotes were taken directly from The Fellowship of the Ring, Chapter VIII, Fog on the Barrow-Downs. And thank you so much to Storyfish, for being my beta. You did a wonderful job, m’ dear.

*****

We rode along in companionable silence, because the single file our ponies walked made conversation difficult. Sam rode steadily along in front of me, and as I studied the back of his hood, bobbing up and down from the bumps in the path, I considered our present situation. So far, our little adventure hadn’t turned out quite as expected. It had been only five days since we had set out from Hobbiton, naïve enough to believe our little adventure would turn out just as simple as we had first planned. After leaving Bag End, Frodo, Sam, and I had encountered trouble enough on our own, and after we entered the Old Forest, well, let’s just say that for once, Merry’s unfailing skills as an orienteer weren’t so very reliable. Coming across Tom had turned out to be an asset, to be sure, but now here we were, not even a day away from his home, and we were lost, utterly and hopelessly lost.

Or at least so I thought. My head was in such a tizzy; it was hard to be sure of anything just now. If only this fog would lift… I could just barely make out Frodo’s mist-shrouded form ahead in front of Sam. It was as though some of the wisps of clouds from the sky above had floated down, settling just above the earth, enshrouding us. It was so cold, and I was damp with drops of moisture. My cloak and coat were very nearly dripping, and all around us the fog rolled in billows, entrapping us. I took heart, however, in the fact that we could still see enough around us to make out each other, so as not to get lost. We must press on, the Road had to be just straight ahead.

Behind me, I heard Merry’s familiar voice, humming softly to himself. I knew he was attempting to cheer us up, and this was his way of showing us it’d be all right; we would get through this, just as we had got through the Forest. Good old Merry! Of course we would get through this, and just as long as he and Frodo were there, I felt I would be all right.

I suddenly became aware of a change in my surroundings. At first I couldn’t be sure of just what had changed, but something was definitely different. I looked ahead and found I could no longer see Frodo’s back. And then it came to me: it was steadily growing darker, too steadily. It went from mere clouds of mist, to everlasting blackness, as though a dark sheet of cloth had been dropped suddenly over the valley. Looking around me I began to feel very uneasy. I could see nothing, save for darker shapes of black that seemed to loom out of the black all around me. I fervently hoped they were merely some more of the boulders we had seen earlier that morning. Sam also was no longer visible; it was only Merry and I now. Merry! Fearing to, yet knowing I must, I slowly turned around in the saddle. I could see nothing. Terror seized me and I desperately tried calling: “Merry! Merry! Where are you! Please!” But my voice wouldn’t come and all that met my ears was silence. Oh, where had my companions gone? Why was it so dark? Where was Merry? Where was Merry!

* * *

Peregrin Took was lying upon his bed, stomach flat against the coverlet, feet swinging lazily in the air. The Explorations and Adventures of Pontius Belhaven was resting open before him, and even if he couldn’t read the especially long words, the pictures were fascinating nonetheless. As he read – and admired the illustrations – he hummed softly to himself in an absent-minded sort of way.

Outside, the autumn wind knocked against the windowpane, and though it sounded fierce, the weather was still rather mild for Winterfilth. Harvest would be along soon, and yet still the days remained somewhat warm and balmy. While it made the busy autumn life spent out in the fields a bit easier, there were many who complained they couldn’t set their minds to cold weather tasks while the sun shone as lazily as though it were still summer. But today it looked as though the weather was finally going to change, as this was the coldest day yet of the season.

Pippin sighed slightly in frustration. Pontius Belhaven had just come to a ford surrounded by unnaturally tall trees, and dark, mysterious figures barred the way. Pontius began to relate the conversation he had with his fellow travelers as to just what should be done about their present situation. It was all very intriguing, but Pippin began coming across several unknown words, ‘Apodictic’ being one of them. Pippin had no idea how to pronounce it, and even if he could, he would never be able to remember it long enough to ask Papa about it when he had the chance so he could find out what it meant. It seemed he had come to a dead end, and he closed his book with a thump. He had finished his studies and tasks for the day; before luncheon, in fact, and he was beginning to get bored.

Across the bedroom they shared at Whitwell, Pervinca stood in front of the floor length looking glass, absorbed with the task of dressing herself in her outdoor apparel. She and Caldina Banks from Alden were taking an excursion down to Crossway Pond, to check up on the “gardens” they had planted there. Pippin’s mother had insisted over and over that Astron flowers simply wouldn’t and couldn’t blossom during Autumn, but Vinca was determined to be the first Hobbit to plant Begonias which bloomed during Winterfilth, and when Vinca was determined, well, that was just all there was to it.

Although she hadn’t said anything, Pippin suspected the reason for their trip, and even though he thought flowers and gardens a bore, he was sure he could find something jolly to do at the pond on his own.

“Vinca,” Pippin swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and sat up. Using his most pleading voice he said, “I want to come.” Vinca merely continued to fasten her cloak with her silver and moonstone brooch. She said nothing.

Pippin grew impatient and began drumming his heels against the sideboard of the bed. For a lass with such a fast-moving tongue, Vinca certainly could be awfully quiet when she wished. Well Pippin decided he could be just as stubborn. He waited. She moved on to re-tying the ribbon that had come loose in her hair. His heel drumming grew louder.

“Vinca!” he finally whined, all hint of pleading gone from his voice, replaced with irritated annoyance. “I want to come!”

She didn’t even turn from the mirror, “Well you can’t, so there.” We’ll see about that, Pippin thought to himself. He knew it was foolish to try and oppose her. He never won arguments against Pervinca, no one ever really did, and even Merry - who was rather frightening when he was truly angry - could rarely intimidate her.

Hopping up from the bed, he marched over to his sister in what he hoped was a brave manner. “It doesn’t matter what you say, cause I’m going!” He set his jaw in a determined line and braced himself for the coming storm.

“Well I’m five years older and I say you can’t.”

“That isn’t that much of a difference, and why can’t I!”

“Because,” she said as though speaking to someone so very much younger than herself, “You’ll just be in the way, and all you’ll do is ask endless questions and behave like the annoying, whining, little lad that you are.”

“Vinc-”

“And besides,” she continued, in a cool, polite tone. “You were sick with a cold awhile ago, and if you step out there in that growing-colder-by-the-minute weather, you’ll break down with something and die.” Her eyes widened dramatically at the last word.

This was outrageous. Pippin hadn’t been sick for five or six weeks, and Mamma had been letting him outside as much as he liked; Vinca just didn’t want him along. But it was her coolness that was most frustrating; her superior manner infuriated him. It wouldn’t be so bad being Pervinca Took’s younger brother if she would get worked up more often, and throw a fit, but she didn’t. She somehow managed to make her opponent surrender and appeal for mercy, while still being calm and smooth. Everything about Vinca was smooth: her manners, her tone, the way she handled lads - Pimmie would sometimes fumble when asked to dance, but Vinca always knew just what to say - even her honey-chestnut curls were smooth. She could intimidate the fiercest rivals with a glance. That was what was most enraging about her, and Pippin - although a sweet-natured child - often found himself furious, hands clenched at his sides, struggling not to take a swing at her.

While he thought this through and considered a retort that would get him what he wanted - her permission to come along, and a bit of sweet revenge - Vinca pulled the hood of her cloak over her head, and strolled smoothly out the door, victorious once again.

“Oohh!” Pippin moaned, stamping his foot in frustration. She had conquered him without even raising her voice. Why did she always do that to him? He didn’t bother to find an answer, but instead, wandered off in search of a family member who would appreciate his company, leaving the mysteries of Vinca behind him for the present.

As he meandered through the hallways, in search of his other sisters, he suddenly remembered where Pearl was. Not long after Elevenses, she had departed for Winlan’s Orchard, a large picnic hamper under her arm, and a light spring to her step. The previous morning she had arranged to meet with Sigismond Whitfoot - whose family had come all the way from Rushy to be in the West Farthing when the Harvest festivals began - for a picnic luncheon beneath the apple trees.

It seemed to Pippin that these days all of Pearl’s time was spent in going on picnics, taking lengthy walks through the garden, and studying long forgotten books from Father’s old library, and always with a lad, and that was the part which confused Pippin most of all. Why had she taken to lads’ company so these days? It hadn’t been so very long ago when Pearl couldn’t tolerate the presence of a lad, even if - no, Pippin decided - especially if it was a lad she had feelings for. But now that she was out of her tweens, she was always with a lad, and of late - Pippin noted with anxiety - Sigismond had been that lad much more often. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Sigismond, Father and Mamma said he was a “right-nice, sensitive lad”, but to Pippin’s way of thinking, he was rather boring.

Knowing that his father was out working the fields, Pippin slouched against the kitchen door, hands in his pockets, and considered going to look for his mother. Even though she rarely had time to play with her son, maybe Mamma would let him talk with her while she worked. He had just about made up his mind when he noticed something: there was no familiar scuffle of pots and dishes coming from the kitchen behind his back. That could only mean one thing; his mother was in bed, sick again. It sometimes felt as though Mamma was always sick, even more than he himself was. He knew it was wrong to think that, and that it was only partially true. Eglantine Took, was a sweet, gentle lady, and also had somewhat of a weak constitution. The delicate nature ran in her family, and giving birth to and raising four children had been strenuous on her health.

The doors to the study stood open a crack and Pippin slipped inside. Perched on the edge of the open-backed chair, leaning forward on Father’s desk, was Pimmie. Her head was bent low over something on the desk and her toffee-colored locks hid it from view, but she appeared to be writing.

Pippin crept across the room and sidled up beside her, “Pimmie, do you want to do something with me?” She started at the sound of his voice, and then straightened up, pushing the curls aside from her face.

“Pip, you scared me.”

“What’re you doing?” He leaned over her arm, examining the desk, and saw she had been drawing.

Ignoring his question, Pimpernel held up the sketching tablet and exclaimed with a glowing face, “Just look at this! Tell me what you really think!” There was apparent excitement in her voice, and Pippin did his best to show enthusiasm.

Pimmie was by far the smartest and cleverest of the Took children: she had a wonderful head for books and studying, and there wasn’t very much she couldn’t do. Except drawing. Art was Vinca’s specialty, and it was the one talent her younger sister possessed of which Pimmie was truly jealous. She tried not to show it and pretended as though she didn’t care when Pervinca produced yet another lovely masterpiece, but she did. Practicing on her own in private was the only way Pimpernel thought she could improve her artistic ability. This afternoon, knowing Vinca would be away at the pond, she had pulled out one of Pervinca’s old drawings, and set herself diligently - Grandfather always said she was too diligent and steady for a Took - to the task of imitating Vinca’s gorgeous likeness of a Monarch butterfly. Pippin decided Pimmie should content herself with being the cleverest lass in all of Tookland - the butterfly looked rather like a withered autumn leaf; rain streaked and covered in mud.

Scrunching his face up, doing his best to look particularly thoughtful, Pippin studied the drawing. There had to be something nice he could say.

“It’s, it’s nice…and, um, really interesting, Pim.”

She looked crestfallen. “Interesting?”

“And pretty!” He hastened to add.

Pimmie let out a defeated sigh and swept the paper off the desk and into the basket on the floor. Resting her chin in the palm of her hand, her face took on a crushed, yet thoughtful, expression.

“I’m sorry. Maybe you could try again.” Pippin mumbled. Not knowing what else to say, he left her to her brooding.

 

* * *

I felt so lost, and alone. I was certain my companions had disappeared, and for all I knew, for good. But then I heard something; a slight grunt, and I knew Sam was still in front of me, even if I couldn’t see him. But what of my cousins? Slightly heavy breathing reached my ear to the right, and I jumped, until I realized I knew the sound of that gasp.

“Mer?” I whispered, hardly daring to breathe myself.

“I’m here, Pip. Don’t worry.” His breath was still coming in short pants, and with a pang, I identified his tone of fear. Merry was scared.

“What’s going on? Where’s Frodo?”

“It’s all right, I’m sure he’s just ahead. Now listen, we’ve got to -” Before he could finish a loud screech broke the silence, and its noise was so deafening, I automatically clapped my hands to my ears. Maplefoot started, and before I could get a hold on her reins, she reared and leapt forward, causing me to plummet off her back, until, with a jolt, I felt the solidness of the cold, damp ground beneath me. From the noise and confusion around me, I concluded Sam’s and Merry’s beasts had treated them likewise. I heard the ponies stampeding off into the darkness, but their neighing quickly died down, and all was silent.

Save for an icy wind that began to blow from the East. Long and hard it raged, gnawing at my nose and fingertips, and leaving my breath in a smoking cloud. I felt a foreboding and again terror seized me. The darkness dispersed somewhat, or so it seemed. For in front of me, against the westward stars which now shone dimly, there loomed a dark black shape. I told myself it couldn’t be what I feared, and yet, there it was, standing right before me:

A Barrow-wight.

Everything around me seemed to vanish, and all my conscious thought was held fast by the two icy, pale eyes shining coldly from the depths of the black shape - barely luminous, but the only light that existed in this dark and hopeless place.

“Please go,” I tried to whisper. Inside, I laughed at myself, as though pleading and good manners would do ought against this, whatever this horrific thing was that I could barely even see.

Iron claws seized me, and the touch froze my bones. I didn’t even struggle, but felt myself weakening at the knees. An icy hand was clamped over my mouth and I remembered no more.

* * *

Pippin walked slowly down the desolate hallway, dragging his feet along the carpet. He couldn’t help but feel lost, and alone. Once in his room, he sat upon the edge of the bed and studied the large roses in the carpet. Tossing himself back against the pillows he considered all of his woe, and felt very sorry for himself. There was no one to turn to, and he was tired of being in the smial, and yearned for adventure. If Merry had been there he would have gladly taken him to the pond, or over to the orchard to play Bouncing Pebbles. He wouldn’t have brushed him aside, and told him to play with those his own age. But Merry wasn’t here, and Pippin was still alone.

A thought struck him suddenly, and he sat up with a bolt. Why should he be all alone? He and Merry had been apart for too long, and it was time he did something about that. It was time he paid Cousin Merry a visit. Mamma had just told been telling him the other day how grown-up he was becoming, and that soon he would be an adult, travelling around Middle-earth on his own. Well, a little voice inside his head said, Mamma had said when he was an adult, but then again, Pippin argued back, she was speaking of Middle-earth, and not just to Buckland. Pippin had been there so many times, he knew for certain he could make his way on his own, and figured he could be there well in time for Supper.

Knowing what important business travelling was, Pippin was extra efficient in his packing. He ran through a list in his head, and didn’t forget anything: several changes of clothing, an extra coat, his favorite soft-spun scarf, soap (even though he knew the Hall would have bounties of it, he felt important remembering such necessities as soap), a good stout walking stick, a bundle brimming with food (he could easily survive the trip on biscuits, jam, tarts, sweetmeats, and scones), and even The Explorations and Adventures of Pontius Belhaven was slipped into his pack (perhaps he could skip over the hard words and understand the story without them). He strapped his sack and set it down hard on the bed, stepping back to admire his handiwork.

Fortunately, the front hall was empty. Iit wasn’t that he thought it wrong of him to leave, only he had never gone so very far on his own, and if one of the big folks spotted him, his expedition would immediately be cut short. Why were grown-ups always spoiling the fun? He could take care of himself, and he was going to prove it with this trip. Pippin struggled into his outerwear. He could hear the wind picking up outside, so he bundled up well. Mamma would have been proud of him: he put on his warmest woolen jacket, fastened his cloak tightly under the chin, wrapped his admired scarf around his neck, and even placed the accursed hat Auntie Osmunda had knitted for him upon his head, though it did itch so.

Feeling like a very obedient, well-behaved child - and a wee bit stuffed, as well - Pippin slung his pack to his back and took his stick up. Scouting to make sure there was no one about, he tiptoed out the back door and to the wall surrounding the barnyard. The handle of the gate was latched into place, and he had to jump up to knock it loose. It would have been a great deal simpler if he had not had such a heavy pack on his back, or if he had not been quite so bundled up. It took several leapt attempts, but the bolt finally clanked loose, and he pushed the gate outwards. It swung closed with a soft click, and he set off, naïve enough to believe his little adventure would turn out just as simple as he had first planned.

* * *

Death. Cold, icy death. I tossed about in my dreams, unable to tell what was real, and what was fantasy. Dark shapes loomed ahead, behind, and all around. Something clutched at me, and I collapsed, too terrified to look up and meet my doom. But then I heard a familiar voice, though it seemed distant.

Slowly I lifted my head, and saw a lad - no more than 23 or 24 years old - standing before me. He was speaking in hurried, agitated tones. He sounded young and child-like, but worried, and perhaps angry? I recognized this person, though he was much younger than I had remembered. Was my Merry angry with me? His voice grew louder and more strained, and then his image began swirling, and grew distant.

All was black. I heard an evil cackle, low and menacing in my right ear. Without knowing why, I reached up and touched my forehead, and found I was sweating heavily. But the liquid was warm, thick, and sticky. My head began to throb, and a piercing light penetrated the darkness. For a moment it blinded me, but then I saw another well-known figure.

My father was standing behind his study chair, hands resting upon its back. His head was shaking back and forth; his face was cold in a stern expression. I knew he was displeased with me. He spoke but his voice, too, was distant and strained. All I could catch was the same phrase repeated over and over, “You never pay heed, just run off without a word.” On the floor by his feet, with my small walking stick resting upon its crinkled edges, was a very poor likeness of a Monarch butterfly. It was stained with tears. Father faded away just as Merry had, and I felt terrified. Father! I called. Where was I? Why was this happening?

Pain. I felt excruciating pain, and dread. Frodo! Why had I said that? Where was Frodo? Something cold, long, and uncomfortably sharp was resting upon my neck. I could no longer bear the feeling of not knowing who I was, or why I was, and the pain, and misery, and loneliness was too much. I let out a blood-curdling shriek, and fell silent. Where was Frodo?

* * *

The winds were picking up, far too fast for Pippin’s comfort. He had scarcely noticed its gusts and billows when he left home, and now the blasts of air were so intense, it was all he could do to keep moving forward. Huddled up in his cloak, he turned his half-hidden face to the sky, and saw it was growing intensely darker. The afternoon had got away too quickly, and it was growing late. But Pippin knew he couldn’t give up, he had never stayed all alone during the night, and he had to get to the Hall before the black of night came upon him. For this couldn’t be nighttime darkness, it was not even teatime yet, and the sky was as dark as late evening in the midst of winter, except there was a strange tint of red.

Evening came before he was aware and the storm was raging. Pippin was terrified. The wind thrashed everything about and the rain was flying fast and thick, drenching his many layers of clothing. There was naught around him but hills and forest, but to his fifteen-year-old imagination, even the trees were his enemies. They wind whistled against their trunks, and the branches reached their long, grotesque fingers towards him. Among the raindrops, Pippin felt hot tears of fear and frustration streaming down his face. He knew he had been a fool to come on this adventure, and he also knew now why his parents had never before allowed him to do such things on his own. Half-wishing he were dead, he sought shelter, knowing full well that he could end up very close to death, if he didn’t get out of this storm. He scouted the land around him, but it was hard to see anything in this darkness. His only hope was when the lightning flashed across the sky, lighting the dark world up for an instant, and bringing with it deafening rolls of thunder. After walking for some way, he saw a farmhouse up ahead. Far too cold and tired to ask for lodgings at the home of a stranger, he continued on past the house, hoping to find a barn. A little way off, behind a wheat field, he saw a small, somewhat shabby looking building. It looked as though it were on the verge of crumbling apart, but at least it had four walls and a roof. Making his way through what appeared to be a cucumber patch, he came to the door, squeaking a bit on its hinges, and slipped inside.

When another bolt of lightning flashed outside, he saw he was standing in the middle of a gardening shed of some sort, surrounded by hand tools, grain sacks, and wheelbarrows. There was a close, musty smell about the place, but at least it was warm, and for that Pippin was grateful. He piled some large sacks in a corner of the shed, threw his cloak - despite its dampness - around himself, and curling up into the ball, in which he always slept, cried himself to sleep.

* * *

As I drifted out of dark dreams and vague imaginings, all seemed blurred and confused inside my muddled head. An indescribable dread hung over me and I didn’t want to open my eyes, afraid of what I would find. I struggled to remain asleep, for even if my dreams were dark, I feared that upon waking I would find reality to be even darker. How much of it had been real? It was all so muddled in my mind, would I ever know? And then I remembered something. I reached my hand up to my forehead, it felt smooth and cold, but there was no trace of blood. So it had been only a dream. But what of the rest? Were all the horrors only a dream? Realizing I could find no answers if I stayed in this state, I stirred a bit, stretched my stiff limbs, rubbed my eyes, and sprang up. The first thing I noticed was the brightness of the sun; I squinted to bring my world around me into focus. When things became a bit clearer, I saw Frodo, standing with his head cocked a bit to the side; he looked strained, worried, and perhaps a little bit amused. My gaze drifted from Frodo, to Tom Bombadil, standing as large as life on the barrow-tops above me (how he had learned of our troubles and come to be there, I could not say); and then down at myself and I saw I was clothed in thin white rags, crowned and belted with pale gold, and jingling with trinkets.

“What in the name of wonder?” Merry began beside me, and I too was still feeling confused and hazy. But then a shadow came over Merry’s face and it all came rushing back to me. I clutched at my stomach and let out a cry, painful visions from the night before flooding my memory. Merry was by my side in an instant, rubbing my back with firm, steady motions, and cooing knowing phrases soothingly in my ear. As I hunched over, his careful administrations calming me, I was puzzled at first; I hadn’t even spoken yet, and though Merry and I can often understand what the other is thinking, Merry seemed now as though he himself had been there. Snapdragons! Peregrin, you fool! I thought. Of course Merry had been there, Sam too, we had all three experienced the dark events of last night together. Whatever dark shadow the Barrow-wight had cast over us, its hold was slow to pass. I felt as if I was still caught in the midst of the evil dream, and my companions all seemed still to be distant and faded.

The terror that had seized me a moment before passed, and I stood up, casting Merry a grateful glance. He looked very peculiar in his white rags and gold trinkets, and I noticed he was very pale, and wondered how strange I myself must look just then.

“Where did you get to, Frodo?” He was asking.

“I thought that I was lost,” said Frodo; ‘but I don’t want to speak of it.” I was grateful for that, the strange dread and anxiety was still clutching at my mind, and I felt that the sooner we spoke of other things, the better off I would be.

“Let us think of what we are to do now!” Frodo continued, “Let us go on!”

 

* * *

When the sun arose the next morning, it shone down on a much cheerier Pippin. The storm had slowly drifted on during the night, and its passing had left the world clean and sparkling. When Pippin emerged from the shed, the refreshing smell of the morning air heartened him, and he felt ready to continue; the fears and woes of yesterday forgot. The farmland looked so pleasant and fresh in the morning sun, he almost wanted to stay and enjoy it, but it was already getting close to breakfast time, and he feared whoever farmed here would discover him if he didn’t get away soon. And so he set out.

By midmorning he had covered quite a distance, and was rather pleased with himself for sticking to his task, despite the unexpected, and certainly unprepared for, hardships he had faced. But as time wore on, he grew more and more tired, and found himself taking longer periods of rest. The small voice kept creeping into the back of his head, telling him he was still not strong enough for this, but Pippin roughly pushed it aside and tried to continue. After all, even if he was too weak to finish this trip, he couldn’t just lie down in the middle of the road and wait for help. No, he had to carry on.

Just when his tired feet were dragging to a stop, he heard the sound of wheels behind him. Turning around, he saw a farm cart, making its way along the road towards him. As he drew nearer, Pippin could see it was grown hobbit, dressed in the simple attire of a farmer. Pippin stepped to the side of the road, hoping the farmer would not stop to speak with him. But as the cart came up beside him, the hobbit called, “Whoa now, Aries!” and he pulled to a halt beside Pippin.

“Hullo there, laddie!” The farmer’s face was round, welcoming, and cheery; he looked to be a friendly sort of fellow, but Pippin had never seen him before, and was still a bit hesitant.

“Hullo, sir.” His voice was barely audible; a mere squeak.

“And where might such a small thing like you be off to all on your own? Do your mum and dad know where you are? Why, you can’t be any more than 12 years of age!”

Instantly a fire kindled inside Pippin. There was nothing he detested more than to have strangers assume he was younger than his true age. He knew was small - and he truly was trying his very best to grow big and tall like Merry and the other lads - but he was also quick to dislike anyone who belittled him. He drew himself up to his full height - which wasn’t so very full - and faced the farmer.

“I am not 12! I’m 15, and I’m going to visit my cousin.” He purposely avoided the question concerning his parents’ knowledge as to his whereabouts.

A look of surprise crossed the older hobbit’s face, “15, eh? Well aren’t you still a bit young to be out on your own? Where do you live lad, and just where is this cousin you’re going to visit?”

Pippin disliked the farmer even more for asking so many questions; he wasn’t sure his parents would like for him to be telling so much to a stranger, but he told himself he would show the farmer he wasn’t shy, or little, and that he could act his age. And so he replied in a hurried, peeved tone,

“If I’ve come this far on my own, then I don’t see why I shouldn’t be able to continue by myself, I live in Whitwell, near Tuckborough, and my cousin lives in Buckland, at the Hall, and I think you’re nosy, and rude to ask so many questions before you even tell me who you are, and for treating me like a baby!” He set his shoulders back and put on a dark, fierce scowl, doing his best to look intimidating.

The farmer seemed taken aback for a moment, but then a faint smile quivered about his lips. He chuckled softly to himself, admiring this lad for his spunk. He realized that perhaps he hadn’t been very considerate to the child - he was known for making rather shrewd remarks, though he really was a very kind person - and he softened his tone.

“You are certainly right, my good lad. I was very inconsiderate, and for that I apologize. I also seem to have forgot my manners entirely. My name is Hama Lowsdale, and my farm is a few miles north of here. I’m on my way to Stock right now, to see a friend about a problem we’ve been having with our potato crop, and I’d be more than willing to offer you a ride as far as that, so you can make your way across the Brandywine from there.”

Pippin considered for a moment: perhaps this hobbit wasn’t so very bad after all, but he still had slighted Pippin’s age - and to Pippin, that was an unpardonable fault - but his legs and feet ached, and the thought of taking several hours off of his trip by riding by cart, was too wonderful to pass. He beamed his winning smile, and clambered eagerly up onto the seat next to the farmer.

“Oh, thank you so very much! I was growing so very tired, and my feet and legs hurt so much, and I was afraid I wouldn’t get there until tomorrow, and yet I was so tired I didn’t think I would be able to keep going at all, and I would never see dear Merry, and I wouldn’t be able to go back home either, so thank you for taking me!” And he paused to smile once again at the astonished farmer.

Anyone who wasn’t used to Pippin was often taken aback by his consistent flow of words, but the farmer decided it was just his nature to be talkative, and if he was being more open, then perhaps he was feeling friendlier towards the farmer. And so he laughed and looked down at his young companion.

“But there is still one thing I should like to know, if you don’t find me too nosy in asking,” he said with a wink. “You still haven’t told me what your name is.”

“Oh!” Pippin exclaimed. “I’m Pippin, Peregrin Took, that is, but most everyone calls me Pippin. Though Merry sometimes calls me ‘Pip’, and I let other people call me that too, if they’re especially nice to me. I have lots of other names that different people call me, but I don’t think I could remember them all.”

“I see,” the farmer replied. “And who is this ‘Merry’ you keep speaking of?”

“Merry is who I’m going to visit, and he’s my best cousin, though at the Hall, Berilac is pretty nice, too, but Merry is my second brother because Frodo is my first one, cause Frodo doesn’t have any brothers or sisters of his own, and Merry doesn’t either, and I have only sisters, so we’re three brothers and sometimes I just pretend I don’t have any sisters at all, though Pearl never talks to me like I’m just little, and Pimmie is very nice, and Vinca can be fun sometimes.”

Farmer Lowsdale concluded it must always be Pippin’s way to speak without pausing for breath, and as he clucked to the pony, he told himself he certainly wouldn’t be wanting for someone to talk with - or listen to - during the trip to Stock.

 

* * *

Of course I should have known that going on wouldn’t be all that easy. There was much that had to be seen to first. But after warming ourselves in the sun, retrieving our ponies - which good old Tom was fortunately able to find - receiving daggers with black sheaths from the remainders of the Barrow-wights’ pilfered treasure, and breakfasting on a somewhat slim meal, we discovered that Tom was to accompany us to the Road. This news delighted all of us, and I found my heart warmed knowing we would not be alone. And so we set out.

Maplefoot was feeling vigorous and her step was lively. The sun was shining down on us and I nearly forgot the woe and terror of the night before. The remainder of our journey that day was uneventful, and by dusk, we had reached the Road. And here, after a few words of advice, Tom took his leave. As I watched him depart into the dusk, I wished fervently that for the rest of this journey - however long that may prove - we could always keep a Tom Bombadil tucked away into our pockets, to pull out at need.

 

* * *

It was nearly dusk before Pippin and Farmer Lowsdale reached the village of Stock. The farmer halted at the side of the road under an old Oak. Pippin scrambled over the edge of the wheel to stand in the dusty road.

“You be careful now, my young friend.” Lowsdale cautioned. He felt careless for just setting such a young child off all alone on the edge of the town, and so he continued,

“Just keep going along the River until you come to the ferry -“ he suddenly remembered Pippin’s indignant response to his attempts at assistance earlier that day, and so he hastened to add, “But I’m sure you know your way quite well, and don’t need any of my help.” But Pippin was not thinking about being treated like the fifteen-year-old that he was; he was almost to the River, and from there, it was a mere ride across and he would be at the Hall. He beamed up at the farmer.

“Yes, I’ve been there lots of times since I was born. I’d best hurry or they’ll eat supper without me!” And he made as if to dash off that very minute.

“Well, then good evenin’ to you, little master. Perhaps we’ll meet again soon.” And tipping his hat in a most genteel manner, Farmer Lowsdale clucked to the pony and rode off. He had just about vanished into the dusk, when Pippin suddenly remembered something.

“Oh! And thank you!” he called, “Thank you so very much!” He never knew if the farmer heard him or not, but he was too busy racing excitedly towards the Brandywine to give it any further thought.

He found Largo - the ferry master - had just sat down to his supper, in his little home by the River, but fortunately for Pippin, he was willing to ferry him to the other shore. Largo said nothing on the journey across, and for this Pippin was grateful; he was tired of answering questions and now all he wanted was to get inside. All was silent, save for the slow sound of the Brandywine, as it gurgled lazily along beneath them. Its sound was familiar, peaceful, and Pippin felt his eyelids growing heavy. He was nearly lost to slumber, when the solid feeling of the ferry-boat coming to rest against the opposite dock, brought him out of his dreams. He shook his chestnut curls out of his eyes, and turned around to see the many lights of Buck Hill twinkling in the dark, and the moon, streaming down onto the smooth surface of the Brandywine.

Gathering up his pack, he mumbled a quick word of thanks to Largo, and hurried down the path. He climbed the stone steps at the front of the Hill, and pushed open the front door of the new Master’s quarters.

As he shut out the night air behind him, Pippin felt truly warm for the first time that day. Not just ordinary warm, but tingly-down-in-your-toes warm. It felt good. The front foyer and passageway were dimly lit with candles on the walls, and there was the glow of a fire coming from the dining room, and sitting room. Everything seemed strangely empty; the walls were silent when he called out, “Hullo?” and he decided his relatives must be taking supper in the main dining room downstairs. But no, when he glanced at the clock it told him it was past seven, they would certainly be done with the evening’s meal by now. So then where were his aunt and uncle, and Merry? After a quick search of the Master’s apartments, he concluded they were not here, and slipped out into the hall to find them.

Once out in the main passageway, he started down the seventh staircase, taking stock of the situation. If supper was over, Aunt Esmie would most likely be visiting in one of the sitting rooms, and Uncle Saradoc would be finishing up some business in the Master’s study. But where did that leave Merry? Pippin continued down the passage and thought. In the summer, once the evening meal was finished, Merry often went out to the fields for a game of Roopie, or Chase with the other lads, but during the colder seasons of the year, his favorite nook was a small room away in a corner of the Hall. It was seldom used for much, and was a comfortable place to sneak away to. That was where his cousin was, Pippin concluded.

When he silently pushed open the door, warm firelight danced across his face. The room was very still, and for a moment Pippin thought it was empty. But then across the room he spotted a familiar figure. Sitting on the rug in front of the hearth, knees drawn up, chin resting on folded arms, and gazing thoughtfully into the dancing flames, was Merry. His honey-gold curls were growing somewhat long, and he looked very old and wise to his young cousin just then. It had been not even two months since Old Rory had passed away - and with his passing, the start of Saradoc’s new role as Master - and Merry had taken it all rather hard. But the sudden change in his life had changed him, as well. He had grown from it, and he understood his responsibilities more fully, now that he was the official Heir.

As Pippin gazed at him now, he suddenly felt sad, for his Merry looked sad. He stole softly across the carpet, for he couldn’t bear the thought of disturbing his cousin. But Merry’s hobbit ears pricked up, catching the tiny footfalls, and he turned around. The look of surprise on his face was so comical, the young Took almost laughed.

“Pippin! What in the name of wonder…is everything all right?” He rushed over to the lad and kneeling down began unburdening him of his outerwear and pack. Pippin heaved a slight sigh of exasperation; Merry was always so fidgety about him staying in clothes that were wet, and his garments had never fully dried from the night before, as the air had been very damp all day.

“Nothing’s wrong, Merry. I just was bored and missed you, so I came for a visit.” Merry stopped with Pippin’s scarf half unwound.

“Pippin, where are Uncle Paladin and Aunt Tina?” His keen grey eyes studied Pippin’s face intently. There was no answer, and Pippin began to blush.

“Pippin.” Merry began reproachfully.

“It’s all right, Mer, really it is, cause I didn’t get hurt or anything and I found a place to sleep, and I only got a teeny bit wet, and a nice farmer gave me a ride in his cart, so I didn’t do very much walking.” Pippin spoke in a rush, catching the growing look of horror on his cousin’s face.

“Peregrin Took, you mean to say that you walked all the way from Whitwell, by yourself!” Merry had completed abandoned his task and just knelt there, his eyes ablaze.

“Well?” He questioned sternly.

“I suppose I did.” Pippin said in a small voice.

Merry’s voice was far from small. “Pippin! One of these days you need to start thinking before you act! You know it hasn’t even been a year since your bad spell, and you also know you aren’t allowed to go running about in the rain, especially without drying yourself properly afterwards. Not to mention the fact that you ran away without telling anyone, as I’m sure if you had, you wouldn’t be here, as your parents would never allow it!” Pippin could now see there were tears in his eyes, and he felt his own beginning to flood. He hated to see Merry upset, and the one thing that disturbed Merry more than anything was when Pippin didn’t take care of himself.

Merry sat back on his haunches, and his voice was milder. “Pippin, when you want to come for a visit, you need to tell someone older, and let them bring you, never just set off on your own. Even I still always tell my parents when I’m going somewhere; parents always like to know where we are, or else they worry. Now you know I hate it when you’re sick as much as you do, so for both our sakes’, you need to look out for yourself. All right?” He searched Pippin’s face, but his young cousin’s tears were flowing freely now.

“I’m sorry, Mer,” he sobbed. There was so much more he wanted to say, but he knew Merry understood, and so he just buried his head in his cousin’s shoulder.

“I know you are,” Merry soothed, stroking the back of his head. Pippin’s storm was over quickly, and he raised his face in an attempt to win Merry over with a smile.

“Oh no, don’t try to get out of it with your evil grin, you’re still in horrid trouble, and Mum and Da are going to be furious, with you and me, if we don’t break the news to them quickly. And I’m not ready yet to even think about what your parents are going to say, or do! You certainly are in for a fun time, Pip.”

“But I really am sorry.”

“I know,” Merry continued, “And I think you’ll be even more sorry when your parents find out where you are, which they will tomorrow, as you’ll be writing them a letter directly after your bath.”

“Aw, Merry,” Pippin pleaded. “Can’t I eat first? I haven’t had a real meal since yesterday, and I ran out of food when I was with Farmer Lowsdale.”

“Well now, whose fault is it, do you suppose, that you haven’t had a real meal since yesterday, I wonder?” Merry teased. “All right then, you can wait ‘til after you’ve had some supper, but then that letter has to be written and sent out at once, you hear?”

Pippin nodded vigorously, the thought of a bath and a warm meal filling his mind so there wasn’t room just now to think about bothersome things like letters which had to be written. Merry rose to his feet, and placed a hand on Pippin’s head.

“Come along then, little titmouse, and let’s get you into that bath.” Pippin’s green eyes glowed up at him from beneath the shadow of Merry’s hand, and the adoration in his happy face warmed Merry to the heart.

As they started towards the door, Pippin reached up for his cousin’s hand, and taking it in his own said, “Mer, you really should try sleeping in a garden shed sometime, it really is quite cozy.”

Merry paused in his tracks and turned to stare down at him, putting on a face of mock sternness.

Pippin giggled. “Only joking,” he hastened to add, and Merry couldn’t help but smile.

And so they departed, hand in hand, the link between them giving both the courage to face any trials, even those as horrific as the fury of their elders.

 

* * *