“Charmed”

He pulled the frayed scarf tightly against his neck snuggling his face into its soft warmth. The evening air was cool, frosty almost. The scent of ‘breakfast’ filled the air and he sniffed appreciatively, very near to opening his eyes. But he resisted. Not quite ready, he preferred to linger in a half dream state where the world was safe and predictable. He thought about home and what they would be doing right now. Preparing for the night, tending to the needs of the little ones, banking the hearth down low and laying out the items needed for supper. A mist clouded his eyes forcing him to blink, tugging him insistently from his safe haven against his will. He sighed inwardly and gave in at last. Sitting up he ran a hand through his tangled curls then stole a glance around the campsite. His eyes lit on his kinsman. Frodo looked up then, as if sensing his cousin’s scrutiny and smiled casually. Pippin allowed himself a wide grin, bravely pushing against the grey shadows his slumber had summoned and his mind still clung to. He turned his attention fully towards another night’s activity.

******

The weather had indeed changed, and in a big way, just as they had been certain it would. The weary travellers huddled inside yet another overhanging of rocks jutting from a small cavern in the side of the mountain. Outside their crowded rest area the wind howled and the rain hammered the ground in great sheeting waves. Merry surveyed their surroundings ruefully. He couldn’t help grinning slightly when Pippin jumped, startled by the sudden clap of thunder that followed yet another bolt of glimmering lightning. Pippin had never been particularly fond of thunderstorms. He chuckled good-naturedly at his cousin’s smile and shrugged one shoulder before leaning over to warm his hands by the small fire they were gratefully afforded today.

His companions shifted around him somewhat restlessly. Their body heat combined with the dampness of their clothing filled the air with an uncomfortable humidity. The mutterings of the dwarf interrupted his thoughts. Apparently Gimli found several things about the accommodations not to his liking and the hobbit suppressed a giggle. At last the company settled in for a much-needed respite from the foul day. There was little conversation at first; it seemed they were all lost each in their own world of thought. A meagre meal simmered on the little fire. There would be no opportunity for hunting this day and they would make do with what they had. Sam poked at the flames with a long stick while Frodo watched in silent rumination. The solemn mood of the grey day seemed to affect them all.

A grunt drew their attention to the far corner of their little alcove where Gimli was doing his best to remove his heaviest outer layers of clothing that were soaking wet. Several others were likewise occupied. Boromir laid his cape aside and settled in between the two youngest. Pippin immediately favoured him with a grin that the big man returned in kind.

“Blasted soggy weather. I’m wet, clean through to my skin,” Gimli muttered.

“As are we all, Master Dwarf,” Aragorn soothed. “Indeed, we are extremely fortunate that Legolas’s keen eyes spied this hidden alcove else we’d still be outside in the rain.”

“Aye. Thank ye laddie. ‘Tis not that I’m without gratitude, 'tis only that dwarves very much dislike being caught out in the cold rain!”

Pippin’s ear perked up at the declaration. “And why is that? “Tis only water after all.”

Gimli frowned. “Aye, young one, 'tis only water indeed. And with it comes damp clothing and mud running over the path and a great thunderstorm to light up the sky!”

Pippin’s mouth twitched into a grin. “Yes, so?”

The dwarf sighed. “Never mind.”

Gandalf chuckled at them as he removed his pipe from his belongings. As if he were inspired by the wizard’s actions Gimli did the same.

“Well, I for one would be delighted to hear a story or two in order to pass the time.” Pippin looked around the half-circle hopefully.

Boromir laughed and slung an arm about the youngster’s shoulders giving him a quick hug. “This one can never get enough stories!”

Pippin nodded eagerly. “And why not? We must do something to take our minds from this dreary weather.”

“Indeed, an entertaining tale along with Sam’s wonderful dinner is just what we need to lift our spirits.” The big man laughed again and settled back to get comfortable. “Come now, who amongst our number will amuse us with a tale?”

“I’m not certain but I do know that when we get home I shall have enough new stories to fill my own book!”

“Are you going to write a book, Pippin?” Frodo smiled at him obviously enjoying his enthusiasm.

“Why yes, I believe I shall!” Pippin grinned wickedly at Merry. “And the first tale I’ll include will be the story of Merry and Fatty Bolger!”

Merry groaned and Pippin sat back folding his arms with a satisfied chuckle. “Not the fly story Pip!”

“Oh, he must include that one. Of course!” Boromir laughed aloud and turned towards Pippin. “And do not forget the one about the birds and the bees.”

“Oh, but my very favourite thus far was the soothsaying kitty of Gondor. And I shall make that the first one in my book.”

As they debated the tale of the day Pippin leaned over and patted his scarf. It lay drying on the stones just beside the fire. He picked it up and shook it out, then returned it to the makeshift hearth. Merry’s thoughts were drawn towards the item as his cousin handled it and he remembered the times that simple item of clothing had played a part in so many different ways in the lad’s life. It had even been responsible once for saving Pippin from harm after a daring stunt had gone wrong. A little smile played about his lips. “I believe I have just the tale for this occasion.” Merry plucked up the scarf. Turning it over in his hands he let his mind wander back to the more carefree days they’d left behind.

Pippin raised an eyebrow. “My scarf? Merry, what sort of boring story is that, I wonder? Why, I can think of any number of more interesting stories to tell. And to hear.”

“Now, we must hear about your scarf Pip,” Boromir chuckled. “If your cousin believes it a tale worth telling then it must be so.”

“Very well,” Pippin snorted and sat back resting against the Gondorian. “Go ahead and regale us with the story of my scarf.” He glanced about the circle. “I do hope Merry doesn’t put you all to sleep.”

Merry laughed softly. “Ah, how quickly my cousin forgets that this very small article of clothing has been with him for many years and if it could talk…”

“Pippin would most certainly find himself in a dilemma,” Frodo finished for him with an amused chuckle.

Boromir nodded at the item in Merry’s hands. “Where did you get it Pippin?”

Pippin touched it lightly before replying. “My Auntie Esme made it for me when I was very small. I was staying at the Hall because my sisters all had the spotted fever and my parents didn’t want me to get sick too. It’s always been my favourite scarf since then.” He patted it again looking puzzled. “I’m not certain just why. I…feel safe, somehow. Secure when I’m wearing it.” He laughed self-consciously. “Isn’t that odd?”

Gandalf listened and said nothing but Merry noticed a twinkling in the wizard’s eye and wondered. “Yes, well I think perhaps a story or two would be an excellent way to take our minds off this dreadfully gloomy weather, at least for the time being. Do continue please Meriadoc.” The wizard settled back with his pipe and regarded the hobbit with the same sparkling eyes.

Merry smiled broadly. “I recall the time Pippin is referring to. He was fortunate to have been visiting Brandy Hall at the time my cousins were all taken ill. If he’d been at home in Whitwell there would have been no question he would have caught the fever also.” He glanced around the circle of faces. “And since Pip was a very tiny lad when he was born my aunt and uncle were always very careful to keep him away from illness whenever it was within their power.”

“Ah, so you were a bit small for your age, hmm?”

“He still is,” Merry said, earning himself a frown from his young cousin.

“I thought this tale was about my scarf and not my size?”

“Yes, well. To move along then…”

“Aye, please do,” Pippin huffed in mock annoyance.

“My mother was trying to amuse him, keep him from worrying about his sisters. So she taught him how to knit.”

“Merry! Couldn’t you have left that part out?”

“What? There’s nothing wrong with a lad know how to knit.” Merry winked at the others. “Actually, he got quite good at it.” Merry leaned forward and patted the scarf that was lying by the fire once again. “So Mum made this for him not only to keep him warm, but also to give him a pattern to knit one himself.”

Frodo entered the conversation. “Pippin became quite the little artist at creating new and colourful patterns and he has produced many items since then. He even won a prize at the village fair for one of his scarves the next summer.”

Pippin flushed at his companions’ gazes of wonder at this revelation. He coughed, slightly embarrassed. “I was, uh…working on a blanket before we left the Shire.”

Gandalf chuckled merrily. “Why there’s nothing to feel self-conscious about, my lad. It is a marvellous skill to possess.”

“Aye, there are some lasses who never learn to do it well. Why, my sister Daisy never could knit a thing without dropping stitches the whole time. I remember she’d have to take anything she was working on apart more times than I could count! Used to make her so upset, it did-” Sam interrupted himself when he noted Pippin’s increasingly red face. “Umm, that’s not to say that only lasses can be expected to know how to do proper knitting.” His own round face coloured a bit at the thought he might have offended the young gentlehobbit.

Merry cleared his throat as a pretence while he tried not to laugh. “Well, needless to say that Pippin does have very clever hands and now that we’ve established that I will continue the story.” His eyes took on a faraway gleam as he settled back. ”Pip was ten years old, which in your years,” He glanced at Boromir, ”would mean he was…let me see…”

“Around the age of six in man years,” Frodo supplied.

“Yes,” Merry nodded. “It was spring and Pippin had been staying with us for several weeks and was due to return home soon when word came that his sisters had fallen ill. The spotted fever is very contagious you see,” he explained looking about the circle, “and it went from one lass to the other starting with Pimpernel, I recall.”

“Mum and Da had it when they were young so they didn’t get sick,” Pippin added.

“My mother knitted frequently. She said it relaxed her. And with Pip around she needed all the relaxation she could get.”

“Well, that’s not very nice to say.”

“But so true. Anyhow, one day the little rascal was getting so restless that Mum sat him down and put a set of knitting needles in his hand and told him he needed to learn how to slow down. So…”

******

“Here young hobbit, sit down please and I’ll show you how to begin.” Esmeralda patted the seat next to hers.

Pippin reluctantly did as he was told but continued to shift restlessly about. His aunt placed a skein of wool yarn next to him and Pippin fingered its softness with new interest. He picked it up and rubbed it against his cheek then looked curiously at the many brightly coloured balls of wool nestled in his aunt’s basket.

Esmeralda smiled at him. “Now Pippin, hold the needles like this.” She demonstrated the proper way and her nephew mimicked her easily. As he copied her movements Esmeralda immediately was impressed by how quickly he picked up the technique. “Why, you’re a natural my lad, you surely are!” Pippin, ever eager to please, beamed at her.

“Well now, at this rate you’ll soon be learning to make all manner of things,” Esmeralda told him after they had worked on the basic stitches for a time.

Pippin soaked up the praise like a sponge floating on a wave. He heard the door slam and leaped up dropping his project onto the floor. His eyes lighting on his favourite cousin he called, “Merrrryyy! Look what I made!” He snatched his knitting off the floor and was about to trot away when his aunt caught his arm.

“Hold on there just a moment little one. You mustn’t run with knitting needles in your hand!” She gently removed them from his small fingers and sent him on his way with a loving pat to the back, smiling approvingly as she watched her son examine the little row of stitches and admire his cousin’s efforts.

******

“Look what Auntie Esme made for me Mum!” Pippin proudly held up the little scarf. Eglantine took it, turning it over several times, admiring the delicate stitching and noting the shade that was a perfect match for her son’s green eyes.

“Oh, how nice!” She bent to scoop her child into her arms and planted a big kiss on his round cheek. “It’s beautiful Pippin and the colours are just right for you my little love.”

“Auntie Esme is my most favouritest aunt,” Pippin declared solemnly.

“Oh I am, am I?” Esmeralda chuckled as she held out her nephew’s jacket. Eglantine set him down and Pippin ran to her. She assisted him into it and knelt to hug him goodbye. “Now, do come back and visit us very soon Pippin.”

“Oh, yes, I shall!” He turned to his mother with pleading eyes. “Soon?”

Eglantine melted as she always did whenever her son turned his considerable charm on her. “Very soon. I promise. Merry must come to visit us next, yes?”

Esmeralda nodded, smiling as she watched Merry’s eyes light up with delight.

Pippin tugged on his mother’s skirt. “When?”

“Just as soon as I can Pip,” Merry reassured him.

All the way home Pippin cradled his gift against his chin, relishing its softness and the warmth shown to him by his aunt. “You will have to make something for her in return,” Eglantine suggested, looking over Pippin’s head to smile at Paladin.

He winked and urged the pony forwards. “Ah, yes indeed my lad. Perhaps you might knit her a set of mittens for her hands are always cold!”

Pippin frowned at the jest. “I never noticed Auntie Esme’s hands were cold,” he mused. He brightened. “Well I had better practice a great deal then. I don’t know how to make mittens yet.”

Paladin nodded seriously. “You do that Peregrin. Your aunt will certainly appreciate all the quiet time you’re going to be spending with your knitting.”

His own green eyes twinkled as he said it and he looked at his wife. “And so will we,” he mouthed.

******

“Pippin! Where are you?” Pearl had searched every corner of the pantry, the last place her brother had been seen today. She stood now with hands on hips turning slowly in a circle as if she might have overlooked his hiding place. There was no sign of him other than the telltale traces of strawberry jam on the floor. Pearl followed the tracks that apparently led out into the garden and searched through the flowerbeds, underneath the stone bench and even behind the little trellis where the trailing sweet peas would have obscured the form of a slumbering little lad. There was still no sign of Pippin. She sighed, irritably at first, and then reminded herself the lad had been missing now for at least an hour. Her parents would be home soon and she didn’t relish the notion of having to tell them their son and heir had disappeared. Pippin was so adept at getting himself into mischief. Pearl went back into the smial to find some help and broaden her search.

“Where is that little rascal?” Nell furrowed her brow in dismay after another uneventful half hour of seeking him out.

“I’ll just wager he’s somewhere asleep and not having even a clue that he’s caused us so much distress!” Pervinca scowled, her annoyance with her little brother’s behaviour all too clear.

All three looked up in surprise when they heard a mildly scolding voice coming up the path in concert with a whining, unhappy little lad’s high-pitched explanation of his activities. Pippin came into view, his arm firmly in the grasp of their old cook. Gladiola reached the sisters and turned him over to them, puffing heavily from the long walk up from the pond. “I found him,” she declared, “washing his little scarf in the water.” The cook handed Pearl a mushy, dripping bar of soap. “He even came in for this,” she chuckled. “Ah me! Weren’t we fortunate that he’s taken up such a habit of cleanliness!” She leaned down and shook her finger under the child’s nose. “But that was very dangerous, going down to the water like that.”

“Yes Pip, you know you’re not allowed by the water alone!” Pearl took his arm firmly in her hand.

“What were you thinking?” Pimpernel scolded.

“But I got jam on my favouritest scarf that Auntie Esme made for me! I had to wash it,” he declared.

Pearl sighed and pointed him towards the smial. “Yes, well I see you didn’t get any water on yourself though. Come, you’re covered from head to foot with your stolen jam and Mum will have a fit when she finds out what you did. Let’s get you cleaned up in a hurry.” Pippin trotted obediently along beside his sister, the scarf dripping wet and dragging on the ground.

“Here, let me have that.” Nell bent to retrieve it. “I’ll give it a good wash and hang it out to dry.”

“All right, thanks Nellie! Oww, what are you doing Pearl?”

“Pippin, just how did you get jam inside your ears?” Pearl was inspecting him as they walked.

“I don’t know!”

Pearl picked up her pace. “Come, we’ll put this soap to good use. You’re going to have a bath.”

“A BATH? Pearl, it’s the middle of the day! I don’t want a bath!” Pippin’s voice faded as Pearl hauled him inside and shut the door.

“Oh, thank goodness he wasn’t hurt,” Pimpernel breathed.

“Aye, that’s our Pip. He leads a charmed life, that one,” Pervinca agreed.

******

 The ground looked much further away than he had anticipated and Pippin hesitated for a moment. Still, he was certain he could do it. After all, he’d overheard the big lads discussing how easy it was so surely he’d be able to do it too. The hobbit paused again before taking the thick rope in his small hands. He tested its strength by pulling on it. All set then. He held his breath as tightly as the rope and swung out of the old oak tree by the barn, letting go and landing in the soft mound of hay. Well, now, that wasn’t so bad. He grinned, proud of himself, and climbed back up the tree determined to try it from a higher branch like the older lads. With each subsequent leap and successful tumble into the hay Pippin grew more confident and daring. He now climbed up to the very highest branch he could reach and stood teetering upon it. The ground was very far away now. For the briefest of moments fear gripped his heart but he shook it away. He knew he could jump from here without getting hurt.

He did not realize that with each jump the hay mound grew less cushioning and he didn’t notice the sharp tines of the pitchfork that had been carelessly discarded. Pippin held his breath again and this time he closed his eyes preparing to soar. He leapt into nothingness and felt himself suddenly drawn backwards, the sharp bark of the tree digging into his throat and the scarf choking him, its threads tangled in the tree’s branch preventing his fall. “What?” He struggled to get out of the tree’s grasp and it only seemed to pull his scarf tighter around his neck. He could not free himself no matter how valiantly he struggled, finally forced to call for help.

His help appeared in the form of his father whose face paled ashen when he saw what his young son had been about.

“Oh mercy!” Eglantine was right behind him.

Pippin didn’t understand what all the fuss was about until after he’d been removed from the tree and hugged to pieces by his frightened family. The scarf’s threads were untangled a bit and needed cutting in places in order to free him, but it had quite strangely saved him from a very unhappy ending.

Paladin examined it in awe for several long minutes. “It shouldn’t have held his weight, Eglantine! I just don’t understand it!”

“Dearest, let us not question a miracle too closely. Just be thankful he’s safe.”

******

“His scarf saved his life? The very same scarf?” Boromir shook his head in wonder.

Merry nodded vigorously. “It did.” He glanced at his cousin. “And now you know why he feels so strongly about it.”

Boromir reached over and fingered the delicate fringe as Pippin retrieved it from the stone next to the fire. “Why, it appears to be in very good shape for all that you have put it through.”

Pippin grinned. “I take care of it. And it takes care of me.” He placed it around his neck and patted it lovingly. “Merry told you - my very favouritest auntie made it just for me.”

Gandalf leaned over and patted Pippin’s arm. “Your scarf has been charmed, my lad. That is why it looks after you.”

Pippin’s head shot up in surprise at the wizard’s words and he stared at him. “What Gandalf? What are you talking about?”

The wizard had the attention of all now. He chuckled. “Ah, yes. Well.” He leaned back and retrieved his pipe from beside him and casually began to fill it while he talked. “I could tell, Peregrin, from the very first time I met you as a very young lad that you would have need of such a thing.” Gandalf raised the pipe and lit it before speaking again. “When your aunt gave you the scarf and you became so obviously attached to it I recall thinking what better object to cast a spell upon than a gift made with such love and care. I placed a charm for your continued well-being upon it then and there. And it has certainly come in very handy on countless occasions since that time, has it not?”

Pippin patted the little scarf. “You charmed my scarf Gandalf?”

“Yes, lad. I did. I can think of no other person who could have benefited so much from such a spell as you, my dear fool of a Took!”

“Um, thank you Gandalf,” Pippin said. I think.