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.