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.