15. For Marigold, On Her Birthday

Little Pippin kicked his feet as he sat on the tall stool. On the writing-desk before him was a rather battered and wrinkled piece of parchment. There was just as much ink on Pippin's cuffs, his fingers, and the end of his nose as there was on the page. It had been a much nicer looking piece of paper when he had taken it from Uncle Saradoc's desk, and his shirt had been considerably cleaner, too, but it wasn't his fault that the wretched pen wouldn't behave. Writing was harder than it looked. Pippin pursed his lips, gripped his pen, and went back to his work.

"What are you up to?"

Pippin jumped, turning his attempt at the letter 'M' into an illegible smudge. "Merry! You scared me!"

"Sorry, Pip," Merry said. He was munching a piece of toast and leaned in for a look. "What are you writing?"

"Do stop blowing crumbs on it," Pippin said. "Sending birthday greetings to Marigold."

"Really?" Merry said with interest. He popped the last bit of toast in his mouth, brushed the crumbs from his chin, and pulled up a chair. "How far have you got?"

Pippin sighed. "Not very far. I'm not very good at this."

"Now, now, it's not so bad," Merry said. "Just a bit messy, and it's the thought that counts. There are two p's in 'happy', by the way."

"Oh, bother," Pippin said. He dipped the ink pen, wiped the nib on the inkwell, and drew a careful line through the misspelled words. He wrote for a minute or two more, then breathed on the paper to dry it. He held the page up for Merry's inspection. "There. How does that look?"

"Dearest Marigold," Merry read. "Happiest of happy birthdays to you. We are very very fond of you and wish you many many many even happier returns of the day and hope you find lots and lots of lovely sticks." Merry frowned and scratched his head. "Sticks? Now, Pippin, why in creation would she want sticks? You had better leave that off."

Pippin shrugged. "Frodo said she liked sticks."

Well, perhaps she was into some sort of craft, woodworking or something. "Then it's lovely, Pip. Now hurry and sign it and get it in the post, and we'll go fishing."

Pippin whooped and made a hasty jab at the inkwell with his pen. In his sudden excitement he clipped the bottle and sent it rolling. Merry caught it before it fell off the edge, but the desk was awash with ink, and the birthday greeting was obliterated. There was a mad scramble to sop up the mess as best they could with any bit of crumpled paper they could find, and when they finished they stood there, panting.

Pippin took a deep, hitching breath and leaned against Merry's hip. Merry put his arm around him, leaving a black handprint on the back of his shirt. "There, there, it's all right, Pip-here now, don't rub ink in your eye, use my handkerchief. There we go."

"Well," Pippin sighed. "Maybe she'd rather have flowers."

*******

the end

(but more on the way, of course...)

As is rather obvious, just a little bit of birthday fluff for Marigold:o)