Choose Your Battles Wisely

By: Elemmírë

Summary: Merry and Pippin encounter danger during a very routine task. Merry is 17, Pippin is 9, & Frodo has just turned 31 (ages 11, 6, & 20 in Man years.)

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings does not belong to me, nor am I making any profit off either its story or characters.

Author's Note: This was written for Marigold's Tale Challenge 30, in which I had to include the following elements: Pippin, the Shire, a pony trap, a battle, & Harvest time.

It was a beautiful, Fall day in the Shire. There was nary a cloud in the blue sky as the Sun shone in all Her splendor, warming the fragrant earth. A gentle breeze rustled the branches of the trees and the green grass below them. The leaves were turning into vibrant shades of red, gold, and orange as the season called for, and they rustled when walked through after having fallen to the ground. There was a crisp feel to the air as the weather grew cooler, most especially at night and in the wee hours of the morning. The first frost had yet to come and the animals were busy building up their nests, burrows, and food stores in preparation for the coming Winter.

The hobbits too were busy preparing their own stores for the upcoming cold season. For it was Harvest time in the Shire and all the hobbits were hard at work reaping the bountiful fields they had sewn in early Spring. Gaffers and the older lads swung their scythes through the grain fields, while the tweens and teens gathered up the fallen grains, tying them into bundles to be stored for the Winter.

Gammers dipped and made bayberry scented candles of beeswax, while hobbitesses dried or canned the remainder of the summer fruits and made sure the vegetable sacks and barrels were filled to the brim. Meats were smoked, salted, cured, and hung to dry. Lasses helped out by gathering nuts and picking the fruit from the orchards. They also assisted in the spinning and dyeing of the wool sheared from the sheep one last time, before they were allowed to grow their winter coats.

The work was shared by all in the peaceful Shire, gentlehobbits and working class alike. That is, all except two hobbit lads; one a teen, the other a child. Both were currently hiding in a broken pony trap, one of its wheels cracked and the rear axel splintered.

"I have to go, Merry!" the youngest of the two hobbits whined, hopping on one bare foot in the back of the cart while clutching onto the front of his breeches in desperation.

"I know, Pip, I know! I'm thinking," Merry replied crossly.

Pippin switched feet and began hopping again. "Please think faster, Merry," he begged, not knowing how much longer he could wait. He already felt like he was going to explode.

"Maybe you shouldn't have had so much to drink this afternoon." Merry's eyes widened when he felt the broken cart shift beneath him. "Stand still, Pippin! You're tilting the cart even further. Do you want to upend us?"

Pippin stopped his jumping and cautiously stood on his tip-toes to peer over the rail of the cart. He ducked back down when a shrill crow rent the otherwise still air. "He's still out there, Merry. What are we going to do?"

Both lads were supposed to be helping Pippin's father and their uncles with the harvesting of Aunt Petunia's marrow* patch. Placed in charge of his young first cousin for the afternoon, it was Merry's responsibility to see to Pippin. And so when the nine-year old declared he had to go, the task fell to Merry to take care of. The outdoor privy had been closest, however it was the cause of why the two lads were now cowered in the back of the broken pony cart.

Making their way from the now far-off marrow patch, they had had to cross paths with the chicken coop in order to get to the outdoor privy. Both lads had forgotten to pay heed to the warning Auntie Petunia had given earlier to not go anywhere near the chicken coop or the surrounding area. Both lads were now paying for their minor lapse in attention.

Merry stood up boldly and glared for all he was worth at the huge rooster strutting proudly back and forth in front of the broken cart. Auntie Petunia's new rooster was quite territorial and had chased them into the cart, not letting them set foot near the outdoor privy.

The rooster sensed Merry eyeing him and he crowed, his feathers ruffling in warning. One sharp-taloned foot clawed at the dirt, sending little puffs of dust into the air. He pecked the air with his sharp beak before resuming his strutting.

"This is ridiculous," Merry muttered. He, a birthright Brandybuck, would not be defeated by a silly rooster. "Here's the plan Pip ...."

Minutes later, Merry was beginning to regret his great plan. "What was I thinking?" he moaned, clutching the broom he held tightly. Merry wished his mum or Auntie Eglantine were here, instead of going with Auntie Petunia to visit her and Mum's two other sisters at the Great Smials for the afternoon. They could have taken care of Pippin and then he would not be in this predicament. He wondered if his father or Uncle Paladin would be returning from the marrow patch anytime soon in the very near future.

While Pippin had made a mad dash for the outdoor privy, Merry's job had been to provided the irate rooster with a distraction. He had instead ended up having to grab a broom leaning against the nearby tool shed to defend himself with. He knew he should have suggested for Pippin to just aim himself at the foul creature and let loose.

Busy guarding himself with the broom from the angrily pecking rooster, Merry did not see someone else enter the area.

Frodo Baggins laughed and laughed at the sight before him. There was Merry holding the bristle end of a broom at Aunt Petunia's new rooster, while little Pippin poked his head out the privy door, asking if all was clear. At least he had the good sense to be terrorized by a few angry dogs while stealing mushrooms, and not do battle with one menacing rooster with only a broom in hand. Frodo laughed a little longer before coming to his young cousins' rescue.

~The End~

Author's Note: This story was inspired by my aunt. When she was a little girl in New Jersery, long ago, she and my grandparents lived on my great-grandfather's farm at first. My great-grandmother owned the terror of all roosters. As the story goes, my grandmother always had to take a broom with her when taking her toddler daughter to use the outhouse. (This farm was built in the early 1900s before plumbing came to America and had not been updated yet.) My grandmother used to tell of how this big, mean rooster would chase her and my aunt (and anyone else) away from the outhouse ... which the rooster claimed as part of its territory. This just seemed the very sort of incident Merry/Pippin would find themselves in. Hope you all enjoyed!

*A marrow is a large sort of squash, that sort of looks like a massive cucumber, and is found in Great Britain.