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Dec. 6th, 2004 12:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
piploverThis was written for Marigold's Challenge 11, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I had fun writing it.
The Smallest of Them All
Winter came early that year in the Shire, bringing rare snow that left a heavy blanket of thick whiteness covering the flowers in their beds and had the small lads and lasses eager to leave theirs. Harried mothers and fathers watched nearly helplessly as the inevitable snowballs went sailing past their heads, and children squealed with delight.
The harvest had been brought in just in time, and many families were happy to sit back and enjoy the cold winter nights by the fire, gathered together to enjoy the bounty of the fields. The elder hobbits enjoyed the chance to rehash old tales to new ears, while those who considered themselves too old or too young to be bundled around the fire, sat and enjoyed games of draughts.
The mulled wine was hot and warming, and the ale was plentiful. Years later, when hobbits recalled the great winter of 1397, it was with a fond and nearly wistful expression.
That winter, Peregrin Took and his family were spending Yule at Brandy Hall, an event the youngest Took had been chattering about nearly endlessly until even his parents had dreaded the phrase, “When we get to Brandy Hall…”
Of course, Meriadoc Brandybuck was nearly as bad, as his parents were quick to tell the arriving family nearly as soon as coats and scarves had been removed. Pippin and Merry paid the adults no mind, immediately making their way to the kitchens to purloin a quick snack before tea, and start planning their next great adventure.
“Frodo and Bilbo will be here in a few days,” Merry said around a mouthful of sticky jam tart, the two of them safely hidden from prying parental eyes in Merry’s room. “He promised last visit that he would bring that book of Elvish poetry you liked so much.”
“That will be nice,” Pippin sighed, blinking his eyes sleepily as he swallowed his own mouthful of tart, then yawned. “I especially loved those poems about the flowers. They made me think it is not such a bad thing to be so small sometimes.”
Merry eyed his cousin for a moment, uncertain what to say to such a statement. Though Pippin had not been sick for a good while, nearly a year, his earlier childhood sicknesses had left him smaller than other lads his age, and he was rather sensitive about the issue.
“I am sure he will read them for you when he comes,” Merry said instead, watching as Pippin stretched himself out on the blanket they had used as an improvised picnic table on the floor, his eyes drifting shut.
“That would be…wonderful,” he whispered, already drifting off for his afternoon nap.
Merry watched him protectively for a few moments, then rose carefully, retrieving another blanket from his bed and draping it over Pippin, then lying down beside him. Though usually loath to take such a thing as an afternoon nap, when Pippin was around, such things seemed only perfectly natural to the 15 year old.
Pippin wrapped his arm around Merry’s shoulders as he shifted, and in moments both lads were asleep, their breath even and calm as snow began to fall once more outside the window.
***
“…and then I want to build a snow hobbit,” Pippin finished nearly breathlessly, smiling up at his cousin as they trudged through the snow that came to Pippin’s knees.
Red faced and cheerful, the two had been outside with some of the other lads, playing snowball fights and making snow-birds by lying on their backs and moving their arms and legs. Only when the sun had started to set were they called in by Merry’s mother, and Pippin had begun his list of things they were going to do the next day.
“Well, Father says it will most likely snow again tonight, so there should be plenty to make a citadel and a snow-hobbit. But don’t forget, Frodo and Bilbo are supposed to arrive tomorrow, and we’ll want to spend time with them as well,” Merry cautioned.
“I nearly forgot!” Pippin exclaimed as they reached the door to the kitchens, stomping their feet to dislodge the snow between their toes and removing their snowy coats, capes, scarves, and mittens. Merry diligently hung them upon the hooks near the fireplace, where a great pot of stew was simmering, setting their mouths to watering.
“Stop!” Lilly, the head cook at Brandy Hall, shouted, halting the two before they could so much as grab a bowl. “That is for supper tonight. There is warm bread and jam on the side-board for you, and hot tea. And don’t give me those looks, supper will be ready in less than an hour. I’m certain even your stomachs can hold off that long!”
Casting the cook mournful, pleading looks that had no effect, the two lads cut thick slices of the still steaming bread and smeared strawberry jam over them, enjoying the chewy bread as they sipped their tea and settled themselves before the fire in the children’s playroom.
Pervinca, who had been quietly reading from a book in the corner to several younger lasses, looked over at her brother and smiled at him. Pippin grinned back, licking jam off his fingers as he leaned against Merry’s shoulder.
“Tired?” Merry asked, wrapping his arm automatically around Pippin, watching as his cousin stared sleepily into the fire.
“Happy,” Pippin sighed, closing his eyes in contentment as he sipped his tea. “This is going to be the best Yule ever!”
“Oh, really?”
Both turned, startled at the sound of the familiar voice, and Pippin nearly spilled what was left of his tea in his haste to run to Frodo’s arms.
“Frodo!” was chorused around the room, as lads and lasses fought their way to the older hobbit, struggling to be the second to give him a hug.
“Calm down, calm down!” Frodo laughed, attempting to give each of the small hobbits gathering about him a hug and kiss. “Bilbo and I shall be here for at least a month, so you shall all have plenty of time to give me all the hugs you want!”
“I can never give you enough hugs,” Pippin sighed, his arms and legs now wrapped firmly about Frodo’s leg, bottom planted comfortably on his elder cousin’s foot.
“I thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow!” Merry exclaimed, beaming as he hung from Frodo’s neck. “Where is Bilbo?”
“Talking with your mum,” Frodo explained, making his way laboriously to the fireplace, Pippin still clinging to his leg and Merry draped around his neck. “He wanted to give her Mrs. Gamgee’s apple rum recipe.”
“I love apple rum!” Merry exclaimed, licking his lips even as he bent down to untangle Pippin. “Do you think they will let me have more than a drop this year? I am fifteen after all!”
“I want some, too!” Pippin piped up, allowing himself to be removed and wrapped in Merry’s arms.
“I don’t know, Pippin,” Merry sighed, squeezing him gently. Pippin made a theatrical squeak. “You may not be old enough. But I promise, if I do get some, you can have a little taste, all right?”
Pippin sighed, knowing Merry was probably right, and nodded.
“Now, why don’t you lads come with me and help me unpack? You can tell me what you two have been up to, and what you plan for tomorrow. Aunt Egg mentioned something about a snow hobbit?” Frodo asked, the two following him out of the playroom, their voices excited as they began to tell him about their plans.
***
“But, Mum,” Pippin protested, following the slightly harried Eglantine about the bedchamber as she picked up the pillows and blankets dislodged earlier that morning by an impromptu pillow-fight. “Merry and Frodo will be with me! And I need to get your Yule gift still!”
Eglantine knelt down before her son, the pillow she had just picked up still in her hand as she eyed him critically.
“Please, Mum?” Pippin begged, making his green eyes large. “I promise to behave, and do everything Frodo and Merry tell me. And Bilbo will be there too!”
Eglantine sighed, though the effect was ruined by her smile. “All right, love, so long as Bilbo is with you.”
Pippin’s squeal was heard halfway through the Smial.
***
“All right, Pippin, how much do you have left?” Merry asked, eyeing his cousin critically as the four made their way through the market. The stalls were all decorated with holly and garlands of pine, little bells chiming in the breeze. Shoppers hurried from stall to stall as dusk fell, anxious to complete their shopping and make their way to warm homes, Pippin and his cousins among them.
They had been shopping for last minute Yule gifts for several hours, and three of them were struggling to manage the packages that filled their arms. Bilbo, of course, had already had all his gifts delivered from the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain, and was watching his young cousins with amusement, taking several of their packages without being asked.
“Who do you have left, Pippin?” Frodo asked, juggling his own packages uncomfortably. “It is nearly suppertime, and we should be heading back soon.”
“Just my Mum,” Pippin answered, carefully rearranging the parcels in his arms to display the handful of coin he had managed to save. “And I know just what I want for her!”
He lead the way to a stall that looked as though it had once held several different types of winter foliage, and now only held two slightly wilted poinsettias. Suddenly oblivious to his cousins, Pippin stopped so abruptly that Merry and Frodo ran into him, Bilbo side-stepping with ease.
“Oh, Pippin,” Merry began, eyeing the two scrawny flowers. “Are you certain?”
Pippin, oblivious to the looks his cousins shared behind him, was eyeing the flowers as though he had found the most perfect gift in the Shire.
“Hello, dear,” a kindly voice said as a plump, elderly hobbitess hurried over to them from where she had been chatting with the ribbon seller next to her booth. “You came just in time, I only have these two poor darlings left.” So saying, she carefully took down each of the small plants, placing them on the table in front of her so that Pippin could get a better look.
To Merry, both flowers looked pitifully scrawny, even as Pippin beamed up at the woman.
“Both of them, please,” Pippin said without hesitation, placing all of his money next to the two plants.
“Oh, sweetie, I can’t take all of that,” she said, eyeing the small pile of coin critically before selecting two of the smallest. “There, this I can take. The rest you can spend on yourself.”
Pippin beamed up at her, managing, somehow, to retrieve his money, both plants, and maintain his hold on his other packages.
“Thank you very much, ma’am,” he said, turning with a large grin to Merry, who was still eyeing both plants critically. “Mum is going to love this! And I can keep the other one!”
“That is a wonderful idea, Pippin,” Bilbo said before either Frodo or Merry could comment on the purchase. “I am sure that your mother will enjoy it very much, and that you shall take very good care of your own flower.”
Pippin beamed at the compliment, and on the ride back to Brandy Hall, the four of them comfortably snuggled into the sledge under the furs and with all their packages loaded behind them, he held both plants close to his chest, grinning.
***
Yule dawned slowly, fat snowflakes falling gracefully outside the window of Merry’s room. Cuddled next to the fifteen year old, eyes wide open though struggling very hard not to wake his cousin, Pippin watched the flakes settle with all the glee a seven year old could possess.
In the main dining hall the presents had already been laid out the night before upon the gaily decorated great table, holly and garland ornamenting the green silk cloth that fell nearly to the floor. Only the small poinsettias Pippin had purchased for his mother and himself remained to be set out, sitting on the bedside table close to Pippin’s side.
Over the past two days, the withered leaves had regained a healthy hue, and the browned red petals had fallen off to be replaced by tiny, ruby flowers. Diligent watering and, despite Merry and Frodo’s amusement, several lullabies, had returned the dubious plants to health, ready to be given as a gift any mother would be proud of.
Pippin knew that his cousins had thought him foolish for his purchase, and Merry had even mentioned, once, that he was uncertain what Pippin had seen in the small plants. Pippin had stared at him for several moments before bowing his head and murmuring, softly, “Just because it’s small and sickly doesn’t mean it can’t be big and healthy one day.”
Merry, stunned by the simple statement, had closed his mouth with a snap, and had refrained from any further comments. Both cousins knew that Pippin’s words had referred to more than just the plant he continued to stroke lovingly.
Now, snuggled closely next to his Merry, Pippin eyed the plants beside him happily, suddenly certain that if something so small and unhealthy could change, then so could he.
Outside, the snow continued to fall, and Pippin closed his eyes once more.
***
The fire burned cheerfully within the fireplace, small hobbit lads and lasses contentedly stuffed on Yule dinner snuggled in blankets sleepily around it, enjoying their gifts and comparing new toys. Across the room several adults sat, chatting quietly and sipping mulled wine. Eglantine was among them, a lovely poinsettia on the table at her side, her favourite gift this Yule by far. Even Pippin’s sisters had agreed that it was a wonderful present, and had mourned that they had not thought of it first.
Pippin, happily bundled in a warm blanket, sat in Frodo’s lap, Merry leaning against Frodo’s side as the elder hobbit read softly from the book of Elvish poetry that Pippin favored so much.
“Translate it, Frodo, please,” Pippin whispered sleepily, his head resting on Frodo’s shoulder.
Without commenting that Pippin knew the translation by heart, Frodo dutifully complied, smiling slightly as Pippin’s eyes drifted shut. Dreaming of tiny red petals and a day when he, too, would be able to bloom.
“In the garden of the night,
A flower blooms,
All filled with light.
A tiny hope,
That beckons forth,
Graceful, wondrous,
That lets us cope.
Reminding us,
In darkest hours,
Even small ones,
Are filled with power.”
The Smallest of Them All
Winter came early that year in the Shire, bringing rare snow that left a heavy blanket of thick whiteness covering the flowers in their beds and had the small lads and lasses eager to leave theirs. Harried mothers and fathers watched nearly helplessly as the inevitable snowballs went sailing past their heads, and children squealed with delight.
The harvest had been brought in just in time, and many families were happy to sit back and enjoy the cold winter nights by the fire, gathered together to enjoy the bounty of the fields. The elder hobbits enjoyed the chance to rehash old tales to new ears, while those who considered themselves too old or too young to be bundled around the fire, sat and enjoyed games of draughts.
The mulled wine was hot and warming, and the ale was plentiful. Years later, when hobbits recalled the great winter of 1397, it was with a fond and nearly wistful expression.
That winter, Peregrin Took and his family were spending Yule at Brandy Hall, an event the youngest Took had been chattering about nearly endlessly until even his parents had dreaded the phrase, “When we get to Brandy Hall…”
Of course, Meriadoc Brandybuck was nearly as bad, as his parents were quick to tell the arriving family nearly as soon as coats and scarves had been removed. Pippin and Merry paid the adults no mind, immediately making their way to the kitchens to purloin a quick snack before tea, and start planning their next great adventure.
“Frodo and Bilbo will be here in a few days,” Merry said around a mouthful of sticky jam tart, the two of them safely hidden from prying parental eyes in Merry’s room. “He promised last visit that he would bring that book of Elvish poetry you liked so much.”
“That will be nice,” Pippin sighed, blinking his eyes sleepily as he swallowed his own mouthful of tart, then yawned. “I especially loved those poems about the flowers. They made me think it is not such a bad thing to be so small sometimes.”
Merry eyed his cousin for a moment, uncertain what to say to such a statement. Though Pippin had not been sick for a good while, nearly a year, his earlier childhood sicknesses had left him smaller than other lads his age, and he was rather sensitive about the issue.
“I am sure he will read them for you when he comes,” Merry said instead, watching as Pippin stretched himself out on the blanket they had used as an improvised picnic table on the floor, his eyes drifting shut.
“That would be…wonderful,” he whispered, already drifting off for his afternoon nap.
Merry watched him protectively for a few moments, then rose carefully, retrieving another blanket from his bed and draping it over Pippin, then lying down beside him. Though usually loath to take such a thing as an afternoon nap, when Pippin was around, such things seemed only perfectly natural to the 15 year old.
Pippin wrapped his arm around Merry’s shoulders as he shifted, and in moments both lads were asleep, their breath even and calm as snow began to fall once more outside the window.
***
“…and then I want to build a snow hobbit,” Pippin finished nearly breathlessly, smiling up at his cousin as they trudged through the snow that came to Pippin’s knees.
Red faced and cheerful, the two had been outside with some of the other lads, playing snowball fights and making snow-birds by lying on their backs and moving their arms and legs. Only when the sun had started to set were they called in by Merry’s mother, and Pippin had begun his list of things they were going to do the next day.
“Well, Father says it will most likely snow again tonight, so there should be plenty to make a citadel and a snow-hobbit. But don’t forget, Frodo and Bilbo are supposed to arrive tomorrow, and we’ll want to spend time with them as well,” Merry cautioned.
“I nearly forgot!” Pippin exclaimed as they reached the door to the kitchens, stomping their feet to dislodge the snow between their toes and removing their snowy coats, capes, scarves, and mittens. Merry diligently hung them upon the hooks near the fireplace, where a great pot of stew was simmering, setting their mouths to watering.
“Stop!” Lilly, the head cook at Brandy Hall, shouted, halting the two before they could so much as grab a bowl. “That is for supper tonight. There is warm bread and jam on the side-board for you, and hot tea. And don’t give me those looks, supper will be ready in less than an hour. I’m certain even your stomachs can hold off that long!”
Casting the cook mournful, pleading looks that had no effect, the two lads cut thick slices of the still steaming bread and smeared strawberry jam over them, enjoying the chewy bread as they sipped their tea and settled themselves before the fire in the children’s playroom.
Pervinca, who had been quietly reading from a book in the corner to several younger lasses, looked over at her brother and smiled at him. Pippin grinned back, licking jam off his fingers as he leaned against Merry’s shoulder.
“Tired?” Merry asked, wrapping his arm automatically around Pippin, watching as his cousin stared sleepily into the fire.
“Happy,” Pippin sighed, closing his eyes in contentment as he sipped his tea. “This is going to be the best Yule ever!”
“Oh, really?”
Both turned, startled at the sound of the familiar voice, and Pippin nearly spilled what was left of his tea in his haste to run to Frodo’s arms.
“Frodo!” was chorused around the room, as lads and lasses fought their way to the older hobbit, struggling to be the second to give him a hug.
“Calm down, calm down!” Frodo laughed, attempting to give each of the small hobbits gathering about him a hug and kiss. “Bilbo and I shall be here for at least a month, so you shall all have plenty of time to give me all the hugs you want!”
“I can never give you enough hugs,” Pippin sighed, his arms and legs now wrapped firmly about Frodo’s leg, bottom planted comfortably on his elder cousin’s foot.
“I thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow!” Merry exclaimed, beaming as he hung from Frodo’s neck. “Where is Bilbo?”
“Talking with your mum,” Frodo explained, making his way laboriously to the fireplace, Pippin still clinging to his leg and Merry draped around his neck. “He wanted to give her Mrs. Gamgee’s apple rum recipe.”
“I love apple rum!” Merry exclaimed, licking his lips even as he bent down to untangle Pippin. “Do you think they will let me have more than a drop this year? I am fifteen after all!”
“I want some, too!” Pippin piped up, allowing himself to be removed and wrapped in Merry’s arms.
“I don’t know, Pippin,” Merry sighed, squeezing him gently. Pippin made a theatrical squeak. “You may not be old enough. But I promise, if I do get some, you can have a little taste, all right?”
Pippin sighed, knowing Merry was probably right, and nodded.
“Now, why don’t you lads come with me and help me unpack? You can tell me what you two have been up to, and what you plan for tomorrow. Aunt Egg mentioned something about a snow hobbit?” Frodo asked, the two following him out of the playroom, their voices excited as they began to tell him about their plans.
***
“But, Mum,” Pippin protested, following the slightly harried Eglantine about the bedchamber as she picked up the pillows and blankets dislodged earlier that morning by an impromptu pillow-fight. “Merry and Frodo will be with me! And I need to get your Yule gift still!”
Eglantine knelt down before her son, the pillow she had just picked up still in her hand as she eyed him critically.
“Please, Mum?” Pippin begged, making his green eyes large. “I promise to behave, and do everything Frodo and Merry tell me. And Bilbo will be there too!”
Eglantine sighed, though the effect was ruined by her smile. “All right, love, so long as Bilbo is with you.”
Pippin’s squeal was heard halfway through the Smial.
***
“All right, Pippin, how much do you have left?” Merry asked, eyeing his cousin critically as the four made their way through the market. The stalls were all decorated with holly and garlands of pine, little bells chiming in the breeze. Shoppers hurried from stall to stall as dusk fell, anxious to complete their shopping and make their way to warm homes, Pippin and his cousins among them.
They had been shopping for last minute Yule gifts for several hours, and three of them were struggling to manage the packages that filled their arms. Bilbo, of course, had already had all his gifts delivered from the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain, and was watching his young cousins with amusement, taking several of their packages without being asked.
“Who do you have left, Pippin?” Frodo asked, juggling his own packages uncomfortably. “It is nearly suppertime, and we should be heading back soon.”
“Just my Mum,” Pippin answered, carefully rearranging the parcels in his arms to display the handful of coin he had managed to save. “And I know just what I want for her!”
He lead the way to a stall that looked as though it had once held several different types of winter foliage, and now only held two slightly wilted poinsettias. Suddenly oblivious to his cousins, Pippin stopped so abruptly that Merry and Frodo ran into him, Bilbo side-stepping with ease.
“Oh, Pippin,” Merry began, eyeing the two scrawny flowers. “Are you certain?”
Pippin, oblivious to the looks his cousins shared behind him, was eyeing the flowers as though he had found the most perfect gift in the Shire.
“Hello, dear,” a kindly voice said as a plump, elderly hobbitess hurried over to them from where she had been chatting with the ribbon seller next to her booth. “You came just in time, I only have these two poor darlings left.” So saying, she carefully took down each of the small plants, placing them on the table in front of her so that Pippin could get a better look.
To Merry, both flowers looked pitifully scrawny, even as Pippin beamed up at the woman.
“Both of them, please,” Pippin said without hesitation, placing all of his money next to the two plants.
“Oh, sweetie, I can’t take all of that,” she said, eyeing the small pile of coin critically before selecting two of the smallest. “There, this I can take. The rest you can spend on yourself.”
Pippin beamed up at her, managing, somehow, to retrieve his money, both plants, and maintain his hold on his other packages.
“Thank you very much, ma’am,” he said, turning with a large grin to Merry, who was still eyeing both plants critically. “Mum is going to love this! And I can keep the other one!”
“That is a wonderful idea, Pippin,” Bilbo said before either Frodo or Merry could comment on the purchase. “I am sure that your mother will enjoy it very much, and that you shall take very good care of your own flower.”
Pippin beamed at the compliment, and on the ride back to Brandy Hall, the four of them comfortably snuggled into the sledge under the furs and with all their packages loaded behind them, he held both plants close to his chest, grinning.
***
Yule dawned slowly, fat snowflakes falling gracefully outside the window of Merry’s room. Cuddled next to the fifteen year old, eyes wide open though struggling very hard not to wake his cousin, Pippin watched the flakes settle with all the glee a seven year old could possess.
In the main dining hall the presents had already been laid out the night before upon the gaily decorated great table, holly and garland ornamenting the green silk cloth that fell nearly to the floor. Only the small poinsettias Pippin had purchased for his mother and himself remained to be set out, sitting on the bedside table close to Pippin’s side.
Over the past two days, the withered leaves had regained a healthy hue, and the browned red petals had fallen off to be replaced by tiny, ruby flowers. Diligent watering and, despite Merry and Frodo’s amusement, several lullabies, had returned the dubious plants to health, ready to be given as a gift any mother would be proud of.
Pippin knew that his cousins had thought him foolish for his purchase, and Merry had even mentioned, once, that he was uncertain what Pippin had seen in the small plants. Pippin had stared at him for several moments before bowing his head and murmuring, softly, “Just because it’s small and sickly doesn’t mean it can’t be big and healthy one day.”
Merry, stunned by the simple statement, had closed his mouth with a snap, and had refrained from any further comments. Both cousins knew that Pippin’s words had referred to more than just the plant he continued to stroke lovingly.
Now, snuggled closely next to his Merry, Pippin eyed the plants beside him happily, suddenly certain that if something so small and unhealthy could change, then so could he.
Outside, the snow continued to fall, and Pippin closed his eyes once more.
***
The fire burned cheerfully within the fireplace, small hobbit lads and lasses contentedly stuffed on Yule dinner snuggled in blankets sleepily around it, enjoying their gifts and comparing new toys. Across the room several adults sat, chatting quietly and sipping mulled wine. Eglantine was among them, a lovely poinsettia on the table at her side, her favourite gift this Yule by far. Even Pippin’s sisters had agreed that it was a wonderful present, and had mourned that they had not thought of it first.
Pippin, happily bundled in a warm blanket, sat in Frodo’s lap, Merry leaning against Frodo’s side as the elder hobbit read softly from the book of Elvish poetry that Pippin favored so much.
“Translate it, Frodo, please,” Pippin whispered sleepily, his head resting on Frodo’s shoulder.
Without commenting that Pippin knew the translation by heart, Frodo dutifully complied, smiling slightly as Pippin’s eyes drifted shut. Dreaming of tiny red petals and a day when he, too, would be able to bloom.
“In the garden of the night,
A flower blooms,
All filled with light.
A tiny hope,
That beckons forth,
Graceful, wondrous,
That lets us cope.
Reminding us,
In darkest hours,
Even small ones,
Are filled with power.”
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Date: 2004-12-07 04:28 pm (UTC)