Sulking

A Lord of the Rings drabble
by ImDreamingTheDream

Character Tags: Pippin, Sam, Merry, Frodo
Genre: Family/Friendship, Fluff, Hurt-Comfort
Setting: Pre-Quest, but after Bilbo leaves, bookverse

In this story, Pippin is about 12, making Merry 20, Sam 22, and Frodo 34. (All in hobbit years of course, too lazy to convert to human years).
This is also my second fanfiction and my first story for Lord of the Rings, which has always been my biggest fandom. Absolutely obsessed with it; I've read the book more than five times and seen the movies even more times. (Ironically I haven't read The Hobbit yet please don't kill me). I have plenty more LotR stories planned in the future. All of which are Pippin-centric. It won't take you very long to realize he's my favorite character, and for a reason.

If there was one thing young Peregrin Took looked forward to every year, then it was his and Merry's three-week visit to Bag End to see his cousin Frodo. Yes, Pippin loved going to Hobbiton every summer, looked forward to these visits all year round. He loved his oldest cousin dearly, but didn't get to see him as often as he would have liked, seeing as Frodo lived all the way on the other side of the Shire. At least, it seemed so to Pippin. He saw Frodo at Yule, and on a few others holidays, and at birthdays, but that was about it. Before Uncle Bilbo had left (who was technically Pippin's real oldest cousin, but the hobbitling had always failed to understand how someone so old could still be a cousin, so Uncle Bilbo he remained) they had visited Hobbiton on his birthday too. This didn't affect the frequency of visits at all; Uncle Bilbo shared a birthday with Cousin Frodo.

Pippin wished Uncle Bilbo hadn't left. He missed his actual oldest cousin very much, including his stories. And ever since Bilbo's mysterious departure, Frodo had gotten a lot more boring. On the occasions that Pippin did visit Hobbiton, or Frodo visited Tuckbrough, Frodo would usually shut himself up indoors and look at boring old books and maps for hours on end. More than usual, even. He didn't really play with Pippin as much anymore, much to the woe of the young hobbit. This Pippin had expressed to Merry, dragging behind at his heels at one family picnic by the river. "But how come Frodo's gotten so boring?" Pippin had wailed mournfully.

Now they were on a wagon on their way to Hobbiton, though, Pippin dared to get his hopes up. Perhaps Frodo would have gotten over his boring book phase by now? Oh! And maybe Gandalf would be there and make lovely fireworks! The thought was enough to make Pippin bounce up and down on the crate on which he sat, until Uncle Saradoc, who was riding with Merry and Pippin to Hobbiton before returning to Buckland, cast his nephew a look. "Stop squirming, lad," he admonished, though gently, and Pippin stilled but sulked. Uncle Saradoc probably just didn't like fireworks, he reckoned, and just didn't understand.

The wagon ride suddenly seemed to last much longer. Pippin wished Merry were awake, but his favorite cousin was still asleep, alas. Pippin himself had been made to go to bed early the night before, much to the child's annoyance, so he wasn't tired at the moment.

But after what seemed to last all of a year, they reached Bag End, and no sooner had it stopped then Pippin threw himself out of the wagon and sprinted up the winding path leading up The Hill to Bag End's front door. He knocked loudly, and resumed bouncing up and down in one place with typical hobbitling-like and Pippin-like excitement. Soon Frodo opened the door, and Pippin launched himself at him with cries of, "Cousin Frodo, Cousin Frodo!"

Frodo hugged him back before setting him down with a ruffle to his cinnamon curls. "Hello, Pip," he laughed. "My, how you've grown."

"Yes," Pippin agreed, "I'm nearly three feet tall now." He sounded extremely proud of this accomplishment, but before Frodo could congratulate him Uncle Saradoc and Merry reached the front door weighed down with luggage. Greetings were made, and Uncle Saradoc stayed long enough to have a smoke with Frodo before leaving. While the grown-ups were smoking, Merry prepared his room and helped Pip prepare his. (Or more accurately, prepared Pippin's room while Pippin sat on the bed, chattering incessantly).

Lunch was eaten and then Pippin went outside to climb trees. To his remorse neither of his cousins wanted to join him, so he climbed trees by himself, and then played a game of kick-the-ball with some of the other hobbitlings from Bagshot Row. He returned to Bag End in time for afternoon tea. He was grieved to see that Frodo was still going through his book phase, and by extension, was still rather boring. But it didn't matter too much, because Frodo was still ready to listen to Pip's chatter, and let him eat all the teacakes he wanted, and then after afternoon tea Frodo told him and Merry a story. It was one of Bilbo's old stories, but it pleased Merry and Pippin anyway because it was one of their favorites, and he told it seated in his comfiest armchair, with Merry in the second-comfiest armchair and Pippin alternating between their laps.

It was after the story was finished that things turned upside-down for the young Took. Frodo retreated into his study, and Merry disappeared behind a book, and no, he didn't want to go outside; he was busy.

Busy. Merry was hardly ever too busy for Pippin. Merry was supposed to be fun. Pippin tried to crawl onto his cousin's lap to create a barrier between his line of sight and the book. "But there's a great new swing down the road!" he tried. "Don't you want to go play on it with me?"

Merry lifted his book and purposefully wriggled on the spot until Pippin climbed off of his lap and took instead to perching on the armrest of the armchair. "You go ahead, Pippin."

"But I only want to swing with you, Merry!" Pippin complained. "Don't you want to push me?"

Merry looked up in annoyance. "Later, Pippin, alright? Run off and play something quietly, inside or out. You're getting underfoot." And then the book was lifted pointedly in front of his face.

With a huff, Pippin hopped down from his perch and stalked into his bedroom. He tried to slam the door, but didn't push nearly hard enough, resulting in the door shutting quietly, much to his woe. He climbed onto his bed and hugged his favorite bear to his chest. It was an old, weatherbeaten thing that had once belonged to his mother, and to her mother before her, and hadn't been passed down to any of his three older sisters for none of them had wanted it for its ragged state. Its fur was coming off in patches, its stitching was becoming undone and the stuffing was poking out. One of its button eyes was missing. His sisters called it a horrible thing, but Pippin didn't mind. He liked the bear, and took it with him everywhere. Unfortunately his attachment to the toy resulted in its looking even more ruined because stuffed bears dragged about all places by small hobbit lads tended to get dirty quickly.

Pippin held the bear out at arm's length, Merry's words coming back to him. You're getting underfoot. This was something that was said to him all the time, by his various aunts and uncles; by his sisters; by his parents; by the nursemaid; even by the gardener of their smial. Of course, when it came to the gardener, the observation that Pippin was getting underfoot was usually accompanied with the words you little rascal or a similar unbecoming description. Pippin was used to being told he was underfoot, and didn't take it badly, but Merry had never said that to him.

What if Merry was going to start turning boring like Frodo now that he was a tweenager? Was he going to get tired of his little cousin who followed at his footsteps? Would he leave Pippin for friends closer to his own age?

These questions raced through Pippin's mind and it didn't take much after that for the little lad to grow thoroughly distressed. Clutching the bear to his chest again, the hobbitling climbed down from the bed and decidedly headed for Frodo's study. He entered without knocking to find his cousin looking over a pile of maps.

"Frodo?"

There was a sigh as Frodo looked up. "Yes, Pip?"

Pippin scampered closer, climbing onto Frodo's lap and nearly knocking over an inkwell. He gazed up at his cousin with wide, questioning green eyes. "Frodo, you're clever, aren't you? Why do you shut yourself up in here all the time when you could be playing outside because you know, there are lots and lots of fun things to play out there, and it's far more exciting and interesting outside than it is in this boring, dusty old study, like climbing trees and playing on the new swing and playing kick-the-ball and hide-and-seek and running as far and fast as you can until you get tired and lots of other fun games, too. Why is it you won't push me on the new swing, and Merry won't either? Because you used to, and Merry used to too so is it because you're of age now, cousin? Are you going to continue on being boring and is Merry going to start turning boring, too, because he's a tweenager now? And because I'm just a lad even though I'm twelve entire years old so it's not like I'm a faunt, but I suppose I am a hobbitling, and because of that, shall Merry stop playing with me? Are you going to stop playing with me too? Is it because I am a handful and because I ask too many questions and chatter? Well, I don't think I chatter but Mother and Father and everyone always says I do so that got me thinking that perhaps I do and, well, do I chatter and ask too many questions? Cousin Frodo, do I ever get underfoot?" He stopped for breath.

Frodo, meanwhile, had listened to his littlest cousin's bombardment of questions - indeed, chatter - with incredulity. It was to him, and probably the rest of the Shire, a miracle that a hobbitling as small as Pippin had such a set of lungs on him. He considered how to answer. He was busy, very busy, and had not the time to afford to play host to answering the child's inquisitiveness, but he didn't want to upset Pippin either.

He stretched a little pipe-stem arm, and with his elbow, managed to knock over the inkwell. The ink spilled onto the map Frodo had been studying and began to rapidly spread. And Frodo, for all his tiredness and despite his previous wishes not to cause his little cousin grief, snapped. "Pippin!" he barked, shooing his little Took cousin off his lap. "Be more careful! You know these maps are important!"

Pippin had the decency to look sheepish as Frodo shot to his feet and began to vainly try to rescue the map. He crossed one leg over the other and folded his hands behind his back, that dreadful bear dangling from one of them. "But... what's the answer?"

Frodo looked up in exasperation. "What do you think the answer is, Peregrin? Yes, you get underfoot! And far too often I might add! Now, clear out; let me see if I can save this map... go on!"

Pippin burst into tears and fled the room.

Normally he would go to Merry, but Merry was no longer and option. And so Pippin ran outside, his vision foggy with tears, and ran headlong into a stout form. He knocked it over, causing it to go oof, and tumbled to the ground himself.

A startled Samwise Gamgee picked himself up, dusting himself off, and peered down at the teary-eyed hobbitling at his feet. He held out a hand. "Here now, Master Pippin, what's all the fuss? What's gotten you so upset, lad?" Pippin blinked up at him, scrubbed at the tears in his eyes, and, picking up his ragged stuffed bear, took Sam's hand, allowing the young gardener to pull him to his feet. To Sam's bewilderment, Pippin then chose to throw his arms around Sam's waist and sob into his chest.

Sam patted his hair, taken aback. He had always liked Mister Frodo's youngest cousin. Peregrin was a tiny thing, almost like a little bird, as Sam's old Gaffer had once accurately observed, with not much meat on his bones. But despite his size, he had an impressive set of lungs on him and chattered and asked questions ceaselessly. Constantly chattering and asking too many questions was a trait that the Gaffer always said was a sign of either too many brains or too little, but it was one of the little lad's most endearing qualities, and Sam didn't mind so much when, on visits to Bag End Pippin trailed after him with endless gardening inquiries - so long as he didn't trample through the flowerbeds anyway. A bundle of chatter and energy, he was almost always in a cheerful mood, so seeing him in tears like this was a rare sighting. Sam went on patting the child's hair, asking eventually, "Do you want to sit outside here with me as I work, Master Pippin? And you can go on ahead and tell me what's gotten you all teary-eyed if you like."

Sniffling, Pippin nodded into Sam, and the gardener took his hand and led him over to the vegetable patches where he'd been working. He set Pippin down on an upturned pail, and the little Took wiped at his eyes, sniffing, his tears finally beginning to cease, while hugging that awful bear of his to his chest as if his life depended on its closeness. Sam knelt down next to him and patted his back. He was accustomed to comforting tearful siblings. He encouraged the lad to tell him what had gotten him so upset, and once his tears had mostly stopped and he drew in several deep breaths to recover, Pippin accounted his woes. "I... I was sitting with Merry and I w-wanted him to... to play with me, Sam, that's all I wanted, and then he said no because he was busy and that I ought to go play quietly somewhere because I was getting underfoot even though Merry's never been to busy for me and he's never said I get underfoot before and then I went to ask Frodo about it 'cept Frodo was busy too and then I knocked the ink over onto his maps and it was an accident but Cousin Frodo was very upset and he told me I was getting underfoot too even though he's never told me I get underfoot either and then I was thinking what if they don't like me quite as much anymore because they're all grown-up now and I'm just a lad and more of a little cousin to be minded than a friend and I like having Merry and Frodo as my friends and not just my cousins and I know you're my friend too, Sam, and I like you, but I didn't mean to knock over that inkwell and I never mean to be a nuisance and get underfoot and... " He finally stopped for breath and released another small sob, hugging the bear tighter to his chest.

Sam listened to this tearful account with bemusement, but struggled to keep a sympathetic face. He patted the lad's back again. "Now, Master Pippin. You know your cousins love you just as much as ever they have, don't you? Just because you're younger'n they are don't mean they'll ever stop loving you or thinking of you as your friend. I'm older'n you, too, by ten years no less, and I think you're my friend too." Pippin looked up at Sam gravely, seemingly comforted by the assurance that he still had a friend in the gardener.

"I reckon your cousins were just right busy and, begging your pardon, you came up'n distracted them, lad. You know those maps mean a lot to your Cousin Frodo; seein' as they was his Uncle Bilbo's maps before, and you know he misses his Uncle Bilbo awfully still. Don't you trouble yourself over that. In less'n an hour they'll probably have forgotten all about it, and after I bet Master Merry will want to go and push you on that new swing's been attached to that tree down the road."

Pippin studied Sam seriously. "Really, Sam?"

"Sure as I can be, Master Pippin." Sam smiled at the lad warmly before turning back down to the carrots he was pulling out of the ground.

The little lad sniffled. "I... all right." There was a long pause, then, "Sam?"

He looked up. "Yes, Master Pippin?"

"May I have a carrot?"