Disclaimer: As insane as I am, I have not yet been so bold as to christen myself J.R.R. Tolkien, therefore, I have no claim to any of this.
Size of the Bearer
Chapter 1
A Little Problem
"Food," Pippin demanded. He had taken Gandalf's staff out into a nearby bush. He was starving. It was supposed to be his and Frodo's watch, but he had told his cousin that he was going to go find some food. Finding nothing, the famished Hobbit happened to see Gandalf, his staff in his hands, soundly asleep. Slowly but surely, he had inched the staff out of its owner's hands. Pippin had taken it into the bush and had taken to viciously hurling it around his head and commanding it.
"Mushrooms!" he ordered in a harsh whisper. "Jelly donuts i-firtor," he commanded after no mushrooms had appeared. "Lego-appearo-las-mushrooms. . . Galla-galva-come-mushrooms . . . " he continued, attempting to speak elvish. "Rivre-ador-mushrooms . . . elvo-coco-mushrooms . Ara-sa-gorn-come-mushrooms. . ." He was becoming exceptionally frustrated and a loud snore, probably from either Merry or Gimli, reminded him to keep his voice down. "Ensilen-co-so mushrooms," he whispered politely, closing his eyes and licking his lips. He was so hungry; he could almost taste the mushrooms on his tongue. Oh, how his mouth was watering! He dared not open his eyes, but, oh, he could smell them now. It had to have worked. Unable to take the suspense any longer, the Hobbit's eyes flashed open, expectantly. There were no mushrooms to be seen.
"Sticklebats!" Pippin exclaimed, and he hurled the staff as far away from him as he could. His stomach was now growling so loudly that he was certain even Gimli would wake up and offer him something to eat. Based on this hope, Pippin fixed his most miserable and pathetically adorable look on his face and waited, looking like a stray puppy. Not one of the sleeping bodies moved. Frodo was nowhere to be seen, so he couldn't beg him to reveal where the food was. After what seemed like hours, Boromir showed signs of life. Pippin's heart leapt and he focused all his energy on being adorable. Alas, Boromir did nothing more than swat at an insect that was on his face. He then resumed his deep repose. Pippin's face fell; surely he would starve before breakfast. He was a growing young Hobbit who hadn't had a proper meal since the Company had left Rivendell. What was he to do?
Pippin sighed, bemoaning his fate. He put his head in his hands and focused on the stars, trying to bring his mind from the depths of his stomach. He began counting them . . . one, two, three . . . four . . . five . . . nine . . . yawn . . . thirteen. His eyelids began to droop, but he shook his head and brought himself back to consciousness. He couldn't fall asleep on watch again. Gandalf would kill him. So, instead of counting stars, Pippin entertained himself by musing what each group looked like: an apple . . . a tree . . . a horse . . . a bow . . . a ring . . . a dog. The stars began to grow dimmer as the moon set in the west. Only a little longer, Pippin assured himself: A funky looking man . . . two twins . . . a tower . . . a bear . . . a mushroom . . . a cake . . . a pipe. The first bird began to sing. Only a few more minutes remained. The stars were fading fast. Pippin felt a prod in his back. He looked down: a toe . . . a few sausages . . . a. . . . Pippin whirled around to be sure of what he had seen. Sure enough, beside him was an enormous toe, almost half as large as his whole body. He reached out and touched it.
"Pippin?" came a familiar voice from overhead. Trembling, Pippin followed the toe with his eyes, to the foot, up the leg, the arms, the shoulders and, towering at the top, about twenty feet above him, sat Frodo's head.