Disclaimer: Hobbits, Elves, Dwarves, Men, and Wizards from LOTR all belong to JRR Tolkien. I only borrow them.

I am experimenting with this fiction. I've done some research on the net and read about different styles and views of writing. I've seen others write in this fashion and thought this ought to be a piece of cake! Wrong!

Looks like I'll be experimenting for a while! ....thanks for bearing with me! What can I say? I'm hooked--writing is addicting (even writing that leaves much to be desired...)

Thank you, French Pony, for your brilliant question, and I will answer it here, as the thought somehow escaped me that not everyone knew about this particular passage. There is a book titled, THE LETTERS OF JRR TOLKIEN, Edited by Humphrey Carpenter, and assisted by Christopher Tolkien, published by Houghton-Mifflin. In letter #214, it begins on page 294 (if you have the paperback).

Pippin's Pearl

Prologue: The year is 1464. A week has gone by since Pearl Took Goodbody passed away from an illness at the age of 89. Pippin has returned from his trip to Needlehole near the North Farthing, and now sits at his desk in the Thain's office in Great Smials recounting in his own journal the truth about his sister's accident. At first, the Tooks forbade anyone in the family to talk about the incident, and then later in years, it was Pearl, herself, that asked Pippin to leave the matter be. "What's in the past should stay there." she told him. So Pippin honored her request until this day. Pear's side of the story would be told, and the truth be known. No more rumors.

Pippin writes about how the families gathered round to bid their final farewell to a beloved "pearl" among hobbits. He writes of how Pearl's daughters discover a journal and a bundle of letters that Pearl kept from a time long forgotten in her past while she lived at Great Smials. Their curiosity piqued, they find their Uncle Pippin in the study and compel him to answer some questions that lead to the elder hobbit into lending his tale of the truth....

Chapter One - Remembering Pearl

I sat alone in silence and gazed at the beautiful, but dusty roll-top desk before me. I smile inwardly with memories crowding my mind as I recall them from the distant past. I watch my aging hand glide over the smooth wood surface, feeling every scratch and nick. I touch each one; the crevice of each crack tells it's own story to me, although some of them are lost to another generation of Goodbodys (the family my beloved sister married into).

I notice some scratches near the bottom left drawer. My mind travels back in time, far away it now seems, to when I was a six-year-old lad. They didn't start out as scratches, though; I intended to carve something more meaningful. These particular "scratches" were from when I was playing a hiding game with my sisters one winter day, and I thought I was being clever concealing myself underneath my father's desk away in the study. For a long while no one came to find me, so I entertained myself with my father's pens and letter openers. I sat back down in my hiding spot and tried to carve my initials into the hard walnut wood with one of the aforementioned instruments. However, I was soon discovered--not by my sisters, but by my father. I can't help but smile as I clearly recall spending the rest of the afternoon washing down my father's desk as a reward for my efforts.

I let my eyes wander to the crack in the upper right-hand drawer. My smile fades as new memories surface and tears spring anew to my eyes. It all happened back when my precious father passed away thirty-five years ago. The scene of the argument is vivid in my mind; years of other cares have not diminished it. We were still mourning our father's death when Pearl and I stood in the Thain's Study and vehemently exchanged words over who would inherit his writing desk. In the midst of our angry words, I slammed the drawer shut and cracked it. All I knew was that I wanted something our father had cherished, and the little roll-top desk was something I knew he treasured out of all his material possessions. This was the first and only bad argument that I could ever recall having between Pearl and I.

Then I remembered something father had told me as a lad, something to the affect of, "...no matter how relentlessly they tease you, Pippin, don't retaliate so as to divide yourself from those who love you most....they are your sisters, your kin. When...your mamma and I are no longer around...they will be here for you, Pip. Will your teasing go so far as to make them not want to be your sister? Think about that."

When I remembered the wisdom of my father, I didn't have to think long on it at all. Being the oldest sibling, Pearl had always been there for me on countless occasions and I loved her dearly for it. For me, in addition to succeeding my father as the Thain, and being the eldest (and only) son of our family, I also inherited a couple other titles as well that gave me certain rights over my older sisters. Yet I decided then that no argument would ever come between my dearest Pearl and me, so I relinquished the desk to her.

My reflections were interrupted by a voice somewhat younger than my own, "Here's your tea, Uncle Peregrin." Two of my nieces popped their heads inside the room, smiling. April, the younger sister, and Dalia, Pearl's oldest child. When I look at Dalia, I see Pearl. She has so much of her mother in her--both in beauty and also full of care and spirit. April...well, she was just as spirited in her youth, but unfortunately, she had my spirit. And that, of course, got her into trouble on more than one occasion!

"Thank you, Dalia--and Pippin, if you please." I say with a wink. I take the cup she offers me and carefully sip. I watch intently as she surveys the old desk, tracing the intricate designs that bordered the drawers with her fingertips.

"Mother loved this old desk." She finally says to me.

I clasp her hand into my own and gently squeeze it. "Yes, I know."

April comes up behind my chair and puts her hands on my shoulders. She sighs as if her next words are difficult. "Uncle," she says, "We found a bundle of letters and a journal in one of mother's boxes, and they puzzle us."

I turn in my chair to better see her lips, as I'd become slightly hard of hearing of late. I repeated, "A box of letters in her journal, you say?"

April kindly repeated, "A bundle of letters and a journal, Uncle, and one of the letters suggests she had a terrible accident. We've taken the liberty to read them, now that she's gone, and well....we want to know if you knew about it--the 'accident'?"

I lower my eyes, searching and digging in my memory of my sister having an accident. I shake my head in reply. "May I read the letter?"

Dalia produced a bundle envelopes from inside one of the desk drawers and hands one of them to me. I take it, opening the flap and remove the paper from within it. I read, and then I smile grimly as my mind conjures up the entire incident in my memory.

The women look aghast at one another. April is first to find her tongue, "So it's true. What accident is mother referring to?"

I finish reading the letter, fold up the paper and slip it back inside the envelope. "I had no idea my sister kept a journal, or kept all of her letters for that matter. She probably gathered them after our mother's death. And I'm glad she did, because if she had not, I should have forgotten the whole matter entirely." Using the desk for leverage, I stand up and shuffle over to the settee. Once I sit down (with my cup of tea) and get comfortable, I see the painting of my sister and her husband, Will, also passed, hanging over the mantelpiece. The stark reality that the first of my siblings has passed from an illness three days ago strikes me. I already miss her terribly as I feel a twinge of loneliness stab my heart. I take out a handkerchief from the inside pocket of my coat and wipe my eyes.

I can see my nieces watching me as if they were once again little hobbit-children waiting for a story from a dear old relative. They know how much I love to tell stories, and I can see the anticipation in their faces. I unfold each letter from its envelope and take a moment to look over them, jarring my near flawless memory. With an entire framework of references sitting in my lap, I relax with my hands folded and settle back into the settee for the long ride back into childhood. I begin her story.

"I was a lad of about, oh...twelve years old at the time...we had just moved to Great Smials in the Spring, although Pearl had begun staying there since before Yule. Now mind you, Cousin Lalia was still Matriarch of the Took Clan....