Pippin
'I wanted to hug her and clock her over the head all at once. Terribly confusing, really; I guess the moment I figured it out was the moment I asked her to marry me.'
Our first meeting wasn't really so much of a good one.
She'd caught me thieving, you see.
Well, to be honest, it wasn't really thieving. I'd nearly drowned and frozen myself in the Brandywine river (a note to brave young hobbits : swimming in the middle of winter is definitely not a good idea), and I'd needed something to eat, desperately. I'd been so hungry I could've eaten an oliphaunt.
So I just snuck up, like that, and flinched a potato from her shed. I hadn't known that she was watching. I also hadn't known that she had a spade in her hand, or that she was a formidable girl perfectly capable of wielding gardening tools as lethal weapons.
As soon as I turned around to leave, I was smacked soundly over the head with that spade. It hurt like nothing else, I was cold and shivering and I felt a bruise forming on the upside of my head, darn I was hungry, and – and, again, it throbbed and it hurt.
"Did your parents teach you to act so?" the girl admonished, waving the spade this way and that. I was a little affronted at that – I had planned to come back and pay for that potato sometime soon. Mind you, I do have manners, contrary to what many might think.
But all I could think of at that moment was how my head hurt and how much her words cut into me, like a sharp piece of glass, and I was cold and shivering and hungry, and darn it, it was just one potato. It was so humiliating that I burst into tears.
The girl's eyes softened at that, and she put an awkward hand on my head. I smelled violet-scented soap and rough, homespun cloth filled my eyes.
A dirt-coated lump was pushed into my hands, a tad roughly, and the girl's tentative voice sounded right by my ear.
"Take this. Before I change my mind."
Well, I did, and I never forgot the girl with the potato after that.
I saw her here and there over the following years. We didn't live so far from each other, after all. I didn't quite know what to think of her for a long, long while. Some days, I would remember that solid smack on my head, and I would burn with resentment. On other days, I would remember that potato, and her violet soap and soft voice, and I couldn't wait to see her again.
I never really talked to her, mind. I was much to shy for that (and yes, again, I can be shy. Talking to women has never really been my strong point). But I watched her, and sometimes I caught her watching me, and I learnt a thing or two about that girl with the potato.
Her name was Diamond, they said. I thought it was a nice name for her. Pretty and cool and hard and sharp and glittering. I came to like her eyes – they were always glimmering with a lively light, and they were sharp and smart, like they could see right through you. This was a girl who wouldn't tolerate any nonsense, for sure.
She was real nice with kids, though, and I often saw her reading story-books to the village children under the shade of a large tree. She had a sweet voice, I thought. She'd definitely make a great mother – firm when need be, and kind and loving and soft-voiced.
And then I blushed, and turned away, setting off at a near-run towards the other side of the meadow. I felt her eyes on me all the way.
The next few years were a blur. First there was Frodo and his adventure, almost dying and all that, and then there was the settling-in, which was a lot more difficult than I'd expected. It was almost like I'd grown a second head : folk stared at me all strange-like, and deep inside I knew I'd never be that jolly youngster of a Took again.
Still, I was something of a hero (with Frodo and Sam and Merry, of course), and everyone pretty much bent themselves backward to make me happy. Since there wasn't much I could do about it, I decided to make the most of it – and all this newfound renown had me hope, hope about that something I'd only ever entertained in the barest edges of my mind.
A pretty girl with a round, delicate face, with a wide generous mouth and those eyes glittering like diamonds. That girl with the potatoes and the sweet, sweet voice. Well, could I hope?
I figured the only way to find out was to try.
So the next time I ran across her (it was at the marketplace, I figure) I worked up my courage and blurted out, "Let's have supper together today."
It's a lot more blunt and assuming than what I'd had in mind, but it is something, and it's the best I could've done. I waited, my tongue glued to the ceiling of my mouth and my hands curled into fists at my sides.
I never knew you could have so many different expressions in such a short amount of time. She blushed, than was wide-eyed for a split second, some other faces I couldn't quite discern, than those pretty dark eyebrows were drawn low over her eyes, and she looked up at me with a challenging glimmer in those eyes of hers. I caught my breath.
"You may be some hero, Master Peregrin, but I do appreciate some courtesy!"
A flutter of skirts, the faintest smell of violets, and then she was gone. And I was left gaping like a fish out of water. I wasn't that rude again now, was I?
I wanted to hug her and clock her over the head all at once. Hug her, because I'm sure my face was just about as red as a beet and my heart was threatening to burst out of my chest, and she was so pretty even in her indignance, and I was pretty sure I'd fallen head over heels for her.
Clock her over the head because, well, I'd done the best that I could – and is that any way to treat a gentleman?
Terribly confusing, really. For once in my not-so-long life (take Legolas, for instance, he makes me look like a toddler) - I was at loss for words.
A bunch more of failed attempts later ('Peregrin Took, I am in the middle of work. Do not disturb me.' 'Goodness, you're scaring the children!' 'Really? Here in the middle of the road?' 'This is what you call an effort.') I found myself crumpled on a bench of the Green Dragon, a empty flagon of ale gripped in my right hand. A gentle, but firm, grip took the ale-mug out of my hand and I looked up, only to see Merry looking down at me with a concerned look on his face.
"Goodness, Pippin, is this about that girl again?"
"Diamond," I mumbled. "Her name's Diamond. And no wonder – she's as hard as one, for sure!"
"Hmmm," muttered Merry, slipping down to join me on the bench. "You know, maybe she's shy."
"Shy!" I exclaimed, throwing my hands up into the air. "You call that shy! I have been insulted by her more times than I can count! Shy, you say!"
I huff in exasperation. Most of it towards myself, since whatever happens now, I know that my heart is already taken – by a cruel mistress, but taken anyhow. I just cannot erase the image of those bright eyes from my mind. Not anymore. It's way too late for that.
In the meanwhile, Merry has been thinking, and he turns toward me with that glint in his eyes.
"Well, Pippin, I've seen the way she looks at you when she thinks you're not looking. Trust me. Just one more time, trust me, and look straight at her – really look. Pippin, she likes you a lot more than you might think."
"Shy!" I cry again, and Merry shrugs. "She just isn't good at expressing it."
I just call for another mug af ale, and that is the end of our conversation.
Still, I'm a shy hobbit at heart (in matters of romance, anyway) and I just can't work up the courage to look at her, nevermind talk to her. One hobbit can only take so much. I don't think I can take being rejected to her any more.
Then one day I see something that gives me a burst of courage all over again.
I'd been walking by, on one of my daily strolls, and I spot Diamond cornered by a group of raggly ruffians. They're all headstrong youngsters, famous for drinking hard and accosting any lass they can find with or without consent, and my heart begins to race. That's my Diamond (even though she would surely disagree). If any of them dare lay a hand on her I swear I am going to break all their noses and half their teeth to boot.
So I wait, tense and alert. I don't hear much, but I can tell the lads are saying some pretty naughty things, and Diamond's eyes glitter angrily, before she swings her bag of groceries fast and hard...
...And knocks one of them clear unconscious.
She jabs a finger at them, probably saying something very, very uncomplimentary, and the gaggle rushes her, enraged by what they've heard. I rush out of cover, too, intent to help her, but she has the situation well under control. She raises one heavy boot and stomps, hard, there.
Well, I'm not going to elaborate. You know, there. So hard that I can almost hear the crunch. Another one crumples, a pained heap on the floor, and the rest eye her warily. I step up then, and raise my voice threateningly.
"You better not be harassing this lass!"
Again, not the best, but you must bear with me. I've never been much of the heroic type and heroic threats are not my forte. But it must've been enough, since they retreat, grumbling all the way, dragging their incapacitated members behind them. I scratch and turn towards Diamond. She has a bright flush high on her cheekbones, and several strands of her light brown hair frames her round face, having escaped from her customary tight bun.
All in all, it's the most unruly I've ever seen her, and it's awfully bad on my heart – I'm pretty sure it's just skipped a beat again.
I move to say something, but she's faster.
"I didn't need your help," she snaps, and sets off, boots stomping hard, strides as long as she can make them. I almost race after her, but my thoughts are racing, so I stand still, trying to make some sense out of the whole situation.
Well, she's certainly never kicked me away. And she's never jabbed her finger at me like that either.
Nor has she swung fresh grocery at my head.
So – am I not really as hated as I'd thought?
Several days later, I find a bar of homemade violet soap on my doorstep, wrapped in brown paper and complete with a note.
Thank you. For the other day. Yours truly, Diamond.
Simple as can be, really, but I can't help the wide, foolish grin that makes its way across my face.
The next time I meet Diamond, I surprise myself with my boldness. After calling her several times, I simply grab her wrist and spin her around. When she faces me she has that adorable blush on her cheeks again, those lively brown eyes just so beautiful, and I find that I cannot help myself any longer.
I kiss her.
Her soft, plump lips part a little, and I taste her, a heady, soft mix of fresh laundry and jasmine and something else I can't define.
Then I feel a sharp, stinging sensation in my cheek, and I realize she's slapped me. I rub it and it hurts, again, and I almost cry. Not because of my cheek – I've been hurt a lot more badly than this. It's because I've tried almost everything I know with this girl, this slip of a hobbit-lass, and I thought she'd gotten so close, so close – until this. Now, she feels oh-so-far again, like a forbidden fruit at the top of some high, mysterious tree.
I'm lost. My cheek stings, and I want to pull her into my arms and squeeze her tight and bang her over the head all at once. She is just so confusing. Must have some Elven blood in her ancestry or something.
"Why?" She demands, cheeks near aflame now. I open my mouth, shut it, then open it, shut it again, because I don't really know either.
Then in a moment of clarity, I do know.
"I think I want to marry you," I blurt out.
This time it's her turn to gape. Her mouth hangs slightly agape, and something softens deep inside those sharp eyes of hers. Unable to help myself, I draw her in for another kiss.
She throws her arms around my neck and leans in, stray strands of hair tickling all around my face and neck. And that is answer enough.
She is sharp and confounding and hard and uncompromising and all of those things, but she is also the girl with the potato, the girl who tells the children stories, the girl who sent me soap. She really is a Diamond, I suppose. Beautiful, cold, hard, glittering, warm, priceless, all in one. A lady true to her name.
But she is my Diamond now, and that is all that matters.
Next Up : Frodo
Some days, I look up at the sky, and imagine the sea, with its endless blue waves and crying gulls. I remember him.
A/N : At last, Pippin! :D My apologies about any divergence from canon : to be honest, I am not awfully knowledgable about canonical facts in general (I have almost given up on finishing the books, and I watched the movies a while back.)
That said, hope you all enjoyed this short piece.
+special thanks to non-logged in people who have reviewed this work so far :
earthdragon, and mysterious guest - Thank you SO MUCH for your kind reviews! Those got me going whenever I tackled a writer's block along the way. And mysterious guest the hobbit-lover : This chapter goes to you. Again, my sincere thanks. :)
