Summary: During a rainstorm in Minas Tirith, Pippin recalls a storm from his childhood.

Disclaimer: All names, characters, and places contained herein are property of Tolkien Enterprises, with which I am in no way affiliated. I am making no profit from the publication of this story.

Notes: This was written for Marigold’s Sixth Challenge. I was given a title and was told to write a story based upon that title. This is what I came up with.

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Rain. That was all that Pippin was able to see as he sat near a window of the house he and the other Hobbits shared in Minas Tirith. Well, there had been hail earlier in the day, he was willing to admit, but mostly, it had just been the monotony of rain.

“Pippin, staring at the rain will not make it stop,” Frodo said from where he was sitting at the table, reading some boring book on history that he had taken from the libraries. The book was too large for Frodo to hold, so it was set atop the table. All Frodo had to do was turn the page when needed.

“I know that Frodo, but this is boring,” Pippin whined, turning to look at his elder cousin. “I wouldn’t even grudge guard duty right now. At least then I would have something to do, some purpose.”

“Where’s Merry?” Frodo asked, turning in his chair to face Pippin.

“He and Sam have gone to the Houses of Healing, to ask about herbs,” Pippin said, as if this was the most distasteful thing in the world. “He wants to learn about them, but I don’t know why. Herbs are so boring!”

“I’m sure Merry finds herb lore fascinating,” Frodo responded. “You would do well to find something to occupy yourself while we’re here.”

Pippin just huffed and turned back to the window and the rain beyond. “This is almost as bad as the Storm of 1403,” he muttered after a moment.

“What was that?” Frodo asked.

“Nothing,” Pippin said, keeping his back to his cousin.

“Don’t lie to me, Peregrin,” Frodo said sternly, craning his neck to look at his cousin. “Tell me what you said.”

“I said that this is almost as bad as the Storm of 1403,” Pippin said reluctantly, still facing the window.

“What ‘Storm of 1403?’” Frodo asked, turning around fully in his seat.

“Don’t tell me you don’t remember the Storm of 1403!” Pippin cried, turning, standing, and striding to stand next to Frodo. “How can you not remember the Storm? I was even at Bag End when it hit Hobbiton!”

“Pippin, the worst storm I remember hitting Bag End while you were visiting lasted maybe the entire afternoon,” Frodo said. “When was this supposed storm?”

“It wasn’t supposed!” Pippin exclaimed, throwing up his hands in frustration.

“Why don’t you sit down and tell me about the storm,” Frodo suggested. “Maybe it’s just slipping my mind. Perhaps if you remind me…”

“I don’t remember the exact date,” Pippin admitted, sitting in the chair next to Frodo. “It was sometime around my birthday, though. Mum and Da let me travel to Hobbiton by myself for the first time. It started raining before I got there. The entire time I was there, it rained. It never let up for even a minute! I even caught a head cold from riding in the rain.”

Pippin looked at Frodo and was quite insulted to see Frodo smiling and shaking with silent laughter. “What’s so funny?” he demanded.

“I remember now,” Frodo said, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “You were so upset that you were sick and couldn’t go outside that you kept telling yourself that it was raining. You must have convinced yourself that what you were saying was the truth.”

“What?” Pippin asked, clearly confused.

“You rode through a gentle shower on your way from Tookland and ended up getting a head cold,” Frodo explained. “Other than that, it didn’t rain the entire time you were in Hobbiton.”

“That can’t be! I remember the wind and the lighting and the rain!”

“Pippin dear, it didn’t rain the entire time you were at Bag End for that visit,” Frodo repeated. “I remember trying to keep you inside and rested so that your cold didn’t develop into something worse. Your Mum came to get you because she didn’t want to risk you getting caught in more rain on the journey home.”

“But--but…”

“Pippin, there was no Storm of 1403,” Frodo said, a note of finality in his voice.

Silently, Pippin returned to the windowsill and Frodo to his book. After a moment, Pippin turned to his cousin and spoke quite impishly.

“If there was no Storm of 1403, then this storm must be worse!”

The End