This is inspired by an incident Pervinca recalls very briefly in "The Trouble With Love".

A Short Story About Quills (or, What Happened to Frodo in Whitwell)

Frodo is 46, Merry is 32, Pervinca is 29 and Pippin just turned 25.

Whitwell

16 Rethe 1415 SR

Frodo’s eyes were closed, but he was wide awake. He had been for two hours, despite the early hour. In spite of his efforts and fervent wishing, he was nowhere near to falling asleep again. He sighed, peeked at the curtained window. There was no evidence of dawn approaching, no telltale lightening of the dark behind the drapes. He rolled over in his bed and stared at the canopy over his bed. 

He could only hope that everyone else was having as terrible a night as he was, though he doubted it. The Whitwell Tooks were accustomed to the noises of animals on their farm at all hours, and Merry, drat him, could sleep through near anything. They were likely sleeping soundly, never mind the little songbird that was twittering away in the corner of his room. Putting the blanket over the cage had done nothing to quiet the thing. Instead, that had only made the feathered pest more insistent in its protests. 

Quills. Pippin, in his limitless talent for irony, had so named the bird. He had smiled so brightly the afternoon before when he and Merry carried the cage out of the barn. “Now you won’t be so lonely all by yourself in Bag End,” Pippin had declared. The bird was his birthday present to Frodo, so Frodo could do nothing other than smile cheerfully, hug the tween and thank him profusely for such a grand and magnificent gift as the bullfinch. 

Of course, it was a bullfinch. Pippin was obsessed with his ancestor, Bandobras the Bullroarer, so it wasn’t difficult to guess why he had chosen a bullfinch. Who Pippin had acquired the little tweeter from was beyond Frodo. There weren’t many hobbits who had domesticated birds, and those that did usually had the more useful ones, such as hawks and falcons. Who would breed bullfinches and to what end?

Giving it up for a lost cause, Frodo threw off the sheets, lit the lantern and went to the corner where the cage stood. He pulled off the blanket and stared at his new companion. Red-bellied and grey-backed, with a black face and tail feathers, and black-and-white striped wings, Quills was certainly a handsome bird. Pippin said Quills was a lad due to his impressive coloring, but that didn’t stop Frodo’s mind from theorizing the horror of waking up to discover several baby Quills flying amok through the once-pristine Bag End. 

Quills hopped on his perch and turned his head sideways to look back at Frodo. He shook his tail feathers and stretched out his neck. “Tweet?”

“You have food and water,” Frodo told it, guessing that maybe the bird was complaining about a lack of commodities in his cage. He laughed suddenly, remembering Bilbo’s account of waking in the Great Eagles’ eyrie and making the same observation of the giant nest. “Now that’s irony.”

“Tweet!” Quills seemed to agree. 

Frodo shook his head. What was he going to do with a bird? “At least you’re not a bullhound,” he said with a slight shudder at the thought. He didn’t know what he would have done had Pippin and Merry brought a dog out of the barn instead of the bird. “I suppose you’re not so bad,” he said in retrospect.

Quills at this moment decided he was done with the conversation and turned his back to Frodo. He commenced pecking at his feathers with great abandon. Frodo wondered how he could remain so solidly on the perch, which was beginning to sway with the bird’s movements. 

Frodo returned to his bed. The bird was being quiet now, more or less. Perhaps it just missed the light. He lowered the flame in the lantern as much as he dared, then lay down. He held his breath, waiting for a chirp or a trill. When none came, he relaxed, letting out a soundless breath. He rolled over, closed his eyes, and slowly drifted back to...

“TWEET! TWEET! CHIRRUP!”

Frodo gnashed his teeth. That bird’s name just may come true yet.

“Do you think Frodo liked his present?” Pippin asked Merry as soon as the older lad was awake. “He had that too-happy smile on his face.” 

Merry sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He squinted at the sunlight spilling into the room and waited for his eyes to adjust before answering. “I think it will grow on him. It’s a fine gift, and it was kind of you to want to give him a pet to keep him company.”

“But?” Pippin prompted.

“But what?” Merry said. He looked at Pippin and tried not to laugh. Pippin was a fitful sleeper, tossing and turning through the night. Even in deep slumber he was incapable of keeping still. The result was a frightful fray of curls and knots on his head each morning, and whatever sheets and blankets had been on the bed the night before were now on the floor, covering himself. Merry pushed the sheets aside, stood and stretched. 

“You sound like you’re going to say ‘but’,” Pippin said. “Your voice is too even and you’re not teasing. It was a bad idea wasn’t it? But birds are pretty and they don’t shred the furniture.”

“I told you before we caught Quills that a pet would be a hard sell,” Merry said. “We’ll just have to convince Frodo of how much fun he’s going to have with his new friend.”

“Such as?”

“It’s too early for scheming, Pip,” Merry said, though it wasn’t. Truth was, he couldn’t think of anything that was fun about birds, but Pippin had insisted. He remembered it only too well...

“Oh, it will be wonderful,” Pippin had said, bouncing on his feet. “I have the trap set up and I’ve caught a fair number of birds already, but I’m waiting for the right one. I hope it comes before Frodo does, or I will have to give him one of the others.”

“The right one?” Merry asked.

Pippin nodded. “A bullfinch.”

“Hm-mm,” Merry hummed. He was going to have to find all the books about the Bullroarer on the farm and hide them somewhere. At least Pippin wasn’t contemplating a bullhound. Frodo had never been very fond of dogs. Then again, his cousin had never shown any particular interest in birds either. 

“Wouldn’t a falcon or hawk be better? They can hunt,” Merry said.

“A bullfinch can send messages.”

“That’s pigeons.”

Pippin frowned. He didn’t like pigeons, as this was Pervinca’s pet nickname for him. “I’m quite certain that any bird can be trained how to send a message, Merry. Let’s go check the trap!”

The trap turned out to be a simple birdhouse with a door that was designed to close as soon as something flew inside. To Merry’s continuing surprise, they found a bullfinch looking back at them, quite belligerently to his mind. Pippin hopped up and down, clapping his hands. “We got one! We got one! And Frodo comes today! The stars have smiled on us.”

Merry stopped Pippin from foolishly sticking his fingers into the trap. “Perhaps we should feed it, and find a cage.”

“I already have,” Pippin said, puffing his chest out proudly.

Merry lifted the trap off its branch and followed Pippin to the barn. Pervinca was there, sitting next to the cage with a knowing smirk. “What are you doing here?” Pippin asked her.

“Savoring the impending chaos,” she said. “Did you catch yourself a pigeon, Pigeon?”

“It’s a bullfinch,” Pippin said.

“Is it then?”

“I’m naming him Quills.”

Vinca’s smirk grew. She met Merry’s eyes and shook her head. “You do keep me entertained,” she said before leaving them, a little too quickly. 

Merry soon discovered the reason for her hasty retreat, though he could have easily guessed it. Getting the bullfinch from the trap to the cage had not been as simple as they had hoped. Merry at first set the trap so the door faced the cage. Pippin picked up the cage and it held it so the two doors met, then Merry opened the doors. The bullfinch remained in the trap. Merry put food in the birdcage, a tempting scattering of seeds and dried bread. Still Quills refused to budge. Merry pounded the back of the trap, thinking to scare the bird out of it. Quills chirped angrily and fluttered his wings but stayed where he was. Seeing no other option, Merry closed the door to the trap, instructed Pippin to lay the cage on the ground with its door facing up, placed the trap on top and slid the door open again. The bird’s tail feathers peeked out of the door but the rest of the bird remained in the trap. The little feather duster was actually holding himself up, securing his talons around either edge of the door! Finally, Merry again closed the door, found some gloves, put them on, and proceeded to reach into the trap. He wrapped his hands around the bird only to find his fist too wide to fit back through the door with the bird in tow. Pippin reached in next, without gloves, and received an angry bite to his thumb for his efforts, but he did get the bird out and into the cage. Quills ruffled his feathers, squawked mightily and jumped with agitation. Merry wondered if birds could curse.

“There,” Pippin said around his bleeding thumb. “That wasn’t so hard.”

“If you say so, Pip,” Merry had said.

Now that the deed was done and the gift was given, Merry still had his doubts but it was Frodo’s decision to keep the bird or not. Merry knew Frodo would at least make the effort, for Pippin’s sake. He just hoped Frodo had the sense to wear gloves whenever handling the thing.

They went into the parlor to see who else was awake. Frodo was there, along with Quills. He had put the cage in the windowsill, which seemed to both hypnotize the bird and aggravate it at the same time. Quills was performing an odd sort of dance on his perch. His head and body were perfectly still, but his feet were busy, carrying him back and forth, back and forth, towards the window, away from the window. Every now and again, he let out a low whistle. 

“He’s low on food,” Pippin said. 

“I was just going to feed him,” Frodo said. 

“You may want to don some gloves,” Merry said. “He’s a biter.”

“That’s hardly surprising,” Frodo said, and yawned widely. 

Merry looked closer and hoped that Pippin couldn’t see how tired their cousin was. Apparently, his first night with his new pet had not gone very well. Then again, Frodo always had trouble sleeping his first night or two at Whitwell. Perhaps it was just normal jitters after all. 

“I need to help Da with the chickens,” Pippin said. “I’ll see if I can find any worms for Quills. He’d like that.” He dashed out the door.

“There’s seed in the pantry for him,” Merry offered and showed Frodo where it was. When they returned to the parlor, Pervinca was there, watching Quills with calculating interest.

“I think he wants to go outside,” Vinca said.

“Once his wings are clipped, perhaps,” Merry said.

Frodo frowned. “His wings aren’t clipped yet?” he asked. 

“I got some!” Pippin cried, banging through the door.

“TWEET!”

“Da said I could bring these now,” Pippin said and handed Frodo a little bucket of mealworms. 

“Mmm. Tasty,” Vinca said and stepped back to the safety of the hallway. The knowing smirk was back in place and her eyes twinkled. Merry drew in his breath and waited.

What occurred next happened so quickly that it would take them several recounts to figure out the sequence of events. 

Frodo took the bag and approached the cage. Quills eyes froze on his would-be master and the bird stopped his dance. Frodo reached for the door, opened it, reached into the bag. Of course, he thought the bird was tame and so not prone to charging at the first hint of freedom it came across. The door unguarded, Quills took flight, darting out of the cage and circling the parlor. He chirped and chirruped and whistling and squawked with gleeful abandon. 

Frodo, in shock at this display, could think of nothing else to do than to get the bird back into its cage somehow. Clearly, catching it barehanded was out of the question. He reached for the hearth broom, but the bullfinch at that moment swooped down and darted after his captors, first Pippin and Merry, forcing them to squat behind the settee, then Frodo, who was not so easily cowed. Frodo batted his hands at the bird - their long contest during the night did not dispose him to be gentle. His temper, shortened by lack of sleep and long agitation, flared and he reached behind him for the throw that was kept on the back of the rocking chair. Unfortunately, in his single-minded rage, he failed to notice that he was three feet to the right of the chair. He also failed to notice that Eglantine had just walked into the parlor to inform them that breakfast was ready. Frodo reached back, his hands closed around fabric and he tugged - hard.

What squawked next was not Quills, but Eglantine as her robe was unceremoniously yanked off her frame, sending her spinning into the chair. Frodo threw the robe over the bullfinch, only then noticing it was a robe, looked back and gaped in horror. 

“Aunt Tina!” he said in dismay, completely forgetting the bird, who was determinedly working his way out from under the robe. He ran to Eglantine’s side and helped to her to sit up properly in the chair. “I’m sorry! I didn’t see you. Are you all right?”

“What in blazes is going on in here!” Eglantine exclaimed. She was clutching at her nightgown, scandal on her face. Her cheeks flamed red with angry and embarrassment.

“Mum! Language!” Pervinca admonished.

“You’re one to talk,” Merry said.

No one was watching the bird, thinking it defeated, and so failed to notice it peeking out from under the robe, watching them.

A shadow passed by the window and a moment later Paladin was yanking open the door, worry writ on his face. “What is--” he started to ask, then had to duck quickly to avoid the grey-and-red fowl that darted towards him, the open door and freedom. The bird was gone in a blink of an eye. “Pippin!”

“I didn’t do it!” Pippin cried from behind the settee. 

“Why is that bird’s wings not clipped?” Frodo asked again. He was still in shock but he was quickly making sense of things. He stood up and offered an arm to help Eglantine to her feet as well.

Paladin, Eglantine and Frodo turned on Pippin and Merry. Pervinca leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over her chest, her smirk now a grin. 

“Because I just caught it yesterday,” Merry said, leaving Pippin out of the blame. He stood up and faced their inquisitors.

“We just caught it,” Pippin said, coming to stand next to Merry. “I didn’t think it would matter if it was tame or not.”

“Peregrin Took!” Paladin chided. “You gave your cousin a wild bird?” He did not sound surprised. No one was very surprised by anything Pippin did anymore. “And you went along with this?” He turned to Merry now, again not sounding particularly surprised, even if he did sound a tad disappointed. Merry could usually talk Pippin out of his worst ideas - when he wanted to.

Merry shrugged. “I didn’t see the difference either. A bird’s a bird, after all. I figured with time, it’d be tame enough.”

“I am beginning to think you lads have too much time on your hands,” Frodo said.

Paladin and Eglantine nodded in agreement. “Some chores of decent length will see to that,” Paladin said.

“For now, it’s time to eat,” Eglantine said. They followed her into the kitchen, a mostly solemn line of shamed obedience. Only Pervinca was eagerly enjoying the happenings around her. 

They reached the dining room and sat to their meal. Merry was about to take his first bite when he paused. Something clicked in his mind and he looked at Pippin shrewdly. “What did you mean, you’d have to give him one of the other ones?”

Pippin grinned sheepishly.

Their first assignment then was to wander the farm and outlaying fields, releasing all the caught birds back into the wild. No one ever saw the bullfinch again.

GF 7/29/10