Disclaimer:  None of these characters are mine; all belong to JRR Tolkien.

This is a story that I wrote last summer and posted on ff.net. I pulled it last November, feeling that it needed some serious work (probably still does, but I did my best). Pearl Took encouraged me to work on the story and resubmit it. So here it is…scrubbed--and a bit tweaked.

Summary: Pippin is eleven, Merry is eighteen, and Pervinca is fifteen. Pippin wants to get back at Pimpernel for humiliating him in front of the lads. In his effort to ‘get back’, he learns an entirely different sort of lesson. Yes, I did leave in his and Merry’s madcap adventure! Enjoy…

SMOKE IN MY EYES

Chapter 1 - Humiliation

The warm, friendly banter and laughter was the primary noise factor inside the Oak Leaf Inn in Tuckborough. However, one large table of friends was in particularly good cheer. There sat six young hobbit-lads enjoying a pipe, a mug, and of course each other’s company.

At the center of this table‘s laughter was the smallest and youngest of the companions. Eleven-year-old Pippin was wrapping up another one of his embellished accounts of life at his father’s farm-smial located on the outskirts of Whitwell; a small village located several miles southeast from Tuckborough. Pippin’s stories were usually full of jests about living with three older, domineering sisters. The roar of laughter died down as Pippin became lively with his hands and facial expressions--he learned this always helped to relate a good story.

“You should’ve seen Pim’s face!” said Pippin, having a good belly laugh at his second-oldest sister. He barely paused to draw breath before he delivered the final part of his sentence. “Good gracious me, you’d have thought I just hung her knickers out to dry for all to see!” He laughed along with his friends, then after a moment, Pippin realized that he was the only one laughing. The boy casually followed Merry’s gaze over his own shoulder. Behind Pippin stood Pimpernel, standing with her hands on her hips glowering at her little brother.

Trying to salvage his pride, Pippin took a sip from his mug, sat back in his chair, put his pipe in his mouth and looked at his sister as if she were a stranger-lass. “And what, little lass, can I do for you?” This garnered a couple nervous snickers from the lads around the table.

Pim reached over to grab her saucy brother by the shirt but this time Pippin’s reflexes were too fast. He quickly ducked under the table, crawling out the other side then made a mad dash for the door.

Merry got up and ran after Pim as she chased her brother outside. By the time he caught up to her outside, she already had Pippin by the ear reprimanding him about drinking beer and smoking pipes. A few lads sat outside the inn on the porch watching the discourse with some interest. Pippin could see out of the corner of his eye that the local lads were smirking at him. Young Pippin was red in the face from embarrassment and anger.

Meeting up his cousins out on the porch, Merry called out, “Pimpernel!” This time she looked up.

“What?”

Merry eyed towards the boys and shook his head, “Don’t do this to him.”

“Do what?” asked Pim, seething at her younger cousin--who was only a teen himself. “You ought to know better, too!” Grabbing the smoking pipe from her cousin’s hand, she gave Merry her full attention. “Allowing a small boy to drink ale! You’re not even nineteen years old, yourself!”

Merry glanced at the lads, now giggling at the drama taking place before them. Gathering his nerve, he replied, “I will be the week after next!” Taking back his pipe, he added, “This belongs to my father, thank you very much.”

“Fine,” Pimpernel countered, “I’ll be sure to tell him that when he arrives to claim you next week.”

Merry made haste to take the argument away from him and back to Pippin, feeling that it would be no good for his father to discover the pipe that he had helped himself to a few years previous. “Pippin’s not a small boy, Pim,” Merry contended. “He’s eleven years old--and that wasn’t beer you saw in his mug--it was cider. He’s old enough to sit in a pub and laugh with his friends.”

“Oh, yes? Well, what’s this?” Pim snatched a another smouldering pipe--from Pippin’s hand.

“Give that back! It’s mine!” Young Pippin was only angry before; now he was livid.

“Not anymore!” Pim took Merry’s empty hand and slapped the pipe into it. “You may give this to your father as well.” She nearly dragged Pippin to the waiting pony.

Pippin shouted, “You’re going to be sorry you did that!”

“Yes, well, you can see that I‘m frightened, can‘t you?” Pim believed with all her heart that she was doing the right thing in watching over her little brother--her only brother. She hoisted Pippin into the saddle then climbed up behind him, wheeling the pony round, heading back towards Whitwell.

“Mr. Merry?”

Briefly interrupted in his thought, Merry gazed down at a young lad holding a basket of apples.

“Two apples for a penny.”

Without any thought, Merry reached into his pocket, giving the boy a penny, but took only one apple.

“Bless ye, Mr. Merry!” said the lad, then hurried off to another hobbit.

Merry continued watching his cousins ride off into the distance, slowly munching his apple. Poor Pippin--that had to have been embarrassing for his young cousin. He certainly didn’t enjoy the dressing-down that Pimpernel gave him. Merry loved Pim dearly, but she should never have humiliated Pippin that way.

Later that same day after dinner, Pippin lay upon his bed, hands behind his head in thought…devious thought. The more he thought on that afternoon’s events, the more he festered about it. He had already begun to think about his retribution earlier in the afternoon as he and Pervinca filled the troughs in the barn; it didn’t take long before he had a scheme. Though he also loved Pimpernel, he felt she had no reason to humiliate him the way she did. He wanted to get even. Perhaps not everything in his stories would be an embellishment!

Around midnight, after everyone had gone to bed and shut their doors, Pippin slipped out of his room and into the darkness. He quietly tiptoed along the walls of the dimly lit hallway. He had no problem finding the doorway to the washroom. The kitchen was illuminated by the soft light of a crescent moon peering through the window between the leaves of the rose bush outside, so he had no difficulty seeing the adjacent wash room door.

He opened the door just a crack; it was warm inside from the low fire in the hearth and steaming hot water. The room was eerily silent; only the crackling of the wood inside the fireplace could be heard. Pippin spied that day’s laundry still drying on a bit of twine next to the washtub. Pippin knew that he shouldn’t be in there with the lasses’ under things drying on the line, but he figured he’d only be a minute at the most. Looking at the different pairs of bloomers, Pippin couldn’t tell which ones belonged to whom. He could readily see that the larger pair belonged to his mother, but the rest were all the same size. He snatched one of latter pair off the line and headed towards the door. Before he left, he grabbed a needle and thread from his mother’s sewing box.

Back in his own room, Pippin pinched the strand between his finger and thumb trying desperately to thread the needle. After several attempts, he nearly gave up. Then he recalled an instance of watching his mother lick her fingers to smooth out the frayed ends of the fibre. The clever hobbit-lad imitated his mother. Much better, he thought, smiling to himself as he pulled the thread through the eye of the needle. Trying to focus on that tiny, little ‘eye’ made his own eyes hurt. Quietly, he snickered at his own witticism.

Once Pippin had finished his handiwork, he held up the undergarment, surveying his efforts. It wasn’t the neatest stitching he had ever seen but it would do. He grinned as he imagined his sister’s reaction. He got up off his bed, tucking his prize under the mattress for safekeeping until the morning.

No sooner had Pippin laid his weary head on his pillow that it was already morning. He woke up to the rooster crowing in the barnyard. A few moments after that, Pervinca was knocking on his bedroom door to begin the morning chores. Pippin knew that it was Pervinca because they usually did the morning chores together. “Come in,” he answered, still a bit groggy.

Pervinca bounded inside the room and onto the bed with her teen-aged energy. She was another bossy sister, but Pervinca was closer in age to Pippin and therefore he did have the most fun with her. “You have a choice,” she announced. “Dahlia had to leave yesterday evening and tend to her family’s affairs. So you can either do all of the morning chores alone in the barn while I help mother and Pearl in the kitchen, or we can switch.”

Pippin saw his chance to raise the new “Pimpernel pennant“, so to speak. He took in a deep breath, sounding quite inconvenienced to put his sister off his tracks, “All right, I’ll do all the morning chores alone.”

Pervinca was shocked. Pippin had always hated collecting the eggs and cleaning up the stalls and pens. The hens seemed to like digging little hobbit-holes of their own in his hands while he tried to grab their eggs. Moreover, cleaning the muck out of a cow or pigpen--or a pony stall--was never any fun for either Took child.

Pippin put on his most innocent face, “Why do you look so surprised?”

“Because never before have you ever offered to do the morning chores alone!” She cocked an eye at him, “I completely expected you to help mother so that you could sneak food as you prepared it--like you always do.”

“I would never.” Pippin had a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Pervinca noticed the gleam in her brother’s eye, and smiled in return. Pillow fight! She quickly leaned over, grabbing his other pillow to pounce on him with it. “You’re up to something, aren’t you?”

He laughed, "No, I’m not!”

Pervinca walloped him with his own pillow, “Yes you are!” Pippin countered with a whack of his own.

Pippin felt the weight of his sister leaning on him. Pervinca found one of her brother‘s most ticklish spots--the side of his ribs. “Tell me, or I shall tickle you until--’’

Their fun was broken by a sharp knock upon the door. Pimpernel peered from behind the door in the entryway. The tween locked her gaze on her younger, irresponsible siblings. She was sent by her mother to learn what was taking her siblings so long to get working. “Pervinca, get dressed now and help mother in the kitchen. Pippin, you slowcoach, get your backside out of bed, get dressed and start your chores--now.”

Pippin met his sister‘s eyes. She just renewed his efforts to hoist up the new Took family banner.