A/N: At long last a new chapter.  Thank you all for your patience :-)  The fault is Pearl's, not Golden's.  We are both hoping the my writer's block stays gone for a good, long time.

An Afternoon in the Kitchen

Pippin threw himself into his promised efforts at improvement with the enthusiasm everyone new to be part of the “old Pippin”; the Pippin who had not been crushed by a troll.  But, as the next couple of days went by his newly regained cheerfulness was touched with frustration as he grew increasingly aware of his shortcomings.  He had been letting his exercises slide even before the “bad” medicine had made him so ill and now his left leg often ached, his right shoulder ached and the functioning fingers on his right hand had become weaker.

No one got upset with him when he made a mess while eating, nor when he dropped things, some of which broke.  What had happened over those dark days after the lad had quit his medicine had taught his kin and friends to keep their irritation in check, remembering that this was just the way Pippin would be from now on.

But it frustrated Pippin himself.  His thinking was ofttimes muddled.  He would do something, forget he had just done it and begin to do it again.  Sometimes he would catch it himself, thinking, for instance, that he needed to put on his scarf only to find, while searching for it, that it was already around his neck.  And he wasn’t always making the connections between things; not putting his clothes away being the reason his room was later a mess, or his aches and weaknesses resulting from his not exercising and that he was not yet doing those exercises as consistently as was needed because, yes, he kept forgetting that as well.

Elrond and Parsow had been keeping a close eye on the lad without being obvious about.  It had been noted how much helping Merry through his nightmare had aided Pippin’s recovery.  Having to care for Sunshine also seemed to bolster the lad’s spirits.  It was clear he needed to feel useful.  They had encouraged the king to have his hobbit knight stand duty, and to do so early in the morning as Pippin appeared to have fewer spells and was less confused at that time of day.  Even so, the hobbit had difficulties.

So it came about that Pippin was sitting rather forlornly beside the Fountain of the White Tree one bright sunny day at mid-morning.  Just sitting and watching the dance of the drops as they splashed off the young tree then into the pool below while his thoughts played over the morning’s disasters.  His time on duty in the throne room had not gone well.  Two times, when he had to go up and down the dais steps, he had tripped.  He had dropped his sword when saluting an emissary, and then, he had presented the man to “King Strider Telcontar, High King of Gondor”.

No, it had not been one of his better mornings.

Pippin’s depressed thoughts were interrupted by a soft, lyrical voice.

“Weary so early in the day, sir knight?”

Pippin squinted against the light as he looked up into the eyes of his Queen.

“Not so much weary, my Lady, as I am disappointed with the quality of my service to my Lord.”

The two smiled at each other.  Had they not been in the Court of the White Tree, they would have been less formal.

“What was amiss with your service, Sir Peregrin?”

“I was clumsy, my Lady.  Clumsy of foot and of tongue.  I tripped on the dais steps and used the familiar name my kin and I have for His Majesty when giving an introduction.”

Arwen knew that Samwise was being included in the word “kin”, and she knew well the name by which the hobbit had introduced her husband.  It nearly made her chuckle.  None of the little ones had done very well with addressing their king by a name other than “Strider”.  The Queen had the feeling it would have been a problem for Peregrin even if he had not sustained his injuries.

Now that he had begun to relate his woes, the gates were open and Pippin’s troubles came tumbling out of his mouth.

“I am horribly clumsy, my Lady.  I grasp things but lose my hold on them, even with my left hand.  I forget more than I remember, I think.  And, of course, I still have my bad spells here and there throughout the day.  I know that won’t change, but I wish the other things would leave me alone.  No one has said anything, and they’ve all been nice about it all, but I know it’s annoying them.”  He paused to take a breath and to rein in his flow of words.  His last words were soft and spoken slowly.  “I get tired of being annoying.”

The Queen smiled down at the troubled young hobbit.  She had quickly found that life in the Citadel and a great deal in common with life in Imladris.  In both places there were few secrets.  She had been hearing about the small knight’s difficulties and hoped she might have a chance to help him before he and the others left to head homeward.  Perhaps, by spending some time with him, she could help him see that there were many things he did, or could, do well.  She knew her father could be intimidating and that many people had trouble being entirely honest with their healers.  It might be helpful to let Pippin try to do something without his feeling as though he was being watched.

“Would you like to help me, Sir Peregrin?  I was thinking I would like to do some of my own baking today.  I have certain recipes that I have discovered I miss.  You do know how to bake bread, do you not?”

“Well, yes, my Lady, although I’m not sure I really ought to . . .”

“You are done with your duty for the day?”

“Yes.”

“Do you enjoy baking bread?  I will let you eat what you wish of the bread we bake.”  Arwen knew hobbits liked any opportunity to eat.

Pippin’s eyes sparkled.  Freshly baked bread did sound wonderful, as did spending some time with Queen Arwen.  He hadn’t realized how much he had missed a female’s presence.   He had been raised with three sisters after all, and it had been months since he had had much company other than that of his companions on the Quest.

“Yes, my Lady.  That does sound very nice.  I prefer baking to cooking, truth be told.  I would love to help you.” He stood and bowed as he spoke.

“We shall send word to your kin that they need not fret themselves over your absence.  Come with me, Sir Peregrin.”

She held out her hand and he shyly took it.  They both thought back to that day in Rivendel when they first became friends, when Arwen had eased some of Pippin’s tension and fears over Frodo by teaching him to make things from clay.*

“Might the messenger bring Sunshine back with him?  She’s my dog and I think she would enjoy some time away from our house as well.”

Arwen laughed.  “Of course she may come.  I enjoy the company of animals.  We shall make a special treat just for her.”

Together, the small knight and the tall queen strolled off towards the kitchens.

The Queen inquired of the Head Cook as to the availability of the kitchen for her use and was shown to one of two smaller kitchens which were normally pressed into service only when state dinners were being prepared and served.

“Indeed, Your Majesty, this is called “The Lady’s Kitchen” and has been for the use of the lady of either the Steward of Gondor or, in those days long past, the Queen of Gondor, should either lady so desire.”  The man blushed as he added, “I am sorry, Your Majesty, that none have . . . that I, had not made certain that you were informed of its existence before this.”

“I know of it now, good sir, and thank you for guiding me here.  Is it stocked, Master Cook?”

“Yes, my lady.  It is always kept stocked with whatever is available in the main kitchen though in lesser amounts.  Items are rotated back into the main kitchen to ensure what is here is always fresh and that nothing is allowed to go to waste.”

Arwen nodded her approval.  “Very well, sir, and as it should be.  As I am certain you are aware, the hobbits enjoy cooking and eating.  I have asked my husband’s knight to assist me with some baking this day.”

“Shall I send someone who knows where everything is to assist you, my lady?”

Arwen hesitated a moment.  She hated to refuse the offer, but she wanted to see how Pippin would fare with finding and fetching the things they would be needing.

“Though your offer is most appreciate, Master Cook, it will be fun I think for us to hunt for the items ourselves.”

Pippin coughed to cover the laugh that resulted from the man’s momentary look of shock.  It was clear that he could not imagine the new queen, an Elven princess, as wanting to have fun. 

“And,” Arwen continued.  “I have sent a messenger to inform Sir Peregrin’s kin that he will be with me this day.  He is to bring someone back with him.  Please show them here when they arrive.”

“Of course, as you wish, Your Majesty,” the Master Cook said with a slight bow. “Sir Peregrin,” he added with a bow to the hobbit before leaving them to begin their explorations.

Pippin was halfway into a lower cupboard when the Master Cook rather noisily returned.

“Your Majesty!  My lady.  There must be some misunderstanding, ma’am.  The messenger has brought . . .” the man’s disgust was clear in his voice, “a dog with him, my lady.”

Pippin popped out of the cupboard as quickly as he could calling out Sunshine’s name.  The large golden dog trotted happily over to her master.

The Queen’s sparkling laughter filled the kitchen.

“Sunshine is here at my invitation.  She is clean and well behaved and we are wishing to find which of the dog biscuits I make are her favorites.”

The Master Cook looked at Sunshine, who was busy nuzzling the small knight, drew himself up and huffed.  “As you wish, Your Majesty.” He bowed curtly and left.

“You could nearly hear him add, ‘It better not come into *my* kitchen!’,” Pippin chortled as he rubbed Sunshine’s ears.  “Did you hear that, lass?  Arwen said she will make biscuits for . . .”

Arwen looked up quickly to see Pippin sitting strangely still, staring blankly.  She took a few steps towards him then his smile returned to his face as his eyes blinked.

“Arwen is going to make biscuits for you, Sunshine!” he said cheerily to his dog.

“Indeed.  And so you had best get back to looking for the baking trays Pippin.”

Pippin crawled back into the cupboard unhindered by knowing he had had a blank spell.

While Sunshine’s treats were baking in a slow oven Arwen and Pippin began working on the bread. 

“This is a rich tasting bread,” Arwen said as they mixed the dough, which was yellow in colour due to the large number of eggs the recipe called for.  “We will make double the usual recipe so there will be enough for you to take home and share with the rest of the Companions.  You may add the sugar now, Pippin.”

“Alright,” came his cheery reply.

Indeed, the hobbit’s earlier gloom had entirely disappeared while they had been together in the kitchen.  Pippin had spilled some water but had not become discouraged. He had been very careful and not dropped any of the measuring vessels or utensils as they worked.  But Arwen did notice that he was working hard at paying close attention to what he was doing.  He often asked her to repeat the instructions she gave and she could hear him repeating them over and over under his breath until the task was complete.

Arwen waved her hand at the large lump of dough which now lay upon the floured wooden table and at the long knife that was beside it.

“I think it will work best to divide the dough and each of us knead half of it,” she said.

Arwen turned away to take Sunshine’s dog treats out of the oven, when she turned back to the work table, Pippin was still standing there looking at the large mound of bread dough.  She waited several seconds without moving or saying anything until Pippin turned and looked up at her.

“Are you wanting me to cut it?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not the best at cutting things of late,” he mumbled as he slowly reached for the knife, stopping when the fingertips of his left hand came in contact with the knife’s handle.

“It is only a lump of bread dough, sir knight.”

Pippin picked up the knife, eyed the lump, then brought the blade down where he felt the middle to be.  His right hand lay limply on the table.  Arwen gently lifted it to lie atop the dough, uncurling the unresponsive two fingers to rest in a more natural position.  Pippin said nothing, but neither did he move his hand back to the table top.  His friend smiled as she noticed him using his right hand to apply pressure to hold the dough in place against the draw of the blade and pulling the newly formed halves apart as the cut deepened; but she said nothing.  She did not want him to feel he was being tested in every little thing he did.

“You may take the left hand piece to knead,” Arwen said as she drew the right hand piece toward herself and began to knead it.  Again, Pippin stood beside her looking awkward as he tried to work out how he should go about doing what had once been a familiar task.

He rested his right hand on the soft lump so that his ring and little fingers were draped over the dough as Arwen had done moments before, he put his left hand in place and . . . stopped.  Should he push first or pull first?  Pulling would be less easily done yet the dough was already a little too far away, pushing would only serve to put it further away and thus even more difficult to pull back.  With a sigh and a slight nod of his head, Pippin started to pull the lump of dough toward himself.  As he feared, the good fingers on his right hand did not match the strength or coordination of his left hand and the dough pulled well on the left side while barely moving on the right.  He stopped, took a breath and tried again with only minimal improvement.

Suddenly, Arwen was behind him and he found himself between her outstretched arms.  She placed her hands atop his.

“You are fighting your hand instead of working with it, Pippin.”

Her voice was soft and soothing as she moved her hands with his to the back of the dough.  She gently moved their hands past the edge of the lump, then drew his hands back to catch his curled fingers allowing the dough to help uncurl them.  But she did not let him pull his right hand’s fingers tight against the dough as she did those on his left hand.

“Use the top edge of your palm, at the base of your fingers, on your right hand while using the fingers on your left as you would normally.  No, no,” she added quickly as she felt him moving his hands below hers.  “You do not need more force from your right hand, only as much as what you are applying with your left.”  She slowly drew his hands, and the lump of dough, toward them.  “Now, push as you have in the past, using the heel and palms of both hands.  For this motion I think you will find your hands to be nearly equal in strength.”  Slowly they pushed the dough away.

Arwen and Pippin repeated the movements, her hands atop his, gradually developing the familiar rhythm of kneading dough.  But Pippin found himself getting distracted.  Not for the usual reason that he simply could not concentrate on anything for very long.  No, it was something else altogether.  He was getting aroused.  The combination of the gentle motion and Arwen’s closeness was intoxicating.  At first, Pippin was completely embarrassed.  He wished he could stop the kneading but couldn’t think of how to do that without offending his beautiful friend.  But then he reckoned, “Why should I stop?  What could be more natural?  I’m a male, she’s a beautiful female and she has her arms around me.”  Indeed this was answering what had become a gnawing concern of his; would the falling sickness keep him from ever pleasing a wife and having a family?  At least now he knew part of the necessary functions were working properly.  He only hoped that it wouldn’t be obvious whenever she did finally step away from him.  Pippin smiled and relaxed, feeling better about himself than he had in a long time.  When Arwen finally moved away, she focused her attention on kneading her own lump of dough and Pippin’s hands, so his secret remained his own.

“I think we have kneaded this enough, Peregrin,” Arwen said while picking her dough and placing it into a buttered bowl, turning it over, then covering it with a cloth.  Pippin did the same with his then turned to his friend.

“What shall we do while it’s rising?” he asked, a cheery grin on his face.

She smiled, happy to see Pippin obviously happier than he had been when she approached him by the White Tree.  “Do you have a favorite biscuit for which you know the recipe?  I would like to learn a Shire recipe.”

The lad’s grin turned into a full smile.  “I do indeed, my lady.  Gingerbread Hobbits!”

“And what are Gingerbread Hobbits?  We Elves make a bread that is flavored with ginger and other spices as well as dried fruits, but I do not think that is what you are wanting.”

“No, although we do have a breads and cakes that sound like what the Elves make.  Gingerbread Hobbits are a biscuit where you roll the dough out and cut it into hobbit shaped pieces.  Sometimes we use raisins for eyes or buttons on their waistcoats, and some folk, Brandybucks I know do this, pipe icing onto them to make faces and suggest clothes.”  Pippin’s cheeks coloured a pale pink.  “I’m fairly sure that I remember the recipe.  It is the only one I do know by heart as I love them so much my Ma said I had best learn to make them myself.  But I know it in Shire measurements and Sam has told me that Big Folk use different measures than we do.  He had to work it all out with the Master Apothecary so we can make my medicine for me when we get home.”

Arwen nodded.  “I do remember hearing of that difficulty. We shall take care of the matter as I now dearly wish for us to make some Gingerbread Hobbits.”

They went in search of someone who could go to the Houses of Healing and fetch the proper measuring spoons and cups from the apothecary, then returned to the kitchen to find the necessary ingredients.

“First, you’ll need . . . ah . . .”  Pippin looked confusedly at the ingredients on the table.  His face reddened as he struggled with his thoughts.  “I can’t remember now,” he sounded small and embarrassed, but his expression was one of frustration.  He was staring hard at the table top, fighting to control his emotions.

“I lose track of what I’m thinking,” Pippin muttered through clenched teeth, as though talking to himself yet he was obviously addressing his thoughts to Arwen.  “I’ve always had some trouble with that, but it used to be because my thoughts rushed like a new stream.”  His head drooped.  “Now they run like the Brandywine at late summer, slow and muddied.”

A slender hand pushed a piece of paper and a pencil into the frustrated hobbit’s line of sight.

“Pick up the pencil,” Arwen softly said, and he did so.  “Close your eyes and think about being at home.  Think of being in the kitchen with your mother and she is making Gingerbread Hobbits.  She is happy you are helping her and she asks for you to add the ingredients to the mixing bowl.  Now open your eyes and write what you hear her saying.”

Awkwardly, the pencil being in his left hand and writing being another thing he needed more practice with, Pippin slowly began to write, pausing a few moments between each entry.

1 ½ cups of flour

1 teaspoon soda for baking

2 teaspoons ground ginger

He paused, closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath and smiled.  “I can smell the ginger,” he sighed.

½ cup butter, cut into little pieces

¾ cup light brown sugar

Pippin chuckled.  “I always like dumping the wee cup-shaped brown sugars in.  You pack it really well into the measuring cup and it keeps the shape until you smash them with the mixing spoon.”

4 tablespoons golden syrup

The lad blushed again, but this time he was grinning.  “I always tried to drink some of the syrup.  Ma always said t’would make me sick, but I kept trying to sneak some anyway.  I drank two huge swallows once, nearly half the bottle, and then got sick.  My poor mother had to stop everything to clean me and the floor.  That was the only batch of Gingerbread Hobbits I didn’t eat any of.”

Still blushing, Pippin went back to his writing.

1 large egg, beaten

Currents and icing to put faces and clothes on your hobbits.**

Pippin stopped and stared at what he had written then smiled up at Arwen.

“I remembered it all!”

“Indeed you did, Sir Peregrin,” Arwen said with a broad smile.  “I knew you could do it.  That was a small lesson to help you concentrate and remember, Pippin.  If you take a few moments to relax and bring to mind pictures, sounds, and smells of the thing you need to recall, it can help you to remember it more clearly.  Mind pictures, sounds, and particularly smells are strong clues for our memories.”  She looked at the recipe.  “Do we mix the ingredients as listed, Pippin?”

He closed his eyes.  She smiled, realizing he was using the memory trick she had just taught him.

“Eh . . . yes!  Just as they are listed.  All the dry things first and mix them about a bit.  Then you . . .”

Pippin paused.  He looked to be thinking, fiddling with his scarf and biting at his lower lip.  But Arwen knew he was having one of his spells and not only because of the look he had about him.  Sunshine had come to sit by his side and stare up at him moments before the spell had begun.  It lasted half a minute.

“You . . . we . . .”  Pippin swayed slightly.  “I need to sit down.”

Arwen picked up the small knight and sat him on a tall stool beside the work table where he immediately laid his head down on his arms.

“Had one of my spells,” Pippin whispered.

“Yes.  I will get you a glass of water.”

As he sipped the water, Arwen told him what Sunshine had done.

“She senses when you are about to have one of your bad spells, Pippin.  Perhaps that is why she was sent to you, for sent to you she was.  This can help you and those who care about you a great deal.  It will greatly increase the number of things you may more safely do if everyone knows to watch Sunshine’s behavior.  You should not go anywhere without her at your side Pippin.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” He smiled as he used his big toe to scratch the panting dog behind her ear.  “You’re a clever lass, aren’t you, Sunshine?”

“I think you should sit awhile, Pippin, so as not to tire yourself too greatly.  Are you at a comfortable height to work?”

He nodded and they began to measure ingredients into the bowl.  Pippin nearly put in twice the amount of soda, but Arwen caught him in time.

“It will also be good for you to always do such things as require you to follow a list with someone there to help you.  There isn’t a trick I can teach you that will guarantee that you won’t still make the mistake of either repeating a step, as you nearly did, or skipping a step in those situations.  The best course will be to have someone else there.”

Pippin scowled down at the table.

Arwen raised his chin so they looked each other in the eye.

“I know this is not what you wish for; to need to be helped.  It does not make you any less an adult Hobbit, nor will you need to be helped with every task of everyday life.  But you will need help with certain tasks.  You will show your maturity by seeking and accepting help graciously.  Work with your difficulties instead of fighting against them.  Learn ways to do everything you can.  Always try to do things yourself then graciously accept assistance with those tasks that will elude you.  Even the High King has aides and advisors.”

A bright smile grew on Pippin’s face as her words took root in his heart.  It was not a weakness to need others.  He thought of all the secretaries, adjutants, aides and others who buzzed around Strider like worker bees around their hive.  No one expected the King to remember everything nor to personally attend to everything.  And no one would expect that of him either.

“Yes!  You’re right, of course.  My father has a secretary at home, at the Great Smials, and a couple of close cousins often advise him. Even when we were at the farm he had help from the farm hands and our family.  He often said if it weren’t for my Ma, he’d forget his feet and never be able to go anywhere so t’was a good thing they were attached to his legs.”

They both laughed.

“Two teaspoons of ginger comes next,” she said with a wink.  “All you need to remember is to not go any further without asking your helper what is next.”

Pippin nodded as he reached for the small spice jar.  “Ginger.  One.  Two.” He muttered under his breath as he measured it into the bowl.

“Oh!” he exclaimed as Arwen put in the butter she had cut into small chunks.  “We have to rub that into the dry ingredients.  My Ma would just smush it all together with her fingers until it looks like a coarse meal.”

“I will write that down while you do the “smushing”  She grinned and chuckled as she wrote.  The young one did have the most creative vocabulary she had ever heard.

Pippin happily attacked the butter and dry ingredients.  This was something he had always enjoyed doing and it wouldn’t matter if he only had his thumb and two fingers on one hand that worked; they were all he needed with the full compliment of fingers on his left hand.  When he was finished he held up his coated fingers for Arwen to see.

“Work with my difficulties and do everything I can,” he stated cheerily, smiling his most becoming smile.”

“I think warm water is needed to remove that mess, sir knight.”  Arwen said, lifting him down off the stool.  They washed his hands off at the sink.

“The bread is now ready to punch down, knead and shape.  We will leave the biscuit dough sitting for now while we tend to the bread.”  She covered the bowl of biscuit dough with a cloth then fetched the two bowls of bread dough.  Pippin enthusiastically punched them down then Arwen dumped each one out onto the workspace she had floured.  Once again, they each kneaded half.  When they were finished, she placed one half back into its bowl and rolled the other half out into a rectangle, which she cut into six long strips then pinched the strips together at the top.

“I will teach you how to braid the bread Pippin.”

Pippin raised an eyebrow.  “With six strands?  I’ll confess to having helped my sisters with braiding their hair from time to time, but that was with three strands.”

Once more the graceful Elf stepped behind him where he sat upon the high stool.  He handled it much better this time and was able to give his attention to the braiding.

“Count in three from the left and cross it over the fourth from the left.  Then take that fouth strip and lay it straight up over where the strips are all pinched together.”

His fingers grasped and moved the strips while with the light of touches she guided the movements of his hands.

“See, we now have two strands to the left, two to the right and one going up in the middle and one that points down in the middle.  The strip on the far  right wished not to be so far away.  It crosses its neighbor and the center, then switch it to your left hand.  Hold it in place while your right hand brings down the strip of dough that is pointing upwards as it now wishes to rest.  The strip in your left hand has moved a long distance and is praised for a job well done, it now gets to point upwards.”

Their hands moved slowly.

“And now the same with the strands to the left.  Outside brought across center, switch hands.  Up pointing strand is brought to rest by coming down.  The strand that moved so far is rewarded by moving upwards.”

Their hands moved evenly.

Arwen began to hear Pippin speaking softly.

“One, cross over.  Two, switch hands. Three, bring down.  Four, move up.  One, cross over.  Two, switch hands.  Three, bring down.  Four, move up.”  His hands gained a rhythm moving every bit as gracefully as hers.  “It is a dance for hands.” He whispered, wonder glowing in his voice as he then began to hum a gentle tune that matched the flow of the dance.

Soon both loaves were finished.  Pippin sat a while longer, eyes closed, humming and moving his hands in the pattern of the double braid.  “I will remember this, I think,” he said as his hands finally ceased moving and he opened his eyes.  “I will remember our hands dancing.”

“As will I, dear friend.”  She kissed his forehead then picked up the baking tray with the braided loaves sitting side by side upon it.  “These now need to rise again then I will brush them with beaten egg before baking them so they will have a shiny crust.” ***  She set them near the warm oven.  “Now we need to finish with our Gingerbread Hobbits.”

Arwen looked at the recipe.  “We were to the place where we add the syrup . . . and no, Pippin, you may not drink any,” she said slyly, giving him a mock stern glance as she did.

He smiled broadly, holding up his hands as if to ward off both her and the idea of drinking the syrup.  “No problem with that, Your Majesty!  I actually did learn my lesson on that matter.”

Arwen measured out the first tablespoon of the syrup and moved to pour it into the mixing bowl.

“No wait!” Pippin exclaimed, placing his hands over the bowl.  “I just remembered.  You need to beat the egg first, then you add the syrup to that then pour all of that into what’s in the main bowl and then mix it all together.”

They both let out a sigh.

“I will hold onto this small spoonful of syrup while you find a small bowl, crack the egg into it then beat the egg,”  Arwen said.  “And do hurry Pippin.”

By this time Pippin had discovered where most items were in the small kitchen.  He was able to go straight to the cupboard where the bowls were (fortunately a lower cupboard) and obtain a small bowl.  He climbed back up on the stool, took the egg in his left hand, then stopped.  He stared at the egg.  He stared at the bowl.  Arwen was standing there holding the spoon of syrup waiting for him to crack this egg.  He had never cracked an egg left-handed.  Pippin gave himself a quick nod.  The tip of his tongue poked out between his lips as he took aim at the rim of the bowl with the egg.

“Not too hard Pippin lad,” he thought to himself, and the first blow didn’t even crack the egg.  “Tad harder,” he told himself.  This time the egg did much more than crack.  He did manage to get all the gooey egg into the bowl – along with several chips of shell.  He looked beseechingly up at his friend.

“I don’t suppose you would want to have me hold the wee spoon while you . . .”

Arwen shook her head.

“I didn’t think so,” Pippin sighed as he took the largest piece of shell and used it to start fishing the smaller pieces out of the egg.  When he was done he felt rather pleased with himself.  He had retrieved them all while holding the larger piece with his good fingers on his right hand.

“Alright.  Ready for the syrup now.”

“Yes, Master Gingerbread Hobbit Maker,” Arwen said, genuine admiration showing in her voice.  Quickly, all four spoonfuls of syrup were added to the egg then beaten together and poured into the other ingredients.

Arwen insisted that Pippin mix the dough for as long as he was able.  “You’ll not strengthen either hand or arm if you don’t challenge them,” she said brightly, though she gladly took over the task when the hobbit tired.

“Now, sir knight, I will go and see how the bread is coming along with its rising while you may get ready for rolling our biscuit dough out.”

Pippin nodded as Arwen walked away.  He tipped the bowl up on edge with his left arm and began to pull the stiff dough out with his right hand.  It took awhile but soon the dough was on the table and Pippin went at it with the child’s size rolling pin they had found.  He was quite pleased to have the dough rolled out and ready to cut when Arwen came back.

“Now we cut out the little hobbit shapes,” Pippin said cheerfully.  “I used to be very good at this, but I expect now they will look more like the poor misshapen Orcs.”

With his tongue once more poking out between his lips, Pippin set to cutting a hobbit shape into the dough with the point of a thin knife with his left hand.  Arwen held her breath as she watched him, startling a bit when Sunshine suddenly yipped.   A moment later, the knife point straggled across the dough as Pippin had another spell, but it didn’t go far.  The spell was a short one and Pippin went back to the more solidly cut line to resume his task without a word.  Soon the very simple shape of a person with its arms and legs spread wide was cut along one edge of the large circle of ginger dough.

“Always start near an edge,” Pippin explained.  “It is easier to get to each biscuit as you finish them and need to lift them out.  You just pull away the excess bits and . . .”

He stopped as the excess bit refused to pull away but instead stuck firmly to the table.

“Eh, you pull the little bits . . .”  He muttered as he tried pulling away a different piece which also stuck fast.   Pippin stopped and stared at the dough on the table with the shape of a hobbit cut into it and the smudged, smeared little pieces he had not been able to move desperately trying to think of what was wrong.  Nothing.  He couldn’t think of what was wrong.

“Did you flour the table?”  Arwen softly asked.

Pippin’s shoulders slumped as he shook his head.  He sighed heavily.

“Everyone makes mistakes, Peregrin.”

Her voice was soft in his ear and he felt the breath of her whisper on the side of his face.  It was comforting.  As though she was keeping the world from noticing his mistake, even though they were the only two in the room.

“Did not my father wish to send you home instead of letting you accompany Frodo and the others on the Quest?  Wasn’t it only at Mithrandir’s words that he grudgingly relented?  My father was mistaken and great harm would have befallen many if he had had his way in the matter.  Everyone,” she emphasized the word, “makes mistakes, Peregrin Took, honored knight of Gondor.”

As if in a daze Pippin slowly nodded his head.  Everyone did make mistakes, not just him.  And this was a rather small thing; easily fixed.

“We’ll just scrape this off the table, put down some flour and start over.  And, I’ve had a thought.  Your mentioning the Quest and my Companions.  I want to make Gingerbread Companions of the Ring.”  He smiled over at the lovely, kind Elf who was now one of his dearest friends.  “Will you help me with making the Big People?  I’m not sure I’ll get them right.”

“I think that is a wonderful idea and I will most certainly help with getting the Big People made correctly.”

She kissed his cheek then they got to work scrapping up the dough, flouring the table and cutting out Gingerbread Companions.  While Pippin added their current eyes, Arwen moved the loaves of bread away from the warmth of the oven.  They would bake the biscuits first as they needed less time to bake, then they would put the bread in when the biscuits were finished.  She did notice that Pippin had added one more Big Person figure to the baking trays as she set them into the oven.

While Pippin cleaned up the table, Arwen began to collect the items needed to make the icing.  A clean bowl, some milk, the small bottle of vanilla, and the bag of icing sugar.  She placed everything in the bowl and headed back to the table.

At the nearly simutanious sounds of Sunshine yelping in pain, Arwen screaming and something breaking, Pippin spun around on the box he was standing on to better work at the table.  Instinctively, he threw up his arms to protect his face from something flying toward him.  A few seconds later he opened his eyes and peered over his arms.

A white cloud was slowly settling.  Pippin sneezed and a small avalanche of white slid off his head.  Sunshine was sitting over by the oven, licking the tip of her tail while occasionally looking up to glare at Arwen.  Arwen was stretched forward, bent over at an awkward angle, legs spread too wide, one hand clutching at the edge of the table, her other arm flung out to one side.  Her eyes wide and she was gasping for breath.  The shattered bowl lay on the floor covered with white dust, the small bottle of vanilla (being of very thick glass) was unbroken but had rolled a couple of feet away.  At Pippin’s feet lay the burst remains of the bag of icing sugar which had hit his upraised arms.

His eyes met Arwen’s and for several moments neither moved or spoke, then slowly they smiled which quickly grew into laughter.   Tears rolled slowly through the dusting of sugar on their faces

“Are you all right, Arwen?”  Pippin asked suddenly thinking that she might be hurt.

“I am uninjured, though I could use your help.”  She rolled her eyes.  “My brothers would have a great deal of fun teasing me.  It is almost a shame they are busy with father today.”

“I can be a brother!” Pippin said brightly.  “I actually am a brother, you know, to three sisters.  I’m good at being a brother.”  He hopped down and took hold of her free hand with his left hand.  Arwen carefully shifted her weight, trying not to slip on the powdery stone floor, until she was standing upright and could let go of the table.

“ ‘Elves are very graceful people, Pippin.’  I think that was what Frodo used to tell me when I was a wee lad.  ‘They almost seem to float and glide along the ground.’” He teased with a twinkle in his eyes.  “Somehow, I don’t think you were gliding just then.  I should have sent a messenger to fetch Frodo.”  Pippin paused in his teasing to close his eyes and shake more of the sugar out of his hair.  “I doubt he’s ever seen an Elf hanging on for dear life to the edge of a table.  Don’t be too embarrassed, Arwen,” he soothed, patting her hand before letting it go.  “It was much more a position he would normally find me in, sad to say.  Although my being covered with icing sugar while wearing my black livery is exactly what Frodo and the others would expect.”

“I am so sorry Pippin,” Arwen sighed as she futilely tried to brush the small piles of sugar off of his shoulders.  It only smeared itself into the fabric of his tunic.  A wry smile graced her lips.  “You really are a mess, but at least you now have proof that even graceful Elves can be clumsy and make mistakes.  I hope I did not hurt Sunshine’s tail too badly.”

The hobbit laughed his bright, cheery laugh; more sugar falling from his hair as he did so.  “Yes, I am a mess.  I used to like being a mess.  I must be growing up at last as I find myself wishing I wasn’t a mess this time.”  He looked over at his dog.  “No, she’s fine.  I think she is laughing as she’s the only one of us not dusted with sugar.”

Pippin made a few swipes at his chest only to find, as Arwen had, that it only made matters worse.

“I think I’ll rinse my hair out and wash off my face at the sink then just put up with the rest for now as I don’t want to go back to the house yet.  It will totally ruin our surprises if I go back early.  Especially when I turn up looking like “Old Flour Dumpling”.

Arwen raised an eyebrow, Pippin hastened to explain.  “The Mayor of the Shire, Old Will Whitfoot, was in a tunnel delved into chalk when it collapsed.  He wasn’t hurt but came out looking like a dumpling.  He’s had the nick-name ever since, though there aren’t many as say it to his face.”

“Understandable,” Arwen said, chuckling.  “You get your face and hair washed and I will fetch some more  sugar.  If you think you will trust me with it?”

“I’ll tell Sunshine to stay out of your path, Your Highness.”

She was back before he finished washing up and soon had the icing made.  She made a small cone of parchment, smaller than if she had been making it for her own use, then scooped some of the icing into it before folding over the open end.  Arwen handed the icing tube to Pippin when he returned.

“This shouldn’t be too different from how it used to be.”  He was smiling as he took hold of the bag at the folded end.  “I hold it closed and squeeze with my left hand while guiding it with my right, and two good fingers and a thumb should suffice for that.”

Pippin set to work putting details on the Gingerbread Companions while Arwen put the bread in the oven and began cleaning up the mess from her accident.  She glanced over at the youngster as he worked but left him alone.  He was obviously doing well with the task

The bread was nearly done baking, the mess finally cleaned when she went over to look at Pippin’s efforts.  There were the hobbits, Frodo with a notch in one hand but a bold smile one his face; Merry with a shakily drawn horse’s head on his chest; Sam, one arm cut out to look bent at the elbow, holding an icing frying pan, and Pippin with his scarf about his neck.  Gimli’s long hair and beard were braided.  Legolas had a slight bump at one shoulder and at the opposite hip with an icing bowstring connecting the two across his chest.  Mithrandir’s beard was long and straight and a belt cinched his robes at his waist.  Her husband was Strider the ranger, his tunic open at his throat.  There were two more figures.  A man with a horn hanging at his side and a female figure with a delicate circlet on her brow.  Arwen reached out and gently touched the last two biscuits.

“I wanted to do the whole Fellowship.  I’ll give Boromir to Farmir,” Pippin softly said.  “And you may have your biscuit.  You have been so kind to me today.  It has been a wonderful day and you deserve to have a Gingerbread Queen Arwen.”

She hugged him tightly before drawing back to kiss his cheek.  “Thank you, Pippin.  It has been my pleasure to give you a wonderful day.  And what are those?”

She pointed to several round biscuits.  She had noticed him adding them to the baking trays earlier but had said nothing.  Each one now bore the symbol of the six pointed Star.

“Those are to eat.  Some may wish to keep their Gingerbread Companion.  I will tell everyone that they dry very hard and will keep for a long time.  I made those in case some decide to keep their likeness, they will still get to sample what the biscuits taste like.”

“What a wonderful thing!  I will keep my Gingerbread Queen and eat one of the Star biscuits.  The bread is done baking.”  She said as she set a basket on the table.  “Place your Companions in the basket along with the loaf that is yours while I go and freshen up,  then we will take the fruits of our labor to your house to share with our friends.”

The Companions of the Ring were just sitting to what the hobbits called dinner when Pippin and Arwen came into the kitchen.  Aragorn was there as well, his wife having sent word that he should be there this evening.

“We’ve brought a special Elven bread to have with dinner,” Pippin announced, pulling the shiny, double braided loaf from the basket.  “And a treat for afters.”

Merry’s nose was in the air.  “Gingerbread, Dumpling Lad?”

Frodo and Sam perked up expectantly as they too could smell the spicy delicacy.

“Gingerbread biscuits, but you don’t get to see them until it is time.  And I do look like Mayor Whitfoot, don’t I?”

“I was thinking a snow-hobbit myself,” Gimli chuckled.

“Too scrawny still for Old Will,” Sam snickered.  “You’ve a ways to go to look like the Mayor.”

“You all should have seen me before I washed out my hair!”  Pippin tossed over his shoulder as he headed out of the kitchen.  “I’ll be back in a few moments, I’m getting itchy.  Merry, come help me change.”

They were soon back, Pippin wearing his comfortable hobbit style clothes, and the meal began.  Everybody loved the rich yellow bread.  Sam shyly asked Arwen if he could have the recipe and was surprised when she told him he would have to ask Pippin.

“I wrote it out with Shire measures and gave it to the Ernil i Pheriannath.  It is he who would be able to teach you how to braid it.”

Sam looked at Pippin, his eyes wide with surprise.

“Of course I’ll share it Sam, and I’m more than happy to teach you how to dance with your hands.”  When Sam looked confused, Pippin winked at him. “That is how one makes the fancy braid.”

Everyone enjoyed the meal.  Compliments abounded for Sam, who had prepared the meal, and to Arwen and Pippin for providing the bread.  Pippin shared some of his meat with Sunshine before she settled down to eating several of the chicken dog biscuits Arwen had baked for her.

Gandalf had barely finished chewing his last bite of beef (the hobbits were all quite certain he had eaten slowly on purpose), when Merry reached for the basket Pippin had been guarding.

“Mine!” Pippin exclaimed, blocking his cousin’s attempt.  “These are mine to hand out, Meriadoc Brandybuck, so just you sit yourself back in your chair and behave or I’ll eat yours.”

Sam smiled and Frodo snickered at Pippin scolding his older cousin.  Merry, who loved gingerbread in all of its varieties almost as much as he liked mushrooms, sat back and pouted.

Pippin rose, taking the basket with him and started going around the table, leaving a biscuit by each person.

“These will keep, if you would like to keep yours.  By that I mean that they harden and become like something made of clay.  I made some that are just circles so everyone can have a couple to eat should they wish to keep their Gingerbread Companion.”

Small gasps of surprise were heard trailing behind the young hobbit as he went on his way, ending up back at his own place at the table.  He presented Merry with his biscuit last.  “You ought not have tried grabbing them.” Pippin said with a wink.

Merry stuck his tongue out at Pippin whilest grabbing two of the Star biscuits from the basket.  He took a big bite of one and sat back with a look of pure bliss on his face.

Pippin had given Gingerbread Boromir to Strider.  The man sat holding it gently for a few moments before turning to look at the youngster, only to find Pippin was already looking at him.

“Will you give that to Faramir?  And tell him about them hardening and all, should he . . .”  Pippin paused and wiped at his eyes.  “Should he wish to keep it.  Please take a couple of the round ones to him as well.”

The King bowed his head to his knight.  “I will be honored to do so.”

Everyone praised Pippin on his renderings of them and all wished to keep their gingerbread likenesses.

Arwen soon bid them all a good night.  She told her husband that she wished him to remain and visit in comfort with his friends, away from servants and others who might interrupt them were they at the Citadel.  He remained, and the Companions of the Ring visited together late into the evening.

Pippin was overjoyed.  As he looked around at all the happy faces around the table, he knew he had had a marvelous day inspite of its questionable beginning.  He accomplished a great deal, learning some lessons that would him help face the challenges ahead of him.  He had made things with his own two hands that brought pleasure to his friends, and he had seen a graceful Elf be as clumsy as he himself often was.  Pippin smiled fondly at that.  He had been like a brother to Arwen and she like a sister to him.  He liked knowing they could be so alike.  It was indeed a day to remember for the rest of his life.

*A reference to Golden’s story, “A Friend’s Hug” which she wrote for Marigold’s Challenge #43.

**Recipe from: Cook it Simply . com – British Recipes/English Recipes

*** The bread is challah, a Jewish bread eaten on Shabbat and holidays (except for passover).  The double braid comes out looking like a small three strand braid set on top of a wider three strand braid.