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Purple Prose
Author: Aratlithiel Summary: Nothing but foul-mouthed hobbits Rating: PG-13 (language)
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June 08, 2004
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A/N - A birthday present for Elanor Gardner
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“Hmm…” Pippin said as he turned a page. He flipped it back with a frown. All eyes turned to him but he seemed oblivious. He turned the page again, frowned some more and shook his head.
Frodo looked to Merry then Sam, both of whom shrugged and took a pull from their mugs. Frodo looked back to Pippin who was sitting at his desk, flipping through pages of the Red Book with a look of what Frodo thought might be either amusement or confusion.
Pippin shook his head again. “Hmph,” he said and shook his head some more and chuckled.
Enough was enough. Frodo had poured too much ink and sweat into that text to allow anyone to be harrumphing over it.
“What?” he asked sharply, face wary and set to scowl at any moment.
Pippin didn’t seem to hear, only turned some more pages, now with a raised eyebrow. Frodo narrowed his eyes then looked again to Sam and Merry. Both of them seemed to be finding the fire too fascinating to tear their gazes from it but when Pippin actually let loose a low snort, Frodo noted how their eyes darted each to the other’s and how their shoulders seemed to be shaking just the smallest bit. Feeling as though there was some joke swirling about the room and he the only one not in on it, Frodo scowled deeper, thumped his mug to the table beside him and drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair.
“What?” he demanded.
Pippin jumped, turned to him with an innocent smile. “Hmm?”
“What are you ‘hmph-ing’ about over there?” Frodo wanted to know.
Pippin’s eyebrows shot up. “Was I? I’m sorry, cousin, I hadn’t realized--”
“Oh, spare me,” Frodo retorted. “Let’s have it. You seem to be rather amused at my prose over there, great scholar that you are. Perhaps you can be helpful in the editing process.”
Pippin raised an eyebrow, squashed a grin to the corner of his mouth. “Well, since you asked…”
When he just sat there, looking amused, Frodo rolled his eyes. “Yes, Pippin, I’ve asked, all right? Spill it.”
“Well, it isn’t the prose necessarily. It’s the dialogue.”
Frodo blinked, waited but Pippin was just sitting there, looking back at him expectantly. “For pity’s sake, Pippin, stop dragging your feet and just come out with it. What’s wrong with the dialogue?”
“Oh, nothing’s wrong with it, exactly. It’s just that it’s…” Pippin hesitated again then went on when Frodo began to glare. “It just doesn’t sound… well, real, I suppose.”
“What do you mean, it doesn’t sound real?” Frodo asked indignantly. “I assure you that I was very deliberate in my note-taking and have recorded events as close to how they really happened as I possibly could.”
“Yes, I see that and you’ve got the events down magnificently,” Pippin assured him. “It’s only that…” Pippin stalled a little then flipped some pages in the book until he found what he was looking for. “Here, for instance: ‘Do not kill him even now. For he has not hurt me.’” Pippin looked up with a lift of an eyebrow. “That’s not at all what I remember you saying.”
Frodo frowned, tilted his head. “Of course that’s what I said.” When Pippin only looked skeptical, Frodo turned to Sam then Merry. “I’m sure that’s what I said. Isn’t it?”
Sam squirmed uncomfortably and took a pull from his mug. Merry turned his head away, put a hand over his mouth. Frodo noted the low choking sounds and reddened faces and felt completely at sea.
“Here now,” he objected. “That is what I said. I’m sure of it.”
“Oh, yes,” Pippin agreed. “You certainly did say that. It’s just that it’s not all you said.”
“Well, no, of course not,” Frodo concurred, still feeling a little lost. “The rest is there, yes? Something about not wishing Saruman to be slain in such an evil mood and that he was great at one time, if I remember rightly. It’s there, I tell you.”
“Yes, it’s all there,” Pippin answered. “But I’m not talking about that bit. I’m talking about what you said before all that.”
Now Frodo was getting impatient. “Yes, yes, I spoke about his voice and such. Bollocks, Pippin, did you actually read the thing? It’s all right there.”
“Yes, that’s there as well. But I’m talking about what you said after the bit about his voice and before you told Sam not to kill him.”
“Pippin,” Frodo grated, “must you always beat around the bush? Will you please just speak plainly?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Pippin returned. “This is sort of fun, actually.” He grinned at Frodo. Frodo blinked slowly, lips in a tight, thin line. Pippin decided he might do well to get to the point.
“Think, Frodo – what did you say when Saruman tried to knife you?”
“Well, I thought I’d said exactly what I’ve written but apparently, I’m mistaken. Why don’t you tell me?” Frodo drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair again.
Instead of answering Frodo, Pippin turned to Sam. “Sam, I’m sure you remember. Tell Frodo what he said when Saruman stabbed him.”
Sam scowled up at Pippin but when Merry actually let loose with a snicker, he flushed red and made a very obvious effort to strangle a laugh. Seemingly averse to opening his mouth lest something unwise spill from it, Sam instead shook his head and pointed at Merry.
Pippin turned to his cousin. “Yes, Merry, I know you remember. Would you mind overmuch reminding our cousin as to the actual words uttered at that particular moment?”
Merry shook his head, tightened his grip over his mouth and bent forward in his chair. Sam tried to smother his own snickers with a swallow from his mug but when he near choked on a mouthful, Merry finally gave in and began to laugh. Sam sputtered for a moment and then joined him. Pippin watched them both, grinning and chuckling. Frodo only frowned in confusion.
“This is getting ridiculous,” Frodo complained. “What the bloody bollocks is going on, here?”
For some odd reason, this only made the other three laugh harder and now Merry was nearly falling out of his chair. Pippin was regarding Frodo very smugly and Frodo had to work very hard to stop himself from making his way across the room and decking him a good one.
“Enough!” Frodo insisted. “Someone had best tell me what’s so bloody damned funny right now or I’m going to start knocking heads!”
This brought even more mirth from Merry and he was now laughing so hard that he slithered right out of his chair and plopped to the floor with a ‘whump’. Sam tried very hard to force the silly grin off his face but every time he looked at Merry, the choked sounds coming from his chest only sounded more tortured. Pippin seemed to be the only one in semi-control of himself.
“All right, Frodo,” he offered reasonably. “The thing is, cousin, that you’re just a touch more foul-mouthed than what you would have the world-at-large believe.”
“I beg your-- I most certainly--” Frodo stopped, peered at his companions with his jaw hanging loose. “Foul-mouthed?”
“Oh, yes,” Pippin confirmed. “In fact, I believe your exact words upon Saruman’s ill-advised attempt on your life were ‘Ow! Bloody damn, that hurt like a bugger!’”
Merry flopped to his back, howling and slapping weakly at Sam’s leg. Sam’s face was now an almost alarming shade of purple but he valiantly kept trying to hold his laughter in his chest. Frodo donned what tried to be a scowl but what he suspected probably appeared more of a pout.
“Didn’t know anyone heard that,” he muttered.
“And that’s not the only quote that sounds off, if you ask me,” Pippin furthered. He turned again to the book, flipped back. “Here,” he said, “when you and Sam had just got loose from the tower and fell into that thorn bush.” Pippin looked up and fixed Frodo with a skeptical smirk. “Knowing you as we do, do you honestly expect us to believe that you only shook your head at those thorns and didn’t swear a blue streak at them?”
Frodo laid such a glare on him that Pippin would not be surprised to find a bruise between his eyes in the morning. He was, however, undaunted and waited patiently for Frodo to answer.
Frodo crossed his arms over his chest. “Doesn’t matter much what you believe,” he sniffed. “You weren’t there.”
“Ah, but Sam was.” Pippin grinned then turned to the gardener. “Tell us, Sam. What did Frodo say when he found himself doing a close imitation of a pin cushion?”
Sam’s laughter suddenly dried up and he looked nervously from Pippin to Frodo. “Erm,” he said.
“Oh, now, Pip, that’s hardly fair,” interjected Merry through his chuckles. “You can’t ask Sam to testify against Frodo, of all people.”
“Why ever not?” Pippin wanted to know. “He’s an honorable sort and Frodo would never expect anyone to lie on his behalf.”
“Certainly not but look at him,” Merry answered. “Poor lad’s caught between the fire and the pan. Ask him to naysay Frodo and his tongue’s likely to drop out.”
All eyes turned to Sam who began the dubious process of attempting to shrink and slither into the seams of the chair. He skittered a glance about the room before setting his gaze firmly to his feet.
Pippin eyed him appraisingly. “Mmm, I believe you’re right, Merry. He does look a bit on the ropes, doesn’t he? No matter. He’ll give us a shout eventually. You’ll see.”
“What I’ve been wanting to know,” Merry said, shooting a mischievous glance to Sam, “is what our cousin really said when Faramir captured you both and near called him a liar. What he’s written is not at all the way Faramir recalled it to me later. Tell us, Sam – what was that phrase Frodo used to demonstrate his displeasure with the Captain?”
“He had every right,” Sam returned indignantly. “The Captain turned out to be a good sort, to be sure but when we first run across him, he weren’t exactly welcoming and the things he said to my master… Well!” Sam set his jaw and nodded sharply. “Mr. Frodo had every right to call him a--”
“Shh!” Frodo hissed, cutting a wary glance to the door. “Do you want Rosie to hear you?”
Sam’s mouth snapped shut. Pippin laughed out loud.
“What? Our lovely Rose doesn’t know the sort of hobbit she’s gone and got herself mixed up with? Sam, you might have warned her.”
“Mr. Frodo is on his very best behaviour when Rosie’s about,” Sam defended his master proudly. “He’d never speak as he normally does in front of her.”
Merry and Pippin doubled over while Sam looked to them bewilderedly. Realizing what he’d just said, he frowned, rolled his eyes and shrugged apologetically to Frodo. Frodo just closed his eyes and lowered his head into his hand, rubbing at his brow.
“You see?” Pippin crowed. “I told you we’d hear from Sam eventually.”
“Well, what about you?” Frodo defended sharply. “I seem to recall you swearing your way right through the Midgewater and I’ve heard orc-speak come from your mouth more than once since the coronation.”
“We all swore our way through Midgewater, cousin,” Merry put in.
“Yes,” Frodo agreed with a sharp glance to his cousin. “But you’re the only one who said--”
“Hullo, there, wife!” Sam exclaimed,
perhaps just a little too loudly. Frodo jumped as though he’d been goosed and
turned bright red. Pippin hid a chuckle within a cough. “Checking up on us,
love?” “Just looking in on your pitchers,” Rose smiled as she poured the remnants of one into the other and took a quick glance around the room. “What are you talking about? Anything I’d be interested in?”
Sam reddened and once again tried disappearing into the cushions of his chair. It didn’t work this time either.
“I, um… we were just… we, uh…”
“We were just discussing the different types of flora we observed along our journey,” Merry offered with a charming smile. “You know Sam – always has his mind in the, um… dirt.” Merry’s smile took on a wicked bent and he glanced sidelong at Sam. Sam glared at him and sank lower in his chair.
Rose nodded as she gathered up a plate of biscuit crumbs. She said nothing about Merry’s choice of seats.
“Aye, him and Mr. Frodo both,” she agreed and shot a quick glance to Pippin when he began coughing again before she went on, “Seems Sam learns something new and he runs right to Mr. Frodo to teach it to him.”
“Is that right, Sam?” Merry turned to Sam while Pippin continued to choke across the room. “Have you been teaching my cousin your, um… gardening terms?”
How Merry was managing to keep a bland expression, Sam couldn’t guess but right now it was all he could do to grit his teeth and restrain himself from learning him a few other terms he’d become quite familiar with along the years. He glared and balled his fists.
“I’d say me and Mr. Frodo teach each other as we may,” Sam said between his teeth.
“Are you all right, love?” Rosie asked with a tilt of her head. “You’re looking a little warmish.”
“Fine, Rose-love.” Sam plastered on a smile and sent it to his wife. She returned it with a questioning lift of a brow.
“I’d not worry much about your Sam.” Pippin had apparently overcome the bothersome coughing. “But I’m thinking my cousin’s looking a little peaked, don’t you agree?”
Frodo’s head snapped up and he shot a wide-eyed glance to Rosie. Rosie frowned in a mother-hen sort of way, dropped the crockery to the table and started over to Frodo. He tried Sam’s trick of shrinking into his chair but was just as unsuccessful in his attempt.
“Really, Rose,” he stammered as he tried to politely dodge the hand she extended to his brow. “It’s only… Pippin was… he, uh… I’m not--”
“Oh, don’t be such a child, cousin,” Pippin grinned. “Allow her to take a look at you. I think he’s had a bit much to drink, if you ask me,” he furthered, turning to Rose. “Perhaps he should slow down a bit.”
If Frodo were capable of shooting fire from his eyes, Pippin would be nothing but a smouldering cinder in his chair in less than two seconds flat. As it was, the only thing he was capable of doing was gazing longingly after his mug as Rose snatched it out of his hand and marched across the room to deposit it with the rest of the crockery she’d confiscated.
“Rose,” he managed after a moment’s pause in mourning, “honestly, there’s no need--”
“Now, Mr. Frodo,” Rose scolded, turning a not-to-be-trifled-with scowl on the Master, “surely you’re not thinking on arguing with me? Not after the last time?”
“But, you see, we were simply discussing--” Frodo stopped and snapped his mouth shut, realizing that there was no way in the world he could possibly tell Rose just what they had actually been discussing and thus explain that the reason why his color was so high and his face had broken out into a cold sweat was that she had nearly caught them – him! – discussing it in the first place. He cast a sullen frown into his lap. “No, Rosie,” he said meekly then cast one last sorrowful look to his mug as Rose gathered up the rest of the dishes and started toward the door.
Pippin was snickering quietly in his chair and raised the Red Book off the desk to hide behind it. Sam put a fist to his mouth – Frodo assumed to keep in his own chuckles. He cast a sour look Sam’s way as Merry just sat hunched on the floor, inspecting the seam of his trousers. They all held their breath until Rose was safely out the door then collapsed into roaring laughter – all except Frodo, who glowered morosely.
Frodo turned his most forbidding glare to Pippin. “You are the most vicious, most infuriating tosser I’ve ever known, you bloody, buggering scrot!”
The other three only laughed harder, pointing at Frodo and slapping their knees. Pippin made a show of picking up a pen from the desk and opening to a blank page of the Red Book.
“Wait!” he cried. “Let me make sure I get this down properly.” He dipped the pen into the inkwell. “You are the most vicious… what was that you called me? A tosser?”
Frodo jumped from his chair and flew across the room at his cousin. Pippin bolted from his own seat and put it between himself and certain doom. Frodo hurled himself around the side and grabbed for the pen but Pippin was quick and dodged accordingly, holding the pen aloft with a maddeningly cheeky grin spread across his face – made even more maddening by the fact that his size rather precluded Frodo seizing the pen as he’d hoped… unless he wanted to give further fuel to the laughter by trying to make a jump for it. He dismissed that idea almost as quickly as it entered his mind.
“Give it here, Took,” he demanded and he held out his hand.
Impossibly, Pippin’s grin widened. “I’ll not. We must be sure that everything is recorded correctly for posterity. I want to make sure this particular record correctly reflects the sentiments of the author.” He dove for the book but Frodo was on it before he’d managed to snatch it up.
“I am the author and I assure you that you do not want to know the full extent of my sentiments at this particular moment!” he growled. “Now clear off before you make a hash of it, you---”
“Ah, ah, ah!” Pippin tutted, waving the pen.
“Get stuffed,” Frodo retorted acidly and he took up the Book, clutched it to his chest then tromped back to his chair.
“Nice mouth,” Merry piped in, chuckling.
“You get stuffed, too,” Frodo grumbled. He turned a glare Sam’s way. “And you too,” he added for good measure.
Sam blinked and choked down a snort. “What did I do?” he asked innocently.
“It was your wife who made off with my drink,” Frodo reminded him. “I think you ought to have to forfeit yours, if we want to be fair.”
Sam lifted an eyebrow and regarded his master. “Who said anything about fair?” he wanted to know.
“Indeed,” Pippin agreed. “Besides, if you didn’t have such a foul mouth in the first place, you wouldn’t have been caught out and blushing so hard when she came in and your drink would still be safely in your hand.”
Sam and Merry nodded their agreement and cupped their own mugs protectively. Frodo scowled darkly and slouched into his chair.
“Stuff yourselves,” he muttered blackly.
~*~
Rose stood at the other side of the door, biting her lip to prevent herself from chuckling and giving herself away. She snickered a little under her breath then shook her head and started toward the kitchen.
“Bunch of bleedin’ wankers,” she snorted.
~*~
END
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