Legolas/Pippin
PG-15
Summary: Sometimes it's just a matter of keeping warm and making new friends.
Setting: The journey from Rivendell.
Disclaimer: All the characters belong to the Estate of Professor Tolkien. No money is made and no offence is intended.
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"Again, may I ask the question? May I? Why are we walking?"
Pippin was tired and so was I but his whining was starting to get on my nerves. We were all tired and cold, though I felt the physical constraints less than my companions.
"But why walk? We could have ridden at least part of the way to Moria," Pippin persisted, his little face all eyes and perplexity. I almost warmed to him then; almost, but not quite. He annoyed me, truth be told, and though I covered it well I felt something akin to anger, if that were possible, that he should have this effect on me.
Merry did not whine. Frodo did not whine. Sam did not whine. Of course, Merry glowered quite a lot. And Frodo sighed quite regularly. And Sam – well, Sam just hefted his pack higher on his strong back and made tracks as best he could in the crisp snow.
But Pippin!
Boromir did not seem to mind the hobbit's inane chatter; he almost revelled in it, as if the vocalisation of discomfort and fear and inadequate provender were to be expected from one so small and gave amusement. But I minded.
On and on, through endless tracts of snow we tramped, the blanket deepening all the while. Well, they tramped. Or rather, Gimli waded and Aragorn shimmied; Boromir thrust, Gandalf strode and the hobbits simply disappeared. Of course, the men soon got them out and then there was much noise and merriment as hobbits were hoisted up onto manly shoulders.
I myself glided across the snow, wishing all the while that I were on some other Quest, preferably one that did not include hobbits. But an oath is an oath, especially to an Elf. And I do not take such things lightly. But if a thing could make me forget my fealty and take to my heels, it would be the youngest of them, Pippin. Again he started, even from atop Boromir's shoulders:
"But horses, Legolas. Horses would have made life easier, cut out days of travelling. Would they not? Legolas?" I gritted my teeth and kept my own council.
Night had fallen and the camp was miserable and forlorn. Even I was feeling the chill as darkness fell over that unforgiving peak. A sense of foreboding had gripped me of late and seemed like to devour me. And now I had this mewling halfling to add to my worries.
Why did he seek me out? Why me? Had I encouraged him? Had I given him any indication that I was to be his helpmeet on this journey into fear? I thought not, but there it was again: the whining, the little hand on my tunic, the big soulful eyes... Would that Boromir or Aragorn or Gimli would take a turn with this halfling who should never have been let loose from the Shire.
But Boromir, I could see, was deep in conversation with Merry; now there was a lad with some sense and understanding. But he had somehow aligned himself to the Man of Gondor and I was left with this one. The whiner.
Frodo and Sam, too, seemed to have profound matters on their minds, as they huddled together for meagre warmth. As I watched them, Aragorn suddenly stood up and handed over his spare blanket to the Ringbearer. I could see that Gandalf was smiling at this act of kindness on the part of the future King, and even Boromir's surly face had softened. I felt a momentary unease that I should have forgotten about Frodo's wound from the Morgul blade, and his obvious need. It unsettled me to think that I had failed to render such assistance as was within my power. How could I forget my manners and upbringing? My father would have chided me for such a lapse.
"Legolas, answer me. It's bad enough being so cold and hungry without you ignoring me."
Pippin's voice was small yet insistent. I looked down upon him and realised he was readying to lay down with me. I repressed a grimace of distaste and tried very hard not to shudder at the prospect of sharing my warmth with the hobbit.
However, having forgotten Frodo's need I felt duty bound not to allow young Pippin any unnecessary hardship. By offering a helping hand to him I might atone for my thoughtlessness. With this in mind I tried to relax, and smiled broadly at my companion, though it was now so dark he perhaps did not catch the gesture. I lay down and took charge of the blankets, arranging them just so to provide warmth and insulation for us both from the ravening night air.
"Pippin," I said with what I hoped was authority softened by kindliness, "it was decided at the Council that walking would be the best option. We would have the element of surprise and hopefully evade detection as long as possible. Does that answer your question?"
My bedmate pondered this reply. By the pale moonlight I could make out those inquisitive eyes of his blinking rapidly; was this part of the hobbit thought process, these rapid eye movements? I had much to learn of halflings, I realised. Then I realised something else. Pippin was crying. Real tears, not tears of frustration or annoyance, but real tears that sprung fully formed from deep within. To my surprise, a hand was applied to comfort and gentle and the hand was my own, acting of its own volition it seemed, to wipe away those tears. At length, he spoke:
"Back in the Shire, Legolas, I am a hobbit of good family. I have honour and tradition to uphold and I am not given to tears. But here, in this place, I feel naught but a burden to you all. Forgive me."
Pippin's voice was muffled as his face was buried deep inside my tunic but I heard his words and softened to them.
He squirmed a little, moving this way and that, and I realised he was seeking his handkerchief from his pocket. Trying to be helpful, I delved into his pocket for him but this only made him wriggle and squirm more. The scrap of cotton was extracted and as I handed it to him our fingers, mine long and large, his small and delicate, brushed and lingered.
All was quiet in the camp. Boromir was taking the watch and sat with his back to the rock face, staring balefully about him. I pitied any creature that came upon the man of Gondor that night. The others were trying to sleep, huddled together for warmth and, in some cases, comfort. I noticed that Merry had contrived to sleep as close to the night watchman as possible and for some reason it gladdened my heart.
My attention returned to my own hobbit, as Pippin blew his nose noisily and with the kind of relish that his kind seem to apply to all such bodily functions. Yet the act did not repel me as it might have done earlier. Now his face was flushed and hot, despite the icy winds that beset us from all sides. Pulling the blankets closer about us, I took his little hands in mine and rubbed gently. It was no surprise whatever to find the space between us eradicated and then there was only one unbroken form beneath the blanket.
"What is it that weighs upon you, Pippin? It may be that I can help, if you will but trust me and tell me of your fears?" I cradled his small form and convinced myself for a moment that this creature was but a child to be protected and indulged. But I did not believe it. This was no child; I had irrefutable evidence of that fact nudging my thigh.
My suspicion was confirmed when he moved even closer, if that were possible, and I felt his hand exploring softly inside my clothing. My breath caught and his hand stilled momentarily, then carried on its way. He began to talk again, his voice low and soft and sweet against my chest.
"Frodo has the Ring. Sam has the looking after of Frodo. Merry has the ear of Boromir – and maybe more than that – but I feel I have no purpose in all of this. At times I can see the rhyme and reason for my being here on this Quest and at others I see no purpose at all. And all the time, Legolas, I sense you, too, see no purpose in me."
At that precise moment I could think of several good uses for Pippin but I balked at expressing them aloud. All I knew was that what he was doing to me was startling, and to have passed the two thousand year mark and still be surprised by anything was a source of considerable pleasure. Dextrous, diligent fingers were warming my flesh and the mop of his hair tickled my nose; even his hair smelled earthy and fruitful. With a start I realised what was happening between us and my father's grave face sprang unbidden in my mind. It was cold water to my growing ardour, but I was grateful for the reminder of my duty and position.
"Pippin," I began, fully intending to put a stop to his ministrations, "please understand. You have a part to play in all of this, I feel sure of it. Ere this is through your worth will be tested and I am sure not found wanting…"
Wanting. It was an unlucky choice of words. I twisted slightly in his warm embrace and felt his breath exhale against me, his disappointment almost palpable. As was my own.
"Legolas, please, do not withdraw from me, not now." Oh, those eyes seemed suddenly older than me; that mouth more experienced than mine, those hands bolder. Again, my father's image sought to usurp my passion but this time I batted it away with abandon and lowered myself back down into the warmth of Pippin's arms. My father was in Mirkwood, many leagues hence and Pippin was here, now.
Morning's pale light has awoken the camp. Gimli, who had taken the watch from Boromir a few hours earlier, is rousing us from our slumber. I, of course, have been awake for some time.
In the crook of my arm, safe and warm and well, lies my young hobbit of the Shire. How soft is his skin, now mottled and flushed; I see a mark on his throat where my lips pressed too harshly, and I find it both shameful and arousing at one and the same time.
My lover awakes, his eyes blink prettily and find mine. Such eyes as would set whole armies on the march - Pippin's eyes. I lean in and kiss his forehead gently, brushing an errant lock of hair back into place. At this moment in time, on this forsaken rock and on this nigh impossible Quest, I feel naught but gladness and hope. The giver of this hope stretches his arms above his head and yawns. I feel such tenderness for him that I am sure my heart will cleave in two if we are separated, and I know it is the same for him. I will find a way to make things right with my father when the time comes; it will be a challenge but with him at my side, anything is possible!
He speaks:
"Legolas? If we had horses we would arrive at our destination so much quicker. We should have horses, Legolas, really we should. Tell me again, why we have to walk...?"