Chapter Text
Although it was the reputation that warriors never cried, it nowhere specified that said
warrior was a hobbit. And it was this loophole that allowed Pippin his lovely little
excursion in self-pity. Hobbits, it is said, are a very merry little folk, which they
were in public, but every race in Middle Earth was allowed a good mope every once in a
while. By Elbereth, the Elves certainly did it enough.
A few moments before, the youngest of the fellowship had excused himself from the campfire
on the grounds of a call from nature, which had the elf pricking up his ears in hopes of
finding another who heard the same songs of the wood he did, until he was struck with the
actuality of the matter. He had blushed fiercely.
Pippin's quest for solitude, however, was not the result of a cup bubbling over with tea,
but a heavy hobbit heart bubbling over with love. Or at least some wacky kind of lust and
affection. He daren't cry in front of the company, knowing that their concern would
eventually weed the truth right out of him, and leave everyone equally embarrassed. How
would you, as a 3 ½ foot lissome bundle of curls, feel about revealing your love to a
handsome and honorable male with dexterity and strength to spare? I daresay you'd find
you'd be trotting heavily into the woods, yourself.
Seeing as Pippin was lacking greatly in the areas of physical prowess and a deep rooted
sense of invincibility, he knew he mustn't stray far from the camp site, which left him to
wrap his arm about the thick, patient trunk the nearest tree, and walk himself around it,
much like a bored child would repeatedly sling himself around his mother's legs. Although
it was about an hour Pippin had been slowly winding himself around the ancient,
trustworthy bark, it seemed to him as if only a few moments had passed since he started
musing on the one he loved.
It was an awkward love, as any interracial love is bound to be, but when as young as
Peregrin Took, insecurity erects a new battalion daily. His distracted, edgy and somber
behavior was becoming more and more noticed by the fellowship as every minute passed, and
he looked forward, very much, to time in solitude. They had guessed at his ailment, the
suggestions ranging from homesickness to some extrasensory perception. The majority of
the company, however, knew very well what the unvoiced illness was. Creatures such as
Legolas and Gandalf did not pass through century upon century to be ignorant of a boy in
love when they saw one, and creatures such as hobbits did not pass day upon peaceful day
to be ignorant of coy, knowing glances passed between ones with much more fruitful gossip
than they. The men and the dwarf, however, were left as clueless as the dull stones they
stepped upon. Even Strider, with his elven upbringing and knowledge as a ranger, could
only see the superficiality of the hobbit's pain. On occasion, the other three hobbits
pried gently into Pip's mind, recognizing that Pippin's love was a devastating one, and
that trying to taunt and natter it out of him would only wound their friend more deeply.
Therefore the company allowed Pippin these moments without question.
"I wonder," Pip mused aloud to the tree that was protecting him, "what it's like with a
man…" Realizing the tree might've misunderstood him, young Mr. Took clarified, "I mean of
the race ay men… I've… Yae ken, known the male gender, but I want tae ken what it's like
with a Man. I reckon they'd gie yae a real thorough tumble, eh?" Pippin grinned in
embarrassment through his tears, hoping the tree didn't think him too crass. He'd learned
that while traveling in the forest, the last thing you needed was a tree thinking you
uncouth. Which reminded him of another point, "Aye, now, there tree, dinnae yae go
tellin' every evergreen an' willow about my indecencies, what with my bein' such a bairn
an' all. If it got tae the Shire, I'd have a beatin' waitin' for me when I get hame." He
sneered at everyone's notion that he was a small child, simply because he hadn't yet
reached his majority and felt sickened even more to realize it was another flaw to be
noticed by his beloved.
It was about the umpteenth time young Took had wound himself around the tree's sturdy
frame when he heard sounds of rustling in the forest. Immediately, his woodland senses,
having heightened from the journey and prolonged exposure to Legolas' elfish-ness,
determined that it was a biped and over 5 feet. The footfalls were snapping the twigs
with far too much force to have been either dwarf or hobbit, too clean to have been
accompanied by a swish-y wizard cloak and too clumsy to have been the elf. That left two
options, and the prospect of either left Pip shivering in his timbers.
"So, here you are, young man," Aragorn revealed himself just as Pippin was hastily rubbing
away at his tears, "I was looking for a moment with you." The sad face of the hobbit
showed clear signs of tears and deep musings. Being found in this desperate state left
Pippin a little less than enthusiastic to hide his misery, as well. If Aragorn sought him
to learn of his despondence, then despondence he shall have.
"I didnae stray too far, did I?" asked Pippin, knowing very well that he hadn't, but asked
anyway to stall the questions he knew were coming. In the brief moment it took Aragorn to
shake his head and plaster a paternal smirk on his face, the hobbit was frantically trying
to determine whether or not he was ready to tell this man his truth. He trusted the
ranger king with many things, such as his life as well as the lives of his dearest
friends, but to reveal to this man who was wearily meandering towards him, the secrets of
his heart seemed more than a little daunting.
"Pippin," once Strider was before him, he knelt to hobbit-height in an attempt to appear
as domesticated and encouraging as possible, "You are not well. There is something
troubling your heart and it has the fellowship quite concerned." Realizing that Pippin
looked more like a beaten puppy than a frightened child ready to bolt, Aragorn carefully
took the hobbit's hand in his own and continued, "Do not think you are alone in your
suffering. It is a long, hard quest that will take you far from the comfort of your
home…"
"It is no' the quest…" Pippin interrupted softly, both grateful for and aggravated by
Aragorn's assumption that it was the quest that had him so disheartened. "It is not the
quest," he stated more firmly when he sensed Aragorn's disbelief.
"If it is not the quest, then what is it? What is it that has you refusing the company of
your playmates and friends? Pippin, do not withdraw from us; during this journey we must
gain our strength from one another…" The man who would be king trailed off when he saw
the dark, heavy curls thrashing back and forth in denial, "I cannae, Strider…" The
broadly accented voice grew faint as Pippin's tears fell again, which brought a large,
animated gauntlet to his face to brush them away.
"Why, friend? Why do you bear this burden alone? Even Frodo, with the greatest burden of
us all has not refused himself our comfort. Pippin," the addressed flinched from hearing
his name spoken so plaintively, "We need you with us. Like an elf, you have withered away
under the weight of your emotions… Please… Allow yourself this respite and confide in
me." Aragorn left the offer laid out between them, patiently waiting for Pippin to chose
whether or not to accept it. Long last, after Aragorn had taken both small hobbit hands
in his own, the youngest of the fellowship squeaked, "I am so ashamed…" He leaned forward
and pressed his head against his captain's shoulder, sniveling and shuddering as Aragorn
calmly stroked his hair.
"Ashamed, friend?" Pippin snorted loudly in a way he knew would've had Merry wrinkling
his nose at him and calling him 'piglet.'
"I will tell yae this, and yae must promise tae not ask any mair questions of me after
I've hud my say. Do yae promise?" After Aragorn, albeit regretfully, promised, young
Took continued, "I've fallen in love. Nae, nae asking questions, yae promised! Hush!
I've fallen in love with someone from the fellowship, and don' bothair askin' who, cause
yae ken I'm no' goin' tell yae! An'… An' I dinnae intend for it tae happen…. An' I feel
such a fool… Cause thair's no way he'll love me back an' I'm just… so unworthy tae even
think of 'im in that way… But I'll get over it, I promise, Aragorn, I dae! I'm no' goin'
tae let the fellowship doon 'cause I'm always off pinin' away, I won't! It just… It just
hurts…" As Pippin concluded his little speech, Aragorn nodded sagely in a way he imagined
Gandalf would, but in all sincerity had no idea what to say. The little hobbit in his
arms seemed to have settled down and with hesitation, Pippin lifted his eyes to those of
his leader, "Aye, nou… You're right. I dae feel better. But, yae won't tell anyone,
will yae? Not even Gandalf? I'd be so ashamed if anyone found out, I'd kill myself, I
would!"
"I promise, Pippin." And he leaned forward to knock his forehead against little Took's in
an affectionate gesture before Pippin bolted past him with his typical sprightliness,
towards the fellowship and the one he loved, leaving a man, burning with curiosity, in his
wake.
Aragorn, curled comfortably into his bedroll, forsaking sleep a few moments longer, to
ponder the day's revelations. Pippin was in love. It wasn't too difficult to accept,
seeing how young the hobbit was, and everyone knows youth lends to wide-eyed infatuations.
The question burning away at Aragorn's mind however was not the 'why,' of course, but the
'who.' The object of Pip's affection really made no difference in the uncrowned king's
mind, but it was futile to resist it's mystique. Unintentionally, he began to reason his
way through the fellowship:
Gandalf? Of course not. The wizard held an unattainable interest, but he was so old and
so wise that he really couldn't be anything but asexual. Furthermore, how could Pippin
view him as anything but a father figure?
Sam? Perhaps. Sam was responsible and protective, which were qualities young Took may
find endearing, but did they compensate for Sam's insecure and introverted behavior? Try
as he may, Strider simply couldn't imagine Pippin withstanding Sam's shy decorum.
Frodo? Possibly. He was beyond admirable in his courage and determination, and was
undeniably the true hero of them all. It was plain to see that the youngest hobbit
honored the eldest, but could that be translated into love? Did it matter to Pippin that
they were cousins? He knew incest was a wicked thing amongst the elves but was it amongst
the hobbit folk? And if it weren't, than that left Merry as the more suspect of the two.
But, Merry? True, the two were inseparable, best of friends and seemed to not trust
anyone or like anyone as much as they did each other. They were always whispering quietly
to each other, sharing secrets and telling tales they deemed unfit to tell the rest of the
fellowship. But, romantic love? Strider doubted it. He had the same relationship with
Legolas, closer than brothers, yet not as close as lovers. He could never be sexually
attracted to Legolas, never, despite the elf's undeniable charms.
Legolas, perhaps? There, indeed was a likely prospect. The elf had beauty and skill that
surpassed all of his kindred, and that was a feat worth recognition. He was kind to the
hobbits, yet distant enough to maintain his air of mystery. And of course, he was
sinfully handsome. Aragorn decided then to keep a close eye on Pippin whenever he was
near the golden creature.
Gimli? Very doubtful. Pippin never seemed to seek his company, for what seemed to be
fear of him. Although the hobbit knew the dwarf would never hurt him, Gimli, as did
dwarfs in general, radiated a powerful, war-like energy that would surely be disquieting
to one as peaceful as a hobbit.
Boromir? Was he even worth considering? No one as disrespectful, demeaning and heavy
hearted could catch the eye of such a spitfire youngster.
It was too soon, Aragorn decided, to cast his lot. Of course, the easy money was on
Legolas, but hadn't the hobbits already thrown him a few mind-bending surprises? The
possibilities seemed endless.
'Who knows?' Aragorn considered beguilingly, 'It may even be me.'
***
There was something terribly amiss with the ranger king, it was decided. Ever since he'd
returned from his Pippin Investigation, he seemed preoccupied, distant and bloody well
amused by everything. For example, when Merry was crouched, struggling to conquer his
bedroll, Sam, who seemed to have packed the entirety of Bag End on his shoulders, did an
about-face, subsequently smacking his frying pan with elven dexterity directly into
Merry's tuckus. Merry, instead of doing the typical hobbit-roll forward, grabbed his
backside and immediately sat, thwarting any further attacks on his rear. Aragorn, who had
been stoically trying to rub the sleep from his eyes and failing miserably, prefaced his
burst of hysterical laughter with an off-putting snort that would have been more fitting
of a disgruntled musk ox.
Needless to say, everyone stopped. Gimli, who had already been chuckling already from the
hobbits' antics, lost whatever dwarven reserve he had, and began to guffaw with manly,
dwarven tones in a way that would've shaken the foundations of any dwarven cave. Gandalf
and the hobbits, with the exception of Pippin, who were never a people to forsake a good
chortle, erupted with giggles, leaving Boromir to smirk at them as one would smirk at
masturbating monkeys and the Elf to give an open view of his mortally offended
sensitivities.
"My cheeks hurt," Merry complained, trying to rub the smile off his face.
"Which cheeks would those be, Merry?" Pip piped up, much to the delight of the travelers
around him. Aragorn cast a glance at the smallest hobbit, only to find that when their
eyes met, Pippin turned as red as the apples he coveted. It would take a while, Aragorn
knew, for Pip to feel secure around him again, having exposed his heart the way he did the
other evening. However, he felt more bonded to Pippin since then, and couldn't help but
find himself thinking, "I'm going to be a damn good father."
And, with that reassuring thought, he confidently moved forward, to follow the still
chuckling Gandalf down the road less traveled. As he did, however, he missed the little
hobbit who was occupying his thoughts, cast a shy, boyish smile, aimed at the only other
man of the company.
Gandalf was sitting atop a rock that not only left onlookers baffled as to how a man of
his age had climbed it, but allowed him to see both possible roads: mountains or Moira.
He didn't like the prospect of either, and every time he tried to execute his masterful,
logical thinking abilities, it seemed that his mental accelerator had all but rusted
stiff. He would get only so far as, "Mountains or Moira…" before his mind flounced away
into, "Both start with 'M.' I always remember having a helluva time trying to write
'Caradhras' in Elvish. Goofy elves… Elrond sure talks a lot…"
"I am sorry to disturb your concentration, Gandalf, but may I sit with you for a moment?"
Gandalf raised his head and looked at the rangy ranger standing above him, and nodded,
thanking Valar for his ability to appear to be deeply concentrating when he was certain
his thoughts were no less fruitless than those of a pining hobbit.
After Aragorn was seated next to him, the two pillars of strength simply stared out across
the horizon, both lost in their own thoughts. With his mind wrapped up in wondering
whether or not Gimli was actually not ticklish versus whether or not he simply was good at
containing himself, it took Gandalf a while to notice that the fellow next to him was
chuckling quietly.
"Well, now, Estel," he said smoothly, sucking on his newly lit pipe, "Would you care to
enlighten me as to which spell it was that exchanged your personality for Pippin's?" With
a goofy grin still adorning his rugged features, Aragorn turned to him with a questioning
brow.
"Oh, Aragorn," Gandalf decided to elaborate, "You're smiling all the time now, giggling at
the empty air. Surely the only way you could possibly become more Pip-ish would be if you
filled Boromir's horn with tadpoles." Indeed, Aragorn couldn't help but beam at the idea
of what would happen if the Gondorian tried to blow upon a horn filled with tadpoles. It
was a colorful, if not somewhat slimy image.
"And as for Pippin," Gandalf turned and glanced at the small man who was sitting away from
the fire, still as a statue, curly locks obscuring the view of his sad, lonely face, "He
seems to be attending to all of the brooding and scowling that you seemed to have left
wanting." Realizing that, indeed his little friend was in pain, Aragorn sighed in
frustration, "Who would've thought, Gandalf, that the little one would find the only
danger in a company such as ours?" Knowing that Gandalf understood what he meant, he
didn't feel he had to clarify that he was speaking of the dangers of a broken heart.
"Well," Gandalf chuckled to himself, "I always said that if there's trouble anywhere to be
found, young Took will be the one to snuff it out. But, I sincerely doubt that he is in
danger. He is a stout lad, and is sturdier than he looks."
"I agree," Strider produced his own pipe and lit it with a flair and a twinkle in his eye,
"However, I think you underestimate the power of this degree of peril. Perhaps, if he
were inflicted with such a burden back in the Shire, it would've been easier for him to
bear. But, out here, he walks with his hazard daily."
"Ah, yes. He didn't happen to confide in you who this… troublemaker is, hm?" Gandalf
knew, of course, they shouldn't be mocking Pippin in this way, but the idea of confronting
a danger that was no greater than the devastating powers of love seemed far too sweet to
let pass.
"Alas, he did not! I have speculated, however, and I have placed my bet."
"Have you, indeed? I have as well. Care to make a wager?" The smoke between
them swirled and melded together as they both eyed the other in consideration. The Ranger
knew it was folly to bet against Gandalf, but he was certain it was the elf. Twisting his
spine, he sought the campsite beneath them, and found the golden beauty standing beside
Frodo, in an unconsciously protective posture. The firelight licked him, lapping at his
flawless skin and intoxicating eyes, making him far more radiant than any human eye could
bear. Without hesitation, Aragorn whirled back, stating firmly, "A satchel of pipe weed
on the elf." Gandalf's already atrociously noticeable brows twitched and fluttered at
such confidence, yet he countered, "Very well, then… A satchel of pipe weed on Boromir
the Fashionably Grumpy." The ranger king's eyes lit up, already feeling not only his
victory, but what a satchel of pipe weed would feel like coursing through his veins.
Boromir was extremely flustered. As he sat beneath the rock on which Aragorn and Gandalf
were chatting, he couldn't help but feel terrified and more than a little wounded.
Fashionably grumpy, indeed. However, despite the great jab dealt to his ego, he couldn't
help but hold his heart as it pounded painfully against his ribcage at the thought of what
he'd heard.
Pippin was in danger. And Gandalf thought he was in danger from Boromir. The idea gave
him qualms. For the first time in a long time, he had to hold his stomach as well as his
bleeding heart. Surely he had misunderstood! Surely they couldn't assume that he, great
protector of his little friends would ever cause them the slightest pain. Especially his
dear, sweet little Took.
But he'd heard the words; 'found danger in the fellowship,' 'walks by hazard daily,'
'Boromir the…' He scoffed at Gandalf's pet name. What had he done to ever give anyone
any doubt of his loyalty to and friendship with Pippin? It was true, he did speak in
favor of keeping the ring against better judgment, but he would never dream of injuring
such a sweet, gentle, innocent slice of perfection.
Should he confront them? Demand to know the reason for this blasphemy and those viscous,
undeserving words? No. That would only make them more suspicious. If they knew he had
overheard, surely they would assume all kind gestures on his part would be a player's act
to mislead them. No, he must go to the source. To assure Pippin that above all else,
Boromir desired to keep him from harm. Despite his gruff, bristly nature, Boromir was
convinced he could prove to Pippin that he would sooner die than betray his so freely
given trust.
Legolas eyed the Gondorian coldly as he staggered back into camp. His arrival was at an
awkward hour, most of the fellowship having gone to sleep, leaving only Boromir, and
Legolas awake. The elf had his suspicions, especially since the man looked taxed and
empty. Immediately, he assumed that Boromir had been warring with his unappeasable lust
for the ring. However, instead of stumbling clumsily to his bedroll and snoring away as
he usually did, the warrior fell to his knees before a lumpy pile of hobbits.
With all of the feet and curls and adorable little noses, it was difficult for Legolas to
tell which one it was, exactly, that Boromir had leaned over and kissed upon the forehead.
It was only when Pippin shifted, Boromir's kiss sparkling in the moonlight that Legolas
felt himself soften slightly towards the man whom he had only considered a bane to their
endeavor.
He watched the fond smile that grew on Boromir's face as he carefully studied the sleeping
man. With great surprise, Legolas beheld the man of Gondor tenderly reach to ruffle the
moonbeam kissed mop of hair that rested atop the freshly kissed brow. However, it was not
the demeaning or patronizing gesture it had been when Boromir had ruffled hobbit-heads
before, but more of a lover's caress meant to ease a troubled spirit.
Despite the fact that Legolas knew he hadn't made a sound, Boromir's head snapped to
attention, and the elf found himself pinned by a pair of defensive eyes and threatening
eyebrows. With his typical Boromir-sneer properly set in place, the man rose and
swaggered forward, spitting, "Don't look so smug, Cottontail," Boromir had chosen this
nickname to belittle Legolas for his bunny-like ears and light feet, "You've become quite
suspect, yourself." As Boromir lunged off to his sleeping bag, Legolas was so absorbed
with his hatred for the name 'Cottontail' that he almost missed the end of Boromir's
message. With a confused twist of his lips, Legolas thought, "Why would anyone suspect me
of fancying hobbits?"