Title: Relief 
Author: Victoria Bitter (voyagerbabe@hotmail.com) 
Rating: NC-17 
Pairings: Pippin/Legolas, Pippin/Merry 
Response to a "Legolas/Pippin Sex Ed 101" challenge 
Disclaimer: The characters, places, and funny words belong to J.R.R.  
Tolkien, but he’s dead, which is well enough, because somehow I don’t think 
he’d have them doing quite these things anyway. 
Synopsis: Legolas helps Pippin work through some problems concerning their 
friend Merry.  
 
*** 
 
Why couldn’t they all just sleep normally? Pippin scowled and shifted beneath 
his blanket, a tiny mew of discomfort escaping his throat. Cool grey-green eyes 
shot towards him at even that small sound, and he quickly jammed his eyes shut 
tight, hoping that he hadn’t been seen even while recognizing that he surely had. 
 
It was ridiculous. For the fourth night, they had grounded the boats and slept at 
the forest’s edge on the banks of the Great River, and for the fourth night, 
Legolas had stood like a statue carved half of stone and half of water, somehow 
at once graceful and still and ever-watchful. He never seemed to sleep, never 
even to nod, as though he drew his rest from vigilance itself. It was disconcerting 
to the young hobbit, and awkward besides. Pippin knew of the Elf’s keen senses, 
saw the way that his eyes glinted, darting towards every stray sound and 
movement with precision as sharp as the arrows always slung over his back. He 
felt it sometimes a wonder that he could get away with breathing itself under that 
inscrutable gaze. 
 
Not that it would be so much a trouble if he himself could sleep. If that were so, 
then Legolas could watch him all he wanted, gain whatever Elvish satisfaction 
the strange archer drew from watching Halflings snore. Only he couldn’t sleep, 
and for the best and worst possible reason. 
 
The four hobbits were gathered, as was their custom, near the faint warmth of the 
fire’s embers, sleeping together in what Boromir had once described, with 
uncertain humour, as ‘one great heap of cloaks and curls and furry little feet.’ 
Sam, as always, had one arm curled protectively over Frodo, and Pippin 
wondered why he was no longer disturbed about the wandering of their hands in 
sleep - Sam’s to the hilt of his sword, Frodo’s to the ring at his chest. Perhaps it 
was because his mind was occupied by greater troubles than the dark changes in 
his simple, peaceful friends. Troubles like Meriadoc Brandybuck. 
 
The other hobbit was curled tight against him, nearly crawling over him, indeed, 
with one leg falling over his own and one arm lying loose on Pippin’s hip. He 
could feel the warm breath in his hair, and occasionally, Merry would murmur 
and stir in his sleep, always drawing tighter against Pippin. The young hobbit 
didn’t pretend to be wizard nor Elf, but one didn’t need to be to know that Merry 
was also dreaming. Very *involving* dreams. The proof and the problem lay in 
those dreams, and in the resulting erection unmistakably pressing into Merry’s 
hip with every shift and sigh. 
 
It was hard enough sleeping with Merry so near, but this complicated matters 
immeasurably. Heedless of his desperate mental admonishments, his own body 
had responded quite enthusiastically, and the unsatisfied desire had grown into a 
dull ache, finally banishing all hope of rest. If he could just dare to touch himself, 
take care of it quickly and quietly, it would be so much easier. At this state of 
arousal, it would just be the work of bare minutes, but even seconds were too 
much to snatch from their unblinking watchman. He couldn’t even pretend, as he 
had hoped, to simply shift in his ‘sleep’ away from Merry’s unconscious 
embrace, for despite the slivered moon and dim starlight, Legolas would surely 
see the erection bulging his trousers and know. 
 
Again Merry mumbled something, and Pippin took a slow, deep breath. How did 
he manage to make somnolent babble sound so erotic, like the words of a lover 
muffled against flesh rather than drooling dream-spill? Then Merry shifted again, 
just slightly, and Pippin froze, no longer daring even to breathe. Merry’s lips 
were against the back of his neck now, warm and soft and… 
 
"I may never understand Halflings." 
 
Pippin’s eyes flew open, and he yelped in shock. Legolas had crossed the camp 
as silently as a thought, and now he was crouched mere inches away, hands loose 
on his thighs and head tilted curiously. Feeling as if his cheeks would soon burst 
with the flush of embarrassment, the young hobbit tried to crawl his fingers 
towards the edge of the blanket, intending to pull it down over his groin, but the 
Elf’s eyes flickered unfailingly towards his actions, and he shook his head 
slightly, speaking softly so as not to awaken the others. "That’s not going to help 
you." 
 
"What?" The whisper seemed several octaves above his normal speech, and he 
coughed lightly, trying to force his voice down to some semblance of calm. The 
only good thing in this horrid development was that Legolas’s face held neither 
ridicule nor scorn. "What?" 
 
"You’re aroused." There was a hint of the obvious in the statement, and Pippin 
didn’t entirely blame him for that. "You need to come before you can sleep 
properly." 
 
Pippin gasped at the Elf’s bluntness, jerking the blanket down over himself.  
"I’m fine." 
 
Legolas sighed. "You and the other Halflings tire more easily than the rest of us. 
It is quite understandable, but you need to rest. As long as you’re allowing 
yourself to remain in that state and depriving yourself of sleep, you’re putting us 
all at risk. I would suggest that you move away from Merry, if your worry is of 
waking him, and see to it as soon as possible." 
 
"All right." Pippin slipped carefully out from under his friend’s grasp, wanting 
nothing more than to get this surreal conversation over as quickly as possible 
before the unthinkable happened and Merry awoke. Hurrying past Legolas 
without looking at him, he moved to the edge of camp and stood facing the 
woods, his hands suddenly paralyzed at the fastenings of his trousers. His head 
fell, and he stood, shame-faced, as Legolas’s tall, elegant shadow approached 
from behind. 
 
"Is something wrong?" 
 
"I can’t." He barely managed to whisper the words, his chest suddenly burning as 
his throat tightened. 
 
"You cannot tell me that Halflings don’t touch themselves. You’ve tried to begin 
the matter eight times tonight." There was a pause, then Legolas circled around to 
face him, and Pippin was surprised to see a new softness to the beautiful, ancient 
eyes. "Or is it your thoughts that stay your hand?" 
 
Unable to speak, Pippin nodded, fighting to restrain the tears that had  
sprung, unbidden and unwanted, to his eyes. Then, to his amazement, Legolas 
was holding him, lean-muscled arms surrounding him gently. Graceful fingers 
stroked through his hair, the weave of the silver-green tunic was as soft as 
dandelion fluff beneath his cheek, and he could hear beneath it the strangely 
slow, soothing rhythm of the Elf’s heart. He swallowed hard, trembling as he 
fought down the threatening sobs, his fingers clutching at the warm flesh beneath 
the elegant tunic as if trying to hold onto his very heart. 
 
The cold-eyed warrior was nowhere to be found as Legolas rocked gently,  
soothing the young hobbit with quiet murmurs in his own silken language, 
nonsense to Pippin’s ear, but soft nonsense, nonsense that seemed to carry the 
wisdom of the ages and bundle up his tears to carry them benevolently away. At 
last, when Pippin’s shivering had finally eased, he drew back slightly, looking 
the hobbit in the eyes as he spoke again in the Common Tongue. "Now there, 
little one, hush. There is no need for shame, no more for this than for hunger or 
thirst or chill. Here now…" 
 
Nimbly, Legolas unfastened Pippin’s trousers, and the long fingers slipped 
inside, closing around his hungry cock with a surety that made the hobbit gasp. 
His hips bucked forward, but the Elf’s other hand was at his back, guiding him in 
a steady rhythm against his hand as his skilled fingers glided and circled, sending 
pleasure like lightning licking fire up Pippin’s spine. Against his small body, 
Legolas’s hand seemed as enveloping as the night, his palm resting against the 
base of Pippin’s belly as those artful fingertips danced delight on the sensitive 
head. 
 
Through the fringe of his eyelashes, fluttering low on half-closed eyes, he could 
see Legolas’s face painted silver in the moonlight, and he realized for the first 
time how incredibly, eloquently beautiful he was, almost too pretty to be real. So 
different from Merry’s plain features, but somehow, to Pippin’s surprise, not 
nearly as desirable, and as this Prince of angels pleasured him so sweetly, he 
found himself thinking of Shire summers wrestling in grass up to their chests, of 
stories at the hearth at bedtime and Merry’s face in the firelight, of blackberry 
tarts and Merry’s lips stained to wine. Legolas was art, but Merry was home, and 
it was for home that his heart longed now, so far away in this dark and barren 
land. 
 
The tightness in his groin began to shudder, blossoming over his entire body as 
Legolas moved swifter now, his movements somehow ever lissome no matter 
how erotic their effect. Pippin’s body arched back against the supporting strength 
of the Elf, and then there was a burst of glorious sensation that seemed to sear his 
entire being with a indulgence beyond possibility, and he came hard, the tears 
spilling now to his cheeks as he cried out the name of his beloved, softly and 
hungrily into the night. 
 
Then it was over, and he fell, boneless and exhausted, into Legolas’ arms. His 
heartbeat hammered in his ears and his breath came in gasps, but most of all, he 
ached with a pain far deeper than the simple physical discomfort that had kept 
him awake before. Only now, with the touch of another still singing in his blood, 
did he realize how desperately he longed for Merry in ways that friendship didn’t 
begin to satisfy. He had tried to bury the thoughts, dismiss them as simply the 
responses of a youthful body to the arousal of another, but such lies were not to 
be condoned by his heart, and he knew now. 
 
He loved Merry. Completely, despairingly, hopelessly. 
 
After a moment or an hour, he felt Legolas brush aside the curls that clung sweat-
damp to Pippin’s forehead. "I may never understand Halflings." He seemed to be 
speaking as much to himself as to the hobbit in his arms, and Pippin simply let 
his hands stroke down the waterfall of gilt silk falling down Legolas’s back as the 
Elf spoke, combing his hands through the flaxen strands. "I watch you suffer, and 
young Samwise as well, both of you despairing in love, yet unwilling to act to 
relieve your own pain." 
 
Pippin blinked, his hands frozen in surprise. "Are you suggesting that Sam loves 
me?" 
 
A soft chuckle rocked Legolas’s chest. "No. But he yearns after Frodo,  
even as you desire Merry, and both of you too frightened or too blind to chance a 
love returned or denied." 
 
Somehow, hearing of Sam’s shared pain came as no surprise to Pippin, but nor 
did it come as comfort. He understood it too well. "We…I…Merry is my dearest 
friend, and I fear…" He paused, trying to force the words past the wrenching 
ache they caused, "I fear that should I tell him, and he refuse me…" Pippin 
gulped, and now the tears flowed fresh as he forced the whisper of the fear that 
haunted his nights and darkened his dearest dreams. "I would be so terribly 
alone." 
 
Legolas sighed, and Pippin wondered if it was with sympathy or rebuke. "But 
what a price you pay for your security!" 
 
He paused, lifting Pippin away from him a moment as he settled back against the 
trunk of a tree, then settled the hobbit again in his lap as he sat cross-legged, 
Pippin fitting quite neatly in the circlet of those long, slender legs as Legolas 
looked down at him, a sad smile on his lips. "I am an Elf, and as such, I have 
lived the lives of your elders a hundred times over, and will live them ten 
thousand times over again. I have taken more lovers than I can easily count, 
Human and Elf, man and maid, and each is a chapter in my heart or a passing 
pleasure to my body, and one day I will find a mate, and we will have eternity 
together. But I may spend ten thousand years searching for that, should I so wish. 
You are not so fortunate, Peregrin Took. Your people live and die like the 
flowers in the fields, and you cannot afford to waste a moment of the time given 
to you so dearly. Even now, I feel a darkness approaching, and I sense that the 
Fellowship will not be much longer. You should tell him your heart, and tell him 
quickly. To waste the precious time you have would be a far greater ill than any 
scorn." 
 
"But I’m afraid." The words seemed small sense in the face of such ageless 
wisdom, but they were the simple truth, and Pippin hung his head in shame at his 
own cowardice. 
 
Legolas frowned, lifting Pippin’s chin with two fingers to stare him  
directly in the eyes. "You have been afraid of many things on this journey, yet I 
have seen you overcome your fears again and again. Gandalf speaks truly when 
he says that there is a great courage in the little hearts of the Halflings. Find now 
the courage to do this thing, which will mean so much more to your peace than 
any deed in battle. Go." 
 
Pippin didn’t resist as he was lifted to his feet, only stood there,  
motionless. They were mere paces away from camp, and he could clearly see 
Merry’s shadowed form curled by the now-cold fire. It would be so simple. All 
he had to do was step over there. *Merry, I have to tell you something…* Behind 
him, he heard the faint clatter of arrows in their quiver as Legolas stood, putting a 
hand on his shoulder. "Go." 
 
He would do it. 
 
His throat tight, his heart pattering desperately in fear, he forced his feet to move 
leaden across the camp. He expected someone to leap up in accusation at any 
moment, to cry out his folly...but no one moved. How could they sleep through 
something so terrifying? So dreadfully important, so potentially shattering? He 
trembled in fear, yet he could not bring himself to turn back as he knelt at 
Merry’s side, once again rendered helpless by Legolas’s watchful gaze. 
 
But Merry’s eyes were already open. Pippin gasped, frozen in place, one  
hand already extended to shake his friend’s shoulder. Merry’s eyes were  
open, and they gazed at Pippin with a strange and inscrutable mix of  
emotion. And oddly, at this moment of terror nearly blinding in its  
intensity, Pippin’s voice was utterly steady. "You heard." 
 
"Yes." Merry sat up, letting the blanket fall from his shoulders, and  
Pippin watched, numb. Now it would come. The scorn. The hate. The rebuke. It 
was upon him, and all he could do was crouch there dumbly as the other hobbit’s 
face took on a smile unreal in its warmth. "I heard." 
 
Then Merry’s hands were cupping his cheeks, and Merry’s lips were on his, 
gentle and warm and softer than anything Pippin had ever imagined, and Pippin 
thought that his heart would burst with joy beyond his most fervent imaginings. 
With a far distant corner of his stunned mind, he heard a sound like birds and 
bells and sunshine as Legolas laughed, and it was right and perfect and yes that 
was just how it should be. He should laugh. All the world should laugh. All the 
universe, even. 
 
Because Merry loved him. 
 
He wasn’t alone. 
 
And nothing else could ever be truly wrong again. 
 
The End