Rescue The Fourth Author: K to the I to the T (rabbitgarden@earthlink.net) Rating: PG/PG 13, but give it a try anyway Pairing: Legolas/ Pippin Warning: V. out of character, so for those who don't like the idea of Legolas being fun and spunky, go read something angsty (or go be sad). Slash innuendo (but would assume that's WHY you're reading it), interspecies romance, etc. Summary: A bit of light, romantic fun betwixt two v. cute and unlikely characters -- yes, it is PG, but try it out and just SEE if the cuteness doesn't thrill you. Author's Notes: Legolas is a bit more clumsy and animated than in the movie (he was perky in the book, but I played over on that, too). This is because number one, was sick of seeing our lovely Elf portrayed as such a distant, emotionless badass and sometimes flaky sex kitten, and number two, because the story was originally a daydream of mine, so the character was me, not Legolas. Keep that in mind: whenever he trips or stumbles or speaks ineloquently... yeah, that's me. If that's not your particular bag of jellybeans, please don't send big guys named Biff and Guido to beat me up, am just a chick having fun. Distribution: Garsh, if you want to, would be flattered, just drop me a buzz to let me know where it'll be. Feedback: IIIIIII want FEED-BACK! (duhdun dun dunuh, duh duh) Disclaimer: You get it. I sadly make no cash from this, I am just here to release documentation of what really goes on behind the scenes at the fervent behest of our adorable pair. These spunky little rugrats are, as we know by now, the creations of the fabulous inventor, the good Mister Tolkien, so sorry, Mr.T, for playing in your backyard. Acknowlegements: To anyone who likes a bit of silliness with some romance to give it spice and smooth it out. Respect to the man J.R.R. who is looking down on me right now and flicking loose typewriter keys at my head (ouch, there's another!). I hope that he'll forgive me for continuing to befoul his good name. Thanks to the great Orlando Bloom for being fabulous, and to the sweet Billy Boyd for having both unbelievable green eyes and a profound, stirring, and often disturbing effect on me, the legistics of which cannot easily be conveyed. For my favorite Lily, who supports me in all that I do (except for the way I dress and when I do stupid things and when... okay, MOST of what I do) and without whom I would not have the balls to do anything (stupid or otherwise). Thankya kindly, oh partner in crime. Rescue The Fourth {Kit Fox} Pippin looks miserable sitting there all alone. He must be frozen solid and my heart gives a pull as I watch him shivering against the trunk of a tree that is comically huge in comparison to him. He is curled in an endearing and childlike pose, knees tucked up to his chin in an effort to keep warm. He’d been made to take the watch tonight –– revenge, I suppose, for a crack he’d make about Gandalf’s nose or hat or some such ridiculous thing. As usual, keeping a fire burning over night is not an option, so Pippin is left only the ghostly light of the pale moon to grow both colder and more frightened by. A Warg-like howl erupts in the distance and he gives a start, his entire little body quivering. This is bullocks, I think and rise from my bed roll, grabbing my cloak and blanket and walking toward the huddled figure. “It’s only me, Pip,” I whisper as he looks my way with a jolt. “Hi Legolas,” he says and I can hear his smile through his weariness. “You should be asleep, you know.” “I know, move over.” He makes room for me and I slip my cloak around his shoulders, my heart warming at his relieved sigh. “Thaaank you,” he says. “Not at all,” I smile, sitting next to him and covering both our laps with the large, warm blanket. “I’m not tired, do you mind if I keep watch with you?” “I’d love it,” he beams, then his smile fades. “Do you think Gandalf will mind?” “Gandalf doesn’t need to know, Pip.” I slide my arm around his narrow shoulders and look down at him as he snuggles into my side. He and I have gotten to know one another quite well over the course of the journey and I welcome his open physical affection. After growing accustomed to it, I begin to wonder that all kinds aren’t as dependent on touch as the hobbits, and I relish every embrace and every time he leans against me with a faint sigh. Elves should try it more often. “What’s wrong, Pippin?” I ask, absently stroking his soft curls. “Before, you looked as sad as a wet puppy. Is there something on your mind?” He sighs, his little body slumping against mine in dejection. “I’m rubbish at this adventure stuff,” he whispers. “I can’t do anything useful like you or Aragorn or Frodo... all I do is take up space. I’m no good, Legolas... I’d do well to just... throw m’self to the wolves.” He finishes with a sigh and pokes at the ground with a loose stick. I smile down at him. “My sweet Pippin,” I say, voice bursting with fondness. “You really are a fool!” I hug him closer and he sends me a questioning glance. “Firstly, and never forget this, Pippin Took, or I’ll knock you so hard your ancestors will feel it,” I say and he laughs. “You are not useless. Any hand on this mission is important and you, my dear hobbit, are our sunbeam. Without your smiling face every day, I know I’d go crazy, and the others agree.” “Really?” he looks up at me with wide, innocent green eyes. “Truly,” I smile. “Boromir brought it up when only he, Aragorn, Gandalf, and myself were awake, we all agreed, you bring us sunshine.” “Even Gandalf?” the little hobbit asks with genuine wonder. “Even Gandalf.” Pippin smiles and I can see the sweet tinge of his blush in the dark. “And secondly,” I continue. “You are so remarkably brave to have even come this far and you’ll only get braver as we go on. Just now, you’re worth twelve of any Shire hobbit before you.” “You really think so?” he asks, sniffling quietly. “I know it.” He wriggles closer to me, rubbing at his eyes with a sleeve and muttering “thanks”. I smile, quite satisfied with myself, knowing both that Pippin needed very much to hear what I said and that it’s the truth. I settle back against the tree and listen to the breeze for a moment. “Legolas?” Pippin whispers in a faraway voice. “Mm?” “Have y’ever known any hobbits before?” “No,” I answer. “You and your kind come as a complete surprise to me.” “So... so I guess eh,” he fumbles with endearing shyness. “I guess you’ve never em... kissed a hobbit before then.” I conceal a delighted grin. “Not yet, Pip,” I say. “Actually, I’ve never kissed anyone.” “No?” he looks up at me. “Well there’s a fine eye-opener. I mean, uhm...” I watch him turn his gaze to the ground and I smile. The truth is, I never have kissed anyone, having devoted my time to studying battle techniques and falling in love with trees, rather than the warm-hearted and attractive people around me. In nearly three thousand years, I’ve missed quite a lot, and I regret it. Pippin has opened something new in me, something that makes me less like the distant, perfunctory warrior that I was used to being, and more the person I want to be. He continues to blush. Should I tell him? “Pippin, can you keep a secret?” He looks up again with a wide smile. “Certainly, I love secrets!” “But it’s the only secret I’ve got, so you have to take good care of it.” “Oh I will, I promise,” he says, nodding in the vehement manner of a little boy. I grin, biting my lip and I beckon him close. I whisper with my lips just barely brushing his ear. “I’ve taken a fancy to a hobbit here.” Pippin’s lovely green eyes grow wider. “Really?” he gasps. “Well aren’t you a surprise.” I chuckle. Seeing that Pippin is thinking about something, biting his fingertips in the sweetest way, I let the breeze fill in for conversation and lean my head on top of his, feeling his soft curls brush my cheek. “Legolas?” “Hm?” “It wouldn’t be Sam or Frodo, would it?” “No sir.” “Because I don’t think they walk on the, eh, road of availability, lad, if you know what I mean.” “I’ll keep that in mind,” I smile. “But no, it’s neither of them.” Pippin mutters under his breath, a sound barely audible. “Wish it was me.” “Pardon?” “I said I can barely see,” he answers quickly. “It’s so dark.” “That it is.” We sit quietly together in peaceful comfort and for a while all I hear is the song of the trees until my companion’s delicate snoring fills the silence. I smile down at him. Such a sweet and beautiful little prince, I think, shifting away from him and standing. I lift him carefully into my arms, biting back a laugh as he curls an arm around my neck, the other hand resting at my collar and holding onto the fabric. He is like a child in so many ways, but I would die before I treated him like one. Holding him securely, I walk back into the camp circle, keeping my cloak around his shoulders as I lay him in the bed roll next to Merry’s. Like puppies, the hobbits are sleeping entangled, curly heads resting on small shoulders, tiny hands tucked under their chins. I pull the covers over my little treasure, smiling to myself. When an entrancing, sleepy sigh emanates from his curved lips, I lean tentatively forward and press a quick kiss on them. This done, I look around to see if anyone had seen, then scoot back and watch him sleep, reaching forward sometimes to brush back whatever curls have fallen over his face. Pinks and oranges seep into the sky, bleeding upward from the horizon like melting ice cream. As the color spreads, there is a dramatic upturn in the amount of racket the birds make. I observe my snoozing companions with a calm smile, adoring how none of them look like the wise or strong or serious warriors that they become when they awaken. Aragorn has his face smooshed against one arm, feathery hair spread like fingers over his face. Gandalf is sleeping with his mouth open, murmuring from time to time. Boromir’s nose will wiggle like a rabbit’s periodically. The hobbits will sometimes twitch in their sleep, releasing unconscious whines. Gimli is, of course, snoring. While Aragorn is usually the first awake, the pioneer stirrings come, oddly enough, from Pippin. I keep still as he sits up and brushes the hair from his face, stretching. I sit behind a tree, keeping out of sight for no good reason. Pippin sits forward, looking around at his fellows and at the rising sun, then sighs, poking at the ground with a stick. I watch him slowly scratching something in the loose dirt, making his marks with deliberation, unhurried and thoughtful. I sneak closer behind him to get a better look. Written a ways off from the rest of the marks are the words “taken a fancy”, then just in front of his feet, what appears to be a diagram. Frodo Merry Sam Pippin He ponders these markings for a moment, then, with an air of resignation, reaches the stick out, drawing a line through his own name and circling Merry’s. “Bullroarer’s balls,” he sighs with obvious frustration, settling his chin on his fists. I can’t help but release a laugh. His head snaps around, a deep blush already burning his cheeks. “Legolas!” he squeaks, erasing the marks with one swipe of his foot. “I’m sorry, forgive my ehm... indecencies, I’d have uh... spoken more... more carefully if I’d known that fair folk ––– that a fair uh person was present and uhm –––” “Be cool,” I laugh. “I’ve said worse things.” “But you’re an Elf,” he reminds me with wide eyes. “I know. Let’s wake up the others.” I turn to shake the Big Folk awake, covering a shocked laugh as I watch Pippin stir Frodo and Sam gently, then rouse Merry with a kick. The other turns with a husky “oof!” then sits up, rubbing his side. “Oi noodlehead,” Merry scowls at Pippin. “What was that for?” “Because you have the brain of a toad,” Pippin hisses, sticking out his tongue and most likely hoping that I hadn’t noticed the whole exchange. I cover a giggle with one hand and shake Aragorn’s shoulder with the other. When we are all up and Sam is making breakfast, Boromir looks curiously at the rising sun. “I thought we should have been up by now,” he says, though without a trace of accusation. “That’s my fault,” I admit, packing up my end of camp. “Couldn’t bear to wake you too early. But you’ll be proud, Pippin was the first awake.” “I was under the impression,” Gandalf rumbles, raising an eyebrow. “That Master Peregrin was to be on watch tonight.” Crap. I always mess up. “And Master Peregrin performed admirably, sir,” I say, fighting to correct my typical blunder. “With much more care and watchfulness than I myself have demonstrated at times. He was, however, deterred from his noble duties by an unexpected, uhm, disturbance.” Both Gandalf and Pippin watch me with curious eyes. “A disturbance?” Gandalf echoes. “Yes,” I say, my mind racing. “You see, I’d gotten up in the night to... well, you know.” The others clear their throats, obviously surprised that Elves do, in fact, have to pee from time to time. “When on the way back to camp... I heard this peculiar rustling in the bushes,” I speak without really knowing what I’m saying. What am I doing? I think. “I walked toward the sound, but it wasn’t any of you... one large paw emerged, followed by a long snout, yellow teeth bared, red glowing eyes...” By this time I have the attention of the whole Fellowship, Sam poking blindly at his cooking sausage, Boromir leaning forward, Aragorn looking shocked and intrigued. Pippin is astonished, and growing more so by the moment. “I screamed in surprise and Pippin came running, sword ready,” I go on, demonstrating with my hands. “It only took moments and we were surrounded by wolves.” The Company looks as shocked to be hearing this as I am to be saying it. “They closed in on us the biggest one advancing, he was this close to me!” I shove myself forward, nose-to-nose with Gandalf, my hands on either side of the space where he sits. “Just snarling at me with those huge teeth!” “What did you do?” Frodo asks. “What could I do? I had no weapon. But Pippin was there, a ferocious, battle-ready menace and he stabbed the first wolf ––” I jump back from Gandalf and make a vigorous stabbing motion. “Got it in its gaunt flank and it let loose a ghostly howl. Then the biggest one lunged at me ––” here I pounce on Merry, knocking him back, tipping over the log he sat on and hovering over him on all fours, piercing him with my wild gaze. “ ––– and I was pinned under it, trapped!” “Then what?” Boromir anxiously inquires. “Then Pippin jumped for the wolf, sword ready,” I climb off of Merry and notice Pippin scowling at him. “Fearless, this man, I tell you, he swung with perfect calculation and off came the wolf’s tail –––” “Eeew,” says the Company. “–––which was just enough to catch the wolf’s attention. Meanwhile, the other wolves were still circling. “’Get back!’ he ordered me, staring the big wolf down, who advanced on him, stump of a tail bleeding. “’He’ll kill you!’ I cried. “’Just get back!’ he said in a commanding voice that surprised me, and I backed up against the base of a tree. Then he raised his sword high...” I pause, looking around at my zealous and impatient companions, all leaning forward. The only sound comes from the sizzling sausage. “Yes, yes?” Gimli urges. “Sure you’re ready, guys?” I look around at them, my hand still held in the air. “Get on with it!” they demand as one voice. “The wolf leapt at Pippin,” I continue. “Eyes blazing, yellow fangs bared... but Pip was too fast and he dropped to one knee, bringing his sword up at just the right moment and slicing into its belly... this killed it instantly.” The Fellowship releases the collective breath they’d been holding (their anxiety being appreciated but silly, as Pippin and I are fine and right in front of them). “The moment the big one fell, the others backed away, vanishing into the darkness. Pippin threw down his sword as if disgusted with it and ran to where I sat, cowering by the tree. He reminded me of Aragorn just then,” I smile. “He wouldn’t let me up until he was sure I was alright and he didn’t seem frightened at all. So when we got back to camp, I made him get the sleep he so well deserved.” The Company stares with shocked smiles. “So really, Gandalf, it’s my fault that he wasn’t on watch all night,” I finish, standing with my hands behind my back. Everyone blinks at one another, then all eyes turn to Pippin with approving nods. “This is quite a tale,” Gandalf says, looking at me with sparkling eyes. “What remains of this battle?” “Sadly sir, it was as I feared,” I say, bowing my head. “The wolves were not wolves at all, but Wargs sent by the enemy. There is no blood, no bones, no bodies.” Pippin grabs my hand and tugs me away from the camp with surprising strength. “Convenient,” Gandalf murmurs and it seems that only I hear, giving Gandalf a helpless shrug as Pippin pulls me away. I turn to face the direction I am being dragged to and Pippin and I run, giggling. “Be right back!” Pippin calls to the others as we disappear into the trees. Once we’re in the safety of the forest, we stop running and burst into uninhibited, shouting laughter. We drop onto our behinds, trying to catch our breath as we do. “You... you’re crazy!” he accuses through breathless laughter. “Am not!” I laugh, feeling delightfully like a child when I’m with him. “We’ll get in so much trouble because of you,” he giggles. “That alone deserves a spanking.” “Now Pip,” I plead. “Be nice...” “Yeah yeah,” he smiles, dropping his head onto my shoulder. “You did make me out to be a hero.” I smile at him, tugging his sleeve absently. “You are a hero, Peregrin.” He looks up at me with very serious and astonished eyes. I smile and turn my head in the direction of the camp. “So do you think they bought it?” I ask. “If not, I’m in for a good whomping,” he mutters with a wry smile. “Not so long as I’m around,” I say, deciding to be bold and kissing his cheek as I stand. Before I walk back, I catch his surprised blush and bite my lip to keep from grinning. When we are once again on the road, I’m even more grateful that I’d gotten carried away (something I should have gotten used to by now). Pippin is held with a new respect in the eyes of the Fellowship, whether they seem to believe my story or not. I am indeed a clumsy ass. If given more time, I could certainly have created a better and more believable tale. Still, I think, as I watch Gandalf pat Pippin’s shoulder as he passes, clumsiness can have its advantages if you do it right. “Hey you little grub,” Merry elbows Pippin playfully. “Pick up your feet.” “Sod off,” Pippin grumbles, eyes locked on the ground. “What’s got into you, Pip?” Merry asks. “You alright? I mean, were you hurt last night and just didn’t say anything or...” “I’m fine,” he insists. He and Merry walk in silence. I keep behind Aragorn so that I won’t be seen and I observe them with intense curiosity as we trudge along. Merry keeps glancing at Pippin as if expecting him to explode. Pippin scowls at the road. After a while, Pippin speaks in a barely audible mutter. “You schmuck.” “Pardon?” Merry blinks at him. “You have no clue, do you?” he asks, shaking his head and speaking in a low voice; a growl that is very unlike him. “You could have the best –– you could have it all, but you’re too thick to–––” “What are you talking about?” “Remember Lila Boffin?” “Mm... that girl you were nuts over?” “She liked you.” “Reeeaaally?” Merry grins. “Oh shut-up, you should know,” Pippin says. “You kissed her.” “Oh yeah, I did, didn’t I?” Merry smiles, then looks again at Pippin. “That was three years ago, grass-for-brains, are you still smarting over –––” “This is not about Lila!” hisses Pippin. “Then what?” “You’re just a schmuck, that’s all.” I sigh. A perfect mess I’ve caused. When our feet are too weary and the night is too deep, we settle down for the night. As I clear a pit for the fire and set up sticks, I notice Pippin sitting on his blankets and leaning forward, staring unbidden at Merry, who is struggling with his bed roll and pretending not to notice. Finally, Merry looks over at Pippin and sighs, dropping his pillow in a motion of frustration. “What?” he demands. “What makes you so special?” Pippin asks, resting his chin on his palm. “Honestly.” “Call it my gentlemanly charm,” Merry responds with a smile. “I’m going to bed,” Pippin sighs, turning over and laying on top of his blankets. I want to say something, but a small flame has ascended and I cannot leave it. By the new, shy orange light, I can see Pippin’s back, and Merry staring at it in confusion. “Pip, what is it?” he asks gently, scooting closer. “You haven’t smiled once since we got on the road. Come on... can’t you tell me?” I can see the slump to Pippin’s shoulders as he softens. He turns to face Merry, anger gone from his face and replaced by a melancholy smile. “I’m sorry, Merry, I think I’m just tired,” he says. “I didn’t mean to take it out on you... I think I’ll just go to bed now.” “But... you’ll miss dinner.” “I’m not hungry.” Merry’s eyes widen; this is a very un-hobbitlike thing to say, an expression used only when one is severely blue or very sick. He watches Pippin, looking close to tears. “Pip...?” he whispers helplessly. “I’ll be alright,” the little hobbit says, patting Merry’s knee and turning over. “Go ahead and keep Legolas company, he looks like he could use some.” At the mention of my name, I turn my eyes back to my growing fire, knowing that Merry is looking in my direction. “Pip, are you sure you’ll be okay?” “Of course, Merry. Go on.” Merry sighs and squeezes Pippin’s shoulder, then gets up. He shoves his hands in his pockets and takes one last look at Pippin over his shoulder before shuffling over to me and sitting on a log, dejection written in his pose. “Legolas, something’s up with Pippin,” he says. “He won’t let me talk to him.” I sigh, stirring the fire. “This is my fault,” I say. “But I promise you, Merry, he’ll be alright. I’ll see to that myself.” The moment the fire is mature enough for me to leave it, I do, Merry having been pulled away by a Sam and Frodo who seemed anxious to give Pippin and me some room. I step with silent caution toward Pippin’s still form, meaning to have that talk that was so long coming. I kneel beside him, watching his face, lips slightly parted and eyes closed. A darker print lays on his pillow and thin rivers still glisten on his cheeks. By the look of things, he has just fallen asleep after a quiet siege of tears, and I do not have the heart to wake him. So for a moment I only look at him as he breathes gently with sighs that sometimes hitch the slightest bit. I don’t dare touch him, afraid of his either stirring or shattering, I can’t seem to decide which. My prince’s brows knit as his eyes move beneath their lids, and I feel sure that his bad dreams are all about me. Does this make me arrogant, I think. Or just concerned? I lose myself, watching him sleep, and I don’t move until Aragorn calls my name. I’d offered to keep watch tonight, mostly with the hope that Pippin will wake up so that I can speak to him. However, Boromir is appointed, possibly due to my “knack for attracting trouble” as Gandalf so flatteringly put it. I sit awake, watching Pippin’s form. I’m restless. I get to my feet and pass the tree that Boromir sits against. “I’m going for a short walk,” I tell him with a listless wave. “Don’t go too far,” he warns. “Yeah yeah...” The forest is still and calming, the low, sweet song of the trees sounding mournful and fair. I walk slowly, touching every tree as I pass and feeling their individual responding rhythms. After a while, I hear a rustling, as of someone a ways off behind me. I whip around and see nothing, not a broken twig or stirred leaf. “Pippin?” I call tentatively, knowing hobbits’ talent for keeping unseen. There is no reply. I keep my eyes on the spot that I deemed the noises to be coming from, then turn back with a dismissive “hm” and keep walking. The sound comes again, the least of noises, but I am distracted from it by louder, more aggressive movement ahead. I back a few steps away from it. “Pip?” I whisper. “Merry? That you?” A low snarl is my response, followed by the appearance of five wolves with overlarge paws and mad, glaring eyes. Of course, I think, then reach back for my bow, which is conveniently back at camp. Oh of course. The wolf in the middle jumps forward and I release a cry. I’ve gone far, but not too far, so Boromir should hear. The wolves begin to spread to a circle around me. I cannot possibly defend myself against five of these creatures with only my hands. Quick as I am, it couldn’t work. “Help!” I shout desperately. The welcome sound of running feet reaches my ears, but when the figure bursts into view, it is not Boromir, but Pippin. “Hang on, Legolas!” he cries in a breathless voice, charging toward me. “Don’t, you’ll be killed!” “So will you,” he says, now next to me, sword held in front of him. The wolves continue to stalk their lazy circle, snarling and occasionally snapping at us as if teasing. “Well this is a nice bit of irony,” Pippin says in a low, grim voice. “Jokes,” I mutter. “He’s making jokes.” The rest of the Fellowship runs into view, weapons drawn. Aragorn sees us and halts, flinging his arms out to stop the others from surging forward. “Stop,” Aragorn orders. “No one move.” “Why?” Boromir asks, voice rising. “Legolas and Pippin, they’ll be killed!” “I know these wolves,” says Aragorn. “One wrong move and they’ll all jump on those two.” “Can’t we do something, Strider?” Sam cries. “Just get ready.” One wolf advances on me, just as I’d known he would. Defenseless, I back up slowly, glancing at Pippin in a similar state. “What do I do?” he whispers at me. “Come on, Pip, give ‘em the business!” Merry calls, followed by encouraging shouts from the others. Pippin gulps, then squeezes his eyes shut as he shoves his blade forward. He battles with teeth and in moments, becomes a fearless, calculating warrior, stabbing and dodging and parrying and thrusting. Meanwhile, my wolf keeps coming forward. I back over a tree root and am sent sprawling on my back. The wolf lunges and I cry out, holding up my hands in defense. My outspread palms catch the wolf’s shoulders and I push with all my strength, holding the sharp, snapping jaws just inches from my exposed and vulnerable throat. Pippin, hearing my cry, jams his sword into the shoulder of his wolf and, not bothering to check if it is dead, is next to me in a flash, sending stab after perfectly aimed stab into the wolf on top of me. At this, all of the other wolves jump at the two of us, eyes flaring red and horrible teeth bared. “Go!” Aragorn commands, and the others rush forward, swinging their swords at the enraged wolves. I can no longer keep track of what happens around me or what cuts I receive in the process. All I can see are the wolves in front and on top of me, and Pippin battling furiously to keep them away. At last, my attention (and the attention of all things involved) is pulled toward a white light that comes from Gandalf and his staff which he holds high in the air. “Hounds of Sauron!” he addresses the wolves in a huge voice, as commanding as thunder. “Go back to your desolate caves, and tell your master that Gandalf the Gray is here!” The wolves keep still, staring at Gandalf, then they run off, snarling and snapping at one another's legs as they go. The Company runs to Pippin and me, hugging and fussing and asking all the requisite questions (some more than once), but he and I only watch one another with wide eyes. Through the din and fuss, our hands find one another, unmindful of whatever cuts we may have received. “You alright?” he whispers over the Company’s voices, a layer of noise above us. “Yes. You?” “I’m fine.” “Come on, Pip, we’re taking you back to camp,” Merry says as he, Gandalf, Sam, and Frodo pull him away. “Can you walk, Legolas?” Aragorn asks, getting me to my feet. “Come on, let’s go back.” Aragorn, Gimli, and Boromir pull me along, but Pippin and I keep our eyes and hands locked until the distance drags us apart. The hobbits and Gandalf walk faster with him and he looks over his shoulder at me with sad, desperate eyes. “Alright, Legolas?” Boromir asks, pulling my arm around his shoulder and supporting me, the others hovering around me in case I fall. “Yes,” I say, my first words to anyone but Pippin. “Yes I’m fine. Let’s go back.” Possibly without having realized it, the two groups of our Company have brought Pippin and myself to opposite sides of the encampment. They sit us down and inspect our various wounds, talking softly to us. My group’s comments seems to be lighthearted reprimands for going out too far and not bringing my bow and being clumsy and attracting trouble and, the worst offense of all, proving Gandalf right. I am dazed and unresponsive, trying only to turn so that I can see Pippin. He is being scolded and tutted and above the rest, congratulated, as they work on his cuts and bruises. The more I try to turn, the more frustrated Aragorn gets, as he’s trying to wrap up my arms. When they are through with me, my forearms are wrapped securely –– both of them, from elbow to wrist, like some strange armor. I hadn’t really realized how many bites and scratches I’d received; the information was there in the dusty corners of my mind, but it had seemed unimportant and I still feel no pain. I thank my caretakers and walk toward Pippin even as Gimli and Boromir are calling after me to quit getting into such un-Elvish mischief. I approach Pippin. He is surrounded by Gandalf and the hobbits, who are buzzing around him, Sam holding a strip of fabric to Pippin’s forehead where a cut is calming down. Pippin doesn’t see me as I’ve come from behind. I walk slowly forward, watching him sit still, having surrendered one arm for bandaging and laying the other face-down on his bent knee. He responds to all their questions with halfhearted “uh huh”s or “no”s. I hover in the back until he is released, noticing the bindings on one arm, the other upper arm, and the small cut on his forehead, above one eye. Seeing this, I feel a pang of guilt. He turns toward me and his previously blank face lights up. I can feel mine do the same. We both run into one another’s welcoming arms, myself kneeling, the Fellowship looking on with dazed curiosity. “Can we talk?” I whisper in his ear. “I love it when you read my mind,” he grins, with the slightest hint of nervousness, then tugs my hand with almost aggressive force. I follow him deeper into the woods, feeling like a child being led somewhere to be told off. In those few seconds, all traces of hesitancy and youthful exuberance have vanished from his face and this time, he truly does remind me of Aragorn as he tugs me to a fallen tree and makes me sit down on it. He inspects my bandaged arms, turning them over as if looking for an injury that had been missed, examining me with sharp, silent, and businesslike efficiency. “Pippin, I’m fine ––” “Just let me make sure.’ “Pip,” I set my hands on his shoulders and look into his intense, anxious eyes. “I had Aragorn looking after me –– and yelling at me...” Pippin sighs. “I just want to be certain you’re alright.” “I am. What about you?” “Yes.” “Pippin... can I ask you something?” He blinks at me with wide eyes, then nods. “How were you able to get to me before Boromir?” Pippin blushes and looks down at the ground, biting his lip and looking much less rough and grown up, hands behind his back. “I was... sort of following you,” he murmurs, digging his toes into the ground. “I saw you get up and... I dunno, I had this horrible feeling. And,” he adds, blush rising further. “I wanted to watch you.” I smile, then take a breath. “Pip, I’ve got to tell you –––” “I know, but he’s not right for you,” Pippin bursts, looking up at me. “I know he’s my best friend, but so are you and he’d never make you happy –––” “I need to explain –––” “Just wait, cause this is the hard part, are you ready for it?” “So ready.” “Alright,” Pippin takes a breath. “He couldn’t love you like I do. I’ve been driving myself crazy because all I want to do is be your Merry. Now that I’ve said it, y’can go ahead and call me a fool.” “You’re a fool!” I smile and yank him into a hug, laughing. “Merry’s wonderful, but I love you! I’ve been trying to tell you...” I pull him back so that I can see his face. “I love you, Pippin.” He blinks, smiling in shocked wonder. “Wh...” he breathes. “No one but my mum and dad have ever said those words in that order.” I laugh and kiss him with an abruptness that shocks us both. I smile through the kiss, feeling his small hands on my face, and as if proving something, I do my best to convey every feeling and passion and dream I’ve ever had concerning him. When we pull away, we’re grinning at each other like the fools that we are. “Hey,” I say. “You saved my life.” “Yeah, I think you owe me a kiss for that.” I flash a dangerous smile, grabbing his collar and pulling him forward. We walk back to camp hand in hand, giggling like children, with our free hands over our mouths. We see the others preparing for bed and all heads turn to us as we come in. “Oh,” says Aragorn, spotting our entwined hands. “Finally.” “Beg pardon?” Pippin asks. “Finally?” I echo. “Yeah, we’ve been wondering when you two would hook up,” smiles Merry. “There Gandalf,” Gimli grins, his rolling voice filled with pride. “This means I win.” “You said by the full moon!” protests the wizard, pointing his hat accusingly. “You were three days off.” “Closer than you,” Gimli says. “You said new moon –– I knew he’d crack before then.” “Congratulations,” Boromir winks at Pippin and me as Gandalf grumbles, “Never bet with a dwarf...” Pippin and I giggle, blushing, and race each other to our bed rolls, looking forward to sleeping entwined.