Title: A Wizard's Pupil 
Author's name: Ruby Nye 
Author's email: shmi@bantha.org 
Pairing: Denethor/Pippin 
Other Pairings: Merry/Pippin, Pippin/various 
Rating: NC-17 
Warnings: Interspecies. Nonconsensual sex. Movieverse 
characterizations. Smidge of het. 
Summary: Denethor's idea of service. 
Author's Note: I want to say I can't believe I wrote this, but I know 
myself better than that. Even so, poor Pippin. I owe him a pint after 
putting him through this one. I tried to leave this out of my continuity, 
not least because I'm using a movieverse characterization here, but the 
story reared up and demanded to be let in, and picked vignettes to support 
its case. So. 
 
                                                                     * 
 
"_No, I won't tell you! NO!_" 
 
Pippin sat bolt upright, chest heaving, staring into the darkness. He 
didn't realized he'd screamed aloud till Merry's hand moved on his arm. 
"Pippin?" Merry whispered, voice rough with sleep. "Pip-love?" 
 
"Merry." Pippin gasped, found Merry's hand with his own, tangled their 
fingers, took a deep breath, then another. Merry curled closer, his other 
hand on Pippin's back, and waited until Pippin could turn to him and pull 
him into a tight embrace. 
 
"Oh, Merry." Merry was rubbing his back now; Pippin curled into his 
warmth, his living breathing real warmth, and took another deep breath, 
and tried to stop shuddering. "Merry. Oh, this one. It was---" Pippin 
shook again. 
 
"Not such a lovely dream, eh, Pip?" Merry kissed his cheek, stroked his 
hair. "The maidens had buck teeth and the strawberries weren't ripe?" 
 
"Oh, definitely." Pippin laughed, eyes wet with relief, and kissed Merry's 
shoulder. Merry stroked his back and asked, "Would it help to talk?" 
 
Pippin nearly shook his head, but something within him, some bit exhausted 
with this particular burden, nodded instead. "It was about Lord Denethor," 
Pippin whispered. 
 
"When he died? That must have been horrid." 
 
"No, Merry." Pippin's voice cracked, but he forced it to words. "No, 
before then." And as he whispered, unraveling the tale, Merry's stroking 
hands began to tremble. 
 
                                                                     * 
 
As Pippin hurried down the hall to his new lord's chambers, he nearly ran 
into footstools and wall-hangings in the grey dimness, for his mind was 
far away with Faramir. Faramir, who had walked up beneath the gate-arch 
and into his heart. Faramir, who had spoken to him warmly and kissed him 
gently and slept peacefully in his arms for far too few hours. Faramir, 
who had soothed the lonely ache for Merry and for Boromir and for Frodo. 
He hadn't filled that ache---no one could---but Pippin had been so glad to 
have found Faramir, and now was so worried for him. He wasn't sure he 
could stand losing him right after discovering him. 
 
Pippin was shortly to find out just what he could stand. 
 
"Peregrin." Lord Denethor opened the door, a lamp in his other hand. "As 
esquire of my chamber you shall attend my bath." He turned before Pippin 
could reply, not that, as Pippin reflected a moment later, there was 
really anything to say; he had sworn himself to Denethor's service, the 
least he might do was hold towels. So, he followed the lamp through dim, 
wide chambers to Denethor's candlelit bath-room, where a full tub already 
steamed. Pippin stood by, eyes downcast, as Denethor disrobed and climbed 
in; he was tired, and the room was moist and hot, so he found it easy to 
concentrate to the exclusion of all else on standing up straight and not 
yawning. 
 
Then, his lord broke that concentration. "Peregrin, sing for me." 
 
Pippin's head jerked up. "Sing, my lord?" Denethor was leaning on the 
tub's edge, smiling at him with that same measuring, calculating gaze with 
which he'd watched Pippin kiss his ring. "Sing," he replied, and Pippin 
took a deep breath, there being nothing for it. At least while he was 
singing he might close his eyes. "_O, Water hot we may pour at need/Down a 
thirsty throat and be glad indeed..._" Pippin's voice was thin and rough 
in his own ears, but Denethor seemed to enjoy it as he sat back in the 
water and sighed. When the song finished Denethor stayed still for a long 
moment; then he climbed suddenly out of the bath, and before he could 
catch himself Pippin looked up at him. 
 
_He looks like Boromir_, was Pippin's first unwilling thought. Boromir as 
he would have been in his later years, his chest fur grey, his scars faded 
to pale lines, but his shoulders still broad and unstooped, his body still 
firm and muscled. Denethor smiled again, that unnerving smile, and Pippin 
felt his cheeks grow pink as he handed up a towel and hoped that he'd be 
dismissed soon. 
 
Instead, Denethor's smile widened into a hungry grin, as he stepped 
forward to cup Pippin's chin in his hand. "So, my halfling," he said, so 
like and so unlike Boromir that Pippin's head swam with confusion, "you 
can sing, and you can talk. What else can you do with that mouth?" 
 
The confusion cleared. Pippin wished desperately for it back, as his heart 
plummeted like a stone. Denethor's thumb stroked his cheek, and the grin 
grew wider yet. 
 
                                                                     * 
 
_"That's it, Pip," Merry sighed above him, a hand fisting and unclenching 
in his curls. "Oh, Pippin, that's it, that's it." Pippin couldn't smile 
with his mouth full, but he did chuckle, and chuckled again when Merry 
trembled and moaned and twitched in his mouth._ 
 
It would have been easier if all he'd felt were disgust. It would have 
been far easier, to kneel there between his lord's thighs, still in his 
uniform, his hands and mouth full, musk in his nose and Denethor's hand 
heavy on his head; then he could have told himself this was merely service 
to his lord and that it would be over soon. But Pippin didn't lie, least 
of all to himself, and he knew that he could see Denethor's sons in him; 
the command that was warm in Boromir and sweet in Faramir was stern in 
Denethor but undeniable all the same, and it set a white flame flickering 
behind Pippin's eyes. So he knelt there, achingly hard, mouth full and 
Denethor's hand on his nape pressing his head down farther, and sucked as 
hard as he could and drew breath as best he could and felt tears running 
down his face. 
 
The only warning Pippin had was Denethor's hand tightening in his hair; 
then his head was pushed down even harder, and he couldn't breathe at all 
as Denethor pulsed in his mouth, filling it with bitterness. Denethor let 
a long satisfied sigh above him and released him, and he pulled his head 
up and swallowed and gasped, blinking till his vision cleared. 
 
"Well done, Peregrin." That hand beneath his chin again, stroking his 
cheek and pulling his gaze upwards; Pippin trembled as he looked up, 
finding the smile still as hungry as ever. "Well done, my esquire. Tell 
me, did you do so well with my son?" 
 
Pippin gasped despite himself; Denethor's grip tightened just the smallest 
bit. "Did you think I would not know how Faramir spent his last night 
here?" His thumb kept stroking Pippin's cheek. "Did you go to his bed by 
his call, or were you the wizard's reward?" 
 
Pippin could only gape in shock. He had gone to Faramir because he'd 
wanted to, because Faramir's eyes and smile and sadness called to his 
heart. To hear it thought of so, to hear Denethor accuse Gandalf of using 
him so----his fists clenched before he could stop them, and though he 
unclenched them immediately, Denethor noticed and gave a sharp laugh. "You 
will tell me, my halfling, even if not now. For the moment, rise. I wish 
to see you." Pippin got to his feet, stepping back as he did so, but 
Denethor drew him forward again, so close his breath stirred Pippin's 
hair. "I wish to see you," he repeated, steel thinly draped in velvet. 
"Disrobe, Peregrin." 
 
"My lord." Pippin swallowed a plea, and nodded, and began to undo his 
clasps. That was when he realized with dismay that he was still hard. 
 
                                                                     * 
 
_Frodo smiled, one arm lazily making the water ripple, the other round 
Pippin's shoulders. "Mmm, Pippin," he murmured, as Pippin laid kisses and 
nips down his damp throat. "Mmm. Merry had said you'd grown, but I had no 
idea, coz, what a fine lad you've become." Pippin smiled, and bit Frodo 
slowly, the way Merry had told him to, and was delighted to finally render 
Frodo gasping and speechless._ 
 
"What a fair young man you are." Denethor's broad hand lay over Pippin's 
heart; Pippin lay still, barely breathing, wanting to be gone, wanting 
desperately to please. "And yet your skin is fine as cream." The hand was 
trailing lower, fingertips dragging over Pippin's skin. "Not a hair on you 
but for your head and your feet. And here, of course." Denethor's fingers 
ruffled the hair at Pippin's groin, adroitly avoiding his prick, which was 
traitorously hard and twitched as if it might find its way to Denethor's 
touch all on its own. "Tell me, Peregrin, did you seduce my other son? Is 
that why he was too distracted to take leadership of your Company?" 
 
"Sir, my lord, please." Pippin wanted to close his eyes, but Denethor's 
gaze held them just as firmly as his hand had held Pippin's chin. "Boromir 
was my friend and my kinsman's, and we loved him. He was a great 
gentleman." 
 
"Indeed." Denethor's fingers spiraled in; Pippin felt the pleasure 
threading through the terror, and gasped despite himself. "Indeed you did, 
I can see it in your eyes. And yet the wizard might have turned even that 
to his uses, his and his puppet's who seeks my throne." Denethor growled 
low in his throat. "I will have what you know of him, Peregrin, and I will 
reward you for the truth you give me." His fingers began stroking; Pippin 
bit his lip, as for the first time in his life he actually fought the haze 
of pleasure. "Tell me of Aragorn son of Arathorn." 
 
                                                                     * 
 
_Diamond's hands were small and soft, not quite as quick as his own, but 
no matter. His hands were busy themselves, with those fascinating soft 
breasts, the little nipples hard beneath his fingers. He squeezed them 
gently and she moaned into his mouth and giggled, and firmed her stroking 
grip, and Pippin wondered why he had_ ever_disliked girls._ 
 
"My lord, please, please..." Pippin begged, not knowing what for. For 
release? For dismissal? He writhed against Denethor's chest where one 
broad arm held him firmly, and sobbed as Denethor's long fingers stroked 
him just so far, just to the edge where pleasure and pain blurred 
together. "Please, sir, my lord, please..." 
 
"You beg as if you sang," Denethor replied, voice soft and cruel. "I like 
the sound of it, Peregrin. I like it very much." He kissed Pippin's brow. 
"What I do _not_ like is how you have not answered me." All the while the 
merciless fingers stroked. "Do you think I cannot perceive threats to my 
rule? Do you think I do not know my son must have opposed this Ranger? 
Tell me, is that why he died?" 
 
"My lord, no, please, no!" Pippin trembled, fire in all his veins. His 
hand rose as if to push Denethor's away, but Denethor curled his other 
hand round Pippin's arm, fingers tracing the muscles even as they held the 
arm down, and Pippin didn't dare struggle. He didn't dare. "Sir, Aragorn 
strove to heal him! He couldn't save him, my lord, please, please!" 
 
"Very well, my esquire." Denethor's voice was low and amused. "Very well, 
but only because you beg so very sweetly." The fingers wrapped tighter, 
moved faster; Denethor pressed his mouth to Pippin's, swallowing his wail, 
as Pippin sobbed till tears ran from his eyes and saw the darkness catch 
fire and peaked. 
 
                                                                     * 
 
_"Ah, my lads, do you know what you do?" Boromir murmured huskily, an arm 
round each of them. Pippin heard Merry's warm voice reassuring Boromir as 
he buried his face in Boromir's neck, tasting the strength of that corded 
throat, the pulse beating there. He nipped Boromir, and grinned to feel 
that whole mighty frame tense in response to his small mouth. Then Pippin 
lifted his head, and watched Boromir kiss Merry till he was so roused he 
couldn't stand it anymore; Boromir startled when Pippin kissed him, then 
chuckled into the kiss and drew him closer yet._ 
 
Denethor's mouth was hard and demanding on Pippin's, drawing out his 
breath even Pippin struggled to catch it. "A talented mouth indeed," he 
said with satisfaction, as Pippin gasped and shook. "Tender as a woman's, 
determined as a warrior's. I am glad to have this mouth in my service, 
Peregrin." 
 
"Th-thank you, Sir." Pippin fervently hoped that was a dismissal, and for 
no more such service. "May I rise, my lord?" 
 
It wasn't a dismissal. "And where will you go, my esquire?" Denethor wiped 
his hand on the sheets and stroked Pippin's side, raising goosebumps. 
 
"Where, my lord?" Pippin racked his mind for the right answer, struggling 
with his weariness and the dazing effects of his peak. "Why, just to my 
bed." 
 
"And not to report to Mithrandir." Denethor laughed as if Pippin had 
joked. "What a lovely little spy you make, as well-trained as you are 
handsome." 
 
That was too much. "My lord!" Pippin struggled against Denethor's grip. 
"My lord, I am no spy! I swore you my fealty, I've done everything you've 
asked!" _Even this!_ 
 
"Yes, you have," Denethor agreed, effortlessly holding Pippin down. "You 
have done splendidly, Peregrin; fear not, I have marked it well. Lie still 
now." Pippin looked up at him, and drew a great breath, and went limp. 
"You serve me very well, Peregrin, so well that I would have you beside me 
all this dark night. Soon you may sleep here; soon, but not yet." 
Denethor's eyes glittered. Pippin hadn't known his heart could sink 
further. And yet, as Denethor's hard mouth descended on his, he felt 
himself hardening in response. 
 
                                                                     * 
 
_"It is as if you walked out of my books," said Faramir in hushed wonder, 
stroking Pippin's hair. "Or out of my brother's letters, bearing news of 
him to my heart. But even if you had not met him, Pippin, I would be glad 
to have met you, glad beyond all hope to be with you now." Pippin smiled, 
his heart aching with such joy there were no words; Faramir read it all in 
his eyes, and kissed him again._ 
 
Denethor's hands were firm on Pippin's body. "There is one more service I 
would have of you this night," he murmured in Pippin's ear, and Pippin 
couldn't contain a sigh of relief; he heard himself and tensed, and 
Denethor chuckled. "Are you weary, my halfling?" 
 
_I wish he would stop calling me that,_"A little, my lord."  Denethor 
smiled, almost like his sons' smiles and yet so completely different, as 
he ran his hand up Pippin's neck and cheek into his hair. "Soon, we will 
both sleep. But first, I would have you." 
 
_No!_ Pippin's mouth burst open on a plea he knew would be futile even as 
he cried it. "My lord, please, I really would rather not." 
 
Denethor merely grinned, that same predatory grin. "Oh, but I would 
rather, Peregrin." His fingers wrapped round Pippin's arm possessively. 
 
"Sir, my lord, I might---" Pippin closed his eyes against the glittering 
ones above him, swallowed hard. "I might suck you again." The reply to 
that was another chuckle, another hard kiss. "You might, and you will," 
Denethor said; Pippin shivered, wondering how his lord could make him so 
dread an act he had so thoroughly loved to perform. "But for now I would 
have you, my little soft-skinned soldier." Denethor's fingers stroked his 
arms, pressing into the flesh. "And you will please me, Peregrin, will you 
not?" 
 
"Yes, my lord." Denethor kissed him again, and Pippin felt like weeping. 
 
                                                                     * 
 
_ Merry collapsed to the pillows beside him, chest heaving. "Oh, Pip. 
Pip-love." Pippin could only gaze at him, tears in his eyes, heart still 
pounding. Merry was still gasping, harder than Pippin---which made sense, 
he'd done more of the work---but he hauled himself up to lay a 
still-shaking hand on Pippin's cheek. "Didn't hurt you, did I?" Pippin 
shook his head, and kissed Merry's hand, and smiled, and Merry's answering 
smile was like a sunrise. "Love you," Pippin gasped in reply. "Merry, I 
love you."_ 
 
It would have been easier if Denethor had put him on his knees; he would 
have buried his face in the pillow and drowned himself in memories. But 
Denethor had him on his back, both his wrists clamped in one large hand, 
three fingers of the other buried deep within him. Pippin arched his back 
and cried out with the pleasure and the horror of it, his eyes pressed 
shut, the darkness behind them black and glittering like Denethor's eyes. 
"My lord," he sobbed, tears running from his eyes. "My lord, I beg you---" 
 
"Beg me, Peregrin." The fingers slid back so very slowly. Pippin collapsed 
to the bed, chest heaving. "Beg me with that mouth of yours, in that voice 
of yours. Beg me." He was over Pippin now, slowly, steadily pressing into 
his body. "Beg me." 
 
And Pippin did, though he never knew, then or later, what he pleaded, as 
Denethor slid slowly into him to the hilt, and pulled back, and thrust a 
little faster, and growled, as Pippin's hard prick rubbed against 
Denethor's belly on each stroke as if it strove towards him all on its 
own, as the pleasure and the pain and the agony entwined within Pippin 
till the thread of his voice broke and he could only sob. Pippin wept as 
Denethor had him, pounding into him, and wept hardest of all when he 
peaked; the lightning rushing through him brought him a blissful moment of 
oblivion, but then he came back to himself to find Denethor clutching his 
wrists so tightly he thought they might snap, growling above him and 
thrusting harder than ever as he emptied deep within him. 
 
Denethor fell forward onto him, rolled sideways a bit. Pippin gasped, and 
turned his face into the bedsheets, and sobbed until Denethor let him go; 
he rolled away, curled up, kept sobbing. Denethor breathed hard beside 
him, raising a hand to stroke Pippin's curls. "Well done, my esquire," he 
murmured, the sound of his voice wrapping Pippin's spine in ice. "Well 
done." 
 
_Please let me go._ Pippin bit his fist and breathed deeply till he could 
stop sobbing. "Well done," Denethor murmured once more, leaning over him 
again. "Did you love my son, Peregrin? Or did you merely beguile him?" 
 
"I loved him." Pippin whispered, not knowing which son Denethor meant, 
knowing it was true for both. "I love him. My lord." 
 
"Very good, Peregrin. Sleep now." Somehow, despite it all, despite or 
because of Denethor's hand stroking his hair, Pippin sank into weariness, 
and forgot where he was long enough to sleep. 
 
                                                                     * 
 
"Oh, Pip." Merry's voice was hushed with horror. "Oh, Pip. No wonder you 
didn't want to tumble at the Houses of Healing." His hands had stilled 
their stroking, and now trembled on Pippin's back. Pippin stroked Merry's 
hair, as if Merry were the one needing comfort; he felt light and empty, 
after unburdening himself of that tale. "You didn't know, Merry, you 
didn't know. No one knew. I told no one." 
 
"Why not, Pippin? You should have---" 
 
"Told Gandalf? And what could he have done, when I'd pledged myself to 
serve Denethor? I just didn't know he'd take it so _literally_." Pippin 
gave a little broken laugh; Merry gasped, and his shaking hands clutched 
Pippin more tightly, but he managed a little laugh of his own. 
 
After a moment more, Pippin sat back, his hands sliding down Merry's arms 
to tangle fingers. "And I couldn't tell Faramir. How could he have borne 
it, Merry? So I didn't tell anyone. And then I was before the Black Gate, 
and it didn't matter anymore." 
 
"Oh, Pippin. My brave Pippin." Merry leaned his brow against Pippin's; 
even in the dark, they each knew where the other was. "You should never 
have had to bear it." 
 
"You helped me." Merry didn't move, but Pippin felt surprise ripple 
through him. "All through it, I thought of the times I'd been to bed 
willingly, the lovers who've brought me joy. More than anyone else, Merry, 
I thought of you." 
 
Merry drew in a long, long, shuddery breath, and his reply was a fervent 
kiss.