Title: SOLDIERS OF GONDOR
Author: A. Z. 'Telcontar' Shoshani
Characters: Pippin/Faramir
Rating: NC-17 [SLASH:graphic sex]
Summary: Pippin's feeling lonely...
Disclaimer: Middle Earth, its inhabitants, & sub-creation et al: JRR
Tolkien's. Story: Product of my most unnatural curiousity.
*Doing this is payment enough!*
Feedback:I'm always hungry: feed me! Mail to: az_tel@hotmail.com It's
greatly appreciated!
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too.

SOLDIERS OF GONDOR

"..when he saw the pale face of Faramir he caught his breath...Suddenly for
Faramir his heart was strangely moved with a feeling that he had not known
before..."
			The Siege of Gondor, The Return of the King, LOTR


There seemed to be no end to the night's darkness.  All the city of Minas
Tirith waited under seige, the men stirring restlessly. It had been a long
and tiresome day, but sleep was impossible for Pippin, so riddled was he
with worry and anxiety and a jumble of emotions he hadn't yet sorted
through. He was hungry, too, but he was always hungry, and with the city
surrounded there was little food to be had. He wished he had pipe-weed at
least, and even more he wished he had someone with whom to sit and enjoy it.

Gandalf had settled into a deep sleep, urging Pippin to do the same after
they had taken their leave of the Lord of the City. Pippin shivered, looking
back from the window into the room he shared with the wizard. His livery was
carefully laid out, the hauberk and helm carefully arrayed, waiting
Denethor's summons should he be required. 'Unlikely,' Pippin thought. 'And
why am I here, anyway? To keep me out of mischief, Gandalf says, but if that
were the case then why wasn't I sent away with the women and children? Oh, I
miss Merry!' A gloom and a heaviness had settled over him, so unlike his
normal cheery self. So much had happened in so little time, so much that
seemed so far beyond him. Gandalf was here with him, and for that he was
glad, but Gandalf had changed. He was quite different from the Gandalf that
he had remembered, and now the Wizard was distracted with matters far
greater than playing nurse-maid to a restless young Hobbit. And today Pippin
had realised for the first time that Gandalf was actually frightened.

It had been good to hear news of Frodo and Sam. The last time he had seen
them was in Amon Hen weeks ago, although it seemed much longer. He felt a
pang of worry thinking of his fellow Hobbits entering Mordor on what seemed
to be a futile and desperate mission, a fear he had seen mirrored in the
wizard's grim expression. He felt very small all of a sudden.

'I must get out for a bit,' he thought abruptly. 'I shall go mad locked up
in here with no hope of sleep and nothing but my thoughts to while away the
time.' Drawing on his elven cloak over his nightclothes, he quietly slipped
out the door, closing it gently behind him.

His bare feet padded over the hard stones of the hallway and down the stairs
leading out to the lane. He made his way along, ignoring the curious glances
and quiet smiles of the few men milling about the deserted passages. He had
been startled at first to discover that the men of Gondor had mistaken him
for a prince of the Halflings, but now he was growing used to their stares
and speculation. He could understand their interest, a feeling of which he
was quite familiar. He didn't bother correcting them; it seemed to make no
difference, and he was the son of a Thain after all, although compared to
the tall and noble Men he had met recently he felt rustic.

He thought of Faramir, and there was an odd skip in his chest when he did.
Faramir! When he had first seen Faramir enter the city he had been struck by
how closely the man resembled Boromir in face and in form, yet in this
younger man there was something more profound and moving. It was a kindness,
a gentleness that tempered the stern command of Faramir, an air of almost
Elven wisdom that rested on his features and a sadness deep in his eyes.
Pippin had known in that moment what he felt, but only now in his solitude
could he fully admit it in his heart the depth of his emotion: he loved this
strange man, and would willingly follow any command he would give him.

Pippin felt he would cry, and he clenched his jaw tightly. He missed Merry
fiercely, missed the comfort of sitting with him by the fire after a
satisfying meal and smoking a good pipe. He missed feeling Merry's hands
clapping him on the shoulders and his warm embrace, and he missed feeling
Merry's welcome warmth cradling him as they slept under moonlight and
starlight. He missed so much the scent of Merry's skin and the taste of
apples in his mouth. Nothing here seemed familiar, and even the feelings he
had towards this son of Denethor seemed strange and untested.

Yet he had hope that Men could feel what he as a Hobbit could feel. Beregond
had a feeling like it toward Faramir, certainly: Pippin had seen that
clearly enough in the guard's joy at his captain's return, and Pippin knew,
too, that Beregond in his heart was not alone among the men. Towards
Faramir Pippin felt many things: he was attracted to  his noble, gentle air,
and his proud commanding form, certainly. But there was more than that.
While he had been sitting half-forgotten by Denethor in the Steward's
private chambers, he had listened to all that was said between father and
son. Witnessing Faramir's sad longing and flush of frustration at the
Steward's displeasure Pippin felt a sudden kinship with this son of
Denethor; he had often had the same from his own father, the Thain.

Lost in thought, Pippin had wandered the winding lanes of stone until he
came to the Court of the Fountain. He sat beside it, brushing back his
cloak, and absently trailed his fingers in the rippling waters.

'Master Peregrin,' said a soft voice to his side. 'It is Peregrin, yes?'

Pippin started, turning. Near him stood Faramir, still clad in his tunic but
without his coat of mail, cloak or helmet. Pippin jumped up and gave a quick
bow. 'Forgive me, Lord Faramir, I was lost in thought and did not see you.
Yes, my name is Peregrin, but most call me Pippin.'

'Pippin, then.' Faramir sat on the fountain's edge, and urged Pippin to sit
down. 'From your companions, I know that Halflings sleep, yet you are
wandering the lanes of the City.'

'Yes, my lord. I cannot seem to find sleep tonight. My heart is heavy, and I
miss my friends.'

Faramir nodded. 'If you count Frodo and Samwise among your friends I can
understand. They are brave, stout-hearted and worthy of loyal friendship.'

'I was pleased to hear that they are still alive at least. I had
worried...but I left another of my friends, a kinsman of mine, in Rohan, and
I think of him, too."

'A brother?' asked Faramir, with some interest.

Pippin blushed. 'A cousin. I have no brothers.'

A shadow of grief passed over Faramir's face. 'Neither do I, now,' he said.

Pippin frowned. 'Boromir was a great man, and I was honored to have known
him. I admired him from our first meeting in Rivendell.'

Faramir smiled, but his eyes remained sad. 'My brother was a lordly man, and
one greatly admired by many.'

'As are you, my lord,' replied Pippin shyly.

Faramir gave a low, bitter laugh. 'Not by my father, it seems.'  He sighed.
'But that is not your concern, Pippin.'

Pippin shrugged, kicking his feet. Something about Faramir put him at ease.
'I do understand, though. My own father thinks me too impulsive to amount to
much. Given all the trouble I've caused even I'd agree with him now.'

'My father rarely takes a page from the ranks of mischief makers, I assure
you. I think you are likely to be like the other Halflings I've met, Sam and
Frodo. It surprises me that so little is known of your people here. Minas
Tirith has a vast library of knowledge of many things in Middle Earth, yet I
heard first of Halflings in a dream.'

Pippin gave a short laugh. 'I am not a good example of my people! Most
Hobbits are a quiet bunch who don't care at all for adventures. But we can
hold our own in a pinch, as we say.'

'Hobbits? Ah, yes.. that is what you call yourselves. Mithrandir seems quite
fond of your kind. I must admit I was amazed to see a Hobbit in the livery
of Gondor, yet you do seem princely for all your lack of stature. Tell me
more of your home and people, for I'm quite curious about you.'

For some time Pippin found himself relating over as much history and family
information he could recall about the Shire and its inhabitants, and he fell
into a sort of ease of words he had forgotten. Faramir took it all like an
apt pupil, asking questions here and there, but for the most part  he
listened. As Pippin was recalling the numerous offspring of the Old Took,
Faramir asked, 'Do most Hobbits have such large families?'

'A great many of them, yes.'

'Yet you all remain settled in the Shire. Are you so numerous then?'

'It's not unusual for family trees to have several branches intertwining.
Some don't marry, of course. And not all families are large; my cousin Merry
is the only child in his family.'

'This is the one left in Rohan?'

'Yes,' Pippin said with a sigh.

'He must mean a great deal to you,' Faramir remarked.

'Yes, Merry...well, growing up Merry was very much like a brother to me.'

'And now?'

Pippin fell silent, looking over his shoulder into the fountain. 'Now he is
much more,' he murmured. He looked back at Faramir, his mouth a thin, tight
line. 'I don't know how it is with Men, but sometimes, with Hobbits...'

Faramir smiled, holding up a hand. 'I am a soldier, Pippin, and I assure you
it happens.'

Pippin nodded. 'I thought as much.' He fell silent again. The night had
grown even darker around them, it seemed, and he realised he had no sense of
how much time had passed. Faramir, too, seemed lost in thought. The sound of
splashing water echoed around the courtyard.

Faramir stood up suddenly looking toward the sky. 'Will you walk with me,
Pippin?' he asked.

'Certainly, my lord,' Pippin replied.

'Faramir,' he said. Pippin looked startled. 'We are alone and not in
service, and I would like it if you would call me Faramir.'

'As you wish, Faramir."

They walked on in silence. Faramir was amazed how silently the Hobbit seem
to move, as if he were not treading cold cobblestones but the gentle
leaf-strewn turf of the woods. What strange creatures, he thought. They look
like children in height, but their thought and speech is that of Men like
myself.  The surrounding walls around such a  being seem like a cage that
wishes to contain something free. He knew quite well that Pippin's seeming
fragility was just an illusion; Gandalf had told him how the Halfling came
to wear the colors of Gondor, and he did not doubt that this Hobbit was as
brave and stout-hearted as the Ringbearer and his companion. But he was a
curious thing, more so than the others, and in that Faramir saw reflected
his own curiosity.

Pippin kept looking up at the man and turning away, obviously thinking.
Faramir smiled. 'What is it, Pippin?' he asked kindly.

Pippin blushed, shifting his cloak around him tighter. 'It's nothing,
really...' he stammered. 'I was just thinking.'

'What were you thinking?'

Pippin blushed even deeper. 'I was wondering...if you were maybe missing
someone, too. Like I'm missing Merry.'

Faramir glanced down at the Hobbit. 'No,' he answered. 'It has been too long
since there was either man or woman that warmed my bed or held my heart.'

'You must be very lonely,' Pippin remarked unthinkingly. He clapped a hand
over his mouth in dismay, his eyes wide with embarrassment.

Faramir laughed quietly. 'Truth is that I have not slept in a bed for too
long, being concerned with the Enemy as we have been. But that does not deny
the need of it. As I said, I am a soldier. There are ways.'

'And I am a soldier of Gondor now, too," Pippin said softly. 'But it seems
that it is only to humor me.' Pippin tilted his head to the side, peering up
at Faramir. 'So, do I go to you for instruction, then?' he asked, with a
saucy look, his Tookish nature overcoming his shyness.

Faramir gave a low laugh. 'I doubt you need any instruction,' he replied.
'But you are a bold one, aren't you?'

'I'm a Took, and as such I am quite exceptional as Hobbits go,' Pippin said.

'So it seems. And Hobbits seem to be exceptional as creatures go, from those
I've met.' Faramir knelt down, looking eye-to-eye with Pippin. 'Would you go
willingly to my bed, or are you driven there only by need?'

Pippin stared back with all seriousness. 'I'll not deny my heart is still
with my cousin, but I still would go willingly. You are unlike any Man I
have yet seen, and from the moment I saw you enter the gates I felt this
way. Will you have me, then?'

Faramir's eyes were filled with a sudden tenderness, and Pippin felt his
heart leap. Standing, Faramir stretched out his hand to the young Hobbit and
led him to back across the courtyard and through one of the doorways into
his chambers.

*****

The bed seemed vast to Pippin and too far off the ground. He sipped a bit of
wine and contemplated how to get in it without looking like a awkward child
as Faramir stripped off his clothing.

The room was sparsely furnished, but warm with the glow of candlelight and
filled with a scent that reminded Pippin of Fangorn, only drier, with a
spicy undertone. He tried not to think of Treebeard, for that only brought
Merry to mind, and he found himself returned in memory to their parting at
Isengard and his foolish actions with the Palantir. He shivered.

'There's no reason to fear,' Faramir's voice said gently behind him. 'Are
you certain this is what you want?'

'Oh, it's not that,' Pippin answered. 'I was thinking...of the darkness. And
what's in it.'

'Let us not speak of the Shadow for a time,' said Faramir, his hands falling
gently on Pippin's shoulders.

Pippin drained the cup and set it down. With quick fingers he undid the leaf
clasp of his cloak, carefully folding it and setting it aside. He was less
careful with the nightshirt. He turned towards Faramir, and realised
suddenly a certain advantage in their difference in height.

Faramir was leaner than his brother, tall and well-muscled. Soft downy hair
made his skin glow golden in the candlelight, and a mass of ruddy-gold curls
shone in the dim light before Pippin. Pippin looked up at him, unsure of
what to do next. Even relaxed, the man was larger than a Hobbit.

Faramir reached out his arms. 'Let me see you,' he said, lifting the Hobbit
onto the bed. Pippin sat propped against the pillows and coverlet. Both were
soft and well-made, as benefits a nobleman, and Pippin felt a comfort of
them on his bare skin. Faramir sat next to him and leaned on his side,
taking in the sight of him.

With a feather-light touch that belied his stern looks Faramir touched
Pippin's chest, stroking the dusting of hair there. Pippin was pleased that
he had been early to mature that way, knowing that not every Hobbit had hair
there in their tweens. He doubted Frodo had any there at all, even at the
age of fifty. The touch sent a cascade of sparking embers of heat across his
skin.

Faramir's face lingered near his own, and he reached a hand up to stroke the
man's jaw. It was an odd sensation, feeling the wiry strands of hair over
the bone. Hobbits grew no beards, and Pippin found the strange difference
intriguing and not just a little arousing.

Faramir's hands continued its exploration across his belly, and Pippin
twined his fingers into Faramir's carrot-coloured locks. They were
surprisingly soft and freshly cleaned, no doubt from when he had returned
from being a-field. Faramir drew closer, their breath becoming a harmony.
Pippin's eyes shone in the candlelight, and his sharp chin tipped up, his
pointed lips open.

Faramir kissed him, his beard tickling Pippin's face as he lay him back. The
Hobbit tasted of sweet wine, and they kissed again, harder this time. A
small tongue probed his mouth, licking. Thin-fingered hands unwound from
Faramir's hair, dancing across his shoulders. His own hands cupped the
slight form next to him, alive with an animal warmth. As if to gentle him,
his hands smoothed over the Hobbit in soft circles, slowly working their way
down.

Pippin gave a pleasure-filled cry as Faramir's hand grasped between his
legs, cupping the swollen ache there. Pippin was bigger than Faramir had
thought he would be, thinking back to some of his other encounters with
younger lads new to soldiering. This was something quite new and different,
and it made his own arousal greater. A slight dew wet his palm, and he
dipped his fingertips over it, moving them over the long, silky tautness
beneath his hand.

Pippin made a soft mewling sound in deep in his throat, his body tensing
against the bed. His hands scrabbled across Faramir's front, unable to find
purchase.
Reaching down, he grasped Faramir between both hands, quick flashes of
lightning-fast touch that staggered the man in their intensity. The effort
caused Pippin to lift his head and shoulders up to press against him, and
his ragged breathing stirred against Faramir's ribs, keeping time with the
beating of his heart.

Releasing his hold, Faramir gripped Pippin to him, rolling onto his back.
Pippin's legs as thin as the trunks of saplings  now straddled him, his
center pressed against him in a furious heat. It grew with the friction as
they rocked against each other, until together they felt like red-hot
embers, burning with passion and lust and need so great that they didn't
fight against it but let it explode between their flesh, melting in relief.
Pippin fell forward, exhausted, and Faramir held him close on his heaving
chest like a child.

They must have slept, but if they had, there was no measure of the time
other than the dimming of the candle, for it was still dark when they awoke.
There were the sounds of more men stirring outside, and when they awoke they
felt a refreshing calm long missed despite the gloom of the day. They lay
together, side by side, for long moments, not speaking. Pippin wished he
could lie there in that moment forever, untouched by the doom of the coming
day, wanting only peace and quiet and comfort.

But Faramir shifted, his arm first embracing him and then letting go. 'We
must make ready,' he said. 'The day is here, if not the dawn, and you must
return to your quarters and the wizard.'

Pippin sighed, knowing Faramir was right but still reluctant to move. 'I
would rather rest here,' he said. Faramir rose, moving across the room with
a grace that made Pippin hunger for him to return to the bed all the more.
He resigned himself to sitting up and watching the man wash and dress.

'Faramir,' he said as Faramir buckled on his belt. He didn't know what he
meant to say; he had simply wished to say his name.

Faramir looked up expectantly. 'Yes, Pippin?'

'I...' He paused, picking at the coverlet. 'Thank you,' he said quietly.

'We both had need, I see.' Faramir sat on the bed. 'And I thank you.'

Pippin nodded, trying very hard not to cry. 'It was....an honor.' He drew up
his knees, clasping his arms around them. 'Would it be cowardly of me to say
I'm frightened?'

'We are all frightened today, even the bravest among us. You know the Enemy
we face. Many will die this day, I fear. But we have our duty, and we must
fulfill it as long as there is strength in us.' Gently he gathered up Pippin
in his arms and set him on the floor, kissing his unruly curls. 'Go to your
fate, Pippin the Hobbit, just as I must go to mine. I am grateful for the
moment we were able to have, but the Steward will not rest nor let his men
rest on this dreadful dawn-less day. We must be ready for his call.'

Pippin quickly washed and threw on his nightshirt and cloak. 'I only hope to
honor you and Gondor in battle this day.'

'Not all glory is found on the battlefield, nor is all greatness found in
war. We shall see. My hope is only that we may meet again beyond this
terror, whole and unscathed. Perhaps that is too much to hope for, yet hope
it I will.' A tapping came to the door, and Faramir drew it open, peering
out. There was a quick and quiet exchange, and Faramir shut the door.

'The Steward has summoned us. Make haste and garb yourself," he said in a
stern voice full of command, unlike his gentle tone previous. He was now
Faramir, Captain of Gondor, and Pippin followed him out as they departed the
room, pausing only for a moment to look after at him as he strode away into
the gloom.

'Farewell, then, fellow man of Gondor, Faramir, my captain,' he said. 'May
we meet again as you wish.'