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This Too Shall Pass  by Budgielover

(Author’s Note: Dedicated to Piplover, with thanks for her inspirational impression of Pippin at our Phoenix Hobbit-Moot in early June and to Marigold, beta-extraordinaire, for her absolute insistence that this be written. I had my doubts that it could be written, but I faithfully sat down at Marigold’s laptop and outlined the story. I should explain that this story was conceived at approximately 3:30 a.m. by several bone-tired and laughter-drunk hobbits. Whatever Comes Out is Not My Fault.)

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters and settings are the property of the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien, New Line Cinemas, and their licensees. These works were produced with admiration and respect, as fan fiction for entertainment purposes only, not for sale or profit. This story and all my others may be found on my website, http://budgielover.com.   

This Too Shall Pass - A Story That Shall Go Down in the Anals of Fanfic History
                                                or
Another Take on A Hobbit Pile (During which Hobbits Go With the Flow and Do What Comes Naturally)

Chapter One

Merry came awake slowly, prodded into unwilling awareness by a hairy toe nudging the side of his leg. It was very dark and the ground was hard beneath him, the heaped blankets on which he lay providing little cushion against the cold earth and small rocks that even determined clearing could not remove. Instinctively he huddled against the warmth at his side, the breathing of his friends and kin soft and sweet in his ears.

"Merry?" hissed the source of that warmth quietly, blowing his hair against his ear. He clenched his eyes shut and ignored the voice, hoping its owner would take the hint and fall silent. He hoped in vain. "Merry?" Nudge. Nudge. "Merry? I’m hungry." A hard nudge, accompanied by a mournful sigh.

"Well, there’s nothing I can do about it. Go to sleep, Pippin." Merry kept his tone low, mindful of the other members of the Company trying to rest. They had marched hard and far that day, with only infrequent rests. The long-neglected road was growing more difficult as they left the desolate land of Hollin behind them, overgrown with grass and weeds and occasional rocky outcroppings that had to be climbed. Merry’s legs ached and he did not appreciate being called from the sweet oblivion of dreams. On the far end of their sleeping line Sam muttered something and rolled over, and Frodo pressed himself against Sam’s warm back, sighing softly in his sleep.

Instead of complying with Merry’s command, Pippin half-raised himself up on his elbows and looked about the camp. The dim moonlight cast shadows into his face and threw into ambiguous silhouette the vertical forms of the trees that encircled their hidden encampment. "Do you have any bread?" Pip whispered hopefully.

"No. Go to sleep." There was movement in the darkness, and the two hobbits could just make out the guard as a patch of dark through which no stars shone. Moonlight glimmered on the razored-edge of the dwarf’s great war-axe balanced on his shoulder as Gimli turned to check on them then swung back to his watch. Aragorn slept to one side of them, bracketed across the extinguished remains of their fire by Legolas. Boromir lay at their feet and Gandalf stretched out at their heads, his long staff laid by his side. Merry had come to accept the fact that he and the other hobbits were usually placed at the center of their camp and no longer resented it. He approved, for Frodo’s sake. On the edge of the encampment, Bill drowsed on the end of his tie-stake, his head low. The pony had enjoyed a better dinner off the long grass than they had made of the woefully inadequate rations of the Fellowship, Merry thought with a sigh.

Pippin sat up further and his eyes sought out their guard. Gimli was gnawing on a leg of pheasant, his back to them, staring out into the darkness. The faintest whiff of roasted pheasant drifted back on the breeze and Pippin sniffed wistfully. "Maybe there’s something left," the tweenager murmured. "Rabbit or just a bite of pheasant. Or some cheese. Anything."

"Just lay down and go back to sleep, Pip," his older cousin whispered. "I won’t have you waking up anyone else to look."

"Too late." Frodo sat up tiredly and rubbed his eyes. Merry winced; he had hoped to avoid disturbing their cousin. The hard walking seemed to weigh more heavily on Frodo than himself or Pip or Sam, and Merry feared to consider why. Merry fought down a surge of worry, knowing that Frodo took ill to constant queries about his health.

"What is happening?" Frodo asked, keeping his voice muted. Next to him, Sam snorted in his sleep and muttered something about "taters." They all looked at him but he did not wake, switching instead to soft, rumbling snores.

"The insatiable appetite is hungry again," Merry murmured in annoyance. Pip gave him a hurt look. Hearing the faint conversation, Gimli turned and looked at them keenly. When they made no move to summon him, he tossed the gnawed bone aside and returned his attention to the night.

Instead of being bothered, Frodo smiled at their youngest cousin sleepily. "Now, Merry. I seem to recall another young hobbit who drove Brandy Hall near to distraction during his tweenaged years." Merry rolled his eyes while Pippin snuggled gratefully into his eldest cousin’s outstretched arms. Frodo smiled into his hair, the distant stars reflecting in his eyes. "Did you know your cousin managed to polish off an entire Litheday feast by himself, Pippin? Merry was twenty-six, best I can remember, and his parents had kindly invited me for the holiday. I had been so looking forward to it -"

"All right, all right," grumbled Merry ungraciously.

Frodo yawned. "Can you wait until morning, lad? I’ll ask Sam if he couldn’t find some leftover sausages. I know he’s been saving a few." Pippin nodded. "Good. Go to sleep, both of you. We’ve a long way to go tomorrow."

"I’m sorry I woke you, Frodo," Pippin whispered.

His eyelids already drooping under the weight of his fatigue, Frodo hugged him then let go and lay back down. Pippin yawned and slid into the nest of bedrolls as Merry pulled the blankets up over them. With a martyred sigh, Pippin burrowed down, tugging his scarf up to shelter his ears from the chill air. Green-gold eyes looked into Merry’s sorrowfully. "I’ll dream about food," Pippin threatened, shifting a little to find a softer patch of ground.

"Fine," Merry returned drowsily. "Just do it quietly, please."

Some time after the hobbits’ breathing had evened out, one of the shadowed figures to their side moved. Legolas sat up and looped his long arms over his knees, watching the small, unmoving forms. Pippin’s late-night hunger had come close to ending his planned night’s work, his repayment for their little prank. The Elf did not actually know which of the little folk (or which combination of the little folk) had collected beads of tree-sap and mixed them with water and poured the sticky mixture into his hair-washing soap. But Merry and Pippin seemed the most likely choice. Legolas had his honour to uphold, and he intended to do just that.

Utterly soundless, the Elf pushed back his blankets and rose, drifting over to the sleeping hobbits. Gimli did not turn, night-bred eyes alert for threats from without. Legolas smiled to himself and knelt at the outer edge of the hobbit pile.

Merry lay with one arm curled under his head and the other thrown out, hand open and relaxed. He slept peacefully, head turned a little to the side, scrunched-up nose above a slightly open mouth. Pippin snuggled next to him on his side, his bronze head pressed into Merry’s ribs and legs curled tightly under him, posterior poking against Frodo. Frodo slept deeply, wearily, and Legolas regretted that the Ring-bearer would have his much-needed rest interrupted. Perhaps he could make it up to the halfling another time. On the far end Sam snored softly, a sound the Elf knew was both familiar and reassuring to the others.

With all the delicacy his race possessed, Legolas reached over to Merry’s outflung arm and unbuttoned the single button at the cuff of the hobbit’s long sleeve. Merry never moved. More confident now, the Elf’s slender fingers eased back the cloth, folding it carefully until it was gathered just below the hobbit’s elbow. Then he took the tiny piece of roasted bird he had saved from dinner and swiped it lightly along the hobbit’s exposed forearm.

Merry scowled in his sleep, uncurling his hand from under his head and swiping at his extended arm in annoyance. "… bugs," he muttered. Then his face grimaced in distaste and Legolas looked at him in surprise. "Nutritious," the hobbit murmured. "Ugh…" Legolas poised himself to spring away with elven speed but retreat was not necessary. Merry sniffled and turned himself over on his side towards his little cousin, his greased arm extended before him. The Elf smiled to himself. Better and better.

He spared a moment to ensure that none of the hobbits showed signs of waking, then spread his hand and balanced himself forward on the cold earth by Merry’s head. Leaning forward over the sleeping halfling, he lightly, ever so lightly, picked up Merry’s limp arm. Careful not to pull or squeeze, he moved the arm into Pippin’s grasp. Pippin obligingly hugged Merry’s arm in both of his, his cousin’s touch as familiar to him as his own.

With the hobbits arranged as he wanted, Legolas dangled the bit of meat before Pippin’s pointed nose. It twitched, and Pippin’s eyes moved under the closed lids. "…um," Pippin mumbled, "I’ll take the thigh, Merry," he murmured in indistinct dream-speak, "you … the breast…"

Gimli turned at the blurred words, soft as they were, and his dark-accustomed eyes easily picked out the shadowed form of the kneeling Elf. The dwarf’s eyes widened in astonishment. His bearded mouth opened, but Legolas waved his free hand at him with unaccustomed urgency, silencing him. Gimli stared, then a smile curved his lips. Three days ago, the dwarf had awakened to find dozens of little pink bows knotted into the carefully maintained braids of his beard. A fair amount of beard, a dwarf’s pride, had been pulled out in their removal.

The younger halflings adamantly denied the prank, Pippin clinging to Merry nervously. Unable to produce incriminating evidence, Gimli’s outrage had had to go unsatisfied. The ribbons’ source had remained a mystery, but Legolas’ sharp eyes had noted that a tiny piece of the hem of Pippin’s burgundy cloak was missing, as was the ribbon lacing on one of Merry’s shirts. It would not be so difficult to flinch a sliver of the strong lye soap Sam had brought along. Combine the three and a few minutes of soaking in hot water … and pink ribbons. Gimli stood a moment longer, then meeting the Elf’s eyes, pointedly turned his back on Legolas and resumed staring out into the night, unmoving except for occasionally shaking of his heavy shoulders.

Breathing a noiseless sigh of relief, Legolas dipped the tiny piece of leftover fowl before Pippin’s nose. Like a baby bird, Pippin’s head rose a tiny bit to follow it, then settled down back. "Yum," he mumbled, licking his lips with a soft little sigh. Legolas dipped the roasted meat again, and Pippin, sleeping still, inched forward. "Huh," he snuffled, "ummmm?" Legolas wafted the meat above Merry’s arm, deposited it carefully on the moon-washed flesh and withdrew with all the speed his kind possessed.

- Chomp, chomp, chomp -

"Auguuurraaah!" The young hobbit’s shriek was so loud that, safely ensconced in his blankets, Legolas winced. Aragorn shot to his feet, his sword drawn and at the ready before the sleep had cleared from his eyes. He spun around, his long leather coat billowing about him. Boromir rolled over onto his shield, knocking it down and setting up a great clatter. The soldier struggled up, swearing. Bill threw up his head and squealed, almost jerking his picket from the ground. Gandalf, too, was on his feet, sword drawn and staff raised, piercing eyes glaring into the darkness. In a blinding flare of light, the wizard’s staff burst into radiance. Sam had thrown himself over Frodo and was trying to keep his master down while he glared wildly about him. Gimli contributed to the general confusion by roaring inarticulately into the darkness and swinging his axe, carefully keeping his gaze away from the Elf.

Able to locate no immediate threat, Aragorn was over to Merry in a flash. "Legolas!" he shouted as he dropped his long sword and sank down at Merry’s side, "Scout the camp! Gimli, Boromir, take the perimeters! Gandalf, do you sense anything?" Solicitous hands helped the young hobbit into a sitting position. "Merry! What is it? What attacked you?" He fell silent upon seeing the two rows of shallow teeth-marks decorating Merry’s arm, from his wrist all the way to the elbow.

* TBC *





        

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