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March 16, 2004
~*~
A/N - I don't know what
happened here. I will tell you outright that this piece is a little...
odd. Blame it on my strange mental meanderings or the Bizarro!Fic Faerie.
I can't promise that it won't happen again.
~*~
IRREVERENCE
~*~
“Frodo?” Pippin asked thoughtfully. The hobbit he was addressing did not answer,
only lay in a loose, boneless lump, his head in Pippin’s lap and Pippin’s
fingers stroking lazily through the thick, dark, newly silver-streaked hair.
Pippin waited, pondered the high ceiling for a moment and frowned. He jostled
his knees and Frodo’s head bobbled on his thighs. “Frodo?”
“What?” was the sharp response.
“No need to get all snippy,” Pippin sniffed.
Frodo cracked an eyelid and one piercing eye glared up at Pippin. “You’ve gone
and lulled me to the edge of sleep and then proceed to batter me about and
bellow in my ear. You’re lucky I’m only snippy and not downright hot.” He slid
his eye closed then cracked it open again. “Are you stopping, then?”
Pippin took the hint and resumed his massage of his cousin’s scalp. “Hmph,” he
said.
Frodo scowled. He lay silent for a few moments, his lip twitching before he
sighed. “All right. What is it, then?”
“Oh, nothing,” Pippin said forlornly. “Never mind.”
Frodo’s brow quirked but quickly relaxed under the soothing fingers gliding
through his hair. The quiet of the room worked its way into his bones, turning
them to butter and he felt himself seeping into the cushions of the couch,
falling into a swirling vortex of comfort and blessed, silent sleep.
A gust of air breezed over his brow, accompanied by a dejected sound that he
absently identified as a sigh. Silence for another moment and then the sigh
again, this one followed by a restless shift of legs beneath his head. Dragged
yet again from the brink of sleep, Frodo rolled his eyes behind their closed
lids.
“Yes, Pippin?”
“Hmm?” Pippin asked innocently.
Frodo pursed his lips into a tight line. “I said, yes, Pippin?”
“Oh… Nothing, cousin,” Pippin answered, allowing a touch of sadness into the
denial. “’Tisn’t anything important.”
More gentle stroking for a while then a burst of warm air across his cheekbones
with a low, mewling sigh. He ignored this one but when it was followed by two
more, each increasingly louder, enough was enough.
“Pippin,” Frodo said steadily, “you are puffing like a bellows and beginning to
sound like a cat that’s been trounced by a pony. I will ask you once more and
then, if you do not let me take my nap, I shall beat you soundly. Now… What. Is.
It?”
Pippin smirked, safe in the knowledge that Frodo’s eyes were still closed and he
wouldn’t be seen. “Well,” he began, “I’ve been wondering…” and suddenly, this
wasn’t as easy as he had thought it would be. “You see, it isn’t the sort of
thing… That is, I’ve been wanting to know… And I wasn’t sure how to go about it,
you see, so I’ve been… Well, that is…”
Frodo puffed out his cheeks and blew a forceful gust of air up into Pippin’s
face. Pippin reared back in surprise, blinked then sneezed.
“There,” Frodo said. “Are you ready to ask me now, before I lose any more hair?”
Pippin loosed his grip on the curls he had nervously threaded through his
fingers, drew in a great breath and let it out slowly. “Yes, I think so. Thank
you,” he said while surreptitiously disposing of several dark, curly strands
that clung to his fingers. He shifted in his seat and was answered by a warning
growl from his cousin. He gritted his teeth. “Well, here it is, then.” He pulled
in another breath.
“Iwaswonderingifyouwouldtellmeaboutridingwiththeeagles.”
Frodo’s eyes popped open and he cocked an eyebrow. He peered up at Pippin who
was fairly squirming in his seat, fingers drumming nervously on Frodo’s scalp.
Frodo suppressed a smirk.
“No,” was the terse refusal and Frodo closed his eyes again, waiting.
There was tense stillness beneath his head and shoulders. It lasted a few
moments and then he could almost feel Pippin melt in disappointment. The Took
was silent for long moments.
“Frodo?”
Frodo growled low. He reached up, eyes still closed, and whacked Pippin’s head.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“I told you that if you didn’t let me nap, I would beat you soundly.” Frodo
folded one arm across his chest, leaving the other free and ready at need.
“Well you didn’t answer me, did you, then?” Pippin objected.
“I said you could ask,” Frodo pointed out. “I never said I would answer.”
“Beat me soundly,” Pippin muttered crossly. “More like pet me to death. I think
you’ve turned into a poncy weakling, that’s what I--”
Another sharp whack to his head, this one harder and Pippin hadn’t even seen
Frodo’s arm move this time. He reached up to rub at his head, which was
beginning to smart.
“Poncy weakling?” Frodo smirked.
All right. So this was how it was to go, eh? Pippin curled his fingers around a
great clump of hair and pulled.
Frodo’s eyes flew open and he reached up to grasp Pippin’s wrist with both
hands. “Ah! Pippin-lad, let go.” He loosed one hand from Pippin and Pippin saw
the muscles in his forearm tense, readying for another strike. Pippin twined his
fingers tighter and pulled harder. “Ow! Pippin, you great pillock, I can feel my
scalp coming loose from my skull! Get off!”
“Not until you promise to tell me about the eagles,” Pippin said.
Frodo’s jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. Quick as a striking snake, his hand
shot to the soft flesh behind Pippin’s knee, took a tiny bit between his thumb
and finger and pinched.
Pippin nearly flew off the couch but maintained his grip on Frodo’s hair.
“Bloody damn!” He clenched his teeth, sweat beginning to form on his
brow.
“You let go, I’ll let go,” Frodo offered.
“You first,” Pippin returned.
They glared at each other, a standoff. Moments ticked by, both of them beginning
to sweat and squirm in pain but neither willing to let loose their advantage.
“I can hold out longer than you can,” Pippin warned. “You’re all old and
decrepit now, you know. I didn’t want to have to tell you but you don’t seem to
have noticed on your own and someone needed to do it.”
“I am Endurance beyond Hope,” Frodo reminded him. “Youth means nothing.”
“Bah!” Pippin countered. “You hitched a ride up the mountain and another off of
it. A bit lazy, that, don’t you think?”
“Not as dramatic as riding across country with an orc for a pony and throwing
myself under a troll,” Frodo admitted. “But then again, my body hasn’t outgrown
my brain so I suppose it’s understandable that I can see the difference.”
“As if someone of intelligence would stroll up to the Black Gate as though they
were arriving for tea.”
“Excuse me, but isn’t that exactly what you did?”
Pippin was momentarily flustered before coming up with, “I was officially
sanctioned.”
“Sanctioned? Oh, that makes all the difference, doesn’t it? That and a
threepence will get you a mug of ale. And while I was ‘strolling up to the Black
Gate,’ I believe you were busy climbing trees and playing in the forest.”
“No, I think that would be around the time you were lounging about with Faramir,
getting fat on stew and wine.”
“Get your timelines straight at least.” Frodo gave a quick snap of his neck but
Pippin was prepared and the escape attempt failed miserably. Frodo allowed a
small groan and gritted his teeth. “You were busy nattering at Gandalf and
probably making him wish he’d perished in Moria after all when I was in
Ithilien,” he grated. “Captured,” he added. “A prisoner,” he supplied for
good measure.
Pippin could almost feel the bruise spreading beneath his knee and crawling up
his thigh. “Served you right for literally tripping over an entire company of
armed soldiers,” he returned, jerking his knee in the vain hope of loosing
Frodo’s hold. Frodo only pinched harder and Pippin winced back a gasp. “You
never were terribly observant,” he furthered.
“I think I might have been able to notice a great, hulking troll lumbering over
me and dodged accordingly.”
“As you managed to dodge that huge spear coming straight at you, in full view?”
“And I managed to get up from that and walk away, didn’t I, then? I didn’t
wallow about in the Houses of Healing, whinging over scrapes and bruises.”
Oh, now that was just not to be borne. “Scrapes and bruises?!”
Pippin growled. “I’ll have you know-- Why, you-- You’re off your head, do you
know that? You snarky prat, you…you--”
Frodo gave a sharp twist and Pippin’s back arched. He squawked and yanked hard
at the hair in his fist. Frodo howled, reaching for Pippin’s wrist with his free
hand and squeezing. The wrestling match continued, both flailing wildly yet
neither releasing his grip on hair or knee. Grunts, yelps and groans came from
the tangle on the couch, said tangle tottering on the edge for an eye blink
before tumbling to the floor in a writhing heap.
Pippin landed on the bottom, his back smacking into the hard wood of the floor,
Frodo landing hard on top, his shoulder jamming into Pippin’s stomach and
forcing all of the breath from his lungs. Still, they held on. They lay there
panting and gasping for long moments, each breath recovered turning quickly to
snorts and chuckles then moving on to great roars of laughter - and still
they held on. It took several long moments before either was able to utter
anything coherent.
“Prat?” Frodo finally snickered. “Why not pompous ass while you’re at it, you
wretched wanker?”
“I thought it was more dignified,” Pippin offered reasonably.
Frodo snorted. “Yes, because Tooks and dignity have always gone so well
together.”
“Careful, cousin,” Pippin grinned, “your dignified Tookish nature is showing.”
This sent them both into snickers again and when they settled into uneven bursts
of chuckles, Frodo said, “So, do we lay here all night, then? Someone’s bound to
come by eventually and save the Ring-bearer from his loutish cousin, intent on
brutalizing the poor, frail soul.” Frodo stopped and looked to Pippin with a
bright, mischievous grin. “I wonder if it will be Gandalf? That staff of his
can do a fair amount of damage to one’s shins, you know.”
“And
you would know this from experience?”
Ignoring the question, Frodo went on, “Or Sam, perhaps. I don’t know if you’ve
noticed but he can be a bit protective at times.”
Pippin had noticed. He weighed his options. “I’ll let go if you’ll let go,” he
offered.
“Back to this again, eh? All right, then. On three?”
Pippin nodded his assent and Frodo made the count. On three, they both released
the other, each letting loose great, heaving sighs and rubbing at their
individual offended body parts. Frodo sat up then helped Pippin. They snickered
at each other for another few moments before helping each other to their feet
and resuming their original positions on the couch. They settled in, Frodo
laying his head in Pippin’s lap and closing his eyes, Pippin again massaging
Frodo’s scalp, taking special care to go softly over the spot that had suffered
such abuse. The room grew quiet again and Pippin could feel Frodo relaxing
against his leg.
“So, are you going to tell me about the eagles, then?” he wanted to know.
“Sorry, Pip. I can’t,” Frodo answered.
“What do you mean, you can’t? Is it some great, dark secret they won’t let you
share with anyone?”
“Nothing as dramatic as all that,” Frodo said around a smirk. “It’s only that I
don’t remember.”
Pippin’s mouth dropped open. “Don’t-- Are you joking? You’ve flown with
the eagles and you don’t remember?”
“Well, for pity’s sake, Pippin, I was unconscious, you know. I’ll see what I can
do about getting you a sight-seeing tour, if it will make you feel better.”
“Stone me, Frodo! All of that tossing about and you don’t remember anyway? Why
didn’t you just say so?”
“Well you didn’t ask, did you?” Frodo defended. “Besides,” he said with a sleepy
grin, “it’s awfully nice to know that I can still thrash my great brute of a
cousin, Ent-draughts notwithstanding.”
“Thrash me?” Pippin challenged and wound his fingers into Frodo’s hair.
Frodo’s eyes shot open and he glared warily up at Pippin. Pippin saw his hand
creeping up the couch cushion, making its way to his leg and he smirked. He
lifted an eyebrow at his cousin, returned the stare with a wily grin and Frodo’s
eyes narrowed, his arm tensed and ready. Pippin flashed Frodo a brilliant smile
and smoothed his fingers gently through the dark hair.
“You need a haircut, cousin,” he said softly.
Frodo looked intently into his eyes for a moment then one corner of his mouth
lifted. Hand resting just below Pippin’s knee, Frodo smiled and closed his eyes.
~*~
END
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