Peregrin Took lifted his head as he walked passed the shuttered window. There seemed to be a commotion going on beyond the wooden slats that barred the cold wind’s entry into the room. Frenzied moans and grunts drew him closer, and pressing his eyes to the gap between the shutter and the jamb, he peered in.

He expected a fight, since he recognised the grunting as dwarf in nature. There was only one dwarf round about that he knew of, and that was Gimli. He wondered who he was fighting so heavily that was making his opponent so breathless.

It took a fair bit of wiggling to line up his eye enough to see into the room beyond. To his shock, Gimli was not fighting. In fact, quite the opposite. Pippin frowned, unable to work out for a long time what it was the Gimli was doing.

The dwarf appeared to be doing press-ups, rather quickly, Pippin noted, though he could not understand why he would be doing press-ups with Legolas underneath him. Legolas was draped naked across the fur-covered bed, all he could see was one long white arm and a lower leg, which only served to confuse the hobbit further. Where was the rest of him?

Pippin shook his head a little. Big folk made no sense to him. Legolas’ leg swayed slightly, in time with Gimli’s press-ups, his long elf fingers were entangled in the dwarf’s hair as if to draw him closer. The breathless huffing was coming from Legolas, the reason was unknown. He could not see Legolas’ face from where he stood.

Pippin lifted his frowning face from the shutter and looked around for another window. There wasn’t one. Almost ready to give up, he perked at an idea. At once, he ran into the building and looked around. The door to the room where Gimli was exercising and Legolas was - whatever he was doing - was down a narrow passage. He could hear them; not a hard thing to do when you had hobbit ears.

Seeing no one about, he carefully tested the door handle. The door was unlocked. It opened no more than a few inches, just enough to see through without bathing his peeping face with the flickering light of the lamp.

He could see Legolas lying on the bed, head lifting now and then to watch Gimli doing his press-ups before sinking back against the bolster, jaw slack and eyes glazed with bliss. Obviously a fit dwarf pleased the elf, Pippin decided. What still confused him was why Legolas had his legs splayed out like that. And why did Gimli have his face so close to Legolas’ belly?

Pippin frowned all the more, discovering that a better view afforded no more answers than an obscured one. He bowed his head a little to get a better view. Gimli seemed to have something in his mouth, but the hobbit could not work out what it was.

He shifted a little to watch Gimli, and discovered that he, too, was naked; a narrow line of hair tapered down his spine from his hairy shoulders, and his chest was hairy as well. His taut belly and broad back shimmered with beaded sweat. Pippin drew in a quiet breath . . .dwarves had three legs?

A hand dropped to his shoulder and Pippin gasped and turned. He looked up, and up. “Éomer!” he hissed. “You scared me half to death!”

“If they had caught you and not I,” Éomer whispered. “You would be dead.”

Pippin took one last look as the blissfully swaying body of the elf and turned away. Éomer had already left and he ran to catch up. “What are they doing?”

Éomer lifted a brow at him. “You do not know what they are doing?” he asked in an incredulous tone.

“Well, sort of . . .Gimli is exercising and Legolas is . . .pleased?” Pippin offered.

Éomer regarded him for a moment, considering the possibility that the hobbit was playing with him, but he doubted it. He dropped to one knew and clasped his tiny shoulder in his huge meaty hand. “You truly have not heard of the warrior’s comfort?”

“No,” Pippin replied. “What is it?”

“Before I answer that, hobbit, I should ask; how old are you?”

“Twenty-eight,” Pippin said. “Almost of age,” he added boastfully.

“And what must you wait until you are of age to do that you cannot do at twenty-eight?” the heir of Rohan asked.

“Well . . .I can’t get married, but I can drink, smoke and tickle a girl’s fancy.” He suddenly turned sober. “Though, don’t tell Merry. He’s a bit sensitive, and very much older than me. He’d be jealous. He’s never been with a girl.”

Éomer considered this. “Then, if it is your wish, Peregrin, I shall show you the warrior’s comfort. Come with me. I know a place where we will not be disturbed by prying eyes.”

“That’s what I don’t understand,” Pippin said, as he followed, the man’s long gait forcing him to run. “Why does Legolas need comforting? We won the battle, didn’t we?”

“My friend, comfort can be given in victory as much as in defeat,” Éomer told him as he opened a door and ushered him inside before closing the door.

Pippin looked around the room. It was identical to the one Gimli and Legolas were sharing. “What do we do first? Press-ups like Gimli?”

Éomer glanced at him seriously as he passed by, removing his sword belt and tunic before answering. “A man’s first taste of comfort can sometimes hurt, little hobbit. It is best to be relaxed and take your time to grow accustomed to it.”

“I understand,” Pippin said. “I’ll need to do a lot of press-ups to be as fit a Gimli, and I might get tired.”

“You will be tired, if it is enjoyed to the full,” Éomer agreed. “On the bed, hobbit.”

Pippin hurried to do as he was commanded, scrambling onto the fur-draped bed. Éomer knelt before him, his eyes smouldered as he removed his shirt to reveal a broad expanse of bare chest, dotted here and there with healed wounds of various age and size.

Pippin ogled at him. “Well, you’re not as hairy as Gimli,” he noted pleasantly.

“The amount of hair matters not,” Éomer thrummed. “What matters is that you enjoy.” He reached out and began to remove the hobbit’s clothes. “I could simply explain what the comfort is, and what you do, but it is easier to indulge you.”

“Is it always done naked?”

“Always,” Éomer obligingly answered.

“Why?”

“Because you cannot do this with your clothes on,” the man replied, beginning to wonder if the hobbit was going to talk all the way through the afternoon. Although, normally that would annoy him, having a lover talk about it, but this time it was sweet innocence, endearing. His fingertips began to play with him a little, finding pebbles on the small chest that responded to his touch.

Pippin, feeling nervously excited, was more talkative than usual, asking tentative questions. “Do I lay like this, like Legolas did?” he asked, leaning back against the bolster and opening his legs.

“You may lie in whatever position you find comfortable.”

Pippin looked up at him in surprise. “There are lots of positions?”

“Oh, yes, many,” Éomer replied, running his finger down across the flat belly and along the insides of his thighs.

“Are you going to do press-ups over me?” the hobbit said, his voice growing softer, watching and feeling what he was doing.

“If you would like me to, but there are other things I can show you besides . . .press-ups,” Éomer responded, somehow amused and wondered if the hobbit would understand the term his people gave to it.

Éomer knew that he was enjoying this touching, his breath was already deepening, although he doubted the hobbit had noticed himself as yet. It had been a while since he had done this, and shifting a little he brought both palms against the soft little body and began to gently sweep them over him. He silently promised to tentatively make . . .comfort with this hobbit. A strong, powerful horse master with a small, spirited, sexy hobbit . . .he shivered. It would be a new experience for both of them.

The flesh beneath his large even for a man hands rippled. He blinked, and took a deep breath. Éomer really was not sure about laying with a hobbit. They seemed as children, but then they weren’t really, were they? he wondered, as his hand found its way up the hobbits slim but muscular thigh to cup and mould his buttocks of its own volition.

An image came to his mind of one of the larger stallions mating a small mare, and he felt his ardour grow less intense. Pippin’s uneven breath dusted his face as he lowered his lips to gently caress a delicately boned shoulder. The hobbit closed his eyes, still confused, but still jolly. He shuddered softly and Éomer lifted his head to gaze at him with his dark eyes.

He swallowed, watching Pippin’s eyes follow the horseman’s hand enlighten his skin. Tiny shivers played on the halfling’s exposed flesh, pebbling sweetly under his warm palm, prickling with goose bumps all over.

“So delicate,” he murmured. “Lovely . . .” Handsome, he corrected himself. The naked creature before him was no doubt all male, but oh so small against him, which made Éomer feel large and clumsy. He almost put a stop to this . . .until Pippin’s trusting eyes met his. That took away any doubts he harboured. Pippin was here by choice, but the innocence on the hobbit’s face still made him think of a child.

The sudden thought killed the moment for Éomer, but he was too aware that Pippin’s reactions were not consistent with a child. He was aroused. He knew he would manage to get a climax out of the hobbit, with just his hand, but, he wondered, what about Éomer of Rohan? What does he get? Nothing, he answered himself silently. He had not begin this with the intention of getting anything.

Even aroused as he was. Pippin was still chatting, if a little less amiably than before, his breath thick with passion. Yes, Éomer thought, I will leave with something . . .I will leave feeling like, does that hobbit never shut up?

Éomer bit his lip, not that best attitude to have, he glanced down at his own arousal. At least his body was undeterred. The hobbit was actually cute, but way too small to do what he would usually do, and he talked so much if he had been a female, he would have thought him some cheep comfort woman from the village. But then, why would Éomer bother, his conscience wondered. The Rohirrim are very practical. Perhaps others might think him, and the hobbit too, as nothing more than a protective big brother, and wanted to help. Éomer blinked at that thought as he drew his fingertips up past the hobbit’s need and up his belly. It was how he felt, in a way. He wanted to help the hobbit understand, and to that end he vowed to try his best.

The hobbit was still talking, not so much prolonging the moment, not consciously anyway, but still wanting to know what he should do next. For a second, Éomer struggled with his patience, but then controlled himself.

“Hush, little one,” he said finally. “Just enjoy this and do what you feel like doing.”

Pippin did as he was told and quieted, but not for long. Tiny fingers worked on the heavy leather buttons of Éomer’s shirt, without success. “You must be bare too, though I suspect your feet are not as long or hairy.”

Éomer suppressed a chuckle, and a huge hand gave aid to his task. Pip was nervously babbling now and he stayed his words with a finger worn smooth and silken by leather, against his lips. He turned his hand, fingers playing across the hobbit’s cheek as his other hand continued its path along Pippin’s thigh. Éomer’s thumb gently nudged into the hobbit’s apex, and grazed the pad of it over his tiny sack. The belly under his palm shivered and a low gasp escaped the parted lips. A thick breath escaped him as his need was enclosed at last in slow moving flesh.

Éomer gently bit his own lip as his own need made itself prominently known. Such a contrast, yet both the same age, the horse lord thought. In size they were worlds apart. He leaned in and kissed Pippin, who, even though he had lain with girls before, was surprised by body’s his show of arousal. He knew nothing of arousal like this, already reaching a level he had never experienced before, save what he had seen of Legolas and Gimli’s, though he had not seen much it was enough to know he had a lot to learn.

Pippin’s eyes became slightly bright, a stunned smile spread slowly as he draw back from the kiss. “When do we get to the push ups?” he asked innocently.

Éomer tried not to laugh. “Soon, my little pet,” he murmured, “’tis not a game of speed, but of skill.”

“Will you be doing the pressing?”

Éomer’s heart lurched. “Indeed not,” he managed. “Nor, I think, will you. We shall do something else, something we may regret less in the morning,” he said softly.

Pippin frowned, “Regret, how?” he asked, his words faltered a little as his small hips thrust up into Éomer’s palm in urgent, but unknown urgency.

The prince said nothing, could find no way to answer him. Great, the heir of Thëoden is speechless, he thought. “How to explain to one so innocent of such things,” he wondered softly. “Even among those of equal size, it is sometimes momentarily painful.” He did not voice the rest. Though Pip was easy to take, he was sure as his hard little member was barely the thickness of his thumb and half the length of his mighty hand . . .Éomer was more endowed, a horse in comparison.

He smile gently, “Well, Master Took, ‘tis a matter of . . .cultures. What one deems fit to do the first time you are together is not always right for another, so I will show you enough, but we shall not delve to deeply.”

Pippin seemed content with this answer. His shining eyes scanned the broad hirsute chest above him, he raked fingers though it, giggling as Éomer closed his eyes and shuddered.

“Éol give me strength,” he grated. “Pippin?” he whispered.

“Yes, Éomer?” came the wicked reply.

“Am I comforting you?”

He managed to nod, watching his dark golden hair cascading and sliding over his shoulders above him as he pulled his arms free of his shirt. With a wicked gleam, the hobbit tried what he had seen Legolas do . . .he grabbed the hair and gently tugged the man down to meet his lips. Pippin giggled softly, between embarrassment and deep arousal. Experimenting, he flicked the tip of his tongue out to taste his lips and felt Éomer shudder.

The man’s hand gently swept down his side to cup his buttocks, edging closer to his entrance, keeping the other hand around the small shaft. He rubbed a little more, the and pressed a single finger to his entrance before sliding slowly in, causing Pippin to gasp into his mouth. Éomer snickered gently and pulled back to look into his half-closed eyes. “This is arousal. It makes comforting fun. Among soldiers, it lets us know we are alive, especially in dark times such as these,” he said softly, not taking away from the moment as he let his student absorb each action, and Pip was a good study.

Pippin placed a palm on Éomer’s chest, feeling the great heart beating beneath the skin and bone, a heart not unlike his own. His hand turned into a fistful of dark curly hair as Éomer slowly began thrust back and forth while teasing his now hard little sack. Pippin’s thighs opened wider of their own volition, hips rising to meet Éomer’s hand.

His head flung back, eyes closed as he struggled for breath. Éomer grinned, he knew what was happening. His own need twitched, he wanted so much to . . .no. He forced it away, he would be gentle and keep his promise.

“Oohh, Éomer,” Pippin squeaked out between gasps. “I think I shall faint.”

“No, little one, you wont. Relax and enjoy the sensations.” His lips found Pippin’s, then kissed the column of his throat, the pulse already wild under his skin.

Pip’s other hand grabbed Éomer’s arm, struggling between pulling the hand away and helping the man with his task. Éomer watched him and smiled. Clearly, Pip was uncertain. Éomer remembered his own fear the first time.

“Hush,” he said into Pippin’s ear. “It’s alright, let go.” Sensing the hobbit was near to climax, he smothered the hobbit’s scream of release with a kiss, gently withdrawing to hold the hobbit. Éomer swept him into his arms, milking the last of his release from his now softening member as he jerked against him. He kissed the halfling’s cheek as he struggled for breath. Éomer rocked him gently, crooning to calm him

Pippin settled softly against the man’s strong chest, revelling in the deep thrum of his heart. “This is comforting,” he murmured.

“Aye, little one.” Éomer sighed as Pippin snuggled deeper, thighs brushing against the impressive mound.

Pip’s hand fell to it and gently rubbed. “You have not been comforted, Éomer. Is there more that must be done?” he asked innocently. “It’s bad manners to eat or smoke in front of company, so I gather the same for other comforts as well.”

The horse master chuckled low. “It is, dear one, but I do not wish to frighten or hurt you.” He had shrugged out of his shirt and now began to pull it free from where it hung still tucked in his trousers. His leggings remained untouched.

Suddenly, Pippin looked up, serious, almost pleading. “Am I to have use of your body, as I have seen done?”

Éomer considered this sweet question. “Yes, Pippin, but only as much as you are willing to take.” He swallowed. This would be hard, for a man of his vigour did not react calmly to the throes of passion, and he feared for his resolve and control, but he had committed himself and he would not fail.

“Please kneel on the bed,” Pippin asked. Éomer did so and with Pip standing on the bed they were near nose to nose. Pippin kissed him gently before reaching to unbuckle the braces to his leggings. Small cool hands swept over his hips, pressing the fabric away from his thighs and down. Éomer struggled to be still, knees and belly turning slowly to water at the halfling’s touch.

A scar ran down his left leg from hip to knee. Pippin gasped, for it did not seem that old. Leaning in, he placed warm moist lips at the top end of the scar and slowly kissed down it. Éomer groaned, the scar was not painfully sensitive, but erotically so. He shuddered, gasping quietly for breath as Pip held him captive.

As he reached the lower end of the scar, Éomer’s desire betrayed him. Pippin came up and caught sight of the member pointing almost straight out from the man’s groin. “Oh my,” Pippin whispered, eyes as round as dinner plates. Gently dragging a fingernail along its length, he was pleased to hear a wonton growl rumble beside him.

“Pippin,” Éomer managed. “Please, I wont be able to kneel long like this.”

Pippin grinned and tugged drawing the tall muscular man further onto the bed. Éomer rolled, kicking off his leggings and lay spread out on the bed, smiling encouragingly as pippin eyed him as if wondering what to do with him now.

Pippin tilted his head, hands smoothing lightly over his chest and legs, taking in every inch of Éomer, sending shards of lightening playing over the man’s skin. “Éomer . . .?”

“Yes, little one?”

“Does comfort include taking a soldier like a mare takes a stud,” Pip asked.

“It can, Pippin,” he said as pippin began to pay more attention to his shaft. “But that we cannot. You are far smaller than I,” he managed almost regretfully.

“Why should that matter?” the hobbit asked.

Éomer had no real answer. He took one of Pippin’s hands and placed it against the palm of his own. “This, my friend, is why,” he said simply.

Pippin’s eyes grew large. He seemed to understand. “But among men of like size, you do?”

“Yes,” Éomer replied.

“Then . . .I have only my hands to comfort you as you have done to me,” he murmured.

Éomer smiled. “That will be enough, trust me.”

Pippin nodded. His gaze roamed down to Éomer’s groin. Gently, he wrapped his warm hand around the shaft, fingers just meeting around it. Feather-light, he began to sweep up and down. Éomer gasped with each increasingly bold stroke.

He felt the first pearly drops ooze from his slit as he watched. Pippin leaned down and swiped them up with his tongue.

Éomer groaned. “Gods! Give me strength,” he begged softly, breath hissing.

Pippin grinned, almost gleeful at a new found experience, a new found ability and power he could wield over another. His tongue slowly lapped at the hard thick head of Éomer’s need.

Éomer’s mind chanted a mantra of many things as Pippin stroked and suckled him, unrelenting and growing stronger and more sure by the moment. He lifted his knees, a let his head roll back. He wanted so much to lay the hobbit on his back and . . .no, he could not . . .he wanted to grab his head and. . .no! He willed himself still. He was bound by Pippin’s size and the possible harm he could do, and by the hobbit’s innocence. He also realised that he was bound by Pippin’s will as well, which made him more aroused than ever. He would release when Pippin was ready for it. “Pippin,” he whispered hoarsely. “Harder, please, I can take it.” He growled low, which brought an evil gleam to Pips eye.

While he wrapped his lips around Éomer’s shaft, a hand still pumped him to ecstasy, the other small hand cupped his balls, massaging and hefting them. Éomer’s eyes closed, trying not to thrust his hips. This would be his undoing he was sure. Deep growled breaths became more shallow and fast. The room took on a sparkle as light-headedness took him higher with each thrust of the hobbits tongue.

Suddenly Pippin’s longest finger grazed the thin ridge of skin between balls and hole, Éomer arched, a stifled cry of pleasure burst out. Pippin giggled. He was a fast learner. Gently, he started to rub along that line as his other hand swept along his shaft, mouth applied increasing suction to his head. His tongue found the nub of nerves at the bottom of his member and Éomer screamed low.

“Pippin!”

But pippin was entranced by the effect and did not hear him. Éomer’s whole being contracted, arching up into Pippin’s mouth as sweet milky fluid flowed forth. Pippin lapped at it with relish. It coated his lips and chin, dribbling onto his chest and onto Éomer’s thick curly hair. Éomer spiralled down to the sound of Pips giggles.

The strong horseman grabbed the bolster so as not to grab Pippin and hurt him. His head flew back and he screamed again as Pippin’s tongue brought another upon the heals of the first.

Pippin slowly crawled up along Éomer, laying half on the mighty man of Rohan, head resting against his heaving chest. Pip looked down into the slack face of the man. “Are you comforted, Éomer? he asked.

Éomer could only nod and for a moment did not move. Finally he drew a blanket over them both. “Rest now, Master Peregrin. We shall bathe when we wake and discuss other things.”

Éomer was asleep before the questions could be asked, leaving Pippin to wonder all the more. To the sound of Éomer’s gentle snoring, he washed himself with the water in the bowl on the washstand and got dressed. Dejected, he quietly left the room and wandered into the hallway. It made no sense. Why would men need that kind of comfort? A woman would do just as well, wouldn’t she?

There were some things that he had done before, some he had not. Most had been done with a woman that he had thought himself in love with. Was it love Gimli and Legolas were feeling? Did some men love men? He had always thought love ended in babies. Surely men couldn’t have babies . . .could they?

Pippin followed a light of a torch into the main hall where the warriors of Rohan were comforting each other, rough men, with no speck of gentleness between them. Éomer had been gentle, but it had been nothing more than a show and tell. Or in Pippin’s case, show and say nothing.

His hour with Éomer had left him shivery and cold all over, just as he had been with that succulent dark-haired lass from Long Cleave. He hadn’t even asked her name, although it was some kind of rock, he knew that much, an unusual name, since hobbit lasses’ names tended to be flowers. Being with Éomer was as rewarding as it had been with her - it left him with unanswered questions.

He had to know if men could love men. He had had ideas about one such being of the big folk on occasions, on the Fellowship’s journey from Imladris, but had never acted on them, not even voiced them. And now that he had seen the object of those fantasies naked and spread out like butter on bread, huffing like that lass from Long Cleave, and he wondered. Did men mate like men and women? Or like horses? Did they get stuck together like two dogs?

He wondered if the elf in mind even thought of him like that . . .in Gimli’s place, licking him like a boiled sweet? Or Gimli, for that matter. Either way, he did not know who to ask, or how. He could not go to them directly, he was too embarrassed, too unsure of himself. It seemed impossible that he would ever know. And he would never look at sausages in the same light again, that was for certain.

He wandered outside to see the late evening sun slip behind the mountains, and sank against the wall beside the window whose shutters he had peeked through earlier. He sighed, still confused. The room behind him was silent now, and he wondered if Gimli and Legolas had fallen asleep, or else gone to find something to eat. It was getting towards dinner time, and Pippin was hungry, but his appetite was non-existent.

Curious, he took a peek through the shutter again, wondering why it was quiet in the room now. Had they gone? But Legolas and Gimli were still there, kissing deeply. Legolas hand was now in direct line of sight, working on Gimli’s third leg. Well, he knew it wasn’t a third leg now of course.

He watched in awe as Legolas lifted a slender leg over Gimli’s raised leg and pressed his centre against the dwarf’s knee, humping hard and fast in time with his hand. The two shuddered together, moaning without breaking the kiss. Legolas’ hand worked on Gimli’s thickness eliciting a long deep hum that reverberated through Gimli’s chest. Pippin heard it just as something burst forth from his body and shocked Pippin from his reverie. Thumping his head, Pippin swallowed a yelp and rubbed his head. Sinking down, he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.

After a long time, Pippin felt as though he was being watched. He opened his eyes and looked up. Legolas was standing over him, now dressed and looking at him sternly.

“You were watching us,” the elf announced.

“Warriors comfort,” the young hobbit replied. “Though . . .it makes no sense to me.”

“Warriors comfort?” Legolas frowned. “Is that what you think we were doing?”

“Éomer said that’s what it’s called. Apparently all warriors do it.”

Legolas was stunned. Éomer as well? Legolas gazed at him, a slight frown still on his face.

“He caught me watching and told me to come away, so I asked him,” Pippin continued.

“Often it is more than comfort,” Legolas replied quietly, relieved that Éomer hadn’t been watching after all.

Pippin sighed quietly. “I’m sorry I looked. I just wanted to know . . .” His voice trailed off unable to verbalise the myriad questions in his mind.

“Éomer is a fine man, but he is the very last being you should have asked.” Legolas’ face remained impassive, even though he wondered secretly how much Éomer had told the impressionable young hobbit . . .or perhaps shown. “And you are not to look again, Peregrin Took, unless you are invited.”

Pippin watched him walk away, and the frown deepened. “Who’s going to invite me?” he wondered. “No one will ever love a hobbit like me, especially now that I’ve comforted a man of Rohan . . .ooh, why did I do it? Why did I do it? Now, I’ve not only lost what little self-respect I had, I’ve lost the friendship of Legolas as well. I’ve done something terrible. Always looking, asking questions and never getting a straight answer. Well, not any more,” he promised quietly to himself. “I’d rather live with my questions than be told to be quiet or go away. It was bad enough from Gandalf, now Legolas.”

He sighed as he stood up, peering at the darkening sky. “To whatever power sits above us, if there is one, if you have a name . . .if my questions will allow me peace enough to live out my life . . .it’s worth losing the friendship of the one I have secretly wanted,” he added softly.

Unseen, an elf turned back to gaze at him, wondering. His ears had heard it all, and his sighed, cursing his ill-manners. Eavesdropping was just as bad as peeping, but then again, he had learned something about the young hobbit that he doubted Pippin would have told him openly.

Alone, Pippin made his way back to the hall where bedding had been laid out. He picked an empty spot between two burly Rohirrim and curled up. He could smell soup, but he wasn’t hungry. Instead, he tried to sleep, but all the uncertainty and the not knowing kept waking him from uneasy dreams. He lay for a moment, remembering something Saruman had said. The palantir was where he got his information. Perhaps it was an all-knowing seeing stone.

Pippin sat up. That was it. It had to be some elvish oracle that answered questions. He rose from his bed to take a look . . .and less than a minute later he wished that he had not.

The night was still only half gone when Ârâgorn roused the king and the heir of Rohan from their beds. Gandalf detailed the evening’s events. Pippin sat in silence and felt eyes upon him. Lifting his gaze he was caught in an intense shimmering green stare.

Their owner turned his gaze to meet Gimli’s and for a moment both looks turned to Éomer before returning their attention to Pippin. Pippin shuddered under the looks they gave him and turned away. If it wasn’t bad enough being hurt by the Dark Lord, ridiculed and interrogated by the wizard, now he had to contend with angry and withering looks from the elf and the dwarf.

He shifted uneasily, unable to meet those looks. Only Merry had spoken to him since he had collapsed. Merry stood close by, but he was not feeling miserable. He did not even know the half of it . . .and the way Gandalf was talking, neither did he. But follow him he did towards the huge doors of Edoras, and on to wherever the road took him.

“Prince Éomer?” Gimli called. “Might I have a moment of your time?”

Éomer looked up, surprised at the address, which few ever used much less Gimli the dwarf. “I will do all I can to assist you,” the second lord of the mark said. “What is it you need?”

“An explanation,” the dwarf said. “It can be gained here before you king, if you wish, but I would much prefer it in private.”

Heads turned to him in astonishment, the answer would be the King’s of course, but nothing was forthcoming. Éomer suddenly knew what this was about and considered finding a hole and burying himself in it, but he was a man of Rohan. He did not run from anything. He straightened and replied. “Then, I will answer it here. I have nothing to hide.”

Gandalf, almost to the door, turned back on seeing Pippin’s face turn white. “Oh no,” a tiny voice whimpered.

“It has come to my notice that the honour of one hobbit can easily bring down the honour of a man of Rohan, would you not agree?” Gimli continued, unaware that their friends had not left.

That got Gandalf’s attention and he slowly took a step back the way he had come.

“Honour?” Éomer spoke. “I have not slightest anyone’s honour, that I know of.”

Gimli hummed softly. “My mate Legolas and I would disagree.”

Ârâgorn looked from one face to another. “What is going on?” he asked.

Legolas answered that, clearly and gently. “I believe the reason Pippin looked into the palantir is because of false information given to him by Éomer.”

Éomer’s eyes widened. “I . . .what . . .information?”

“It came to my notice,” Gimli explained. “That Pippin, being Pippin, was looking into matters that were not necessarily understandable to such a young hobbit . . .adult matters. And said matter was further confused by answers that you gave him, that were not entirely accurate.”

Thëoden frowned. "What adult matters . . .oh . . .the warrior’s comfort?”

“Aye, that matter,” Gimli agreed. “Not all races have such rituals, hobbit being one of them.”

Ârâgorn sank into his boots, “Oh Eru!” he whispered.

Éomer considered this. Pippin wished he could vanish. Gandalf wished he had walked a little faster out the door. Legolas wished he was not a prince and could cringe in public.

“Pippin is a child,” Ârâgorn said.

Thëoden narrowed his eyes. “You gave the warrior’s comfort to a child?”

“Uncle, only in touching. Pippin said he was old enough and had done more, but I . . .deemed it inappropriate to do more than that. He explained to me . . .”

“Éomer!” the king thundered. “I do not want your excuses. Only your apology.”

Éomer lowered his head. “I apologise unreservedly for any slight to honour. It was not my intention to be dishonourable nor to conceal what we had done together.”

Legolas accepted that with grace. Gimli nodded. “As long I know that the hobbit was unharmed, it is enough.”

Unaware that Gandalf and Pippin still stood within the walls, the conversation continued, shifting the focus to the elf and the dwarf.

“What does this have to do with you and Gimli, if I might ask?” Ârâgorn said.

“We were watched,” Legolas said simply. “Pippin admitted that much to me at sunset. He told me that Éomer had caught him and took him away.”

Thëoden swallowed. “Well, at least something good came of this,” he noted.

“It is an example of differing culture,” Ârâgorn said gently. “We are all different, but we can work through that. Friendships and alliances are forged across these boundaries. Friendships should not be hindered by this one mistake.”

Legolas shook his head. “It is a little more than that, Estel. Pippin felt used. He found no peace by this action, however gently given and willingly received. If anything, he was even more confused than ever. That is why, I believe, he looked into the palantir.”

Gimli frowned. “Confused by what . . .? Legolas?”

“I overheard his prayer last night upon the courtyard wall. He has feelings for one of us in this room, and has not found a way to work through it. His time with Éomer served only to make the situation worse.”

“Does he know you overheard him?” Ârâgorn asked.

Pippin standing by the door sank further back into the column’s shadow. I do now, he thought silently.

“I do not believe so,” Legolas replied.

Éomer slowly sank into the stone floor. “When he was giving me comfort . . .he was thinking of another,” he thought aloud. He lifted his eyes. “He must now feel unclean, unworthy to seek his desires’ love,” he decided.

“I believe so,” Legolas replied, without revealing who it was that Pippin loved. Gimli looked at him out of the corner of his eye, and suddenly understood.

Ârâgorn slowly sighed. “Is it best to forgive and move on? Can we do that? Pippin is always looking, it is his nature.”

Legolas glared at him, a silent message to, at the very least, shut up. To his surprise, Ârâgorn did just that the second he saw the look in his eyes.

“No, Ârâgorn,” Thëoden said, thinking, his eyes locked on Éomer’s. “This must be settled here and now.”

Éomer straightened, if it were possible, accepting any punishment his uncle and king meted out. “What would you have me do, my lord?” he asked. “Obviously, whom he seeks is not me, for he would have found what he sought last night.” A frown flitted over his face and only his eyes lifted to the elf, and wondered, but he said not a word.

“Perhaps he could not,” Thëoden decided. “But that does not concern me so much as what I should do with you.”

“It concerns me,” Ârâgorn said before he could stop himself. “Thëoden king, with due respect, we should know who it is that Pippin loves, perhaps bring them together and heal situation that way?”

“Or, at least bring resolution for his confusion,” Legolas added.

Gimli nodded noncommittally. “I like that idea better.”

“I will do all I can to put right the wrong I have done and restore Pippin’s trust,” Éomer resolved. "On the day I see him again, I will tell him the truth.”

Thëoden nodded. “You will.”

Before he knew it, and before he could hear what else was said about his despicable conduct with Éomer, Pippin was whisked off to Gondor and the glares of Legolas and Gimli were forgotten . . .or perhaps superseded by other more terrifying ones. Gandalf’s disapproval was tangible, but the wizard said nothing at all.

It had been two weeks. The war had been fought and won, the ring was destroyed and Middle Earth was safe and content. Content for the most part, at least. Pippin stood on the balcony and gazed out across the higgledy-piggledy collection of slate roofs and out across Pelennor fields. Behind him, three hobbits slumbered in the huge bed, all tangled up as hobbits were want. Pippin could not sleep.

The night was warm and the stars were out, but Pippin paid them no heed. He sighed. He had helped to win the war, he knew that, but the battle within raged on. The confusion had not gone away, indeed it had intensified. He had made such a mess of things. Pippin realised this a while ago, but the worst of it was in store and he had not been expecting it at all. He thought back on his conversation at dinner.

“Frodo,” he said quietly. “Can I ask you something?”

Frodo looked at him with those huge blue eyes. “Of course.”

“Is it . . .peaceful now?”

Frodo frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well . . .the ring was constantly telling you things and trying to force you to do things. Now that it’s gone, you must be quite calm and content?”

“I am,” Frodo said. He smiled a little. “Is that what’s been bothering you all this time? My mental welfare?”

“No . . .well, yes, but . . .I was thinking of mine, actually.”

Frodo turned to him a little more. “What are you talking about?”

Pippin made to answer, but then changed him mind. “Nothing, really. You’d just think me a fool or some such.”

Frodo smiled gently. “I don’t think that of you. I never have. You’re just very young, that’s all. I shouldn’t let anything Gandalf says get to you.”

“That’s just the point. I dare not ask him,” Pippin murmured.

“Ask him what?”

“Well . . .” Pippin looked around them and lowered his voice even further to a conspiratorial whisper. “Promise me you won’t say anything to anyone?”

“Say what?”

“Just promise.”

“I promise.”

Pippin took several breaths to work himself up to the task. “I prefer men.”

Frodo sprayed the mouthful of ale across the table, and set his flagon down. “What!”

Not far away, unnoticed, a blond head turned in their direction to catch even the tiniest sound.

Pippin’s face fell. “I have a head full of questions and I don’t know who to turn to, who to trust. I don’t know who to ask . . .or if I should even ask at all.”

“Why not?” Frodo inquired. “Has Gandalf been telling you to be quiet again?”

“No,” Pippin replied sadly. “Not exactly . . .Gandalf hasn’t said a word. I’m so confused. You’re a lot older than me and I thought . . .you would know all the answers.”

Frodo looked away. “I’m not sure I am the right person, Pippin,” he said vacantly.

“But, I’ve always trusted you.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Frodo amended. “I don’t know anything about matters of love. My life has always been full of books, maps and Uncle Bilbo’s adventures. I haven’t really thought of love and getting married. I’ve never found a lass who thought as I did. If you need to know about love, you should ask Ârâgorn or Faramir, or perhaps Legolas.”

“Legolas?” Pippin wondered. “Why Legolas?”

Frodo suddenly laughed. “My dear Pippin, you really are naïve. Legolas and Gimli are in love, in fact are troth plighted and have been in union since Lorien. They kept it a secret and even now only a few people know.”

Pippin frowned, somewhat deflated. “Oh,” he said, thinking back to the morning he had left Edoras, and the conversation he and Gandalf had inadvertently overheard. Gimli had mentioned then that they were mates, but hadn’t Ârâgorn been a good friend too? Now he was beginning to see how really foolish he must have seemed. He said nothing more all through dinner.

And after Frodo had left the table, a tall man of Rohan had approached him, a kingly sort that Pippin remembered all too well.

“Éomer,” he said in greeting.

“Master Pippin,” he responded and sat down on the hobbit sized bench. He wobbled slightly, and righted himself before he could fall off the tiny slither of wood. “I promised my uncle that I would speak with you the first moment I could.”

“I know,” Pippin said.

“You know?”

“The conversation in Edoras was overheard. Gandalf and I hadn’t left until afterwards,” Pippin admitted.

Éomer kept his gaze steady. “In that case,” he said. “I am saved from having to go through lengthy explanations. I am sorry that I did not think to just explain. I got carried away in the moment.”

Pippin smiled, although he did not feel like it. “It’s alright,” he said. “So did I, and I enjoyed my time with you.”

Éomer smiled gently. “I hope it gave you some comfort, even if it did not answer your questions. I hope the gods will grant you that peace.”

“As I hope for you, Éomer,” Pippin replied.

Pippin stood alone now, looking out over the balcony, his hopes dashed. He had allowed himself to believe that what he had seen in Meduseld had been a warrior’s comfort, that he had a chance. He sighed. His gaze drifted over the courtyard of stone below his window. The guards were standing vigil around the white tree, as ever, but there was another figure standing much closer. It was Legolas, and to the astonishment of the hobbit, he was staring back at him.

Pippin gasped and stilled as the elf beckoned to him. Pippin blinked and half-turned, wondering who he was signalling to. He frowned. Indicating to himself, he mouthed one word. “Me?”

Legolas nodded and waved him down. Pippin wondered what the elf could want so late at night, and why did he not just come to the door and knock? Pippin could answer that question himself. As soon as someone knocked, a certain hobbit pile slumbering in the bed would up wake in an instant. Pippin considered leaving by the door, but decided against it, as it would have the same effect as knocking.

He looked down over the rail and judged the distance to the courtyard below . . .twenty-five feet. Too great a distance for a hobbit to jump and survive unharmed.

“Can’t you climb up?” he called out softly. “What is it that’s so important?”

Legolas stepped closer to the stone wall. “You will see,” he replied. “Jump. I shall catch you. Trust me.”

The drop was a fair five times his height to the upturned face of the beautiful elf below him. Trust an elf? He did not hesitate. With a swift motion, he flung himself over the edge and was falling ever so far before he felt Legolas’ arms catch him.

His tiny heart hammered in his chest as he gazed up at the large eyes that stared back at him. He had scaled to the beacon’s heights not long ago, true enough, but this was . . .well, he was sure. It wasn’t just the warriors’ comfort he had known, he was certain of that. He felt his face flush. Even in the dark, he was certain Legolas could see its glow.

Legolas placed him on his feet, smiling with amusement. “Come my friend, I have much to show you and we have much to speak of.”

“Yes, Legolas,” he managed, his hand found its way into the elf’s long slender digits. He smiled up at him, and followed silently into the shadows. Legolas took him through a narrow side door, which he bolted on inside. A narrow alleyway led into a private garden that was surrounded on all sides by arched windows and several doors.

Legolas led him into the palace through one of the doors and along a hall into the visitor’s quarters. He paused slightly at the large double doors, but he did not knock. He merely looked down at Pippin as if to assure him all would be well.

Smoothly the door opened for them, a cheery fire roared in the fireplace, accented by candles set about the room, a side-table had been set with a small snack buffet. Pippin noted only three goblets next to the dark green bottle and three plates, and the table fair groaned with the burden of food.

“Gimli is coming, he is bathing,” Legolas explained.

Pip nodded. His eyes roamed the chamber, always finding their way back to the food, but something told him it was for later.

A silken sound behind him made him turn in time to see the elf, golden in the firelight, remove his outer tunic, now only a silver embroidered shirt and grey leggings remained. It was then Pippin remembered that he himself wore only a borrowed shirt of Gandalf’s, cuffs turned up a dozen times or more to expose his arms, the hem almost to the floor. Only a scant few buttons held the front closed. He blushed again, imagining how large it have must looked on him.

He watched as Legolas settled gracefully onto the couch, a slight smile on his perfect lips. “Come Peregrin, sit. Neither I, nor Gimli will bite.”

Suddenly a low rumbling sweet voice behind him spoke, “Unless asked.”

Pippin spun, his breath caught at the sight of the dwarf. Barely taller than him, he wore a sleeveless tunic, calf length, slit up each side almost to his hips, and a slim golden cord about his waist. His hair, bronze and copper in the light, hung in thick shiny curtains, unbound and gleaming. He heard Legolas chuckle. “You look better, Gimli.”

“Aye, lad,” he agreed softly. “I feel better.”

Gimli crossed the room. As he passed Pippin, he gently urged him to follow until all three were closer to the fire. Gimli sat on a low stool on the floor before Legolas who began to brush the thick mane in sections readying it for braiding. Pippin found himself sitting thigh to thigh with the elf, his foot resting against Gimli’s thigh. He struggled to breath, the beauty, love and serenity in the room was an honour in its self just to be there . . .but . . .after all he had been through he had to know.

“To what do I owe the honour of this evening.” he asked, his voice calm.

Gimli merely looked round with a soft smile as Legolas chuckled low.

“Sweet Pippin,” Legolas said. “We desired your company.”

Pip gasped. He now knew many forms of company and comforts. Dared he hope?

The elf went on, “I heard what you said at meat tonight. More than that, the night’s prayer at Edoras is forever in my heart.”

Pippin lowered his head, no longer surprised that Legolas overheard something. “Yes, but . . .you’re married. I know that now . . .”

Legolas continued as if he had not spoken. “Pippin, we would not rush you, nor ask more than you are willing, but tonight, we ask you to merely spend time with us here.”

Pippin watched as Legolas caressed the dwarf’s head with his slender fingers before gently pulling a comb through the mass of swirling locks. He was unable to speak for a moment. “With you . . .both?”

“Aye, lad.”

Pippins eyes never left the slim fingers combing and twisting the dwarf’s curling strands. He longed to feel them, his eyes lifted for a second and then dropped.

Legolas freed a hand from the thick mass and reached out, fingering a stray dark curl behind Pippin’s ear, lingering on the slightly pointed reminder of the periannath’s past. He smiled.

Pippin found himself drowning in grey-green pools. “May I?” he whispered, at least he thought he had. Legolas nodded. With a trembling hand, the hobbit gathered a lock of dark red-gold hair. It was thick and soft, and smelled of sandalwood and axe oil, even after a bath. Still vaguely damp, it clung almost lovingly to his tiny fingers.

“My hair is so short, compared to the two of you,” he spoke softly. His hand left the dwarf’s mane and lifted to touch the elf’s silvery locks, for a moment afraid of getting his hand slapped, ‘fool of a took, always touching and looking . . .’ but no denial came.

Suddenly, he felt small, and oh so very young. Gimli, he knew, was one hundred and forty years old and Legolas nearing . . .he could not comprehend how many millennia. The Took was barely a tween.

Gimli glanced at him, Legolas continuing his work. “Now, young hobbit. Don’t go thinking you’re any less for being young. ‘Tis not the age, but what’s done with it that matters.”

Legolas leaned forward and kissed Gimli’s cheek. “All done, save the beard, beloved.”

It was then that Pippin noticed that the dwarf bore not only one thick braid down his back, but also a braid over each ear that fell unfettered to and passed his shoulders to tickle against his shirted chest. He smiled.

Gimli stood. “Thank you, princeling,” he said gently as he turned around. “Now, mind, when you do my beard that you add the beads I wanted earlier,” Gimli said, eyes twinkling as he turned on the footstool to face Legolas.

Legolas plopped several golden clips in Pippin’s hand. “Hold these, please,” he said and gently he began to comb and braid the hair of Gimli’s beard and moustache.

Pippin studied the beads where they lay in his cupped palms. They seemed odd, long and short tubes of gold, not quite closed as if slightly pliable. “What do these do?” he asked.

Gimli looked at him. “You have never seen dwarf or elven hair beads before?” Pippin shook his head. “You slip them over the braid and pinch them shut,” Gimli explained.

Pip nodded vaguely. “Why these beads? Won’t a leather tie be better, like the one you wear in your hair?”

Gimli and Legolas shared a glance. “They signify a dwarf’s status, Pippin,” Gimli said with a grin. “Two for royalty, two for marriage. The shorter ones each signify a battle won.”

Pippin counted the short tubes. “That’s twelve,” he said in surprise. “What’s this one for?” The last one, just peeping through from beneath the pile, was not gold like the others. It was silver.

Legolas plucked it from the others, as if embarrassed that it had slipped in with the rest. “That one has not been decided yet, young master Pippin,” he said, attempting to hide a tender smile.

Pip smiled. Did the elf just wink at him? Or had it been a trick of the light?

Legolas secreted the bead away in the breast pocket of his shirt.

“For a son, I think,” Pippin guessed.

“Perhaps,” Gimli replied noncommittally. “A third party definitely.”

Legolas lifted two beads from the pile. “These are for royalty.” He held them out for the halfling to see, each was finely etched with dwarven runes. Pippin was in awe of the fine workmanship, always having believed dwarves were too rough and clumsy to create something so fine and beautiful . . .until now.

With care, Legolas attached them, pressed them gently closed and took two more. “These are for marriage.”

Again, Pippin could see the daintily etched inscription, but on these they were elf as well as dwarf letters.

Once donned, the four beads held the dwarf lord’s moustache from his lips, one of each to either side. Then, Legolas began to tame the beard. Here and there, almost in a diamond pattern the beads of battle decorated and contained the thick beard. Pippin could see that Legolas was enjoying the chore, a labour of love, a smile softening his lips. When he was done he leaned in and kissed Gimli with all the tenderness he possessed.

When they had parted and were busy gazing into each other’s eyes, Pip became more daring. He fingered the golden ornaments with loving care. They were more than decoration, they were who Gimli was, but he wondered if anyone outside the room even knew. He smiled as Gimli watched him and caught his gaze.

Pippin had a thousand questions, but not one found its way to utterance. In a quiet, simple tone, he asked it. “Why did you ask me here tonight?”

Legolas regarded him gently before cupping his cheek. He leaned in to kiss his forehead and smiled. “There are many things in this world, my friend, that even I do not understand. That you would wish to do so, so soon in your short life confuses me. Take time to learn about life at a slower pace. There are many things I wish to show you.”

“Like braiding hair and . . .gold beads?” Pippin wondered, not understanding the significance to his being there.

“It is more than braiding, more than beads. I could braid the hair of a thousand dwarf warriors, but that act would be meaningless. Just as a warrior could lie with a thousand men, and it would be as naught in his heart.”

“Then . . .I am not here to share more than I can take?”

“Exactly,” Gimli said, gently.

“But . . .” Pippin lowered his eyes for a moment. “I do not want to take from you. Even if it were in you to accept a third party, I don’t want it. You have shown me love and I understand that now. How could I, in good conscience, come in and take that away from you?”

Legolas watched the emotions play out in the hobbit’s eyes. He knew there was more. He felt Gimli’s arm around his shoulders and pressed his head to the dwarf’s shoulder.

Pippin lifted his eyes to them both. “That silver bead is not intended for me, it should not be for me. You are meant for each other, the Valar themselves brought you together. Who am I to tear it up?”

“But what of you, Peregrin Took?” Gimli asked. “What of your questions?”

“Some questions are best left unasked. They cause hurt and destroy things of beauty that should be left alone. If I asked them I would be no better than Sauron, needing to control everything. No . . .” he shook his head. “That’s not for me. My life is complicated enough. And you two are perfect the way you are.”

Legolas smiled softly. “As are you,” he replied. “If it would help, we offer to show you what it is that you do not understand. That was the purpose of you being here.”

Pippin’s eyes widened. “You mean . . .watch you . . .making love?” His jaw fell open before he remembered it was almost resting on his knees and drew it shut. “No,” he decided. “This is no warrior’s comfort,” he said. “That I could watch, but not this.” He hesitated before being bold and reaching into Legolas’ pocket for the single silver bead. “I think you know who this is for,” he said. “And his name is not Peregrin Took.”

Gimli hummed in deep thought. “Do you think so little of yourself? Or trust us so little that you cannot imagine you are loved . . .nor lovable? he asked.

Pippin considered their words, did they really love him? He was unsure, but then, they had run across the world to find him. Merry as well, to be true, but he was not the one here, now. “I want to,” he admitted finally. His large blue-green eyes closed. “But . . .I’m scared.”

“What are you afraid of, Pippin?” Legolas asked softly.

“I don’t know, that’s the thing. I can’t put a name to it.”

Legolas regarded him gently and smiled. “Sup with us and allow your fears to settle.”

A diversion proposed, Pippin lit up at once. Food was something he was not afraid of. At once, he decided he would not be a mere spectator. He hopped off the couch. “Would anyone care for a drink?” he asked. Legolas nodded, as did Gimli.

Pippin crossed at once to the table laden with ale, wine, and food in abundance. He had not seen so much food since the party in the shire, and yet there were only three goblets and three plates. A small serving tray lay nearby and pippin began to fill it. Lifting the tray of drinks and nibbles, he turned to find them kissing. Pippin almost dropped the tray; it was not just any kiss.

Gimli, still standing beside the chase lounge where Legolas sat, leaned in to capture the elf’s lips, kissing deeply and longingly. Legging-clad knees parted to allow the dwarf to thrust against him gently, naked buttocks clenched, languidly pressing flesh against flesh through their clothing. Neither was aroused, but intent was obvious. A hand brushed the elf’s side tenderly, pulling him closer, leaving little to the imagination, but much for the wanting. Pippin blinked and the two had parted again, Gimli sitting down beside Legolas.

He brought the tray forward, setting it on the low stool Gimli had been sitting on, before going back for the bottle of wine. No ale, he decided, he wanted to be sober. The conversation remained light even as they flirted with each other, but not with Pippin. He enjoyed watching the coy back and forth, light touches and caresses, small smiles of promise. He joined in their discussion, sitting close by. They seemed oblivious to what they were doing, and all he could do was grin and enjoy being there.

All the while being warm and friendly to Pippin, they smiled at each other, feathered fingertips across the other’s cheek, smoothed a hand down a back or a thigh, showing him that a warrior’s comfort was not love, that what they had was not a simple act. Their love was much more. Gimli reached out a thumb to wipe away a crumb of bread from Legolas’ lips. Legolas smiled and kissed him tenderly.

Pippin felt odd, but strangely content as he poured more of the wine into their goblets and talked and watched them together. He felt his hands shake as he sipped the wine, and tried to hide it.

Legolas tipped his head. “You are nervous, Pippin.”

The hobbit nodded. “A little,” he admitted. Suddenly, he was babbling. “I mean, if you heard my prayer, then you know. . .but you can’t be angry with me or you would not have asked me here . . .or you did in order to let me down easy . . .I mean, after what I did with Éomer and all . . .”

Without warning, Pippin found a finger upon his lips. “Hush, Pippin.”

The astonished hobbit stared at him wide-eyed. A tremor ran through him, and he barely dared a breath. The soft, slender fingertip of the elf rested upon his warm lips and without thinking, he kissed it. Legolas responded with a small shiver of his own and he licked his lips. No one had ever done that to him before and he liked the sensation. The hand moved to cup the hobbit’s chin, thumb now smoothing over a cheek bone, out of reach of his lips.

Pip sighed gently. “Sorry.”

Legolas smiled. “Do not be sorry,” he said. “There was no insult meant and none taken. Elves join with only one.”

Pippin was confused, but at the moment he couldn’t care less. He drew back a little from the touch to look at Legolas, then at Gimli. “Gimli?” he said questioning.

“Dwarves also love but once,” Gimli smiled. “Aye, ‘tis true, but subject to interpretation. Dwarves do not dally.”

“No warriors’ comfort?” Pippin asked, blushing hotly.

“No, lad,” he said. “But we have room in our hearts for more than one.”

“Just as elves do,” Legolas added.

Pippin searched their faces. “You would have me, after I . . .? Oohh,” he said softly. “I wish I had never done that.”

Gimli pulled him to his broad hard chest and held him gently. “It is alright, Pippin. We know.” Pippin felt tears well up, of joy or regret he was not sure. Legolas gently rubbed his back as he sank into the warm embrace of the dwarf.

“Come now, Peregrin,” Legolas whispered. “Let us eat and share of each other. The past is behind us.”

Pippin nodded with deep gratitude. The idea of food perked his spirits. Not much time passed though before his eyes began to droop and he fell asleep on the chase lounge.

Legolas and Gimli smiled at one another. A tender caress turned to one of promise and longing, hands that had moved in innocence now turned to sweep between thighs and to cup awakening groins. Legolas gasped softly, feeling fingertips against his centre, parting his knees a little more in invitation. Fingers rubbed slowly, kisses deepening. The elf was falling, but a dwarf arm held him secure and lips parted to taste the other. Aroused and full of wine, they retired to the bed.

A hobbit pile woke to find themselves one short. Pippin was gone.

“Where did he go?” Merry asked.

“Not through the door,” Sam replied. “It’s still locked.”

Frodo slowly turned in growing alarm and noticed the open window. “Oh no!” He rushed towards the balcony. “He was very worried last night . . .he can’t have . . .!”

He peered down into the courtyard below, expecting to see a body, or at least a nasty looking red splash on the paving. Instead, there was nothing.

“What was he worried about?” Merry asked. He looked up from whatever Frodo had been looking down to see. “What would make him jump out of a window? That drop would kill a hobbit.”

Frodo turned from the wall to face them. “Last night, he confided in me, he made me promise. He was having difficulties of the heart . . .that need careful handling,” Frodo said carefully.

Sam unlocked the door. “We best find him then,” he decided. “Can’t have him wondering around after that fall. He could be hurt.”

They rushed out of the room like hornets from a disturbed nest and ran headlong into Éomer. The three of them landed on their rumps. Frodo gazed up into the dark brooding eyes and his own widened. “Sorry,” he said. He had not met this man before, but had seen him with Pippin the previous evening. He got to his feet. “I wonder if I might asked you something, man of Rohan?”

Éomer shifted his feet slightly. “That’s King of Rohan, little hobbit,” he corrected sternly.

Merry cleared his throat and bowed. “My liege,” he said. “May I introduce my cousin, Frodo Baggins, and his gardener Samwise Gamgee.”

“My apologies, my Lord Éomer,” Frodo said. “It is an honour to meet you.”

Éomer lifted a brow at the slight-built hobbit. He bowed deeply. “The honour is mine,” he said and tipped his head to the third hobbit, who seemed in silent awe of such a large man. “If I might ask, why are three hobbits in such a hurry? Has the war horn been blown and I missed it?”

“No, my lord,” Merry replied. “Pippin is missing.”

“Missing?” Éomer’s face fell.

“We awoke this morning to find him gone,” Frodo explained. “He was very upset last night and I am concerned about his well-being. I saw you with him at dinner last night. Perhaps you might know where he is?”

Éomer lowered his gaze, his mind considering the possibilities. “We spoke, true enough, but I do not recall him less than jovial and sincere. Thoughtful, perhaps, but not of a mind to do himself harm.”

Merry recalled other events. His voice lowered to one of quiet inquiry. “Éomer?”

“We made our peace, he and I. The matter is closed between us, as foresworn,” Éomer assured him. Then it came to him where the missing hobbit might be, but he said nothing. “Have no fear, Master Baggins. He will turn up, I am sure of it. If he does not do so by eve’s turning, call for the guard of the citadel. It might be that he has spent time with his other fellows and got drunk, as is sometimes the want of warriors.”

Frodo nodded. “Thank you, my lord. I will try not to worry too much.”

Éomer bowed again and bid them a good day.

Sam watched him walk away. “I ain’t never seen such a big man,” he whispered.

Frodo would have smiled if something did not trouble him so. “What did he mean, made his peace?”

Merry swallowed. “There was . .uhm . . .and incident at Edoras,” he voiced uncomfortably.

Frodo’s eyes widened, his head turning towards where Éomer had gone and back at his cousin. He sighed softly. “Alright, that is as much information as I can take. Pippin said something about a man last night, but I did not think it was the king of Rohan.”

“Well, he wasn’t actually the king at the time,” Merry put in in an attempt to soften the blow. “He was the heir . . .though . . .never mind. I don’t actually know what happened, but I have a fair idea.”

“Anything that might help us find Pippin?” Samwise asked.

Merry thought about it and the idea flashed in his mind like a firework, and his face fell. “How about we get breakfast first? I’m starving, and besides, Pippin is quite safe. As the king said, he’s quite safe. Probably down at the guardhouse or the inn under a table, quite safe.”

As the noon horns blew, Pippin awoke and looked around, wondering where he was. Memory rushed back with sweetness as he remembered the previous evening on the chase lounge in their room . . .he spun about, but soon found that there was nothing to worry about. Gimli was up, sitting at the desk, writing, while Legolas lay still in sleep upon their bed, dressed only in his night leggings. Gimli’s head rose and he smiled.

“Morning, young Peregrin. Come, join me. We have much to talk about, you and I.”

Peregrin stood and walked over to him, looking him in the eye. “I hope I didn’t snore,” he said.

Gimli chuckled softly. “Not that I heard. Legolas and I fell asleep at about the same time you did, although our bodies would have preferred a different activity,” he admitted.

Pippin blushed.

“We must talk about choices,” the dwarf announced. “You say you will not come between us, and yet the door has been opened to you.”

“I’m not sure,” Pippin said. “I like you both . . .I mean . . .I love you . . .” He hesitated, a slight frown on his face. “I admit, I have always desired Legolas, but I’m just a hobbit. What could big folk possibly see in me? I’m too small to be loved the way I would like . . I mean, how I would desire to love and be loved another.”

“You mean completely?” Gimli noted. Pippin nodded. Gimli set the quill aside and turned in the chair. “Lad, there is more to love than getting into bed and mating like frenzied rabbits,” he told him. “First there is a deep longing to be with someone, and the ache that comes with being apart, even for a short time. And there is the warmth of their smile, how it makes your insides turn to water, just to see it.”

“I felt that once,” Pippin announced softly. “A lass from Long Cleave, her smile was like the dawn sun, but I don’t want to be with her like that . . .I don’t know. What I want is something more. I am more than hobbit now. I’ve seen so much, done so much. I desire for someone who could appreciate that. As sweet as a lass can be, I would feel stifled, or even any hobbit. My heart constricts at the idea, it . . .I want more. Does that make sense?”

“I think it makes more sense to me than it does to you,” the dwarf replied. “Perhaps a little of something can make the picture clearer.”

“I tried that,” Pip replied. “It made things worse.”

“Éomer was a man,” Gimli put in. “He was not who your heart desired, nor who your body responded to.” Pippin flushed red, Gimli smiled tenderly and brushed his hand across the hobbit’s cheek. “Now, lad, silver beads and choices. Do I engrave your name upon it, or do I keep it forever virgin in my pocket, untouched by my hair?”

Pippin looked into the dwarf’s outstretched hand, in which was held the tiny silver bead. He lifted his eyes, and curled the thick, work-roughened fingers closed. “The name on this bead is not mine, Gimli, but your son’s.”

Gimli looked surprised, but before he could speak a rustle from the bed made them both turn. Legolas stretched lazily and rubbed his eyes. He sat up and saw them at once and smiled. “Good morning,” he said.

“I think it’s afternoon, actually,” Pippin said.

“Pippin was telling me of his choices,” Gimli said.

Legolas rose gracefully from the bed and crossed to his love, kissing him tenderly. “Afternoon, melethron.”

Pippin stood near Gimli, almost close enough to touch while they talked about the fellowship, about friendship. Pippin was reluctant to say more than he already had, uncomfortable that the object of his desire now stood so close to him.

“Come,” Legolas coaxed gently. “What it is that you feel?”

Gimli agreed with a nod. “What desires and urges drive you?”

“Well . . .I don’t know . . .only that I love . . .would love . . .that is, I want to touch you, to feel you touching me, but . . .”

As he spoke, Legolas stepped quietly up behind the hobbit, a slim hand gently falling to his shoulder. Pippin was so intent on his answer that he almost did not register the touch, but on another level he slowly leaned back against the elf. Gimli smiled.

“I wanted to know so many things, but some seem so trivial,” the hobbit said. He slowly became aware of the warm slim presence behind him, of the hand upon his shoulder, and that he had taken a step back to press his body against legs, he looked up and back.

“Good afternoon, Prince Legolas,” he managed to whisper, but he was not as nervous as he had been the eve before.

“Just Legolas,” the elven prince said gently, amused. The tall elf went to one knee, eye level with the beautiful, shyly smiling face. “Good afternoon, Pippin,” he said and kissed his cheek, but pippin turned his head into it and their lips met.

Shocked by his own boldness he pulled back and gasped softly. “Oops.”

Legolas merely smiled, and kissed him in return, a sweet, gentle peck of noncommittal.

“Oh,” Pip whispered. Granted it was not the deep, throat-sweeping kiss he and Éomer had shared, nor was it the love kiss he had seen between Legolas and Gimli, but he liked it. The static charge that raced over his skin was altogether new.

He felt a strong hand run gently down his back, almost encouraging him, but he hesitated. He could step forward, he was already close enough to feel the elf’s warmth through his shirt. Pippin felt right, no more questions, no more questioning himself or others. He knew all he had to do was take a step back and walk out . . .but he really didn’t want that, he wanted to experience that buzz again. And the grey-green eyes of the prince kneeling before him held him captive.

Someone knocked and the spell was broken. Legolas rose and bade them enter, despite their lack of day attire. Éomer entered and gave them a quick appraisal and thought nothing of their appearance. He had seen men in less.

“Good morning,” he greeted in his thick Rohan brogue. “Or rather afternoon. Although I did not come here expecting to find Pippin, I came to clear the air between us, for the time would be against me if I were to leave it longer.”

Legolas waved him in.

Pippin opened his mouth, but closed it again, only to open it a second time. “Éomer, King Éomer . . .” He reached out, forcing Éomer to look into his eyes. “The age of consent and the age of majority are not the same in my culture, as I know it is in yours. One is higher than the other, though I do not know why.” Éomer’s eyes widened as he came to understanding, “You did nothing wrong . . .” He looked over his shoulder at Legolas and Gimli, “Save, perhaps, to cause a twinge of over protectiveness.” he grinned.

Legolas shuffled his feet, Gimli harrumphed, both smiled. Legolas placed hand on heart and tipped his head. “I am sorry, Éomer, for the wrath of Thëoden. The bonds of fellowship tend to make one react without thinking oft-times.”

“Forgiven, both of you, as I hope you will forgive me,” Éomer said. “I am glad that all is well between us for we still have many a war to fight, and flagons to drain.”

“They will be,” Gimli promised. “And we will be side by side.”

Éomer bowed his head, and smiled at pip. “Your cousins are looking for you. They are worried, little one.”

Pippin smiled. “Reassure them for me.”

Éomer nodded. “It is done. When they told me you were missing I guessed your whereabouts, but I did not tell them.”

“Thanks,” Pippin replied.

“Duty calls,” the man of Rohan said. “I bid you fair winds.”

Exchanging the like, the man left.

Pippin turned a little nervously to his friends, but their smiles reassured him. “Now, where was I?” he asked softly with a look of mischief. Legolas dropped to one knee and kissed him again, as a reminder. With a slight bemused smile he leaned in and kissed those sweet elvish lips, growing steadily more passionate. Pippin felt Legolas’ hand smooth up his thigh under the oversized shirt he wore, up over his hip to his side, warm, possessive and yet noncommittal. Pippin was lost in sensation. He reached out to curl his small hands around the elf, feeling warmer skin and taut muscles.

A small movement behind him and he found himself turned and engulfed between Gimli and Legolas, the dwarf now raining gentle kisses upon his soft sensitive skin. Pippin wrapped his arms around Gimli, smoothing up rock hard but surprisingly slim sides, the hair of his beard and moustache tickling as their lips moved together. Legolas’ mouth moved across Pippin’s neck and shoulders. Before the hobbit could do more than moan, he was turned again, their places switched. Gimli ran a thumbnail down his spine and felt him shudder. He did it again, eliciting a moan of delight. Gimli smiled against his shoulder and dragged the nail back up again, feeling the little body arch into the touch.

Pippin knew this moment, its intent, its love. They were offering him the chance to share, but knowing his heart and mind are already set, that he would not endanger their union by coming between them and joining in. This was safe. This one moment of togetherness would be all they had, and it was cherished and worshipped.

Finally, kissed almost breathless, Pippin, in true Pippin style, suddenly yawned widely and scratching both sides of his rib cage at once, wiggled out of the body sandwich. “Where’s that wine we had last night? I’m thirsty,” he said sleepily.

Legolas and Gimli smiled to each other and watched him wander off to find the half empty bottle still standing beside the lounge, smiling with mild amusement, but no hard feelings.

Pippin lifted the bottle in one hand as he continued to the table. While he eyed the various finger foods still untouched from the night before, he noted absently, “So, you two fell asleep still dressed as well? I fell asleep on the sofa. Can’t have been that much more comfortable on the bed all dressed up for dinner, either.”

Legolas looked down at himself, shirtless and Gimli in a nightshirt with his day trousers on under them. Dressed for diner? Their gazes wondered as they met. Pippin’s back was turned, and suddenly they didn’t care that he was in the room. Once a hobbit had food on his mind, he would be away in Happy Land for hours, oblivious to the world beyond his belly. Gimli drew close and kissed him, a full kiss of love, lips moulding and parting, tasting and teasing.

Legolas rose slightly to sit in the chair Gimli had vacated and wound his hands behind the dwarf and drew him ever closer. Pressing himself between his thighs, Gimli drowned out the voice of the hobbit happily chattering at the far end of the room.

Gimli nudged against his centre, a slow languid move, this time most definitely aroused and taking his time. Legolas gasped softly against his mouth, feeling the prod of his need through the layers of clothing. "We have waited long enough," he whispered upon a sigh.

Gimli nodded. "I am glad you agree. If I wait any longer, I’ll burst. But . . .what about Pip?"

Legolas lifted his eyes to gaze into the dark pools that were the dwarf's eyes. “There is enough food on that table to satisfy several hobbits for a whole day, leave him.”

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Pippin called out, having heard their whispers, but not turning around.

Gimli pressed even harder against the elf and felt him shiver, saw the elf's eyes close enraptured with the feel of him. Elf hands grasped his buttocks and pressed him against his body. Gimli thrust forward, eliciting a gentle moan of delight. He smiled and drew away. Taking his hand, he lead him to the bed and climbed up, indicating for him to follow.

Legolas stepped onto the bed on his knees as Gimli took the draw string of his leggings between his finger and thumb and slowly pulled the bow free. With one hand on Legolas’ hip, Gimli pushed the leggings down and the cloth shimmied to his knees.

Legolas made to move to kick them off, but Gimli held up a hand to wait. He slowly open one button then another of his shirt and drew it off his body. Legolas trembled as he watched. Unable to contain himself, Legolas reached out to finger the hair on his chest, tracing the line down through the curled mat to continue on down the tapering line of his taut stomach.

Gimli’s eyes smouldered and hurriedly tore open the buttons of his trousers and pushed them off and stepped out of them, kicking the knotted pile to the floor.

Pippin lifted his eyes as he sat eating the last of a large pastry and drinking the wine, not so much watching them make love, but wanting to be sure they would. He felt a twinge of guilt that he might have damaged their love somehow. He knew they had yet to seal their union, this was their time. Besides, if someone else came knocking on their door, they would need a doorman, at the very least.

Then to afford them privacy, Pip turned away to sit vigil on any unwanted intrusion, should any come. He looked down at himself, flimsy night gown and no weapon. He shrugged and hiccupped. He had food, he smiled and continued eating. He spied Legolas’ knives nearby and took one, balancing it on his knee just as he had seen Ârâgorn do on several occasions with his sword.

Gimli stepped forward and pressed his need against Legolas’ belly and kissed him sensuously, Legolas’ legs gave way and he collapsed onto the bed. Gimli followed him, not breaking the contact

Hands reached for the dwarf, catching him, breaking his fall, and gathering him to his chest. Knees parted as bodies touched, length for length. skin slid against skin, finding its own way towards home as Legolas and Gimli lost themselves in a dance of love. The last piece of cloth fell away as Gimli entered him, hearing gentle sighs of love and passion.

Gimli pressed deeper, filling him, leaving damp kisses on his skin, invisible marks of his staked claim. He squeezed his buttocks the drove in slowly and drew pack, only to thrust forward again. Legolas whimpered softly, shuddering beneath him, wordless mewling against the dwarf’s mouth.

Gimli thrust faster, gazing down at the senseless elf beneath him and smiled. they were sealed now, touched in soul and body, one in heart and mind. "Meleth,” he shuddered . . .

Legolas opened his eyes to look up at him, breath panting against his face, breathing the same air. One word slipped forth from his lips in amongst the gibberish. “Eru . . .!”

As one they released, eyes wide and locked on each other. Breathless, they panted, tender touches to each others’ face. A slow smile curved the elf’s lips upward, his eyes shining with love. Gimli smiled back, knowingly.

“Did he answer?” he whispered softly.

Legolas nodded.

Pippin poured the last of the wine into a goblet, he was unsure whose, and peered into the empty bottle with one eye, harrumphing softly that it would all be gone after this last glass. He gently drifted into a daydream of that dark-haired lass from Long Cleave and wondered what she would be doing now. Was she married? Did she even remember him? He planned on making a stop at her door the minute he got home. He sighed wistfully, remembering the feel of her. They had only been playing, but he wanted more of that, and something far more serious and long term . . .like his friends in the bed behind him.

He sipped and looked over at where Legolas and Gimli still lay locked together. His acute hearing had caught their words, though he said nothing and it would remain thus. They were kissing tenderly. Pippin smiled, and raised his glass. “Here’s to a silver bead,” he noted softly.

El fin