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A Change In The Weather
Pippin bounced next to the coachman with unalloyed delight as the first smials
on the outskirts of Hobbiton came into view, smoke rising up into the chilly
dusk. The coachman gave a thankful sigh as well, and Pippin gleefully gave his
shoulder a friendly clout. “You know it isn’t as bad as all of that,” he teased
him gaily. “If you must be carting me all over the Shire, an evening at the
Green Dragon is surely better than an evening under the grim eye of Aunt Esme at
Brandy Hall. And if this snowstorm starts, as it’s certainly threatening to do,
it might even be a couple of evenings at the Green Dragon.”
The burly coachman gave a slight chuckle at that thought. “I’d hate to be puttin’
the Master’s ponies through any sort of bad weather, now,” he offered hopefully.
“Your Da’d never be thankin’ me for that.”
“Good thinking, Bart,” Pippin nodded his head with a satisfied smile. “And I’ll
be sure to let my father know that it was the welfare of the ponies that was
first and foremost in your mind. And the fact that the Green Dragon has some of
the finest beer and most congenial company in these parts had nothing at all to
do with it.”
“Just so, just so,” Bart gave a conspiratorial wink back at the young teen, and
a glance up at the darkening sky. “And it looks like we’d be seein’ that snow
right soon, true enough. I’ll just be havin’ enough time to get you to Mr.
Frodo’s and get back here again,” he added with a bit of suppressed longing, as
they passed the warmly lit inn with a couple of well-bundled hobbits in the
doorway, stamping the slush from their feet as they entered.
So Pippin and his various bundles were smartly dropped upon the doorstep of Bag
End, just as the snow did indeed start in earnest, and Bart, ponies, carriage
and all were off before Frodo had quite finished opening the door.
&&&&&
“Pippin, how wonderful to see you!” Frodo gave his young cousin a warm embrace
and a quick kiss on the cheek, and then stood back, gazing at him with a
thoughtful smile. “You are growing again, you young sprout. There’ll come a day
when you will be looking down on me, I just know it, but it isn’t quite yet, I
think. Well, why we are standing here, I have no idea, when there is a warm fire
and hot tea to be had in the study.”
He was half-way down the wood-paneled hall, with Pippin dutifully following him,
when it suddenly occurred to Pippin that there was something missing from this
cozy domestic scene.
“Sam?” he asked curiously, as he entered the warm study behind Frodo.
Frodo walked over to the fire, and gave it a quick prod with the poker.
“Napping,” he said briefly, giving Pippin a rueful smile. “I’ve had this
annoying chill, the past several weeks, and have just gotten over it. We thought
Sam might have escaped it, but this afternoon, he was looking flushed, and try
as he might to hide it, a cough has most definitely set in. There was no time to
cancel your visit, and the weather certainly isn’t going to favor you going back
anytime soon, so I suppose I’ll just have to keep the two of you apart. Or your
mother will be most put out with me.”
“Pah,” Pippin scoffed, with the false confidence of youth. “That sort of
nonsense never bothers me at all. It’s the young blood, you know, Frodo dear.
Runs hotter, or something of the sort.”
“Sam seemed to think along those lines, as well,” Frodo laughed wryly, “yet
there he lies, poor love. But what am I dithering on about? There you stand,
with nothing hot to drink and worse yet, nothing in your hand to eat. Have a
seat by the fire, you rascal, and warm yourself up. I’ll be back in a moment; I
just want to check on Sam first.”
&&&&&
It was much later that night when Frodo finally slipped into bed with Sam. “Is
Pippin here, now?” Sam asked, waking up in a rather groggy state. “I lost track
of time, t’be sure, for it must be near dinner-time, and look how dark ‘tis!”
“Ah, don’t you be worrying yourself about that, Sam dearest,” Frodo exclaimed
warmly, as he tugged Sam up slightly, trying to remove his shirt, the only
garment he still had on. “Pippin is here, no doubt about it, and I fed him a
lovely dinner of sausages-and-mash, which I would have given you as well, only
you seemed so very fast asleep that I hated to wake you. Sleep will do you
better than food just now, I know all too well.”
Sam gave a defeated sigh as he struggled to sit up, and had to put a hand to his
spinning head. “I never had the chance to tidy up his room, and put the bedding
to rights. I never meant to lie down and sleep the day away, no ways.”
“Don’t you be thinking twice about it, love,” Frodo responded tenderly, as he
finally got the shirt off over Sam’s head and sent it sailing across the room.
“Between the two of us, I think we got matters taken care of, and if Pippin’s
missing any comfort, he has only himself to blame, for not thinking of it
sooner.” Carefully he helped Sam drink down a glass of water that he had brought
in with him, and wiped Sam’s clammy forehead off with a damp warm cloth. “It’s
you I’m thinking of, right now, Sam, my dearest love, and my cousin shall have
to shrift for himself.”
He reached out to pinch out the candle, and wrapped himself around Sam, hugging
him and nuzzling his neck lightly in the fading light of the dying fire. “Let me
keep you warm, dearest,” he murmured, as he felt Sam relax sleepily against him.
“You’ll be up and about soon, before you know it, and Pippin and I can manage
things well enough, don’t you be fretting, my darling. Just you sleep, now, I
have you close to me.”
&&&&&
The next morning found Bag End wrapped in a cocoon of softly falling snow,
muffled from all the outside world, and enveloped in a muted grey light. Frodo,
for once, awoke first, and vaguely realized that Sam was curled against him and
breathing in the congested sort of manner that suggested that the intimation of
a cold from the night before had well and truly set in. Almost guiltily, he also
noticed that the room was quite chilly, since Sam had not risen first, as he
normally did, and there was, therefore, no fire lit. And that there was a guest,
not far down the hall, who was also, presumably, in an equally glacial state.
Clearly, he was becoming lax in his responsibilities to both kin and lover.
Stoically braving the frosty air therefore, he withdrew himself carefully from
Sam’s unconscious grasp, and set about amending matters.
So in no time at all, there was a brisk fire going in their bedroom, as well as
one in the equally unconscious Pippin’s, as well as a kettle of hot water set
upon the kitchen fire for tea, and he was feeling quite satisfied as to his
prowess as a host and caretaker. But when neither hobbit showed any sign of
waking sufficiently to appreciate it, he shrugged philosophically to himself,
and set off for his study, where he spent a happily productive morning.
&&&&&
Pippin wandered sleepily in about noon, although it was difficult to judge the
time, in the endless soft grey of the day outside. Scratching his head
reflexively, and giving a wide and rather noisy yawn, he startled an engrossed
Frodo, who looked up at his guest, and suddenly realized quite how late it had
actually gotten to be.
“Never sleep quite as well at home as I do here,” Pippin muttered, with a
bemused chuckle, as he followed Frodo back to the kitchen. “It’s just such a
peaceable place, here, I suppose.”
“Rather a nice way of saying the both of us bore you to tears,” Frodo snorted,
as he entered the kitchen and set the kettle on the fire once more. “Here, Pip,
make yourself useful,” he glanced up. “I need to check on Sam. Find something in
the back pantry that could pass as lunch, would you? There’s a good lad.”
And before Pippin had a chance to appear affronted at being labeled a good lad,
Frodo was gone.
&&&&&
It was light kisses on his forehead that finally woke Sam up, and despite his
rather hazy state, he smiled drowsily, and flung an arm up around Frodo’s neck.
“Mmm,” he responded as Frodo’s mouth found his, just before an errant cough
entirely spoiled the moment. Frodo hauled him up into a semi-upright position
and solicitously pounded his back.
“No matter, dear,” he chuckled ruefully, as Sam recovered himself, “I should
never have woken you, I suppose, but you never had dinner at all, the day
before, and it is past lunch-time today, as well. Pippin is preparing something
for us to eat, at least theoretically, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want to miss
that.”
Sam laughed weakly at that thought, and immediately coughed again, giving a
slight shiver. “Oh, my dear,” Frodo was instantly sympathetic, rising up to find
Sam’s nightshirt, where it had landed the night before. “What was I thinking
last night, my dearest? Just because I craved the touch of your skin against
mine, that was no reason at all to be baring you to the chill while you were
sick.”
Sam gave another involuntary shiver, but with a warm smile, reached out a hand
to the side of Frodo’s face, as he returned with the shirt. “Don’t you be
frettin, me dearie,” he murmured. “I’m made of hardy stuff, naught to be worrit
about.” And as Frodo raised the shirt back over his head, he added, slightly
wistfully, “And your skin against mine is glorious indeed. I wouldn’t have it
any other way, no ways.”
Glorious was an apt term, Frodo found himself thinking, as the back of his hand
brushed down against Sam’s chest, the soft homespun coming down onto Sam’s
shoulders, but it wasn‘t a thought of his own skin that sprang to mind. Even
warmer than it usually was, Sam’s glowed in the combined soft light of the fire
in the room, and the pale light from out of doors, catching just the hint of the
pale golden hairs that were lightly sprinkled (and how well he knew the location
of every one) across Sam’s chest. His hand simply couldn’t help itself then, but
opened lightly against Sam’s chest with a gentle yet expressive touch. Sam
shivered again, this time for reasons that had nothing to do with the
temperature of the room, nor any ailment of the chest, and a distinct movement
under the bed clothing, just to the south of where Frodo’s hand lay, indicated
an intense interest in its further movement.
The nightshirt’s progress had been halted, still draped right about the neck,
and Frodo glanced up to its owner, with a sudden impish smile. “Why, Sam,
perhaps you were right about the hot blood of youth after all. I know I never
would have been this distractible, a few days ago, much as I adore you, my dear.
I seem to remember wanting to remain immovable and senseless as much as
possible, but you don’t seem to be feeling in that sort of mood at all.”
Sam gave a low chuckle at Frodo’s words, only slightly punctuated by a quick
cough, and deliberately pulled the shirt back off again, causing it to sail
across the room once more. “Peasant stock, me darlin’,” he grunted briefly, as
he set to work on Frodo’s buttons. “We come tough, we do at that.”
Frodo laughed with delight, his hand having now descended under the bedclothes,
a fact heartily appreciated by Sam, whose hands froze in place for a moment,
despite his lower body performing the most delighted sort of wiggle, before he
renewed his mission with great zeal, and at a much faster rate. “Tough?” mused
Frodo, his one hand finding Sam’s appreciation growing by the moment, and his
other hand taking on his own trousers, in order to further assist Sam. “That is
not quite the word, I believe, my dear Sam. Profusely? That, indeed. Copiously?
Without a doubt. But tough? Nay, my dearest, not at all.”
Sam had just defeated the last stubborn button as he gave a snort of amusement,
and with another cough that was absolutely ignored by both himself and Frodo,
had brushed an eager tongue against that dark eminently nibble-able nipple,
accompanied by a sharp intake of delight from its owner, when a young and
indignant voice was heard behind the both of them.
“Hoy! I like that!”
Both of their heads, the dark and golden alike, swung slowly around at the
unwelcome interruption, and Pippin was found to be standing in the doorway, a
tray of some sort in his hand, and a look of aggravation on his face. “I like
that,” he repeated testily. “Here you tell me to go make lunch for the lot of us
- me, the guest, mind you, and I come back to find you getting ready to snog
Sam. And Sam, I thought you were supposed to be dying, anyway. Seem fairly
robust for one on death’s doorstep to me, I should say.”
“Good to see you again, Pippin,” Sam murmured, not at all perturbed by the young
hobbit’s seemingly annoyed remarks, but prudently nestling a bit deeper into the
bedclothes.
Pippin gave him a friendly enough nod though, and set the tray on a nearby chest
as Frodo, hastily re-buttoning up his shirt and putting his trousers to rights,
set off across the room for Sam’s nightshirt once more. “I suppose I shouldn’t
have paid attention to Cousin Frodo’s dramatic remarks, really. Nothing sets him
off more than you being a bit off the mark, for any reason, I’ve noticed.”
“See here, Pippin, I’m not that easily unsettled,” Frodo returned, a little
taken aback, as he handed Sam the nightshirt once again. Pippin gave him a bland
smile in answer, and turning to the tray, began pouring out the tea. But a
sudden unexpected sneeze from Sam quickly re-concentrated their attention, and
Sam immediately found himself on the receiving end of additional blankets,
fluffed pillows, and a steaming cup of tea. There was no denying that this sort
of pampering was quite gratifying, even for Sam, and he was soon left alone with
a heaping plate of bread and cheese, as well as a pot of tea, to nap the
afternoon away.
&&&&&&
Frodo returned to the study later that afternoon, having left his guest for
while to start up a pot of chicken soup for dinner that evening. He found Pippin
standing in front of the round study window, leaning against the thick glass
with his forehead pressed to it, and staring out into the grey swirl of snow
that was still falling in the fading light. “You seem far away, Pip,” he
mentioned lightly as he entered. “But then I suppose it’s been that sort of day,
hasn’t it.”
“Not so much that,” Pippin said slowly, continuing to stare out the window. “I
was just wondering…” and his voice trailed off.
“Wondering what?” Frodo asked curiously, walking up behind Pippin, and placing a
light hand upon his shoulder. “Wondering isn’t something you do often, Pip; out
with it then,” he prompted when Pippin seemed to fall suddenly silent.
“Wondering what it would feel like, to be loved as much as you are,” Pippin said
very quietly, after another moment’s silence, and still not looking at Frodo.
Frodo stood up straight at that nearly inaudible comment, his hand falling to
his side as he gazed in surprise at his young cousin’s expression, as it was
reflected back at him in the window against the darkening glass. “Many love you,
Pippin,” he mentioned softly, trying to read the teen’s closed-off expression.
“Not the least of whom is me.”
“But not the way Sam loves you,” Pippin’s voice was suddenly low but passionate
as he swung around to face Frodo. “And the way you love him. I’ve seen it in my
parents’ eyes sometimes, too, as if there were a connection that nothing could
ever break. And I wish, I wish…” and his voice trailed off with the distinct
threat of tears, as he turned to face the window once again, catching his fist
to his mouth.
“You’re thinking of Merry,” Frodo wrapped the young hobbit in his arms, and
gently rested his forehead against the bony young shoulder, now nearly as tall
as his own. Pippin nodded almost imperceptibly, obviously not trusting his
voice, and Frodo sighed.
“It takes time, Pippin love,” he mentioned gently. “When I was your age, I had
no idea. I never knew that it was Sam with whom I was in love until after I had
come of age, and Bilbo had left. I was absolutely blind, without a doubt, and
yet there it is. Sometimes, I think, if the one we love has always been about,
it takes time to realize that it is indeed love that we feel. If it is meant to
come, Pippin dear, then it will, and it will become a part of your life, so that
you cannot imagine what would have become of you without it. But you cannot
force love; it will not answer to you alone, and it will never heed your beck
and call. Give it time though, Pip, and it will come to you, if it was meant to
be.”
Pippin watched the swirling snow for many moments in silence, mulling over
Frodo’s words. Then, as Frodo released Pippin from his embrace and walked toward
the fire to stir it up again, Pippin murmured, “You never answered my question,
Frodo. What is it like?”
Slightly startled, Frodo turned to Pippin, the poker still in his hand. “It’s
hard to say, really,” he said slowly. “But I do know that I never would have
been who I am without him. And that I never dreamed I would know such joy, such
contentment in my life.” He turned back to the fire, staring wordlessly at it
for a few moments, and then turned back to Pippin with a slight smile. “Those
are deep waters indeed, young Pippin, and the soup is very nearly ready. Ask me
that again, someday, and I might have a better answer for you. And, of course,
possibly not.”
&&&&&
The next day continued in a seamless strand with the one before it, as the snow
was unrelenting out of doors, and Frodo and Pippin spent their time in cozy
companionship. For once, Pippin had Frodo’s attention all to himself, and he
prompted his older cousin into tale after tale of his years growing up at Brandy
Hall with the young Merry. In addition, he asked Frodo curiously of what he
remembered of his parents, and Frodo found himself telling Pippin of incidents
that he had not thought of for years. As dearly as Frodo loved Sam, he knew that
Sam had a tendency to not remember that he had once led a very different life,
since it was hard for Sam himself to remember a life without Frodo at Bag End.
Pippin’s earliest memories of Frodo were, however, those of him at family
gatherings at either Brandy Hall or the Great Smials, for it was only after
Bilbo had left that his parents had let him visit Frodo at Bag End. Probably
justifiably, they had their doubts as to the effect of an unrestrained Pippin on
Bilbo at close quarters.
Sam was still abed, but fretting at being so, and Frodo spent a good deal of
time with him, so Pippin had ended up, intermittently, at rather loose ends, not
being the sort to content himself with curling up by the fireside with a good
book.
So it was welcome news, indeed, on the third day of his visit, when the morning
broke brilliantly blue over sparkling banks of snow, and word came from the
Cottons’ that a sledding party was being considered. A closely bundled Nibs had
arrived with the invitation, breathing rather heavily with the effort of making
his way to Bag End through the soft drifts of snow and, as always, respectfully
refusing to enter any farther in to Bag End than the kitchen, for fear of
tracking in mud. That was the polite excuse, as usual, and Frodo knew, that
without Sam’s reassuring presence, he had no hope of overcoming it. It had,
after all, taken the Cottons a couple of years now to feel comfortable, on
occasion, in the kitchen itself.
The invitation had been for himself and Sam, but Sam was still in no condition
to be out of doors. So Frodo suggested that his guest, Master Pippin, might
stand place of Sam. Nibs assented readily to the change, since Pippin was quite
a favorite of the united Gamgee-Cotton clans. They had all agreed, upon first
meeting him, that he was such wonderful company it was hard to remember that he
was a gentlehobbit. Indeed, the tales that Daisy Gamgee would bring back with
her from her visits to the Grand Smials had made the young Took very nearly
legendary.
So Nibs, once more, stamped the snow off of his feet deferentially, and declined
all offers excepting a quick mug of tea, and departed into the frosty morning
with the exciting news that not only Mr. Frodo, but Master Took himself would be
going sledding with them this afternoon. Sam’s absence would, of course, be
regretted, but then he would always be about, wouldn’t he?
&&&&&
The two great farm wagons pulled up in front of the round green door of Bag End
only an hour later. Most of the Cotton clan was represented, from Tom and
Marigold, as well as Jolly and his new wife Aster, to their sister Rose and
their younger brothers Nibs and Ned. In addition, Tolman Cotton had persuaded
his old friend, Hamfast Gamgee along, as well as Daisy Gamgee. So it was a round
dozen who set off later that morning just as the sun was reaching the heights.
Frodo gave a quick regretful look back as they left. He knew how much Sam would
have enjoyed an excursion like this, but he had been in no shape for a day out
in the snow just yet. He had left Sam behind in the snug study, wrapped warmly,
and with a few volumes of his beloved poems and songs beside him to wile the
time away. He had given him a lingering kiss and had hesitated, but Sam had
instantly seen through that, and had firmly insisted that Frodo take Pippin out
for a bit of fun, and not keep him stuck about the hole with an invalid such as
himself. After all, he would recover just as fast if they were there or not. So
Frodo had reluctantly agreed, and promised that the both of them would be back
by nightfall.
Pippin, of course, had had no such qualms regarding leaving Sam on his own, and
was excitedly chatting with Nibs and Ned in the back of the front wagon. That
was where the wagons especially bounced, as the sturdy ponies dragged them
through the newly fallen snow, instinctively following the tracks of the buried
road. Pippin’s copper curls flew into the air as he laughed in glee, and his
fair cheeks were rosy in the frosty air. Frodo, more sedately seated in the
wagon that was following, fondly smiled as he watched his cousin’s delight.
Pippin had been forever surrounded by those older than he, it seemed, and Ned
and Nibs were only a few years older (indeed, Nibs a bare few months older) and
it was lovely, he thought, to see the three of them merrily competing in who
could bounce the farthest up. It was quite clear that the Cotton lads had
forgotten Pippin’s family’s ranking, and that, Frodo thought with great
satisfaction, was exactly what Pippin needed.
&&&&&&
Once the wagons had finally made their way, not without a certain amount of
difficulty, to the hills that lay just beyond Hobbiton, all the passengers
descended, and immediately set about their appointed duties. The snow was
brushed away from under a likely tree, where it appeared to be the most shallow,
the dry logs brought expressly for the occasion were heaped there and a fire was
lit. In no time at all, a kettle was set to the side, and was merrily boiling,
and a great caldron of bean soup was in progress. That started, the younger set
were absolved of any further duties, and had gleefully started to trudge up any
promising hills that were devoid of vegetation, and had the potential of being
set at just the proper angle.
It wasn’t long before several had been tested and found satisfactory, and with a
whoop and cry of glee, the carefully sanded boards that they had brought with
them were put into play. Nibs and Pippin, as it turned out, were absolutely
fearless, and willing to try out any incline, no matter how precipitous. And
after allowing them a few trial runs, Ned and Jolly were eager to follow. Even
Frodo and Tom were not at all reluctant to tackle the slopes, and it wasn’t long
before Marigold and Rose, who had been watching enviously from the sidelines,
declared that sledding was not simply for the lads alone, and they were
determined to have their say at it as well. They careened down the slope while
the lads cheered and encouraged them on, their skirts flying to the side as they
shrieked in delight all the way down the hill, usually ending up in a pile of
bright woolen garments and snow-frosted curls.
Soon enough, the sharp air and strenuous exercise combined to make food and warm
drink an absolute necessity, and the sledders rejoined the rest of the party
under the bare tree, warming their frozen hands gratefully over the fire. Frodo
climbed back up into the wagon, his warm bowl of soup in his hands, and glanced
about with an affectionate smile. Once out of Bag End, even without Sam about,
the Gamgees and Cottons had accepted him as one of their own, and he felt
acknowledged, approved, allowed into their family circle in a way that he never
was at Brandy Hall, and he felt once again humbly grateful to Sam’s family and
the way they had accepted him into their lives as more than simply the Master on
the Hill.
And Pippin? The young teen’s copper curls glinted under the snow flakes still
left from his last riotous run in front of Nibs, and subsequent precipitous
topple into a fortunately deep bank. His clear laugh rang out, along with the
two young Cotton lads, as he greedily spooned the humble soup down, wiping the
bowl quite clean with a hunk of rustic brown bread. Altogether, there was no
trace of the melancholy lad from the night before, and Frodo was grateful for
that. He knew that Pippin had meant everything he had said, and yet, he had far
too many years ahead of him to be fretting about such matters. “An old
stick-in-the-mud, indeed, that’s what I’ve become,” Frodo thought to himself
rather ruefully, and yet knew it was true.
Appetite quenched for the moment, the younger hobbits were up again in no time,
ready to return to the game. Frodo begged off for a bit longer, as Pippin tried
to tug him out to the boards on the hill again. “You go ahead, Pip,” he
chuckled, “I’m still feeling that last landing. I suppose it comes of not
weighing down the sled enough, but I’d wager I was truly airborne that last
time. It is certainly odd how the lightest of snowdrifts can be so very
unforgiving when you come down on it unexpectedly.”
Pippin snickered at Frodo’s comical expression as he woefully made his
complaint. “Try riding with Tom the next time,” he answered with a giggle. “The
both of you would average out rather nicely, I think.”
Frodo laughed, and shook his head with mock reproach. The sledders began their
trudge back up the slopes, boards in tow, and Frodo turned back to the rest of
the party. Frodo first offered to assist Daisy and Aster with the cleanup, but
was shooed immediately away on no uncertain terms. He then found the two
patriarchs, Masters Gamgee and Cotton, comfortably ensconced in the corners of
the back wagon, and with their pipes drawn out and lit, basking comfortably in
the unexpected and welcome sun. They genially welcomed him, Tolman even having a
spare pipe, in case one of the lads might be wishing a smoke, and time quickly
slipped away in such pleasant company.
&&&&&
On the hills, the sledders were beginning to find that their repeated runs down
the nearby hills, along with the softening caused by the still welcome sun, were
combining to make the going slower, and stickier. Fresh snow was what was
needed, and so they wandered farther and farther from the wagons in search of
it. It wasn’t much longer before Tom and Jolly threw up their hands in defeat,
after rolling down their last hill as much off the board as on, and declared
their intention of returning to the wagons and warming their chilled hands and
feet up again. “Come along, lass,” Tom cried merrily up to the top of the hill,
where Marigold and Rose had been waiting for the discovery of another likely
hill. “Wouldn’t you be ready to tuck those lovely ankles under a dry blanket
right about now, and have a mug o‘hot tea?”
Marigold laughed and conceded that that did indeed sound like a wonderful idea.
She glanced over to Rose, assuming that she would be just as ready to follow,
but she shook her head with a slight smile. “I’ll follow you in just a bit,” she
demurred. “I’d just like a run or two more; ‘tis rare that we get the lads to
take us out like this.”
Marigold shrugged, and was soon being escorted back to the rest of the party by
Tom and Jolly, with a companionable arm linked through each of theirs. Pippin,
Ned and Nibs were studying the slopes further east, as Rose, with some effort,
walked over to them, sinking to her knees into the snow with each step. “Rosie,
you daft lass,” cried Ned, with some impatience, as he turned around at her
approach. “You’d not be as tall nor strong as we lads; these hills’d not be for
you. Go along back with Marigold, there’s a good lass, we’ve just time enough
for a run or two more.”
“Nay,” Rose shook her head, a stubborn look that her brothers recognized all too
well settling on her face. “There’s but the three of you left, I may as well
ride along with one of you.”
“Well, she’d be yours then, Pippin,” Ned exclaimed in some exasperation,
forgetting to title him, as he turned toward him with his hands on his hips.
“I’d have had enough of lasses as forget they’re lasses, and want t’be chasin’
after the lads. Come, Nibs, that looks like a right long run over there.” Nibs
gave an apologetic shrug to Pippin, behind his brother’s back, but dutifully
climbed on the board with his arms around him, and their board flew off down the
snowy hill, in and out of the light and the lengthening dark shadows cast by the
trees on either side.
“Well, Miss Cotton,” Pippin, somewhat startled but ever chivalrous, turned to
her with a slight bow. “Is there a hill about that strikes your fancy? I am
entirely at your command.”
Rose laughed at such politesse, and Pippin suddenly realized what a very lovely,
if somewhat quiet, lass she actually was, with her dark blond curls and light
blue eyes. “Such pretty words,” she teased him lightly. “ ‘Tis not what I’d be
used hearin’, no ways. A body could get used to them, indeed!”
“It’s hard to believe you don’t hear more pretty words, at least, from lads
other than your brothers,” Pippin gallantly replied, with a smile. “I’m a
brother, myself, and I do know how rare it’d be to hear such from a sorry lot
like ourselves. But you must be hearing them aplenty from the other lads.”
“Haven’t had much luck with the other lads,” she answered shortly, a shadow
seeming, for just a moment, to fall across her face. But it was gone so fast
Pippin felt sure that he must have imagined it, as she smiled up at him again,
with a tip of her head. “You choose, Master Pippin, but please make it a very
long one, for I want to go so fast, that I could near take to my wings and fly
away.”
“Ah, my pretty fledgling,” Pippin grinned back. “A long, fast hill it shall be,
then.” He looked about them and saw, past a boulder that jutted out of the snow,
what appeared to be the crest of another hill. “That looks to be rather high,”
he nodded in its direction, “but it might be a bit of a scramble to get up
there.”
“I’ve done a bit of clamberin’ in my day,” she answered quickly, her chin tilted
proudly up. “Don’t you be in a fret on my account, Master Took.”
“See here, now,” Pippin gave her a look of mock reproach, as he took up the
board again in one hand, and gave her his other for assistance through the
drifts. “If you’re to be flying down hillsides at my back, I am to be Pippin,
and none other.”
She laughed merrily again, as she grasped his hand firmly and pulled a foot out
of an especially deep drift. “Then naught of the Miss Cotton, no ways. I’d be
Rosie, plain and simple.”
Both of them were out of breath when they reached the crest of the hill, but
with one look they knew it was well worth the effort. The slope down the far
side was glistening in the lowering sun, shining with golden light, and soft,
smoothly rounded, the sort of slope that promised to fly forever away. Only down
at the far end could trees be seen, dark tall pines growing thickly together.
The rest of the party was now gone from their sight, and even their hearing, and
Rose turned to Pippin with a surprising glint of tears in her eyes. “ ‘Tis
perfect,” she whispered.
Pippin had to agree, but felt compelled towards one last word of warning. “It
will be quite a long trip back,” he gave her a tentative look.
But Rose gave a merry laugh at his caution. “No matter for that,” she cried out
gaily. “Shall I sit in the front or you?”
“Here, now,” Pippin protested lightly, with a chuckle, sitting down on the front
of the slick board and digging his heels in the snow on either side as a
temporary brake. “You must let the expert steer, really, you must!”
“Oh, very well,” Rose was immediately behind him, stretching her legs out on
either side of his and wrapping her arms tightly about his waist. “Just let us
be off!”
And before Pippin had time to really notice how wonderfully nice it felt to be
held like that, they were.
&&&&&
It was a glorious hill, even faster than it had looked, and it wasn’t until they
started to near the trees down in the basin that Pippin started to feel a little
nervous at the speed at which they were traveling. Steering was indeed becoming
necessary, and he tightly grasped the front end of the board, leaning forward,
and watching for the swathes of white under the dark pines. Into the forest they
flew, but just when it seemed that they must inevitably end up smacking into a
trunk, the board scratched itself to a halt against a buried rock, and they
skidded off of it. Twirling about, they tumbled downhill for several more feet
until Pippin found himself atop of a Rose who was quite buried in a soft heap of
snow that lay in the center of a small clearing in the pines.
For several moments, there was no sound, other than the breeze high in the
treetops overhead, and their gasps as they struggled to catch their breath. But
as he fought to get his wind back, Pippin found himself drawn by the curious
expression on the face of this lass whom he really didn’t know at all, very
quiet, and yet, somehow, waiting. In addition, he also began to notice how very
soft in all the proper ways she was under his lanky body, and moved by an
instantly irresistible impulse, he leaned over and kissed her lightly on the
lips.
Part of his mind expected a quick response to that, or at least a pert remark,
but there was none. She returned the kiss, as lightly as he had given it, and
then lay back in the drift, her curls flung out in the snow, her cheeks glowing
from the brisk air, and those light blue eyes watching him so attentively.
This was a position in which he had never been before, and despite the cold,
certain areas of his body were beginning to find these proceedings interesting
indeed. His face flushed a bit at that, for he was positive that there was no
way this could fail to come to Rose’s attention, but before he could roll off of
her, she reached a hand up and lightly stroked his cheek.
“You’ve a dear face,” she murmured softly, “and a kind heart.” He could think of
nothing at all to reply to that, for his emotion of the moment was not kindness,
not exactly, but Rose seemed to take no heed of his embarrassment, and now a
cold hand was tentatively inching its way up his chest, under his jacket, and
his own hand was under hers, and oh, stars. The softness and the sweet swell of
flesh, and never had he ever felt the like. Her quiet moan was absolutely
unconscious, and her eyes shuttered closed as she thrust herself against his
touch. His head was aswirl, he had no idea what she meant, but his body
instinctively pressed itself against hers, stretching and wanting and yearning.
But no more than hers, as with her eyes tightly shut, she reached out to grasp
his face, more roughly now, and her mouth met his again, but oh, what a
difference from that first uncertain kiss. Now there was no hesitation, but
rather her mouth open against his, and he felt his body suddenly inflamed, his
tongue against hers, and they might have been inexperienced, the both of them,
but instinct was proving to be the master teacher.
Quickly and inexpertly, he found himself fumbling against her skirts, and her,
what were they again? Pantiloons? But her hand was there as well, fumbling
clumsily at the fastenings of his trousers, and he felt himself harden
desperately at her touch, and there was no turning back. Not that she seemed to
want to do so, as her breathing quickened, and with her eyes still tightly shut,
her other hand found his and guided it under the layers of clothing, and oh,
mercy. Hot and wet and sweet, he could not help himself from bucking against her
as she moaned, and guided it in deeper. Frantically, he sought to free himself
of the impediments that still surrounded him, but the very touch of her was more
than he could bear. Wildly, his body writhed against her, and there was no
control over it whatsoever, as he frantically drove himself senselessly against
her. He never had a chance, never had the time. It happened all so fast, and
with a sharp choked cry, he found himself spilling hotly against her, never
having found his way in. With a wail, she clutched his hand more tightly than
ever, forcing it deeper, and now he felt her clench around him, and thrust
herself against him with an anguished moan and a shudder that seemed to come
from her very core.
Both of them lay very still then, their breathing hurried and urgent, their
pulses beating wildly. Slowly the thought came through to Pippin, amidst the
dazed jumble that seemed to have become his mind, that he must be heavy, lying
on her as he was. So he rolled over to the side and sat up, holding an awkward
hand out to her. “I’m so sorry, Rose,” he whispered, and wasn’t exactly sure
what he was apologizing for.
But she took his hand and sat up as well, and with a slight smile, reached out
to brush the snow from his curls. “Naught in the world to be sorry about,” she
murmured, almost as if comforting him. “You helped me fly.”
&&&&&
It was well past nightfall when the cousins returned home to Bag End. The wagons
had stopped by the Cotton smials first, to let off the lasses, and Pippin, to
Frodo’s surprise, was most insistent on not putting anyone out of their way, and
that he and Frodo would be perfectly all right walking back to Bag End. Frodo,
who had noticed that Pippin was unusually subdued on the way back from the
snowfields, quickly agreed, and the matter was settled. Pippin had thanked the
entire party for a marvelous day and, like a privileged nephew, had given all
the lasses a parting kiss on the cheek. And if he had lingered a little longer
over one of them, no-one else had noticed.
Fortunately, there was an early moon, and there was a hint of warmth in the air,
indicating that the end of winter was not so very far away. Frodo let Pippin
walk next to him in silence, his hands thrust deep in his pockets, and his head
bowed. It wasn’t until they saw Bagshot Row come into view that Pippin raised
his head up, seeming to have come to a conclusion. Frodo gave him a curious
glance, but the teen’s face, silvered by the moonlight, was difficult to read.
“Did you ever,” he began hesitantly, “I mean, would you, no, that isn’t what I
meant. But, I mean, other than Sam, did you… No, I am being a total, what’s
Sam’s expression? Ninnyhammer, to be sure.”
“Pippin,” Frodo said gently, stopping still and catching hold of his shoulder.
“Tell me what happened.”
So Pippin, leaning against the snow-covered hedgerow that ran along this part of
the Row, did, in a very quiet voice. Frodo listened carefully, his hand never
leaving Pippin’s shoulder. But when the younger hobbit had finished his rather
circumspect accounting, he sighed. “So you are wondering,” he mentioned quietly,
“what this all means. And I suspect that has something to do with Merry.”
“If I loved him properly, I never would have let myself do something like that,”
Pippin gave Frodo almost a defiant look, but there was the track of what looked
suspiciously like tears glinting on his face in the moonlight. “I hardly know
the lass, she means nothing to me, and Merry, oh, Merry…”
And he stopped short, swallowing convulsively.
“Pippin, you’re but a teen yet,” Frodo pointed out carefully, to an unwilling
Pippin. “You asked me about Sam,” he continued on, glancing down. “He was not my
first love, nor was I the first he was with.”
“What?” Pippin gave him an incredulous look, never having known this.
Even in the moonlight, he could see Frodo’s wry smile. “I’m afraid my past was
far more checkered than Sam’s ever was, but then my opportunities were a little
more diverse, so to speak. But the point of it is, Pippin, that it really
doesn’t matter. You love Merry, and someday he will come to realize that he
loves you, I’m quite sure of it, and that’s what really matters, not what lies
in the past.”
Pippin stood still for a moment, and then glanced over to Frodo thoughtfully. “I
suppose you’re right. I probably am being a little over-dramatic; it’s just that
I never expected…”
“There is a good deal to life that we never expect,” Frodo replied dryly, as
they set off again, his arm around Pippin’s shoulders. Bag End’s warmly lit
windows greeted them then, as they walked past the last turn. “You might not
want to mention anything about this to Sam, though,” Frodo added, as he reached
out to open the front door. “That was the lass, after all, that everyone thought
he was to marry. Very fortunately for me, he thought otherwise.”
&&&&&
Frodo lay on his stomach on their bed, the most delicious lassitude finally
overcoming him. The day had been strenuous, and had unexpectedly left its mark
on him, as Sam had quickly discovered as they undressed for bed. Nothing would
do, of course, but that he insisted on salving the bruises that had become
apparent against Frodo’s fair skin, and Frodo had no complaints about that at
all. Indeed, the soothing aroma of Sam’s special blend of herbs (and certainly
that must be lavender that he smelled, for he was suddenly having visions of
summer sun and bees lolling about, and lush fields of wildflowers) as well as
his skilled touch was lulling him into a daze of pleasure.
“I’d best be stoppin’ this, t‘be sure,” came Sam’s voice, with a low chuckle,
although his hands seemed to pay no mind to this threat, “or I’ll not be gettin’
you to continue where you left me this morning.”
Frodo happily murmured something incoherent, but obviously Sam understood, for
the touch of his hands seemed slowly to have nothing to do with the healing of
bruises, but a different sort of healing altogether as they swept slowly and
lingeringly over his back, his curves, dipping down, oh yes, dipping down just
there. Frodo moaned at the delicious sensation, and arched his back up ever so
slightly, and then there were kisses trailing down his back, delicious kisses
pursuing the length of his spine, and then the tongue - oh, there simply were no
words. So he never attempted them, but rather gasped, and flung his head back,
and then there was the pillow, thrust under his hips, and he knew what Sam was
preparing him for and couldn’t help the cry of yearning, of desperate wanting,
the breathed plea of “Oh Sam, please, oh Sam.”
And then it seemed that Sam’s salve had more than one use, as Sam’s fingers
slipped slickly within him, and he curved up with an incoherent groan. But Sam
was apparently just as eager, for it was Sam suddenly in him and over him, and
around him, and he felt a surge of joy in his heart for this love that had come
to him. Recklessly, he pushed upward, feeling Sam, with an unconscious grunt,
meeting him, and then there was Sam’s hand and he wildly cried out for the sheer
joy, the utterly absolute bliss of that touch. And so it was that Sam held him,
caressed him, stroked him, and all the while thrust deeper and deeper, until
Frodo lost himself unconditionally and forever.
&&&&&
Pippin lay in the next room, but never heard them, as he slipped into a deep and
dreamless sleep. The next morning, Bart arrived to take him back home, and the
snow was melting in rivulets along the roadside, there was the faint fragrance
of something blooming in the air, and the sun shone in a brilliantly blue sky.
Pippin inhaled deeply and felt a thrill of happiness flood him. Spring promised
to be beautiful, indeed.
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