Sophinisba Solis (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sophinisba) wrote2006-08-12 10:08 am
sophinisba) wrote2006-08-12 10:08 am
Entry tags:
New hobbit fic: Odd and Even Numbers
Here is the first part of a series about Pippin that I'm writing for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
danachan. For now you can think of it as a set of three, though I intend to write another seven episodes at some point. Parts one and two are much with the angst, saving most of the porn (and also some more angst, since it's me) for part three. I want to post part three for Dana's birthday on Monday, so I'm going to get these first two, which are more of a prologue, out of the way first. It will be fine to read three and later parts by themselves.
Title: Odd and Even Numbers: One
Author: Sophinisba Solis
Pairings etc.: Pippin, some Frodo/Merry (other relationships later)
Words: ~1650
Rating: PG-13
Pippin was thirsty. The glare on the water hurt his eyes and the sun on his face made him feel he was being baked alive. But Frodo said this water wasn't good for drinking and Merry was not amused in the least when Pippin tried to tip the three of them in so they might cool off a bit. The water was only knee-deep anyway, and Pippin didn't think it was anything to get upset about. Still, he did settle down after that and didn't say anything about being bored or being hot; he wasn't interested in being sent back inside and he didn't want another lecture about how he needed to learn patience.
Pippin thought that fishing took more patience than the taste of fish actually justified. He much preferred chicken or beef (not to mention mushrooms), and if it were a question of feeding himself he'd never bother with the rod and the reel and the hours of sitting still doing nothing, especially on a hot day like today.
However, he'd never been one to turn down an afternoon in the company of Frodo and Merry. And if they wanted to do something that reminded them of their childhood in Buckland, Pippin was happy enough to be part of that, even if he was necessarily going to be a bit on the edges. Frodo had taught Merry how to fish before Pippin had ever been born, so Pippin wasn't part of the old memories, and there was really nothing he could do about that. Frodo and Merry shared some things that were only for the two of them.
But they let Pippin tag along, and he always enjoyed that, or at least he always had in the past. He thought fish were a bother to catch and slimy in his hands once he did (and too salty in his mouth later on), but he liked having Merry shouting instructions as he reeled it in, and having Frodo help him get it off the hook. He remembered once, on a visit to Merry's when he was much smaller, how Frodo had sat behind him and held him around the waist to keep him from falling into the water as he pulled with all his might -- it wasn't that the fish was anywhere near as big as Pippin, just that he wasn't very used to the motion or very good at keeping his balance yet. Of course, the fish were generally bigger in the Brandywine than in this little creek, and also falling into the Brandywine was a good deal more dangerous. On the other hand, sitting on that nice wooden dock with their legs hanging over had been much more comfortable than sitting or standing on the rocks in this creek, which were really just stepping stones across it and were not intended or positioned for sitting on.
Well, and in the old days it had all been much simpler, being a child with his older cousins. Pippin was glad for any time he got to spend with them, particularly when it was just the three of them together. Then he liked carrying the fish back to the house and meeting Mother (or Bilbo, or the Brandybucks' cook, depending) in the kitchen, where Merry would say what a good catch Pippin had made. He'd say so again at supper, and Frodo would smile at Pippin and so would his parents. And Pippin felt proud, even though his sisters' faces (and their unfinished plates) told him they weren't especially pleased to be eating fish either.
The visits were more or less the same now as they were then, as far as what the three of them did, but Pippin enjoyed them a good deal less. All the fuss they made over him reminded him of the way grown-ups pat a lad on the head and say he's done a good job -- the point was to make the child feel important, whether or not it was true. And now that Pippin wasn't a child, it didn't feel good anymore. It didn't feel true.
So that evening at Frodo talked about the great big fish Pippin had caught, even though Merry's had been bigger. And they said Pervinca was a fine cook, even though Mother had a lot more to do with how well it turned out.
"You ought to go out to the stream more often, Pippin," his father said, and all three girls glared.
"The stream's not big enough," said Pearl. "There wouldn't be enough fish for us to eat them all the time."
"It wouldn't be very practical in the winter either," said Pippin.
And Mother nodded and smiled, and said that in any case she liked to keep fish for special occasions. "The taste used to remind me of home," she said to their guests (she'd grown up near Frogmorton, on the Banks of the Water), "but now I associate it with your visits in the summer, which we all so enjoy." And the girls agreed with that, at least. Pimpernel said that Merry ought to come more often, and Pearl said that Frodo should. And Pippin, quietly, and for the first time he could remember, disagreed.
This was the last day of their visit, edging now into the last night. And Pippin hadn't spoken to anyone about it, but was beginning to think it ought to be the last visit between the three of them for some time. By the time they were settling into bed he had decided for certain.
Mother would be washing the sheets tomorrow, and that was just as well. For they'd washed after coming back from the stream and before supper, but Pippin didn't think he'd got all the mud out from between his toes or from the hair on his feet, and he knew he hadn't quite got rid of the smell of fish on his hands.
He hadn't known how to ask his mother that there be different arrangements on this visit. He'd stopped asking to be allowed to share a room with them years ago. And no one bothered to ask him these days either -- whether they were here or at Great Smials or Bag End or Brandy Hall, it was nearly always the same. Frodo and Merry shared a room, and whether they said so or not, they shared a bed as well. Mother would know when she came to change the sheets, and Pippin knew from listening to them.
Surely, he thought, hearing a first creaking of the bed next door and a first grunt -- probably from Frodo as Merry shoved him down -- surely they can't think they're being terribly subtle.
If he was one of the visitors he might share a room with some cousin or other or not, but here at Whitwell he nearly always had his own room, just next door to the guestroom where Frodo and Merry slept, and where they did other things. That next creak was probably Merry climbing on top. It was always more or less the same. These noises, like everything else about the visits, were as familiar to Pippin by now as the back of his own hand.
Or the palm. Familiar as Pippin's fingers sliding down, then curling around. He heard Frodo gasp -- quietly, as if still trying to pretend no one else was aware -- and he wondered what Merry's hands were getting up to.
Well, really he didn't know if it was hands or lips or what exactly. There was only so much Pippin could tell from grunts and sighs. Some nights he tried to make up a picture for himself, but tonight the noises themselves were enough, and Pippin stroked himself to the rhythm he could hear rather than to anything he could see with his eyes or in his mind. He sped up as they did, and he felt the tension building along with the noise through the wall. He knew he was coming at the same time as Frodo, for he mouthed the word Merry at the same time Frodo said it, pained and joyful, just as Frodo always did. And Merry was quieter but Pippin heard that too, just a few seconds later, as the rhythm came apart and everything stopped for a little while, and Pippin thought this ought to be enough to make him feel good, but it wasn't.
He moved when they did. Went to the washbasin in by the door at the same time Merry did and washed himself as he knew they were washing each other. He felt sunburned and achy and tired but not sleepy as he lay down again. He felt wet but not clean.
Mother would be changing the sheets in the morning, and Pippin would be making some changes as well.
He hugged them goodbye, of course, and even kissed them. Frodo said, "I'll be waiting for you next month," and Pippin nodded, not wanting to say it to his face when a letter would do just as well. Saying it out loud to Mother a few hours later was difficult enough. She looked positively distraught, and Pippin hated to be the one to cause her any worry.
"But Pippin, Frodo's birthday. You always go to Bag End in September."
"Not always, Mum. I've gone the past few years is all."
"But why would you stop?"
"But why would I go, just because I went last year?" If this was the path to adulthood, perhaps staying a child forever wouldn't be so bad. Pippin felt sulky and stupid and still sunburned. He wasn't doing a good job explaining himself at all. "Please, Mother. I had the impression that you understood."
"I…"
She didn't, really, but she hugged him anyway, for she understood enough to know that was what he needed then, and she didn't press him to explain any more, not that day.
two | series tag | fic index
danachan. For now you can think of it as a set of three, though I intend to write another seven episodes at some point. Parts one and two are much with the angst, saving most of the porn (and also some more angst, since it's me) for part three. I want to post part three for Dana's birthday on Monday, so I'm going to get these first two, which are more of a prologue, out of the way first. It will be fine to read three and later parts by themselves. Title: Odd and Even Numbers: One
Author: Sophinisba Solis
Pairings etc.: Pippin, some Frodo/Merry (other relationships later)
Words: ~1650
Rating: PG-13
Pippin was thirsty. The glare on the water hurt his eyes and the sun on his face made him feel he was being baked alive. But Frodo said this water wasn't good for drinking and Merry was not amused in the least when Pippin tried to tip the three of them in so they might cool off a bit. The water was only knee-deep anyway, and Pippin didn't think it was anything to get upset about. Still, he did settle down after that and didn't say anything about being bored or being hot; he wasn't interested in being sent back inside and he didn't want another lecture about how he needed to learn patience.
Pippin thought that fishing took more patience than the taste of fish actually justified. He much preferred chicken or beef (not to mention mushrooms), and if it were a question of feeding himself he'd never bother with the rod and the reel and the hours of sitting still doing nothing, especially on a hot day like today.
However, he'd never been one to turn down an afternoon in the company of Frodo and Merry. And if they wanted to do something that reminded them of their childhood in Buckland, Pippin was happy enough to be part of that, even if he was necessarily going to be a bit on the edges. Frodo had taught Merry how to fish before Pippin had ever been born, so Pippin wasn't part of the old memories, and there was really nothing he could do about that. Frodo and Merry shared some things that were only for the two of them.
But they let Pippin tag along, and he always enjoyed that, or at least he always had in the past. He thought fish were a bother to catch and slimy in his hands once he did (and too salty in his mouth later on), but he liked having Merry shouting instructions as he reeled it in, and having Frodo help him get it off the hook. He remembered once, on a visit to Merry's when he was much smaller, how Frodo had sat behind him and held him around the waist to keep him from falling into the water as he pulled with all his might -- it wasn't that the fish was anywhere near as big as Pippin, just that he wasn't very used to the motion or very good at keeping his balance yet. Of course, the fish were generally bigger in the Brandywine than in this little creek, and also falling into the Brandywine was a good deal more dangerous. On the other hand, sitting on that nice wooden dock with their legs hanging over had been much more comfortable than sitting or standing on the rocks in this creek, which were really just stepping stones across it and were not intended or positioned for sitting on.
Well, and in the old days it had all been much simpler, being a child with his older cousins. Pippin was glad for any time he got to spend with them, particularly when it was just the three of them together. Then he liked carrying the fish back to the house and meeting Mother (or Bilbo, or the Brandybucks' cook, depending) in the kitchen, where Merry would say what a good catch Pippin had made. He'd say so again at supper, and Frodo would smile at Pippin and so would his parents. And Pippin felt proud, even though his sisters' faces (and their unfinished plates) told him they weren't especially pleased to be eating fish either.
The visits were more or less the same now as they were then, as far as what the three of them did, but Pippin enjoyed them a good deal less. All the fuss they made over him reminded him of the way grown-ups pat a lad on the head and say he's done a good job -- the point was to make the child feel important, whether or not it was true. And now that Pippin wasn't a child, it didn't feel good anymore. It didn't feel true.
So that evening at Frodo talked about the great big fish Pippin had caught, even though Merry's had been bigger. And they said Pervinca was a fine cook, even though Mother had a lot more to do with how well it turned out.
"You ought to go out to the stream more often, Pippin," his father said, and all three girls glared.
"The stream's not big enough," said Pearl. "There wouldn't be enough fish for us to eat them all the time."
"It wouldn't be very practical in the winter either," said Pippin.
And Mother nodded and smiled, and said that in any case she liked to keep fish for special occasions. "The taste used to remind me of home," she said to their guests (she'd grown up near Frogmorton, on the Banks of the Water), "but now I associate it with your visits in the summer, which we all so enjoy." And the girls agreed with that, at least. Pimpernel said that Merry ought to come more often, and Pearl said that Frodo should. And Pippin, quietly, and for the first time he could remember, disagreed.
This was the last day of their visit, edging now into the last night. And Pippin hadn't spoken to anyone about it, but was beginning to think it ought to be the last visit between the three of them for some time. By the time they were settling into bed he had decided for certain.
Mother would be washing the sheets tomorrow, and that was just as well. For they'd washed after coming back from the stream and before supper, but Pippin didn't think he'd got all the mud out from between his toes or from the hair on his feet, and he knew he hadn't quite got rid of the smell of fish on his hands.
He hadn't known how to ask his mother that there be different arrangements on this visit. He'd stopped asking to be allowed to share a room with them years ago. And no one bothered to ask him these days either -- whether they were here or at Great Smials or Bag End or Brandy Hall, it was nearly always the same. Frodo and Merry shared a room, and whether they said so or not, they shared a bed as well. Mother would know when she came to change the sheets, and Pippin knew from listening to them.
Surely, he thought, hearing a first creaking of the bed next door and a first grunt -- probably from Frodo as Merry shoved him down -- surely they can't think they're being terribly subtle.
If he was one of the visitors he might share a room with some cousin or other or not, but here at Whitwell he nearly always had his own room, just next door to the guestroom where Frodo and Merry slept, and where they did other things. That next creak was probably Merry climbing on top. It was always more or less the same. These noises, like everything else about the visits, were as familiar to Pippin by now as the back of his own hand.
Or the palm. Familiar as Pippin's fingers sliding down, then curling around. He heard Frodo gasp -- quietly, as if still trying to pretend no one else was aware -- and he wondered what Merry's hands were getting up to.
Well, really he didn't know if it was hands or lips or what exactly. There was only so much Pippin could tell from grunts and sighs. Some nights he tried to make up a picture for himself, but tonight the noises themselves were enough, and Pippin stroked himself to the rhythm he could hear rather than to anything he could see with his eyes or in his mind. He sped up as they did, and he felt the tension building along with the noise through the wall. He knew he was coming at the same time as Frodo, for he mouthed the word Merry at the same time Frodo said it, pained and joyful, just as Frodo always did. And Merry was quieter but Pippin heard that too, just a few seconds later, as the rhythm came apart and everything stopped for a little while, and Pippin thought this ought to be enough to make him feel good, but it wasn't.
He moved when they did. Went to the washbasin in by the door at the same time Merry did and washed himself as he knew they were washing each other. He felt sunburned and achy and tired but not sleepy as he lay down again. He felt wet but not clean.
Mother would be changing the sheets in the morning, and Pippin would be making some changes as well.
He hugged them goodbye, of course, and even kissed them. Frodo said, "I'll be waiting for you next month," and Pippin nodded, not wanting to say it to his face when a letter would do just as well. Saying it out loud to Mother a few hours later was difficult enough. She looked positively distraught, and Pippin hated to be the one to cause her any worry.
"But Pippin, Frodo's birthday. You always go to Bag End in September."
"Not always, Mum. I've gone the past few years is all."
"But why would you stop?"
"But why would I go, just because I went last year?" If this was the path to adulthood, perhaps staying a child forever wouldn't be so bad. Pippin felt sulky and stupid and still sunburned. He wasn't doing a good job explaining himself at all. "Please, Mother. I had the impression that you understood."
"I…"
She didn't, really, but she hugged him anyway, for she understood enough to know that was what he needed then, and she didn't press him to explain any more, not that day.
two | series tag | fic index