Chapter Text
The drinking halls of Edoras thrummed with the joy of survival, and though the early Spring night grew ever later the people still feasted, mourning their dead but celebrating their own beating hearts, that they might be there to see another frigid winter. Pippin had danced and sung and celebrated until he thought his feet might fall off and his voice never ring out again, and so found himself a quiet little corner to recover in, smiling and tapping his knee at the music that rang as loud as galloping horses, and taking a little time to himself, to watch the people as they revelled. It was much unlike a party in the Shire, and yet he felt that same warmth he did whenever they all gathered in Hobbiton, to celebrate a birthday or a feast day or a Friday.
Merry slept beside him, the broken, jagged sleep that came with too many ales, sat upright but head tilted at an unnatural angle, like a broken twig struggling in the wind. Pippin sought to right it, balancing it precariously against the seat back, but it was no use, and soon the head flagged once more. Gimli slept by the other side of Merry, rattling with drunken snores on every inhale, and mumbling to himself when the snores shook him wholly from slumber, before slouching back to sleep. Looking across the two of him made Pippin feel fond, and he looked for the other members of the old Company present in the crowd.
Gandalf was nowhere to be seen, but Legolas was easily spotted, stood up against the bar in his very clean pale tunic and tamed back golden-white hair, amongst a sea of brown shirts and unruly curls, like snow on a mountaintop. Pippin could not immediately see Aragorn, as he blended more easily amongst the Rohirrim, but spotted him eventually, hidden partly by darkness. He was across the room in a corner and stood alone, faced towards the musicians.
At first, Pippin thought the Ranger was watching the band, but instead he found the gaze of Aragorn directed further off, and he realised that Aragorn instead watched Legolas, like a dog staring down prey. Pippin followed his gaze, curious - Legolas was with a man, a soldier that Pippin could not recognise, who was speaking into the ear of Legolas in a steady and never-ending flow. The strange man was looking at Legolas with the same hungry gaze that Lotho Sackville-Baggins sometimes directed at the daughter of Will Whitfoot, and Pippin felt outrage on his behalf.
Pippin thought to go over and offer a little help to his elven friend, but when he looked to the face of Legolas, he found that the elf did not look upset. Indeed, the strange man seemed of little concern to the elf at all, for he was instead staring intently back at Aragorn.
Pippin looked between the two of them, confused. Their shared gaze seemed louder than any of the conversations in the room, but it was as if they were speaking in Elvish; he couldn’t possibly hope to understand. Pippin thought that perhaps Aragorn might interfere and scare the strange man off their friend, but he did no such thing, instead content in watching Legolas.
Legolas for his part sipped at his tankard of ale, making no attempt to respond to anything the man that was all but wrapped around him was saying. It was as if the elf was stuck in a trance, like the one the travelling hypnotist had put on Merry when he was a boy.
Aragorn finally moved towards the elf, slowly traversing the busy hall with a goblet of wine in hand, and Pippin wished he would hurry himself before the strange man could touch the elf further. Legolas watched him cross the hall until the ranger went around a pillar, where Legolas could not see him. Instead, the elf let his gaze wander to the stage, watching the band perform a merry jig.
Pippin then realised that the Ranger was directly behind the elf at the bar, having snuck up on him most effectively. Pippin waited for Aragorn to interrupt, but he did not. He stood close to the elf, looking down at one elven hand, which hung down by his side.
With his free hand, Aragorn reached down with gentle fingers and touched them to the wrist of the elf, running down to brush at his palm and knuckles and then back up, curling softly around the wrist joint. Pippin looked around, but no one else would be able to see what the Ranger was doing, as the packed crowd disguised his actions almost entirely. The Ranger let his fingers dance along the forearm, moving the sleeve up marginally to uncover more pale skin to trace, and Pippin was sure that this was as much skin as he had ever seen the elf expose. It felt illicit and improper, and suddenly Pippin realised he was one of those annoying old biddies, outraged by a flash of ankle.
Pippin looked to Legolas. His eyes were closed and his lips slightly parted, and Pippin decided that his outrage was justified, that this was more obscene than when his sister Pervinica had been caught reading naughty books in a town hall meeting. By now, the strange man beside Legolas had a lascivious grin on his face, and Pippin prepared himself to go over, as the inaction of Aragorn made him cross, and the inattention of Legolas had him worried.
Someone in the crowded room bumped into the back of Aragorn. Pippin knew him to be solid as an ox, immovable, and yet he took a step forward with it, allowing himself to bump into Legolas and press there for a moment. Here, their strange silent chatter ended, and Aragorn whispered something into the free ear of Legolas, lips close to the pointed shell. Whatever was said seemed to break the elf from his reverie, for he finally took notice of the words of the strange man, and his face morphed to outrage, and he pushed the man away most forcibly.
Pippin wished he could have heard what Legolas said - they must have been cutting, for the man scurried off as if burned by a poker. Legolas looked now to Aragorn, whose face was neutral, but who offered out his goblet. Legolas took it, handing over the tankard of ale he had been drinking in payment, and the two of them drank from each other’s cups, never breaking eye contact.
Aragorn leant upon the bar, elbows back, and Legolas copied his position. Pippin looked as their shoulders pressed together and their little fingers brushed, and he wondered if this is what love looked like. They had again lapsed into silence, though Pippin supposed that he was learning their strange unspoken language, as he seemed to understand at least some of the meanings that lay in their gaze. Legolas took another drink of wine, and after, Aragorn wiped a gentle thumb over his chin, as if cleaning for a friend - though no liquid had spilt there. Legolas smiled, which seemed to jump across to the face of Aragorn, and Pippin was certain that no pair had ever looked as contented and beautiful as his friends did in that moment.
“Master Took! Are you spying?” Gandalf asked angrily from behind him, and Pippin jumped. He looked at Gandalf, and then back at his friends. Legolas was watching them, and had moved away from the Ranger. Aragorn followed the gaze of the elf, and now watched the two of them with furrowed brow.
“Well, you see, a strange man was talking to Legolas, and taking quite some liberties I might say, and so I was checking that our friend was okay.” Pippin finished his sentence with a nod, happy with his response. Legolas recounted this to Aragorn, whose own fingers remained where they were, as if waiting for Legolas to find his way back to him.
“You intended to defend the honour of one of the Royal Archers of Mirkwood?” Gandalf asked, dismissive, and Pippin felt himself puff in response.
“I didn’t intend to fight the man, just give Legolas the opportunity to leave,” Pippin argued back, “He was being very persistent with our friend.”
Gandalf looked to Legolas, who nodded to confirm the story, and Gandalf sighed. “Legolas is a warrior, and beyond that, he has plenty of folks here who would defend him, should the situation arise. You do not need to concern yourself with such things.”
“I am his friend too, and the rest of you were doing a mighty poor job!” Pippin argued back, defensive. “I did not go as I thought Aragorn might help, but he merely hovered until the man said something so foul that Legolas had to defend himself, with no help from any of you!”
Pippin watched as Legolas repeated this to Aragorn, who looked a tad affronted, but calmed himself when Legolas nudged against him, gentle, and whispered something with a teasing smile that seemed to appease the man.
“But he did defend himself, quite thoroughly I imagine,” Gandalf said, “Aragorn is keenly aware - more than any in this room - of what Legolas can handle, and when he needs to lend a hand. Worry not, Master Took, the honour of Legolas was never in any real danger.” Pippin could feel the pointed glare of Gandalf, who coughed loudly when the hobbit continued to look across the bar. “And after the man left, you continued to stare?”
Pippin flushed, but decided the truth was as good an answer as any. “It was nice to see them both look so contented,” he replied, and when he glanced at Gandalf, he saw the Wizard soften, just a little. Legolas too, softened, and though he did not recount this to Aragorn, he moved closer to the Ranger once more, and let his fingers rest gently against the hand he found there. Neither of them looked across the room any longer, instead looking to each other, faces open and warm.
“Master Took?” Gandalf said. He did not continue until Pippin looked to him. “Do not let me catch you watching again.”
Pippin smiled at Gandalf and held his gaze, though he wished to look back to the bar. “Of course not. The danger has passed now.”
Gandalf held his gaze a moment longer, before nodding to him and departing. Pippin watched him leave the room, waiting until he was gone entirely before looking back to the bar, but alas, the two occupants who had held his attention had departed. He sighed and stood, intent on consoling himself with another tankard of ale, ignorant to the departing pair who spirited behind him, heading to where no prying eyes might see.