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Intentions (NC-17) Print

Written by RubyElf

18 March 2012 | 26062 words

Title: Intentions
Author: RubyElf
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Faramir & Legolas

Thranduil arrives unexpectedly, Arwen solves everybody’s problems before dinner, Eomer is looking for his elf, hobbits are unhappy, Boromir is annoyed, and apparently Gandalf has shown up with some plans for Legolas and Faramir that perhaps he should have asked them about first.

[ all pages ]

Intentions – Part 2

Boromir stormed into his room, letting the door slam against the wall. Finn, sprawled on her rug by the hearth, raised her head to see if the disturbance involved her and then went back to sleep. The two hobbits at the table did not appear any more startled by this abrupt entrance than the dog, and smiled cheerfully at the man before returning to their card game.

“Hello, Boromir. Do you have any pairs or not, Pip?”

Pippin scowled at his cousin, then at the cards in his hand. Being designed for men, they were rather too large for hobbits, and made the two players appear to be holding large ladies’ fans.

“Maybe I do, and maybe I don’t.”

“Well, if you don’t, I win,” Merry said.

Boromir frowned. “I thought the workers had finished setting up the rooms for you two.”

Pippin looked up. “They’re all finished. They finished yesterday.”

“Then why are you playing cards in my room?”

“We were waiting for you,” Merry said.

“I thought that once you two had your own rooms, you were going to stop wandering into mine uninvited,” he reminded them.

Pippin giggled. “You didn’t really think that would happen, would you?”

“Besides, we were just waiting for you so we could show you our new rooms,” Merry said, before Boromir could become annoyed.

Boromir allowed the pair to lead him out into the hall, thinking to himself that never in the entire history of the kingdom of Gondor had any Steward had to tolerate having his personal space invaded by hobbits. Then again, he supposed that this was also probably the first time that any rooms in Minas Tirith had been modified specifically for use by hobbits, which had been done at Aragorn’s direction (and as a direct result of Boromir insisting that if Aragorn did not come up with some sort of solution to the permanent hobbit infestation in his bedroom, he would not be allowing Aragorn into said bedroom).

“Here,” Merry said proudly, stopping at a door which had the handle relocated to be more easily reachable by small individuals, although Boromir was quite aware that hobbits had no difficulty opening any door they pleased. “Have you got the key, Pip?”

Pippin tugged at the cord around his neck and retrieved a shiny new key.

“You keep it round your neck?” Boromir asked.

“It’s the only way he won’t lose it,” Merry said.

Pippin pushed the door open and waved Boromir into the main room. Boromir surveyed it with satisfaction; the workers had accepted their odd task and had fashioned a table and chairs, shelves, and chests in proper hobbit-sized proportions, and had lowered the lantern hooks on the walls to within their reach.

“There are some big chairs there in the corner if we have company,” Merry said. “What do you think?”

“It’s quite nice. I’m impressed.”

“They did give us two separate bedrooms,” Pippin muttered.

Merry rolled his eyes. “As if Aragorn could instruct them to just make one bedroom. Then everyone in Minas Tirith would know…”

“Everyone in Minas Tirith already knows that, Meriadoc,” Boromir reminded him. “I believe they are under the impression that hobbits must reproduce by magical means, since they have not met any females and the only males they have met seem to be in love with each other.”

Pippin smiled, then paused and looked up at Boromir. “What were you so angry about when you came into your rooms?”

Boromir shook his head, chuckling. “Peregrin, your mind changes directions like a rabbit with hounds after it. I was just irritated, that’s all.”


“Because I was.”

“You’ve been arguing with Aragorn again,” Merry observed.

“I haven’t.”

“You have,” Merry said. “Care to tell us why?”

“No,” Boromir said.

“That’s all right,” Pippin said cheerfully. “We’ll find out anyway. We always do.”

Boromir decided to change the subject. “Are you two happy with your new living quarters?”

“We preferred yours,” Pippin commented, “but since you were tired of sharing it, this will do.”

“Frodo will hate it,” Merry said, “and so will Sam.”


“Because it’s not small and cozy and round like a proper hobbit hole,” Pippin answered. “It’s rather grand, though… like living in a great hall.”

“You won’t know what to do with yourselves when you go back to the Shire,” Boromir observed, chuckling. He saw the expression on Pippin’s face and stopped. “What is it, little one?”


Merry gave Pippin a sideways glance. “Just tell him, Pip.”

Boromir frowned and lowered himself to sit cross-legged on the floor, where he could look the younger hobbit in the face. “Why do you look so sad, Pippin?”

He lowered his eyes and shuffled his feet, for once hesitant to speak. Merry rolled his eyes.

“For Eru’s sake, Pip… I’ll tell him. Our families have sent us letters while we’ve been here, of course… at first they were very proud and pleased, when they first heard about the War and us being heroes and all. But some of them, particularly Pippin’s father, are starting to be rather unhappy with us.”

“Why would they be unhappy with you?”

“Because I’m supposed to be the Master of Buckland one day,” Merry said, “which is a high enough title, but the Brandybucks are a very large family, and there are lots of other available heirs if I don’t come home and claim it. Much as that would irritate my father, he is fond of some of his nephews and I’m sure he’d choose one of them if he had to. But Pip, you see, is expected to become the Thain of the Shire… which I suppose is something like a mayor or a captain or some such thing. It doesn’t come with a tremendous amount of any real authority or anything… since hobbits don’t typically bother with such things anyway… but it’s probably the highest title of any in the Shire, and Pip is the direct heir to it.”

“Is that such a terrible thing?” Boromir asked, suspecting he already knew the answer.

“Well, Pippin’s never cared much for the idea, but he knows it’s what he’s supposed to do at some point,” Merry said, looking toward Pippin, who still had his head down. “But now his father’s letters are saying… well, tell him what they said, Pip.”

Pippin sighed. “That if I don’t immediately put a stop to this foolishness with my cousin and return to the Shire immediately and marry the first available lass they can find, I shouldn’t bother to come back at all.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t mean such a thing,” Boromir said.

“I’m sure he does,” Pippin disagreed unhappily.

“Pip’s the only son,” Merry said. “And his father’s not going to tolerate giving the title to some other relative like mine will… you see, the Thain before Pippin’s father died without any children. So his father wasn’t a direct heir… he was a cousin, but the only one available to pass the title to. So his claim on it isn’t as solid as it could be, and passing it on to another cousin or some other relative would just be stepping even further away from the original line. Hobbits take that sort of thing seriously… not that men don’t… but you see the problem.”

“So why wouldn’t he want you to come back?”

“He wants me to come back,” Pippin said, his eyes shining with tears he was determined not to shed in front of Boromir. “He just says I have to come back and get married immediately and that I’m to stop embarrassing the family and not to visit or see Merry anymore.”

The tears escaped in spite of his efforts and spilled down his cheeks. Merry gave Boromir an expectant look, and he realized he was supposed to be doing something to comfort the young hobbit. Although he generally didn’t spend much time comforting anybody, he remembered drying little Faramir’s tears when the boy would come back to their room after some misfortune. He opened his arms, and Pippin immediately took the opportunity to scramble into his lap and wrap his arms around Boromir’s neck, burying his face in his shoulder. Merry nodded his approval.

“What do you think about all this, Meriadoc?” Boromir asked, as he patted Pippin’s shoulder.

Merry shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged, his blue eyes slightly narrowed as they always were when he was focused intently on something or lost in thought.

“Me? Makes no difference to me,” he answered, deliberate and even. “I’m not going anywhere that Pippin can’t go with me.”

“But the Shire’s your home too,” Pippin said, turning to look toward his cousin. “Wouldn’t you miss it?”

Merry shrugged again. “I’d rather miss it than miss you.”

Pippin sniffed and hid his face in Boromir’s shoulder again.

“Boromir,” Merry said. “Perhaps you should tell us what it is that you and Aragorn were arguing about earlier.”

Boromir was about to say something sharp to the older hobbit about minding his own business, but he realized that at the question Pippin’s sobs had quieted as he listened for an answer. The man couldn’t help but chuckle; Merry knew his little cousin well and knew that almost nothing would distract the young hobbit more effectively than the opportunity to have his nose in someone else’s business.

“All right, then. We were arguing because there are some people coming to Gondor who I don’t think should be allowed anywhere near the city, but Aragorn says we have to allow it, and I disagreed.”

Pippin sighed; this did not seem like terribly interesting information.

“Who would be coming to Gondor that you wouldn’t let into the city?” Merry asked.

“A certain elf king whose acquaintance the three of us have unfortunately already made.”

“Thranduil?” Pippin exclaimed, sitting bolt upright, his tears vanishing. “Aragorn’s going to let him come to Minas Tirith? What about Legolas? What about…”

“Does Legolas know this?” Merry asked.

Boromir nodded. Merry chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully.

“Perhaps you two should go and keep him and his brother company for a while,” Boromir said. “At least till Faramir gets home.”

“You think he’ll tell us something he wouldn’t tell you,” Merry said knowingly.

Boromir scowled. “I didn’t say that.”

Merry held out his hand to Pippin and pulled him to his feet. “Come on, Pip. We’re off on an intelligence-gathering mission for Boromir.”

“You are not…”

“Oh, I like intelligence-gathering!” Pippin exclaimed.

“For as much as you’ve gathered, you don’t seem to have kept much,” Merry said fondly. “Come on, now… we must go speak to Legolas immediately.”

They vanished, leaving Boromir sitting on the floor and trying to determine what exactly had just happened. After a moment, he hauled himself to his feet and went off down the hall toward the guard station. Aragorn had forbidden him to order the elves kept out of the city, but Boromir could still command the guards to be on the watch for any elf besides Legolas or his brother and to immediately report their every move to him.


Faramir and the Rangers riding with him had lost sight of the ruins of Osgiliath, having finished their inspection of the remnants of the city a few hours before and having found no signs that any of the ugly leftovers of Sauron’s rule in Mordor were dwelling in the ruins or the surrounding area. Two of the younger Rangers had ridden ahead to determine if there might be a good spot to make a quick camp for the night; examining the many dark corners of the ruins had taken more time than Faramir had expected, and with winter bearing down on Gondor the sun was already low in the sky and it would be well after dark before they made it to Minas Tirith if they rode on tonight.

“Captain Faramir!” a voice called, and he looked up find the two Rangers riding back toward him, gesturing excitedly.

“What is it?” he asked.

“We found a spot that would make a fine campsite,” one of the men said.

“Problem is, it’s already occupied,” the other added.

Faramir raised his eyebrows. “Occupied? By who? There are no troops stationed out this way.”

“Not by men, Captain. They appear to be elves.”

“Did they see you?”

“Yes, Captain. Their leader came and asked us who we were, and when we told him we were Rangers of Gondor, he asked if he could speak with our commander.”

“Did he tell you his name?”

“No,” the young man said. “But I was trying to listen to them, Captain… after all, you did teach us a bit of Sindarin… these elves either don’t speak Sindarin or they don’t speak it anything like what you taught us, but I did hear one of the other elves say something that I’m fairly sure was the leader’s name.”

“Which was?”


Faramir’s eyes narrowed. “Are you certain?”

“I’m fairly certain that’s what they called him,” the man said. “I highly doubt that they expected we would know any Sindarin at all, or be listening to anything they said.”

“Thranduil, hmm?” Faramir said, his jaw tightening as he thought of Legolas and the shadow that passed across the elf’s blue eyes when that name was spoken. “And he wants to speak to me?”

“He just wants to speak to our immediate commander, whoever that is. You don’t want to talk to him?”

“Oh, no,” Faramir said, smiling. “On the contrary, I want very much to talk to him.”

He touched his heels to his horse’s sides and rode off in the direction the other two riders had come from. The two young Rangers glanced at each other; they didn’t recall if they’d ever seen their Captain respond quite that way before.

“I thought Captain Faramir liked elves,” the first one said.

“I heard he likes elves a lot,” the other said, snickering.

“I don’t blame him,” the first one said, grinning. “That blond elf that he’s always talking to is far prettier than most of the girls in town.”

“I’ve heard,” the other one said, in a low voice, “that elves can do things in bed that no mortals can do.”

“That may be. But for all that Captain Faramir likes elves… and some elves in particular… he really, really doesn’t seem to like this Thranduil elf at all.”

“No, he doesn’t. I wonder why not?”


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4 Comment(s)

Well, that was just great! I really enjoyed this.

— Ria    Monday 19 March 2012, 2:25    #

Heehee, Hobbits! XD I can almost hear their incessant chatter about each and everything. Of course they would pretend to be all timid and shy – and then make whispered remarks about the other party guests, loud enough everyone can hear.

The whole scenery seems like something that happened during lunch break on the Ring set. Like: somebody (most likely one of the hobbit actors) snatched a camera and then they were going to do their own version of The Secret life in Middle Earth. Thinking about it I´m absolutely positive there is a secret extra somewhere in a sinister corner of the DVD…

And I must say I find the idea of Arwen having fun with itching powder very pleasing – and perhaps she would as well. It must be so annoying to spend all your time being wise and serene, especially with all these lively halflings around. The longer I think about it the more I like the idea of stripping all these over-glamorous characters of their flawlessness – at least a tiny bit… >:)

A refreshing look at a lighter and funnier Middle Earth – I bet there are even such things as fart cushions (in Arwen´s drawer)! XDDD

— raven22372    Wednesday 21 March 2012, 16:23    #

hahaha, I have laughed nonstop at this end! hahah!

— Laivindur    Thursday 22 March 2012, 18:38    #

Oh, I just love Pippin!!! “Makes it up as he goes along!” hahaha

— Laivindur    Thursday 22 March 2012, 19:10    #

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