Winds Over Eriador, part 1
What the hey -- I have no willpower. Hi, cpsings4hm!
Title: Winds Over Eriador
Author: Claudia
Pairing: various (main: Frodo/Faramir, Frodo/Aragorn, Pippin/Faramir(unrequited)...)
Rating: series varies
Summary: note. This is a crossover fic (sort of, since it all takes place in Middle Earth with Tolkien characters) between LOTR and Gone with the Wind. This is such complete crack -- but I'm having a blast writing it! (I love all you enablers, by the way!)
Note: Even though this starts out from Pippin’s POV and will have sections from his POV, it will probably mostly be from Frodo's POV (duh.).
Warnings: HUGE AU scenarios (if canon is dear to you, I would suggest not reading), more mixing between the Shire and the Outside than canon suggests, etc.. Future mpreg (those sections will be well-labeled for those who wish to avoid that). As for the hobbits' ages? I'm going movie!canon here, with Frodo and Merry and Pippin all being about the same age.
Peregrin Took was not particularly handsome, but most folk forgot that simple fact when captivated by his charming smile and soft stream of chatter. Roses did not bloom in his cheeks, and his feet were small, almost Man-like. He was far too slender for a hobbit - fairy-like, some said while shaking their heads in disapproval, although of course they would never dare say so around Paladin Took.
Pippin neither smiled nor chattered now. He sat on a bench in the garden before the Great Smials on a fine autumn day, swinging his feet. Golden wheat fields spread out before him, giving sharp contrast to the blue sky and the woods of Tuckborough that closed in from most sides.
Pippin’s father, Paladin Took, had gone to Hobbiton to speak with the mayor about possibly gathering archers to send to Bree. Everyone in Bree, Big and Little, had fallen into tense vigilance since recent word had come from Gondor of the Steward’s twisted desire to claim Eriador and rule it with the iron force he had as of late been using on his own people.
A clatter of hooves jarred Pippin out of his woolgathering. He leaped to his feet and squinted into the setting sun to see who would be riding a full sized horse through Tuckborough. When he saw who it was, he gave out a joyful cry and sprinted down the path to the road.
Faramir!
Pippin’s heart sped into uneven thuds as Faramir approached. Dressed in the greens and browns of the Dunadain, he nearly blended into the green hills of the Shire. Faramir reined in his horse with a broad smile.
“Faramir! How are you?” Pippin cried.
Faramir did not dismount. How handsome and golden he was! His muscular thighs dug into the horse’s ribs, staying it, and oh how broad were his leather-clad shoulders that had born so many grievous burdens in the last few years. He had thrown back his hood, revealing sunlit hair flecked with red.
Pippin’s throat closed, and he was moved to rare silence by seeing him in person again for the first time in weeks. This past summer, Pippin had met Faramir when he had joined Frodo in traveling with Bilbo to Bree to see about purchasing a smial in that village. Since the brutal attack on Bilbo and Frodo two years ago, during which Bilbo’s mysterious Ring had been seized and taken to the Steward of Gondor, neither hobbit wished to remain in Bag End.
Frodo, Pippin, and Bilbo had spent nearly the whole summer in Bree, often visited by Faramir. Faramir had quickly fallen to Pippin’s charms, so much so that he called nearly every day. He had taken him and Frodo about the village and the countryside. Frodo had engaged Faramir in sedate, and in Pippin’s opinion, rather boring conversation about maps and books and languages, often asking him many questions about Minas Tirith and the history of the old Kingdoms. But it was Pippin who had made him laugh, Pippin who told him outrageous tales of the hobbits of the Shire, such as Wil Whitfoot’s unfortunate incident involving the collapse of the roof of the Town Hole in Michel Delving. Faramir’s haunted eyes - stuck such since he had fled his own father in terror of his life after watching that hateful gold band that he called Isildur’s bane blacken his heart - seemed softer in Pippin’s presence.
True, Faramir had never touched him in the way that hobbits who wanted more than friendship did or gave any indication that he felt anything other than friendship, but Pippin felt that it would just be a matter of getting him alone again.
Faramir was gallant, always, but aloof. He did not take the usual joy in the fun that Pippin and the other hobbits and even Bree men enjoyed in the Prancing Pony. Faramir could often be seen drinking ale and playing cards, but he never seemed quite into it the way Pippin and his friends were. And just like Frodo, he never grew bored of endless conversations about history and languages and books. Oh, if Pippin could tear him away from a book for a moment, then what wouldn’t they talk about!
It maddened Pippin to the edge of patience that Faramir could spend all his free time with him, sitting drowsily with him and Frodo in the Prancing Pony, sipping ale. And yet he could remain so aloof. So many nights Pippin had gone to bed, tossing and turning, because he could not interpret a glance, a touch, or a smile.
Pity kept Pippin from speaking to Frodo about his feelings for Faramir. He suspected that Frodo yearned for Faramir, too. But poor Frodo was prone to spells of illness, having never fully recovered from his cruel treatment at the hands of the Gondorians sent from Minas Tirith.
And for all his Elvish fair looks, Frodo had no skills in charming such a Man as Faramir.
Pippin’s heart soared as he gazed up at Faramir on his horse. He could not believe he was here, right in front of him. “Why are you not in Bree? What are you doing here in the Shire?” Pippin could not keep a foolish grin from his face.
Faramir’s smile faded. “Indeed, I must go back as soon as tomorrow eve. I came to the Shire to speak to the Dunadain across the Baranduin, but I could not ride to the Shire without saying hello to my dearest friends. And I shall be at the Baggins farewell party in Hobbiton tomorrow. You will be going there?”
“Frodo invited you?” Pippin asked, feeling an odd twinge in his stomach that Frodo should have had the privilege of communicating with Faramir without Pippin’s knowledge.
“Indeed,” Faramir said with a smile. “And I would not think of refusing.”
“Everyone shall be there,” Pippin said, forcing his voice to be light. “All the Shire, Outlandish folk from Bree, Dwarves, perhaps some Elves, Gandalf the Gray - it will give Hobbiton enough gossip to keep their great, great grandchildren engaged. As if Bilbo and Frodo selling Bag End to those horrid Sackville-Bagginses hasn’t given gossip enough.” Pippin took a deep breath. “Will you not come in and have tea?” He hoped he did not look too eager, but he could not help it. Now that Faramir was here, larger than life before him on his horse, it was not easy to just let him ride off into the distance again without so much as a touch.
“Nay, Master Peregrin. I cannot stay. I must hasten to Hobbiton. I promised Bilbo Baggins I would help him and Frodo prepare for the party.”
“Oh.” Pippin managed a tight smile, and for a second, the sun slipped completely away, leaving him chilled.
“Farewell, Pippin,” Faramir said, taking up his reins again. “I shall hope to see you tomorrow.”
“I must find a way to return to Bree soon, especially if Cousin Frodo will be living there. And of course, to see you again.” He bit his tongue. Already he had said too much. He flushed, but Faramir seemed not to have noticed.
Faramir’s voice became serious, and he seemed to be looking at something distant across the fields. “You are far better off here safe in your home. There is no telling what the coming days will bring to all of us.”
“Well then,” Pippin said, swallowing his disappointment. “Farewell, Faramir.”
***
Not long after Faramir left, Fredegar Bolger and Sancho Proudfoot came calling. They had business with Paladin, who was expected home late that evening. Meanwhile, they lounged outside in the garden with Pippin. Since Pippin had returned from Bree at the end of the summer, they had both taken a fancy to Paladin’s charming son and often were seen unabashedly trying to outdo each other to gain his favors. Normally their attention was entertaining, but on this night, it seemed stale and empty. Pippin could not take his mind off of Faramir being in Hobbiton, spending this evening with Frodo and Bilbo. Of course Pippin thought, he need not really fear anything from Frodo - pale Frodo with his melodic and gentle voice. Faramir did not need a kind smile - he needed to laugh from his belly.
On either side of Pippin, Fredegar Bolger and Sancho Proudfoot laughed and rambled on about pipe-weed and food and other hobbity things. Right now they were laughing outrageously about Sancho’s brother, who had lost his job managing one of the richest fields of pipe-weed in Longbottom. And all because he had asked to kiss the field owner’s daughter one day and she had rejected him.
“Oh, he can work for one of the Big Folk in Bree easily,” Sancho was saying. “And if he can shoot an arrow, all the better for him. He’ll have fine use in Bree then.”
“Why?” Pippin asked.
“The coming battle, foolish Took. It’s going to start any day.”
“There isn’t going to be a battle,” Pippin said. He didn’t want to hear about it. He wanted nothing to distract him from his goal of hankering to get near Faramir, even if it meant arranging a long visit with Frodo in Bree once he and Bilbo settled there. A battle might prevent that and it would make Faramir busier and more distracted than ever - and of course that was the last thing Pippin wanted. “It’s all just talk. One of the Bounders told Father just last week that the Northern Rangers would come to an agreement with the Steward about Eriador. And anyway, the Gondorians are too scared of us to invade.”
“No battle?” cried both Sancho and Fatty at the same time.
“Of course there will be,” Fatty said with a chuckle. “The Gondorians may be scared of us, but after the way Captain Halbarad ambushed that troop of Gondorian Rangers out in Hollin, they’ll have to fight or look like cowards before their Steward. Why, Eriador-“
“If either of you keeps up talk about this battle, I will go inside and shut the door.”
Pippin meant what he said, for all he said it with his charming smile, because he could never endure a conversation for too long that did not involve himself or his immediate world. The gentlehobbits were enchanted and they apologized.
“Ah, but we do know a stunning piece of gossip,” Sancho said. “When we passed through Hobbiton, we heard it right from someone who would really know.”
“What?” Pippin cried, eager and excited at the prospect of new gossip.
“Is it what we heard yesterday from Samwise Gamgee?” Fatty asked. “If it is, you know you promised not to tell…”
“And Samwise heard it from Mr. Bilbo Baggins himself, mad Baggins who is moving to Bree with his sweet cousin Frodo. Of course it was a terrible thing that happened to them, but to sell Bag End to the Sackville-Bagginses and then move to Bree?” Sancho shook his head.
“What is it?” Pippin asked, unable to contain himself. “What have you heard?”
Sancho’s voice dropped. “You know, it’s about that Captain Faramir, the one who hails from Gondor.” At the mention of Faramir, Pippin startled and grew still.
Sancho leaned in. “I’ve just heard it from Bilbo Baggins that Frodo and Faramir have pledged themselves to each other.”
Go to the next part
Title: Winds Over Eriador
Author: Claudia
Pairing: various (main: Frodo/Faramir, Frodo/Aragorn, Pippin/Faramir(unrequited)...)
Rating: series varies
Summary: note. This is a crossover fic (sort of, since it all takes place in Middle Earth with Tolkien characters) between LOTR and Gone with the Wind. This is such complete crack -- but I'm having a blast writing it! (I love all you enablers, by the way!)
Note: Even though this starts out from Pippin’s POV and will have sections from his POV, it will probably mostly be from Frodo's POV (duh.).
Warnings: HUGE AU scenarios (if canon is dear to you, I would suggest not reading), more mixing between the Shire and the Outside than canon suggests, etc.. Future mpreg (those sections will be well-labeled for those who wish to avoid that). As for the hobbits' ages? I'm going movie!canon here, with Frodo and Merry and Pippin all being about the same age.
Peregrin Took was not particularly handsome, but most folk forgot that simple fact when captivated by his charming smile and soft stream of chatter. Roses did not bloom in his cheeks, and his feet were small, almost Man-like. He was far too slender for a hobbit - fairy-like, some said while shaking their heads in disapproval, although of course they would never dare say so around Paladin Took.
Pippin neither smiled nor chattered now. He sat on a bench in the garden before the Great Smials on a fine autumn day, swinging his feet. Golden wheat fields spread out before him, giving sharp contrast to the blue sky and the woods of Tuckborough that closed in from most sides.
Pippin’s father, Paladin Took, had gone to Hobbiton to speak with the mayor about possibly gathering archers to send to Bree. Everyone in Bree, Big and Little, had fallen into tense vigilance since recent word had come from Gondor of the Steward’s twisted desire to claim Eriador and rule it with the iron force he had as of late been using on his own people.
A clatter of hooves jarred Pippin out of his woolgathering. He leaped to his feet and squinted into the setting sun to see who would be riding a full sized horse through Tuckborough. When he saw who it was, he gave out a joyful cry and sprinted down the path to the road.
Faramir!
Pippin’s heart sped into uneven thuds as Faramir approached. Dressed in the greens and browns of the Dunadain, he nearly blended into the green hills of the Shire. Faramir reined in his horse with a broad smile.
“Faramir! How are you?” Pippin cried.
Faramir did not dismount. How handsome and golden he was! His muscular thighs dug into the horse’s ribs, staying it, and oh how broad were his leather-clad shoulders that had born so many grievous burdens in the last few years. He had thrown back his hood, revealing sunlit hair flecked with red.
Pippin’s throat closed, and he was moved to rare silence by seeing him in person again for the first time in weeks. This past summer, Pippin had met Faramir when he had joined Frodo in traveling with Bilbo to Bree to see about purchasing a smial in that village. Since the brutal attack on Bilbo and Frodo two years ago, during which Bilbo’s mysterious Ring had been seized and taken to the Steward of Gondor, neither hobbit wished to remain in Bag End.
Frodo, Pippin, and Bilbo had spent nearly the whole summer in Bree, often visited by Faramir. Faramir had quickly fallen to Pippin’s charms, so much so that he called nearly every day. He had taken him and Frodo about the village and the countryside. Frodo had engaged Faramir in sedate, and in Pippin’s opinion, rather boring conversation about maps and books and languages, often asking him many questions about Minas Tirith and the history of the old Kingdoms. But it was Pippin who had made him laugh, Pippin who told him outrageous tales of the hobbits of the Shire, such as Wil Whitfoot’s unfortunate incident involving the collapse of the roof of the Town Hole in Michel Delving. Faramir’s haunted eyes - stuck such since he had fled his own father in terror of his life after watching that hateful gold band that he called Isildur’s bane blacken his heart - seemed softer in Pippin’s presence.
True, Faramir had never touched him in the way that hobbits who wanted more than friendship did or gave any indication that he felt anything other than friendship, but Pippin felt that it would just be a matter of getting him alone again.
Faramir was gallant, always, but aloof. He did not take the usual joy in the fun that Pippin and the other hobbits and even Bree men enjoyed in the Prancing Pony. Faramir could often be seen drinking ale and playing cards, but he never seemed quite into it the way Pippin and his friends were. And just like Frodo, he never grew bored of endless conversations about history and languages and books. Oh, if Pippin could tear him away from a book for a moment, then what wouldn’t they talk about!
It maddened Pippin to the edge of patience that Faramir could spend all his free time with him, sitting drowsily with him and Frodo in the Prancing Pony, sipping ale. And yet he could remain so aloof. So many nights Pippin had gone to bed, tossing and turning, because he could not interpret a glance, a touch, or a smile.
Pity kept Pippin from speaking to Frodo about his feelings for Faramir. He suspected that Frodo yearned for Faramir, too. But poor Frodo was prone to spells of illness, having never fully recovered from his cruel treatment at the hands of the Gondorians sent from Minas Tirith.
And for all his Elvish fair looks, Frodo had no skills in charming such a Man as Faramir.
Pippin’s heart soared as he gazed up at Faramir on his horse. He could not believe he was here, right in front of him. “Why are you not in Bree? What are you doing here in the Shire?” Pippin could not keep a foolish grin from his face.
Faramir’s smile faded. “Indeed, I must go back as soon as tomorrow eve. I came to the Shire to speak to the Dunadain across the Baranduin, but I could not ride to the Shire without saying hello to my dearest friends. And I shall be at the Baggins farewell party in Hobbiton tomorrow. You will be going there?”
“Frodo invited you?” Pippin asked, feeling an odd twinge in his stomach that Frodo should have had the privilege of communicating with Faramir without Pippin’s knowledge.
“Indeed,” Faramir said with a smile. “And I would not think of refusing.”
“Everyone shall be there,” Pippin said, forcing his voice to be light. “All the Shire, Outlandish folk from Bree, Dwarves, perhaps some Elves, Gandalf the Gray - it will give Hobbiton enough gossip to keep their great, great grandchildren engaged. As if Bilbo and Frodo selling Bag End to those horrid Sackville-Bagginses hasn’t given gossip enough.” Pippin took a deep breath. “Will you not come in and have tea?” He hoped he did not look too eager, but he could not help it. Now that Faramir was here, larger than life before him on his horse, it was not easy to just let him ride off into the distance again without so much as a touch.
“Nay, Master Peregrin. I cannot stay. I must hasten to Hobbiton. I promised Bilbo Baggins I would help him and Frodo prepare for the party.”
“Oh.” Pippin managed a tight smile, and for a second, the sun slipped completely away, leaving him chilled.
“Farewell, Pippin,” Faramir said, taking up his reins again. “I shall hope to see you tomorrow.”
“I must find a way to return to Bree soon, especially if Cousin Frodo will be living there. And of course, to see you again.” He bit his tongue. Already he had said too much. He flushed, but Faramir seemed not to have noticed.
Faramir’s voice became serious, and he seemed to be looking at something distant across the fields. “You are far better off here safe in your home. There is no telling what the coming days will bring to all of us.”
“Well then,” Pippin said, swallowing his disappointment. “Farewell, Faramir.”
***
Not long after Faramir left, Fredegar Bolger and Sancho Proudfoot came calling. They had business with Paladin, who was expected home late that evening. Meanwhile, they lounged outside in the garden with Pippin. Since Pippin had returned from Bree at the end of the summer, they had both taken a fancy to Paladin’s charming son and often were seen unabashedly trying to outdo each other to gain his favors. Normally their attention was entertaining, but on this night, it seemed stale and empty. Pippin could not take his mind off of Faramir being in Hobbiton, spending this evening with Frodo and Bilbo. Of course Pippin thought, he need not really fear anything from Frodo - pale Frodo with his melodic and gentle voice. Faramir did not need a kind smile - he needed to laugh from his belly.
On either side of Pippin, Fredegar Bolger and Sancho Proudfoot laughed and rambled on about pipe-weed and food and other hobbity things. Right now they were laughing outrageously about Sancho’s brother, who had lost his job managing one of the richest fields of pipe-weed in Longbottom. And all because he had asked to kiss the field owner’s daughter one day and she had rejected him.
“Oh, he can work for one of the Big Folk in Bree easily,” Sancho was saying. “And if he can shoot an arrow, all the better for him. He’ll have fine use in Bree then.”
“Why?” Pippin asked.
“The coming battle, foolish Took. It’s going to start any day.”
“There isn’t going to be a battle,” Pippin said. He didn’t want to hear about it. He wanted nothing to distract him from his goal of hankering to get near Faramir, even if it meant arranging a long visit with Frodo in Bree once he and Bilbo settled there. A battle might prevent that and it would make Faramir busier and more distracted than ever - and of course that was the last thing Pippin wanted. “It’s all just talk. One of the Bounders told Father just last week that the Northern Rangers would come to an agreement with the Steward about Eriador. And anyway, the Gondorians are too scared of us to invade.”
“No battle?” cried both Sancho and Fatty at the same time.
“Of course there will be,” Fatty said with a chuckle. “The Gondorians may be scared of us, but after the way Captain Halbarad ambushed that troop of Gondorian Rangers out in Hollin, they’ll have to fight or look like cowards before their Steward. Why, Eriador-“
“If either of you keeps up talk about this battle, I will go inside and shut the door.”
Pippin meant what he said, for all he said it with his charming smile, because he could never endure a conversation for too long that did not involve himself or his immediate world. The gentlehobbits were enchanted and they apologized.
“Ah, but we do know a stunning piece of gossip,” Sancho said. “When we passed through Hobbiton, we heard it right from someone who would really know.”
“What?” Pippin cried, eager and excited at the prospect of new gossip.
“Is it what we heard yesterday from Samwise Gamgee?” Fatty asked. “If it is, you know you promised not to tell…”
“And Samwise heard it from Mr. Bilbo Baggins himself, mad Baggins who is moving to Bree with his sweet cousin Frodo. Of course it was a terrible thing that happened to them, but to sell Bag End to the Sackville-Bagginses and then move to Bree?” Sancho shook his head.
“What is it?” Pippin asked, unable to contain himself. “What have you heard?”
Sancho’s voice dropped. “You know, it’s about that Captain Faramir, the one who hails from Gondor.” At the mention of Faramir, Pippin startled and grew still.
Sancho leaned in. “I’ve just heard it from Bilbo Baggins that Frodo and Faramir have pledged themselves to each other.”
Go to the next part