Fool's Comfort

by Emma Keigh

Rating: NC-17

Characters: Gandalf, Pippin

Pairings: Gandalf/Pippin

Summary: Gandalf and Pippin, the night before the battle of Pellenor Fields.

Category: PWP

Status: new, complete

Date: 10 February 2004

Archiving: The Library of Moria, and where posted; elsewhere please ask first

Series: Refers briefly to events in "Second Breakfast"


Disclaimer: The characters and melieux from The Lord of the Rings are the property of the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien and New Line Cinema (AOL). I only play with them from time to time for my own amusement and without compensation. No harm; no foul; no profit. Anything or anyone new, however, is mine (left-overs again!).

Warning: This story contains explicit scenes of sex between consenting adult (or near adult) males of various species. If you are under age or don't care for this, LEAVE NOW. Beta-read by Nikki Memmott. Thanks, merci beaucoup, tapadh leibh, gracias, danke, grazie, spazebo, arigato, brigado.

Feedback will be cherished.

Author's note:

  1. Although Hobbits don't officially "come of age" until they are 33, and Pippin is just 28, I think the "'tween" years (20-33) are the equivalent of a human between 18 and 21.
  2. It's canon that although the Istari (wizards) appeared as old men, they were hale of body -- under the robes, Gandalf's a hunk.
  3. Yes, Hobbits are much smaller than men, but after all -- look at the size of their feet!
  4. "Second Breakfast" can be read at

Minas Tirith

"There never was much hope, was there?"

"Just a fool's hope." Gandalf gazed at the small, trusting face Pippin turned up to him and smiled. He knew he'd hurt the young Hobbit's feelings by calling him a fool in Moria and again after he unwisely looked into the Palantír. Though he'd long since learned not to think of Hobbits as

children because of their diminutive stature, he sometimes forgot that Pippin was a child -- or at least still a 'tween -- among his own folk.

Pippin returned the wizard's smile, and some of the cares seemed to vanish from his face. He turned back and they both looked out over the Pelennor Fields.

It was inevitable, Gandalf thought, or perhaps part of Eru's great plan, that there would be a monumental battle before the walls of Minas Tirith. And Pippin was right --- being on the edge of a battle you can't do anything about is worse than having to fight. Now, the little Halfling who had never seen more fighting than a schoolyard fistfight before beginning this journey would be witness to --and perhaps participate in -- the greatest battle of the age.

Prescience could be burden, Gandalf thought, as he moved to stand behind Pippin. He rested a hand on the livery-clad shoulder, seeking to ease more of the young Hobbit's worries. To his surprise, Pippin leaned into the touch, resting his smooth cheek on the gnarled back of the wizard's hand.

"I'm glad there's at least one person I know here with me," he said.

"And I'm glad you're here with me, my dear Pippin," Gandalf replied. "For all your faults, I feel you will play an important role in what is to come." He squeezed Pippin's shoulder gently and sucked on his pipe. "Oh," he muttered. "It's gone out."

"Merry always says that means it's time for bed," Pippin chirped.

Still holding his cold pipe, Gandalf lowered his hand to rest on Pippin's other shoulder. "Merry's probably right about that," he said, and drew the Hobbit away from the parapet, back into the room they shared. There was a single, man-sized bed in the room, but footmen had brought a smaller cot for Pippin, and the chambermaid had made it up with linens and warm blankets, along with a plump pillow.

Quietly the Hobbit removed his black and silver clothes, carefully folding them over the seat of the chair. He dug in his pack and pulled out a nightshirt, carried from Rivendell and unworn on the journey. "I haven't worn this since we were in Lothlórien," Pippin explained as he pulled it over his head. "I don't think I've slept in a real bed since we were at Lord Elrond's house.

Gandalf sat on the edge of his own bed to remove his boots. "It has been a hard and perilous journey, hasn't it?" he commented. He removed the remainder of his white garb and slipped a borrowed nightshirt over his head, drawing his hair carefully out from the neckline, letting it fall down his back again.

Pippin sat on his bed, hugging his knees to his chest, and looked at the wizard pensively for a moment. "Yes," he answered, "it has. But I think it's important that we came."

"Yes, I think so, too, Pippin." Gandalf poked at the fire in the hearth so it would keep them warm all night, then pinched out the candles that lit the room. The darkness that had spread from Mordor blocked any light from the stars or the moon, and only the glow from the fire pierced the darkness.

The wizard took to his bed, appreciative of the clean linens and warm bedclothes. For the first time in days --- weeks even -- he felt he could relax a little. Everything was in motion, and there was nothing to be done, at least for the moment. Before sleep could reach him, though, Gandalf

heard a muffled snuffling coming from Pippin's cot. He must be terrified about what's to come, the wizard realized, but he didn't want to embarrass the plucky Hobbit any further then he had already with his ill-thought outbursts.

"Pippin?" he said quietly. The sniffing stopped suddenly.


"Pippin," Gandalf repeated. "Would you do a friend a favor?"

The sound of bare feet hitting the floor was followed by the slap of Hobbity footsteps.

"What can I do for you?" the tiny voice said in the darkness.

Gandalf could sense that the young Hobbit stood at his bedside, and lifted the coverlet invitingly. "Help comfort an old man, will you?"

Without answering, Pippin climbed into the big bed and snuggled his small body alongside the wizard's, his head on Gandalf's shoulder. A little hand strayed to rest at the center of a broad chest, and the Hobbit sighed deeply. "Oh, Gandalf," he said. "This is nice."

The wizard could have sworn that the Hobbit actually hummed as the blankets were tucked around the two of them. He snaked his arm around the warm form of the Halfling, surprised how well they fit together. Pippin's shoulder slipped just under his arm, and without thinking, the wizard pressed a kiss to the tousled curls.

"Gandalf?" Pippin's voice was hesitant. "Did you just kiss me?"

"I hope you'll pardon my liberty, dear Pip." The Hobbit's hair smelled of pipeweed, with a hint of the lavender-scented soap that was on the room's washstand. "It has been a long time since I held anyone in my arms like this." The wizard felt a familiar stirring in his groin, and took a deep

breath trying to banish the carnal thoughts that flooded his mind.

"You should have told us you were lonely," Pippin went on, shifting his body against the wizard's. "Merry or I would have spent a night or two with you."

The feel of a growing erection against his hip was unmistakable. Pippin wriggled his hips again, leaving absolutely no doubt in the wizard's mind, or in his body. "That would have hardly been discreet," Gandalf reminded the young Hobbit. His voice was thick already, and he sent a quick, silent prayer to the Valar that the Halfling was not teasing him.

"To blazes with discretion," Pippin swore uncharacteristically. "Some things are more important than appearances." He pushed himself up on his elbow, stretching his neck to bring his lips close to the wizard's.

Gandalf needed no more encouragement. He captured Pippin's ready mouth with his own, the Hobbit's enthusiasm an aphrodisiac in itself. It had indeed been a long period of celibacy for the wizard, and once loosed, the passions surged though him. Pippin opened his mouth at the first touch of Gandalf's tongue, and the wizard tasted the sweetness of the young Halfling, pulling

the small body atop his own. The thin nightshirts were soon too much of an impediment, and Gandalf chuckled when Pippin delicately dug through his beard to unfasten the buttons that reached from his throat to halfway down his chest. In another instant the Hobbit had pulled the shirt over the wizard's head, then shrugged out of his own garment.

"I wish the candles were still lit," Pippin said, running his hands across the wizard's shoulders and chest. "So's I could see you."

Gandalf reached his right arm toward the candlestick and made a sign with his fingers. He muttered a word under his breath and the candle flickered to life. "There are advantages to being a wizard," he explained as he returned his arm to embrace Pippin.

The candlelight showed the Hobbit's wide-eyed wonder at Gandalf's magic. Small Hobbit fingers traced lazy circles on the wizard's chest. "You don't look old at all," Pippin remarked before dipping his head to lick and nibble first at one dark nipple then the other. He slid lower and lower on the wizard's body, caressing with both his hands and mouth.

Suddenly he raised his head and looked directly into Gandalf's eyes. "You don't have a belly button," he said. He trailed his fingers over the undimpled abdomen, inadvertently tickling the sensitive flesh.

The wizard looked surprised at the revelation. "No, I don't," he confirmed. "We wizards were not birthed as you were, Pippin. We were created by the Valar."

"You didn't have a mother?" the youngster asked incredulously.

Gandalf shook his white-haired head slowly. "No," he said simply. The look of sadness on Pippin's face almost brought tears to the wizard's eyes. "I guess there are disadvantages to being a wizard as well." He lifted the Hobbit so he could kiss him again, then laid him gently on the soft bed. Gandalf bent over Pippin, tenderly kissing him, then lavished more kisses on his face and neck. His large, gnarled hands swept over the creamy smooth skin, finding Pippin's arousal hard and weeping. He stroked the column of flesh gently at first, then encircled it in his fist and pumped


Pippin squirmed beneath the wizard's touch, grasping at the strong back as Gandalf nipped and kissed and suckled at his neck and shoulders, the long white hair trailing across his face. The Hobbit gasped, his hips bucked uncontrollably, thrusting strongly into the wizard's hand. The small body stiffened before the spasms of his climax overwhelmed him. As Pippin relaxed, and his breathing returned to normal, he sighed the wizard's name.

Gandalf smiled to hear his name on Pippin's lips. He'd half expected the Hobbit to call out Merry's name, as close as the cousins were. He kissed Pip once more, then gathered the limp form in his arms. "Rest now, little one," he whispered as Pippin snuggled against his chest.

"What about you?" the small voice asked sleepily.

"Ah, dear Pip." Gandalf kissed the curls atop the Hobbit's head. "Later will be just fine for me."

"Merry likes it better in the morning, too," Pippin muttered before dropping off to sleep.

So they are lovers, the wizard thought, his suspicions confirmed. Once more he tucked the bedclothes around them, and settled back to rest. Pippin's warm breath on his chest and the now pervasive scent of sex in the room kept him aroused though, and he found sleep an unattainable goal.

Gently he stroked Pippin's cheek. "Dear Pip," he whispered. He felt the flutter of eyelashes and continued. "I'm sorry to wake you, he said, tilting the Hobbit's chin so he could apologize with a kiss. "I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to..."

The wizard couldn't complete his request as Pippin reclaimed his mouth for a passionate kiss, and a small hand reached for his turgid sex. Since the Hobbit couldn't quite reach to the wizard's groin while they kissed, he drew away and moved toward the foot of the bed. At the back of his mind the

wizard wondered if the young Hobbit had an inkling of what to do, but when he felt Pippin's mouth surround his member, he knew he should not have worried.

While the much smaller Hobbit could not take the entire length of the wizard's erection into his mouth without choking, his hands were busy at the base of the shaft, teasing and caressing, then fondling the soft-skinned sac with its heavy orbs. Save for the lack of an umbilicus, and his white hair and aged features, the wizard's body was that of a well-endowed man in his prime.

Releasing the wizard's erection to catch his breath, Pippin commented, "You're even bigger than Boromir."

Gandalf laughed aloud, too aroused to wonder under what circumstances Pippin had been so intimate with Boromir, then sighed deeply, encouraging Pippin's continuing oral assault. Pippin's tongue made long, soft sweeps from base to crown of the wizard's organ while his nimble fingers explored further.

The first touch at his entrance startled the wizard, then he bent one knee to give the Hobbit better access to the sensitive area. The tiny fingers were slick enough with saliva that there was no discomfort as Pippin slid one finger into the tight pucker.

The wizard's sighs turned to moans of pleasure as the Hobbit slid the questing digit in and out, and nearly shouted when a second finger joined the first.

"I thought you'd like that," Pippin declared, scissoring his fingers to stretch the opening, bringing more wordless sounds of pleasure from the wizard. He stroked Gandalf's erection once more with his free hand, collecting the leaking fluid on his fingers. He coated his own organ with the slippery fluid and shifted position, poised to replace his fingers with his sex.

The wizard found his voice as the tip of Pippin's erection touched his entrance. "Oh, yes," he said, barely coherent. "Now," he begged. "Please, now."

His plea ended in a shout as Pippin pushed the full length of his organ into the tight channel. Holding onto the wizard's hips he thrust and pulled back in a rhythm that drove all conscious thought from Gandalf's mind. The entirety of his awareness was centered on the wave after wave of pleasure that rushed through him as the Hobbit pumped in and out. With a wild cry and one more hard thrust, Pippin poured his essence into the wizard's body just as the wizard himself released his seed in a powerful climax.

They slept the remainder of the night wrapped in each other's arms, the Hobbit's head tucked under the wizard's chin, the white beard mingling with the brown curls.

The End

© 2004 Emma Keigh

2,229 words