Or, "The Late Bus, Too-Much-Sugar, Connexions Slash Con, Elliptical Lord of the Rings Orgy Crackfic"

by Victoria Bitter, Llwyden ferch Gyfrinach, Wolfling, and Mad Poetess, with guest appearance by Kath (who we did manage to pimp after all. Nyah!)

It was a dark and stormy night in Eregion. Not that it mattered, since the Fellowship was deep inside Moria. Within the caves, it was still a dark night, but only tempers were stormy.

"They'll get hairier," Merry consoled Pippin, "and it's not always true anyway. We've seen his feet, and he can't be that small."

"Then why is Aragorn shagging Boromir on the side?" Pippin asked stubbornly.

"It's really none of our business," Frodo broke in. "To each their own."

"You can talk; Sam's foot-hair's long enough to braid!"

Frodo turned red. Sam turned redder and sat down, feet tucked underneath his cloak.

"Poor Legolas," Merry commiserated. "No wonder he's eyeing the Dwarf."

The sudden chattering halt to the hobbit portion of the company caused Gandalf to turn back, a disapproving frown on his weathered features.

Pippin piped up, "We were just discussing —"

"Meaningless halfling gossip," Legolas interrupted as Merry slammed a hand over Pippin's mouth.

Merry's reproachful scowl turned into a yelp of pain as sharp teeth sunk into his fingers.

"Gandalf, you know about the Elves..." Pippin began.

In the dim light of his staff, Gandalf saw the Elf's eyes glint with a far more dangerous light that threatened to wilt his pointy hat. "Not that much," Legolas insisted. Gandalf wisely remained silent.

"But, all we want to know is —"

Having learned their lesson about hands, three hobbits moved as a panicked whole, and Pippin abruptly found himself pinned securely to the cave floor, his head (and, more importantly, his mouth) buried beneath a mountain of cloaks, packs, body parts, and desperate self-preservation.

Sam's face tilted up from the top of the heap, round, guileless features tainted with guilty panic. "I'm sorry, Mr Gandalf, I don't — we don't — we didn't — want to — anything!"

With a practical frown at the thrashing nether regions of the pile and the ominous squeals and groans therein, Gimli enquired, "Can he breathe?"

"Oh, yes," Merry assured him. "He can hold his breath an amazingly long time."

"Then by all means, keep him there," Legolas said.

Merry let out an undignified squeak, yelping in falsetto at Sam and Frodo above him. "Get off, get off!" His own struggles to subdue his cousin halted as he froze, eyes wide in terror.

Frodo and Sam exchanged a knowing look before scrambling quickly off the other two. As the concealing layers of cloaks and hobbits were removed, the remaining participants were revealed in a rather compromising position, Pippin's hand plunged dangerously down the front of Merry's trousers. Frodo shrugged at Gandalf, embarrassed. "He gets like that."

"We had noticed." Boromir and Aragorn blinked at each other as they answered in unison.

Legolas glared at both of them, but Aragorn wasn't paying attention, instead staring at Boromir. "You mean he —"

Frodo sighed. "He's been like this for years. We dread the day he comes of age."

Boromir paled, but for the first time since this debacle had begun, a bright smile lit the Elf's fair features. "The son of the Steward of Gondor was seduced by a halfling ... child?"

"I am not a child!" Pippin insisted, abandoning Merry's trousers as he leapt up indignantly, his own trousers dropped a moment later, hands proudly on his hips, displaying his argument.

Gimli's gravelly voice broke the stunned silence that followed. "He appears to be rather precocious."

Boromir shifted his weight at the sight, and the gleam in Legolas' eyes changed subtly. "Indeed."

"See?" Merry told Pippin. "It has nothing to do with how hairy your feet are!"

"That's what you were discussing?" Legolas asked, disbelieving. "You assume that simply because my feet are not ...enfurred ... that I —" a distinctly princely sniff preceded the sound of a buckle opening as Legolas yanked his own trousers down to his knees.

Gimli's eyebrows vanished under his helmet. "Apparently, being precocious has little to do with age."

Aragorn shifted his weight, as did Sam. Frodo gasped in distress and quickly dropped his own trousers, as if in defence. Never one to leave his dear master exposed alone, Sam undid his own, an apologetic look on his face.

"Well," Pippin mused, "apparently feet do have something to do with it."

"Not always!" Merry reminded him, and another set of trousers hit the stone floor.

Pippin gazed speculatively over at Gimli, notably eyeing the luxurious swell of his ... beard. "What about other sorts of hair?"

"In the mines of Moria, no-one tops a Dwarf," Gimli pronounced proudly, his own lower garments hitting the floor with a pronounced and sonorous clang.

Legolas watched the proceedings in growing astonishment. He would have likened it to the domino effect, but for the damnable fact that dominoes had not yet been invented, and he was left groping ... for a metaphor.

All eyes shifted towards the Men, but Boromir's hands were already at his belt. "No-one has ever called the Steward's son wanting," he declared as he let it go.

Aragorn lifted his head proudly. "I am the rightful king of Gondor." He followed Boromir's example.

Slowly, eight pairs of eyes tracked through the dim light toward the grand figure of the Istari. Pippin's voice piped up curiously, "I don't think anyone has ever seen his feet..."

Gandalf did not move, but a gust of wind parted his robes decorously, revealing his feet and his mighty staff as he intoned, "Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards."

A tiny "oh, my" echoed through the caverns, but as it was the thought on all eight minds, no-one was sure who had given it voice.
Pippin and Legolas made abortive moves towards Gandalf. With a scowl, Merry grabbed Pippin by the collar, thereby both preventing him from continuing forward, and removing the rest of his clothing. Aragorn stopped Legolas by the simple expedient of stepping in front of him and allowing inertia to take matters into its own carnal hands.

Frodo, the gleam of ten years' opportunistic fantasy in his deceptively innocent blue eyes, attempted to move nonchalantly in the direction of his cousins' twitching arses. Sam, even more observant than usual of his master's desires, faithfully took the initiative ... and Frodo.

Frodo, however, with the steadfast determination of a true Ringbearer, continued in his quest. As attached as he was to his master, Sam could do nothing but follow.

Boromir, intentionally ignoring his precocious former lover and the rest of the seething mass of hobbithood, strode nobly over and inserted himself into Aragorn and Legolas' ... wordless conversation.

While the others were industriously occupied in their noble pursuits (and pursuits of the nobles), Gimli delved directly into the core of the matter, and jumped Gandalf's mighty staff.

There was a clunk, a thunk, and complete silence as the remainder of Gimli's clothes hit the floor, Gandalf hit the floor, and everybody else paused to stare momentarily. They looked at each other and there was a brief reassessing of logistics as the Fellowship changed tactics, dropped what and whom they were doing, and, as one, jumped Gandalf.

The light went out.

"Ow!"

"I didn't do it!"

"Get your elbow out of my ear."

"That's not my elbow..."

"I didn't mean you."

"Sorry..."

"You, either, Horn of Gondor boy."

"At least he knows how to blow things."

"Oh."

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..."

"Don't stick that out unless you're going to use it."

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..."

"Are you sure that will fit?"

"Ask Bilbo."

"And the Dwarves."

"And the Elves."

"And —"

"I don't want to know."

"It will."

"I didn't want to know."

"It does."

"I really didn't want to know."

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..."

"Watch the beard, I don't need whisker burns there!"

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..."

"Hobbits really are resilient creatures."

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..."

"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm..."

"Aaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..."

[other assorted noises]

[brief silence]

"It really does come in pints!"

Several minutes later, Pippin extricated himself from the pile, disentangling himself from Boromir's arm, Legolas' leg, Gimli's beard, Gandalf's hat, and ... well, he really wasn't sure what that was. Idly, he roamed around the heap of sated and somnolent bodies, assessing the relative podiac qualities of the Fellowship. Suddenly, he frowned.

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine..." he looked down at his own feet. "ten?"

He blinked, counted on his fingers, and started again. "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine ... ten. And those are the hairiest!"

The feet attached to ankles. The ankles attached to legs. The legs attached to ... Pippin fainted.



"My Preciousssssssssss..."

The authors wish to point out that the above work of fiction is entirely the fault of Zortified, as is everything else in their fannish worlds. Feel free to blame her for it all. Thank you.

Pages created and maintained
by Lorelei

Last modified 30 December 2007