A/N: This is a story that probably took too long to write, but is, at long last, written…(completely, though some of the latter parts are still being edited). As the old saying goes, it is a tale that grew in the telling, so, this one-shot is now a short multi-chapter fic.
Also, thanks LadyLindariel for giving me this idea, and allowing me to write a story based on it; this fic would not exist without her.
000
Two weeks in Gondor, and neither hobbit had seen their much of their old companions. Strider had been busy with taking care of the kingdom. Elf and dwarf, by all reports, however, were due to arrive any day from the Southern lands, and Merry was most frantic waiting for them to come. Pippin…wasn't himself. Ever since Crystal had past, he hadn't been. But, despite that he had urged Pippen to come, the former Thain of the Shire had refused any attempts to recuperate.
Peregrin Took wasn't supposed to be so glum, not for long, anyways. Yet, there he was, sitting glumly by the fire in the guest house that had long been used by the remaining members of the Fellowship of the Ring. It wasn't right, and it shouldn't have been, but Pippin had been morose all the way from the Shire too, even when they visited Theoden in Rohan one last time. So as soon as they arrived, he had sent a letter by falcon to his long departed friends, begging them to come to Minas Tirith with all haste.
Perhaps it's the elf, he thought, tapping the armrest of the sofa, he doesn't understand that haste shouldn't take weeks—
Someone slammed opened the door. Only three people would do that, and one of them was in a conference with a man in a very purple vestment.
As quick as aching limbs and old age would allow, Merry stood, scurrying to the door where elf and dwarf stood, dripping wet with rain water.
"Thank heavens, you're here!" he said, exchanging pleasantries quickly. Then he turned to his cousin. "Hey, Pip?"
Despite his words, his cousin did not hear him. Pippin continued to read, engrossed by the tome on his lap, hairy feet on the footstool in front of the roaring fire.
"Pippin!" Merry shouted, smiling a little as his aged cousin glanced up from his book, then blinked and removed his reading lenses, finally noticing that their guests had arrived.
"I was starting to believe that neither you nor Gimli would come before we kicked the bucket," he said, standing up so quick that both the book on his lap and the china on the table toppled onto the floor.
In his charge towards his friends, Pippin did not show one morsel of the age which had laced into his bones in recent years. Before either could reply, he embraced the elf then the dwarf, grinning from ear to ear.
"You haven't changed a bit!" Pippin proclaimed.
Merry shook his head in amusement.
"Nay, lad, he has a few grey hairs amongst those golden locks nowadays," said Gimli, taking Pippin's hand and giving it a firm shake. "I plucked one out at his request."
"As certain as your widened girth," Legolas replied, frowning at the dwarf's taunt. "Do not check, Master Took."
"I am not so naive nor so young that I would even think that elves go grey…," he stopped when he noted the slight curve of Legolas' lips. Pippin rolled his eyes. "Why are you—no, why are we—so wet?"
"If you were less interested in that old logbook, which, if I recall, you were supposed to leave for your sons to deal with." Pippin sniffed at Merry's words. It still amused a part of him that his once-irresponsible cousin now took work so responsibly; even when they were supposed to be retired and relaxing in Gondor. Merry shook his head. "You might have noticed it is raining like the heavens wish to flood all of Minas Tirith."
"A little rain never hurt anyone."
"Pip," Merry grabbed his cousin's sleeve, pointing outside, "look."
Pippin finally did, then shook his head. "Ah."
"Speaking of which," said Legolas, glancing out the open window as the rain continued to pour into the great room. A puddle had begun to form beneath the vases on the shelf underneath the window; the flowers inside each vase starting to droop. Legolas continued to speak, staring at the poor plants in pity, "neither of us have had a bite to eat nor a chance to rid ourselves of our wet garments before Aragorn ushered us out of the palace, urging us on to see our friends, two hobbits he described as subdued and downcast in spirit."
He said that last bit as if it was the most outrageous thing he had ever heard. "'Sulking hobbits'," Legolas added.
"You didn't get my letter?"
"A letter?" the elf asked, shaking his head, "I'm afraid not."
"Aye, though Aragorn told us it was chiefly Pippin," the dwarf said, causing the hobbit in question to meet his concerned gaze, "what is it that ails you, lad?"
"Nothing now," he answered, placing a hand on the dwarf's shoulder, "I only missed my old friends. Is it my fault that you never bother to visit the shire anymore?"
The dwarf sighed. "Forgive us, we've been occupied as of late. Aragorn oft required our aid in the south these last several years."
Legolas arched an eyebrow at Merry as Gimli told his cousin a little about their ongoing struggles to forge better trade agreements with some of the Southern tribes, indicating that he had caught his cousin's fib. The elf always caught them, even now, despite that Pippin had become so much better at lying. Having children and becoming leaders often changed people, even honest hobbits like Pip.
"Well, that is a fine excuse, I suppose," said Pippin, "but lost time can be made up with good food and tales of your exploits, methinks."
Both elf and dwarf smiled, distracted for the moment. Pippin picked up the bell and summoned the servant, ordering plates of sweetmeats, pastries, and cheeses as well as wine and mead be brought to their setting room inside the guesthouse always used by the former members of the Fellowship of the Ring whenever they came to the White City. The elf and dwarf hung up their still-wet cloaks to dry, and took off their boots, placing them on the warmed bricks in front of the fireplace. Each took a seat. The dwarf sat in one of the overstuffed chairs, the elf on the sofa, feet on the far armrest.
"Are you going to move those?" Merry asked.
The smile he sent him was rather sly. "There are other places to sit."
None of which had cushions. Old hobbits deserved cushioned seats. Stubborn, old elves who'd just got back from the southern parts might not care to listen to that argument, however. He would just have to try a different tactic.
"They're on the other side of the room."
"And movable."
"Unless you or Gimli wish to pick one up and bring it hither," he said. "I'm not that fit, those things are rather heavy."
They all knew that wasn't true, or rather, that he would have no problem lifting a five pound chair. The elf cocked an eyebrow, but also moved his legs back enough so that Merry could set on the edge of the cushion. Typical Legolas, Frodo made him out to be far less flippant and facetious in the Red Book, but he also hadn't known the elf as well as they did. Although, Frodo had a tendency towards romanticism, especially when it came to elves.
"You're a royal pain in the ass, sometimes, you know," said Merry, trying to get comfortable. At least Legolas had let him sit by the fire. Wait a moment…that meant the elf wouldn't have to tend it, either.
"Former prince," Gimli chimed in, "elves are odd about particulars."
"That is only a Noldorin custom," he remarked, sitting up straighter and finally pulling his feet completely off of Merry's cushion. "Neither Silvan nor Sindar follow those rules in Ithilien or Eryn Lasgalan."
"See, hobbits, particulars." But then, the dwarf grinned, wildly, causing the elf to frown.
"Which reminds me of a story," the dwarf said. Pippin piped up, somethings do not change with time or age. "Wasn't that why that part of the reason that blue wizard—"
"Gimli."
"—turned you into a pup?"
"Legolas was a pup," Merry deadpanned.
The elf hung his head in shame, face hidden by his long hands. Pippin's eyes widened. "This…you're saying he's not telling us some farfetched fib?"
"Unfortunately, no," came the unexpected reply. Merry beamed at Pippin who flashed a similar grin back in reply. The elf sighed, proud shoulders falling a smidgen. "Need we bring such dark tales into the light of day, friend Gimli?"
"Ye only hate it because you were short."
Another sigh echoed the first.
"How short?" Pippin asked, leaning forward with his head in his hands. Merry's stomach growled. Those foodstuffs were taking an awfully long time to arrive.
"Teapot-sized," answered the dwarf. The hobbits laughed. "As I recall, the wizard said—"
Legolas raised a hand, stopping the dwarf mid-sentence. "Let us begin at the beginning, or close enough, as we still do not know how or why we came to wake up in such a sorry state in the middle of the desert."
Hobbits and dwarf all watched the elven prince, waiting for him to continue.
"Only that by some ill fate," said Legolas, "we had become dogs."