A/N:Contains additional input from a friend. Please, Enjoy and R&R.

The fifth door

Peregrin Took was caught sitting on throne of the Steward by the Lord Denethor himself. Instead of being met with outrage, Pip heard hearty laughter bellow from the Lord as he entered the hall, for the sight of so small a being in the throne reminded him of the many times he'd found his sons seated there when they were children.

He knelt before the Halfling and buried his head in the velvet of Pip's tunic. The Steward's face was gigantic in front of Pippin's own, frightening him. But before long the anger behind his eyes banished and his face became streamed with tears.

"For a man of my standing, you may think me well and in good company. But I assure you I am a very lonely man." He was so close that Pippin could feel his searing breath on his face, neck, and chest.

Lord Denenthor took hold of one of Pippin's minute hands, then the other and gripped them tightly before placing them to his lips; smothering them in lithe kisses. Pippin watched in fascination, wondering all the time why seeing the Lord touch his mouth to his flesh made his breath catch in his throat.

The Steward's mouth was so awfully large, warm and unfamiliar. He had never experienced anything like it. He'd never known kisses other than pecks from the friendly lips of his kin.

As the kisses spread to his wrists, Pip's heart began to pound even harder in his darling, virgin chest. No, it was wrong. Something was wrong. Quickly, he withdrew his hands from the Steward's.

"There is no company now that I desire more than your own," whispered the Steward as he met the Hobbit's frightened, confused eyes.

The look from the Lord was one that Pippin had never received, but it made his blood race.

"Come," ordered Denethor quietly. He stood to his feet, taking Pippin's hand in his own.

The Hobbit could think of nothing to say or do. At a loss for words, he looked to the looming man and ceiling above him, tears in his eyes.

"Do you wish to anger me?" asked the Steward.

The Hobbit answered with a firm shake of his head, No.

He felt Denethor tug his hand again and his body finally complied to follow. They headed toward a pair of ebony doors with white handles and gold inlay. Pippin's heart was heavy as the doors opened, for the breeze they stirred blew forbiddingly. What could be wanted of him? Without warning, he was lifted and set on one of the Steward's hips. Before them was a long, open hall.

When they passed the fourth door he felt the Steward reach for some keys and watched as he unlocked the fifth lock, but he was not placed on the floor. Instead, he was carried to a four-poster bed and laid upon cool, linen sheets. He watched Denethor walk away and lock the door behind them and his thoughts froze with fear. The Steward's expression was placid and soft. "You will need to be courageous for me, young Peregrin. What is about to happen will test your strength."

"I have the courage, sire. I have seen battle," Pippin answered ignorantly.

"And your heroic deeds have not gone unnoticed, my young soldier. But I think you are not yet wizened in the ways of the world. If you would but now permit me to lend a hand in making you aware."

"W-what are you going to do?" The Hobbit asked, seeing the ever-growing darkness in Lord Denethor's gaze, making his skin prickle with invisible pins.

"I will lay with you, as a man lays with his wife."

"...I think you're mistaken. You see, I'm not a woman." Pippin really thought that would end it which made the Steward laugh and smile genuinely. How little the poor Halfling knew.

"Yes, I had noticed that. But the thing can be done."

"But-but that can't be!"

"It can be done and has been done long before the rise of man."

Pippin's brow broke out in beads of perspiration. Run. Run is all that rang in his head. The man must be truly mad.

The Steward came closer and sat on the bed. "What one does not know, one must be taught."

"Hush," Lord Denethor said comfortingly as he looked upon the naked body of his prize, who was shyly seated amongst some pillows at the headboard of the bed with his legs drawn up to his chest.

"Be content, little love. With my tutelage, you will make a fine husband for a lass. Do not debate with yourself."

"A fine husband?" Pippin was sinlessly intrigued.

"Yes," The Steward allowed himself a clandestine grin, "You'll be able to love her well. If you let me show you the ways."

"I don't know... No... No, I don't think so," said the cautious Hobbit, his hand absently reaching for a pillow to cover himself.

Denethor did not like that answer. He shed his coat and swathed the young Halfling in it. This brought a wave of relief over Pippin, who thought that he may be excused. Sadly, he was mistaken.

Without a sound, his master laid upon him a crushing kiss, sending searing pain through his lips and he felt his arms being pinned to his sides. Denethor then told him " You could have had this lesson in a less compulsory manner. As it is now, I must thrust it into you."

"Wait! I DIDN'T KNOW!"

"It's too late."

"NO, Please, sire! I will do what you please."

Denethor released his hold on the Halfling, softly caressing the strands of hair from his worried face.

Peregrin Took lay in a mound of wrinkled sheets, looking to his side out a window.

He had tried to think of anything other than the man's exploring hand touching his body. Just as he had attempted to push away the memory of the look behind the Lord's eyes when he'd accidentally caught sight of him pressing his lips against his body.

The Steward had not yet applied force, as such, least ways not psychically.

He was sure he could feel Gandalf's eyes watching him from the balcony. Pippin bit his lip and brought his sheet closer to his face. The movement of his legs awakening pain.

Without meaning to, he murmured in his state of faint hunger and half sleep: "Please, Denethor, tell me of the city."

Denenthor, who was beside the halfing, fully clothed, looked toward the same direction in which Peregrin's gaze was fixed.

"There is nothing you would wish to hear so early in the morning. Minas Tirith's history is long and steeped in much woe." Denethor's voice was soft, despite a strange edge to his words. He played absently with a stay curl from Pippin's head.

"Tell me of the happiness you have known, then."

"Master Took, what happiness I have know has been robbed of me before I had chance to truly enjoy it. M-my son, Boromir, was my main reason for living. The pain of his memory is still too fresh."

"I'm so sorry, forgive me... I-I didn't think." Pippin turned on his stomach to face Denenthor, whose face was morose and eyes welled with tears. "I didn't mean to..." He touched the fabric along the edge of the Steward's gown, hating himself for always making things worse.

He crawled to Denethor and placed his body beside the lumbering man. Getting as close as he possibly could, he placed a hand through the long hair draping over the Steward's shoulder, stroking it. "I'm a fool as I've been told. And I well know it, but I cannot take silence. I cannot keep it even when it is asked of me."

"Even in silence comfort can be found, Master Took." With reddened eyes, Denethor looked then to Pippin's hand among the thick sheets, and pressed it into his own. Days of corruption had taken a toil on Pippin. His master had asked so much of him.