piplover | A small ficlet

Since my beta is currently occupied with the Ents, I thought I would post this one un-beta'ed. I hope you enjoy.

Gentle Hands

The first thing he became aware of was the feel of gentle hands running through his hair, brushing tenderly the stray locks that had always seemed to have a life of their own away from his forehead. A stray breeze wafted through the tent, teasing his lips like a kiss, and cooling the sweat from his fevered body.

“Now, young hobbit,” a gruff voice whispered softly by his ear, bristly whiskers tickling his nose. “You are nearly presentable again. Truly, though, this short hair of yours is most unmanageable. Why, if you had a beard, I could braid it so masterfully that not even your own cousins would be able to see anything amiss. But,” Gimli sighed, calloused fingers moving to touch Pippin’s beardless cheek gently, “young hobbits do not have facial hair, and, indeed, you would look rather silly with a beard. So I will settle for taking care of your hair, and we shall see if we cannot get some of these tangles out, shall we?”

The hands, roughened and calloused by years of battle and working the forge, gently wound their way through the hobbit’s thick curls, patiently undoing snarls and dampening locks to make them more manageable.

“Now,” Gimli murmured, touching Pippin’s hair once more. “Let us see what kind of a state your feet are in, shall we?”

The sound of a body moving, a chair sliding across thick rug, and then fingers tenderly moving the blankets aside from his feet, taking special care of the broken foot.

“Ah, yes,” Gimli sighed. “This is quite a state, Master Peregrin, and will never do. Let me just get that foot comb of your cousin’s and we shall set you to rights.”

More movement, and then several moments later one of his feet was lifted tenderly and then set down again on a pillow, allowing better access, Pippin guessed. For a moment he cringed at the thought of the dwarf’s rough hands handling his still very sensitive feet, especially his broken one, but as the comb was gently run through his foot hair, he realized that he had nothing to fear.

Gimli worked slowly, patiently, with the attention a jeweler gave to his trade. His hands were delicate and steady, working the teeth of the comb through hair matted and tangled with a gentleness few would have suspected the gruff dwarf possessed.

“Now, I know that you would prefer to have Master Merry here, but he was called away by King Éomer for some duty or other that was rather urgent. He shall be back within a day or so, and let me tell you, Pippin,” Gimli continued, in a conspiratorial whisper, “that if it had not been a direct order from the King, he would still be here by your side. As it is, you shall have to deal with my meager skills.”

Several moments of silence passed after this announcement, and then Pippin’s foot was placed back on the mattress and the other gently moved, taking its place on the pillow. He felt himself wince, broken bones grinding despite the gentle handling.

“I know, Pippin, it’s all right. I’ll wait a moment before I start,” Gimli murmured.

The sound of water splashing, and then a cool cloth run across his face, wiping away the sweat and cooling burning skin. Water dribbled across his dry lips, into his mouth and wetting his tongue. More followed, little trickles that he swallowed easily and moistened his dry throat.

“Now,” Gimli whispered, and Pippin once more felt fingers on his foot. “Let us see about this mess, shall we?”

There was silence again, save for the soft sound of the comb being run through matted hair, and Gimli’s soft breath as he worked.

“Dear lad, I do believe that you are presentable once more. When Aragorn comes to check on you in a bit, he may not recognize this well groomed hobbit before him,” Gimli teased.

Pippin’s foot was moved, placed back to the pillow it usually rested upon while the other pillow was taken away. His feet were covered with the blanket, and the sound of the chair moving again alerted the tweenager that Gimli had moved up near his head.

Strong fingers closed tenderly around his hand, and for all their strength, the grip was as gentle as though closed around a rare and delicate flower.

“Legolas shall be in shortly, but he had to go with Aragorn to tend to some matters that I know little about. Be thankful, young hobbit, that you are not with them, lest they have you running from one side of camp to the other. I suspect that your cousin was not so lucky, and finds himself doing just such a thing. So you had better get well soon, so that you may join him and relieve some of his tedium.”

Pippin tried to respond, but his mind, clouded in the dense fog that seemed to have taken up permanent residence since he had first risen to conciseness, was not allowing his lips to remember how to move, and he found his nose scrunching instead.

“I quite agree,” Gimli answered, as though he had heard the unspoken comment. “But you are just going to have to be patient, and wait until everything settles down before you can throw yourself into the thick of things again.” The gentle clasp squeezed slightly, calluses scraping against his thumb and wrist. “Until then, I suggest that you continue to rest, and not worry. All too soon you shall be running about, driving us to distraction. Let us enjoy our quiet while we may.”

For all Gimli’s gruffness, the hands that closed so securely around Pippin’s were tender, and he knew that few would ever guess that the dwarf possessed such gentle hands.

Current Mood: cheerful

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shirebound

Oh, Pip! What a loving, gentle, tender, wonderful story!! I doubt Gimli would say or do any of these things if anyone else were around.

Strong fingers closed tenderly around his hand, and for all their strength, the grip was as gentle as though closed around a rare and delicate flower.

Would you consider a Part II, later on, when Pippin is a bit better, and keeps Gimli's secret, and Gimli realizes it?

*happy sigh*

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A small ficlet

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