Disclaimer: I don’t own them, and I’ll put them back safely when I’m done.

Chapter One: Accursed Livery

The King Elessar had set aside the first days of his reign to allow the peoples of his realm to come before him. Many came begging a boon: a squadron of able bodied men to help rebuild a village, fresh supplies to feed a group of refugees, criminals to be sentenced or pardoned…the list went on. None, however, had such a memorable boon to beg as a certain young knight from the Shire.

    “My lord, Pippin Took is here to see you,” a courtier said, sticking his head into the audience hall. “Shall I send him in?”

   Aragorn waved his hand, and sat back in his seat as he waited for the hobbit. In the steward’s chair below him, Faramir gave a soft laugh.

   “What is it?” Aragorn asked, curious at what could possibly amuse the steward in such an empty hall.

  Faramir twisted in his seat and looked up at the King. “Pippin has been having some…troubles…with his uniform. I tried to help him out once before I was wounded, but I guess that he did not take my lessons to heart. It was mine as a child. That was a bloody ridiculous uniform to get into and out of,” he added nostalgically.

    Aragorn frowned, but then the doors opened and Pippin strode right up to them.

   “Really, Strider, this is most embarrassing,” he began. “I think that you ought to have the seamstresses come up with a better uniform.”

   Aragorn choked back a laugh at the sight before him. Pippin’s tunic was askew over his chain mail, and his undershirt was peeping out of his trousers. The chain mail was incorrectly fastened, creating several large bumps, and the hobbit’s trousers seemed to have become caught in them, resulting in a highly amusing but terribly embarrassing rise in the hobbit’s behind. Pippin folded his arms and glared at them.

   “Since the Enemy is destroyed, I rather think that I shall perform my next guard duty naked,” he declared.

   “You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Aragorn choked out, and came down from his throne.

   If Faramir had thought that he loved and respected the King before, his love and respect were heightened that day, as he watched the King Elessar abandon all dignity and go down on his knees to help a hobbit arrange his armour. This, he thought, would be a monarch like no other.

   “Thank you, Strider,” Pippin said at last, restored to dignity with his livery properly adjusted.

   “You are most welcome, Pippin. And next time, please ask Merry or someone to help you with the chain mail,” Aragorn replied.

  Pippin gave him a rakish grin. “Alright. Have fun here. Goodbye! And goodbye to Faramir, too!”

   The two leaders of Gondor watched as Pippin sped out of the hall, and once the doors had shut, let out twin bellows of laughter.

   “Only a hobbit,” Aragorn said. “Only a hobbit.”

Author’s Note: This is the companion piece to “Accursed Livery”. The song is “Nancy Whisky”, which just sounded hobbity to me.

Lost Livery

It was only a day after Pippin’s little adventure with his unruly armour. Aragorn and Faramir had spent another long day at council, and were both sitting sprawled into chairs in the King’s office, nursing glasses of fine Dol Amroth wine. Faramir liked that the King was able to abandon his regal attitude and sit like a Ranger. It was something that his father would never have done.

Strangely, the rest of the Fellowship was missing. They were in the habit of gathering every evening to talk and laugh together, and both King and Steward wondered where they were. When Faramir mentioned it, Aragorn grunted and rolled his eyes.

“Frodo is likely in the library with Gandalf and Sam, Gimli will be with the younger hobbits, and I really have no idea where Legolas could be. Probably with Gimli,” he said.

Faramir nodded, content with this guess. At that moment, however, came an urgent knock on the door, and a moment later, a harried looking courtier burst in.

“My lords…your Grace…” he panted. “The pheriannath…the halflings…”

Aragorn was on his feet in a moment. “What happened? What is it?”

The courtier took a deep breath; he had obviously come at a run. “They’ve gotten rather inebriated-“

The door burst open again, this time emitting Legolas, his blond hair in disarray, the front of his tunic soaked in what looked like ale. When he saw them all staring at him, he straightened up and attempted to look dignified. “It’s not my fault,” he proclaimed.

Aragorn dropped his face into his hands and groaned.

*****

They could hear the singing from two streets away. Aragorn had thanked and dismissed the courtier, and he, Faramir and Legolas had proceeded alone.

“What are you going to do?” Faramir asked, curiously.

“Give them a warning,” Aragorn said drily. “They’re hobbits, Faramir. Punishment will only incur their wrath and revenge. I speak from experience.”

Legolas gave Faramir a dark look, and Faramir found himself grinning. So, the King and the Elf were both afraid of the hobbits. Amazing.

The pub was a good-sized, bright affair, very homey and welcoming. Aragorn strode inside and looked around. He found his quarry after a second.

“The more I kissed her, the more I loved her, the more I kissed her, the more she smiled, I forgot my mother’s teachings: Nancy soon had me beguiled!” the hobbits were singing. “Hullo, Strider!” Pippin bellowed, waving across the room.

“Peregrin Took!” bawled Aragorn. “What in the name of wonder are you doing?!”

Pippin bowed, and Faramir fought the urge to laugh. “I am guarding the Ringbearer, my friend. As you see, he is rather drunk.”

Legolas made a choking sound, and traded a glance with Faramir. The Elf had left the pub to find Aragorn when Frodo had keeled over from too much of the Rohirrims’ homebrew. That had been when Pippin decided that his livery was too uncomfortable to wear on a night at the inn, and had leapt on the table to pull it all off. Once again, he was absurdly tangled up, but had managed to get both his tunic and his trousers…off. They hung from the light above the hobbits table.

It was lucky, Aragorn thought, that the pub was mostly full of the Rohirrim, and not so much the soldiers of Gondor. They were too involved in bar fights and bawdy songs to see him stride over to the table, seize Pippin and toss him over his shoulder, and haul Frodo up under his arm. Gimli, who had sat there rather sheepishly as Pippin explained himself, aided a stumbling Sam to his feet, and Faramir guided Merry. Together, they left the pub at top speed.

*****

“Dancing half naked on a table, Gandalf!” Aragorn wailed. “Half naked!”

Gandalf chuckled, tapping his pipe. “He did tell me that he had warned you of doing something to that equivalent.”

Aragorn rubbed his temples. “He threatened to go on guard duty naked. I didn’t think that he would actually do something like it.”

“Well, at least he was in a pub, where everyone else was drunk, too. It could have been worse.”

“Oh, really? How?”

Gandalf smiled and calmly refilled his pipe. “What would you say, King Elessar, if you saw a hobbit guarding the Citadel in the nude?”

Aragorn stared at him for a moment, than groaned. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that he is a hobbit, Aragorn, and hobbits do mad things. Let it go,” Gandalf advised. “It’s not worth getting into a fuss over.”

Aragorn sighed and nodded. Sometimes, there was wisdom in just forgetting. Especially when hobbits were involved.

Author’s Note: Slightly AU, as I seriously doubt that the Tooks had kilts. In fact, I highly doubt that hobbits would do this sort of thing. What can I say, I’m twisted.

Disclaimer: I don’t own them, and I’ll put them back safely when I’m done!

The Brilliance of the Tooks

“And that is why the Tooks are brilliant.”

Aragorn turned around speedily and began to march in the other direction. There were things that he could pass off to his steward, and wayward hobbits who had decided to educate the tower guards about the brilliance of the Took clan were one of them. He had no desire to discover why Pippin needed to explain why hobbits did not to wear shoes, the memories of his knight’s threat to go naked, and the tavern debacle that had followed still fresh in his mind. Better to let Faramir deal with this. The poor man still needed to learn that not all hobbits were as polite and deferential as Frodo and Sam. It was then that Pippin struck.

*****

Faramir was in his office when the king burst in and shut the door quickly behind him. He stood quickly, startled, papers flying everywhere.

“What is it, my lord?” he asked. “Is something the matter?”

“Do you have ale?” Aragorn rasped. “I need a drink.”

Faramir frowned, but stuck his head out of his door and sent a page to fetch a mug of ale from the kitchens. Aragorn sank down into an armchair and buried his face in his hands.

“Are you ill, my lord?” Faramir tried again, still standing uncertainly by the door.

Aragorn growled at him. “For the last time, call me Aragorn, or I’ll throw you into the dungeons and let Pippin eat the key. No, I am not ill.”

Faramir nodded uncertainly and moved back to his own seat. Aragorn raised his face from his hands and gave him a bleak look.

“Do you think that anyone would notice if Merry and Pippin were to disappear? I have the strange desire to send them home tied up in a sack.”

“May I ask why?” Faramir queried.

A knock sounded at the door and the page came in with the ale. Aragorn seized it with a muttered “Thanks”, and proceeded to down it in one long gulp. Faramir and the page stared at him, the page with a slight grin on his face, Faramir utterly bemused. As soon as he was finished, Aragorn handed the mug back to the boy, who departed with a bow.

“I needed that,” Aragorn said. “Alright, I can tell you now. Faramir, how well acquainted are you with Tooks?”

Faramir gave him a lopsided smile. “Not well at all, your-Aragorn. Just Pippin.”

“Ah. Well, I’ve been a Ranger for decades, guarding the Shire and its inhabitants. Let me tell you, Faramir, that the Tooks are something else entirely. They rival the Brandybucks for wit and audacity, and between them, they practically own the whole Shire.

“Now, the Tooks are a strange clan. They have many oddities, but the one that the rest of the Dunedain rangers have never been able to figure out is their love of wearing skirts. Even the men.”

Here, Faramir threw his head back and laughed. The idea was so ludicrous that he couldn’t even picture it. “Skirts? Are you serious? Male hobbits wearing skirts?”

Aragorn nodded earnestly. “Yes! You don’t believe me, do you?” Faramir shook his head. “Alright then, young man. You follow me and learn.”

*****

“They are called kilts. We ought to make them a new part of Gondor’s livery,” Pippin was saying when the King and the Steward arrived. “Hobbits have never had to fight many battles, but the ones we have fought have always been very intimidating, as enemies have been frightened by the sight of hundreds of Tooks in kilts rushing at them.”

Aragorn glanced over at his steward in amusement. Faramir looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or pass out. It was a common reaction to seeing a Took in his Tookish livery, although where Pippin had gotten it was beyond him. Aragorn remembered his cousins Halbarad and Ecthelion’s reaction to seeing it. They had sat on the forest floor and laughed themselves silly for roughly half an hour, during which time Aragorn had kept the watch. Faramir was heading in the same direction.

“Kilts are very durable, and they keep you warm in the winter and nice and cool in the summer. The best part is, there is no chafing, as there is with trousers,” Pippin continued.

The young Took was standing on a table in the mess hall, a large group of tower guards gathered around him. He was dressed in his usual white shirt, and a knee-length pleated skirt of a strange red and black weave, that he knew the Tooks called tartan. It was possible, Aragorn mused, that Pippin had used some of the allowance that he had been given to get a seamstress to weave and sew the kilt for him. Knowing Pippin, it was all too likely. The odd thing was, the men of Gondor seemed to like the young Took’s behavior and strange outfit.

“Where can we buy it, Master Perian?” one soldier called out.

“Someone proposition the King to let a company of us use these as our uniform!” another cried.

“They can’t be serious!” Faramir croaked, his face red from repressed snickers. “Do you think they would actually wear them?”

Aragorn shrugged. “Knowing the Gondorians, Faramir, probably. I think that we may have a slight problem on our hands.”