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Counterpoint, Epilogue
Finale: Movement or passage that concludes the musical composition.
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Pippin takes the key from his pocket, slides it into the lock, twists. Rarely is this door locked; closed hearings sometimes, though those are few, and he's heard the door remained locked at all times during the Troubles to prevent certain records from falling into the wrong hands, should the worst happen. Tonight, however, is different and Pippin slips the key from the lock and drops it into his pocket. Not only tradition but almost sacred rite and he will not begin his Thainship by defying either.
He paces slowly to his father's desk, stares for a moment at the chair but only hesitates for scant seconds before taking his place upon the worn leather. It seems a little wrong with his da still laid out in the formal parlour and if he lets himself pause, he might fancy he can feel the warmth of his father held within the chair that he'd only occupied less than two days ago. A spark and a half, was Paladin Took, and he went down fast and with a bang, the seizure that took him stopping his heart before he'd even hit the floor, or so the healers have told Pippin.
The swearing-in was quiet and reserved and Pippin hadn't really known what to expect but he is glad that at least this Tookish tradition required no fanfare. His mother had held her husband's coat-of-arms out to her son and Pippin had kissed it, laid it over his father's breast and then took up his own. And it was done: the old Thain was gone and the new was seated. A more formal ceremony would be planned when the Mayor and the Master could arrange the trip and a feast would follow but the quiet gravity of the changing suits Pippin now.
He reaches into his father's desk drawer, pulls out the snifter and bottle of brandy, laid here on the day Pippin was born. He breaks the wax seal, pulls the cork and pours himself a glass, raises it. He stands.
"To you, Da." Closes his eyes, lifts it higher. "May the good earth be soft under you when you rest upon it, and may it rest easy over you when, at the last, you lay out under it. And may it rest so lightly over you that your spirit may be out from under it quickly, and up, and off, and be on its way to your reward."
He tosses the brandy back in a quick swallow, breathes deeply, bows his head for a moment then reseats himself. His first duty is done; he pours another snifter and begins the second.
He draws the book across the desk, opens it. Now it is still Pippin's book, copied word-for-word from the Red Book, notes and addendums -- some in Pippin's hand, some in Merry's -- making up the last of it. After tonight, it will be the Thain's Book and he will commission copies, distribute those copies to the various clans and ensure that every library holds at least one copy on its shelves. The people of the Shire will remain ignorant not for the Thain's lack of trying.
He unstoppers the bottle of black ink, takes pen to-hand.
"You've found a way. You're going."
It's less than a week before Pippin will wed the love of his life and as promised, Merry has arrived with time to spare and thrown his cousin a lads party that will be talked about for years to come. And Pippin had taken one look at Merry when he'd arrived from Buckland only the night before and he'd known.
He dips the pen, tamps the nib against the neck of the bottle, watches as drops drip-shimmy in rolling beads against the clear glass.
A slow nod from Merry, a searching look and apology in his eyes and Pippin shakes his head, his mien set fierce. "Don't you dare be sorry," he says.
He might have gone himself, had Merry somehow not, because Merry was right and it was all too wrong and someone had to fix it, make it right. But Merry couldn't not and that was always part of what Pippin had so loved about Merry and he hopes and trusts that Merry did fix it, that they're together and well and maybe even making each other crazy, because they never could stand to be on top of one another for more than a month or so at a time. Perhaps the air over there might have mellowed one or both of them but he almost hopes not; it's sort of amusing and comforting all at once to imagine them snarking at each other and tempers flaring because it always made the laughter that much more precious.
He smiles, hovers the pen over the paper and his eyes blur a little. He's known for years how he would handle this but it hadn't seemed quite right until he'd sat in this chair and made it his own.
"How do we explain this one in the Book?" Pippin asks with a watery grin. "Can't make it seem as though anyone who wants to can just go sailing off any old time, you know."
Merry grins back and there's an evil little twinkle beneath the mist in his eyes. He jerks his chin and Pippin follows his gaze, spots Berilac chatting up Reginard.
"Tell them I married Estella," Merry smirks and Pippin laughs, loud and long.
Berilac was named Master when Saradoc died, three years to the day after his son sailed into the Blue. Pippin has always thought it horribly sad that they never really came to terms but Saradoc had gifted Merry a bell before he left, telling him that the soul of a vessel resided in its bell, and Pippin knows that Merry already knew that but he'd said nothing and mounted the bell as his father watched. And Pippin also knows that it was more than Merry had expected.
"How will I know?" Pippin asks and he doesn't want to weep because somehow, this leave-taking isn't quite as sad, though the light is the same and the scent of salt-spray makes his nose burn and his eyes tear anyway.
Merry just smiles, leans in and hugs Pippin tight, holds on for a long time before he draws back, shakes his head.
"I don't know," Merry answers and he laughs.
And Pippin does weep then because he hasn't heard that laugh in far too long and he knows this is the last time he ever will. Still, he laughs, too.
He puts the pen to paper:
1432 Shire Reckoning -- Meriadoc, called the Magnificent, becomes Master of Buckland.
He smirks a little at that one; he can see Berilac's face now. Not only has Pippin given his wife to Merry but his title as well. He shrugs and his smirk broadens. Berilac will probably never even read the thing and if he does, the look on his face will be worth it. And anyway, Pippin is Thain now, and he grins and snorts at his first abuse of power. If Frodo could mess about with history, so could Pippin.
He sighs a little, bends back to his task.
1434 Shire Reckoning -- Peregrin becomes the Took and Thain.
He stares at that one for a long time, pride and sorrow and grief all moving through him and all at once. It's a beginning but it's an end, too, and he takes up his glass, lifts it again in salute.
"May your days be filled with blessings, like the Sun that lights the sky, and may you always have the courage to spread your wings and fly."
He closes his eyes. "Merry, I hope you are happy at last." Lifts the glass higher, takes a deep breath. "And Frodo…" He smirks. "I hope you didn't hit him too hard when he docked."
He knocks back the brandy, smiles and sets the glass away. He takes up the pen again, writes:
THE END
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*NOTE: The toasts Pippin proposes are slightly-altered Irish blessings, authors unknown.
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