By: Dana
Summary: Seeing something through someone else's eyes.
Characters: Merry, Pippin, Berilac Brandybuck
Pairings: Merry/Pippin
Rating: G
Warnings: Slash implied
Author's Notes: Written for the Inspiration bookquote challenge. Just a little something, written in the same continuity as Softly Falling, and is set somewhere in the years between flashback #2 and flashback #3. Betaed by Bree, with thanks.
Disclaimer: The author makes no claim to owning the rights of anything to do with J.R.R. Tolkien or New Line Cinema. Any and all characters and situations that have been borrowed are for the author's personal use only, and for the entertainment of others.

"Pippin should have been here by now."

Berilac snickers and Merry shoots him a dirty look, a specific blend of scowl and frown that only a Brandybuck could best appreciate, especially when its resting on Brandybuck features and Merry does it like a master, with a certain petulant charm that's all his own. The fact that Berilac is grinning only seems to further Merry's irritation. "Leave off it, Berilac. His letter said that he'd be here well before midday, and you know that he is at least punctual, and it is well after midday, now, and he's nowhere to be seen. It isn't like I'm "

"Pining," Berilac offers and dodges Merry's swing as they dodge around Celandine and Melilot, that is, Celandine who is pulling a laughing Melilot along behind her by the arm.

"Worried," Merry stresses, almost growling, "Berilac, worried. It isn't like I'm worried about the about the sprout."

"You try and fool me now, Merry, but I know you better than you think." Berilac's grin only widens and with a jerk of his chin, he beckons for Merry to follow after. And Merry does, leaving idle relations behind, and he jogs to catch up as Berilac strides from the great hall, and Merry is sulking at his cousin's profile, and they turn the corner onto a smaller passage that will lead them, in time, to the Hall's front doors.

Merry shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers. "I'm too old to be pining, and he's too young."

There's more than that, really, the but it's only been three weeks, I shouldn't miss him so after only three weeks, but the sort of friends that Merry and Pippin are, well, that three weeks is like the ending of the world. Or, at least, a dinner gone with no dessert to follow. Berilac feels for Merry, he does, and for Pippin, too. He feels for himself, as well, because, like it as he would, he hasn't that sort of friend who would miss him like he'd miss breathing air.

"Really, Merry," and Berilac clucks his tongue, shaking his head. "How old are you, now?"

"Old enough," Merry replies, with a look that says that Berilac is daft, because Berilac should know that even better than his own name. "And Pippin is old enough too, I know, and it isn't that we have the biggest age-gap that has ever been, and I'm not pining, so could we shut up about this, now?"

Berilac laughs. They nod to the guardhobbits (though they get more work done as messagehobbits) at the front doors, passing through the door way, and walk out into the bright sunny day. There, Berilac taps Merry on the arm, almost smirking. "You are too."

"I are not," Merry snaps. "I mean, I'm not. Leave off it, Beric. All right?"

"For the moment," Berilac replies, and he almost wonders if Merry really doesn't know, because Berilac knows well enough himself. It doesn't help that Merry tells him just about everything the fact that they live in a place where privacy is something you earn, and isn't a given and Berilac really does know Merry better than Merry thinks.

It was just a kiss, Merry had told him once, just a kiss on a winter's day, and Merry must believe that, though Berilac doesn't know how. He was oh, it was years ago, and it didn't matter, and Berilac wonders, for Merry's sake, if it ever will. They seem happy enough, now, though, as cousins and friends. Maybe it really was just a kiss, and there isn't anything more that can be said.

Not that Berilac thinks he could ever say it.

But that is that and he pushes it away, because there are far more important things that need to be said. Better left that way, Berilac thinks, because he'd make a fool of himself (and to Merry, of all the hobbits, and he'd not be able to live with that, and Merry most certainly wouldn't let him live it down), so he'll leave those things unsaid and say instead the things that need saying.

"He's on his way, I'm sure, Merry, and you should lighten up. You know Pippin, and you know he's probably just taking his time. Likes to get you ruffled, he does." Berilac's smile is sincere, so Merry doesn't punch him like he could, like Berilac can tell that he wants, and Berilac's sympathetic smile turns smug.

"Come on, then, let's not dawdle on, Merry. Let's get the ponies saddled, and we'll ride down to the ferry, and see for ourselves why he's taking his time."

Merry nods, placated. "Let's do."

And they do, riding out into the hot day, and the road that curls its way towards that Brandywine is dry and dusty. What they need now is a good rain, something to soften the hard edges of summer. But those are his father's words, or even his uncles, and Berilac pushes them away. Further off down the way, the dark glint of tree blends in with the horizon, and it takes them a good ten minutes before Berilac can make out something apart from the distant trees.

There is a cloud of dust, moving closer, most obviously a rider on a pony, and by the looks of it, moving fast. It's Pippin, Berilac is sure that it is, and he laughs and sits up high in the saddle.

"See?" Berilac says, nodding. "That must be your wayward young Took."

"He's not mine," Merry mutters absently, but he's already pushed his pony into a trot, and by the time Berilac has the presence to follow after, he's broken into a hard gallop.

It is Pippin, just like Berilac thought it would be, standing there in his road-stained cloak with Merry's arm slung around his shoulder. "Took you long enough," Merry laughs, and Merry looks up and flashes Berilac a grin as slides down from his pony.

"You too, Beric," Merry says, smirking, and he thumps Berilac hard on the shoulder. Pippin's pony neighs and flicks its ears back at Merry's pony, who snorts and stamps its front hoof. "But that can be forgiven. Seems that you were right."

"Aren't I always?" Berilac grins, and he pulls Pippin and Merry both into a hug, almost lifting Pippin up off his feet. Pippin laughs, hot and dusty from the ride and looking like he could use a good cold drink, and he flicks his gaze at Merry, who's grinning wide enough that Berilac wonders why it hasn't gone and split his face right in two.

"Let's ride back," Pippin says, "and have ourselves an ale or two or three."

"Or four," Berilac laughs, his arms around both their shoulders. "Or four," Merry and Pippin chorus, and they all laugh all over again.

"Or four," Berilac nods, and they disentangle themselves from each other, taking to the saddle, and they turn back to the river, at the start of a suddenly long ride.

"Only one place for the very best beer," Pippi? says, and Merry laughs, riding at his side. Berilac counts the moments and he doesn't reach fifty before they've broken into a race.

"I'd never be able to put up with you," he says, shaking his head, "and I'd never be able to get anything done." He pulls on his pony's reins, whistles, and knees his ride into a gallop.

He knows he can't keep up, but he'll at least try.

The quote that this story was inspired on (and hey, look at how it hardly even relates):
She was wholly aware of Roland, sitting behind her on the floor, wearing a white towelling dressing-gown, leaning up against the white sofa on which he had slept during his first visit, and which he slept now. She felt the fuzz of his soft black hair, starting up above his brow, with imaginary fingers. She felt his frown between her eyes. He felt his occupation was gone; she felt his feeling. He felt he was lurking.

If he went out of the room it would be grey and empty.

If he did not go out of it, how could she concentrate? (A.S. Byatt - Possession)