By: Dana
Summary: Éowyn is, or so Merry has told Pippin, the finest lady that he has ever met.
Characters: Merry, Pippin, mention of Eowyn
Pairings:: Merry/Eowyn, Merry/Pippin
Rating: G
Warnings: None, really
Author's Notes: A Christmas-ficlet for darlingrawr.
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.

Éowyn is, or so Merry has told Pippin, the finest lady that he has ever met – no insult intended, not in the slightest, to all other ladies that he has had the honour and the pleasure to meet. He does not have many stories about her, and the ones he does have seem small, but their telling have brought light and life to a small, grey room: Edoras in her childhood, how she could ride before she could even walk and no, Merry, she'd laughed and said, no I can't swim, and he knows her, knows her better than he ought to; shieldsister, almost as if she is half of his own self.

"You'd like her, I think," Merry says, where they both sit on Merry's bed; that is, Pippin is the one who sits, and Merry lies with his head pillowed against Pippin's lap. Pippin, almost a distraction, runs his fingers through Merry's hair. "She is rather sad, but lovely, with a mind as sharp as any blade. I think I love her. At least, that she deserves my love."

"You must introduce me to her, then," Pippin says, and Merry can hear a grin in his voice, now that his eyes are now closed, and a matching smile of his own play on his lips.

"She sounds like quite a lady; more than just a lady, if you know what I mean."

"I think I do, Pip, and I will, you'll see."

Pippin's laugh is cheery. Merry opens first one eye, and then the other. The room is shadowed, suddenly, when worry shapes Merry's mouth into the form of a frown.

Pippin's smile, in turn, is blindingly bright. "What troubles you, cousin?"

"I hope – " but Merry can say no more. Pippin's fingers curl at Merry's ear, his thumb then lightly stroking Merry's brow, before settling back. Merry knows having ridden off to war, and he hadn't had to think that he was alone. He wants to say: stay here, Pippin, please. You needn't prove yourself, look at what I've helped to do – look at all that Frodo has yet to do and has done. That is not what he ought to say, though, and he knows Pippin's pride would suffer the blow.

It is awful, though, to think of Pippin, off alone.

"You needn't concern yourself, Merry," Pippin says, because it is obvious, isn't it, and Pippin knows Merry almost as well as Merry thinks he knows Éowyn.

"It isn't yet time to go."

"I know it isn't, Pippin," Merry says, and closes his eyes again. Pippin's fingers pause, and then move again, feather–light.

"You love her, you think? What do you suppose your parents would say?"

That, at least, brings laughter, and Merry blushes, heat up to the tips of his ears, eyes wide–opened, once again: "Well, you said it yourself, Pippin – she is quite a lady. I suppose my old Da would say: 'She is rather tall, son. Very, very tall. Lovely, too! But rather tall.', and all the while straining to look up at her, and putting a crick in his neck."

Pippin's eyes are bright. "Yes, I can hear him saying just that. Perhaps, when the world is all settled, and we are all through – you could ask, perhaps, if she'd want to come and live out in Buckland. I hardly think your parents would turn her out on her ear."

"Yes, well, they did let me keep you," Merry, laughing, exclaims.

"I suppose that means it would all work out."

Merry reaches up, clasps Pippin's hand. "I think it does."