By: Dana
Summary: Pippin and Diamond discuss a relation, and share differing opinions.
Characters: Pippin and Diamond (Isenbard North-took is spoken of)
Pairings: Pippin/Diamond
Rating: G
Warnings: Gennish-flavoured het. Refers to things that happened during the Year of Troubles.
Author's Notes: This scene, oh, well, it rather floats. This is a ficlet response to a bunny sent my way, some time ago, in which Pippin and Diamond discuss Diamond's North-took cousin Isenbard (see 'Choices' for his full story). This happened this way because of 's story 'Estella's Opinion', where Merry and Estella too shared differing opinions.
I'm not yet sure what year this story happens.
Series Index: Roads Go On and Years Go By.
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.

'The way I see it, he only got as he deserved.'

Pippin knew he'd said the wrong thing, though Diamond gave no audible reply. Instead, Pippin heard it in the way she set the bowl back down upon the table. Pippin felt his gut twist, and felt like a young lad once more, and one who'd somehow deeply offended an older sister, or an even older aunt.

So, he smiled as he turned, as brightly as he could, and cast his gaze upon Diamond – she stood at the small table, still crowded with the dishes from their supper – from beyond the kitchen, there came Merry's laugh, no doubt laughing at some jest of Estella's.

And Pippin said, 'I've done put my foot in my mouth again, haven't I?'

Diamond didn't look up, her hair a long veil, her arms trembling, her knuckles gone white where they clutched at the bowl. Then, letting out a deep breath, Diamond stood fully, pushed back her hair, and looked Pippin head on. Pippin's mouth went dry, and he somehow knew that they would quarrel.

'Diamond, I–'

Diamond's mouth was a thin, hard line. Then she spoke, her voice steady, low. 'You've no leave to speak so of my cousin Isenbard, my dear Pippin Took.'

Pippin winced, as though from some physical blow. Diamond looked calm, steady still, but a spark of fire burned in her morning-grey eyes. No, this would be no quarrel – this was something far worse, but Pippin didn't simply want to admit defeat.

So he went to the table, and began to gather up dishes. 'Diamond, you know as well as I that Isenbard North-took only–'

'No, I think differently,' Diamond cut him off, hands shaking as she stacked plates. 'I'd think you, of any hobbit, would know better.'

'But Diamond, he stood against his own – he collaborated with the Men, one of the Shirriffs who–'

'No,' said Diamond, though with control – her voice was soft no more, instead as strong as steel, and the fire that first had sparked in her eyes now blazed like a storm. 'I couldn't say how many hobbits were made victim that year – that year you were gone, and I'll not say you were off at playing knight – but you don't know what it was like, Pippin, to live in a land that wasn't yours anymore. I was safe at Long Cleeve, you know, the Men only came that once – but they took my brother, they stole and they ravaged, they murdered and they – and they – and they did that all with glee.' She drew her chin up high, and Pippin's arms shook now, though no more than his hands. He went to her, before he could think one way or the other, and she turned to face him, mouth opened to protest, but he drew her close instead.

'You don't know how Isenbard suffered,' she said, muffled against his shoulder, her arms winding tight about him, though they had not yet lost their steel. 'He was victim as much as any other – I know that, and his family knows that, and you should know that, too. He…'

He wouldn't press more, for she looked at him and he felt saw the pain in her eyes – he wouldn't press more, for the full story was there to be read, waiting in her eyes – but she blinked and then brushed , before she then began to drew away.

'Not yet, please,' he said, and she nodded, and the fire in her eyes had faded to a glimmer. He drew her near as he was able, pressed his face to the cool silk of her hair – he shut his eyes, and breathed in the scent of sun and summer, and found himself thankful (so very thankful) to hold her in his arms.

'I should have known better,' he said, after some length, when the tension had gone from Diamond's body, when the dishes left on the table sat cold and forgotten.

And Diamond replied, somewhat muffled, 'Yes, you ought to have – but you know better now.' And they stood like that a while longer, in warmth, and quiet, and better understanding, before pulling away.