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By: Dana
It isn't that first night in Lothlorien that Merry lets himself speak further on what Galadriel showed him, nor the night after that, and for as much as Pippin can tell, it's fully possible that Merry isn't even thinking about it at all. Something seems wrong with Merry, though, at least that's what Pippin finds himself thinking. Whatever it is that worries Merry so, it clings to him like half-seen shadows that flit in between the dark and light spaces that you can find in between the trees. Almost intangible, it still manages to leave you fully aware of its dreadful presence; Pippin certainly thinks himself aware of it. It isn't that Pippin doesn't like it here in Lothlorien, because he does, and it really is quite nice, a comfort for them all after a long trek in the dark; still, it's hardly his own home, and as the third night comes, shifting shadows and starlight and song, he finds himself wanting his own bed such as he hasn't since they were first out on the road in the wilds beyond Bree. Pippin wonders if this is the right time, if Merry might share that secret that he has kept to himself since he looked into the Lady Galadriel's eyes. What could Merry have possibly seen? If anything, when Pippin looked, he only saw himself, and his home. Merry saw something more, and he's not telling Pippin, even though they've never been one for keeping secrets from each other. Pippin even finds himself thinking that Merry might need to talk, and it will do him no good to think so long and hard on something that might not even mean a thing. Whatever it is that worries Merry, it does him no good to dwell. Maybe Merry just wants to go home, and if that is what it is, then at least Pippin can understand. He wants nothing more than to go home, too, safe with Merry, with Frodo, and with Sam. Well. Almost nothing more.
They do speak, though not about what weighs so heavily on Merry's mind, and not about what Pippin was wanting; and they kiss, too, and speak softly, learning things about each other that could not have ever been imagined; well, Pippin finds it hard to ever imagine such a thing being possible, and he wonders if such a something could have come to pass, had they had stayed safe in their home in the Shire. Maybe he might not have thought it possible, but that doesn't mean he doesn't think that it's right. They sleep closer that night than they ever have before, though it hardly seems to be a physical thing, more something that speaks of openness in their hearts. When Pippin wakes, when night lingers in the hard grey of dawn's light, Merry is curled warm against him, one hand gripping almost tightly at his shirt, his other arm at an angle in the space between where their bodies almost touch. The air is cool and fresh, smelling of spring and mist, of grass and leaf, and Merry and his breath and his touch are all much warmer than that. And Merry, sleeping, smiling, looks more at peace than Pippin can remember him looking, these last three days. Well, he hasn't been at peace, surely, these last three days, but Pippin thinks that maybe it goes back further than even that. It is far too early in the day to be thinking such things, Pippin thinks, and as he closes his eyes he settles back down to sleep out the coming of the day.
"You never did tell me what the Lady Galadriel showed you, Merry," Pippin says some days later, when he thinks again that it might be time; when he and Merry are off on a walk, in this place with its trees so different from the ones they can find back home. Merry, given the time, and even the subject, doesn't look as surprised as Pippin was thinking he might. Secrets do such queer things, and thinking that truths are being kept do strange things, too. "I never knew you wanted to know. You do, I suppose." "Of course I do, you great ass," Pippin smiles. "Sam went off about home, after that, and then you went and said – well," and Pippin's smile is almost a frown, "that's the problem, Merry. You didn't finish saying what you were saying, and it's been days and days since and still I don't know. I'm starting to worry," he finishes, bending the truth. Merry needn't know he's been worrying the whole time. Merry grins, "You probably just want to know, for no good reason other than knowing." Pippin attempts an exasperated sigh and flicks the tip of Merry's ear. Merry's grin widens and he laughs, and Pippin laughs, too, the sound echoing out into the distance, in the pallor of grey that stretches out to lighter areas, and the blue of sky that breaks through the canopy above. "Maybe, I suppose, that's a part of it. I didn't think we kept secrets, Merry, but you've been keeping this one from me. Why?" "You've been asking me 'why' all your life," Merry mumbles, then frowns slightly, and shakes his head. His smile hardly lives up to his (almost) given name, and he then says: "Well, it was just what Sam was saying, only not. I don't see why you'd want to know." "Maybe just for knowing," Pippin admits, and he smiles, though just a bit. "Don't think I want you to tell me, and not tell you what she showed me, Merry. I have a manner or two somewhere, you know." "I know," Merry says, his eyes laughing, though somewhat reserved. "It really isn't anything much," he continues, and he stops, then turns to Pippin, even as Pippin stops in mid-step, turning to face Merry. "It's just… I…" Pippin knows that Merry can't stand not knowing what to say, and Pippin is caught in the moment, when Merry touches his cheek and almost frowns, when Merry leans in and they touch, only there, and at the mouth. Pippin sighs, his mouth parting under Merry's, and they stand there in shifting light, kissing until Pippin can feel the buzz of the air pressing hard against him, when Merry's mouth is hot now when it had only been warm, and Merry's hand has fallen to Pippin's shoulder, where it sits, patiently, before curling into the fabric of Pippin's coat. "Maybe I'd be more comfortable if you went first." Pippin chuckles, first kissing Merry on the mouth, a brief kiss not made to linger. "Very well, Merry, if that is what you wish." At Merry's nod, Pippin then kisses his cheek, and says: "Well, I was at home, though, I suppose, the more I think on it, it didn't look anything like the Smials – more like Crickhollow, to be honest. I suppose it would be nice to have a house on my own, at least for a time – and you were there, Merry, smiling at me and telling me that it would do me no good to worry on the future, because my birthday was coming and I'd be coming of age, and Estella had told you that – " And then Merry is kissing Pippin, clutching at him, his mouth working hard upon Pippin's, as Pippin's mouth falls opens in a somewhat shocked reply, and Merry kisses him deeply. Left reeling, Pippin struggles back towards the surface, where he won't be drowning in Merry's kiss. He wonders if he's even that strong. The kiss is somehow brief, though, and Pippin is left staggering there in the quiet that comes after. "Now that was something," he says, in just a whisper, because it seems fitting, and Merry breathes in hard, his grip still tightly wound. It's Merry who speaks next: "And then I say that Estella told me she was expecting a visit before we headed off back to the Smials; she was riding back to Budgeford with Freddy when I was riding out from the Hall. She wanted you to know that you needn’t worry yourself silly about what your father was thinking, when you were already more than silly enough." Pippin's mouth opens and then closes, opening and then closing again. "Almost," he says. "She did say that about a visit, but not – not about my father – well, maybe she did, but I can't remember it clearly. What did you see, Merry? I think I need to know." Pippin almost thinks Merry might not answer, and he's surprised when he does, his fingertips tracing lightly over the curve of his cheek. "We were at home together, Pippin, our home; I think it was Crickhollow, you were right about that. You'd had a fight with your father, when he was trying to push off cousin Freesia on you, and you'd told him that you'd rather marry your pony, than end up with someone so lifeless and drab as cousin Freesia can be. When you came riding to the Hall, I don't think I'd ever seen you so angry as that, and you told me that you might be staying with us a while more than you'd been planning; and when you told me what had happened, and you scowled at me for laughing at your father's plans for a match, we rode off to Crickhollow, as Frodo had left it to us, and – " "Why would Frodo do such a thing?" "I suppose because he had Bag End back, Pip," Merry laughs, tweaking his ear. "The vision didn't tell me that, only that we planned to make our life there together, without our family trying to plan out the rest of our lives. And Stel said something else, too, that she was planning on meeting with your cousin Diamond at your party, and getting to know her cousin Pippin's first love – " Merry swallows, then, all serious. "You were sweet on her when you were much younger, I know, and then you told Estella that your second love was working out much better than a childhood sweetheart, and she should know, as she knew – well, she knew, Pippin, she knew. And I, well, I've known that I'd marry Estella since forever, but I love you, and I always will, and she knew, and she'd understand, and she'd love you, too." He swallows again, closing his eyes. "I want that, Pippin, I want to know that we'll all be happy, and I can love you more than even forever, and we can… I want that, and I could have turned back, for that, and you would have followed, but as much as I want it, I couldn't have done that, Pippin. We might not ever – we might not ever have that, and you might end up married off to cousin Freesia, but I had to make the right decision, and not the one that my heart was telling me to make." Pippin, at a loss for words, holds onto Merry instead, wondering how it was possible that Merry had seen so much, when he had seen – what had he seen? There is a fervent desperation in Merry's words, something so hard and so heavy that Pippin finds himself unable to doubt that Merry saw something more, something that causes Pippin's stomach to momentarily knot with wonder of that worry. But then, they are wrapped in each other’s arms, and it doesn't matter what could have been, does it? It shouldn't matter as much as Merry seems to think, and Pippin will show him, though he isn't sure how. He kisses Merry, which Merry breathes in, and they stand there, still, when the world is quiet and close all around. When Pippin draws back, he grins, and shakes his head, not knowing what he wants to say, only that he knows what needs to be said. "Maybe I wasn't looking at it like that, Merry, or maybe you were looking at it the wrong way, or you just saw more than I did, and I don't know. We don't know what awaits us, when we go back, but I know we'll be going back, I'm certain of that, so don't you doubt it. And we'll make us a home to share, whether it's wanted or not, and I suppose the gossips will have a grand old time with that, but we will, Merry. Together. Home." Merry holds onto Pippin, hugging him tight, and he sighs deeply, then laughs. "I suppose I might have been taking it too seriously, Pippin, but now that you – and I – well, I love you. I thought maybe… well," and he laughs again, low and soft and almost bitter, not a happy laugh at all, though it doesn't sound as though he can help himself, "I suppose we will be all right." "We will, Merry, you'll see," Pippin says, and there is no uncertainty in his words. "I love you too." He smiles then, feeling only lightness and hope for their future, and that it is stronger than Merry's fear of darkness and the unknown. Such things have no place here, after all, and when Pippin kisses Merry once more, with only the trees there to see, it almost seems to Pippin that Merry feels the same.
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