By: Dana
Summary: There are those promises that are meant to last forever.
Characters: Pippin, Merry
Pairings: None
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Author's Notes: Lindelea challenged me: the words an old boot, a stale sandwich, a sudden cloudburst, and an earache. And this is what I came up with.
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.

Merry knew the look well; the one that reminded him of the time that Pippin set out to eat the entire cask of sour pickles, and hadn't stopped himself until he'd hit the bottom. Afterwards, Pippin had been pinch-faced and complaining of a belly ache; and Merry had told Pippin that he'd been asking for it from the beginning. Or perhaps it reminded Merry more of that Summer when Pippin had swam and swam and kept swimming, more fish than hobbit, and Merry remembered thinking that he'd go to wake his cousin one day and find scales instead of skin, and Pippin had decided that he'd swim more than any hobbit ever before, and he'd gotten an earache, a nasty one, from all the water. But... O Pippin, when he'd got a plan into his head, Merry knew well how hard it was to turn his cousin from his chosen path, even if it wasn't the most well-chosen of paths, and more often than not, afterwards Pippin would look about as happy as an old boot, as dusty and just as worn. It was a stubborn streak that some would say spoke true of all Tooks, though Merry, only half a Took, wasn't near as stubborn as Pippin could be; at least, he liked to think that was the truth.

But then, Merry hadn't got a very good look at Pippin's face when he'd run from the great hall, and it was a busy night, and he couldn't think that any of their relations had noticed his exit. So it fell onto Merry's shoulders to see just what was wrong. He could have left it at that, for it was likely that it was nothing more than one of Pip's queer shifts of mood.

But if it wasn't just a childish fit, then it could be serious, and if Merry didn't find out just what it was, then he'd be wondering the night through.

It was easy enough to find Pippin, sitting underneath his Uncle Saradoc's desk in the study; it was the hiding place that Pippin liked best when they were playing their games of hide and seek. And Pippin had fooled Merry with it more than one time. But his cousin's unpredictable predictability served Merry well.

He crouched down beyond the desk and looked into the darkness below, and Pippin greeted him with a dusty sniffle. "Pip?"

Pippin looked up and rubbed at his eyes in the shadow. "What do you want?" he asked in a sulky tone, acting like a child who'd done wrong and had to go without dessert.

"Just thought I'd join you, thought you might want some company."

Pippin sniffled again as Merry slid into the space beside him under the desk, pushing the chair backwards as he did. "That is, if you don't mind."

"Of course I don't mind," Pippin replied tersely. "Just make yourself welcome, it's your home after all."

"Well, technically' it's more my Da's, you know," Merry replied equably. "But that doesn't mean you've given me a proper answer."

"Meh," Pippin said shortly.

Merry sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He'd hoped that whatever it was that was bothering Pippin would come out soon, but as the seconds passed, his cousin seemed to be drawing in on himself, and it was worse now than it had been before. "Oh, Pip, what's the matter? You're starting to worry me."

Pippin turned away from the concern in Merry's voice, drawing his shoulders up and letting his head rest against the inside of the desk. "It's nothing, Merry, so don't you go and fret."

Merry bit at his lip and leaned back, clonking his head against the inside back of the desk. He groaned and reached up to rub the back of his head. Pippin, in a quiet voice, spoke up. "That sounded like it hurt."

"Oh, it did," Merry sighed dramatically, wincing. "Might have knocked my brain loose."

"Oh, and we wouldn't want that," Pippin countered. "Perhaps you should go see your Mum; they're better than the healers for making things well." After all, many a time before it had been Aunty Esmie who'd kissed little Pippin's cut finger or scratched knee and made it all better. Merry's mother knew what she was doing, in Pippin's mind.

"I think you're right," Merry responded but seemed to have no intentions of leaving the hidey-hole. "Don't think I could manage this on my own, Pippin. Do you think that you could help?"

Pippin sighed harshly. "Merry, it couldn't be as bad as you're putting on."

Merry groaned and affected an injured look. "Now, Pippin Took, you're not going to be so cruel and heartless to a wounded cousin, are you?"

Pippin's hard look softened and he lowered his gaze, ashamed. "Well, of course not. You could stay here, I guess, and I could bring... oh, no, that wouldn't work at all." Merry sat still and kept his look steady, trying not to betray his standing; of course his wound was nothing more than a bump on the head, but Merry guessed that if he could get Pippin to leave the desk, then perhaps he might be able to figure out what it was that ailed his cousin.

"All right," Pippin sighed, defeated, and annoyed by that defeat, though he was a Took and thus above such things, "I'll help you to your Mum, but after that, I'll have to return. You're a grown up now, though, so I don't know if she'll know what to do."

Merry took these words to mull over and then Pippin moved out into the light and reached in to help Merry to his feet; his hands were very gentle but a tremor belied Pippin's true emotional state. "Pippin..." Merry began, but Pippin clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth in a fair imitation of his mother, or perhaps his eldest sister Pearl.

"Don't you take that tone with me, Merry. Here, and step lightly."

Merry did, but as they reached the door, Pippin's shoulders drooped and he came to a stop. He reached out for the door knob, fingers shaking as they closed round, and Merry put his hand on Pippin's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Pippin closed his eyes and bent his neck down towards the floor, and Merry feared that his cousin's head might roll right off of his shoulders.

"Pippin, you're starting to scare me," Merry said, then reconsidered his words. "No, you haven't started, you already are. Pippin... tell me what's the matter?"

Merry hoped that if there was anyone that Pippin could be honest with, it would be him. They had a history of shared truths between, and Merry couldn't remember a lie that had ever been revealed. Pippin's shoulder shook under Merry's hand and he looked away, rubbing at his eyes. He sniffled again, but there was no dust here now that they were out from the desk.

"Your Mum'd have a fit if she knew how dusty your Da's study is, you know," Pippin mumbled, words muffled by his hand. He kept rubbing at his face, as if he were trying to rub something away, and if he couldn't find that something, perhaps he'd rub himself away.

"Ah, yes, but she'll get to him. She always does, you know. Something about being a stubborn Took, I hear."

Pippin didn't look up, and his reply was very small. "Thought she was a sensible Brandybuck."

"Well, that Took blood of hers gets to her sometimes," Merry replied sotly, standing utterly still. Pippin took a deep breath and it wheezed, as if he was holding back tears. Unshed tears. Merry felt that he might panic. He'd never seen Pippin so truly out of sorts; he'd been privy to enough childish fits to know. And Pippin's fits were loud and violent with hot tears that he cried with no provocation. But for Pippin to hold them back, for Pippin to seem so worn and distant, something truly horrible must have occurred.

Pippin's next words brought him out of his thoughts. "Must be nice to be you, then. A Brandybuck as well as a Took, and a grown up to boot. It must be nice."

"Well, it's not bad," Merry began, and something clicked in his head; something that just didn't sound right, like the time he'd found Pippin sneaking into the Hall sopping wet, spouting nonsense about a cloudburst, when it seemed perfectly clear he'd fallen in the River and didn't want to panic anybody. Or the time Pippin had tried to palm off a stale sandwich on Merry because he'd eaten all the fresh ones made for tea. And Merry gasped as things suddenly fell into place. What was the day? It was five days before his thirty-third. Pippin and his family had been visiting; the preparations were still under way. A thirty-third birthday, of course, wasn't something that could simply be forgotten. Merry squeezed his cousin's shoulder and then turned him to face him, tipping his chin up and looking Pippin right in the eye.

"Peregrin Took, you tell me what's wrong with you, or I'll have to tell your Mum and Da and they'll send you right home, and they'll go with you too, and you know your sisters are going to be put out to miss my birthday celebration."

Pippin as he should be would have crumpled under that sort of threat, but desolate Pippin didn't seem to have anything to lose. He shrugged and his face was hard and controlled, and Merry had a sudden vision of how his cousin would be as Thain.. "Well, we might just have to do that, I fear. We should let them know now, if we travel hard, it won't take us long to get back to the Smials."

"Pippin!" Merry exclaimed, sighing and turning from his cousin. He paused and looked back, and found the next words harder than he wished them to be. "Why do you want to miss my birthday?"

Pippin tensed and crossed his arms. "It's just a birthday."

"It's only my thirty-third. If only happens once."

"Yes," Pippin countered, "but all birthdays only happen once. I just don't see why this one has to be such a fuss."

Merry frowned and tried another angle. "If you leave now, you won't get your gift."

"Yes, well, I can live without a present," Pippin replied, clinging to his stubborn pride. He sniffled and the look nearly faltered, but he held true and stood tall against Merry.

"But Pippin -"

"Shouldn't we see your Mum? Or are you all right? I'd like to get back to the desk, if you don't mind," Pippin said and Merry sighed deeply.

"Oh, Pip," Merry replied, and he sighed again, shaking his head. He leaned back against the wall, rubbing his forehead. "We're not going to leave this room until I know why you hate the thought of my birthday the way that you do."

"Oh, it's not that I hate it, it's just," and Pippin didn't seem to have any more words. "You should just go, Merry. This isn't something that can be figured out."

"But it's something, Pippin, and I can't go admitting defeat before I even try." Merry tried a grin on for size and it seemed to bounce right off of Pippin's hard-as-stone look. Merry sighed and reached out for Pippin's hands. "Pippin, please, talk to me."

Pippin bit at his lip and seemed torn between two places. In one place, he wanted to tell Merry everything because Merry was the one who understood, Merry loved him and Merry was the best friend and cousin that Pippin could ask for, and no one else but Merry really knew him. But that other place was further away, and darker, and there was no Merry there, only a lonely emptiness. He looked away and tried to pull away from Merr. Merry was torn for a moment; to hold Pippin close would only cause his cousin to struggle more, and it hurt deep inside when Merry released Pippin's hands and he felt his cousin slip away.

Pippin shoved his hands, now balled fists, into his pockets and looked to the floor again, and Merry's feet. Merry didn't know if it was the right thing to do, but he spoke, and his words seemed far too small to be heard in such a careworn and loved room. "You know you can tell me anything, Pip. Absolutely anything. I'm always here for you."

And that started the walls to crumbling and Pippin lurched back, and his voice was flat as he hit the edge of Saradoc's desk. "But you're not going to be here anymore, Merry. You're going to come of age and you won't have to bother with little cousins anymore."

"Oh, Pippin," Merry sighed, stepped close, and put his hands on Pippin's shoulders. "You're not a little cousin, Pippin. You're as grown up as I am, and if you think that a birthday is going to stop me from being here from you, then, well, I'll just not have it. I'll stay thirty-two forever if it keeps you from being sad."

Merry's words were so silly that Pippin couldn't help but snort, and tears started to trickle down his cheeks. "That, Meriadoc Brandybuck," Pippin said with a snuffle, "has to be the most ridiculous thing that I've ever heard you say; quite impractical. You can't just decide not to have your birthday; they come whether you want them or not."

"Ah, then you just don't understand the stubborn strength of a half-Took, half-Brandybuck," Merry said seriously. "All I need to do is simply will it and I'll be thirty-two forever, just for you."

"But that means I'll never come of age," Pippin countered softly, aware of the tears now on his face. He wiped at the warm wetness, frowning as though he'd get the tears to vanish into thin air.

"Ah, yes, but I can live with that, if you can. Can you, Pip?"

"I'm not sure," Pippin replied, uneasy. "This means that I'll never have a birthday again." He frowned and shook his head. "Oh, I couldn't do that, Merry. Vinca's looking forward to coming of age, and if I ruined that for her, oh, I'd never hear the end of it."

"So what does this mean, Pippin?"

"It means..." Pippin began, but his reply didn't come for a very long time. He looked down again, sighing. He didn't like this, didn't like thinking he'd be losing Merry in a week. Because a forever without Merry felt empty and wrong. "If you promise not to leave me, then I guess you can come of age; but you have to promise, Merry, and you have to mean it. With your everything."

Merry gave this thought, then nodded. "Very well then," and he kissed Pippin's forehead lightly, like he hadn't in forever long, and smiled slightly. "I, Merry Brandybuck, promise to always be there for you, Pippin Took. And I promise with my everything. And may these old books of my Da's bear witness."

Pippin smiled slightly, too, and Merry grinned.

"Did that sound official enough?"

"It sounded absolutely perfect," Pippin responded. "These books know a lot, after all."

"Oh, that they do."

They stood there in silence for a moment and then Pippin threw himself into Merry's arms, hugging him tight. Merry wrapped his arms around Pippin and sighed against the side of Pippin's head, an ear pressing into his cheek. "You'll stay for my birthday then, won't you?"

"Oh, I will," Pippin replied fervently. "And you'll tell me what my gift is, won't you?"

And Merry laughed and put Pippin at arm's length. Turn about, it seemed, was fair play. And if always was the price of Pippin's smile, then that simply was the way that things would have to be.

It's funny how things change, only it's not the sort of funny that brings smiles and laughter, instead it's the sort that makes you feel cold and dead inside. Pippin would hate to give up now before he's even fought the battle; after all, a Took doesn't give up without good reason.

It's funny too, what reminds us of times gone by. A smell can take you back to the kitchen where your grand's baking cookies, or to a bog that's nearly claimed the life of your cousin, but for a bit of rope. It's a smell that connects those days before to now; the tickle of bandage lint is suddenly the dust under a desk on a faraway day. Pippin can't help but put the two together; he hadn't sneezed then, and he won't sneeze now.

And Pippin can't help but feel helpless and small as he sits there beside Merry's bed in the Houses of Healing, head bowed over his cousin's hand where he clasps it with his own. It's been years since he last risked losing Merry, but that then is faded now and it's nothing like the cold harsh reality of the Houses of Healing; of Merry's right hand, like ice, of finding his cousin wandering lost in the city; and those words that they spoke so long ago are nothing more than childish whimsy.

Pippin wishes that he could laugh, because laughter seems desperately needed, but he can't find the will to laugh against something as dark and ominous as the Black Breath. Instead, he sucks in a deep breath, and his voice shakes as he presses his forehead against Merry's hand, and wills for warmth to return. "But you promised me, Merry, you promised with your everything." It might just be the echo of a long ago yesterday, but he wants to believe.

And Pippin feels as though he'd lived a day without Merry already, as his cousin seems beyond all reach; all he can do now is hold to his hope, and hold to Merry's hands, and pray that it'll be enough. After all, the hands of the king are the hands of a healer.

And Strider has never let them down.