By: Dana
Summary: Beregond and Pippin talk and come to know one another.
Characters: Beregond, Pippin, mention of Merry and others
Pairings: Beregond/Pippin, Merry/Pippin implied
Rating: G
Warnings: Light slash, set during RotK
Author's Notes: Written for the Hobbit/Interspecies remix challenge at breelanders. My author was Trianne, and the story I chose to remix was A Simple Man of Gondor, my favorite of her stories.
Beta by Baranduin.
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.

He was easy company, this Peregrin, and Beregond smiled as the halfling talked. It seemed that there would be no lack of conversation, between them, as he had all his companions to speak of. Peregrin spoke of Mithrandir, and Gimli, too, and Merry; of course he spoke of Merry, and Beregond wondered who this Merry might be, other than Peregrin's cousin, as Peregrin had named him. And while Peregrin had once mentioned Aragorn, and Rohan, he did not speak more of him, other than to say that Aragorn had been of the greatest help to him and his friends while they had all been out upon the trail.

Though Peregrin was young, Beregond hardly seemed to note it, as there were moments where he seemed wise beyond his years. When Beregond had first seen him, of course, and he had been certain that he never had seen one such as him before, he had not thought that he would find one with such wisdom and good cheer.

Now, they sat with their picnic, though Peregrin ate more than Beregond. Undoubtedly, he ate with great gusto, belying his size, and Beregond could not help but smile as he watched. Without any doubt, he felt as if they had been friends for many years, and not for a bare hour. It seemed that Peregrin felt that way, too.

"You should tell me more of this Merry," Beregond urged. Peregrin had spoken of him with such joy.

Laughing, Peregrin did.

Truly, he was like none that Beregond had seen, and he smiled even more as the halfling – the hobbit – spoke, of Merry ("Meriadoc Brandybuck is his given name," Peregrin had said, "for he is far more cheerful than such a name might suggest. He would like it, I think, that you speak of him as a friend. You're mine, aren't you? I suppose it only fits,") and then of his own land so very far away ("You should see it," Peregrin had said, with a laugh. "If anything, everything there is much smaller. But I do miss my home."). He smiled fit to break his mouth, or so it seemed, beaming as he was. He seemed so very happy, a simple joy that Beregond found it difficult even to recall. So long had he lived in the shadow of this great darkness, and of war. Peregrin was reminding him of things that he had not even been aware of forgetting.

Then, Peregrin settled back, seemingly at peace now that his stomach had been filled, even though Beregond knew that the hobbit's seat was as cold as his own. With a laugh, Peregrin flicked his apple core out over the edge of the white wall.

And then he spoke more, moving from sitting to standing on tiptoe to look out over the wall. Beregond thought again that, yes, a halfling was no taller than his own son, but he seemed sturdy, and strong, and manly even, though Beregond was not so certain that Peregrin would take that as the compliment that he would intend. But he was sweet and kind, and he spoke with such joy and wonder as he told Beregond of the road that he had taken to reach the White City. He spoke of that, more, and of his age too, of how he was hardly of age in the ways of his people. Finally, he had Beregond join him in standing, and point out what he could see from over the wall.

When Peregrin next looked at him, it was with such an intent gaze that Beregond flushed beneath the intensity of it. Flustered, he looked away, and he heard Peregrin's merry laugh. Peregrin moved to sit again, and bid Beregond that he follow. Beregond did. Then, sounding peculiarly amused, Peregrin said: "You know, I thought you far older the moment I first saw you. But you're younger than I thought, I think."

Beregond looked at him again and found that Peregrin's countenance was as flustered as his own had seemed. "Fairer, too," he muttered, and looked away. "You mustn't be any older than Merry."

"Oh?"

"He's thirty-six. Well, he'll be thirty-seven soon enough."

Beregond looked upon him, and saw the sorrow in his gaze, and how it had settled upon his mouth. "You're nothing at all like him, I think, other than that. His hair is lighter, and his eyes are darker. Your chest is far broader than my Merry's ever will be." Grinning, Peregrin looked upon him, then sighed, and looked back out over the wall. "But you seem to be as kind as he, so perhaps you're not so dissimilar as I had thought."

Beregond smiled. Peregrin did not to turn to meet his gaze again, and Beregond found that he thought of his own wife. Weeks it had been since he had last seen her, when she had gone from the city to journey to sanctuary far out in the hills. She was a stoic lady, and dear to his heart, and her smile was clear enough in his memory. It seemed to match the shape of Peregrin's.

He missed her so.

"You miss your Merry as I miss my wife."

Peregrin blinked, and then he turned to look at Beregond, once again. He smiled, and he reached out, placing his hand over Beregond's. "It is good that we are not alone, then. And they should come back to us, soon enough." He sat up, and set a light kiss upon Beregond's cheek. Startled, but not unpleasantly so, Beregond turned his mouth to Peregrin's, and another kiss was set there, as light as the first.

"Yes," Beregond said, and nodded his head very slowly, Peregrin's grip still tight about his hand as he settled back to sit, "it is good that we are not alone."

Somehow, the darkness of shadow seemed lighter, as they sat there at rest. Their hands were still meeting between them where they sat; the hands of a man of Gondor and a hobbit of the Shire.