By: Dana
Summary: But you loved him first, you loved him best. You still do.
Characters: Merry, Frodo, Pippin
Pairings: Frodo/Merry, Frodo/Pippin
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slash, sexual content, rape, other dark themes
Author's Notes: I signed up for the Hobbit Smut "Ash Nazg" challenge right away and gladly picked Merry, thinking I might be able to write a story I'd been planning on writing for ages. I did not write that story, and then I had to regretfully let elanorgardner know that I would not be writing in the challenge. Sometimes, our muse or whatever just doesn't work the way we think it will, and so two nights ago - give or take - I ended up writing out the draft of this story in one go. It makes me incredibly uncomfortable and I do not know how I was able to write it, because I was writing outside all of my comfort zones. This is not my Merry, not anything like the Merry I normally write. I feel like I should say that as well.
I would like to give my thanks sophinisba for the work she also put into this story, in betaing it. Believe me, it is much better because of all her care.
I still can't believe I wrote this story.
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.

You've lived your life keeping your eye on him, both eyes, as often as you can spare them. It was easier, before he left you, before he went away, but he should have known you'd not be stopped at that. You followed him, visited him as often as you could. And you've kept your eyes on him, and you know it's been for the best. He doesn't look after himself half as well as you look after him. But no matter how hard you tried to stop them from changing, things did change – he isn't just yours anymore, and you don't like that one bit.

First Bilbo, coming to Buckland and taking Frodo away, then Sam, who must be set on taking your place, and then Pippin, who comes out of nowhere and makes himself perfectly at home, even if it's mostly only when his parents are also along. It isn't as if you hate them, any of them – no, you know they love him, and you love them all for that.

But you loved him first, you loved him best. You still do.

You're not surprised all those years later when Bilbo up and leaves him, and you tell him that you love him and that you'll be with him forever. He smiles, but his eyes are sad and his heart must be breaking and you can't bear it, just can't bear it, and you want to take it all away. There's ways you love him that haven't been dreamt, that he hasn't guessed at, and you'll show him, you show him, hands and mouth and body, and you give him your everything, you give him everything that makes you you. He wants to say no, you know he does, he wants to believe you're too young and this is wrong, very wrong, but you're no good at being told no. And anyhow, you know that this is for his best.

Maybe it's just because you want to have him.

It's better that Bilbo's gone, you think, and you'd tell him that but you'd not want to see him so sad. And he would be sad, caring for the old hobbit even though he's free now, with Bilbo gone.

(But there is a part of you that resents it, the power Bilbo still holds. But the wound is fresh, the hurt is new. It's not the first time he's been left behind. You keep telling him you'll be with him forever, and it isn't that he doesn't believe you, but maybe he doesn't believe you as much as he could.)

And time goes on, and you grow older, but he doesn't seem to change. It's fascinating, and he's beautiful. You should know – you watch him as often as you can.

Sam is almost always there, and Pippin shows up more and more often, and you don't resent either of them because you see how they make him smile. Maybe you should be the only one to have that power, but you're not. Maybe it won't ever be like it was before, but you can still dream.

And time keeps going on, and you've nearly come of age and you tell him how you love him, and he smiles at you but his eyes always do seem sad, and you tell him that you'll be with him forever and he laughs and he kisses you. You want to hold onto that forever, but you don't think that you can. It's spring at Bag End, and Pippin will be there again before either of you know it, and it's four days till your birthday but you already feel all grown up. You tell him that you love him, and you tell him that you wish he trusted you more.

But I do, he says, oh, I do, and his eyes seem even sadder than before. Maybe he is realizing something he hadn't ever considered. Maybe you're realizing that he won't be here for ever and ever, and if you don't hold on, he'll one day slip away.

So you tell him he should prove it to you, smiling at him, kissing him. But then you draw back, looking at him. No, it won't be long and Pippin will arrive, and you'll all set off for Buckland and your birthday celebration, and you won't have nearly as much time with him as you'd like. He hesitates, then says your name, and you hold your gaze steady.

What do you want of me, then?

I want to know you trust me – I want you to prove it to me, love. I want to know that you know I only do what I do because it's for your best, and that you'll not hesitate if it ever comes to... oh. All that.

Merry... Merry. What do you mean?

I want – no. I need to know you trust me, Frodo, that's really all it is.

He's hesitated already, but he doesn't hesitate again. He promises, anything you ask, and he seems sad, but you'll not have any of that. You take him to bed, knowing you need to make the best of your time before Pippin's arrival. You make love to him, show him what he can't say (but he does say he loves you, he says it almost all the time, but maybe the more you say something, the less it's true, the harder it is to prove) and when you lie tangled, afterwards, you tell him you want his ring, and he'll give it to you, won't he? You promised, you say, breathe against sex-damp skin.

He shudders, but agrees, though you don't make him rise right away. When he does, you watch him as he crosses the room, and he brings it back to you, holds it in the palm of his hand. It glints, golden, glimmering, as beautiful as he is. You don't know what draws you to it, but if you can get your hand on it, you'll never have to worry about Frodo slipping away.

And you look at it, then look at him, and you smile and you reach out. It burns, his skin, or maybe it’s the ring, or maybe it's only something in your mind. You take it from his hand, and look at it, sitting in the palm of your own.

'Thank you,' you say, and everything before that has been dream and this is reality, this is what you have been waiting for. There is a thrill in holding it, and it feels as though it's Frodo that you're holding in your hand.

'Merry – '

'Come here, love,' you say, close your fingers around it, then lift your gaze, look at him. Golden, standing there, the firelight setting him to glow. And he doesn't hesitate, goes down on his knees on the edge of his bed. You reach out, touch him, and then kiss him.

'This is just as if should be, you know,' you say, and look at him. Still sad, and somehow far away, and you want to tell him that it will be all right – but you want to tell him, as well, that you'll not have that anymore, that somehow you'll send all his sadness away. 'Frodo. Frodo.'

He snaps to attention, eyes wide, looking at you like he's seen some sort of monster, and you smile and then press yourself against him, stroke one hand back through his hair, press your fist against his chest, feel the beat of his heart as well as the cut of his ring.

Your ring, now. And he'll not be going away.

A little more time goes on, minutes or hours, and you dress in time for Pippin's arrival. You could tell him off but you'll not, as you really are more fond of him than you often let on. You know he loves Frodo, and that's what matters most to you – that Frodo should be appreciated above all others, that he should be loved. Pippin of course clambers for his attention, and you let him get away with it – he does make Frodo smile, and that matters as well. You have Frodo's ring, and you have him, and you can let Pippin make him smile because you shouldn't have to force that.

For all that, Pippin should know that there are boundaries, that there are limitations. That Frodo is yours, and not his – you've never thought yourself free with your kisses, but Pippin grows more and more uneasy each time you kiss Frodo, and you should stop but you know what you want. Maybe it's just what you know what Pippin must want and it isn't as if you're terrible or cruel, and if he's very good, perhaps you'll give him just what he wants, one of these days.

And things are perfectly wonderful, and you couldn't be happier. In four days you'll come of age and everything you've ever wanted is already yours.

The more time you spend at Bag End, the less you see of Sam, though the gardens do seem to flourish, so you know he's not slacked off in his work.

And time goes on, again and again, and Frodo and Pippin both grow older and you wonder how the seasons even keep on circling onward and on, when all you really want is for everything to stop, for life to go on like this for ever, perfectly so. You and Frodo, at Bag End more often than not. It isn't that you don't love Buckland, that you've forgotten your own responsibilities. It's just that Frodo, you think, is more important than all that.

(Pippin looks at you, mouth half-opened, hesitant. 'It isn't that I... well, I can see that you like and trust Frodo, but you hardly seem to like and trust me.' Sunlight in the air, and his cheeks are faintly pink, look warm.

Of course, that might be because you're sitting so very close.

You smile back at him, tell him what a fool he is, and then you kiss him – that gets his attention, of course. You rest your weight against him, running one hand back through his hair, kissing him in an unhurried fashion. He groans a little, squirms. When you draw back, he's breathing hard.

'But Merry – Frodo...' Pippin hesitates. 'Merry, I can't do this – I can't. I'm not used to keeping things from Frodo, and I wouldn't... don't do this, please.'

And you smile, stroke his cheek, hear his words and how he pleads, but now you know much better than he does. 'Would you rather he were here to watch?')

You could live like this for ever, you think, and you tell Frodo that often – as often as you tell him that you still do mean it, that you'll be with him for ever, that you'll not leave him, like he's been left before.

('It isn't that,' Pippin protests. 'I love Frodo, of course, but I don't think I... I mean, I really don't know.' He looks helpless, utterly confused, but then he looks away. You touch his cheek, make him look at you – he's nothing like Frodo, you tell yourself, but he loves Frodo and Frodo loves him, so he might just have his use.)

And time goes on and on, the years slip away. One day it is spring at Bag End, and Gandalf has come back. He isn't welcome here, and for all you want to send him away (the words are sitting on the tip of your tongue), for all you might think it's all yours and Frodo as well, this really isn't your home and you've no right to tell him to leave. And anyhow, Frodo should know how wrong it is and how uncomfortable it makes you feel with Gandalf being here, and Frodo will have to be the one to send him away.

But Frodo doesn't, taking him into the study instead and shutting the door behind them both but, more importantly, shutting you out. Left outside, you pace the hallway, wanting to listen to them but unable to – though, that's not to say you don't try. But they're speaking too softly, their words too low.

It drives you mad and then back to sanity, and you stand there with your fists at your sides, and when Gandalf comes out he looks at you as if you're a problem he needs to sort out. But Gandalf doesn't speak to you, nods at Frodo instead. 'Thank you for the offer of tea and luncheon, Frodo, but I've too much road to travel. Expect me before the summer, and we'll talk more of this then.'

Frodo nods back at him, and you don't follow them as they go to the front door – you wait there, instead, in the hallway. When he comes back –

('I need to know what Gandalf said, Pippin,' you say, and Pippin blinks as if through a haze – he must find it very hard to concentrate, to focus on you, now. He makes a small, wet, gasping sound, then bites down, hard, on his lower lip. After that, he lets out his breath, speaks.

'What do you mean?'

'Frodo's not been telling me anything, you see. Most especially, he's not been telling me the truth. He means to keep me safe, I suppose – but he should know me better than that.' You stroke Pippin, and he shudders – really, you're no good at being told no, but you haven't even given him the chance to say it. He's docile enough, anyhow, and you know he wants it, you're only giving him what he's wanted all along.

'He only said...'

'Pippin. Please.'

'He means to. He means to take it from the Shire. Bilbo's old ring.' Pippin looks at you, cheeks damp, breathing hard. You've been struck, or it feels like at least. You jerk back, and Pippin slumps back as if the moment has let him loose, gasping for his breath.)

- you scowl at him, and Frodo looks at you in a way he hasn't in a very long time. No, not just that, he's never looked at you like this, eyes burning, gaze defiant. 'I think we need to talk,' he says. 'Merry, I feel I've made a terrible mistake...'

(Pippin with his shirt half-unbuttoned, and his trousers undone. You brought him to Frodo's room, to talk, sat him down on the bed and stroked his hair and kissed his neck. And they had talked, but maybe you weren't expecting Pippin to tell you what he did. You look at him, now – shaking like a leaf caught in a storm, breathing hard, wanting to catch his breath.

'It's mine,' you say. He's mine. 'Tell me, does he mean to steal it from me? He can't have it back, Pip – not when he gave it to me, freely as he did. It was a... a gift.' Angry, you don't think you've ever been this angry, and you see fire, see red. 'He'll not take it from me. He'll not. He'll not leave me, Pippin. I'll not have that.'

Pippin looks at you, frightened, and –

'Undress,' you say, looking at your hands, then drawing Frodo's ring from your pocket. You look at it, and Pippin hesitates, looks at it as he shrugs his shirt off. You put it away once more, and wet your lips. 'He loves you, you know,' you say, looking at Pippin, wanting for the ring. 'You'll have your use and then I'll...' You shake your head. It hurts. 'You'll be of use.'

'Merry, I – '

He's not moving near as fast as you'd like, so you help him, pulling his shirt off and then pushing him down onto the bed, lifting his hips as you jerk his trousers off, leaving him bare. He lies there, not moving, holding his breath. And he's beautiful in his own way, you think, not quite golden but glimmering faintly... the ring is in your pocket, and it weighs you down. For a moment, you can't see and you can't feel but then you can, and you know you need to stop, stop while you still can.

'Merry, I – '

It isn't that simple though, is it? None of it is that simple. You reach for Frodo's ring once more, with Pippin pinned against the bed.)

Time keeps going on and on though the seasons seem stuck, just like a wheel that keeps on spinning though it doesn't seem to get you any further down the road. It will be summer before you know it, and then autumn, and what will come to pass? Nothing, and darkness will fall and there will be naught but that, and will it be your own fault? Or is it too terrible a thing to even contemplate, and for all the darkness that will come, you hardly think you can be made more miserable than this.

(Frodo is distant as winter, and you'll not let him leave you, you'll not let him go away. The ring is yours, and he is yours as well, and Pippin –)

Pippin is trapped there, very still, his eyes very wide and clear, the ring burning you where it touches skin. 'Merry, please,' he gasps, tries to push you away. 'You need to stop this. It isn't right.'

Stop? Stop? You haven't even started. You reach up, touch his cheek, run your fingers slowly down the side of his face. He shuts his eyes, seems perfectly focused. You press against him and he groans. 'You liked it, Pip. What I was doing, before.'

He doesn't say a thing, turns his head away instead. You stroke his cheek again, and then you touch his lips – and something changes, something else sparks in his eyes, and he tries to push you off of him but you push back down, won't let him go. He doesn't say anything – but he pushes at you, more frantic than before, tries to kick but you keep him pinned. 'Let me go, please, stop this, Merry,' and he gasps and he looks at you, and you are nearly undone by that look.

No sorrow in his eyes, but something else instead, the first real spark of fear – perfectly intoxicating, and you find yourself wanting more. You press your hand over his mouth and you press down, and he pulls at your arm but you won't be moved. The tears start, then, falling fast, and you press your hand down harder, gritting your teeth, muffling his cries. And he is crying, and you know this is wrong – you've always tried to do what was right, to teach him what was right, and you know enough about boundaries and limitations that you should know that this is wrong.

No. This is right. You know you are doing what is right. You always ever did what was best for Frodo, and now you're only doing what's best for Pippin – and Pippin's stopped struggling now and you watch the fight go from his eyes, and you know that this is all for the best. Half-lidded eyes and fast-falling tears, and he doesn't even make a sound. You press with your hand, then reach between both your bodies with the other, touching him, making him arch up against your touch.

No, he's not struggling, and he hasn't let go of your arm, and you know he would move it away if he could. You look him in the eyes, let out your breath, and then you smile at him, don't want him to be as frightened as he is. 'I am going to let go of your mouth,' you say. 'But you won't make a sound.'

He nods, slowly, and you draw your hand away and he does as he quietly promised, not a sound at all, but the tears are still falling down his cheeks and that at least won't stop.

You sit back, and remember how you'd liked it, him being afraid. You're settled between his legs and he's breathing quite rapidly, and you run your hands down his legs, then grin. You see the fear in his eyes, and you wet your lips.

This is just what he's wanted. You touch his leg, and brush your hand over his cock, and he shudders and his eyes fall shut – he's perfectly tense – but he doesn't make a sound, doesn't even gasp.

Too much thought, not enough action – you are angry with Frodo, angry that he would leave you, that he would plot against you. Too much thought, and not enough action – you are doing this for a reason, but you are forgetting even that.

His mouth twists open and he arches up, fingers knotted in the covers – and his mouth is wide open, and the tears are wet upon his cheeks, but he doesn't make a sound. Hot and very tight and the world is perfectly focused, and your hands burn hotter where you grab at him, hold him tight. You know this is all for the best, and for all you are teaching him a lesson – and by extension, Frodo as well – you are giving Pippin just what he's wanted (buried in him, between spread legs) and you've wanted to do just that, all these long years.

And you have waited, so you are allowed to take your time, to let yourself feel. You do, and Pippin is all around you – you groan, perhaps louder than you had wanted to, and you take a ragged breath. You hadn't thought it would feel like this, so perfectly – right. You reach out with one hand, run your fingers through the hot tears on Pippin's cheeks. But then you let your hand fall back down, clutching at Pippin, and then you let yourself move. Pippin shudders and groans but you allow him that, and he reaches for you, grabbing at your arms and holding on.

Time goes on – you have no grasp of it, only that it flows – and then you hear the faint creak of the door as it opens, and you know who waits at the now opened door. Pippin doesn't move, can't speak, doesn't even turn to look sideways and he arches up as you grunt and thrust. And then you grin, would kiss him but there will be time enough for that later on, and you'll tell him how you love him, because you do, and you'll leave sweet marks all over his throat.

'You see, Frodo,' you say, knowing quite well that all he can see is Pippin, spread open – you might be lost in your rhythm but you've not gone and lost your sense. Pippin twists a bit, bites down on his lower lip, gives a muffled little cry. A terrible mistake, that was what Frodo had said, this is all a terrible mistake – and one that Frodo could have prevented, if he hadn't been so fooled by the Wizard's lies. 'Pippin told me of Gandalf's plans, and how you mean to take your ring back, how you mean to take it from the Shire. I won't let that happen. I won't. I said for ever, Frodo, and that's a promise I mean to keep.'

'Merry – ' Frodo seems to be so very far away.

You grunt. Hold your breath. Bow your head against Pippin's, fascinated by the fading light in his eyes, how his hands slide down your arms, losing their grip. 'I love you, Frodo. I'm doing this for you, don't you see? It's all for you.'

You finish with Pippin not long after that, don't feel as sated as you should (almost feel sick but you don't fall over, don't slump to the side, don't lurch forward and vomit on the floor as you might have, begging forgiveness all the while). You rise up, and Pippin moves away from where you'd pressed him against Frodo's bed, slowly, his tears falling fast, and he not only weeps openly now, but he sobs out loud as well. You sit there, looking at him, watching him as he turns over onto his side, pulling his arms and his legs close, and run your hand down his back, wanting to soothe him as he weeps.

Then you look at Frodo and, pausing for a moment, you take off his ring. Everything seems easier now – the air doesn't seem so sharp, instead it's dull against your senses. It isn't that you don't feel anything, because you do, but you most certainly haven't felt everything. But you can see and you can breathe and there Frodo is, the defiant fire long gone from his eyes, and you hate having to show him like this, but he needed to know, he needed to learn.

'Merry – oh, Merry.' Frodo steps into the room, hesitant. 'What have you done?'

'He told me the truth, Frodo. The truth you'd not wanted me to know.' You look at him, and then the ring. You close your hand about it, and then you look at Pippin, and once more you stroke your hand down his back, down his side.

Pippin gasps, sobbing weakly. You should feel something, but you don't.

'Merry, oh – ' You turn, look up, and Frodo stands before you. Frodo, helpless and confused, and perhaps somewhat sickened, and it isn't right, him looking at you like that, when you only ever did any of this for him. You tighten your hold on the ring, but then you reach out with your free hand, taking hold of his.

'Don't look at me like that. Please.'

Frodo's eyes, always sad (but they're not empty, at least they're not empty like Pippin's, and you wonder if you might have broken Pippin beyond any repair). He leans against the side of the bed, with his knees, and he wraps his arms around you. For everything else you've had of his (taken from him), you haven't just been held like this, no, not for a very long time. Funny, then, how it all builds up, all of a sudden, and it bursts out in a sob.

'I'm sorry,' you gasp, find it hard to breathe. 'I'm so sorry, Frodo. I hadn't ever meant... all I ever wanted... you meant to leave me, you meant to go away, and I just couldn't have that, couldn't bear it. I... I only ever wanted your happiness, Frodo. Please – I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, love.' And you cry, cry harder, and Frodo holds onto you and you hold onto him, futile fists pressed against his back, and you wonder if it's truth or not, or if it's all a lie.

'It'll be all right, Merry, it'll be all right. Just give it back to me, and Gandalf...' Gandalf... 'He'll take it from the Shire, we'll be rid of it forever, and it'll be all right, I promise...'

He's promised you before. He's... He gave it to you, and that was hard enough, but if you give it back to him, he'll never give it back. You hold onto him, determined to keep him from slipping away. 'I'll give it back to you,' you lie, just as Frodo's lied to you, just as you must have lied before. 'Just let me hold onto it a... moment longer, please.'

(You leave them there together, know there's nowhere for them to go. 'I need a bath,' you say, and for a moment you think Frodo might join you. But he doesn't, sitting on the bed instead, reaching out to Pippin, who lies there, very still.

And you go away, but then you come back, feeling clean on the outside at least, the ring just where you left it, resting on the well-worn set of shelves nearest the bedroom's door. You stand there at the door, and you look at the ring and then you look at the bed – and there Frodo is, Pippin in his arms, Pippin still sobbing quietly against Frodo's shoulder. You do feel something, think it might be guilt but you aren't quite sure. You push it away, won't let it surface, but that doesn't keep you from still knowing that it's there.

Time could keep on changing, but they'll be there like that together, for ever. Both beautiful, but not the same.)

'It's just our dear Pippin, Frodo,' you say, looking at him, looking at Pippin. Pippin lifts his head, cheeks red, eyes the same. He looks away, ducks his head against Frodo's dark curls (Pippin's hair looks damp and messy, and there are tear tracks on his face). Frodo hesitates, but then he half-looks at you, and what you can see of his face, you can't read.

Frodo, your Frodo.

('It's just our dear Pippin, Frodo,' you might say, taking your ring from where it rests and then slipping it on once more. That does seem to be a habit, or at least the right thing to do, and then you'd join them on the bed. Frodo would tense, and Pippin let out a small, wet sounding sob. You put one hand on Pippin's shoulder, and he tenses as well, and you breathe out against Frodo's ear, urging him to kiss our pretty cousin, yes, just like that, but –

Oh. You know it's not real.)

'See,' you say, wet your lips. 'I love him just the same as I love you. I even made... made love to him... the way I've made love to you.' Not the same. You know it's not the same. You know you should feel something, when hollow eyes look your way, but you push that away, wonder if it might just be a sickening amount of guilt. 'We can all be happy together, now, us two and Pippin. That makes three. We'll all be happy together, now...'

('If you mean it,' Pippin says shakily, 'if you love me the way you love Frodo, then you'll make me a promise. Please.'

'Pippin – '

'I want to know you trust me – you need to prove it to me, Merry. I need to know that I can trust you, as well. I only ever wanted to love you, but I...'

'Pippin, please.'

There is a new light in Pippin's eyes, something bright, something bold. 'For some strange reason,' he says, and his voice holds steady, 'I seem to be afraid.'

'There's no need for that, Pip – I do love you, and you've more than just been of use.'

'Give it to me, then. Or give it to Frodo – we'll all still be together, afterwards. I need to know you can do this for me, Merry. I need to know that you can do it for Frodo. I want to believe you love him, Merry, but I need you to prove it to me. Please.'

And you don't know can't think can't act, the weight of gold heavy in your pocket, and you tell Pippin what a fool he is before you kiss him on the mouth.)

But –

You reach into your pocket, and you pause, looking at Pippin's profile. Beaten down, quiet, and he turns and looks at you, looks at you with those eyes of his, must look right through you. You're sickened at yourself, and you reach out, put it in his hand.

(This is not how it should be, and you dream of how it should be at times, and no matter what you might give up to make it right – if you hadn't ever taken Frodo's ring away, if you'd let him do as he needed to, and then in the end, if you'd let him sail away; if you'd let things go on as they were meant to – you only ever did this out of love, out of madness and love, and it would have been better to let Frodo do as he should. He might then go where you can't follow, but you'd still know it would be all for the best.

You might dream about how it should be, but there are other dreams as well, where things aren't right.

– Down on your knees, right where you belong. You were wrong, of course, thinking you couldn't be more miserable than you'd been – there are things far more wretched than that, and sometimes, when the darkness isn't so heavy, when you know and you can think but you're not allowed to act, you think you'd all be better off dead.

– Pippin doesn't say a thing, these days, but he doesn't need to, not when his gaze is more powerful than words. But time is fleeting, and the ring is not where it should be, and you can feel it now that it's gone beyond your reach, how soon it all will come crashing down in darkness and you will not be who you were before, not when He is able to claim His Ring.

– And then, there are those dreams where you are all dead, and you think that, of all the very bad dreams you've had, those certainly aren't the worst.)

'I'm so very sorry, Pip,' you say, and his hand closes around yours, clutches at the ring. You mean it this time, like you hadn't meant it before. He only smiles at you, and you sit there, empty, cold, and you feel the ring where it presses between your hand and his – but then it is gone, as Pippin takes his hand away. Pippin's eyes seem just as sad as Frodo's, and you really must love him the same as you love Frodo, as you only want to take that sadness away.

'He'll forgive me,' you say, and you wonder if Pippin listens to you, as he doesn't seem hear what you say. He doesn't look up, so you go on, talking about Frodo and even though know that Frodo will forgive you, you wonder if Pippin will able to forgive you as well. 'I hope Frodo will forgive me, at any length. And if he has any plans on taking it from the Shire, well, he won't be going without me.' You say too much but you mean it all, and you feel like you're falling to pieces and there's precious little in the whole of Middle-earth that will keep you whole.

'I'm sorry, Pip. I am.'

But the more you say, the more distant Pippin seems to be, and you could scream at him, right now, but you're not very sure he'd hear. Beautiful, and not nearly as broken as you had feared – had only now truly feared. It will all be all right. Frodo told you the truth. Frodo wouldn't lie to you. You're the one who lies –

You love Frodo, and you know that's what matters, in the end. Even if he isn't only yours, even if Pippin shouldn't be yours, and you wonder if you are too far gone in all of this to see your way back to the light.

But then you look at it, where it sits there on Pippin's open palm, glinting, golden, as beautiful as he. No matter what happens, it will all be all right. Perfectly so.