By: Dana
Summary: And one turn into another.
Characters: Pippin, Diamond, Merry, Estella
Pairings: Merry/Pippin/Estella/Diamond
Rating: PG
Warnings: Polyamory, slash, femslash
Author's Notes: Written for my birthday. OT4 requested by Karine (serendipity8791), Ruby (rubynye), and Ari (bibliotech).
Four drabbles, four moments, quite unconnected.
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.

Estella always has loved the river, a love that she has long shared with her mother; and something that her father has always blamed on wild Took blood. Rosamunda was a bold lass, bold still, and though she is tempered, Estella is clearly her mother's daughter.

Now, certain that their eyes are on her - all three pairs, held transfixed - she steps to the water, deftly loosening the ties of her bodice. She steps free of her dress when it pools at her feet, bare but for a moment, letting their looks linger, before submerging herself in the river's cool embrace.

Merry has a habit of waking up too early, and he once wished that he could break it, but now he'd rather not - even with the sky dark with the last stars shining, with warm bodies pressing all around - Pippin at his back, Estella curved at his front, with Diamond's hand resting at his hip.

As such, Merry counts himself among the luckiest in all the Shire - and it must be too much luck for just one hobbit - but then, Estella says, it isn't too much when you share, Merry, and isn't that just what we do?

And it is.

As a child, Diamond often dreamt of a city with white towers, never thinking that they could possibly be real. But Pippin tells her otherwise, and she believes him, hoping beyond hope that she will soon be seeing them for herself.

"And that is Minas Tirith," he says with a smile, his hand, long fingers and a firm grip, fitting smooth against her own. "I think you'd like it there, Dinny, that is, if you don't mind always having to look up."

"That wouldn't be anything new, then," she says, and laughs, looking up at him as she always does.

She finds him standing in the darkness of the garden door, looking to the west. They have their fits, and their tempers, and she knows that they won't have forever, because there's something wild burning in their blood, and there isn't home, hearth, or kin enough to ever fully tie them down.

She can see it even now, when he turns, and he smiles, holding his arm out wide. Estella sinks against him, Pippin's arm folding snug around her shoulder, pressing her face against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of autumn that always seems to cling to his skin.