By: Dana
Summary: There are things that cannot be undone, no matter how hard one tries.
Characters: Merry, Pippin
Pairings: Merry/Pippin
Rating: G
Warnings: Slash, angsty fluff
Author's Notes: Written for the Inspiration first line challenge. Merry and Pippin in Lothlorien, expansion on a scene in Softly Falling, which obviously makes it fall in the same continuity as that and Better Left (Things Unsaid). Betaed by Jen, who just rocks, as she did such a great job; thank you!
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.

There are things that cannot be undone, no matter how hard one tries. Like this -- knowing that, no matter how much Merry wishes that things could change, things can't; and even if they could, he knows that they wouldn't, because the way that things happen, no matter how good or bad, is just the way that things are meant to be. Lothlorien isn't home, it isn't even the Old Forest, which seems strangely comforting what with it being right there on the edge of Buckland; but Lothlorien is a whole new set of rules and responsibilities and even a life that Merry would rather not have had to know.

It isn't fair; it isn't fair that Frodo had been picked for this, because Merry has never thought of his cousin as an adventurer, but more a bookish sort; but then, there are those that would say the same of him. It isn't even fair on poor old Sam, stuck out here with Frodo; though, admittedly, Merry wonders, what with having had the chance to meet Elves, maybe it isn't so bad for Sam.

And Pippin. Pippin shouldn't be here (and neither should you, his mind snaps, but Merry buries that thought under half a dozen more); and it isn't fair that he is. Pippin had started off so sure of it all, and Merry knows that he had, too, but there must have been a point between here (sitting in the shadow of ageless trees), and there (setting out after Frodo, following him into the Old Forest), where everything had changed.

Gandalf; had it been Gandalf? Merry wasn't even sure if it had been Gandalf's fall, though he guessed that that played a big part. He remembers Gandalf from what felt like forever -- and thirty-something was close enough to forever for him.

But Gandalf was gone -- gone, just like that.

Merry sighs, wraps his arms around his knees, and buries his face against the rough fabric of his trousers that have been pulled taut. Too much thinking, and he'd rather not think it at all. He doesn't even look up at the soft padding of familiar footsteps -- and Pippin sits down close enough to Merry that Merry can feel it when he breathes.

"I was talking with my cousin."

"Were you?"

"I was," Pippin enthusiastically replies.

Merry looks up, and Pippin's reddish curls are touched with shades of grey. Pippin grins slightly, and Merry draws his head up fully. "What did he say?"

"Not much yet," Pippin says. "I only just started talking to you, after all."

Merry can't help but laugh, and his earlier thoughts (and they were so close), seem so very far away. He stretches his legs out, and Pippin sits closer, looking out into the shadows through wide, clear eyes.

"What do you think of this place?"

"Well, it's certainly not the Shire."

"That too," Pippin chuckles. "But what I meant was..."

"What do you mean, Pip? What are you saying?" Merry urges, when Pippin falls silent.

Pippin shrugs. "I don't think I'm sure. But I like it here, I think. It's certainly not the Shire, but it has a certain charm. Like Rivendell, you know. Such a lovely place, though it's so sad."

"It's like the elves, Pip," Merry states. Pippin nods.

"I still don't think it's fair."

Those words strike true. Merry nods, looking off to the east, through tall trees and shifting shadows; very far off, he hears the murmur of shifting, wordless song. "A lot of things have never been fair."

"But we've good company," Pippin continues, and his tone drops, shifts, and his words are suddenly softer. "It won't be the same without Gandalf."

Merry looks back at Pippin -- looks harder. Pippin seems paler in this not-light, and he looks suddenly tired, but he smiles, and his eyes brighten, and he reaches out, tapping Merry's cheek.

"Poor Frodo; but lucky Frodo. He has the most memories of us all. I remember the first time I ever met him, you know, and I wanted to hide behind Bilbo. Gandalf was just so" Pippin waves his hand vaguely, grinning, shaking his head.

"So very what?"

"So very tall."

Merry laughs, "I mostly thought the same."

"But he was! And I, no taller than half a knee -- "

Merry snickers and Pippin grins. But then they're quiet again, like they had been when Pippin had first arrived, and Merry doesn't think that he minds. It's a comfortable sort of quiet, and Pippin is, surprisingly so, a good hobbit to sit with and just listen to the sound of silence. Soft breathing, the shifting of tree limbs, the rustle of gold-and-silver leaf litter, murmured song -- Merry looks up, and Pippin has sat back, and Merry realizes that Pippin is humming some wordless something under his breath.

"What is that, Pip?"

"Nothing much, Merry."

And Pippin is looking at him, now, one leg drawn up, his chin against it, the other leg angled underneath the first. His eyes are wide, yes, a curious shade of green in the shadow of the trees. Merry looks back at him, and feels himself at a loss for words.

"Merry?" Pippin says, at length.

"What is it, Pippin?"

Pippin relaxes, and he reaches for Merry's hand, stretching his legs out so one brushes against one of Merry's. Merry starts slightly, and Pippin's hands are soft, yes, but not as soft as they once were. "I was thinking," Pippin says, and rather absently, Merry strokes the back of his hand.

"What is it, Pippin?"

It looks like Pippin might laugh, and Merry can't tell why until he thinks on it for a moment; that he sounds like he was stuck on the echo of his own voice, saying the same thing again and again, and he faintly grins. Instead of laughing, though, Pippin threads their fingers together, and Merry's aware enough that he almost tells Pippin that he's disturbed the flow, even if he isn't so sure what the flow is, and hadn't Pippin noticed that Merry had still been stroking the back of his hand?

But he doesn't say a thing when he pulls Merry's hand close. That doesn't surprise Merry, though; maybe Pippin doesn't know what he was meaning to say.

"Now Pippin..."

"Shh, Merry," Pippin says. "There's something I need to say."

But what? What? It so happens that those thoughts scatter, birds taking flight, when Pippin leans close enough that his mouth touches Merry's; the slight contact of flesh on flesh. He pushes closer, though, lips parting, like he was wanting to breathe Merry in.

And Merry, not just feeling but knowing that he's waited for this a good part of his life, parts his lips against Pippin's, and touches and tastes the breath in between. It isn't like they hadn't e But it is different, Merry thinks; it is.

"Pippin," he says, gasping, drawing back.

Pippin blinks slowly, touching his lips. He looks up, eyes still shadowed, and he slowly speaks. "I didn't expect that."

Merry almost laughs, and he tightens his grip on Pippin's hand. "Neither did I."

But that doesn't stop Pippin; then again, there isn't much that can. Pippin lifts his gaze up, shadows and light and stars and leaves, and the rest just doesn't matter (and there's been so much), and Merry knows that they're standing -- well, sitting -- only halfway through what they're meant to do. The Lady Galadriel gave him a choice, didn't she? And he made it, and now, sitting here with Pippin, no matter what else is to come, Merry knows he made the right one.

"It felt right, Merry. I don't think I've ever felt something so so right."

Merry nods, but he isn't sure what else he should say; and what he does, he doesn't think fits. "How do you think we got here, Pippin?"

Pippin laughs, and why shouldn't he, when this was Pippin, his Pippin, best friend and best cousin all wrapped in one. "On our own two feet, Merry, though we were carried at least once. I think this is where we're meant to be, no matter what -- "

Merry nods, and he can't tighten his grip on Pippin's hand further, but Pippin's free hand drapes over his, warm and soft and right. "No matter what," Merry says, not knowing what more Pippin would have said, but somewhat glad that he hadn't said it.

"I love you, you know."

Pippin leans close, and softly kisses Merry's lips. He seems surprised, but he smiles, drawing back, almost laughing at the improbability of it all -- but Merry thinks that the odds have always been in their favor, even if they took their own sweet time.

And oh, but it had taken time.

"I know," and he doesn't seem surprised, not now. "I love you too."

They sit in silence, changed and changing, and Merry finds that he wonders at what Pippin might have said; even if they aren't meant to be here, this is where they've ended, and this is where they'll be for the time being.

Some things are just like that -- maybe it's all not fair, it definitely isn't all fair -- but there are just those things that are meant to be.

(There are things that cannot be undone, and sometimes, for the best or the worst of it, it's better off that way.)