By: Dana
Summary: There must be something, that will hold Pippin together.
Characters: Merry, Pippin
Pairings: Merry/Pippin (mention of Merry/Estella and Pippin/Diamond)
Rating: R
Warnings: Angst, slash, sexual content
Author's Notes: Angst, it's what I write; post-quest Merry/Pippin, take angst, add a liberal amount, shake until you can't see straight. That having been said, I cannot warn against the mount of angst that was squeezed into this one -- well, I could, but you'll likely read it anyway. Also, the thing with the tub? Deal with it. I don't care if it's possible or not, I wanted it to occur.
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 those nights at those times of the year that Pippin doesn't like to sleep, because he doesn't like the dreams that come when he can't fend them off, and he doesn't like the sensation of waking and feeling as though he's been smothered. He wakes before dawn in darkness so pitch he's feared all the lights have gone out forever, dream-images of glass-eyed children swimming in his mind and the faded copper taste of old dead blood at the back of his throat. All the old hurts are suddenly as sharp as the edge of a knife, scars and memories that are just as severe. This is one of those nights, and he wishes he could instead dream himself into a void, because the maybes that come when he sleeps always manage to steal away the light of the day.

Morning comes abruptly and with it comes hope for the sun but always after those nights its thick grey clouds that greet him with the dawn, whispering wordlessly of a storm to come. He doesn't seem to be himself but he smiles and he talks and you have to look very hard to know that there's a problem at all.

Diamond knows, those, and it's these times that cause her stomach to knot with worry and she wishes and hopes and prays that he'll be all right; perhaps she wishes that he could simply be all right with her. But this is not something that she can understand, no matter how many times she's listened to it all. He came out of the Shadow so long ago, but sometimes, it comes back to visit.

So she holds her tongue in regards to that, and wishes him the best. Because it's her love he needs, now, her trust and her support.

But she knows it's not in his arms that he seeks to bury this darkness, and somewhere at the back of her mind, laid to rest, she understands completely. And there's nothing that she wants that would deny him such comfort. Love understands, and some love is pain.

Maybe one day, he'll be able to come to her.

And then Pippin kisses Diamond and she comes back to the present, and his lips are cold against hers; and tells her he loves her, and she says she loves him too, and then musses little Faramir's hair and tells him to be good while his Da is gone. Then and only then, with a smile and a wave, he's off to Buckland on his pony, leaving someone else in charge (Reginard Took, and Pippin trusts him with it all - after all, he could have been Thain, once, but that was before Pippin's Return) while he's gone. Diamond watches him go and can't understand, losing the feeling in her fingers where she wishes she could still be holding Pippin's hand. And 'til she sees him again, she'll feel the cold taste that she guesses is the end of her world.

But then it's her son's small hand, instead, and she smiles, and Faramir smiles, too. Diamond can't help but wonder, if he really understands.

No words are needed, though, and they go back into the Great Smials, for tea.

It rains on the way and when Pippin reaches Buckland he's cold, soaked like a drowned rat. He's ushered in and led deep into the smial, to a side room where he's given a fresh set of clothing, and he's sat to warm himself by the fire. Tea is brought and Pippin's grateful, though his hair is still wet and tickles the tips of his ears. He drinks silently and the little parlor is quiet. When Merry arrives, Pippin jumps up, almost as if he's going to jump right out of his skin, his eyes wide and the glass falls in a sharp rush towards the ground.

Thump and it bounces on thick carpet and Pippin stumbles and falls into Merry's arms and suddenly he's not the Thain anymore, no, he's simply a scared hobbit lad who needs someone to hold him and tell him it's going to be all right. Because Merry, Merry, understands, and he knows what the Shadow feels like, too.

Merry catches him and for one small minute Pippin feels put back together, calm, collected, but with an unsteady breath he's falling apart again, like the cinnamon stain on the cool hard floor. "Merry, Merry," he chants, and Merry's arms are cold and hard.

It's times like this that Merry wants more than anything to push him away because taking care of Pippin isn't his responsibility, not anymore, because they both grew up long ago and there's nothing else that Merry can do for Pippin that Pippin can't do on his own; but there are certain things that are simply impossible, like Merry without Pippin, and sometimes the word no, because in the world that exists between the Great Smials and the Hall, they're the only ones who really truly understand. Pippin is the one who's always there for Merry when he loses himself in those Shadow-born memories of that day on the Pelennor, what seems like a lifetime ago. Because what works one day, goes the other - Pippin is the one who understands, and no matter how much Estella knows, and loves, there are just those things that go beyond all the depths of her emotion.

Merry takes a deep breath, almost as though it's his last, and puts Pippin at arm's length. "Look at you," he says, and Pippin shivers and grins ruefully. "Let's get a bath running for you, Pip. You can tell me about it on the way."

And its times like this that everyone else in the hall tries to find someone else to be and it's empty as they make their way up towards Merry's private chambers. Merry and Estella's, that is, but Pippin can't think about that, can't think about her, not right now. He doesn't speak, feeling as though he's standing at a distance and the words just won't come to him, and Merry notices, so Merry speaks. "You're nothing more than a drowned rat, Pippin. What's brought you to the Hall?"

His words are soft now and Pippin sniffles and rubs at his eyes; Merry finds himself thinking of his own yearly battles with the Shadow that lingers. If only, he regretfully muses, Pippin's attacks were as easy to anticipate and to intercept.

Pippin still doesn't speak and Merry frowns. He doubts he'll get anything from Pippin now and he tightens his hold on Pippin's upper arm, pulling him along. Pippin is a shadow of himself, limp and cold. Merry swallows and takes another breath, only one of which he's consciously aware of. "I hope you don't get yourself sick because of this stunt, Pippin. We'll never hear the end of it, I fear."

Pippin remains silent and Merry sighs and leads him by the arm into the room. He makes sure the door is closed securely and sits Pippin down in a corner chair, then turns to the little oil lamp mounted in iron on the wall. It's one of many in the room, and Merry turns itup; the flame dances merrily but somehow it isn't enough.

Merry's hands are shaking. "I'll run the bath for you, Pip," he says, turning to his cousin and smiling. He brushes a stray damp curl away from the curvature of Pippin's brow. His head tilts slightly, green-gold eyes seeking out pale grey, and he almost smiles, but he almost cries, but he's stronger than that and heroes don't cry.

"All right? All right." Merry flips another curl then stands and stumbles into the bath, not waiting for an answer, because he knows that none will come. He lights the candles with shaking hands, with flint and steel, then running the water. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself as he stands and watches the water as it flows from the indoor reserve, before moving again, to stoke the fire to warm the water, and then he fumbles for oil to scent it - lavender, an ample amount, and soap, too, so that faint bubbles veil the surface. The aromas fill the room and Merry feels like he's gathered hold of himself.

That's why it comes to him as a shock, when he next looks to, to find Pippin standing at the door and leaning against the frame. His shirt is undone and hangs loose from his breeches, and his breeches themselves are hanging low on his hips. Merry knows what this is and Pippin walks with a steady sort of grace towards him though he can see the way that Pippin's hands are shaking. He goes to his knees and catches Merry's face between his palms and Merry can feel them tremble now, like ice, and Merry wonders if he can still move at all.

"Merry," Pippin whispers, once and then again, tilting his head and closing his eyes. Merry can feel Pippin's breath against his lips and he wants to pull away, because this is wrong, he has a wife, Pippin has a family, but he can't pull away, and the feel of cold lips against his own stirs something inside and Merry groans and Pippin's tongue slides against his lips. "Merry," he whispers again, and Merry shivers at the cool touch of Pippin's tongue, and then he plunges deeper and Merry can't think of a time where he hadn't wanted Pippin's kiss, when he hadn't wanted Pippin.

The lavender is heavy in the air and Pippin's hands are nimble, the touch of his hands are cold, and he and Merry are connected at the lips and Pippin unbuttons the clasps of Merry's shirt, sliding it down over his shoulders. Merry almost jumps right out of his skin, Pippin's hands are cold and Pippin doesn't stop, letting his lips ands his kisses slide from Merry's mouth to down to his shoulder. He kisses Merry there and Merry lifts his arms up to wrap around Pippin.

There doesn't see to be much of him there, and what there is, is hardened and lean and fit more to be a fighter than to be a father. Merry pushes the sleeves of Pippin's shirt back, and Pippin shifts his arms so that it can be removed, and dropped onto the floor, and then Pippin is pushing Merry back and tearing at his clothes, ripping them away and dropping them. Merry grunts and feels cold tile on his back and then Pippin is heavy and alive and right there on top of him. He cries out softly and kisses Merry, and that's hard, grinding his hips against Merry's and feeling the reverberation of Merry's groan against his lips.

"Pippin," Merry moans, arms wrapped tightly about his cousin, turning and shifting and then Pippin is on the bottom with wide eyes and a wounded needing look that begs for everything and leaves nothing left to imagine. Merry tries to hold onto some sort of reserve but there's a storm inside Pippin's eyes and he finds that he simply can't. Pippin pulls Merry's face down for another kiss and Merry moans, giving into that demand.

"Bath," he mutters against Pippin's lips and Pippin nods and Merry rises up, or perhaps it was the other way, with Pippin's voice and Merry's acquiesce, but whatever it is, Merry's the one to move and he pulls Pippin with him. They rid what clothing remains, breeches stacked in the pile on the floor, leaving only flesh that's yearning to be touched, and Merry can't stop himself and Pippin leans back against the top, eyes half-lidded and mouth parted as Merry does just that, running his hands down Pippin's side and over Pippin's stomach, thumbing his navel. Pippin sucks in his breath and Merry kisses his throat.

Its abrupt then, like a flash of lightning and thunder's rumble, and Merry's arms slide over old scars and Pippin is deposited into the water and Merry follows without a pause. The water swishes, warm and soft and soapy, and Pippin draws Merry close and he's not so cold now, wrapping his legs around Merry's waist and burrowing as close as he can. "Pippin," Merry laughs and the water swishes again, out over the rim of the tub, and Pippin almost smiles and nuzzles against Merry's chin.

"Merry," he sighs languidly and then shifts and kisses Merry again, and Merry feels his needdesirewant growing and Pippin shifts again and Merry groans. He can live without Pippin quite fine, and he's happy with the life that he has, but now, right now, he doesn't know how he manages without Pippin always at his side.

"We should get you cleaned up," Merry whispers, and his breath ghosts over Pippin's cheek. Pippin bites on his lip and looks into Merry's eyes.

"What we really need," he says, steady voice, unwavering gaze, "is you, inside, me," and Merry feels his resolve surge up and then die a feeble death, the look in Pippin's eyes, the way his lips are parted, and the way he feels pressed so tightly against Merry. Merry knows he can't resist him; not now, not ever, and if this is resistance then Merry doesn't think he can live without it because Pippin is warm and alive and his lips are so demanding and Merry really truly couldn't ever tell him no.

He runs his hands all over Pippin's sides again, his chest, his face, the way his back curves and the shape of his legs, in all the little out of the way places. Pippin laughs and Merry is urged on by that, kissing the inside of Pippin's elbow, letting those kisses find their way to Pippin's wrist and then his palm, and Merry is left wanting to remember him all over again.

It's been a long time since he'd seen Pippin like this, and he doesn't know when the next time will come, if ever, and there's that part of him that knows it would be best if they could simply stay apart. He kisses Pippin and trails his fingertips, letting them run across the map that's Pippin's body. Old scars and new ones, some on the outside and some on the in, rise up to meet his questing fingers brushing over raised ridges of skin and then the smooth plains that exist between. Pippin tastes heavenly and Merry numbly thinks that he could die in this embrace.

"Pippin," he groans, and pulls Pippin harder against him. A splash and the there's a hiss of steam as the water sprays onto the small fire. There is a haze in the bathroom now, gently lit by golden flame. Pippin moves against him and seeks out his lips and for a long moment, one that might never end, Merry lives and breathes through the point where his mouth connect to Pippin's. He's hot now and Pippin's mouth scorches him; he was all ice and winter chill before but now he's the sun kindled and given a body in which to dwell.

"Pippin!" he gasps, and Pippin settles back, hardness pressing against Merry's belly, and then he's sliding down against Merry's body until Merry's arousal presses at his backside. The water is smooth and slick about them and Merry moves a hand to rest at Pippin's hip, the other at his shoulder, holding.

He tilts his head just so and their foreheads rest against one another's and Pippin places his hand at Merry's shoulder and tightens his grip. He feels pressure pushing up against him and then he moves and breathes and Merry's pushing up inside and Pippin chokes on a cry and throws his head back and Merry's grip tightens on his hip, the other arm wrapping about, and pulls Pippin flush to his skin, burying himself completely, skin to skin, nothing in between.

Pippin gasps and presses his damp forehead against Merry's shoulder. His breath hitches and Merry closes his eyes; he'd forgotten what it had been like to feel like this, hot and taut and stretched, and the feel of Pippin so tight and giving about him. It's Pippin who shifts again and the sensations are divine and flood through Merry; he imagines this is what it's like to drown, to go beyond the point of no return.

He moves once and then again, Pippin clinging to him and kissing his throat. Merry's breath is uneven and he pants as he thrusts, harder and then harder still, because there's nothing that can quite compare to the feel of Pippin, to be within. Pippin shrieks and bites down on Merry's shoulder, fingernails digging into Merry's skin, and the water splashes and there's another angry hiss of steam. Merry can only think about what is right there before him and that is Pippin and when Pippin cries again, a sound he knows though it's been an age since he heard it last, and release slams into Pippin like he's run himself into a wall and he slumps again Merry, kissing him slowly.

Merry thrusts, once-twice-and then again, and he feels his own release building to an imminent peak and then it hits him and he sags in the water with Pippin leaning against him. Pippin seems to be everywhere and Merry closes his eyes, resting his cheek against Pippin's own, breathing him in, feeling as though he's slipping into Merry's skin.

"I love you," Pippin whispers, "I love you, I love you, I love you!"

And Merry knows that that's supposed to make it all better.

And he loves Pippin, too,

They lie in Merry's bed now, a bed that's not solely his own, spooned together. Merry has one arm across Pippin's side and Pippin seems to be dozing lightly, slipping in and out of sleep, talking sometimes and leaving long stretches of silence in between. Merry moves his hand, rubbing Pippin's stomach. Merry doesn't know what he's to do next, but whatever is to come, it's Pippin's turn and Merry doesn't know how long he'll have to wait. They'll lie here and then have supper and in the morning; well, the morning is the morning and there is still a long night in between now and then. With Pippin, Merry can never anticipate the ups and downs of his changes of mood.

At one time had had been able to read his cousin like a book. But then they had returned, and Frodo had left to go to the West, and Pippin had closed in on himself; not obviously but in the little ways. Speaking less of what bothered him, holding it all in. Merry was certain it would end up tearing Pippin apart from the inside; and it was ironic in a way, because these were all the things that Pippin chided Merry for. And when Merry held it in, Pippin was there to draw it all out. But Pippin could still read Merry, knew what to look for, knew what to say; Pippin was foreign at times, and beyond Merry's comprehension. And he isn't the Pippin that Merry has always known, instead he's evolved into a complex puzzle that was in need of solving.

Merry sighs and his thoughts scatter, and he presses his face to Pippin's shoulder, kissing him gently. That's simply the way Pippin is, laughing in the sunlight, yet showing the truth of his feelings when shadows draw close. And Merry doesn't understand; he has his own pains and his own old evils but they don't consume him, though in the beginning, at that end, they tried. Pippin stirs and breathes gently, then speaks up lightly, faint words Merry isn't sure have been spoken at all.

"I was thinking about Boromir," Pippin says softly, pauses, and then speaks again. "And I was dreaming, Merry. Dreaming those dreams." And then he's quiet, and Merry knows for sure that they've been said and he kisses Pippin's bare shoulder again, trying to give more than he can in that small gesture.

"Pippin," Merry puts his arms around Pippin completely and pulls him close; Pippin seems so very small as he's pulled flat against Merry's chest. So this is what it is, Merry muses. He won't let Pippin go.

"Everyone dies, Merry," Pippin says in a soft voice and his head lolls back to lie against Merry's shoulder. Merry soothes a hand through Pippin's hair and kisses his temple.

"What would you rather talk about, Pip?" Merry asks him, and Pippin is silent. He'd rather talk about Boromir, because the dreams, well, they're something else completely. Fractured and bloody and dark. Pippin only comes to him, he knows, when the dreams have been very bad indeed.

"Do you ever wonder...?" Pippin begins, tracing idle patterns on Merry's belly, "what it would be like if he had stayed? We could have showed him the Shire, perhaps he could have made his home here. It would be nice... very nice indeed... to have him around."

Merry is silent, and kisses Pippin's brow.

"Don't you think so, Merry? I would like that, I think. We could live together, in a cozy nook. Someplace, out of the way. Crickhollow. Though perhaps a redesign would be in order. Men are too tall for their own good."

Pippin's voice trails off and he shifts so that he can bury his face against Merry's shoulder, mumbling. "I wonder sometimes how old Beregond is doing, and if I'll see him before the end of his days. He was good to me, Merry, and I don't know what I would do without his friendship."

"There, there, love..." Merry whispers, caressing Pippin's cheek.

"And all that fuss about the troll. Goodness, it's like I was meant to die that day, of course, if that was true, would I be here right now, with you? Oh, of course not, Merry. And here I am. And here you are. You could have left me, Merry. I remember, you know..."

Pippin's voice is a whisper, now, and Merry doesn't know what to do but hold him, so that's what he does, and Merry can tell that Pippin's not there, gone back instead to a long-lost Then; their meeting again in the White City. His words are faint at first but Pippin continues to speak, his voice rising and falling in strength. "You were so cold, Merry. And your hand. Goodness, I thought that perhaps I would lose you forever. But that was no worry, old Strider knew what he was doing. And I didn't have to lose you, did I? You only had to lose me. Because then they sent me away, and you were left behind. I remember the darkness..."

His voice dips dramatically and silence spans and when he speaks again, it is not his memories of flesh and blood of which he speaks, but the ghosts that haunt the time where he dreams. "I can't stand it when they stare at me, Merry. Like they hate me... like I killed them."

"Pippin, love," Merry groans, and cups Pippin's cheeks and looks into his eyes. "What can I do for you? Is there anything I can do for you? To make them go away?"

Pippin shakes and tries to be strong, because he is strong, and he's been grown a long time. He's not Little Pippin Took anymore, he's the Took, he's the Thain, and he's seen more death and bloodshed than any hobbit rightfully should. He's never been the same, not completely, not since waking after he should have been dead. Pippin takes an unsteady breath, old dead copper in the back, something he remembers from his time under the troll, a taste that never really has completely left him alone, and then speaks, and it's not what Merry suspects. "I... I need to go to the river, Merry."

"Do you need the sun, love?" Merry asks, kissing his brow once again.

"But I always have the sun, Merry, as long as you're near."

"Pippin, love..."

"In the morning, Merry. We'll go to the river, then."

"We will."

"I don't want to wake up alone."

Alone... alone. That's such a silly word because Pippin is never alone, his people love their Thain, he has a wife who thinks the world of him, and a son who's all his father ever wanted. But Merry nods and kisses Pippin very gently. "I promise, Pippin. You'll never be alone."

Pippin groans, almost in a delirious manner, and tucks his head below Merry's chin. Merry pets his hair until he calms and Merry knows he sleeps. The last thing he hears, as he slips from Pippin's side to blow out the candles, is a mutter and a groan, and then Merry gathers Pippin up in his arms again, and they lie together under the covers in warmth and in darkness. This can't continue, Merry tells himself and he isn't sure how much he believes, this can't continue.

And he could, but he doesn't push Pippin away.

Pippin likes it when Merry's near, because it means he doesn't dream.

When morning comes, Merry wakes first, and Pippin lies curled against him. With a sigh he kisses his cousin's ear, winding his way to Pippin's lips. Pippin wakes with a yawn that melts into a kiss, pulling Merry on top of him. In the early morning gloom, Pippin almost looks like himself, a smile on his lips that reminds Merry of the smile Pippin wore (and nothing else) the morning after their first time. "Good morning, Merry. Shall we have breakfast?"

Merry laughs softly and noses Pippin's cheek. "We shall. Come with me, cousin," he says, and pulls him up. Pippin goes with him and stays close by his side. They dress (Pippin in borrowed clothing) and go down to the hall to eat. Pippin is greeted as often as Merry is and when they sit side by side at the long main table, Pippin at Merry's right hand, it's then that Pippin brings up the subject of Merry's absent wife. "And where is Estella this morning? I cannot remember seeing her since I arrived."

Merry grins. "She's visiting with her brother and his wife and their children in Hobbiton," he says simply, and makes himself a plate of food from what is set before them. The chatter of hobbits around them is near deafening, so Pippin nods simply and makes himself a plate as well.

Maybe Pippin really is all right, Merry thinks as he watches his cousin eat. But then, he muses, it's not that simple. He's seen Pippin before, and he's never seemed as broken as he is now. But the morning is warm and the company is good and Pippin smiles and laughs and eats a plate piled high with food.

Merry doesn't even stop to think that it could possibly be a mask; there are just those things that he simply knows.

The sun is shining brightly and the sky is clear and blue, so clear and so blue that it's hard to think that the day before had been bleak and miserable. Pippin looks up at the sky, throwing his arms wide and stepping out so that his feet up to his ankles are swallowed up by the languid flow of river water.

"I forgot what it's like here," Pippin whispers and spins around slowly, before peering at Merry where he sits in the green. "I think," he says, and reaches to pull off his shirt, "we should have a swim."

"Perhaps I shall sit here and watch you," Merry replies, and Pippin halfway grins.

"Very well, but you'll soon be wishing to join me." He pulls the shirt off and, unlike the day before, drapes it carefully over a limb and then moves back down to the water with a purpose. He makes small splashes as he walks in and then dives completely, going under the murky brown surface. He comes up again after a span of moments, and shakes out his hair as he looks Merry's way. "Are you sure you won't come in, Merry? The water's fine."

"I'm very sure, Pip. Enjoy yourself."

"Well, I will."

Pippin smiles again and it outdoes the sun, and then he goes under again. Merry watches him intently and Pippin acts like a hobbit a quarter of his age, leaving the water to jump in with a mighty splash. He's happy, at least, he seems to be happier than he's been in a very long time. Merry hopes that he's never given a chance to see Pippin sad again; because Pippin sad is the worst crime that could ever be.

He likes the sound of that, Pippin happy, and he smiles to himself. It fades abruptly when Pippin doesn't surface. Merry feels his worries begin to rise and he stands, stepping close to the water. No sign of Pippin at all. "Pip?" he calls, but there's no answer. He knows the way his cousin thinks, at least, he knows him well enough, in these days that have come to the both of him. This is likely some prank and Merry won't be had. "Pippin?" he calls again, but still there is no reply. He rushes into the water now, and calls out once more, "Pippin! Come out this instant! This isn't funny; you're no tween anymore!"

But Pippin hadn't been a tweenager yet, had he; he'd only been seventeen and he'd bitten off more than he could chew. It was just the way of a Took, Merry guessed, but then, the river water had been like ice, and Pippin had been lost under the dark water. And it wasn't as though Pippin had asked to take a swim; but he should have known better than to take the dare from Doderic Brandyuck.

The cold sound of the present, and still there's no answer and Merry's heart slams against his ribcage, wanting to burst, and when Merry turns his heart nearly leaps into his throat. Pippin, sitting silently as he watches Merry from the shore, wet curls hanging limply; and the quiet part of Merry's mind, wonders how long he's simply watched. "Pippin!" Merry gasps, choking on the name and Pippin almost smiles. Merry bites back a surge of anger and stomps through water towards Pippin, "What was that for? I thought you'd drowneded and - Pippin, stop looking at me like that."

Pippin rises up to stand at Merry's level, a smile spreading on his lips. A moment passes and he begins to laugh and the frustration coils in Merry's stomach, rising to a frantic pitch as Pippin falls back, arms wrapped around his chest as he laughs harder than he ever had before. Merry's hit with a sudden realization, hearing the hopelessness in Pippin's laughter, the high pitched frantic fervor of someone who's been pushed to the edge and they can't find the way back. "Merry!" he gasps, shaking, staring at Merry in pure shock. "I think you might just have to strike me, Merry. I just can't... stop myself."

Merry's mouth is dry and he falls to catch Pippin again in his eyes. Pippin's arm wrap around him tight, stronger than anything, any bond that Merry could possibly imagine (and what he could remember), bonds of flesh that burn like a fire. "I don't like feeling like this anymore," Pippin whispers in Merry's ear, like the calm in a storm.

"Shh, shh," Merry whispers, holding Pippin, rubbing his back. "It's going to be all right, Pip, you're going to be all right. I'm here, Pippin, I'm here."

And that used to be enough, but growing up changed that all, didn't it, and sometimes Merry wants nothing more than the chance to go back. And if he could, right now, he would, and maybe he could go so far as to be able to undo the making of that accursed Ring. Because it would save the tattered remains of his relations, the ones he's always loved the most. And Pippin's edges wouldn't be so frayed, and Frodo never would have had to say goodbye.

"I... I'm such a failure," Pippin whispers and Merry tries to pry his arms free but Pippin holds too tight. "To think I've made it as far as I have. To think that I stood before death and darkness and somehow managed to slip away. To think that I should have died but I made it here to this ending with you. And I should have, Merry, I should have."

Pippin's voice slips away with a muffled sob and he buries his face against Merry's shoulder. Merry holds onto him as his body shakes, closing his eyes and soothing all that he can, with all of the strength and the love that he can muster. And he wants it to be enough, wishes with all that he can, that it might just help to soothe. "There, Pippin, there... let it out, let it all out. It doesn't hurt to cry."

He feels like he's giving condolences to a child and not a hobbit of over forty years; Pippin is more a child right now than Merry could remember in a long time and when he draws back to put his thoughts in order, eyes open to the green and gold of Pippin's own, it hits him suddenly, solid as a blow to the gut. And Merry thinks its so strong that he can taste it, too, old blood and new blood, hatred, too; and the bittersweet taste of dust and ash, of not being meant to be alive.

Merry's mouth falls open an a hundred and a hundred more things threaten to erupt from him suddenly but all he can do is hold Pippin at arm's length, and stare.

"Merry..."

That's it, and the words tumble from Merry's lips, and now that they've started, he doesn't think that they'll ever end. "No, Pippin, no... you're supposed to be here, as much as I am, as much as anyone else. Your being alive isn't an accident, Pippin, oh, Lady, Pippin..." He pulls Pippin to him now, holding him tight, and now it's Merry who's crying on Pippin's shoulder, because he understands, but he never saw, and he should have, because he was there, too, and the touch of the Shadow never all together goes away. "You can't think that you shouldn't be here with me, Pippin. If I were alone..."

"But you wouldn't be," Pippin replies, and there's a strange sort of melancholy in his voice as he soothes back Merry's hair, kissing his curls. "You have Estella; she loves you very much. You'll have a son one day and he'll be as wonderul as you."

"As much as Diamond loves you, I warrant," Merry whispers in reply.

"Yes, well, she never takes me seriously."

"And Estella teases the ones she loves the most. Oh, Pippin..." Merry sighs, and shakes his head. "I can't imagine the Shire without you. Without your laughter, without your wit, without you. And I wouldn't want to."

Pippin is very silent and then suddenly a small chuckle pierces through. Merry lifts his head slowly, to see a quirky grin perched on Pippin's lips. Everything in the moment suddenly exists simply to strengthen the here and now, the brightness of the sun, radiating, and Pippin is suddenly real again; he's no longer a dream. And Merry can't help but think that's it always the smallest something, that puts it all into perspective.

"So, when did you decide that I have wit?"

"Oh, it was sometime ago. I could hardly remember now," Merry replies, grinning. "Of course, I could likely be mistaken."

"No, no," and Pippin's eyes are bright. "Mistaken? You must be confused. Never would the wise Meriadoc the Magnificent be mistaken."

Merry sniffs smugly and Pippin leans close so that their cheeks are pressed together. "Would you like that swim now, Merry?" he asks, sighing.

"Are you going to be all right?"

Pippin opens his eyes to watch the water flow by, the way it dips and sways, more ripples than he thinks he ever could count.

He could say something about currents and being lost when you least expect it, but he laughs instead and puts Merry at arm's length, simply staring. He could say something instead about how he doesn't want to fear sleeping anymore, but maybe if he's ousted the ghost that's haunted him so, he won't have to keep that worry. And maybe, just maybe...

Pippin is suddenly smiling; it's not the smile of Pippin's long lost childhood, nor is it dark and fine as ash, whispering of a lingering despair. It's somewhere in between but somewhere is a start.

"We'll have to see."

And Merry can't find a problem in that, because a maybe is always more substantial than never.