Merry leaned on the fence, narrowing his eyes against the bright afternoon sun and the warm breeze, attention so fixed on what was going on in the middle distance that he almost didn't notice when Pippin came up and leaned on the railing beside him. "What're you looking at?" Pippin asked around a mouthful of strawberries. Merry jerked his chin in the direction of the river. "That." Pippin craned his head around, following Merry's gaze. Sam and Frodo were sitting beside the river; Frodo was talking, and Sam was listening so raptly that a tree could have fallen on him and he wouldn't have noticed. "Hm," Pippin said. "So?" "So. You know what I think?" "What do you think?" Merry snagged a strawberry out of Pippin's hand and took a bite. "I think Frodo and Sam are head over heels in love and they're both too blind to see it." Out of the corner of his eye he saw an odd expression flicker over Pippin's face; but before he could decipher it, Pippin had turned to hang over the fence facing the river. "I think you may be right," he said thoughtfully. "But Sam's been sort of halfway keeping company with Rosie Cotton, you know." "Rosie's a corker, all right, but who would you rather have?" "Frodo, no question. If nothing else, he'd never bore you." Pippin nibbled thoughtfully at a strawberry. "When did you stop sleeping with him? Or have you?" Merry choked, making Pippin pound him apologetically on the back. "How did you know about that?" "I'm not blind, Merry. You went to visit him six or seven years ago and for a year afterward at least you twitched like a goat in rut every time he walked into the room." "Pippin!" "Well, you did. And the two of you weren't exactly quiet, either. What did you do to him that made him yowl like that, anyway?" Merry felt himself go scarlet to the hairline. "Peregrin Took, don't you think you're a bit young to be having this conversation?" Pippin dumped the rest of the strawberries into Merry's hands and clapped him smugly on the shoulder. "Why, no, Merry. I don't believe I am." Merry looked at the strawberries, looked at Pippin walking away, then stuffed the berries hastily into his pockets and went after his cousin. "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded. Pippin stuffed his hands into his pockets, and yes, that was definitely a smirk on his face. "What's it to you what it means?" "I'm your cousin, that's what, and I'm supposed to be looking out for you." "You were supposed to look out for me when I was nine. I'm nineteen now, Merry. All grown up." "And you've been doing what with whom, to celebrate being supposedly all grown up, which you aren't, by the way?" "I'll tell you if you tell me what it is you did to Frodo that he liked so much." "Pippin. This is not funny." "Well, I think it is. You should see how flustered you look." "I am not -" Merry began, when it dawned on him that he was, and to a rather disturbing degree. "You wretched Took, why do you even want to know?" "Maybe I want to do it to someone," Pippin answered, looking Merry dead in the eye. "Or maybe I want someone to do it to me." Before Merry had recovered anything resembling powers of speech, Pippin had spotted friends across the field and run to meet them, laughter bright as the summer sun as he slung one arm around Cyclamen Harbrook's neck and the other around her brother's.   And so of course the first thing Frodo said as he and Merry sat in the kitchen of Bag End preparing to have tea and Pippin chattered amiably at Sam in the garden outside was "Pippin's shot up amazingly this summer. He must be what, now, three foot six? Seven?" "He hasn't either," Merry answered crossly. "I mean... well, yes, of course he has. But he's still not as grown up as he thinks he is." Frodo looked up from pouring water into the teapot, looking mildly astonished. A small smile tugged at his lips before he could suppress it. "Of course he's not. No one in their tweens ever is, or even in their soon-to-be-tweens. But he's still not a little boy anymore." "Well, nor is Sam," Merry said before he thought. The smile faded and Frodo turned to hang the kettle carefully back in the fireplace. "Ah. Sam. No, Sam is -" "Oh, never mind," Merry said, rising to wrap his arms around Frodo's waist from behind, sorry to have caused his cousin even unintentional distress. "He thinks I'm not good enough for you, you know." "He's right, of course," Frodo answered serenely, the set of his shoulders relaxing a little. Merry leaned his chin on Frodo's shoulder, inhaling the clean scent of hair that smelled vaguely of some indefinable combination of herbs. "It's just... Pippin gave me a bit of a nasty turn today, that's all." "How did he do that? He usually bothers you less than anyone." "He asked when or if I'd stopped sleeping with you, and I didn't even know he knew. And then he wanted to know what it was I did to make you, and I quote, 'yowl like that.'" "Merciful Valar, you didn't tell him, did you?" Frodo asked in alarm. "You see?" Merry said triumphantly. "You don't think he's old enough to know either." "It's not that I don't think he's old enough to know, it's that I don't want him telling anyone else. He means well, but you know he's not always terribly discreet, and I think he'd be very injured if he thought there was anything in the world that was none of his business." "He does rather poke his nose into things, doesn't he?" Merry answered ruefully. "Yes, he does, and always has," Frodo said, glancing pointedly out the window to where Pippin crouched on the grass beside Sam, apparently barraging him with questions about some aspect of the rose beds. "Which makes me wonder why it got so under your skin today. Is it because he wanted to know, or because he wants to put that knowledge to some practical use?" Merry was silent for a minute, stroking the back of Frodo's hand with his fingertips. "I suppose it's because I don't want things to change," he said finally. "You're right, he's not a little boy anymore, and a good thing too because he wasn't always a very charming one. But he's been my best friend for two or three years now, and it doesn't seem fair that just when he was really getting interesting he should discover sex and not have any use for cousins anymore." Frodo turned and slipped his arms around Merry's neck, resting his forehead against Merry's. "You're putting the cart before the pony a bit, dear one. He's not shown any signs of ditching you yet, has he? And how do you know that he wants to look any farther for his education than what's right in front of him? You didn't, after all." "Frodo. Pippin has never shown any signs of wanting to sleep with me. And I don't know that I'd be ready to teach him the way you taught me. I don't think I'd be as good at it." Frodo smiled at that, gently brushing a stray lock of hair back behind Merry's ear. "And you're right, he's grown now, and if I don't teach him he'll find someone who will, if he hasn't already. Which I think he actually has, the little snot." "Merry!" Frodo laughed. "It's just..." Merry sighed in frustration. "It's different, that's all. He's not you, Frodo, or me either, for that matter. I think things would change for Pippin and me if we slept together, and I don't want them to change." "Then don't sleep with him." "But I don't want him sleeping with anyone else either! And I certainly don't want him doing it and then rubbing my face in it. And I didn't realize any of that until just this morning, and it's a bit much to take in." "You are in a quandary, aren't you? No, I'm not laughing at you, don't give me that look. But I think you need to sleep on all this. And I also think you need some nice strong tea." "I needed to talk to you," Merry said with a wry smile, running a soft tendril of sable hair through his fingers. "I can't say that it's solved anything, but at least now I have a better idea of why all this knocked my feet out from under me the way it did." "Pippin loves you, Merry," Frodo said gently, caressing Merry's cheek with the backs of his fingers. "No matter what the two of you do or don't do, he won't forget that." "You're quite wonderful, Frodo, do you know that?" Merry whispered, nuzzling hair away from Frodo's temple before he pressed a slow kiss there. Whatever Frodo might have answered, it was cut short by Pippin bounding into the kitchen, followed closely by Sam. "Where's the - oh. Sorry." Pippin's face fell a little, darkening for just a moment with a more complex mix of emotions than Merry trusted himself to sort out. Sam, behind him, was easier to read - indignation and disapproval, quickly masked. Frodo gave Merry one last pat and moved away from him. "It's on the table, you young hog." Pippin looked at the table and his face fell even further. "That's all we get, is tea? I'm starving." "No, of course not. But you're going to pour it while I go and get some seedcake. You know where the cups are, get to it." "Get bread and cheese too," Pippin called after Frodo as he pulled cups down out of the cupboard. "And strawberries. And -" "All right, Pippin," Frodo called back from the pantry, laughing. "I won't let you starve." "You'd better not. My mother says she's done having children forever, and if the noble line of Bucca of the Marish comes to a tragic end because you couldn't be arsed to bring strawberries out of the pantry -" "Hoy, don't be pinching my ancestors," Merry exclaimed indignantly. "You have plenty of your own." Pippin rolled his eyes and pushed a cup of tea at Merry. "You know as well as I do that even before the Oldbucks came to Buckland they were so intermarried with the Tooks that you couldn't tell where one started and the other left off without three longfather trees and a parliament of gaffers." "You just think Bucca's name sounds more impressive than Isumbras'," Frodo put in, coming back into the kitchen with food stacked precariously in his arms - two bread loaves at the bottom, a wheel of cheese on top of the bread, a seedcake on top of the cheese, and some complicated structure at the summit involving a basket of strawberries, a basket of hard-boiled eggs, and a pie. "Here, Mr. Frodo, let me -" Sam began; but the eggs were already sliding and Merry was the closest, and he darted over to catch the egg basket and grab the strawberries just as they started to slide as well. There was a moment of confused shuffling and quite a bit of laughter before he and Frodo managed to get the food safely distributed between the two of them. Once everything was safe, Merry opened his mouth to scold Frodo for not making two trips; and then he reconsidered, and decided that the laughter dancing in those lovely eyes deserved something else altogether. Struck irresistibly with the sudden urge to see just how much river bottom he could stir up, he leaned over the food and gave Frodo a quite decided and not terribly cousinly kiss. "Mm, Merry, you're going to make me drop something again. Set all that on the table, will you?" "It's your own fault, you know. You're lovely when you laugh, and you don't do it often enough." And oh dear, he hadn't meant to stir up that much reaction - Pippin was staring sullenly into his tea and every line of Sam's body shouted out rigid disapproval. "Never mind how often I laugh. Sit down, the lot of you. If I brought all this food out and it doesn't disappear in short order I'm going to be very annoyed." Merry sat hastily down across from Pippin and began slicing the bread. Frodo's temper was not a threat to be idly waved aside. Frodo slid into a chair and glanced up at Sam. "Sit down, Sam, you can't eat standing up. Pippin, have some pie. I made it for you." Pippin's face brightened considerably at the discovery that the pie was blueberry. "You always make my favorites when I come here, Frodo, and I can never remember even telling you what they are. And then I have to go back to Great Smials where Cook's always making those horrible steak and kidney pies... I think I should come and live here and you can cook for me all the time." "All right, but in return you have to entertain Lotho and Lobelia when they stop by." Pippin snorted with horrified laughter and levered a huge piece of pie onto his plate, and that was one set of feathers unruffled; the other set was still hovering rather awkwardly by the table. "Mr. Frodo, I really ought to be -" "Eating," Frodo said firmly. "And doing it quickly, too, before Merry and Pippin inhale everything on the table." Merry considered protesting but his mouth was rather too full of bread and cheese, so he settled for giving Frodo an indignant glare. Sam had just set his hand on the back of the chair, finally looking more or less cooperative, when a sharp burst of pounding at the door made all of them start and brought Sam's hand off the chair as if it had burned him. "I'll go get that, Mr. Frodo," he said hastily, and hurried out of the kitchen. "Sam, no, it's only - oh, bugger," Frodo said in exasperation. "She would have to come by at teatime." Merry swallowed and reached for his tea. "Oh, not her." "She's the only one who knocks like that. One day she's going to dent my front door and then I'll -" "Well, I'm glad to find you out of bed," Lobelia said brusquely, sweeping into the kitchen. Sam was trailing her with the general air of someone who had made a game attempt to sweep the Brandywine back with a broom and was not best pleased at the results. Frodo rose, swirling his tea lightly in his teacup. "Good afternoon, Lobelia. What can I do for you?" "You can do something befitting your position and clear up the right-of-way through my back garden. That miserable jumped-up mill owner's son was herding his sheep through it again this morning, and if he'd come any closer he would have trampled my roses. I expect you to do something about this instead of lounging about with your books and your... cousins," she finished rather nastily. "Lobelia, that path is fifty yards from your back garden, and the terms of Otho's will -" Lobelia smacked the end of her umbrella down onto the floor, narrowly missing Sam's foot. "I know the terms of my own husband's will, Frodo Baggins, and I know better than you do that he never meant that land to be used as a thoroughfare!" Frodo sighed. "All right, yes, I'll look into the matter. But I'd like to finish my tea first, if it won't be too inconvenient." Lobelia looked down her nose at the fourth place set on the table. "Expecting company?" "No, just the four of us," Frodo answered, and there was a thin edge to the politeness of his tone. Across from Merry, Pippin set his fork carefully down onto his plate. "The four of whom? You could hardly have been expecting me." She glanced over her shoulder at Sam and sniffed. "Surely even you aren't so lost to all propriety as to ask a gardener to sit down to tea with you as if he had the right to forget his station." Frodo's teacup came down onto the table with a soft click. Merry resisted the urge to scoot away from the table, and was sore tempted to crawl under it. "I'm quite well aware of the value of good breeding, Lobelia," Frodo said mildly. "I don't know how you possibly could be, given the people who raised you," she snapped back. "Oh, but I am. Quite enough, I think, even for the Sackville branch of the family. I wouldn't ask anyone to a meal who wasn't of the right sort." "Well, good -" "Someone, for instance, who was ill-bred enough to insult my other guests." Frodo gave Lobelia a thin smile. "Just by their presence." "Well, I -" "I find atrocious manners so tiresome, don't you? I'm sure that after you married Otho you were in a position to find that the mark of a gentlehobbit is the ability to remain courteous and mannerly under any provocation." "If you are implying -" "You're quite right, breeding does tell - in hobbits just as much as, oh, pigs, for example. Your great-great-grandfather bred pigs, I believe." Lobelia could not have looked more horrified if Frodo had accused her of breeding pigs herself. "He most certainly did not!" "Hm, I wonder where I got that idea. I must have been thinking of someone else." Frodo picked his tea up and took a sip. "Ah, the tea's getting cold. I'll look into the right-of-way just as soon as I have the chance, Lobelia, and we'll see if we can't come to some sort of equitable settlement. I won't trouble you today for any sort of details; I'm sure you're wanting to get home and have tea as well, and it would be rude of me to keep you from it." Merry wondered if Lobelia was going to have apoplexy and die on the spot. "Just you see that you get to it soon, my lad! Imagine, leaving someone this young to... well! I'll not keep you from whatever it is that you're getting up to. Good day, and kindly have a thought for your position!" "Good afternoon to you, Lobelia," Frodo said mildly to her back. There was silence for a moment until the front door slammed so hard that Frodo winced. He made a small face and frowned down into his tea, then moved to pour it into the sink. "She might at least have left before my tea got cold," he grumbled as he came to sit back down and pour himself some more. When his cup was full again he sat back and looked up at his companions. "Sam, for heaven's sake sit down. Merry, Pippin, eat." Merry gave serious thought to taking Frodo's teacup out of his hands, setting it down, and hauling him into the bedroom without further ado. Then he glanced toward Sam and Pippin, both of whom were staring open-mouthed at Frodo, and changed his mind. Better not to set that particular ball rolling. Even Frodo's bed wasn't big enough for all four of them.   He found Pippin in the tree above Bag End, watching the light in the west turn orange and scarlet. Merry came and leaned against the trunk of the tree, stuffing his hands into his pockets and turning his gaze toward the sunset. Silence settled around them, comfortable and companionable, the way silence often was with Pippin; Frodo's silence too often meant that he had gone somewhere Merry could neither follow nor reach. When the light was the color of deep, rich amber, Pippin shifted on the branch and swung down next to Merry, dangling by his knees and watching the sunset upside-down with his hands clasped behind his head. "You remember what you said today, Merry, about Frodo and Sam? Do you really think it's true?" Merry considered. "Sometimes I'm not sure about Sam. I know he worships the ground Frodo walks on, and sometimes he acts for all the world like a jealous suitor; but there's the situation with Rosie Cotton too, and I've never so much as seen Sam look at another lad before. But I'm sure about Frodo." There was silence for a minute more before Pippin said quietly, "I'm sorry." Merry glanced at him in surprise. "Sorry for what?" "That... that it's Sam and not you. Things like that don't always turn out the way you want them to, do they?" Pippin looked for all the world as if he were about to choke down a plate of cauliflower to get out of eating lima beans. Merry frowned at him for a minute, then said, "Come down from there. I can't talk to you when you're upside down." Pippin caught the branch with his hands and did a neat backward roll, dropping down beside Merry. Merry slid down the trunk of the tree and patted the ground next to him; after a moment, Pippin came to sit beside him. "Pip... next to you, Frodo's my favorite cousin. I love him very much. Maybe I love him a little more than that, I don't know. But the two of us aren't really suited and we both know it." "Why not?" Pippin asked, frowning. Merry reached down between them and uprooted a long blade of grass. "Frodo needs... well, I'd say a keeper but that isn't very kind -" Pippin gave a strangled snort. Propping his forearms on his knees, Merry spun the blade of grass in his hands, watching what was left of the sunlight glint from it. "He needs someone who'll always be able to reach him. Someone who can anchor him and fly with him at the same time, and who can pull him back if he starts going under. Someone who can deal with his anger without making it worse and can somehow manage to convince him that they won't leave him. Well, you know how Frodo is, he can be as happy as anyone else sometimes, but it's so fragile with him. I can't give him what he needs, not in a real relationship like that, and he can't give me what I need." "And what do you need?" Pippin asked quietly. Merry frowned thoughtfully at the blade of grass and ran his thumbnail along it, curling the edges. "I never really thought about it. Something easier, I suppose. Sam's taken care of Frodo since he was a little boy. I think taking care of Frodo is part of who Sam is. Even for as much as Frodo could give if he wanted to, and does give, I don't know if I could take that and make it part of me." He grimaced and began making little tears in the side of the grass blade. "And now I've made it sound like Frodo is an hysteric who can't stand on his own two feet and I'm a selfish arse, and I didn't mean to do either. I think it's like the weather, you know?" Pippin gave him a look that rather cast aspersions on the state of Merry's sobriety. "I mean... Frodo needs someone who loves fair weather and storms both, because Frodo's storms may not come all that often but they're real tree-rippers when they do. I need someone who loves fair weather and maybe Spring showers, and who can wait out the storms with me because there'll be fair weather again after. And that doesn't mean that he's going to go around stirring up storms just for the drama of it or that I don't want anything deeper than a mud puddle; it just means that we aren't very well suited for spending our lives together." "But you love him," Pippin said stubbornly. "Of course I do," Merry said in exasperation. "And so do you, and so does Sam, you can't not love Frodo - well, that Sackville-Baggins harridan manages it somehow, but I haven't seen many others do it -" "That isn't what I mean and you know it." Merry looked up at Pippin. There was a time when those words would have come along with a sullen pout; now Pippin's mouth twisted with impatience and exasperation, and his gaze on Merry's was not resentful but demanding an answer. Merry couldn't help but wonder when adult expressions had become so at home on Pippin's face. "Peregrin Took, look me in the eye and tell me that if Frodo asked you to come to bed with him tonight you wouldn't be between his sheets with bells on and nothing else before he'd even finished asking." "Now you're just evading the issue. It's not at all the same thing." Merry frowned. "It's not Frodo that you -?" "No, it wasn't Frodo. How far are you going to wander away from the point?" "Pippin, what is the point?" Merry demanded in exasperation. "You started out all this wanting to know if it upsets me that Frodo's in love with Sam. I told you that it doesn't, and told you why, and what more can you possibly want to know?" Pippin turned away and plucked up a blade of grass of his own, tying it idly into a knot. "I wanted to know if you were spoken for, I suppose, that's all," he said very quietly. Merry looked at his cousin, at the fox-sharp face surrounded by unruly curls and the deft, competent movement of hands that were broader now than Merry's; and there were a hundred answers he could have given but the one that came out was: "No. I'm not." "You and Frodo this afternoon -" "I didn't say that we aren't close. We are, in any number of ways. I just said that... that it wasn't what you thought." A slow grin spread across Pippin's face and he glanced sideways at Merry, and that conspiratorial look at least was familiar. "You made Sam furious." "Good," Merry answered, folding his blade of grass emphatically. "I hope it's not many steps from 'Mr. Merry isn't good enough for Mr. Frodo' to 'Ain't no one good enough for Mr. Frodo,' to 'Save us all, where did that dream come from, and how am I going to get the sheets cleaned up before my sisters see them?' And after that it'll just be a matter of noticing that Rosie's a fine lass but she's nothing that would keep a hobbit with sense out of Frodo's bed." Pippin was nearly choking with laughter. "But he won't think it's his place -" "Oh, I think he'll be willing to stretch a point. Even if he's not at first... oi, Pip, you've never seen Frodo when he sets his mind to getting into someone's trousers. Poor Sam won't know what hit him and he'll be too happy to care." The laughter died away and Pippin's smile faded a little. The twilight was growing deeper, filling the Row with violet-cast shadows, and it was getting harder for Merry to see Pippin's face. "Is he that good?" Merry was silent for a moment; then he dropped the grass blade and turned to face Pippin, folding his legs underneath him. "Pippin, what is this about?" There was a long silence, during which Pippin seemed to find his blade of grass utterly fascinating, before he finally said, "I dreamed about you. Once." Oh, and here it was, and Frodo was right and Merry still wasn't sure he was ready. "You did?" "Yes. It..." A moment of fumbling for words, and then Pippin spread his hands in resignation. "It was good." "Was it?" Merry asked hoarsely. "Yes. Well, I mean, except for the part where you wanted to put on Great-Aunt Clover's green and orange flowered housecoat and -" "What?" Merry yowled indignantly. Pippin whooped with laughter, falling helplessly back against the tree, and Merry glowered at him. "No, you didn't really. But it would have been funny, anyway," he said when he'd regained some measure of control. "If I can never get it up again for thinking of that horrible housecoat every time I think of sex, you wretched Took, you may not live to regret it." "Well, maybe it'll work the other way round and you'll get hot and bothered every time you smell mothballs," Pippin shot back, then collapsed with laughter again. Merry tried hard to maintain the glower, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth anyway. "You've a sick sense of humor, Pippin." Pippin wriggled down until he was lying on his back with his hands clasped behind his head, looking up at the first dim light of the stars through the branches of the tree. "Not as sick as the person who made Great-Aunt Clover that housecoat." Merry chuckled and stretched out on his side next to Pippin, propping his head on his hand. "Do you remember when Reginard and Poppy brought their youngest to the Hall for a visit, and she screamed every time she saw it?" He combed his fingers idly through the grass, enjoying the coolness between his fingertips. "Wise child. The more she avoids it, the less chance that she'll go blind." Pippin turned his head and watched Merry's fingertips weaving through the grass. Then he slipped a hand out from behind his head and let it fall to the side, setting the backs of his fingertips lightly against the back of Merry's hand. His skin was soft and warm, sliding just a little against Merry's, and Merry could have moved and didn't. Instead he watched as Pippin's fingers slipped down to wind gently into his own, seeming too simple a touch to cause such complicated sensations, and the heat of Pippin's palm against his fingertips was all the warmth he needed in the cool evening air. Pippin looked away from their joined hands, down onto the Row. "Sam's going home." Merry peered over Pippin and the side of the smial. "Does he look post-coital?" "No, he just looks like he's had a pipe and a good dinner and no more wine than he should. We should go in and keep Frodo company." "Frodo's tired. He said he was going to go to bed after Sam left." Pippin frowned. "Well, maybe we should go keep him company there." The alarming part was that Merry couldn't quite tell if Pippin was serious. "He should come home," Pippin fretted. "It's not natural, him living here all by himself." "Speaks the hobbit with three sisters and scores of cousins." "Well, they're his cousins too." Merry squeezed Pippin's fingers lightly, silencing him with astonishing speed. "He likes it here, Pip." Pippin turned his head back toward Merry, stroking his thumb lightly along the side of Merry's hand. "It's lonely here." Merry watched as Pippin's thumb moved in its slow caress and thought: We can still go back. Nothing has to change. We haven't done anything that would have to be there between us forever. "Are we still talking about Frodo?" "Yes. Well, partly. I couldn't sleep last night, Bag End felt so empty with just the three of us in it." "You could have come and gotten in bed with me," Merry said without thinking, and then was very glad of the blush-concealing dark. Pippin's thumb stopped moving. "I did that once or twice when I was a little boy, Merry. I'm not a little boy anymore. If I came and got in bed with you now it would mean something different, and I don't think you're ready for it to mean that yet." Merry swore silently. Pippin was far too perceptive at the worst possible times. "Pip, it's not that... I mean -" Pippin turned to him and lifted himself up on his elbow. "Then what is it? You? Me? Is it Frodo after all?" "No, it's none of those. It's... oh, Bullroarer's balls, Pippin, I don't even know." Pippin's hand slipped out of Merry's. "You tell me when you figure it all out," he said softly. Merry watched Pippin go down the hill and into the smial, and wondered miserably if it was too late after all.   Trying to count the shadows of leaves on the bedroom ceiling did not, Merry found, help promote sleep in any way. He lay on his back and drummed his fingers on his stomach, scowling up at the shadows, deep in the throes of that restless, annoyed and annoying feeling that might best be described as Andanotherthing... ; the urge to go in and wake Pippin up and lecture him until Pippin was quite in agreement with him on every detail of the situation was overpowering. Never mind that he was at this point thoroughly unclear on what the details of the situation even were, and his lecture would run largely along the lines of I'm right and you know it; something needed to be said so that Merry could feel to his own satisfaction that he had gotten the last word. But surely it was making more out of the whole thing than it was worth to contemplate going and engaging Pippin in debate in the wee hours; it was not that important, and as an unimportant thing could easily wait until morning, or even later. "It's just that you're my best friend," Merry said when he was satisfied that Pippin was actually awake and not just blinking dubiously in his sleep. "Merry, are you sleepwalking again?" "No, I - what do you mean, again? I don't sleepwalk." "Tell that to Cook. You scared her half to death the last time you were at Great Smials for a visit, finding your way into the kitchen like that." "I wasn't really sleepwalking. I only told her that because I knocked a stack of copper bowls off the counter while I was reaching for the apple tarts and it made a noise like a flock of geese in a thunderstorm. And you aren't listening to me." "Well, I'm trying. I don't listen very well thirty seconds after being woken out of a sound sleep in the middle of the night. You said I'm your best friend. Is that what you woke me up to tell me?" "No, it's not that. It's that... well, that the Shire is full of hobbits I could lie with but there's only one of you." Pippin muttered something under his breath and sat up, propping pillows against the headboard and leaning back against them. "Merry, I didn't ask you to lie with me." "Um," Merry said, feeling rather as if he'd miscalculated where the next stair should be. "All right. Never mind. I don't know why I thought -" "Will you be quiet and listen? We could do that if you wanted to, it could be... be another game we play, I suppose, and no harm done. But I was asking for more than that, though it seems I shouldn't have because I've sent you into some sort of ridiculous fit -" "I am not having a ridiculous fit!" "Any fit that brings you into my bedroom in the middle of the night to wake me up and expect me to join in the middle of a conversation that you've been having with yourself is a ridiculous one," Pippin pointed out with unfortunate accuracy. "Besides, you started it. You were the one who got so upset at the thought that I might be sleeping with someone." "Well, are you?" "You see? You don't want me and you don't want anyone else to have me. That isn't fair, Merry." "But you've got hold of the wrong end of the stick with all this about wanting and not wanting. I just..." Merry looked down and ran a fingertip over the edge of the blanket, then began picking at a seam. "I don't want things to change. I don't want you not to be my best friend anymore, I'd miss you." "Yes, and it's a well-documented fact that no one can be best friends and lovers at the same time." Merry scowled at Pippin. "You know, I'd forgotten what a filthy temper you get into when you're woken up in the middle of the night." Pippin made an exasperated noise, punched up his pillow, and flopped irritably back down onto the bed. "I'm going back to sleep, Merry. You feel free to go on arguing as long as you can do it without saying anything." "What am I supposed to do, write things down? No, Pippin, look, really. It's not that I don't want you, because I do -" He stopped short, horrified at having admitted it to Pippin before he'd even admitted it to himself; and that boundary that there'd be no turning back from was inching closer and closer. Pippin shifted to lie on his back, frowning up at Merry. "Do you?" he asked slowly, and there was something in his voice that made Merry suddenly wonder how long Pippin had been waiting for a discussion like this. "I..." he began, and then had no idea how to go on. Pippin sighed and rolled away. "Good night, Merry." "You can't possibly think it's that easy to get rid of me. Better hobbits than you have tried for weeks and not succeeded." "Meriadoc, it is the middle of the bloody night," Pippin said between his teeth. "Why can't this wait until morning?" "I wanted you to know." "Wanted me to - all right, Merry," Pippin said with iron patience. "Yes, I see it all now, everything is quite clear. Now can I go back to sleep?" Merry sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Pippin, don't be angry with me," he said quietly. "I just... somehow everything's changed just since this morning, and I feel as if I'm losing you, and it frightens me. I don't want to be a childhood playmate that you leave behind." Pippin sat up and moved closer, reaching out to gently brush back a strand of Merry's hair that had fallen into his face. "I'm not trying to leave you behind, Merry. I'm trying to take you with me, and you're laying your ears back and digging in your heels. I don't want you to feel like you have to sleep with me or lose me, it's not like that at all, but..." "But?" "But I want you," Pippin whispered. "And if you ever want me, I'll be here." He leaned forward and brushed Merry's lips with his, and Merry made two rather startling discoveries in quick succession: that Pippin's mouth was as cool as river-water in summer, and that, much as he had liked things the way they were, it was entirely possible for them to be even better. "Go back to bed now," Pippin ordered, and resettled himself under the covers. "Hoy!" Merry protested. "You can't just kiss me and then send me back to bed!" A pillow smashed into his head nearly hard enough to knock him off the bed. "Meriadoc Brandybuck, make up your mind! And go make it up in your own bed, if you please, so I can get some sleep!" Merry rubbed the side of his head and looked at Pippin, who was burrowing with great determination back under the coverlet. Then he sighed and pulled back the sheets, slipping into bed beside Pippin and curling up against his back with one arm wrapped around his waist. "It's just that there's so much to lose," he said quietly into Pippin's hair. "And there wasn't with Frodo? Merry, you worship him." "Yes, but..." Merry sighed in frustration, blowing away a strand of Pippin's hair. "It's different. Frodo knows so much more about this than I do. And I always knew that if I wanted to stop it would have been all right, and things could have gone back to the way they were without any hurt or resentment." For the first time in years it occurred to him to wonder what would have happened if Frodo had wanted to stop; and he pushed the thought quickly away, telling himself sternly that this was hardly the time. "I think things between you and me would change too much to go back if it didn't work or we didn't like it, and then I'd lose lover and best friend both." "You're right," Pippin said sleepily. Merry frowned. "Hrm?" "I said you're right. Let's not talk any more about it. We'll forget that all this happened and go on just like before." He patted Merry's hand and yawned. "You can sleep here or go, whatever you want to do." Merry stayed, wrapped around and against Pippin, and Pippin's breathing had been slow and deep for a long time before Merry's thoughts finally slowed their confused whirl enough to let him sleep.   In theory, Merry should have woken with Pippin curled against him, a slim, tidy bundle in his arms, and that would have been the beginning of something. Or he should have woken to an empty bed and the sound of Pippin chattering at Frodo in the kitchen while bacon fried, and perhaps that would have been the end of something. Instead he found that Pippin and most of the covers had migrated to the other side of the bed during the night, and all that was visible of him was a thatch of auburn curls and one pointed eartip. "Pippin," Merry whispered, reaching out to lay a hand on his shoulder. "Mmmrph," Pippin answered, not sounding remotely awake. Merry sighed and slipped out of bed, tied on his robe, and went to find breakfast. There was already tea on the table when he got to the kitchen. He poured himself a cup, not sparing the sugar and glad for once that Frodo liked his tea strong, and wandered into the parlor. Frodo was sitting in the overstuffed chair by the fire, with a blanket tossed haphazardly over his legs and a robe pulled loosely over his nightshirt, and he looked up from his tea when Merry came in. "Well. Should I congratulate you?" Merry sighed and went to sit in front of the chair, settling his head onto Frodo's knee. "No. You should console me. I've made things six times worse than they were yesterday." "That is bad." Frodo's hand, warm from the teacup, settled onto Merry's hair and began stroking as gently as if Merry were a cat warming himself by the fire. "Have you at least decided what you want?" "Yes. Guarantees." Frodo laughed. "There aren't any and you know it." "I don't want to give up my best friend to gain something that might be no more than what I can get in half a dozen other places." "Did you tell him that?" "Yes. He said that I was quite right and we should just go on as we were and forget about it. But he said all this after he kissed me and said that if I ever wanted him he'd be there." Frodo sighed and twisted a strand of Merry's hair around his finger. "Can you let him go like that?" "He isn't supposed to go," Merry said stubbornly, and then rubbed his cheek against Frodo's knee in exasperation. "I don't mean to sound as if I don't want to grow up and don't want him to either. It's only that no matter what path I set my foot to at this point I run the risk of losing him, and a Pippin-less future is not one that I care to think too closely about." Frodo tugged on the curl wrapped around his finger. "Do you hear yourself? How can you be so in love with him and not be thrilled to death at the chance to make something of it? More to the point, how can you let him walk away to someone else, loving him and knowing that he loves you?" "Well, he'll have to anyway someday," Merry pointed out. "We'll both have to marry and produce heirs." "All the more reason to make the most of the time that you have. And why doesn't the thought of him marrying upset you?" "It's different, that's all. He wouldn't be leaving me because he didn't love me anymore, or because he liked someone else better, or just because he got tired of being my lover. It would be... well, in a way it would be as if he were taking on a business partner, though hopefully one he'd be fond of and happy with. Do you know, I wonder if Estella Bolger -" Another tug on the curl, harder this time. "Merry. Stella's a dear, but we're straying from the point. You love him. He loves you. Stop dithering and count your blessings." There was a tone of dark bitterness running under Frodo's voice that made Merry frown and shift to wrap his arm around Frodo's legs. "Sam?" "Mind your own business, Merry dear." "Well, why don't you say anything?" "Oh, I don't know, possibly because he's never given me a word of encouragement. And I don't think he likes lads." "Don't try to go all distant and detached, Frodo, you don't do it very well. All right, I'll drop it, but not until I've pointed out that he doesn't disapprove of me because I trample his flowerbeds, he disapproves of me because I'm poaching in his fields. He may not know it yet, but it's true." "If this were a topic open to discussion I would remind you that I'm a hobbit, not a pheasant. But it isn't. And you need to finish your tea and go wake Pippin before he sleeps clear through elevenses." "Lazy sod," Merry muttered, and gulped down his tea. "All right, I'll go wake him." "Merry," Frodo called after him, and Merry turned to look inquiringly back at him. "Remember what I said." Frodo shifted under the blanket, curling his legs up underneath him, and his grip on his teacup looked a bit too tight. "Pippin's wonderful, and he's given you a wonderful gift. Don't turn it away just because you haven't cleared a spot on your mantel for it yet." Merry frowned, watching his cousin; and after a moment Frodo turned away, warmth touching his cheeks with color, and looked into the fire. His gaze grew abstract and absent, and Merry could nearly feel him pulling away, withdrawing to who knew where and leaving no path that Merry could follow. There was no anger in that withdrawal, but there was more pain than Merry cared to see in his beloved cousin; and among the many things that he regretted about the situation, prime among them was that it should have happened here, and before Sam had come to his senses and thrown himself at Frodo's feet. "Pippin's right, Frodo," he said quietly. "You should come home." Not waiting for an answer, he started down the hall to wake Pippin.   "I think it's going to rain," Pippin observed in a rather aggrieved tone halfway between Hobbiton and Tuckborough. Merry looked up at the darkening sky. "I don't think it will. Those rain clouds aren't close enough. Might do in the Southfarthing, though." "Aye, well, that's good," Pippin answered placidly, mollified. "There's no inn for miles. I wouldn't much have liked getting rained on in the middle of the night." And why did that calm, unquestioning trust make Merry feel horribly as if he'd betrayed Pippin somehow? "It's as well we'll get to the Smials tomorrow, though," he said tightly, trying for a conversational tone and missing by wide yards. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pippin glance at him with a puzzled frown. "There'll be rain before the week's out." Pippin was still watching him. Merry braced himself for awkward questions; but after a moment, Pippin turned his attention back to the sky and made a small face. "I hope it's not hard enough to keep us cooped up inside." Perversely, Merry was annoyed. Pippin's questions he was accustomed to dealing with; Pippin's silence was new and unsettling. Merry wondered if this was some new tactic to get thoroughly under his skin; if so, it was succeeding. "It's getting dark," he observed instead. "Shall we keep going or find somewhere to camp?" "Keep going," Pippin voted promptly. "Let's stop when we get to that thatch of trees down there. It's only a few more miles." "You aren't going to tell me, are you?" Merry found himself saying, and tried very hard to bite through his tongue. Pippin looked at him in surprise. "Tell you what?" "Never mind," Merry muttered, looking away. After a few minutes of silence, Pippin said, "If you're still on about whether I'm sleeping with anyone, no, I'm not going to tell you." "Why not?" Merry asked, too frustrated not to. When had Pippin started having secrets from him? Pippin glanced sideways at him and grinned. "Because I like it better when you don't know." "Of all the bloody cheek -" "Hoy, now. I didn't ask you to tell me all about it when you and Frodo were..." Pippin trailed off and looked away, looking suddenly uncomfortable. "When we were...? Lovers?" Pippin shot him an exasperated glance. "That'd be last week, Merry. I'm not deaf, you know." Merry's cheeks went scalding hot. "Well, when we were what, then?" he demanded. There was another brief silence, during which Pippin paid very close attention to where his walking stick struck the ground. "You were in love with him for years," he said finally. "I didn't mind so much at first -" "Pippin, merciful Valar, I should hope not, you were twelve years old! And I wasn't in love with him - don't look at me like that, I wasn't. I just - Frodo - he'd always been my favorite cousin, and he was... very kind to me when I wanted to learn about things." Pippin stopped and turned to face Merry, jaw set and walking stick planted hard in the earth. "Oh, was that the way of it?" he asked in a voice that was suddenly tight with anger. "He'd come to visit Brandy Hall and for a week before you'd be walking on air, everything was 'When Frodo gets here,' and 'Mum, what room did you put Frodo in?' and 'Yes, Pippin, that's very nice' when your mind was a thousand miles away, and all that just because he was kind to you?" "Pippin, what in buggery is this about?" Merry almost shouted. "It hurt, Merry! It hurt when I was twelve because you ignored me while he was there, it hurt when I was fifteen because you looked at him the way I wanted you to look at me, and it hurt most of all because I couldn't love either of you any the less for it. And I wanted you, and wanted him, and wanted the two of you to let me into this warm, bright place that you disappeared into when he came to visit, and I don't mind now that you were in love with him then but I minded then, and I want you to admit it!" For a long moment, Merry was too speechless to admit to his own name; all he could do was stare in shock at Pippin, who stared right back, eyes glittering with fury. Then he swallowed hard and looked away. "All right," he said quietly. "I was in love with him for a while, at first. He was never in love with me. There, is that what you wanted to hear?" Without waiting for an answer, he turned and began walking again. "Merry..." Pippin said behind him, sounding tired and contrite and thoroughly un-Pippinlike. Merry halted and leaned his head against his walking-stick. "I'm sorry. I didn't know it still hurt you so much." Sighing, Merry turned back. "It doesn't. But it did for a while when I first figured it out, before I realized it really was better this way. And I didn't mean to hurt you. I never even thought..." "Never thought of me that way?" Pippin asked with a sad, wry smile. "Pippin, in case it escaped your notice, you are nineteen bloody years old," Merry said between his teeth. "No, I never thought of you that way when you were fifteen, and still less when you were twelve! Until two years ago you still had a higher voice than your sisters. What did you expect from me?" "I wanted you to notice when I stopped being a little boy!" Pippin snapped. Merry looked at him for a minute, then finally said simply, "Well, I've noticed now, haven't I?" Before Pippin could respond, Merry turned and began walking again. "If you still want to argue, do it while we're walking," he said over his shoulder. "That thatch of trees you wanted to camp under isn't getting any closer while we stand out here in the middle of nowhere shouting at each other." "Bugger the trees," Pippin said irritably. "Let's just camp over here near the brook." Merry sighed and turned to trek down the slope to the brook. The trees were few but broad-canopied; he set out his bedroll under a large elm and then went to wash his hands and face in the clear water as Pippin set out his own bedroll under the same tree. He was almost done washing when Pippin came to sit beside him, leaning into his side, warm and somehow comforting despite being at odds. "I'm sorry, Merry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean for us to quarrel." Merry sighed and dried his hands on his trousers. "I suppose it was my fault, wasn't it?" "Yes, it was." "Well, I'm sorry too, then. And I'm too tired to be hungry. I'm just going to go to sleep." Pippin stretched and yawned. "Me too." Merry couldn't resist. "You're not hungry? I didn't think it was possible to be that tired and not fall down dead in your tracks." That earned him a punch to the arm and a wet weskit; laughing, he splashed Pippin back and then retreated to his bedroll, stripping off the weskit as he went. "G'night, Pip," he said, pulling his blanket over him. "Good night, Merry," Pippin answered from his own blankets an arm's length away from Merry. For a while there was quiet, and Merry discovered that the fact that he was tired did not necessarily mean that falling asleep would be easy. Then, after a while: "Merry?" "Hm?" "I'm cold." Merry sighed, debating. He turned to face Pippin, who was curled into a ball under the blankets and looking distinctly unhappy. "All right," he said finally. "Come here, and bring your blanket. Two blankets are better than one." Pippin smiled and scooted over, burrowing in next to Merry. Between the two of them they managed to arrange both the covers in a pile, and even Merry had to admit that it was warmer and more comfortable that way. A few more minutes of silence ensued before, inevitably: "Merry?" "Hmm?" "What would you have done if I had just come and gotten into bed with you one night?" "When you were twelve, or when you were fifteen?" Pippin laughed. "After my voice changed, let's say." Merry frowned up at the stars, suddenly very conscious of the fact that Pippin's lithe, compact body was stretched against his along their whole lengths. "I don't know, Pip," he answered in what he hoped was a sufficiently repressive voice. Before he knew what was happening Pippin had rolled over and plopped down on top of him, nearly knocking his wind out, and settled down with his hands folded on Merry's chest and his chin on his hands. In a low, purring voice that both utterly astonished Merry and did things to him that he had not previously associated with Pippin's voice, he asked, "Would you have been able to send me away?" Merry opened his mouth and tried to speak, then closed it again and gave a small shake of his head. Pippin's smile broadened into a grin and he rolled off Merry, settling back under the covers facing away. "I didn't think so," he said smugly. "Good night, Merry." Merry lay blinking up at the stars for a minute, trying to think, a task rather balked by his body's current state of shrieking insurrection. Then he thought wearily, Oh, bugger, why am I making such a fuss, and turned to Pippin. Pippin's look of innocent surprise when Merry caught him by the shoulder and rolled him onto his back was entirely unconvincing. It became convincing when Merry caught his wrists and pinned them to the ground behind his head. "Merry? What are you doing?" Pippin's wrists twisted a little in Merry's hands, testing the strength of his grip. "You wanted to know what Frodo likes," Merry said quietly. "He likes this." Pippin's mouth was cool and sweet under his, lips parting for a soft, startled cry and staying open to taste Merry's mouth in turn. Only for a moment, though, before he made a protesting noise and tugged at Merry's grip. "I don't like it," he declared when Merry lifted his head. "I can't touch you, and I want to." Merry laughed and released Pippin's hands, which immediately slid around to his back. "I didn't think you'd like it much." "Why does Frodo like it?" "I don't know. He... Pippin, why are we discussing what Frodo does in bed?" "Because he seems to do some rather interesting things." Merry had to laugh. "He does. And I don't want to discuss them, and can't you indulge your curiosity about other things for a while?" Pippin pretended to think. At least Merry hoped he was pretending. "Oh, I suppose so." "Good," Merry whispered, lowering his head again. Pippin gave a soft hum of approval and pulled him closer, his mouth curving into a smile under Merry's while his hands slipped between them to worry at buttons. And suddenly the issue of Pippin's possible virginity became rather salient again, though for rather different reasons. Bracing himself for Pippin's wrath, he lifted himself up and lightly blew a stray wisp of hair off Pippin's forehead. "Pip," he said quietly. "I need to know. It matters." Oddly enough, no wrath seemed to be forthcoming. Pippin frowned curiously and tugged Merry's shirt out of his trousers. "Why does it matter?" "It matters for what we do, and how we do it. You don't have to tell me who. Just tell me if you have." Pippin rolled his eyes and set to work on the clasps of Merry's braces. "All right, yes, I have. With Cyclamen, if you must know. And her brother." Merry's eyebrow shot up. "At the same time? Ow!" "No, not at the same time, Merry, they're brother and sister! Stop fretting and move so that I can take your clothes off." With an amused snort, Merry sat back on his heels. Pippin followed him, reaching up to slide Merry's shirt slowly off his shoulders. Merry's breath caught at the feel of Pippin's hands on him; he shrugged off his shirt and reached for Pippin's, making short work of shirt and braces as Pippin's mouth moved with luxurious slowness over the curve of his throat. The skin under his hands was soft and warm, different under a caress than it felt under a casual touch on hand or arm. Wanting more, Merry rose to his knees and drew Pippin against him, sliding curious hands over his back and up into his hair as Pippin clung and kissed and very nearly purred. "This is nice," Pippin whispered, and stroked the upsweep of Merry's ear with the tip of his tongue. Merry leaned back a little and cupped Pippin's face in his hands, for a moment only looking at him in the moonlight. Not only was Pippin not a child anymore, he'd grown strong and sure and beautiful, and now that he saw it Merry had no idea how he had managed to miss it before. "It is nice," he whispered back. Pippin grinned and pulled Merry back, wriggling pointedly against him. "Could be nicer." Merry laughed and bit Pippin's earlobe gently. "Could at that," he agreed. And somehow that exchange led to the both of them horizontal, rolling through the grass in a rather more careful than usual wrestling match to see who got to be on top, which Pippin won by sheer virtue of being less ticklish than Merry. Pippin settled between his legs, pushing slowly down, and suddenly Merry was far more concerned with seeing to it that this continued than with who was on top while it did. He sighed and ran his hands down Pippin's back while Pippin kissed him and reached for the buttons of Merry's trousers; and it wasn't until Pippin shifted his weight to balance on one arm that Merry realized he was trembling. "Pip?" He caught Pippin's chin in his hand and turned those remarkable green eyes back to his. Pippin gave a small, abashed laugh. "It matters, that's all. It didn't with Cyclamen and Rory. I want you to feel good, Merry." "I do. I will. Come here." Somehow their trousers managed to disappear, and Merry had to threaten to put Pippin's clothes back on and send him back to his own bedroll if he made the joke about a rock and a hard place that Merry could almost see hovering on the tip of his tongue, and Pippin laughed and suddenly Merry's breath was rather urgently needed for other things. And it seemed that Pippin's was too, because his soft whispers became tighter as their pace quickened, and his breath came in sharp hitching pants in Merry's mouth. Merry's hands skimmed over sweat-damp skin, pulling Pippin closer; they fit so well together, every inch of Pippin's skin burned against his, and before he'd had nearly long enough to take the measure of this new and strangely familiar game he was arching up into Pippin's hard, urgent thrusts, shifting as Pippin's hands clenched into fists under his shoulders. So good, oh it was, and when it burst through him like a shower of sparks from a bonfire Pippin was only a moment behind, breathlessly crying out Merry's name and wrapped so tightly around him that it seemed inconceivable that they might ever separate again. After a minute of warm silence, full of the quick hitch of catching breath and hands drifting slowly over flushed skin, Pippin shifted and sprawled comfortably half over Merry. "You got me all sticky," he complained in sleepy contentment. "Hoy, I was on the bottom. You got me all sticky," Merry retorted, then yawned. "Where are my pants?" Pippin wondered, lifting his head to peer into the darkness. "Don't know. It's too dark to look. Get off the blankets and let's just cover up and go to sleep." A few minutes of wriggling around and they were both settled on their bedrolls again, covered in blankets and curled next to each other. Merry yawned again and kissed Pippin's neck lightly, then let his eyes drift closed. "Merry?" "Mm?" Merry asked, rather bewilderingly jolted out of half-sleep. Pippin's fingers wound into the hair at the back of Merry's neck, stroking lightly. "Did you like it? I mean... with me." He sounded uncertain suddenly, and Merry pulled him closer, sighing against his skin. "Yes, Pip. Very much. Now go to sleep." "Then we will again?" "Good grief, Pippin, you sound like a lass. If you want to we will." And suddenly he was afraid that his light tone hadn't been terribly convincing, because the question of whether Pippin wanted this to continue had somehow become a very important one indeed. Pippin made an exasperated noise, clutched a handful of Merry's hair in a none-too-gentle grip, and shook Merry's head lightly. "You have to want it too, you git." Merry pulled back a little and reached up to caress Pippin's face, drawing his fingertips over Pippin's brow to smooth out the scowl. "Pip. I do. We will. Come here, love." The scowl vanished instantly, replaced by a smile, and Pippin wriggled close again. Merry settled in with Pippin's soft hair tickling his nose and closed his eyes again, warm and heavy with contentment and something very like happiness. "Merry?" "Mm?" "Now I'm hungry." Merry sighed in despair and pulled the blankets over his head.   Back to Rain Back to the slash page   Back to the home page