Rivendell was beautiful, there was no denying that. And there was nothing more delightful than the knowledge that he would never have to go on another long, dangerous journey with people chasing him on gigantic black horses and trying to kill him. He'd been very worried about Frodo while he'd been unconscious and tended by the elves, but now that his cousin was awake, it seemed that he had his gardener to take ample care of them.

They'd had a small table to themselves, just the four of them with some wine and bread and cheese - the simplest food that could be gotten in Rivendell, and they were glad of it. It felt friendly and peaceful, even in this strange, magnificent, bizarrely foreign place that was nothing like the Shire. It was both home, and far, far away, a place that he could never have imagined and yet one that had an air of mirth to it that rivaled any inn in Hobbiton.

Although it didn't rival Buckland. There was nowhere quite like Buckland.

As the conversation petered off, into minor trivialities, and the laughter started to fade into thoughtfulness, Sam stood up and went around to stand behind Frodo's chair.

"It's getting late," said Sam.

There was a momentary silence, and then Frodo turned slightly in his chair to smile up at him. "Yes," he said.

Sam covered Frodo's hand briefly with his own. Then Frodo turned to Merry and Pippin with a glow in his intense blue eyes that Merry had not seen there before. At least ... not often. And it wasn't as though he'd had that much to drink. Of course, it wasn't that Merry was surprised, exactly ...

"Sam will take me back to my room," Frodo said. "Thank you, Merry ... Pippin. For everything. I'll see you at breakfast?"

Pippin grinned and waved a piece of fruit with which he'd been filling up the corners at Frodo. "You go on," he said. "We'll see you both in the morning."

Their hands touching lightly at their fingertips, Frodo and Sam left the room, leaving the cousins alone with each other.

The silence was awkward for a long moment.

"Pip?" Merry said.

"Yeah, Merry?" asked Pippin, taking a long swig of his wine.

"Do you wonder about them?" Merry asked.

Pippin laughed. "I don't have to wonder, Merry lad!" he said. "I know!"

Merry felt himself flushing. "No, no, I know that too," he said. "I mean ... don't you ever wonder if they've got the right idea?"

Pippin stopped laughing and looked at him, startled. "Er ... the right idea?"

Merry rubbed nervously at the back of his neck with the slightly damp palm of his right hand. "Well ... you know ... Frodo does look very happy ..."

"And Sam couldn't be happer if ... if ..." Pippin trailed off, at a loss for an analogy.

"If you gave him Rosie Cotton and a big old vegetable garden," Merry said dryly, nodding.

"Simple pleasures, our Sam," Pippin agreed.

They sat in silence for awhile.

"So ... do you ..." Pippin said slowly.

Merry felt strange. "Er ... I don't know," he admitted. "It can't ... hurt, can it?"

"I-I guess not," Pippin said. "I mean, it does seem to be working for them ..."

"Right," said Merry. "And, well, you know. We're both still bachelors too. Maybe we just haven't ... haven't ...?"

"Figured it out yet," Pippin agreed. He swallowed uncomfortably.

Merry had never seriously questioned his sexuality before. Now, looking across at his best friend in the whole world, who was also facing similar previously unconsidered doubts, he couldn't imagine who he'd rather experiment with. Because he and Pip would survive anything. They were the best of friends. Joined at ... well ... joined at the heart. Although if you put it like that it sounded absurdly sappy and he'd never say any such thing aloud.

"Do you think we should?" Merry asked, after another long drink from his mug of wine.

"I think we ought to at least give it a try," Pippin said, finishing off the last of his fruit. "I mean, if ... if we are ... and we never try it ... well, then we'll never find happiness, will we?"

Merry got up and put down his mug, feeling somewhat less than romantic. Pippin tilted his head back to make things a little easier. And, feeling particularly uncomfortable and awkward, Merry leaned in and kissed his best friend on the lips. After the barest instant, realizing that otherwise he'd never really know, he slid his tongue into the other hobbit's mouth and tasted him with scientific thoroughness.

Pippin pulled back first. Merry stepped backwards, feeling more awkward and uncomfortable than ever, and sat back down in his chair again, heavily.

He tried to think of something to say. "Um," he said, "you taste good, Pip."

Pippin's beaming smile came in a brief flash that lit his face before it was gone again. "I've just had an orange," he explained.

Merry laughed uncomfortably. "Oh, right."

Pippin looked worried. "Er ... was I not supposed to say that?"

Merry shook his head. "It's all right, Pippin, after all, I did kiss you. I was expecting you to treat it the way you treat things, or else why would I have done it?"

Pippin nodded. "Er," he said, "right."

There was another awkward silence. Merry took another long drink of his wine, or tried to. As it turned out, the mug was empty. He frowned at it.

"Merry?" said Pippin.

"Yeah?" Merry asked, steeling himself for what he hoped wasn't coming.

"Umm ..." Pippin said, obviously uncomfortable. "Do you mind if we, er, don't do that again? Say, ever?"

Merry stared at him for a moment. Then he broke into the broadest smile of the night. "Oh, Pippin," he said, "I can't tell you how glad I am that you just said that."

Pippin grinned. "Oh," he said, sounding terribly relieved himself. "Good."

Merry poured himself some more wine and refilled Pippin's mug, too. "To the best of friends," he said, raising his mug.

Pippin raised his mug, too. "The best of friends," he agreed happily.

They drained their mugs.

"Thank heaven," they both murmured under their breaths, in near unison.

That was a relief.