TITLE: The Lie  
AUTHOR: Sahari (kishijo@cox.net)
HOMEPAGE: http://www.yaoishrine.com/sahari 
DATE: August 23, 2002 
PAIRING: Merry/Pippin 
RATING: R 
SUMMARY: Merry is turning 33. Pippin wants their 
relationship to change, but Merry is resistant. 
DISCLAIMER: Tolkien is god. These characters are his.  
ARCHIVE: Yaoi Shrine, Least Expected 
AUTHOR NOTES: This is something of a prequel to “No Lie” 
(http://www.yaoishrine.com/fictions/nolie.htm)

The Lie
By Sahari

It was a season short of Merry's 33rd birthday when things began to 
fracture in his long-sustained relationship with his best friend, Pippin.

He didn't know exactly how it had happened.  Well, perhaps he could trace 
it back to those times when his father, the Master of Buckland, had had 
him in his study for hours on end; Merry had broken more than one 
promise to Pippin on these occasions. The master wasn't subject to the 
same polite laws as most hobbit-folk, and rarely gave Merry enough time 
to throw on a coat before he was summoned.  He would inevitably find 
Pippin relaxing in his sitting room, smoking in front of his fire and 
sulking.

Pippin forgave him a few times, but as Merry's "coming of age" drew 
nearer and nearer, the younger Took began to absent himself, disappearing 
mostly to Hobbiton and the company of his other friends.  A week before 
the party, Pippin vanished into Hobbiton altogether.

No one knew exactly where Pippin had gone, until a letter arrived for 
Meriadoc Brandybuck from the Master of Bag End, Mr. Frodo Baggins 
himself.  Under all the polite everyday talk was the inescapable summons: 
come and get Pippin.  And under that, the underlying tone that it was 
somehow Merry's fault that Pippin was overstaying his welcome.

He thought about it all the way to Hobbiton, mulling it over and over. 
Pippin had been restless and dissatisfied for a while now, and the source of 
it had always been a mystery to Merry.  Surely Pippin knew Merry had no 
control over the whims of the Master of Buckland, and that such duties 
could no longer be shirked, now that he was out of his tweens.  Pippin 
himself was 25.

Peregrin Took in his mid-tweens.  Now there was something to make one 
pause.  They'd been inseparable almost to this very year; neither had 
formed any lasting attachments anywhere except at Bag End.  Two days 
together could not go by without one or the other showing up on a 
doorstep, ready for some adventure, and that was some feat, considering 
how far their two homes were.

The very thought that the companionship might end sent an unforeseen 
stab of panic through Merry.  He knew it was something that would 
inevitably happen; one couldn't stay the years from passing, but he had 
long deluded himself, convincing himself that it would never really 
happen, that despite age and duties, he and Pippin would somehow always 
be together.

Then suddenly he remembered.  It had been a wet and cold night of deep 
drinking: Fatty Bolger's birthday.  They'd been dead drunk, and had barely 
stumbled into Merry's hole before collapsing before the fire.  There'd been 
laughter as Merry fumbled with getting the fire started and wet cloaks 
went this way and that by their clumsy owners.  They'd wound up drinking 
apple cider from Merry's store, warding the next morning's hangovers, and 
somehow the conversation had turned somber, or at least as somber as two 
drunk hobbits could be, when one of them was Peregrin Took.

Of the whole conversation, only one dialogue stood out clearly.

"Do ya suppose this'll all end, Merry my man?" Pippin had asked, 
gesturing in a vague way to themselves and the fireplace, the drinks in 
their hands. "Once you're of age, you know.  No more tramping the Shire 
here and there, no more late nights…"

"Well, I don't know," Merry had replied, and he remembered being 
vaguely put off by the depressing conversation.  Why did Pippin have to 
bring it up at all?  "What's the use of thinking about it, Pip?  Things will 
happen how they happen, how they're meant to happen, I suppose.  We'll 
always be friends, won't we?  Isn't that what's important?"

Pippin had given him a strange look, as if he were about to cry, but the 
look passed, and he said instead: "I'll miss it all the same," in a small, sad 
voice.  "No one understands me but you, Merry."  And then the memory 
lost its focus and slipped away from him, giving him the ideas that other 
things were said beyond recall.

That was when it must have begun.  He could only guess that Pippin was 
beginning to cut the ties between them, seeing his birthday approaching.  
It was a painful thought, for the precocious lad was the dearest being to 
him in all the world, and he could not fathom why his best friend should 
find it necessary to be so abrupt about a process that he had hoped would 
never really conclude.  He had imagined a slow withdrawal from one 
another, but he had not envisioned a complete cut…they'd always be 
friends, just not the extraordinarily close friends they’d been 'til now.

He’d never really envisioned a life without Pippin.

++++++++

Sam was working in the garden when Merry came through the gate.  The 
burly gardener stood, wiping his hands on his trousers, and gave the 
Brandybuck a bow.

"Good to see you, Sam," Merry said, "and your garden, I might add."

"Well now, I didn't much think I'd see you 'til the party, Master Merry, 
then up says Master Frodo: 'Sam, watch out for that Meriadoc; he's come 
to fetch the fool Took.'  Er, begging your pardon. His words, not mine."

Merry had to laugh. "That's quite all right; he answers to Fool as 
commonly as he does to Pip.  Are they inside?"

"Oh, of course. Should be finishing up elevenses. Go right ahead."

Merry thought bitterly that he hadn't had a bit to eat since the evening 
before at the inn; his stomach had felt twisted since the morning, the closer 
he got to Bag End.  

Sure enough, Frodo and Pippin were at the table, not a crumb left between 
them, and drinking wine.  Wine!  Probably the best of the wineyard 
wasted on Pippin's over-young palate.  

"Haven't anything left for a weary traveler?" Merry asked, putting on a 
cheerful face.  He could see at once that Pippin had not been warned of his 
coming, for his young friend's expression was something to behold, at 
turns surprised, then resentful, and then fatalistic.  It was not the sort of 
welcome he could expect in the past, and made his stomach clench in mild 
dread.  It was worse that he had thought.

"Sure enough," Pippin replied in Frodo’s place, who had gotten up to take 
his coat, the proper host. "There's all manner of nice things in the kitchen 
still."  And with that he was off to fetch it.

Merry and Frodo exchanged glances as the visitor settled.  Frodo had long 
since adopted an undisturbed face for the world at large. Considering his 
situation and breeding, one could expect nothing else from the Master of 
Bag End, who was well past his own majority, though he looked hardly 
out of it.  However, Merry could see that something was definitely 
preoccupying his friend.

"He hasn't made a nuisance of himself, has he?" he inquired.

"Not out of the common way, no," Frodo replied with a little smile. "He's 
been troubled, and well, it's difficult to see him so unhappy; one gets used 
to his smiles."

"Yes," Merry said.  One did, at that.

"So you know what it's about, then?" Frodo asked, some of the concern 
glimmering through.

"He's mad at me, I imagine.  I haven't been much of a friend lately."

Frodo opened his mouth, but Pippin was back from the larder, and what he 
might have said was lost as the youngest set down a small feast in front of 
Merry.

"Does this make us friends again?" he asked flippantly.  "I got all your 
favorite things, except that Frodo here has no beer."

"You know very well I've been lusting after Mr. Baggin's wine stores, Pip 
my lad," Merry returned, and set to the food regardless while Frodo 
poured him a glass.

Pippin waited until his mouth was full before asking point blank: "So, how 
did you know I was here?"

Merry almost choked, then glared at his friend while he deliberately 
chewed and swallowed, committing sacrilege by using the old wine to 
wash his throat clear. It gave him time to figure out the answer.  "Where 
else would you be, but in Hobbiton? Seemed logical to me."

Good thing Frodo has such a perfect game face, Merry thought enviously. 
Pippin would get neither confirmation nor denial from a glance at him.

"I thought we'd go back to Buckland together for my party," Merry added.

"What, one last hurrah before you bury yourself under your inheritance?" 
Pippin quipped, but there was a bitter darkness under the flippant words. 
"I would have come back.  Frodo's coming to your party, too, you know."

Silence. Never in his life had Pippin spoken to him in this cold fashion.  

If this was what Pippin had felt in the last months, this shocked pain, then 
perhaps he understood after all.  Merry had no reply, and stared sightlessly 
at his food while Frodo cleared his throat.

"Will you be staying the night, then, Cousin? We've plenty of rooms, and 
to spare."

"My thanks, Frodo," he responded, giving his older cousin a smile as he 
avoided looking at Pippin. "I'm sorry to be trouble."

"Not at all.  Let me look to the linens; enjoy your wine."  

Was that a look of pity on Frodo's face as he left the two of them at the 
table?

"Merry."

"Mm."  Still, Merry did not look up.
 
"Why did you come here?"

Why indeed?  It seemed foolhardy now. "Because you're my best friend," 
he said, because it was the simplest truth.

There was such a long pause after that that Merry looked up, to find 
Pippin staring at him, the strangest look on his face. Merry did not know 
what to make of it.  It was something like frustration, and a little like 
sadness.

"Am I?  And is it enough?" Pippin asked softly, and raised a hand to chew 
at his thumbnail, a sure sign to anyone who knew him well that he was 
distressed.

Merry stared back, blinking. He set down his wine and cleared his throat, 
half-wishing they weren't having this inevitable conversation. Denial had 
been easier. "Is it over, then? Like that?"

"No, not just like that!" Pippin shouted, pushing back from the table so 
violently that the plates rattled. "If you think I'm giving up the one person 
who ever cared a wit about me, then you're more a fool than I!  If you 
want to end it, then go ahead and make the cut.  I'll be dead first!"  And 
with that he was out of the room, and from the sound of the slamming of 
the door, out into the road.

Merry blinked and wiped at his eyes.  Frodo came in, looking rather 
stunned. "Was that Pippin shouting?" he asked.

"Something like.  Seems he wants us to remain friends." Shakily, Merry 
drained his wine cup and began to stack his dishes.

"I thought that was a good thing," his cousin mused, joining in on the 
cleaning up.  "Why all the noise?"

"I have no idea."

Frodo made a soft noise in his throat and they took the dishware into the 
kitchen.  "You know, Merry, I think I should conscientiously betray 
confidences, or else I fear this will go on forever."

Merry's attention was snared. "What confidences?  Pippin’s confidences?"

"Mm.  Well, just two of them.  First of all, there seems to be some 
problem with communication with you.  He's been trying to talk to you…" 

"I know, and I'm never about anymore."

"Well, not just that.  He said that every time talk would get serious, you'd 
drink, and be too drunk for anything worth sense."

Merry shook his head. "Well, we drink together.  What does he expect?"

"I suppose that when the conversation turns serious, that you would not 
drink even more."

"I don't--" Merry began, and wondered if it wasn't the truth.  The blurry 
conversations were an indication that perhaps he was secretly avoiding 
them with drink.

"And, of course, what he's been trying to tell you this whole while," Frodo 
added, stilling and waiting for Merry's undivided attention.

"Yes?"

"That he loves you."

"So?  That's no secret.  I love the fool back."

Frodo sighed in exasperation. "No wonder he's been driven daft.  Merry! 
You're not listening!"

"Yes I am!  Pippin loves me.  I know that."

"Merry, I'm telling you, he loves you in exclusion of all else.  He's told me 
he won't marry; he won't marry!  Have I finally gotten it through your 
thick skull?"

Surely he hadn't heard that correctly?  "He won't marry…" he echoed. 
"That can't be right, Frodo."

"It can, and it will be.  I've never seen anyone more determined.  You 
haven't encouraged this, then?"

"Frodo!  He isn't even old enough…!"

The master looked relieved. "I thought not, but …" He smiled briefly. 
"…Well, you're in a unique position as his best friend to make a go at it."

"I haven't even 'made a go' at it, as you say!  I don't think he's even…" His 
brows crooked, recalling misty conversations drowned in drink, and a 
flash of Pippin's wide green-gray eyes, far too close to be anything but 
intimate. "Oh, oh no."

Frodo waited him out, watching his expression curiously.

"The thing is, I think he's brought it up…but not when I'm sober and can 
remember clearly."

"That seems to be the problem," the master of Bag End agreed. "And I do 
believe both of you are to blame.  Pippin blames you for drinking when 
serious conversation is to be had, but I think he might be choosing times 
that ensure he isn't heard.  Perhaps to avoid rejection."

"He's too young, Frodo."

"Well, yes, if you look at it on paper…he won't be in his majority for 
seven years, but as you and I know, many hobbits don't care to wait until 
their thirties to make love. And I have to tell you, if that lad grows any 
more handsome in the next seven years, you'll start to have heavy 
competition soon."

Merry laughed…a short laugh, vaguely bitter. "So I snatch him before that 
happens, like some old lecher hovering…?"  He stopped, conscious of the 
sudden look of pain on Frodo's face…Frodo who was at least 20 years 
older, and could be considered 'old.' "You know what I mean!" he pleaded. 
"How do I even think about it, with such an innocent?"

The conversation had gone back and forth between dining room and 
kitchen.  His cousin took up the last cup from the table, his own drink and 
drained it before setting it with the dishes. He said slowly: "Like most 
difficult things, you will have to think about it, Merry, because it must be 
done.  The situation will not get any better; it can conceivably get much 
worse."

Worse, thought Merry in dismay.  Frodo read it in his face.

"If he's hurt enough, Merry, Pippin is capable of doing stupidly desperate 
things.  You know this as well as I."

"Like…?"

"Choosing someone else out of spite. Giving up on your friendship. 
Leaving you altogether. "

Merry stared at Frodo in growing horror, because he knew his cousin was 
dead right. Pippin was capable of such measures, because he was 
sometimes less than rational and made many decisions impulsively.

Like storming out of Bag End without his coat.

“Frodo, I think…” He gestured out the front.

“Yes, I think you ought to,” Frodo agreed, reading his motions. “Don’t 
forget both your coats…”

Merry nodded his understanding as he headed out, and almost ran into 
Samwise as he rushed out through the round door and down the steps 
through the garden.

“So sorry, Sam!  Did you happen to see…?”

“Master Pippin?  Yes, sir!  He dashed right out without a by-your-leave 
and headed out towards the village.  Is there anything I can…?”

“Thank you, no, Sam.  I’ll go talk to him.  Frodo’s cleaning up.”

Sam watched him trot down the road, frowning in concern, then glanced 
back to see Frodo standing in the open doorway.  “Are you all right, sir?”

“I’m fine, Sam.”  Frodo’s eyes, a strange combination of Brandybuck blue 
and Tookish gray, had taken on that worried look that always gave 
Samwise the sinking feeling that he wasn’t doing enough to assuage his 
master’s anxiety. “How are the primroses?”

“A little rust on them, but I’ve watered them with the right infusion. They 
should be perking up right as rain.”

“Good.  I always like watching them through the window,” Frodo replied, 
giving Sam a brief, thankful smile. “I’m making tea. Would you like a 
cup?”

“I’ll have to wash up first, sir.”

“If you must,” Frodo replied with a more enigmatic look. “Come join me 
in the study.”

Sam watched him vanish within the shadows of Bag End.  For some 
reason, Pippin’s visit had not cheered up Frodo as it usually did, leaving 
his master more careworn and introspective than with his usual solitude. 


Merry had a pretty good idea of where to find Pippin.  He had long 
understood that both of them followed a well-worn set of patterns in their 
behavior.  There were parts of Hobbiton that Pippin definitely preferred; a 
crook-limbed tree that cradled the climber in its arms; a small meadow 
that bloomed purple, yellow and white with wildflowers; a shady grove of 
trees along the roadside…

Which was where he found Pippin, by creeping along the forest’s edge 
and avoiding the road where he would be seen approaching.   The fool 
Took was sitting in the grass, his arms clutched around himself in the cold 
shade, and chewing at his nails.  Merry circled the tree on the inside and 
dropped Pippin’s bottle-green coat into his lap.  Pippin started, then glared 
resentfully up at Merry with eyes more green than gray, but took the coat 
and pulled it on quickly.  Merry sank down next to him.

“I don’t want it to be over,” he said. “You know I don’t.”

Pippin chewed on his lip, staring straight ahead. “Yes, you do.  You’re just 
letting us grow further and further apart!”

“Pippin…you know that I don’t have control over--”

“It’s not that!  I know you have responsibilities!  I have more of them, 
too…it’s that through all of this, even when we can see each other, you 
never--!”  Pippin stopped, wiping at his eyes.  “You never talk to me, 
Merry, not like you used to.”

“Pippin, my lad…”

“No!  I’m not your ‘lad,’ and I’m not your little cousin anymore!  But you 
never see it. Even Frodo has stopped treating me like I’ve half a brain.”

Merry sighed, letting his face drop into his hands. “What can I say?  
You’ve always been the child, Pip.  I know you’re growing up; I do know 
it.  I don’t know if what you want is…well…” He glanced down and 
stopped, seeing Pippin’s green-gray eyes watching him intently. He felt 
his throat seize up at that earnest look, and remembered how Frodo had 
called Pippin handsome.  He’d never thought so before, but it wasn’t a 
child’s face staring up at him anymore.  Pippin had the rounder face of 
most Tooks, and also had acquired their tilted eyes and pixie-like features, 
but what used to be a mischievous, cherubic visage was thinning out, and 
the adult lines were already becoming visible underneath. Along with the 
brown hair that ran golden in the summer, these Tookish features had 
spawned some interesting myths concerning their origins, from fairy wives 
to Elven blessings.

“Yes?” Pippin prompted, light brows crooked. “What I want--?”

“What do you want?  I mean, from me?”

Pippin’s gaze narrowed. For a long moment, he seemed torn between 
several answers, but then replied: “I want you to…take me seriously.”

Merry breathed out.  Maybe Frodo had misinterpreted after all. “I can do 
that.”

Suddenly Pippin lurched, throwing his arms about Merry’s shoulders, his 
whole frame shaking.  Merry grabbed hold of him reflexively, startled. It 
had been a long time since Pippin had thrown himself into Merry’s 
embrace like a small child.  It brought back those golden years when 
Merry had watched over his adoring younger cousin, where every scraped 
knee and stubbed toe brought golden-haired Pippin running for his arms.

“I thought you wanted me to take you seriously,” Merry reprimanded 
gently to the top of Pippin’s head. “I thought you were all grown up now.”

Pippin shook his head, his face still buried in Merry’s coat. He slowly 
pulled back, blinking tearfully, arms sliding off of his friend’s shoulders 
until his fists were clenched on Merry’s lapels. The green-gray eyes he 
raised were unnaturally bright and his face was wet.

Merry brushed his fingers across wet cheeks as he had years before. 
Pippin’s fair lashes were spiky and his cheeks were flushed, and for a 
long, still moment all movement and breath stopped.  For a second Merry 
thought he remembered…something…and it froze his heart in terror.  
Pippin was too young! 

“Merry…”

“Pip, I...” Horrified, he realized that Pippin’s slender body was pressed 
against his, and that he had the perfect face cupped in his hands.  By the 
Lady, this could not be happening! 

“Merry…you know, I…”

A hay cart rumbled past on the road, its driver whistling a lazy tune. 
Merry’s head jerked up, perturbed by the fact that he had not heard the 
obvious sound before. 

“Merry.”

He stood, pulling Pippin up with him. Pip’s eyes went wide as he, too, 
realized how close the cart was to their place under the trees.  Then he 
sighed, and resignedly followed Merry back to Bag End.


Frodo had dinner ready as they returned, chilled, the sun setting behind 
them.  He guided them to the fireplace, sat them down and had Sam, who 
had stayed on to help, set the table. 

“Are they all right, sir?” Sam asked, concerned by the unnatural silence of 
the two cousins.

“I’m not sure.  I can only hope they can talk out their differences, or better 
yet, act on them.”
 
Sam gave him a questioning glance but did not ask.  Frodo smiled and 
touched his arm.  “Thank you for staying on tonight, Sam.”  

Sam ducked his head, flushing. “Anytime, Mr. Frodo.”

Frodo’s answering smile was strangely strained, but then his blue eyes 
softened and he patted Sam’s shoulder before moving toward the kitchen.

There was something definitely wrong, and Sam stood staring after him, 
then blinked, returning to setting the table.  It was obviously not his 
concern and he tried not to think about it.




Pippin picked at his food at dinner, and watched Merry surreptitiously 
from the corner of his eyes.  There was still a bitter lump somewhere in his 
chest, but it was easier now to ignore it and tell himself that all would be 
well.  Merry was still his friend.

He was such a coward!  Why didn’t he say what he really felt, rather than 
take the easy way out? Frodo had been right; it was the hardest thing in the 
world to tell the one you loved how you felt, and even harder when you 
couldn’t know if the feeling was returned.  

He took a drink of beer, and stole a look at Samwise, who was attending 
his own meal and nodding at Merry as he listed the items they would need 
for the ride back to Buckland.

He supposed Sam was a handsome fellow, in that brawny, tanned way of 
those who worked out of doors, very different from Frodo’s pale, refined 
beauty.  And dependable.  One could do worse.  If only Frodo would show 
Sam how he felt…but who was he to encourage his friend when he 
himself couldn’t--?

“I take it space will be at a premium at Brandy Hall?” Frodo was asking, 
referring to Merry’s party.  Merry was the only son of the Master, and 
since this was the birthday of all birthdays, it was a natural assumption.  
Every third cousin in Buckland would be there.

“We’ll be doubling up quite a bit,” Merry said.  “We’ve a room for you, 
Frodo, and I’d like Sam to come, too.  Is it too much to ask that you 
share?”

Sam opened his mouth to protest the impropriety of it but Frodo was 
already nodding. “That will be fine,” he said.  “I’m sure we’ll manage.”

Pippin rolled his eyes at Sam’s outraged expression; the poor hobbit was 
trying to digest the idea of sharing a room with his master.  Oh, yes, Frodo 
had a hard path ahead of him to overcome all of that class-distinction 
garbage.  Sam would probably insist on sleeping on the floor, or some 
such.

Funny how he never thought about it until Frodo and he had that heart-to-
heart talk.  Now it was so obvious.

He glanced again at Merry who was involved in his ale. Why did he have 
to love this cousin so much?  It wasn’t Merry’s charm, although he had 
that and to spare; Pippin had seen Merry at his least charming. It wasn’t 
his handsome face, even though Merry had those dark blue eyes so 
indicative of a true Bucklander and a riot of curly black hair that seemed 
to beckon for some charitable soul to smooth it.  It wasn’t even long 
acquaintance, for usually a long friendship such as theirs would have 
killed any form of attraction with familiarity.  It was just that he was 
Merry: mischievous, but knowing his limits; aggressive yet gentle as a 
lamb; knowledgeable but not book-deep; sweet yet with an edge; practical 
but capable of dropping common sense when needed; mature and self-
confident yet still a little boy sometimes.  

And really, really, really … attractive. It was the only way Pippin could 
think of this new, adult feeling that had sprouted up over the last few 
years. Merry made his heart jump and speed up, made his breath short, 
made him touch himself when he closed his eyes and imagined…what it 
would be like to have Merry really kiss him.  Pippin had tried it once, but 
they had both been drunk after Fatty’s birthday, which was the state of 
affairs now for almost every time they were alone together.  Merry had 
stared at him in confusion and finally pushed him away. It hurt to 
remember it, but Merry never brought it up, so Pippin assumed he’d 
forgotten, as he tended to forget many things under the influence of good 
beer. 

“Where’s Pippin staying?”

Pip raised his head, startled to hear his name.

“With me, like always, I suppose,” Merry said unthinkingly.  That was 
probably the one quality Pippin really hated about his best friend, his 
stubborn obliviousness. He had a good heart, but it took a lot to get to it.

Frodo lifted a brow and looked at Pippin as if to ask if that would be all 
right.

“Oh, it’s like old times again,” Pippin said cheerfully, determined to be 
just as oblivious, if not more so. He would not think of sharing a bed with 
Merry with his feelings the way they were now.  He would think about it 
later. “But if he drinks too much and starts to snore, I’m rolling him out.”

Sam laughed, startling himself, then flushed and looked down at his plate. 
Ah, well, you could take the hobbit out of his class, but hardly take the 
class out of the hobbit, one supposed.  Still shy about laughing with his 
“betters.” 


The trip east was awkward, because Pippin could sense Merry was having 
trouble dealing with the status of their new relationship.  Conversation was 
stilted but they made it to Buckland in good time.  

Pippin was installed in his usual empty room in Brandy Hall, since his 
arrival was somewhat early, and he helped wherever he could with 
preparations.  Merry’s parents considered him an extension of Merry 
himself, and this was both exasperating and heart-warming.

The morning of the birthday, he was finally ushered into Merry’s larger 
room when Frodo and Sam arrived and took his over.  They had stopped 
off in Pincup, and had taken a leisurely trip through Buckland.  Sam still 
seemed uncomfortable about sharing a room with his master, which made 
Pippin wonder how the arrangements had gone during the trip over.  
Probably slept on blankets in the sitting room.  There was no sitting room 
in that particular guest room.  Merry’s had one, but it was a study, and its 
particular size and design did not allow for anywhere to lay down.

He tried not to think of what was going to happen that night when they 
would once again share a bed.

Instead, he threw himself into preparations and became an unofficial 
greeter at the party field gate, relieved later on by Merry’s closer cousins, 
Berilac and Ilberic, two of the more handsome Brandybucks, and 
something of a tongue-twister when said in tandem.  The gifts given on 
this particular birthday were grand, from coins to toys for the children.

He knew better than to try to find Merry; on this day of days, he would be 
constantly surrounded by well-wishers and sycophants. So Pippin sought 
out friends, keeping company with Sam and Frodo for a while, then 
moving off to dance when the mood took him.

The dinner was extraordinary.  Merry kept his speech short, which pleased 
everyone, urging his guests to enjoy the meal; as they set to eating, he 
came by and sat with Pippin for a time.

“I’m sorry to not be too attentive,” he said, looking tired and worn out.  He 
had a server bring him a tankard of beer. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“It’s a fantastic party, Merry,” Pippin professed. “I’ll be lucky if mine is 
half so grand! Don’t worry for me.  Once things die down, I’ll keep 
company with Frodo again.”  

Merry ruffled his hair, smiling, and moved on.  Pippin tried to keep a good 
face on it, but despite appearances, he was vaguely depressed.  It was a 
special day, and as usual, he was spending it without his best friend.

He wandered, finding friends and cousins in the crowd. As he was walking 
the perimeter of the party field, looking for Frodo or Sam, he was hailed 
by a handsome, sandy-haired hobbit who turned out to be Athos 
Proudfoot.  Athos had been something of a scandal, Pippin recalled; he 
was one of the few besides Berilac Brandybuck that made no secret of 
preferring men over women in his bed.  They had learned their letters 
together, but otherwise ran in different circles.

“Is this little Peregrin Took?” the hobbit asked with a smile. “You’ve 
grown very nicely since last I saw you.”

“I’d have to, in ten years, now, wouldn’t I?  How are you, Athos?”

“Oh, then you do remember me.  Fine, fine.  Why aren’t you with his 
majesty, the heir presumptive?”

Pippin had to laugh. “You mean Merry?  He’s too busy today.”

“I thought you two were inseparable, but I’m glad to see I’ve been proven 
wrong.”

“Oh?”  The gleam in Athos’s eyes was something Pippin hadn’t seen 
before aimed at himself, but he knew what it was from watching others.  
Athos was flirting with him!

“I’m hoping to convince you that my company is worth keeping, if you’re 
amenable.”

Pippin was flattered.  People didn’t often claim such fondness for him.  
Despite himself, he had been feeling abandoned by Merry, and his spirits 
lifted.

“You can try,” Pippin quipped with a grin.

“Ah beautiful and witty; you’ve turned out right proper.  Come walk with 
me in the garden.”


It was getting late, and the party was slowing down, but Merry could not 
find Pippin anywhere.  He found Frodo and asked after his wayward 
friend, but it was Sam who recalled that he’d seen Pippin with Athos 
Proudfoot.  

Sam did not approve of Athos. “Hounding after his betters, if you ask me.”

Merry didn’t approve of Athos for other reasons that one did not bring up 
in mixed company.  Two years before, Athos had groped Merry under the 
table and later accosted him in the pantry room during a get together.  
Merry had been too drunk to put up much of a defense, and it was only the 
fact that another hobbit had come to the pantry to find something that had 
saved him from certain doom.  He had avoided Athos since.

He looked for that distinctive sandy hair, but saw neither Athos nor 
Pippin. He thought he knew where someone like Athos might find a 
private place.  The gardens over the northern hedge were somewhat 
notorious, and were screened from view from the party field.  

He told himself he was not even remotely worried as he collected two 
beers, and strode off through the entryway carved in the hedge.  He 
glanced around, and made his way down the bush rows, keeping his ears 
open.  



“Do you really think he’ll ever want you?  What’s the point of waiting for 
him?”

Merry stopped, sloshing ale over the side of the mugs in his hands. There 
were too many bushes obscuring his view, but he could have sworn that 
sounded like a Proudfoot, who usually had a distinctive dialect out of 
Scary.

“What are you talking about?” Pippin’s clear voice rang out, indignant and 
breathless.  Merry sighed in relief.  Found at last!

“He’s so full of himself, that one.  And if he ever condescended to notice 
you, he wouldn’t know what to do with you once he did. You’re better off 
with someone who can appreciate you, Pippin. You’re a right handful in 
the best way.”

“That’s right,” another voice joined in. “Why should you wait? We can 
show you a better time of it, anyway, Athos and me.  We’ll show you how 
it is.”

Merry could barely breathe, waiting to hear Pippin’s reply, dreading it 
almost as much as he anticipated it.  Why was Pip silent?

“You think so?” Pippin asked, his voice a little too slurred by drink, and 
there was odd tone there that Merry had never heard before…invitation.

Invitation?  Challenge? 

“You think not?” a mocking laughing voice responded, a muffled noise 
was aborted, bodies moving, and something falling.

Merry moved, not quickly but purposefully, his feet finding familiar stone 
steps edged with damp moss; he was not trying to be quiet.

It was the right thing, because as he took the turn at the bottom of the step, 
he came across a scene frozen in wariness of the new intruder, three pairs 
of eyes trying to identify him in the dimness, with the light behind him.

It was a curious scene. Athos’s arms were about Pippin’s ribs and the 
unknown hobbit behind Pippin had a hold on the younger hobbit’s waist.  
Pip was wedged but not pliant; the heels of his hands were against Athos’s 
chest and his head turned away from both of them.  His wide green-gray 
eyes were dilated, but his young face was determined.

Then Pippin realized who he was, and the expression turned dismayed, 
then shuttered.

Athos laughed.  “Why Merry, have you dragged yourself from your own 
party? Decided to slum it?”

“Not particularly,” Merry responded, thoughts darkening.  It must have 
shown in his face, for the arms about Pippin loosened. “Though I have to 
wonder if it isn’t what Pippin’s doing out here.”

“Now wait a minute,” the strange hobbit said at the implied insult.

“Merry…” Pippin said, shedding the two of them like an unneeded coat, 
and there was confirmation in the relief on his face, the sudden clear look 
of freedom.

“That’s not necessary, Meriadoc,” Athos said.  “We’re all friends here.”

“Are we? I don’t know your friend there, and I don’t know what you 
thought you were doing.”  He glanced at Pippin as his friend approached, 
his shaky steps and pale features confirming and deepening his anger.

“Merry,” Pippin repeated. “Don’t…”

Meriadoc stared down at a face that managed to be cherubic despite bleary 
eyes, damp brow and flushed cheeks.  It had to be those gold-touched 
curls and wide guileless eyes.  Dead drunk, Pippin had the power to stop 
him.

Over his shoulder, Athos smirked knowingly.  Merry observed him with 
dark eyes, then glanced at his friend. “Take the ale in, would you?” he 
asked gently. “It’s for Frodo and Sam,” he lied.

Pippin glanced uncertainly back but Merry softly pushed him in the right 
direction. 

Athos knew what was coming; he was smart enough to spot the signs. But 
apparently this knowledge did not stop him from continuing. “Meriadoc, 
you can hardly deny that Pip deserves a good tup. The sweet thing is 
begging for it, and since you’re so reluctant to give him what he obviously 
wants, what wrong with someone else giving him a try? But no, if Master 
Meriadoc can’t fuck him, then neither does anyone else!  Give over, 
Merry.  You can’t have it both ways.”

“Pippin can have whomever he wants,” Merry said, pushing up his 
sleeves, ”as long as it’s not while he’s drunk and pushing them away.”  
And then he swung.



Frodo and Sam saw Pippin off on their way to bed.  Pippin was relieved 
that someone had kept the fire up, because he didn’t think he could focus 
enough to start one up himself.  Clumsily he pulled at his clothes, letting 
them flutter here and there until he was sliding between cool sheets, 
sighing.  

He had no memory of falling asleep but was well aware when Merry slid 
in next to him. He could tell that his friend had imbibed, himself, and 
recently.  It woke him a bit, blinking in the fire-lit glow.  On one arm, he 
examined the hobbit next to him, his dark hair riotously curly from the 
damp of the evening.  

“Merry?”

A groan answered him.

“What’s happened?  Why are you so late?”

“Things to take care of.  Nothing.  Go to sleep, Pip…”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

Another groan.  “There’ll be no sense coming from me tonight.”

Drunk; absolutely resolutely inebriated. Pippin wanted to cry, and then he 
wanted to shout.  He pulled back the sheets and stared down at eyes so 
darkly blue that they seemed night-dark, and there was a deepening bruise 
along one cheek.

“You fought,” he breathed. “Then you drank yourself into a puddle.  Then 
you came here.”

“Mmm.” Merry’s eyes closed.

Pippin’s finger tentatively traced the line of the bruise, and drifted to lips 
softly open in unconscious ease.   “Did you hit Athos?”

Merry’s lips smiled against his fingers. “Oh yes, the bastard.”

Pippin had to smile, too, at the smugness inherent at that faint bowing of 
lips. “Merry, I love you.”

Dark eyes opened slowly but Merry said nothing.  Pippin bent, helpless, 
kissing soft lips that made him sob at their passivity. “Merry, why…?”  
Why do you have to drink yourself stupid to be here with me?

Instead of pushing him away, Merry’s mouth opened to let him in and 
Pippin moaned at the feel of a heavy, lethargic hand sliding through his 
hair. The taste of brandy and Merry penetrated and Pippin could have 
cried out at the shock as his own body suddenly tightened and heated.  It 
was too sudden and too hopeless.  Merry wasn’t really there, half asleep 
and half unconscious, and Pippin’s mind knew this too well although his 
body was ignoring the facts.

Oh, Merry.

But it was too much like the past, when he had relied on fatigue and 
alcohol to shield himself from his own fears of rejection.  He could not 
keep on this hopeless pursuit, courting only when he knew he was safe, 
allowing forgetfulness to leave it all undecided.

And yet…Merry's lips were so hot and drugging and the slow, 
experienced way he kissed Pippin back so mesmerizing…Pippin wanted 
never to come up for air, just go on tasting the pliant mouth, touch the 
dense body under wilted linen, tug at black curls that never quite managed 
to be elegant like Frodo's but twined endlessly, see bottomless dark blue 
eyes staring back at him, dilated and dazed…

Pippin reared back, dismayed.  Was it Merry who was avoiding him with 
drinking, or was it himself, always waiting for drunken moments so that 
Merry could not say yea or nay?

Oh, but he's managed to say no, Pippin thought, and he could almost feel 
his heart cracking in two, remembering that long ago conversation in front 
of the fire, and a kiss.  It had ended with Merry pushing him away in 
drunken befuddlement, and it had been the beginning of the end, the start 
of a downward spiral that ended here, at this moment, with Pippin finally 
seeing what he had made for himself… some grand illusion that he was 
the injured party, that Merry perfectly understood and was avoiding, when 
it was himself who was denying everything…

Sobbing, Pippin sat back on his heels, staring sightlessly as Merry fell 
asleep. He knew he had to go, and it had to be tonight, and it nigh put an 
arrow through his heart to think it.  But Merry was thirty-three now, and 
would have an adult life, and perhaps, in time, Pippin could bring himself 
around to be friends again, and not think on the other dream that he had 
held for so long.

There could be letters, and one good excuse after another; he'd send little 
gifts to assure his cousin that nothing was really wrong, just sudden 
responsibilities, perhaps an illness in the family. Nothing wrong at all.

Just Pippin slowly dying on the inside until his heart was so constricted, 
withered and hard that nothing could breach it ever again.

++++++++++++++++++

Merry's hangover was spectacularly cruel when he came awake at mid-
day.  No one had awoken him, in deference to his birthday, but he was still 
surprised to find a note from Pippin saying that he was returning to the 
Great Smials on family business.  In fact, he frowned at the note for a long 
moment, sitting up in bed, as if willing more words or explanations to 
appear.

Had they quarreled last night?  He thought not.  Pippin seemed as pleased 
as he was that he'd knocked Athos on his face.  He'd thought things might 
have been mended a bit.

But, no, he'd drunk yet more liquor, hadn't he?  Why had he done it? He 
had been in such a state, and deliberately drank to avoid… so many things.  
Despite his general disgust with Athos’s behavior, several of the 
Proudfoot’s words had definitely wedged themselves into his 
consciousness.

He turned his head into the pillow, and stiffened, startled by a memory 
flashing across his inner eye at the smell of rumpled linen.  He sat up, 
frowning to himself, internally searching for the truth.  Fragment of a 
dream or true reality?

“Merry, I love you.”

“Merry, why…?”

Something had happened…the feeling of Pippin’s airy curls between his 
fingers, soft, trembling lips against his own… He pressed the heel of hand 
to his gritty eyes, growling to himself.  No, no, no, no!

When he finally bathed and made himself presentable, it was already early 
evening, and his father gave him a lecture after seeing his bruised face, 
and another one for abandoning his lingering houseguests. He ducked his 
head in resignation and hosted a more intimate dinner party for his friends 
and relatives, finally retiring with Frodo and Sam in his parlor for 
pipeweed and wine.

“Where’s Master Pippin?” Sam inevitably asked.

“He headed home before I got up,” Merry said, and avoided looking at 
Frodo, afraid to see that knowing expression.  Frodo had the annoying 
habit of being extremely observant and just as accurate with his 
estimations.

“Another argument?” the master of Bag End inquired mildly.

“I don’t think so,” Merry replied truthfully. “Especially since I got this 
bruise in his defense.”

Samwise leaned forward, eager for facts and even Frodo raised a curious 
eyebrow, so Merry gave an expurgated version of the night’s conflicts.  
Frodo was naturally disapproving but Sam had an appreciative look, 
although he didn’t dare say anything encouraging aloud.  What a pair of 
marrieds they were!

“I told you Pippin’s old enough to start collecting suitors,” Frodo said. “I 
suppose you believe me now?”

“Oh, I believed you in the first place.  I just can’t believe that fool would 
get himself into that position, going out into the garden of all places!  We 
all know what happens there.”

“Perhaps he actually wanted to be there?” Frodo asked.

Merry glared. “With those two?  Even Pip has better taste!”

Frodo’s arched brows made Merry rethink the situation.  No, Pippin was 
relieved to leave!  He was sure of it!  And why would Pip want them when 
he could have--? No, no, no!  He wasn’t going to think like that.  Athos 
had been wrong. He wasn’t jealous; he didn’t have the right to be jealous.  
Pippin could go off with anyone he wanted!  Just as long as who he 
wanted was…

“Yes, he does,” Frodo replied. “He had exquisite taste, though I think he 
doesn’t chose for discernment.”  

“You think he resents--?”

“Last night? No, not the fight, anyway. Although you might want to think 
about why you felt it necessary to defend Pippin’s honor and not let him 
do it for himself.  Do you still see him as a child?”

“No, not as a child.”

“Well, that’s one thing anyway.”
 
Merry sighed. He really wished Frodo didn’t see quite so clearly.


He was stuck in Buckland for a month.  Two weeks in, he was beginning 
to wonder about Pippin when a letter came from said hobbit.

It was light-hearted, asking about his bruises and hangover, and relating 
all the different small emergencies taking up his time at the Great Smials. 
There was a pressed violet included in the letter, but no mention of a time 
when they might meet up again.

Merry read the missive with mixed feelings.  There was something 
missing in the narrative, but he was never one to read between the lines, 
and only had a vague feeling that Pippin was holding back. He went over 
the letter several times, then gave up.

He wrote back that night, in the same vein.  He didn’t mention that he 
missed Pippin immensely, or that he was still stinging from his friend’s 
rapid exit the morning after the party. He wrote, instead, about the duties 
that his father was slowly handing over to him, and remembered that his 
cousin Ilberic had invited him to his engagement party two months hence; 
he was marrying a Bracegirdle girl in Pincup, the little village exactly 
halfway between Buckland and Tuckborough. 

Two weeks later he received another letter.  In it, Pippin said he too would 
be going to the engagement party as well, and probably staying overnight 
at the Red Hen Inn in Pincup.  He conspicuously did not mention sharing a 
room, or ask if Merry was staying in the area.  In fact, the letter was rather 
abrupt, leaving Merry depressed and wondering.  He did not write back.

It was at this time that Merry started to dream about Pippin. Horrified, 
he’d wake up hard and ready to spend after visions of Pippin underneath 
him.  He managed to live in denial for a few weeks of this.  He went out of 
his way to find a boy to plunder just to take the sexual edge off, but finally 
had to admit that he didn’t want anyone, really, anyone who wasn’t …this 
dream-boy.  

He’d wake almost every night, sweating and on the cusp of orgasm, 
shaking his head, trying to shake out the images of his dreams. They 
presented him with the night of his birthday, of Pippin ready and willing in 
his arms, of soft and demanding lips.  Merry, I love you.

Just hearing that inner dream-voice, so close to Pippin’s own, would 
sometimes put him over the edge.

By the time he was gearing up for the engagement party, he was sporting 
dark circles under his eyes and the realization that he was miserable.

Life without Pippin wasn’t working now, if it ever had.


Peregrin Took, Pippin signed in the inn’s ledger, smiling at the keeper 
who was taking his luggage in hand and waiting to lead him upstairs.

“You’re one of the Ilberic guests, I take it, Young Master?” the man 
asked.

“Yes.”

“Seems half of Buckland is, too, and wagonloads of goods coming in from 
both sides.”  Both sides was a Pincup euphemism for Tuckborough and 
Buckland, the two large communities on either side that gave Pincup its 
prime business.

“Have you got Meriadoc Brandybuck as one of your guests?”

“Oh, yes.  He’s quite a masterful young man, that Brandybuck heir.  He 
led in a caravan this afternoon, and walked right in.  He and the other 
young bucks have the whole third floor.”

“It’s that big a party from Buckland?”

“Oh, yes. That Ilberic has a lot of cousins in that warren of theirs.”  The 
innkeeper opened up a modest room on the second floor, and knelt to get 
the fire started.  “We’re serving all meals, young sir, but I’m supposing 
you won’t be needing them tomorrow?”

“No, not tomorrow.” The engagement party was going to be extravagant. 
“My thanks.”

It had been a long ride, and Pippin was more tired than he thought 
possible.  Most of it was from distress over knowing that Merry would be 
here. They hadn’t been face to face since Merry’s birthday. Pippin had 
struggled almost daily to not ride hard to Buckland, and forget his painful 
determination to keep apart from him.

He unpacked his party clothes and hung them by the fire to get rid of the 
wrinkles.  He stared longingly at the bed, but knew once he lay down, he 
would not be able to close his eyes, knowing that Merry would be just 
above him.

Sighing, he straightened his back and left his room.  Halfway up the 
stairwell, he could hear voices laughing and hobbits moving about.  He 
emerged and almost ran into a dark haired hobbit swinging around the 
banister to descend.  Pippin’s heart nearly stopped.

For a moment, it looked like Merry, but Pippin recognized this very close 
cousin of his; it was Berilac, Merry’s handsome and free-swinging second 
cousin who was the first hobbit Pippin had found out preferred men. At 
the time it had been a shock.

“Pippin!” Berilac exclaimed, grinning. “I’m glad to see you.  It’s been too 
long!”

Pippin returned his enthusiastic hug, smiling. “Hullo, Berry. Good to see 
you.”

The Bucklander stood back and gave Pippin a head-to-toe examination, 
his eyebrows rising. “Apparently, I haven’t been lingering enough in 
Tuckborough, if this is how you little Tooks develop. Merry never told me 
you’ve grown up so well.”

I don’t think Merry notices such things, Pippin was tempted to point out.  
He shrugged instead.

“I imagine you’re looking for Meriadoc hisself,” Berilac went on. “He’s 
under the weather and having a quiet time of it, or trying to, with all of this 
noise.”

“Is he sick?” Pippin asked, alarmed.

“No, not really.  Not sleeping very well, is all.  Personally, I think he’s too 
alone these days.”  Berry gave him a meaningful look. “He doesn’t do 
much except work for his father.”

Pippin didn’t rise to the bait, but followed Berry to the suite at the end of 
the hall.  It was one of the larger ones with a sitting room, so Berilac 
opened the door after a quick tap on the door. “Merry, you’ve a visitor.”

“I told you, I don’t want…” Merry growled, peering around the back of 
the chair he was occupying in front of the fire.  Then he stopped, eyes 
widening. “Pip.”

“Hullo, Old Man.  Thought I’d come up and pay my respects.”

Merry got up from his chair.  Pippin was stunned.  Merry didn’t look well 
at all.  His complexion, which was always somewhat pale, was now pasty, 
and there were visible shadows under his eyes.  “Come on in, Pip,” he 
said, gesturing to the other chair by the fire.

Berilac excused himself with a smile.

“You don’t look good at all,” Pippin said. “Berry said sleeping problems.”

“Berry doesn’t know anything.  I’m just not getting out enough these 
days.” Merry set aside his pipe. “You look well.”

Pippin didn’t reply, his eyes busy taking in Merry’s face.  His eyes 
dropped and caught sight of Merry’s hands clenched tight about each other 
before the hobbit relaxed them.  “I’m doing all right.  Been busy.”  He 
breathed in, feeling the expected longing surge to the fore as if the last 
three months of separation had not happened.  “Are you very angry with 
me, Merry?”

Merry glanced away and Pippin felt his heart plummet. It had to be pretty 
bad, then.  “After all that talk of staying friends, and then you just up and 
disappear,” he said.  “What was I supposed to think?”  Meriadoc turned 
resentful, dark eyes to his friend. “Why did you leave so suddenly?”

Pippin blinked, his mind trying to build a bridge over the truth and finding 
nothing to build that lie. “Maybe you should tell me why you needed to be 
so drunk you couldn’t finish a full sentence, Merry.”

Merry winced as if that was the last thing he wanted to explain. “It’s not 
…I didn’t do it on purpose…” 

Pippin inhaled sharply, at once sensing the lie. Glancing up into his 
friend’s face, Merry seemed to realize that was absolutely the wrong thing 
to say, and opened his mouth to try to mend the monumental mistake.  

But Pippin, on top of a day full of anxieties, had had enough. “Meriadoc 
Brandybuck!” he cried. “You can lie to yourself all you want, but don’t 
you ever lie to me!”

“Pip--!”

But Pippin couldn’t stand it anymore, rising and leaving as quickly as he 
had appeared.
He did not look back.


There were only so many times you could cry yourself to sleep before 
even that became tiring, and you grow angry.  Pippin was on the edge of 
rage, but he couldn’t pin down just whom he should be angry with: 
himself, Merry or just life itself, which seemed determined to break them 
apart. 

He slept a little, then woke from a nightmare that made his sweat chill and 
his throat close, but could not remember what he had dreamed.  He lay 
there in the darkness, picturing Merry’s dismayed face before he had 
turned to leave, and felt his chest seize.  There shouldn’t have been such 
dark circles under Merry’s dark blue eyes.  Merry shouldn’t be by himself 
like some old gaffer!  What was going on?

And why had Merry lied to him?

He tried to think about that.  Pippin knew Merry so well, that the lie had 
been obvious.  It had surprised him, that Merry felt he had to lie over such 
a small detail, but that led to the question: if Merry had gotten drunk on 
purpose, then why would he do such a thing?

The easy answer was the Merry knew Pippin was in bed already, and was 
avoiding talking to him by getting himself monumentally sloshed.  Pippin 
thought that was probably the correct assumption, but then came the 
question: why had Merry felt it necessary to avoid conversation? If Merry 
had been his oblivious self all along, he would not know that Pippin was 
dying to talk to him, to tell him…

Which gave Pippin the answer that made him stare at the ceiling, wide-
eyed in the dark.  Merry had known.  Merry knew.  Maybe it was that 
tense moment in the woods in Hobbiton, or maybe he just finally did the 
math, but Merry somehow was aware of Pippin’s feelings.  He had known 
and said nothing.

Pippin could only come to one ultimate conclusion, as dawn lightened the 
horizon and turned the light in his room gray.  Merry knew Pippin was in 
love with him.

And Merry didn’t want to deal with it.


Engagement parties weren’t as concerned with presents.  A good 
engagement celebration in the Shire consisted of: the best of related and 
friendly guests, as many speeches to embarrass the betrothed couple as 
possible, and deluges of food and drink.  Engagement parties had that 
distinction of being rather lively and potentially volatile, depending on the 
two families involved in the joining, and past histories.  

That ‘Brandybucks were known to intermarry from time to time’ was 
something of an understatement and proved the rule more than exception 
among hobbits in recent generations.  Of course, certain conservative 
communities like Hobbiton frowned upon unions with the “stranger” and 
more liberal families, and thus people still spoke of Frodo’s father’s 
marriage to a Brandybuck as ‘unfortunate.’

This particular joining seemed acceptable on most fronts.  Ilberic’s mother 
had been a Bracegirdle, so Ilberic’s choice hadn’t seemed so strange, 
especially for a middle son.  There was good will all about, boisterous 
dancing already beginning even in the afternoon.  Pippin waved at several 
of his friends who waved him towards them.

Fatty Bolger and his sister hugged him as sat him down with them.  Fatty 
had no subtlety.  “What’s up with Merry and you?”

Estella hit her brother in the shoulder. “Freddy Bolger!  What a question!”

“Well, everyone’s saying --!”

Pippin stopped his beer halfway to his mouth. “Everyone’s saying what?” 

Fatty paused, suddenly unsure if he should with Peregrin Took’s eyes 
focused on him. “Well, they’re saying Merry’s father made him stop the 
friendship.  I mean, he looks so damned unhappy now, and then there’s 
you staying in Tuckborough.  Time was we’d see you two traveling back 
and forth, and now, nothing.”

“Fatty, it’s nothing like that,” Pippin replied earnestly. “We’re 
just…arguing over things.”

“Is that what they call it?” Estella asked with a glint in her eyes. “You 
know, Athos Proudfoot has a big mouth, Pip.  He’s been saying other 
things.”

Fatty stared at her. “What are you talking about?”

Este just smiled. “Really, Freddy, you’re so thick-headed.”  She winked at 
Pippin, then pointed with her chin over his shoulder.

He turned in his chair to see a group of five Brandybucks, Berilac and 
Meriadoc at their head, entering the party field.

“What a handsome troop those Bucklanders are,” Estella sighed. “Too bad 
half of them wouldn’t give a girl a second look.” 
 
“Este!” Fatty cried, but Pippin laughed.

“You mean Berilac?  He’s a hopeless case.  I think he was flirting with me 
last night, but that would almost seem…conceited. Berilac is rather 
picky.”

Estella laughed a leaned over to pinch Pippin’s cheek. “Oh, come now.  I 
think you’re a very handsome young man.  Berry shouldn’t be flirting with 
you, though.  He’s at least a decade older.”  She turned her head, 
frowning. “Wasn’t that Athos just passing by?”

Pippin turned to see, but the crowd was getting thick, and he wasn’t sure 
what he’d seen was Athos Proudfoot or some other sandy-haired hobbit. 
As he was narrowing his eyes, trying to search the crowd, he saw Merry 
settling down with his group, and first round of beers go around.  He 
refused to watch further, and grinned at Este.  “What say we take a turn? 
Are you as itchy-footed as I am?”

“More so,” she answered, but took his arm and let him lead her into the 
reel they had just begun to play.

It was good to dance with a talented partner, and Pippin forgot for a while 
that he’d had little to no sleep the night before.  Estella good-naturedly 
begged off after a second dance, but Pippin had to barely turn about to 
find another eager partner.  There seemed a large number of local lasses 
invited, most probably single friends of Camelia Bracegirdle, Ilberic’s 
intended.

He took a break after five dances, and headed for the food that he knew 
was located at the other end of the field.  He was loading down his plate 
with a few of his favorite things, when he saw two familiar Brandybucks 
on the opposite end of the table.  Before he could look away, Berilac 
caught sight of him and waved, causing Merry to look over.  The subdued 
expression on his face did not bode well, but he smiled just the same.  
Pippin nodded his hello.

Their trajectories met at the middle of the buffet over a dish of mushroom 
gravy.  Merry and he reached for the ladle at the same time, paused, then 
glanced at each other.  Pippin couldn’t help laughing.  They had a long 
history of fighting over the last bit of mushrooms at the table.  Merry 
hesitantly grinned back. 

“You should be sitting with us, my lad,” Berry pronounced.

“I’m having a well enough time with Fatty and Este,” Pippin protested.

“Then bring them over as well,” was the reply.

Pippin tried to think of a polite way out, but couldn’t in all conscience say 
no.  “I’ll speak to them,” he answered, wondering if Merry would rather 
not have them present. But Merry would never say so aloud in company.

Freddy and Estella were more than willing to move; they gathered 
tankards and plates and took them over where the Bucklanders began to 
clear the table for them. There were already several empty platters and 
cups, but if beer was consumed in any high qualities, it was impossible to 
tell from general behavior.

Pippin surmised that Merry didn’t want him there, because the 
Brandybuck seemed to go out of his way to avoid eye contact. Pippin 
made a valiant attempt to act as if nothing was wrong, but caught Estella 
looking at him once or twice, obviously worried.  Once he caught her 
watching him chewing his nails, and he deliberately lowered his hands.

As the day progressed, the engaged couple did the rounds of the guests, 
accepting well wishes and embarrassing toasts.  Pippin tried very hard not 
to keep count of how much liquor Merry was drinking, but as day 
descended into dusk and the lanterns were lit, he was on the fine edge of 
frustrated rage.  Once again, Merry was drinking too much.

He got up several times to dance, as did most of the bachelors at the table, 
except for Merry. After a brisk romp with an apple-cheeked Bracegirdle 
cousin-to-be, he returned to the table to find Merry finishing off yet 
another tankard. Merry glanced up at him and then immediately away.

Pippin just stood there, anger welling up in him.  His upset was obvious to 
even Berilac, whose conversation petered out.  More and more guests at 
their table stopped talking until finally Merry was forced to confront the 
silently glowering Took.

“Go ahead and say it, Pip,” he growled resentfully.

“Must be easy to lie to yourself when you’re continually drunk, Merry,” 
Pippin replied.

Merry stood unsteadily.  The dark glare he gave Pippin almost made his 
friend step back. “And this from Master Honesty himself,” he returned 
with slow deliberate cruelty.

“At least I deal with my problems!”

“By running back to the Smials?  That’s really confronting the issues, isn’t 
it?”

“You were drunk all the time!  How can anything be--” He stopped, 
finally realizing that the two of them were the center of a vast, stunned 
silence.  As he glanced around, he saw Athos Proudfoot pass behind 
Berilac and then Merry, but didn’t realize he’d said anything until Merry’s 
eyes widened and he whirled around. 

Then Merry was on top of Athos and chaos erupted. The Brandybucks 
yelled and friends came running.  Pippin slipped around the table, 
horrified, trying to make out from the two wrestling bodies what was 
happening. Berry grabbed him by the arm.

“What happened?” Pippin asked him. “What did Athos say?”

“I only heard part of it.  Something about a lover’s quarrel?  Do you have 
something to tell me, Pip my lad?”

Pippin stared at him briefly, then turned back to the fight, worried. He 
couldn’t see how it was going, but finally a couple of burly patrons pushed 
their way in through the crowd and yanked the two apart.  Pippin fought 
his way to Merry’s side at the sight of blood, but one look at Athos and he 
knew it wasn’t Merry’s.  Still he was pretty scraped up.

Once it was ascertained that both parties were done fighting, Merry was 
turned over to his friends and Athos was led back to his.  Berry took one 
look at his cousin, and said to Pippin: “Take him back to his room.  And, 
Pip, talk to him.”

Pippin nodded.  “Come on, Old Man.”  He let Merry lean on him and they 
made their slow way back to the Red Hen.

The innkeeper came rushing at the sight of the disreputable picture they 
made. Pippin asked for ice as they both got Merry up the three stories and 
into his sitting room.  He fetched the basin and pitcher, and kneeling down 
to study the effects of the fight, he sighed over the scrapes and bruises on 
his friend’s face. He wet a cloth and carefully stroked away dust, sweat 
and blood, and was relieved to find that the flesh underneath was 
relatively all right, despite appearances. The innkeeper returned with ice 
chips and Pippin thanked him.

“All right, chin up,” Pip warned, wrapping the ice and pressing it against 
Merry’s knuckles, which were already swelling.  Merry hissed, but that 
was the extent of his reactions.

After a while, he had Merry remove his dusty coat as they switched the ice 
to the other hand.  The silence stretched.  Finally, Pippin asked: “What did 
that Athos say that made you so mad?”

Merry looked away for a moment, then let out a breath, obviously 
deciding that honesty was the best policy. “He said ‘A lover’s quarrel? 
Why don’t you give up and hand him over to Berilac; he’ll know what to 
do.’  There was something else, but he never finished.”

Pippin knelt there with his mouth open. He couldn’t help it. “Well, I hope 
you got him in the mouth, Merry!”

His friend let out a startled laugh. “Ay, that was what I was aiming for.”

“What has Athos got against you, I wonder?” Pippin reflected aloud. “He 
always seems so bitter.”

Merry cleared his throat. “I refused him once.  He didn’t take it very 
well.”

Pippin’s eyes widened, and many pieces fell into place. “How are you 
feeling?” he asked after another silence. “Do you feel like a lay-in for a 
bit?  I can help you to the bed.”

Merry stared at him, and Pippin tilted his head, waiting, not sure why 
Merry seemed to have a problem answering.

“No?”

“Pippin,” his friend said. “When did you figure it out?”

Somehow Pip knew what he was talking about. “Last night, I suppose. I 
couldn’t sleep.”

“Me neither,” Merry admitted. His head bowed. “Pip, I’m such a coward.”

“Merry…”

“I am! Why can’t I stop denying everything?”

Pippin felt a small spark a hope. “Are you denying …something?” 
Something besides me loving you without hope?

Merry’s head dropped even more, until Pippin was staring at a thick mop 
of black hair. “Pip…”

That hoarse voice was alarming. “Merry, it’s all right. Maybe …maybe, if 
you’d rather not say, it’s best not to--” His voice trailed away as Merry 
raised his head, his dark eyes strangely intense.  Pippin’s heart thumped. 
“I’ll be quiet now.”

Merry’s lips turned up. “Pip, I do love you.”

Pippin swallowed.  “But..?”

Merry’s eyes burned. “But…it’s hard for me.  I think you’re too young, 
and then I think I’ll lose you if I mess this up.  Then I think, wouldn’t it be 
easier just not to admit to myself what I feel, and let everything stay the 
same?”

Pippin felt tears well and spill but he dared not blink, nor breathe.  But he 
knew his whole face was a question that Merry would have to answer.

“But then, you went back to Tuckborough and I couldn’t…couldn’t keep 
telling myself things would be the same. It was all one big lie!”

Pippin waited, breathless. 

“But then I saw you yesterday, and all the fear came back, all the doubts, 
and it was easier to take up the old lie than to be fearless and face you…”

Pippin couldn’t stand it. “Merry, it’s all right.  Really.  I shouldn’t have 
left that way…”

“Shh, you fool.  I’m trying to get it all out.”

Pip ducked his head, and wiped at his face. “All right.”

“I’ve missed you…terribly, and dreamed about you almost every night, 
but they kept turning into nightmares.”  Merry blinked away moisture in 
his eyes. “I can’t live if you leave me again!”

“Merry--!”  Pippin cried, and threw his arms about Merry’s knees, leaning 
his cheek against them.  “I didn’t mean to hurt you so!  I just thought I was 
saving myself pain!”

Merry’s fingers combed through gold-touched curls, as he nodded, 
attempting to recover himself.  He cleared his throat. “I think that was the 
best thing you could have done. How  long would I have kept lying to 
myself if you hadn’t given me time to consider how bleak it would be 
without you?”

Pippin raised his head.  “What do we do, Merry, if I love you, and you 
love me?  Do we go on as before--?”

That familiar gleam came to Merry’s indigo eyes. “I should hope not, 
innocent Took.  I’m not pouring my heart out just to take everything back 
to the beginning!”

Pippin’s cheeks warmed and Merry smiled in return.  

“Come here,” Merry whispered, tugging at Pippin’s elbows, making him 
rise above the seated hobbit. He slid hands about his waist and wedged 
Pippin between his knees. “You’ve kissed me before, you little sneak.  
Now do it when I can appreciate it.”

Pippin’s blush deepened.  “Oh Merry, this is so much harder.”

Merry slid a hand behind Pippin’s neck, bringing him close. “Oh, I should 
hope so,” he breathed, and brought their mouths together.  Pippin groaned, 
squirming as close as possible as Merry’s tongue nudged his lips open and 
slid in. A drunk and befuddled Merry had passively accepted Pippin’s first 
hesitant kisses, and now he understood that his bravery had been born of 
the knowledge that Merry would not remember them.  Merry was now 
very aware, and active in this shared pleasure, guiding the angle of 
Pippin’s head, pulling him as close as possible with the other hand. By the 
Lady, Merry knew how to kiss, taking over Pippin’s inexperienced 
beginning, and locking Pippin into a hot exchange of lips and tongues.

Pip whimpered when Merry pulled back and levered himself out of the 
chair, propelling Pippin backwards.  “Merry?” he moaned, greedily 
pulling Merry back for more.

“Ah, Pip, don’t--!”  Merry evaded him, pushing him through the bedroom 
door.  Pippin began cooperating when he realized they were headed for the 
bed.  He let Merry take his coat off, but blindly sought closer contact, as 
Merry cursed over the removal of his shirt.

“Forget the shirt!”

“I wish I could!” Merry growled, backing Pippin against the edge of the 
bed, his hand descending to palm what was growing in Pippin’s breeches. 
Pippin cried out in aroused amazement, flinging desperate arms about 
Merry’s shoulders.

“Oh Merry!”  His hips rose to the pressure, and he sobbed in frustration 
when he couldn’t get close enough.

Merry seemed pleased with Pippin’s growing erection, and groaned.  “Oh, 
yes,” in Pip’s ear.  He licked at the upswept tip there while his palm drew 
up and down the shaft. “Ah, Love, yes.”  Merry’s mouth descended to 
Pippin’s throat, gently gnawing. “I used to dream of this; I used to …come 
from this, feeling you…”

All Pippin could do was clutch at Merry, and whimper.

“Don’t you touch yourself?” the older hobbit breathed. 

“Yes, but not like…not like this…” Pippin burrowed his heated face into 
Merry’s shoulder.

“I know,” Merry murmured. “I know.”  He removed his hand. “On to the 
bed, now.” He gently pressed Pippin down onto the linens, then 
impatiently unlaced his own shirt and pulled it over his head.

Pippin felt his eyes go wide, finally seeing the body he had always known 
was there, and the thing he’d never been aware of.  Merry’s very obvious 
erection mounded the front of his pants.

Mounting the bed and straddling Pippin, Merry proceeded to unbutton 
Pippin’s shirt, landing a kiss over each inch of smooth flesh revealed by 
his efforts.  He finished, and lay open the sides of the shirt, sitting back on 
his heels to look at the result.  Pippin was breathing shallowly, his cheeks 
flushed and his eyes bright and unfocused.

Merry’s mouth watered and his hands itched out of a desire to touch.  He 
followed the longing of his eyes, bending down to mouth skin that 
shivered and leapt under his lips. He tongued at Pippin’s tempting pink 
nipples, running hands along his narrow ribs and  waist, delving fingers 
under the trouser waistband.  When he gently worried the tender nipples 
with his teeth, Pippin’s hips rose. He gasped, a soft sound, equal parts 
startled, wounded and aroused.

Fingers clenched into Merry’s hair as he abandoned Pippin’s chest and 
caressed down the lines of ribs to the gently rounded softness of the belly.   
He could feel Pippin’s erection as he moved lower, stopping when he 
could go no further.  He backed away, unbuttoning the obstructing 
material while Pippin stared at him with blurry eyes that spoke wordless 
encouragement.

“Have you ever made love?” Merry asked, although he thought he knew 
the answer.

“N-No, I’m sorry…” Pippin breathed, eyes riveted on Merry’s hands, 
Merry’s scraped, beautiful hands.

“Don’t be sorry, Sweeting.  You’re perfect as you are, so beautiful…” He 
slid Pippin’s pants and underwear down, setting free the waiting and eager 
organ beneath. While Merry murmured his approval, Pippin thought he 
might burn up from embarrassment, wondering how Merry could see 
beauty there.

“If you could only see yourself,” Merry whispered. “How lovely you 
are…everything begging for use, but your cheeks blushing your 
innocence…”

Pippin helplessly blushed even more.  When Merry dropped his hand and 
measured Pippin, sliding it over until he found the moisture weeping from 
the head, Pippin thrashed, biting his lips against crying out.

“Good?” Merry asked unnecessarily. “I can make it even better.”

He lowered his head.  Pippin raised himself to his elbows, mystified, then 
shouted in amazement as Merry pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the head. 

“Merry, what--!?”

Merry raised dark eyes to his, and his smiling, upturned mouth opened, 
and swallowed the tip. Pippin found himself on his back trying not to 
scream and Merry slowly took him down his throat while his hands 
caressed Pippin’s hips, keeping them firmly to the surface of the bed.

Merry drew out the pleasure so finely, that Pippin lost track of his 
pleading cries, submerged under drowning, killing pleasure. Merry’s 
mouth was so wet, and his lips sealed tight up and down on Pippin’s sex 
so indescribably hot. He was going to die!  No one could survive this!

“I…I can’t live through this…Merry…!” he gasped, his whole body 
shivering in pleasure as if were going to fly into a thousand pieces.

Merry chuckled in response, and proved to Pippin how wrong he was.  An 
electric shock, wholly unexpected, shot up Pippin’s spine, and then he did 
come apart, feeling as if his soul had fractured while his body arched, 
frozen in unbelievable pleasure.

“You can live through it, Sweeting,” Merry assured him, releasing him 
gently as he lay there panting, stunned. “It just feels as if you’ve died.”

Pippin blinked sweat out of his eyes, all of him paralyzed in amazement.  
Happily, he hugged Merry as his lover settled beside him.

“Still love me?” Merry asked in a teasing voice, and Pippin could only 
laugh. “The biggest cowardice of it all was the night of my birthday, Pip.  
I was so afraid I’d do this to you, just leap right on top of you like some 
starved wolf.”

“I wish you had,” Pippin murmured, imagining it. “I don’t think I would 
have protested.”  He tucked his head against Merry, reveling in the quiet 
moment. “But what of you?” he asked, feeling the unmistakable pressure 
of Merry against his hip. He realized that Merry hadn’t even removed his 
trousers.

“What of me?” Merry returned with an inquisitive lift of the eyebrows.

Pippin ducked his head, feeling more naïve than ever.  “I mean, do you 
want me to…”  He glanced down pointedly. “I don’t know how, but if you 
helped, I’m sure I could…”

Merry’s eyes glittered.  Pippin held his breath, stunned by their sudden 
intensity.  “I want to make love to you, Sweetheart, but only when you’re 
ready.  So don’t be anxious on my account. I can take care of it.”

Pippin frowned. “That’s hardly fair!”  He sat up fully, glaring down at 
Merry. “You take off all my clothes and touch me…all over…” He 
blushed yet again. “…and now here you are still in your trousers and still 
with a …” He didn’t know the word for it.

“What do you propose we do about it?” Merry asked curiously, leaning his 
head on his hand. “Or would you rather do something about it?”

Pippin had a sudden clear image of touching Merry’s sex, of taking it in 
his mouth as Merry had.  He was surprised that he was getting hard again 
from the idea.

This didn’t escape Merry whose eyebrows lifted. “Well…” he drawled. 
“…it seems you do have an idea that appeals to you.  What is it?” 

“Could…could you show me how to…do what you did?” Pippin faltered, 
embarrassed.

“Sweetheart, are you sure?  That’s a lot to handle…”

“Meriadoc Brandybuck!  I may be new to this and all, but give me some 
benefit of the doubt!  I’m not a total sheep’s brain, you know.”

Merry suppressed a grin. “No, of course not.  I should treat you like an 
equal, right?  An inexperienced equal?”

“Exactly.”

Merry leaned up and kissed that pouting mouth. “You’re too adorable 
when you want your own way.  All right, then.”  He unbuttoned his pants, 
lifted up and slid everything down. 

Pippin caught his breath.  Lovely, even there!

Merry had to smile at the awed expression on Pip’s face. The little fool 
had no idea of his own beauty, obviously.

“You don’t have to do what I did, exactly,” he said. “That takes some 
practice. But kissing and touching are nice.”

Pippin’s cheeks went red again, but casting an eye downward, Merry 
could see the idea had some appeal for his lover.

“Can…I start, here?” Pippin asked, running a shy hand down Merry’s 
chest. 

“Sweeting, you can start anywhere you like, just as long as you end at the 
right place.”

Pippin giggled, which made Merry grin in response as he settled back.  
Pippin draped over him, pressing slow kisses against his clavicle, and then 
lower.  He hesitantly touched Merry’s nipples, obviously unsure of the 
degree of pressure necessary.  In a low voice, Merry told him how to do it, 
and closed his eyes as he became Pippin’s living experiment.  Each 
hesitant lift of the head was a signal that Pip needed encouragement, 
which Merry was happy to give, though his voice was now husky from his 
constant state of arousal, and his hands shaky when he reached down to 
guide his new lover.

Pippin became surer and surer of himself by degrees, and Merry became 
increasingly uncertain whether he would hold off long enough to allow 
Pippin to bring him off.  He tried not to imagine turning them over and 
sinking into the adorable little Took, because every time such an image 
took over, he knew his control slipped that much more.

Finally Pippin’s soft lips found the base of his belly and Merry had to grab 
the linens, pressing his whole body back in a deliberate attempt to not curl 
forward and grab at a conveniently located mop of golden-brown hair.  He 
tried to concentrate on the feel of the bed underneath him, the coolness of 
fabric, anything but what was happening.  He so wanted to give Pippin 
time to deal with this new pleasure, time Merry himself had never had.

But it was no good thinking along those lines. Done was done. First times 
were often not the best times.

Pippin kissed the tip, and nuzzled along the length.  Merry’s mouth 
dropped open and he drew in desperate breath.  He could get through this; 
he could.  For Pippin’s sake.

He should have remembered that Peregrin Took had something of an oral 
fixation, and that between pipes, food, drink, fingers, and nails, Pippin 
always seemed to have something in his mouth.  Pippin’s tongue swept the 
length, and Merry knew he was getting used to the flavor in just that little 
hesitation towards the end.  He did not dare look or he knew he would 
come before he ever slid into that fantastic mouth.  He wanted to feel that, 
finally.

“Merry.”

“Mm?”

“Are you close?”

“Mm.”

“I want to suck on it like you did, but I’m not sure…”

Oh, hell, Merry thought, opening his eyes. If Pippin said ‘suck’ one more 
time he’d spend himself all over the lovable fool.  He murmured the aid 
that Pippin was asking for, the only instructions he was capable of giving, 
and groaned as Pippin followed through with them.  Oh, that mouth… that 
mouth was going to destroy him.

Pippin took to him like a child with precious candy he did not want to 
waste, but who was greedily determined to get every inch of pleasure from 
it.  Merry found himself arching back and suddenly aware that his 
knuckles were stinging from the pressure he was putting on them as he 
clenched at bed linens.  That little pain distracted him enough to calm him 
slightly, and he was able to relax and accept the pleasure.

But Pippin was learning quickly what made his body twitch with arousal, 
what caused soft groans to vibrate from his throat, what brought him 
closer and closer to release.  Merry mentally cursed the learning curve that 
would inevitably bring this to conclusion, but helplessly imagined what 
other things Pippin might take to so easily.

“Pippin…” he gasped, lifting his hips just enough to wedge himself a little 
further into that heavenly heat, instinct warring with caution.  
“Harder…please…”

He could feel Pip shift a bit, then the hand that was holding him erect to 
accept his mouth tightened and pulled up.  Merry almost came off the bed 
with it, especially when Pippin’s mouth began to work harder at keeping 
up a faster pace, and his hand began to pump at the base.

Merry was licking his lips, thinking that he would have to tell Pippin he 
was going to come, and the next thing he knew, he was flying. The rough 
shout he heard coming from his own throat shocked him. He’d been 
accused of being a quiet lover before.

Perhaps one just needed incentive.

He was blinking his eyes when Pippin catapulted into his arms, eager to 
hear how well he’d one.  An eager student.  Lady, help him.

How had they come all this way, and who had he to thank for it? He 
wished he knew.  He had made all the mistakes possible, and here was his 
little love, in his arms, and all the lies he’d told himself availed him 
nothing.

He murmured into Pippin’s airy curls, holding him tight, and was already 
falling asleep when the silly Took yawned into his throat: “Still love me?”

He hoped it took the rest of his life to make sure Pippin never doubted it 
again.