Title: All Shall Fade

Rating: T because I'm paranoid.

Summary: The burden of a long-kept secret finally breaks Pippin down.

Warning: Slight angst and fluff

Pairing: Merry/Pippin

Disclaimer: I do not own Merry, Pippin or Lord of the Rings. If I did there would be many drastic script-changes.

Author's Note: It's just my luck that my love for Lord of the Rings should manifest into an obsession on the eve of the day that my GCSE exams start. *waves arms in panic* However this idea would not leave me alone until I did something about it, and it's just as well that often my stories tend to write themselves with little guidance from me, which is what happened with this one. The result of this added to the fact that I only spent a few hours on it because I need to get some revision done soon otherwise I am doomed forms my excuse for why it's slightly choppy and more emotional than I first intended. This is my first LotR fic so it may just be a load of codswallop, but Merry and Pip are easily my favourite characters and I think you'll agree that their relationship is adorable regardless of how you perceive it.

Anyway, I've rambled for long enough now so I'll let you guys have what you came for. Reviews are greatly appreciated :)

"Would you look at this place," said Merry in wonder. The guest chamber was nearly half the size of Crickhollow, the last hobbit-sized dwelling he could remember staying in. The double bed was made for a Man and the top of the mattress almost reached as high as his waist. The room also came complete with a huge window that occupied most of the far wall and a door that led off to a private bathroom. There was no mistake to be made: the chamber was fit for a king.

Turning back to the door, Merry saw that his best friend was right where he'd left him. Pippin leaned against the doorway, his arms folded across his chest and one foot crossed over the other. His position added to the silken clothes Aragorn had insisted they both wear gave Pippin an overall air of self-righteousness. Seeking to bring his friend back down to his proper height, Merry went to him and tousled his curls. "No amount of fancy clothing or grand titles will overshadow the fact you're still a Took, Pip," he said fondly.

"I know that," replied the younger hobbit. "It's just nice to feel important. It's not easy following in your footsteps, Merry. You always arrive somewhere first, and I'm left hurrying to catch up and by the time I have all the excitement has passed and it's time to move on. It's always been like that and I didn't mind as much when we were younger, but now I feel like it's my turn to be the one who gets there first, y'know?"

Merry regarded his cousin with curiosity, his head cocked to one side. He wondered at the change that had come over Pippin since their separation, Merry's brief experience of battle and Pippin's short time in Denethor's service. The foolish Took that was forever being chided by Gandalf was gone and had been replaced with a hobbit who stood taller and prouder than the old Pippin had ever done, and possessed an air of wisdom and thoughtfulness that baffled Merry. Since the reunion at Minas Tirith, Pippin had suddenly left Merry's side more than once to wander off on his own. Merry would later find him staring over the ramparts at the ruins of Mordor. When asked what he was thinking about, Pippin would reply light-heartedly, "I was just wondering what the cooks are going to serve for dinner tonight. I am glad they know more about meals than Aragorn does – it's his fault that I've had to poke several new holes in my belt." Of course Merry knew he was lying; for one thing he found it suspicious that Pippin spent so much time thinking about food (even for a hobbit), and for another Merry never failed to notice the clouded, faraway look leaving Pippin's eyes when he was roused from his thoughts.

Now though, inside the chamber that was more than large enough for their hobbit-requirements, Merry could share some much-needed alone time with this semi-stranger who had once been his long-term confident. This was one of the rare days when Pippin needed to be cheered up, and Merry knew just how to do it.

"Hey, Pip, whaddaya say we get some ale from the kitchen? Bet it tastes almost as good here as it does in the Shire."

A ghost of Pippin's infamous grin crossed his face. "Yeah, I'd like that. Just like old times, eh?"

"Just like old times," Merry echoed, smiling affectionately. It suddenly dawned on him that he and Pippin were almost the same height now, and he could look directly into Pippin's eyes with just a fractional tilt of his head. "Say, Pip, did you drink more of Treebeard's water whilst I wasn't looking?"

"No, Merry," Pippin replied innocently. "Though I think I may have grown a little since Lothlórien all the same. I may even grow taller than you."

Merry snorted. "Don't get full of yourself; you've always been shorter than me and you always will be. Now come on and let's see about this ale."

Soon enough they had completed the journey to the kitchen, aided by Pippin's prior knowledge of the layout of the citadel, and managed to acquire two full barrels of Minas Tirith's finest ale. They would have been happy to bear their precious cargo back to their rooms on their backs, but a few passing servants insisted on helping them to manage the load. Back in their chamber, each hobbit happily sipped from a mug (the mugs in Minas Tirith were rather larger than mugs in the Shire, much to their delight) as they stood side by side at the window and stared out across Gondor.

Below them were the green lawns, the fountain and the new White Tree, of which Pippin was particularly fond. The branches were now laden with white blossoms whose petals drifted down like snowflakes onto the grass. The sunset tinged the gleaming walls of the citadel a faint orange and the Tree seemed to glow silver in the dying light.

"Beautiful," Pippin murmured against the rim of his mug. "I should be happy to spend the rest of my days here if I did not miss the Shire so dearly. Nothing can compare to a summer's afternoon spent fishing down at the Brandywine, not even this." Merry hummed his agreement around a mouthful of ale. Pippin glanced sidelong at him, but quickly turned away when Merry met his gaze.

"I bet even old Farmer Maggot misses us pinching his crops," Merry said.

"I don't think I would even mind being chased by his dogs again."

Merry laughed loudly. "Are you no longer able to hold your liquor, Pip?"

"I'm serious!" Pippin insisted. He looked down at the garden below and exclaimed, "Is that Aragorn down there?"

"Where?" demanded Merry, leaning closer to the window so that his nose was all but pressed against the pane. The tiny but distinct figure of the Ranger-turned-King was walking along the path towards the fountain, a dark-haired lady at his side. As the Halflings watched, the pair sat on the rim of the pool and leaned their heads close together, talking in soft voices.

"I should think I would be willing to give all the riches in the world to have a lady like Queen Arwen for a wife," Merry said wistfully, turning his back to the window to give them some privacy.

Pippin breathed in sharply and foam stuck in the back of his throat. "Since when?" he managed between coughs.

A soft hue of rose tinted Merry's cheeks even as he rolled his eyes. "I never told you this but… I think I am in love with Lady Éowyn of Rohan." Pippin's eyes grew wide and he lowered his mug, having suddenly lost all interest in its contents. Merry continued in a rush, his cheeks reddening with every word. "She is full of courage and kindness and beauty, and she never treated me differently to the other soldiers because I am a hobbit. I think she and I both felt inferior but she never let that stop her. I rode with her into battle and oh, Pip, I was so frightened but she was there and she gave me strength. I'd never felt like that before in my whole life."

Pippin laughed shakily. Merry turned on him, his eyebrows knitted. "What's so funny? Ere I thought you might understand, since you seem to be all of a sudden filled with wisdom. But perhaps you have not grown up at all!"

"No Merry, I wasn't laughing at you! Well… I was… but not in the way that you think!" Merry's frown softened but did not altogether disappear. "I was just surprised to hear such words coming from you and was unsure of how to respond. I would never mock you."

Still with his eyes narrowed in a way that made Pippin gulp, Merry pushed away from the windowsill, setting his mug down on a table on his way to the adjoining bathroom. "I'm taking a bath," he called over his shoulder, as if Pippin needed to be told. The door closed with a click that seemed to echo around the room and pass straight through Pippin. He placed his own mug on the windowsill, still half full, and went to sit on the bed. He had to heave himself up and put in an undignified scramble towards the end, but the soft mattress and silky sheets were reward enough for his efforts. The bed was far too large even for two of them. Pippin curled into a tight ball in the middle of it, tucking his chin into the collar of his tunic. The ache in his chest that had begun when Merry mentioned Lady Éowyn had expanded into a painful throbbing.

"How could he fall in love?" Pippin thought despondently. "There's never been anyone else. Just me and him, that's all." Through the wall, he heard the splashes of Merry preparing his bath, and was transported back to the times when he had watched Merry boil water in a kettle over the fire and pour it into the waiting bathtub. Then they would both climb in, thinking nothing of the proximity, and throw handfuls of bubbles at each other's faces, laughing and spluttering until the water was cold and the floor soaked. Then Merry would wrap a towel around Pippin's quaking shoulders and they would sit by the fire, talking and smoking and sometimes singing as the sky outside the window grew dark. "Just me and Merry. No one else."

Caught up in melancholy longings, Pippin's thoughts drifted until he was standing in the presence of the Steward Denethor and swallowing the bile rising in his throat as Faramir retreated from the room to make preparations for his suicide mission in Osgiliath. Pippin's heart struggled to comprehend the Steward's wish that Faramir had died in his brother's place when Faramir showed nothing but unconditional love for his father. He could not understand how anyone could sit idly by whilst all those Men – including Faramir, Aragorn and (Pippin's heart quailed to think it) Merry – were giving up their lives in a hopeless attempt to save Middle-earth.

Pippin could not remember a time when he had felt more lost and alone, surrounded by strangers with not a friendly face in sight. War was no place for a hobbit and Pippin longed with everything his small body could muster to be back safely in the Shire. Had he not felt any of this, he would never have thought to sing the old travelling song he had learned from the elderly folk of his family to the hard-hearted and gluttonous Steward. It was one of the very few songs he knew besides the silly drinking songs he and Merry performed on the tabletops of The Green Dragon. He wished Merry was there to sing it with him.

At that moment, said hobbit unlocked the door to the bathroom. His hair hung dripping to his shoulders and he was dressed in a loose fitting shirt and breeches not very much unlike the clothing of the Shire, although the shirt was made of silk and the trousers of soft cotton. His face, though ruddy from the steamy bath water, paled and his heart jumped at the sight of Pippin lying unmoving on the bedcovers. He hurried to gather the bundle of velvet and Pippin into his arms, laying his cousin's head on his shoulder and burying his nose in Pippin's hair. Drops of moisture slipped from Pippin's cheeks onto Merry's neck; bright eyes stared unseeingly at the ceiling.

"I'm so sorry Pippin. I didn't mean to snap at you. I never mean to snap at you, even when you do something unbelievably foolish. Please don't cry, please."

An almost inaudible sound passed between Pippin's lips. Merry lifted his head and saw the younger hobbit's mouth moving to frame words, though Merry couldn't make out what they were. "Pip?" The words came louder and it dawned on Merry that they were the words of a song, though the thing that was of interest to Merry was Pippin's voice. Although quiet, it was sweet and musical like the morning call of a bird that would wake Merry from a night spent sleeping cradled between the roots of a tree. Transfixed by the purity of the sound, Merry brushed auburn curls back from Pippin's forehead before laying it against his own. He closed his eyes and listened, and the voice strengthened until the words were clear:

"Home is behind, the world ahead

And there are many paths to tread

Through shadow to the edge of night

Until the stars are all alight

Mist and shadow, cloud and shade

All shall fade, all shall fade."

When Merry opened his eyes, a pair of familiar grey orbs was fixed upon him. With a quiet laugh of relief, Merry wiped the tear tracks from Pippin's cheeks. "I've never heard you sing like that," was all he could think to say.

"It's the song I sang for Lord Denethor," Pippin replied with a small smile. "It reminded me of you, and how hopeless I felt without you, and how much I wished you were by my side again." He blushed under Merry's eyes, which had softened until his gaze was like liquid warmth on Pippin's face.

"Does that have something to do with the funny look you gave me when I told you about Éowyn?" Merry asked softly.

Pippin winced. "Was it that obvious?"

"I always know what your face is saying," Merry answered.

Although it was comforting to feel the steady rhythm of Merry's heart, Pippin disentangled their limbs and looked his cousin straight in the eye. That was what bothered him the most: Merry was not only his best friend, he was also his family. Whilst it was not unusual for hobbits in their tweens to create scandalous reputations for themselves with whoever took their fancy, Pippin was sure that the Shire-hobbits would not look kindly upon a relationship between them. Indeed, Merry would be better off in the arms of Éowyn; even if she was no hobbit, at least she was not his kin.

"Pip," Merry said gently, lifting Pippin's chin. "I heard today that Éowyn and Faramir are planning to get married."

Pippin blinked a few times, and then said, "Oh."

Merry studied him for a long moment, waiting for something else to come out, but it seemed that was all that the Took had to offer. Overcome with a rush of emotion that may have had something to do with the ale finally reaching his system, Merry let out such a guffaw that Pippin was startled enough to tumble onto his back. "You fool of a Took," Merry gasped between chuckles. Pippin looked indignant for about two seconds before joining in Merry's laughter. Merry leapt off the bed and refilled the beer mugs, clanking them together and sloshing foam all over the flagstone floor.

"Pippin my lad, whatever has happened this past year is behind us, and we've lived to tell the tale. But now it's time to celebrate, and let's be honest, we love a celebration, don't we?"

"Indeed we do, my dear Merry," Pippin agreed wholeheartedly, tipping back his second mug of ale. A good portion of it dribbled down his chin, prompting more giggles from Merry and a brown stain on the sleeve of Pippin's white tunic. Together they began a rendition of Bilbo's old hiking song, spinning the lyrics into a jolly tune and dancing on top of the bed.

"The Road goes ever on and on

Down from the door where it began

Now far ahead the Road has gone

And we must follow, if we can

Pursuing it with weary feet

Until it joins some larger way

Where many paths and errands meet

And whither then? We cannot say!"

"I reckon old Bilbo Baggins would be proud of us," said Merry, slinging his arm around Pippin's shoulders. "We followed his Road all the way to Gondor!"

"A roundabout trip, but impressive all the same!" Pippin added. "Fancy, the Shire'll be full of tales of our travels when we get home. They might even write a song about it!"

"No one'll ever speak ill of the names Took and Brandybuck ever again!" Merry cried happily. He tipped his mug upside down and, upon discovering it was empty, lunged for Pippin's, which was also dry.

The ale was considerably stronger than in the Shire; this and the uneven surface beneath his feet caused Merry to lose his balance. He made a wild grab for Pippin's arm and brought them both tumbling down onto the mattress in a heap of hysterical giggles. It seemed that all the worries and fears tucked away inside them were bursting out at once and they laughed until they cried, clinging to each other for dear life.

"Promise me something, Merry," Pippin gasped when he had calmed down somewhat and the tears of mirth were drying on his cheeks.

"What is it, Pip?" asked Merry, lazily twirling one of Pippin's curls around his index finger.

"Never ever leave my side again."

Through the sleepy fog rapidly spreading inside his head, Merry managed to be surprised. "I thought that was a given?"

Pippin let out a breathy chuckle. "I suppose, I just wanted to hear you say it."

Heaving a sigh, Merry struggled to his feet and, with some effort, pulled a bewildered Pippin with him. Inspired by the observation of Aragorn's coronation a few days previously, he grasped Pippin's hands between his and knelt before the startled hobbit, before declaring in a voice loud enough to be heard all the way to the end of the corridor: "I, Meriadoc Brandybuck, do solemnly swear never to leave the side of Mister Peregrin Took ever again, from this moment until death do us part." Merry planted a sloppy kiss on Pippin's fingers, extracting a groan of disgust from the younger.

"Was that a promise or a marriage proposal?" Pippin giggled as Merry pulled him back down onto the bed.

"Which would you rather?" Merry asked cheekily. Pippin gawked at the golden-haired hobbit for quite some time before Merry rolled his eyes and said, "I was joking, you silly Took."

"Oh, right," said Pippin hastily. "I knew that."

Merry's slurring voice suddenly took on a note of sobriety. "Did you?"

Suddenly Pippin knew that Merry wasn't teasing him anymore. They weren't playing a game or joking at one another's expense. This was one of the moments that had increased in frequency since their arrival at Minas Tirith; the air in the room suddenly became heavier and settled around them with intent to choke whatever it was that needed to be said out of them. Pippin's neck grew hot and he felt moisture collect at his collar.

"Is there something you want to tell me, Pippin?" Merry asked. His voice was now completely flat and serious - it might have been Gandalf asking the question.

Pippin swallowed heavily, although it did little to return moisture to his dry throat. The blue in Merry's eyes intensified and sharpened until they were like Frodo's magic blade, Sting. Pippin imagined them relentlessly piercing his flesh, seeking to uncover the secret that Pippin guarded as though it was the One Ring. He squeezed his eyes shut, seeking relief from the intent in Merry's gaze that promised he would not hesitate to tickle a response out of Pippin if he did not get there by himself soon. Any other form of torture would to him be no worse than listening to one of Treebeard's stories compared with tickling, and Merry knew it.

"Pippin," Merry warned. The hastily-formed plan of distracting him with a topic concerning food fled from Pippin's mind when he picked up the uncharacteristic growl in Merry's voice. He felt the mattress dip as Merry moved towards him and instinctively shied away from the fingers that knew the secret spot between Pippin's ribs that would make him shriek and laugh even as he begged for mercy.

"Pippin…" Merry said again, his voice was right by Pippin's ear, closer than he had anticipated. Something in it made him pause before taking a dive off the bed to escape - a hint of the same thing that could sometimes be heard in Frodo's voice when he'd talked about the Ring before. It sent little shivers up Pippin's spine to hear the same tone lacing Merry's low voice.

"Open your eyes, Pippin." The young hobbit obeyed the command without thinking, and the closeness of Merry's face startled him. The vivid blue in his eyes filled Pippin's vision. Every muscle in his skinny body locked until he felt he was made of stone. He briefly wondered if this was what Bilbo's trolls now felt like before every coherent thought fled from his mind when Merry tilted his head and touched his soft lips against Pippin's. The contact was feather-light and Pippin barely felt it, but it sent electric currents sparking throughout his body, stirring up his stomach and bringing it to life with the squirming feeling of a thousand butterflies all fluttering their wings at once.

He let his breath go in a long sigh, which may have contained broken whispers of Merry's name. Merry made a tiny, choked noise in the back of his throat and suddenly he was everywhere. His strong hands pushed Pippin back into the cushions; his hair tickled Pippin's skin and his lips left a trail of soft kisses like falling petals on Pippin's cheeks, ears and forehead. He smelled of soap and ale and Merry, all blended into one delicious scent that caused Pippin's breath to come in short gasps as he tried to drink in as much of it as possible.

"Oh Pippin – Pip -" Merry murmured with undisguised desperation. He shifted his weight on top of Pippin until their bodies were pressed flush together. Pippin made a pleased humming sound as he giddily absorbed the sensation of having Merry's warm weight pushing him into the bed. This seemed to spur Merry on and he bent his head to press hard kisses against Pippin's neck, before finally crushing their lips back together. Merry tasted exactly like he smelled, but hotter and wetter and more desperate than ever as his mouth moved over Pippin's. The younger hobbit wriggled a little as the squirming in his stomach grew more frenzied, causing Merry to gasp and bite down on his lower lip hard.

Pippin's response was an astonished squeak, which finally broke through the haze and brought them both back down to Middle-earth. Merry went to sit up, pulling Pippin with him, and stared long and hard into his eyes. A question caused the darkened irises to grow lighter, and Pippin feared that it was time to come back to reality. He tried to push Merry away; to save them both the awkwardness of a discussion concerning what had just happened. Merry tightened his hold on Pippin's clothes, refusing to budge.

"You need to tell me right now if this is what you want," Merry said in a low, husky voice that made Pippin squirm again, "Because if we don't stop now, there'll be no going back. Do you understand?"

"I'm not a child, Merry," Pippin said exasperatedly. "And if you hadn't guessed by now that this is what I've wanted all along, you may as well drop the name Brandybuck and call yourself a Chubb instead."

Although Pippin was rather proud of his retort, he soon received punishment for it in the form of intruding fingers digging between his ribs. "I suppose you think that's funny," Merry chided as Pippin tried to push the older, broader hobbit off him to no avail. Merry relinquished his attack before the first tears formed in Pippin's eyes and instead tucked a stray curl behind his right ear. "This is the best way I can ever keep my promise," he said softly. "If you'll have me like this."

Pippin's smile made his jaw ache despite his attempts to rein it in. "If we stay together like this, nothing in the whole of Middle-earth will ever be wrong. I'll let you go everywhere first and be content to follow you, if when we reach our destination the first thing you do is take my hand and let me enjoy all the excitement with you."

Merry chuckled. "Wow, Pip, I bet Sam would be impressed to hear you coming out with things like that. That was practically poetry."

"Not at all," Pippin replied. "That was a simple realisation that this moment will be all I need to chase away any shadows that may try to drag me into their darkness."

Merry had no reply other than to plant a kiss on the end of his nose and say, "Oh Pippin."