A/N: I have to say, this is my favorite pairing in LOTR. I don't know why, but I tend to like the strange ones, but this one isn't too strange, thankfully. I hope everyone likes it, because I worked really hard on it, and it is my first LOTR fic, ever.
This is only the first chapter, and this fic will go on for an extremely long time. I'm planning on having it go through the entire series. It is AU, so not only will some events be different, but the timeline might also change quite a bit. Updating will be slow, because I have to plan and write out each chapter, but I will finish it, I promise.
This chapter, they experiance a few disappearances, a few fights, and a few flashbacks...XD
WARNINGS: This is slash and incest, even though some might not remember it. In this chapter, it is only impied, and it is unrequited, but it is still there, so if that offends you DON'T READ IT!
"Why did we get ourselves into this, Pippin?" Merry asked his cousin while wearily scrubbing a bowl crusted with stew. As he did this, an image of Frodo doing the dishes in Bilbo's home came to mind, and this thought, in turn, reminded him of how much he missed passing the time with his dear friend. Frodo was avoiding him. Merry wasn't sure he had done to upset the older hobbit. Avoiding Pippin's curious gaze, he sighed at his dilemma. Merry could think of a thousand outrageous reasons for why Frodo was avoiding him, but he didn't want to believe any of them.
Frodo suddenly strolled into the tent, but halted upon seeing Merry, and walked right out again. Merry dropped the dish he was drying and ran after him, leaving Pippin standing in confusion behind him. Frodo was quickly lost in the large crowd that had gathered to celebrate Bilbo Baggins' birthday, but Merry was determined to find him. He fought his way through the throng of people, knowing better than to call Frodo's name. He caught another glimpse of him, and so Merry fought all the multitudes of people to get to his friend. Soon, Merry had caught up to him and was grabbing his wrist to make him stop running.
"Why won't you talk to me, Frodo?" Merry asked, trying to mask the hurt in voice. Frodo refused to look him in eyes, choosing instead to look for a means of escape. Merry forced him to look at him, his eyes gazing at Frodo with an intensity that entranced him into staying. Merry pulled him to a place where less people could hear them, a place away from the horde of partiers. He stood there lingering, still holding onto Frodo's wrist, waiting for him talk.
"Well?" Frodo heard Merry say, and cringed at the impatience in his voice. Frodo's mind raced, coming up with all sorts of possible excuses that he knew his cousin would see right through. Merry let him go at long last, and stood there tapping his foot, with his arms crossed, glaring at him.
"You know what I think? I think you're just in love with me!" Merry said, getting angry with Frodo's secretiveness. Frodo flinched, jumping back slightly with Merry's outburst, worried that he knew the truth.
"What?" Frodo said, trying his best to act completely baffled, and avoiding Merry's gaze, "t-that's ridiculous."
"Well, what else could it be?" Merry said, sounding hurt. "Every time you see me, you turn away or leave!"
"I-I don't know what you're talking about," Frodo stammered nervously. Looking up from his feet, Frodo took in his surroundings. They were in a clearing, close to the ongoing birthday party, encircled with trees that cast deep shadows in the night. The sky was black and full of stars, a sight Frodo had always loved. His glance fell, finally, upon Merry; Merry, with his hazel eyes and thick, sandy hair. This confrontation will not end well, Frodo thought to himself, worried.
Frodo could see the tenderness in Merry's intent look, however much he disguised it as anger. Merry rolled his eyes and strode stubbornly out of clearing, leaving Frodo wondering what he knew in his wake. After overcoming the shock of the disagreement, he walked back to the merrymaking a little shell-shocked.
He danced with friends, he taunted Sam about Rosie, he encouraged his uncle to make a speech, but the entire time, he couldn't help but feel eyes boring into the back of his head. He knew he wasn't supposed to feel the way he felt; after all, Merry was his cousin, and he had tried to forget, tried to ignore it. How did he notice? Frodo asked himself, trying to think of times he had slipped up. He concluded that he had been careful.
Even as he continued to ponder worriedly about what Merry said, he listened to his uncle's speech. His thoughts were interrupted when his uncle disappeared before his very eyes. Against his better judgment, he stole a quick glance at Merry, who was standing with Pippin, and saw that he looked just as confused as he felt. When Frodo tried to catch his eye, though, Merry just glared at him and looked away, leaving Frodo in confusion as to exactly
why he was this upset.
Frodo's curiosity concerning Bilbo's disappearance overcame his desire to follow Merry. Instead, he headed for the only place he thought Bilbo would be, home. He suddenly felt a firm tug on his wrist, and turned to see Merry looking at him. The hobbit, again, motioned for Frodo to follow him, and they ended up in the same clearing they had been in before. This time, Merry didn't look hurt, or angry, he just looked frustrated.
"I want a real answer, Frodo. I was going to just give up and let it go after the last conversation, but I won't. Why have you been avoiding me? Don't lie and say you don't know what I'm talking about either, because I know you do," Merry said, and the suffering that had previously been in his voice returned in full force. Frodo felt guilty, knowing that it was him who caused the pain etched in his cousin's face.
"I don't know what to say Merry, except that I won't tell you," Frodo said, his voice soft and cautious, full of guilt. He avoided his cousins gaze, not only afraid of the hurt, determination, and frustration that resided there, but also afraid that Merry would see Frodo's feelings for him in his eyes. He stared intently at the ground, but he could feel the heat of Merry's gaze upon him. His cousin was glaring fiercely at him, and as determined as he was to not reveal the reason for his avoidance, Frodo began to feel quite guilty.
He looks guilty, Merry thought to himself, and his anger faltered for a brief moment, until he remembered how much he missed his friend. He could feel his face shifting with his quick change of emotions, going from hard to soft and immediately back to hard again. He wanted to be kind, he really did, but somehow, he couldn't. He tapped his foot, waiting for his cousin to explain his actions.
"And why won't you tell me, Frodo? Why won't you tell me what I did to make you so angry with me?" Merry said quietly, hanging his head not to hide his tears. But after a few moments, he looked up again, unblinkingly, into Frodo's face, seemingly unaware of the tears on his lightly tanned cheeks. He looked defiantly into his cousin's face, refusing to give up, refusing to give in. As he watched and waited, he saw Frodo look around, trying anything to avoid Merry's own unfailing gaze.
He gazed at Frodo looking lovingly at the great, green trees and the thick green grass that could be found so easily in the Shire. He could see him lifting his eyes in awe to the endless, cloudless, blue sky that him and Frodo had so often watched pass beneath their eyes, laying in the emerald carpet of a field together, side by side. He could remember one particular occasion, probably the most special.
It had just been a few weeks ago; a few days before Frodo began doing anything he could to avoid him. For a moment, Merry let himself be caught up in the last fond memory of himself and his cousin, together. He let himself remember.
They had just fallen, laughing and panting, into the dewy grass. They glanced at each other, and then at the gorgeous blue sky, littered with small, white clouds. They both heard each other stop breathing, rendered breathless and awed by the raw beauty of the Shire, the beauty the kind of unchanged beauty that could only be found in the Shire.
They laid there, in the thick, lush carpet of green grass, staring up at the clouds. Merry and Frodo laid there, and they shared with each other what they saw in the clouds, and they were there, in the field, for hours. This, of course, wasn't the first time they had spent their time here, in this very field, staring at imaginary objects in the clouds.
Merry knew his surroundings at that moment by heart. He was in a meadow, laying in uncut grass. The ground was not level, though; the pasture was hilly. These hills, also, held memories, memories of chases and races and so many games. Everywhere Merry looked in the Shire, he saw another memory. There was a wheat field towards the east and a potato field to west. To the north, a corn field, and the south, a forest that seemed to go on forever. It was a forest that Merry had never been in, and probably never would.
"Hey, Merry...Merry. Merry!" Merry was broken out of his thoughts by the jolting sound of his cousin's smooth voice trying to get his attention. He looked at Frodo's face, suddenly listening intently. But Frodo, after getting his kinsman's attention, didn't say anything. He just looked. He just gazed, directly into the face of the fair-haired boy Merry was at that time, the one he still was. Merry grew confused, wondering why Frodo might be looking at him the way he was, with that slightly awed look. He just stared back, trying to decode what his cousin was thinking. He waited, thinking that maybe Frodo would say something soon, that he had just been distracted by something, but when he didn't reply, Merry became worried.
"Hey, Frodo! Did you want to tell me something?" Merry said, waving his hands in Frodo's face to get his attention. It seemed as if he was broken out of a strong trance; his eyes had gone glassy, his face had gone blank, like he was seeing things only he could see. Somehow, Merry didn't doubt that he was; Frodo had always been a bit dreamy. He looked confused for a minute, as if he had lost all of his thoughts.
"Huh? I was going to-never mind. Never mind, it doesn't matter," Frodo said, a trifle sadly, shaking his head. He then looked down at his lap, as if suddenly embarrassed. He insisted on brushing it off as nothing, and while at first, Merry resisted, he soon gave up, and they continued to gaze at the clouds, and share what they saw in them. But it wasn't innocent anymore, and it seemed as if they were both preoccupied. And they never watched the clouds, alone together, again.
"I just can't, Merry. You might not understand, but I just can't," Frodo said sadly, jolting Merry out of his reminiscence-induced trance. Merry stood there, shocked to the bone, and eventually, tears leaking from beneath his closed eyelids, he turned and walked away, without a word. He finally gave up.
He didn't look back, either. He just walked away. He didn't want to see the sad, guilty expression inhabiting his cousin's beautiful face. "Why not?" he muttered, quietly, under his breath as he strode away.
Why did I just think that? I don't have feelings like that for him,
Frodo, while he watched his younger cousin walk away from him in anger, and felt tears seep from his eyes as he heard Merry's muttered, broken-hearted parting words.
"Why not," Merry said, and Frodo wished with all his heart that he could explain. But he couldn't. He couldn't explain why, because he knew Merry would hate him, would hate him and what he was with everything he had. After all, it was unnatural, what he was, what he felt. It wasn't normal.
So it would remain a secret. It would remain a secret until the day Frodo was forced to come clean, or the day he died. Whichever came first. And, for the rest of his days, Frodo would have to content himself with just watching his cousin, like he was now, watching his bouncy, happy step and his swaying hips. And he would stare, would stare at his face, and his eyes, and his smile, and his hair. And he would have to be happy with that, because that was all he was ever going to get, that was as close as he was ever going to get to being his cousin's lover, his love. He would have to content himself with being friends while he watched his cousin court, and eventually marry, a pretty lass. And he would have to live with it.
He shook his head, trying to shake the thoughts that were breaking his heart. He looked back up at the sky, sighing deeply at his dilemma. He wanted to be able to move on, he wanted to be able to forget what he felt for his cousin and find a lass to court, just like every other lad. Even if it was unrequited love, like Sam, he wouldn't have this dark secret that was eating him up inside. But he didn't know how.
As he walked aimlessly towards Bilbo's home, his home, his thoughts were brought to a day a few weeks back, a day when him and Merry had been doing what they do a lot, watching the sky. It hadn't been so different from any other day they had done the same thing, except that Frodo had slipped up.
They had run through the field, chasing each other, laughing, and finally fallen into the cushion of sweet-smelling, uncut grass, breathless with childish happiness. They just laid in the beautiful green grass, calming their quickly beating hearts. They just stared at the sky for awhile, not saying anything, and not needing to. They were content to just rest there, together, and their quiet companionship was enough, it was perfect for the moment. Frodo sat there, lost in his own thoughts, thoughts of things that weren't fields and clouds, thoughts of things of the heart. Frodo sighed deeply, and knew that Merry, in his contentment, didn't notice. He was glad of that. He didn't want to have to explain. So he threw the thoughts from his head, and thought about what he was going to do. Merry had begun to talk about love, about all the lasses he wanted to court, and it was beginning to hurt. Maybe I should just, stop being friends with him. Sure, we're still cousins, but I don't hang out with most of my cousins. I could just stop, but I should warn him first, Frodo thought to himself, pondering his options. But, while thinking about this, he quickly took in the clouds above. There were shapes of animals and objects and plants, all imagined, of course, but there all the same. It was perspective. Merry was probably seeing different things. Frodo looked over at Merry, to see him staring off into the fields surrounding them, and smiled. Merry always did have a problem with just escaping; he wasn't dreamy. He couldn't stop thinking about his latest plot, his latest scheme, his latest mischief, and it was so hard to get him to think of anything else, let alone nothing. He chuckled, thinking about his cousin. The cousin he had been friends with for so long, who was so much younger than him. And he acts older than me, more focused, he pondered, silently. Deciding what he wanted to do, Frodo decided to get Merry's attention. He breathed in deeply, gathering his courage, and spoke up. "Hey, Merry," he said quietly, trying not to startle him to suddenly from his peacefulness. But Merry didn't hear, or was ignoring him. "Merry…" Frodo tried again, quickly losing his nerve, but still, the blond-haired boy didn't answer. Frodo sighed, and tried again, this time getting an answer. Merry looked up, waiting expectantly for the news that Frodo knew would make him hate him. But he couldn't say it, so he just stood there, studying Merry's face, and thinking about all the reasons he was in this position, all the reasons he had for feeling this way about his perfect cousin. He noticed his bright blue eyes, eyes that now held curiosity, maybe even concern, for Frodo. He looked at his curly, fair ringlets, ringlets that Frodo would love to run his fingers through, just once. He was handsome, he was beautiful. He was perfect. He was waving a hand in his face, trying to get his attention. "Hey, Frodo, were you trying to tell me something?" Merry asked, obviously concerned and confused. Frodo broke from his trance, shaking his head as if having been submerged in water. He tried to get a grasp of where he was, what he was doing, what his cousin was saying, before beginning. He took a deep breath, bracing himself for the anger that would follow. "Huh? I was going to--never mind. Never mind, it doesn't matter, " Frodo said sadly, changing his mind in the spur of the moment, deciding it would be easier if he didn't have to see the face of hurt, confusion and betrayal on Merry's face when he realized Frodo didn't want to be friends with him, didn't want to spend time with him. He shook his head, staring into his lap. He looked embarrassed, but he wasn't; he wanted to hide the deep sadness, the deep guilt, the deep depression shining in his eyes. He didn't want to have to do this, but he knew he had to, or not only he, Frodo, but also Merry would become more angry and hurt than they would be if Frodo didn't sacrifice his own happiness, his own heart. They continued to watch the sky, but with the knowledge of his decision weighing him down, it wasn't as carefree as it could be. Eventually, they left, together, for the last time.
Frodo sighed, deeply, as he collapsed into a chair in his uncle's house, and sat, panting again, and drowning in his own sadness. As he sat there, he felt a wetness on his cheek. He reached up, and realized that it was tear sliding down his cheek.