Well, Mr. "Louis"… you thought you could deter me from writing slash with your incredibly sad and homophobic burn there. Let me just say that I am flame-retardant. And so, this is all for your benefit. Try to squash me and I only am further inspired. Hell, thanks to you, one day I may actually write an (::gasp:: ) *raunchy * fic with our precious Pip and Merry. Good luck on your flaming; it is appropriately named. Further flames will be passed around, laughed at and ripped up, as they were before. Thanks. Enjoy! Oh, and Louis, this is for you, my heart.
Life had been lovely all but until recently, when his entire body rebelled against him. A wonderful, warm and cheery evening spent in the Inn had crashed and burned like one of Gandalf's fire tricks of when he was just a but a bit. Not to say that it was not wholly worth it.
Long, hard laughs over quips, jokes and tales, garnished by mug after mug of beer had made for a simply wonderful night. Yet, when Merry hauled him up and warned him that they should most likely head home, the consequences of such an evening hit him. Only moments afterwards did he realize how late it was and he finally felt the weight of the sleep in his brain magnified by each draught of the night.
They paid up their tabs and he allowed Merry to help him with his light cape before they set out onto the road for home. Even as weary and quite sloshed as he was, the night in the Shire was enchanting. Soft cricket music on pale paths beneath the sparse lights of the dark-navy sky.
Even his own disobedient feet, aching head and exhausted body could not ruin the dark beauty of the walk home. Never before had he noticed how marvelous his home was. He took its subtle, gentle loveliness for granted daily, it seemed! Never before had it been so peaceful!
He stumbled forward at being caught in a marvel over a silvery spider's web and fell hard into his partner. Wrapping his arm around the neck for security, his murmured his apologies, but he felt Merry would think it all right.
The night sounds poured onto the path and through the small meadow. Everything was wonderful. He briefly thought if Merry could see the same before dismissing it; of course he did, it was impossible to miss! The air, the crystalline stars, the silver-plated moon, and the velvet grass. It was unreal. The gentle music was set into motion by a lullaby from a hole down the path; the soft cries of a hobbit-child being sung into oblivion.
Even the Brandybuck master supporting a good lot of his weight was beautiful, even if in only the way a halfling can be, as a part of the surrounding world of serenity. He felt particularly lucky to be a part of such a gorgeous night. He lay his head on his Merry's shoulder and loosely let go of his own power to walk, leaving some work to his able-bodied friend.
His thoughts drifted inwards, though he never once ignored the scenery. There was no doubt that the night was most lovely, but the company was almost lovlier. Their friendship was nearly perfection from the beginning and there was never a lack of love between the two of them. They would play and pull tricks when they were little and grew up to a maturity together. A friendship of pure beauty since infancy
Well, no. Not infancy, per se. They were not best friends until they were nearly nine years old (which is still quite young for a hobbit, but old enough). When they stole some fruit from an old man's orchard and shared what they took with each other. Feeding one another every last bite of that too-raw fruit and pledging a brotherhood that that even that day's illness could not shake.
He asked Merry of that time, his mouth no longer his to control. Quickly greeted with a warm and vague smile, he felt consoled; he was not the only one to remember. It was good to know that he would not forget. It was so beautiful to have a friendship as close, as warm, as protecting as theirs.
While he was still marveling on the metaphysics of beauty (certainly not a common pastime for him), he found himself in his home. Merry was coaxing him into bed and the coverlet up to his shoulders. So weary was he that he forgot to mention even a small thank you. So exhausted, he could not open his eyes to feel his best friend's presence at the head of his bed. So drowsy and so near sleep, he could not respond to the thick fingers brushing softly across his forehead. So very jaded that he did not react - and barely noticed - as a sweet pressure pushed against his own lips.
He sighed and heard his best friend and blood-brother of all times leave the room, murmuring like the nature outside his window.
"You are one simpleton of a Took, Peregrin, if you think I could ever let you fall out of my memory."
He licked what seemed like honey off of his lips and let sleep take him as he found the last spark of strength to reply and whispered, "Good. I am no fool."
Ok, so Pippin was a bit out of character, there. I do not know of ANY Hobbits that are quite the aesthetics that I can be. However, it was only meant to be fluff. And a revenge fic. Hope you liked.