She was standing right in front of him. Pretty, beautiful even, with rosy cheeks and a bright smile.

He looked at her and tried to see Diamond of Long Cleeve.

But in her long brown hair he saw another's dark curls, and when he looked into her eyes he saw older ones sparkling with the same youth. He saw there secrets she didn't know, remembered days and nights they hadn't spent together, and felt an understanding that wasn't hers. And in her smile, finally, he saw not her laughter, and he hated himself for hating the sound of her laugh, because it was high and guarded, not deep and free.

Yet when she wasn't speaking he could pretend it wasn't her, when she only smiled he could say, "I love you." Then he could talk himself into believing he wasn't lying. And perhaps he wasn't, for it was not her to whom he was speaking.

Sometimes he wondered whether she knew that in his head he added a name that was not hers.

And sometimes he wondered if he could have had his love. Wondered whether there had been a chance. If he could have loved him. Wondered, but never knew, because he'd always been a coward.

Still, when he saw her with him, it gave him hope, strangely. For her hair was golden and her eyes were green. And he dared to think that maybe, when Merry would look into her eyes, he'd see Pippin's there, when he'd stroke her curls he'd feel his, when he'd kiss her lips he'd imagine his best friend's. But he couldn't know.

At their wedding Pippin was not able to hold his tears anymore. They ran freely down his face, and he could only hope that all other hobbits, some of whom were crying as well, would mistake them for tears of happiness.

And at his own wedding, he said "I do" and meant "I promise I will never leave you" and "I promise I will be a good husband", yet not "I do love you". However, when he saw tears in Merry's eyes that day he recognized his own sadness, not the happiness that should have been there.

Pippin understood then that he had been blind.

They met in their house in Crickhollow, where they'd lived for some years together, a month after Pippin's wedding. And as soon as the closed door hid them from the view of all others, Pippin broke down and fell into Merry's willing arms.

"You don't love her," whispered his friend into his hair.

"You can't see her," he replied.

"You see me in her eyes."

"You hear me in her laugh."

"You want me when you have her."

"You wanted me before that."

"You love me."

"I do." And he meant it.

His kisses were eager but hasty, his hands gentle but fast, his tears first joyful then sad, then joyful again. For they both knew it would not last, that it had to end with the first rays of the sun, and they were desperate.

Merry lay on top of him, warm and comforting, and for a moment he could see a life in which it might have been, and with those words the moment was gone and he began to weep. He whispered them to Merry then, and their tears mingled, their hands intertwined, their lips met.

They didn't sleep. They cried, in pleasure and in pain. They didn't speak. They kissed, slowly and fiercely, and they touched, softly and possessively. They didn't say "I love you." It didn't need to be said.

But with the dawn came the words.

"It cannot happen again."

"Can it?"

"It is as you said."

"It might have been."

"But it will not be."

"Do you love me?"

Pippin knew the answer.

"I do."

After he had said this, Merry left. And the next time Pippin looked into Diamond's eyes, he found only this memory. For the rest of his life.