Laughter

Pippin still remembers the moment that The Joke He's Not Allowed to Make stopped working.

He'd always considered himself the Designated Comedian of the friend group; you know, the one who approaches every social situation with the aim to Make People Laugh like it's their job. Thankfully, unlike some Designated Comedians, Pippin was actually pretty good at what he did. He made jokes often, and he made jokes well.

The devastating part came when he spent enough time with someone to memorize their sense of humor. There are certain jokes that, say, a respectable Baggins shouldn't be caught dead laughing at in polite society if he wanted to keep his good reputation; but Pippin knew those jokes, and he knew their effect, and he did not hesitate to weaponize them at will.

Pippin had always known exactly what to say to make Frodo ugly-snort with laughter. Back in the Shire, Frodo had never gone out in public without a constant threat hanging over his head that if he did anything that sufficiently ticked off Pippin, he would pay for it dearly in an inappropriate guffaw and steep mortification.

Pippin knew exactly what power he held. It was one of the reasons he was so hilariously and unbearably smug.

And then, one day, That Joke didn't work.

If he'd tried, he could have employed it to get a blush and a snort out of Frodo all the way up until the Falls of Rauros. Yes, Frodo was weary then, and a little wiser, and mourning Gandalf, but he was still mostly the same hobbit who'd stepped out of the door of Bag End all those months ago; save a little "trimmed down", so to speak, both in mind and body.

But the Fellowship parted ways then, and didn't see each other for what felt like an age, and when they finally reunited, Frodo had one less finger than Pippin had left him with, and he was horribly wan and pale and bone-thin and quiet.

Of course, Pippin had his own injuries from which he had to heal. But his spirits recovered in record time, and he was laughing and joking with his visitors even before he was allowed out of the bed.

And one day, when it was just the four hobbits in the room alone, Pippin dared to make That Joke.

It got a grin and a scandalized "Pippin!", from Merry, and even a snort and shake of the head from Sam, but Frodo did not answer. It's not that he didn't hear; it's just that his face turned solemn and silent, and he seemed incapable of laughing at it anymore.

Of all the evils that Pippin had witnessed, nothing shook him more deeply to the core than that silence.

He'd try again over the course of the next few months—slipping it into the conversation wherever he could find an excuse—out of a quiet desperation to see his cousin laugh again. Most of the time, he wouldn't get a response. Sometimes, he'd get a feeble smile, but it was almost pitying, like, "Oh, Pippin…it's charming that you think that still works anymore."

It was only after Frodo's first great illness that Pippin mustered up the courage to ask him what was the matter. He'd been so afraid that Frodo was going to die; and now that fear had given way to brazen courage. He wasn't afraid of asking the painful questions anymore. Heaven knows he might not get another chance. So he had to know: What was wrong with That Joke? Wasn't it funny anymore? Frodo had used to laugh at it all the time; why didn't he now?

And Frodo smiled at him—but it was the fake smile, the pitying one—and said, "It is funny, Pippin. I know you only mean to cheer me up. I'm sorry I haven't been much of a good sport. It's just, well, it reminds me too much of…of before. Before all of this. It makes me wish…but there is no going back to that now." He gazed out the window and didn't seem to see Pippin anymore. "There is no going back," he whispered.

That's when Pippin broke down in tears; to his own surprise, as much as Frodo's. They held on tight to each other, and Pippin cried until he didn't have tears to cry anymore, but he was mourning Frodo even as he embraced him; mourning who he used to be, mourning the person who was ripped so cruelly away from him.

When he learned that Frodo meant to go over the Sea, he understood.

"He must go, I suppose. I hope they can make him laugh again; elves are jolly folk, in their own way. A pity that I won't be there to see it! Ah, well. I'd rather him be happy far away than stay with me and never laugh again. Poor Frodo! It's broken my heart nearly in two. I'd feel better if I knew for certain he'd be all right. Poor dear old Frodo!"

Before Frodo left, he wrote letters for all of his dearest friends; a "deathbed confession" of sorts, so that they'd always have something from him, if they missed him. Pippin's letter was not as long as some others, because Frodo knew Pippin wouldn't have the patience for it, but he did include this in its postscript:

"PS: Thank you for all the laughter.

Yours always,

Frodo"