Merry
I
ran like I had done in our game. I didn't look back.
I didn't want
to see him -- his eyes were just so sad,
when they shouldn't be. A
Took should never be sad,
there should be a law somewhere. But
then, a
Brandybuck should never be the cause of a Took's
sadness.
If I did turn back, what could I say? I could
ask why he kissed
me, I could apologise for shoving
him so · But how could I
get myself to line up a
sentence coherently? My breathing became
ragged as I
fled from where he probably still lay on the
forest
floor. Memories flooded through my mind of what
had
happened just moments ago.
I almost tripped over a tree
root when I felt his
fingers curling around my elbow. It had taken
a while,
but finally he had caught me. We fell about laughing,
the
bright sunlight and cheery surroundings making us
all the more in
high spirits. "Right, you run now,
Pip," I intructed. He
nodded and started away. Closing
my eyes, I started to count.
"One, two, three, four·"
I tried to crush my
habit of peeking to see where my
opponent had run off to. It was
always the same -- I
couldn't help peek. I suppressed the urge
this time,
which I reckoned deserved a bout of clapping.
"Five,
six, seven·" The twittering of a bird
sound out high
in the trees, and I couldn't help but feel like I
was
being watched. "Eight, nine, ten·" I didn't
open my
eyes right away -- let the younger one run, keep the
game
in motion. We both knew I was faster. It was the
same reason why I
slowed down, to finally let him
catch me.
I had paused long
enough. It was time to start
chasing. But suddenly, warm hands on
my chest, soft,
tepid lips pressed against mine. I gasped, though
I
kept my eyes shut, as if scared of what I might see. I
froze,
panicking, as I felt him press himself against
me. Why did I have
that sudden desire to pull him
closer? This was wrong. Wrong,
wrong, wrong. He was my
cousin! And a Îhe!' And ·
further more, Pippin?
This couldn't be happening. His tongue
darted between
my lips, and I relaxed slightly, letting him
explore
my mouth. He was quite good, for a hobbit that'd
never
kissed before. I didn't have much to compare him to,
of
course -- there have been a couple of girls in the
past, nothing
special, just an experiment. Lord, I
could hardly recall their
names. And I didn't want to.
I wanted to let him kiss me, and
never stop. I wanted
to answer with my own tongue, lie next to him
in the
browning leaves and the soft grass and
earthy
surroundings.
It was obvious that he wanted it. But
could I give it
to him? Hat hope did we have? None. I had to end
it.
I shoved him, harder than I meant to. The
sudden
abandonment of warmth against me was a shock, and I
blinked
as he fell on to the soft ground. I was
appalled at myself, and I
hesitated, wanting to help
him up. I hadn't meant to push him so
hard. But it was
those sorrowful sea-storm eyes that made me panic
even
further. I seemed to want me to say something, or he
wanted
to say something, but I couldn't bear any words
at this point.
So
I ran. I shouldn't have, but I did. The logical
part of my mind
was telling me it was for the best. We
were cousins, yeah? Family.
It would never work. I was
meant to marry a woman, carry on the
Brandybuck line --
not have a relationship with my very male
cousin. But
all I could think of, truly think of, was the
warmth
of his never-been-kissed lips, the softness of
his
tentative touch. I wanted to guide his hands, take
control
of our kiss, have him feel as secure as
anything, to leave room
for carelessness and spirited
contentment.
I stopped my
running, hands on my knees as I bent
over, taking a breather.
Every inhale was a ragged
pant, and I realised I was crying. I
never usually.
Wiping away warm, salty tears, I
straightened,
glancing back. I needed to go back to him. I needed
to
explain. I need to kiss him again·
For the first time, I realised one thing: I loved him.
It's hard, not
knowing what to say, or when to say it,
and wishing some else
would just go ahead and say it
for you. It's all quite confusing,
really, being that
confused in one moment, but it happens, and
more often
than not these days. Perhaps he'll forgive me
--
whether he'll forgive me for not returning the kiss,
or
forgive me for not saying what I wanted to say at
the right
moment, either way · I hope he can forgive
me.
And I
wandered, as I turned and started to head back
to where I left
him, I wandered: did he love me? Was
that spontaneous kiss under
the afternoon sun just
that -- spontaneous? Was he truly to young
to know the
meaning of love? I knew he wasn't experienced,
he
wasn't mature · even more the reason to wander why
he
kissed me, if he didn't truly mean it. He was infamous
for
doing stupid things -- was this one of them, just
another incident
to add to his growing collection? But
in my heart, I didn't feel
like what he had done was
stupid. Pip could be silly, but he was
the most honest
hobbit I've ever known. He wouldn't have kissed me
if
he didn't mean it, that I truly was sure of.
I smiled,
despite the fact that my eyes were still wet
with unshed tears,
despite the knowledge of the fact
that I could have hurt him
deeply with my previous
actions. He loved me, now I was sure. And
I loved him.
What could possibly be more perfect, when you
get
right down to it? He needed me, I've known that all my
life.
Since he was a very young child, he looked up to
me, despite my
being not that much older than him.
Yes, he needed me, that was
obvious. But there comes I
time when I realise that I needed him
just as much,
more so that others could ever know. I needed
his
smile, his cheerfulness, his willingness to play and
be
with me, his occasional outright words and bursts
of indignance.
Simple curiosity and honest questions.
Walking through the
forest, I realised that I loved
him completely. It was a very
pleasant realisation. My
smile grew, and I just had to say his
name, had to
taste it, had to seal my thoughts of love for
the
Took.
"Pippin."