screen captures
including
Dom in Hetty,
Billy in Taggart,
and various others.

hobbit fanfiction
(and slash)
written by andraste.

links to other
fandom sites.

email andraste
livejournal.

A World as Clear as Water

Author: Andraste
Author's Email: vanessa@brandyhall.net
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slash. Emotional torment. General ickiness.
Author's Note: This was written as a response to the One Ring Challenge by Dale.
Acknowledgements: White Owl for being an incredibly thoughtful, skilful and kind beta, and everyone who's been encouraging. And Dale, for posting the challenge in the first place.

Pippin sat alone on the bed. It seemed that much of his time alone these days was spent waiting, squinting through the sunlight or peering through the dark, looking for the face and form he longed for. There had been another bedroom at the inn assigned to him, but he knew he wouldn't be sleeping in it. He hadn't even bothered to go into it.

In a little while, the day became evening; the circular window darkened, engulfing the clouds. Pippin rose and walked over to the fire, poking aimlessly at it before straightening and looking into the round mirror over the mantelpiece. He lifted a hand to his throat, thinking about drawing a knife through it, seeing the bright jet of blood. But it would hurt so much, and make so much mess. And he could never do that to Merry. Wherever Merry was, he would be, no matter what happened.

Merry walked through the door, closing it firmly behind him; Pippin turned quickly, hoping his thoughts wouldn't show, schooling his features into a blank expression.

"Were you looking in the mirror?" asked Merry, divesting himself of his cloak. "That's a sight worth looking at, certainly!"

By the time Merry finished his sentence, Pippin had forgotten what he was thinking about almost completely, a skill which had taken him many months to perfect. His breath caught in his chest, as it often did now, at the sight of his cousin. Merry was strong-shouldered, straight-backed and magnificent, all that a hobbit should be, only somehow more so. His eyes flashed like swords as he strode over to cup Pippin's face between his hands, thumbs caressing his cheeks. Pippin closed his eyes and trembled.

"Don't be afraid," said Merry softly. His thumbs were warm as they swept over Pippin's cheekbones, up to the corner of his eyes, around and back again. "It's going to be a beautiful day tomorrow. And we'll ride through Hobbiton and see how much it's changed, and we'll be at Bag End by lunchtime. Frodo will be happy to see us."

Pippin nodded in affirmation, opening his eyes. Frodo was always happy to see them. There was another at Bag End who would be less happy, perhaps, but Pippin couldn't think about that now, not with Merry's long, strong fingers sliding down to rest lightly on each side of his neck.

"And you're safe now," said Merry. "We're all safe. It's all been made all right. And when we ride through Hobbiton they'll all marvel at how proud and fine we look, and all the lasses will sigh after us and dream of us tonight. They'll dream of your soft mouth and your strong arms and your cheeks that are freckled wth the sun. And they'll want your arms about them." Merry's hands were on his waist now, and he drew Pippin closer and snaked both arms around him and drew the lengths of their bodies together, rubbing. "And they'll want this from you, and from me, and they can't have it, unless we choose to give it to them." He put his chin on Pippin's shoulder and whispered in his ear, "What do you think? Should we give them what they want? Would you like a lovely young lass tonight, pressed between us here, willing and soft and moaning for us?" His breath in Pippin's ear tickled warmly.

Pippin drew a deep breath. "I want whatever you want, Merry."

"No, no," whispered Merry. "Tell me what you want, love. Tonight's a night for you. What do you want?"

Merry's hands were running up and down his back; one eased down over the curve of his buttocks, while the other settled at the small of his back, pulling him closer, bumping their groins together.

Pippin pulled back a little, to look into Merry's stone-grey eyes. "You, I want you, Merry. Only you. I need you." He felt empty, desperate with longing, desire leaking from every pore.

"Ahhhhh..." Merry was grinding against him, steadying him with a hand against his back. "This is what you want, then? This is what you need?"

"Oh yes. Yes, Merry, I need you, I need - " Then Merry's lips were blood-hot on his and his hands were working on Pippin's shirt buttons, and Pippin moaned into his mouth.

When Merry drew him to the bed, his eyes and hands roving possessively over Pippin's bared flanks and thighs and arms, Pippin reached out to brush his fingers over his chest; but Merry pushed him back onto the bed, saying "No, no. Be still." He pressed Pippin down into the bed, rolled on top of him, kissing him; his lips and tongue were all over Pippin's face, devouring. His tongue slid into the oddest places; the corner of an eye, the crease between nose and cheek. His teeth grazed Pippin's jaw. Pippin lay still; this was the way this ritual played out now.

(Once upon a time, they would roll over and over in bed, biting one another like playful kittens and laughing; Merry would invite Pippin's caresses, would tease him into bestowing them, his eyes glowing with laughter and joy.)

Merry's eyes gazed down at him, light and opaque, his fingers pressing down on Pippin's shoulders. His fingers would leave marks which would darken into bruise-flowers by tomorrow.

(Pippin used to press his lips on Merry's neck, sucking to draw out the tiny pinprick-marks and then letting his tongue make gentle soothing circles over the place. He used to leave little marks on Merry's neck, low down under the sweep of hair where they would not be seen when Merry was dressed, and he would smile secretly knowing those marks were there.)

Merry's lips and tongue and teeth travelled over Pippin's face. These days he could never seem to get enough of this licking, sucking, kissing, biting. Pippin's eyes closed involuntarily as Merry's mouth descended, his tongue chafing the delicate tissue of Pippin's eyelid before his lips formed a gentle seal over the eye and sucked. Pippin wondered whether one day Merry would devour him like this, suck his eyes whole out of their sockets, pull his tongue off by the root. It felt as if Merry could not be satisfied, now, with kisses; as if nothing Pippin could offer him was quite enough any more.

(Merry used to rest his head on Pippin's chest after they had lain together, his breath gliding over damp skin, murmuring, "Oh, I shall love you till I die; oh Pip, can we just stay here, just you and me, forever?")

Merry's hands were travelling further down now, and so were his lips and teeth and tongue, and Pippin gasped as Merry caught a nipple between his teeth and sucked while his teeth bore down gently. His tongue circled the nipple insistently, hard, as if he were trying to gouge a hole in Pippin's chest, over his heart.

(He remembered the first time Merry's lips had travelled down his body, kissing him in places that Pippin had never known ached for kisses until Merry gently placed them there).

Merry's fingers pressed down further, invading, pushing, insistent; and then his mouth travelled over the curve of Pippin's belly, biting it gently, down to his groin, and Merry had taken his cock whole into his mouth and was sucking, hard, as if he were going to draw Pippin's soul and heart out. Then Merry was off him and rolling him over, and Pippin let himself be moved, passively. It was easier when he couldn't see Merry's face, these days.

(He remembered leaning over, gazing deep into those darkened smoke-grey, sea-grey eyes, as he pushed gently, cautiously into Merry's body, holding back with an effort until his cousin was ready. The sweat made his curls cling to his face, but he held steady, clasping their hands together, until Merry gave a strange little hiccup and sighed and relaxed, and smiled, nodding, and Pippin sank completely into the hot damp silk of Merry's body and thought he would faint with pleasure and joy.)

Merry was biting the smooth curve of one buttock now, while a long finger pushed into him; Pippin shuddered and moaned, the memories of the past working with the sensations of the present to overwhelm him. Merry sucked at the base of his spine, hard, as a second finger joined the first, thrusting and insistent.

(Merry's fingers, so gentle, had entered him that first time while Merry murmured soothingly "You'll love this, I promise, oh Pippin, it's wonderful - ah!", a soft laugh as Pippin jerked in surprise and then his bones turned to liquid fire and melted him with shivering golden pleasure.)

Merry removed his fingers, settling between Pippin's legs and nudging them further apart, reaching down and guiding himself to push steadily inside Pippin's body. Pippin moaned and cried, incoherent, grasping and scrabbling at the bedclothes with his fingers; Merry reached up and grasped a wrist in either hand as he began to thrust steadily.

Pippin remembered times when all his nerves had seemed to concentrate themselves wherever Merry touched him, so that merely a hand on his shoulder was enough to make him quicken to the touch. He remembered nights when illness or weariness or absence had so heightened their need that they would come just from kissing and touching and rocking together. He remembered the gasps and giggles that would come from Merry as Pippin licked his ears. He remembered the two of them wrestling one another's clothes off, helpless with laughter. He remembered days lazing in the sun, gazing at the clouds till they were dizzy, and then kissing under the berry-stained pink of sunset. Cozy winter evenings by the fire with mulled wine. The taste of Merry's tongue, pipeweed and the mellowness of ale and the faint tang of blackberries, and the delicate way it would flit over him. He remembered, and it burst from him in a cry as he came, seized up and used and burned in the bright conflagration of love fear kiss scent fingers lips tongue teeth love... oh, Merry.

Afterwards, Merry slept quietly. Pippin lay curled into a ball at the edge of the bed, facing the ashes of the fire. A brief orange glow here and there indicated where a coal was still alight. He could hear Merry's breathing only if he listened very carefully. It sounded abnormally slow. Pippin tried to match the rhythm of Merry's breathing with his own, and when he did that he was reassured and comfortable. Merry loved him, and he loved Merry; oh, how he loved Merry, he did, he did.

Except that he wished that when they lay together now, Merry would say his name.

***

Hobbiton was bristling with activity. As Merry and Pippin and their entourage passed the hobbits cheered, but Pippin saw a few heads duck and shoulders slump. He knew that there was some resentment here; Merry had paid special attention to Hobbiton, as befitted the place where the Ring had lain for so many years guarded and untouched. There were changes here and it was taking some time for the Shirefolk to get used to them. Growth hurts at first, Merry had said, but presently they would understand.

Merry would know that there was resentment, of course; if he wanted to, he could dig out every thought, every wish and hope and fear, from every simple brain of every hobbit. He knew how to do many things he had not known about before. He had told Pippin that he was learning more every day; more about himself, more about the capabilities and responsibilities he had taken on. It was a great burden, Pippin knew, but Merry did it out of love.

And so they came around the Hill, to Bag End. Pippin didn't enjoy coming to Bag End much any more, although he knew Merry did. He opened the gate and stood back for Merry to stride up the path and rap on the round green door; their entourage settled themselves around in the garden, already scrutinised by a few big-eyed lads and giggling maidens. The door was opened, after a short delay, by Rose Gamgee, golden-haired Elanor clutching at her skirts.

"This is an honour, sir," said Rose quiely, but the gravity of her words was belied by the expression on her face and by her eyes glittering at Merry from under her lashes. Pippin had become accustomed to this look being turned upon Merry by the lasses and married dames of the Shire; it was turned on him too, often enough, but he rarely felt any desire to respond. They didn't want him for himself, they wanted him because he was where he was, at Merry's right hand. And there would never be room in his heart or his bed for anyone but Merry.

Merry's eyes smouldered back at Rose now; he had gloried in playing with this particular power, and took advantage of it often enough. He had explained to Pippin the need for the Shire to expand, for more hobbits, stronger and better hobbits at that. It was like breeding horses or dogs, you got the best male to plough every female you could and you'd have a better, hardier, stronger strain of animal. And Merry was the strongest and the cleverest and the best hobbit in the Shire; of course he had to take every opportunity to ensure as many lasses as possible had the chance to have stronger and better babies. He had talked more, about other plans to make better hobbits, perhaps by trying to breed hobbits with Men, but Pippin had only thought about the lasses he saw leaving Merry's room and the different expressions he saw on their faces.

"Won't you come in, sir? Mr Frodo's in the study. Shall I bring you something cool to drink?" Rosie smiled, her eyes dark and full of meaning, her lips shining and parted a little. Merry smiled back.

"That would be delightful, Rose, thank you. Is Sam around?"

"He's in the garden. Mr Frodo's a mite fretful this morning. I'm glad you've come; you'll cheer him up in no time." Rose smiled politely at Pippin as he passed in Merry's wake. Merry grinned at her and strode down the hall to Frodo's study, Pippin at his heels. The door was open, revealing Frodo curled up in an armchair by the window, a book in his lap, although he was not reading it. His head was sunk on his chest, his eyes closed.

"Hello, Frodo," said Merry cheerfully.

Frodo's head snapped up; he looked around, swinging his head loosely from side to side as if he wasn't sure where the sound had come from, until his eyes focused on Merry standing by the door.

"Merry?" he asked questioningly. Merry nodded his head, smiling, and held his hand out. "Merry!" Frodo scrambled from his perch on the chair, the book falling unheeded to the floor, and launched himself at the door.

"Merry!" he repeated joyfully, clutching the proffered hand and bringing it to his lips, before tilting his face up and looking up inquiringly; Merry laughed and pulled him into a hug, making Frodo shriek with pleasure.

"Pippin's here too, Frodo," said Merry, smiling at Pippin over the top of his cousin's head. Pippin kept his face calm, reminding himself that a vague, childlike Frodo was better than no Frodo at all.

"Hello, Pippin!" exclaimed Frodo, moving his head so he could see Pippin from the circle of Merry's arms.

"Hello, Frodo," Pippin smiled, but Frodo's eyes had already wandered back to Merry, his face shining with joy and anticipation.

"I've come to play a game with you, Frodo. Would you like that?"

Frodo pulled away from Merry and clapped his hands excitedly. "A game, a game! Yes, Merry! What shall we play?"

"What would you like to play?" asked Merry, taking Frodo's hand and leading him over to the small table. Frodo pointed eagerly at the chess board, and Merry smiled. "All right, then."

Pippin settled himself in the chair which Frodo had vacated, took a cup of the cool apple juice Rosie brought in, and watched the game. Merry lounged in his chair, smiling and patient; Frodo's head was bent, his eyes intent on the board, murmuring faintly to himself as he reminded himself of the rules of the game. He played as if the very fate of the world depended upon his actions; which it had once, and would never do again. Merry and Pippin had talked about this, about how unfair it was that Frodo should have been chosen for such a harsh fate, poor quiet bookish Frodo. The fate of the world was on stronger shoulders now, better suited to carry it.

And Frodo was happy now, happier than he had been in years, perhaps happier than he had ever been. He spent his time pottering around the study or the garden, flashing brilliant smiles at all those who came into view, delighting in the simplest of things. Sam's pretty Elanor dropped flowers in his lap or brought him apples from other peoples' orchards, and he peered at her with his fine vague eyes and beamed joyfully. It was an improvement on the Frodo who had first returned to Bag End - or rather, been escorted there; the Frodo who had screamed and beaten his hands bloody until he was tied down while Sam, chained beside him, wept in rage and anguish. Pippin shuddered at the memory, but his mind flinched and slid away from it almost as soon as it appeared. In the end it had been for the best, for Frodo would never have been able to destroy the Ring and would have died in the attempt. Merry had said so.

Merry had taken the time to be patient and kind with both Sam and Frodo, even though the entire world now weighed upon his shoulders. First he had talked with Sam, spending many hours alone with him until Sam was persuaded that everything was for the best and that the best he could do now was to help poor lost Frodo find his way home. "Only you, Sam, only you can help him, help me, now. You're the only one." And of course Sam had done it, had reconstructed Frodo with his love, had scoured Frodo clean with his tears and stitched him together with love and care. Sam had everything he ever could have wanted now; wife, family, home and Frodo as well.

The game finished with a victory for Frodo; Pippin knew that Merry had let him win, playing carefully so as not to make it obvious. He knew also that Merry took a real pleasure in letting their kinsman win most of their games together, and that it took a surprising amount of skill to lose deliberately without appearing to do so. Merry smiled as Frodo capered around the room gleefully, laughing with such joy that Rose popped her head around the door to see what the joke was. Little Elanor squeezed past her, laughing as well, and clapped her hands as she watched Frodo's joy; she offered Frodo the posy of fresh blooms she carried clutched tightly in one hand, and he accepted them reverently, with delighted gratitude.

"Shall we have another game, Frodo?" asked Merry, sipping juice and smiling.

Frodo looked up from sniffing the sweet fragrance of the flowers; his eyes were like huge jewels, shining wetly, glowing only for Merry.

"Look, Merry! Flowers! A little elf-maid came and gave me flowers! Did you see her, Merry?"

"I saw her," answered Merry, "but she didn't give me any flowers." He didn't remind Frodo that it couldn't have been an Elf-maid, that the Elves no longer ventured near the Shire, and Pippin did not correct him.

"Oh." The corners of Frodo's mouth turned down. "Would you like some flowers, Merry? Would you like me to ask the little elf maiden to give you some flowers, too? Or - " he paused, taking a deep breath, his eyes clouded over for a moment. "Or you can have my flowers, Merry, if you want them. I will give my flowers to you."

Merry smiled, shaking his head. "No, Frodo, they're your flowers. You keep them. She gave them to you."

"But I'd like to give them to you, Merry, I would. I like to give you things. You like the things I give you, don't you?"

"Yes, Frodo," smiled Merry. "I like the things you give me, very much."

The hard bright amusement in his voice cut a slice through Pippin's heart.

***

Pippin closed the study door behind him and breathed out long and low. It was close and warm in the study; Rose had lit the fire when she brought in afternoon tea, and Merry had refused to let Pippin open a window because it might give Frodo a chill. The air in the hall was cool on his overheated face; it would be even cooler outside, he thought, now that the day had lengthened into evening. He was getting hungry, but Merry and Frodo were on their third game and would finish it before Merry decided to return to the inn for dinner. The second game had been a victory for Merry. Frodo had sucked in his lower lip and sat crestfallen all throughout tea, until Merry had suggested a third game. Frodo would win this one; Merry and Pippin both knew it, but Frodo never remembered that this was the way their afternoons together always went. When they left, he would be glowing with triumph; he would think himself very clever, crow over his victory, and be happy for days. Making Frodo happy, Merry would say, was the least that he could do.

Pippin left Bag End by a side door, slipping into the kitchen garden to draw in deep breaths of the familiar herbal scents. The stars were beginning to show, distant glitters of ice in an inky sky. There was a bench by the door; he looked at it, indecisive, but he was too restless to sit and instead stood shifting from foot to foot. The path beckoned him; he imagined himself stepping onto it, being drawn down the side of the hill, past their escorts lounging in the front garden, out of the front gate and onto the road. When he didn't want to think or remember very much, walking was the best thing; the numbness it brought was better than ale or wine, better than Merry's hands on him, better than sleep. He longed to feel the ground fly away under his feet, to tip himself forward into the wind, open-mouthed, to walk until his mind was blank as a white sheet and his body so weary that he was a clear smooth channel through which thoughts and words and memories could fly without catching on the hooks of his mind.

There was no reason to walk, of course. Merry insisted they ride everywhere; it was more suited to their standing.

"How do you live with yourself, I wonder?"

Pippin looked backwards, startled, not sure that he had really heard the words; but Sam was looking at him with a level gaze, smile razoring coldly over him.

"How do..." Pippin raised his chin.

"Knowing what he's done. What he does still. What he's planning to do. Living with him, helping him. How can you sleep at night?"

Pippin's eyes flicked to the doorway and Sam laughed. "Don't worry. He'll not hear what we're saying, and even if he did, he wouldn't hurt either of us now. And do you think I'd care if he heard? If it weren't for Mr Frodo and Rosie and the childer, I'd have been gone long ago. He keeps me around for Mr Frodo's sake, now. Not for mine." He came closer; Pippin took a step backwards and found the garden bench pressing up against his knees. He fell backwards with a thump. Sam leaned down, close to him, so close that Pippin could feel his breath gusting over his face. "When you see what he's done to Mr Frodo, how can you not hate him? And you spending your time by his side. And in his bed. How can you not hate yourself?"

The words fell into the air like hot metal; Pippin closed his eyes, feeling them scald his skin. It's not wrong, he thought desperately. Merry wants the best for the Shire, that's all. He wants us to be safe. Frodo could never have borne the Ring, taken on the burden; he was clever, but Merry's clever and strong. And the Ring made Frodo so unhappy, look what it's done to him. He's happy now, happier than he's ever been. Merry loves us. He's looking after us. It's all for the best. It's not wrong. It's not.

He opened his eyes; but the only words that stumbled out of his mouth were "Merry loves Frodo."

Sam laughed, a dark, heavy rumble with none of the warmth his laugh used to contain. "Aye, he does. And Mr Frodo loves him. And all's well in the Shire, and all's lovely in the garden. You're a fool, Mr Pippin." Scorn was rich in his voice.

Pippin shook his head, finding strength. "You're wrong, Sam. Please don't talk like that. You just don't understand, that's all. Please don't say these things, please. You don't want him to hear and..."

Sam shook his head. "Don't worry. He'll not hurt me, not while Mr Frodo still needs me, and not while I know my place and look after him. And he'll not hurt you just for listening, so there's no need to look like a frightened little rat. He'll not hurt you. You've no need to be afraid of him."

"I'm not afraid of him," whispered Pippin.

Sam laughed scornfully. "What? You're afraid all right. I can feel it, rolling off you, like smoke; I can smell it on you." He reached out and rubbed a finger through the light sweat that had broken out on Pippin's forehead. "And if the likes on me can feel it, do you think he can't? If you're not afraid of him, what are you afraid of?"

I'm afraid that something will happen to me and he'll be all alone with nobody to love him. I'm afraid that being alone will drive him to madness and despair. I'm afraid that he will turn into someone unrecognisable, he will lose everything that makes him my own beloved Merry. I'm afraid that all his good intentions and best wishes and purity of heart have not been enough to save him from the Ring. I'm afraid that somewhere inside, he hates himself for what he's become. I'm afraid for him, because he needs me so desperately.

"I'm not afraid."

***

When they entered the study, Frodo looked up from the game board, beaming. "Sam! Sam! I won! I won!" He leapt from the chair and ran over to Sam, taking his hand and pulling him over to the table to show him the board. "I beat Merry, I did! It took a long time, because Merry's very clever - but I won, Sam, I won!"

Pippin went to stand by the fire, but its heat did nothing to calm his shivering; something was crawling up his back, claws on all its hundred cold feet, and the fire was exuding thick twists of smoke. Merry came over to join him, smiling as Frodo clapped and laughed and capered. His hand landed on Pippin's shoulder. Pippin looked into Merry's eyes and felt his heart open, and hoped his mind would stay closed.

Merry leaned in close to him, locking their gazes intently, as if something precious were leaking from Pippin's eyes and Merry's gaze could bandage it. Pippin felt faint, as if the dazzling light of Merry was sucking the juice from him, leaving him a husk, dry and cracked, pieces of his soul flaking away; and would it be such a bad thing, to be consumed utterly by Merry? To be subsumed utterly until nothing was left of him but motes floating in the air, turned to a dust of sparkling gold in the light?

The clear sound of Frodo's laugh rang out, and the thoughtful expression was wiped from Merry's face like grime from a window; he turned, smiling, to where Frodo was clutching Sam's hand and talking animatedly.

"Time to go, I'm afraid," said Merry.

Frodo looked up with a cry. "Oh, no, Merry, please! You've only just arrived! Please don't go just yet, please!" He dropped Sam's hand and darted across the room to Merry.

"It's all right, Frodo," said Merry soothingly, patting his head. "I'll see you again soon. We're staying here in Hobbiton for a few days, at least."

"We are?" asked Pippin, surprised. "I thought we were going on to Tuckborough tomorrow?"

"No, we'll stay a little; I think it would be best. There are a few things that need my attention here." Merry's eyes left Frodo's and focused on Sam's steady gaze. "We'll be back tomorrow, Sam, if that suits you."

Sam nodded. "Of course, sir." His face was calm, but his hands trembled with holding back. He joined Pippin by the fire, clasping his hand in farewell; his fingers were warm and enclosing but they bit and burned Pippin's hand in despair.

Merry smiled at him. "You're doing very well, Sam. Thank you for your hospitality, and all your fine work." He glanced out of the window again, and then looked over at Pippin and Sam, side by side. "Everything in the garden *is* lovely. Don't you think, Pippin?" He did not wait for an answer, but turned to Frodo, who had laid his head on his shoulder, and gently pushed him a little away.

"Good evening, Frodo. I'll see you tomorrow, but Pippin and I have to be going now."

Frodo turned his face up, a little clumsily, like a child expecting to be kissed goodbye; Merry smiled and inclined his head to kiss him on the mouth, lingering a little, and Frodo's face lit up with incredulous and unguarded joy.

Merry strode to the door. Frodo's face, alight with adoration, turned to him as a flower turns to the sun. And Pippin followed, wondering whether that same sun that caressed and warmed them all would scorch him to blackness in the end.