Then…

               When Pippin was six, he came to Buckland after being very ill. Merry never left his side. One day they happened to walk past where Merry’s sisters were buried. Pippin couldn’t read the marker, but found the cat Merry had carved when last there.

.

               Merry explained gently that he had made it for his sisters who had gone to Overheaven long ago. Pippin was intrigued that Merry had sisters who had gone away but more interested in the cat.

               “Would you make me a pony, Merry, if I go to Overheaven?”

               “If you like Pip,” said Merry, his voice shaking.

Now…

               He should be resting while Frodo spent some time alone with Pippin. Instead, Merry concentrated on the gift he was making. He worked carefully, with skill, and despite tears falling from his eyes the carving would be exquisite.

               As it should be.  As Pippin was.

              He remembered a day more than twenty years ago, and the request his Pippin had made without knowing what he really asked of his Merry.

       "Would you make me a pony, Merry, if I go to Overheaven?"

               "If you like Pip." Merry had managed to answer.

               Slowly Pippin's pony took shape, wrought by Merry's hands.

            The wood was smooth against his palms, the grain subtle and easily worked into the shape forming in his mind.  Little nicks and scratches covered his hands, from where still numbed and cold fingers had slipped when first beginning the project.  He paid them no mind.

            Inside the tent behind him he could hear Frodo’s soft voice, murmuring things only one set of pointed hobbit ears would ever know of.  Though the owner of those ears was still fast asleep after his ordeal, Merry knew that, somewhere in his cousin’s heart, he would understand those words.

He paid no heed to the tears that marked a path down his cheeks, nor to the people who strode around the tent as though it were a holy place, all hushed and reverent.  The sleeping form inside would never believe he had inspired such behavior.  

            “Would you make me a pony, Merry, if I go to the Overheaven?”

The words of a six year old, asking for something he could not understand.  They reverberated through his mind as his hands continued to work, slowly, without the speed he was accustomed to.  How did one explain death to a child who had come so close himself? 

But that had always been his Pippin.  A heart that had come close to not beating knew the fact of life and death better than those older and supposedly wiser.  Even very young, after one sickness or another, when his body was weak and trembling, his Pippin would smile and say something that would have the adults in tears at the simpleness of it. 

“But, Mother,” he had said one time as she held her only son and wept into his thin shoulders.  “I wouldn’t be alone, you know.  I bet the Old Took himself would take care of me until you could catch up!”

And the adults had laughed and wept at this astonishing sentence.  Only Merry seemed to understand what the others could not: that his little Pippin had seen death, and understood it, and accepted it with the innocence of a child. 

How many illnesses had that slight form fought as a wee lad, the frail body developing slower than those his age?  How many nights had either Merry or Frodo or another relation sat up until the dawn, wondering if their precious child would awaken with the first light of day?

How many times had the fierce spirit navigated its way back to them?

He sighed, looking at the wood between his hands, smiling a bit at the progress he was making.  Slow, but steady.  He chuckled, finally wiping away the tears that still fell from his eyes, as he realized what he had been missing.

How many times had he told Pippin exactly those same words?  When little legs refused to walk as fast as their owner wished, he had always whispered into a frustrated ear, “Slow but steady, Pip-lad, we’ll get there together.” 

And Pippin would smile, the tension easing out of that small frame, and he would continue on, determined to catch up to the other children. 

Even on the long journey, surrounded by Big People who had moved so much more quickly than they were prepared for, Pippin’s strength had been sorely tested.  More than once he fell behind, struggling with determination to keep pressing onward until his strength gave out, and when Frodo or Merry or Sam or Gandalf noticed his silent suffering they would demand the others to slow.  

Merry would make certain he walked beside him after such a time, keeping an eye on the pale face, the struggling stride, and would whisper, softly, “Slow and steady, Pippin, and we’ll all get there together.”

 Slow and steady.

And we’ll all get there together. 

He looked to the carving in his hands once more, and smiled, a genuine smile. 

Yes, his little Pippin might not be so little anymore, but the same rules applied.  Bit by bit they would recover, and life would replace the shadow of death that had fallen. 

                                                ***

“Merry?”  The voice was sleepy, slightly confused as Pippin blinked up at the form sitting next to him on the bed.  “What’s wrong?”  He sat up, slowly, still feeling the aches and twinges in his body that reminded him he was not quite fully healed.

“Lie back down, Pip,” Merry whispered, smiling.  “I wanted to give you something, and didn’t know when I would have another chance.”

Pippin ignored the order and continued to sit up, eyeing his cousin.  “It’s not another frog, is it?” he finally asked, eyes twinkling.

Merry burst out laughing, and a second later Pippin joined him, the two of them giggling at the image they must have made the previous night, when they had stumbled across a small garden pond and found, to their delight, several large, fat frogs happily croaking at them.  It had not taken them long to thoroughly soak their uniforms as they chased after the surprisingly fast amphibians, thankful in hindsight that their duties had been completed for the day. 

Only when Aragorn and Eomer had sought them out did they realize their condition, and had stood meekly in front of them, dripping with water and reeds, a large frog each clutched in their hands.  The two kings had stared at the hobbits in horrified fascination for several heartbeats before bursting out into such hearty laughter that both had tears streaming down their cheeks. 

            “No, silly, it’s not another frog,” Merry finally managed to say around his giggles, growing serious as he handed his cousin the small, neatly wrapped gift he had kept hidden behind his back.

            Pippin eyed Merry for a moment, his laughter fading, taking in the sudden seriousness of his cousin’s eyes.  

            “Merry…” he began, unsure what to say, and then finally wrapped his fingers around the gift.  It was solid, heavy for its small size, and he allowed his hands to explore the shape of it before finally giving up and unwrapping the present with unabashed curiosity.

            His breath hitched as he saw what lay in his hands.

            The pony was exquisite, perfectly captured in a moment of running, as though any moment it might gallop off his palm and down the corridor.  The mane had been carved so that each hair was noticeable, and muscles could be felt under questing fingers. 

            Pippin blinked, then blinked again, and when he looked back up, he found himself trying to fight the tears that threatened to fall.

            “You – you thought- “ he tried to ask the question, but the words would not come to his trembling lips.

            “No, Pip-lad,” Merry corrected gently, wrapping his arms about Pippin’s thin shoulders.  He felt the other’s sweet breath upon his neck, could feel the warm tears dampen his shirt as the body shook beside him.  “I never thought that.”

            “Then –“ Pippin managed to choke out, still struggling to stop the tears that did not want to relinquish their hold. 

            Merry chuckled and gently placed a kiss to those apple-scented curls.  “Because I figured – why wait for you to get to the Overheaven when you had wanted one all your life?  Besides,” he added, a definite note of humor in his tone, “Aragorn said it would be good practice for my hand.”

            Pippin finally chuckled, sniffling slightly as he pulled away from his cousin, wiping his eyes. 

            “Oh, Merry, what would I do without you?” he finally asked, smiling a true smile that reached, and filled, his vibrant green eyes. 

            “Catch a good many less frogs, I would think,” Merry giggled, and the two of them were off again, the tears streaming their faces now those of joy rather than sorrow. 

            “Oh, Merry,” Pippin finally sighed, laying back down as his eyes began to droop.  “I do love you so much.”

            “And I love you, Impling,” Merry whispered, gently tucking the blankets around thin shoulders before lying down beside him. 

            “We made it, didn’t we, Merry?” Pippin asked sleepily, his breath evening out as sleep claimed him.  He did not hear Merry’s softly whispered reply:

            “Yes, we did, Pip-lad.  Slow and steady, and we got here together.”

The next morning Frodo found his two cousins sound asleep, Pippin clutching a small, perfectly carved pony to his heart.