Merry and Pippin climbed on to the bed and curled up in the soft grass and fern. It was fresh, and sweet-scented, and warm. The lights died down, and the glow of the trees faded; but outside under the arch they could see old Treebeard standing, motionless, with his arms raised above his head. The bright stars peered out of the sky, and lit the falling water as it spilled on to his fingers and head, and dripped, dripped, in hundreds of silver drops on to his feet. Listening to the tinkling of the drops the hobbits fell asleep.
-- The Two Towers, Treebeard

Pippin woke in the wee hours of the morning, his body suddenly tense and alert. Merry stirred beside him, tightening his arm around his cousin as he mumbled sleepily, "All right then, Pip?"

Pippin bit his lip, reluctant to reveal, even to his Merry, that he was, all of a sudden, frightened out of his wits. He had not been before, when it had been up to Pippin to take charge and see that a wounded Merry managed to keep up with him as he hastened them away from the Uruks as unknown horsemen wreaked havoc upon their former captors. Pippin had found a way to free his hands, then his cousin's, and had maintained the presence of mind to see that they were sufficiently revived by the bits of lembas they had with them before they slipped away into the Forest. He had been brave then.

He had not been afraid, only startled, when they happened upon the old Ent. Treebeard had proven already to be a great friend to the hobbits, and, having travelled many Ent strides within the crook of his arm, supped of the nourishment of his Ent draught, and curled up with his cousin in the comforting green bed that smelled of the forest, Pippin had fallen asleep in comfort, his mind at ease.

Which was why his sudden, intense fear so startled him. Then he had been too busy to think of the horror of the situation in which he and Merry had found themselves, been too busy to think of all that had happened, too busy to remember those who had fallen. First Gandalf, and his loss was still an open wound, though they had been allowed time to come to grips with it during their brief sojourn in Lothlorien. But then Boromir had been … pain stabbed at Pippin's heart, the image of Boromir as he had last seen him swimming before his eyes. He tried, and failed, to suppress a tiny whimper.

Instantly Merry was fully awake and leaning over him. "Pippin? What's wrong?"

Pippin said nothing, only squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to keep back the tears he felt forming, tears that fell anyway as he lost his battle for control and gave vent to his anguish over the violent death of a dear friend. Merry turned him so that he could wrap his arms around him, and Pippin gratefully turned his head into Merry's chest and wept until he could weep no more. With patience born of long experience, Merry held him in a gentle yet firm embrace and murmured wordless sounds of comfort, his lips buried in Pippin's hair, pressing random kisses here and there as he rocked them gently.

At length Pippin's sobs died down, leaving him exhausted and shaking. Merry eased away from him just enough to be able to meet his eyes and Pippin blinked wetly up at him, prompting a tender smile from Merry as he wiped away his young cousin's tears.

"All right now, Pip?" he asked gently.

Nodding, Pippin snuffled a little and Merry handed him his handkerchief and waited patiently for him to blow. Pippin did, and folded the handkerchief before setting it aside to be washed on the morrow in the basin by the arch. They had only dabbled their feet and hands in the Entwash before now, but they had already decided that tomorrow would be laundry day. Their clothing was ripped and torn and smelt strongly of the Uruks in general and Grishnakh in particular and the odor they gave off was offensive on many levels. He wanted to wash from their clothing all memory of the Uruks, wanted to forget the repulsive feel of Grishnakh's pawing hands on his squirming body. Come to that, he thought, getting a whiff of himself, he smelt a bit gamy as well. They could both use a bath, and would feel better for it. But that would have to wait for the morrow. Merry did not seem to mind that Pippin smelt so horrid. Merry loved him no matter what.

He settled back into the crook of Merry's arm, and took in a great gulp of air. Holding it a moment in an effort to control his hitching breaths, he then let it go and sank into the soft green grass and ferns, and further into Merry's warmth. He felt Merry's lips against his curls again, and smiled fondly, strengthened by the knowledge of his cousin's presence, of the all-encompassing love for him that Pippin knew would never fail. And for that Merry deserved a truthful answer to his question.

"'Twas Boromir," he whispered, and just to speak the name sent another shaft of pain through his heart. He felt Merry's arms tighten around him, and he bit his lip to keep them from trembling with remembered pain.

"What about Boromir, Pip?"

He drew a deep breath and continued in a voice laced with sadness. "I saw him, Merry, as he looked just before they took us away, on his knees, with two arrows piercing his breast. He looked at me with so much sorrow and regret in his eyes, before somehow finding the strength to stand again and attack the Orcs that came at him from behind." Pippin squeezed his eyes shut, as if could blank out the horrible sight of his friend in the hour of his death. "And then they took us and he must be dead and it breaks my heart to know that I shall never see those lovely grey eyes again, or see his sudden smile, or hear his deep, rich voice," he finished in a rush as a fresh wave of tears shook him.

Merry made little sympathetic noises as he patted his cousin with one hand, ruffled his curls with the other. "I know, Pippin, I know. 'Tis a sight we can never forget, even if we tried, and we should not, for his valor should be forever remembered and ever praised. But let us also remember the happier times with our friend. He would want us to remember those, as well, and there were many I am glad to say."

Pippin nodded, snuffled once more, then lapsed into silence. Merry simply held him, a faint sigh escaping his lips every once in a while, his breath stirring the curls on top of Pippin's head, and Pippin could sense that he, too, was remembering happier times with Boromir. Perhaps he recalled the lessons in swordplay the Man had taught them on their journey South, or the stories he had told of Southern heroes to keep them entertained on the long trek through Hollin. They had oft challenged him to a game of riddles, and while they seldom lost, Boromir never appeared to be bothered by his near-winless state. He seemed more amused than anything, in fact encouraged them to play and toward the end had become much more adept at solving their word puzzles, to his obvious delight.

Pippin smiled through his tears as happy memories of their friend played in his mind, a smile that faded as other recollections pushed their way to the forefront, other ways that Boromir had shown his devotion to his young friends. He would never forget how the big Man had sheltered them with his massive body during the arduous ascent of Caradhras, or how he had lifted them with such ease, one under each arm, before leaping over the bottomless chasm in Moria and depositing them safely on the other side. How he had begged Aragorn for a moment to let them grieve after Gandalf's fall, and the gentle manner in which he treated them when he finally got them on their feet and back on the march. A good friend, a loyal companion, a giant among Men was Boromir. Pippin would never forget him.

"Aye," he finally said quietly. "There were many. And I shall remember them and honor his memory to the end of my days."

Merry hugged him a little tighter and when he spoke, his voice, though sleepy, held a smile. "Perhaps you will some day have a little one of your own to tell about the great deeds of such a bold warrior. For now, try to go back to sleep, Pippin. And dream sweet dreams of your own little lad, and the stories you will tell him of our good friend, Boromir."

The notion brought light to Pippin's thoughts, and he found himself musing on the possibilities. He settled contentedly against his cousin as the night sounds closed around them in comforting embrace. His lids far too heavy to keep open, he let them close with a sigh. Merry's arms settled about him as he rested his cheek against Pippin's curls, his breath ruffling them with every exhalation. The grass and ferns beneath them so sweet and so soft, the arms that held him so warm, all cares drifted away before the love he felt surrounding him.

As sleep claimed him Pippin saw in his mind's eye the image of himself as a father, his own small lad on his knee, and he dreamt of the tales he would tell his son of the gallant Captain of Gondor, and the lessons of love and loyalty the great Man had once taught a young hobbit named Peregrin.