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A drabble written for Shirebound, who said:
"Yay, I'd love a drabble! If it can be done without sadness, what did Merry and/or Pippin think of the Sea when they got to the Grey Havens?"
It stretched as far as he could see. Grey water: ceaseless motion, undulating lines of white foam marking the waves and holding the gaze. How far across the Sundering Sea? Pippin wondered. How long would Frodo’s journey take?
He stood between Merry and Sam, watching as the sky slowly deepened, grey to purple to indigo, and the yellow water-path the Sun made faded, the water darkening. He drank in the sight, never knowing if he’d ever see it again.
And when at last he saw Eärendil, Star of Hope, shining above, he tugged his friends’ shoulders and aimed them homewards.
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