A/N: Since I've been told by many people that Merry and Pippin died on the same day, I made this story AU in order to write the plot-bunny that came to me.
IN REMEMBRANCE
Pippin stared bleary-eyed into his tankard. Just one more, he thought bleakly. Just one more, and maybe I'll pass out and forget this day ever happened. One could only hope.
He knew he should be with Aragorn right now, helping to prepare the body. He couldn't face that right now.. he just couldn't.
Merry had been fine yesterday. He and Pippin had taken their ponies for a much-needed ride past the gates of Minas Tirith and onto the Pelennor Fields. They had taken a picnic lunch, and had eaten it beneath their favourite willow tree by the Anduin, at the outcropping that they always went to. That day by the River, Merry and Pippin had felt particularly jocular. They sang, reminisced about their younger days, even delved into the Quest, which they hadn't done in a long while. Merry had said something that seemed now to have been an instance of a Brandybuck having the Sight. Merry was half Took, just like Pippin, but had never had evidence of foresight before. He had said, "Pippin, if I ever pass on before you do, will you promise me something?"
"Of course," Pippin had replied, feeling fine and believing it would be years yet before he would have to worry about such a thing.
"Promise me that you won't stop living. Mourning is one thing, but grieving forever just won't do. You'll have to write to my sons, and assure them that I was happy, here in Gondor, with you by my side. If I were to die tomorrow, I need to know that you won't give up on life. Please, promise me that."
Pippin had promised, not really thinking about it at the time.
And now, Merry was dead. He just never woke up this morning. Pippin, of course, had found him as soon as he had woken up and padded over to Merry's bed to wake him. He still couldn't believe it.
Merry's birthday had been the previous week, and the people of Minas Tirith had pulled out all the stops to celebrate the birthday of one of their beloved periannath, a hero of that long-ago war that not many people could remember first hand anymore. In the manner of Men, they had gifted Merry with many gifts of a grateful and adoring public. Legolas and Gimli had arrived from the Greenwood to celebrate with their dear friends. One hundred and eight years old--- almost the same age as Bilbo when he disappeared from the Shire. A good, ripe old age. An age one could be proud of. No one had guessed that it would be the last birthday for Meriadoc Brandybuck. No one believed that these last two hobbits of the Quest would ever pass on; they seemed to have been around forever, even though it had only been six years since they had arrived.
Pippin wiped away a tear from his eye, and glanced around the tavern. He noticed the light outside was getting dimmer; he should return to their... his... home. Sighing, he flipped a gold coin onto the table, and walked out of the Merry Maid, stumbling and weaving as he went.