Two Hands

by Lullenny
e-mail: gutter2stars @ yahoo.com

Story notes: Ten 100 Word Drabbles about holding hands.



A Conspiracy Constructed

Pippin spied Sam emerging from The Green Dragon and nodded to Merry. They parted and flanked Sam on either side.

"Hullo, Sam," said Pippin.

"Master Pippin!"

"Walk with us, will you?" said Merry.

Sam said resolutely, "I have nowt to say to you two."

Pippin watched Merry crowd closer to Sam, so he stepped closer, too. Fingers clutched and pulled at Pippin's sleeve. He glanced behind Sam's back; Merry's hand groped along his forearm. Pippin reached out and held his cousin's hand fast. Sam was trapped.

"You don't understand," said Sam. "I made a promise."

"So did we," said Pippin.

~*~

Old Man Willow's Lullaby

Merry lounged, heavy and languid, as if sleeping in warm water. Only a moment ago he had some urgent errand, but he couldn't think what it was now.

"Mmmerry?"

"Pip." Pale light from around his feet illuminated little, but he could dimly see Pippin's sleepy face, hands folded neatly under one cheek, body angled away into some tight, dark passage.

Eyes closed, Pippin asked, "Where --?"

"Don't know." The light below failed. He could hardly move, but Merry stroked Pippin's cheek and Pippin clutched his hand. "Pleasant, though, isn't it?"

"I like the company, but s'getting a bit snug."

~*~

Sun on the Daisies

The Barrow had been cold, but walking on the grass thawed Pippin's fear. Merry's shoulders still curled, as if guarding something precious close to his heart. Pippin knew some terror haunted him still. "Ah, the spear in my heart!" Merry had cried, waking slowly, as if from a dream.

Pippin went to Merry and took his hand, warming it between his, and then pressing the palm against his cheek until his cousin looked him in the eye and knew him again.

Together they threw aside the thin, white garments and pale gold ornaments to warm themselves, bare, in the sun.

~*~

Slow to Kindle

Unused to Big People, Pippin could not help but stare at Strider nervously as he tried to sleep on the floor by the hearth. Strider seemed to fill the room with his towering height and the smell of pipe-weed and wood-smoke clinging to his cloak.

"I can't sleep." Merry sounded more frightened than irritated.

"Who could sleep?" Pippin whispered softly. "Frodo and his ridiculous singing, Black men chasing us, and now this Strider fellow."

Merry pressed his hand. "Scary, isn't it? I hope he's as good as Gandalf says he is."

"Did you see Sam accost him?" Pippin said admiringly.

~*~

On the Dark Shores

Boromir staggered, black-shafted arrows bristling from his gut. Pippin saw him pull one out, teeth clenched in a grimace as blood sprayed.

"Merry!" he cried.

"Oh, Pippin," Merry breathed. His hand clutched Pippin's tightly for a heartbeat before he let go and unsheathed his sword. Pippin tore his from its scabbard, and then they were engulfed in a wave of reeking orcs.

Pippin watched Merry hew one's hand before arms like oily rocks encircled him. Pippin slashed with his sword, but it did not hinder the orc, who effortlessly plucked the blade from him.

Captured, Pippin saw Boromir fall, bleeding.

~*~

Entmoot

Late afternoon sun was as soporific as the sonorous boom of Entmoot. Pippin hadn't yet tired of exploring the rim of the dingle, and Merry could see his blue coat flit between the gray boles. Merry lay down and closed his eyes. Red shapes swirled in time with the hoot of woody voices.

A whisper of air heralded Pippin as he dropped to the ground next to Merry. Merry felt a touch to the end of his nose and opened his eyes. He clasped Pippin's hand, surprised at how far the cuff of the blue jacket rode above his wrist.

~*~

Good Fortune With Him

When Gandalf laid Pippin down, bundled like a babe, Merry gathered him close and tucked the curly head under his chin. No matter that he was shaking with anger, Merry could no more refuse Pippin than he could his own right arm.

"Don't take me, I don't have it. Not me, not me." Pippin repeated the last harshly until Merry pressed his hand against his forehead and murmured reassurances from the place in his heart where love and hurt lived as neighbors. He forgot them soon as they dropped from his mouth into Pippin's hair.

"Frodo," whispered Pippin. "Oh, Frodo."

~*~

Haunting Minas Tirith

Merry stumbled over gray stones and past bodies stilled by death and dimmed by gritty dust. He followed the procession bearing Theoden. Torches left him behind, and a shadowy veil sundered him from the world. He thought he had died. In the wilderness, Pippin's ghost came to lead him to his own tomb.

Pippin spoke, but Merry heard only muffled noise. His right arm ached with cold, and he felt nothing under his feet. Pippin urged him to the ground, and Merry laid his head in his lap. He felt warmth engulf his right hand, still doubting they lived.

~*~

Livery of the Tower Guard

Merry and Pippin sat on a sun-warmed stone bench in the fair garden of the Houses of Healing. Merry held a pipe, his fingers stroking the smooth wood of the bowl.

"The grief returns whenever I think of him," he said.

"King Theoden was a kind lord," said Pippin.

Merry looked up from his pipe. "And you gained a liege- lord, too: Lord Denethor, though I heard he was struck down. Was he kind, Pippin?"

"Kind?" Pippin fingered the edge of his somber hauberk. "He was -- lofty."

Merry took Pippin's restless hand into his own. "I missed you, too."

~*~

The Longest Way Home

When Pippin recognized they had crossed into the Shire, his stony grief crumbled into something softer. He sang gently, The Road goes ever on and on, and Merry's voice soon joined his. Sam didn't sing, but his face lost its grimness. When their ways parted, Sam assured them he'd be fine. Knowing Rosie and Elanor waited at Bag End, Pippin believed him.

Evening dark grew steep. They walked their ponies silently. Starlight shone like Frodo's phial, and a pang of sorrow sunk deep into Pippin's heart. He held out his hand, expecting to find Merry's waiting, and found it, reaching.

~*~


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