Pippin loves these winter mornings at Bag End. All snuggled in bed with Merry, both of them buried under a pile of quilts. For years, since Pippin could ride that far, they've gone back with Frodo and Sam after Yule, partially to keep them company, and partially to escape their families, and the boredom that comes with being shut inside and seeing the same people day after day after day. It's different with just the four of them, and anyway, it's only for a few weeks. Then Merry goes back to Buckland, and Pippin might go with him, or go back to Tuckborough, depending on how many hints his mother drops about forgetting what he looks like.

But now they're still at Bag End, and that's all Pippin cares about. That, and that he and Merry are here, together, and no one cares. Even now, at the grand old age of 26, he marvels at how easily they slipped from friends to lovers. Nothing was lost, he muses, it just got to be more.

Like the fire. Always it's been, whoever woke first would build up the fire before scurrying back into bed. It used to be Pippin, mostly, when he was in his teens and would wake up what felt like hours before his companion. Now, lately, it's been Merry who wakes up earlier, and Pippin opens his eyes sleepily to a warm fire, and a chilly hobbit coming back to lie under the covers and purposely stick his cold feet on Pippin's legs, necessitating the beginning of a tickle fight. Pippin is quite happy with those fights, as they often end in something more fun, but usually not as giggly.

This morning, Pippin's awake first, and he slips out of bed to build up the fire. Running back under the covers kept warm by Merry, he is drawn into a hug, with a partially-awake hobbit murmuring love in his ear. Later, they'll emerge from the bed, and go eat a feast of a breakfast that Sam's prepared. Merry and Frodo might take turns reading some of Bilbo's old stories aloud, then, or if it's not too cold, they might go outside.

Some years it snows, and they pelt each other, and get soaking wet, and then go in for hot tea and sweet cakes. Pippin especially likes that. Particularly when they can get Sam to join in-not hard in the middle of barren winter-because he and Sam work amazingly well together against Merry and Frodo.

Pippin particularly loves when he and Merry shed their wet clothes for a hot bath. He likes scrubbing Merry down, making his skin glow. He really likes it when Merry turns him 'round gently, and washes his back, then rubs his shoulders and back, working out all the kinks. Pippin melts back into his lover's arms, then, and they lie together like that for a little bit.

Sometimes Merry and Frodo closet themselves up with old books. That bores Pippin, so he wanders around, exploring long unopened rooms in Bag End. If Sam's around, he'll help cook, or just sit and talk. Sam tells him about gardening, and Pippin talks about farming. They speak the same language, he thinks, the language of growing things, of cycles neverending, the language of earth and cultivation. As much as he enjoys Sam's company, Pippin is happiest when Frodo and Merry emerge for lunch, or tea, or supper, and Merry sits beside him, slipping an arm around his waist and kissing his cheek. It's not much, but it's another one of those things that's carried over, crossed the line between friend and lover, and Pippin adores it.

At night, they'll all be together again. Sometimes Sam goes home to be with his family, but sometimes he stays and smokes a pipe with the cousins. Evening is when they tell hobbity stories, warm stories to drive away the dark, and make each other laugh. Merry and Frodo will have riddling contests, and sometimes Pippin joins in, but usually he sits and lets the words wash over him and watches firelight dancing on Merry's skin.

He's usually not very sleepy at night, not until he and Merry have had some time to themselves. Merry might whisper some poetry to him, but usually they talk, about everything and nothing. So relaxed they are, with each other, they can nearly have a conversation without speaking. They make love, a lot. By firelight or candlelight in the velvet of a winter evening, or sometimes Merry will leave Frodo to his books for an afternoon, and he and Pippin will go to their room, and emerge later, flushed and happy and in love. Frodo smiles when he sees them like that, with only the tiniest bit of sadness. Pippin used to run up to him at those times, and throw his arms around Frodo, trying to tell his cousin that he was loved and cherished too, if not exactly in the same way. Now he smiles back, and lets that tell his tale. Merry worries about Frodo, sometimes, but Pippin thinks he'll find someone, given the time. Merry says he's still not sure, but shrugs and notes that Frodo is happy enough, and so he doesn't worry overmuch. Then Merry hugs Pippin, and shows him, and tells him, just how happy he is.

Winter, for Pippin, is warm fires, and cousins, and the peace of Bag End. Winter is rare snowball fights, and chasing away the cold and dark with tales and riddles. Winter, lately, has been loving kissed with fire and soft, down-filled blankets. Winter will always be a quiet kind of love, to Pippin.

Back to Kalimac