Pippin still loves these winters at Bag End. Even after everything, he and Merry still go back to Bag End with Frodo and Sam. Of course, now it's Frodo and Sam and Rosie, with a little one on the way. Pippin is happy with the additions-Rosie is warm, and kind, and Sam loves her so. Pippin wishes, a little bit, that he and Merry could have had a great wedding under the mallorn tree, with everyone they loved gathered 'round. But not very often; he is happy, where he is. His father, though growing older, is still the serene, hearty hobbit Pippin left behind, and the burdens of the Thainship are many years away-he still has not even come of age!

Pippin feels older than his years, though. His 29 years aren't, it seems. He came of age on the battlefield, when he faced death, when he became a warrior. Pippin is ready, now, to settle down and farm and be part of the earth again. He's still a child in the eyes of the Shire, though, and sometimes this chafes him.

Not at Bag End. It's still the same, although Merry almost always builds the fire, now. The cold and damp make Pippin's just-healed injuries ache in the early morning-Strider said it would probably always be like that. Pippin is usually not too miserable, and when Merry gets out of bed to light the fire, and then comes back to hold him, and kiss him gently, Pippin feels like all the pain drains from his body.

It's good to know they can still help each other. Even now, months later, Pippin is woken up by Merry's nightmares, and he sometimes wakes Merry with his. It helps to have someone there, but they can't ever fully soothe one another. Pippin has had a lot of sleepless nights, this winter, rocking Merry gently and trying to soothe away a pain so great tears can't even come, or burying his face in Merry's shoulder, listening to whispers that only begin to chase away the dark.

It's not so bad, he always reminds himself. At least they're still all together, and the Shire is coming back to life, and he only misses Boromir after he's dreamt of the Man.

On very bad mornings, when Pip hurts too much to get out of bed, Merry brings a tray with breakfast that Rosie and Sam have made, and they eat together, and Merry makes him drink a sweet tea that makes him sleepy, and he doesn't notice the pain anymore. Merry always lives up to his name at these times, Pippin notices, making him laugh and teasing him and chasing the pain away better than any herbal medicines could.

Later in the morning, when it's warmer, if they haven't already dressed and gone out to greet the rest of the household, they do. Frodo is usually in his study by himself these days, writing, so Merry will stay and talk with Sam and Pippin, or go compare herb knowledge with Rosie. When she begins to grow big, Merry fusses over her almost as much as Sam does. Pippin sometimes wishes that he and Merry could have children of their own, watching the Brandybuck take care of Rosie. He knows Merry would be wonderful with children-but such is the path set out for them. Sam has already taken him aside and informed him that he and Merry are to consider themselves beloved uncles to all of his and Rosie's children. Pippin has already interpreted this to mean permission to spoil all the children thoroughly, and attempt to get them into as much mischief as possible. At night, he and Merry sometimes look over maps, already planning short camping trips, and Pippin cannot wait until the little one comes.

Sometimes they can drag Frodo away from his book, his endless writing. Pippin has always associated the smell of ink and paper with his cousin, but now Frodo without a pen in his hand seems almost impossible. For the rest of his life, Pippin will never sit down to write, or watch Merry working on his books, without thinking of the Ringbearer. When Frodo comes out, it is almost like the old days again, teasing each other, and once, after a snow, getting into the last snowball fight with all of them there, Rosie laughing at the surprised look on her husband's face after she's lobbed a snowball at him. Frodo laughs and teases all of them, and having only four fingers on one hand does nothing to affect his aim.

Pippin has begun hugging Frodo again, when he sees that catch of sadness in his cousin's eyes.

Their days go on as they always have, although they talk about the times before the War more often, now, remembering the Shire when they were all young. Sometimes Pippin can wheedle Frodo into telling a story about Merry from before Pippin was born, or at least when he was too young to remember. Rosie is easy; she always has tales of Sam, and it is Frodo who usually teases them out of her.

Merry and Pippin still have their time together, at the end of the night. Time and place don't matter, then, only that they are together and warm and well-fed. Pippin loves these nights together more than anytime else, when he's no longer limping with pain, and Merry is happy and peaceful, and they're together and they love each other. Pippin wonders, sometimes, if on these nights their bodies glow, with heat and passion and knowledge of war and peace; sorrow and joy.

Winter, for Pippin, is still warm fires, and cousins, and the peace of Bag End. It is also memories of Caradharas, and Moria, and sorrow more tearing than he'd ever known before. It's still Merry and firelight and quilts, but it's also noticing Frodo getting just the littlest bit quieter, and more unearthly, every day. Some things cannot be changed, though; winter will always be a quiet kind of love, to Pippin.

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