Chapter Text
“Hey, ho, to the bottle I go!” the hobbits sang. Pippin, dancing on a table, raised his voice high above the rest.
It was a stupendous summer night at the Green Dragon. Everyone was laughing and clapping and drinking. Merry was there, of course, grinning but letting Pippin have the spotlight for now. And there was Frodo, off by himself but he liked it that way, and he was smiling. Sam was home with Rosie, but really that was probably for the best, ’cause Ted Sandyman was there too. At least Ted wasn’t causing any trouble so far.
“But better than rain or rippling brook—”
Pippin flung his arms out and yelled: “Is a mug o’ beer inside this Took!” He followed it up with gulping down the last drops from his own mug.
Everyone roared with laughter and applause, just as they had the first time he’d come up with that line. Panting for breath, Pippin bowed as graciously as he could. He wobbled just a little (it was just that the table was a bit rickety, that was all), and hopped off the table and onto the floor, where he accepted many approving pats on the back. Though he really ought to think up a new line before this one started feeling stale.
Merry was there to meet him, grinning and handing him a fresh mug of beer. “Good show, Pippin! You never disappoint, do you?”
“Disappoint? Me?” Pippin bowed again. “Never.” He took a swallow of beer, then looked over his shoulder at Frodo’s corner. “Have you checked in on Frodo?”
“He’s here, isn’t he? That’s more than I expected.”
Pippin frowned. “But I want to make sure he’s enjoying everything.”
“All right, go on, then.” Merry gave him a little nudge. “He’ll appreciate your company.”
Pippin felt warmth in his chest at that, at Merry’s certain belief that Pippin would please Frodo. Or maybe it was just the fresh beer.
He made his way over to Frodo’s table—and yes, Frodo started smiling as soon as he noticed his approach. He even slid his chair a bit to the side to make room for Pippin.
Pippin plunked down in the chair next to him. “Well! That song never gets old, does it?”
“Never,” Frodo agreed, sipping his own drink at a sedate pace. “You were fantastic up there, Pip. You certainly know how to entertain a room.”
That warm feeling strengthened (although Pippin also had to tug his collar away from his neck; he was sweating from all his exertion). “You should join me next time.”
“Oh, no.” Frodo shook his head in mock horror. “I’m not one for the spotlight.”
“That’s not true,” Pippin argued. “What about all those feasts you presided over before Mayor Whitfoot was in shape again? And you were happy to hop on tables with me before we all left.”
“Yes,” Frodo agreed more quietly. “Before we all left…before Mordor…before I became the guest of honor at every feast in Gondor, whether I wanted any honor or not.”
Pippin felt as if he should have somehow anticipated that.
“Besides,” Frodo said in his normal voice, smiling again, “I am content to watch you prance about like a drunk elf.”
“Thank you.” Pippin was determined to receive that as a compliment regardless of how Frodo intended it. They lapsed into companionable silence, enjoying their drinks and one another’s company.
Except something was buzzing in the back of his brain, an itch he wasn’t sure how to scratch. Somehow, he thought he felt almost…envious? Envious of what? It was so hard to pinpoint. And he hadn’t been feeling that way at all until just now, really, until when Frodo started talking so matter-of-factly about the change in him, about how things were different now, about before and after.
What, was he envious of Frodo? Of all the horrible things he endured and all the sad ways he’d changed? No, that didn’t make sense, and it would be unbearably calloused.
Maybe it was just…the freedom Frodo had to just…talk about it. Even when it was painful, even if it might bring the conversation down, even if it might make other people feel uncomfortable or look at you sideways.
What would that be like?
“Um.” He glanced nervously at his cousin. “Frodo…”
“Evening, gents!” Merry came sliding into the chair opposite the table from them. “They’re setting up ring-toss just outside. Pip, what d’you say we—” He broke off with a frown. “Pip?”
Pippin realized suddenly that he wasn’t looking as relaxed and happy as he should, and now Frodo was frowning at him too.
“Everything all right?” Frodo asked in his soft voice.
Pippin felt frozen under the weight of their stares. They looked so concerned, and for him.
Somehow, in an instant, his mouth went numb, heavy, paralyzed, even while his brain raced in a thousand directions at once. They shouldn’t be looking at him like that—he had to make them stop looking at them like that—he didn’t know how to answer—there was too much to say—too much and not enough, not compared to what Frodo went through anyway—if he tried to say just a little bit, he wouldn’t be able to stop it all from pouring out—the night would be ruined—they’d never see him the same way again, like a door opened that could never, ever be shut—if they asked one more question he might scream—
He took a hasty gulp of his beer and it unlocked his jaw and he laughed. “Of course I’m all right! C’mon, Merry, let’s team up for ring-toss and show all these fancy Hobbiton folk what a Took and a Bucklander can do together!”
Merry and Frodo instantly relaxed.
Success.
But as Merry grabbed his hand and pulled him out of his seat, as Frodo followed them out into the warm summer night in the lantern-light, as Merry and Pippin joined the other teams preparing to compete in ring-toss, everyone laughing and talking and drinking like nothing was amiss…it was strange.
Pippin didn’t feel any better.
And maybe…maybe he wished someone would notice.
He shook his head sternly at himself. If no one noticed how he really felt, he had no one to blame but himself.