A/N: All the songs in my stories are made up by me unless otherwise noted. And they all have tunes too, I only wish you could hear them! This story is dedicated to Grey Wonderer for her always kind encouragement :) And I hope everyone has a Happy St. Paddy’s Day!

***

Kiss Me I’m Tookish

Laughing, laughing, everyone is laughing. And I find now, that I am laughing too, as I sit here, ale in hand, upon a barstool in this full and lively tavern. It is dark outside, but inside here the light is warm and yellow and inviting; and hobbits sit unsteadily, toasting and drinking and singing on the rickety old tables and worn benches. The music of the fiddle lilts in a jolly melody behind every conversation, and the faces of the patrons are flushed and glowing, eyes bright and happy as they sip their drinks. A jolly laugh escapes me, and I do not know why it surfaced, but I look around me and see reasons enough, and smile and sip my ale, and it is warm and comforting like the atmosphere of this place surrounding me.

"Pippin!" I yell to warn my younger cousin, who is in the far corner of the room, nearly guffawing himself off the stool he is seated on, a cup of ale in hand (that I daresay is quite too much for him to handle) as he swings it around in exuberant depiction of some yarn or another, completely unaware that he is spilling it every time he moves. He has stopped now, for a moment, and is smiling that earnestly-delighted smile of his, the one that spreads across his whole face, that makes him so charming, so endearing, to nearly everyone he meets, and nods to the person he was speaking to.

His companion must have interjected something contradictory, because before he manages to take a sip he takes the cup from his face and shakes it at him in a matter-of-fact way, moving his lips in that deliberate manner that I know brings out the very burr of Tookland in his voice.

He is now shaking his head again, this time in delighted agreement, and then brings his glass to his mouth to sip it, only realizing after he has tipped it all the way back that his glass is incredibly empty. The majority of the drink is spilt all over the floor around him, though this goes unnoticed either from the wonderful blithe indifference of inebriety, or just plain slow-wit.

He takes it from his mouth, scrutinizing it with an expression perplexed enough to surface another laugh from me, and then tips the cup over, and shakes it, and brings it once more upright to inspect it. He shrugs, the mystery of the ale far too superfluous to go investigating on a night like this, when there is enough laughter and happiness to go around instead, and puts the glass down on the bar. He sees me, and excuses himself, and saunters over.

"Pippin," I say frowning, though I am really smiling, and he can see it in my eyes, "Are you drunk?"

"Me?" he asks, pressing his palm against his chest, "Why, I’d never," he declares, and we make eye contact, a smile hidden on both of our faces, and he cracks first, laughing, and I join him, patting him on the back. "Are you?" he says, after climbing up onto the stool next to me.

"Am I what?"

"Drunk!"

"Of course not," I dismiss, "Unlike you, I can handle my liquor." I say looking sidelong to him as I take a sip.

"Pfft," he disregards me with a wave of the hand.

I sip again at my drink and am surprised when I look up to see Pippin’s eyes a-light and fastened onto something, and I follow his gaze over to whatever it is he is staring at before he has the chance to bolt away. I turn my head and furrow my brow, "What is it?" I say, and look back toward him.

He looks to me with that glint in his eye, "Care for a song, or two?" and he grins, and makes a cock of his head toward the empty table in the middle of the room, in the midst of the life of the tavern.

"Oh, no," I chide, "You’re not making me do that again," after what happened last time, I am loath to dance on a table top ever more.

"O, come now, Merry," he pleads, turning those large green eyes on me, with the imploring face he has used to bend me to his whim and fancy ever since he was a tiny lad.

"No," I said, (for once) succeeding in being stern, and turn back to the bar. I motion for Rose Cotton to bring me another, and I turn to ask if Pippin wants one, but by the time I look over, he is already gone from his seat and climbing up onto the table top in the distance. I sigh. I should have known better than to let Pippin out of my sight for one second.

Before I can even climb off my seat to go and haul him down and back to the bar, his lilting voice is raised in song, gathering a clapping, delighted audience almost instantly. Pippin thrives off attention like this. And rolling my eyes, I just know better to resign and take a seat and listen.

I can hear his voice clearly now, and he is singing a tune that I have not ever heard before,

.

‘"O! The Brandybucks

Have awful looks,

ev-er-y time I see one!

They got a frown,

Turned upside down,

And that is not the end!

-- These Brandybucks, they seem to think,

That fishes are their friends!"

***

I raise a brow at the jest directed at the typical Brandybuck easygoing, laid-back nature (something the Tooks rather resent, and I think, envy as well).

Glancing over to Merry who is seated at the bar, arms crossed over his chest, I am surprised to see that he seems to be without rile at Pippin’s choice of song. And though I am sure that slight inebriety is the reason for this, I do nothing to explain it to him. Though I am part Brandybuck myself, I content myself to sit back and listen. I am not sure what this unquenchable cousin of mine has up his sleeve for tonight.

.

"O! the Brandybucks,

Are awful kooks,

ev-er-y time I see one!

Their boatin' down their River,

Well, the thought it makes me shiver!

-- But one day when they're not watchin'

There's goin' to be a splashin'!

And a sensible Took like me, won't be there you see,

To help them out, you know,"

. 

I listen and maybe a small smile brushes on my lips, I don’t know. But it astounds me that Pippin has the gift to make even my heart seem somewhat lighter. Make it warm with the sort of love that comes from happiness, when so often now it is cold and heavy. I can feel Sam’s ever-cautious gaze on me, and though he is the dearest of my friends, I do weary sometimes of the tending I receive from him, and force myself to smile until I can no longer see him looking to me out of the corner of my eye.

The death of my parents by the River was a long time gone, and though I know Sam thinks that the mention of such a thing will bring back memories to haunt my dreams and stalk my steps with renewed potency, he does not know that memories are nothing to the night that seems to have fallen over the sunshine; a night with no stars, no moon, no wind, just cold and dark with barely enough light to lead me through.

Pippin hiccups loudly in the midst of the next verse, which causes laughter from everyone and draws my attention back to this bouncing energetic cousin of mine, as he dances his way around the creaking table.

I shake my head. Only a Took could manage to rhyme some of the words in this song, and I chuckle, turning to see the expression of sheer acid on Merry’s face, who seems to have finally realized the song is about his kinsmen.

.

"O! The Brandybucks,

Are awful drunks,

ev-er-y time I see one!

They like their ale, and wine and tales,

But never did I see, How the Brandybucks came to be,

-- Until I went into their cellar,

Well I nearly fell right o'er

For Brandy Hall, wouldn't be quite so tall,

If they didn't have to store, all of their namesake liquor!"

. 

This verse makes a bark of laughter rise out of me, and it seems the first time I have laughed since I can remember.

Only Pippin would be bold enough to sing this song. I glance around, and it is already clear to see that half the bar is insulted, and half the bar is absolutely enthralled. But the half that is insulted, is having a rather difficult time gathering the reason why they are insulted, as most (rather all, really) of the patrons here tonight are immersed in drunk stupor – as Pippin is, for he would have never have broken into such an offending song (for all his brass) unless he was slightly tipsy himself. And I am sure that I too, have had one cup too many, as I really am not caring to stop him.

But what amuses me, is that all the lyrics are rather true, and the Brandybucks in the room can’t help but be flustered. Though I am sure they know the song’s jests are in good-heart, and I listen in again.

.

"O! The Brandybucks,

Are awful crooks,

ev-er-y time I see one!

They'll snatch yer purse and coin,

Without nearly naught’f a warning,

-- Then give yer back a pat, and say,

'Dun worry lad, We'll get your pack, and throw that crook away!"

. 

I laugh again, and raise my brows to take a drink. I decided I had better order Sam another round, otherwise he is likely to become subject to some sort of heart complication upon joy from the fact that I am finding noticeable pleasure tonight in my cousin’s stupid antics.

***

I do not know whether to be angry, annoyed, amused, or all three. I think I have decided on all three, and I glance to the far side of the room where my cousin Berilac looks back at me, Brandybuck pride fierce in his eyes and we grin, making a silent accordance to get back at my cheeky little cousin later tonight. For all that we have been through, Pippin still has not learned to use his common sense, and to bite his tongue when it waggles too freely, and it strikes me suddenly to think of him dressed in his livery up there, dancing on that tabletop.

I think then how starkly different our world and the one of our travels was and is, and I sigh, knowing that it is not easy to escape the memories of war and destruction and blood and battle, and am glad that here in the tavern tonight Pippin can use his charm to lull away those thoughts, and bring me back here. Back here where things are happy and innocent, and he can make me think that I know what it is like to be merry again.

.

"O! the Brandybucks,

They make their luck,

ev-er-y time I see one!

They'll see a lass,

And snatch her --"

.

"PIPPIN!" I hear Frodo shout loud across the room, stopping him in mid-sentence before he can utter the word from his mouth, causing the entire tavern to roar with laughter. Pippin looks breathless and happy, and Frodo is giving him a Glare of Death, and I chuckle, you tell ‘im Frodo! Pippin wipes his forehead with his sleeve, and picks up the tune again with the band that has begun to play along with him.

.

"O! The Brandybucks,

Have awful looks,

ev-er-y time I see one!"

.

"They have a frown,

Turned upside down,

And that is not the end!"

. 

"The Brandybucks,

Are awful kooks,

ev-er-y time I see one! "

.

"They go boatin' down their River,

The thought it makes me shiver!"

. 

"The Brandybucks,

Are awful drunks,

ev-er-y time I see one!"

.

"They like their ale,

and wines and tales,

And that is not the end!"

.

He begins to end the song, and I cross my arms over my chest again, ready for when he looks at me upon finishing, and prepare to feign a glare of distaste, although I must admit, though it was most likely created by some crude tongue in a tawdry tavern in Tookland, to slander the honor and impeccable renown of the Brandybuck clan, it was rather funny.

He stops singing and everyone thinks he is done, and begins to clap, but he holds his finger up in forestallment, and begins to sing again.

.

"But I really should go and say,

To all of you this day,

Bless my soul that they're not cold

and grudging to the end,

Because I tell you all right now

a Brandybuck is my dearest friend!"

.

He laughs, pointing over to me, and everyone watching turns to see me, laughing too, and I can do nothing more but laugh as well, and shake my head.

***

It has gotten much later, and I am almost tired as I finish off the latest ale I have worked at consuming. To the right of me is Merry, his face in his arms on the bar top (either asleep or passed out, I don’t know).

I yawn, and look around, the whole place seems to have gone into a lull, though I cannot help but notice that the ale is still flowing around freely. But it is quiet, and I decide that it is somehow peaceful. The musicians are playing a slow tune, making me sleepier, and I think perhaps it is time to go back to Bag End, search out my bed, and try to sleep away this impending hangover. I fumble as I try to turn and shake Merry’s shoulder.

After numerous attempts, I manage to wake him up, and he looks to me with sleep-fogged eyes, "Where’s Pippin?"

"I don’t know," I say, and look around. He could have gotten into any sort of trouble here tonight. I see Merry searching, suddenly very alert, and say, "What is it?"

"I’m looking for the barmaid," he says, a frown evident in his brow.

"The barmaid?" I question and he turns to me with explanation.

"Pippin was commenting earlier on how ‘lovely’ she looked." He gave me A Look. "If you understand my meaning," my eyes must have widened a bit because Merry chuckles and says, "I know."

While we both search for the barmaid, I scold myself mentally. I do not need to be looking out hawk-eye for my youngest cousin anymore, he is a grown, responsible, intelligent lad, and I trust him to himself, and all the barmaids in the Shire if it be his whim (which it had better not).

I tell this to Merry, and eventually I am able to convince him that we should leave, that Pippin would not like to know that we don’t trust him on his own. And though grudgingly, he was moving to the door. I almost had him outside, and would have, had we not heard the stupendous crash of many many glasses falling to the ground in sonorous clatter.

I was in the process of pushing a tipsy Merry the last inch out of the doorway (while also being unsteady myself, at the same time. Quite a difficult task, I am positive) when the clamor reached our ears, and in a flash Merry had run past me and back inside with eyes wide.

And following him I stop short, aghast as I see Pippin perched on the edge of a table, wobbling quite dangerously as he makes to step to the center. All the glassware that had previously been resting on it, is now simply ruined on the floor.

As I scramble ahead to grab him, this action turns out to be somewhat futile, as Merry does the same thing, and somehow, we end up colliding and on the floor rubbing our sore heads.

Merry was already (attempting to be) getting up, when we heard Pippin’s clear lilting voice carrying softly over the bar once again, his Tookish lilt strong in his song. The sound was so beautiful, and looking to his face he seemed so simply pleased, that it almost seemed melancholy to me, though I do not know why, for the tune was lively and inviting.

.

"Lassie, come ‘round here and Ah’ll tell ye a yarn

Of a land of mine, that ye may know,

‘Tis the finest place e’er to stand foot upon

The most beauteous land that e’er did grow! "

.

"O the hills, they rise, and spills the bright morning-light,

Across their tall greens, like gold from the sky,

And nothing in all my life, I can say,

With be yet more lovely than that break’f day!"

. 

"It ‘tis all green, far’s eye can see,

And the grass sways on the hilltops in the great rushing breeze!

Bright and alive, Like all of our eyes,

The golden sunshine beats down, and my love it does rise!"

. 

"The pastures across the brown dirt way, they stretch

Out across the small villages and bub’ling streams, my ears fetch,

The sound of the bairns and the sheep in the fields,

Laughing, I know that my heart here is sealed!"

. 

"The smell of fire and breakfast is rich in the air,

All being cooked by our lasses who’re dainty and fair,

And I know that when I’m called in from the fields,

They’ll be there a-waiting my most favorite meal!"

. 

"And when time for the harvest rolls right around,

We’ll gather together in celebration in the center of our small town

Around the table, with friends, and fiddle’s song a-play,

I’ll raise up my glass and give thanks for the day!"

. 

"And Lassie, Ah’ll tell ye, I know this may sound over-blown

But ‘tis true that I speak of my Green Hill Country and home,

And at night, when the sun has gone and sought out her bed,

I’ll be at the tavern drinking to all that I’ve said!"

. 

"So, there be no more blessed a place that I’ll ever know,

And though to far off lands and distant places I may never go,

I am certain that here, beneath the sky,

I shall always be happiest if ye’re here by my side!"

. 

"And now that ye’ve heard the tale of my land,

I ask ye, dear Lassie, would ye please take my hand?

In this green place we shall make our own niche

– Jus’ come’n kiss me, my Lassie, I’m Tookish!"

. 

Pippin grins stupidly as everyone cheers him, and I cannot help but laugh myself as said barmaid ambles over and plants a kiss smack on Pippin’s eager lips, followed by the other barmaid, and even Rosie (and I laugh at Sam’s face) gives Pippin an air-kiss from behind the bar.

I am smiling and look to Merry beside me who is smiling too, and clapping along with the rest of the tavern. He looks to me, and he seems just as relieved that I am smiling as I am that he is. And then a thought appears to dawn on him, one of humor, and maybe appreciation too, and with another glance to Pippin, he beckons me closer.

***

I laugh as I finish the last song of the evening. It’s been a nice night, I’ll say, and I smile as I climb unsteadily off the table. I nod to the (ahem) ladies who bestowed such gifts that they had to offer upon me, and I look around once nervously to make sure Frodo wasn’t watching (he’ll be angry) or Merry (he’ll be jealous).

Steadying myself on my feet I stretch to crack my back, and though it is tempting, I graciously turn down the numerous offers I get for a pint or glass of wine. I rub my head, it seems as if I’ve had a pint (or four...teen) too many!

I look once around for my cousins and don’t see either one of them. In truth, I am a bit disappointed, but perhaps they went home. I worry about those two, and they may think that I don’t notice, but I see when they try to hide things from me. I am not so foolish as I was before, and even if I am, I am not so unawares.

I know that when Merry holds his teacup in his left hand, and his rakish grin quavers ever-so noticeably that his icy right arm is freezing his heart with dark things and haunting his mind with shadows more black than any night, even during the day when it is bright and sunny. I know that he has nightmares that are drear and frightening and real, and I know that in the morning he puts on the face of the old Merry, the one who never screamed and wept in the night, and called for me and Frodo, and Estella when he is in the very depths of despair. I hear him call to me, and I rush to his side, as he does to mine, and sometimes we dream at the same time, and relive whole days and terrible nights together in Crickhollow.

And I know when Frodo declines an invitation to visit us in Buckland, for not the second, but the third time in a row, it is not simply because he is feeling under the weather, or is busy with his book, as Sam insists on telling me. What silly and transparent excuses to hide a shadow so terribly dark. I cannot describe it, the look in his eyes now. Hollow, empty, like a well without water that just continues down to a dry dark spot with no way back up, and no company below but the echoing darkness.

He looked even worse than he did when I had visited three weeks before, if such a thing were possible, and I tried to school my expression to one of my usual blithe indifference. He smiled too, but I could see in every corner of his face, but mostly in the hollow sadness that were his eyes, once so full of life and spirit, that it is aching his very being to live such a lie.

They forget, I have seen my share of evil too, and I know what it is like to walk in the dark. I know how hard it is to hide a shadow during the nighttime, when it can grow and snake along the walls and floorboards, when the lamp has gone out and the clouds have moved to block the moon away.

But I do not like to dwell upon such things.

I like to think about their faces just a few hours before, when I had been singing and they had been laughing, (even Frodo!), smiling like they used to. And I am glad that I can still do this, still make them smile, even for all the happiness and years of innocence that we have lost.

Laughter cures most anything, I remember old Bilbo saying to me once when I was very young, and I have carried it with me all these years. I am often quite glad I had known the old fellow, however shortly. 

I look around once more for Frodo and Merry and see neither one of them, I shrug and make my way to the door.

But suddenly, before I even know what is happening, someone has grabbed my left arm, and another has grabbed my right, and I am picked up this way (rather uncomfortable, I’ll say) and dropped onto the table. Then, before I even have a chance to realize what’s what, simultaneously the two that had carried me over smack their lips against my cheeks and I am stuck in between a two loud and sloppy kisses (which wouldn’t have been half so disgusting... actually I imagine it would have been rather on the enjoyable side... had they been lasses) !

They back up from me, letting my arms go, and I see Merry and Frodo looking at me, delighted. I must have been giving them both the most confused and ridiculous look, because they both started laughing and Merry said, "Kiss you you’re Tookish, remember?"

I laugh then and try to swat his head, but they both are out the door and leaving me to scramble after them, before I can even say ‘Luck of the Brandybucks’, just like the old days.