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Nighttime ficlet for isilwen; merry/pippin, chocolate

“What is it?”

For once Pippin was not first to grab at the sweets in Merry’s basket. For once he seemed hesitant to even touch the squares of deepest brown and devour them whole. And for once Merry was almost relieved, thinking he might have his treats all to himself.

“It’s called chocolate,” he explained patiently. “You wouldn’t like it.” Pippin’s brow furrowed, but he still didn’t reach for the candy, instead peering at it as if it might be more poisonous than some of the stranger mushrooms he and Merry had found in the past few years.

“Where did you get it? Pippin asked, watching Merry sniff at his piece. “What’s it taste like?”

“Bree. Da brought it home from Bree. And it takes like …” Merry twisted his mouth. Like the most wonderful thing in the world, he thought. Like it would cure any wound you’ve got. “Like dirt and sugar.”

Pippin eyes widened, then narrowed. “You’re lying, Merry.”

Merry shook his head, just before he bit down on the corner of one perfect square. “’m not.”

“And now you’re talking with your mouth full.”

“Right, so I’m lying. Then try one.”

Pippin shrank back a little, obviously swayed by the idea of dirt and sugar, then reached into Merry’s basket bravely, pulling out a piece of the just–beginning–to–melt chocolate. He let out a noise of displeasure, shaking one hand in the air and staring at his fingers.

“It’s—it’s gone bad, Merry.”

“No, it hasn’t. It’s just soft. I’m telling you, you’re not going to like it. There’s plenty of apples in there, Pip; just have another one of those and I’ll take care of the chocolate.”

Pippin considered this for a moment, watching Merry devour another piece of the messy candy, then he smiled sweetly.

“Does your mum like it, Merry?”

“Stars, yes,” Merry laughed. “She’s made Da promise to get more when he goes back to Bree—“

Pippin folded his arms across his chest and pursed his lips, trying to look fierce, and Merry flushed a bright red, caught out. It wasn’t likely, after all, that any Hobbit mum of any sense would eat anything that tasted of dirt.

“Dirt and sugar,” Pippin snorted, snatching the last piece of chocolate from Merry’s hand before shoving half of it into his mouth. “Oh. Oh. Merry, you lied.”

“So you like it?” Merry’s smile grew wider as Pippin neared him, proffering the remaining half of the chocolate. Pippin nodded, and Merry opened his mouth, ready to taste that lovely swirl of sugary goodness one more time—

Just before Pippin smashed it into his nose.


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