A/n: Don't own characters, do own story. Not making profit. Still not King (or. . .Queen). . .I really recommend you download "Who Wants To Live Forever" by Queen (I also don't own Queen, if I did, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction, I'd be vacationing in NZ), the basis for this story, because IT ROCKS! Yes. . .anyways. . .R&R!!! NOW!!! Grrrr. . .do it! Oh, ps. WHEEEE FOR QUICKEDIT!!! and I will eventually update The Edge of Despair, for my readers. . .I promise!!!

The day that Diamond died was the worst day of Pippin's life, including everything he had experienced during the War of the Ring. They carried her body out early in the morning, and took it to her parent's home in Long Cleave, where she would be laid out. Two days from now at midday she would be buried, and with her, she would take Pippin's heart.

Merry rode out to the smials at midday, after hearing the horrible news. He knew his cousin well, and was really the only one who could comfort him. Pippin refused to let him in, at first, but his experiences in the war had taught him to seek help when he needed it, and no one could help him more than Merry could.

A passing hobbit would have wondered at the fact that Merry offered no words of sympathy to his cousin upon entrance. But they had gone through much together, and knew each other better than everyone else. No words were needed. They knew.

"I'll get you something to eat," said Pippin, attempting to sound his usual cheerful self. It was no use. He seemed distant, somehow, even though he was right there. His smile was forced and his eyes had lost their shimmer, somehow more grey than green. And he seemed stunned, as though he could hardly believe what had happened. As though it were a dream.

"Alright, Pip."

Merry went into the den and sat in his usual chair, and watched as the burning log crackled in the fire place. Everything seemed quite; unnaturally quite, for Diamond's joyous humming and quirky comments had filled his memories of this place as much as long, ale induced, reminiscing talks with Pippin. The log burned out, and everything was dark. He hardly noticed.

Pippin wandered back in then. He reminded Merry of the "Strider" who they had known before Aragorn ever existed: lost, searching for something just beyond his sight. He handed Merry a slice of bread with just enough butter.

"It's not much. It's all that's left. No one's bought anything for days," and for a moment, he forgot that now he was the only one who would buy things, and only for himself.

'How does it feel?' Merry longed to ask, but he knew better, and perhaps he really didn't want to know. Silence. From somewhere, he could hear a memory of humming and soft, poetic speech.

"Do you remember when Boromir died?" asked Pippin suddenly, still distant, but from somewhere deep within him, a faint warmth was stirred. The memory of Boromir was one that always brought him hope: a man who succumbed to the power of evil and redeemed himself. He sought the light in shadows.

"Yes. . .is this like that?"


Silence. The humming grew louder.

"I was still alive when Boromir died."

He wandered out again, seeming to forget Merry was there. His footsteps were heavy on the wooden flooring, though normally he was light-footed as an elf. Merry heard a door opening and closing, and knew Pippin had returned to his bedroom. Not "Diamond and Pippin's Bedroom." Just Pippin's.

Pippin shut his bedroom door gently, eyes blurring with tears. He hadn't cried in so many years, not since Frodo left. I will not say do not weep, for not all tears are an evil Gandalf had said, and at last he understood those wise words.

On his desk there was a painting of the couple on their wedding day, and beside it, the book Diamond had been writing when she. . .when the illness found her. . .he walked over to it, flipped over its hard cover, examined the creamy pages.

There's no time for us
There's no place for us
What is this thing that builds our dreams
Yet slips away from us?

Poems. He might have known. Diamond's stories were always beautifully enchanting, but she had little patience to finish them. In all of her long years she had only completed two books. Poems, however, she always finished.

Not this one. He remembered rushing into the room, finding her clutching her stomach and sobbing in pain. Her ink bottle had fallen to the floor, and her pen lay shattered in the black liquid. I love you she had said, before she was too overcome with pain to say anything at all. He called for help, but her condition worsened by the second. When the doctors arrived, she was pale and cold, though still breathing. They stayed with her through the night, trying to ease her pain, but there was nothing they could do. Pippin had kissed her frozen hand and watched as they carried her out.

Who wants to live forever?
Who wants to live forever?

A faint sound of laughter drew him out of his most painful memory. It was a sweet sound, and familiar. He glanced up at the window, and for a moment he saw her. She stood there, smiling and humming, and he remembered long days of work when she would play outside with Faramir, and couldn't bear to leave him out of the fun. He ran over to the window, believing, but her image faded as he reached it.

There's no chance for us
It's all decided for us

This world has only one sweet moment
Set aside for us

He sighed, and sat heavily on the bed the two of them had shared for so many years. The tears flowed freely now, and he didn't even try to restrain them. Where had she gone, that he could no longer hear her soft voice? Why had she left him? Were there dreams out there that she wanted to capture? Was there a star she could not see from her place in his arms?

Who wants to live forever?
Who wants to live forever?

There was the smell of roses, then, her smell. She never cared much for roses, not like Mistress Rose, or Estella, but she grew them and believed in them for her whole life. They were in her stories, they were in her poems. They were part of her.

He looked up again, and though he could barely see though the tears, he could make out her form, head bent over the desk, writing. Her life was writing. If the story ended, so did she.

"Diamond. . ."he said weakly, and stood up. She wouldn't escape him this time.

She rose as he approached her, her eyes shining with the light and innocence that only she had. She was real, this time, not an image caused by overwhelming grief. He was sure of it.

"Diamond. . ." he said again, "I knew you wouldn't leave. . ." But he reached out to hold her hands, to kiss her, and all that he held was air.

Who dares to know forever?
When love must die?

He returned to the bed, realizing that it was no use. Every time he saw her from now on, she would only be a memory. Only a memory to hold at night, only a dream to kiss good morning. Only the moon to light the way, when the sun was too heartbroken to shine. His tears lessened, though they still flowed from his eyes. His grief was beyond crying now.

But touch my tears with your lips
Touch my world with your fingertips
And we can have forever
And we can love forever
Forever is our today

He felt a faint bush of air against his cheeks, and the touch of skin in his greying hair. She was there, kissing his tears away tenderly, and this time she didn't fade away as he reached out to touch her. He stood joyously, again feeling the warmth of her small frame against him, again holding her in his arms. She was real. And everything else was gone. He kissed her lips gently, savouring the moment that he knew in his heart would end soon. She was a memory, and she would always be with him, and her light would not leave the world as long as he lived.

Who wants to live forever?
Who wants to live forever?
Forever is our today

He kissed her gently one last time, and then parted from his beloved Diamond. She smiled at him, and knew he would be fine. Her image faded into mist.

Who waits forever anyway?. . .