Title: First and Last 
Author's Name: Ruby Nye 
Author's email: Shmi@bantha.org 
Pairing: Boromir/Merry 
Other pairings: Merry/Pippin, Boromir/Merry/Pippin, other hobbit assortments 
discussed 
Rating: R 
Warnings: slash, nonmonogamy, interspecies, angst, Tookish matchmaking. 
Summary: On the edge of darkness and in a house of light, Merry and Boromir 
undertake a kissing-friendship. 
Disclaimer: A benign avocational fabrication. . 
Author's Note: People so often write first times. What about last times? 
 
                                                                     * 
 
The four hobbits nestled together against the darkness and the uncertain 
future. Parth Galen really was a lovely place, a soft green lawn between the 
water and the tree-clad hillslopes, yet none of Fellowship were at all happy as 
they bedded down that night. Frodo stared blankly ahead as if at a dark waking 
dream, and Sam and Pippin curled round him as if they might protect him from 
it. Merry pressed himself to Pippin's back, lending his strength to the knot of 
hobbits struggling to bear Frodo up. 
 
Merry woke from fractured sleep to midnight whispers, and opened his eyes to 
see Frodo's dismayed look faintly outlined by a dull blue glow from Sting. 
Aragorn knelt beside Frodo, murmuring something too low to be heard, and beyond 
them in the gloom a broad-shouldered shape rose and turned toward the trees. 
<i>Boromir</i>, Merry thought, feeling guilty for having left the Man alone 
that night, but he and Pippin had felt Frodo needed them more, and he was after 
all their reason for being there. 
 
Even so....Pippin and Sam had snuggled together and were somehow sound asleep. 
Merry laid a kiss to Pippin's curls and a hand to Sam's brow, and got up to go 
after Boromir. With orcs about as Sting told, even the mightiest of them should 
not be alone in the night. 
 
Boromir was walking slowly, almost strolling, so Merry wasn't hard put to catch 
him. He startled when Merry slipped a hand into his, then smiled, teeth shining 
in the dimness.  "Master Meriadoc," he murmured, a warm rumble, "you should be 
asleep." 
 
"So should you, Lord Boromir," Merry replied teasingly as he ran his thumb over 
a ragged fingernail, chewed to the quick. Boromir gently squeezed Merry's hand, 
and without further words they walked up the slope to where the trees began. 
Boromir led Merry to a particularly large tree and set his back to it, drawing 
Merry to sit in his lap; listening to Boromir's heartbeat as he stretched his 
arms around the Man,  his eyes seeing only gloom upon gloom, Merry called up a 
memory of light. 
 
                                                                     * 
 
"It's a wonder his clothes haven't burst into flames," Pippin noted. 
 
"Mmm-hmmm," Merry agreed absently. They stood on one of the little balconies 
that honeycombed Rivendell within and without, eating apples and watching the 
Big Folk pass by in the golden-bright hallway. Frodo was studying maps, which 
Merry knew was wise but had become quite sick of; Sam was with Bilbo, listening 
to Elves sing, which Merry thought was lovely but had become rather sick of. 
Gandalf was closeted with Lord Elrond, and Strider was off being Aragorn heir 
of Elendil somewhere; Merry still boggled at the news that the long-legged 
Ranger was a lost king. So he and Pip kept each other company, making jokes 
about all the odd folk of Middle-Earth and wondering which might be chosen to 
come with them---for they were certainly going with Frodo, Merry was sure of 
it---until Merry caught sight of Boromir of Gondor, and the half-eaten apple 
rolled from his fingers as he filled his eyes with the craggy-profiled Man. 
 
Merry was not sure how either of them might take the comparison, but his first 
glance at Boromir, who had smiled down at him as he strode past on legs like 
tree-trunks, had reminded Merry of when he was thirteen and hadn't seen Frodo 
for nearly a year. Frodo had walked into Brandy Hall, tall and fair, and Merry 
was never sure if it were a change in his cousin or in him that had made his 
heart pound and his thighs tremble. Whatever it was, he felt it again when he 
looked up at Boromir of Gondor that first time, and even more so the next, when 
the Man took the first chance he could to crouch down to eye level and 
introduce himself properly. 
 
Pippin was saying something. "I mean, the way you're looking at him, all of his 
buckles and clasps should have undone themselves for you already, if not 
melted. He really should be standing there naked with his arms up for you to 
jump down into them." 
 
"Quite right," Merry murmured, watching Boromir's shoulders move beneath his 
tunic as he spoke with a pair of dark-haired Elves. Then the actual meaning of 
Pippin's words penetrated, and he turned and lunged, and Pippin rolled away, 
laughing. "Pip!" 
 
"Oh, ho, Merry, you should see yourself!" Pippin danced out of reach as Merry 
got to his feet. "Oh, I haven't seen you so besotted since---" 
 
"I am not besotted!" Merry put his hands on his hips; Pippin laughed 
uproariously. "I am, well---" 
 
"Besotted," Pippin finished smugly. "Not that I fault your choice; he is 
friendly for someone so lordly, isn't he? Most folk here hardly notice us. And 
those thighs, do you think we could even get our arms round them?" Pippin 
grinned, then turned and leaned over the railing; before Merry could stop him 
he cried, "hullo, Boromir!" Merry felt his face turn as red as Sam's ever did, 
as Boromir looked up at them, and smiled, and waved one of those mighty arms. 
"Greetings,  Pippin of the Shire! Greetings, Meriadoc!" 
 
Merry wondered what the Elves would do to him if he tipped Pippin over the 
railing. Well, no, he couldn't, he knew what Frodo would do to him. "Come up 
and join us!" Pippin called, and Merry's face burned hotter yet. "We have 
apples!" 
 
The Elves shook their heads; Boromir looked delighted. "Well, how might I 
resist that? I shall be up directly." 
 
"Consider it an early birthday present," said Pippin smugly; Merry could only 
gape. "I think he's handsome, and Sam doesn't think Frodo is well enough yet, 
and we haven't had anyone new in months and months." 
 
Merry's mouth finally submitted to his control, though he knew he was still red 
as Boromir's jerkin. "Peregrin Took, what are you on about?" 
 
"I'm going to get him for us, Merry. Though I must say I'm surprised I have to 
be the pushy one here; I suppose your upper head must be completely shut down." 
Judging it safe, Pippin stepped within arm's reach to kiss Merry's cheek. 
"Well, aren't you going to thank me?" 
 
Pippin laughed into Merry's answering kiss. 
 
                                                                     * 
 
"You should sleep," Boromir murmured, even as his fingers slid up over Merry's 
neck and cheek and ear to thread gently among his curls. "Our path tomorrow 
leaves off floating down the River and instead lies over rough country." 
 
"If we go to Minas Tirith with you," Merry replied before he thought; Boromir 
went rigid, even to the fingertips in his hair, and he winced and could have 
kicked himself. 
 
"If," Boromir echoed, voice a chilling hiss; alarmed, Merry wound his arms 
round his neck to pull himself up. "I'm sorry," he whispered in Boromir's round 
ear, nuzzling hair that smelled of grass and river-water, "I'm sorry. I didn't 
mean it like that." 
 
Boromir turned his head, beard brushing along Merry's cheek. "I know, Merry. 
But you see, do you not, that the wisest course is to my city?" 
 
"But Aragorn says---" With a stab of anxiety, Merry bit his lip, but he'd 
already said too much; Boromir's eyes glittered in the dim light, his mouth 
grimly set. "I mean, well, Boromir, I'm sorry, I don't know." 
 
Boromir's other hand closed on Merry's shoulder, just this side of forceful. 
"To whom do you listen?" he asked, eyes cold and hard in the dimness. Heart 
chilled and aching, Merry thought, <i>Please don't ask</i>, knowing it a futile 
wish.  "Which of us do you heed, Merry? A Ranger of the North, or me, your 
Boromir?" 
 
Merry trembled, searching for safe words. Boromir's voice was firm, but Merry 
could hear pain beneath it, and the last two words made his heart bleed. He had 
no answers that would warm those ice-chip eyes, none with any truth in them, 
except a kiss, so that was the answer Merry gave; Boromir slumped in his arms 
and sighed, almost a sob, and pulled Merry tightly to him, cupping his head in 
one broad hand as he returned the kiss. 
 
                                                                     * 
 
"If you are to accompany Frodo on this errand, you must be able to defend 
yourselves." Boromir stood in a courtyard, stripped to his undertunic and vest, 
the muscles of his bare arms hard curves in the daylight. Merry and Pippin 
stood before him, their Barrowblades in their hands; the other hobbits and 
Aragorn sat off to one side, smoking and watching in silent amusement. "I can 
teach you to handle your swords, if you would like." 
 
Merry hoped devoutly that Pippin wouldn't make a bawdy joke, and for once he 
didn't. Instead, Pippin drew himself up, all three-and-three-quarters-feet of 
him,  puffed out his chest, and retorted, "we <i>can</i> defend ourselves! You 
should have seen us on Weathertop!" 
 
Merry kicked him before he could continue; Boromir's eyes were already 
crinkling with suppressed laughter. "What my kinsman means," he said as Pippin 
held his shin and glowered, "is that we would be grateful if you would teach 
us, and honored." He bowed, and Boromir bowed in return, his smile broad and 
warm. 
 
"Well, yes, of course," Pippin said grumpily. "Thank you, Boromir, You didn't 
need to cripple me, Merry." 
 
"You'll live," Merry retorted, and turned his attention back to Boromir's 
shining grey eyes. Boromir smiled all the wider, but all he said was, "Then 
show me what you might do, my halflings." Setting his feet, he held out his 
wooden practice-sword. "Come on." 
 
Merry glanced over at Pippin, catching his sparkling green eyes. Pippin nodded, 
and they charged as one. 
 
In half a dozen heartbeats, Pippin went flying fur-over-curls. Merry watched 
Boromir's eyes flick over to see that Pip was fine, even as his arm moved to 
block; Merry dove under and Boromir actually smiled at him as he parried. For 
just a few seconds Merry held his own, watching with satisfaction as Boromir's 
eyes widened; then Boromir moved, so fast Merry didn't even see it, and Merry 
was left with his hand empty and stinging, his eyes full of the pleased and 
respectful look on Boromir's face, and his heart sweetly aching. 
 
                                                                     * 
 
"Mmm, Boromir," Merry murmured, feeling soft bristles pleasantly chafe his 
lips. "What do you think might help you sleep?" Boromir chuckled softly, 
pressing his fingers into the flesh of Merry's back through his clothes, and 
Merry's heavy heart rose at the sound and the feel. "I do not know," he teased, 
pulling Merry in for another kiss, moving a wide warm mouth over his. "I think 
you must teach me." 
 
"I think you know," Merry retorted, almost dizzy with relief. They might 
tumble, and sleep, and tomorrow would be better, he told himself, tucking his 
foot beneath Boromir's thigh as he kissed his way along his bearded jaw to the 
smooth skin at the edge of his throat. Merry laid his tongue there, tugging 
Boromir's collar down as he tasted the strong pulse, as he listened to Boromir 
sigh and start to warm. Boromir slid his hand down over Merry's back and rump, 
gently squeezing one cheek, and then up beneath his shirt and undershirt, his 
fingers hot and wonderfully rough on Merry's skin. 
 
"Ah, my lad, how you feel," Boromir murmured raptly, and Merry asked, without 
lifting his head, "how do I feel, Boromir?" Then Merry bit him slowly at the 
base of that corded throat, and listened to Boromir's words grow ever more 
ragged as he struggled to reply against the rising heat Merry strove to kindle 
in him. "You feel, Merry, like a man with a woman's fine smooth skin, oh, like 
a fine lad with wise eyes, like, ah...." The words trailed off into a rumbling 
moan as Merry sucked at the bite. "Oh, Merry, Meriadoc. I, ah, please, please." 
 
Triumph tingled through Merry, but a question followed it. He loved to be 
begged, loved being the bossy one, loved it all the more with a friend so 
strong as mighty Boromir, but wasn't it a bit early in the tumble for pleading? 
"Boromir?" Merry asked, lifting his head, and the grey eyes that met his were 
wide and sad and somehow heartrendingly young. But then, for all his height and 
battles and lordliness, Boromir was younger than Frodo, Merry recalled with a 
pang. "Boromir?" he asked again, as Boromir cupped his cheek, gazing at him 
with eyes that suddenly spilled over. 
 
"Meriadoc," Boromir replied, his voice rough and shaking with something else 
than desire; closing his own prickling eyes, Merry kissed the tear-tracks on 
Boromir's cheeks, wanting with everything in him to soothe away those tears, 
that struggling pain. "Ah, Merry, my halfling friend, my dear little one. May 
Pippin spare you?" 
 
"Pip's sound asleep with Sam. He'll be fine." Merry kissed Boromir's eyelid, 
and felt his cheek curve in the start of a smile. "He'll be cross to miss this, 
but he'll be fine." 
 
Boromir's chuckle was thin and rasping and so welcome to Merry's ear. "He had a 
night with me, in all fairness you are owed one." Boromir shifted his head back 
to look into Merry's eyes again. "A sweeter one than this dark night. Still, 
stay with me?" 
 
It seemed as if Boromir's gaze burned through Merry, set his heart smouldering. 
The threatened tears escaped down his cheeks, but he paid them no mind. 
"Gladly," he whispered, and Boromir kissed him as if he were his only bulwark. 
His tongue winding into Merry's mouth, Boromir pulled Merry off his feet and 
gathered him up in long arms; lying down on his side he tucked Merry against 
himself, all the while kissing him with a passion edging on desperation. 
 
                                                                     * 
 
"You've got it bad," Pippin observed, stroking Merry's hair. "You've really 
fallen for him, haven't you?" Bilbo was napping in his room, Frodo lay sound 
asleep curled against Pippin's back, and Sam was down in the kitchens again, 
sorting through Elven delicacies to find what he felt would best suit his 
master's convalescent condition. Even so, Merry blushed and waved off the 
question, but Pippin was relentless. "Merry, what troubles you so?" 
 
Merry sighed and surrendered. "It's just that, well, I've always liked being 
the bigger one. I'd hardly be that with him, would I?" 
 
"You're not with me," Pippin said improbably, which made Merry laugh; they 
might be the same height but Merry was broader and heavier. "Besides, that's 
more his worry, isn't it, that we're so much smaller?" 
 
"As if he'd want us; we must look like children to him. You shouldn't encourage 
me in this, Pippin." 
 
Pippin let out a low whistle. "You definetely have it bad, Merry. You can't 
even see that he wants you back, that he wants us both." Merry startled at 
that, and glanced up at Pippin's face, but though Pippin was smiling, he wasn't 
smirking. "For all your staring at him you haven't even seen him staring back, 
staring at me, at both of us as if we're two sweets he couldn't choose between. 
I think we should give him both." 
 
Merry opened his mouth to point out the flaw in this plan, but couldn't hear 
one in his mind for the roaring of blood in his ears. "Pippin Took, I, oh, what 
did I ever do to deserve you?" 
 
Now Pippin smirked. "I knew you'd see sense," he replied, and kissed his 
gobsmacked Merry. 
 
                                                                     * 
 
The sky blew clear, the stars came out to glitter high above. Boromir had 
curled himself around Merry and wrapped them both in his cloak; they hadn't 
undressed, but quite a few clasps and buttons were undone, and Merry gasped 
into an encompassing kiss as he writhed against Boromir's broad chest, as 
Boromir stroked him with long damp fingers. Merry had wet those fingers by 
sucking on them, and had gazed on Boromir's face as he did; he'd watched as 
desire and love pushed out worry and care, and had felt as if a star were 
flaring within him. Now Merry lay surrounded by Boromir, one arm holding him 
and the other hand rippling around him. 
 
<i>I was supposed to distract</i> you, Merry had thought, trying to give as 
good as he got, but Boromir knew bossiness, and he gently took over, kissing 
Merry quiet, stroking his hands where they tangled into the soft leather tunic 
and the long straight hair. His body tenderly cradled by Boromir's muscled 
frame, his mind hazing over with the comfort of being held and the pleasure 
streaming through his veins, Merry slowly let go, releasing the disputes and 
dangers of the day and the fears and worries of the night to sink into this 
warm little corner of the world and lie moaning softly in Boromir's embrace. 
 
"Oh, I, oh!" Merry arched his back, struggling not to wail; Boromir laid a 
trail of kisses up across face, laying lips to his brow as if testing the 
mounting fever in Merry's blood. Merry was too far gone now to pry his eyes 
open, but he could feel Boromir's gaze on him, warm as his hands and his lips; 
he pictured in his mind what lay beyond his eyelids, Boromir's eyes softened 
and shining as he watched Merry, his beard-fringed lips slightly parted, the 
starlight glinting here and there in his hair. Merry saw all this as if with 
his eyes, and felt his peak take him, let himself come apart moaning Boromir's 
name, let Boromir hold him as he came back together again. 
 
At length, Boromir wiped his hand on the grass and did up some of Merry's 
buttons. "Oooh," Merry murmured eventually, turning his face back out from 
where it had been pressed to Boromir's chest. "Mmm. Boromir.  I should---" 
 
Boromir cut him off with a kiss. "You should lie quiet with me, Merry. Let me 
enfold you as you have me." 
 
Merry blinked, looked up, and returned Boromir's smile. "I hope you're quoting 
some old lay," he said, "because if you made that up, I must tell you it's 
terrible." 
 
Boromir bit his lip, couldn't help it, and laughed. 
 
                                                                     * 
 
"So then the muddy-haired mite turns to our uncle, points to me, and says, 'it 
was <i>his</i> idea!'" Boromir laughed as he finished the story; Merry had been 
laughing since the point when little Faramir leapt after his brother into the 
puddle, and snickering before that. He sat on one of the graceful chairs of 
Rivendell, tucked beneath Boromir's arm; there were two other chairs beside the 
bed, both empty. Pippin had been sitting on Boromir's other side, but he'd 
taken himself off on an errand (not without a broad wink to Merry, of course), 
and Merry pressed himself into the large warm sturdiness of the Man as they 
told tales of their upbringings and laughed together. 
 
Then Boromir's face went quiet, and Merry felt a stirring of worry as he 
returned the almost solemn gaze. "Meriadoc, I have a question for you, if you 
will pardon it." 
 
Was that all? Merry exhaled and smiled brightly. "Oh, Boromir, ask me 
anything!" 
 
Boromir smiled as well, and his hand slipped absently up and down Merry's arm, 
but he looked down at his other hand in his lap. "You and Peregrin, you were 
reared together,  but you do not, well, you do not seem like brothers." 
 
Merry blinked, and then began to laugh with delight. Boromir's asking worked 
better than any way Merry could have brought it all up. "Oh! Oh, yes, we're 
kissing-friends, Pippin and I. Frodo and both of us, for that matter." Boromir 
looked almost comically surprised, and then intrigued. "They've been two of my 
dearest friends all my life, after all." 
 
"Kissing-friends?" Boromir asked, turning the unfamiliar word on his tongue, 
and Merry nodded. "A friend whom one kisses, and more." He waggled his eyebrows 
evocatively, and Boromir's puzzlement changed to a broad smile. "Mostly we have 
such friends when we're tweens; when we're grown we pick someone to wed and 
settle down with. I'll have to do that soon, I'm of age and more. So will Sam, 
for that matter. I'm surprised his Gaffer---that's his father, that's what 
everyone calls him, Gaffer Gamgee---isn't after him about it." 
 
Boromir nodded. "Samwise is quite devoted to Frodo. Are they also, 
'kissing-friends'?" 
 
Merry shook his head. "No, I mean, they started out that way, maybe. No, not 
really. They've always loved each other far too much, far too lastingly, even 
for that. I'd call them handfasted if  I could, for all that they're both lads 
and Sam is Frodo's servant. They love each other too much for any of it to 
matter." Thinking on them, Merry smiled. 
 
"And you and Pippin?" Boromir leaned his head on his hand as he asked, 
listening intently. Merry's smile shifted; this was a different sort of 
bittersweet, no less joyful for all that. "I've been Pippin's ever since I was 
handed a screaming bundle of baby and he quieted in my arms. I'm his, however 
he'll have me. But, well, he and I do like lasses, and we both have to wed 
someday, being heirs to estates and all. So we'll find ourselves wives, and 
stand at each other's weddings, and foster each other's children, and be 
friends all our lives." 
 
Boromir nodded at all of this. "You halflings, your lives seem at once 
complicated and sensibly arranged. I look forward to learning more of your 
people's ways." 
 
Merry thought of the lesson he had in mind, and grinned, and licked his lips. 
"And which is the tradition of 'kissing-friends', do you think? Complicated, or 
sensible?" Boromir's widening eyes and parted lips gave him his answer. "Would 
you like to be my kissing-friend, Boromir?" 
 
Merry watched Boromir's throat bob as he swallowed. "Merry. Do you know what 
you ask?" Merry nodded, leaning forward to put one hand on a broad knee; from 
the corner of his eye he saw Pippin slip back into the room, grinning ear to 
ear. "And you know I'm old enough to ask. I'm quite grown." 
 
"Even so, Merry, you are---" Boromir was obviously struggling to be tactful, so 
Merry had a little mercy; he got to his feet beside Boromir, putting their 
faces level. "See, I'm as tall as you are," he said drolly; Boromir's confusion 
gave way to laughter, and his arm round Merry tightened more than a little, and 
Merry prickled with his nearness. 
 
However, though their noses were nearly touching, though they were so close 
their breath stirred each other's hair, Boromir didn't kiss him. Merry slid his 
hand up over Boromir's chest, feeling the breadth of him and how he trembled 
beneath the touch, but Boromir still didn't kiss him. Instead, he hoarsely 
asked, "And Pippin? What would he think?" 
 
"He'd be bloody delighted, " Pippin said.  Even though Merry had known he was 
there he jumped, and Boromir nearly came out of his skin. Pippin strolled over 
and stood before them, arms folded, looking impatient. "He's quite fond of 
you," Pippin said to both of them. "And Frodo and Sam and Bilbo aren't 
expecting to see us till next morning. So, kiss each other already!" 
 
"Thank you for that good advice, Pip," said Merry, as he curved his hand around 
the nape of Boromir's neck, feeling the straight hair spilling over his 
fingers. "Boromir?" 
 
Boromir's eyes sparkled, and he shook his head and laughed. "I cannot stand 
against two of you," he replied, voice almost a growl, and pulled Merry in for 
the desired kiss. 
 
                                                                     * 
 
"We should be up." Boromir's voice and hands roused Merry from where he dozed 
curled against Boromir's chest. "We should return and be sure of how Frodo 
fares. And of course the others of the Company." 
 
Merry nearly agreed, but something in Boromir's voice, and the ragged 
fingernail lightly scraping his ear, made him cast a worried glance up at the 
Man. It could be simple concern, it could be the Ring tugging again at 
Boromir's mind; his eyes showed nothing in the starlight but Merry's dim 
reflection. Angry with himself for dozing off and leaving Boromir alone with 
the dark night, Merry forced a little laugh and curled his fingers over 
Boromir's round ear to draw him down for a kiss. "I'm sure they're fine," he 
said lightly, brushing his cheek over the rough-soft beard he could never get 
enough of. "We would have heard if they needed us. And here I fell asleep on 
you, selfish creature that I am. Please let me make it up to you, Boromir." 
 
"Merry," Boromir objected, but he returned the kiss, sitting up and drawing 
Merry with him. Merry wound his arms round Boromir's neck as he was pulled 
upright, then let himself slide down Boromir's chest to settle on a lap he 
already knew would be bumpy. Squirming over the ridge, feeling it fill and 
lengthen beneath him, Merry slipped his hands up beneath Boromir's tunic, 
running his fingers over the taut, trembling stomach and through the pleasantly 
coarse hair to brush them over already hard nipples, and smiled at the 
answering gasp. "Merry," Boromir murmured, cupping his head in one hand, "you 
do not have to---" 
 
"I want to," Merry replied, rubbing his cheek on Boromir's chest. "I want to. 
Do you want me?" 
 
"Yes," Boromir rumbled, so deep Merry felt it more than he heard it. "Merry, 
yes." 
 
"Well, then." Merry reluctantly got up off that enticing ridge to hold 
Boromir's face between his hands and kiss him. Boromir's eyes were dark in the 
starlight, but his fingers combed slowly through Merry's curls, and he smiled 
and stroked Merry's cheek with his thumb. "You my halflings, I can never deny 
you, can i?" 
 
Warmed by Boromir's smile, Merry smiled in return, and kissed his nose. "At 
least I'm not as demanding as Pippin," he said, watching the smile go to a 
grin. "No," Boromir replied, "instead you are unquenchably forward." 
 
"Oh, you like me bossy," Merry retorted, and kissed him as bossily as he could. 
Boromir held him so tightly he could hardly breathe, but what was air to this? 
Merry caught Boromir's bottom lip between his two smaller ones and pulled it 
into his mouth, sucking on it till he won a groan. Wishing they dared remove 
their clothes, Merry molded himself to Boromir's body closely enough to be felt 
through all the layers, and slid down again to kneel between those long 
powerful thighs and undo the laces of Boromir's leggings. 
 
                                                                     * 
 
Merry felt the bed shift, felt himself being watched in sleep, and opened his 
eyes. Moonlight spilled through the arched window, outlining in silver and 
shadow a powerful shoulder, a long neck, a craggy face softened by wonder, as 
Boromir lay on his side, head propped up on his arm, and gazed at them. Pippin 
lay sunk in sleep, face pressed to Merry's shoulder, limbs flung across him; 
Merry blinked muzzily up at Boromir and smiled, and felt himself warmed all 
over by the wide answering smile. "Meriadoc," Boromir murmured, gently running 
the backs of his fingers across Merry's cheek and down into Pippin's hair. 
"Peregrin." Their names in Boromir's rich voice, the touch of his fingers, the 
look in his eyes, all made Merry's heart glow within him. 
 
But then, just as Merry opened his mouth to reply, something closed behind 
Boromir's eyes, and he turned away to sit up, and Merry's gladness faded to 
worry. "Boromir?" Merry whispered, and Boromir smiled at him again, but a 
briskly friendly sort of smile this time. "I should return to my room," he said 
so reasonably that Merry shut his mouth on the protest welling up. "It must not 
be said..." He shook his head, his hair glinting in the moonlight. "Shall we 
still meet in the morning for your lessons?" 
 
That was a relief, and yet..."I'll be there if you will," Merry replied, 
stretching a smile over the wistfulness of watching Boromir get up. He held out 
his free hand, and Boromir lifted his hand towards it, then reached out to 
ruffle Merry's hair instead, as if he were a child. Indignation flaring, Merry 
nearly said as much, but Pippin curled a little tighter around him, and Boromir 
was stiil smiling at him, and there were other things than pride; dropping his 
hand to the coverlet, Merry took a breath and looked up again. "Get some sleep, 
my lad," Boromir advised, smile tilting to a grin. "I will not go easy on you 
in the morning." 
 
"I wouldn't hear of it," Merry whispered, and shut his eyes so he wouldn't have 
to watch Boromir dress and go. 
 
                                                                     * 
Merry thought back to that moment as he shifted beneath Boromir's arm, thought 
of Boromir's guilty delight and his and Pippin's cheer when they finally 
convinced the Man to let them sleep beside him. Now he and Boromir lay back at 
the camp, curled together and wrapped in Boromir's cloak and blankets; Boromir 
looked peaceful in sleep, his brow smoothed, but Merry lay awake, listening to 
Boromir's slow heartbeat and the soft flowing sounds of the water, wondering 
where tomorrow would take them, which path they would choose. 
 
The decision wasn't his. It should have been Gandalf's, and that thought made 
Merry wince and sigh. It could have been Aragorn's, and Merry could see his 
reasons, but Boromir....Merry longed to listen to Boromir's reasons, to believe 
what he saw in his grey eyes, to see the White City he loved so dearly and meet 
the brother he spoke of so often. 
 
Merry was glad it wasn't his decision. 
 
Boromir murmured in his sleep, which he rarely did; Merry snuggled closer as he 
might have to soothe Pippin or Frodo, hoping Boromir felt him and was 
comforted. Earlier, Boromir had said of Aragorn, "He served my grandfather. To 
think he might have commanded him, or so he says."  He'd asked Merry to choose. 
How could he have? 
 
If Merry wasn't choosing, why was he still awake? 
 
Merry thought of the morning after that first night; he smiled as he recalled 
how groggy he'd been, and how unmercifully Boromir had beaten him in the 
lesson. He ran his hand up the mighty arm curled round him, the arm that had 
taught him sword-forms and lifted him from the snows of Caradhras and borne him 
over fissures in Moria. He thought of Boromir when this was all over---and it 
would end well, Merry had to believe---standing on a white stone balcony, 
mantled in fur and smiling. And if they would get there, Merry needed to rest 
to do his part by Pippin and by Frodo, and by Boromir. 
 
Merry sighed once more and tucked his head beneath Boromir's chin; he closed 
his eyes, and finally he slept. 
 
Merry sighed once more and tucked his head beneath Boromir's chin; he closed 
his eyes, and finally he slept.