Title: The Proprietor’s Wake Author: buttonbright Email: pdana@sfopera.com Pairing: Merry/Nob Rating: NC17 Summary: At age ninety-eight, the Master of Buckland (aka Merry Brandybuck) has just buried his long-time companion and is telling young Elfstan Fairbairn (son of Elanor, grandson of Sam and Rosie) how they met and fell in love. Warning: Just the usual, explicit M/M sex. No inter-species in this one. Feedback: I’d be pathetically grateful! The late proprietor of the Prancing Pony had been buried eight hours ago, and the last mourners were finally stumbling (or being carried) out of the Common Room. It had been quite an event. Not only Breelanders but a great many eminent Shirefolk had paid their respects. The Mayor had come with his wife, Mistress Rose, and their numerous children and grandchildren. The Thain had also brought his son Faramir. But Brandybucks made up the largest contingent, for the Master of Buckland was widely known to be chief mourner. Catching up, reminiscing, and a great deal of laughing and crying had gone on well into the night. Selections of the deceased’s most celebrated narrative poems had been read aloud for those who liked verse with their viands. Master Meriadoc himself had read “The Lay Of Theoden,” which had made its author famous almost sixty years earlier. Now, past midnight, only two mourners remained and neither showed the least sign of shifting upstairs to bed. The new proprietress regarded them fondly as she put away the last of the tankards she’d just washed. “I’m off, gents,” she announced, walking over to their table. “Is there anything else you need before I collapse?” “Not a thing, Mistress Heathertoes,” replied young Elfstan Fairbairn. “Our pitcher’s full and I think it’ll hold us. Right, Uncle Merry?” “Yes indeed!” said the elderly hobbit at his side. “You go on up, Acantha. We’ll just sit here for a bit, if you don’t mind.” “Sit as long as you like,” she agreed readily. “Good night, then.” As she turned to go, Master Meriadoc grasped her hand and held it tightly. The eyes that looked up at her were wet with sudden tears. She kissed his old red cheek and stroked his white hair. “We’ll just have to take care of each other, won’t we,” she said. “Now that our Nob is gone. Good night, my loves.” Merry let her go and she hurried upstairs. “She’ll be fine, Uncle,” Elfstan told him. “Everyone knows she’s been running the place for two years already. Uncle Nobby joked about it himself when I was up last month. Remember?” “I remember,” said Merry, getting out his pipe and a pouch full of Longbottom Leaf. “Seems like ancient history, doesn’t it? And things that happened sixty years ago seem like yesterday. That’s what old age does to your memory, my lad.” “Speaking of memory,” said Elfstan, “guess what I’ve decided.” “I can’t imagine,” Merry said warily. “I’m going to follow in your footsteps!” announced Elfstan. Merry laughed. “You? Follow in my footsteps? Lad, you left me behind a long time ago. Why, you’ve had more boyfriends in your twenty-six years than I ever did in my ninety-eight!” “That’s not what I mean,” Elfstan sniffed. “And you don’t need to make me sound so cheap. It’s not my fault if I haven’t found the right hobbit yet.” “Goodness knows you’ve tried,” Merry muttered into his ale. “Thank you,” said Elfstan. “I think. But what I meant to say is, I’m going to become a historian.” This caught Merry off-guard. “A what?” “A historian. Like you, Uncle.” Merry regarded him with deep suspicion. “Elfstan,” he said. “You’ve never shown the least interest in history. You haven’t read a single one of my books. You couldn’t find Rohan on a map of Middle- Earth. You don’t even care who’s related to you and who isn’t! It’s my fault, I suppose, for letting you call me Uncle when we don’t share a single drop of blood between us.” “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Elfstan. “That’s not the kind of history I mean. The history I mean is our history – yours, Uncle Nob’s, mine – all of us fellows who like other fellows. So much has happened since you two first got together.” “More than you know,” said Merry. “That’s exactly my point!” Elfstan rejoined. “Nobody my age knows how it all started, and that’s because nobody your age bothered to write it down. You’re all too busy writing verse epics and dried-up historical tracts. So I’m going to write it down myself. I’m going to collect all the stories of all the hobbits who followed in your footsteps, and then I’m going to put them in a book. And the first chapter will be your story.” “Which story is that?” “You know which story I mean, Mr. Chief Mourner! How you and Uncle Nobby got together. Uncle Pip’s been dropping hints again, all about how shocking the whole thing was and how no one believed it till they’d seen it with their own eyes. But when I ask him for details, he says it’s not his place to tell it. So now I’m asking you. And if you don’t come clean, I’ll make up the smuttiest story I can think of and put that in my book instead!” “Impudence!” said Merry. “When I was your age, I’d have been thrashed for speaking that way to the Master of Buckland. Anyway, what makes you think the real story isn’t far smuttier than anything your young mind can imagine? All right, all right! Where shall I begin?” His pipe was lit now and he puffed it thoughtfully. At ninety-eight years old, he looked as hale as many a hobbit twenty years his junior. He’d lost none of his celebrated stature, and his white mane made him, if anything, even more distinguished than he’d been before. The whole Shire loved him and the younger generation worshipped him, especially the Mayor’s irrepressible twenty-six year old grandson, Elfstan. It was Merry who had been summoned when Elfstan was caught behind the hedge with a handsome hobbit lad. Merry had always suspected that this one would turn out to be fond of boys. “I know you want a romantic tale about love at first sight,” Merry said. “But the truth is considerably more embarrassing. That’s why our dear Pip put you onto it. He knows I take a dim view of rich folk who look down on working folk. He also knows that when I first met Nob, I paid him about as much mind as a garden rake.” “No, really?” Elfstan leaned forward, deliciously scandalized. “Why?” Merry shrugged. “Well, remember what was going on right then. Frodo and Sam and Pip and I had just fled the Shire. We’d been hunted by Black Riders. Who knew when they might turn up here in Bree? Then there was the little matter of Gandalf, who hadn’t kept his appointment with Frodo. So we did have other things on our minds. But more than that, we didn’t notice Nob because he was a working hobbit.” “That’s terrible, Uncle!” Elfstan reproached him. “I hope you’re ashamed of yourself!” “I am!” Merry hastened to say. “And yet it may have been for the best, in an odd way. I didn’t give much thought to romance back then, and if I had I wouldn’t have let on. That was long before Faramir happened.” “Faramir . . .” Elfstan sighed dreamily. “Don’t start! So there we were at the Prancing Pony, not at all sure what lay ahead. And Nob was waiting on us, just as he did on all the guests. Did you know he saved my life? It’s true, though I didn’t see it that way at the time. Neither did he, for that matter. He never put himself forward, did Nob. But when I had my close call with a Black Rider, Nob was the one who rescued me. Then Strider took us in hand and we left Bree the very next day. I didn’t see Nob again till almost a year later.” “After you-know-who,” Elfstan prodded. He loved the story of Merry’s abortive affair with Faramir, which he’d heard many times. He’d even made himself a copy of Faramir’s famous letter to Merry and had been known to recite bits of it to his boyfriends. “That’s right,” said Merry. “Oh, I was dreadfully downcast during the journey home from Gondor. The others didn’t understand it. After all, Middle-earth had been saved and we were all heroes and knights and what-not. Yet here was I, mooning and moping and telling nobody what the matter was. How could I? How could I tell Pip I’d fallen in love with Faramir after one gorgeous tumble? He wouldn’t have understood. He barely managed to keep his mouth shut about Frodo and Sam, who were sleeping together every chance they got.” “Frodo and Sam,” Elfstan said ruminatively. “That’s another story I need to investigate. Maybe I can talk Mum into asking Granddad.” “Just don’t ask me!” Merry replied. “They never discussed it at the time, and Sam’s kept quiet about it ever since. Probably out of respect for Rosie. Anyway, it didn’t help my mood, hearing their goings-on all night when I was pining for Faramir. Some nights I would gladly have strangled them in their bed! “Back to the story, though. There we were at the Prancing Pony, and we sat up late telling old Barliman about our adventures. Then we hobbits went to bed, but I couldn’t sleep a wink. When Gandalf came to bed a couple hours later, he said I might as well go downstairs and get a hot drink. “‘Nob’s up,’ he said. ‘He’ll fix something for you.’ “‘Nob?’ I said. ‘What’s he doing up at this hour?’ “’Chatting with me,’ Gandalf said, which gave me a surprise. ‘He and I have been friends for a long time. Go on down. You’ll find he’s excellent company.’ “So down I went and found Nob seated by the fire in the kitchen. He was writing something, which gave me another surprise. If you’d asked me, I would have guessed he couldn’t read or write much more than his own name, if that. Yet there he sat, scribbling away as if he’d been born with a quill in his hand. “’Hello, Nob,’ I said. ‘Keeping Barly’s accounts for him?’ “I was half joking, but he looked up at me with a start and said, ‘I do keep the books here, Mr. Brandybuck. Can I get you something?’ “I said I’d like a bit of tea, if it wasn’t too much trouble. He set about it, and while he was up I glanced at the paper he’d been writing on. It didn’t look like accounts. I leaned in closer. “It was poetry. This is what I read: Out of the smoke of battle, like a claw, He rose again, the black-crowned phantom of fear. Terror was the wound, open and raw, That bled my last, lost courage. Eyes a-blear, As in a haze, I saw his shadow fall Upon my fallen king. There Theoden lay, The Lord of Horse Lords, finally unhorsed – Yet not alone! For in the shadow’s way There it ended. You might notice, Elfstan, that it’s not at all the same as what I read to everyone this afternoon. Nob never stopped revising, even years later. Still, I haven’t forgotten that first fragment. You’ll see why. “Anyway, I was staring at the paper, but the verses faded before my eyes. Instead I saw the Pelennor, dark under a cursed cloud. I heard the rumble of siege engines and the shouts of men and orcs. Worst of all, I felt the terror that flowed out from the Nazgul. My legs gave way. I sat down with a bump. “’Mr. Brandybuck!’ “My vision cleared. Nob’s frightened face swam into view. “’Are you all right?’ he asked me. He’d snatched up his scrap of paper and was clutching it nervously. ‘Oh sir, you never should have seen this. What a fool I am, leaving it about! And after all you’ve been through! Here, let me help you into this chair.’ After he’d gotten me seated, he brought me my tea. Then he watched anxiously while I sipped it. ’Feeling better?’ he said. “’Yes, Nob,’ I said. This was not precisely true. My faintness had gone, but a dark mood was on me. ‘Nob,’ I said. ‘That bit of poetry –‘ “’It’s nothing important, sir,’ Nob said quickly. ‘Just a little something I started after Mr. Gandalf went up to bed. I meant no offense.’ “’No? But you wrote it yourself.’ “He blushed bright red. ‘I did, sir, begging your pardon.’ “’However did you know all that? We only just told that story to Barly this evening, and he went to bed straightaway. And even if he’d had time to tell you, I don’t think he would have remembered much. You haven’t been eavesdropping, have you?’ “’No indeed!’ Nob said. ‘No, it was Mr. Gandalf that told me. Very free with his answers for once, Mr. Gandalf was. So I kept him talking as long as I dared. He couldn’t tell me the whole story, not by a long road. But he told me – certain parts.’ “’Certain parts.’ I shook my head in amazement. ‘Nob, anyone would think you’d been there yourself. Maybe the details weren’t exactly right, but the feel of it – well, you saw what it did to me. I never knew you wanted to be a poet.’ “Nob blushed again. ‘Nor does anyone else,’ he said. ‘Except Mr. Gandalf. He’s kind enough to ask after my verses, when he’s here. But Mr. Brandybuck, I never set myself up as a poet. That name’s better suited to others who know more of poetry than I do. No, I just like to write down the bits and pieces that come to mind. That is, when I can spare a moment. And if there’s a rhyme or two, I slip it in. That’s how I remember things.’” Elfstan sighed and sipped his ale. “Imagine that!” he said. “Already rhyming such a long time ago. Good old Nobby.” Merry gave a rueful laugh. “You can say that now. At the time I was flummoxed. This was not the cheerful, dimwitted Nob I remembered from last year. And as he stood there in front of me, mostly staring at the floor, I couldn’t quite match up this new Nob with the old Nob. He looked the same – not what you’d call pretty, like Frodo, but pleasant enough with his toothy grin, his big, round eyes and his square, sturdy frame. Where had the poetry come from? I didn’t know what to feel. “Or perhaps I did know what to feel. And what I felt was anger. “’The I in your verses,’ I said slowly. ‘The person speaking. It’s me, isn’t it?’ “There must have been something in my voice, some icy edge, that tipped Nob off. He bowed twice and started backing away from me. “’Begging your pardon,’ he said. ‘I meant no offense. If there’s nothing else you need, I’ll just go to bed now.’ “’One moment, Nob,’ I said in a clipped, lordly tone that sounded more like the Sackville-Bagginses than it did like me. “Let me give you a little advice. If you must write verse, stick to things you know about. This sort of thing may be over your head.’ “’Yes, sir. Of course, sir. My mistake.’ “Nob turned away. His voice shook a little. He walked over to a fireplace where a few coals were still smouldering, and he poked his bit of paper into the embers. He held it there till it caught fire. Flame slowly devoured the words he’d written. Finally he dropped it. In a moment it was gone.” Merry fell silent. Elfstan stared at him in utter consternation. “I can’t believe you let him burn it!” he said. “How could you, Uncle? Poor old Nobby!” “That’s more or less what Gandalf said,” Merry told him sadly. “When I came out into the Common Room he was sitting right here, waiting for me. “’Meriadoc Brandybuck,’ he said very seriously. I almost jumped out of my skin. ‘That was not well done. After all you’ve been through, you should know better than to snub any good will that comes your way.’ “That shook me up, I can tell you. You never knew old Gandalf, my lad, but he could make you feel very small when he wanted to. Besides, I’d seen for myself how hurt Nob was. And it was already bothering me. “So of course I got testy. “’What are you doing out here?’ I snapped at him. ‘Listening at keyholes?’ “’I happen to be very fond of Nob,’ Gandalf said. ‘And I don’t like to see him ill-used.’ “’It was his own fault!’ I retorted, feeling rather ill-used myself. ‘He shouldn’t go writing verses about events that don’t concern him. And borrowing my voice to do it!’ “’Were the verses so very bad?’ Gandalf asked. “’Well, no,’ I admitted. ‘Not that I’m any judge of poetry. I leave that to old Bilbo. But it made me feel – how can I put this? It made me feel I was there again. Watching King Theoden die. Watching Eowyn as she stood over him. And the fear! It just came over me, Gandalf, same as it did then. I almost fainted.’ “’So the verses weren’t bad,’ Gandalf said a little more gently. ‘If anything, they may have been too good.’ “’I don’t know what you mean,’ I lied, not wanting to admit that Nob’s writing had done exactly what good writing is supposed to do. ‘Anyway, you missed the point. The point is, how dare he? How dare he sit in a dingy kitchen scribbling verses about the death of a great king? A king I’d grown to love? It’s not right! I won’t have it!’ “’You speak without thinking’ Gandalf said. ‘Theoden died for all of Middle-earth – for Bree as much as for Rohan or Gondor – for kitchen boys as much as for me or you. Why shouldn’t Nob put his feelings into verse?’ “’He’s just a servant!’ I exclaimed, and hated myself for it. ‘Bards have been singing that story before the throne of King Elessar himself. Nob should leave it to his betters!’ “’His betters?’ Gandalf bristled again. ‘Meriadoc, you forget that King Elessar knows Nob very well. If he had come across these verses as you did, he would have seen them for the tribute they are. And he would have thanked Nob with all his heart.’ “This silenced me. Even in my dark mood, I couldn’t deny it. “’Let me tell you two facts about Nob,’ Gandalf went on. ‘The first is fairly well-known here in Bree, though travelers like you would never suspect it. You see, Nob pretty much runs the Prancing Pony himself. Now, I’m sure you understand that Butterbur is my very good friend and I wouldn’t lose him for the world. Neither would Nob, come to that. But Barly is the sort of person who bustles about like a whirlwind, making a great noise and bother without really accomplishing much. You’ve known such folk in the Shire, I daresay. Nob, on the other hand, sees what needs doing and does it quickly and quietly. The accounts are just one example. Thank goodness I taught him to read and write when he was young.’ “’You taught him?’ I said incredulously. “’I did,’ Gandalf replied. ‘And you needn’t look so surprised. It should be clear by now that I meddle in all sorts of matters unrelated to rings of power. Long ago I saw that Nob was far brighter than most of his fellow Breelanders, and I did what I could to help him. “’What emerged as a result was the second thing about Nob, the one that no one else knows. He’s a poet – a real one. You’ll never hear him holding forth in the Common Room, but over the years he’s written a great deal – much of it quite good. He has a remarkable ability to put himself in another person’s skin and describe what they might be seeing and feeling. That’s what he did tonight, after I told him your adventures.’ “’My adventures!’ I huffed. ‘Why did it have to be my adventures?’ I was feeling thoroughly ashamed of myself by this time, but I still wasn’t ready to admit it. ‘Why not Frodo’s adventures, or Pippin’s? Or even Aragorn’s?’ “Gandalf glared at me. ‘How dense you are, Meriadoc!’ he scolded. ‘Nob wasn’t curious about Frodo or Pippin or Aragorn. He was curious about you.’ “’Whatever for?’ I persisted with my last scrap of bravado. “’Because he likes you!’ Gandalf exploded. ‘Gracious, must I spell it out? When the four of you passed through Bree last year, Nob was particularly taken with you. Don’t ask me why, it’s beyond my power to imagine. Even since then, it seems, you’ve never been far from his thoughts. He’s written more than one poem concerning that night when he rescued you from Bill Ferny and friends. It meant a great deal to him. Now here you are again, little as life, and the poor fellow couldn’t bring himself to speak to you. So he asked me where you’d been and what you’d been doing. I passed on a few tales. How was I to know he’d start turning those tales into poetry as soon as I left? “’Then, in my innocence, I thought it might do you both good to get to know each other. You’ve been mooning after Faramir quite long enough, Merry. It’s high time you started meeting other fellows – even kitchen boys, if you can spare a thought for them. So I took this opportunity to bring you and Nob together. And this is how you repay me! From now on, Meriadoc Brandybuck, you’d better look after your own romantic interests. And I can only wish you luck in that stodgy, sexless little country you call home!’” Elfstan slapped the table. “Bravo Gandalf!” he cried. “That was one dressing-down you richly deserved, Uncle Merry. What a great ass you were! If Gandalf were here right now, I’d shake his hand.” “So would I,” said Merry. “Believe me. Mind you, at that moment I couldn’t have shaken anyone’s hand. I was too mortified. It’s bad enough insulting a kitchen boy with literary aspirations, but when it turns out he’s got feelings for you too – well, I knew I had to make things right with Nob – it was too late to hope for more, I felt sure – so I begged Gandalf to tell me where he slept. Then I found a bit of paper and a quill and did some quick scribbling of my own. My memory’s none too good, so it took a few minutes. Then I lit a candle and went downstairs. “Back then, Nob lived in a tiny little cubbyhole with a sliding door. It was so small, it must have been a linen closet at one time. I hadn’t known about it, of course, till Gandalf told me where it was. I felt dreadfully nervous standing outside, trying to work up enough courage to knock. After what I’d said, he might not want to see me. And who could blame him? I had to try, though, so I gave a little rap. The door slid open and there was Nob’s face, peering at me. He was sitting up in a very small bed that took up almost the entire cubbyhole. “’Hello, Nob,’ I said. ‘Please don’t close the door on me, though I deserve it. I’ve come to apologize for the way I acted. I was a brute and I’m sorry – I can’t tell you how sorry! I brought you this.’ “I held out my piece of paper. He didn’t meet my eyes, but he took the paper and looked at it. I held my candle over it. “’It’s my poem,’ he said in a low voice. ‘The one I burned.’ “’That’s right,’ I said. ‘It may not be exactly word for word, but I did the best I could. I remembered it pretty well, I think. And that shows what a big impression it made on me. You see? Which is also why I reacted the way I did. It was so real, so vivid, and suddenly it brought back the whole scene – the dust, the smell, the noise, the fear – it all came back to me. Almost as if I were really there! I think I panicked a little bit, and I didn’t like that. I didn’t like feeling those things again. So I took it out on you. I’m truly sorry.’ “’Oh, Mr. Brandybuck!’ said Nob. ‘I’m the one who should be sorry! Anyone can see what a terrible time that was for you. You shouldn’t have to remember.’ “’Oh, but I want to remember!’ I said, rather to my own surprise. I hadn’t known I felt that way. ‘It’s important to remember – what it was like, what people achieved, even how they died. And your poem does that. It’s a wonderful poem. I’m honored that you wanted to write about me. And I hope you’ll go ahead and finish it – if you still want to, that is. I mean, I’d love to read it when it’s done. I’d like to read some of your other poems, too. Unless, of course, you’d rather I didn’t.’ “Nob was giving me a strange look. I didn’t know what to make of it. Gandalf had said he had feelings for me, but it seemed likely that I’d destroyed those feelings forever. In any case, I wasn’t sure whether or not I returned them. I’d barely had time to think about it. “Still, there was something about Nob. He wasn’t pretty, as I said. Put him in a room with Faramir and you’d never even notice him. But he had his own sort of sweetness, I began to see. His devotion to old Barly ran deep and true. And then the poetry – where did that come from? Someplace inside, I guessed, that was just as mysterious to him as it was to me. How strange to think of him going about his work, serving the guests, tending the horses, cleaning the rooms, and all the while a great kettle of poetry was simmering away inside him! “I wanted to ask him all about it. I wanted to drag him into the Common Room and talk all night! But I knew that wouldn’t be fair. “’It’s late,’ I said regretfully. ‘I’m keeping you up when you should be sleeping. I’ll say goodnight.’ “’Wait!’ he said when I put my hand on the sliding door. I stopped and looked at him. At first he didn’t say anymore, but just scrunched up his eyes the way he does when he’s not sure what comes next. He looked so sweet and uncertain, I sat down next to him on his bed. It was a small bed and there wasn’t much room on it. I can remember the feel of his knees against my tailbone. Finally he said, ‘I’m not sleepy. Lots of times I stay up later than this, writing verses. Or just thinking.’ “’Thinking about what?’ I asked him. “And suddenly I could see, from the look in his eyes, what it was that he thought about. I couldn’t bear to hear him say it! To hear him say, ‘I think about you, Merry’ – well, it would have been too much happiness. Yes, happiness! I could feel the happiness already, stirring around in my stomach and swelling up into my chest. Where had it come from? One minute there was nothing, and the next minute – oh my! But he was about to say it; the words were on the tip of his tongue. So I leaned forward quickly and put my fingers on his lips, just like this.” Merry laid all four fingers of his right hand across his own mouth – not the tips of his fingers but the undersides, gently and tenderly, with the thumb trailing feather-soft along his jawline. Elfstan watched, rapt and silent. He didn’t seem to be breathing. “It was the first time I’d touched him,” Merry went on. “He’d touched me, of course. Once was a year ago when he found me lying in the street, unconscious and in danger. Then there was this evening, when his poem knocked me flat. Perhaps it was his doom to help me up whenever I fainted. “But I’d never touched him till now. I hadn’t planned to. And I didn’t know what to do next. “I did know what my fingers wanted to do next. They liked the silky softness of Nob’s mouth, and they wanted to explore more of it. They wanted to follow the line of his lips from one side of his face to the other. They wanted to find a trace of moisture at the corner of his mouth and track it to its source. They wanted . . . “And it wasn’t just my fingers. My whole body was waking up, feeling the nearness of him, the warmth of him. I felt myself pulled, pulled hard, toward something I hadn’t even thought of till a few minutes ago. Gandalf had said Nob wanted me. Was that all it took? Did his want set me on fire? Would anyone’s? Or was it really Nob himself, his sweetness, his shyness, the poetry that lived inside him? I had no time to mull these questions, for I was leaning down toward his face. My fingers were slipping down his cheeks. I was kissing him. “And he pushed me away!” Elfstan gave a start, as if he were popping out of a dream. “Pushed you away?” he echoed. “What do you mean, Uncle? That can’t be right.” “That’s what I thought,” said Merry. “But he did, all the same. ‘What is it?’ I said. ‘What’s wrong?’ “He looked at me gravely. The candlelight was flickering on his face. ‘Mr. Brandybuck,’ he said. ‘You must have found out how I feel about you. I suppose Mr. Gandalf told you, bless him. You know I’ve been thinking about you, wanting you, dreaming about you. And now here you are – ‘ “’Yes,’ I said. ‘Let me – ‘ “’But this isn’t how I dreamed it,’ he went on determinedly. ‘In my dream, you’re not here to apologize or to feel sorry for me. You’re here because – well, because you love me. In my dream, I don’t need to ask myself, will there be a tomorrow? Because I know there will. But this isn’t my dream. It’s real. And I don’t know if there will be a tomorrow. I don’t know at all.’ “’What do you mean?’ I asked him. ‘Of course there’ll be a tomorrow. There’s always a tomorrow.’ “’Yes, but what kind of tomorrow? Will it be the kind where we steal little moments now and then and we don’t care who sees us kissing? The kind where we look forward to closing time because then we can creep back into bed together, never mind what other people think? Or will it be the kind where you don’t want your friends to know, so you pretend nothing really happened? And then you all ride home to the Shire and we never meet again? Mr. Brandybuck, I don’t want that kind of tomorrow. If it’s going to be that kind of tomorrow, I don’t want this kind of tonight.’” Elfstan rolled his eyes. “I hate it when boys talk like that,” he said grumpily. “Asking me what’s going to happen tomorrow or next week or next year. How do I know what’s going to happen? I’m not a fortune- teller!” “Neither am I,” said Merry. “But Nob wasn’t asking about next year, or even next week. He was just asking about tomorrow, and whether I’d be embarrassed at having slept with him. And even if I wasn’t embarassed, would we still want to be together? He had to ask, you see, because of the snobbish way I’d acted. Also because the whole thing had come up so suddenly. It might have been just a lark for me, you see, but it was serious for him. Yes, I knew exactly what he meant.” “If you say so,” Elfstan groaned. “I just hope you said whatever it took to get him in the mood for love.” Merry laughed. “Of course I did! And I meant every word of it. In those few minutes I’d caught a glimpse of the real Nob, the Nob that no one but Gandalf had ever seen. I liked that Nob, Elfstan. I liked him a lot. And I knew the others would like him too. So I said, ‘You left out the best kind of tomorrow. That’s the tomorrow where we talk about what a short way it is from Buckland to Bree, and how I could easily ride over and see you sometimes. That’s the tomorrow where we ask Barly about getting you some time off, and then I go on and on about how much you’ll like the Shire when you come visiting. That’s the tomorrow where we remember what a good time we had tonight and think about all the good times we’ll have in the future!’” “Slow down, Uncle Merry!” cried Elfstan. “You can’t talk that way to a new boyfriend, even if he has been in love with you for a whole year. You’ll scare him off!” “Nonsense!” said Merry. “Nob didn’t scare so easily. He shushed me because I’d gotten a bit louder than I ought, but I don’t think he minded. Anyway, he didn’t push me away the next time I kissed him.” “Ah!” said Elfstan. “Now we’re getting somewhere. You kissed him again. And then . . ?” Merry started to get up. “Then it was morning,” he said primly. ‘And Nob had work to do.” Elfstan seized Merry’s shoulders and forced him back into his chair. “You can’t leave, Uncle!” he declared. “Not when you’re just getting to the good part. I want details!” “You want smut!” Merry said disapprovingly. “You’re the dirtiest-minded hobbit I’ve ever met.” “No dirtier-minded than you!” said Elfstan. “Come on, out with it. You know it’s what you’ve been building up to all night. So, you kissed him . . ?” “Yes, I did,” sighed Merry, remembering back across the years. “I kissed his sweet, soft mouth. It was a bumpy sort of kiss because I was crawling into his cubbyhole at the same time. It hadn’t been built for even one hobbit, let alone two, which made it a tight fit. But the tightness seemed all right, somehow. I snuggled up against him, trying to touch every bit of him with every bit of me. Even through the blanket I could feel how warm and solid he was – and how hard, too, despite the fact that we’d only just started! But if Faramir had taught me one thing, it was not to be in a rush. So I just kept on kissing and snuggling and stroking his chest with my hand. And he kissed and snuggled and stroked right back. “My candle was on the floor outside, so we had almost no light in the cubbyhole. We were like two moles rolled up together in a burrow, with our paws and snouts everywhere at once. It was delicious! Now that things were underway, Nob suddenly lost his shyness. I could feel his tongue and teeth on my neck, sucking my flesh up like gravy. It hurt a little, but in a way that thrilled me to my core. I knew there would be a mark next day. And I knew I’d wear it with pride. “For quite a while I couldn’t do much of anything myself. Nob had turned into a wild thing, a ravenously hungry wild thing that nibbled and gnawed at my exposed bits. And there seemed to be more and more exposed bits every second! His clever little fingers were burrowing madly under my nightshirt. How he got it off in that narrow space I’ll never know. He did, though, and after that nothing was safe. He just had to taste everything, from my head to my toes, two or three times if possible. In the end he nearly ate me alive. He had his favorite spots, though. He loved my nipples, for instance – tickling them hard one minute, then licking them soft the next. He couldn’t get enough, and neither could I. Then there was that secret corner between my balls and the inner part of my thigh – ooh, he had a good time snuffling around in there. And thank goodness I’d taken a hot bath before bedtime, because he couldn’t keep his tongue out of my back door! Not that I had any objections, mind you. “But the part he liked best was my mouth. Now matter where else he went or how long he stayed there, he always came back for more kisses. Our bodies melted together and our tongues chased each other back and forth. A good kisser is worth his weight in Longbottom Leaf, Elfstan. And Nob was the best.” “Better even than Faramir?” Elfstan said incredulously. “Well, of course Faramir was wonderful. But he had that rough, manly beard, whereas Nob was smooth as silk – hobbit-smooth, which is the best kind of smooth there is. So yes, as far as I was concerned, Nob won the kissing contest. And he had plenty of time to prove it that night. “Anyway, I didn’t succeed in getting him naked for quite a while. He was unstoppable. I finally did, though, and that’s when I found out how wonderfully ticklish he was. I could touch him anywhere and it would drive him right around the bend – in a sweet way, fortunately, because I couldn’t keep my hands off him. And the first time I took his cock in my hand – well, all the shushing in the world wouldn’t have shushed him then. He made so much noise I thought he’d rouse the whole place! It’s a good thing no one came by to investigate, for they would have found me with his cock in my mouth. Or mine in his, which happened a little later. Or both at the same time, which happened still later. That’s something Faramir and I never got around to. I loved it from the first moment we tried it. “And there was something else I tried that night that I hadn’t tried with Faramir.” Elfstan, who knew exactly what Merry had tried with Faramir, guessed what the something else might be. “Oh, Uncle!” he said breathlessly. “I hope you had some lubenas handy.” “I didn’t,” Merry admitted. “But Nob excused himself and dashed off without even bothering to put on his nightshirt. I leaned all the way out of the cubbyhole, just so I could watch him trotting off naked in the candlelight. There were little pink blotches on his rear end where I’d been chewing on it. Oh, it was the prettiest sight! “Then back he came a minute later, all happy and pleased with himself. I watched that too. He had a lovely chest, broad and strong but with a thin layer of baby fat to soften the corners. By this time I couldn’t imagine how I’d missed his good qualities before, but I knew what a very lucky hobbit I was. Anyway, in his hand he carried a tall vase with four freshly cut lubenas flowers! It seems he’d started his own lubenas patch in Barly’s garden. Always prepared, my Nob was. So he set the vase down on the floor outside our cubbyhole (you see, I already thought it was ‘our’ cubbyhole!) and climbed back into my arms. “The shyness was back too. “’Mr. Brandybuck,’ he said. I’d already told him to call me Merry, but that habit died hard. ‘Mr. Brandybuck, I want to make love to you properly. That’s why I brought these flowers. Do you want the same thing? Have you done it before?’ “’I’ve done it just once,’ I said, nuzzling his face. ‘And it was – well, it was me inside some one else. We never tried it the other way round, though he did slip his fingers inside me. I loved that! I’ve been wanting more ever since. So if you’re willing, Nobby, it would make me very happy indeed. Have you done it before?’ He said he had, but for some reason he wouldn’t tell me with whom.” “What?” cried Elfstan, deeply shocked. “That’s not fair! New boyfriends should always say who they’ve been with before. I hope you grilled him later.” “I did,” said Merry. “But right then I couldn’t be bothered. All I could think about was getting started. “So Nob turned me onto my right side with my left knee curled up against my chest. Then he reached for a pair of lubenas flowers and poured the milk into his hand. It must have been chilly, because he warmed it up by rubbing his hands together. I felt him scooting in closer and kissing the back of my head and neck and shoulders. Last of all I felt his fingers sliding down my tailbone like warm silk. I gasped out loud. And the one finger that barely brushed against my tight little hole – oh, I almost gave a yell! My muscles clamped down hard. I willed the muscles to let go, to let that finger slide in just a little bit. But the finger didn’t push. It hovered there, drawing tiny circles that sent shock waves up and down my spine. That’s when I knew I was in for a long, sweet ride. I reached down and started stroking my own balls.” A thin film of sweat had formed on Elfstan’s face. He appeared suddenly to have the fidgets, as if his breeches didn’t fit quite right. When he slipped one hand surreptitiously under the table, Merry smiled and pretended not to notice. “Nob’s finger went right on circling round and round like a fly in a patch of sunshine. But the circles got smaller and smaller, and as they got smaller they moved deeper and deeper. It was almost as if they were hypnotizing the muscles that had been put there to keep them out. Gradually the muscles went limp, like sleeping dogs, and the finger slid slowly past them. I almost went limp myself. All I could think about was that square inch of flesh with a fingertip wriggling inside it, and the matching bit on the other side, where I squeezed the base of my cock. “When Nob’s finger slid in far enough, it turned north toward my belly button. My insides were opening up, letting Nob in, and he pushed till I felt the knuckle of his hand riding up against my bottom. At the same time he touched my secret core, the inmost heart of me, and I cried out with the shock and thrill of it.” Elfstan mopped his forehead with his napkin. “Sounds like Uncle Nobby knew what he was doing,” he commented a bit breathily. “Or his teacher did. Who did you say it was?” “I didn’t,” said Merry. “And I didn’t care, either. All I knew was that once he found my spot, he gave it the going over of a lifetime. You can forget what it feels like if you haven’t had it in a while. Then, when you feel it again, it’s like being born into a new world, a world that grows out from the inside rather than pressing in from the outside.” “Yes,” breathed Elfstan, panting ever so slightly. His right hand hadn’t come out from under the table. “And then?” “Then the finger slid out of me. I missed it! But it came back with a friend, and soon they were both inside me, like a pair of clever worms that found their way straight to the center of my wormhole. They slid out again, then in again, in quick little thrusts that left me barely able to breathe. And then there was a third finger, just as clever as the first two! Three fingers felt huge at first, but my body stretched and opened and drew them in, preparing itself for what it knew would come next.” “Yes!” moaned Elfstan, whose right shoulder seemed strangely agitated. “Then all the fingers were gone and I felt a terrible emptiness where they’d been. But Nob’s cock pressed up against me, oiled and smooth, and I clutched my knee to my chest. Nob’s hand was on my hips; he was pulling me down onto his cock. My flesh stretched tight, tight as a drum – then it opened suddenly and clenched around him. A shock of pain tore through me. I cried out. But Nob didn’t falter. He came on slowly, relentlessly, like a big machine turned to the uses of love. And soon my muscles relaxed again, opening before him as he came on.” “Oh, yes!” panted Elfstan, jiggling with excitement. “It was like nothing I’d ever felt before. It hurt, but it was wonderful too – the hardness of him, and the way my body enveloped him. Even the pain was growing less now, while the pleasure seemed to get bigger and bigger. My own cock was rock-hard by this time. I’d smeared some lubenas on it, but I didn’t want to come yet, so I just squeezed it here and there like a ripe lemon. I didn’t start pumping hard till Nob did, a few minutes later. I had to be so careful – now the head of his cock was hitting my sweet spot again and again, and I couldn’t stop moaning – at any moment I might have exploded! But I held it off and held it off while Nob kept thrusting up into me. We were both lying on our sides, with Nob spooned right up against me from head to thigh and our legs tangled together. His arm was around me, digging into the flesh of my chest, and I felt his lips and teeth on my neck, and his hot breath. He was panting hard and crooning my name. But I knew he hadn’t really let go yet. The final push was still to come. I wanted it so much I could hardly breathe.” Elfstan looked breathless too. His eyes were closed and he’d gone bright red. “Finally, slowing down for just a moment, Nob tipped me over onto my belly. I was as open as I could be, with all his weight on top of me. I could hear the smack of his hips on my buttocks as he started in again, harder and faster. My hand was on my cock, squeezed tight between groin and mattress. The thought crossed my mind that I was about to mess up Nob’s bed. I didn’t care. Our moment had arrived and nothing would stop us now.” Elfstan’s whole torso was quivering by this time. His jaw hung open. His right arm was a blur, his hand hard at work under the table. “Nob’s moans rose suddenly higher, higher, his thrusts quick and deep. He was coming! I’d been holding off, but now I let it happen. My whole body contracted at once, again and again, gripping Nob’s cock as he spurted inside me. I felt hot creaminess on my hand and rubbed it hard against my cock. The climax dizzied me! I seemed to feel it everywhere at once: inside me, where Nob pounded my sweet spot; in my back and shoulders, where Nob’s chest and face lay covered in sweat; and in my crotch, where I was cresting like a wave. Wave after wave washed over me, and I knew the same waves were washing over Nob.” Elfstan went suddenly rigid. Tormented whimpers squeezed out of his throat. His body twitched in its seat. Merry watched, trying not to laugh, while the young hobbit’s breathing stopped altogether, then quickened briefly. There was no doubt about it – Elfstan did love what he called “descriptive passages.” “Charming,” Merry said when things had calmed down a bit. “Here’s a spare napkin for you.” Elfstan took the napkin and mopped up whatever had gone on under the table. “Thanks,” he said. “That’s just the kind of story I like, all hot and sweet. But it’s not over yet. What happened next day? Did you keep your promise?” “Which promise?” “The one about not hiding what had happened!” “Oh, that.” Merry grinned. “Are you joking? That was my big chance to redeem myself. I had no intention of messing it up. Everybody got an earful and an eyeful, including old Barly. It must have been the talk of the town by noon. Folks were curious, but the only person who took it hard was poor Pippin. He just didn’t understand boy-love, and he may have worried that he’d lost his best friend. But I talked to him and Gandalf talked to him. Even Nob talked to him! Eventually he calmed down. “The worst part came next day, when we all left Bree. I knew it was temporary, but I couldn’t stand saying goodbye to Nob. I sniffled all the way home. Then it turned out that the Shire had gone to wrack and ruin and we all had plenty to do for months, getting it cleaned up. Not much time for long-distance love, I’m sorry to say. Still, it all worked out eventually. A few months later I bought my little cottage here in Bree, and after that I was in and out all the time. Literally and figuratively. That’s how it’s been ever since.” “That story has a terrific ending,” Elfstan said. “But the beginning wasn’t at all what I expected. I can’t believe you were so mean, Uncle.” “I was,” Merry said. “But I’ve tried to do better. It came out all right, didn’t it?” “I think so,” said Elfstan. “In spite of everything, the two of you made perfect uncles – and not just for me, either. I know dozens of boy- loving hobbits who owe their happiness to you and Nob. You made everything possible for us! That’s what I want to put in writing, so it doesn’t get forgotten. If you want to know the truth, I think it’s just as heroic as Frodo and the Ring. But here’s one part I don’t understand – how did Nob come to own the Prancing Pony?” “Don’t you know that?” asked Merry. “Couldn’t be simpler. Barly left it to him in his will. Nob was very touched. And that’s when things really began to change. Nob had all sorts of ideas he’d never told me. Right away he started doing more business with the Shire, especially Buckland. A lot of small farms got a boost because Nob bought their produce. And Shirefolk started coming to Bree, which gave the Breelanders their own boost. Others came too, just as Gandalf had said they would – over the mountains or up the Greenway. It was a great time for everyone, especially for Nob and me. Before that we’d been more or less tolerated. Folks put up with us, you might say. But after, when they saw what Nob was doing for the neighborhood, suddenly the welcome signs went up in a big way. No one could have been more surprised than we were, especially when young Shire lads started pairing off every which way. Big people too, here in Bree. We didn’t make that happen. We didn’t even see it coming. And yet, in a way, it happened because of us. We both knew that. And it made us proud. Even more proud than the poetry and the history, if you can believe it.” Merry leaned back in his chair. His pipe had gone out and his mug was empty. He didn’t seem to notice. “I suppose I’ll sell the cottage now,” he said sadly. “Yes, Uncle?” “Mmm. No point keeping it, is there? With Nobby gone. The nurse packed up her things today. I might as well do the same.” Elfstan nodded. “Might as well,” he said. “You can spend more time in Buckland now. Being the Master and all.” “Oh, that,” said Merry. “It’s not much, really. Being Master. Pip says the same. About being Thain, I mean. We talked about it earlier – how we don’t know what’s keeping us here anymore.” “Here, Uncle?” “Here in the Shire. We’re old, Pip and I. His wife died two years ago. Now Nobby’s gone. Since we came of age, a whole generation of young folks has grown up and had children – you, for instance – and soon those children will be coming of age themselves. The Shire is yours now, Elfstan.” “But Uncle – it’s yours too, isn’t it? Even more than it is ours. You saved it for us. You made it what it is.” “I helped,” Merry said, smiling. “Frodo did more than anyone. Still, he left us just a short while later. Sam will leave when Rosie’s gone. And Pip and I – well, I don’t want you to be surprised, Elfstan, if we leave too, one of these years. We won’t follow Frodo, or if we do it won’t be by the same road. Nonetheless, a call will come and we’ll answer it. That’s what I think, anyway. Pip thinks so too.” Elfstan clearly didn’t understand. He held his peace, though, and the old hobbit and the young hobbit sat quietly for a moment, gazing at nothing in particular. From down the passage they could hear a faint, far- off sound of snoring. The Mayor, perhaps? Or his son-in-law, Elfstan’s father? Possibly both. The candles were burning low. It was long past time for bed. Suddenly Elfstan sat up. “Oh!” he said. “I almost forgot. Who was Uncle Nobby’s teacher?” “Eh? What?” “Uncle Nobby’s teacher. The one who taught him about making love before you came along. Who was it?” Merry laughed. “Haven’t you guessed yet? You, who know Faramir’s letter by heart? It was Gandalf, of course – the great meddler himself. You’d better start your book with a chapter about him, my lad, or it won’t be complete. None of us would exist without him. He found Faramir his first lover, and he did even more for Nobby – little Nobby, young and alone and full of big ideas that no one else wanted to hear about. Gandalf taught him what it feels like to be loved, and to love himself, too. I didn’t find out till he was long gone. I wish I could have thanked him for it.” “Maybe you didn’t need to,” Elfstan said. “Maybe it was enough for him to see how well it all turned out.” “You could be right,” said Merry. “I hope so. Now, about this book of yours. What’s it to be called?” Elfstan smiled. “Well, now that you mention it, I was thinking about Faramir’s letter. Remember that scroll in Minas Tirith, the one Gandalf told Faramir to read?” “How could I forget?” asked Merry. “’The Fellowship Of Men,’ it was called.” “That’s right. Well, I think my book will be a descendant of that one. So I’m going to name it accordingly.” “And the name would be . . . ?” “’The Fellowship Of Hobbits.’” FINIS