Title: Of the Past
Story:  "Wisdom"
Series:  Of Hobbits and Men
Author: Diamond (juweldom@yahoo.com )
Rating: PG  this chapter (NC-17 later)
Pairing:  Merry/Pippin, Merry/Eomer
Warnings:  Rape, interspecies sex, graphic sex
Category:  Angst, hurt/comfort, Drama

Disclaimer:  All characters herein belong to Tolkien (sob!); I make no 
monetary profit from this but give me feedback and I'm a happy lass.

Summary:  It is not until Pip leaves that Merry finally confronts his 
feelings about him . . . 
 
Notes:   Sorry, this tale isn't getting any lighter.  Those orcs really were 
nasty souls.  This is a healing tale for Merry.  And some dialogue below 
taken from J.R.R.Tolkien's Lord of the Rings, The Two Towers, "The 
Palantir".

*****


"It is plain indeed that in spite of later estrangement Hobbits are relatives 
of ours:  far nearer to us than Elves, or even than Dwarves.  Of old they 
spoke the languages of Men, after their own fashion, and liked and 
disliked much the same things as Men did.  But what exactly our 
relationship is can no longer be discovered."

      --  J.R.R. Tolkien, "Concerning Hobbits",  Fellowship of the Ring.



**After a space of many years when Hobbits and Men had little dealings, 
there came to pass events which forced four hobbits to leave their lands 
and roam the wide world, learning of Men, and of Dwarves, and of Elves.  
There they found the lands of Men, and with great Men they did learn of 
strength and loyalty, wisdom and honor.  This is the tale of Hobbits and 
Men.**
 


Tale Three:  "Wisdom" 
 


Chapter 1:  Of the Past
 


When they found Pippin lying beside the palantir, Merry thought he would 
die.
 

He’d been battling his emotions for so long—Pip was his younger cousin 
by eight years, whose father had long ago told him to take care of, to make 
sure nothing ever happened to.  He wasn’t supposed to love him as 
anything else.  He wasn’t supposed to have certain . .  . desires for him.  
And he certainly wasn’t supposed to ever let Pippin know he felt such 
things.  But suddenly none of that mattered.  Suddenly the storm of 
feelings for Pippin he'd been battling for so long was as nothing to him--
the nights of longing and the days of arguing against doing anything and 
the frustration at Sam and Frodo's freedom to act--none of it meant a thing 
now.  All Merry knew was that if Pip died, he must surely follow right 
along.  Pip was his soul.  He couldn't live without his soul.
 

Merry had never even felt when Pip left his side in their little bedrolls.  
He'd been that tired after the Ents, and meeting King Theoden and the 
Eorlingas (or was it the Rohirrim?  He hadn't quite gotten that straight yet) 
and seeing Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas again, not to mention the ominous 
struggle between Gandalf and Saruman and Pip running to grab that 
blasted palantir.  He'd warned him, hadn't he?  Do not meddle in the ways 
of wizards!  But Merry hadn't really grasped how strong Pip's curiosity 
was; he’d just been too tired to deal with it.  Now he was paying the price.  
Or rather, Pip was paying the price, for his lack of care.
 

Pip's eyes were wide open, staring at the sky, but seeing something else 
entirely; his pupils were huge and dilated, his mouth fixed into a silent 
scream, his back arched and rigid as the wood of a bow. Merry wanted to 
rush up and hold him, cradle him against his chest, but Gandalf was there 
first, keeping him back, warning him with his eyes not to touch, not to 
interfere.  All Merry could do was kneel next to him and wring his hands, 
his breath caught in a terrible choking knot in his throat.  Don't die, my 
Pip, he thought--just please don't die.
 

Several of Theoden's company gathered around to stare at the little hobbit 
and the wizard, wondering what on earth had made such a terrible cry. 
Merry choked on a sob--stars, never had he heard such a ghastly noise in 
his life, and to know it had come from Pippin's throat was near more than 
he could bear.  As he looked up at them, however, he found one pair of 
eyes not on Pippin, but rather on himself.  Eomer, nephew of Theoden, 
was studying him with dark eyes and an intensity that sent shivers running 
along his limbs.  There was something fierce and dangerous in that gaze, 
yet also something akin . . . something understanding . . . measuring him, 
appraising him, and somehow approving of his display for his cousin.  
Merry flushed and looked back to Pippin.
 

Gandalf had taken Pip's hand and was bent over his face, his face intent on 
the hobbit's chest; then the old wizard put a hand to Pip's brow, and Merry 
could see it--Pip's whole body shuddered.  Merry held his breath.  Alive.  
 

Suddenly Pip sat up and cried out in the most horrifying voice Merry had 
ever heard leave his friend's throat--"Not for you, Saruman!"  It wasn't 
Pippin in that voice; it was the voice of one who had been run through the 
deepest darkest place Merry could imagine and emerged a mere shadow of 
himself; the way he feared Sam and Frodo would return from Mordor if 
ever they should return.  He bit his lip to keep from crying out in 
sympathy, and dug his fingernails into his arms.  He was Pip's guardian; 
he was the one who had convinced Elrond to let this come.  This was all 
his fault.  First the mines and Gandalf's falling into the chasm, then 
Rivendell and the kiss that never should have happened, the knowledge 
Pip never should have had about two lads together, then Boromir.  Then 
the orcs.  
 

Now this.
 

Pippin's father was going to kill him.  Of course, that would undoubtedly 
be too late, as he felt rather like disposing of himself first for doing such a 
rotten job of looking after Pip in the first place.  He should have followed 
Elrond's advice and just taken Pip home to the Shire--Frodo hadn't really 
needed them, and since then they'd been nothing more than a nuisance and 
a danger to everyone.
 

"Pippin Took!  Come back," Gandalf ordered, and Merry jumped, rising 
into a half crouch, ready to leap forward and either crush Pip in an 
embrace if he was all right or fall on his body weeping if he was not.  Pip 
burrowed into the wizard's robes, begging forgiveness, and now that was 
Pip's voice; that was the Pip he remembered, sorry for the mischief he'd 
done--Merry was going to cuff him into next week if he ever thought of 
doing something so stupid again.  Pip muttered that he had taken the 
palantir and looked inside, and been questioned, but he seemed unable to 
say more.  The anguish and fear in his face was unbearable; Merry simply 
couldn't look any more.  He turned away, brushing distractedly at moisture 
slipping down his cheeks.
 

At Gandalf's forceful urgings, Pip went on to explain how he'd been 
questioned, gloated over, then released, thankfully before being asked any 
valuable questions.    Gandalf studied him again and Merry forced himself 
to look--in looking away he had become aware of the Men around them 
again, and he swore he could physically feel the eyes of that one particular 
warrior on him again--but when he looked up at Eomer, the man had 
turned away, scowling at something.  He looked angry.  Why would he be 
angry?
 

Gandalf declared that Pippin had told the truth, that they'd been saved by 
good fortune that Dark Tower had been too eager for Pippin himself rather 
than answers and had released him quickly --Merry's heart skipped a beat-
-the *Dark Tower* had questioned Pippin?  HHe'd thought it was Saruman 
at first.  Gandalf picked up Pippin and carried him back to his bed, and 
Merry quickly followed to sit down beside him when Gandalf let him 
down, not sure if he would be needed or not but desperate to have a word 
with Pip.  Gandalf warned Pip of any further itchings for the wretched 
wizard's rock, then left them alone.
 

For a moment neither of them spoke.  Pippin was a little ball of misery, all 
drawn up--his arms hugging his knees to his chest, his chin down, his feet 
curled in.  If he'd been a dog, his tail would have been between his legs.  
Merry wasn't a great deal better--he was so tense his back hurt, and his 
fingers were cramping from where they grasped the blankets in front of 
him.  He was going to have a permanent crease between his brows soon.  
 

Finally he couldn’t' stand it any longer.  "Pippin?"
 

"Oh Merry!  I’m so sorry!"  Pippin burst out, then launched himself at 
Merry in a desperate embrace, burrowing his face into Merry's neck until 
Merry’s nose was buried in his sweet smelling hair, clutching his narrow 
shoulders and rocking him back and forth almost desperately.
 

"Oh you foolish, foolish . . . I'm so glad you're all right!"  Merry said 
between sobs, kissing at Pippin's hair, his shoulders, then as Pippin raised 
his head up to look at him, his ears and his cheeks.  He found himself 
contemplating that perfect rosebud mouth.  Unlike the hundreds other 
times where he had successfully reined himself in, this time he was just 
too thankful for Pip's safety.
 

He kissed him full on the mouth.
 

This was only the second? –no, the third time they had kissed like this, and 
each time it had been different—the first one had been experimental, 
innocent—and that one had been quickly interrupted.  The second, well, 
the second one had been for comfort, after the orcs, after Boromir’s death 
when they were both feeling alone and frightened.
 

This one was purely for love.  And passion—the hunger Merry had been 
harboring for so long finally set free. He crushed his lips against Pippin’s, 
holding him tight, as he plunged his tongue into the sweet depths and tried 
to stake claim on every corner of Pippin’s being.  And Pip responded in 
kind, squirming against him, quickly hardening—stars above, how many 
times had Merry had to ignore that sensation, rather than exulting in it?  
Pip started out the kiss open and yielding, but soon his tongue was battling 
against Merry’s trying to invade him as well, scald him with heat as Merry 
gladly relinquished the field.
 

They both paused for a second, gasping for air.  
 


"I love you, Pippin.  Please don't ever do something like that to me again," 
Merry whispered in his ear, kissing the curls falling forward on his cheeks.
 

"No, Merry; I promise.  Will you make love to me?  I know you think it's 
wrong, but I really would like to . . . have something good to concentrate 
on.  To make the memory go away.  I'll never ask again, I promise . . ."
 

Merry closed his eyes, his heart clenching.  This was what he was forcing 
Pippin to, this timid, frightened plea for love.  He couldn't fight it any 
longer.  But he also couldn't do what Pippin was asking for--not yet, not so 
soon after--his mind blanked out the memory.  
 

So instead of answering, Merry kissed him again, slowly, tenderly, hoping 
this could be enough, that they could just sit here and love each other 
without doing certain things--well certain things that hopefully Pip hadn't 
figured out about yet, despite Frodo and Sam's rather fervent activities in 
Rivendell.  
 

Pippin's breathing was growing deeper, his heart beating strongly--but not 
the frantic pounding of fear it had been earlier, and if his limbs shook now, 
Merry was pretty sure it was for an altogether different reason.  Pippin's 
hands were working at the front of  Merry's weskit, unbuttoning one by 
one, and his lips left Merry's to trail along his jaw line to his ear. Merry 
shuddered at the hot little pants at his ear, but unbidden came another 
image to him, of a far more unpleasant panting--he stiffened and shifted 
position to move Pip away from his ear back around to kiss him again, 
beseechingly, please Pip, not too fast, even though I *very* much want 
this . . . 
 

Then suddenly a horrible shadow fell over the camp--terribly familiar, 
terribly near, the sensation of being watched by evil above.  "Black 
Rider!" Pippin gasped, turning white and falling on his face into Merry's 
lap.  Merry covered them both with his cloak and sheltered Pippin, he 
could keep Pippin from being carried away.  They shivered and sweated, 
before the feeling passed and the camp began to recover.  Before they 
could speak to each other of their fears, Gandalf came up and took Pip 
from Merry's arms.
 

"You shall come with me this time.  Shadowfax shall show you his paces," 
Gandalf said, and carried Pippin away to where Shadowfax stood ready 
for him.  Merry sprang up, his head full of questions, but he couldn't seem 
to get his mouth to work as Gandalf mounted and Aragorn lifted Pippin to 
sit with Gandalf.  Pippin stared helplessly at Merry, looking as confused as 
Merry was.
 

"What--" Merry tried to ask, but Shadowfax was leaping away, and Pippin 
with him.  Merry felt the Men staring at him, felt the burn in his cheeks 
that perhaps they had been watching earlier . . . 
 

He did as he always did facing emotions he didn't want to deal with.  He 
cracked a smile that felt like it wouldsplinter his face.  "A beautiful, restful 
night!  Some folk have all the wonderful luck . . ." he continued on about 
Pippin getting to ride with Gandalf rather than be punished for his deed, as 
his heart felt like it was splintering to bits inside.  Aragorn was wise; he 
responded in kind, then let him be to pack his things, allowing him to save 
face.  
 

But Merry paused in his packing as Eomer strode up, a dark shadow 
towering over him.
 

Eomer spoke without preamble, gazing down at Merry with those dark 
intent eyes.  "Your companion--he is your lover, yes?"
 

Merry nearly choked, looking up at the fair warrior with shock.  Were all 
the people of Rohan this . . . direct?  "Not exactly, but yes, I do love him.  
He's my cousin . . ."  Suddenly he wasn’t sure if that was saying too much; 
Theoden seemed a nice friendly fellow, but this warrior frightened him; 
he'd heard Aragorn's tale of how it was this one who had killed the 
terrible, foul Ugluk.  A shiver passed through him.  He owed this Man 
more than any could dream.  His avenger.
 

Eomer nodded curtly, studying him.  "We are riding out immediately.  
Please feel welcome to ride with my uncle and me.  I would very much 
like . . . to learn more of you."  With that enigmatic invitation, he turned 
heel and marched away, leaving Merry with a nervous tingle in his 
stomach.  
 

"I wonder what Aragorn has told him," Merry muttered to himself.  He 
glanced at the hills where Pip and Gandalf had disappeared. 
 

His soul was gone from him.  Whatever would he do now?  Would he ever 
see him again, get a chance to continue what he'd been ready to try for the 
first time only this evening?
 

Bowing his head, Merry felt very lonely and afraid.  
 

He was lost without his Pippin.
 



Title: Of Friends  (2/?),  (M/P), M/E
Story:  "Wisdom"
Series:  Of Hobbits and Men
Author: Diamond (juweldom@yahoo.com )
Rating: PG  this chapter (NC-17 later)
Warnings:  Rape, interspecies sex, graphic sex
Category:  Angst, hurt/comfort, Drama
 

Disclaimer:  All characters herein belong to Tolkien (sob!); I make no 
monetary profit from this but give me feedback and I'm a happy lass.
 

Summary:  It is not until Pip leaves that Merry finally confronts his 
feelings about him . . . 
 
Notes:  

"So it was that they did not see the last stand, when Ugluk was overtaken 
and brought to bay at the very edge of Fangorn.  There he was slain at last 
by Eomer, the Third Marshal of Rohan, who dismounted and fought him 
sword to sword."    --J.R.R.Tolkien, Lord of the Rings, "The Two 
Towers", "The Uruk-Hai."
 

*****
 
The pale half moon was high in the sky when the company rode out.  
Aragorn had offered to have Merry ride in front of him, and Merry knew 
the Ranger had a few questions for him; from the moment they had 
greeted each other on the steps of Saruman's gatehouse, Aragorn had been 
giving him strange looks, a furrow on his brow.  It was not long after they 
set out that Aragorn drew his horse just a little bit off from Legolas and 
Gimli and spoke low in Merry's ear.
 

"I noticed it was Pippin and not you who spoke about your time with the 
orcs.  He seems to have gotten through it remarkably well."  Merry closed 
his eyes at the mention of the orcs--he didn't want to face the memories 
right now, with Pippin's absence weighing on his mind.  While Pip had 
been near there had always been an excuse not to think about it--he could 
concentrate on Pippin's needs, his safety.  Pippin had always had a much 
easier childhood than Merry anyway, thanks to his efforts; it was second 
nature now not to think of himself.
 

"Yes, he was very brave," was all Merry said.  He hoped the matter would 
be dropped.
 

With his back to Aragorn, Merry couldn't see the Ranger's gaze, but he felt 
it just the same.  Well, Aragorn he could deal with.  The other troubling 
gaze was not on him right now--Eomer was riding beside Theoden at the 
head of the company, acting as a shield and protector.  Aragorn spoke 
again, very casual, but with an undercurrent of concern.  "I know the sort 
of treatment orcs generally give to their prisoners, Merry.  But I didn't see 
any signs Pippin suffered such things, though it sounds like it was a near 
thing with Grishnak."
 

Merry shuddered; indeed it had been.  But he could tell exactly what 
Aragorn was hinting at, and wondered if his own secret was so plain to 
see.  "Yes, I believe it was--we were fortunate the arrow struck the orc.  
Pippin is all right.  I talked to him, made sure nothing bad happened to 
him."  Merry's stomach began to hurt, to roil with nausea at the memories.  
He swallowed hard and shifted away from Aragorn, wishing they could 
leave this subject for something more pleasant.
 

For several moments there was silence only broken by the clip clop of 
horses' hooves, the quiet conversations in the rolling tongue of the 
Rohirrim.  
 

"And what of you?"  Merry gave a little sigh; he'd hoped Aragorn wouldn't 
ask.  "How are you doing?"
 

Merry shrugged.  "As well as can be expected, I suppose.  I miss Pippin 
already."
 

Aragorn leaned over to look at him.  "That isn't what I meant.  Are you 
hurt?  You must not have told Pippin anything--I'm sure he would have 
been more protective of you if he'd known.  But you cannot deceive me; I 
know the signs too well.  You've shied away from touching anyone other 
than Pippin; you've been uncommonly quiet.  And when you look at men, 
I see fear in your eyes.  That was certainly never there before."
 

Merry didn't say anything.  Perhaps he should have laughed and told 
Aragorn he was imagining things, but his throat was aching and he didn’t 
think he could make a laugh sound convincing just now.  "I'm all right, 
really."  Pippin had come out unhurt; that was all that mattered.  The deal 
had been worth it for that.  But he wasn't going to tell Aragorn everything, 
how it hadn't been the way Aragorn undoubtedly thought it had been, that 
he'd actually *allowed* it to happen.  Perhaps he wouldn't be so eager to 
care for Merry if he knew that.
 

"Merry, I know it makes you uncomfortable, but I want to make sure of 
this.  You're sure you didn't take any hurts that require tending?  
Anywhere?"  Aragorn tried to rub his shoulder, but Merry flinched away, 
annoyed, frightened. But he was beginning to get angry too--that was 
helping to keep the fear at bay.
 

He blew out a breath.  It was really too embarrassing to be having this 
conversation with Aragorn, when he knew all about Aragorn's little secret 
with Frodo--Frodo had told him everything, unable to talk to Sam about it 
when Sam had reacted with such jealousy.  It wasn't that he thought 
Aragorn would try anything; just the fact that he knew about lads being 
with lads was enough to make Merry squirm.  "No, I'm quite certain I'm 
fine, Aragorn.  The orcs have their means of fixing hurts.  Like this," 
Merry said, tracing his finger over the scar on his temple.  "Anyways the 
waters of the Ents were very good for Pip and me.  Solved any hurts we 
had, I can assure you."
 

"Ahh," Aragorn said, nodding.  "Well, if you need to talk . . ."
 

"I understand," Merry said quickly, wrapping his cloak around him tighter.
 

Aragorn said no more after that, but steered his horse back over towards 
Legolas and Gimli.  For the next hour the dwarf and elf entertained him 
with talk of the battle at Helm's Deep as they rode through the dark lands 
under nightfall.  Gimli was in the middle of retelling the contest between 
him and Legolas and the fight in the caves when Eomer fell back to ride 
with them, apparently drawn by the dwarf's rousing voice.
 

"It was indeed quite a fight," Eomer said, smiling at the dwarf and 
nodding his head at Aragorn.  "It was an honor to wield my blade at your 
side."
 

Merry looked to Aragorn--he had mentioned that he and Eomer had 
become fast friends after Eomer found them following the orc trail.  They 
seemed an odd pair to him--one fair of hair yet stern and warlike in 
manner, the other dark-haired but with the light and calm of the elves in 
him.  Merry supposed it should comfort him that Aragorn thought highly 
of Eomer, that he trusted him.  Perhaps those looks Eomer had given 
Merry earlier had merely been concern for a friend of Aragorn's.  That 
wasn't how they'd felt, though. 
 

Eomer gave him another of those looks--a searing penetrating look that 
made Merry's mouth go dry.  He swallowed.  Eomer spoke to him, "I must 
admit the sight of you and your friend was quite a surprise to me.  Aragorn 
had told me you were a little people, but I had no idea how doughty your 
kind was.  My people have had many unfortunate incidents of finding 
victims after being captured by orcs.  Few come out looking as well as you 
and your companion.  You must be a very brave people."
 

Merry just had to laugh out loud at that, rude through it sounded.  "I'm 
afraid you have me wrong, sir.  Not brave; we were quite frightened, 
actually.  But it is our way to act light when matters are dark."
 

Eomer smiled, but the smile did not touch his eyes--he was studying 
Merry in much the same way Aragorn had, trying to see past his easy 
façade.  "Still very brave--for your companion to risk Gandalf's wrath, and 
try to use a wizard's ball . . ."
 

Merry snorted.  "Not brave, that; just plain stupid."  He realized he really 
was being quite rude.  "I'm sorry--I don't mean any insult.  But really, 
most of my folk are quite foolish, and not at all brave, and in this instance 
I think we were simply very lucky."  He tried to smile, but without Pip at 
his side to point to as a shining example of hobbithood, the smile felt a 
little weak.  Oh, he hoped Gandalf kept him safe.  He hoped it with all his 
being.
 

Eomer looked far from convinced, but he smiled, nodding towards Merry.  
"Then perhaps you are an exception to your people, Meriadoc.  You do not 
seem the foolish sort to me.  Indeed I see wisdom lies heavy upon your 
brow.  One who has seen the suffering cannot be deceived.  At least take 
comfort in this:  I fought the leader of the orcs hand to hand, and sank my 
blade into his heart.  None of the orcs escaped.  Any foul deeds they 
committed have been avenged."
 

"Did he suffer very much?"  The darkness was a little coiled ball in 
Merry's gut, burning him.  He should be ashamed to even ask such a 
question; he couldn't quite even believe it of himself.  But his gaze on 
Eomer did not falter.
 

Eomer stared at him for long moments.  "Yes, I would say he did," he said 
at last, his eyes boring a hole into Merry.
 

"Good."  Merry muttered.  He felt Aragorn shift against him, but he didn't 
care.  Hobbits weren't supposed to be evil, weren't supposed to want to 
hurt others, or kill . . . but he did.  He did hope the orcs had paid, that they 
had died horribly at the hands of Eomer and his men.  He could hardly call 
himself a hobbit now.
 

He smiled grimly at Eomer.
 

At least this Man understood.
 



Title: Of Hurts Received  (3/?)
Story:  "Wisdom"
Series:  Of Hobbits and Men
Author: Diamond (juweldom@yahoo.com )
Rating: R (for adult situations)
Pairing:  M/U, M/E, (M/P)
Warnings:  Rape, interspecies sex
Category:  Angst, hurt/comfort, Drama, Romance

Disclaimer:  All characters herein belong to Tolkien (sob!); I make no 
monetary profit from this but give me feedback and I'm a happy lass.
 

Summary:  Fear of unknown riders brings back memories of the orcs  . . . 
 

Notes:   No, I didn't get too graphic.  I think it's emotional enough without 
the details.  And some dialogue taken from "Lord of the Rings" "Return of 
the King", The Passing of the Grey Company by J.R.R. Tolkien.
 

*****
 

After Eomer's words with Merry, Merry noted that Legolas and Gimli 
seemed to have little to say to him.  Even Aragorn seemed a little 
disconcerted, that a hobbit should want to know of others' suffering, even 
if those others were orcs, but Merry could not help but feel gratitude for 
Eomer, for personally coming to tell Merry he had killed Ugluk, that the 
orc's actions had been avenged.  Perhaps this was something where a 
relative stranger understood him better than his friends.   Merry would not 
take back his words, though.  He did feel glad Ugluk had suffered.  There 
was nothing else to say on the matter.  So they rode on in silence, and soon 
Eomer returned to Theoden's side at the head of the company.  
 

Then the warning came--horsemen were riding upon them, a force big 
enough to match their own small company of twenty-five.  Saruman's 
men, was the first thing that came to Merry; he had thought he'd escaped 
danger from that side, but what if the men killed their small party?  
Brought him back to the tower and Saruman's insidious voice and dark 
designs?
 

Fear stole over him like a suffocating blanket.  Fear was an old friend 
now--it had been with him almost constantly since the night after Boromir 
died--poor Boromir.  Trying to defend them to the very end--Merry missed 
his strength and his earthy humor.
 

Merry tried to put on a brave face as Aragorn dismounted and set him on 
the ground, the better to defend himself as the company prepared to meet 
the unknown riders.  Merry's knees were quaking--if these men of Rohan 
were killed, what would he do?  Run and hide; try to live in the wilderness 
and perhaps get to Pippin alone?  No; that would be even worse than 
dying, to have failed once again at defending himself, his friends.  He 
wished he'd fought harder after seeing Boromir fall.  He'd managed to 
slice off a few hands in his fury, but then they had grabbed his sword from 
him.  He'd kicked, he'd bitten, but it hadn't been enough.  Ugluk had 
stepped forward to knock him out with his shield.
 

He wouldn't let that happen again.  No one was ever going to get their 
hands on him; he would sooner die fighting, or take his own life.  
 

Standing feet apart, Merry drew his sword and waited for the riders to 
come into sight.  The visions were coming upon him again . . . 
 

***
 

The blood was streaming down Boromir's chest . . . so much blood . . . the 
sight seemed to spark off something dark and overwhelming in Merry's 
heart, set his blood to roaring in his ears, a horrible scream in his heart--
Boromir, dying!  No man could survive such wounds.  Rage--he'd never 
known such rage--overcoming him and suddenly he was lashing out at 
anything in his path, aware only of the hideous orcs before him and of 
Pippin valiantly trying to defend himself beside him.  Merry's sword 
chopped through wrists with a sickening crunch and a spray of dark blood-
-the play practices with Boromir  suddenly  seemed ages ago--then a 
wrenching, a fiery pain up his arm.  And the sword was gone.  Before him 
was the largest orc Merry had ever seen, long-fanged and red-eyed.
 

"You will pay for that, little pus--later," it said in a deep rumbling voice--it 
looked at him with hatred, but with glee too, and something else--a hunger 
that made Merry's blood curdle.  Then it raised its shield and brought it 
crashing down onto Merry's skull.  The world went dark in a haze of pain.
 

He didn't know how much later it was when he awoke, being shaken by a 
different orc--smaller, swarthier, but still bigger than the orcs of Moria.  
The land around them was different, the sun beginning to sink--late 
afternoon, perhaps.   
 

"Ugluk, he's come to.  You hit 'im pretty hard, gah," the smaller one said, 
and as the black spots cleared from Merry's vision, he saw the big orc just 
a few feet away, bending over something--a bundle of clothes perhaps.  
Other orcs were a little ways off, mingling in three or four groups as more 
orcs came running in to join them.
 

The big one--Ugluk--gave a snarl and rolled over the little bundle he was 
standing over, and Merry realized it was Pippin--that was Pippin there 
curled up in a little ball, unconscious.
 

"Pippin!"  Merry cried out in a strangled voice, trying to lurch to his feet.  
His muscles didn't seem to be working quite right; he fell over and the 
world spun and threatened to go dark again.  He struggled to focus on 
what was happening to Pippin.  "Get away from him!"  He ordered, but his 
tongue was sluggish, and his words came out slurred.  His temple 
throbbed; something wet was running down the side of his face.
 

The orc who had shaken him laughed, but Ugluk grunted and cuffed it.  It 
squealed and backed away, and Merry was left facing Ugluk.
 

Red eyes bored into his, looked him up and down, but Merry cared not; his 
eyes were soley for Pippin, for Pip's condition.  He looked all right--no 
blood, no bruising that Merry could see, everything intact--clothes . . . 
Merry's attention was abruptly pulled away then as Ugluk wrapped a 
clawed hand around his throat and wrenched him away from Pippin.  
Merry's eyes widened, taking in the whole terrible face before him, the 
wide mouth pulled back into a hateful grimace, the eyes like slits--they 
narrowed in pleasure at the sight of his fear, and the mouth opened into a 
fearsome smile, baring the long yellow fangs.  Merry shuddered, feeling 
its other hand at his weskit, crumpling up the material as it ran up and 
down his chest in an obscene caress.
 

"You, little maggot, cost me a few warriors' sword hands!"  Ugluk hissed 
into his face, his grip tightening with every word.  Rage mottled his face, 
and his eyes seemed to glow with an unholy hunger.  The hand caressing 
him went lower, grasped him painfully by the crotch.  Merry choked on a 
cry.
 

He struggled for air, gasping; but before merciful darkness could return 
Ugluk released him.  Merry fell back against the rocks and dirt of the 
hillside, coughing.  The orc turned and studied Pippin again, lying asleep 
or knocked out, tangled curls falling into his  youthful face, his little 
rosebud mouth slightly open . . . 
 

"Good," Merry spat out as soon as he could speak again.  Get the attention 
off Pippin; that was his main focus.  Keep the rage centered on himself.  
 

Ugluk growled and raised a hand to strike him; Merry flinched 
instinctively but remained where he was.  The hand hovered in the air . . . 
then slowly lowered.  "The master wants you whole and unspoiled.  But 
there are ways to punish you without spoiling you too much,"  Ugluk 
rasped.  The smaller orc whimpered in fear; Merry suddenly wondered if it 
had received 'punishment' recently itself.
 

Ugluk glared at the smaller orc.  "Go check on the rest of the maggots; see 
if all of our troops have reported in yet," he ordered, pulling Merry up to 
his feet and holding him up once Merry's legs refused to hold him.  "We'll 
be moving on again as soon as the companies are organized and accounted 
for.  Just have to settle a little matter here . . ."
 

"Yes, Ugluk," the second one said, and ran off to the rest of the orcs.  
 

With a suddenness that literally knocked the wind out of Merry, Ugluk 
threw him down, and crouched over him, his face horribly near, breathing 
foul air into his face.  Merry tried to choke back his fear, his insides 
roiling.  
 

"You worry about your companion?"  Ugluk asked.
 

Merry said nothing; the orc's armor was pressed into his groin in a most 
unpleasant fashion and the hunger was blazing in the eyes again.
 

"You'll suck the pus from me, little worm, or I'll take him right here in 
front of you."
 

Bile rose in Merry's throat; he had to swallow several times to keep it 
down.  "You'll promise his safety?  None of the orcs will touch him?"  
What kind of faith could he have, that Ugluk would keep his word if he 
agreed?  But to keep him from doing anything to Pippin right now, Merry 
would do anything.  Anything at all.
 

Ugluk grimaced, but it was obvious he was in a hurry.  "Very well.  Sit 
up."
 

Merry did so, against the dizziness and the pain in his head threatening to 
blind him; the world seemed a harsh bright tumbling thing, never holding 
still underneath him.  Better to close his eyes, he thought, as Ugluk placed 
a hand on Merry's head and with the other began to unlace his breeches . . 
. 
 

***
 

Merry covered his face, retching, trying to be brave and hold his sword but 
trembling as the memories washed over him.  That had been the first day, 
before Pip regained consciousness--Merry himself had lost consciousness 
immediately after and next awoke to Ugluk's administering that foul salve 
to his forehead--at first he had thought it was time for more 'punishment' 
and had struggled fiercely--then he'd spotted Pippin, looking awake and 
defiant and so very beautiful, despite the dirt in his hair and a few 
scratches on his face.  His eyes--Merry had immediately looked to those 
sparkling green eyes which held fear, and distress, but no horror, no loss 
of innocence.  At that moment Merry knew he'd done right; he'd protected 
Pippin from the worst.  Of course then he'd acted light about the whole 
thing, not to let Pippin know, not to face it--said something about bed and 
breakfast, to which Ugluk had laughed and said something that brought 
right back the horrible taste of him, the smell.
 

Merry sucked in huge breaths, trying to calm himself.  The Rohirrim had 
made a circle, ready to defend themselves.  The riders came  into view as 
Eomer called out a demand for their identity, citing that they were in the 
lands of Rohan.  Merry waited tensely; by their first words, they did not 
sound evil.  He gripped his sword tightly, willed back thoughts of gloom.
 

"Who are you?  And what is your haste?"
 

"Halbarad Dunadan, Ranger of the North I am."
 

Dunadan--a Ranger--Merry could have kissed the man, and immediately 
Aragorn went and greeted them, introducing them to King Theoden.  They 
exchanged a few words, then Aragorn returned to retrieve Merry--rather 
like a forgotten sack again, sadly--and then the company set out again with 
their new allies.
 

It was near dawn when they reached the Hornburg and stopped.  Merry 
had much to ponder, having listened to the conversation between Aragorn 
and Halbarad, but thought would have to wait.  He was utterly exhausted.  
Drifting off to sleep in his bedroll, he saw again Aragorn's face at the 
mention of an ominous place, the 'Paths of the Dead.'  
 

The sun was high overhead when next he awoke, Gimli and Legolas 
standing over him telling him to get up.  He dressed quickly, then walked 
with them along the battlements and the hold while Gimli talked of stone 
work and miraculous caves and Legolas talked of how they had needed 
more archers and how there would not be time right now to see these 
caves Gimli was so excited about.  Everywhere Merry looked he saw 
Men:  binding wounds, repairing armor, laughing and talking as they built 
up parts of the wall which had been damaged in the fight.  He was 
surrounded by Men.  Never before had the Shire seemed so far away.
 

They were called to the midday meal in the hall; Merry followed on the 
heels of a large group of men also making their way to the center building 
of the fortress.  The whole of the place was built for defense, Merry saw, 
and there was little ornamentation or beauty in the stonework; it was all 
about functionality.  The hall followed similar lines--it was all of stone but 
for a high gabled wood roof supported by stone columns and heavy beams 
from which hung a few massive iron chandeliers.  Several long tables had 
been set up for the men, but as he entered, King Theoden, sitting at a table 
set up on a ledge perpendicular to the other tables called out for Merry to 
sit next to him.  Merry gulped, watching all the faces of the Men turn to 
stare at him, at this 'holbytla' their king had apparently taken a fancy to.
 

As he approached, he felt a heated gaze upon him, and couldn't help but 
gaze at its source; Eomer sat to Theoden's other side, smiling at him, but 
with an intensity Merry found disconcerting, though not altogether 
unpleasant.  Such power he seemed to possess, such presence of character-
-a leader.  There was much to admire, Merryy had decided.
 

Absent from the table was Aragorn and his ranger friend, Merry noted.  As 
he sat down Theoden and he exchanged a few words, and Merry was ever 
so grateful for the invitation and told Theoden so, but even more amazing 
was this; he was to be an esquire to the king and ride beside him on a 
pony!  Merry could have wept for joy.  No more 'ragtagging' at Aragorn's 
back, it seemed.
 

Theoden asked Eomer about war gear.  Merry blushed as Eomer looked 
him over slowly, knowing for certain there couldn't be much in their stores 
that would suit one half their size, but the way Eomer appraised him, he 
did not feel small.  Actually the attention brought a rather . . . pleasant 
feeling.  Warmth.  It reminded him of old days in the Shire, odd glances 
from Frodo . . . Merry looked away, suddenly uncomfortable.  He 
shouldn't feel that way.  And Frodo.  What would Frodo think of all this? 
 

"Maybe a light helm might be found to fit him, but we have no mail or 
sword for one of his stature,"  Eomer said, a small worried crease between 
his fair brows.
 

Now Merry would have expected Eomer to say 'stature' in the same way 
Boromir would have--as to a child, gently teasing and protective of the 
little one.  He was very surprised, then, when Eomer said it almost as a 
title of honor, as if he were ten feet tall instead of four, as if no mail shirt 
could be worthy to fit his greatness.  Merry blushed deeper, and suddenly 
he was overcome with emotion--gratitude and love for one who obviously 
did *not* see him as an unwelcome piece of baggage.  It seemed Eomer's 
earlier words had not merely been out of politeness--he *did* admire 
Merry.
 

"I have a sword," said Merry, and drew it.  Feeling Eomer's eyes upon 
him, and Theoden's smile, and all the eyes in the hall, Merry suddenly 
wanted to be a part of this tribe of Men, to fight at Eomer's side and repay 
these people for the services and kindness they had shown him.  "May I 
lay the sword of Meriadoc of the Shire on your lap, Theoden King?  
Receive my services, if you will!"
 

He could have leapt for joy when Theoden agreed, and he had to blink 
away tears as Theoden laid his hands upon Merry's hair, blessing and 
receiving him.  As Merry straightened and sheathed his sword, he looked 
into Eomer's face and saw  approval and wonder at him.  Merry smiled.
 
  
For the first time since Boromir's death, Merry felt a purpose apart from 
the care of his cousin.  And while his love had not diminished one whit for 
Pippin, he suddenly wondered what it would be like to touch the heart of a 
Man.
 




Title: Of  Friendships Made (4/?)
Story:  "Wisdom"
Series:  Of Hobbits and Men
Author: Diamond (juweldom@yahoo.com )
Rating: PG-13 this chapter
Pairing:  M/P, M/E
Warnings:  Rape, interspecies sex
Category:  Angst, hurt/comfort, Drama, Romance
 

Disclaimer:  All characters herein belong to Tolkien (sob!); I make no 
monetary profit from this but give me feedback and I'm a happy lass.
 

Summary:  Fear of unknown riders brings back memories of the orcs  . . . 
 

Notes:   Some dialogue taken from J.R.R. Tolkien's Lord of the Ring, 
Return of the King, The Passing of the Grey Company."
 

*****
 

After King Theoden accepted Merry's sword and his services, that left 
only the matter of eating, sitting at his side with Eomer just on the other 
side of the King, in the hall at Helm's Deep, surrounded by the Men of 
Rohan.  Between bites, Merry spoke lightly with Theoden, comparing 
dishes to ones common in the Shire, commenting on the keep and the tales 
Gimli and Legolas had told him of the battle that had taken place here.  
Throughout their little conversation, Eomer sat quietly, listening, and 
watching Merry quite intently as he ate.  Aragorn and the other Ranger 
still hadn't made an appearance, and men were beginning to finish and 
leave.  Merry wondered what was keeping them.
 

Merry was in the middle of asking what the Eorlingas knew about recipes 
with mushrooms when he paused, looking at Eomer.  For some odd 
reason, he found himself blushing--not that the look Eomer was giving 
him was exactly what he would call *intimate*, but well, it was quite 
intent, quite interested--it almost reminded him of Pippin's Tookish 
curiosity.  He raised his eyebrows at Eomer, questioning him.
 

Eomer smiled a wide secret smile, and something fluttered inside Merry.  
"You and your kin must live in relative paradise in your Shire," he said in 
a low gentle voice, sipping at his wine.
 

Merry took a gulp of his own wine before answering--now why should it 
fluster him every time Eomer looked at or spoke to him?  Silliness, really; 
there wasn't any reason for him to react so, for it to bother him . . . well, 
no, it didn't bother him, exactly.  It was quite pleasant, really, but in a most 
awkward sort of way.  Oh bother.  He couldn't possibly be *attracted* to 
the Man, surely.  After everything he'd been through?  Merry pursed his 
lips, wondering.
 

Of course, Eomer had asked him a question.  "Well yes, I would say we 
are quite naïve, and seeing the troubles that beset you here, it does seem 
rather an ideal place, though I wouldn't call it paradise.  We have our nasty 
old couples and scandals and bad crops and sick babies and all those sorts 
of things.  Just no orcs."
 

"Did you guess what you would find out here when you set out?  Aragorn 
has been rather vague, but you and your friend--your cousin--came to 
accompany others of your kind on a sort of mission.  Why you?  If your 
kind seldom leave your home, why did you?"
 

Merry blew out a breath.  He was certainly asking the tough questions 
today, but it was pleasant enough talk in bringing back memories of 
Rivendell and the faces of Frodo, Sam, and of course Pippin.
 

He ate a bit of bread sopped in the gravy, then said, "It was for friendship.  
My friend was going into danger, and Pip and I refused to be left behind; 
we wanted to accompany him.  Sheer idiocy, now that I look back on it.  
No, we didn't really know what we were in for.  And I'm afraid we've been 
of no help to anyone."
 

Well, perhaps Pip would be now, on his mission with Gandalf to Gondor.  
If Merry could somehow be of aid to Theoden, well then perhaps he could 
avenge Boromir's death, what happened to him . . . Merry felt the 
memories closing in, but he strove to keep them at bay, clutching at his 
napkin under the table.
 

Eomer noticed.  "Your friend--he was all right?  I must confess--I glanced 
upon the two of you, after his brush with the Palantir."
 

Before, after, or during their kiss, Merry wondered, blushing once again, 
but with the warm smile on Eomer's face, he suspected he knew the 
answer.  Somehow, it didn't bother him as much as it should.  He looked 
into Eomer's warm amber eyes and answered.  "Pippin came through far 
better than me.  I have no fear he is quite well, and no doubt driving poor 
Gandalf almost batty with questions."  He tried to make light of it, but still 
his heart was heavy--he missed Pippin's gaiety, his exuberance, his 
foolishness . . . his sweet smile and his constant way of touching Merry, 
holding him, his innocent love . . . and the way he looked at Merry to 
show that he was *not* so innocent at all.  Merry sighed, pushing his food 
around the plate.  Indeed he was a poor example of a hobbit.  A coward, 
an ungrateful guest to be shunning food, and an oddity for being so in love 
with his cousin.
 

Merry could feel Theoden quietly listening to the two of them, finishing 
his meal, as Eomer gripped his wine goblet with both hands, his lips moist 
from the wine, his eyes with a  faraway look in them.  "I'm sure he is well.  
We will see your friend again soon, Merry."
 

Merry looked at the understanding and empathy in Eomer's eyes, 
wondering who Eomer felt similar passion for--there was a sadness there, 
as if the one he favored were quite unattainable, out of reach.  Smiling, 
Merry reached over a hand to pat Eomer's
 

"Yes, I am sure you are right," he said quietly, the unspoken words 
between them suddenly far deeper than the mere words they were 
speaking.  I understand, thought Merry--I'm not the only one who loves 
one I shouldn't.  It's all right.
 

There was a quiet moment, while Merry listened to snippets of 
conversations in that rolling tongue of Rohan, the clink of pewter and 
silver, and with a sigh, he downed the last of his wine and set aside his 
plate.  Theoden began to ask him about pipeweed again, but as Merry 
began to answer, a messenger arrived and whispered in Eomer's ear, 
something about horses being readied.   Eomer listened, then announced 
that the hour had drawn nigh to depart, asking to have the men sound the 
horns.  With a start, Merry realized that as he had been chatting away, the 
hall had begun to clear.  Where was Aragorn?
 

"But where is Aragorn?  His place is empty, and he has not eaten," Eomer 
said, mirroring Merry’s thoughts.
 

Theoden ordered all to make ready to ride, and that word be sent to 
Aragorn, as plates were removed and men went quickly about the task of 
cleaning up.  Merry rose, watching as Eomer left to find Aragorn, then 
Theoden waved for him to follow, so walking with Theoden and his guard, 
Merry left the hall and came to where the horses were gathered, saddled 
and packed.  A guard introduced Merry to his pony 'Stybba', and Merry 
clapped a hand over his mouth in glee--a pony, here, surrounded by horses 
twice his size--why, it was as comical as he himself among all these Men.  
He mounted, and watched the activity around him, until Eomer emerged 
with Aragorn and Halbarad, the sons of Elrond, and Legolas and Gimli.  
Merry paled at the sight of Aragorn, who looked suddenly aged, haggard.  
What news could have turned him thus?
 

Aragorn, Eomer and Theoden spoke a moment of their riding plans--
Aragorn had seen something, but what he would not say, nor how.  He 
insisted that he must now part company and make for the dreaded 'Paths of 
the Dead'.  
 

"Alas!  Aragorn, my friend!  I had hoped that we should ride to war 
together; but if you seek the Paths of the Dead, then our parting is come, 
and it is little likely that we shall ever meet again under the Sun," Merry 
said, looking pale with grief.   Suddenly Merry understood his particular 
sadness.  He opened his mouth to protest--once again things were moving 
fast, out of his control, and he was being left behind by the Fellowship, it 
seemed.  Why couldn't he come?  Perhaps Aragorn had somehow 
fathomed what he'd done after all, and this was his reaction--to be 
shunned.
 

"Farewell, Merry!  I leave you in good hands, better than we hoped when 
we hunted the orcs to Fangorn.  Legolas and Gimli will still hunt with me, 
I hope; but we shall not forget you."
 

Merry said goodbye, too choked up to say more.  Yes; he had horrified 
them; first by his consorting with the orc, then by his anger and wish to 
see them suffer.  He bowed his head, clutching at Stybba's mane to hide an 
errant tear leaking down his cheek as Theoden commanded that they set 
forth.  Merry rode between Theoden and Eomer, and when  Merry looked 
over to Eomer, he found the man fighting what looked like tears as well, 
staring straight ahead, his back ramrod straight, his hair blowing into his 
face, into his hard eyes looking out into the distance.  
 

Merry himself looked back once, to find Aragorn watching him--
impossible to tell whether his eyes were on Eomer or Merry himself.  He 
sighed, watching the silhouettes of his three friends disappear on the 
horizon as they descended into a valley apparently know as "The Dike" 
according to Theoden, who took to pointing out features in the land to take 
Merry's mind off the parting.
 

After that, Eomer spoke of the people of Rohan, telling the tale of Eorl; 
fascinated, Merry listened as they rode on into more mountainous 
territory, heading for Harrowdale some three days march away.  
 

Once Eomer's tale was finished, Merry began to speak, and told of 
Bucklebury and the Brandywine, and Brandy Hall and how so many 
hobbits lived cramped within it.  He told of the occasion when he was 
nineteen and Pip was eleven, when they ruined a grand dinner at the hall 
because they had gone out mushroom picking and snuck the contents back 
to hide in the larder to eat themselves later--the mushrooms were 
discovered and added to the meal, only they turned out to be bad ones.  
The whole hall was green and ill and his cousin's engagement dance had to 
be called off as everyone fled outside to find quiet corners to be sick--
afterwards, he'd laughed at it.  Nobody had been seriously hurt, 
thankfully--there hadn't been enough mushrooms for the children's table, 
so he and Pip had both been spared.  Oh, had Saradoc given him a 
thrashing for that one--then his aunt who managed the kitchen took Pip 
and him out to teach them how to select the good mushrooms only.  He 
didn’t think Pip and he would ever forget after that.  
 

Poor Pip--he'd been so terribly sorry about the whole thing, bawling in 
Merry's arms that he'd ruined the nice party until his nose turned as red as 
a tomato, and for a week after that he'd refused to sleep anywhere but at 
Merry's side, lest the grown hobbits come after him to punish him in some 
further way.  He'd never quite fully accepted that Merry was really the one 
at fault--he hadn't checked all of Pip's findings, so focused was he on 
certain feelings that come into light recently.  Oh dear.  That had of course 
only been the beginning.
 

Merry fell silent after telling of that, and neither Theoden nor Eomer did 
anything to break the silence, each lost in their own thoughts.
 

Merry's were centered squarely on Pippin.  Most particularly, he thought 
about that night they argued about strawberries, the night Frodo--quite 
against his usual reserved nature--rather pounced on Samwise when they 
were preparing for bed one? week's travel out of Rivendell.  Only later did 
he find out why Frodo was acting like that--that Frodo, for whatever 
bizarre reason, had spent a night with Aragorn in Rivendell then realized it 
was Sam he truly loved.
 

Merry, he'd never seen Pippin's eyes go that round, the moment he 
realized that Frodo felt certain--erm--*ways* about Sam, that perhaps their 
sharing bedrolls wasn't as innocent as how Pip and Merry shared theirs.  
Perhaps Sam had been turned the other way, but it had been painfully 
obvious where Frodo's hand had strayed to when he embraced him from 
behind.  Merry had escorted Pip away before he asked questions or went 
over to investigate, then they'd lain hushed in their blankets, Merry with 
his eyes squeezed shut, trying to pretend to sleep despite *noises* that 
Frodo was making across camp in their little corner, hoping that if he 
looked like he was sleeping, Pip wouldn't ask the questions.
 

**
 

"Merry, you awake?"
 

Merry sighed, knowing it was useless.  "No."
 

Pip tickled him, which Merry squirmed to turn away from him, for those 
noises had given root to a little demanding problem of his own, and while 
he was on his stomach so Pip wouldn't notice, Pip's hands had a tendency 
to tickle *everywhere* and might very well find out about the problem if 
he didn't stop it soon. "All right, yes, now stop that!  What do you want?  
People are trying to sleep around here."
 

"Do you hear them?"
 

Merry opened his eyes and looked at Pippin, who was turned facing the 
fire where Boromir sat, across which was Frodo and Sam's bedroll.  Pip's 
eyes were fixed on the shadows there, though undoubtedly he could see 
nothing.  He looked a sight, his hair tousled?, a quiet, avid look on his 
young face.
 

"Yes, I can hear them.  Just ignore it."
 

"Pa always said it was scandalous for two lads--don't they care about 
scandal?"
 

Well, at least he knew about the possibility of two lads.  Though it had 
undoubtedly been skewed if it had been his father talking about it.  "Who's 
going to make a scandal?  It's just the members of the Fellowship, and you 
and me.  I don't plan to tell anyone."
 

"Oh me neither," Pip said, then was silent a moment.  Merry ground his 
hips into the earth, trying to numb his senses, trying to think away the 
erection bedeviling him.
 

"Merry?"  Pip said, leaning in closer, until his lips brushed the pointed tip 
of Merry's ear, sending a great shiver through him.  Suddenly the grinding 
of his hips was only making things worse.  Merry stilled, trying very hard 
not to groan.
 

"Yes, Pip?"
 

"We wouldn't cause a scandal either, then, would we--if we--uh--fooled 
around like that, right now."
 

Pip put an arm over him, pressing up against him, and this time Merry did 
give a low groan, for Pip was hard too, and he was pressing right against 
his buttocks in a most troubling manner.  He tried to rally his senses 
looking at the oh-so-naïve look on Pippin's face, trying to ignore the desire 
also present in those sparkling green eyes.  
 

"That wouldn't be a good idea," he managed to get out, grimacing.
 

A crease formed between Pip's brows as he studied Merry's face.  He 
thrust against him a little.  "Why not?
 

With the pout on that face, it was all Merry could do not to lean forward a 
little and kiss it away, wrap himself around Pippin and rub themselves 
together, but he had to think of the future, and the fact was there was no 
future for the two of them, and if he gave in now, it would only lead to 
heartache.  
 

"Because you and I both have to marry lasses, Pip, and have wee ones, and 
head our households.  Frodo's a bachelor, likely to remain so, and thought 
of as odd in any account.  He and Sam have a future.  You and I don't."  
Merry didn't know what was worse--the heartache saying those words 
aloud produced in him, or the crushing blow that showed on Pippin's fair 
face.  He reached out a hand to Pip, cradling his cheek.  "And if we fool 
around . . ." He couldn't finish the sentence, so dizzy with want he was, so 
full of love and regret he thought he might burst.
 

Pip nodded, and wisdom far too old for his years came over his face.  "We 
might like it too much."  He took Merry's hand in his own and kissed the 
fingertips, staring at Merry, into his soul, it felt like.  Merry blinked away 
tears threatening to spill.  He nodded.
 

Still, Pip looked at him, and on his face Merry suddenly noted tear tracks, 
falling unresisting down smooth cheeks to land in the grass.  "I might hurt 
you, huh?"
 

Merry couldn't answer; not even to nod, but leaned forward until their 
cheeks were touching, so that Pip's tears fell down his, blending with his 
own.
 

"Pip . . ." He began, but he didn't know what else he could say.
 

"S'all right, Merr.  I love you," Pippin whispered, wrapping his arms 
around him.
 

"I love you too," Merry said immediately, and squeezed him back.
 

They lay together like that until they both fell asleep.
 

**
 

Merry heaved a great sigh, looking up at the imposing face of the 
mountains before him, and behind him the ranks upon ranks of the Men of 
Rohan, riding two by two as they headed up the narrow pass up into the 
rocky cliff face.  
 

What a fool he'd been.  He should have taken the chance then, for now he 
knew he had spared neither of them any pain; only denied pleasure.  
 

And now that he'd changed his mind, now that he wanted to risk whatever 
scandal and whatever fire the world could toss their way, Pippin was gone, 
out of reach, and even if he found him again, there was no saying he'd be 
able to love him now anyway, with the horrible memory of Ugluk in his 
mind.  
 

He had to cleanse himself somehow, before he could even ask Pip, see if 
Pippin would agree to his change of mind.  And he knew he would.  
Lothlorien had shown him that much, clearly.
 

**
 

Pip had been heartbroken about Gandalf's death.  Merry had said 
everything he could think of to convince him it wasn't his fault, that their 
presence on the quest had not brought on extra danger to everyone (though 
secretly he agreed with Pip that it had), but what had finally driven the 
notion out of Pippin's head was when Sam came to talk to them, and told 
them how much Frodo had blamed himself.  Pip asked a few questions 
about Frodo and Sam's relationship, and Sam confessed that yes they were 
lovers, and that he planned to follow Frodo anywhere and everywhere he 
went.  
 

Hearing it straight from Sam's mouth was different than the guessing and 
the deducing they'd done up until that point.  Not that it was hard deducing 
anything by the way Frodo and Sam disappeared every night to the other 
side of the mallorn tree, or by the noises that occasionally drifted their 
way.
 

Walking in the elven gardens one day, Pip had suddenly pulled Merry into 
a side glade.  "I've decided we shouldn't worry about scandal or hurt.  I've 
been watching Frodo and Sam, and I think what they're doing helps them 
both, even though Frodo's all worried about this awful task he must do.  
They don't necessarily have a future, any more than we.  We can always 
stop before we return to the Shire anyways.  I'm willing to risk hurt.  I 
couldn't bear it if something happened to you, Merry, and . . . well . . . I 
just need to . . ."  he threw his arms around Merry, and before Merry could 
naysay him or do much of anything, Pippin was pressing their lips 
together, not chastely but with an open mouth, tongue darting out to brush 
between Merry's startled lips and brush against his teeth.  After that, he 
was lost; Merry grabbed Pippin around the waist and opened his mouth to 
draw him in, to suck at the sweet nectar of his tongue and grind their lips 
together almost bruisingly, starved for the taste of him, the feel.  Pippin 
moaned and kissed harder, deeper, and Merry wondered if he was going to 
faint or if the two of them would topple over, for surely his legs were not 
going to hold him up and the brush around them was going to be set 
aflame.
 

And that's when Frodo and Sam walked in on them.
 

They'd pulled apart fast enough to knock teeth together, blushing hotly, 
trying to act innocent though Merry wasn't entirely sure why--this was 
Sam and Frodo, after all.  But he knew this was his only chance to save the 
situation--if he were alone with Pippin they'd both be finding out a great 
deal more about each other in no time.  And he wasn't ready to face 
Pippin's father with the knowledge that he'd done that to his son.  Wasn't 
ready for Pip to lose innocence.  Selfish, maybe, but there it was.  So after 
Frodo winked and told them to carry on, Merry kept his distance and told 
Pip they really couldn't.
 

"You're too young!" A lie; he'd done worse at the same age.  But it was all 
he could come up with at the moment.
 

Pip scowled at him, flushing with anger, but didn't press the matter, and 
Merry knew his second refusal now might have broken something 
between them.
 

"I'm growing up before your eyes, Merry.  When are you going to see 
that?"  With that, Pippin stalked off to join Frodo and Sam.
 

"Soon, I hope," Merry said, but it was to empty air.
 

**
 

As night fell and camp was set up for the riders, Merry took a cheerless 
meal at Theoden's side while Eomer marched around the camp, issuing 
orders, managing the troops in a frenzy of activity that demonstrated how 
upset he still was about Aragorn's decision to leave on his own.  
 

For now his own problem was that he desperately wanted to lie with 
Pippin, to make right all the mistakes he had made in the past, for Pippin 
was totally correct; they should grab at love, for there were no guarantees 
either of them would live to see the morrow.  Marriage be damned; if they 
survived that long, they could deal with it.
 

Only now he didn't know if he'd be able to lie with him.  He was afraid of 
the act itself.  
 

Perhaps . . . Eomer . . . perhaps he knew something, having seen the 
refugees, seen the victims of the orcs.  If Aragorn had been here he would 
have been the one to talk to, but it was just Merry now, Merry and Eomer 
and King Theoden.  
 

Blowing out a breath, his stomach all aflutter, Merry screwed up his 
courage and went to wait outside Eomer's tent.
 




Title: Of Folly (5/?) 
Story: "Wisdom" 
Series: Of Hobbits and Men 
Author: Diamond (juweldom@yahoo.com ) 
Rating: R this chapter 
Pairing: M/P, M/E 
Warnings: Rape, interspecies sex 
Category: Angst, hurt/comfort, Drama, Romance 
 
Disclaimer: All characters herein belong to Tolkien (sob!); I make no 
monetary profit from this but give me feedback and I'm a happy lass. 
 
Summary: Merry seeks Eomer's help in learning to love again. 
 
Notes: Huge thanks to Baranduin for beta reading and great suggestions!
 
 
*****
 
 
Merry watched darkness fall over the camp of the Rohirrim, wondering if 
it was sheer idiocy to try to talk to Eomer. What in the world would he say 
when the warrior strode up? 'I need to talk to you because I miss Pip?' 'Do 
you miss Aragorn?' 'Are we there yet?' Somehow nothing he could think 
of sounded very good; all he knew was that he couldn't go back to his little 
tent and face the night alone, not now when he had decided he'd been a 
fool with Pippin, not to accept his love when he had the chance.
 
 
Merry stood facing the tent flap, fidgeting, then suddenly Eomer was 
there, striding back from the sentries. Merry turned around so fast he 
practically tripped over the Man, who had to grab him to keep him from 
falling. "Merry! Pardon me! I did not expect to find you here. Is there a 
problem?"
 
 
Merry smoothed his weskit, nervous as if he were bowing before King 
Theoden again. "No, pardon me, Eomer--you startled me. I just . . . I'm not 
ready to sleep. I won't be able to . . ." Dear, that sounded simply awful. "If 
you are busy--" he began, edging away, looking for a way around Eomer's 
imposing form to escape back to his tent--this was going to be too hard, 
simply too awkward for him to go through.
 
 
Eomer's brows drew together, looking at him in concern. "No, there is 
nothing more to be done today. Please, come in. You are undoubtedly 
lonely without your companions."
 
 
Merry stepped in hesitantly as Eomer lifted the flap and strode in, settling 
down on the cushions that served as seating. As Merry sat down Eomer 
offered him a small clay cup of the drink the Men of Rohan favored, 
something quite strong in comparison to spirits distilled in the Shire. 
Merry nodded as Eomer poured his own and they each took a drink. Merry 
coughed a little as the nearly tasteless liquid burned down his throat, his 
eyes widening as he wiped his lips. Eomer only smiled.
 
 
"It will help you to sleep, I think. We have little enough time for resting on 
this march." Eomer quietly sipped his drink, watching Merry, waiting for 
him to speak, it seemed. Merry sighed, staring into the nearly colorless 
liquid, letting it warm dark cold places within him. He had come here to 
talk, hadn't he? So why was it so very hard to begin?
 
 
"I made a terrible mistake," Merry began, then stopped. There was so very 
much to say behind that, but not all of it did he want to discuss with the 
Man. "You saw us kiss, did you not? Pippin and I. It was really the first 
time I'd ever let him kiss me like that."
 
 
Eomer sat back, quietly watching him. "And that was the mistake?"
 
 
Merry's eyes widened and he sat up straight. "No! The mistake was that I 
hadn't let him before that! I had a lot of good reasons--or so I thought, but 
looking at his pale face after the Palantir . . . I realized they were all in all 
very poor reasons not to love somebody."
 
 
Merry went silent for a moment, thinking back again to that moment he 
saw Pippin wake up after the orcs had captured him, the terrible pain in his 
chest at seeing his dear Pip in such straits, and the horror that if Ugluk did 
not uphold his end of the bargain, if the orcs *did* molest Pippin . . . it 
would be his first time. To be imprinted in his memory for all time as the 
introduction to love. It was at that moment Merry realized what a fool he 
had been to refuse Pippin's request, to have spurned him not once, but 
twice. He had hurt him. Needlessly. Whatever happened to Merry, he 
deserved punishment for that.
 
 
"What are you thinking there, Meriadoc?" Eomer said quietly, watching 
him, his cup set aside now. Merry took another gulp, welcomed the heat 
spreading through his belly as he swallowed.
 
 
"I hurt him. My best dear friend, and I hurt him. How can I ever make it 
up now?" The drink was going too fast to Merry's head, but he welcomed 
it, and the pounding headache that would undoubtedly come with the 
morn. Eomer seemed to take measure of his state, however, and 
judiciously set the carafe away.
 
 
"You will when you see him again." Eomer said, but even he sounded 
uncertain, unable to meet Merry's eye, his voice low, the words muttered 
almost. Merry looked at him.
 
 
"Will we make it in time?"
 
 
Eomer was silent, and Merry could see him thinking the answer over, 
undoubtedly trying to figure the time they were making, decide whether or 
not he thought they would reach Gondor before trouble began there. 
Finally he sighed. "It is difficult to know what the enemy will do, and 
Aragorn's decision troubles me, but I have no reason to believe right now 
that we won't make it in time. I know that is of small comfort to you, but I 
can tell you this. Gondor has stood ages against the might of Mordor. 
They will hold out, and I am sure Peregrine will be kept as safe there as 
anywhere in Middle-earth in these dark times."
 
 
Truth wasn't what Merry wanted to hear, and this just again punctuated the 
fact it was his fault Pippin was here at all, that they'd suffered through all 
this, and been of no help to anyone. His self recrimination was a choking 
thing in his throat, making his eyes itch with unshed tears, making him 
feel testy. "I should never have allowed him out beyond Rivendell. I 
should have taken him back to the Shire."
 
 
"Then you would be miserable for abandoning your other friends. You did 
what you felt was right at the time--and I must say that your friend came 
across as a rather tenacious sort. Trust that the two of you will see things 
through to the end." Eomer's voice sounded harsh, callous to Merry--just 
what Merry needed. No coddling for him. He should be whipped and 
beaten.
 
 
Merry set aside his empty cup, and looked up at the Man. Eomer had 
pulled off his chainmail for the evening, as well as his helmet, gloves and 
cloak. He looked a little less imposing without the war gear, but no less 
handsome--more so, actually. In the soft light of an oil lamp, his eyes 
seemed to glow amber, watching Merry, his face set in a gentle expression 
of concern . . . and something else. That interest again. It made his 
stomach lurch with reminders of Ugluk, and yet that was one of the 
reasons he had come here to the tent, wasn't it? Every look like that, 
probably even one from Pippin, would create the same horrible 
association. Merry hated it. He wanted to wash himself clean of the 
memory, clean of the stench. He knew well enough soap wouldn't do it. 
Only experiences. Something frightening, to match and overpower the 
grime Ugluk had coated him with. Something noble and wise, and good. 
Why not Eomer? If the Man wanted him, why not? 
 
 
He would have to make him angry, Merry thought; he would have to insult 
Eomer enough that it would be rough and violent, a thrashing that could 
tear apart the memories. Then perhaps he'd have something less noisome 
to think about than the scent of Ugluk, the feel and the sound of him--
Merry shuddered. Yes. Something more wholesome to invade his mind 
when and if he ever found Pippin again, if he ever had the opportunity to 
show him how much he loved him.
 
 
Standing, Merry stepped up close to where Eomer sat, looking the Man up 
and down, swallowing down a knot of cold fear as he contemplated what 
he was about to do. "My worst worry is that even if we do make it there 
and I find Pippin again, I won't be able to love him. Thanks to the orc you 
killed." His hands were shaking, but Merry resolutely set them to 
unbuttoning his weskit, his eyes fixed on Eomer's, wondering if he were 
about to make a fool of himself.
 
 
Eomer certainly wasn't laughing. Indeed his look was more intense than 
ever, but he was frowning as well, looking uncomfortable . . . excited, too, 
Merry could tell. He could see a telltale bulge in the Man's leggings. His 
own body felt no stirrings of any kind. Merry didn't know if it ever would 
again. His stomach was slowly turning in knots, but not nearly as much as 
it had in the orc camp. If he could just get it down and over with, then 
maybe it wouldn't be as bad next time, when it was with Pip. Maybe he 
could get through it, though he didn't know if he would ever be able to 
find true pleasure in the act again.
 
 
"Merry, no. This isn't right," Eomer said in a low voice, trailing off as 
Merry removed his weskit and began unbuttoning his shirt.
 
 
"You do not want me, then. Your looks at me mean nothing?" Strange, 
that it wouldn't even matter if Eomer wanted him or not--if he did not, 
then Merry would make him. Or offend him enough that he would strike at 
the hobbit … perhaps. That could work, though not as well. But he could 
not be mistaken about that bulge.
 
 
"I . . ." Eomer said, swallowing, his brows drawn together as his eyes 
traveled to where Merry was opening up his shirt and kneeling between 
Eomer's legs where he sat on the floor. Merry reached forth a hand to 
begin tugging at the leather stays on Eomer's leggings. "I do not want you 
like this. This will not help you." He seemed unable to take his eyes off, 
and a mixture of respect, desire, and resistance showed in the dark depths 
of the Man's eyes.
 
 
"Yes it will," Merry insisted, crouching down in Eomer's lap, running his 
hand down the Man's chest over his stomach and then lower, to press into 
his crotch. Eomer sucked in a breath, trying to scoot back, away.
 
 
"No. I don't think you're ready. Do you really want me? What about your 
friend?" Eomer grabbed Merry's stroking hand away, the grip almost 
crushing before the Man realized and softened it. Merry flashed a feral 
smile, feeling the first stirring of his own desire at the power evident in 
that grasp. 
 
 
"This is *for* my friend. I must prove to myself that I can do this. You 
must take me. You must lay with me. Please," Merry begged, struggling to 
release his hand from Eomer's grasp and go back to removing the stays of 
the Man’s leggings. He was getting images already, images he'd hoped he 
blacked out already--of the second time Ugluk came to him, when Merry's 
mouth was not good enough. Another shudder passed through him and he 
choked back a sob.
 
 
Eomer's eyes narrowed, and suddenly he stood, stepping over Merry to 
cross to the other side of the tent. "I have no intention of 'taking' anything 
from you, Meriadoc. Quite the opposite--I had only given thought to 
giving you something." He seemed uncertain at Merry's mood, both 
tempted and repulsed at the same time. Merry found he did not care. He 
just felt like something inside of him was clamoring to get out, and that if 
he did not let it out, it would tear him apart. As he could no longer reach 
Eomer, he set to unfastening his own breeches.
 
 
"If not you, then perhaps another in this camp. I don't care if it is gentle or 
rough--actually I would prefer rough. But I would also prefer it be you. 
You've been kind to me, and very wise. It would be a gift to me, to have 
you over me." Another image of dark flesh over him, a clawed hand at his 
throat to keep him from crying out. Merry shut his eyes, sinking down 
upon the cushions, suddenly feeling faint. He had to get this over quickly, 
before the drink's effects wore off and he lost his nerve.
 
 
Eomer pulled Merry's shirt back over him and held the hobbit's shoulders 
firmly, kneeling over him. "Go back to your tent. You will only regret this 
later."
 
 
Merry glared at him. "No. I will not be a coward forever." He reached up 
and took hold of Eomer, intending perhaps to kiss him, but he found he 
couldn't do it. His throat was burning; he was on the verge of tears. 
"Please," he begged Eomer to take charge, to help where he could not.
 
 
Though Eomer looked angry, it was with great gentleness that he took 
Merry's hands and removed them, folding them over Merry's chest. Merry 
saw with a mixture of relief and frustration that he kept his hands well 
away from Merry's half open breeches; that he kept his dark eyes carefully 
on Merry's face. "I cannot," Eomer said in a tender voice, softly stroking 
Merry's arms. Merry's mouth fell open in wonder--he hadn't expected to be 
treated with such care. It moved him, deeply.
 
 
Merry wasn't sure what it meant, but he was growing hard now. He took 
one of Eomer's hands and led it down to his member, curling the Man’s 
thick fingers around its growing length, thrusting into the warm fist, 
staring at Eomer's face with growing desperation. 
 
 
Eomer studied him, not removing his hand, his expression torn, his lips 
pressed into a thin line, a wrinkle between his brows. It seemed Merry was 
beginning to convince him, for very slowly, he almost imperceptibly 
began moving his hand, rubbing his thumb up the underside, watching 
Merry's face as the pleasure began to grow in him, his breathing 
quickening. Eomer swallowed and opened his mouth, looking like he was 
about to protest again. Merry held a finger to the Man's lips.
 
 
A silent communication passed between them. Merry was softly panting 
now, his fingers returning to pull down his breeches, as Eomer lowered 
himself so that he was lying beside him, still fully clothed, yet somehow 
there was an intimacy between them that made it seem like there was no 
clothing at all. Eomer's touch was still hesitant, oh so gentle, but there was 
a storm of passion in his eyes that belied his scant movements. He leaned 
his head down slightly and Merry lifted up on his elbows, and in that way, 
their lips brushed slightly, then met, in just the softest of kisses. 
 
 
Eomer's hand reached in and pulled Merry out fully, wrapped him in heat. 
Merry groaned. "Yes. Please," he said with a sigh, lying back, trying to 
reach for Eomer. Eomer's free hand caught him and held him back. 
 
 
"No more than this. Nothing for me. And I am only doing this to help 
show that there is nothing wrong with you." 
 
 
With that, Eomer began moving his hand faster, and where Merry had 
been about to protest that he needed more, that he needed Eomer to 
actually bed him, enter him, he now could think of nothing but the 
incredible sensations that large hand was bringing; it had been far too long 
since he had taken any kind of pleasure. Up the shaft, over the head, down 
again, gently fisting, rubbing the thumb over the top . . . Merry moaned, 
closing his eyes, and for once he was gratified that the images flowering in 
his head were not of orcs at all, but of Pippin, lying beside him, Pippin's 
hand upon him. He felt his seed quickening.
 
 
"Eomer--it's coming . . ." he warned the Man, then the ecstasy overtook 
him and he was gasping and thrusting up, his seed spilling over Eomer's 
hand, Eomer's lips pressed against his, and Pippin's image bright in his 
head. 
 
 
It took several moments for him to come down, and he realized that indeed 
Eomer had taken no actions to relieve his own need. "Eomer--I--"
 
 
"It's now time for you to return to your tent. We can talk about this 
tomorrow night, if you're ready. Don't worry about me." Eomer gave him 
no opportunity to argue, but buttoned up his shirt and put his weskit on 
over that, setting Merry up to fumble at his breeches and try to compose 
himself. Merry's cheeks were flaming; he looked at Eomer, trying to read 
the Man, but Eomer was being very careful not to meet his eyes. At least 
one thing he could see--the Man's bulge had not diminished one whit. 
Merry swallowed, feeling simply awful. What had he done? What should 
he do now?
 
 
"Eomer, why--" Merry tried to ask, feeling lightheaded, unsteady on his 
feet. He felt absolutely liquid inside, unable to hold his shape. The only 
thing he could be thankful for was that all his old fears and worries had 
been replaced by concern over what he had just done. Whatever had he 
been thinking? How was he going to tell Pippin about this?
 
 
"Tomorrow. Tomorrow night. I just need you . . . to go." Eomer seemed to 
be having trouble speaking, and Merry realized Eomer *wanted* him, and 
was fighting not to do just what Merry had asked him to do. Which Merry 
now knew he wasn't yet ready for. 
 
 
Merry fastened himself up, drew his cloak about his shoulders, feeling 
small and fragile, ready to break apart into a thousand sharp fragments. He 
stared at Eomer a moment more, uncertain, fighting to think what he could 
say, what he could do. Finally with a nod, he turned and trodded out of the 
tent.
 
 
Merry returned to his own tent, and thanks perhaps in part to the drink and 
to the release, threw himself down and at once fell into a dreamless 
slumber, escaping the muddle he had created for himself.
 




Title: Of Delving Within (6/7)
Story: "Wisdom" 
Series: Of Hobbits and Men 
Author: Diamond (juweldom@yahoo.com) 
Rating: NC-17 
Pairing: Merry/Pippin, Merry/Eomer, Merry/Frodo--hah, let's just say  
Merry/everyone, and a Frodo/OC to boot. :D 
Warnings: underage sex this chapter 
Category: Angst, hurt/comfort, Drama, Romance 
 
 
Disclaimer: All characters herein belong to Tolkien (sob!); I make  
no monetary profit from this but give me feedback and I'm a happy  
lass. 

Summary: Merry faces the morning after Eomer, and fond memories of  
the past. 
 
Notes: Sorry for the delay here. My muse got kicked in the head by a  
little life changing event called 'divorce' . . . Thanks to  
Baranduin for her great beta reading!
And I always use the 2/3 rule of man to hobbit age, so Merry at age  
22 is similar to age 14-15 in human. 
 
***** 
 
Merry didn't know how he was going to face Eomer after last night. He stayed in 
his tent long after he heard the call to serve Theoden at the breakfast table, 
knowing Eomer would be seated at the King's side, that he would have to look 
into those golden eyes and remember the passion and the pleasure. How 
wretched a fellow was he, to have used the noble Eomer in such a fashion! Only 
lend him a guide and a pony, and he would ride straight for Minas Tirith and 
Pippin, to beg forgiveness on bended knee. He had disgraced everyone, himself 
most of all. 
 
On top of all this, his head was pounding with one awful hangover headache. 
Whatever these Rohhirim drank, it was powerful stuff. He reminded himself not to 
partake of it again. 
 
"Meriadoc? Merry? Are you in there? The King is awaiting your services." Eomer's 
voice sounded close to the front of the tent mingled with the sound of boots 
crunching on gravel. Merry was already packed and dressed to leave, but he 
made motions as if he were still packing. He tried to think of an excuse that 
would not insult Theoden, who had been so kind to him, but he could think of 
none. Well, perhaps Eomer had already eaten. "So sorry--I overslept. I'm just 
finishing with the packing, then I shall be there." Merry trembled, hoping Eomer 
would leave so he could emerge alone, garner a few more moments to school his 
turbulent emotions. 
 
Instead, Eomer lifted the flap and looked at him. Merry froze, feeling like a 
startled rabbit. The blood was pounding in his face, and a most shameful heat 
was spreading through him. Oh blast! 
 
Eomer fixed his golden eyes on Merry, and Merry was nearly undone by the love 
and tenderness within them. "Are you all right this morning, Merry?" 
 
Merry struggled to find his voice, struggled to look at him. "Yes. I apologize for 
last night." He was about to add more--that he hadn't been himself, that Eomer 
was right--he should have left before he disgraced himself, but he couldn't. He 
had been all too aware of what he was doing, drink or no, and he had enjoyed it 
too much to say he regretted it. He only wished he had reciprocated in some way. 
Or perhaps it *would* have been better for it never to have occurred--oh! He was 
so confused. 
 
Eomer looked at him with sympathy. "Apology accepted. And understand it is not 
because I didn't like what we were doing last night, but I was a little--mm--
uncomfortable. I did not wish to hurt you in any way. You were frightened. You 
were not ready." 
 
Merry nodded, flushing. Then he frowned. "Brandybucks have never been known 
for their patience. I want this journey to be over and done with, to be with Pippin 
again. And yet I still don't know how it will go with him--if I can face him. If it will 
all go wrong . . . like it did with you." He chewed his lip thoughtfully, fretting at 
his cloak, hovering near the entrance of the tent, ready to depart but afraid to 
brush past Eomer lest he be tempted to embrace him. 
 
Eomer laid a hand on his shoulder. "Did I help or hurt you? Answer me that." 
 
Merry blew out a breath. Precisely what he had been trying to decide all morning. 
"Helped. I think." He blew another breath. "Ask me again tonight. I'm still groggy 
from that vicious drink you gave me." He grinned to show he was joking, at least 
about the drink. Then he realized he had actually found something to make him 
grin. Little enough had done that as of late. 
 
Eomer laughed and held the tent flap up for him. "I will, then. As for you, try to 
think of good things, good memories. Remember pleasant times. I believe you 
will recover--I see the strength of spirit in you. Do not hesitate to call for me if 
you need me." With that, he kissed Merry's brow and strode off, cloak swirling in 
the chill morning breeze. 
 
Merry stepped out of the tent and looked out over the camp. Pale morning light 
lanced through a thin layer of clouds, illuminating the men as they saddled horses 
and packed up the tents into surprisingly small bundles. The men's breath came 
out in little white puffs in the cold air; dew covered everything. Here and there 
Merry saw reminders of the battle they had fought but days ago--bloody 
bandages, an old soldier helping a young one to walk with a crutch, the lower 
part of his leg missing. Merry gulped. It was so easy to forget why they were 
here, where they were going, until a sight like that reminded him. He felt very 
small. 
 
Theoden awaited him; Theoden, who had led these men through the great battle 
and yet spared Merry such kindness.  
 
He would talk to Eomer later. Once his mind was sorted about things. 
 
He only hoped his actions had not spoilt his chances of anything with his beloved 
Pippin. 
 
***** 
 
Theoden was a wonder to talk to. He had the true gift of leadership, of bringing 
out the best in his men as they rode with all speed along the mountains towards 
Edoras and the mustering for Gondor. He also brought out, patiently and 
persistently, the gentle and happy memories of the Shire from Merry, told in 
great detail as they rode side by side. Eomer, true to his word, stayed near the 
rear of the company, giving Merry space to ponder things. 
 
There came a pause in the conversation late in the day where Merry finally did 
allow himself to ponder things again. He'd been talking about Frodo's stealing of 
the mushrooms from Farmer Maggot, the dogs, how frightened he was even 
years later--oh, had Merry laughed to learn that from Pippin and Sam! After 
telling Theoden that tale, however, he remembered the other memories of Frodo 
as he had been in Brandy Hall when Merry was just a wee lad, then--oh yes--his 
visits when Merry was in his tweens. How he had found out that love did not 
necessarily stay confined to the opposite gender. How he had first come to realize 
love came in many forms. 
 
*** 
 
May Bristlefoot had just kissed him. He was officially no longer an innocent, Merry 
thought triumphantly as he ran through the great smial of Brandy Hall one 
afternoon after tea, hoping to catch Frodo in his room and tell him all about it. 
Frodo was there on one of his few trips of the year, while Bilbo did some of his 
wanderings about the Shire. Only the night before Merry had been telling Frodo 
about his little interest and his desperate need to remedy the situation that he 
wanted to kiss someone, and now!  
 
Frodo had laughed and tried to give him pointers--lick your lips first; no lass 
wants dry cracked lips in a kiss. Always start with a closed mouth and then test 
out if they want more. Hold her hips or her shoulders, and let your hands roam. 
So smart, so wise, Frodo. Merry wished they were closer together in age, that he 
could come stay with Frodo at Bag End sometimes and be together more, but his 
mother still didn't like the idea of him going, even at twenty-two! Why, what fun 
they'd have at the pub in Bywater--Frodo could get him in, he was sure. Merry 
had to admit he was a little jealous of Frodo--he could have any lass he wanted; 
they were always flirting with him, and why shouldn't they? He was beautiful--not 
that Merry ever thought about things like that, but it was true. Absolutely 
beautiful, and so smart, and so kind. He absolutely adored his cousin. 
 
Merry ran up to the round door, and without thinking, threw it open to tell Frodo-
-and froze. Ned Chubb, a brazen young hobbbit who was always watching folks--
oftentimes he'd sit with his ale in the main hall after supper and watch Merry as 
he was playing with Pip or Frodo or other cousins--Ned Chubb with his light 
brown hair looking tousled and damp and his squinty eyes screwed up in 
pleasure, was lying on Frodo's bed. Not a stitch of clothing on him. 
 
That would have been enough to make Merry gasp, but no, there was a great 
deal more! Frodo was naked too, and he was on top of Ned, and thrusting up 
against him. It took Merry a moment to realize just exactly what he must be 
doing; where he must be putting his--they looked up and noticed him. He turned 
scarlet, from the tips of his ears down. 
 
"Sorry!" he squeaked, and before either could say a word, slammed the door shut 
and fled to his room. He flung himself on the bed and grabbed a pillow to hide 
behind. 
 
His heart was racing, and worse, he knew he shouldn't be excited, but he was. 
Quite terribly so-- enough that he had to take himself in hand, and with only a 
few strokes, he was spurting off into the pillow, imagining Frodo's face and his 
long lean body and his--hmm, yes--rubbing against Merry's belly.  
 
He heard the click of the doorlatch and hurried to cover himself in time. Stars, at 
this rate he'd be permanently beet red. 
 
Frodo walked in, blue eyes taking in things instantly--the pillow over Merry's 
crotch, Merry's half-dressed state. He sat down gingerly on the bed, his own state 
of dress obviously hastily put together, long dark curls damp against his 
forehead, and worry in the set of his mouth. A little knock at the door, and Ned 
was there too, watching Merry, his face hard, his arms crossed over him. Merry 
swallowed; Ned was about six years older than him, and a very sturdy fellow; in a 
fight he knew he'd lose. 
 
"You're not going to tell anyone, are you?" Ned asked. 
 
Merry shook his head vigorously. "No. Never." He looked at Frodo, who was 
eyeing Ned with a dark look on his face.  
 
"Ned, I'll handle this. I'll see you later, all right?" Merry shivered; there was an 
authority in Frodo's voice he wasn't used to hearing, a sense of command and 
also a sense of warning. Ned took it all in and nodded, fiddling with the door. 
 
"Right. Later." He looked at Merry, and Merry could swear he saw him lick his 
lips. He thought about Frodo's talk about kissing. "I'll see you later too, Merry. 
You be good, okay?" He grinned; everyone knew that the words 'Merry' and 
'Good' just never quite went together. Merry had to smile at that; one of his 
mischievous smiles. 
 
"Oh yes. Right," he agreed. Ned quietly left and closed the door. 
 
Merry thumped his toes against the covers as he waited for the scolding that 
must surely come from Frodo. "I'm sorry. I should have knocked. I was just very 
excited--May kissed me today." He blushed again; suddenly May kissing him was 
just a tiny thing, not even worth mentioning. Under the pillow he struggled to 
button up his breeches, hoping Frodo couldn't determine what he'd just been up 
to. If he had to endure *any* more embarrassment today . . .  
 
Frodo's mouth twitched--it might have been a smile, but Merry wasn't certain. He 
still looked concerned and uncomfortable, fine brows drawn together. "Was it 
good?" 
 
Merry shrugged, feeling the heat of Frodo's gaze, noticing the spots of color on 
his cheeks. Frodo had missed a button on his breeches, and Merry found his gaze 
drawn there inexorably. "It was all right. At least she didn't slap me when I asked 
her." 
 
Frodo chuckled. "I doubt she would. You're a more handsome hobbit than you 
realize, Merry." 
 
Merry scoffed. "Not like you." He looked at Frodo, saw his eyes go hooded and 
the slump of his shoulders that seemed to be closing in on himself, shutting Merry 
out. It seemed Frodo was just going to stay silent; pretend it hadn't happened. 
But Merry didn't want that. He wanted to talk about it. "Why Ned of all hobbits? I 
don't like him. And that too--he's a *he*. I didn't know . . .one could . . . " Oh, 
he was prying, wasn't he. Merry scowled at the pillow in his lap, brought out his 
hands from underneath to twist and mangle it, until he caught the scent of 
himself. His eyes shot to Frodo, wondering if he had caught the scent as well. 
 
Frodo's face was troubled, his eyes downcast. If he suspected what Merry had 
been doing, he did not show it. "Well two lads *can*, though it's frowned upon, 
you know. So it has to stay secret, you understand? Your father wouldn't 
understand. And if he knew you saw it--" Frodo shuddered, and Merry shuddered 
in sympathy. Both of them had felt Saradoc's belt strap a time or two on their 
hides. Merry could only imagine what his reaction would be if he knew. He'd 
never see Frodo again, for one. That was assuming Frodo survived his 
punishment. 
 
"I promise, it will stay secret. But still--Ned? Surely you don't love him or 
anything." 
 
Frodo raised his eyes to look at Merry. "Do you love May?" 
 
Merry scoffed. "No!" What a silly notion--May was sweet, but they didn't have a 
whole lot in common. 
 
Frodo gave a half smile. "Then why did you want her to kiss you?" 
 
Merry squirmed, not really wanting to say the truth. "I thought it would be fun." 
 
Frodo nodded. "Well, it *is* fun with Ned, and that's all. There aren't a lot of lads 
who I can trust, but he's a bit of a coward. I know he'll keep the secret safe. Also, 
he looks like--well he looks like someone I'd like, but won't ever be able to have. 
But tell me, Merry, if he ever bothers you. I'll make him very sorry if he does." 
 
 
 
 
Merry sniggered. "All right. I think I can handle him, in any case."  
 
He thought that would be it, then; that Frodo would get up and leave, but Frodo 
paused, studying the pillow, and Merry suddenly knew--Frodo knew 
*everything*; he had figured it out, what Merry had done after seeing them. 
Merry couldn't let him leave like that, not when there was now this big question 
between them, not when Frodo's lips looked so swollen and ripe and inviting . . . 
"Frodo?" He blurted out. "Can I kiss you?" 
 
Frodo gulped and stared at him, and suddenly Merry felt a little shock go through 
him. He looked like he wanted to--like May, just before she had. Merry's eyes 
fastened on the red rose lips, and he paused to lick his own lips, leaning forward.  
 
"No." 
 
Merry paused, glancing up. "What?" 
 
Frodo drew back, but he too was licking his lips; oh why was he being so 
confusing? His mouth said one thing, but his body said another. "You're too 
young." 
 
Merry snorted. "Not too young to kiss May Bristlefoot." 
 
Frodo's expression did not falter. "I do not kiss like May Bristlefoot. Believe me--
you're too young. And I can't anyways--you can't. Your father would kill you if he 
ever learned. You're going to be Master of Buckland someday. Maybe it's better if 
you don't ever try it with anyone like me . . ." 
 
Merry was growing angry. He crawled forward, heedless of his shirt coming loose 
or the fact only a couple buttons kept his breeches from sliding down off his hips, 
and took hold of Frodo's arm. "What do you mean 'like you'? And how do you 
kiss--what's different? You know, you can't be one to tell me what I can and 
cannot do. If you don't, then I'll just have to ask Ned. He's been watching me--
I've seen how he watches me. I bet he'd kiss me." 
 
He was thinking of more arguments to say when suddenly his mouth was covered 
by Frodo's. Very quickly he learned that Frodo did *indeed* kiss differently, for 
he might start with closed mouth but it didn't stay that way for long, as his 
tongue coaxed Merry's lips open and he suddenly plunged his tongue in--oh, and 
that was most peculiar, for it seemed to have a direct effect on Merry's crotch. 
When he moaned, Frodo seemed to like that; all at once Merry found himself on 
his back with Frodo pressed on top of him, arms wrapped around him, hips 
rubbing hardness against his hardness, and stars, that was the best feeling he 
could ever recall experiencing. He thrust back, one hand grabbing at Frodo's curls 
as the kiss became almost frantic. Teeth clicked together, tongues slid, and Merry 
was thinking if this was how lads kissed he didn't understand how any hobbits got 
married. 
 
Suddenly Frodo broke the kiss, panting and trying to draw away; Merry held tight 
to his arms, preventing him. Frodo shook his head, blue eyes glazed, almost in a 
daze. "No, Merry; we should stop. You're too young." 
 
"No, no! Please don't stop! Show me," Merry pleaded, and remembering Frodo's 
advice, he let his hands roam, pressing down the length of Frodo's back, holding 
onto his hips--hmm--and then around to his buttocks. Ahh. That was nice. 
 
"Merry!" Frodo's voice was choked, desperate. "I don't want to spoil you. I care 
too much about you--" 
 
Merry was learning that he seemed to have some power here, that his actions 
affected Frodo just as much as the other way around; experimentally he thrust 
up, and watched the pleasure wash over Frodo's face. He traced Frodo's lips with 
his finger looking into the azure eyes looking back at him with such tenderness. 
"I'd much rather you show me than someone else," he whispered. He saw Frodo's 
mouth open to protest.  
 
Gently Merry put his hand at the back of Frodo's head and lowered him down to 
kiss him again, shyly flicking his tongue to lap at Frodo, and that set his stomach 
all aflutter, and made waves of heat flow through him. He moaned again, wanting 
more, wanting--he blushed--wanting completion.  
 
Frodo sighed, and began kissing him back again, hands now moving over him, up 
under his shirt to run over his chest--Merry shivered and clutched at him--then 
down over his hip, grabbing hold of the fabric of his breeches and tugging 
downwards, freeing Merry's member to rub against the soft linen of his loose 
shirt. Merry got the idea quickly, and began pulling the shirt from Frodo, and 
unbuttoning his breeches, running his hands over the smooth flesh of Frodo's 
stomach and down . . . hesitantly, he brushed his fingers over Frodo's erection, 
curious, aching. Frodo let out a low groan. He guided Merry's hand to wrap 
around him, and experimentally Merry pulled and stroked. Frodo's eyelids 
fluttered. He sucked in his breath. "Faster," he whispered. 
 
Merry nodded and obeyed, gripping tighter and sliding his thumb over the head 
the way he liked it himself and slowly building up a rhythm, feeling Frodo's hips 
guiding him with tiny thrusts, watching Frodo's eyes close in ecstasy--oh, what 
power, what an incredible feeling to *give* pleasure! 
 
"Yes, yes," Frodo murmured, burying his face against Merry's shoulder, 
shuddering, and it wasn't long, no, not long at all, before Merry felt pulses go 
through Frodo's shaft, and a big tremor go through his body; then Frodo was 
coming, hot wet pulses into Merry's lap, and he suddenly wondered how they 
were going to sneak their clothing out so that this went unnoticed. Frodo lay 
panting on him a moment, then raised his head to tenderly kiss Merry, blue eyes 
taking him in, making him feel like he was drowning. Merry sighed. He was so 
hard again, so very hard it hurt. 
 
"My turn," Frodo said with a little smile--one of the smiles that would have made 
the elder folk tremble with fear back in the days Frodo lived at Brandy Hall and 
was such a troublemaker. He kissed Merry deeply, and Merry groaned, for Frodo's 
hand was on him now, stripping away the damp breeches, taking his own length 
in hand. Merry let his eyes close, let sensation carry him. Frodo's lips left his, and 
he whimpered, but before he could ask Frodo to come back and kiss him, he felt 
a new sensation on the very tip of his member. His eyes flew open in shock. He 
looked down. 
 
"Frodo--what--" he began to ask, but it was perfectly obvious what Frodo was 
doing. He was licking--oh stars! "Ohhhh," he moaned, thrusting up a little, and 
oh, then Frodo did something completely amazing--he took him in! Down his 
throat; Merry's mouth fell open and he felt waves of something too intense and 
concentrated to be called mere pleasure; his toes curled and he found he was 
making odd little sounds in the back of his throat, fingers scrabbling at Frodo's 
curls, urging him on. Heat was building, and an almost unbearable heaviness in 
his groin, and the feel of Frodo's tongue swirling over and around him was 
making him lightheaded; he brought one hand up to clamp over his mouth, for 
surely he was going to scream out, and wouldn't *that* bring every hobbit in the 
Hall! 
 
It was coming; there was no way he was going to stop it; and he stuttered out 
"C-coming," trying to warn Frodo, but Frodo only sucked harder, and that did it; 
he was spilling his own seed, and Frodo drank it up, all of it, sucking until it was 
all over and he was too sensitive, and had to push Frodo away; Frodo came back 
up and kissed his neck, and his ears, and not his mouth, which was probably 
best; Merry wasn't sure if he was ready to taste himself just yet. 
 
"You're precious," Frodo whispered to him, chuckling, and Merry knew it wasn't 
love, maybe, but it was something rather close, and he was satisfied. It had 
definitely been *fun*. He hugged his cousin close, and thanked him with kisses 
all over his face. 
 
As it turned out, Frodo had his own method for washing out 'evidence' that he'd 
long since adopted along with some herbal water to chase away telltale scents, 
and while Frodo didn't do the thing he and Ned had been caught doing with Merry 
until his next visit a year later, they did take every opportunity they could find to 
have *fun*. Merry tried to suck on him and nearly choked the first time and 
wasn't entirely sure he liked the taste, but he *did* love the responses it drew 
from Frodo's mouth as he was emptying himself. Frodo saw less and less of Ned, 
and while he was away Ned tried and tried to start things up with Merry, but after 
a few veiled threats, Merry chased him off. He wasn't interested in doing that sort 
of thing with just any sort of lad. He wanted no lad but Frodo, actually, and when 
Frodo wasn't around he had fun instead with the lasses--May, and Daffodil, and 
others as well. 
 
Until Pippin began to grow up. 
 
** 
 
Merry sighed, swaying back and forth on the pony's gait, eyes wandering over to 
Eomer who was riding with Theoden now, eyes straying every now and again to 
check on Merry before refocusing on the trail ahead. Merry tried to adjust his 
seat. Thinking about Frodo had brought back all the feelings, the want and the 
need, and now Pippin was so far away . . .  
 
Oh, and the pony moving underneath him was sure torture. He hoped they would 
stop soon for the evening. 
 
His eyes flicked back to Eomer, to the armor hugging his muscular legs and arms, 
the blond hair flying in the breeze, the smoldering almost black eyes. Merry 
shivered. 
 
Eomer was hardly what he'd call a 'lad' and definitely no hobbit. But he held the 
same attraction that Frodo had. Merry had to admit it to himself; he wanted the 
Man, wanted to lie beneath him and relearn what it was to love like that. It had 
been so long since Frodo and he had stopped their *fun*, when Frodo had asked 
to stop because he was in love with another . . . Merry smiled. And Sam hadn't 
ever known. He didn't even think Sam had known just how long Frodo had had 
his eye on him when he opened his heart to him in Rivendell. Well, at least the 
two of them were together now, wherever they were. 
 
And back to his needs. Eomer would want to talk to him; what should he say? 
 
Eomer would want to see him tonight, and all Merry could think about was the 
feel of his hand last night . . . 
 
Oh, it was going to be a *very* long ride. 





Title:  Of Finding Release (7/7)
Story:  "Wisdom"
Series:  Of Hobbits and Men
Author: Diamond (juweldom@yahoo.com )
Rating: NC-17
Pairing:  Merry/Pippin, Merry/Eomer
Warnings:  graphic interspecies sex this chapter
Category:  Angst, hurt/comfort, Drama, Romance

Disclaimer:  All characters herein belong to Tolkien (sob!); I make no 
monetary profit from this but give me feedback and I'm a happy lass.

Summary:  Merry tries to purge bad memories with a night with Eomer. 

Notes: Yep, I will finish this eventually   And we've finally gotten to the 
part everyone's been waiting for!


*****

They made camp in another little fold in the land; it would be another 
couple of days before they reached Edoras.  Merry helped with the setting 
up of his tent, noting where they pitched Eomer's with interest before 
Theoden called upon him to serve at his table in the grand tent.

Throughout dinner, Merry felt Eomer's eyes on him, though the warrior 
said little besides 'please pass' and 'thank you'. Theoden again had Merry 
doing most of the talking, talking now about sights he had seen on his 
travels here, the elves at Rivendell and Lothlorien, and Fangorn and the 
ents.  Eomer listened with interest, dark hazel eyes intent on Merry, 
making his blood hum pleasantly, especially with the addition of the pale 
mead being served with dinner.

Afterwards, Merry walked the camp while Theoden held another council 
meeting, chatting with some of the soldiers--many of whom were curious 
about him and his kind, and his lack of stature, and many of whom were 
young and fair of skin and hair, reminding him a little of Pippin.  As the 
sun set, he made his way to his tent.

It was not terribly long before Eomer came knocking at the post outside, 
changed out of his mail for a simple woolen tunic and hosen.  "Merry?"  
His voice sounded hesitant, endearing, and Merry realized he was still 
somewhat unsure about the night before.  Merry stood and opened the 
flap.

"Hello.  Would you like to come in, or would you be more comfortable in 
your own tent?"  Merry's was a standard sized tent, about a third of the 
size of Eomer's, but still plenty roomy to a hobbit's proportions.  Eomer, 
with his large frame, was like a giant in the cramped quarters.  

"Come to my tent," he said, and pulled back to wait for Merry to come 
out, then with a glance to be sure the hobbit was following, Eomer led the 
way to his tent, opening the flap for Merry to enter first.  Merry did so, 
trying to ignore a sudden tightening in his groin as he remembered flashes 
of the night before, his eyes traveling to the rug on which he had been 
sprawled out.  He took a cushion and sat down.  Eomer sat on the floor 
across from him, and reached to a little brass brazier over a small fire.  
Merry sat fidgeting with the buttons of his waistcoat as Eomer poured 
them both comfrey tea and set them down, eyes downcast the entire time, 
mouth set in a little frown.  Merry reached out and touched Eomer's hand 
as he handed him the cup.

"Are you angry with me?"

Eomer blinked, coming out of his thoughts, and gave a sad sweet smile 
that set Merry's heart pounding.  "No--of course not.  Why ever would I 
be?"  He went back to frowning.  "I was thinking of the war.  I wish 
Aragorn had not chosen the path he did.  We could have used his help."  
He went silent a moment, and Merry knew there was more to it than that, 
but that similar to his own original intentions, it would never see the light 
of day, never be revealed.  

He took the warrior's hand in his own.  "He will be all right.  I'll keep 
telling you that, if you'll keep telling me my Pippin is well."

Eomer smiled.  "I am sure he is.  Gandalf would not fail him."  He looked 
at Merry, and again there was that heat in his eyes.  Unlike the previous 
times, this time it called forth a similar heat in Merry's blood.  He felt his 
mouth go dry as blood seemed to rush to his groin.  "How are you now?"  
Eomer asked in a low voice.

Merry forced himself to look into Eomer's eyes, though the action of doing 
that was only making the ache worse and worse.  "I am well.  I followed 
your advice today, tried to think of good things.  I miss my kind.  I want . . 
. to be past the fear.  But I am well."

Eomer nodded, and the two of them were silent a moment, sipping their 
tea, casting glances at each other with hooded eyes.  Finally Merry set 
down his cup.

"I still think it's a good idea.  And I'm not drunk this time."

Eomer's eyebrows raised.  "What do you mean?"

Merry thought that if he had to explain it all again, it would just all go 
horribly wrong again and he would lose his nerve--he wanted very badly 
to be true to Pippin, but they had never had anything, so he couldn't very 
well be breaking something that hadn't formed yet, right?  And he needed 
Eomer, needed someone larger than himself, to show him that he wasn't 
ruined, that he could let himself be taken, in trust, and find pleasure in it.  
If he could do that, then he knew he could be everything Pippin deserved.  
He would have the confidence to carry through.

He fumbled through a few words, trying to say it.  Then gave up, and 
leaned forward to cup Eomer's cheek, pull his face forward.

And kissed him.

Eomer drew in a surprised breath, but his lips molded instantly to Merry's, 
one hand coming up to gently stroke Merry's blond curls as they pressed 
deeper into the kiss, tongue darting out to slide over Merry's lips, delve 
deeper into his mouth.  Eomer's beard softly scraped at Merry's cheek in a 
most pleasant of sensations; Merry sighed, leaning closer, and Eomer's 
arm came around to hold him in an embrace, pulling him tight up against 
the soft wool of the tunic, through which Merry could feel the big Man's 
heart pounding.  His own heartbeat raced at the knowledge--Eomer *did* 
want him; it had not been mere kindness the evening before.  Merry 
moaned as he was pulled up against Eomer's thigh, brushing his hardness 
against the firm muscle.

Eomer broke off the kiss, breathing hard.  "Are you sure . . . I don't want 
to cause you any pain--any problems."

Merry nodded, and for the first time he knew his voice was steady with 
resolve.  "I am sure.  Please--I need to know that I can.  Will you take 
me?"

Eomer looked hard at him, measuring him, his hand still wrapped in 
Merry's curls, massaging his scalp.  The Man licked his lips, running his 
other hand over the brass buttons of Merry's waistcoat.  
 
Eomer nodded.  "I will.  In friendship.  And in comfort."

Merry's breath caught; he stared at the broad shoulders of this gentle 
warrior.  Then with slightly shaking hands, he took hold of the tunic, and 
lifted it, up over Eomer's head, pulling it off.  Eomer took off his 
undertunic as well, then began unbuttoning Merry's waistcoat, candlelight 
gleaming off his ruddy skin; Merry made a small surprised sound at the 
sight of an old scar running under the arm and over one pectoral muscle.  
He traced it with his finger, fascinated.  Eomer chuckled, gently removing 
Merry’s waistcoat and setting to work on his shirt.

"It's an old wound.  I was grazed by an orc's axe."  

Merry felt the hard scar tissue, shuddering.  "Awful creatures.  Did it hurt 
very much?"  

Eomer slowly pulled off Merry's shirt, making a low hum in the back of 
his throat.  "Not as much as it could have.  Doesn't hurt at all now."  He 
ran his hand up Merry's small chest, rough calluses brushing over the 
sensitive nubs.  Merry bit back a moan, arching into the touch.  Eomer 
leaned forward and sucked in the hardened tip into his mouth, and this 
time Merry *did* moan, arching forward, hands tangling in the long blond 
locks of the warrior.  He kissed Eomer’s bare shoulder, tasting the salty 
flesh, letting his need build, his fears fade.

Eomer pushed Merry back, onto the rug and the cushions covering the 
floor, mouth still trailing sweet circles around his nipples, hands working 
to unfasten the buttons of Merry's breeches as Merry fumbled again with 
the ties of Eomer's hosen.  Eomer smiled a little and helped him, pulling 
off his boots and pulling a fur to cover them with as he finished removing 
Merry's clothes as well.  

They lay for a moment together, skin sliding against skin, and Merry tried 
to concentrate on how different this was, how gentle and safe, nothing to 
remind him of the orcs, from the smell of clean perfumed oil and tea and 
leather of the tent, to Eomer's own light musk, the smooth feel of his chest, 
their hips brushing together.  Merry hesitantly dropped a hand down to 
close over Eomer's shaft, testing the feel of it and it was so soft, silk over 
steel, impressive, but not too thick.   Merry was large for his kind as well--
and not just in height.  Ugluk's had been worse.  He should not feel too 
much pain, if they went about it right.

And Eomer seemed determined to do it so.  He reached over for the sweet 
oil with heather and lavender scenting the room, and poured a little over 
his fingers, gently parting Merry's legs and settling down on his stomach 
beside the hobbit.  Eomer leaned over to kiss Merry again, a little more 
actively this time, plunging his tongue into Merry's mouth, deepening the 
kiss, and Merry sighed, feeling open and vulnerable, but safe, and very 
much in need.  He gasped as one of Eomer's hand began to stroke his 
member, long laze strokes like last night, hand slicked with the oil, a most 
incredible sensation.  Merry moaned and rotated his hips, encouraging the 
attention, and reached out to take Eomer's member as well, dragging his 
hand up from the balls, smirking as Eomer's face pinched up in ecstasy.  
Eomer groaned, kissing Merry's neck.

"Don't know what it is--something about you," the Man whispered 
brokenly against Merry's neck, teeth grazing.  Merry's hand stilled as he 
felt a finger teasing at his opening, rubbing in circles.  He couldn't help the 
tensing of his body.  The finger stopped, and Eomer raised his head to 
look at him.  

"Are you well?"

Merry nodded, impatient now, thrusting his hips up to get Eomer to 
continue stroking him, pushing back on the finger.  Eomer licked at 
Merry's lips, at the hollow of his throat, gently pressing forward with his 
oil-coated finger, but it still seemed Merry's body did not want to accept it.  
Merry groaned in frustration.

Eomer quietly shushed him.  He moved lower, mouth slowly moving over 
Merry's chest, taking one nipple into his mouth to roll around his teeth, 
nibbling and sucking.  Merry surrendered himself to that sensation and the 
hand still on his cock, slowly moving, and this time the pressing at his 
hole yielded success; Eomer's finger slid to the first knuckle, then with a 
little twisting, the second.  A touch of soreness.  But no pain; not yet.  
Merry nodded for more, his hands tangled in Eomer's hair.

Instead, Eomer withdrew his finger--but only to coat it with more oil, and 
sink it back in, and this time it went all the way in, deep, and Merry 
sighed, his brows knitting together, writhing under the touch.

"Relax, relax," Eomer whispered to him, mouth moving down to tongue at 
Merry's navel, moving to slowly close over the head of his cock, licking 
there, then taking in all of Merry's length; Merry whimpered--relax, he 
said!  With all the sensations flowing through him, he barely was aware of 
the addition of another finger, the pulling and stretching.  All he could feel 
was Eomer's mouth, the luscious feel of that long hair trailing over his 
thighs.  He gave a long happy moan.

Eomer began slowly fucking him with his fingers, thrusting deeper, and 
Merry nearly came as orange fire streaked through his vision at something 
Eomer brushed--something Frodo had talked about but had a hard time 
finding in their experimenting at Brandy Hall.  He grabbed Eomer's hair 
and pulled hard.  "Sto--stop--gonna spill.  I'm ready now, I think"

Eomer released him from his mouth, pulling out his fingers, and Merry 
made a face, wanting something back, but he could see Eomer was 
slicking up his own member now with oil, and Merry hurried to help out, 
his hands eagerly working up and down the shaft, until Eomer was 
gasping and chuckling for him to stop if he wanted to bring this to 
completion the right way.  Merry grabbed his hair again and kissed him 
passionately, and for a moment they only kissed, tongues dueling.  
Sighing, Eomer broke off and poised himself over Merry.  With incredible 
gentleness, Eomer began pressing forward, kissing Merry hard, 
undoubtedly to distract him, his hand back on Merry's cock.  He sunk in 
halfway before the clenching of Merry's body forced him to stop.  Merry 
breathed hard past the sudden pain, gripping Eomer's shoulders as Eomer 
planted soothing kisses all over his face, still slowly stroking him, sending 
waves of pleasure to battle the pain . . . Merry felt his body relaxing.  
Eomer sunk in
 another inch.  And another.  Bit by bit, slowly, until he was fully 
sheathed.  Merry moaned, surprised, loving the fullness, the different feel 
of something admittedly quite bigger than Frodo.  He bucked his hips up 
for Eomer to start moving, hands grabbing at the Man's buttocks.

"Oh, yes.  More," Merry begged.  Eomer chuckled.  

He began moving, long slow strokes, pulling out almost all the way, 
sliding home again, and he must have done this a few times before--he 
seemed almost instinctively to know the angle. Again orange fire exploded  
fanning out from somewhere deep inside, and Merry bucked and thrust 
back, lost to the pleasure, past all fear or worry or any coherent thought at 
this point.  Their pace increased rapidly as well as the force; Merry didn’t 
want gentle any more; he wanted more, *now*!  And Eomer gave it to 
him, grabbing his hips and beginning to thrust hard, still being careful not 
to thrust *too* deep, but more than deep enough. Merry cried out softly at 
each thrust, head thrown back, and once again his thoughts turned to 
Pippin, and finally he was able to imagine it, imagine Pippin doing this to 
him, and oh, he could see it, the damp curls framing that face, the look of 
concentration in green eyes--and wasn't that same look on Eomer's face 
driving him mad!

"Eomer--ohh--ungh!"  Merry managed, then he was coming, back arched, 
seed spilling hot over Eomer's hand as the Man continued to thrust into 
him--it was only a moment later that he gave a cry of his own, shouting 
Merry's name, and came as well, thrusting deep inside, his whole body 
shuddering.  Merry watched fascinated at the strength and yet gentleness 
in that warrior body, arms coming up to cradle Eomer as he collapsed to 
the side a little, still so careful of hurting Merry.  Merry kissed all around 
Eomer's face, his chest.  "Oh, so good.  So wonderful--thank you, Eomer."

Eomer petted Merry's curls, smiling.  "And I do hope *that* helped you, 
then."

Merry looked into Eomer's eyes, drowning almost in the warm golden 
depths.  "Oh yes.  Yes indeed."  He was silent a moment.  "I only hope 
that Pippin will understand why it was necessary."

Eomer stroked Merry's cheek.  "If he loves you, he will."

Merry nodded, and closed his eyes, resting against Eomer's chest, listening 
to the steady beat of the warrior's heart.  They lay together there for some 
time, neither speaking, just wrapped arms around each other, slowly 
breathing and listening to the sounds of the camp settling in for the night.  
Merry yawned, and Eomer chuckled, bringing over a blanket to wrap 
around them.  He kissed the top of Merry's head.  "Sleep well.  It will be 
another hard ride in the morning."

Merry sighed.  But another hard ride would bring him that much closer to 
Pippin.

*I love you Pippin.  And hope you love me,* he thought, and drifted off to 
sleep.

***** 

He did not get to spend another such evening with Eomer.  That day they 
rode hard, stopping to pick up more riders, then reaching the Hold and the 
remainder of the men, and Eowyn, cold and fair Eowyn.  Merry listened as 
they described how Aragorn had passed through, heard the hurt and the 
fear in Eomer's voice asking his whereabouts.  He tried to throw Eomer a 
reassuring look, but everyone was busy; no one paid him much mind at 
all.  

He served that night in Theoden's tent, and when the errand runner from 
Gondor came, he listened with all his heart for news of Pippin.  He 
thought his heart would stop when the Man--Hirgon--stated that if Rohan 
took as long as a week to come to their aid, they would find nothing but 
the ruins.  Pippin!  His heart cried out, but he could say nothing.  Then the 
darkness came, and it was decided the company would ride out 
immediately.  He fumed when the King decided he could not ride with 
them, wishing he could beg Eomer--but he knew Eomer would not defy 
the King to help him.  He grew close to despair, until the rider Dernhelm 
offered to hide him with his cloak.

For days he did not see Eomer close at hand, save for one conversation 
with one of the Wild men, during which Merry was forced to remain 
hidden.  But as the companies were arranged in formations and the battle 
grew close at hand, he caught sight of Eomer leading the company, and 
felt the dark eyes fasten onto him.  

A look passed between them, of recognition, and acceptance.  

Merry looked resolutely into the gloom where somewhere beyond the hills 
stood the city of Minas Tirith.  He glanced back at Eomer, the message 
clear in his eyes, *I am coming for my love; nothing will stop me.*

Eomer nodded at him, accepting his place hidden behind the young Rider, 
a look promising to keep his secret.


Then they rode onwards towards the White City.

***


**End of Wisdom.    The next tale, "Honor", completes the Hobbits and 
Men Series, following Pippin in his time in Minas Tirith, his meeting the 
captain Faramir, and his reunion with Merry after the end of all things.**