5 September, 3017
"Come on, Merry! This is a very fine breeze!" A strong gust of wind caught Pippin in its grasp and shoved him up the side of the hill, hair and arms flying while he laughed for the sheer joy of it all.
From the bottom of the steep slope, a huge grin on his face, Merry watched Pippin's spectacular flight while the scent of wild honeysuckle tickled his nose and the deep green grass made his own feet want to run. "If you aren't careful, you'll find yourself nose to nose with the nearest sparrow! And I refuse to climb any tree that has you in it!"
Pippin laughed, spinning in a circle at the top of the hill, his coattails whirling straight out from his waist. "I've found the Greenrill, Merry. For Greenrill Cottage! It makes me feel like shouting and we have yet to set foot inside!"
"Well, it's getting dark and if you don't come down now, I'll never be able to find you and I shall have to live alone!"
Pippin snatched up his coattails and shot back down the hill at a gallop, leaping the little stream at the bottom and almost bowling Merry over. "I am at your beck and call, Master Brandybuck!" He promptly tripped and sat down, laughing up at Merry's grinning face. Attempts to haul him upright produced a happy bout of grabbing and wrestling before Pippin finally got to his feet in the deepening dusk. Then, still breathless, they picked up their bags and made their way up the little path and onto the rose-covered front porch.
They were tired and hungry for they had come a very long way and had barely beat the evening shadows to their new home, despite the best of intentions to start early...
"Another ten minutes is all we'll need, Merry. So put that ridiculous frown away and see to your knife and fork, my lad."
Mrs. Hedgeway popped the new batch of sausage from the Upper Farm into a hot skillet. "You just listen to your young Took, Master Merry. Hurry is as hurry does, or so they tell me. And it's just a bite you'll need so's you can tell me what you think." She shoved the sausages around with a wooden fork, checking the browning. "Ned reckons it's the best he's made up this year." She smiled, her homely face aglow in the heat of the stove.
Breakfast in the kitchen had seemed like a good idea when they'd waked up that morning. And on any other day, they would have been in, out and gone by now. But Mrs. Hedgeway had done something amazing with the pancakes and then she'd found a jar of last Autumn's honey and then she'd mentioned Ned's latest batch of sausage, which they must taste, of course, and discuss and fuss over before ever they got up from the table, and somehow, time just seemed to slip away.
But the sausage was well worth the delay.
Then Merry remembered, "I need to speak with Old Mallow about those new hives, the ones he wants to put in near the river. And we should go out to the greenhouses before we leave. You need to see those hops you started last year. They're doing better than even you expected!"
As it turned out, the visit with Old Mallow took a good while, for he had a great many suggestions for handling the bees and more suggestions for the new fields being planted at that moment with the flowers for the summer honey.
And then the visit to the greenhouses led to a long discussion about acres and fertilizer and crop yields, for hops like to be kept happy, if one expects to have a fine enough beer to swap stories over and to say 'just fill us up again, if you please', more times than one can count.
Then they must go back to their rooms and discuss what they would wear on their journey. But since that required a certain amount of bare skin between the picking and the choosing, it was rather late in the morning before they kissed parents and friends good-bye, saddled and packed the ponies (Merry on a very fine forest-bred chestnut, Pippin on his favorite high-tail mare out of Millbank Daisy) and set out for Tuckborough, with the expectation of a night or two at Greenrill Cottage and a quick visit to Bag End.
So it was well into the afternoon before they stopped for a late lunch at The Mug and Spoon in Whitfurrows, where more than enough still remained of a very large spread to satisfy even Pippin. Over some excellent pints, they talked of bees and honey, the breeding of their favorite ponies, and the establishment of Pippin's remarkable crop of hops.
"I tell you, Merry, it will be tremendously fine! The land thereabouts is perfect. No one will believe the crop I could grow there..."
Merry studied his cousin as they talked. Pippin's face was flushed and his fingers had tied knots all down the length of his napkin. Merry rested his chin on his fist and sighed. The truth was that Pippin was still a bit young and, while it is all well and good to follow the dictates of one's heart, the step they were both taking was a very big one, not only for themselves but for their families. They had barely begun to deal with all of the things a new household entails and Merry knew, based on his own fear that they might somehow fail to be the pudding in which the proof is so proudly proved, that those same fears could undermine even the best and bravest of Tookish intentions. Hoping to allay this, he'd called for one last pint.
"Pippin, don't you think..."
"And it's close enough to both our families to be more than practical..."
"Pippin..."
"There's enough acreage near the river for a good first crop. Anyway, enough to start brewing..."
"Cousin, I don't..."
Pippin tapped his finger on the table. "If those plants do what they ought to, two years from now, every house from the Bridge to Michel Delving will be swimming in beer like none they've ever had before. You mark my words!"
"Cousin, pudding, cherry tart, listen!" Merry reached across the table and linked his warm fingers through Pippin's cold ones. "You are not to worry about your parents or your Tookish relations or...or anybody else! You and I shall do very well together."
Pippin ran the fingers of his free hand through curls already frazzled by previous combings. "You don't know my father..."
"Yes, I do." Merry stopped for a second and blinked at a rather worrisome memory. "No. I mean, yes, I do know your father and he'll not beg you to do anything you don't wish to."
"Oh, Merry. I wish I knew right now what he'll say. When he gets annoyed, he says the strangest things. And before we talk to him, we should have some idea of what we're going to do with ourselves."
Merry laughed and wrapped Pippin's hand around his mug. "I don't doubt that between the beer, the hives and the two of us, not to mention a herd of Millbank Daisy's best, we should be able to come up with a great many frightening things to see us through the next five years at least!"
Pippin laughed for a long time at this and, after downing the rest of their beer, they were soon cantering up the East Road into a fine Autumn afternoon.
Sunset had begun to spread the Shire with shades of orange, red and gold before they reached their turning at the road to Oatbarton. Trotting across the old bridge spanning the Bywater, they began to watch for the landmarks they'd been told to look for. It didn't take very long.
"Look!" Pippin pulled his pony to a stop and pointed up the road. "The big green mailbox. And the arbor!"
Merry grinned and they both urged their ponies forward. In less time than it takes to chew and swallow a hefty bite of Spiced Pumpkin Flummery, they reached the big green mailbox, turned their ponies into the entrance of a long narrow lane...and stopped.
Despite Great Aunt Fresythia's description, nothing could have prepared them for what they actually found upon reaching Greenrill Cottage. Seated on their ponies beneath an arbor practically invisible under a wild tangle of honeysuckle, they stared open-mouthed at the vision among the trees and understood at once that everything would be alright.
"Oh, Merry, look!"
And, eyes wide in surprise, they both looked. And then laughed at the wonder of it all, before climbing down off their ponies to lead them slowly up the finely pebbled lane, stopping at the point where, under another honeysuckle-draped arbor, a curving path of red crisscrossed tiles started its journey toward the steps of the wide front porch.
"Do you think it's a dream?" Pippin whispered.
Merry shook his head and smiled. "No. I think it's all very, very real." He gently took Pippin's hand and they looked about them with marveling eyes.
Everywhere they looked, there were trees. Behind them, hiding the cottage from passersby on the Great East Road, stood a deep line of oak and fir in which a scattering of stray beech and maple raised colorful arms. This thick belt of trees stopped only twenty yards from the hill, after which some of the cousins of those same trees had scattered themselves willy-nilly, in single splendor, as well as comfortable clumps and clusters, to the north, west and east of the hill.
It was a beautiful and welcoming sight, but it was the hill itself that truly claimed all of their attention. It was larger than they'd expected. In fact, Merry thought it was probably only a little bit smaller than the part of The Hill in which Bag End was built. Its deep green surface sprouted at least a handful of stout round chimneys (by the traces of smoke rising from each one, it was obvious that Mrs. Marshwood had made a visit). And it appeared that each of the rooms facing them had its own window, every one of which was flung open to the fresh afternoon breeze.
As the Great Aunt had said, standing out from the broad side of the hill was the front of the cottage, its sturdy walls of random pattern greystone running neatly back into the hill. The front porch was nearly hidden behind railings covered with rambler roses and wisteria, with remnants of forget-me-not and foxglove dozing among their roots, and at each corner stood a tree. At the north end, a large pink cherry spread its thick branches wide against the late afternoon sun, and at the south end, a stout rowan stood guard, its strong limbs sheltering the heavy thatch which covered both porch and parlor, running back above the greystone walls to blend seamlessly into the side of the hill.
"Oh, Merry. Everything's going to be just fine, isn't it?" Pippin leaned against Merry's shoulder and sighed happily. "Do you think she's left us supper?"
Merry leaned back. "We shall just have to see, won't we?"
And with high hearts, they unloaded their bags and dropped them on the front path, before leading the ponies up the pebbled lane to the snug little stable at the back of the cottage. But in the last light of the sun, they decided to take a turn round the grounds and it was Pippin who had spotted the little stream that gave its name to the cottage and had gone running up the hill to find its origins...
"Oh, Merry, Merry, Meriadoc, best of cousins, sweetest of lovers, may I let us in?"
For, of course, here they both were, finally at their own front door, a brisk, windy evening at their backs and a promise of warmth and food and comfort just beyond the threshold.
Merry silently handed over the key, his hand shaking just a little.
Pippin slipped it into the lock and turned it, pushing open the deep green door. "Ready?" He glanced back and saw that Merry hadn't moved from the edge of the porch. And his expression had gone very peculiar. "Merry? What's wrong? Come on!" But Merry just stared at him in wide-eyed surprise.
"Do you know what this is, Peregrin Took?" Merry could hardly remember how to breathe. His throat had squeezed nearly shut and he had to blink to keep Pippin in sight. "Do you really know? This place. It's ours!" He blinked again and quickly brushed two hot tears away with his fingers. "Our home. You. And me."
Pippin stood frozen in the doorway. All of a sudden, pinwheels were turning inside of him, in all different shapes and sizes, each one whirling at a different speed. He forgot his wish to hurry inside, forgot all about how hungry he was. All he wanted was to be as close to Merry as possible.
Merry used both hands to wipe his cheeks. "Have you gone deaf, you wicked Took?" The words stuttered raggedly out of his mouth. "Do you know what we have? Do you?"
Pippin crossed the porch and slipped his arms under Merry's jacket and around his waist, pulling him close. Touching the tips of their noses together, he whispered, "What I know is, I've got my very own Brandybuck and I'll never let him go."
The force of the kiss shook them both and for long moments, all they could do was shake and cling tightly to each other and try not to fall down.
Merry broke away first, breathing in ragged gasps. "Inside, you damned Took. I've things to say to you and I need to say them now."
Pippin dropped his hands below Merry's waist and, laughing softly, pulled him even closer. "But what about supper." He could feel Merry trembling.
"Supper can wait, you damned custard!" Grabbing Pippin's arms, Merry whirled him around, hissing "Inside!" before scooting him across the porch and through the big round door.
Breathless with laughter, Pippin skipped over the threshold before twisting out of Merry's hands. "Whatever has happened to that famous Brandybuck patience, cousin?"
Merry shoved the door closed with one foot. "I believe it's run away." He was smiling and his eyes gleamed in the light of the little parlor fire. "You're right, you know. You do have a Brandybuck." He had ripped off his cravat and tossed it on the nearest chair, and was now working on his coat. "One who intends to find out what it will take to make you squeak, you great lump of a Took. Come here."
Pippin backed away, still laughing. "You'll never hear a Took squeak, cousin. Never!" After one quick glance at Merry, he strolled across the room to the fireplace, pulling off his own tie and tossing it on a low stool. "What happened to romantical, cousin? Aren't I to be seduced properly?" He shrugged his coat off and tossed it on the stool with the tie.
"Seduce you?" Merry came as close to growling as a hobbit could. Eyebrows raised in amazement, he threw his coat on the chair and joined Pippin in front of the fireplace. "If I remember correctly, it was you who seduced me first, in, of all places, the fifth best guest house, at the tail end of the Park. And as for romantical..." He slipped his fingers over Pippin's belt and pulled him closer, unbuttoning his waistcoat and shoving it off quickly before reaching for the shirt collar. "I'll show you romantical..."
Angling his chin down, Pippin peered at the warm hands busy under his chin. "Now, remember, you're on first name basis with all of my buttons, so there's no need to be shy..." And then he couldn't seem to catch his breath. Merry's hands felt so warm and all he could do was whisper, "Just get right to the point, if you please." So Merry kissed him, hard, and found his tongue, teasing it so sweetly, Pippin thought he might like to fall down.
They stood for a long moment, mouths locked together, holding each other as close as possible. Again, Merry came up for air first, shaking like a leaf in a strong autumn gale. But his fingers made short work of every single button and very soon, Pippin's shirt had joined his coat on the little stool. And then his own shirt was summarily disposed of while Pippin's busy mouth nibbled its way all around his face, licking up the tears and leaving hot kisses behind.
When the last scrap of clothing had disappeared and only firelight and skin remained, everything was suddenly all hands and mouths and kissing and whispering, of things yet to come, and of laughter and lemon cremes and the salty taste of skin cradled wetly in the hollow of a collarbone. Busy fingers roamed like young foxes, darting here and there across planes and through crevices that had become theirs by the right of their hearts. For a long sweet time of rising wonder, of stroking and touching anywhere that felt good, nothing mattered but the delightful hysteria of what was to come.
Pippin's mouth was so hot and so sweet, but Merry decided he needed something more. Very soon. Burying his fingers in Pippin's backside, he pulled him close enough to feel a dribble of heat roll down his belly. "You know, if I walk a little and you walk a little..." He pushed his face against Pippin's shoulder and breathed in the sharp, rich scent. "...we can find a bedroom before we fall a lot."
Pippin couldn't bear to let even an inch get between them, but Merry whispered so many wonderful promises in his ear, that before he quite knew what he was doing, they were in a different room with the best piece of furniture he'd yet seen.
"How nice. A bed..." Pippin gasped and sank onto Merry's busy hands with a little cry. "If you don't stop... Oh, Merry, I'll never reach the bed!"
Laughing deep in his throat, Merry encircled Pippin gently, swallowing the resulting groan with a kiss as he pushed him slowly backward. "Yes, you will. See, it's right here..."
And it was just the right distance from the door. Pippin was so amazed that he quite forgot how he came to be lying down. But then Merry filled his vision and covered him so completely, that the very question disappeared before it could be properly established and all the answers he ever needed came rushing in to fill its place.
Some considerable time later, enough, in fact, to redecorate the cozy room with much of the bedclothes, Pippin suddenly remembered an important piece of unfinished business. He jerked his head up and looked down at Merry's flushed face.
"Supper. We forgot about supper!"
Merry inhaled just enough breath to groan, then laughed softly and sent both of his hands on a wavering path down Pippin's back. "Oh, damn the supper, Peregrin Took. You've made me think of something else I forgot to say..." He grabbed a handful of curls on each side of Pippin's head and pulled him down for a most extraordinary kiss, guaranteeing that all thoughts of supper, breakfast and lunch would be forgotten, at least for that night.
Breathing heavily, Pippin deepened the kiss a moment, then eased back to rub his face against Merry's shuddering chest, nipping and licking his way across the mound of his belly, down to the sweaty crease at his thigh. Gasping a little, he pushed his fingers into a little jar of sweetmallow on the night stand, sending it tumbling to the floor. Nipping his way down the inside of Merry's thigh, he thrust slowly into his slickly coated palm as a pungent fragrance filled the room, the scent mixing with everything that was Merry. Then carefully, with soft words and softer kisses, he snugged into the waiting warmth, hardly breathing as Merry arched up to meet him.
"Oh, you...oh...you dearest of Tooks..." Merry sucked in a deep breath and wrapped his legs around Pippin's back, his head pushed deep into the pillow. "Whatever am I going to do with you?"
Pippin folded over until their bodies were as close as they could get, then began to rock slowly, deep within the haven of Merry's body. "I shall write it all down, if you like," he whispered. A flicker from the fire drew his attention to the corner of Merry's jaw and he sent his mouth to test a sudden theory. A soft gasp told him it was a good one. "Or you can let me tell it to you..." Merry's arms pulled him even closer and it was Pippin's turn to gasp. "...one day at a time, my dearest Merry. One day at a time..."
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Tales From Middle Earth 17. A Proper Seduction by MJ
Story notes: Follows TFME: Bowled Over. (Related to TFME stories under F/S and Gandalf/Radagast.)
The Tales of Middle-earth series.
