browngirl

Title: Fire From The Ashes
Fandom: Lord of the Rings (AU)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Boromir/Merry/Pippin
[Meta]Summary: Various people on

hobbit_kink wanted Boromir Lives AUs with B/M/P, so I combined several prompts.
Content Advisory: Spoilers in an AU way for Boromir's arc in LOTR.
Acknowledgements: The anions who requested this.
Disclaimer: This fanwork has been created for pleasure only and not for profit.

Pippin was keeping an eye on him, Merry could tell by the quiet. When Merry or others said aught to him he answered, cheerfully and at length, but instead of his usual garrulous self Pippin was being quiet and watchful and it made Merry rather want to smack him. Mostly out of his own guilt.

After all, Pippin was being watchful because Merry had been the one to have The Dream last night, had woken up screaming "Boromir!", had huddled sobbing against Pippin's chest as Pippin soothed him down from their recurring nightmare of Boromir whispering to them to run and wheezing his last breaths out under their hands. When it had been Pippin's turn to wake in tears, Merry would baby him the next day unless he caught himself, or Frodo chided him with a glance, or Pippin pushed him away with hard hands and a brittle smile. So the least Merry could do beneath Pippin's scrutiny was to bear up with a good grace, and to thank Whomever watched over wandering hobbits that they'd never yet had a night where they both had that Dream.

Even so the thought chafed as Merry stood at Guard (beside a not-terribly-important door, but it was a Duty and an Honor and good practice standing still, though it left him too much time to think in such a mood). He had built up a good stormy brow by the time he heard light swift footsteps, and was just drawing breath to call out that Pippin needn't mother him so when he hadn't even tits, when the runner rounded the corner.

He wasn't Pippin, but Bergil, eyes wide and bright. "Sir Merry! Sir Merry!" the lad cried, bouncing thrice before he visibly squelched his cheer and stood at attention. Not to be outdone, Merry stood up straighter, pulling his face into a pose of attentive alertness, and Bergil nodded and delivered, "Sir Meriadoc, you are bidden to come with me without delay, you and Sir Pip -- Sir Peregrin. You may leave without handing off your post, Sir Ingemir will be along directly to take it over."

"What is it?" Merry asked as he jumped to Bergil's side and Bergil spun like a top and led him off at a gallop. "What's happened?" It must be good news, with Bergil smiling so brightly and bounding along, but the lad just flashed Merry a grin before shutting his mouth tightly and shaking his head. "Oh ho, a secret!" Merry cried, running flat out in Bergil's wake, up a dogleg passage and across a wide open hall. "I'll have you know--" he began, then realized Bergil made not for the main Hall of Audience but a smaller chamber with a finely inlaid door.

Dodging a startled long-sleeved lady and two strolling guardsmen, Merry followed Bergil to the door as Sir Ingemir strode from another passage, a puzzled-looking Pippin hot on his heels. "But what's this about?" Pippin asked, glancing to Merry, who shrugged as he skidded to a stop, warmed by the short dash.

Sir Ingemir smiled into his red-brown beard and stood before the door, rapping three times as he shook his head much as Bergil had. "Greet the remainder of the Company on the steps," he told Bergil, who nodded and darted off. The door thumped from the other side, and Ingemir bowed as he opened it. "This way, good Sirs," he said, and rather than stay to question him, Merry stepped forward with a grateful nod, tugging Pippin's tabard to remind him to walk rather than run.

The small audience chamber was dim after the bright wide hall, and at first all Merry saw was Faramir tightly embracing a tall thin fellow in rough homespun clothing, Aragorn standing by smiling as broadly as when he'd found them on Isengard's wall. Faramir snuffled, pulling himself back with obvious effort; Merry's heart jerked and Pippin caught his hand, squeezing it with all the force of puzzled hope. The other man stepped back a pace and turned, and his brown beard was rather full but Merry knew the swing of that pale hair, the breadth of those shoulders --

It was Boromir, whom Merry had seen last night in a wrenching nightmare, whom he'd never dreamt he'd see again with waking eyes, who gave him and Pippin that unmistakable bright grin, dropping to one knee, spreading his arms wide. Merry's heart lurched into his throat, aching joy sweeping through him even as Pippin drew a great breath, shrieked "Boromir!" at full cry, and hurtled forwards.

Well, Pip couldn't arrive ahead, that simply wouldn't do, and Merry flung himself into motion, outpacing Pippin so that they hit Boromir's broad chest at the same moment, caught up in his long strong arms. "Boromir, Boromir," Pippin chanted, over and over, but Merry's pounding heart choked him, all he could do was press his face into Boromir's thready hair and clutch him, arms crossing with Pippin's over Boromir's chest and back. All he could do was gulp deep breaths of Boromir's rich scents, grassy hair and musky skin, as his chest trembled with sobs of sheer gladness, as his head spun with the unlooked-for wondrousness of Boromir's return.

"My Merry, My Pippin," Boromir gasped, his voice raspy, rocking a little as he squeezed them to himself. He gasped and overbalanced, falling to both knees, and even as his chest hitched Merry planted his feet and tugged, Pippin pulling with him as they kept Boromir from falling further. Now he understood Faramir's reluctance as he dragged his face from Boromir's hair, leaning back to find himself tall enough to look down at Boromir, to see him sunken-cheeked with lines of pain engraved into his brow, for all that he smiled on them like the Sun. Reaching to touch their cheeks, broad fingertips sliding through their tears, Boromir drew a deeper breath, and Merry heard a trace of a wheeze in it.

So did Aragorn, who stepped closer to lay a hand on Boromir's shoulder. "Come sit," he said, indicating the kingly marble chair that dominated the room. Boromir's lips parted, but then he coughed harshly, and rather than let him argue Merry croaked, "Alley-oop!" and with Pippin pushed him up to his feet.

So Boromir merely said, "My King," and Aragorn's face lit with a tender smile. "My Steward," he said to Faramir, whose eyes shone red and joyful. "My little knights," as Merry and Pippin led him backwards and sat him down. Pippin pushed in and kissed him fiercely, and Merry couldn't even begrudge Pippin's turn-thieving as he pressed to the solid warmth of Boromir's side, knuckled tears from his eyes and watched Pippin clutch fistfuls of Boromir's hair, slender waist flexing beneath Boromir's tightening arm.

Faramir swiped at his own cheeks as he stepped forward to lay a hand on Pippin's shoulder. "Sir Peregrin," he murmured in soft reproof.

Eyes flashing open wide, Pippin jerked up, parting their mouths with a wet smack, and Merry flashed Faramir a grateful grin and wriggled in. Unlike his impatient cousin he took time to wrap his arms gently round Boromir's neck, to say, "Hullo, my Captain."

Boromir shook his head at that, gathering Merry's cheek in his palm, and kissed him sweetly, so sweetly, their lips caressing, Boromir's beard brushing his face. Warmth streamed through Merry from curls to toe-tips, his heart pounding so that he could almost not hear Pippin catch his breath and launch into a Tookish barrage of questions. "Boromir's come back! He defied your song, King Strider! But how is he here? We saw him fall, we felt -- " Pippin choked, and even busied as he was with sucking Boromir's bottom lip, Merry flung a hand out for him to catch and squeeze. "We're so glad he's not dead, we are, but how did he escape?"

"You've said all my thought as well," Faramir answered, "and if Meriadoc might be convinced to allow Boromir his mouth --" Cheeks flashing hot, Merry pulled himself back, and Boromir smiled upon him with heavy-lidded eyes and satisfyingly reddened lips, tangling his fingers into Merry's hair. "We might hear the answers."

Aragorn nodded in silent accord, sitting at Boromir's feet, holding a hand to Faramir, who sat down before him with their feet touching. Merry climbed up into the chair beside Boromir and Pippin swarmed up onto his lap, and Boromir looked upon them all, smiling broadly with glistening eyes, his voice a hoarse welcome rumble as he told them.

"When the Rohirrim attacked the Uruk-hai and I convinced my hobbits to flee, I was content to take their faces as my last sight down into the dark." Remembering Boromir's desperate gasped order and the arrow-shaft quivering in his chest, how his breath rattled beneath their hands and how they kissed his still lips before dragging each other away to Fangorn's cover, Merry's eyes ran over, and Pippin pressed his face to Boromir's tunic, squeezing Merry's hand. "After many long days of insensibility and fever dreams, I was surprised to wake in a straw bed beneath a low rough-hewn ceiling. There is a tiny hamlet tucked into Fangorn's edge, four houses built of dropped branches and dead wood whose people live by gathering what they can. Their children came out to pick over the fallen orcs, and gathered me up as well."

"We will find them and reward them," Aragorn promised, and Faramir nodded to seal it.

"Thank you, my liege," Boromir said, obviously enjoying the title, enjoying Aragorn's answering smile. "When I could walk abroad they told me the War was done, so I traded my useless gear for these garments and set out as an ordinary man to see the King returned." On hearing that Aragorn smiled all the wider, eyes shining like stars, and Merry delighted in the sight until he embarrassed himself by snuffling loudly.

Pippin wiped Merry's cheek with his cuff, pressing carefully so as not to bruise him with the mail-shirt. Stroking Merry's scalp with broad fingertips, Boromir drew his head down to a square shoulder, and Aragorn rose to lay a hand on his arm. "Legolas, Gimli and I, we hunted your captors to the edge of Fangorn, where we found a smoking pyre and the matching vambrace to the one you left by the Anduin. We thought you dead, then, and so Eomer said when we met him, that all the corpses the Horse-lords had found had been piled together and burned. We thought all three of you lost."

"We obeyed you, Boromir," Pippin took up the thread, tangling his fingers with Merry's, lending him strength as he struggled against open weeping. "After we kissed you goodbye, we ran into Fangorn, where we met Treebeard. A very kind and gentlemanly Ent, who gave us Ent-draughts that made me a bit taller and maybe Merry as well."

"So the ancient legends of tree-shepherds hold true," Boromir murmured. "The crofters spoke of walking trees and how they dared not hew living wood."

Pippin nodded, eagerly telling their tale. "One thing led to another -- you would have been so proud of Merry's rousing speechifying, making the case for war -- and the Ents undertook to cleanse Isengard. They broke Saruman's power and paid him back for all the trouble he caused us."

Merry could smile at that, breathe deeply and add, "You would have been proud of Pippin too, of his craftiness in convincing the Ents to join us." He would have said more, but Boromir, drawing breath to speak, coughed instead, wincing and turning pale, pulling his hands from them to clutch at his chest. "Boromir?"

"Do you still bear the arrowhead?" Aragorn asked, laying a gentle hand on Boromir's chest. He shook his head, still evidently unable to speak, and Aragorn nodded. "But each breath comes with pain." Faramir glanced up, reading Aragorn's thought in that uncanny way they had, and when he waved Pippin stood, tugging Merry with him. "We all have tales to share, and we shall," Aragorn told them all, "but for the moment Boromir needs rest and healing."

But what about our companions? Merry wanted to ask, They'll want to see him, Frodo will want to, but he swallowed the words, knowing Aragorn was right. "I had hoped the people might see their Captain returned," Faramir said, evidently setting the idea aside even as he laid it out.

"Is that your wish?" Aragorn asked, and Boromir considered it, tipping his head back against the chair, breathing effortfully. Merry expected a 'yes', but Boromir just thought, looking at them each in turn, his proud loving gaze lighting last on Faramir. He drew a deeper breath and only coughed again.

That seemed their signal. "The hands of the King are the hands of a healer," Merry quoted to Boromir as he and Pippin pushed themselves away to give Aragorn room to work.

"He saved all our lives," Pippin endorsed, deliberately cheerful, fingers trembling between Merry's.

"And you each and every one helped save our people," Aragorn told them hearteningly. "Faramir, will you bear news to the Fellowship for us? And to your lady and her brother? After a rest Boromir will see them today. And when he is rested enough," he addressed to Merry and Pippin, "you two shall have him for a night. For now, you have leave to eat and compose yourselves."

Pippin made a sound of choked joy. "O wise and gracious king!" Merry cried, saluting with the wrong hand as Pippin held the other, and turned, hauling Pippin backwards. After two steps Pippin turned as well and walked properly, but at the door they both looked back, at Faramir two paces behind them casting his own gaze back, at Aragorn bending over Boromir to steady his shoulders, at Boromir pale and thin and returned to them alive.

*****

Not that night but the next, Merry drove up and down on the mighty prick within him, his haunches and arse burning sweetly, his eyelids fluttering between the weight of pleasure and the need to keep unbroken watch on Boromir's ecstatic face. Eyes gleaming, wide smile shining, Boromir gripped Merry's waist with one hand and the sheets beside his hip with the other, as Pippin held Merry up with steady hands on his back and soft kisses to his shoulders, as Merry gripped Boromir's lean flanks and rode him breathlessly towards one more peak.

It might not have been strictly fair, after Aragorn had informed them with gentle sternness that Boromir was not yet hale, to be so demanding. Already tonight Merry had watched Boromir's expression crumple into pleasure, both hands wrapped round his prick as Pippin worked four fingers within him, had drunk down Boromir's gasps as he'd kissed him while Pippin sucked him off, but when afterwards Merry had leaned into Boromir's heaving side and Pippin had shimmied forwards to share life's bittersweetness in a deep kiss, their eyes met even as their tongues tangled, and when Boromir had watched Pippin's clever fingers slicking Merry open he'd whimpered just so gratifyingly. They simply had to bring him off again, had to watch and feel his pleasure while they might.

Now Boromir lay shuddering within Merry, before Pippin, and though a deep furrow crinkled between his brows and the dented scar on his chest shone a livid red, yet he gleamed all over, damp with effortful joy, and coaxed Merry on with a broad eager hand, pressing welcome finger-bruises into his side. Merry gave them back with clutching hands, sparing neither for his aching prick, wanting even more than his own pleasure to see and feel Boromir's once more. Boromir groaned, arching, heaving chest rising higher and falling further; Pippin tucked all the more tightly to Merry's back, humming tunelessly as he pressed bright-sharp teeth into Merry's shoulder, and when Boromir's eyes crimped shut, his mouth furling open around a deep shout, his peak taking him at last, Merry felt his heart swell as if it would overflow too with fellow-felt joy almost sweeter than coming to peak himself.

Then pleasure jolted through him, Pippin's still-slick fingers coiling round his prick, Pippin's wicked hand pinching sparks into his nipple. "Come on, then," Pippin murmured, low and strangely brief, and Merry's eyes widened with shock even as white flame flooded his vision, as he pulsed round Boromir's prick throbbing within him so that he crackled with searing delight from his core out to his tingling-hot skin, out to the twitching ends of his toes and tips of his ears.

A scream resounded from the walls, Merry's own, he realized as he slumped forwards, dangling from his arched spine over Boromir's chest. Boromir chuckled breathlessly, stroking up his back, and Pippin laughed reedily and pushed Merry's shoulders. Trying to speak, Merry could only gasp, could barely keep his shivering thighs beneath him long enough to twitch his hips up and release Boromir before falling facedown upon him. "Look at you two," Pippin said proudly as if he'd tupped them both himself, "Magnificently melted, both of you. A grand sight indeed."

Merry smiled, his cheek sliding over raspy hair and damp solid skin, pressed a kiss over Boromir's pounding heart and pushed himself up again. "Don't you sound self-satisfied?" Swinging his leg up across Boromir's laugh-tossed belly made him shift around the sweet ache within him, made him puff a little moan, but with his knees together beneath him he could look up at Pippin olive-eyed and smiling round his fingers in his mouth, could reach out to catch Pippin by bony hip and hard prick and tug him close. "So pleased and done we can all just go to sleep?" Merry asked, even as he belied the question by tucking Pippin's knees between his, by pinning him against Boromir's side.

His chest, rather, as he rolled to curl round them, as Pippin laughed with heavy-lidded eyes and gave Merry a taste of himself in a wet plunging kiss. The thrumming pleasure still washing through Merry from his peak tangled and merged with the familiar delight of stroking Pippin up to his, curved fingers twisting just so as Pippin shivered and moaned and cried out over Merry's lips, almost too soon spurting into his hand. And all the while Boromir watched with sleep-heavy eyes, smiling gently as candlelight upon them. When Pippin, laughing breathlessly with satisfaction, dropped his head back on Boromir's flank, he closed those eyes and murmured, "My lads," brushing his hand across Pippin's hair, fingers skimming Pip's brow. Merry's heart twanged a moment, but Boromir's dozing smile looked nothing like his swoon-blanked face when they'd thought him dead.

Pippin rolled his head to look too, hands squeezing Merry's shoulders as they watched Boromir settle to his rest. Pippin looked away first, leaning in to kiss Merry's cheeks, which is how he found his eyes had spilled over again. He glanced at Pippin and found him smiling softly, his eyes deep and ancient as Fangorn's green shadows. "Come on, Merry-mine," Pippin murmured to him, "let's sleep."

And so they did, their legs draped over Boromir's thigh, Pippin's head tucked beneath his chin and Merry's cheek resting on his arm. They slept, and Merry dreamt of death: not of Boromir's but of Theoden King's, his wise gentle eyes and upturned palm as Merry and Eowyn slumped weeping beside him, the Black Breath already wreathing their sight and minds in dim mists. Even through the growing darkness Merry saw Theoden's eyes glinting like fading stars, heard his deep voice say not all may be undone, but he is returned to you.

He saw Boromir then, not lying broken among dead uruks but standing tall as he hewed at the enemy, one after another, When they'd all fallen Boromir leaned on his sword, gasping like a landed fish, an arrow protruding from his chest, but even so he smiled openmouthed at Merry, who rushed to bear him up --

As Merry jerked awake, heart racing, he touched bare skin over broad ribs and dense muscle. Pippin shifted against him, rolling over to drop a flailing arm across him, and beneath his hand Boromir's chest rose and fell, he lay beside them asleep and alive. Returnned to them.

Merry lay till his heart's pounding eased, feeling Pippin in his arms and Boromir beneath his hand, and when he slept again he dreamt of nothing but quiet peace until the morning.

*****

Not the next morning but the one after, Merry stood at attention outside the little antechamber, keeping his mind on his proper stance and off paying any heed to Pippin's prattling. "We might just as easily serve from there as from where we bide now," Pippin was going on, and on, as if Merry were listening, which he was not. "Easier, perhaps, our house is on the sixth level but surely staying within the palace precincts is closer --"

"And maybe we shouldn't descend on Boromir all uninvited," Merry answered before he realized his mouth moved. In for a farthing, in for the whole; sighing, and resolutely not looking over at Pippin, he added, "besides, Frodo and Sam still need us."

"So we could stay with them four nights a week, and Boromir three." It took far more than merely not being looked at to quench Pippin.

"We're only here for another month at most." Eowyn, better than all gold, made sure that Merry knew of what business concerned him, including that Theoden King would be brought home to be laid beside his forefathers in August, and what Merry knew Pippin knew.

"All the more reason to bide with him while we can!" Pippin cried, but then dropped his voice. "We thought we'd lost him, Merry," he said in that soft new tone Merry could never be used to hearing from him in these days after the War. "Shouldn't we stay with him as long as we can before we have to leave for home?"

That made Merry look across to Pippin on the other side of the doorway, that made him fall into Pippin's wide green eyes, at least until the door creaked open and Faramir looked out. Caught, Merry shrugged sheepishly and Faramir smiled upon him, turning to include Pippin, who had brightened on seeing him like a flower under the Sun. "Come in, my knights. We need your counsel as representatives of your people."

Representatives of the hobbits? It was Pippin's turn to shrug as he traded a glance with Merry and they went in.

Prince Imrahil and Boromir sat before Aragorn, who sat now in the kingly chair of white stone. They both wore tunics with the White Tree upon them, as did Faramir, but Boromir wore the rest of his homespun outfit instead of fine city clothes, as if he had one foot in Minas Tirith and one already back on the road. Before Merry could notice more, Aragorn said, all kingly business, "Sir Merry, Sir Pippin, I need your witness and your counsel."

They drew themselves up straight, and Boromir stood a bit stiffly to face them. "Before witnesses," he said, not smiling but with a light in his face, "I, Boromir son of Denethor resign the Stewardship my father passed to me, and pass it now to my brother Faramir, who has borne all its duties in fullness and in love since our father's passing."

Well, that was something. Merry's mouth fell open, and he shut it again and nodded. Beside him, after a moment or three, Pippin managed to do the same.

"My halfling princes," Boromir continued, "our King would send me as his ambassador to rebuild the ruined northern capital of Annuminas and to bear his voice to the people of the Shire, if you will accept my service on their behalf."

"Oh, yes," Merry gabbled in stunned delight. "Yes, of course, I mean, yes, that would be our great good fortune." Not terribly formal, but it would do.

It was more formal than Pippin's, "That would be wonderful!" at any rate.

Prince Imrahil looked at them with a smile tucked into his cheek, which unfurled as he looked up at Boromir. "If this is your wish, my Lord Boromir, my Steward, and my King, I give my assent."

"It is," Faramir said, just as formally, but then stood and embraced Boromir tightly. His, "Thank you, brother," was muffled into Boromir's shoulder

"Thank you," Boromir answered, eyes closed as he smiled into Faramir's hair. "I have not left yet."

"When you do," said Aragorn, "You will go to Rivendell for healing, and only when you are well will you journey to Annuminas. You have my permission to travel as slowly as you wish through the Shire, and to eat as much as you can."

Faramir had to let go of him at that, so they could laugh properly. But all amidst the laughter, Merry thought of what he should have before. "Pip and I aren't the only hobbits in Minas Tirith," he said with reluctant slowness.

Being a wise King, Aragorn already knew his thought. "Fear not, Meriadoc," he said, smiling ear to ear, "this ambassadorship was Frodo's idea. Please let him know I gave him full credit, and did not tell you his surmises on how glad you'd be to bring Boromir to the Shire."

"Well!" Pippin huffed, as if he were in the least upset. "Your Majesty, I hope you paid no heed to our cousin's filthy mind." As they laughed at that, Pippin loudest of all, Boromir stepped forward -- Merry could see the hitch in his stride -- and knelt to embrace them once again. "It's not nearly as filthy as ours are," Pippin whispered into Boromir's ear, as Merry knew he would, and he smacked Pippin's shoulder lightly and clung to Boromir tightly and thought joyfully of bringing them both home to the Shire.