Fan Fiction Friday: Merry, Pippin and Treebeard in “By Root and Twig”

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When several people send me the same FFF candidate, chances are it’s something special. And while “special” might not be the first word I’d used to describe a menage a trois between two midgets and a giant anthropomorphic tree — “horrible” and “damned” might come to mind first — this story is certainly special.

“Wake up, lazyhead!” came his cousin’s whisper.

“What on earth is it?” Merry hissed, though in truth he was glad to be awakened from a dream that threatened to turn most unpleasant, or at the very least embarrassing.

The movement and placement of Pippin’s hand suggested his thoughts clearly
enough. Merry sighed, and rolled over to face him.

“Don’t you ever need to sleep, you Tookish whore?”

“Meanie,” Pippin pouted. “You’d think after being saved from certain terrible death a fellow would want to reacquaint himself with the finer points of life straightaway. And that Entdraught certainly brings the sap to rising,” he leered, pushing something like a growing sapling into Merry’s left thigh.

Indeed it did. Really, there was no reason Pippin’s wheedling should have the effect upon him that it did, but Merry, as usual, found it difficult to deny the younger hobbit much of anything. “Well, maybe so,” he whispered. “But only if you promise you won’t be pretending I’m a stout Orc-lad.” Yet even as he buried a hand in his cousin’s hair and pulled his body close against him, he couldn’t help but think that something still wasn’t right.

“Not an Orc, no, you taste so much better, m’sweet Brandycock….what’s the matter this time?” Pippin whined as Merry pulled away to think. Merry jerked his head out of the cozy alcove to Treebeard, standing immobile in the rain.

“We can’t, in someone else’s house,” he firmly. “It would be rude to our host. And think of it–how many centuries has it been since the Entwives disappeared? Poor Treebeard. After all he’s done for us.”

Merry was a bit surprised when Pippin didn’t object in any way. In fact, in the dim light, he imagined he could see Pippin’s brow creasing, almost as if his face were being crossed by something rather like….a thought. Uh oh. When Pip started to think, that was usually when serious trouble started.

“I say,” said Pippin carefully, and redundantly. “I say it probably has been a good long time for the poor creature, hasn’t it?” And something in his tone made Merry realize in an instant exactly what that ill-fated thought was growing into; he could hear Pip’s grinning in the dark.

“Oh no. No,” said Merry.

OH YES.

“Oi, Treebeard,” Pippin bellowed, rolling halfway off the bed.

There were many long pause-beats of rain and darkness, during which Merry hid his face in the moss. “Yes?” answered the deep voice, husky with sleep.
…
“Oh, spill it, man!” blurted Merry.

“Well, it’s like this, sir,” said Pippin, pressing into a niche near the base of Treebeard’s trunk. “Merry and I, we were about to get down to some- ”

“- Intimacy – ” spluttered Merry, venturing a little closer.

“And realized that we were forgetting our manners, as it’s rude to go about -”

“M-making love – ”

Pippin gave Merry a dirty look, having always hated that expression. ” – In someone else’s house….you understand – without inviting them.”

Treebeard shed a few leaves in what was probably the closest he ever got to being flabbergasted. “And is that the….custom…among your people?”

“Well – ” said Merry, unsure how to explain it best.

“Yes!” said Pippin, elbowing him in the ribs.

“I see. Well, I shall have to make an amendment in the song, then….Hm, hoom, that is most noteworthy. Most admirable, in fact, what a generous folk you are.”

The song of The Horribly Horny Hobbits’ newest verse: “Hobbits only come up to your knees / Sometimes they are willing to fuck trees.”

“Oh, the pleasure’s ours, sir,” said Pippin, who was beginning very much to enjoy the roughness of Treebeard’s bark against his blood-heated, rain-cooled skin. “As well as yours…we hope…”

Merry rolled his eyes. Pippin occasionally picked truly terrible times to lapse into his nervous-virgin act. It was time for a truly bold hobbit to step in. “So what my foolish darling is trying to say,” he said, stepping into an appealing-looking crotch between the massive toe-like roots and ticking gently with his softly-furred toes, “is that we want you.” He tugged a little on the mossy-haired beard, clutching his fingers in the rough bark with his other hand and tossing a leg around as far as it would go, which wasn’t very. “We know it will be….well, we don’t know how it will be, because we have never encountered a magnificent creature like you before. But also,” he let himself grin a little wickedly, looking up into those unfathomable eyes, “we think you might have never encountered creatures quite like us before.”

“Indeed, indeed,” boomed the great Ent, and Merry was most gratified to see the huge eyes starting to go pleasantly hazy. “I must warn you….it isn’t yet the peak of our proper flowering season, you know.”

“That’s alright, I hope?”

“Oh yes, yes,” he said a little sadly. “Perhaps easier for you, to be sure.” Treebeard paused for a moment. “When the season peaks, we are at our most….tree-ish. Not sleepy, oh no. But, shall we say, least like you, least….”

“Ah, and what’s this then?” purred dreamy Merry, wrapping a small hand around a curly green bud emerging from the heroic bole. Treebeard made a grumbling sound that Merry took to mean a yes.

And thus, Treebeard’s tree-penis has appeared. Oh, by the way, if you imagine John Rhys-Davies doing Treebeard’s voice, this whole thing is extra horrible.

Pippin, meanwhile, had climbed up to what resembled the Ent’s shoulder and was nuzzling under the twiggy beard, stroking bark and whispering something. When Merry’s ministrations below made the new budded branch grow and shiver, Pippin started to cheer something encouraging, and brought himself up short in a squeak.

One of Treebeard’s smaller branches had reached over and wrapped around him. As Pippin clenched a hand in the twigs so as not to fall he felt a smooth and snaky branch carefully stroking his neck, his back, slowly, slowly, around his arse and down between his thighs. “Oh…yes, yes,”

“I am not hurting you, little thing?” asked Treebeard.

“Gods of my ancestors, no….oh! OH!” Pippin cried as the branch tightened in a sensitive spot, gripping and probing at once with many sentient twigs.

This is the Ent version of a reacharound.

Down below him Merry heard Pippin’s expressions of delight with a physical ringing in his skin as the bud-prick-branch entity grew in his hands, smooth-barked and soft-green, emitting a slightly honeyed sap that felt sweet on Merry’s skin. It was as though his cousin-lover danced in pleasure on the other end of the Ent, the same energy moving through all three of them, and Merry liked it much, very much. Pippin was a sort of genius of love, in his way, bold and sweet and fearless. With a slight groan of a hunger of his own Merry touched his lips to the spring-soft greenness at the tip of the branch-root and was rewarded by a mighty arboreal shudder, a shivering rustle of leaves and sway of branches, as though his little hobbit-tongue had unleashed a mighty wind. Inspired by this result he dug into the bud-folds teasingly, tasting something a bit like the Entdraught but heavier and tangier, filling him with a heady sense of his own power as if he drew it up from the earth. He dug his furry toes harder into Treebeard’s feet and drew as much of the crumpled leaf-seed into his mouth as he could, opening his throat wide. The branches above his head began to lash and toss, and Pippin’s rhythmic cries and gasps told him the Ent was sharing his pleasure well.

I don’t really have anything funny to say here. I just want to make abundantly clear that a midget is giving a blowjob to a giant man-tree.

When Merry paused for breath, he saw the giant eyes half-closed; he felt the ground shimmy beneath him as Treebeard’s mighty roots dug into the earth for support; he saw Pippin slowly lowered to the ground before him and ensnared in a dozen little sapling; green-tipped twigs covering him and slipping under his ragged clothing, entwining between the cheeks of his round hobbit-bum and curling around his thighs, and gently pushing his face forward towards Merry.

Is anyone else confused as to what Treebeard is actually doing to Pippin? Is he jerking him off with his branches? Sticking his branches up the ol’ “hobbit-bum”? Maybe I’m biased from the media’s portrayal of tree-sex as mostly being a negative, non-consensual event (e.g. Evil Dead) but I’m having a difficult time envisioning what is going on here. Of course, the fact that I’m even trying to do so is just further proof that FFF has ruined my life and I should kill myself to make this horrible, horrible pain go away.

“Lover…Brandy…” Pippin gasped, a sheen of pleasure-sweat brightening his hungry face. “Let…me…” With his trembling hands Pippin opened Merry’s trousers and drew his swollen prick between his pink lips. Merry gasped and, as if to diffuse, to refocus, to balance out the waves, resumed his thorough fondling and tasting of Treebeard’s mighty bud-root, which was taking on a wrinkling and a rippling in the bark near its base. Daisy-chained thusly, each hobbit sucked and licked his sweet-tasting meal as the ground heaved and rolled and all the trees about seemed to press in to watch.

And the menage a tree — er, trois — starts in earnest.

The rain soaked them and the breeze stroked them and even the thunder was in harmony with the mighty moans of Treebeard; all of Fangorn Forest rejected the pain of Isengard for the pleasure of primal things great and small. It was Pippin who convulsed in climax first, lost in the rhythmic pokings and strokings of curling twigs; removing his mouth from Merry’s cock just long enough to gasp in strangled delight as he shot a delicate load upon the ground, where tiny white flowers soon twinkled amid Treebeard’s feet.

I totally missed the chapter of The Book of Lost Tales where it explains how Hobbit cum makes flowers grow instantaneously.

Hardly pausing, the meme passed to Merry, who cried out and filled
Pippin’s mouth without stopping his own work.

There has never been a graver mis-use of the word “meme” in the history of the English language.

There was a wholesome roll of thunder, and the mountains shook. It was Treebeard who led the quake with a mighty hoom from deep within his trunk, all the way down to the inside of the ground. From the swollen giant bud, over Merry and Pippin, rained a shower of fine pollen as green as the spring of the world and as thick as a Northern snowfall. They rolled in it, laughing and glorious, gathering it up in their hair, their clothes, their sticky skin, and Merry struggled to swallow as much of it as he could, though it floated and powdered delicately out of the sides of his mouth. It smelled of the beginning of summer to a child, of newborn things, of dappled sunlight on the cool earth, of nourishing rain and a sense of eternity. For a moment even the moon herself broke through the black clouds from the East and she smiled.

Um. I think in order to fully grasp the horror of this last paragraph, I need to repeat it — but with a subtle yet not unfactual edit.

From the swollen giant bud, over Merry and Pippin, rained a shower of TREE SEMEN as green as the spring of the world and as thick as a Northern snowfall. They rolled in THE TREE SEMEN, laughing and glorious, gathering THE TREE SEMEN up in their hair, their clothes, their sticky skin, and Merry struggled to swallow as much of THE TREE SEMEN
as he could, though THE TREE SEMEN floated and powdered delicately out of the sides of his mouth. THE TREE SEMEN smelled of the beginning of summer to a child, of newborn things, of dappled sunlight on the cool earth, of nourishing rain and a sense of eternity. For a moment even the moon herself broke through the black clouds from the East and she smiled.

FUCK YOU, MOON.

Merry and Pippin were completely enchanted. Treebeard resumed his dignity with gratitude.

“Thank you, little ones. Fortunate indeed for you ’twas not the season, else that would have taken a good deal more of your time.”

“That…would be alright,” said Merry shakily. “I think.”

“And now I shall sleep better,” said Treebeard, “as I think you will too. Tomorrow is the Entmoot, and though we shall not speak of all the reasons why our life is worth defending, I shall be thinking of them, hm, yes indeed. Who knew there were such creatures in the world, hmmmm….” He seemed to be half-speaking, part snoring, and Merry and Pippin dragged themselves off to the moss bed on happy but unsteady legs.

It was in the morning, amid the riot of green and growing scents, that Pippin thought he noticed that Merry was slightly taller.

I don’t know why Merry is taller, and I don’t want to know. I do know that I’m officially on Saruman’s side — he can kill all the goddamn Hobbits and Ents he wants. God only knows what horrors he’s seen occur in Middle-Earth with his palantir.
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I don’t blame you for joining Sauron, Saruman. Keep fighting the good fight.