I do not own any of these characters, except for Daimond, and I am making no money from this. The character belong to the Tolkien Estate and New Line, I'm just borrowing them.
Note: This is not my tipical story. This story deals with abuse of a fairly graphic nature both physical and sexual. There is slash and implied slash also mention of character death. This is a story that I wrote seven years ago in a 24 hour period. It wouldn't leave me be till I had written every last word. Please do not flame or pass judgement. Thanks.
Portions in italics are thoughts.
It's not something I think back on often these days. I have a nice life here in Minas Tirith, surrounded by people who care about me and with Daimond* to see to all my needs; but sometimes something will happen to bring the memories back to haunt me. The news I received this morning has brought everything back to mind again.
The messenger from Rohan brought word from king Elfwine that Merry had passed away. The message said that he slipped away in his sleep one evening after a wonderful meal and time spent reminiscing with old friends. He apparently even talked about me. Something I don't think he did much of over the years. After all, it had been over twenty-five years since we'd last seen each other. You know, I never stopped missing him. He just never could put the past behind him and live for today. I hope he knew that I was as happy as I could be, without my dearest cousin, despite what happened all those years ago.
I knew things were not going our way almost from the beginning...
"Merry", I say over the noise of fighting, "I think somebody must have miscounted. There's a lot more than a couple hundred here. Even with the reinforcements I brought, we don't stand a chance."
"Yes, we do," he shoots back at me. "We just have to stick to the plan we devised. This will work, Pippin. It has to."
But gradually, in spite of our best efforts, the ruffians begin to overwhelm us, and the tide of the Battle of Bywater turns against us.
I still remember the look of total disbelief on Merry's face. He couldn't accept what was happening, even as our hands were being tied behind our backs and we were being marched off to the Lockholes.
The first few days that we were held there, Merry and I didn't see each other. He later told me that he thought they were afraid to let the two masterminds of the rebellion have another chance to plan something.
It is impossible to mark time in these dark tunnels. We rarely see the sun or feel the free air. Once in a great while, they take a few of us outside. Usually it's to chop wood and move it so that they have it conveniently at hand for their fires. I haven't been chosen for that in a long time. They have other uses for me. They think they can break Merry by hurting me. I think they believe that Merry was working under orders from our new king.
At some point we learned that Frodo was dead. From what we were told, mainly by others brought in after us, Frodo was taken from the battle directly to Sharkey, where he was questioned and then executed as an example of what would happen to any who defied his rule. It was also about this time that word reached us that my own father had died in a battle with the ruffians south of the Tooklands. No one had any information about Merry's father. Buckland was far enough away that it could be months before we heard anything.
They come for me frequently. They take me to the cell where Merry is kept. They ask him questions, and when he doesn't answer, they hurt me. I know it breaks his heart to see me suffer, but he has no answers for most of the questions; and those he does, he keeps quiet about. He knows, and so do I, that we cannot give in to them, no matter what.
Each time they torture me in a different way. Sometimes it's a beating. Other times, a whipping. They say that eventually they plan to break my hands and feet. I think that will be a last resort, though, because they don't just use me to torment Merry. You see, I have other uses, too.
Early on, the leader of the guards told the men to put me in with "the pretty ones". I didn't understand at first, but I learned very quickly what he meant. When I'm not with a guard, in their quarters, or being tortured in front of Merry, I share a cell with Folco Boffin, Ilberic Brandybuck, two hobbits I don't know and one of the North-Took lads. Fortunately for me, Folco and Ilbie seem to be their favorites. Also my scars and injuries make me a little less appealing to most of them. There are a few who find it amusing to have me after one of my sessions with the torturer.
The first time one of the guards took me to their rooms, I was terrified. I had no idea what he wanted with me. I had only heard them talking about how pretty I was, and the others, too. They said we were even prettier than some of the lasses. That, in itself, was unsettling, but to find that they were interested in us in the way most lads fancied lasses was almost more than I could live with.
I found out that you can do the most depraved things if it keeps you alive. I never realized how strong my sense of self-preservation was until then. I thought I had reached it's limits at the Black Gate, but that was merely practice for surviving the Lockholes.
"Are you a virgin?" the guard asks me. I can only stare at him. I barely avert my eyes in time-before he can get angry. I simply nod and look down at the floor.
"Then I get the pleasure of training you in what we like," he says, and his voice raises gooseflesh on my arms. I begin to tremble, fearing what he plans to do.
The first time was frightening and painful. But after several encounters, it became bearable. I can't say I enjoyed it, but it was better than the beatings. I hoped that Merry wasn't aware of what was going on. I kept thinking about how disappointed he'd be with me. Would he think I'd given in?
No, I never did that. I learned not to fight certain things too much. Fighting one of them during sex could not only be painful, it could be fatal. We lost one or two people that way. One was strangled by a ruffian for not holding still. I never fought back, but that doesn't mean I gave in. I simply existed. They could do what they wanted, but I refused to respond. I sometimes would react physically to what they did, but they could tell my heart wasn't in it.
Some of the others started to like it, if you know what I mean. They seemed flattered that these men wanted them for sex. I could never make them understand that they were only being used. No one cared about them. But, no matter what I said, they'd go off with a man smiling and co-operative. They almost acted like courting tweenagers. I think this disturbed me more than my own activities with the men.
What are we becoming? Ilbie talks about one of the ruffians who has taken a particular interest in him as if they're good friends, or something. I know it's got to be hard for some of them. After all, bad attention is better than no attention at all. But to want to be with these men disgusts me. I always feel dirty, and not just physically, after a night spent with them.
Maybe it's different for the ones who submit. Maybe they have just one man doing things to them. When I go to be with them, it's usually at least three, and I'm handed 'round like some amusing little trinket. I know I've been used while unconscious before. Between the abuse, the exhaustion and the near starvation, it's not easy to satisfy a crowd.
Tonight I lay here, the only one not claimed, and listen to the sounds they are making. Folco is begging his man to stop doing whatever he's doing to him. The little North-Took lad, who has become very popular, is asking for more. Ilbie is being bribed with food. I never get bribed is all I can think. In a way, that makes me happy; if they're not willing to bribe me, then I'm not that entertaining to them. A part of me, though, wishes it were otherwise. An extra bit of food would be welcome.
Without realizing it, I'm weeping silently. The tears flow freely. I'm crying for so many reasons I can't begin to name them all. I'm crying for lost innocence, for lost friends and family; and on a more selfish level, for lack of food, water and sunlight, and for my own hurts. I was whipped again yesterday, and the pain of it is still fresh.
I don't know how long we had been in the lockholes. I know that the coldest weather was passing. It was no longer bone-chilling, just uncomfortably cold. I had not been outside in months. I had not been strong enough for demanding labor in quite some time. In truth, I had been ill for a long time. My breathing was difficult and I coughed constantly. The only thing it got me out of was wood chopping and other manual tasks. It didn't matter to the guards that I was weak and gasping for air as long as they got what they wanted.
I think Merry knew I wasn't doing well. He knew my whole history, though. He knew about my childhood illnesses, and he knew that I had been crushed nearly to death by a troll. In fact, Aragorn had warned me that I might have problems from that. No one else knew these things, though, so I suffered in silence.
Merry did try to get them to stop hurting me, but it only had the opposite effect. They carried out their original threat...
I lay on the floor in Merry's cell, tears flowing freely down my face to mingle with the dirt floor, causing a muddy puddle to form. I can only stare as the man's boot descends upon my left hand. I scream, but no sound comes out. Merry chokes on a sob. A second man takes his turn, and then the third. I can't see through the tears, but I know my hand is a pulpy ruin.
Yesterday it was my left hand, today, my left foot. I can feel the agony from my ankle down, and I know that I will never walk on it again.
They then proceeded to destroy my right foot, and then my right hand. I have been dependent on the kindness of others for even the smallest things since then. It amazes me that my dear Daimond has been so patient with me for so long. He doesn't even get the reward of pleasure anymore. But I'm getting ahead of myself. He hasn't even come into my tale yet.
I don't remember much from the time right after the breaking. I think I must have been feverish from infection, or something. But I was dimly aware that Merry, and a couple of my cellmates were being allowed to care for me.
"Merry?" I ask as someone holds a battered cup to my lips and orders me to drink.
"I'm right here," he says to me. "Now don't waste the water. That's most of my ration as well as yours."
I drink a little, and then I try to push the cup back at him to encourage him to take a sip, but my hand won't move. It's at this moment that I realize that I didn't dream about my hands and feet being crushed, I lived it. My head falls back onto the floor, and I begin to weep all over again.
After a short time, a few days I'd guess, I was deemed well enough to survive, and Merry was taken away, back to his cell. Ilbie and Folco then became my caretakers. They were very kind. They often shared the things the men gave them as bribes with me. In this way, I got the first taste of fruit, soft bread and sweet biscuits that I had in months.
Things had been going on like this for some time, and I had even returned to servicing a few of the men-those not put off by my deformities, when one day there was a new stir and commotion.
The men were running around brandishing weapons I hadn't seen since the early days of our captivity. Guards were being placed outside the cells of those they thought of as valuable prisoners, or those they thought most likely to escape. Merry was guarded, as were those of us in the guards' special cell.
I heard one guard tell another that if it looked like we would be rescued we were to be killed.
Ilbie gasps, clearly indicating that he heard the guard's words as well. "What do you suppose is happening?" he asks in a whisper.
"I don't know," is all I can say. I only hope that our liberators have at last arrived, and that we live long enough to taste freedom again.
I lay, restlessly waiting to see what will happen. Folco tries to calm me by taking my head in his lap and making an effort to finger-comb my matted curls.
Hours, or what seem like hours, pass. Then we hear it; the sound of fighting, and it is growing closer.
"We must carry out our orders," says one of our guards to the other. With that, they advance into our cell.
By the time our rescuers arrive, Folco, Ilbie and I are the only ones still alive. At this point, I am so dazed and shocked that I hardly am aware that I am being lifted and carried by a man in the livery of Gondor. "Is he all right?" I hear my Uncle Saradoc ask. At least I know Merry's father has survived, but that and the realization that the king has come, is all my foggy brain can process.
I didn't awaken for several days. And, when I did, I was in a small, dark room. At first I panicked, thinking I was back in the lockholes and that nothing had changed. Then I became aware of another person in the room with me. I heard a familiar voice calling my name.
"Peregrin? Peregrin, are you with me?"
"Yes," I weakly whisper, knowing he cannot see me nod my head in the dark. I relax, knowing that voice as I do. It is Aragorn. The king himself is with me. I know all will be well.
"Close your eyes," he says. "I'm going to light a candle, and after your long stay in the dark, the light may be painful for you."
I do as he suggests and listen as he strikes a spark to the candle. I dimly see the light through my closed eyelids, and it is uncomfortable. I wonder if I will ever be able to tolerate sunlight again. I hope so. I have missed it so much.
Each day Aragorn spent time getting me reacquainted with the light. My progress was slow, but I steadily improved. He also treated my injuries as well as he could. Most of them were so old that little could be done. He actually cried when he told me that there was nothing he could do for my poor hands and feet. He promised me, though, that I would never want for someone to take care of me.
The soldier that had found me and brought me out of the lockholes had asked to be assigned as my caretaker. I was surprised, and touched, that one of the king's hand-picked guards would want to spend his days caring for an invalid hobbit.
He was so kind to me that it almost made me weep.
"Thank you," I say as he helps me settle back into my bed after having to answer nature's call. "I cannot tell you how grateful I am for your kindness. I don't even know your name."
"There is no need for thanks, Sir Peregrin. I am honored that I can help in this way. My name is Daimond, and I was one who served with you at the Morannon."
"Oh," is all I can say to that. "And, please, just call me Pippin. I don't think I can exactly be considered a knight of Gondor at this point. I'm only a hobbit who is greatly indebted to you for your care."
The only thing that truly distressed me at this point was the fact that I had not seen Merry. At first I assumed that he was recovering, too, and could not get out and about. But, as time passed and I still hadn't seen him, I began to wonder if he was avoiding me.
I asked the king about it when he came to check on me one day. He said that Merry was having a difficult time. He blamed himself for all the things that had gone wrong, from the disastrous battle to Frodo's death and to my permanent disfigurement. He saw it all as his fault. No matter what anyone said to him, he still couldn't place the blame where it really belonged, on the shoulders of Saruman who had usurped our land, enslaved our people and destroyed countless lives, even before we returned to attempt an uprising against him.
I asked Aragorn to try to convince Merry to come see me. I missed my cousin dearly. He was the only close family I had who could understand what I was going through. In truth, I needed him as much as he needed me.
I have finally been moved from that little, windowless room into a nice, airy one with a window that faces north. I'm not exactly sure where in the Shire we are, so I'm not sure what the view is of. I only know that it is late Spring and the few trees left are nearly in full leaf. I wonder vaguely what the date might be. I imagine it must be near my 30th. birthday. I sigh. I guess, in the larger scheme of things, a missed birthday or two is a very minor thing. At least I'm still here to realize I've missed it.
My mum and sisters came to see me a few days ago. They didn't stay long. Mum was in a very bad way. The loss of da and my condition have combined to make her a wreck. Pearl, Pimmie and Vinca weren't much better. They all cried a lot. Pearl told me, just before they left, that, if I wanted to come home, let her know and she'd find people to take care of me. I think she meant it, but it sounded like a token gesture in my ears. I don't think I could burden the family that way right now. At least I was able to assure myself that the succession of the Thainship had survived. Reginard was already taking charge and trying to begin to set things to rights.
For the moment, I'm alone. I sit propped up in my bed so that I can see outside, but, other than that, I have nothing to occupy myself. I can't even sing, if I felt like it, because my voice is still weak and my lunges still can't handle deep breaths.
There is a soft tapping at my door, followed by someone hesitantly opening it. Slowly a curly head peeks around it.
"Merry!"
Slowly he comes into the room. He doesn't say a word, just stands looking at me with sorrow in his deep eyes.
"Come, sit down," I tell him. "Forgive me if I don't get up and offer you some tea. It seems they haven't left me any." I smile to let him know I'm jesting, but he doesn't smile back at me. He does, however, take a seat in the chair beside my bed.
"How are you, Pip," he asks, and his voice sounds so sad that it almost breaks my heart.
"I'm fine," I say. It's an automatic response, and I regret it as soon as it's said. "I mean," I say, back-peddling as fast as I can, "that I'm doing all right. I feel much better the last few days, and I'm getting my appetite back."
"Oh, Pip! I feel so bad about all of this. How can I begin to make it right?"
"Well," I say, and I look him straight in the eye, "you can start by not blaming yourself for it. This," and I look down at myself, "isn't your doing. Even if you'd have told them things, they'd have still wanted more. And, what they wanted to know, you didn't know. If anything, they should have been asking me. I was the one who knew about Gondor and its military, not you. I kept quiet so that they didn't turn on you and leave you in this state as well.
"As for the rest, I helped plan the battle, too. I sent my father south, you didn't. And as for Sharkey, neither of us knew, until it was too late, who he really even was.
"You need to stop dwelling on it. You still have a lot to live for. You're in a wonderful position to help in the rebuilding. You're the Master of Buckland's son. You have leadership skills. For heaven's sake, Merry, use them."
He just looks at me for a long moment. "How do you manage it, Pippin?" he finally asks.
"Manage what?"
"You sit there, knowing you'll never walk again, or do anything else for yourself, but you're so positive. You try to cheer me up, when I should be cheering you."
"No sense crying over spilled milk, as my mum always said. You can't put it back in the pitcher. The way I see it, I have two choices. I can be miserable, and make everyone around me miserable, too; or I can be as positive about things as possible. I've always liked to see people smile, Merry, you know that. Why should that change just because I can't hold my own spoon or get myself to the privy anymore. I'm still me, and I still like making people happy.
"Right now, I really want to see you genuinely smile again."
"It may take a while," he finally says, "but, for you, I'll try."
"Good," I say. "Now, let me know how everyone else is."
In this way, I learned that the Cottons had taken Sam in and were caring for both him and his Gaffer. Frodo's death had completely unglued him, and now Rose was trying to put the pieces of the Sam she loved so much back together again. I also was told that Merry's mum, my Aunt Esme, was doing all right. Buckland had been severely damaged by the ruffians, but they were recovering. Hobbiton was going to be the hardest to recover. It had been decimated even before Sharkey arrived. Lotho had taken out his own personal malice on the place.
As for Lotho, Merry told me that what little remained had been found in Bag End. Apparently, Wormtongue had murdered him.
After that first visit, Merry came often to see me. His spirits seemed much improved, and, I learned from Daimond and Aragorn, that he was throwing himself into the reconstruction with a will.
It took me several weeks, but I finally made him smile...
The days have got much warmer. After all, it's almost Lithe. I can't seem to convince either the king, or my caregiver, that I do not need to be bundled up like an infant who might take a chill even in this weather. Right now, no amount of moving, twisting or turning can seem to get me out of this cocoon I'm wrapped in.
"Dratted king," I mutter under my breath, as I try again to get out of the covers. "If I could, I'd wrap him up like some sort of fool-present and see how he likes it."
I haven't noticed, in all my squirming, that I am very near to tumbling onto the floor.
At this moment, Merry comes through the door. "Merry," I start to say...
I hit the floor in an undignified heap of blankets and hobbit. I'm momentarily stunned to be lying there looking at my cousins feet. Once I regain a bit of my wits, and my sense of humor, I look up at him, give him my most cheeky look and finish my request.
"...would you mind helping me with the blankets. They all seem to think I'm the stuffing in a blanket pastry."
The next thing I know, Merry is sitting on the floor beside me laughing. "You should see yourself, Pippin," he says, once he's got his laughter under control. "You look like a pastry, all wrapped up like that."
With his help, I'm soon sitting back in my bed, with only a light blanket over me, more for modesty's sake than because I really need it.
As the Summer began to wane, Aragorn made plans to return to Minas Tirith. It was decided, that it would be best if I went with him. He explained to Merry, my family and myself that, while I was doing well, there still could be problems that may arise. Also, he said that I would most likely continue to have problems with my lunges, and that the cold winters of the Shire would be very difficult for me.
It was with great reluctance, and a heavy heart, that I bid my friends and family farewell. I knew that I would most likely not see them again, unless I was allowed to travel with the king when he visited the Northern Kingdom. None of them, save Merry, would probably ever leave the Shire.
The trip back to Gondor was make slowly. I traveled by wagon, padded with plenty of mattresses and blankets. Still it was uncomfortable at times, especially where the roads had not been well maintained. I was reminded of the trip from Cormallen back to Minas Tirith almost a year and a half earlier.
By the time we reached Gondor, Autumn was well underway. The trees had all begun to change, and the landscape was quite lovely. It was hard to believe that a year ago my cousins, Sam and I had traveled this same path, headed in the opposite direction, with a belief that the worst was over and hope for a bright future.
Once we reached the city, Aragorn quickly arranged a place for me to stay. It was a very small house in the Sixth Circle, not far from the Houses of Healing. It was quite a pleasant place, all things considered. It consisted of a parlor, a dining room, kitchen, bathing room and two bedrooms.
Daimond had requested to be assigned as my caretaker. Aragorn quickly agreed, seeing as he had filled this position ever since I had been released from captivity.
As time passed, I found that I did not want for company or friendship. Many of the people I had known only as acquaintances or vague friends, soon became close associates. The king himself would sometimes visit, either just socially or to seek my opinion on matters that affected the Northern Kingdom. For the most part, I was quite content.
The evenings and nights were a different matter. I was lonely. I was not used to lying alone in the dark. On the Quest, I had had Merry and Frodo and Sam always close at hand. We often slept snuggled up together for comfort and warmth. Then, in the lockholes, I had had either the closeness of my cellmates or I had had the warmth, if not the comfort, of one of the guard's bodies as I entertained him in his bed. Now, I had only myself and I was miserable.
As evening once again falls, I resolve to finally raise the subject. I know that what I am about to say could cost me not only my caregiver, but a friend.
"Daimond?" I ask as he sits my beer mug back on the table after holding it while I took a sip.
He looks at me and I almost lose my nerve. "I have a very personal question to ask. If you don't mind, that is."
"I don't mind," he says, and smiles. "After all, I know more about you than even your dear mother I would guess."
I blush at this. I know it's true, but it still embarrasses me at times. After this, I screw up my courage and ask. "Daimond, are you ever lonely here, at night I mean.? Do you ever just wish there was someone close to keep you warm and make you feel secure?"
He looks to be considering his answer. This is reassuring to me. At least he didn't get offended or dismiss what I said as unreasonable.
"I don't think I miss that," he finally says. My face must show my disappointment because he quickly continues. "I don't miss it because I never had it." He says. "Now, if you had asked, 'would you like to have someone to share the nights with?' I would say yes."
I'm taken aback for a moment. This gives me hope beyond my wildest dreams. When I have calmed myself, I continue. "You know my history," I say to him. "You know that I was a virgin when the men first took me in the lockholes. I was too young to have ever known the pleasures of a lass. All I know is how to give pleasure to a male. In some twisted way, I guess I miss being able to do that. I want to make someone happy, Daimond, and I don't want to have to sleep alone."
He's on his knees beside the sofa where I sit, and, unless I'm mistaken, there are tears in his eyes. "I think,' he finally says, "that we both can make each other happy."
Gently he gathers me into his arms and carries me to the bedroom.
I awoke the next morning more content than I had been in quite some time. I finally had that missing piece in my life-someone to truly share it with.
Time passed. I don't know who, if anyone, knew about the change in the relationship between Daimond and I. If anyone suspected anything, they never spoke of it.
A few years later, Merry came to visit us. He brought his wife, Estella, and his young son Theodoc with him. He was here to meet with Aragorn on matters of state, but he still made time to socialize with me. We spent many pleasant evenings at one of the local inns, sampling their various ales.
He told me all about everyone back home. Sam and Rosie were married, and had several children. My sisters were all doing well. I had at least one namesake in both the Took and Gamgee families. Sadly though, my mum had died. She never fully got over losing her husband and having to allow her son to go away and live on the kindness of others.
After that visit, I received several letters from Merry. I wrote back, with Daimond's help, as often as I could. But the letters came less often, after a while, and life settled back to what it had been.
Finally, about 25 years ago, Merry, and several others, paid the king another visit. This was a formal recognition of the deeds Frodo and Sam had accomplished during the War of the Ring. I attended all festivities, and was praised right along with Merry, but something just didn't seem right.
Just before he left, Merry told me this would be his last visit. He just couldn't bare to be reminded of those long-ago events. And, unfortunately, seeing me brought back both the good and the bad memories for him.
That night Daimond held me as I cried myself to sleep.
Now word has come that Merry is no longer among the living. I am sad that he is gone, but I hope he has found his peace at last.
Daimond comes to sit with me in the sun on the terrace of our house. We both know it is only a matter of time until we, too, leave this mortal life behind us, but we will enjoy what time is left to us.
I hope silently that I go before Daimond. I would hate to inflict my stubbornness and foolish whims on someone not used to dealing with me. After all, Daimond has been with me for nearly 75 years now. He often know what I want before I know. Oh, I do love him, and I think he still loves me, even with all my complaining and demanding.
He sits now cradling me on his lap as he has often done over the many years. I lean my head against his chest and sigh. "I think I could use a little sleep," I say.
He lifts me and carries me to bed. The last thing I feel is a light kiss and my dear companion settling beside me.
The End.
*Daimond is pronounced Day-i-mond.