Disclaimer: I don't own LOTR and I'm not J.R.R. Tolkien. Happy? (I should mention that Rosalcia and Hamer are my own invention, but not Hamer's uncle, whom we will meet later, and who is mentioned in The Hobbit) I think I've also borrowed this chapter title from somewhere in LOTR but am too lazy to look it up….
A/N. I thought I'd post another chapter, as the first chapter was so short, just to get the ball rolling (Did that metaphor make sense?).
Merry couldn't remember a time at Brandy Hall when Cousin Frodo hadn't been there too. His earliest memories were of times with Frodo. Frodo laughing; Frodo angry (though never with him); Frodo winking as he produced a handful of pilfered mushrooms from his tattered pockets; Frodo, a few weeks after that, tearing back to Brandy Hall as if all the goblins of the Misty Mountains were after him, yelping like a puppy after an encounter with Farmer Maggot and his dogs; Frodo taking him boating on the Brandywine River and rescuing him when he fell in, white-faced and remorseful, his fear in Merry's opinion quite unreasonable, since Merry had known how to swim since he was a baby.
Now all that was going to come to an end, and to the seven-year-old Merry it was the end of the world. Frodo's rich, peculiar Uncle Bilbo was going to adopt him, and from now on his beloved cousin would live at Bag End, which was to Merry's way of thinking around a thousand miles away. When the time came for Frodo to leave, he clung to his cousin with a grip that took the combined efforts of both his parents to pry loose, and when the pony and cart had long since vanished into the distance, he still sat looking after them with the stains of tears on his cheeks.
Without Frodo around, Merry found Brandy Hall plain, flat and boring. Even boating on the river was not as good without a companion, and Rosalcia was no fun. She tyrannized over him mercilessly, was terrified of the river, and couldn't run to save her life. Merry began to spend long periods of time exploring; often miles away from home in the Old Forest. The malice of the trees did not bother him, and sometimes it was almost as if they grew calm and quiet at the sight of the little, innocent hobbit-child who never seemed to regard them with fear or hostility but accepted them, just as they were, sometimes sitting for hours beneath them, lost in daydreams, or painting on a strip of bark.
Matters came to a head in the summer of 1392, when Merry had just turned eleven, and Rosalcia was seventeen. It was a beautiful summer's day, perfect for going boating.
To Merry's complete surprise, it was Rosalcia who said to him,
"Why don't we go for a little row on the river today, Meriadoc?" She always called him by his full name, which irked him.
To say that Merry was surprised would be an understatement. "Just the two of us?" he said, clearly hoping that someone more interesting would be there besides his cousin.
"In actual fact, I've invited someone else," said Rosalcia, giggling. "But you'll have to wait and see."
Merry was filled with an unreasonable hope that it might be Frodo, and could barely eat his elevenses for excitement. His corresponding disappointment when a stout hobbit with enormous fluffy feet, whom he deemed sure to sink the boat appeared, introducing himself as Hamer Chubb-Proudfoot-Grubb, was profound. Nevertheless, a trip in one of Gorbadoc's beautiful little rafts down the peaceful river on a day like this was too good to be missed, so he smiled and nodded politely when Rosalcia explained that "dear little Meriadoc" was going to "tag along."
The boat tipped alarmingly as Hamer took his seat, and the gunwale was barely above water. Rosalcia in the bows gave a sharp little scream.
"Not to worry, my darling Rose," said Hamer gallantly; but as he leaned over to push them off a large quantity of water came over the side. Rosalcia shrieked again as her pink dress was soaked.
"I'll push us off," said Merry, impatient at all this folderol. His slight weight made no difference to the boat, and in no time they were on their way.
Hamer rowed, the boat creaking with every mighty stroke of the oars, and Merry perched uncomfortably on the side, bailing out the water. Hamer made polite conversation to Rosalcia, who giggled and laughed, and Merry slipped gradually into a daydream of woods and trees and adventures with Frodo, and boating without a giggling lass or a heavy lump in the bows.
They moored the boat against an oak tree growing right up against the water and picnicked under it. Merry fancied that the boat gave a relieved groan when Hamer stepped out of it.
Hamer ate his food with relish, and his table manners, even by hobbits' rather lax standards, were exceedingly bad. Merry was only too glad when Rosalcia sent him off to explore.
He pottered about for a while, enjoying the dappled sunlight on the river and the trees that murmured overhead. He watched a kingfisher dart over the river several times before capturing a fish that glittered in the sun. Its plumage was bright blue. It seemed much later, though in fact it was only half an hour, before he finally made his way back to Hamer and Rosalcia.
They were holding hands under the great oak and murmuring something in soft voices. Not wanting to disturb them, Merry stood there quietly, but it seemed that a passing magpie had other plans. It squawked loudly, and the couple whipped round.
From the look Rosalcia gave him, Merry knew he was in trouble, but for the moment she said nothing. They climbed into the boat and cast off once again.
They had made it halfway back to Brandy Hall before disaster struck. The boat, taxed to the limit of its holding capacity, had had enough. With a great creaking groan, some of the boards in its bottom gave way, resulting in first a small, then a much larger leak. Merry came out of his daydreams with a start upon hearing Rosalcia's scream.
Hamer tried to turn the boat and make for shore, which was only a few yards away on either side, but the water was coming in too fast. In a moment they were all in the water – Rosalcia, Hamer, Merry and the picnic basket.
Merry came up spluttering but in control – he was a strong swimmer. Confused, for he could see the flailing Hamer but not his cousin, he made to swim over, but then arms wrapped round him from behind, and he went under.
Panicked, Merry struggled. He rose to the surface. Rosalcia surfaced, wailing. She was about to go under again, but Merry seized her by the hair and pulled her in to shore. Then he had to go to the aid of Hamer, who was rapidly losing his battle with the river.
All three of them were wet and exhausted as they plodded back to Brandy Hall, dragging the remains of the boat. Merry had had to dive again and again for the picnic basket and the expensive crockery inside, for as Rosalcia said, sobbing all the time, she just couldn't face Aunt Hilda (from whom she had borrowed the plates).
Merry thought it presumptuous cheek that his cousin was not at all grateful for his help in saving her from Aunt Hilda, not to mention pulling them both from the river, but even went so far as to blame him, after the disgruntled Hamer had departed, for the whole incident. They had an epic shouting match, and in the end, for lack of further insults, he yelled at her retreating back,
"You should have been a…a…a Bolger!" and then, as a second thought, "And you can leave and marry your chubby friend for all I care!"
Turning on his heel, he fled, still sopping wet, and didn't stop running until he reached the Old Forest.
The trees were whispering and uneasy when he arrived, for it was growing dark, and they were more awake than in the daytime. They seemed to match his own angry mood. He sat down at the foot of one of them to try and regain some of his equanimity, but the atmosphere around him made this impossible. For the first time, he sensed pure evil emanating from the trees. Merry shivered.
Though he never knew afterwards whether it was his own imagination or not, it seemed then that he heard a voice whispering to him from the tree above.
Come, little brother, join us. You hate hobbits, don't you? Join us and we will invade the Shire and destroy Brandy Hall….
Merry never knew afterwards how he got out of that wood. He ran, gasping and stumbling, and when he at last stopped, it was in front of a wide wooden gate opening out of a high wall grown over with vines, which encircled a large brick farm house with a low, thatched roof. Lost, tired and hungry, Merry pushed open the gate and went in.
A/N. The scene with the picnic basket was of course inspired by The Wind in the Willows.
No prizes for guessing whom Merry is going to meet in the next chapter! (He appears in LOTR.) I hope you didn't find this too boring – I know the plot isn't doing much at the moment, but it will hopefully pick up pace a bit in later chapters (and the chapters do get a bit longer, as well). I'm trying to stick to canon as much as possible here, which severely limits the possibilities for adventure.
Reviews are always welcome, if you have time to spare!