Title: Treasures
Author: BellaMonte
E-Mail:
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I own not the characters, I merely play with them.
A/N: This chapter goes to Obelia Medusa, who helped inspire various parts of Merry's internal monologue with her chapter 13 of "The Making of a Ringbearer: Adrift." Thank you, my dear! Now please engross me some more soon with new chapters! :)
The garden outside Bag End was a disgrace. Flowers bent and withered from thirst and not being trimmed properly, and weeds had sprouted everywhere. . .it was shameful. If not for Mr. Bilbo's command for him to not bother with it for a few days, Samwise would have made a grab for his tools instead of slouching in the little bench, staring out at the Shire below.
It was so pretty, the way the hills fell and rose together in slow, gentle slopes, seeming to go on forever. . .to think that Mr. Frodo had been farther away than those splendid hills stretching out into the distance. . .
He must have fallen nodded off while watching over his friend, for when he'd woken to find himself on a cough in Mr. Bilbo's den, a blanket draped over him. Knowing Mr. Frodo was still sleeping peacefully, he had come out here to pass the time.
He wasn't alone for very long. The abrupt sound of the door opening roused him, and he turned to see Merry come shuffling out. His eyes were red and puffy from crying, and he wiped his nose with his sleeve as he closed the door behind him.
"Hello, Sam," said the young Brandybuck, dropping down onto the front step.
"Good mornin, Mr. Merry," he greeted, the reminder that it was morning a bit heartening. At long last, the sun was finally beginning to peek through the clouds that had set in later that night, and he could feel the dewy warmth of the new day in the air.
Merry didn't need to give explanation for why he was out here with him. Samwise knew what had happened, it had been Mr. Bilbo and Master Brandybuck's angry shouting for Merry to open the door that had first woken him in the first place. From the looks of it, Mr. Merry had just been struck by the same anguish and guilt as everyone else, seeing what torment poor Mr. Frodo had gone through. They had all tried to prepare themselves, but it had been heartbreaking to see how hurt and scared he was, as though he couldn't escape the nightmare even now when he was home and safe in his own bed.
Sam suspected that no hobbit, with the exception of Mr. Bilbo perhaps, was feeling the weight of guilt so intensely as Mr. Merry. He watched in pity as the young Brandybuck buried his face in his knees, grabbing at his curls, his shoulders shaking slightly. He still blamed himself for this.
Sam's mother had always tried to help her son get through the hard times, in particular the recent death of a relative, by telling them that sometimes horrible things happened, and there was no way of foreseeing them. Therefore, the best thing anyone could do was not to dwell on what happened, but focus upon what one had now, and what one could do in the future. Sam had been trying to settle the grief within himself in this way, telling himself that there was no way this could have been anticipated, even with an imagination as active as Mr. Bilbo's.
The greatest torment for Sam had not been why such a terrible thing happened, but why it had to happen to Mr. Frodo.
Whether Mr. Merry was pondering on these seemingly unanswerable questions or not, Sam didn't know. But he remembered his dear Mother's advice, that dwelling be not the answer to most affairs, and he decided to apply it to the young, sulking Brandybuck.
"How was your trip back, sir?" he asked.
Merry paused in answering for a moment, dragging his head up from where it was pressed into his knees.
"It was all right," he said, tiredly. "We didn't actually go back to Buckland. My father wasn't exactly ready to go home and tell everyone what happened, so we went to Tuckborough where I'd stayed before. I think it was better there than having to go home, I got to see my cousin Pippin," he said, his voice trailing off.
Closing his eyes, he could still picture his little cousin's chestnut curls peeking out from amidst the great crowd that met them as they'd entered the smial. Pippin had been so happy to see him back so soon. Though he was too young to really understand what had happened, he'd astonished Merry in his unquestioning efforts to cheer him up.
When his older cousin had lay in bed for days, Pippin would scurry about the room, poking at his sides and interrupting him from staring vacantly at a wall by popping his head up and making funny faces, or grunting noises. More than once he'd also tried to bring in toys for Merry to play with, toys that had absolutely no interest to a tweenager but still helped to lift his spirits, even slightly. And every night, Pippin would sneak out of his own room and Merry would either find him asleep beside him the next morning, or, when he'd awoken more than once from a terrible nightmare, crying, his little cousin had been there, wrapping his arms about him and stroking his curls, comfortingly.
Thinking back on it now, Merry was pretty sure that he might have become ill with grief, had Pippin not been there with him. He wished he hadn't been so damn impatient and paused for more than a second to say good-bye to him, though he was sure his Aunt Esmy would explain everything to him on why he needed to get back here so quickly.
"He's been so hurt," Merry whispered, his throat sore from crying. "Did you see his hand? And he cried when I tried to hug him. . ." he buried his face in his knees again. "He wouldn't even look at me. . .those ugly, horrible monsters! How could they?"
"I don't know sir," Sam said, softly. "Mr. Frodo is such a kind, gentle hobbit. . ."
"No, I mean how could they, really!" Merry exclaimed. "I mean, Frodo is just SO good, he couldn't even raid a pantry without feeling guilt, even if he tried to hide it. And. . .and his face is just so innocent, he had no idea how many times he was spared from punishments by aunts that couldn't help but melt in thinking he were too adorable, as they put it." Merry lifted his head again, his face white with bewilderment. "How could anyone want to hurt him like that? Just, how could they?"
"Go away, Merry," Frodo had said to him. His poor cousin. . .he had tried to sound angry, but even now he was still incapable of hiding the pain and defeat that lived in his voice.
"He must've been so scared," Merry whispered, his gaze tracing over the land laid out before them. "He didn't even look relieved to be home."
"I s'pect it might take 'im a while to realize it's all over," Sam said, his mind already debating whether or not to tell Mr. Merry about what happened earlier. He found himself continuing before he'd even rested on a firm decision. "And. . .well, Mr. Bilbo sort of upset 'im a bit earlier, unintentionally of course, but there it is."
"How?" Merry pressed.
"Well, he's a bit afraid Mr. Frodo's still in danger living here with 'im," Sam admitted, sadly. "There be cruel rumors goin' around that someone else'll try to kidnap poor Mr. Frodo again, an' Mr. Bilbo told 'im that he were goin' to send 'im back to Brandy Hall to make sure he'd be safe. An', well, Mr. Frodo sort of took that to mean that his uncle were just kicking 'im out."
"WHAT?" Merry exclaimed, turning, his eyes wide with astonishment. "Are you serious? Bilbo's sending Frodo back?"
The curly head nodded.
"An. . .an' no offense upon your home, sir," Sam added, bringing his brown hands up in gesture, "I'm sure it's beautiful where you live. But that warn't exactly what Mr. Frodo wanted, I think. He'd been tellin' me how he didn't think Mr. Bilbo wanted 'im, even when I told 'im he were just worrying for nothing, an' that warn't true. But for Mr. Bilbo to then say he'd be givin' 'im up, well he. . .he just got real quiet, an' still again. I don't think he wants to go back."
"Of COURSE he doesn't!" Merry exclaimed, dragging his hands through his hair. "What is Uncle Bilbo thinking? Frodo hates it at Brandy Hall!"
After nearly two weeks of restless worry and then chest-aching grief, Merry had been given more than enough time to think and reflect upon his last conversation with Frodo, and had come to see how right his cousin had been. Though Merry loved living in Brandy Hall, he'd never known what it was like to live anywhere else. Frodo, on the other hand, had grown up in a little hole with his parents. Merry didn't remember them but Frodo had often told him about how they were very kind, loving and well, parents. And when they'd died, Frodo had been pretty much stranded at Brandy Hall. He was still given presents at Yule, and shared in studies and games as everyone else, but Merry wondered where Frodo must have been and who was with him when everyone else, himself included were greeted with hugs in the morning, tucked in at night, or told stories before bed. Probably no one.
Merry hadn't really thought of these things before. Yet now that he did, he realized how much better it was that Bilbo had adopted Frodo, and given him that special love and attention he so deserved. His uncle would never replace his parents. . .but he certainly made an excellent substitute.
Merry couldn't believe that Bilbo truly wanted to sent Frodo back to Brandy Hall. He must be feeling the greatest terror and guilt to be driven to even consider it. But what, Merry wondered, did being jammed into the walls of a crowded hall or being punished for sneaking into the library after bedtime. . .what did THAT do to help Frodo, or protect him from malicious kidnappers?
"Uncle Bilbo's NOT sending Frodo back to Brandy Hall," Merry declared, more to himself than anything. Even when he still missed him so and after all this, it would kill him to leave again. . . "I won't let him. Even if I have to lock Frodo in his room and shove all the damn furniture in Bag End in front of the door to keep him there. Uncle Bilbo's nuts to think that'll help Frodo. He probably just made him feel worse off than he already is!"
Sam nodded, and a faint smile came into his face. "I think you may be right," he said in agreement. "But it'll be up to Mr. Bilbo to talk to Mr. Frodo, an' right now he's afraid to. I don't think he feels as though he be the one to protect poor Mr. Frodo."
Merry snorted. "He's the one with that big sword, isn't he? And he thinks there's someone better to take care of Frodo? Well, then he's crazy. They both are. In a good way. And that's why they're meant to be together."
A thoughtful silence fell between them for some time.
Merry watched as the sun's first rays began to light up patches of land here and there beyond them. Well, it was a new day, certainly filled with greater promise and hope than the one before.
For a while his gaze continued to wander before he came to notice a hobbit standing just at the end of the steps to Bag End, looking up at him with a peculiar look of amusement. He was common looking, with sandy curls, pale blue eyes and a hefty build. He didn't look much older than himself, though the odd smirk on his face made him look so childish that it was hard to tell.
"Who's that?" Merry asked, turning . He frowned when he saw the scowl that was fighting to break into Sam's face as he edged towards him.
"That be Lotho Sackville-Baggins," he mumbled, his voice low and uncharacteristically bitter. "His parents an' Mr. Bilbo aren't very friendly with one another."
"Well, is it true?" the hobbit, who was in fact Lotho Sackville-Baggins, broke in. His voice was abrupt, and laced with sarcasm.
"Is what true?" Merry repeated.
Amazement came into the hobbit's face, and Merry felt his stomach twist furiously at the exaggeration in that expression.
Lotho huffed. "You mean to tell me that you're standing right there, outside the door to Bag End, and you've not the faintest idea of what I speak?" he asked, raising his eyebrows in mock astonishment.
Merry and Sam said nothing.
"Is the orphan back," he demanded, wrapping his thick fists around the fence and scowling freely at them. "Oh, I suppose it is," he added, sadly, at their vicious glares. "Damn. And to think for a few short weeks, that inheritance money was going to its rightful owners after all."
"Unh!" a short, undefinable sound ripped from Merry's throat, and his body jolted awaked at the monstrous FURY that seized him. For a second he just stared, eyes wide, mouth open, in bewilderment before rising on unsteady legs.
"You have to be the most foul, slow-witted hobbit in the Shire to dare say that," he hissed, darkly, his eyes narrowing to slits. "I suppose it never occurred to you that they're still out looking for others who might've been involved, and I'm sure you'd just scream at having rangers carting YOU off by your ears."
Lotho laughed, indifferently. "Naw, it warn't my parents," he said, leaning farther over the fence. "It were Ted's father that did, and to be honest it were a surprise to me too, considering what a coward we all though he was. Naw, he turned out too selfish to tell anyone. But lo! it were a good idea, though! And here I'd considered it a good thing that Sackville-Bagginses weren't cursed with wild imaginations."
"Shut your big fat mouth, Lotho!" Merry sneered, his face twisting into a scowl that just managed to surpass Sam's.
Rage flowed through his veins like venom down to his twitching fingertips, which ached to strangle that big, fat
neck. . . through the loud pounding in his own ears, Merry could hear Sam breathing heavily beside him, read to attack.
Merry jerked his arm up just in time to hold him back. Sam was too small to fight, and there was probably a bit of selfish and self-righteousness in his decision as well in wanting to avenge his cousin, though he'd think about that later.
Lotho stared at him with that same sarcastic bafflement when Merry stretched his arm out to block Sam from charging.
"Naw, what are you doing?" he asked, gesturing with his hands for one of them to come forward. "Let the little toad come at me. I haven't knocked the stuffing out of a hobbit in a while now. Been waiting for that orphan boy in there to pass me by," he added, pulling his sleeves back. His pale-blue eyes flickered, daring Sam to approach him.
"You
aren't fighting him, and I wouldn't DARE try and lay hands on my
cousin," Merry growled. All traces of any limp, sulking hobbit were
vanquished in an instant, fury taking over and driving him down the
steps, his white-
knuckled fists clenched at his sides. "You
want to fight, you'd best face someone who's had their share and
can easily leave you crying for your Ma."
"Who'er you?" Lotho asked, lips curling as he gave him a once-over.
"Meriadoc Brandybuck, son of Saradoc Brandybuck, Master of Buckland, and Frodo Baggins's cousin," he said, laying emphasis on his last title with an especially dark scowl. He didn't often present himself as proudly as that, but fury was driving him blind and he couldn't hold back on making this a special case.
"Really, so you're one of those crazy hobbits from Buckland," Lotho said, the indifference in his tone masking the slight intimidation held beneath. "I hear you fools actually swim in the Brandywine around there. A bit unnatural, don't you think, when hobbits aren't born to float? You must be crazy!"
"Better to be crazy than a nasty pathetic piece of pig dung like yourself," Merry hissed.
Lotho laughed at this, his pale eyes narrowing in return. "Well, I see you choose to follow the same philosophy as your mad uncle then. You sound just as cracked as he. And oh!" he added, his face darkening into scorn as he changed subjects, "Is it true his heir's come back as broken as a pile o' sticks? What was the matter with him, couldn't he escape on his own so he needed his uncle to rescue him?"
In the far-back recess of his mind where he was still thinking and not going mad with fury, Merry was congratulating himself on having not attacked him. . ..yet. It was one thing to insult him. . . but not his cousin. The split-second image of his poor cousin, struggling to sit up after weeks of helpless terror and abuse came back to him, and he punched his fists against the gate to let him through.
"I wouldn't insult him, if I were you," he snarled. "Had you gone through what he did, you'd be a useless pathetic slab on the road and it wouldn't make much different to anyone else, either."
"I don't doubt it," Lotho said, dryly. "So it's true then, that he's a cripple now and can't stand up on his own? Well, then that's swell," he said, raising his hands in mock excitement. "Now he can join his uncle in there, a useless, mad recluse, now that he's learned his lesson and won't go tramping about the Shire like some little prince – "
A first drove its way into Lotho's pale, beady eye, knocking him back a few clumsy steps .
Such a blow would have, under such a circumstance, most likely satisfied most hobbits of the Shire. Meriadoc Brandybuck, however, happened to be from a rather hot-blooded line in his race, and the first blow did nothing but further ignite the blazing fire in his twitching limbs.
With a snarl of rage, Merry didn't give his far-distant relation to recover before driving into him and knocking them both down onto the ground. Lotho might have been older and larger than himself, but Merry felt as though his utter bones were seething as he threw down fists faster than he'd ever moved in his life.
He got his other eye. . then his nose, then his chest, then his nose again, anything, that was the kidnappers below him, that was Sandyman, that was the worthless heap that had even DARED say such things to him. . .
Merry heard Lotho's cries and grunting as he struggled beneath him, but his vision was blurred and he missed seeing the hand bending back until he felt a fist connect with his eye. Little balls of light suddenly appeared amidst the haze, and he was knocked onto his back by the force of the blow. In an instant the larger hobbit was atop him, landing a ferocious blow onto his chest.
A second passed, and Merry had regained himself. Seizing his enemy's hair, he twisted it furiously to the side and then drove his other fist forward to connect with that big, fat mouth. Satisfied when he heard a distinct crack, he kicked his legs up and knocked the hobbit off of him. They there was no telling who was winning or losing as they grabbed each other by the hair, the ear, the arm, and began rolling around on the ground, punching, kicking, uttering growls of fury.
For Merry, he hardly felt the sensations of pain in his eye, his nose, his shins, in the hot fury and triumph as he caught Lotho on the shoulder, and heard him cry out. He grinned as he caught blood running down his lip.
It took him a second to differentiate the arms he was trying to twist from the ones that were suddenly trying to pull him away, and even then he fought as he was dragged from his opponent, landing a good solid kick to Lotho's side before distance was reached between them.
Merry grinned as he saw through his one eye the blood on Lotho's face, the two black eyes (yes!) and heard the cry of anguish that escaped him. He was doubling over in pain as Bilbo dragged him furiously away.
Merry looked up to see that it was Hamfast Gamgee to be the one that was holding him back.
Once at a safe distance, Bilbo turned around and released Lotho, watching as he fell hard to the ground.
"Get out of here, Lotho!" he growled, clutching his walking cane in his hand and towering over him. "What gave you the idea of coming here now? You're not welcome!"
"Sir," Lotho said, sprawled on the ground, sounding a bit more respectful now that his uncle was standing over him with a weapon of choice in his hand. "I didn't mean nothing, it was just that wild boy that came right at me!"
A shudder of fury went through Bilbo as he stood over him, and for a moment Merry was sure from the livid look in his uncle's face that was going to land a blow.
"Hit him!" he shouted.
"Go back to your sorry excuse for parents," Bilbo growled, furiously. "Get out of here!"
In an instant Lotho scrambled away. Bilbo kicked a spray of dirt at him as he stumbled, and then he was disappeared down the path, filthy and bloody and sporting what would soon be two successful black eyes.
Merry watched his uncle as he stood, panting and white-faced, dragging a shaking hand through his graying curls. The way his face was twisted in a sneer and his eyes so red and bloodshot with fatigue, he'd sure surprised Merry in not attack him.
"What happened?" he demanded, looking both anguished and proud as he approached his nephew.
"That stupid piece of dung came by, and started saying nasty things about Frodo!" Merry protested, angrily.
Bilbo scowled as he looked behind him, and his hand clutched his cane harder, as though resenting not doing worse himself. Well, maybe it wasn't too late, if his uncle wouldn't mind giving him that cane for a second, Merry wouldn't mind running after that hateful Sackville-Baggins in the slightest!
"All right, let's get you inside and clean you up before your father sees," Bilbo said, heavily. Taking him by the shoulder, he tilted Merry's chin up so he could observe his eye.
Merry frowned, astonished that he wasn't being punished for fighting. Though he didn't care if he did, heat and energy were still rushing madly through him and he found himself feeling remarkably drained and happy for the first time in weeks in the knowledge he'd at least done his cousin that justice.
"You mean you're not going to scold me, uncle?" Merry asked.
Bilbo looked down at him, and a little bit of the hardness in his face lifted as he laughed. "No, by the looks of it you've been thrashed enough for today," he said, firmly gripping his shoulders. "In fact, you should feel proud of yourself, my lad, for doing the joy that I should've. That lot are malicious, even if not responsible for this."
TBC
Whew! That was exhilarating to write! Hope this was a good ice breaker, I just couldn't leave off after the other chapter, especially since this part comes right after.
Next chapter title should define everything. I'm too tired to be articulate and sneaky with my title (don't grin at me, Obelia!) Am still deciding upon whether or not to call it 'Comforting Tales' or just plain 'Comfort,' but I hope you all can get the general idea of what it will involve.
Some things will be said. . . .well, actually, a LOT will be said and I can hear you all breathing the same chant along with me: "Elbereth . .. .Finally!"
