Stephanie - Thanks for joining us! I think you'll find that I'm evil in my use of the nasty cliffhanger with several days in between chapters to make my readers twitch. Here's your update!
CuriousCat - Thank you for checking frequently for updates. Bramblethorn is still his cruel, manipulated self as always, but who knows what else lies in his twisted psyche?
Sam - What am I planning? Best to ask what Bramblethorn is planning! (Evil laughter)
Sam want a few minutes alone with Bramblethorn, no doubt about it. As suave and calculating as Bramblethorn is, I'd bet on Sam's perseverance and protectiveness of Frodo in a one on one confrontation.
GamgeeFest - Yeah, Bramblethorn thinks his &%#$ don't stink, as my husband would say, LOL. You're not the only one to wonder how our heroes would have any clue as to the vicinity of Bramblethorn's lair. I'll address that very point in this chapter. Even so, knowing where Frodo is doesn't help much with the very tangible threats toward him if anyone interferes!
Heartofahobbit - Will Bramblethorn settle for riches in place of the object of his affections? Time will tell! Suspense is so much fun, isn't it?
Endymion2 - Bramblethorn's hired help are hobbits. Bramby is a Shire hobbit, exiled or no, and his greatest fault is the narrowness of his thinking. He might benefit by having some of the Big Folk on his payroll, but he's so accustomed to dealing with his own kind that he hasn't considered attempting such a thing. Besides, the Big Folk are clumsy, foolish, etc.... Oops. I let Bramblethorn talk for a minute, didn't I? As to Merry's understanding of where Bramblethorn is keeping Frodo, I've addressed that in this chapter. Merry is very perceptive! The phrase "What do you want with me" is pretty much the same thing as "what do you want from me." Just perhaps another variation of same.
Amber - Thanks for reading all the other fics and for following this one!
Girlofring1 - I don't plan to have Strider or any elves show up, but who knows who else might be hanging about Bree and getting into the picture? Thanks for watching for updates!
Hobbitfeet13 - Those nasty fellows Bramblethorn has hired are quite a pair indeed. Some people will do anything for money! Sam could only get off one good one before Bramby's pals got back to prevent any more retaliation. Poor Sam! Frodo is in a choice mood indeed, given his previous experiences with his enemy and the current situation.
Trust No One - Will Bramblethorn keep Frodo unharmed? Let us define 'unharmed'! Temptation has never been something Bramblethorn could easily resist. I did get your e - card, and thanks! It took some doing to find it amongst my email because my spam blocker tried to oust it. It's lovely, and I wish you and yours a happy holiday season as well!
Tavion - Bramblethorn is a kick to write because he's such a head case! I was going for major tension in the last chapter. Glad it worked!
Iorhael - Getting the boys together... oh, but you'll see what I mean, won't you? (Oh, I'm so evil! If Bramblethorn is my alter - ego, I need some serious therapy!)
FrodoBaggins87 - Merry and Sam are too worried about Bramblethorn's threats to attempt to free Frodo, at least for the time being. They'll be working on getting the ransom money as fast as they can.
Aratlitheil1 - I had to let Sam get at least one shot in on Bramblethorn. There was no way I could deny him that!
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Chapter 7 - Rules of the Game
After Monto had locked him inside his room, Frodo had collapsed upon the bed. His captors had not bothered to unbind his hands this time, and he lay down on his side and buried his face in the pillow. All he could envision when he closed his eyes were the stricken looks on Sam and Merry's faces. He could almost feel Monto's grip on his arms and Anson's blade skimming just under his jaw.
As if Buckland's troubles weren't enough, Merry had to deal with paying a hefty ransom if he wanted to free Frodo from Bramblethorn's clutches. And then there was Sam. Sam, who had sought only to protect Frodo and keep him safe since the events of several years earlier. Sam had been faithful in keeping his promises, never allowing himself to be farther away than the reach of a hand or the sound of a spoken word.
Tears came to Frodo's eyes and he let them fall. Sam and Merry must be so upset, he thought. And what about Frodo himself? Frodo searched his heart and found deep remorse for having placed the people he loved in such an awful position. And there was something else - fear. Although he knew his enemy, Frodo still feared him. Bramblethorn had proven relentless when it came to achieving his ends, regardless of who or what might stand in the way.
Something else within him spurred Frodo to fight his enemy, to remain strong and defiant in the face of his fears. But what could he do? It was not just Bramblethorn alone this time, but Bramblethorn and two of his minions who seemed to take pleasure in tormenting him. There were locked doors and ropes that bound him, sharp blades that gleamed and seemed to plead for the chance to break tender flesh and spill warm blood. There were horrible threats that held his loved ones at bay, and would keep them from being able to summon help.
Eventually, when fear and tears had exhausted him, Frodo fell into an uneasy sleep. When the door of the room creaked open again hours later, he was dimly aware of it, but thought he might be dreaming.
"Good morning, Frodo," Bramblethorn said calmly as he brushed stray curls from Frodo's forehead. "I thought we might begin the day with a little talk." Frodo realized he must have flinched involuntarily for Bramblethorn's next words were spoken in what was possibly meant to be a soothing tone. "They aren't here with us. Monto and Anson are just outside, waiting, should I need them."
As if that should be any comfort. Frodo responded by curling up tighter, his back to Bramblethorn.
"We must discuss a few things, you and I," Bramblethorn continued, brushing his fingers lightly over Frodo's nape. "Frodo, are you listening?" He reached out and grasped Frodo's shoulder, rolling him over.
Frodo looked at Bramblethorn, his eyes still stinging from the tears of the night before. "Do I have a choice?"
"Always defiant, aren't you, love?" Bramblethorn purred. "Really, Frodo, you're making this much harder than it has to be. You needn't suffer punishments if you behave yourself." Bramblethorn toyed with the cords that bound Frodo's wrists. He marveled once again at the thin, elegant bone structure. "You need not be bound, if you prove that I can trust you. You will have to remain here, in this room of course, but I am willing to make your stay here more comfortable."
"Are you really?" Frodo said quietly. "And just what is it you would ask of me in order to grant me these small kindnesses?"
Bramblethorn considered the question. Just what was he prepared to ask of Frodo? In the past two years, Bramblethorn had done his best to convince himself that he no longer wanted Frodo physically, but now that Frodo was there in his presence, he again felt the old wound of unrequited passion break open. "For now, I merely want you to do as I ask while you are my guest."
"Guest," Frodo laughed softly, bitterly. "A grave misuse of the word, I believe." Frodo raised himself to a sitting position and regarded Bramblethorn as steadily as he could while he spoke. "And since when have you 'asked' me for anything? No, you never ask. You demand. You never give, you merely take."
"I am not here to discuss your opinions of my actions," Bramblethorn said as he stepped away from the bed. "If you shout and beat upon the door, you will be prevented from doing so. If you strike out, you yourself shall be struck. If you maintain your composure, I will allow you small concessions."
"All right, since we're discussing terms, if I 'behave myself' as you say, will I have food and drink?" The last time Bramblethorn had wanted something of Frodo, he had tried to starve it out of him.
Bramblethorn regarded him thoughtfully. "Sustenance will not be withheld, as long as you conduct yourself properly."
"All right, then," Frodo said, pressing onward. "I wish to be untied." Frodo stood and turned his back to Bramblethorn, extending his hands behind him and waiting.
"One step at a time, dear Frodo," Bramblethorn said evenly, placing his hands on Frodo's shoulders and squeezing gently. "You will have to show me that I can trust you if I allow you such freedom."
Frodo hid his frustration with difficulty. "Freedom? What freedom is there with a locked door guarded by two violent thugs? Just how far would I be able to get with those two outside my room?"
"My thoughts exactly," Bramblethorn offered, "but nonetheless, I do not intend to take chances. You're quite valuable to me, you know."
Frodo scowled and pulled away. "I don't know why I'm bothering to - "
"Because you can't help it, love." Bramblethorn closed the distance between them and grasped Frodo's upper arms as he stood behind him. "You can't help but resist. I know you now, Frodo Baggins," Bramblethorn breathed in Frodo's ear. "I cannot allow you to be unbound at this time because I know you will fight or flee if you see the slightest opportunity."
"Am I to be blamed for that?" Frodo asked angrily, his eyes cast downward.
"Ahh, dear Frodo," Bramblethorn said, shaking his head. "I, for one, could find you to blame for many things, and yet I am still fond of you." Bramblethorn moved closer, pulling Frodo toward him in a possessive embrace.
"Let me go!" Frodo said, his voice breaking. Every terrible memory, every nightmare he had fought against for the past two years threatened to surface and sweep him away in a wave of despair.
Bramblethorn startled Frodo by saying calmly, "Are you hungry?"
Frodo wanted to say he wasn't, wanted to fling himself as far from Bramblethorn as he could, but he heard himself say, "Yes."
"Last night you accused me of lying, of not keeping my word," Bramblethorn said, running his hands down Frodo's arms to grasp his bound wrists. "That was very unkind of you." He began to loosen the knots. "I told you I would not allow you to hunger, should you be well - behaved, and I will do as I have said."
Frodo held his breath and only dared to release it when his hands were freed. He turned to face Bramblethorn reluctantly, and Bramblethorn grasped his wrists and rubbed them lightly for a moment.
"I will have something brought to you, but you have yet to prove yourself." Bramblethorn turned and retrieved the same length of rope he had just unwound from Frodo's wrists and demanded, "Give me your hands, Frodo."
Frodo looked at Bramblethorn in dismay. "Please, no," he said quickly, snatching his hands away.
"Frodo, as I said before, you must earn this. Are you truly hungry as you've said?" Bramblethorn's gaze bored into Frodo's.
Frodo closed his eyes and slowly extended his hands. Merry and Sam would ransom him eventually, and he must keep up his strength until that time. He remembered the days of painful hunger he had endured the last time Bramblethorn had imprisoned him, and his stomach implored him not to let it happen again.
"Very good, Frodo," Bramblethorn praised, as he re - bound Frodo's wrists. "You shall have your meal, but nothing that requires the use of utensils. If I give you a knife or a fork, you might misuse them, I think."
Frodo refused to answer the comment. Part of him was raging just below the surface, providing him with a host of ideas regarding just what to do with such implements.
Bramblethorn said no more, but left the room. The door closed and the bolt slid into the lock. Frodo sat on the edge of the bed, lost in thought. What was Bramblethorn up to? Frodo dared not hope that renewed prosperity and comfort had somehow softened his captor. Remembering the sneering, threatening and swaggering Bramblethorn had exhibited the night before, he felt certain that any pretense of kindness was just that.
Frodo examined the bonds around his wrists. They were tight enough to prevent him from twisting his hands within them, and the knots were placed at an angle where Frodo could not adequately reach them with his teeth. He sighed. Even if he managed to free himself, it would only lead to some reprisal for rebelliousness.
A short while later, Anson entered the room with a tray of bread and cheese, a few small sausages, and a flask of water. He placed it on the table and smirked at Frodo. "Breakfast is served," he said with a mocking flourish, and stalked out.
"Serve this," Frodo muttered, making his best effort at a gesture he hadn't used since his tweens.
~*~
"Dammit," Merry muttered as he scrunched up the parchment he was writing on and hurled it across the room. He had tried the night before to write his father and ask for assistance, but it had been late and he had been terribly upset by the events of the day. How could he adequately explain what had happened?
The balled - up wad came to rest near Sam's toes, and he reached down to retrieve it. He slowly opened it back up and read what Merry had written, then crossed the room to where Merry stood gazing pensively out the window toward the hills beyond the village of Bree. "There ain't no proper words, are there, Mr. Merry?"
"No, Sam, none at all," Merry said sullenly. "How can I tell my father what's happened? I don't feel right sitting here while Frodo is in terrible danger."
"I don't either," Sam said, his tone somber. "When I seen that blade at Mr. Frodo's throat, my heart just froze." Tears welled in Sam's eyes anew. "Do you think they'll really hurt him, Mr. Merry?"
"I don't know, Sam." Merry looked at the blank page before him. "But I believe Bramblethorn when he says that Frodo will pay the price if we try to free him. We bested him once, but we outnumbered him then. We're on more than even ground now, with those two trained trolls he's got working for him."
"If I get my chance at any of them, they'll be sorry they ever heard the name of Sam Gamgee," Sam vowed.
"I hope you get your chance, Sam," Merry said as he rose from the table and made his way to the window. Off into the distance stood the hills that bordered Bree, silent sentinels to the daily life of those who dwelt below.
Sam attempted to follow Merry's gaze and found himself staring at the same expanse of hills just beyond and above the settlements of the Big Folk. "Mr. Merry, what is it?" he asked, concerned by the serious expression in the other hobbit's eyes.
Merry knew better than to attempt to hide his thoughts from Sam. "Up there," he said as he pointed toward the hills. "Somewhere up in those hills Frodo waits for us to help him."
Sam regarded Merry quizzically. "How do you figure that?" he asked, wondering how Merry would know where Frodo was being held. After all, they had been blindfolded during their ride to the meeting with Bramblethorn.
Merry adopted a thoughtful pose. "You've never been to Bree, have you, Sam?" Merry asked in a calm tone.
"No, Mr. Merry, I haven't," Sam replied, embarrassed at his lack of experience. "I've not been so far from Hobbiton in all my days, if the truth be told," he admitted bashfully.
Merry smiled grimly. "I've not been here before myself, Sam," Merry countered, "but my grandfather has, and I used to listen to him tell of his travels. Most of the hobbits in Bree live in the hills above the town, by preference rather than necessity," he explained. "And then, there's Bramblethorn."
Sam's expression darkened noticeably. "And what about him?"
"He's from the Shire," Merry said thoughtfully. "He's accustomed to dwellings like those in Hobbiton, and to the company of his own kind." Merry paced before the window, his expression reflecting his thoughts. "I noticed that the two in his service were hobbits rather than Big Folk, didn't you?"
"They were," Sam admitted. "Do you think he has much to do with anyone but his own?"
"As reluctant as I am to refer to any hobbit as being anything close to Bramblethorn's kind," Merry commented, "I tend to doubt that he associates much with the other folk of Bree other than cheating them and using them to his advantage. But think of it, Sam," Merry continued, pacing as he spoke. "He's surrounding himself with other hobbits and living in the fashion that he's accustomed to. Why would he not choose to live amongst his own kind?"
Merry fixed Sam with a sharp gaze. "When we were being taken to meet with Bramblethorn I thought I felt the cart traveling on an incline. We were going uphill, I'm sure of it."
Sam thought for a moment and realized Merry was right. He had been too focused on the question of Frodo's well - being at the time to notice that the wagon that bore them was traveling uphill. "I think you're right, now that I remember," he admitted, respecting Merry that much more for noticing such details.
"And so I believe that somewhere in the hills beyond the village, Frodo waits for us to ransom him," Merry finished with a heavy sigh. He sat down again at the table, considering the fresh page before him and dipped the quill in the ink once again.
Sam's eyes narrowed. "An' if we try to help him?"
Merry drew a deep breath before speaking. "We risk harm to him, I'm certain," he admitted. "If we go sniffing about in the hills in an attempt to discern which smial belongs to Bramblethorn, we'll likely be seen by his sentries."
Sam nodded sadly. "They'll know we're lookin' for Mr. Frodo, an' they'll do somethin' awful to him."
Merry nodded. "If we're to save Frodo from that horrid villain, I must get this letter off. I hate to play Bramblethorn's game by the rules he's laid down, but at the moment I see no other alternative if we're to help Frodo." Merry bent to his task with intense concentration, attempting to convey the urgency of the situation to his father. Frodo had always been the one with the talent for words, he recalled bitterly. Now, when Merry's words very possibly meant the difference between life and death for his cousin, they seemed stumbling and inadequate.
It was more than an hour later when Merry was finally satisfied with his work. He handed it to Sam. "What do you think?"
Sam read the note carefully, each word burning itself into his mind like a white - hot brand.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Dear Father,
Something terrible has happened. Since his return to exile from the Shire, Rushford Bramblethorn has settled himself in Bree. Somehow - and I should like to know how he managed it - he has learned of our troubles in Buckland, and our errand has taken a disastrous turn.
Bramblethorn is hoarding much of the grain supply available in and about Bree, and has taken Frodo captive to ensure that we purchase from him at an enormous price. He is also holding Frodo for ransom, and insists that we shall not see Frodo until both sums are paid in full.
(Here Merry listed the shocking figures Bramblethorn had demanded.)
We must ask you to send a messenger from the Hall with more funds as soon as you possibly can. The longer Frodo remains in that villain's clutches, the greater the chance that harm will come to him. It's awful, believe me. They are armed and hold him bound, and they promise dire vengeance if we should try to free him.
Had I but known that Bramblethorn was here in Bree, I would never have allowed Frodo to come near the place. Please send someone as soon as possible so that we may have Frodo safe with us again.
Yours in great haste,
Merry.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Sam nodded his approval and handed the note back to Merry. A terrible thought occurred to him. "What if he doesn't give Frodo back when he gets his money?"
"Then I shall gut him," Merry said harshly. "If it takes me the rest of my days, I shall finish him!"
"Not if I get him first," Sam said, looking Merry in the eyes. The only thing that held him back from kicking down the door of Bramblethorn's smial was the memory of how smugly Anson had brought the blade up against Frodo's pale skin, as if it would be nothing at all for him to plunge it deep and end the life of the kindest, dearest person Sam had ever had the privilege to know.
~*~
Bramblethorn summoned Anson to his study to assign him another task. Anson stood ready to accept his latest orders from his employer, who lit his pipe and puffed on it for a moment before speaking. "I imagine Brandybuck will be sending a message to Buckland in today's post. I want you to go over to the inn where he's staying and intercept it."
Bramblethorn smiled. If the request for more funds to pay the ransom failed to reach its destination, the game would become very interesting indeed, he mused. He fully intended to make Merry and Sam writhe in mental agony before it was over.
Anson nodded, turned and left the room, making for the inn to capture Merry's message before the day's post could be collected for transport to its destination.
~*~
The innkeeper was hovering about the desk when Anson arrived at the inn, and a stack of parcels and messages sat tantalizingly upon the desktop waiting for the post runner. Anson ordered an ale and sat in the common room as close to the front desk as he could manage, hoping the innkeeper would have reason to leave the desk for a moment. If not, a disturbance would have to be created that would draw the man's attention away from the front area.
After about half an hour, Anson got the chance he was hoping for. A traveler came in and asked for a room, and the innkeeper left the desk to help the man carry his burdens down the hallway. Anson rose casually from his table and paused at the desk, looking left and right to make sure he was not being observed. Nobody was looking in his direction, and he quickly ducked behind the desk. A chair stood behind it, and he climbed up on it in order to be able to reach the items on the desktop. He sifted through the items in the post stack until he located a letter bearing the address of Brandy Hall, Buckland, and slipped it into his waistcoat pocket. He went back to his table, gulped down the rest of his ale, and left the inn, having completed his mission.
~*~ To be continued ~*~
CuriousCat - Thank you for checking frequently for updates. Bramblethorn is still his cruel, manipulated self as always, but who knows what else lies in his twisted psyche?
Sam - What am I planning? Best to ask what Bramblethorn is planning! (Evil laughter)
Sam want a few minutes alone with Bramblethorn, no doubt about it. As suave and calculating as Bramblethorn is, I'd bet on Sam's perseverance and protectiveness of Frodo in a one on one confrontation.
GamgeeFest - Yeah, Bramblethorn thinks his &%#$ don't stink, as my husband would say, LOL. You're not the only one to wonder how our heroes would have any clue as to the vicinity of Bramblethorn's lair. I'll address that very point in this chapter. Even so, knowing where Frodo is doesn't help much with the very tangible threats toward him if anyone interferes!
Heartofahobbit - Will Bramblethorn settle for riches in place of the object of his affections? Time will tell! Suspense is so much fun, isn't it?
Endymion2 - Bramblethorn's hired help are hobbits. Bramby is a Shire hobbit, exiled or no, and his greatest fault is the narrowness of his thinking. He might benefit by having some of the Big Folk on his payroll, but he's so accustomed to dealing with his own kind that he hasn't considered attempting such a thing. Besides, the Big Folk are clumsy, foolish, etc.... Oops. I let Bramblethorn talk for a minute, didn't I? As to Merry's understanding of where Bramblethorn is keeping Frodo, I've addressed that in this chapter. Merry is very perceptive! The phrase "What do you want with me" is pretty much the same thing as "what do you want from me." Just perhaps another variation of same.
Amber - Thanks for reading all the other fics and for following this one!
Girlofring1 - I don't plan to have Strider or any elves show up, but who knows who else might be hanging about Bree and getting into the picture? Thanks for watching for updates!
Hobbitfeet13 - Those nasty fellows Bramblethorn has hired are quite a pair indeed. Some people will do anything for money! Sam could only get off one good one before Bramby's pals got back to prevent any more retaliation. Poor Sam! Frodo is in a choice mood indeed, given his previous experiences with his enemy and the current situation.
Trust No One - Will Bramblethorn keep Frodo unharmed? Let us define 'unharmed'! Temptation has never been something Bramblethorn could easily resist. I did get your e - card, and thanks! It took some doing to find it amongst my email because my spam blocker tried to oust it. It's lovely, and I wish you and yours a happy holiday season as well!
Tavion - Bramblethorn is a kick to write because he's such a head case! I was going for major tension in the last chapter. Glad it worked!
Iorhael - Getting the boys together... oh, but you'll see what I mean, won't you? (Oh, I'm so evil! If Bramblethorn is my alter - ego, I need some serious therapy!)
FrodoBaggins87 - Merry and Sam are too worried about Bramblethorn's threats to attempt to free Frodo, at least for the time being. They'll be working on getting the ransom money as fast as they can.
Aratlitheil1 - I had to let Sam get at least one shot in on Bramblethorn. There was no way I could deny him that!
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Chapter 7 - Rules of the Game
After Monto had locked him inside his room, Frodo had collapsed upon the bed. His captors had not bothered to unbind his hands this time, and he lay down on his side and buried his face in the pillow. All he could envision when he closed his eyes were the stricken looks on Sam and Merry's faces. He could almost feel Monto's grip on his arms and Anson's blade skimming just under his jaw.
As if Buckland's troubles weren't enough, Merry had to deal with paying a hefty ransom if he wanted to free Frodo from Bramblethorn's clutches. And then there was Sam. Sam, who had sought only to protect Frodo and keep him safe since the events of several years earlier. Sam had been faithful in keeping his promises, never allowing himself to be farther away than the reach of a hand or the sound of a spoken word.
Tears came to Frodo's eyes and he let them fall. Sam and Merry must be so upset, he thought. And what about Frodo himself? Frodo searched his heart and found deep remorse for having placed the people he loved in such an awful position. And there was something else - fear. Although he knew his enemy, Frodo still feared him. Bramblethorn had proven relentless when it came to achieving his ends, regardless of who or what might stand in the way.
Something else within him spurred Frodo to fight his enemy, to remain strong and defiant in the face of his fears. But what could he do? It was not just Bramblethorn alone this time, but Bramblethorn and two of his minions who seemed to take pleasure in tormenting him. There were locked doors and ropes that bound him, sharp blades that gleamed and seemed to plead for the chance to break tender flesh and spill warm blood. There were horrible threats that held his loved ones at bay, and would keep them from being able to summon help.
Eventually, when fear and tears had exhausted him, Frodo fell into an uneasy sleep. When the door of the room creaked open again hours later, he was dimly aware of it, but thought he might be dreaming.
"Good morning, Frodo," Bramblethorn said calmly as he brushed stray curls from Frodo's forehead. "I thought we might begin the day with a little talk." Frodo realized he must have flinched involuntarily for Bramblethorn's next words were spoken in what was possibly meant to be a soothing tone. "They aren't here with us. Monto and Anson are just outside, waiting, should I need them."
As if that should be any comfort. Frodo responded by curling up tighter, his back to Bramblethorn.
"We must discuss a few things, you and I," Bramblethorn continued, brushing his fingers lightly over Frodo's nape. "Frodo, are you listening?" He reached out and grasped Frodo's shoulder, rolling him over.
Frodo looked at Bramblethorn, his eyes still stinging from the tears of the night before. "Do I have a choice?"
"Always defiant, aren't you, love?" Bramblethorn purred. "Really, Frodo, you're making this much harder than it has to be. You needn't suffer punishments if you behave yourself." Bramblethorn toyed with the cords that bound Frodo's wrists. He marveled once again at the thin, elegant bone structure. "You need not be bound, if you prove that I can trust you. You will have to remain here, in this room of course, but I am willing to make your stay here more comfortable."
"Are you really?" Frodo said quietly. "And just what is it you would ask of me in order to grant me these small kindnesses?"
Bramblethorn considered the question. Just what was he prepared to ask of Frodo? In the past two years, Bramblethorn had done his best to convince himself that he no longer wanted Frodo physically, but now that Frodo was there in his presence, he again felt the old wound of unrequited passion break open. "For now, I merely want you to do as I ask while you are my guest."
"Guest," Frodo laughed softly, bitterly. "A grave misuse of the word, I believe." Frodo raised himself to a sitting position and regarded Bramblethorn as steadily as he could while he spoke. "And since when have you 'asked' me for anything? No, you never ask. You demand. You never give, you merely take."
"I am not here to discuss your opinions of my actions," Bramblethorn said as he stepped away from the bed. "If you shout and beat upon the door, you will be prevented from doing so. If you strike out, you yourself shall be struck. If you maintain your composure, I will allow you small concessions."
"All right, since we're discussing terms, if I 'behave myself' as you say, will I have food and drink?" The last time Bramblethorn had wanted something of Frodo, he had tried to starve it out of him.
Bramblethorn regarded him thoughtfully. "Sustenance will not be withheld, as long as you conduct yourself properly."
"All right, then," Frodo said, pressing onward. "I wish to be untied." Frodo stood and turned his back to Bramblethorn, extending his hands behind him and waiting.
"One step at a time, dear Frodo," Bramblethorn said evenly, placing his hands on Frodo's shoulders and squeezing gently. "You will have to show me that I can trust you if I allow you such freedom."
Frodo hid his frustration with difficulty. "Freedom? What freedom is there with a locked door guarded by two violent thugs? Just how far would I be able to get with those two outside my room?"
"My thoughts exactly," Bramblethorn offered, "but nonetheless, I do not intend to take chances. You're quite valuable to me, you know."
Frodo scowled and pulled away. "I don't know why I'm bothering to - "
"Because you can't help it, love." Bramblethorn closed the distance between them and grasped Frodo's upper arms as he stood behind him. "You can't help but resist. I know you now, Frodo Baggins," Bramblethorn breathed in Frodo's ear. "I cannot allow you to be unbound at this time because I know you will fight or flee if you see the slightest opportunity."
"Am I to be blamed for that?" Frodo asked angrily, his eyes cast downward.
"Ahh, dear Frodo," Bramblethorn said, shaking his head. "I, for one, could find you to blame for many things, and yet I am still fond of you." Bramblethorn moved closer, pulling Frodo toward him in a possessive embrace.
"Let me go!" Frodo said, his voice breaking. Every terrible memory, every nightmare he had fought against for the past two years threatened to surface and sweep him away in a wave of despair.
Bramblethorn startled Frodo by saying calmly, "Are you hungry?"
Frodo wanted to say he wasn't, wanted to fling himself as far from Bramblethorn as he could, but he heard himself say, "Yes."
"Last night you accused me of lying, of not keeping my word," Bramblethorn said, running his hands down Frodo's arms to grasp his bound wrists. "That was very unkind of you." He began to loosen the knots. "I told you I would not allow you to hunger, should you be well - behaved, and I will do as I have said."
Frodo held his breath and only dared to release it when his hands were freed. He turned to face Bramblethorn reluctantly, and Bramblethorn grasped his wrists and rubbed them lightly for a moment.
"I will have something brought to you, but you have yet to prove yourself." Bramblethorn turned and retrieved the same length of rope he had just unwound from Frodo's wrists and demanded, "Give me your hands, Frodo."
Frodo looked at Bramblethorn in dismay. "Please, no," he said quickly, snatching his hands away.
"Frodo, as I said before, you must earn this. Are you truly hungry as you've said?" Bramblethorn's gaze bored into Frodo's.
Frodo closed his eyes and slowly extended his hands. Merry and Sam would ransom him eventually, and he must keep up his strength until that time. He remembered the days of painful hunger he had endured the last time Bramblethorn had imprisoned him, and his stomach implored him not to let it happen again.
"Very good, Frodo," Bramblethorn praised, as he re - bound Frodo's wrists. "You shall have your meal, but nothing that requires the use of utensils. If I give you a knife or a fork, you might misuse them, I think."
Frodo refused to answer the comment. Part of him was raging just below the surface, providing him with a host of ideas regarding just what to do with such implements.
Bramblethorn said no more, but left the room. The door closed and the bolt slid into the lock. Frodo sat on the edge of the bed, lost in thought. What was Bramblethorn up to? Frodo dared not hope that renewed prosperity and comfort had somehow softened his captor. Remembering the sneering, threatening and swaggering Bramblethorn had exhibited the night before, he felt certain that any pretense of kindness was just that.
Frodo examined the bonds around his wrists. They were tight enough to prevent him from twisting his hands within them, and the knots were placed at an angle where Frodo could not adequately reach them with his teeth. He sighed. Even if he managed to free himself, it would only lead to some reprisal for rebelliousness.
A short while later, Anson entered the room with a tray of bread and cheese, a few small sausages, and a flask of water. He placed it on the table and smirked at Frodo. "Breakfast is served," he said with a mocking flourish, and stalked out.
"Serve this," Frodo muttered, making his best effort at a gesture he hadn't used since his tweens.
~*~
"Dammit," Merry muttered as he scrunched up the parchment he was writing on and hurled it across the room. He had tried the night before to write his father and ask for assistance, but it had been late and he had been terribly upset by the events of the day. How could he adequately explain what had happened?
The balled - up wad came to rest near Sam's toes, and he reached down to retrieve it. He slowly opened it back up and read what Merry had written, then crossed the room to where Merry stood gazing pensively out the window toward the hills beyond the village of Bree. "There ain't no proper words, are there, Mr. Merry?"
"No, Sam, none at all," Merry said sullenly. "How can I tell my father what's happened? I don't feel right sitting here while Frodo is in terrible danger."
"I don't either," Sam said, his tone somber. "When I seen that blade at Mr. Frodo's throat, my heart just froze." Tears welled in Sam's eyes anew. "Do you think they'll really hurt him, Mr. Merry?"
"I don't know, Sam." Merry looked at the blank page before him. "But I believe Bramblethorn when he says that Frodo will pay the price if we try to free him. We bested him once, but we outnumbered him then. We're on more than even ground now, with those two trained trolls he's got working for him."
"If I get my chance at any of them, they'll be sorry they ever heard the name of Sam Gamgee," Sam vowed.
"I hope you get your chance, Sam," Merry said as he rose from the table and made his way to the window. Off into the distance stood the hills that bordered Bree, silent sentinels to the daily life of those who dwelt below.
Sam attempted to follow Merry's gaze and found himself staring at the same expanse of hills just beyond and above the settlements of the Big Folk. "Mr. Merry, what is it?" he asked, concerned by the serious expression in the other hobbit's eyes.
Merry knew better than to attempt to hide his thoughts from Sam. "Up there," he said as he pointed toward the hills. "Somewhere up in those hills Frodo waits for us to help him."
Sam regarded Merry quizzically. "How do you figure that?" he asked, wondering how Merry would know where Frodo was being held. After all, they had been blindfolded during their ride to the meeting with Bramblethorn.
Merry adopted a thoughtful pose. "You've never been to Bree, have you, Sam?" Merry asked in a calm tone.
"No, Mr. Merry, I haven't," Sam replied, embarrassed at his lack of experience. "I've not been so far from Hobbiton in all my days, if the truth be told," he admitted bashfully.
Merry smiled grimly. "I've not been here before myself, Sam," Merry countered, "but my grandfather has, and I used to listen to him tell of his travels. Most of the hobbits in Bree live in the hills above the town, by preference rather than necessity," he explained. "And then, there's Bramblethorn."
Sam's expression darkened noticeably. "And what about him?"
"He's from the Shire," Merry said thoughtfully. "He's accustomed to dwellings like those in Hobbiton, and to the company of his own kind." Merry paced before the window, his expression reflecting his thoughts. "I noticed that the two in his service were hobbits rather than Big Folk, didn't you?"
"They were," Sam admitted. "Do you think he has much to do with anyone but his own?"
"As reluctant as I am to refer to any hobbit as being anything close to Bramblethorn's kind," Merry commented, "I tend to doubt that he associates much with the other folk of Bree other than cheating them and using them to his advantage. But think of it, Sam," Merry continued, pacing as he spoke. "He's surrounding himself with other hobbits and living in the fashion that he's accustomed to. Why would he not choose to live amongst his own kind?"
Merry fixed Sam with a sharp gaze. "When we were being taken to meet with Bramblethorn I thought I felt the cart traveling on an incline. We were going uphill, I'm sure of it."
Sam thought for a moment and realized Merry was right. He had been too focused on the question of Frodo's well - being at the time to notice that the wagon that bore them was traveling uphill. "I think you're right, now that I remember," he admitted, respecting Merry that much more for noticing such details.
"And so I believe that somewhere in the hills beyond the village, Frodo waits for us to ransom him," Merry finished with a heavy sigh. He sat down again at the table, considering the fresh page before him and dipped the quill in the ink once again.
Sam's eyes narrowed. "An' if we try to help him?"
Merry drew a deep breath before speaking. "We risk harm to him, I'm certain," he admitted. "If we go sniffing about in the hills in an attempt to discern which smial belongs to Bramblethorn, we'll likely be seen by his sentries."
Sam nodded sadly. "They'll know we're lookin' for Mr. Frodo, an' they'll do somethin' awful to him."
Merry nodded. "If we're to save Frodo from that horrid villain, I must get this letter off. I hate to play Bramblethorn's game by the rules he's laid down, but at the moment I see no other alternative if we're to help Frodo." Merry bent to his task with intense concentration, attempting to convey the urgency of the situation to his father. Frodo had always been the one with the talent for words, he recalled bitterly. Now, when Merry's words very possibly meant the difference between life and death for his cousin, they seemed stumbling and inadequate.
It was more than an hour later when Merry was finally satisfied with his work. He handed it to Sam. "What do you think?"
Sam read the note carefully, each word burning itself into his mind like a white - hot brand.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Dear Father,
Something terrible has happened. Since his return to exile from the Shire, Rushford Bramblethorn has settled himself in Bree. Somehow - and I should like to know how he managed it - he has learned of our troubles in Buckland, and our errand has taken a disastrous turn.
Bramblethorn is hoarding much of the grain supply available in and about Bree, and has taken Frodo captive to ensure that we purchase from him at an enormous price. He is also holding Frodo for ransom, and insists that we shall not see Frodo until both sums are paid in full.
(Here Merry listed the shocking figures Bramblethorn had demanded.)
We must ask you to send a messenger from the Hall with more funds as soon as you possibly can. The longer Frodo remains in that villain's clutches, the greater the chance that harm will come to him. It's awful, believe me. They are armed and hold him bound, and they promise dire vengeance if we should try to free him.
Had I but known that Bramblethorn was here in Bree, I would never have allowed Frodo to come near the place. Please send someone as soon as possible so that we may have Frodo safe with us again.
Yours in great haste,
Merry.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Sam nodded his approval and handed the note back to Merry. A terrible thought occurred to him. "What if he doesn't give Frodo back when he gets his money?"
"Then I shall gut him," Merry said harshly. "If it takes me the rest of my days, I shall finish him!"
"Not if I get him first," Sam said, looking Merry in the eyes. The only thing that held him back from kicking down the door of Bramblethorn's smial was the memory of how smugly Anson had brought the blade up against Frodo's pale skin, as if it would be nothing at all for him to plunge it deep and end the life of the kindest, dearest person Sam had ever had the privilege to know.
~*~
Bramblethorn summoned Anson to his study to assign him another task. Anson stood ready to accept his latest orders from his employer, who lit his pipe and puffed on it for a moment before speaking. "I imagine Brandybuck will be sending a message to Buckland in today's post. I want you to go over to the inn where he's staying and intercept it."
Bramblethorn smiled. If the request for more funds to pay the ransom failed to reach its destination, the game would become very interesting indeed, he mused. He fully intended to make Merry and Sam writhe in mental agony before it was over.
Anson nodded, turned and left the room, making for the inn to capture Merry's message before the day's post could be collected for transport to its destination.
~*~
The innkeeper was hovering about the desk when Anson arrived at the inn, and a stack of parcels and messages sat tantalizingly upon the desktop waiting for the post runner. Anson ordered an ale and sat in the common room as close to the front desk as he could manage, hoping the innkeeper would have reason to leave the desk for a moment. If not, a disturbance would have to be created that would draw the man's attention away from the front area.
After about half an hour, Anson got the chance he was hoping for. A traveler came in and asked for a room, and the innkeeper left the desk to help the man carry his burdens down the hallway. Anson rose casually from his table and paused at the desk, looking left and right to make sure he was not being observed. Nobody was looking in his direction, and he quickly ducked behind the desk. A chair stood behind it, and he climbed up on it in order to be able to reach the items on the desktop. He sifted through the items in the post stack until he located a letter bearing the address of Brandy Hall, Buckland, and slipped it into his waistcoat pocket. He went back to his table, gulped down the rest of his ale, and left the inn, having completed his mission.
~*~ To be continued ~*~