Sam - Very soon Sam and Merry will realize that their plea for assistance has not been received.
Peony - Sam is suffering terribly, mainly due to blaming himself for the events. There's nothing worse for him than feeling so helpless. Bramblethorn is clever, but is he clever enough to get Frodo to accept him?
Endymion2 - Four days can seem like a lifetime under such circumstances. The calm before the storm, eh? Have you been hacking my files? LOL! This chapter is called "Storms."
Aratlithiel1 - Those nasty hobbits are about to get a bit nastier, especially Bramblethorn.
Stephanie - I'll keep those quick updates coming, I promise. Sam and Merry will indeed act soon.
Elbereth - Sam hasn't collapsed entirely, but he is definitely in a grieved and disturbed state right now.
Spootasia Tomoe - Frodo would like to kick Bramblethorn someplace more sensitive than the shins, believe me! We writers do put him through a lot, don't we?
GamgeeFest - Bramblethorn can be kind at times, but beneath it is always the controlling, manipulative side. The folk back in Buckland expected that Merry and Sam's errand might take a while, so they're not quite worried yet. If they only knew! Bramby's quite the dreamer, isn't he?
Hobbitfeet13 - I do wonder what Gandalf would do to Bramblethorn if he got his hands on him? Set his breeches on fire, more than likely!
FrodoBaggins87 - Frodo is never going to lose his defiance, but he has to be careful. In his present situation, any overt defiance will be met with punishment, and Bramblethorn's punishments tend to be rather harsh. Unfortunately, there's no Taekwondo in Middle Earth. Frodo will show his strength, I promise, but right now he's trying to avoid physical injury.
FrodoBaggins1982 - I promise I won't let Frodo be portrayed as weak. He will be portrayed has having genuine emotion, but he will never lose his will to survive anything that comes his way. Frodo and Bramblethorn converse more in this chapter, and the interaction will be much more tense at times.
Anarie - Yes, Bramblethorn is sick. What will Bramblethorn do in the morning indeed...or after, for that matter? Stay tuned!
Iorhael - It will be a few chapters yet before you'll see what happens when Merry and Sam come for Frodo!
Trust No One - Is Frodo getting comfortable? I'm not sure I'd say he is, but he's doing his best to keep from getting hurt. He will put up with a certain amount from Bramblethorn if it saves him from further abuse.
Girlofring - It is nasty of Bramblethorn to try to bribe Frodo with comforts, but that's his game. Frodo can either accept him and be given every possible comfort except his freedom, or he can be treated quite harshly.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Author's note - This was a rather tough chapter to write. I wanted this story to be realistic, which means asking what the characters were most likely to do no matter how harsh or how wrong.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Chapter 12 - Storms
The storm had subsided by the coming of dawn, and fingers of sunlight pointed through the windows to touch two hobbits, asleep in chairs by a now cold and extinguished fire. Frodo woke with a shudder and a cough. He reflexively raised one hand to rub at his eyes and was momentarily taken aback when the other came along with it.
Oh, yes. Of course. He had forgotten that his hands were bound. He shivered again. The quilt Bramblethorn had draped over him the night before had shifted from his shoulders, and the robe had slid away to expose one of them. He coughed once more and tried to pull the blanket over himself again, with little success. His hands were cold and the fabric kept slipping through his fingers.
It might have been the sound of Frodo coughing or the sunlight, or perhaps a combination of both that woke Bramblethorn from his slumber. He yawned and stretched, and regarded Frodo thoughtfully.
"Be still, Frodo, dear," he counseled as he rose and moved to Frodo's side. "It grieves me to deny myself the sight of any part of you, but I can see that you're still in need of this." He straightened the quilt over Frodo's shoulders and tucked it up under his chin. "How fare you this fine morning?"
Frodo coughed again. "I'm cold," he said quietly. "Still so cold."
"The fire is out, love." Bramblethorn looked around for Anson or Monto, and seeing neither of them, began to re - kindle the fire himself. "A storm in the night leaves behind a chill in the morn," he remarked as he got a pile of kindling sparking and flaming encouragingly. He added a couple of logs and pumped air into the kindling with a small hand - held bellows hanging from a peg on a wall nearby.
"Ahh. Much better, I believe." The warmth of the fire began to chase the chill from the room. Bramblethorn frowned as Frodo coughed again, a thin, raspy sound. "Are you not well, Frodo?"
"I've felt better," Frodo said, accusation in his gaze. "The water - "
"Yes, that." Bramblethorn sighed. "It seems you may be suffering the ill affects of your encounter with Monto yesterday," he admitted. "Sitting in that room for an hour with cold water dripping off you hasn't done you any good, I fear."
"It's your doing, as you let him near me. Where were you?" Frodo regretted the words as soon as he spoke them.
Bramblethorn struggled to hide his elation. Frodo had all but admitted to having desired his presence! "I'm sorry, love. I was here, in my study. I merely asked Monto to see to the linens, not to douse you and let you catch a chill. Rest now, while I get you something to ease your condition."
Bramblethorn rose and left the room, looking for Monto or Anson. He had dismissed Monto from his guard duty the night before, due to the fact that Frodo would be under supervision in the study. Anson was likely seeing to the grounds, checking for any damage done by the storm winds the previous night.
In a few moments, Bramblethorn had started a fire at the kitchen hearth and had a teakettle heating over the flames. He located a few items that would serve as an early breakfast and returned to the study with a tray in his hands.
"I've some tea for you Frodo, to take away the chill - "
"No!" Frodo spoke sharply between coughs. "I don't want any more. You're using it to muddle me - "
"Calm yourself, my dear," Bramblethorn soothed. "There are no sedatives in this batch, just common herbs to be found in any hobbit's cupboard. Its purpose is to warm you, nothing more."
Frodo bit back any further response and forced himself to ask, "Will you please unbind my hands?"
Bramblethorn considered. "I see no harm in it, since I am here with you." He stood and pulled the quilt aside to reveal Frodo's wrists and began to loosen the knots in the rope. The knots gave way and Frodo rubbed his wrists gladly. Bramblethorn handed him the teacup.
"Now that the storm has passed, the day should be warmer. If you wish to retire to your room and rest, it should be more comfortable by now." Bramblethorn sipped his tea and waited for Frodo to respond.
"I want my clothes," Frodo remarked in a firm tone. "Are they dry yet?"
"They should be, or nearly so," Bramblethorn conceded. "My, but you're a bit moody this morning, love."
Frodo fought to keep from hurling the teacup at Bramblethorn. "Call it what you will. Moody, indignant, impatient, frustrated, angry. Have I missed anything?"
"Perhaps I should have brought the other tea," Bramblethorn teased. "It is too early in the morning for either of us to be arguing, love."
"Can you really expect me not to argue?" Frodo gave Bramblethorn a disgusted look. "You've kept me from Merry and Sam for days now, and Eru knows what they're going through - "
"Please do not mention them in my presence, Frodo," Bramblethorn said in a cold tone. "They are informed as to your state of being, and that is enough. You shall see them when I have full payment, and not before."
Frodo opened his mouth to protest, but his words were lost in a series of raspy coughs. Bramblethorn frowned and laid his hand on Frodo's forehead. "You've a bit of a fever, Frodo," he remarked. "After breakfast, you must lie down and rest."
Frodo protested no further. He was hungry, and the idea of sleeping and merely being left alone for a while didn't sound like a bad thing to him.
Anson entered the room as Bramblethorn placed the food on a small table by Frodo's chair. "Mornin' boss," he said, rubbing his hands to warm them. "That storm took a few branches down nearby, but nothin' serious. Got 'em all cleaned up."
"Good fellow," Bramblethorn praised. "Would you check on Frodo's clothes? They should be dry by now. Please have them in his room when we've finished breakfast."
Anson nodded and walked out. Frodo continued to eat in silence, looking forward to sleep and even to the solitude of his room. His head was pounding and his chest felt tight. When he had finished eating, he said, "May I go to my room now?"
"Of course, Frodo," Bramblethorn answered. He untied Frodo's ankles and helped Frodo to stand up, catching him as he faltered. "Be careful now, let's not have you falling," Bramblethorn said as he guided Frodo from the room.
Frodo felt rather lightheaded. A memory came unbidden to his mind of a slippery floor at Bag End where some water had been spilled, hands steadying him and a voice saying, 'Be careful, Mr. Frodo. I can't have you fallin', now." He shook his head in confusion and realized that he felt very tired. He must be ill indeed if something Bramblethorn said to him reminded him of Sam.
They made their way down the hall and Bramblethorn opened the door to Frodo's room. It was a little warmer than it had been, but not by much. Frodo was still clutching the quilt tightly around his body as he approached the bed. His clothes had been laid out neatly upon it and were now completely dry.
Frodo ignored them for the moment. Quilt and all, he tumbled down onto the bed and curled up on his side, coughing.
Bramblethorn moved to the doorway and called to Anson. "As averse as he is to the idea, I believe Frodo would benefit from a cup of tea," he said. He returned to the bedside and informed Frodo, "I've sent Anson for a cup of tea for you."
Frodo glared petulantly. "I don't want it, I tell you!"
"Well, my dear, you shall have it nonetheless," Bramblethorn stated firmly, "either by your own hand or with assistance."
Frodo sat up as Anson entered the room with the cup. He looked from one hobbit to the other and said angrily, "No! I'll not let you drug me again!"
"Be reasonable, Frodo," Bramblethorn said as he approached. "You're ill, and not at all in a position to refuse."
"I do refuse," Frodo said obstinately.
"Very well," Bramblethorn replied, turning to take the cup from Anson. "Hold him."
Anson obeyed, instantly reaching out to grab Frodo.
Whether in panic or in pure fury, Frodo released his hold on the quilt and struck out at Anson. The robe was his only cover now, and he had thankfully made certain to secure it to keep it from flapping open. Anson grappled with Frodo, who was showing an impressive amount of strength given his condition.
Bramblethorn set the teacup down on the table and strode forward to strike Frodo sharply. "Stop it!" he growled. "You will do as I say!" Frodo still twisted in Anson's grasp, and Bramblethorn struck him again, harder this time. The blow stunned him somewhat and that single moment was all his captors needed. Frodo had no choice but to swallow as the brew ran down his throat.
Anson released Frodo with a shove toward the bed, and Bramblethorn guided him to it firmly. "Now lie down and rest, dear, and don't be cross." He combed his fingers through Frodo's hair as he spoke.
"Just leave me alone," Frodo said, shoving Bramblethorn away.
Leave him alone. Bramblethorn considered the request. Frodo was still not willing to accept Bramblethorn as companion and caretaker. Perhaps if Frodo were alone for a while, he might grow to miss the presence of another. "Very well, Frodo, I shall leave you alone. I shall not come to you unless you call for me."
"I shall not," Frodo said obstinately. Frodo found the idea of calling for Bramblethorn completely repulsive.
"Sleep, my dear. If you should change your mind, I shall not be far away." Bramblethorn left the room and locked it. He handed the key to Anson. "You'll be keeping the watch today," he instructed. "If Frodo calls out, do not enter the room. Only if he calls my name shall the door be opened." Anson nodded and pocketed the key.
Inside the room, Frodo slowly sat up, rubbing at his aching temples. He squirmed out of the robe that had concealed him from Bramblethorn's lustful gaze. He stood, fighting his dizziness and carefully donned his own breeches again. He reached for the shirt, but stopped, thinking he would be more comfortable without it while under the covers.
Frodo burrowed deep into the blankets and closed his eyes, willing himself to relax, to sleep. The sedative made his limbs feel heavy and his thoughts wander. Eventually he slumbered, tossing and turning despite the effects of the drug as his fever strengthened. The day wore on and the night came, unnoticed by the single occupant of the windowless room.
~*~
"Are you asleep, Sam?" Merry's voice carried softly through the darkness. He and Sam had retired early, hoping a little rest would ease their minds.
"No, Mr. Merry," Sam said truthfully. He was so very tired, but the images he saw every time he closed his eyes kept him from sleep. Each time his heavy eyelids fell and sleep crept near visions of Frodo appeared and brought him back to painful, helpless consciousness.
"I can't sleep either," Merry confessed. "My father must have received my message by now, and help should be on the way. We'll get Frodo back, Sam," he said resolutely. "Very soon, I'm sure of it."
"I hope so, Mr. Merry," Sam replied wearily. "I'm so afraid for him, I don't think I can bear it much longer."
"If only Bramblethorn would allow us to see him," Merry lamented. "Just to know that he's all right," Merry trailed off, not wanting to speculate on what was happening at Bramblethorn's lair.
"Do you think Mr. Frodo knows how much he means to us, Mr. Merry?" Sam's tone was sad and his heart heavy with self - reproach.
"I'm sure he does, Sam," Merry attempted to soothe the gardener. "I'm sure that thought is sustaining him as we speak."
"If he's angry with me, I don't blame him," Sam said sullenly. "I don't care if he told me to go, I left him an' I don't feel right about it noways."
"I don't think he's angry with you," Merry said thoughtfully. "I think he will be more glad to see you than anyone else when he's released. You've always been so good to him, Sam." Merry had always been pleased that Sam was there for Frodo, that Frodo had someone so kind and generous to look after him.
"He'll be glad to see you too, Mr. Merry," Sam mumbled. Exhaustion was beginning to prevail, and sleep, with whatever dreams it saw fit to bring, was not far off.
Conversation, as if it were simply too much trouble to carry on, ceased for the time being as the two weary hobbits fell into an uneasy slumber.
Sam and Merry slept for a time, but woke at alternate intervals, when disturbing thoughts or bad dreams intruded upon their rest. Finally, Merry gave up and sat upright, rubbing his eyes. "Sam, I know I need rest, but I just can't sleep. Let's go to the common room for a while. Maybe an ale or two will do the trick."
Sam rolled over and replied affirmatively. He had been awake for some while already as it was. "Maybe there will be some news from Buckland," he suggested. The two hobbits rose and dressed, then made their way to the common room.
~*~
Frodo tossed fitfully in his sleep. His furrowed brow was slicked with perspiration as he alternately kicked the covers off then reached for them a few moments later as a chill ran through him. He woke, feeling as though he had not had anything to drink in days. His parched throat clamored at him for water, and his gaze roved around the room, settling on the ewer at the washstand.
He sat up with difficulty, and willed the room to stop spinning just long enough for him to reach the washstand. He lowered his feet to the floor and stood unsteadily, then took careful steps across the room to the corner where the washstand stood. He grasped the ewer shakily, and tipped it upside down, catching the few drops that were left in it on his tongue. It had not been re - filled since Monto had poured it over Frodo's head earlier.
There was no other source of water in the room. Frodo squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth in determination. No, Frodo thought grimly. He would not call out to Bramblethorn, no matter how desperate his thirst. Perhaps if he rapped on the door, Anson would open it and inquire as to his condition.
Frodo leaned against the solid wood and rapped his knuckles on it several times. Silence followed. He tried again, and rasped out, "Hello? Is anyone there?"
Outside in the hallway, Anson ignored the sounds. Bramblethorn had instructed him not to answer. Frodo's call would only be heeded if he called out for Bramblethorn himself, no one else.
"Someone, please," Frodo pleaded. "I'm so thirsty." He thumped on the door again. Nothing. A feeling of desperation began to grow in him and he called louder. "Please, I need water! Someone, please!"
Frodo gave up calling and pounding on the door. He could not, would not call for Bramblethorn! He mustn't, no matter how great his discomfort. He stumbled back to the bed and collapsed upon it again in misery.
Bramblethorn wandered down the hallway and paused to inquire of Anson. "Any requests from our guest?"
Anson nodded. "He pounded on the door and begged for water a little while ago."
"But he did not call for me?" Bramblethorn pressed.
"No, sir. Just for someone to bring him water."
Bramblethorn shook his head. "Stubborn hobbit. He will call for me, whether he plans to or not. Let me know if he comes to his senses."
Anson nodded again, and Bramblethorn padded down the hall to his study. He sat down at his writing desk and poured himself a brandy. He tossed it back and poured another, seething with frustration. Frodo's stubbornness was beyond any he had ever encountered. Couldn't Frodo see that Bramblethorn was trying? "I've shown him kindness," he muttered, "and still he pushes me away!" Bramblethorn remained in his study for a long while, attempting to let the brandy soothe away his anger.
~*~
Frodo dreamed. He saw Sam, standing across the room and began to reach out, his hand shaking. "Sam," he gasped. "Come closer, Sam, I can't reach you!"
The figure across the room remained still for a moment, and then began to back away. "No, Sam! Don't go!" Frodo cried out, stretching his arms out in desperation. "Don't leave me, Sam! SAM!"
With a painful thud, Frodo fell out of the bed and onto the hard floor. The room reeled and spun around him as he tried to get his bearings. He fought to untangle himself from the sheets, thrashing and calling out in desperation. Why had Sam ignored him? Why had he backed away? "Sam - " Frodo called out weakly again as tears prickled behind his eyelids.
~*~
Bramblethorn blinked, jolted out of his reverie by Frodo's call, and a frown came to his face. Frodo was calling out for that dratted gardener! The sound of the name grated on him, and Bramblethorn rose from his chair abruptly. "I shall teach you to call for him," he growled to himself as he made his way down the hallway, rather unsteadily as a result of the brandy.
He stopped outside Frodo's door and listened. There it was again, the plaintive, delirious call for that foolish servant. Bramblethorn took the key from Anson's hand and as he prepared to turn it in the lock he paused. "Do not disturb us."
Bramblethorn entered the room and he experienced a moment of unease as he saw the mussed and empty bed. A moment later, he noticed Frodo lying on the floor, tangled in the bed sheets, his eyes closed and his brow knitted in a frown as if he were in the grip of some nightmare.
Bramblethorn felt his anger waning as fascination and desire rose to take its place. Warmed and emboldened by the brandy, Bramblethorn knelt by Frodo's side and spoke. "Frodo, you tax my patience and wound my heart." He reached out and laid his palm against Frodo's fever - warmed face.
"Wha - what happened?" Frodo said weakly, his words a touch slurred as if it were he who had been working his way to the bottom of a brandy bottle.
"You must have fallen." Bramblethorn made as if to lift Frodo from the floor, but at the last moment swept him into an embrace. "What do I have to do, Frodo?" he said in exasperation. "What must I do to gain your favor? What has that foolish gardener that I have not?" Bramblethorn was drunk and emotional, his voice rising just a little louder with each question.
Frodo tried to push Bramblethorn away. "Sam genuinely cares for me," Frodo muttered thickly. "He would never hurt me. He's not like you."
Bramblethorn hated the sound of Frodo speaking that name, and anger flared and flashed in his eyes. "Mention him not to me!" He shook Frodo as he spoke. "I forbid you to speak his name!"
Frodo gasped as Bramblethorn's fingers dug into his upper arms. "You have no right to forbid it," he cried, twisting in Bramblethorn's grasp. "You have no right to me, or to my heart!"
Bramblethorn pinned Frodo against the floor and gazed down at him possessively. "We shall see what I have a right to, beloved," he growled.
~*~ To be continued ~*~
Peony - Sam is suffering terribly, mainly due to blaming himself for the events. There's nothing worse for him than feeling so helpless. Bramblethorn is clever, but is he clever enough to get Frodo to accept him?
Endymion2 - Four days can seem like a lifetime under such circumstances. The calm before the storm, eh? Have you been hacking my files? LOL! This chapter is called "Storms."
Aratlithiel1 - Those nasty hobbits are about to get a bit nastier, especially Bramblethorn.
Stephanie - I'll keep those quick updates coming, I promise. Sam and Merry will indeed act soon.
Elbereth - Sam hasn't collapsed entirely, but he is definitely in a grieved and disturbed state right now.
Spootasia Tomoe - Frodo would like to kick Bramblethorn someplace more sensitive than the shins, believe me! We writers do put him through a lot, don't we?
GamgeeFest - Bramblethorn can be kind at times, but beneath it is always the controlling, manipulative side. The folk back in Buckland expected that Merry and Sam's errand might take a while, so they're not quite worried yet. If they only knew! Bramby's quite the dreamer, isn't he?
Hobbitfeet13 - I do wonder what Gandalf would do to Bramblethorn if he got his hands on him? Set his breeches on fire, more than likely!
FrodoBaggins87 - Frodo is never going to lose his defiance, but he has to be careful. In his present situation, any overt defiance will be met with punishment, and Bramblethorn's punishments tend to be rather harsh. Unfortunately, there's no Taekwondo in Middle Earth. Frodo will show his strength, I promise, but right now he's trying to avoid physical injury.
FrodoBaggins1982 - I promise I won't let Frodo be portrayed as weak. He will be portrayed has having genuine emotion, but he will never lose his will to survive anything that comes his way. Frodo and Bramblethorn converse more in this chapter, and the interaction will be much more tense at times.
Anarie - Yes, Bramblethorn is sick. What will Bramblethorn do in the morning indeed...or after, for that matter? Stay tuned!
Iorhael - It will be a few chapters yet before you'll see what happens when Merry and Sam come for Frodo!
Trust No One - Is Frodo getting comfortable? I'm not sure I'd say he is, but he's doing his best to keep from getting hurt. He will put up with a certain amount from Bramblethorn if it saves him from further abuse.
Girlofring - It is nasty of Bramblethorn to try to bribe Frodo with comforts, but that's his game. Frodo can either accept him and be given every possible comfort except his freedom, or he can be treated quite harshly.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Author's note - This was a rather tough chapter to write. I wanted this story to be realistic, which means asking what the characters were most likely to do no matter how harsh or how wrong.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Chapter 12 - Storms
The storm had subsided by the coming of dawn, and fingers of sunlight pointed through the windows to touch two hobbits, asleep in chairs by a now cold and extinguished fire. Frodo woke with a shudder and a cough. He reflexively raised one hand to rub at his eyes and was momentarily taken aback when the other came along with it.
Oh, yes. Of course. He had forgotten that his hands were bound. He shivered again. The quilt Bramblethorn had draped over him the night before had shifted from his shoulders, and the robe had slid away to expose one of them. He coughed once more and tried to pull the blanket over himself again, with little success. His hands were cold and the fabric kept slipping through his fingers.
It might have been the sound of Frodo coughing or the sunlight, or perhaps a combination of both that woke Bramblethorn from his slumber. He yawned and stretched, and regarded Frodo thoughtfully.
"Be still, Frodo, dear," he counseled as he rose and moved to Frodo's side. "It grieves me to deny myself the sight of any part of you, but I can see that you're still in need of this." He straightened the quilt over Frodo's shoulders and tucked it up under his chin. "How fare you this fine morning?"
Frodo coughed again. "I'm cold," he said quietly. "Still so cold."
"The fire is out, love." Bramblethorn looked around for Anson or Monto, and seeing neither of them, began to re - kindle the fire himself. "A storm in the night leaves behind a chill in the morn," he remarked as he got a pile of kindling sparking and flaming encouragingly. He added a couple of logs and pumped air into the kindling with a small hand - held bellows hanging from a peg on a wall nearby.
"Ahh. Much better, I believe." The warmth of the fire began to chase the chill from the room. Bramblethorn frowned as Frodo coughed again, a thin, raspy sound. "Are you not well, Frodo?"
"I've felt better," Frodo said, accusation in his gaze. "The water - "
"Yes, that." Bramblethorn sighed. "It seems you may be suffering the ill affects of your encounter with Monto yesterday," he admitted. "Sitting in that room for an hour with cold water dripping off you hasn't done you any good, I fear."
"It's your doing, as you let him near me. Where were you?" Frodo regretted the words as soon as he spoke them.
Bramblethorn struggled to hide his elation. Frodo had all but admitted to having desired his presence! "I'm sorry, love. I was here, in my study. I merely asked Monto to see to the linens, not to douse you and let you catch a chill. Rest now, while I get you something to ease your condition."
Bramblethorn rose and left the room, looking for Monto or Anson. He had dismissed Monto from his guard duty the night before, due to the fact that Frodo would be under supervision in the study. Anson was likely seeing to the grounds, checking for any damage done by the storm winds the previous night.
In a few moments, Bramblethorn had started a fire at the kitchen hearth and had a teakettle heating over the flames. He located a few items that would serve as an early breakfast and returned to the study with a tray in his hands.
"I've some tea for you Frodo, to take away the chill - "
"No!" Frodo spoke sharply between coughs. "I don't want any more. You're using it to muddle me - "
"Calm yourself, my dear," Bramblethorn soothed. "There are no sedatives in this batch, just common herbs to be found in any hobbit's cupboard. Its purpose is to warm you, nothing more."
Frodo bit back any further response and forced himself to ask, "Will you please unbind my hands?"
Bramblethorn considered. "I see no harm in it, since I am here with you." He stood and pulled the quilt aside to reveal Frodo's wrists and began to loosen the knots in the rope. The knots gave way and Frodo rubbed his wrists gladly. Bramblethorn handed him the teacup.
"Now that the storm has passed, the day should be warmer. If you wish to retire to your room and rest, it should be more comfortable by now." Bramblethorn sipped his tea and waited for Frodo to respond.
"I want my clothes," Frodo remarked in a firm tone. "Are they dry yet?"
"They should be, or nearly so," Bramblethorn conceded. "My, but you're a bit moody this morning, love."
Frodo fought to keep from hurling the teacup at Bramblethorn. "Call it what you will. Moody, indignant, impatient, frustrated, angry. Have I missed anything?"
"Perhaps I should have brought the other tea," Bramblethorn teased. "It is too early in the morning for either of us to be arguing, love."
"Can you really expect me not to argue?" Frodo gave Bramblethorn a disgusted look. "You've kept me from Merry and Sam for days now, and Eru knows what they're going through - "
"Please do not mention them in my presence, Frodo," Bramblethorn said in a cold tone. "They are informed as to your state of being, and that is enough. You shall see them when I have full payment, and not before."
Frodo opened his mouth to protest, but his words were lost in a series of raspy coughs. Bramblethorn frowned and laid his hand on Frodo's forehead. "You've a bit of a fever, Frodo," he remarked. "After breakfast, you must lie down and rest."
Frodo protested no further. He was hungry, and the idea of sleeping and merely being left alone for a while didn't sound like a bad thing to him.
Anson entered the room as Bramblethorn placed the food on a small table by Frodo's chair. "Mornin' boss," he said, rubbing his hands to warm them. "That storm took a few branches down nearby, but nothin' serious. Got 'em all cleaned up."
"Good fellow," Bramblethorn praised. "Would you check on Frodo's clothes? They should be dry by now. Please have them in his room when we've finished breakfast."
Anson nodded and walked out. Frodo continued to eat in silence, looking forward to sleep and even to the solitude of his room. His head was pounding and his chest felt tight. When he had finished eating, he said, "May I go to my room now?"
"Of course, Frodo," Bramblethorn answered. He untied Frodo's ankles and helped Frodo to stand up, catching him as he faltered. "Be careful now, let's not have you falling," Bramblethorn said as he guided Frodo from the room.
Frodo felt rather lightheaded. A memory came unbidden to his mind of a slippery floor at Bag End where some water had been spilled, hands steadying him and a voice saying, 'Be careful, Mr. Frodo. I can't have you fallin', now." He shook his head in confusion and realized that he felt very tired. He must be ill indeed if something Bramblethorn said to him reminded him of Sam.
They made their way down the hall and Bramblethorn opened the door to Frodo's room. It was a little warmer than it had been, but not by much. Frodo was still clutching the quilt tightly around his body as he approached the bed. His clothes had been laid out neatly upon it and were now completely dry.
Frodo ignored them for the moment. Quilt and all, he tumbled down onto the bed and curled up on his side, coughing.
Bramblethorn moved to the doorway and called to Anson. "As averse as he is to the idea, I believe Frodo would benefit from a cup of tea," he said. He returned to the bedside and informed Frodo, "I've sent Anson for a cup of tea for you."
Frodo glared petulantly. "I don't want it, I tell you!"
"Well, my dear, you shall have it nonetheless," Bramblethorn stated firmly, "either by your own hand or with assistance."
Frodo sat up as Anson entered the room with the cup. He looked from one hobbit to the other and said angrily, "No! I'll not let you drug me again!"
"Be reasonable, Frodo," Bramblethorn said as he approached. "You're ill, and not at all in a position to refuse."
"I do refuse," Frodo said obstinately.
"Very well," Bramblethorn replied, turning to take the cup from Anson. "Hold him."
Anson obeyed, instantly reaching out to grab Frodo.
Whether in panic or in pure fury, Frodo released his hold on the quilt and struck out at Anson. The robe was his only cover now, and he had thankfully made certain to secure it to keep it from flapping open. Anson grappled with Frodo, who was showing an impressive amount of strength given his condition.
Bramblethorn set the teacup down on the table and strode forward to strike Frodo sharply. "Stop it!" he growled. "You will do as I say!" Frodo still twisted in Anson's grasp, and Bramblethorn struck him again, harder this time. The blow stunned him somewhat and that single moment was all his captors needed. Frodo had no choice but to swallow as the brew ran down his throat.
Anson released Frodo with a shove toward the bed, and Bramblethorn guided him to it firmly. "Now lie down and rest, dear, and don't be cross." He combed his fingers through Frodo's hair as he spoke.
"Just leave me alone," Frodo said, shoving Bramblethorn away.
Leave him alone. Bramblethorn considered the request. Frodo was still not willing to accept Bramblethorn as companion and caretaker. Perhaps if Frodo were alone for a while, he might grow to miss the presence of another. "Very well, Frodo, I shall leave you alone. I shall not come to you unless you call for me."
"I shall not," Frodo said obstinately. Frodo found the idea of calling for Bramblethorn completely repulsive.
"Sleep, my dear. If you should change your mind, I shall not be far away." Bramblethorn left the room and locked it. He handed the key to Anson. "You'll be keeping the watch today," he instructed. "If Frodo calls out, do not enter the room. Only if he calls my name shall the door be opened." Anson nodded and pocketed the key.
Inside the room, Frodo slowly sat up, rubbing at his aching temples. He squirmed out of the robe that had concealed him from Bramblethorn's lustful gaze. He stood, fighting his dizziness and carefully donned his own breeches again. He reached for the shirt, but stopped, thinking he would be more comfortable without it while under the covers.
Frodo burrowed deep into the blankets and closed his eyes, willing himself to relax, to sleep. The sedative made his limbs feel heavy and his thoughts wander. Eventually he slumbered, tossing and turning despite the effects of the drug as his fever strengthened. The day wore on and the night came, unnoticed by the single occupant of the windowless room.
~*~
"Are you asleep, Sam?" Merry's voice carried softly through the darkness. He and Sam had retired early, hoping a little rest would ease their minds.
"No, Mr. Merry," Sam said truthfully. He was so very tired, but the images he saw every time he closed his eyes kept him from sleep. Each time his heavy eyelids fell and sleep crept near visions of Frodo appeared and brought him back to painful, helpless consciousness.
"I can't sleep either," Merry confessed. "My father must have received my message by now, and help should be on the way. We'll get Frodo back, Sam," he said resolutely. "Very soon, I'm sure of it."
"I hope so, Mr. Merry," Sam replied wearily. "I'm so afraid for him, I don't think I can bear it much longer."
"If only Bramblethorn would allow us to see him," Merry lamented. "Just to know that he's all right," Merry trailed off, not wanting to speculate on what was happening at Bramblethorn's lair.
"Do you think Mr. Frodo knows how much he means to us, Mr. Merry?" Sam's tone was sad and his heart heavy with self - reproach.
"I'm sure he does, Sam," Merry attempted to soothe the gardener. "I'm sure that thought is sustaining him as we speak."
"If he's angry with me, I don't blame him," Sam said sullenly. "I don't care if he told me to go, I left him an' I don't feel right about it noways."
"I don't think he's angry with you," Merry said thoughtfully. "I think he will be more glad to see you than anyone else when he's released. You've always been so good to him, Sam." Merry had always been pleased that Sam was there for Frodo, that Frodo had someone so kind and generous to look after him.
"He'll be glad to see you too, Mr. Merry," Sam mumbled. Exhaustion was beginning to prevail, and sleep, with whatever dreams it saw fit to bring, was not far off.
Conversation, as if it were simply too much trouble to carry on, ceased for the time being as the two weary hobbits fell into an uneasy slumber.
Sam and Merry slept for a time, but woke at alternate intervals, when disturbing thoughts or bad dreams intruded upon their rest. Finally, Merry gave up and sat upright, rubbing his eyes. "Sam, I know I need rest, but I just can't sleep. Let's go to the common room for a while. Maybe an ale or two will do the trick."
Sam rolled over and replied affirmatively. He had been awake for some while already as it was. "Maybe there will be some news from Buckland," he suggested. The two hobbits rose and dressed, then made their way to the common room.
~*~
Frodo tossed fitfully in his sleep. His furrowed brow was slicked with perspiration as he alternately kicked the covers off then reached for them a few moments later as a chill ran through him. He woke, feeling as though he had not had anything to drink in days. His parched throat clamored at him for water, and his gaze roved around the room, settling on the ewer at the washstand.
He sat up with difficulty, and willed the room to stop spinning just long enough for him to reach the washstand. He lowered his feet to the floor and stood unsteadily, then took careful steps across the room to the corner where the washstand stood. He grasped the ewer shakily, and tipped it upside down, catching the few drops that were left in it on his tongue. It had not been re - filled since Monto had poured it over Frodo's head earlier.
There was no other source of water in the room. Frodo squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth in determination. No, Frodo thought grimly. He would not call out to Bramblethorn, no matter how desperate his thirst. Perhaps if he rapped on the door, Anson would open it and inquire as to his condition.
Frodo leaned against the solid wood and rapped his knuckles on it several times. Silence followed. He tried again, and rasped out, "Hello? Is anyone there?"
Outside in the hallway, Anson ignored the sounds. Bramblethorn had instructed him not to answer. Frodo's call would only be heeded if he called out for Bramblethorn himself, no one else.
"Someone, please," Frodo pleaded. "I'm so thirsty." He thumped on the door again. Nothing. A feeling of desperation began to grow in him and he called louder. "Please, I need water! Someone, please!"
Frodo gave up calling and pounding on the door. He could not, would not call for Bramblethorn! He mustn't, no matter how great his discomfort. He stumbled back to the bed and collapsed upon it again in misery.
Bramblethorn wandered down the hallway and paused to inquire of Anson. "Any requests from our guest?"
Anson nodded. "He pounded on the door and begged for water a little while ago."
"But he did not call for me?" Bramblethorn pressed.
"No, sir. Just for someone to bring him water."
Bramblethorn shook his head. "Stubborn hobbit. He will call for me, whether he plans to or not. Let me know if he comes to his senses."
Anson nodded again, and Bramblethorn padded down the hall to his study. He sat down at his writing desk and poured himself a brandy. He tossed it back and poured another, seething with frustration. Frodo's stubbornness was beyond any he had ever encountered. Couldn't Frodo see that Bramblethorn was trying? "I've shown him kindness," he muttered, "and still he pushes me away!" Bramblethorn remained in his study for a long while, attempting to let the brandy soothe away his anger.
~*~
Frodo dreamed. He saw Sam, standing across the room and began to reach out, his hand shaking. "Sam," he gasped. "Come closer, Sam, I can't reach you!"
The figure across the room remained still for a moment, and then began to back away. "No, Sam! Don't go!" Frodo cried out, stretching his arms out in desperation. "Don't leave me, Sam! SAM!"
With a painful thud, Frodo fell out of the bed and onto the hard floor. The room reeled and spun around him as he tried to get his bearings. He fought to untangle himself from the sheets, thrashing and calling out in desperation. Why had Sam ignored him? Why had he backed away? "Sam - " Frodo called out weakly again as tears prickled behind his eyelids.
~*~
Bramblethorn blinked, jolted out of his reverie by Frodo's call, and a frown came to his face. Frodo was calling out for that dratted gardener! The sound of the name grated on him, and Bramblethorn rose from his chair abruptly. "I shall teach you to call for him," he growled to himself as he made his way down the hallway, rather unsteadily as a result of the brandy.
He stopped outside Frodo's door and listened. There it was again, the plaintive, delirious call for that foolish servant. Bramblethorn took the key from Anson's hand and as he prepared to turn it in the lock he paused. "Do not disturb us."
Bramblethorn entered the room and he experienced a moment of unease as he saw the mussed and empty bed. A moment later, he noticed Frodo lying on the floor, tangled in the bed sheets, his eyes closed and his brow knitted in a frown as if he were in the grip of some nightmare.
Bramblethorn felt his anger waning as fascination and desire rose to take its place. Warmed and emboldened by the brandy, Bramblethorn knelt by Frodo's side and spoke. "Frodo, you tax my patience and wound my heart." He reached out and laid his palm against Frodo's fever - warmed face.
"Wha - what happened?" Frodo said weakly, his words a touch slurred as if it were he who had been working his way to the bottom of a brandy bottle.
"You must have fallen." Bramblethorn made as if to lift Frodo from the floor, but at the last moment swept him into an embrace. "What do I have to do, Frodo?" he said in exasperation. "What must I do to gain your favor? What has that foolish gardener that I have not?" Bramblethorn was drunk and emotional, his voice rising just a little louder with each question.
Frodo tried to push Bramblethorn away. "Sam genuinely cares for me," Frodo muttered thickly. "He would never hurt me. He's not like you."
Bramblethorn hated the sound of Frodo speaking that name, and anger flared and flashed in his eyes. "Mention him not to me!" He shook Frodo as he spoke. "I forbid you to speak his name!"
Frodo gasped as Bramblethorn's fingers dug into his upper arms. "You have no right to forbid it," he cried, twisting in Bramblethorn's grasp. "You have no right to me, or to my heart!"
Bramblethorn pinned Frodo against the floor and gazed down at him possessively. "We shall see what I have a right to, beloved," he growled.
~*~ To be continued ~*~