GamgeeFest - It won't really matter if Bramblethorn throws away the work of the previous days, since it really wasn't working as well as he thought. You might hate this chapter, it's possible. It's one of the least pleasant. Merry and Sam will have an encounter in the common room that will spur them to action.
Heartofahobbit - Frodo is in real trouble, I'm afraid. He's sick and sedated, and no match for Bramblethorn because of it.
Spootasia Tomoe - Didn't think Bramblethorn could get worse? Well here he is, and he's definitely at his worst!
CuriousCat - You're right that Frodo would not willingly submit. Will Bramblethorn lose all patience and take what he wants? Read on! You'll get to see the impact Bramblethorn's actions have on his own thoughts later in the story.
Anarie - The answer to your question as to whether Bramblethorn will get what he wants is in this chapter.
Sam - Action, indeed! There will be quite a bit of action in this chapter.
Endymion2 - Merry and Sam's visit to the common room will not shorten the story by much. They will be spurred to action, but it's still going to take some time to get Frodo away from Bramblethorn. The storm outside may have subsided, but the one inside is about to strengthen!
Trust No One - Bramblethorn has never been the patient sort, really. It's all been an act, more or less.
Stephanie - The odds are definitely against Frodo right now, I have to say. If reading the last chapter made you squirm, writing this one did the same to me.
Hobbitfeet13 - Frodo is definitely in for something unpleasant to say the least. Cliffhanger? Oh, yes!
FrodoBaggins1982 - Frodo is at a double disadvantage with his fevered state and the sedative Bramblethorn used on him. He's in no condition to put up the resistance he usually does, but that won't keep him from trying. Sam and Merry will decide that something isn't right very soon.
FrodoBaggins87 - Frodo is still showing his spirit, but he's in real trouble, I'm afraid.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Chapter 13 - Flight to Buckland
"We shall see what I have a right to, beloved," Bramblethorn growled, and despite his illness and clouded senses, Frodo knew genuine fear. Bramblethorn's countenance had transformed again into the leering, lustful face Frodo had seen so many times in his nightmares.
"Get your hands off me!" Frodo shouted, and tried to wriggle away. A hard slap across his face answered his efforts.
"You shall not reject me again," Bramblethorn said angrily. "You have mocked me and teased me, accepted the kindnesses I have offered and shunned me in response! I will no longer be lenient with you!" He struck Frodo again, and Frodo felt his strength fading.
"No, please," Frodo begged. "Not this, I can't bear it!"
"Mine, mine at long last," Bramblethorn gloated, looking down at Frodo with an almost feral gleam in his eyes. He pulled Frodo close against him, the fingers of one hand buried in Frodo's hair, the other tracing a slow line down his bare back. Bramblethorn forced Frodo to look at him, then pressed his mouth to Frodo's in an urgent, violently claiming kiss.
Frodo began to struggle again, making a desperate effort to free himself although his mind clamored at him that it was hopeless. Bramblethorn was holding him down again, pinning his wrists against the floor on either side of his head.
"Don't fight me, Frodo," Bramblethorn whispered, his lips poised at Frodo's neck where a rapid pulse beat furiously. "It will be so much better if you don't."
"Damn you!" Frodo cried, managing to free one hand and punch Bramblethorn solidly in the jaw. The blow caused Bramblethorn to topple over backwards and Frodo rolled away from him. Frodo regained his feet with difficulty and backed away.
There was nowhere to run as Bramblethorn advanced again. "You will pay for that," he snarled as he grasped Frodo again and bore him to the floor, knocking the back of Frodo's head against the hard wood in the process.
Stunned and unable to move, Frodo felt Bramblethorn straddle him. Bramblethorn removed his shirt as he taunted Frodo cruelly. "I hope every time that stupid gardener touches you, you see my face and feel my hands on you. Who knows? Maybe he'll never touch you again! He won't want you when I'm through. He'll find you tainted and repulsive!"
Frodo was sobbing openly now as Bramblethorn's words struck him like a physical blow. "NO! Stop, oh please STOP!"
"Oh, I'll stop, Frodo," Bramblethorn said, reaching for the fastenings of Frodo's breeches. "I'll stop when I've driven myself into your very soul!"
Out in the hallway, Monto and Anson both hovered, exchanging knowing looks at the sounds that met their ears. There was absolutely no doubt as to what was happening in the room. The two bodyguards could hear taunts and threats amid desperate pleas and cries of pain. They edged away from the door, just far enough down the hallway to be out of hearing range of all but the loudest of the agonized sounds.
After a while, Bramblethorn opened the door just enough to allow him to peer out and addressed his bodyguards. What they could see of his face was rather flushed and he was breathing heavily. "I don't think I'll have need of your services here this evening. Why don't you go to that inn and see what Brandybuck and the gardener are up to?"
They nodded. It was obvious that the boss wanted a little privacy, and from the sound of things, Frodo wasn't going to be much of a problem that evening. "Gotcha boss," Monto said. "Let's go, Anse."
Off they went laughing and thumping each other on the back. Bramblethorn closed the door. This time, there was no one else to hear the sounds that came from the room beyond it.
~*~
"Your pardon, sir," Merry said, getting the innkeeper's attention. "Have you any messages for us? Have any visitors inquired as to our whereabouts?"
The innkeeper shook his head. "Sorry, little Master. I've not had any messages nor seen any of your folk come to ask after you."
Merry flashed a worried glance at Sam. "Thank you, sir," he said to the innkeeper and pulled Sam into the common room with him. "I don't like this, Sam," he said urgently. "It's nigh on time we should have been contacted by post or seen some of our folk from Buckland come to help us."
Sam thought hard for a moment. Enough time had passed for a message to have reached Buckland. The distance between Buckland and Bree could be traveled in a matter of about four days on foot, or faster if one had a strong pony and a supply of determination. By that reckoning, there should very well have been a message in the post confirming that assistance was en route, or perhaps even a messenger from Buckland carrying the much needed funds.
"Mayhap the storm held them up a bit," Sam offered, referring to the wind and downpour of two nights previous.
"I don't know, Sam, but I don't like it. Something's amiss here, I feel it." Merry's brow was furrowed as he thought. "I would have expected great haste from Brandy Hall once word had been received of Frodo's abduction."
Sam was about to answer when a loud laugh broke into the conversation from nearby. "Whatsa matter, Brandybuck?" Monto called derisively. "Can't get anyone from home to come and save your sorry arse?"
"You!" Sam exploded. "You better have Mr. Frodo with you, else you ain't got reason to be here!"
"We don't have him with us," Anson sneered. "The boss is too busy with him to let him come out and play."
Sam's face reddened and his hands clenched on the edge of the table so tightly the knuckles whitened. "What has he done to him?" Sam growled. "That filthy animal - "
"Now we don't take kindly to you talkin' 'bout the boss that way," Monto put in, approaching the table. He grabbed Sam by the collar and hauled him to his feet. "I better hear you apologize right quick."
"He's got nothing to apologize for," Merry growled. "Get out of here before you've got real trouble."
"Oooh, I think we've just been threatened," Anson mocked as he grabbed Merry by the front of his weskit. "You want to know how your cousin is? He was screamin' for mercy when we left."
"NO!" Sam shouted, pushed far beyond endurance. He lunged for Anson's throat, fully intending to choke the life out of him. Monto slammed a fist into Sam's midsection and he doubled over, coughing.
That was more than enough for Merry. "If you've harmed him, I'll have your ugly head, and Bramblethorn's too!" Merry landed a solid punch in Anson's face, knocking him backward.
Monto turned to see Anson steadying himself. The momentary distraction was all Sam needed. Recovering, he twisted out of Monto's grip. "I'll tear you to scraps!" Sam yelled and gave Monto his hardest punch to the jaw.
The brawl was on, and the innkeeper was trying frantically to get through the ring of Breefolk, large and small, who had stepped back to view the action from a safe distance.
"Not if you're scraps yourself," Monto shot back and shoved Sam hard enough to make him stumble and crash into a table.
Merry gave a shout and attacked Monto with all his ferocity, and seemed to be gaining the upper hand for a moment. Merry had Monto backed up against a support pillar and had wrapped both hands around the burly hobbit's neck.
"Mr. Merry, look out!" Sam shouted frantically as Anson approached Merry from behind, an earthenware tankard raised in his hand. Anson brought the tankard down, breaking it over Merry's head, and Merry slumped to the floor, unconscious.
Freed from Merry's death grip on his throat, Monto turned and swung hard at Sam, catching him in the temple. Sam staggered and fell, still conscious but breathing hard and having difficulty rising.
"The boss ain't gonna be too happy about this," Monto said nastily. "He might have to take it out on that pretty boy he's got back at his smial."
"If he touches Mr. Frodo, I'll hunt him down and - " Sam never finished the threat. It was cut short by a hairy foot landing hard in his stomach. Monto and Anson slipped out the back door, laughing, before the innkeeper could get through the crowd.
Sam dragged himself to where Merry lay unmoving, blood seeping into his hair from a nasty cut on his head. "Mr. Merry!" Sam called, shaking him lightly. "Mr. Merry, please wake up!"
"He's had a blow to the head?" The innkeeper asked. Sam nodded. "Let's get him back to your room and clean up that cut. Damn troublemakers, bustin' up my inn!" The innkeeper lifted Merry's still form and began to carry him in the direction of the room he had rented to the hobbits.
Once inside, the innkeeper lowered Merry onto one of the beds and began heating water in a kettle over the fire. Merry groaned and Sam hurried to his side.
"Mr. Merry! Mr. Merry, are you all right?" Sam moved aside reluctantly to allow the innkeeper to dab at Merry's head with a damp cloth. What little experience he had with the big folk had been gained only in the past few days, and trust for them was far from automatic.
"Did I just get run over by a wagonload of bricks?" Merry said with another groan.
"No, but you sure made a mess of my common room," the innkeeper said grimly. "Hold still." He dabbed at Merry's head wound carefully. "Them two up and started somethin', didn't they?"
"Yes, sir, I reckon they did," Sam said glumly. He didn't want to tell the innkeeper much more about the situation.
"I seen them around here and there," the innkeeper commented idly. "They don't strike me as bein' very friendly sorts. What did you do to rile 'em up like that?"
"It ain't really somethin' I can talk about, if you follow me," Sam said nervously. If he told the innkeeper about Frodo and the man spread the word, Bramblethorn might make good on his threat to harm his captive.
"Secrets, eh?" The innkeeper placed the cloth on top of Merry's head and put Merry's hand atop it to hold it there. "Always seems like that's what makes for trouble hereabouts." He looked at Sam with a critical eye. "You all right then?"
"I think so, sir, thank you kindly," Sam replied, more concerned about Merry's condition than his own.
"Keep an eye on yer friend, there," he cautioned. "If he seems confused or shows any signs of distress, let me know and I'll go for a healer. In the meantime, stay out of trouble and don't break any more of my crockery with yer heads."
The innkeeper stalked out, and Sam was left alone with Merry, who was holding the cloth to his head and grimacing. "Sam, we must find out if anyone is on the way from Brandy Hall," Merry muttered, his eyes drifting closed.
"Wake up, Mr. Merry!" Sam shook him, and ignoring Merry's protests, pulled him to his feet. "You can't go to sleep right now, Mr. Merry. You have to stay awake until your head settles a bit." Sam held Merry up and made him walk a few steps across the room.
"No time, Sam." Merry said, becoming agitated. "I have to go to Buckland immediately!"
"Not with your head hurt like that," Sam said adamantly. "You got to wait out the night at least, until you're feelin' better."
"NO!" Merry shouted and began to struggle against Sam's hold on him. As Sam fought to keep Merry from doing anything rash, Merry stomped down on his foot, hard. Sam gave a yelp and inadvertently let go of Merry, who made a mad dash through the door.
"Mr. Merry, come back!" Sam shouted, trying to follow. Merry lurched out the back door of the inn and made for the stables at an unsteady run. Sam followed, his own gait faltering. He realized he had fared little better than Merry had in the brawl.
Merry reached the stables and opened their ponies' pen. Using the wall of the pen for support and not minding the absence of a saddle, he climbed up onto the back of the sturdiest one they had brought and burst from the stable spurring it to its fastest pace. They rushed past Sam who waved at Merry to stop. Merry ignored him and rode into the darkness.
Sam turned and fled for the inn. He burst into the room and gathered some food and a couple flasks of water, blankets and his and Merry's cloaks. He locked the door to the room and ran back toward the stables. There was an old saddle in the back of one of the wagons they had driven to Bree, and Sam hauled it into the stable. Within a few minutes, he had the pony saddled and laden, and he struck out in pursuit of Merry. Merry's pony was the faster of the two, but Sam thought he could at least keep close behind. If Merry were going to try to make it to Buckland, Sam would follow and make sure he did.
"C'mon, boy, you got to run now. I'll let you rest later, as soon as we catch up with Mr. Merry," Sam promised the pony. He felt sorry for making it bear his weight at such a pace, but it couldn't be helped. Merry had managed a fair head start and Sam was determined to catch him before he got hurt worse than he already was.
It didn't help that it was late at night and the road was so dark. Sam sought desperately for any sign of movement up ahead that might mean he was gaining on his quarry. Something caught his eye and he spurred the pony forward again.
As he neared the place where he had thought he'd seen something move, Sam's heartbeat quickened. There was something lying in the road. Whatever it was, it was moving very little and Sam noted with a surge of fear that it was roughly hobbit - sized.
"Mr. Merry!" Sam brought his pony to a halt and jumped off its back. He ran to where Merry lay and attempted to rouse him. "Mr. Merry! Answer me, please!"
"Uhhhhh," Merry groaned. "Sam? What's going on? What happened?"
"I don't know, Mr. Merry," Sam said worriedly. "You took off from the inn as if someone had set light to your breeches, an' you didn't even take nothin' with you."
Merry sat up and rubbed at his head, remembering. "I remember riding as fast as my pony would carry me," he said slowly, "I must have become dizzy and fallen. Where's the pony, Sam?"
Sam looked around. He could just make out the shape of a pony standing in the trees nearby, munching on the grass at its feet. "He's over there," Sam said, pointing. "Let's get you out of the road before somethin' goes right over the top of you." Sam helped Merry to his feet and guided him off the road. He helped Merry to sit down with his back against a large tree and coaxed the pony to him.
When he had both of the ponies safely tethered, Sam unpacked the blankets and a few other supplies. "Now, Mr. Merry, meanin' no disrespect and all, I ain't havin' you tryin' to ride on in the dark in your condition. Let me tend to your head while you rest for a spell."
Merry offered no protest. He had calmed down considerably, and now realized the rashness of his actions. They did need to get to Buckland as quickly as possible but preferably in one piece. "Thank you, Sam. I'm glad you came after me," Merry admitted, wincing as Sam dampened a cloth with water and dabbed it against the cut on Merry's head.
"If I can't take proper care of Mr. Frodo, I'm at least not goin' to let anythin' happen to his family," Sam said by way of reply.
"We can't help Frodo by just sitting in Bree," Merry answered gravely. "We must get to Buckland as soon as possible, even if it means that we travel day and night. I'll consent to rest for a while, but then we must be off again."
"But Mr. Merry, is it such a good idea for us to go to Buckland?" Sam was apprehensive about leaving Bree while Frodo was still there and still in danger. "Maybe help is comin' but there's been a delay. We'll probably meet up with them on the road."
"I hope we do, Sam," Merry answered. "But I've a terrible feeling that something has happened. I have a feeling my message never reached them, and that they've no knowledge of the dire circumstances we face."
"Do you think them nasty fellows of Bramblethorn's had somethin' to do with it?" Sam thought of Monto and Anson and how he'd like to dump them straight into the Brandywine along with a few heavy rocks attached to them.
"They've been hanging around the inn from time to time," Merry said thoughtfully. "They may have just been there to gather information on what we were up to, but it wouldn't have been out of the question for them to intercept the post before the innkeeper gave it to the runner."
"An' if we waited for help, it would never have come, an' Mr. Frodo would be - " Sam's words caught in his throat. "I'll kill Bramblethorn with my own two hands, I swear it," Sam vowed grimly. "I let him off too easy the last time, an' Mr. Frodo's payin' for my mistake."
"That is why we must make all possible haste to Buckland," Merry answered. He accepted the apple Sam handed him and munched on it gratefully. "Frodo needs us. I know I need not tell you how every moment that he spends in the hands of that villain weighs upon my heart and mind."
Sam nodded. He knew he wasn't the only one who felt pain, fear and remorse. "How do you feel now, Mr. Merry?" Sam asked, wanting to determine whether Merry was fit to travel further that night.
"Much better now, Sam," Merry said, although it wasn't as true as he wanted it to be. His head ached terribly and he still felt dizzy and disoriented. "Have a bite to eat, and we'll be on our way."
Sam knew better than to argue, but he planned to watch Merry very carefully until they reached the doors of Brandy Hall. He shouldn't be riding through the night with an injury like that, and were the situation any less serious, Sam would never have been a party to it.
Hold on, Mr. Frodo, please, Sam pleaded silently. I'm never, ever goin' to leave you again, not even for an instant. Not even if you tell me to. There was a time to keep one's place and a time to forget it entirely, Sam reasoned. His Gaffer had been correct about many things, but Sam figured he would have to differ with him regarding the definition of duty to one's master. There were times when duty required the impertinence of argument, and Sam vowed to know the difference in the future.
The future. Sam knew he couldn't face a future without Frodo. He couldn't any more than a tree could face a future with out sunlight or water. When Merry rose unsteadily to his feet and demanded that they be on their way, Sam wordlessly gathered up their belongings and followed. His eyes never strayed from Merry, who sat slumped forward against the pony's neck for support even as he urged it forward as fast as it would go.
~*~ Morning ~*~
Bramblethorn yawned and stretched, waking from a pleasant dream to the even more pleasant reality of the warm body resting by his side. The candle still burned on the table nearby and in the dim light he could make out Frodo's lithe form beneath the sheets.
The memory of the previous night brought a smile to his face as he reached out to run his fingers through Frodo's curls. It had been wonderful, he thought, each touch, every quickened heartbeat, and the sound of Frodo crying out, whether in anguish or pleasure, it mattered not.
Long the night had been, but not nearly long enough as years' worth of lust and frustration surged swift and hard, and spent themselves in merciless release. That Frodo had been only semi - conscious as Bramblethorn had taken him had made little difference. What little resistance he had been able to offer had been easily cast aside, and the cries that were driven from him were satisfaction itself.
Bramblethorn drew a finger down the length of Frodo's neck to his collarbone and felt a shiver run through him as Frodo shifted in his drug - induced sleep. A hunger rose again within him and he saw no reason not to heed its urgent call.
"Wake up, love," Bramblethorn whispered in Frodo's ear. "I've nearly drowned in you, but still I thirst."
Frodo's eyes opened slowly as consciousness returned, and with it, pain. It carved a path through him, burning and rending flesh and soul.
"You were splendid, you know," Bramblethorn informed Frodo with a nasty leer. "All those years I've waited to hold you in my arms and hear you cry out. You didn't disappoint me. You're rather -" he searched for the appropriate word - "expressive."
Frodo made no reply but silent tears, and he knew. He tried to block out the memory of what Bramblethorn had done to him, retreating within himself to hide from the terrible truth. Even so, he knew. Bramblethorn had claimed him repeatedly, and images of the assault flashed before his mind's eye.
The beams across the ceiling, and the dull 'thud' as the back of his head struck the floorboards.
"Mine, at long last..."
Dust that had gathered under the bed, and the individual threads in the sheet that hung down near his eyes.
"More, Frodo... say it...SAY IT!"
The little dancing flame of the candle on the table and the writhing of the shadow it cast upon the wall.
"Do you make that sound when you're with him? I wish he were here now. I would make him watch..."
The memory of Bramblethorn's voice became the genuine article as Bramblethorn spoke softly into Frodo's ear. "I hope I haven't exhausted you entirely, love," Bramblethorn purred. "I slept little through the night as you are well aware, but I find I am quite awake." Bramblethorn pulled Frodo's battered body close to his once more.
Frodo shuddered. If Bramblethorn assaulted him again, he was certain that he would go mad. "No," Frodo whispered. "Please don't... I can't."
"Surely your illness has subsided somewhat," Bramblethorn said with a slight frown. Another thought occurred to him and he laughed. "Surely you can't expect me to believe that last night was your first time?"
Frodo had reined in his emotions to the best of his ability, and his voice was quiet but cold as he responded. "Oh, but it was," he answered, his voice a mere whisper. "It was the first time I've been raped." He said the word with obvious difficulty.
Frodo's words struck Bramblethorn almost physically, and for the first time in longer than he could remember, he was hard pressed to produce a confident reply. "I was angry with you last night for calling that gardener's name, but I forgive you now," he said, attempting to hide his discomfort and choosing to ignore Frodo's choice of words.
Bramblethorn rose and tugged his breeches on. There was blood on the sheets and on the floor. That would have to be taken care of. Frodo was obviously in need of attention as well. "I'm going to prepare a nice bath for you, Frodo. Would you like that?"
No answer.
Bramblethorn stroked Frodo's cheek lightly, feeling a twinge of something that might have been remorse. Frodo had bruises on his face and on his arms where Bramblethorn had gripped him. He lay silent and unmoving. Bramblethorn knew he had hurt Frodo, but it need not have happened that way. If Frodo had just been reasonable and accepted him, acknowledged the kindness Bramblethorn had offered him, force would not have been necessary.
"I'm sorry I hurt you, my dear," Bramblethorn said. "I told you not to fight me. I shall be more gentle in the future, I promise."
In the future. Frodo heard the words, but he could not find it within himself to respond to them. He felt Bramblethorn kiss his forehead, and he heard the door open and close.
Frodo willed himself to move, to ignore the pain and raise himself from the bed. He knew Bramblethorn would be back, and he had no intention of appearing as helpless and wounded as he felt. He slowly sat up, and grasping the bedpost for support, he put his feet on the floor and stood. The quilt was lying in a crumpled heap at the foot of the bed where he had kicked it earlier, and he wrapped it around himself. His throat felt dry and scratchy, but he was no longer coughing.
When Bramblethorn returned a short while later, he found Frodo on his feet, but leaning heavily against the bedpost. "Come along, now," Bramblethorn coaxed, placing a hand on Frodo's arm to guide him.
Frodo flinched violently at the contact, nearly falling as he let go of the bedpost. Bramblethorn caught him and Frodo endured the added humiliation of accepting his attacker's aid as they crossed the room. Frodo limped down the hallway as Bramblethorn supported him, and they came to a room where a large tub sat with steam rising from it in small curling wisps.
"Can you manage it yourself, or shall I help you?" Bramblethorn asked.
"No, I don't want your help," Frodo said, a defiant sharpness returning to his voice despite how thoroughly broken he felt. He made no move to shed the quilt that hid his battered body from Bramblethorn's view. He knew it was absurd, given what had transpired in the night, but he demanded, "Turn around. I'll not have you staring at me, at the ruin you've made of me!"
"Frodo, I - " Bramblethorn started to protest, but broke off as Frodo at last looked at him. Those eyes were haunted, accusing, damning. They burned with a strange combination of shame, fury and determination that made Bramblethorn feel somehow diminished, as though it were he who had suffered the greater defeat. "As you wish," he answered, turning his back.
Frodo dropped the quilt in a pile on the floor, not at all surprised to see dark smears of blood upon it. He carefully lowered himself into the tub, letting out a hissing breath as the hot water flowed over him.
Bramblethorn slowly turned around to see Frodo already scrubbing himself with a sponge. He was scrubbing hard, as if to wash away something that had worked its way into his skin and lingered stubbornly, as if to somehow rid himself of all memory, of all tactile sensation.
Frodo could feel Bramblethorn's gaze upon him and he acknowledged it without looking up. "You don't have to stand guard. I can manage on my own, and I can't leave this room without your knowing."
Why was he lingering, Bramblethorn wondered? He tried to tell himself that it was for the mere sight of Frodo, or even possibly an apprehensive feeling that Frodo might somehow harm himself. He turned slowly and stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. He would be there when Frodo emerged.
Frodo kept scrubbing, not caring if he was passing the sponge over the same areas repeatedly. He willed his hands to stop shaking, but they responded by trembling even harder, and he dropped the sponge into the water. His chest heaved as he tried to hold back the sobs that demanded release. He resisted as well as he could for several seconds, but there was too much anguish within him to be contained any longer. His tears mixed with the bathwater as he rested his forehead against his bent knees and gave himself the right to grieve and to hurt.
~*~ To be continued ~*~
Heartofahobbit - Frodo is in real trouble, I'm afraid. He's sick and sedated, and no match for Bramblethorn because of it.
Spootasia Tomoe - Didn't think Bramblethorn could get worse? Well here he is, and he's definitely at his worst!
CuriousCat - You're right that Frodo would not willingly submit. Will Bramblethorn lose all patience and take what he wants? Read on! You'll get to see the impact Bramblethorn's actions have on his own thoughts later in the story.
Anarie - The answer to your question as to whether Bramblethorn will get what he wants is in this chapter.
Sam - Action, indeed! There will be quite a bit of action in this chapter.
Endymion2 - Merry and Sam's visit to the common room will not shorten the story by much. They will be spurred to action, but it's still going to take some time to get Frodo away from Bramblethorn. The storm outside may have subsided, but the one inside is about to strengthen!
Trust No One - Bramblethorn has never been the patient sort, really. It's all been an act, more or less.
Stephanie - The odds are definitely against Frodo right now, I have to say. If reading the last chapter made you squirm, writing this one did the same to me.
Hobbitfeet13 - Frodo is definitely in for something unpleasant to say the least. Cliffhanger? Oh, yes!
FrodoBaggins1982 - Frodo is at a double disadvantage with his fevered state and the sedative Bramblethorn used on him. He's in no condition to put up the resistance he usually does, but that won't keep him from trying. Sam and Merry will decide that something isn't right very soon.
FrodoBaggins87 - Frodo is still showing his spirit, but he's in real trouble, I'm afraid.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Chapter 13 - Flight to Buckland
"We shall see what I have a right to, beloved," Bramblethorn growled, and despite his illness and clouded senses, Frodo knew genuine fear. Bramblethorn's countenance had transformed again into the leering, lustful face Frodo had seen so many times in his nightmares.
"Get your hands off me!" Frodo shouted, and tried to wriggle away. A hard slap across his face answered his efforts.
"You shall not reject me again," Bramblethorn said angrily. "You have mocked me and teased me, accepted the kindnesses I have offered and shunned me in response! I will no longer be lenient with you!" He struck Frodo again, and Frodo felt his strength fading.
"No, please," Frodo begged. "Not this, I can't bear it!"
"Mine, mine at long last," Bramblethorn gloated, looking down at Frodo with an almost feral gleam in his eyes. He pulled Frodo close against him, the fingers of one hand buried in Frodo's hair, the other tracing a slow line down his bare back. Bramblethorn forced Frodo to look at him, then pressed his mouth to Frodo's in an urgent, violently claiming kiss.
Frodo began to struggle again, making a desperate effort to free himself although his mind clamored at him that it was hopeless. Bramblethorn was holding him down again, pinning his wrists against the floor on either side of his head.
"Don't fight me, Frodo," Bramblethorn whispered, his lips poised at Frodo's neck where a rapid pulse beat furiously. "It will be so much better if you don't."
"Damn you!" Frodo cried, managing to free one hand and punch Bramblethorn solidly in the jaw. The blow caused Bramblethorn to topple over backwards and Frodo rolled away from him. Frodo regained his feet with difficulty and backed away.
There was nowhere to run as Bramblethorn advanced again. "You will pay for that," he snarled as he grasped Frodo again and bore him to the floor, knocking the back of Frodo's head against the hard wood in the process.
Stunned and unable to move, Frodo felt Bramblethorn straddle him. Bramblethorn removed his shirt as he taunted Frodo cruelly. "I hope every time that stupid gardener touches you, you see my face and feel my hands on you. Who knows? Maybe he'll never touch you again! He won't want you when I'm through. He'll find you tainted and repulsive!"
Frodo was sobbing openly now as Bramblethorn's words struck him like a physical blow. "NO! Stop, oh please STOP!"
"Oh, I'll stop, Frodo," Bramblethorn said, reaching for the fastenings of Frodo's breeches. "I'll stop when I've driven myself into your very soul!"
Out in the hallway, Monto and Anson both hovered, exchanging knowing looks at the sounds that met their ears. There was absolutely no doubt as to what was happening in the room. The two bodyguards could hear taunts and threats amid desperate pleas and cries of pain. They edged away from the door, just far enough down the hallway to be out of hearing range of all but the loudest of the agonized sounds.
After a while, Bramblethorn opened the door just enough to allow him to peer out and addressed his bodyguards. What they could see of his face was rather flushed and he was breathing heavily. "I don't think I'll have need of your services here this evening. Why don't you go to that inn and see what Brandybuck and the gardener are up to?"
They nodded. It was obvious that the boss wanted a little privacy, and from the sound of things, Frodo wasn't going to be much of a problem that evening. "Gotcha boss," Monto said. "Let's go, Anse."
Off they went laughing and thumping each other on the back. Bramblethorn closed the door. This time, there was no one else to hear the sounds that came from the room beyond it.
~*~
"Your pardon, sir," Merry said, getting the innkeeper's attention. "Have you any messages for us? Have any visitors inquired as to our whereabouts?"
The innkeeper shook his head. "Sorry, little Master. I've not had any messages nor seen any of your folk come to ask after you."
Merry flashed a worried glance at Sam. "Thank you, sir," he said to the innkeeper and pulled Sam into the common room with him. "I don't like this, Sam," he said urgently. "It's nigh on time we should have been contacted by post or seen some of our folk from Buckland come to help us."
Sam thought hard for a moment. Enough time had passed for a message to have reached Buckland. The distance between Buckland and Bree could be traveled in a matter of about four days on foot, or faster if one had a strong pony and a supply of determination. By that reckoning, there should very well have been a message in the post confirming that assistance was en route, or perhaps even a messenger from Buckland carrying the much needed funds.
"Mayhap the storm held them up a bit," Sam offered, referring to the wind and downpour of two nights previous.
"I don't know, Sam, but I don't like it. Something's amiss here, I feel it." Merry's brow was furrowed as he thought. "I would have expected great haste from Brandy Hall once word had been received of Frodo's abduction."
Sam was about to answer when a loud laugh broke into the conversation from nearby. "Whatsa matter, Brandybuck?" Monto called derisively. "Can't get anyone from home to come and save your sorry arse?"
"You!" Sam exploded. "You better have Mr. Frodo with you, else you ain't got reason to be here!"
"We don't have him with us," Anson sneered. "The boss is too busy with him to let him come out and play."
Sam's face reddened and his hands clenched on the edge of the table so tightly the knuckles whitened. "What has he done to him?" Sam growled. "That filthy animal - "
"Now we don't take kindly to you talkin' 'bout the boss that way," Monto put in, approaching the table. He grabbed Sam by the collar and hauled him to his feet. "I better hear you apologize right quick."
"He's got nothing to apologize for," Merry growled. "Get out of here before you've got real trouble."
"Oooh, I think we've just been threatened," Anson mocked as he grabbed Merry by the front of his weskit. "You want to know how your cousin is? He was screamin' for mercy when we left."
"NO!" Sam shouted, pushed far beyond endurance. He lunged for Anson's throat, fully intending to choke the life out of him. Monto slammed a fist into Sam's midsection and he doubled over, coughing.
That was more than enough for Merry. "If you've harmed him, I'll have your ugly head, and Bramblethorn's too!" Merry landed a solid punch in Anson's face, knocking him backward.
Monto turned to see Anson steadying himself. The momentary distraction was all Sam needed. Recovering, he twisted out of Monto's grip. "I'll tear you to scraps!" Sam yelled and gave Monto his hardest punch to the jaw.
The brawl was on, and the innkeeper was trying frantically to get through the ring of Breefolk, large and small, who had stepped back to view the action from a safe distance.
"Not if you're scraps yourself," Monto shot back and shoved Sam hard enough to make him stumble and crash into a table.
Merry gave a shout and attacked Monto with all his ferocity, and seemed to be gaining the upper hand for a moment. Merry had Monto backed up against a support pillar and had wrapped both hands around the burly hobbit's neck.
"Mr. Merry, look out!" Sam shouted frantically as Anson approached Merry from behind, an earthenware tankard raised in his hand. Anson brought the tankard down, breaking it over Merry's head, and Merry slumped to the floor, unconscious.
Freed from Merry's death grip on his throat, Monto turned and swung hard at Sam, catching him in the temple. Sam staggered and fell, still conscious but breathing hard and having difficulty rising.
"The boss ain't gonna be too happy about this," Monto said nastily. "He might have to take it out on that pretty boy he's got back at his smial."
"If he touches Mr. Frodo, I'll hunt him down and - " Sam never finished the threat. It was cut short by a hairy foot landing hard in his stomach. Monto and Anson slipped out the back door, laughing, before the innkeeper could get through the crowd.
Sam dragged himself to where Merry lay unmoving, blood seeping into his hair from a nasty cut on his head. "Mr. Merry!" Sam called, shaking him lightly. "Mr. Merry, please wake up!"
"He's had a blow to the head?" The innkeeper asked. Sam nodded. "Let's get him back to your room and clean up that cut. Damn troublemakers, bustin' up my inn!" The innkeeper lifted Merry's still form and began to carry him in the direction of the room he had rented to the hobbits.
Once inside, the innkeeper lowered Merry onto one of the beds and began heating water in a kettle over the fire. Merry groaned and Sam hurried to his side.
"Mr. Merry! Mr. Merry, are you all right?" Sam moved aside reluctantly to allow the innkeeper to dab at Merry's head with a damp cloth. What little experience he had with the big folk had been gained only in the past few days, and trust for them was far from automatic.
"Did I just get run over by a wagonload of bricks?" Merry said with another groan.
"No, but you sure made a mess of my common room," the innkeeper said grimly. "Hold still." He dabbed at Merry's head wound carefully. "Them two up and started somethin', didn't they?"
"Yes, sir, I reckon they did," Sam said glumly. He didn't want to tell the innkeeper much more about the situation.
"I seen them around here and there," the innkeeper commented idly. "They don't strike me as bein' very friendly sorts. What did you do to rile 'em up like that?"
"It ain't really somethin' I can talk about, if you follow me," Sam said nervously. If he told the innkeeper about Frodo and the man spread the word, Bramblethorn might make good on his threat to harm his captive.
"Secrets, eh?" The innkeeper placed the cloth on top of Merry's head and put Merry's hand atop it to hold it there. "Always seems like that's what makes for trouble hereabouts." He looked at Sam with a critical eye. "You all right then?"
"I think so, sir, thank you kindly," Sam replied, more concerned about Merry's condition than his own.
"Keep an eye on yer friend, there," he cautioned. "If he seems confused or shows any signs of distress, let me know and I'll go for a healer. In the meantime, stay out of trouble and don't break any more of my crockery with yer heads."
The innkeeper stalked out, and Sam was left alone with Merry, who was holding the cloth to his head and grimacing. "Sam, we must find out if anyone is on the way from Brandy Hall," Merry muttered, his eyes drifting closed.
"Wake up, Mr. Merry!" Sam shook him, and ignoring Merry's protests, pulled him to his feet. "You can't go to sleep right now, Mr. Merry. You have to stay awake until your head settles a bit." Sam held Merry up and made him walk a few steps across the room.
"No time, Sam." Merry said, becoming agitated. "I have to go to Buckland immediately!"
"Not with your head hurt like that," Sam said adamantly. "You got to wait out the night at least, until you're feelin' better."
"NO!" Merry shouted and began to struggle against Sam's hold on him. As Sam fought to keep Merry from doing anything rash, Merry stomped down on his foot, hard. Sam gave a yelp and inadvertently let go of Merry, who made a mad dash through the door.
"Mr. Merry, come back!" Sam shouted, trying to follow. Merry lurched out the back door of the inn and made for the stables at an unsteady run. Sam followed, his own gait faltering. He realized he had fared little better than Merry had in the brawl.
Merry reached the stables and opened their ponies' pen. Using the wall of the pen for support and not minding the absence of a saddle, he climbed up onto the back of the sturdiest one they had brought and burst from the stable spurring it to its fastest pace. They rushed past Sam who waved at Merry to stop. Merry ignored him and rode into the darkness.
Sam turned and fled for the inn. He burst into the room and gathered some food and a couple flasks of water, blankets and his and Merry's cloaks. He locked the door to the room and ran back toward the stables. There was an old saddle in the back of one of the wagons they had driven to Bree, and Sam hauled it into the stable. Within a few minutes, he had the pony saddled and laden, and he struck out in pursuit of Merry. Merry's pony was the faster of the two, but Sam thought he could at least keep close behind. If Merry were going to try to make it to Buckland, Sam would follow and make sure he did.
"C'mon, boy, you got to run now. I'll let you rest later, as soon as we catch up with Mr. Merry," Sam promised the pony. He felt sorry for making it bear his weight at such a pace, but it couldn't be helped. Merry had managed a fair head start and Sam was determined to catch him before he got hurt worse than he already was.
It didn't help that it was late at night and the road was so dark. Sam sought desperately for any sign of movement up ahead that might mean he was gaining on his quarry. Something caught his eye and he spurred the pony forward again.
As he neared the place where he had thought he'd seen something move, Sam's heartbeat quickened. There was something lying in the road. Whatever it was, it was moving very little and Sam noted with a surge of fear that it was roughly hobbit - sized.
"Mr. Merry!" Sam brought his pony to a halt and jumped off its back. He ran to where Merry lay and attempted to rouse him. "Mr. Merry! Answer me, please!"
"Uhhhhh," Merry groaned. "Sam? What's going on? What happened?"
"I don't know, Mr. Merry," Sam said worriedly. "You took off from the inn as if someone had set light to your breeches, an' you didn't even take nothin' with you."
Merry sat up and rubbed at his head, remembering. "I remember riding as fast as my pony would carry me," he said slowly, "I must have become dizzy and fallen. Where's the pony, Sam?"
Sam looked around. He could just make out the shape of a pony standing in the trees nearby, munching on the grass at its feet. "He's over there," Sam said, pointing. "Let's get you out of the road before somethin' goes right over the top of you." Sam helped Merry to his feet and guided him off the road. He helped Merry to sit down with his back against a large tree and coaxed the pony to him.
When he had both of the ponies safely tethered, Sam unpacked the blankets and a few other supplies. "Now, Mr. Merry, meanin' no disrespect and all, I ain't havin' you tryin' to ride on in the dark in your condition. Let me tend to your head while you rest for a spell."
Merry offered no protest. He had calmed down considerably, and now realized the rashness of his actions. They did need to get to Buckland as quickly as possible but preferably in one piece. "Thank you, Sam. I'm glad you came after me," Merry admitted, wincing as Sam dampened a cloth with water and dabbed it against the cut on Merry's head.
"If I can't take proper care of Mr. Frodo, I'm at least not goin' to let anythin' happen to his family," Sam said by way of reply.
"We can't help Frodo by just sitting in Bree," Merry answered gravely. "We must get to Buckland as soon as possible, even if it means that we travel day and night. I'll consent to rest for a while, but then we must be off again."
"But Mr. Merry, is it such a good idea for us to go to Buckland?" Sam was apprehensive about leaving Bree while Frodo was still there and still in danger. "Maybe help is comin' but there's been a delay. We'll probably meet up with them on the road."
"I hope we do, Sam," Merry answered. "But I've a terrible feeling that something has happened. I have a feeling my message never reached them, and that they've no knowledge of the dire circumstances we face."
"Do you think them nasty fellows of Bramblethorn's had somethin' to do with it?" Sam thought of Monto and Anson and how he'd like to dump them straight into the Brandywine along with a few heavy rocks attached to them.
"They've been hanging around the inn from time to time," Merry said thoughtfully. "They may have just been there to gather information on what we were up to, but it wouldn't have been out of the question for them to intercept the post before the innkeeper gave it to the runner."
"An' if we waited for help, it would never have come, an' Mr. Frodo would be - " Sam's words caught in his throat. "I'll kill Bramblethorn with my own two hands, I swear it," Sam vowed grimly. "I let him off too easy the last time, an' Mr. Frodo's payin' for my mistake."
"That is why we must make all possible haste to Buckland," Merry answered. He accepted the apple Sam handed him and munched on it gratefully. "Frodo needs us. I know I need not tell you how every moment that he spends in the hands of that villain weighs upon my heart and mind."
Sam nodded. He knew he wasn't the only one who felt pain, fear and remorse. "How do you feel now, Mr. Merry?" Sam asked, wanting to determine whether Merry was fit to travel further that night.
"Much better now, Sam," Merry said, although it wasn't as true as he wanted it to be. His head ached terribly and he still felt dizzy and disoriented. "Have a bite to eat, and we'll be on our way."
Sam knew better than to argue, but he planned to watch Merry very carefully until they reached the doors of Brandy Hall. He shouldn't be riding through the night with an injury like that, and were the situation any less serious, Sam would never have been a party to it.
Hold on, Mr. Frodo, please, Sam pleaded silently. I'm never, ever goin' to leave you again, not even for an instant. Not even if you tell me to. There was a time to keep one's place and a time to forget it entirely, Sam reasoned. His Gaffer had been correct about many things, but Sam figured he would have to differ with him regarding the definition of duty to one's master. There were times when duty required the impertinence of argument, and Sam vowed to know the difference in the future.
The future. Sam knew he couldn't face a future without Frodo. He couldn't any more than a tree could face a future with out sunlight or water. When Merry rose unsteadily to his feet and demanded that they be on their way, Sam wordlessly gathered up their belongings and followed. His eyes never strayed from Merry, who sat slumped forward against the pony's neck for support even as he urged it forward as fast as it would go.
~*~ Morning ~*~
Bramblethorn yawned and stretched, waking from a pleasant dream to the even more pleasant reality of the warm body resting by his side. The candle still burned on the table nearby and in the dim light he could make out Frodo's lithe form beneath the sheets.
The memory of the previous night brought a smile to his face as he reached out to run his fingers through Frodo's curls. It had been wonderful, he thought, each touch, every quickened heartbeat, and the sound of Frodo crying out, whether in anguish or pleasure, it mattered not.
Long the night had been, but not nearly long enough as years' worth of lust and frustration surged swift and hard, and spent themselves in merciless release. That Frodo had been only semi - conscious as Bramblethorn had taken him had made little difference. What little resistance he had been able to offer had been easily cast aside, and the cries that were driven from him were satisfaction itself.
Bramblethorn drew a finger down the length of Frodo's neck to his collarbone and felt a shiver run through him as Frodo shifted in his drug - induced sleep. A hunger rose again within him and he saw no reason not to heed its urgent call.
"Wake up, love," Bramblethorn whispered in Frodo's ear. "I've nearly drowned in you, but still I thirst."
Frodo's eyes opened slowly as consciousness returned, and with it, pain. It carved a path through him, burning and rending flesh and soul.
"You were splendid, you know," Bramblethorn informed Frodo with a nasty leer. "All those years I've waited to hold you in my arms and hear you cry out. You didn't disappoint me. You're rather -" he searched for the appropriate word - "expressive."
Frodo made no reply but silent tears, and he knew. He tried to block out the memory of what Bramblethorn had done to him, retreating within himself to hide from the terrible truth. Even so, he knew. Bramblethorn had claimed him repeatedly, and images of the assault flashed before his mind's eye.
The beams across the ceiling, and the dull 'thud' as the back of his head struck the floorboards.
"Mine, at long last..."
Dust that had gathered under the bed, and the individual threads in the sheet that hung down near his eyes.
"More, Frodo... say it...SAY IT!"
The little dancing flame of the candle on the table and the writhing of the shadow it cast upon the wall.
"Do you make that sound when you're with him? I wish he were here now. I would make him watch..."
The memory of Bramblethorn's voice became the genuine article as Bramblethorn spoke softly into Frodo's ear. "I hope I haven't exhausted you entirely, love," Bramblethorn purred. "I slept little through the night as you are well aware, but I find I am quite awake." Bramblethorn pulled Frodo's battered body close to his once more.
Frodo shuddered. If Bramblethorn assaulted him again, he was certain that he would go mad. "No," Frodo whispered. "Please don't... I can't."
"Surely your illness has subsided somewhat," Bramblethorn said with a slight frown. Another thought occurred to him and he laughed. "Surely you can't expect me to believe that last night was your first time?"
Frodo had reined in his emotions to the best of his ability, and his voice was quiet but cold as he responded. "Oh, but it was," he answered, his voice a mere whisper. "It was the first time I've been raped." He said the word with obvious difficulty.
Frodo's words struck Bramblethorn almost physically, and for the first time in longer than he could remember, he was hard pressed to produce a confident reply. "I was angry with you last night for calling that gardener's name, but I forgive you now," he said, attempting to hide his discomfort and choosing to ignore Frodo's choice of words.
Bramblethorn rose and tugged his breeches on. There was blood on the sheets and on the floor. That would have to be taken care of. Frodo was obviously in need of attention as well. "I'm going to prepare a nice bath for you, Frodo. Would you like that?"
No answer.
Bramblethorn stroked Frodo's cheek lightly, feeling a twinge of something that might have been remorse. Frodo had bruises on his face and on his arms where Bramblethorn had gripped him. He lay silent and unmoving. Bramblethorn knew he had hurt Frodo, but it need not have happened that way. If Frodo had just been reasonable and accepted him, acknowledged the kindness Bramblethorn had offered him, force would not have been necessary.
"I'm sorry I hurt you, my dear," Bramblethorn said. "I told you not to fight me. I shall be more gentle in the future, I promise."
In the future. Frodo heard the words, but he could not find it within himself to respond to them. He felt Bramblethorn kiss his forehead, and he heard the door open and close.
Frodo willed himself to move, to ignore the pain and raise himself from the bed. He knew Bramblethorn would be back, and he had no intention of appearing as helpless and wounded as he felt. He slowly sat up, and grasping the bedpost for support, he put his feet on the floor and stood. The quilt was lying in a crumpled heap at the foot of the bed where he had kicked it earlier, and he wrapped it around himself. His throat felt dry and scratchy, but he was no longer coughing.
When Bramblethorn returned a short while later, he found Frodo on his feet, but leaning heavily against the bedpost. "Come along, now," Bramblethorn coaxed, placing a hand on Frodo's arm to guide him.
Frodo flinched violently at the contact, nearly falling as he let go of the bedpost. Bramblethorn caught him and Frodo endured the added humiliation of accepting his attacker's aid as they crossed the room. Frodo limped down the hallway as Bramblethorn supported him, and they came to a room where a large tub sat with steam rising from it in small curling wisps.
"Can you manage it yourself, or shall I help you?" Bramblethorn asked.
"No, I don't want your help," Frodo said, a defiant sharpness returning to his voice despite how thoroughly broken he felt. He made no move to shed the quilt that hid his battered body from Bramblethorn's view. He knew it was absurd, given what had transpired in the night, but he demanded, "Turn around. I'll not have you staring at me, at the ruin you've made of me!"
"Frodo, I - " Bramblethorn started to protest, but broke off as Frodo at last looked at him. Those eyes were haunted, accusing, damning. They burned with a strange combination of shame, fury and determination that made Bramblethorn feel somehow diminished, as though it were he who had suffered the greater defeat. "As you wish," he answered, turning his back.
Frodo dropped the quilt in a pile on the floor, not at all surprised to see dark smears of blood upon it. He carefully lowered himself into the tub, letting out a hissing breath as the hot water flowed over him.
Bramblethorn slowly turned around to see Frodo already scrubbing himself with a sponge. He was scrubbing hard, as if to wash away something that had worked its way into his skin and lingered stubbornly, as if to somehow rid himself of all memory, of all tactile sensation.
Frodo could feel Bramblethorn's gaze upon him and he acknowledged it without looking up. "You don't have to stand guard. I can manage on my own, and I can't leave this room without your knowing."
Why was he lingering, Bramblethorn wondered? He tried to tell himself that it was for the mere sight of Frodo, or even possibly an apprehensive feeling that Frodo might somehow harm himself. He turned slowly and stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. He would be there when Frodo emerged.
Frodo kept scrubbing, not caring if he was passing the sponge over the same areas repeatedly. He willed his hands to stop shaking, but they responded by trembling even harder, and he dropped the sponge into the water. His chest heaved as he tried to hold back the sobs that demanded release. He resisted as well as he could for several seconds, but there was too much anguish within him to be contained any longer. His tears mixed with the bathwater as he rested his forehead against his bent knees and gave himself the right to grieve and to hurt.
~*~ To be continued ~*~