Chapter 2: Tea and Dissonance
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'Merry just hit Sam!' Pippin thought in amazement as he watched the stocky gardener slam to the floor.
The world had seemed to slow down as Sam and Merry had come to blows. Pippin had stood in place, watching in disbelief at the scene playing out before him. 'You must go - and therefore we must too. Merry and I are coming with you.' Pippin had rehearsed those words in his head dozens of times in the past month, grinning to himself as he imagined Frodo's astonished reaction to this news. But it was Pippin and Sam who were destined to be astonished, as Merry had single-handedly and without warning thwarted their beautiful plan. 'Merry just hit Sam!' thought Pippin, and couldn't pull the memory from his mind. Why? Pippin could make no sense of it.
Merry's flash of rage in the kitchen had scared Pippin, truly, but not as much for fear of his own safety than for the gnawing fear that his Merry was not all right. What if Merry, clever, wise, strong, indomitable Merry, had actually been pushed past the point of endurance? And if Merry could fall, what hope was there for the rest of them?
Pippin did not let his mind linger on this unsettling possibility and turned instead to the cold comfort of rationalization. Merry /had/ hinted before he'd gone off with Fatty that something in the plans might have altered. He /had/ asked Pippin to lead them to Maggot's farm, and had not given Pippin a reason. Perhaps he had known about the riders and did not want to scare him. That would be just like Merry -to take care of difficult problems without needing to be told; to handle problems because they needed handling and not for the veneration. But his change in plans seemed so enormous, so abrupt, especially considering that Merry had made the plan himself months and months ago. Pippin also chafed that Merry had not taken him into his confidence about the change. Why, he had to have told old Fatty, why not his own flesh and blood? Merry, as always, must have had his reasons.
'Merry just hit Sam!' Pippin could not explain that one away. Pippin could not remember one single time that Merry had struck without provocation. True, he had been in his share of childhood brawls when he was a brash and impetuous teen; but never without cause and never ever as the aggressor. Since his tweens, Merry had been the very model of restraint and precocious maturity.
Pippin began to consider Merry's eyes, though he did not want to. Pippin recalled those unfamiliar, cold dark eyes he'd gazed into as Merry raised his hand to strike him. 'Those were not Merry's eyes,' he said to himself before pushing the image back into the recesses of his mind. Pippin could not face an evil so deep that it might be capable of surging upward through his cousin's heart to the very windows of his soul. The surface things were easiest to cure, and, therefore, easiest to dwell upon.
But the surface things were just as troubling for Pippin as any other part if it. 'You are not going anywhere.' That is what Merry had said, plain as day. What in heavens could that mean? Not go anywhere --/tonight?/ tomorrow?/ ever?/ Had Merry completely thrown out the idea of following Frodo and Sam to Rivendell? Did he plan to talk them into not going to Rivendell at all because of the riders? And if that were the case, he would surely not succeed, not if Frodo was determined to do it. Frodo may have been bookish, but when he set his mind to something, he was a force of nature-like a soft-flowing river that powers a hundred mills. Another ridiculous possibility entered Pippin's mind as he pondered the near future. Surely Merry would not physically prevent them from setting off. 'Goodness no!' thought Pippin and banished the thought as soon as it hit his mind.
It suddenly occurred to Pippin that it was growing very late, and Sam and Frodo, at least, would be leaving at dawn. Pippin hoped that he and Merry would be leaving with them. 'Oi!' he thought, 'We must all be off to bed, come what may. I must do /something/!"
But what could he do? Pippin considered Merry's original scheme for a moment. It had been a wonderful plan, a perfect plan! Merry had worked very hard to keep it secret from Frodo, and had put many extra miles upon the soles of his feet to coordinate things with Fatty and Sam. This change seemed impetuous for Merry, who had left the last vestiges of hastiness behind on his twentieth birthday. It seemed a great pity- nay! A tragedy for all of Merry's hard work to founder upon a last minute crisis of confidence, as Pippin imagined it.
The image flashed in Pippin's mind of Merry clinging on to him for dear life in the kitchen after his first episode. Merry surely needed him. He'd asked for Pippin's help, and Pippin would give it to him. Perhaps now was the time for Pippin to show his qualities. If Merry had, somehow, come undone, it was now for Pippin to talk some sense into him-a small recompense for all the times Merry had done this for him over the years. Pippin would get Merry's conspiracy back on track, for surely that is what Merry, when he was feeling better, would want. Merry would thank him for it and would reward Pippin with respect.
Pippin padded over to the trio huddled by the hearth, their figures thrown into shadow by the bright flames. Frodo was still trying to rouse Sam to full consciousness. Merry was patting Sam's leg and seemed to be muttering a solid stream of apologies. At least, as far as Pippin saw, Frodo was not bidding Merry to stand down; Frodo was not paying much attention to Merry at all.
Pippin placed his small hand on Merry's shoulder, flinching a bit as Merry turned his head. Much to Pippin's relief, Merry's face was open to him again; the eyes that peering up at him clear and lit only by the lively orange light of the fire. Merry gave Pippin a smile edged with remorse and looked more than a little vulnerable.
"Merry?" said Pippin.
Merry gave a quick nod to Frodo and stood up slowly. Of course he knew that Pippin would wish to speak with him. Merry wrapped his arm around Pippin for support, as if the outburst had physically drained him. Pippin smiled, thrilled at the opportunity, for once, to be the trestle rather than the tabletop.
Pippin led Merry into the first door to the left along the corridor. This happened to be the room that Merry had chosen to sleep in for the duration of their stay at Crickhollow, which Pippin had assumed would be short. As they entered, Pippin was struck by how thoroughly Merry had set up the large comfortable room. A few small pieces of furniture, such as the spindly bed stand, had come from Bag End, but Pippin was surprised to see furniture he recognized from Brandy Hall, including Merry's engraved dresser, the cedar wardrobe, and the shiny brass bed frame-if not the bed itself. The forest-green man-size blanket was certainly from the Hall, as Pippin had admired it ever since Merry had brought it back from Bree the year before. Pippin realized that this, in essence, was a transplanted version of Merry's room here in Crickhollow. Pippin was not sure whether this fact comforted him or not.
Pippin eased Merry onto the bed and went to light the candles in the sconces. The room was soon bathed in a soft, flickering glow that made surreal ghost shadows caper languidly along the walls of the room and made wisps of Merry's curly chestnut hair shine like spun gold.
"Come sit with me," said Merry softly, his voice barely rising above the spluttering of the candles. "You want me to tell you a few things, I suppose."
Pippin did as he was bid, the soft mattress ensconcing him in its luxury as it yielded to his weight. "This is your bed, isn't it, Merry-I mean, your whole bed?" asked Pippin.
"You might have known as soon as it swallowed you up to your neck," chided Merry with a weak chuckle. "I remember you always begging to sleep with me when your family came calling because, compared to this beauty, the guest bed felt like a pile of bricks wrapped in a sheet." Merry patted the bed approvingly, then looked up into impatient eyes. Merry sighed. "I'm chattering, I know. Truth be told, Pip, I've been dreading this conversation."
"Mer," sighed Pippin, now looking down at his hands, "what is going on? Are you unwell? Please tell your Pip!"
"I'm not sure 'my Pip' would understand," said Merry.
"Try him, you ass!" cried Pippin. His agitation had made his voice come out loud and sharp. Pippin drew himself up from the bed and looked down to his cousin with a reproachful glare. "Are we going to follow Frodo or have you suddenly decided to throw out all your plans?"
"Not all, not all," answered Merry. "We will follow Frodo if by that you mean to remain by his side."
"Stars and Glory!" cried Pippin. "It is nigh on midnight, I am dead tired, and you are close as ever! Out with it! Then let us go out to Frodo and Sam, share our intentions, then lay our bones to rest awhile before morning catches up with us! Or do you not trust your cousin anymore?"
Merry heaved a shuddering sigh and dragged his eyes up to Pippin's. "That's the rub; I trust you too much."
Pippin threw Merry an exasperated look, the sort of look that had been traditionally reserved for situations when Pippin, as a lad, was kept out of the loop of "adult" matters because Merry said he was "too young to understand." Merry knew that, this time, silence would not do.
"I trust that you are tender and kind, and well intentioned, Pippin," he said, "And I believe you would give your right arm to the highest bidder right now if you believed it would help Frodo just now. But gentle loyalty will be of no help to Frodo if he is dead. In fact, I believe, my irrepressible Peregrin, that tenderness and indulgence will lead Frodo straight to his doom." Merry's expression grew hard without warning; his eyes darkened to such a blackness that it failed to reflect the candlelight. "Is that what you want, Pippin?" "No, no. No, of course not!" said Pippin, now flustered. "I mean-what do /you/ mean?"
"I mean," said Merry, "That I have had to make some very hard decisions, Pippin. And I have had to make them alone, Pip -alone! And it has been harder than you know!"
"Are you sure you do not suffer needlessly?" answered Pippin. "I wish to help you."
"You wish to help me? Of course you do," said Merry, but distantly, as if speaking in a dream.
"But wouldn't it be easier if first you helped yourself?" asked Pippin. "Why did you strike poor Sam? He's done nothing but help; wouldn't take any money for it either! What is this fey mood that has come over you?"
Pippin flinched the moment the words left his mouth. No sooner had the echo of his words fallen dead to the floor, then the steely glint had re- entered Merry's eyes from some depthless recess of his heart and mind. Pippin shuddered. This beloved cousin whom he had known and adored his entire life, was suddenly as unfamiliar and unpredictable to him as the screeches of the Riders that had echoed through the night at Woody End.
"This fey mood, as you call it, is my concern for our cousin's safety!" said Merry. "I feel as though I am the only thing standing between him and the folly that will betray him to his death. I need help, Pippin. I desperately need to know there is someone whom I can trust with this burden!" Merry's voice was beginning to shred with emotion and it seemed to Pippin that Merry might weep. "I wanted that to be you!"
"You /can/ trust me, Merry," said Pippin. "If you open out and tell me what you need!"
"I need--" began Merry, but he stopped speaking and, without warning, closed the last distance between himself and his cousin. Pippin gasped as Merry's fingers dug into his shoulders and he planted a bruising, nearly violent kiss upon Pippin's lips that sent a shiver through the young hobbit's whole body. Merry kissed Pippin like a possession - more in ownership than in love. When Merry finally pulled back, Pip's mind and body were reeling.
Pippin was breathing hard, as if he had just sprinted across a forbidden field chased by hounds. Pippin opened his mouth to speak, but not words would come.
Pippin loved Merry, loved being close to Merry, relished his advice, craved his touch. But this type of contact was completely beyond the realm of Pippin's experience. It felt like passion, or, perhaps, more like plunder. The kiss resembled a blow in its violence, and Pippin was not sure if he had been loved, or claimed, or both. In many ways, the kiss had been cruel.
Pippin gave Merry an astonished look, neither happy nor sad. Merry's palms surrounded Pippin's flushed face. When he again pulled Pippin closer, he thought Merry would again kiss him. Instead, Merry held Pippin in his gaze, pounding and relentless; a blazing intensity that made Pippin want to look away, yet drew him relentlessly into the twin depths that eddied and swirled, pulling him helplessly into the writhing abyss. Merry's eyes were dark and haunting. Pippin stared into those bottomless pools and had the sudden, unreasoning fear that he might drown..
Not breaking his eye contact, Merry kneeled down, then imprisoned Pippin's wrists in his hands, bringing them up to his lips so that he could kiss his cousin's knuckles with frantic tenderness. "I need you," stated Merry forcefully, and stood up as if to emphasize the point.
Pippin had thirsted for these words, or words like them, ever since he could remember. This bizarre deed on Merry's part had only intensified what had become, for Pippin, a desperate longing, a hunger that could not be sated, a thirst that would not be quenched. Now that Pippin had finally experienced this moment of rapturous connection, he felt hollowed, empty, a yawning vacuum, an open sore.
Unsure of what this new turn implied, Pippin found himself caught between hope and dread, lust and loathing. What would he do if Merry's actions did not mean what he thought they did? What would he do if they did? He was faced with a gift he had thought he longed for, so why was he so unsure now that it had finally been offered? Or had it? It had come wrapped in the package he might have expected, but what lurked inside could prove to be his salvation or his doom and Pippin was suddenly unsure which he craved.
"I-I need you too," said Pippin meekly, but never in his whole life had he ever been less certain of what he required.
Pippin tried to cleanse the webs from his mind. He'd come here to speak about Frodo, and yet he'd only succeeded in having his senses thrown into turmoil. Pippin made to stand up, but was shoved back down with a stern push of Merry's hand.
Pippin glanced up, his eyes bathed in confusion. Merry sat down and moved very close, until there was no space between them. He took Pip's chin in his hand, and turned his head to whisper in his ear.
"You belong to me, dearest Pip. You are mine."
"Yours," said Pippin weakly as if it were a question.
"Mine," emphasized Merry with a kiss to Pippin's forehead. "I love you, dearest Pip," Merry paused for a moment to let those last words sink into Pip's pliable mind. "I love you and I need you now."
"Truly?"
"Yes, Pip," answered Merry. "I have never needed you more than right now. I need you to help me. I need you to help me to help Frodo."
"Yes," echoed Pip, "to help Frodo."
Pippin tried to recall exactly what he had come here to do, but his mind felt wrung out and sucked dry. When the words came, they sounded pinched an insubstantial.
"How shall we?" said Pippin softly. "I mean, what do you suppose ought to be done?"
Merry did not speak for a few moments, but stood up slowly and turned toward the doorway. The hobbits could perceive the soft whispers of Frodo and Sam carried down the corridor, and the rustle of tree branches tapping at the windows.
"First," said Merry abruptly, "we must tend to Sam. "What I did to Sam back there was unforgivable, I know."
Pippin nodded, his expression no longer reproachful.
"I feel beastly about striking poor Sam," continued Merry. He paused, biting his forefinger in thought. "Pippin, there is a small leather pouch of healing herbs in my top left cupboard, right in front. Steep those - will you, dear Peregrin? They will make a lovely tea for Samwise. Just enough for Sam, mind you; the herbs are seasonal and must last the year."
"I'll do it," said Pippin, then paused after a few steps.
"Merry?" he said hesitantly, "I liked your plan just fine." Pippin's voice gradually grew stronger as he continued. ""I think your first instincts were right, Merry. We ought to go with Frodo and Sam tomorrow, I think."
"That decision should be left until morning," answered Merry.
"But what if they give us the slip, sneak off in the morning without us?" asked Pippin desperately. "I mean, things as they are with Sam."
"I'll make my peace with Sam, Pip," said Merry.
Pippin turned toward the door, but halted again at the sound of Merry's voice. "And Pippin," Merry said.
"Mer?"
"I don't want Frodo to hear any announcements about our intentions until I am ready to give them," said Merry in a serious tone with the edges of a threat. "Do you understand? Can I trust you, Pip?"
"Yes," sighed Pippin. "Though I like it not."
And without another word, Pippin, walked to the kitchen.
* * *
Frodo and Sam watched as Merry emerged from the bedroom with the same look of repentance that he had just displayed for Pippin. Sam was alert, now leaning back on his palms and flanked by his master. Sam said nothing, but regarded Merry with a sturdy glare. "This had better be good," he grumbled to himself.
"I am a brute and a fool for striking you, Master Samwise," Merry said as he approached the fallen hobbit. "Forgive me!"
Sam made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat then cast his eyes toward the fire.
"I don't blame you for being put out, not a bit," continued Merry. "It is just that fear for my cousin's safety cuts me deep. I love him so. Surely that is something you understand."
Merry crouched down upon his haunches so that his eyes were level with Sam's. Sam tore his eyes from the fire and reluctantly faced his erstwhile attacker. "Samwise, we still want the same thing, for Frodo to stay safe and whole."
Sam nodded in begrudging acknowledgement.
"You /will/ help us then, Cousin?" asked Frodo hopefully.
"If you will still allow me to help, Frodo," said Merry.
Frodo sighed. "Sam, my lad, do you accept my cousin's apology?"
Sam saw that he had little choice in the matter, and nodded stiffly. "Yea," he answered curtly.
"As do I," said Frodo. "Now Sam and I still have much to do, and very little time in which to do it. You have gone to a lot of trouble, Merry, making this house look like home. I am sorry that it was for nothing, and I hate to ask anything more. But here it is-I would ask if you could wake us at dawn, if we are not already up. We need an early start, and, of course, we need to say our official good-byes. And I do need to get our last preparations together; I did not expect to leave so soon. And this needs to be done before we sleep, though I know that we are all weary beyond endurance. Could this be done?"
"The answer to the second question," said Merry as he stood up, "is that we could get you off in an hour. I have prepared practically everything for you. There are two ponies in the stable across the fields; stores and tackles are all packed, except for a few extra clothes you may want, and the perishable food."
"It seems you have put together a very efficient conspiracy," said Frodo. "No less than I should have expected from you, Merry."
"But," said Merry, "I do not think you will want to leave tonight; you are tired, and those horsemen mean to cause you harm, I believe. So in answer to your first question, yes, I shall wake you."
Sam continued to eye Merry suspiciously as he rubbed his aching jaw. If Merry truly meant to help, why did he no longer mean to come along? Sam threw Merry a meaningful glance, which Merry quickly deflected with a warm smile in Frodo's direction.
"Thank you, Merry," said Frodo. "You are a scoundrel for tricking me, but bless you!"
"Sam," said Merry, "I have asked Pippin to make you some of my very best healing tea. It won't take my action back, it won't make you forgive me, but it may sooth away some of the pain I have caused. And will taste heavenly. Will you accept it as a token of my remorse?"
Sam nodded.
"Let's get you up then, if you can stand," said Merry.
Merry offered Sam his hand, and Sam, taking his cue from Frodo, accepted it.
"Here, here," said Merry as he pulled a still-dizzy Sam off the floor and led him back to his chair. . "Sit down right here, dear Sam. Pip will be out presently with the tea."
Frodo got to his own feet and planted himself protectively behind Sam's chair, unconsciously running his hands through his gardener's hair.
Just then Pippin plodded out of the kitchen bearing a tray laden with a small teapot and cup that rattled and splashed with every step. Frodo thought Pippin looked rather disheveled and secretly wondered what the two had said to each other in the bedroom. Pippin sidled up to Merry; his eyes immediately roving from face to face, to see if Merry's apology had taken. Merry took the steaming cup off the tray.
"Here we go, Sam. Drink this," urged Merry, handing the warm cup to Sam. "You'll feel better in minutes."
Sam did not entirely trust Merry, but his head did throb, and any relief would be welcome. Plus the tea did smell very nice, and he'd consumed enough beer that day for three hobbits. Without a word, he sipped the tea down, poured himself a second cup, and drank that one down as well. The tea tasted just as wonderful as Merry had said, and whether it was from the tea or not, Sam's hurts immediately began to subside. Sam noticed that his head began to swim as if he were intoxicated. He indulged in a cavernous yawn, and his eyes felt as if they were weighted down. The journey had obviously been more wearing than he had known.
"Master Frodo, may I lie down for a spot?" asked Sam, now thoroughly relaxed. "I don't think I can keep my eyes open another moment."
"Go on, Sam," answered Frodo sweetly. "You've earned it."
"Here Samwise," said Merry as he once again offered Sam his hand. "Come. I have a room ready for you. You and Frodo have a big day ahead of you and you will need your rest."
Merry led Sam to one of the bedrooms at the end of the hall, letting Sam lean on his shoulder as they walked. Sam was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.
Frodo settled himself into the first room he came upon that had not been claimed by another hobbit. He savored the big comfortable bed with the knowledge that this would probably be the last time he would be sleeping on such a soft mattress for a very long time. Frodo wondered when he would next see his cousins, and if he ever would return to them or the Shire again. Suddenly, a dark worm of doubt also appeared, niggling deep into his unconscious mind as Frodo shut his eyes against the world. Merry had not been himself, and more than his share of words that night had been carried on the wings of a threat. At times, Frodo had felt he had been looking into the eyes of a stranger, not of his most beloved cousin. Could Merry have been touched by the influence of the Ring? 'No matter,' thought Frodo. 'By tomorrow afternoon I will spirit the ring off beyond the boarders of the Shire where it can do no more harm. I will draw its evil away from those things I hold most dear like poison is drawn from a wound. I will, I will.."
But before Frodo could reflect deeper upon the things he would or would not do, weariness overtook him and he fell into a vague dream. He dreamt that he was looking out a high window above a forest of tangled trees. Dark creatures crawled and sniffed at their roots, and Frodo was sure they would sniff him out sooner or later, probably sooner.
Suddenly he found himself standing in an large open field, enclosed by hedges on one side, and opening up to the woods on the other. He realized then he was looking back from a distance at his own home, at Crickhollow. In the space of a breath he found himself in a forest; not a normal forest, but one which filled his heart with unfathomable dread. Looking up, he saw before him a tall dark tower, its jagged spires piercing the sky, its obsidian surface catching the light of many torches and consuming rather than reflecting it, absorbing the light as if to sate a desire for blackened darkness. And there was the smell of a thousand forges and burning wood rising up through the air, so thick and strong that his throat closed against it and he choked as it seared his throat. A great desire came over him to flee from the place. He tried to struggle up the ridge away from the tower; but suddenly the sound of rushing water overwhelmed all of his senses. It seemed to him then that he was perched at the pinnacle of the tower, staring down across the wide lands, scanning the vast distances for that which he held most dear.
* * *
Pippin stood silently in the parlor, staring at the back of his cousin as Merry banked the fire. Part of him wanted to shake some sense into Merry, force him to reveal his plan, whatever it might be, to Frodo. The other half of Pippin yearned to rush into Merry's arms, as he had as a child, and let Merry tell him what to do. And, as it was an even battle between these two halves, Pippin remained undecided and so, did nothing.
Finally Merry stood up from the hearth and turned to face Pippin, his features bathed in golden light. He divested himself of his jacket and weskit, hanging them on a hook before heading back to his room. Pippin followed Merry's lead; it was time for bed.
"Pip," Merry called, "Please come to bed now."
"I am," Pippin answered, and sauntered down the hall toward the bedrooms.
"No Pip," corrected Merry. "In here. With me."
Pippin whirled around on his foot, his heart beating furiously. Merry was now at his threshold waiting to gather him in a one-armed hug. Pippin had thirsted for this ever since he was deemed "too old" to sleep with his older cousin at the Hall. In those arms, Pippin had always felt safe and whole. These fond memories flooded back as Pippin tossed off his clothes and dove into his nightshirt, then crawled under the covers and sunk into the deep, familiar bed. He felt that Merry, by asking him to share his bed, was now reforging those childhood connections, innocent yet intense.
Merry blew out all the candles, save the one he carried, and with a smile, told Pippin he would be right back after tending to "poor Sam." Merry popped briefly into the room where Sam slept before stepping back into his own room, blowing out the candle, and climbing into the bed beside Pippin.
Merry reached over and encircled his younger cousin in his arms. Pippin sighed audibly. Here, in Merry's arms. It felt like home. Pippin was so enraptured that he forgot to ask himself why, after Merry had left Sam's room, he had perceived the distinct click of a bolt falling into place.
TBC
'Merry just hit Sam!' Pippin thought in amazement as he watched the stocky gardener slam to the floor.
The world had seemed to slow down as Sam and Merry had come to blows. Pippin had stood in place, watching in disbelief at the scene playing out before him. 'You must go - and therefore we must too. Merry and I are coming with you.' Pippin had rehearsed those words in his head dozens of times in the past month, grinning to himself as he imagined Frodo's astonished reaction to this news. But it was Pippin and Sam who were destined to be astonished, as Merry had single-handedly and without warning thwarted their beautiful plan. 'Merry just hit Sam!' thought Pippin, and couldn't pull the memory from his mind. Why? Pippin could make no sense of it.
Merry's flash of rage in the kitchen had scared Pippin, truly, but not as much for fear of his own safety than for the gnawing fear that his Merry was not all right. What if Merry, clever, wise, strong, indomitable Merry, had actually been pushed past the point of endurance? And if Merry could fall, what hope was there for the rest of them?
Pippin did not let his mind linger on this unsettling possibility and turned instead to the cold comfort of rationalization. Merry /had/ hinted before he'd gone off with Fatty that something in the plans might have altered. He /had/ asked Pippin to lead them to Maggot's farm, and had not given Pippin a reason. Perhaps he had known about the riders and did not want to scare him. That would be just like Merry -to take care of difficult problems without needing to be told; to handle problems because they needed handling and not for the veneration. But his change in plans seemed so enormous, so abrupt, especially considering that Merry had made the plan himself months and months ago. Pippin also chafed that Merry had not taken him into his confidence about the change. Why, he had to have told old Fatty, why not his own flesh and blood? Merry, as always, must have had his reasons.
'Merry just hit Sam!' Pippin could not explain that one away. Pippin could not remember one single time that Merry had struck without provocation. True, he had been in his share of childhood brawls when he was a brash and impetuous teen; but never without cause and never ever as the aggressor. Since his tweens, Merry had been the very model of restraint and precocious maturity.
Pippin began to consider Merry's eyes, though he did not want to. Pippin recalled those unfamiliar, cold dark eyes he'd gazed into as Merry raised his hand to strike him. 'Those were not Merry's eyes,' he said to himself before pushing the image back into the recesses of his mind. Pippin could not face an evil so deep that it might be capable of surging upward through his cousin's heart to the very windows of his soul. The surface things were easiest to cure, and, therefore, easiest to dwell upon.
But the surface things were just as troubling for Pippin as any other part if it. 'You are not going anywhere.' That is what Merry had said, plain as day. What in heavens could that mean? Not go anywhere --/tonight?/ tomorrow?/ ever?/ Had Merry completely thrown out the idea of following Frodo and Sam to Rivendell? Did he plan to talk them into not going to Rivendell at all because of the riders? And if that were the case, he would surely not succeed, not if Frodo was determined to do it. Frodo may have been bookish, but when he set his mind to something, he was a force of nature-like a soft-flowing river that powers a hundred mills. Another ridiculous possibility entered Pippin's mind as he pondered the near future. Surely Merry would not physically prevent them from setting off. 'Goodness no!' thought Pippin and banished the thought as soon as it hit his mind.
It suddenly occurred to Pippin that it was growing very late, and Sam and Frodo, at least, would be leaving at dawn. Pippin hoped that he and Merry would be leaving with them. 'Oi!' he thought, 'We must all be off to bed, come what may. I must do /something/!"
But what could he do? Pippin considered Merry's original scheme for a moment. It had been a wonderful plan, a perfect plan! Merry had worked very hard to keep it secret from Frodo, and had put many extra miles upon the soles of his feet to coordinate things with Fatty and Sam. This change seemed impetuous for Merry, who had left the last vestiges of hastiness behind on his twentieth birthday. It seemed a great pity- nay! A tragedy for all of Merry's hard work to founder upon a last minute crisis of confidence, as Pippin imagined it.
The image flashed in Pippin's mind of Merry clinging on to him for dear life in the kitchen after his first episode. Merry surely needed him. He'd asked for Pippin's help, and Pippin would give it to him. Perhaps now was the time for Pippin to show his qualities. If Merry had, somehow, come undone, it was now for Pippin to talk some sense into him-a small recompense for all the times Merry had done this for him over the years. Pippin would get Merry's conspiracy back on track, for surely that is what Merry, when he was feeling better, would want. Merry would thank him for it and would reward Pippin with respect.
Pippin padded over to the trio huddled by the hearth, their figures thrown into shadow by the bright flames. Frodo was still trying to rouse Sam to full consciousness. Merry was patting Sam's leg and seemed to be muttering a solid stream of apologies. At least, as far as Pippin saw, Frodo was not bidding Merry to stand down; Frodo was not paying much attention to Merry at all.
Pippin placed his small hand on Merry's shoulder, flinching a bit as Merry turned his head. Much to Pippin's relief, Merry's face was open to him again; the eyes that peering up at him clear and lit only by the lively orange light of the fire. Merry gave Pippin a smile edged with remorse and looked more than a little vulnerable.
"Merry?" said Pippin.
Merry gave a quick nod to Frodo and stood up slowly. Of course he knew that Pippin would wish to speak with him. Merry wrapped his arm around Pippin for support, as if the outburst had physically drained him. Pippin smiled, thrilled at the opportunity, for once, to be the trestle rather than the tabletop.
Pippin led Merry into the first door to the left along the corridor. This happened to be the room that Merry had chosen to sleep in for the duration of their stay at Crickhollow, which Pippin had assumed would be short. As they entered, Pippin was struck by how thoroughly Merry had set up the large comfortable room. A few small pieces of furniture, such as the spindly bed stand, had come from Bag End, but Pippin was surprised to see furniture he recognized from Brandy Hall, including Merry's engraved dresser, the cedar wardrobe, and the shiny brass bed frame-if not the bed itself. The forest-green man-size blanket was certainly from the Hall, as Pippin had admired it ever since Merry had brought it back from Bree the year before. Pippin realized that this, in essence, was a transplanted version of Merry's room here in Crickhollow. Pippin was not sure whether this fact comforted him or not.
Pippin eased Merry onto the bed and went to light the candles in the sconces. The room was soon bathed in a soft, flickering glow that made surreal ghost shadows caper languidly along the walls of the room and made wisps of Merry's curly chestnut hair shine like spun gold.
"Come sit with me," said Merry softly, his voice barely rising above the spluttering of the candles. "You want me to tell you a few things, I suppose."
Pippin did as he was bid, the soft mattress ensconcing him in its luxury as it yielded to his weight. "This is your bed, isn't it, Merry-I mean, your whole bed?" asked Pippin.
"You might have known as soon as it swallowed you up to your neck," chided Merry with a weak chuckle. "I remember you always begging to sleep with me when your family came calling because, compared to this beauty, the guest bed felt like a pile of bricks wrapped in a sheet." Merry patted the bed approvingly, then looked up into impatient eyes. Merry sighed. "I'm chattering, I know. Truth be told, Pip, I've been dreading this conversation."
"Mer," sighed Pippin, now looking down at his hands, "what is going on? Are you unwell? Please tell your Pip!"
"I'm not sure 'my Pip' would understand," said Merry.
"Try him, you ass!" cried Pippin. His agitation had made his voice come out loud and sharp. Pippin drew himself up from the bed and looked down to his cousin with a reproachful glare. "Are we going to follow Frodo or have you suddenly decided to throw out all your plans?"
"Not all, not all," answered Merry. "We will follow Frodo if by that you mean to remain by his side."
"Stars and Glory!" cried Pippin. "It is nigh on midnight, I am dead tired, and you are close as ever! Out with it! Then let us go out to Frodo and Sam, share our intentions, then lay our bones to rest awhile before morning catches up with us! Or do you not trust your cousin anymore?"
Merry heaved a shuddering sigh and dragged his eyes up to Pippin's. "That's the rub; I trust you too much."
Pippin threw Merry an exasperated look, the sort of look that had been traditionally reserved for situations when Pippin, as a lad, was kept out of the loop of "adult" matters because Merry said he was "too young to understand." Merry knew that, this time, silence would not do.
"I trust that you are tender and kind, and well intentioned, Pippin," he said, "And I believe you would give your right arm to the highest bidder right now if you believed it would help Frodo just now. But gentle loyalty will be of no help to Frodo if he is dead. In fact, I believe, my irrepressible Peregrin, that tenderness and indulgence will lead Frodo straight to his doom." Merry's expression grew hard without warning; his eyes darkened to such a blackness that it failed to reflect the candlelight. "Is that what you want, Pippin?" "No, no. No, of course not!" said Pippin, now flustered. "I mean-what do /you/ mean?"
"I mean," said Merry, "That I have had to make some very hard decisions, Pippin. And I have had to make them alone, Pip -alone! And it has been harder than you know!"
"Are you sure you do not suffer needlessly?" answered Pippin. "I wish to help you."
"You wish to help me? Of course you do," said Merry, but distantly, as if speaking in a dream.
"But wouldn't it be easier if first you helped yourself?" asked Pippin. "Why did you strike poor Sam? He's done nothing but help; wouldn't take any money for it either! What is this fey mood that has come over you?"
Pippin flinched the moment the words left his mouth. No sooner had the echo of his words fallen dead to the floor, then the steely glint had re- entered Merry's eyes from some depthless recess of his heart and mind. Pippin shuddered. This beloved cousin whom he had known and adored his entire life, was suddenly as unfamiliar and unpredictable to him as the screeches of the Riders that had echoed through the night at Woody End.
"This fey mood, as you call it, is my concern for our cousin's safety!" said Merry. "I feel as though I am the only thing standing between him and the folly that will betray him to his death. I need help, Pippin. I desperately need to know there is someone whom I can trust with this burden!" Merry's voice was beginning to shred with emotion and it seemed to Pippin that Merry might weep. "I wanted that to be you!"
"You /can/ trust me, Merry," said Pippin. "If you open out and tell me what you need!"
"I need--" began Merry, but he stopped speaking and, without warning, closed the last distance between himself and his cousin. Pippin gasped as Merry's fingers dug into his shoulders and he planted a bruising, nearly violent kiss upon Pippin's lips that sent a shiver through the young hobbit's whole body. Merry kissed Pippin like a possession - more in ownership than in love. When Merry finally pulled back, Pip's mind and body were reeling.
Pippin was breathing hard, as if he had just sprinted across a forbidden field chased by hounds. Pippin opened his mouth to speak, but not words would come.
Pippin loved Merry, loved being close to Merry, relished his advice, craved his touch. But this type of contact was completely beyond the realm of Pippin's experience. It felt like passion, or, perhaps, more like plunder. The kiss resembled a blow in its violence, and Pippin was not sure if he had been loved, or claimed, or both. In many ways, the kiss had been cruel.
Pippin gave Merry an astonished look, neither happy nor sad. Merry's palms surrounded Pippin's flushed face. When he again pulled Pippin closer, he thought Merry would again kiss him. Instead, Merry held Pippin in his gaze, pounding and relentless; a blazing intensity that made Pippin want to look away, yet drew him relentlessly into the twin depths that eddied and swirled, pulling him helplessly into the writhing abyss. Merry's eyes were dark and haunting. Pippin stared into those bottomless pools and had the sudden, unreasoning fear that he might drown..
Not breaking his eye contact, Merry kneeled down, then imprisoned Pippin's wrists in his hands, bringing them up to his lips so that he could kiss his cousin's knuckles with frantic tenderness. "I need you," stated Merry forcefully, and stood up as if to emphasize the point.
Pippin had thirsted for these words, or words like them, ever since he could remember. This bizarre deed on Merry's part had only intensified what had become, for Pippin, a desperate longing, a hunger that could not be sated, a thirst that would not be quenched. Now that Pippin had finally experienced this moment of rapturous connection, he felt hollowed, empty, a yawning vacuum, an open sore.
Unsure of what this new turn implied, Pippin found himself caught between hope and dread, lust and loathing. What would he do if Merry's actions did not mean what he thought they did? What would he do if they did? He was faced with a gift he had thought he longed for, so why was he so unsure now that it had finally been offered? Or had it? It had come wrapped in the package he might have expected, but what lurked inside could prove to be his salvation or his doom and Pippin was suddenly unsure which he craved.
"I-I need you too," said Pippin meekly, but never in his whole life had he ever been less certain of what he required.
Pippin tried to cleanse the webs from his mind. He'd come here to speak about Frodo, and yet he'd only succeeded in having his senses thrown into turmoil. Pippin made to stand up, but was shoved back down with a stern push of Merry's hand.
Pippin glanced up, his eyes bathed in confusion. Merry sat down and moved very close, until there was no space between them. He took Pip's chin in his hand, and turned his head to whisper in his ear.
"You belong to me, dearest Pip. You are mine."
"Yours," said Pippin weakly as if it were a question.
"Mine," emphasized Merry with a kiss to Pippin's forehead. "I love you, dearest Pip," Merry paused for a moment to let those last words sink into Pip's pliable mind. "I love you and I need you now."
"Truly?"
"Yes, Pip," answered Merry. "I have never needed you more than right now. I need you to help me. I need you to help me to help Frodo."
"Yes," echoed Pip, "to help Frodo."
Pippin tried to recall exactly what he had come here to do, but his mind felt wrung out and sucked dry. When the words came, they sounded pinched an insubstantial.
"How shall we?" said Pippin softly. "I mean, what do you suppose ought to be done?"
Merry did not speak for a few moments, but stood up slowly and turned toward the doorway. The hobbits could perceive the soft whispers of Frodo and Sam carried down the corridor, and the rustle of tree branches tapping at the windows.
"First," said Merry abruptly, "we must tend to Sam. "What I did to Sam back there was unforgivable, I know."
Pippin nodded, his expression no longer reproachful.
"I feel beastly about striking poor Sam," continued Merry. He paused, biting his forefinger in thought. "Pippin, there is a small leather pouch of healing herbs in my top left cupboard, right in front. Steep those - will you, dear Peregrin? They will make a lovely tea for Samwise. Just enough for Sam, mind you; the herbs are seasonal and must last the year."
"I'll do it," said Pippin, then paused after a few steps.
"Merry?" he said hesitantly, "I liked your plan just fine." Pippin's voice gradually grew stronger as he continued. ""I think your first instincts were right, Merry. We ought to go with Frodo and Sam tomorrow, I think."
"That decision should be left until morning," answered Merry.
"But what if they give us the slip, sneak off in the morning without us?" asked Pippin desperately. "I mean, things as they are with Sam."
"I'll make my peace with Sam, Pip," said Merry.
Pippin turned toward the door, but halted again at the sound of Merry's voice. "And Pippin," Merry said.
"Mer?"
"I don't want Frodo to hear any announcements about our intentions until I am ready to give them," said Merry in a serious tone with the edges of a threat. "Do you understand? Can I trust you, Pip?"
"Yes," sighed Pippin. "Though I like it not."
And without another word, Pippin, walked to the kitchen.
* * *
Frodo and Sam watched as Merry emerged from the bedroom with the same look of repentance that he had just displayed for Pippin. Sam was alert, now leaning back on his palms and flanked by his master. Sam said nothing, but regarded Merry with a sturdy glare. "This had better be good," he grumbled to himself.
"I am a brute and a fool for striking you, Master Samwise," Merry said as he approached the fallen hobbit. "Forgive me!"
Sam made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat then cast his eyes toward the fire.
"I don't blame you for being put out, not a bit," continued Merry. "It is just that fear for my cousin's safety cuts me deep. I love him so. Surely that is something you understand."
Merry crouched down upon his haunches so that his eyes were level with Sam's. Sam tore his eyes from the fire and reluctantly faced his erstwhile attacker. "Samwise, we still want the same thing, for Frodo to stay safe and whole."
Sam nodded in begrudging acknowledgement.
"You /will/ help us then, Cousin?" asked Frodo hopefully.
"If you will still allow me to help, Frodo," said Merry.
Frodo sighed. "Sam, my lad, do you accept my cousin's apology?"
Sam saw that he had little choice in the matter, and nodded stiffly. "Yea," he answered curtly.
"As do I," said Frodo. "Now Sam and I still have much to do, and very little time in which to do it. You have gone to a lot of trouble, Merry, making this house look like home. I am sorry that it was for nothing, and I hate to ask anything more. But here it is-I would ask if you could wake us at dawn, if we are not already up. We need an early start, and, of course, we need to say our official good-byes. And I do need to get our last preparations together; I did not expect to leave so soon. And this needs to be done before we sleep, though I know that we are all weary beyond endurance. Could this be done?"
"The answer to the second question," said Merry as he stood up, "is that we could get you off in an hour. I have prepared practically everything for you. There are two ponies in the stable across the fields; stores and tackles are all packed, except for a few extra clothes you may want, and the perishable food."
"It seems you have put together a very efficient conspiracy," said Frodo. "No less than I should have expected from you, Merry."
"But," said Merry, "I do not think you will want to leave tonight; you are tired, and those horsemen mean to cause you harm, I believe. So in answer to your first question, yes, I shall wake you."
Sam continued to eye Merry suspiciously as he rubbed his aching jaw. If Merry truly meant to help, why did he no longer mean to come along? Sam threw Merry a meaningful glance, which Merry quickly deflected with a warm smile in Frodo's direction.
"Thank you, Merry," said Frodo. "You are a scoundrel for tricking me, but bless you!"
"Sam," said Merry, "I have asked Pippin to make you some of my very best healing tea. It won't take my action back, it won't make you forgive me, but it may sooth away some of the pain I have caused. And will taste heavenly. Will you accept it as a token of my remorse?"
Sam nodded.
"Let's get you up then, if you can stand," said Merry.
Merry offered Sam his hand, and Sam, taking his cue from Frodo, accepted it.
"Here, here," said Merry as he pulled a still-dizzy Sam off the floor and led him back to his chair. . "Sit down right here, dear Sam. Pip will be out presently with the tea."
Frodo got to his own feet and planted himself protectively behind Sam's chair, unconsciously running his hands through his gardener's hair.
Just then Pippin plodded out of the kitchen bearing a tray laden with a small teapot and cup that rattled and splashed with every step. Frodo thought Pippin looked rather disheveled and secretly wondered what the two had said to each other in the bedroom. Pippin sidled up to Merry; his eyes immediately roving from face to face, to see if Merry's apology had taken. Merry took the steaming cup off the tray.
"Here we go, Sam. Drink this," urged Merry, handing the warm cup to Sam. "You'll feel better in minutes."
Sam did not entirely trust Merry, but his head did throb, and any relief would be welcome. Plus the tea did smell very nice, and he'd consumed enough beer that day for three hobbits. Without a word, he sipped the tea down, poured himself a second cup, and drank that one down as well. The tea tasted just as wonderful as Merry had said, and whether it was from the tea or not, Sam's hurts immediately began to subside. Sam noticed that his head began to swim as if he were intoxicated. He indulged in a cavernous yawn, and his eyes felt as if they were weighted down. The journey had obviously been more wearing than he had known.
"Master Frodo, may I lie down for a spot?" asked Sam, now thoroughly relaxed. "I don't think I can keep my eyes open another moment."
"Go on, Sam," answered Frodo sweetly. "You've earned it."
"Here Samwise," said Merry as he once again offered Sam his hand. "Come. I have a room ready for you. You and Frodo have a big day ahead of you and you will need your rest."
Merry led Sam to one of the bedrooms at the end of the hall, letting Sam lean on his shoulder as they walked. Sam was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.
Frodo settled himself into the first room he came upon that had not been claimed by another hobbit. He savored the big comfortable bed with the knowledge that this would probably be the last time he would be sleeping on such a soft mattress for a very long time. Frodo wondered when he would next see his cousins, and if he ever would return to them or the Shire again. Suddenly, a dark worm of doubt also appeared, niggling deep into his unconscious mind as Frodo shut his eyes against the world. Merry had not been himself, and more than his share of words that night had been carried on the wings of a threat. At times, Frodo had felt he had been looking into the eyes of a stranger, not of his most beloved cousin. Could Merry have been touched by the influence of the Ring? 'No matter,' thought Frodo. 'By tomorrow afternoon I will spirit the ring off beyond the boarders of the Shire where it can do no more harm. I will draw its evil away from those things I hold most dear like poison is drawn from a wound. I will, I will.."
But before Frodo could reflect deeper upon the things he would or would not do, weariness overtook him and he fell into a vague dream. He dreamt that he was looking out a high window above a forest of tangled trees. Dark creatures crawled and sniffed at their roots, and Frodo was sure they would sniff him out sooner or later, probably sooner.
Suddenly he found himself standing in an large open field, enclosed by hedges on one side, and opening up to the woods on the other. He realized then he was looking back from a distance at his own home, at Crickhollow. In the space of a breath he found himself in a forest; not a normal forest, but one which filled his heart with unfathomable dread. Looking up, he saw before him a tall dark tower, its jagged spires piercing the sky, its obsidian surface catching the light of many torches and consuming rather than reflecting it, absorbing the light as if to sate a desire for blackened darkness. And there was the smell of a thousand forges and burning wood rising up through the air, so thick and strong that his throat closed against it and he choked as it seared his throat. A great desire came over him to flee from the place. He tried to struggle up the ridge away from the tower; but suddenly the sound of rushing water overwhelmed all of his senses. It seemed to him then that he was perched at the pinnacle of the tower, staring down across the wide lands, scanning the vast distances for that which he held most dear.
* * *
Pippin stood silently in the parlor, staring at the back of his cousin as Merry banked the fire. Part of him wanted to shake some sense into Merry, force him to reveal his plan, whatever it might be, to Frodo. The other half of Pippin yearned to rush into Merry's arms, as he had as a child, and let Merry tell him what to do. And, as it was an even battle between these two halves, Pippin remained undecided and so, did nothing.
Finally Merry stood up from the hearth and turned to face Pippin, his features bathed in golden light. He divested himself of his jacket and weskit, hanging them on a hook before heading back to his room. Pippin followed Merry's lead; it was time for bed.
"Pip," Merry called, "Please come to bed now."
"I am," Pippin answered, and sauntered down the hall toward the bedrooms.
"No Pip," corrected Merry. "In here. With me."
Pippin whirled around on his foot, his heart beating furiously. Merry was now at his threshold waiting to gather him in a one-armed hug. Pippin had thirsted for this ever since he was deemed "too old" to sleep with his older cousin at the Hall. In those arms, Pippin had always felt safe and whole. These fond memories flooded back as Pippin tossed off his clothes and dove into his nightshirt, then crawled under the covers and sunk into the deep, familiar bed. He felt that Merry, by asking him to share his bed, was now reforging those childhood connections, innocent yet intense.
Merry blew out all the candles, save the one he carried, and with a smile, told Pippin he would be right back after tending to "poor Sam." Merry popped briefly into the room where Sam slept before stepping back into his own room, blowing out the candle, and climbing into the bed beside Pippin.
Merry reached over and encircled his younger cousin in his arms. Pippin sighed audibly. Here, in Merry's arms. It felt like home. Pippin was so enraptured that he forgot to ask himself why, after Merry had left Sam's room, he had perceived the distinct click of a bolt falling into place.
TBC