Chapter 3: Slumber
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Frodo awoke with a start. The sun was already peeking over the hills of Buckland and streaming hesitantly through the shutters in Frodo's room. The panic hit his gut like the blow of a sledgehammer. In addition to the manifest anxiety of his hopeless errand, Frodo added the strain of knowing that he had overslept. Frodo tore the covers off of his protesting body as if they were made of fire and stumbled out of bed. He had planned to depart with Samwise at dawn, and he was already behind schedule.
Frodo pulled on his clothes with no great care, fumbling with his buttons using sleep-stiffened fingers that moved like dry branches in a churning wind. He fastened his shirt once, then twice with the buttons askew before finally coaxing his fingers to do it right. 'Blast it, but this is a bad start!' huffed Frodo, tripping over the legs of his breeches as he pulled them up. Frodo rushed up to the hook on the wall holding his jacket, but his feet moved as if they were made of brick. His uncooperative toe caught on an uneven floorboard and Frodo pitched forward to the floor, landing on outstretched palms. He cursed under his breath as he scrambled up. 'Will nothing go right this day?' Frodo growled. Frodo pulled his jacket down with a sharp tug to the sleeve; the jacket, hook and all, clanged to the floor, leaving an acorn-sized gash in the wall. The Ring rolled out of the jacket pocket and across the floor, its progress halted when its cold mass collided with Frodo's furry foot. At this point, Frodo was undone. 'Cursed thing!' he muttered to the gold Ring mocking him from the floor. 'Curse you and the monster that made you! Would that Bilbo had never found you!'
Just then Gandalf's words came flooding back to Frodo. "Bilbo was /meant/ to find the Ring. In which case you also were /meant/ to have it."
"Was I?" said Frodo to the empty room. "Could you find no more worthy steward for such a bane! And where are you, Gandalf, you who were supposed to help me bear this burden 'as long as it is yours to bear'?" Frodo imagined himself casting the wretched trinket into the mountain of fire, laughing and jeering at the Ring as it plunged to its own doom. But, then, a second competing thought came to mind- a sense of regret that something so perfect should be unmade beyond recall.
Frodo was reeled back to the present by the sounds of movement carried down the corridor. He realized that he was standing stock still staring unblinking at the Ring at his feet. Frodo did not know how long he had stood locked in a trance, but became suddenly aware that the Ring resting cold against his foot, was causing a distinct discomfort - as if It were alive somehow.aware and watching him. His skin crawled and he leaned down and seized up the Ring, squeezing it in his palm as if he hoped to crush it to dust in his bare hand. Frodo straightened himself, yet did not move toward the door; his consuming need for haste momentarily forgotten. He opened his fingers slowly, considering the Ring that sat enthroned upon his pale palm, and noting with detached curiosity that his fingers quivered.
Then, just as quickly as it had been cast, the spell was broken. Frodo plucked his jacket off the floor in a wrinkled bundle, shook it back into shape, and began to don it hastily. No sooner was his right arm halfway in its velvet sheath than Frodo was rushing quickly to the door. He dropped the Ring back home in his pocket and snatched up his pack leaning beside the threshold. Frodo's conscious mind had assumed that it had been his intention to fly out the door and race to rouse his Sam; but there he was, paused with his hand on the doorknob.
He shook his head, attempting to uncobble his thoughts. Though he had just put it way, Frodo patted his pocket to check for his dangerous burden. Still there. His fingers lingered over the velvet that separated his hand from the Ring. He fought the compulsion to fondle the Ring, to curl up in a ball and stare into its aurous depths until the end of time, to tear himself from all the cares that pressed down upon him and pass into oblivion with his beckoning bane. His hand was no longer clutching the doorknob, but squeezing the bridge of his nose in the vain attempt to clear his mind. 'Go! Go!' a part of his mind urged with the voice of Gandalf. 'Come! Come!' begged another with a voice that hissed like a serpent and stung like death. Frodo's hand again grappled for the brass knob, and when his fingers latched on, Frodo wrenched the knob to the right so violently that the recoil clapped like thunder. Frodo startled as if he might implode, then blustered through the door and into the dusky hallway.
The corridor was still bathed in a hazy darkness, and Frodo charged blindly in the direction he assumed Sam's room to be. He moved his head wildly from side to side, his mind jangling too frantically to focus his eyes.
"Oomph!" Frodo's slender frame collided with the broad one of Merry who seemed to have emerged whole and all at once from the dim of the hall.
"Merry--" exclaimed Frodo breathlessly as a circle of candlelight lifted to reveal the smiling face of his cousin.
"Good morrow, Frodo!" chirped Merry who was now straightening a weskit ruffled by the impact.
"Why did you not wake me?" stormed Frodo, too put out to worry about courtesy. "We must be off before the sun rises much higher! Where is Sam?"
The words tumbled out of Frodo's mouth so quickly that he scarcely finished one sentence before spilling the next over it.
"Calm yourself, Cousin" said Merry. "I have Pippin packing your perishables as we speak. You cannot leave until we have stowed your meat, unless you hope to survive on boiled grass and bracken. Now slow down, Frodo. Breakfast is waiting in the kitchen. I have not been idle while you slept. We will set you off in proper form, or I am no host."
The mask of frenzy dropped from Frodo's face and he allowed himself to breathe.
"There now," said Merry, clasping his steadying hands upon Frodo's shoulders and kneading them into submission. "And you may wish to wash your face if you do not wish to scare Samwise; you look like death."
"Alright," said Frodo, "alright."
Merry led Frodo into his own room where a pitcher and a basin of warm, fragrant water sat waiting upon the bed stand opposite the door. Frodo scanned the room and immediately noticed Merry's family furniture, starkly obvious when mingled with his own. Frodo thought this queer, but said nothing, and took the towel handed to him by Merry.
"There, now, Frodo, wash up!" Merry said. "It would do no harm to let Samwise sleep for a few more minutes while you pull yourself together."
Frodo nodded and began to splash the aromatic water over his face and neck. Merry had been right, his mind seemed to calm instantly and leaving in the next moment seemed only urgent, but no longer deadly. When he was finished, Frodo patted his dripping face with the towel, rubbed his eyes, took a deep breath, and straightened himself. Merry smiled.
"Better?"
"Yes," said Frodo. "But now I'm afraid I must awaken Sam."
Merry raised his eyebrows and seemed to close in. Frodo glanced quizzically at his cousin's face, which he now found inscrutable and closed to him. Frodo felt instantly unsettled.
"Are you so sure that Sam does not need his rest?" asked Merry calmly as if this were a normal question under the circumstances.
Frodo's brow knitted in exasperation. "Surely he does!" he answered sharply. "As do I. But it can't be helped. We must go. We are in danger, and we must put some distance between ourselves and the Black Riders before we can sleep in peace .and did we not have this very discussion last night?" Frodo's voice betrayed the sharp edge of irritation. He was in a desperate hurry and had no time for this conversation.
It occurred to Frodo that Merry was standing too close, and he instinctively leaned back on a foot and sidled in the direction of the door. Merry did not seem himself. A wriggling doubt coalesced in Frodo's mind and drifted to his face, now pinched with unease. Frodo felt himself tense and absently drove his fingernails into his palms to the point of pain. He stood silent for a few endless moments, his face bathed in confusion, his fingers drumming his thighs in time to his quickening heartbeat.
If Frodo's fidgeting was a signal for Merry to step aside, then his cousin had missed his cue.
"Merry? Shall we go wake Sam now?" Frodo's voice sounded weak and tinny in his own ears and he cringed.
Something unsettling had entered Merry's eyes. Though Merry smiled, his eyes remained blank as slates, devoid of living light. Frodo's throat tightened; the air in the room suddenly seemed oppressively heavy. Frodo submerged a primal, unaccountable desire to turn tail, fly from the room, out of the house, and fling himself on the mercy of the Riders. But this instinct was absurd. The morning light played tricks with the shadows in both the eyes and the mind. Surely Frodo was in no peril, though his thudding heart told a different tale.
"Merry?" Frodo repeated.
Merry's fingers around Frodo's neck in a gesture, though meant to be comforting, sent gooseflesh crawling down his back. Merry did not speak, but ushered Frodo from the room and down the gloom of the corridor, his candle bestowing a fragile light as the walked.
"Hold this, will you Frodo?" said Merry, stuffing the candle into Frodo's quivering and unprepared hands. The candle burnt low now, guttering its last valiant breaths and offering only dim relief from the shadows that encroached and all but obscured it. Merry fumbled with the door a bit, rattling and shaking the knob while pressing on the door's edge with a fist. For an instant, the glint of metal flickered between the slats of Merry's fingers before, with a snick followed by a creak, the door swung open.
"All yours," said Merry as he motioned his hand toward the still form beneath the covers.
The room was still immersed in a gauzy twilight, the sun not yet high enough to pierce through the gloom. The small round window, set high in the wall, did not coax in any useful light, and Frodo's only way of making out Sam's form was with the quivering light of Merry's dying candle.
Frodo entered the room, trailed closely by Merry, and together they plodded toward the shadowed expanse of rumpled bedding where Sam lay, asleep. Frodo leaned over his friend, and gently patted his shoulder.
"Sam, time to wake, Sam," said Frodo quietly; but there was no response.
"Sam, dear Samwise," said Frodo, now prodding harder. "Time to wake up, my friend."
Again, Sam did not stir. Frodo knew that Sam was a heavy sleeper, and that both of them had endured a long stint of walking. Thus he was not unduly distressed; but laid his hands on Sam's broad shoulders and shook him a little.
"Sam?" The hint of anxiety was beginning to creep into Frodo's voice.
Frodo stood back a moment, observing that Sam neither stirred, nor snored. Frodo leaned his head down near Sam's chest. Sam's breathing was even, but slow.
Frodo shook Sam harder. Gradually his gentle shakes turned more desperate and jarring. The last ones had descended into outright pushing and Frodo's voice took on a ragged edge.
"Sam? Sam?..SAM!?"
Frodo's cries echoed off the walls of the room but had no effect upon the figure sprawled motionless under the blankets.
Suddenly the dark realization hit Frodo.
"Merry -Sam is not asleep!" cried Frodo. "He is unconscious!"
"Yes," answered Merry. "I know."
Frodo stared at Merry, mouth agape, disbelieving eyes thrown wide.
"What?"
"I know. Sam has been this way since I tried to wake him earlier this morning to assist with your preparations. I should not call him unconscious, though; indeed, Frodo, Sam is just very deeply asleep. He was exhausted last night as you well might expect."
"Exhausted people still WAKE UP!" replied Frodo despairingly. He continued shaking Sam while calling his name. This continued for the space of several minutes; but Frodo coaxed no more than a deep slow groan from Sam that sounded involuntary enough to be a death rattle. Frodo turned abruptly to Merry, noting with irritation that his cousin seemed unduly collected.
"Merry!" yelled Frodo. "What did you do to Sam? Why won't he wake up?!"
"Do to him," answered Merry calmly. "Certainly nothing. And," he continued, "that accusation was hurtful."
"Well then," blared Frodo, "What is to be done? How can you just stand there? Help me!"
"And what would you have me do?" asked Merry, rather put out. "If you jostle him any harder you'll jangle his teeth right out of his head! My advice, let him be! He obviously needs rest; let him take it!"
"I just want Sam to wake up, Mer!" cried Frodo, as much to himself as to Merry. "Sam! Sam!" Frodo continued to yell and shake, tension shooting from all of his limbs, his mind in turmoil. Despite Merry's infuriating calm, a quiet panic had set itself in his heart. Sam was not alright and Frodo knew it.
At that moment Pippin came sliding through the door with a tray service stacked with eggs and cakes, and a small blue teapot. He spoke with a distinctly incongruous chirp, "The ponies are ready, and here's breakfast!"
Pippin instantly noticed his fine breakfast was being roundly ignored, then caught sight of Frodo leaning desperately upon the motionless figure shrouded in the sheets. Whatever Merry's plan was, Pippin thought, this was not part of it.
"Frodo!" exclaimed Pippin, "What is wrong with Sam?"
"I-DON'T-KNOW!" cried Frodo as his turned to face Pippin with wild eyes. His voice was torn with ragged desperation. He was clearly distraught.
Frodo clutched handfuls of Sam's blanket in his fist, still calling, still getting no response. Pippin instantly set down his clattering service and ran up beside Frodo to try and rouse Sam with his own small hands.
"Sam, wake up you sluggard!" called Pippin. "Your master will take on so if you don't. Sam!"
Pippin's ministrations had been no more effective than Frodo's. Pippin glanced up to Merry and cried, "Merry why won't Sam wake up, do you think?"
"How do you think I would know, stupid ass?!" snapped Merry. Pippin's face flushed with pain as if he had just been hit. Merry had always used these types of terms as pet names, or in jest, but Merry had just wielded them in true scalding derision, and it hurt. But hurt as he was, Pippin's distress at Sam's strange condition was foremost in his mind. Merry's own frustration over Sam's condition and his own inability to fix it was surely at the root of his uncharacteristic behavior. And with that simple explanation in mind, Pippin chanced a reply.
"I thought you might know," said Pippin with lowered, yet reproachful eyes, "because it seems you always to know how to mend just about anything."
A wave of guilt flowed over Merry's face and he flushed. "I'm sorry for that, Pip," Merry said, wrapping his arm around Pippin's shoulders and drawing him into a quick embrace. "Sam is just plain tired, I think, and there is nothing to do for that then to allow him his rest. He'll awaken, I'm sure; but perhaps not now."
"But he must!" broke in Frodo. "I mean, I must go now, and Sam must go with me."
Merry's face hardened again and he let loose a snort. "Well, cousin, he is not going as he is unless you plan to strap him to your pony like baggage."
"I haven't ruled it out," replied Frodo mournfully, and only half joking.
"Tell me again, cousin," said Merry, "What is your great hurry?"
Even as Frodo tore his gaze from Sam to retort, he noticed the first frail rays of sunlight reaching through the window and transforming the weighted grey of the room to a dusky gold. It was getting later by the minute.
"Merry," began Frodo sharply, "I know and appreciate your feelings on this, and they have been heard, considered, and rejected. If you truly wish to assist me, then, good heavens, stop harping on the topic and help me wake my traveling companion!"
"I will think of something," answered Merry flatly, "And I will help, if any help I could give might be of use."
Pippin again sauntered over to Frodo's side and placed a reassuring hand on Frodo's back.
"See there, Frodo," said Pippin softly. "Merry will make everything all right. He's terribly clever, you know!"
"Clever or treacherous?" thought Frodo to himself, though he dismissed the suspicion almost before it reached his conscious mind.
All three hobbits stood around the bed in silence for a few moments, Merry at the end of the bed looking pensive, Pippin patting Frodo's back, Frodo looking miserable like one who returns home to a house in flames. Finally Pippin spoke.
"Perhaps we can retrace Sam's actions over the last days to try and piece together what might have happened to make him, well, like this."
Merry suddenly locked his sights on his younger cousin like a guard dog ready to pounce at the slightest hint of danger. Pippin did not feel the weight of Merry's glare, but noticed that neither cousin replied.
"And if none of us can remember anything," he continued wearily, "Perhaps we can drink some of the tea I brought in to help us relax and think clearly."
Frodo's eyes lit up as an unwanted thought hit his mind.
"Pip!" Frodo exclaimed. "What was in the tea you gave to Sam last night?"
"Just the pouch of healing herbs from the far cupboard-"
Without a word, Frodo dashed out of the room to the kitchen.
Pip turned to Merry, only to be met with a savage slap across his face. Pip's whole head reeled, and he fought to keep his balance. Tears spilled from his eyes, as much from shock as in pain. Pippin gazed up at Merry, his face swimming with hurt. Pippin felt like a pane of glass that would shatter if Merry stayed angry with him; yet had no idea what he had done to cause this reaction.
"Merry-?"
"You let ME handle this!" exclaimed Merry in a hushed voice that nevertheless cut through the air. "I will ASK for your help when it is required. It is NOT yet required."
"But," asked Pippin, "What are your plans? How can I help if you don't share what we are to do?"
Pippin's meek question was answered with another opened handed clout to his face. It hurt, and now Pippin was terrified that he'd be pounded to a pulp if he did not stop talking. Those eyes! Those terrible eyes were back! And this time the dark force that surged up unexpected in Merry had caused him to do something he had never ever done to Pippin; strike him in anger. Pippin waited for the shocked apology, the caresses that followed Merry's last outburst. They did not come. Instead, Merry assessed Pippin icily with a stare that made Pippin quiver. Pippin wanted to flee from the room, curl up in a corner, and sob. He had already lost his battle with tears where he stood. But Merry, it seemed, would offer nothing that felt like comfort.
"Wipe off your face and pull yourself together before Frodo returns," said Merry coldly as he handed Pip his handkerchief. "You shall not hinder me further without consequences. Understand, love?"
The last word had been uttered as if it were a curse. Pippin nodded. He felt as if he were being stabbed.
Pippin spent the next few minutes pressing the cloth down upon his eyes, as if pressure would stop the flood of tears. His breath still hitched audibly. Pip was perilously close to hyperventilating.
Merry approached Pippin, who unintentionally flinched. Merry drew Pippin close in a half-soothing, half-threatening hug.
Merry whispered in Pip's ear. "Breathe NORMALLY Pippin."
The command had the opposite effect, and Pip's staccato breaths became hiccuping sobs again.
"Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out," Merry whispered to the relaxed rhythm of his own breaths. "Let your breaths follow mine, Pip." Merry pressed his stomach close to Pippin's to pull Pip's breaths into time with his own. Merry drew the young hobbit's chin up to force eye contact. "You will be calm now."
"Calm now," whispered Pippin. His breathing had returned to normal, but he felt a feather could knock him down if Merry was not holding him upright.
"Here comes Frodo," said Merry as he gently pushed Pippin toward the side of the bed. "As you were, Pip."
Frodo burst in gripping a teapot in one hand, and a teacup in the other. He threw a quick glance at Pip, whose eyes looked puffier than they had a few minutes before.
"Pip? Are you alright Pip?"
"Alright," mumbled Pippin.
"Pip is just worried about Sam, aren't you Pip?" asked Merry
Pip nodded.
"I am too," said Frodo. Frodo set the cup on the nightstand and poured the steaming tea to its rim. Unexpectedly, Frodo handed Merry the tea.
"That is why I need to see you drink this, Merry," said Frodo. "I need to see you drink what you gave to Sam last night."
Merry smiled sweetly, teacup in hand, but did not draw it up to his lips.
"Drink!" ordered Frodo. "NOW."
TBC
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Frodo awoke with a start. The sun was already peeking over the hills of Buckland and streaming hesitantly through the shutters in Frodo's room. The panic hit his gut like the blow of a sledgehammer. In addition to the manifest anxiety of his hopeless errand, Frodo added the strain of knowing that he had overslept. Frodo tore the covers off of his protesting body as if they were made of fire and stumbled out of bed. He had planned to depart with Samwise at dawn, and he was already behind schedule.
Frodo pulled on his clothes with no great care, fumbling with his buttons using sleep-stiffened fingers that moved like dry branches in a churning wind. He fastened his shirt once, then twice with the buttons askew before finally coaxing his fingers to do it right. 'Blast it, but this is a bad start!' huffed Frodo, tripping over the legs of his breeches as he pulled them up. Frodo rushed up to the hook on the wall holding his jacket, but his feet moved as if they were made of brick. His uncooperative toe caught on an uneven floorboard and Frodo pitched forward to the floor, landing on outstretched palms. He cursed under his breath as he scrambled up. 'Will nothing go right this day?' Frodo growled. Frodo pulled his jacket down with a sharp tug to the sleeve; the jacket, hook and all, clanged to the floor, leaving an acorn-sized gash in the wall. The Ring rolled out of the jacket pocket and across the floor, its progress halted when its cold mass collided with Frodo's furry foot. At this point, Frodo was undone. 'Cursed thing!' he muttered to the gold Ring mocking him from the floor. 'Curse you and the monster that made you! Would that Bilbo had never found you!'
Just then Gandalf's words came flooding back to Frodo. "Bilbo was /meant/ to find the Ring. In which case you also were /meant/ to have it."
"Was I?" said Frodo to the empty room. "Could you find no more worthy steward for such a bane! And where are you, Gandalf, you who were supposed to help me bear this burden 'as long as it is yours to bear'?" Frodo imagined himself casting the wretched trinket into the mountain of fire, laughing and jeering at the Ring as it plunged to its own doom. But, then, a second competing thought came to mind- a sense of regret that something so perfect should be unmade beyond recall.
Frodo was reeled back to the present by the sounds of movement carried down the corridor. He realized that he was standing stock still staring unblinking at the Ring at his feet. Frodo did not know how long he had stood locked in a trance, but became suddenly aware that the Ring resting cold against his foot, was causing a distinct discomfort - as if It were alive somehow.aware and watching him. His skin crawled and he leaned down and seized up the Ring, squeezing it in his palm as if he hoped to crush it to dust in his bare hand. Frodo straightened himself, yet did not move toward the door; his consuming need for haste momentarily forgotten. He opened his fingers slowly, considering the Ring that sat enthroned upon his pale palm, and noting with detached curiosity that his fingers quivered.
Then, just as quickly as it had been cast, the spell was broken. Frodo plucked his jacket off the floor in a wrinkled bundle, shook it back into shape, and began to don it hastily. No sooner was his right arm halfway in its velvet sheath than Frodo was rushing quickly to the door. He dropped the Ring back home in his pocket and snatched up his pack leaning beside the threshold. Frodo's conscious mind had assumed that it had been his intention to fly out the door and race to rouse his Sam; but there he was, paused with his hand on the doorknob.
He shook his head, attempting to uncobble his thoughts. Though he had just put it way, Frodo patted his pocket to check for his dangerous burden. Still there. His fingers lingered over the velvet that separated his hand from the Ring. He fought the compulsion to fondle the Ring, to curl up in a ball and stare into its aurous depths until the end of time, to tear himself from all the cares that pressed down upon him and pass into oblivion with his beckoning bane. His hand was no longer clutching the doorknob, but squeezing the bridge of his nose in the vain attempt to clear his mind. 'Go! Go!' a part of his mind urged with the voice of Gandalf. 'Come! Come!' begged another with a voice that hissed like a serpent and stung like death. Frodo's hand again grappled for the brass knob, and when his fingers latched on, Frodo wrenched the knob to the right so violently that the recoil clapped like thunder. Frodo startled as if he might implode, then blustered through the door and into the dusky hallway.
The corridor was still bathed in a hazy darkness, and Frodo charged blindly in the direction he assumed Sam's room to be. He moved his head wildly from side to side, his mind jangling too frantically to focus his eyes.
"Oomph!" Frodo's slender frame collided with the broad one of Merry who seemed to have emerged whole and all at once from the dim of the hall.
"Merry--" exclaimed Frodo breathlessly as a circle of candlelight lifted to reveal the smiling face of his cousin.
"Good morrow, Frodo!" chirped Merry who was now straightening a weskit ruffled by the impact.
"Why did you not wake me?" stormed Frodo, too put out to worry about courtesy. "We must be off before the sun rises much higher! Where is Sam?"
The words tumbled out of Frodo's mouth so quickly that he scarcely finished one sentence before spilling the next over it.
"Calm yourself, Cousin" said Merry. "I have Pippin packing your perishables as we speak. You cannot leave until we have stowed your meat, unless you hope to survive on boiled grass and bracken. Now slow down, Frodo. Breakfast is waiting in the kitchen. I have not been idle while you slept. We will set you off in proper form, or I am no host."
The mask of frenzy dropped from Frodo's face and he allowed himself to breathe.
"There now," said Merry, clasping his steadying hands upon Frodo's shoulders and kneading them into submission. "And you may wish to wash your face if you do not wish to scare Samwise; you look like death."
"Alright," said Frodo, "alright."
Merry led Frodo into his own room where a pitcher and a basin of warm, fragrant water sat waiting upon the bed stand opposite the door. Frodo scanned the room and immediately noticed Merry's family furniture, starkly obvious when mingled with his own. Frodo thought this queer, but said nothing, and took the towel handed to him by Merry.
"There, now, Frodo, wash up!" Merry said. "It would do no harm to let Samwise sleep for a few more minutes while you pull yourself together."
Frodo nodded and began to splash the aromatic water over his face and neck. Merry had been right, his mind seemed to calm instantly and leaving in the next moment seemed only urgent, but no longer deadly. When he was finished, Frodo patted his dripping face with the towel, rubbed his eyes, took a deep breath, and straightened himself. Merry smiled.
"Better?"
"Yes," said Frodo. "But now I'm afraid I must awaken Sam."
Merry raised his eyebrows and seemed to close in. Frodo glanced quizzically at his cousin's face, which he now found inscrutable and closed to him. Frodo felt instantly unsettled.
"Are you so sure that Sam does not need his rest?" asked Merry calmly as if this were a normal question under the circumstances.
Frodo's brow knitted in exasperation. "Surely he does!" he answered sharply. "As do I. But it can't be helped. We must go. We are in danger, and we must put some distance between ourselves and the Black Riders before we can sleep in peace .and did we not have this very discussion last night?" Frodo's voice betrayed the sharp edge of irritation. He was in a desperate hurry and had no time for this conversation.
It occurred to Frodo that Merry was standing too close, and he instinctively leaned back on a foot and sidled in the direction of the door. Merry did not seem himself. A wriggling doubt coalesced in Frodo's mind and drifted to his face, now pinched with unease. Frodo felt himself tense and absently drove his fingernails into his palms to the point of pain. He stood silent for a few endless moments, his face bathed in confusion, his fingers drumming his thighs in time to his quickening heartbeat.
If Frodo's fidgeting was a signal for Merry to step aside, then his cousin had missed his cue.
"Merry? Shall we go wake Sam now?" Frodo's voice sounded weak and tinny in his own ears and he cringed.
Something unsettling had entered Merry's eyes. Though Merry smiled, his eyes remained blank as slates, devoid of living light. Frodo's throat tightened; the air in the room suddenly seemed oppressively heavy. Frodo submerged a primal, unaccountable desire to turn tail, fly from the room, out of the house, and fling himself on the mercy of the Riders. But this instinct was absurd. The morning light played tricks with the shadows in both the eyes and the mind. Surely Frodo was in no peril, though his thudding heart told a different tale.
"Merry?" Frodo repeated.
Merry's fingers around Frodo's neck in a gesture, though meant to be comforting, sent gooseflesh crawling down his back. Merry did not speak, but ushered Frodo from the room and down the gloom of the corridor, his candle bestowing a fragile light as the walked.
"Hold this, will you Frodo?" said Merry, stuffing the candle into Frodo's quivering and unprepared hands. The candle burnt low now, guttering its last valiant breaths and offering only dim relief from the shadows that encroached and all but obscured it. Merry fumbled with the door a bit, rattling and shaking the knob while pressing on the door's edge with a fist. For an instant, the glint of metal flickered between the slats of Merry's fingers before, with a snick followed by a creak, the door swung open.
"All yours," said Merry as he motioned his hand toward the still form beneath the covers.
The room was still immersed in a gauzy twilight, the sun not yet high enough to pierce through the gloom. The small round window, set high in the wall, did not coax in any useful light, and Frodo's only way of making out Sam's form was with the quivering light of Merry's dying candle.
Frodo entered the room, trailed closely by Merry, and together they plodded toward the shadowed expanse of rumpled bedding where Sam lay, asleep. Frodo leaned over his friend, and gently patted his shoulder.
"Sam, time to wake, Sam," said Frodo quietly; but there was no response.
"Sam, dear Samwise," said Frodo, now prodding harder. "Time to wake up, my friend."
Again, Sam did not stir. Frodo knew that Sam was a heavy sleeper, and that both of them had endured a long stint of walking. Thus he was not unduly distressed; but laid his hands on Sam's broad shoulders and shook him a little.
"Sam?" The hint of anxiety was beginning to creep into Frodo's voice.
Frodo stood back a moment, observing that Sam neither stirred, nor snored. Frodo leaned his head down near Sam's chest. Sam's breathing was even, but slow.
Frodo shook Sam harder. Gradually his gentle shakes turned more desperate and jarring. The last ones had descended into outright pushing and Frodo's voice took on a ragged edge.
"Sam? Sam?..SAM!?"
Frodo's cries echoed off the walls of the room but had no effect upon the figure sprawled motionless under the blankets.
Suddenly the dark realization hit Frodo.
"Merry -Sam is not asleep!" cried Frodo. "He is unconscious!"
"Yes," answered Merry. "I know."
Frodo stared at Merry, mouth agape, disbelieving eyes thrown wide.
"What?"
"I know. Sam has been this way since I tried to wake him earlier this morning to assist with your preparations. I should not call him unconscious, though; indeed, Frodo, Sam is just very deeply asleep. He was exhausted last night as you well might expect."
"Exhausted people still WAKE UP!" replied Frodo despairingly. He continued shaking Sam while calling his name. This continued for the space of several minutes; but Frodo coaxed no more than a deep slow groan from Sam that sounded involuntary enough to be a death rattle. Frodo turned abruptly to Merry, noting with irritation that his cousin seemed unduly collected.
"Merry!" yelled Frodo. "What did you do to Sam? Why won't he wake up?!"
"Do to him," answered Merry calmly. "Certainly nothing. And," he continued, "that accusation was hurtful."
"Well then," blared Frodo, "What is to be done? How can you just stand there? Help me!"
"And what would you have me do?" asked Merry, rather put out. "If you jostle him any harder you'll jangle his teeth right out of his head! My advice, let him be! He obviously needs rest; let him take it!"
"I just want Sam to wake up, Mer!" cried Frodo, as much to himself as to Merry. "Sam! Sam!" Frodo continued to yell and shake, tension shooting from all of his limbs, his mind in turmoil. Despite Merry's infuriating calm, a quiet panic had set itself in his heart. Sam was not alright and Frodo knew it.
At that moment Pippin came sliding through the door with a tray service stacked with eggs and cakes, and a small blue teapot. He spoke with a distinctly incongruous chirp, "The ponies are ready, and here's breakfast!"
Pippin instantly noticed his fine breakfast was being roundly ignored, then caught sight of Frodo leaning desperately upon the motionless figure shrouded in the sheets. Whatever Merry's plan was, Pippin thought, this was not part of it.
"Frodo!" exclaimed Pippin, "What is wrong with Sam?"
"I-DON'T-KNOW!" cried Frodo as his turned to face Pippin with wild eyes. His voice was torn with ragged desperation. He was clearly distraught.
Frodo clutched handfuls of Sam's blanket in his fist, still calling, still getting no response. Pippin instantly set down his clattering service and ran up beside Frodo to try and rouse Sam with his own small hands.
"Sam, wake up you sluggard!" called Pippin. "Your master will take on so if you don't. Sam!"
Pippin's ministrations had been no more effective than Frodo's. Pippin glanced up to Merry and cried, "Merry why won't Sam wake up, do you think?"
"How do you think I would know, stupid ass?!" snapped Merry. Pippin's face flushed with pain as if he had just been hit. Merry had always used these types of terms as pet names, or in jest, but Merry had just wielded them in true scalding derision, and it hurt. But hurt as he was, Pippin's distress at Sam's strange condition was foremost in his mind. Merry's own frustration over Sam's condition and his own inability to fix it was surely at the root of his uncharacteristic behavior. And with that simple explanation in mind, Pippin chanced a reply.
"I thought you might know," said Pippin with lowered, yet reproachful eyes, "because it seems you always to know how to mend just about anything."
A wave of guilt flowed over Merry's face and he flushed. "I'm sorry for that, Pip," Merry said, wrapping his arm around Pippin's shoulders and drawing him into a quick embrace. "Sam is just plain tired, I think, and there is nothing to do for that then to allow him his rest. He'll awaken, I'm sure; but perhaps not now."
"But he must!" broke in Frodo. "I mean, I must go now, and Sam must go with me."
Merry's face hardened again and he let loose a snort. "Well, cousin, he is not going as he is unless you plan to strap him to your pony like baggage."
"I haven't ruled it out," replied Frodo mournfully, and only half joking.
"Tell me again, cousin," said Merry, "What is your great hurry?"
Even as Frodo tore his gaze from Sam to retort, he noticed the first frail rays of sunlight reaching through the window and transforming the weighted grey of the room to a dusky gold. It was getting later by the minute.
"Merry," began Frodo sharply, "I know and appreciate your feelings on this, and they have been heard, considered, and rejected. If you truly wish to assist me, then, good heavens, stop harping on the topic and help me wake my traveling companion!"
"I will think of something," answered Merry flatly, "And I will help, if any help I could give might be of use."
Pippin again sauntered over to Frodo's side and placed a reassuring hand on Frodo's back.
"See there, Frodo," said Pippin softly. "Merry will make everything all right. He's terribly clever, you know!"
"Clever or treacherous?" thought Frodo to himself, though he dismissed the suspicion almost before it reached his conscious mind.
All three hobbits stood around the bed in silence for a few moments, Merry at the end of the bed looking pensive, Pippin patting Frodo's back, Frodo looking miserable like one who returns home to a house in flames. Finally Pippin spoke.
"Perhaps we can retrace Sam's actions over the last days to try and piece together what might have happened to make him, well, like this."
Merry suddenly locked his sights on his younger cousin like a guard dog ready to pounce at the slightest hint of danger. Pippin did not feel the weight of Merry's glare, but noticed that neither cousin replied.
"And if none of us can remember anything," he continued wearily, "Perhaps we can drink some of the tea I brought in to help us relax and think clearly."
Frodo's eyes lit up as an unwanted thought hit his mind.
"Pip!" Frodo exclaimed. "What was in the tea you gave to Sam last night?"
"Just the pouch of healing herbs from the far cupboard-"
Without a word, Frodo dashed out of the room to the kitchen.
Pip turned to Merry, only to be met with a savage slap across his face. Pip's whole head reeled, and he fought to keep his balance. Tears spilled from his eyes, as much from shock as in pain. Pippin gazed up at Merry, his face swimming with hurt. Pippin felt like a pane of glass that would shatter if Merry stayed angry with him; yet had no idea what he had done to cause this reaction.
"Merry-?"
"You let ME handle this!" exclaimed Merry in a hushed voice that nevertheless cut through the air. "I will ASK for your help when it is required. It is NOT yet required."
"But," asked Pippin, "What are your plans? How can I help if you don't share what we are to do?"
Pippin's meek question was answered with another opened handed clout to his face. It hurt, and now Pippin was terrified that he'd be pounded to a pulp if he did not stop talking. Those eyes! Those terrible eyes were back! And this time the dark force that surged up unexpected in Merry had caused him to do something he had never ever done to Pippin; strike him in anger. Pippin waited for the shocked apology, the caresses that followed Merry's last outburst. They did not come. Instead, Merry assessed Pippin icily with a stare that made Pippin quiver. Pippin wanted to flee from the room, curl up in a corner, and sob. He had already lost his battle with tears where he stood. But Merry, it seemed, would offer nothing that felt like comfort.
"Wipe off your face and pull yourself together before Frodo returns," said Merry coldly as he handed Pip his handkerchief. "You shall not hinder me further without consequences. Understand, love?"
The last word had been uttered as if it were a curse. Pippin nodded. He felt as if he were being stabbed.
Pippin spent the next few minutes pressing the cloth down upon his eyes, as if pressure would stop the flood of tears. His breath still hitched audibly. Pip was perilously close to hyperventilating.
Merry approached Pippin, who unintentionally flinched. Merry drew Pippin close in a half-soothing, half-threatening hug.
Merry whispered in Pip's ear. "Breathe NORMALLY Pippin."
The command had the opposite effect, and Pip's staccato breaths became hiccuping sobs again.
"Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out," Merry whispered to the relaxed rhythm of his own breaths. "Let your breaths follow mine, Pip." Merry pressed his stomach close to Pippin's to pull Pip's breaths into time with his own. Merry drew the young hobbit's chin up to force eye contact. "You will be calm now."
"Calm now," whispered Pippin. His breathing had returned to normal, but he felt a feather could knock him down if Merry was not holding him upright.
"Here comes Frodo," said Merry as he gently pushed Pippin toward the side of the bed. "As you were, Pip."
Frodo burst in gripping a teapot in one hand, and a teacup in the other. He threw a quick glance at Pip, whose eyes looked puffier than they had a few minutes before.
"Pip? Are you alright Pip?"
"Alright," mumbled Pippin.
"Pip is just worried about Sam, aren't you Pip?" asked Merry
Pip nodded.
"I am too," said Frodo. Frodo set the cup on the nightstand and poured the steaming tea to its rim. Unexpectedly, Frodo handed Merry the tea.
"That is why I need to see you drink this, Merry," said Frodo. "I need to see you drink what you gave to Sam last night."
Merry smiled sweetly, teacup in hand, but did not draw it up to his lips.
"Drink!" ordered Frodo. "NOW."
TBC