Chapter 5: Second Breakfasts and Unjust Desserts
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Frodo sat pensively in his chair clutching Sam's hand. Conflicting thoughts rattled about in his mind - thoughts about his quest, about his Sam, and about the inexplicable behavior of his cousin. Had Merry actually threatened to detain them last night, or had his outburst just been the product of high emotion? Most distressing of all had been Merry's unwarranted attack upon Sam. Merry striking Sam had been a shock, and this act had alarmed Frodo long after Merry had apologized. Why had he hit Sam? Merry had never been aggressive before, except when it came to bringing his plans to fruition, and that trait was a form of single-mindedness, not of violence. When it came to it, Merry had hitherto exhibited a tighter rein upon his emotions than was common, or even healthy for a hobbit. Merry had considered it a mark of his station, and this reticence was one of his most obvious emotional inheritances from his father. And then there was Pippin. Pippin had always looked up to his older cousin but-
Frodo's thoughts were stopped dead in their tracks by the noise of Sam groaning. He was finally rousing from his prison of sleep.
"Sam! You're awake!" cried Frodo, a bit prematurely.
Sam grumbled, then started to snore a little. Undaunted, Frodo pushed on. He started to shake Sam gently in another attempt to wake him.
"Sam, please wake up again! You've overslept. It is afternoon, my friend."
Sam groaned again, still on the cusp of consciousness. Frodo noted that although Sam seemed to be coming to, he still did not look well. His chest rose and fell with leaden slowness.too slow, it seemed. To Frodo's dismay, Sam's hand felt limp and boneless -so unlike the strong and dexterous hands Frodo normally associated with his gardener.
"Sam! Your Frodo is here. Please wake up. I need you now!"
Sam reacted minimally to Frodo's cries, but the noise drew Merry into the room. Merry called for Pippin to cook "good Master Samwise" some eggs and brew some tea and then took his place by Frodo's side at Sam's bed. Merry bent his ear to Sam's mouth, as if to check for breathing, and, satisfied, stood back up to reassure his cousin.
"He'll be right as rain in just a bit, Frodo, my boy!" said Frodo with a gentle pat to his shoulder. "No need to worry! Your cousin's will take care of everything."
Pippin soon came stumbling into the room bearing a heavy iron pan filled with steaming eggs, and a single earthenware plate. The plate he set on a small table near the door, the pan he continued to hold up in a right hand stiffened by nerves. Pippin did not approach the bed; instead he stood rather ridiculously aloof, iron pan in sweaty palms hand. His eyes were open wider than they were wont, and he was visibly shaking. Neither Frodo nor Merry noticed.
As Merry and Frodo fussed over Sam, Pippin fought the demons in his head. Thoughts of fear and regret twisted in Pippin's mind which, at times, felt so light he feared it might fly off his neck at any second. Merry had bared his soul to him, and shared with him his heart's desire-to help Frodo and to save the Shire. And he, Peregrin took-would help him. Merry /needed/ him, he'd said so! But watching Frodo so undone with worry struck Pippin to the marrow. Pippin congratulated and castigated himself in rapid succession; the pride and the guilt wrestling for dominance in what hitherto had passed for his conscience. What he /must/ do felt so wrong, so against his gentle nature, so far beyond the limit of his natural Tookish mischievous streak that it burned like white-hot cruelty. A flash of guilt, a whisper of warning, then that mesmerizing voice, Merry's voice, persistent as a river, strong as the sea, submerged all doubts under a glimmering tide of tenderness, need, and praise.
Pippin had a sense of watching himself at a distance and wondered to himself what the small hobbit holding the pan would do. Holding up the pan.Pippin suddenly realized he was holding the pan filled with eggs aloft, as if he had been a statue carved in that position. It occurred to him that he must look absurd.
It made no sense! None of this made sense! It was all wrong! But the least of the discrepancies, Pippin holding a pan aloft for minutes at a time, could be easily cured. Pippin set down the pan with a jarring thud and began to scrape out the eggs with (unsure) hands that quivered as he worked. The eggs, once perfect suns ringed by thick haloes of white were now sundered and shredded and bleeding yellow like the corpses of handsome young men strewn upon a battlefield; perfection cut short. The eggs feel limp and unenticing upon the plate, ruined shreds of white and besmirched with watery gold that has been desiccated by maladroit hands that seemed just as unsettled as the mind that commanded their movements. All wrong, all wrong! Yet Merry said it must be done, and Pippin would do it. The pan was now emptied of eggs, but Pippin continued to scrape and scratch with his fork, as if enough scraping would make the pan and its wielder feel clean.
The eggs sat unnoticed as Frodo continued to lean over Sam's prostrate from, clutching onto him as a drowning man clutches to a piece of driftwood.
"He stirred, Merry!" exclaimed Frodo. "I heard him! He moaned, but that's more than he's done yet."
Merry nodded encouragingly, still remarkably unphased.
Pippin stared nervously, wondering if the moment would come when he would be needed; the moment he both craved and dreaded with all of his heart. He would screw himself up, he'd show his mettle he'd---
Just them Pippin felt as if something cold flooded the pit of his stomach and froze solid on contact. Out in the real world, the things that Merry had said seemed so much more nebulous, so much less sure that they had when Pippin had been entwined in the intimate warmth of Merry's protective arms. Dark doubts assailed him. Frodo, of course, noticed nothing. Why should he? His Sam did not stir.
"Sam! Wake up!" continued Frodo as he shook Sam. Frodo placed his hands on Sam's face and slapped gently. Pippin has cooked some eggs! Why not have a bit of provender to wake you up?"
After a few minutes, Sam's eyes fluttered open, then slammed shut as it lit by terror. Frodo nearly jumped out of his skin with joy. "Merry did you see that?" asked Frodo. "He's waking!"
"I did!" exclaimed Merry. "Up you go, Sam! Your Frodo is worried! Up! Up! Pippin has made you a very late second breakfast, and it would be a pity to see it go to waste, I think!"
Merry brushed gentle fingers against Sam's face, and his eyes startled open with the unexpected contact. But the words he uttered cut Pippin to the quick.
"NoooooMmerry!" cried Sam.
Pippin bit on his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. Merry knew more of this matter than he let on, of that Pippin was sure. And that was not an encouraging thought.
"I'm not Merry, Sam. It's me. Frodo! Oh, Sam, you gave me quite a scare!"
"Master Frodo," said Sam, still groggy. "Frodo, I have to tell you-"
Merry moved to the side of the bed beside Frodo. As he did so, Sam visibly flinched. Frodo hastily concluded that Sam, in his half-asleep state, was still associating Merry with the punch. As Merry extended his hand to touch Sam's brow, Sam violently jerked his head to the side.
"NoooMmmerry," slurred Sam. "I don want noomore of your tea."
"Oh, Sam," said Frodo. "No one is offering you tea of any sort, just some eggs, and if you'd like, some milk to set your stomach to rights."
Merry began to prop up Sam's pillow. Sam's reaction, despite his lethargic state, was both unexpected and violent. He flailed his arm at Merry, his hand as inexpertly wielded as a dead fish, but with its intended target clear as a spring pool.
"Away!" gasped Sam. In seconds he was snoring again.
"The poor boy is delirious!" pronounced Merry shaking his head. "Maybe he needs some breakfast tea, something light and tangy, to rouse him. I have just the thing!"
"NoooFrrood-o!" Sam's eyes had shot open again. The words having been expelled, his eyes rolled back up into his head and disappeared behind lowering eyelids.
Pippin felt his whole body flush. All wrong! All wrong!
Sam glared at Merry, and Frodo inwardly wondered how long Sam would hold a grudge against his cousin for hitting him. Sam continued to glower at Merry for a few long seconds before turning back to Frodo with the look of a cornered animal. A cloud of doubt began to take shape in Frodo's mind. Something was not right. This behavior was very unlike Sam, groggy or no. Frodo brushed his own hand over Sam's forehead. He almost wanted it to feel hot, as that would at least offer a safe explanation for Sam's bizarre behavior. It was beaded with sweat, but not hot.
Frodo glanced to his side to see how Merry assessed the situation. Merry stood calmly at the edge of the bed, bracing his arm on the back bed frame.
"Frodo---" began Sam, using ever ounce of his strength to keep his eyes from fluttering shut.
"Yes, dear Sam?"
"Frodo.you're.in."
Before Sam could finish, Merry had lifted a cup filled with peppermint smelling tea to his reluctant lips. Sam did not drink. Instead he stared daggers at Merry again and clinched his teeth obstinately shut before tumbling back into slumber.
Frodo threw a panicked glance at Merry.
"He's obviously ill!" countered Merry defensively to a question Frodo did not even have to ask.
"Then let's not let him fall asleep again!" answered Frodo. "This deep deep slumber scares me. Let's try and get him up!"
Pippin's hand curled itself around the pan handle again for no apparent reason. Things seemed to be getting serious. Pippin took up the plate full of pitiful eggs in one hand, and the empty pan in the other and edged to the bed, as if making to serve Sam. His stomach threatened to leap into his throat. Frodo was so intent on Sam and what he was trying to say, that he scarcely noticed that his smaller cousin had padded up behind him.
Above all, Frodo was eager to see Sam awake and upright. Sam's heavy slumber had rattled him, and he decided that he'd rather have a sick, tired but awake Sam than an unconscious one.
"Frodo," tutted Merry. "Let the lad sleep. He obviously needs his rest."
"I think Sam has slept QUITE LONG ENOUGH! Responded Frodo, his voice ragged with worry.
Frodo then did something Merry did not expect. Frodo grasped the edges of Sam's blankets and with a loud "So get up lazybones!" Frodo ripped the covers off Sam's bed with a single, swift heave.
Frodo's breath hitched as he looked down at Sam. Sam's left foot had been tethered to the bed with a thick piece of rope. He could not have risen if he had wanted to.
"MER-I-A-DOC!!!?! Frodo yelled with the voice of a furious parent.
Sam's eyes flew open again in panic. "Master Fr-!"
"Now, Pip, NOW!
Frodo gasped as he felt the impact of a hard metal object making contact with the back of his head. The last things Frodo heard before falling into darkness were Sam's wails and the thump of his own body hitting the floor.
TBC
Frodo sat pensively in his chair clutching Sam's hand. Conflicting thoughts rattled about in his mind - thoughts about his quest, about his Sam, and about the inexplicable behavior of his cousin. Had Merry actually threatened to detain them last night, or had his outburst just been the product of high emotion? Most distressing of all had been Merry's unwarranted attack upon Sam. Merry striking Sam had been a shock, and this act had alarmed Frodo long after Merry had apologized. Why had he hit Sam? Merry had never been aggressive before, except when it came to bringing his plans to fruition, and that trait was a form of single-mindedness, not of violence. When it came to it, Merry had hitherto exhibited a tighter rein upon his emotions than was common, or even healthy for a hobbit. Merry had considered it a mark of his station, and this reticence was one of his most obvious emotional inheritances from his father. And then there was Pippin. Pippin had always looked up to his older cousin but-
Frodo's thoughts were stopped dead in their tracks by the noise of Sam groaning. He was finally rousing from his prison of sleep.
"Sam! You're awake!" cried Frodo, a bit prematurely.
Sam grumbled, then started to snore a little. Undaunted, Frodo pushed on. He started to shake Sam gently in another attempt to wake him.
"Sam, please wake up again! You've overslept. It is afternoon, my friend."
Sam groaned again, still on the cusp of consciousness. Frodo noted that although Sam seemed to be coming to, he still did not look well. His chest rose and fell with leaden slowness.too slow, it seemed. To Frodo's dismay, Sam's hand felt limp and boneless -so unlike the strong and dexterous hands Frodo normally associated with his gardener.
"Sam! Your Frodo is here. Please wake up. I need you now!"
Sam reacted minimally to Frodo's cries, but the noise drew Merry into the room. Merry called for Pippin to cook "good Master Samwise" some eggs and brew some tea and then took his place by Frodo's side at Sam's bed. Merry bent his ear to Sam's mouth, as if to check for breathing, and, satisfied, stood back up to reassure his cousin.
"He'll be right as rain in just a bit, Frodo, my boy!" said Frodo with a gentle pat to his shoulder. "No need to worry! Your cousin's will take care of everything."
Pippin soon came stumbling into the room bearing a heavy iron pan filled with steaming eggs, and a single earthenware plate. The plate he set on a small table near the door, the pan he continued to hold up in a right hand stiffened by nerves. Pippin did not approach the bed; instead he stood rather ridiculously aloof, iron pan in sweaty palms hand. His eyes were open wider than they were wont, and he was visibly shaking. Neither Frodo nor Merry noticed.
As Merry and Frodo fussed over Sam, Pippin fought the demons in his head. Thoughts of fear and regret twisted in Pippin's mind which, at times, felt so light he feared it might fly off his neck at any second. Merry had bared his soul to him, and shared with him his heart's desire-to help Frodo and to save the Shire. And he, Peregrin took-would help him. Merry /needed/ him, he'd said so! But watching Frodo so undone with worry struck Pippin to the marrow. Pippin congratulated and castigated himself in rapid succession; the pride and the guilt wrestling for dominance in what hitherto had passed for his conscience. What he /must/ do felt so wrong, so against his gentle nature, so far beyond the limit of his natural Tookish mischievous streak that it burned like white-hot cruelty. A flash of guilt, a whisper of warning, then that mesmerizing voice, Merry's voice, persistent as a river, strong as the sea, submerged all doubts under a glimmering tide of tenderness, need, and praise.
Pippin had a sense of watching himself at a distance and wondered to himself what the small hobbit holding the pan would do. Holding up the pan.Pippin suddenly realized he was holding the pan filled with eggs aloft, as if he had been a statue carved in that position. It occurred to him that he must look absurd.
It made no sense! None of this made sense! It was all wrong! But the least of the discrepancies, Pippin holding a pan aloft for minutes at a time, could be easily cured. Pippin set down the pan with a jarring thud and began to scrape out the eggs with (unsure) hands that quivered as he worked. The eggs, once perfect suns ringed by thick haloes of white were now sundered and shredded and bleeding yellow like the corpses of handsome young men strewn upon a battlefield; perfection cut short. The eggs feel limp and unenticing upon the plate, ruined shreds of white and besmirched with watery gold that has been desiccated by maladroit hands that seemed just as unsettled as the mind that commanded their movements. All wrong, all wrong! Yet Merry said it must be done, and Pippin would do it. The pan was now emptied of eggs, but Pippin continued to scrape and scratch with his fork, as if enough scraping would make the pan and its wielder feel clean.
The eggs sat unnoticed as Frodo continued to lean over Sam's prostrate from, clutching onto him as a drowning man clutches to a piece of driftwood.
"He stirred, Merry!" exclaimed Frodo. "I heard him! He moaned, but that's more than he's done yet."
Merry nodded encouragingly, still remarkably unphased.
Pippin stared nervously, wondering if the moment would come when he would be needed; the moment he both craved and dreaded with all of his heart. He would screw himself up, he'd show his mettle he'd---
Just them Pippin felt as if something cold flooded the pit of his stomach and froze solid on contact. Out in the real world, the things that Merry had said seemed so much more nebulous, so much less sure that they had when Pippin had been entwined in the intimate warmth of Merry's protective arms. Dark doubts assailed him. Frodo, of course, noticed nothing. Why should he? His Sam did not stir.
"Sam! Wake up!" continued Frodo as he shook Sam. Frodo placed his hands on Sam's face and slapped gently. Pippin has cooked some eggs! Why not have a bit of provender to wake you up?"
After a few minutes, Sam's eyes fluttered open, then slammed shut as it lit by terror. Frodo nearly jumped out of his skin with joy. "Merry did you see that?" asked Frodo. "He's waking!"
"I did!" exclaimed Merry. "Up you go, Sam! Your Frodo is worried! Up! Up! Pippin has made you a very late second breakfast, and it would be a pity to see it go to waste, I think!"
Merry brushed gentle fingers against Sam's face, and his eyes startled open with the unexpected contact. But the words he uttered cut Pippin to the quick.
"NoooooMmerry!" cried Sam.
Pippin bit on his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. Merry knew more of this matter than he let on, of that Pippin was sure. And that was not an encouraging thought.
"I'm not Merry, Sam. It's me. Frodo! Oh, Sam, you gave me quite a scare!"
"Master Frodo," said Sam, still groggy. "Frodo, I have to tell you-"
Merry moved to the side of the bed beside Frodo. As he did so, Sam visibly flinched. Frodo hastily concluded that Sam, in his half-asleep state, was still associating Merry with the punch. As Merry extended his hand to touch Sam's brow, Sam violently jerked his head to the side.
"NoooMmmerry," slurred Sam. "I don want noomore of your tea."
"Oh, Sam," said Frodo. "No one is offering you tea of any sort, just some eggs, and if you'd like, some milk to set your stomach to rights."
Merry began to prop up Sam's pillow. Sam's reaction, despite his lethargic state, was both unexpected and violent. He flailed his arm at Merry, his hand as inexpertly wielded as a dead fish, but with its intended target clear as a spring pool.
"Away!" gasped Sam. In seconds he was snoring again.
"The poor boy is delirious!" pronounced Merry shaking his head. "Maybe he needs some breakfast tea, something light and tangy, to rouse him. I have just the thing!"
"NoooFrrood-o!" Sam's eyes had shot open again. The words having been expelled, his eyes rolled back up into his head and disappeared behind lowering eyelids.
Pippin felt his whole body flush. All wrong! All wrong!
Sam glared at Merry, and Frodo inwardly wondered how long Sam would hold a grudge against his cousin for hitting him. Sam continued to glower at Merry for a few long seconds before turning back to Frodo with the look of a cornered animal. A cloud of doubt began to take shape in Frodo's mind. Something was not right. This behavior was very unlike Sam, groggy or no. Frodo brushed his own hand over Sam's forehead. He almost wanted it to feel hot, as that would at least offer a safe explanation for Sam's bizarre behavior. It was beaded with sweat, but not hot.
Frodo glanced to his side to see how Merry assessed the situation. Merry stood calmly at the edge of the bed, bracing his arm on the back bed frame.
"Frodo---" began Sam, using ever ounce of his strength to keep his eyes from fluttering shut.
"Yes, dear Sam?"
"Frodo.you're.in."
Before Sam could finish, Merry had lifted a cup filled with peppermint smelling tea to his reluctant lips. Sam did not drink. Instead he stared daggers at Merry again and clinched his teeth obstinately shut before tumbling back into slumber.
Frodo threw a panicked glance at Merry.
"He's obviously ill!" countered Merry defensively to a question Frodo did not even have to ask.
"Then let's not let him fall asleep again!" answered Frodo. "This deep deep slumber scares me. Let's try and get him up!"
Pippin's hand curled itself around the pan handle again for no apparent reason. Things seemed to be getting serious. Pippin took up the plate full of pitiful eggs in one hand, and the empty pan in the other and edged to the bed, as if making to serve Sam. His stomach threatened to leap into his throat. Frodo was so intent on Sam and what he was trying to say, that he scarcely noticed that his smaller cousin had padded up behind him.
Above all, Frodo was eager to see Sam awake and upright. Sam's heavy slumber had rattled him, and he decided that he'd rather have a sick, tired but awake Sam than an unconscious one.
"Frodo," tutted Merry. "Let the lad sleep. He obviously needs his rest."
"I think Sam has slept QUITE LONG ENOUGH! Responded Frodo, his voice ragged with worry.
Frodo then did something Merry did not expect. Frodo grasped the edges of Sam's blankets and with a loud "So get up lazybones!" Frodo ripped the covers off Sam's bed with a single, swift heave.
Frodo's breath hitched as he looked down at Sam. Sam's left foot had been tethered to the bed with a thick piece of rope. He could not have risen if he had wanted to.
"MER-I-A-DOC!!!?! Frodo yelled with the voice of a furious parent.
Sam's eyes flew open again in panic. "Master Fr-!"
"Now, Pip, NOW!
Frodo gasped as he felt the impact of a hard metal object making contact with the back of his head. The last things Frodo heard before falling into darkness were Sam's wails and the thump of his own body hitting the floor.
TBC