Chapter 6: The Awakening
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Frodo slowly surfaced from the ocean of darkness. His head ached, and his vision blurred. He groaned and waited for his reluctant eyes to bring the room into focus.
"I think he's waking up, Mer!"
Pippin's voice.
"Fro - do," called Merry softly. "Fro - do."
Frodo felt Merry's fingers running through his curls.
"Fro - do."
Frodo's thoughts were in a muddle. There was Merry right in front of him, gently calling him back to awareness. Merry smiling. He knew Merry. There was Pippin kneeling beside him. Also smiling. He knew Pippin. But where WAS he? . Slowly, Frodo's thoughts began to congeal into solid form. He was curled up on a plush armchair, the one that Bilbo had favored. He could still smell the pungent odor of his uncle's favorite Longbottom leaf lingering in the chair's upholstery. Chair familiar. Surroundings new. Wait. Not new. "Crickhollow." He heard his mind answer. This was Crickhollow, the house that he had purchased, or rather, Merry had helped him purchase, to disguise the fact that he was leaving the Shire. He was in the large main room. Light streamed in from the large circular window. Leaves outside, yellow-tipped. Autumn. It was Autumn. Frodo glanced down, blinking his eyes. Frodo saw he was covered by one of Bilbo's thick woolen blankets. Chair comfortable. But Frodo was not. Head hurt. Head hurt A LOT.
Frodo's first fully conscious impulse was to rub his throbbing head. Frodo was dismayed to find his hands unresponsive. He could neither pull them forward nor apart. Bound? Yes - he could feel some kind of soft fabric encircling his wrists, now resting in the small of his back. The binds were not tight, but secure. Frodo attempted to organize a coherent sentence.
"W-why am I bound?"
"Just a precaution, dear cousin," replied Merry sweetly.
"A precaution against WHAT?" asked Frodo, becoming both more alert and more agitated with every passing moment.
"We need to talk," replied Merry, not answering Frodo's question.
It was all coming back to Frodo. He'd been hit with a hard object. He'd blacked out. Attacked?
"Why did you tell Pippin to hit me?" Frodo's curiosity was overcoming his anger.
"Does it hurt terribly?" asked Pippin, voice laced with regret. Pippin massaged Frodo's head with his small hand.
Frodo nodded angrily and immediately regretted the sharp movement. "Yes, Pip. It does."
"I'm so very sorry I had to do that, Frodo," Pippin mumbled. "I'm afraid I dented your cooking pan a little. I'll buy you a new one."
Speech failed Frodo. He was bound to a chair and been intentionally struck down by his own cousin and with his own pan - and Pippin was apologizing for denting the pan? This was too surreal to comprehend.
Pippin continued to lovingly rub Frodo's growing bump. "Your poor head! I'll get some ice from the ice cellar and make you a compress."
Pippin padded outside.
"Which brings me back to may last question, Cousin," anger seeping into Frodo's tone. "Why did you tell Pippin to hit me?"
"You were getting surly," snorted Merry.
Then Frodo remembered Sam.
"You tied Sam!" exclaimed Frodo, forgetting for a moment the state of his own hands.
"Pity that," sighed Merry. "But he was becoming unmanageable. I needed to create some boundaries."
"UNMANAGEABLE!" Frodo yelled with a volume that even surprised him.
"Frodo, calm down," said Merry. Merry moved his palms in a downward motion to emphasize his point. "Everything is alright."
"ALRIGHT, Merry? Alright? And just how do you come to THAT conclusion?"
"Frodo!" exclaimed Merry in a corrective voice. "You are getting riled up again. Would you like some tea? It will help to calm you down and help you think more clearly."
The tea. Frodo remembered the tea.
"What WAS in that tea you gave to Sam? It sure as the sun was not Chamomile! And," added Frodo, "Sam was afraid of it!"
"Calm down, Frodo," ordered Merry. "You are right. It was not Chamomile. Or, rather it was, but it had some other things in it too. But a little Valerian root never hurt anyone."
"Valerian root!" echoed Frodo. "That's a sleeping herb!"
"A //gentle// sleeping herb," corrected Merry. "I also needed some larkspur to finish the job. Sam needed to sleep in."
"That's poisonous!"
"Just a pinch, Frodo. Sam will be fine. I would never harm him. He just needed to be temporarily . subdued."
"Why would Pip-?"
"Pippin had no idea, Frodo. All he knew was that he was making tea from the healing herbs that I kept in the cupboard. I replaced them with chamomile, of course, because you are very clever, and were bound to get curious."
Merry paused to take in Frodo's nonplussed expression, before strolling into the kitchen. He returned in seconds holding a steaming cup of tea.
"On that note -tea Frodo? This is indeed chamomile with just a touch of Valerian. You need to relax so that we can have our important chat."
Frodo shook his head violently, ignoring the pain that shot through his head and the fact that Merry's offer was not really a question.
"I NEED TO SEE SAM!" barked Frodo, now almost back to full awareness.
Frodo's legs were tucked under him and fully asleep. That did not stop Frodo from springing out of the chair - having every intention of marching into Sam's room.
"THUMP!"---Frodo toppled over and fell on his face in a crumpled heap. His legs had not responded to his brain's demands. Frodo's breath was knocked out of him. He gasped and glanced up at Merry from the floor.
"Wha--?'
"Sorry, dear boy," explained Merry calmly. "I had to bind your ankles too - for this very contingency. Sam does not need to be disturbed. He's fine."
Frodo threw Merry a punishing look from the floor. His cheek and nose throbbed from the impact.
"Let me help you up, Frodo."
Frodo would have just as soon spit on his cousin, but did wish to get off the floor. Frodo reluctantly let himself be set gingerly back in the chair and covered with the blanket like an invalid.
"Ah!" exclaimed Merry. "Here's Pip with your ice! Good boy, Pip!"
Pippin beamed at Merry and placed the cold compress on Frodo's head, holding it in place with a delicate finger.
"Get his nose while you are at it, Pip," said Merry. "Frodo just bloodied it trying to get up."
Pippin took his own handkerchief and carefully patted off the warm blood trickling down from Frodo's nose. It suddenly occurred to Frodo that this situation was humiliating. Here he was in his own home, bound hand and foot, being tended like a wounded child by his much-younger cousin. Frodo winced, more from embarrassment than pain.
Frodo's reaction did not register with Pip, who hummed a lullaby as he dabbed Frodo's face. Satisfied with his work, Pip smiled at Frodo, eyes full of empathy.
"This all isn't what it seems, Frodo," assured Pippin. "We're going to take good care of you. Please try to relax."
Frodo could feel himself gritting his teeth. Oh Pip!
"As if I have a choice," growled Frodo under his breathe.
"Frodo, you do have choices," said Merry. "More than you are willing to admit, I think."
"And that," said Pippin as he knelt before Frodo, "is what we three are going to discuss. Merry has a bit of information he's found out that even I don't know. All three of us are going to discuss it. Merry wants us all to be involved."
If Pippin expected Frodo to give him an approving look, he was sorely mistaken. Frodo glared at Pippin, just the same look he'd delivered decades before when Pippin had tried to climb Bilbo's sunflowers, resulting in a patch of bent stems littered with a thousand seeds. Turning his glance to Merry, Pippin got the approving nod he sought.
Merry nodded to the steaming cup of tea on an adjoining table, and then to Frodo. Pippin jumped up to retrieve the cup, letting Frodo's cold compress plop to the floor beside the chair.
"Have some tea, Frodo," offered Pippin.
"I don't think so, Pip!" Frodo ground out.
"Well," sighed Pippin as he brought the cup up to Frodo's mouth gently but steadily, "Merry told me you would say that! Sorry to do this, but you really will feel better."
"You drink it," growled Frodo as he pressed his head back against the chair as far as it would go, as if the cup was filled to the rim with bile.
Pip drew the tea up to his own lips and took a big gulp. "See, Frodo, nothing to fear. Just tea." Pippin again brought the cup up to Frodo's lips. This time he did not struggle. Frodo took a few reluctant sips -as Pip seemed disinclined to remove the cup until he did.
Merry had been right. Frodo's dark mood seemed to lift in a haze of tea- induced euphoria. His mind uncoiled; his body longed to do so as well.
"Untie me, Merry."
Merry smiled, but it wasn't a nice smile. Merry's eyes were all wrong.
"Not yet, my sweet," Merry replied. "It's time for our nice talk. If you listen to reason, I'll be happy to unbind you. Until then, I want your undivided attention.
TBC
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Frodo slowly surfaced from the ocean of darkness. His head ached, and his vision blurred. He groaned and waited for his reluctant eyes to bring the room into focus.
"I think he's waking up, Mer!"
Pippin's voice.
"Fro - do," called Merry softly. "Fro - do."
Frodo felt Merry's fingers running through his curls.
"Fro - do."
Frodo's thoughts were in a muddle. There was Merry right in front of him, gently calling him back to awareness. Merry smiling. He knew Merry. There was Pippin kneeling beside him. Also smiling. He knew Pippin. But where WAS he? . Slowly, Frodo's thoughts began to congeal into solid form. He was curled up on a plush armchair, the one that Bilbo had favored. He could still smell the pungent odor of his uncle's favorite Longbottom leaf lingering in the chair's upholstery. Chair familiar. Surroundings new. Wait. Not new. "Crickhollow." He heard his mind answer. This was Crickhollow, the house that he had purchased, or rather, Merry had helped him purchase, to disguise the fact that he was leaving the Shire. He was in the large main room. Light streamed in from the large circular window. Leaves outside, yellow-tipped. Autumn. It was Autumn. Frodo glanced down, blinking his eyes. Frodo saw he was covered by one of Bilbo's thick woolen blankets. Chair comfortable. But Frodo was not. Head hurt. Head hurt A LOT.
Frodo's first fully conscious impulse was to rub his throbbing head. Frodo was dismayed to find his hands unresponsive. He could neither pull them forward nor apart. Bound? Yes - he could feel some kind of soft fabric encircling his wrists, now resting in the small of his back. The binds were not tight, but secure. Frodo attempted to organize a coherent sentence.
"W-why am I bound?"
"Just a precaution, dear cousin," replied Merry sweetly.
"A precaution against WHAT?" asked Frodo, becoming both more alert and more agitated with every passing moment.
"We need to talk," replied Merry, not answering Frodo's question.
It was all coming back to Frodo. He'd been hit with a hard object. He'd blacked out. Attacked?
"Why did you tell Pippin to hit me?" Frodo's curiosity was overcoming his anger.
"Does it hurt terribly?" asked Pippin, voice laced with regret. Pippin massaged Frodo's head with his small hand.
Frodo nodded angrily and immediately regretted the sharp movement. "Yes, Pip. It does."
"I'm so very sorry I had to do that, Frodo," Pippin mumbled. "I'm afraid I dented your cooking pan a little. I'll buy you a new one."
Speech failed Frodo. He was bound to a chair and been intentionally struck down by his own cousin and with his own pan - and Pippin was apologizing for denting the pan? This was too surreal to comprehend.
Pippin continued to lovingly rub Frodo's growing bump. "Your poor head! I'll get some ice from the ice cellar and make you a compress."
Pippin padded outside.
"Which brings me back to may last question, Cousin," anger seeping into Frodo's tone. "Why did you tell Pippin to hit me?"
"You were getting surly," snorted Merry.
Then Frodo remembered Sam.
"You tied Sam!" exclaimed Frodo, forgetting for a moment the state of his own hands.
"Pity that," sighed Merry. "But he was becoming unmanageable. I needed to create some boundaries."
"UNMANAGEABLE!" Frodo yelled with a volume that even surprised him.
"Frodo, calm down," said Merry. Merry moved his palms in a downward motion to emphasize his point. "Everything is alright."
"ALRIGHT, Merry? Alright? And just how do you come to THAT conclusion?"
"Frodo!" exclaimed Merry in a corrective voice. "You are getting riled up again. Would you like some tea? It will help to calm you down and help you think more clearly."
The tea. Frodo remembered the tea.
"What WAS in that tea you gave to Sam? It sure as the sun was not Chamomile! And," added Frodo, "Sam was afraid of it!"
"Calm down, Frodo," ordered Merry. "You are right. It was not Chamomile. Or, rather it was, but it had some other things in it too. But a little Valerian root never hurt anyone."
"Valerian root!" echoed Frodo. "That's a sleeping herb!"
"A //gentle// sleeping herb," corrected Merry. "I also needed some larkspur to finish the job. Sam needed to sleep in."
"That's poisonous!"
"Just a pinch, Frodo. Sam will be fine. I would never harm him. He just needed to be temporarily . subdued."
"Why would Pip-?"
"Pippin had no idea, Frodo. All he knew was that he was making tea from the healing herbs that I kept in the cupboard. I replaced them with chamomile, of course, because you are very clever, and were bound to get curious."
Merry paused to take in Frodo's nonplussed expression, before strolling into the kitchen. He returned in seconds holding a steaming cup of tea.
"On that note -tea Frodo? This is indeed chamomile with just a touch of Valerian. You need to relax so that we can have our important chat."
Frodo shook his head violently, ignoring the pain that shot through his head and the fact that Merry's offer was not really a question.
"I NEED TO SEE SAM!" barked Frodo, now almost back to full awareness.
Frodo's legs were tucked under him and fully asleep. That did not stop Frodo from springing out of the chair - having every intention of marching into Sam's room.
"THUMP!"---Frodo toppled over and fell on his face in a crumpled heap. His legs had not responded to his brain's demands. Frodo's breath was knocked out of him. He gasped and glanced up at Merry from the floor.
"Wha--?'
"Sorry, dear boy," explained Merry calmly. "I had to bind your ankles too - for this very contingency. Sam does not need to be disturbed. He's fine."
Frodo threw Merry a punishing look from the floor. His cheek and nose throbbed from the impact.
"Let me help you up, Frodo."
Frodo would have just as soon spit on his cousin, but did wish to get off the floor. Frodo reluctantly let himself be set gingerly back in the chair and covered with the blanket like an invalid.
"Ah!" exclaimed Merry. "Here's Pip with your ice! Good boy, Pip!"
Pippin beamed at Merry and placed the cold compress on Frodo's head, holding it in place with a delicate finger.
"Get his nose while you are at it, Pip," said Merry. "Frodo just bloodied it trying to get up."
Pippin took his own handkerchief and carefully patted off the warm blood trickling down from Frodo's nose. It suddenly occurred to Frodo that this situation was humiliating. Here he was in his own home, bound hand and foot, being tended like a wounded child by his much-younger cousin. Frodo winced, more from embarrassment than pain.
Frodo's reaction did not register with Pip, who hummed a lullaby as he dabbed Frodo's face. Satisfied with his work, Pip smiled at Frodo, eyes full of empathy.
"This all isn't what it seems, Frodo," assured Pippin. "We're going to take good care of you. Please try to relax."
Frodo could feel himself gritting his teeth. Oh Pip!
"As if I have a choice," growled Frodo under his breathe.
"Frodo, you do have choices," said Merry. "More than you are willing to admit, I think."
"And that," said Pippin as he knelt before Frodo, "is what we three are going to discuss. Merry has a bit of information he's found out that even I don't know. All three of us are going to discuss it. Merry wants us all to be involved."
If Pippin expected Frodo to give him an approving look, he was sorely mistaken. Frodo glared at Pippin, just the same look he'd delivered decades before when Pippin had tried to climb Bilbo's sunflowers, resulting in a patch of bent stems littered with a thousand seeds. Turning his glance to Merry, Pippin got the approving nod he sought.
Merry nodded to the steaming cup of tea on an adjoining table, and then to Frodo. Pippin jumped up to retrieve the cup, letting Frodo's cold compress plop to the floor beside the chair.
"Have some tea, Frodo," offered Pippin.
"I don't think so, Pip!" Frodo ground out.
"Well," sighed Pippin as he brought the cup up to Frodo's mouth gently but steadily, "Merry told me you would say that! Sorry to do this, but you really will feel better."
"You drink it," growled Frodo as he pressed his head back against the chair as far as it would go, as if the cup was filled to the rim with bile.
Pip drew the tea up to his own lips and took a big gulp. "See, Frodo, nothing to fear. Just tea." Pippin again brought the cup up to Frodo's lips. This time he did not struggle. Frodo took a few reluctant sips -as Pip seemed disinclined to remove the cup until he did.
Merry had been right. Frodo's dark mood seemed to lift in a haze of tea- induced euphoria. His mind uncoiled; his body longed to do so as well.
"Untie me, Merry."
Merry smiled, but it wasn't a nice smile. Merry's eyes were all wrong.
"Not yet, my sweet," Merry replied. "It's time for our nice talk. If you listen to reason, I'll be happy to unbind you. Until then, I want your undivided attention.
TBC