By doling out this humiliating punishment, Merry could steal Pip's
maturity, and sell it back to him for the price of absolute obedience.
Chapter 12 – Hope and Humiliation
Sam punched fiercely at the unyielding door, the current focus of his rage and anguish.
"Let us GO!" yelled Sam into the wood. "Scoundrel!!!!"
Sam gave the door two parting kicks with his large foot before collapsing into a frustrated heap. Frodo knelt down to face his friend.
"We failed Mr. Frodo!" huffed Sam. "Now we'll be stuck here until the breaking of the blasted world!"
Frodo remained silent for a few seconds as his mind grappled for something appropriate to say. The only sound in the room was the dying crackle as the lone candle on the bed stand flickered out. Finally, Frodo spoke.
"They will have to let us out sometime, Sam."
"How do you reckon that, Master?" asked Sam, his chest still rising and falling in jerking rhythm.
"Sam," Frodo answered. "Merry wants to speak, or more likely, interrogate me alone. That is surely why he came in just now, to have another "conversation."
A sharp tremor ran through Frodo as the words left his mouth. He did not relish the thought of more such discussions with an increasingly unpredictable Merry. He unconsciously scanned the room for escape routes he already knew did not exist. His eyes flitted around the four unadorned walls, the high small window, down to the rumpled bed, the bed stand, the heavy oak drawers across the room, and finally the door. Nothing. The door stared mockingly at both hobbits, its once smooth, sanded surface now marred by scratches and scuffs where Sam had assailed it with fingernails, fists, and feet. Frodo turned back to Sam, and looking into his haggard face, saw that Sam had read his mind.
"He'll hurt you, Mr. Frodo!" cried Sam abruptly, his eyes pools of pain. A wave of guilt shot through him, and he bowed his head into his palms.
"Yes, Sam," answered Frodo. "In his current state, I'm afraid that is likely."
Sam jerked his head up again, stunned at Frodo's calm acknowledgment. Frodo placed a soothing hand on Sam's shoulder.
"But look at the bright side," continued Frodo. "We are unbound, and, Sam, we are together. That counts for a great deal. What we have lost is the element of surprise. Merry and Pippin will be prepared next time. So we must be vigilant if we are to succeed."
Sam rose to his feet, as if coming to a decision. He raked thick fingers through sandy tendrils of hair, pulled his disheveled shirt down and set his jaw before standing resolutely beside his crouching master.
"We shouldn't both ought to sleep, Mr. Frodo. Not both at once, leastwise," said Sam.
"You are right Sam," agreed Frodo as he stood up. "They are probably depending on us dozing off, and separating us at that time."
"I'll not let that happen, Master Frodo!" exclaimed Sam vehemently as he almost violently wrapped his arms around Frodo in a protective embrace that nearly squeezed the breathe out of Frodo's lungs. "I'll not let them take you from me!"
A rush of warmth and affection surged through Frodo. He drew his hands up and laid them upon Sam's tensed forearms, still holding him like a vice.
"Oh Sam, friend of friends," said Frodo. "Gandalf chose me a good companion. Very well, then. We shall sleep in shifts."
"You let me go first," offered Sam, releasing his embrace to lead Frodo to the awaiting bed. "You just lie down in that bed and sleep. Your Sam will keep watch. You don't look well, if you don't mind me sayin'. And I have slept far too long already."
"Thank you Sam," said Frodo, already yawning. "I don't suppose they will try to fetch me anytime soon. They are regrouping, as we are. Merry will want to have a well-thought out plan before acting."
Sam bent down and gathered up the soft mountain of blankets off the floor and deposited them at the end of the bed. Sam stared down at the mattress in a gesture that was in actuality an order. Frodo obeyed. He plopped down on the unmade bed, kicking the last remnants of the rope to the floor. Sam fluffed Frodo's pillow, and in a gesture that was almost maternal, guided Frodo's head onto it. Sam playfully narrowed his eyes at Frodo, and the older hobbit understood what was expected of him. He pressed his eyes shut and smiled inwardly as he heard the swooshing of thick fabric, and felt one, then another blanket pulled up to his chin before being smoothed straight by unseen hands and tucked down at the sides.
"There now," sighed Sam, apparently satisfied.
Sam padded across the room to fetch a faded pillow off the floor by the dresser. He lingered for a moment, staring at his Master from across the room. Once again, he found himself captivated by the fragile beauty of the older hobbit, not young, but in a way, ageless. Streams of rose-tinted sunlight flowed through the small window and onto the unmoving figure on the bed, bathing the hobbit in an ethereal light. Frodo resembled a marble statue, even, and Sam shuddered at the image, a carved image on a sarcophagus. Sam fought the urge to shake his master, to rouse him to life just to be sure. The steady rise and fall of Frodo's chest brought Sam consolation and enough concentration to complete the task at hand.
Sam returned to his post by the door, throwing down his pillow and seating himself resolutely down upon it. Sam leaned against the hardness of the door, eyes alert and wide open. He sat, sentry-like, for a time, watching as the last of the pale sunlight faded into a dreary semi-darkness. His mind began to go hazy, before a disturbing wail cut through the silence.
Sam frantically squashed an ear flush against the wood.
"Mr. Frodo!" Sam exclaimed. Frodo jerked awake.
"What is it, Sam?"
"Mr. Frodo, I hear screamin', ...no — squealing!" announced Sam in an alarmed voice. "I think it is Master Pippin. What do you think that could mean?"
"I think," sighed Frodo blearily, "that Merry has just found out about that knife of yours."
Merry and Pippin sat in front of the hearth, side by side, in wooden chairs. Merry held a cold rag that had begun its life as an ice pack against his swollen face. He leaned at an awkward angle, pain still radiating from his side where Sam's kick had landed with such ferocity. Pippin, meanwhile, sat silent and slump-shouldered, the very picture of misery. He stared hazily into the fire, as if the dancing orange flames held some hidden comfort. A plate of uneaten bread and cheese sat ignored by his feet, the cheese beginning to melt and bubble with the heat. The hairs on Pippin's feet were starting to singe, but Pip scarcely took note, and made no attempt to move them.
What had just happened in there? Pip replayed the events in his mind.
Merry had slammed the sturdy oak door just in time. One more second, and Sam might have been able to kick it ajar and bolt out. Merry had literally pushed Pip down the corridor and into the parlor. Both hobbits collapsed into waiting chairs. Merry pulled the room key from Pip's still petrified grasp and plunged it back into his own pocket. He bid Pip to make them some refreshment and prepare him an icepack for his jaw. That done, Merry had moved a second chair by the fireplace, and bade Pip to sit beside him. Merry had devoured his bread and cheese in minutes. Pip had not touched his. And now they sat, staring into the fire, silent and tense.
Anger and disappointment rolled off Merry in waves so palpable they threatened to pull Pippin under and drown him. Pippin longed for Merry to speak, yet dreaded it beyond measure. Pip had never before been frightened of his dear cousin. Yet Merry's temper had become unpredictable of late, and it scared him.
"Pip," asked Merry, breaking the ominous silence. "How in Middle earth did they get free? How?"
Pippin did not know if Merry actually required an answer.
"I don't know," answered Pip drearily.
Merry turned his chair to face Pippin's, making it clear that he expected Pip to do likewise. Pip did not know if he could handle looking into those eyes - those cold, dark eyes.
Pip hesitantly turned his chair; but feeling too timid to meet Merry's gaze, he stared at his hands, at his feet, then back at his hands again. Strong fingers raised Pippin's chin and drew his gaze into the black orbs of his cousin.
"Pippin," said Merry, "Let us work out this puzzle together so that we will not err again. How did Frodo and Sam get loose?"
Pippin shrugged lamely, not having any idea what unknown force could have undone the cords binding Frodo and Sam.
"Because, Pip," continued Merry coldly, "I was thorough. Very thorough. Frodo was bound securely, hand and foot, and moving that dresser was beyond his strength. As for Sam, he could not have gotten to the knots binding him. The knots were tied under the bed. And, Pip, I left no object in that room sharper than a candlestick. So, tell me, how do you think this incident could have happened?"
A sudden look of panic flew across Pippin's face as a memory struck him. It was a possibility, an answer. But—Oh, Please! Don't let it be! Pip, sensing danger in his cousin's current mood, recovered his former bemused expression very quickly. Only for a moment had it flashed in his mind. The knife. Oh lords! The knife. Merry mustn't find out. Mustn't...
But Merry had seen the fear flit across Pip's face. His grasp on Pippin's chin became suddenly hard.
"Peregrin –What are you hiding?" asked Merry calmly.
"N-nothing, Merry."
"Pippin!"
Pippin shuddered then blanched. Merry's tone was harsh, and Pip thought he heard an under-tone of something darker, something malicious. He thought he might melt into liquid and seep between the cracks of the floorboards along with the cheese that was oozing from the plate by his feet. He was beginning to get very frightened.
"Nothing," Pip repeated in a small voice.
"Remember how we spoke about you being an adult?" Merry asked without a hint of tenderness.
Pippin nodded.
"And adults tell the truth, do they not, PIPPIN?"
Another nod.
"What are you hiding, then – Peregrin!!!" boomed Merry, his fierce features rendered all the more severe by the flame and dancing shadows.
"Speak!"
Pippin jumped but said nothing, though tears flooded his face and he began to shake uncontrollably.
"N-nothing, Mer," he stuttered.
Merry brought his face up to Pippin's –as if he were trying to peer through his eyes and down into his soul. A cruel smile materialized on Merry's lips. No, Pippin did not like this smile at all.
"Pip, since you insist on acting like a little child, I shall treat you as one."
"What –What do you mean, Mer? I am an adult, Merry! I am!" whimpered Pip, his voice taking on a squeaky, high-pitched tone that he didn't like at all. Hardly the voice of an adult.
"Were," corrected Merry. "Were an adult. But I give you this final chance to redeem yourself by telling me what just went through your little mind. You know more than you tell."
"No---NO..."
Pip had no opportunity to spit out a denial, as Merry violently pulled the quivering form over his knees effectively restraining him with one strong arm and began releasing his own belt with the other.
"Merry!" cried Pip in total panic. "NO! I am not a child! Merry! Don't do this! Merry!"
But Merry would not be convinced. He had read Pippin's deepest wish, to be respected as an adult. And what more devastating and eminently appropriate punishment than to strip away that "gift" and reduce Pip to a level he had not experienced for well over a decade.
He'd drop Pip down again, to when Pip was 8 and Merry 16, when Merry had often been put in charge of the mischievous imp. When Merry had been given his parents' blessing to discipline his young charge when needed, taking his cousin's slim wrists in one hand and spanking him with the other until he was a whimpering, whining, boneless, sobbing mess of a little Took. 'Never used a belt before,' thought Merry as he folded the supple leather into a cruel loop, buckle out. Fire came into his eyes and an unknown strength seemed to surge through his muscles, now tensed in anticipation of the exertion to come. Merry glanced down at the thrashing body below him with a wicked, knowing smile. By doling out this humiliating punishment, Merry could steal Pip's maturity, and sell it back to him for the price of absolute obedience.
Merry grasped Pip's wrists in one fist, only to find that the grown Pip was now strong enough to break free after a few seconds. Pip begged, kicked and whimpered as Merry pulled a handkerchief from his vest pocket pulled Pip's flailing arms together at the wrists once more, and tied them with a sturdy knot. Pip was now wild with horror. Pippin let loose a loud, shrill scream of protest as Merry pulled down his trousers with one unforgiving tug.
"NOOOOOO!!! Merry! I am an adult! You CAN'T do this!"
"Can't I?" Asked Merry cruelly as he lifted the belt high over his head, and with a shocking "Swoosh!" landed it violently on Pip's upturned backside.
The sickening sound of leather connecting with flesh combined with blunt agony jolted Pippin's mind and body like a lightening bolt. He bucked and howled. This may have been a child's punishment, but Merry administered it with the force of a very powerful adult. It hurt, gods! How it hurt! The physical pain was matched only by the rife humiliation coursing through every fiber of Pip's protesting body.
"MERRY! Let me DOWN! I'm twenty- ei—"
The belt fell again. Pippin's breath hitched. He'd never felt such agony.
"You are acting as if you are only nine, dearest," said Merry in a parental voice that stung as much as the blows. "A child, Pip. You are a child still."
Again, the metal of the buckle lunged down. Pippin fought to free his wrists, but to no avail. Merry was utterly in control now. The tears of pain and humiliation began to fall.
"You are an untrustworthy child who cannot be involved in adult affairs because..."
Another blow. Pippin screamed.
"...you are too immature."
Again and again. With more violence, each strike more painful than the last.
Merry's words hurt as much as the tanning, which was unbearably painful and beginning to draw blood. The buckle tore into Pip's alabaster skin, sometimes marring it with bruises, sometimes with blood, sometimes pounding open wounds from previous strikes. Pippin began to weep outright, only earning him a more violent thrashing.
"Merry!" pleaded Pip, "Punch me, kick me, pull my hair, strangle the life out of me, but please don't—"
The belt fell. More blood.
Pippin bucked. "Please don't do this!" cried Pippin. "I'm NOT a—"
Merry knew Pip's next intended word and purposefully delayed its utterance. He did not stop his blows.
"Not a CH--!"
WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!
Pip thought he might pass out. He began to hyperventilate, as Merry's relentless thrashes gave him no time to breathe.
"CH-Ch-ch—"
Pippin could feel the welts rising and the warm roll of blood.
"CHILD!" screamed Pippin in a final ragged breath before collapsing into heaving sobs.
But Merry did not relent with either his whips or his words. A dark force had come over Merry, feeding his desire to reduce and humiliate his cousin as a way of punishing him for the setback. Merry noted Pippin's perfect little bottom, now abraded, abused, and bleeding, but he would not let this tanning be the slightest bit erotic—nor was it. This was a child's punishment, but crafted through sheer ill will and violence. It was a punishment that demanded utter submission.
"You ARE a child, PIP!"
Merry continued the savage onslaught.
"So tell me little one—" Merry softened the blows – as he did not want Pippin to faint before he got his answer. "How do you suppose Frodo and Sam got loose?"
Merry lowered his belt to his side, as he was now also breathing heavily. Pip was wheezing and whimpering. Too worn out to cry anymore.
"Peregrin," warned Merry. "You have three seconds to fess up before I strike with such a volley of swipes that you will only wish that you could pass out to stop the misery. I know you are hurting. Time to tell. Three. Two. Merry raised his belt again. O—"
"I –gave-Sam-a-knife for his—Bread!" cried Pippin between sucking, staccato breaths. "I didn't mean to!"
"Mystery solved," said Merry in a voice as cold as stone.
If Pip assumed that this admission would buy him an end to the excruciating pain and debasement, he was grievously wrong. Much to his dismay, a series of softer, but still stinging slaps continued to batter his rear. Merry was not done.
"Now, Pippin," continued Merry in a softer tone, "I want to hear you apologize to me for your transgressions against me, and for forcing me do this to you."
Merry brought down another gentler slap. Pippin whimpered. Did Merry really want him to apologize for being beaten?
"You need to apologize to me for failing me, Pip," continued Merry, now sterner.
Harder again.
"Say it, lad!"
"I-I-I...."
Pip was perilously close to passing out. His mind was a sickening swirl of tangled emotions, pain intermingled with guilt, anger, regret, and blazing humiliation too profound to be contained within the confines of his quaking body.
Merry began hitting harder again. Droplets of Pippin's blood leapt off of Pippin's rear and rained down upon the cousins in a gruesome mist.
"Say it, little one!" chased Merry. "Say I am sorry for letting my Merry down and I deserve this—"
Another blow.
"—for failing."
Merry could see that Pippin was slipping from awareness. No—Merry would not let Pippin escape this final submission. Unconsciousness was too easy. Merry slapped Pippin several times on the side of his reddened face, Pippin's sweat, saliva and tears coating Merry's palm in the process.
"Up, Pip! Up!" ordered Merry. "Back to face this! Say it! Pip! Say it! I'm sorry for betraying my Merry! I deserve this!"
More strikes.
"SAY IT!"
Merry punctuated these words with another volley, brutal and relentless.
"You need to hear yourself say it, little one!" growled Merry.
"I—I" stuttered Pippin, avoiding the horror of verbalizing his obvious and manifest disgrace. Pippin wanted to die. His mind swung violently from one extreme to the other, craving darkness, craving release from this final crushing admission. His brain swam with confusion and indecision, and the memories of all the crimes real and imagined that he had committed against his dear, precious Merry, Merry the kind, Merry the cruel, Merry the passionate, Merry the wise, Merry the wielder of the belt, of justice, of discipline, of love, Merry who owned him, who entered him, who depended on him. Merry, whom he loved with every stitch of his soul. Merry whom he'd failed! Just say it you fool! But if you say it, it makes it real, makes all those things that you did real.
The pain and humiliation welled up in Pippin like a volcano, ready to burst forth and consume him alive. Pip couldn't think, couldn't breathe.
"SAY IT!"
More blood, more agony.
Your fault, it is all your fault, this was all he ever wanted and yet- yet, what to do, what to think, what to do other than retreat into the darkness and die. Cease to think. Cease to exist, if only for a little while! Pippin felt his mind folding into itself, folding into smaller and smaller pieces until he could barely sense its presence anymore. His mind retreated, it ran into its hidey hole like the toddler Pip had once been. His mind would flee or it would wither. Pippin felt his mind leaving his body to escape this soul-withering experience. Pip was utterly undone.
"SAY IT!"
Pippin arched his back as if pierced in the spine by an arrow.
"Soooooooooooorrrrrrrrrrrrrrryyyyyy!!!!!" screeched Pip in a keening wail, his eyes rolling back and his thoughts retreating to the darkest corners of his disintegrating mind.
Three more for good measure.
Merry noted that Pippin had finally ceased to thrash about--his only movement a jerking motion when the belt hit his flesh—little more than an involuntary reflex. Pip was nearly catatonic and had endured enough. Merry gave Pippin one more gentle slap before letting the bloodied belt slide to the floor with a sickening thud.
His own heartbeat was Pippin's only proof that he was still alive. He felt his trousers being gently pulled up again, though his dignity had fled and could not be stuffed back into his body. Pippin perceived soft, strong hands unbinding his hands, which immediately fell limp and boneless over Merry's knee. Finally, Pippin felt Merry gather his shaking mass into his arms, and hug him as if he were a small child. Merry smiled warmly into the vacant and glassy eyes and kissed him tenderly on his tear stained face as Pippin tensed in his arm. A rivulet of drool snaked down Pippin's quavering lips.
"Peregrin Took," said Merry in a low, sincere voice. "I love you."
The words were lightening in water to Pippin's frazzled state. Pippin let loose a shrill moan from the back of his throat. The room spun, the world stopped and his emotions crashed into a shattered heap. Pip felt as if Merry had thrown a spear into his soul, leaving a cavernous wound from which his heart would flutter out, burst apart, and scatter into the wind. Merry gently rocked Pippin's body, the receptacle for his hollow shell of a mind. Merry hummed a lullaby as Pip's damaged body and wreck of a soul fell lax and lifeless in his cousin's arms.
TBC
Chapter 12 – Hope and Humiliation
Sam punched fiercely at the unyielding door, the current focus of his rage and anguish.
"Let us GO!" yelled Sam into the wood. "Scoundrel!!!!"
Sam gave the door two parting kicks with his large foot before collapsing into a frustrated heap. Frodo knelt down to face his friend.
"We failed Mr. Frodo!" huffed Sam. "Now we'll be stuck here until the breaking of the blasted world!"
Frodo remained silent for a few seconds as his mind grappled for something appropriate to say. The only sound in the room was the dying crackle as the lone candle on the bed stand flickered out. Finally, Frodo spoke.
"They will have to let us out sometime, Sam."
"How do you reckon that, Master?" asked Sam, his chest still rising and falling in jerking rhythm.
"Sam," Frodo answered. "Merry wants to speak, or more likely, interrogate me alone. That is surely why he came in just now, to have another "conversation."
A sharp tremor ran through Frodo as the words left his mouth. He did not relish the thought of more such discussions with an increasingly unpredictable Merry. He unconsciously scanned the room for escape routes he already knew did not exist. His eyes flitted around the four unadorned walls, the high small window, down to the rumpled bed, the bed stand, the heavy oak drawers across the room, and finally the door. Nothing. The door stared mockingly at both hobbits, its once smooth, sanded surface now marred by scratches and scuffs where Sam had assailed it with fingernails, fists, and feet. Frodo turned back to Sam, and looking into his haggard face, saw that Sam had read his mind.
"He'll hurt you, Mr. Frodo!" cried Sam abruptly, his eyes pools of pain. A wave of guilt shot through him, and he bowed his head into his palms.
"Yes, Sam," answered Frodo. "In his current state, I'm afraid that is likely."
Sam jerked his head up again, stunned at Frodo's calm acknowledgment. Frodo placed a soothing hand on Sam's shoulder.
"But look at the bright side," continued Frodo. "We are unbound, and, Sam, we are together. That counts for a great deal. What we have lost is the element of surprise. Merry and Pippin will be prepared next time. So we must be vigilant if we are to succeed."
Sam rose to his feet, as if coming to a decision. He raked thick fingers through sandy tendrils of hair, pulled his disheveled shirt down and set his jaw before standing resolutely beside his crouching master.
"We shouldn't both ought to sleep, Mr. Frodo. Not both at once, leastwise," said Sam.
"You are right Sam," agreed Frodo as he stood up. "They are probably depending on us dozing off, and separating us at that time."
"I'll not let that happen, Master Frodo!" exclaimed Sam vehemently as he almost violently wrapped his arms around Frodo in a protective embrace that nearly squeezed the breathe out of Frodo's lungs. "I'll not let them take you from me!"
A rush of warmth and affection surged through Frodo. He drew his hands up and laid them upon Sam's tensed forearms, still holding him like a vice.
"Oh Sam, friend of friends," said Frodo. "Gandalf chose me a good companion. Very well, then. We shall sleep in shifts."
"You let me go first," offered Sam, releasing his embrace to lead Frodo to the awaiting bed. "You just lie down in that bed and sleep. Your Sam will keep watch. You don't look well, if you don't mind me sayin'. And I have slept far too long already."
"Thank you Sam," said Frodo, already yawning. "I don't suppose they will try to fetch me anytime soon. They are regrouping, as we are. Merry will want to have a well-thought out plan before acting."
Sam bent down and gathered up the soft mountain of blankets off the floor and deposited them at the end of the bed. Sam stared down at the mattress in a gesture that was in actuality an order. Frodo obeyed. He plopped down on the unmade bed, kicking the last remnants of the rope to the floor. Sam fluffed Frodo's pillow, and in a gesture that was almost maternal, guided Frodo's head onto it. Sam playfully narrowed his eyes at Frodo, and the older hobbit understood what was expected of him. He pressed his eyes shut and smiled inwardly as he heard the swooshing of thick fabric, and felt one, then another blanket pulled up to his chin before being smoothed straight by unseen hands and tucked down at the sides.
"There now," sighed Sam, apparently satisfied.
Sam padded across the room to fetch a faded pillow off the floor by the dresser. He lingered for a moment, staring at his Master from across the room. Once again, he found himself captivated by the fragile beauty of the older hobbit, not young, but in a way, ageless. Streams of rose-tinted sunlight flowed through the small window and onto the unmoving figure on the bed, bathing the hobbit in an ethereal light. Frodo resembled a marble statue, even, and Sam shuddered at the image, a carved image on a sarcophagus. Sam fought the urge to shake his master, to rouse him to life just to be sure. The steady rise and fall of Frodo's chest brought Sam consolation and enough concentration to complete the task at hand.
Sam returned to his post by the door, throwing down his pillow and seating himself resolutely down upon it. Sam leaned against the hardness of the door, eyes alert and wide open. He sat, sentry-like, for a time, watching as the last of the pale sunlight faded into a dreary semi-darkness. His mind began to go hazy, before a disturbing wail cut through the silence.
Sam frantically squashed an ear flush against the wood.
"Mr. Frodo!" Sam exclaimed. Frodo jerked awake.
"What is it, Sam?"
"Mr. Frodo, I hear screamin', ...no — squealing!" announced Sam in an alarmed voice. "I think it is Master Pippin. What do you think that could mean?"
"I think," sighed Frodo blearily, "that Merry has just found out about that knife of yours."
Merry and Pippin sat in front of the hearth, side by side, in wooden chairs. Merry held a cold rag that had begun its life as an ice pack against his swollen face. He leaned at an awkward angle, pain still radiating from his side where Sam's kick had landed with such ferocity. Pippin, meanwhile, sat silent and slump-shouldered, the very picture of misery. He stared hazily into the fire, as if the dancing orange flames held some hidden comfort. A plate of uneaten bread and cheese sat ignored by his feet, the cheese beginning to melt and bubble with the heat. The hairs on Pippin's feet were starting to singe, but Pip scarcely took note, and made no attempt to move them.
What had just happened in there? Pip replayed the events in his mind.
Merry had slammed the sturdy oak door just in time. One more second, and Sam might have been able to kick it ajar and bolt out. Merry had literally pushed Pip down the corridor and into the parlor. Both hobbits collapsed into waiting chairs. Merry pulled the room key from Pip's still petrified grasp and plunged it back into his own pocket. He bid Pip to make them some refreshment and prepare him an icepack for his jaw. That done, Merry had moved a second chair by the fireplace, and bade Pip to sit beside him. Merry had devoured his bread and cheese in minutes. Pip had not touched his. And now they sat, staring into the fire, silent and tense.
Anger and disappointment rolled off Merry in waves so palpable they threatened to pull Pippin under and drown him. Pippin longed for Merry to speak, yet dreaded it beyond measure. Pip had never before been frightened of his dear cousin. Yet Merry's temper had become unpredictable of late, and it scared him.
"Pip," asked Merry, breaking the ominous silence. "How in Middle earth did they get free? How?"
Pippin did not know if Merry actually required an answer.
"I don't know," answered Pip drearily.
Merry turned his chair to face Pippin's, making it clear that he expected Pip to do likewise. Pip did not know if he could handle looking into those eyes - those cold, dark eyes.
Pip hesitantly turned his chair; but feeling too timid to meet Merry's gaze, he stared at his hands, at his feet, then back at his hands again. Strong fingers raised Pippin's chin and drew his gaze into the black orbs of his cousin.
"Pippin," said Merry, "Let us work out this puzzle together so that we will not err again. How did Frodo and Sam get loose?"
Pippin shrugged lamely, not having any idea what unknown force could have undone the cords binding Frodo and Sam.
"Because, Pip," continued Merry coldly, "I was thorough. Very thorough. Frodo was bound securely, hand and foot, and moving that dresser was beyond his strength. As for Sam, he could not have gotten to the knots binding him. The knots were tied under the bed. And, Pip, I left no object in that room sharper than a candlestick. So, tell me, how do you think this incident could have happened?"
A sudden look of panic flew across Pippin's face as a memory struck him. It was a possibility, an answer. But—Oh, Please! Don't let it be! Pip, sensing danger in his cousin's current mood, recovered his former bemused expression very quickly. Only for a moment had it flashed in his mind. The knife. Oh lords! The knife. Merry mustn't find out. Mustn't...
But Merry had seen the fear flit across Pip's face. His grasp on Pippin's chin became suddenly hard.
"Peregrin –What are you hiding?" asked Merry calmly.
"N-nothing, Merry."
"Pippin!"
Pippin shuddered then blanched. Merry's tone was harsh, and Pip thought he heard an under-tone of something darker, something malicious. He thought he might melt into liquid and seep between the cracks of the floorboards along with the cheese that was oozing from the plate by his feet. He was beginning to get very frightened.
"Nothing," Pip repeated in a small voice.
"Remember how we spoke about you being an adult?" Merry asked without a hint of tenderness.
Pippin nodded.
"And adults tell the truth, do they not, PIPPIN?"
Another nod.
"What are you hiding, then – Peregrin!!!" boomed Merry, his fierce features rendered all the more severe by the flame and dancing shadows.
"Speak!"
Pippin jumped but said nothing, though tears flooded his face and he began to shake uncontrollably.
"N-nothing, Mer," he stuttered.
Merry brought his face up to Pippin's –as if he were trying to peer through his eyes and down into his soul. A cruel smile materialized on Merry's lips. No, Pippin did not like this smile at all.
"Pip, since you insist on acting like a little child, I shall treat you as one."
"What –What do you mean, Mer? I am an adult, Merry! I am!" whimpered Pip, his voice taking on a squeaky, high-pitched tone that he didn't like at all. Hardly the voice of an adult.
"Were," corrected Merry. "Were an adult. But I give you this final chance to redeem yourself by telling me what just went through your little mind. You know more than you tell."
"No---NO..."
Pip had no opportunity to spit out a denial, as Merry violently pulled the quivering form over his knees effectively restraining him with one strong arm and began releasing his own belt with the other.
"Merry!" cried Pip in total panic. "NO! I am not a child! Merry! Don't do this! Merry!"
But Merry would not be convinced. He had read Pippin's deepest wish, to be respected as an adult. And what more devastating and eminently appropriate punishment than to strip away that "gift" and reduce Pip to a level he had not experienced for well over a decade.
He'd drop Pip down again, to when Pip was 8 and Merry 16, when Merry had often been put in charge of the mischievous imp. When Merry had been given his parents' blessing to discipline his young charge when needed, taking his cousin's slim wrists in one hand and spanking him with the other until he was a whimpering, whining, boneless, sobbing mess of a little Took. 'Never used a belt before,' thought Merry as he folded the supple leather into a cruel loop, buckle out. Fire came into his eyes and an unknown strength seemed to surge through his muscles, now tensed in anticipation of the exertion to come. Merry glanced down at the thrashing body below him with a wicked, knowing smile. By doling out this humiliating punishment, Merry could steal Pip's maturity, and sell it back to him for the price of absolute obedience.
Merry grasped Pip's wrists in one fist, only to find that the grown Pip was now strong enough to break free after a few seconds. Pip begged, kicked and whimpered as Merry pulled a handkerchief from his vest pocket pulled Pip's flailing arms together at the wrists once more, and tied them with a sturdy knot. Pip was now wild with horror. Pippin let loose a loud, shrill scream of protest as Merry pulled down his trousers with one unforgiving tug.
"NOOOOOO!!! Merry! I am an adult! You CAN'T do this!"
"Can't I?" Asked Merry cruelly as he lifted the belt high over his head, and with a shocking "Swoosh!" landed it violently on Pip's upturned backside.
The sickening sound of leather connecting with flesh combined with blunt agony jolted Pippin's mind and body like a lightening bolt. He bucked and howled. This may have been a child's punishment, but Merry administered it with the force of a very powerful adult. It hurt, gods! How it hurt! The physical pain was matched only by the rife humiliation coursing through every fiber of Pip's protesting body.
"MERRY! Let me DOWN! I'm twenty- ei—"
The belt fell again. Pippin's breath hitched. He'd never felt such agony.
"You are acting as if you are only nine, dearest," said Merry in a parental voice that stung as much as the blows. "A child, Pip. You are a child still."
Again, the metal of the buckle lunged down. Pippin fought to free his wrists, but to no avail. Merry was utterly in control now. The tears of pain and humiliation began to fall.
"You are an untrustworthy child who cannot be involved in adult affairs because..."
Another blow. Pippin screamed.
"...you are too immature."
Again and again. With more violence, each strike more painful than the last.
Merry's words hurt as much as the tanning, which was unbearably painful and beginning to draw blood. The buckle tore into Pip's alabaster skin, sometimes marring it with bruises, sometimes with blood, sometimes pounding open wounds from previous strikes. Pippin began to weep outright, only earning him a more violent thrashing.
"Merry!" pleaded Pip, "Punch me, kick me, pull my hair, strangle the life out of me, but please don't—"
The belt fell. More blood.
Pippin bucked. "Please don't do this!" cried Pippin. "I'm NOT a—"
Merry knew Pip's next intended word and purposefully delayed its utterance. He did not stop his blows.
"Not a CH--!"
WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!
Pip thought he might pass out. He began to hyperventilate, as Merry's relentless thrashes gave him no time to breathe.
"CH-Ch-ch—"
Pippin could feel the welts rising and the warm roll of blood.
"CHILD!" screamed Pippin in a final ragged breath before collapsing into heaving sobs.
But Merry did not relent with either his whips or his words. A dark force had come over Merry, feeding his desire to reduce and humiliate his cousin as a way of punishing him for the setback. Merry noted Pippin's perfect little bottom, now abraded, abused, and bleeding, but he would not let this tanning be the slightest bit erotic—nor was it. This was a child's punishment, but crafted through sheer ill will and violence. It was a punishment that demanded utter submission.
"You ARE a child, PIP!"
Merry continued the savage onslaught.
"So tell me little one—" Merry softened the blows – as he did not want Pippin to faint before he got his answer. "How do you suppose Frodo and Sam got loose?"
Merry lowered his belt to his side, as he was now also breathing heavily. Pip was wheezing and whimpering. Too worn out to cry anymore.
"Peregrin," warned Merry. "You have three seconds to fess up before I strike with such a volley of swipes that you will only wish that you could pass out to stop the misery. I know you are hurting. Time to tell. Three. Two. Merry raised his belt again. O—"
"I –gave-Sam-a-knife for his—Bread!" cried Pippin between sucking, staccato breaths. "I didn't mean to!"
"Mystery solved," said Merry in a voice as cold as stone.
If Pip assumed that this admission would buy him an end to the excruciating pain and debasement, he was grievously wrong. Much to his dismay, a series of softer, but still stinging slaps continued to batter his rear. Merry was not done.
"Now, Pippin," continued Merry in a softer tone, "I want to hear you apologize to me for your transgressions against me, and for forcing me do this to you."
Merry brought down another gentler slap. Pippin whimpered. Did Merry really want him to apologize for being beaten?
"You need to apologize to me for failing me, Pip," continued Merry, now sterner.
Harder again.
"Say it, lad!"
"I-I-I...."
Pip was perilously close to passing out. His mind was a sickening swirl of tangled emotions, pain intermingled with guilt, anger, regret, and blazing humiliation too profound to be contained within the confines of his quaking body.
Merry began hitting harder again. Droplets of Pippin's blood leapt off of Pippin's rear and rained down upon the cousins in a gruesome mist.
"Say it, little one!" chased Merry. "Say I am sorry for letting my Merry down and I deserve this—"
Another blow.
"—for failing."
Merry could see that Pippin was slipping from awareness. No—Merry would not let Pippin escape this final submission. Unconsciousness was too easy. Merry slapped Pippin several times on the side of his reddened face, Pippin's sweat, saliva and tears coating Merry's palm in the process.
"Up, Pip! Up!" ordered Merry. "Back to face this! Say it! Pip! Say it! I'm sorry for betraying my Merry! I deserve this!"
More strikes.
"SAY IT!"
Merry punctuated these words with another volley, brutal and relentless.
"You need to hear yourself say it, little one!" growled Merry.
"I—I" stuttered Pippin, avoiding the horror of verbalizing his obvious and manifest disgrace. Pippin wanted to die. His mind swung violently from one extreme to the other, craving darkness, craving release from this final crushing admission. His brain swam with confusion and indecision, and the memories of all the crimes real and imagined that he had committed against his dear, precious Merry, Merry the kind, Merry the cruel, Merry the passionate, Merry the wise, Merry the wielder of the belt, of justice, of discipline, of love, Merry who owned him, who entered him, who depended on him. Merry, whom he loved with every stitch of his soul. Merry whom he'd failed! Just say it you fool! But if you say it, it makes it real, makes all those things that you did real.
The pain and humiliation welled up in Pippin like a volcano, ready to burst forth and consume him alive. Pip couldn't think, couldn't breathe.
"SAY IT!"
More blood, more agony.
Your fault, it is all your fault, this was all he ever wanted and yet- yet, what to do, what to think, what to do other than retreat into the darkness and die. Cease to think. Cease to exist, if only for a little while! Pippin felt his mind folding into itself, folding into smaller and smaller pieces until he could barely sense its presence anymore. His mind retreated, it ran into its hidey hole like the toddler Pip had once been. His mind would flee or it would wither. Pippin felt his mind leaving his body to escape this soul-withering experience. Pip was utterly undone.
"SAY IT!"
Pippin arched his back as if pierced in the spine by an arrow.
"Soooooooooooorrrrrrrrrrrrrrryyyyyy!!!!!" screeched Pip in a keening wail, his eyes rolling back and his thoughts retreating to the darkest corners of his disintegrating mind.
Three more for good measure.
Merry noted that Pippin had finally ceased to thrash about--his only movement a jerking motion when the belt hit his flesh—little more than an involuntary reflex. Pip was nearly catatonic and had endured enough. Merry gave Pippin one more gentle slap before letting the bloodied belt slide to the floor with a sickening thud.
His own heartbeat was Pippin's only proof that he was still alive. He felt his trousers being gently pulled up again, though his dignity had fled and could not be stuffed back into his body. Pippin perceived soft, strong hands unbinding his hands, which immediately fell limp and boneless over Merry's knee. Finally, Pippin felt Merry gather his shaking mass into his arms, and hug him as if he were a small child. Merry smiled warmly into the vacant and glassy eyes and kissed him tenderly on his tear stained face as Pippin tensed in his arm. A rivulet of drool snaked down Pippin's quavering lips.
"Peregrin Took," said Merry in a low, sincere voice. "I love you."
The words were lightening in water to Pippin's frazzled state. Pippin let loose a shrill moan from the back of his throat. The room spun, the world stopped and his emotions crashed into a shattered heap. Pip felt as if Merry had thrown a spear into his soul, leaving a cavernous wound from which his heart would flutter out, burst apart, and scatter into the wind. Merry gently rocked Pippin's body, the receptacle for his hollow shell of a mind. Merry hummed a lullaby as Pip's damaged body and wreck of a soul fell lax and lifeless in his cousin's arms.
TBC