Chapter 24 -The Shadow of the Present
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Frodo lay quiet and still in Merry's lap. He had finally managed to escape his torment in the only way left available to him - a deep, drug and pain- induced slumber that left him senseless in his cousin's arms. Sam had not been so fortunate. Sam remained standing bound to the tree in a cruel cocoon of unforgiving cords. He remained agonizingly alert and awake, pain searing through his body and his mind.
Merry thumbed his own tears away as he lay Frodo gingerly, almost reverently face down upon the dew-moistened grass, ever-so-gently pulling his arms in front of his body and binding them with a spare piece of rope. Merry leaned down to whisper something at the still form, as if intoning a benediction for a slain brother, caressing Frodo with very same hand that had clutched and swung the whip only moments before. Sam glared at Merry as he tended to his fallen master. To Sam, Merry's hands were tainted. Merry had no right to offer his comfort, not now. ¶
Merry pulled himself onto unsteady legs, pulled down his sleeves, and turned his gaze to Sam. Sam continued to glower at Merry, even as Merry approached him. Merry stumbled, as if it were he who had been whipped into oblivion. Sam's glower transformed into a sneer, then to a guttural growl from deep in the back of his throat. Yet Sam remained quiet for fear of bringing any more abuse upon Frodo through rash words. He kept silent, he kept still, allowing the venom and the bile to seep into his heart until he feared he might implode.
Merry brought his tear-stained face up to Sam's flushed one. Sam's jaw clinched vice-like, pushing back the flood of wrath and sobs that begged to surge forth. The object of Sam's undiluted hatred stood inches from him now, his face wearing an expression of sorrow but not regret. Merry finally spoke.
"Samwise," said Merry in a voice cracking under the weight of emotion, "You did well-better than I had thought. You controlled your temper for the sake of your master."
Sam imaged himself pounding the hobbit before him to a sticky pulp with his fists as Merry spoke. Outwardly, Sam was impassive.
"I know you love Frodo, just as I do. But you must find a better way of showing it. You are a poor influence on our Frodo at present, and I cannot let you corrupt him. Not when he is such an important asset to all the Shire."
Merry turned and began to pace. "Frodo loves you. He trusts you, and he listens to you. Out of respect to that friendship, I will not let my anger get in the way of my helping you to become a worthy companion for him." Merry gazed into Sam's eyes, seeking a reaction that Sam did not reveal.
"To that end you shall stand here next to Frodo's whipping tree to reflect upon your actions and the terrible effect they had upon your master. I want you to think of this as a learning experience rather than exclusively a punishment."
Sam buried his emotions, kept his face immobile, locking away his tears. He'd not react. In fact, Sam had expected this punishment. He'd not give Merry the satisfaction of knowing that he ached to his very core; that his wrists and ankles had gone numb and useless; that the ropes, and not his feet held him up; that his whole body and soul were beyond pain but not beyond strength. Merry smiled sadly, tenderly, as he cupped Sam's face in his hands and forced their eyes to meet.
"Sam," said Merry. "I know your heart is breaking-perhaps even just as much as mine. I am a stern teacher, but not a heartless one. I will not allow you to speak, but you have sorrow to release, and I give you permission to do so. Sam, you may cry. You may sob now without any fear of repercussions to Frodo. Go ahead, Sam. Let it out, cry."
Sam wished to explode into wracking sobs with every fiber of his being. His jaw started to loosen, and tears battered relentless at the backs of his eyelids. But he forced it back, swallowed it down like the bitter drought that it was. Sam would not let Merry be the lever of his emotions. If Sam cried, it would be on his own terms-and his own terms did not include the presence of Merry. Merry stepped back, wordlessly waiting for Sam to break. But Sam did not break. Sam maintained eye contact with Merry as he drew back a breath, and spat on the ground at Merry's feet.
Merry flinched, but did not otherwise react. A long stand at the tree would surely cure him of his intransigence. No need to pick up the venom- filled gauntlet. Without a word, Merry turned to Frodo, lying lifeless upon the grass. Grasping Frodo up under the arms, Merry pulled the limp bundle up and draped him over his shoulder like a corpse, and silently slugged over the fields to the house. The sloshing of grass was the only sound that could be heard in the misty morning, the sloshing of grass and Sam's uneven breathing. Sam watched in misery as the door of Crickhollow opened up and swallowed his master. The distant echo of the slamming door was drowned out by the unearthly howl that loosed itself from Sam's chest and tore at his soul as the door clicked shut and Frodo was, once again, beyond his reach and beyond his aid.
* * *
Water. Frodo felt himself being sucked down by a churning whirlpool into the murky depths of some unknown sea, his limp body shaken and tossed, spiraling into the blackness. His lungs screamed for air, his fingers clutched for land, and his mind screamed for the solace of death. Frodo felt himself being pounded against nameless cliffs like driftwood, his back scratched, scraped and torn each time the waves flung him at the unforgiving rocks. The pain was excruciating; the fear unbearable.
Then the remarkable! The deafening crash of waves soothed to a splash, and then a trickle. The waters receded, the seas becalmed by some unknown force. The splashes faded to ripples-finally falling silent as a pond on a windless morning. The same current that had pulled Frodo down now pushed him up toward the sparkling light. Surfacing. Suddenly the darkness retreated and Frodo broke through to a world of light and air. He was in water, but no longer under it. Frodo heard a distant voice, like the calls of seagulls carried on the wind. The voice hummed and sang a song that was both familiar yet very strange. Enchanted, Frodo felt his body uncoil and his mind drift like a feather in a breeze. Frodo drew in a deep breath to convince himself that he was still alive. He lolled his head back, floating. The icy sea was now warm and comforting. The briny scent had been overcome by the tangy musk of rosemary and mint. Soft hands ran through his damp hair, luring him back to awareness.
"Drink this, love," cooed the sweet voice as a steaming cup was pushed to Frodo's yielding lips. "Drink this to dull the pain. Drink, love, drink."
Frodo took a few slow sips. The liquid was hot, but soothed his body the moment it reached his mouth. The tangy scent of Rosemary rose from the bathwater, permeating the room and calming the hobbit's mind. His whole world seemed to be floating on the edge of a dream-a dream Frodo never wished to leave.
Frodo floated back to consciousness, realizing that his eyes had been open, but unfocused. That soft voice beside him hummed a lullaby as a warmed, scented cloth was brushed over his face.
"Fro-do," called Merry in a lilting playful tone.
Frodo's vision landed upon the piercing grey eyes of his cousin. His eyes were now sparkling, not glinting, and full of compassion. Merry's blonde locks now moistened by the steam rising from the tub, giving him an almost angelic quality.
"Where am I?" asked Frodo in a small voice.
"Home, Love, you are home." Merry offered Frodo a warm smile. "Home where you belong."
Home. The word* meant nothing in the muddle of his mind-or rather, if it meant something, it meant Bag End. Time and place had shifted and swirled for Frodo, and he could place nothing.
"Where's Bilbo?
Merry chuckled softly. "He left you, Frodo. He left you alone many years ago. We are your family now-and we shant ever leave you."
Frodo glanced around, slowly coming to the realization that this was not Bag End. Merry noticed and allayed his cousin's confusion.
"You're here in your new home at Crickhollow, Frodo," said Merry. "You're here with your family, Pippin, Sam and I."
"Sam-?"
A memory of a terrifying tree and a dark forest flowed back into his mind like a nightmare. Other memories came back too-memories of a shattering pain slashing down his bared back again and again, memories of Sam's anguished face, memories of Sam's eyes filled with tears and profound despair, memories of Sam's mouth clenched shut, locking in the screams and the sobs. Frodo suddenly lurched up, only to find that the movement set his injured back on fire. He moaned at the stabbing pain, then leaned back into the healing waters with a gentle splash.
"Sam," mumbled Frodo. "I must see Sam."
"Sam is just fine, Frodo," soothed Merry. "You bore his punishment bravely. Sam is in a place now where he can be alone and undisturbed with his thoughts. I wish for him to reflect on his actions and on how those actions brought harm upon you. I am angry with Sam, Frodo. Angry at him for making me do this to you. But, Frodo, I will forgive him. I will forgive him for your sake and for the sake of our family."
Merry tipped Frodo's face toward him gently. "It is you that concerns me now, Frodo."
Frodo's head swam with confusion. He had a flurry of trenchant responses he longed to aim at his cousin, about how Merry had done this, done everything, how Sam had been his protector, that if he could disavow Merry as his cousin, he would. But the water was so warm, and the smells so lovely, seeming to creep through his nostrils and into his head swirling his thoughts, and the caresses so gentle, that his words fluttered away before they left his mouth. His mind suddenly felt as if all the clutter and cobwebs had been swept away, leaving only the warmth of the bath and of Merry's smile. He floated, as if in a drunken haze. His erstwhile diatribe sank into an unintelligible murmur punctuated by a yawn.
"Peace, now, Frodo," said Merry. "You are injured, and I must tend to you. I've filled your bath with rosemary. It will help your wounds heal quickly. There are a few other lovely herbs in your bath and your drink that will calm your overactive mind and help you to relax."
Overactive mind? What did that mean? His mind barely felt active at all spiraling as it was with thoughts he barely recognized as his own. He felt muddled and bewildered, unable to stir his thoughts to anything resembling sense. There was only the drifting in the warmth and the aroma rising with the steam to swirl inside his head, gentling him and coaxing him into a haze of dreamy lethargy.
Frodo glanced down at the water. Herbs and petals floated languidly on the surface of the water. Frodo, in his daze, imagined himself as the main ingredient in a bowl of steaming soup. Tomato soup, he thought. Too sleepy for shock, Frodo did not register that his water had turned a deep crimson color, the result of his own blood.
"Aren't you relieved to be home after such a terrifying ordeal, Frodo?" asked Merry. "Such an //unnecessary// ordeal?"
Frodo nodded, his chin hesitating on his chest with each slow nod. Frodo could not help but think that this response was somehow not the one he'd intended. But once again the fragrant herbs were soothing, and caressed his mind with the most blessed thoughts. Frodo's chin sank down and his eyes fell half-mast. Why had he and Sam had to leave with such haste in the first place?
The Ring!
Frodo was naked. Where was it? Where WAS it?!
Merry anticipated Frodo's panic. "Do not fear, Frodo," said Merry to a question Frodo did not even verbalize. "I would not steal it from you. No, that would defeat the purpose. The Ring is yours. I understand that. Here--."
Merry held up Frodo's jacket, allowing Frodo to dig the Ring out of the pocket with lazy uncooperative fingers. Merry set the jacket down and held up a shimmering silver chain.
"Here, Frodo, thread your ring on this."
Frodo did not question Merry's suggestion. He groggily took the chain and threaded it through the Ring, fumbling and nearly crossing his eyes in concentration in his attempt to get the slender chain through the gaping band of gold in his groping fingers. Merry stood behind Frodo, and threaded another object on the chain before fastening it around Frodo's neck.
"There now!" exclaimed Merry with another pat to Frodo's head. "There you are-the lord of the Ring."
Frodo pulled the Ring up on its new chain and rolled it lazily * between his fingers, at first absentmindedly, then with growing intensity. Such a beautiful, perfect, circle of gold! How grand his small hand would look with such an ornament! 'You must never put it on.' The words crept into his haze, a deep, rumbling baritone eddying in a mist with the scent of pipeweed and his brows came together in a frown. 'Gandalf,' he thought and his mouth came up in a lazy smile. Gandalf had said he must never put it on and so he would not. The Ring reflected the bathwater rippling below it, its bottom half echoing a shimmer of deep blood red. Frodo marveled at the way the colors danced over its smooth surface. Frodo no longer paid heed to any other sight, sound, or scent in the room, turning his full consideration to the gold and crimson circle of gold turning tantalizingly between his fingers.
Without realizing it, Merry also fastened his gaze upon the Ring as it slid like a tiny sun between Frodo's fingers. He tore his glance away with colossal effort to finish his thoughts.
"Frodo," continued Merry in a serious tone. "You are the Ring's keeper." Merry reached out to grasp Frodo's shoulder possessively. "Just as I am your keeper."
Frodo turned his eyes to meet his cousin's, a look hovering between gratitude and fear.
"Frodo, you may trust us," said Merry. "You see, we've taken care of everything -even the things you neglected to take care of yourself."
Merry grasped the small silver ornament that had been resting on the chain at the back of Frodo's neck, as yet unnoticed by Frodo himself and teased it around to the front. Merry plucked up the chain with his thumb and forefinger so that the locket and the Ring both dangled in front of Frodo's face. Picking up the locket, the Ring slid to Frodo's back. Merry pressed the sides of the locket, wordlessly urging Frodo to look. It opened with a tiny snick, revealing a miniature painting of a hobbit lass, plump and pretty, with Frodo's deep azure eyes and chestnut curls, as well as the unmistakable Brandybuck cleft in her chin. Frodo did not need Merry to tell him that he was gazing upon an image of his mother. Frodo stared, mute. The longing and grief hitting so suddenly and with such driving force that for a moment his breath caught in his throat. He closed his eyes and a single, fat tear slid down his cheek to drop and join the swirl of crimson. Oh, Mama. Look what your lad has come to.
"I know how much you miss her, Frodo, dear," said Merry, the back of his hand ghosting over Frodo's checks. "All the Brandybucks at the hall took you under their wings and into their hearts after your parents drowned, Frodo. We loved you. You were the only remaining echo of your dear mother, Primula Brandbuck, who was so beloved at the hall. The Brandybucks tried to make it all better. But there were some things that could not be replaced. Even when I was a small lad grasping at your knees, I perceived your sadness."
Frodo's eyes glazed over in memory of his childhood in Buckland after his parents had died. He couldn't recall having been taken under anyone's wing - that is until Bilbo had taken him in hand. He had drifted through his teens and part of his tweens in a steady state of melancholy. Living at Brandy Hall meant living in a perpetual crowd and the solitary and rather odd orphan was easily and often overlooked in the bustling hive, learning early to nurse his own colds and clean his own scrapes and hurts. He'd been surrounded by kin, yet lonely, deeply, profoundly lonely. Merry's words once again broke his reverie.
"I know you probably had forgotten this locket. But I hadn't. I've been looking for this a long time. I wanted to find it so that I could give it to you-so that you could have a memento that you could remember her by. I searched in every bag and chest at Brandy Hall until, at last, I found it in my father's desk. He had kept it there all these long years, certainly in expectation that it would find its way back to you. Well, dear cousin, now it has!"
Frodo did not answer, his eyes now fixed upon the small painted image of his mother.
"You always treated me with kindness, Frodo, even when I was an irrepressible little tag-a-long and you a fully-grown tween. I still remember the day you left to live with Bilbo in Hobbiton. Did you know I cried for two days straight when you left? I didn't understand why you had to leave. In many ways, I still don't."
Frodo glanced at Merry with vague, unfocused eyes. The horror of the morning seemed to have receded into the rosemary-scented steam, leaving only a vague sadness and uneasy sense of things being.wrong somehow. Merry leaned over the tub, capturing Frodo in a soft embrace.
"And now, Frodo, the Brandybucks shall care for you again," said Merry. "We are your family. And unlike the Baggins side, we shall not leave."
* * *
Merry eased a drowsy and dizzy Frodo out of the tub and wrapped him in a large towel before leading him down the corridor.
Frodo let himself be led to a clean bedroom in a part of the house into which he had not yet ventured. On the far side of the room was the hearth, already ablaze with a welcoming fire. The droplets of rain clouded the three small round windows that faced the fields, and at a distance, the tree to which Samwise had been so mercilessly bound. In this room was set up Bilbo's very nicest furniture as well as some noticeable additions taken from Brandy Hall. There was Bilbo's mahogany writing desk, an intricately carved chest of drawers, a sturdy wardrobe, a tall spindly bed stand holding a basin and pitcher, and, finally, a thinish but long four-poster bed piled high with pillows.
Frodo hardly noticed, as his desire to sleep had become well nigh overwhelming. Merry leaned Frodo against one of the filigreed posts as he pulled the green brocade bedcover down, revealing luxuriously clean silk sheets.
Merry patted the bed. "Down you go, Frodo. This is the best bed in the house."
Frodo winced as he sat. Merry held Frodo's shoulders upright as Frodo began to lean back.
"No, dear," said Merry. "Lie down on your stomach. I'll not let you reopen your wounds."
Frodo complied. He'd planned to do this anyway, he'd simply forgotten on the way down.
Merry took Frodo's shoulders and guided him face-down on the bed as gently as he could, pulling the sheet up to his waist so as not to irritate the angry-looking stripes on his back. Merry sang a hobbit lullaby as he knelt down on his haunches to tie strips of cloth to the upper bedposts out of Frodo's eyeline. ¶
Frodo could feel himself drifting off, Merry's soothing voice cooing words to a tune he no longer sought to understand. Merry then gently took one of Frodo's wrists, then the other, and pulled them above him so that he could tether them to the bedposts. Frodo vaguely understood what was happening and whimpered in protest, but had not the strength to do more. The bath and tea had soothed him stupid.
"Hush, Dear," said Merry as he poured a sweet-smelling liquid from the pitcher into the basin. . "Let cousin Merry tend to your hurts. Just relax and lie still."
Frodo moaned again as he felt a warm scented cloth soothe over his throbbing back.
"I felt awful for having to do this, Frodo." Merry said as he traced his finger over one of the weals. "I do hope Sam has learned his lesson. I care deeply for you both."
His thoughts once again turned to his friend and the sadness was near to overwhelming in its intensity. Hot tears gathered behind his eyes and burned a fiery path through the haze of his thoughts. 'I'm so sorry, Sam.' Sorrow and anger flamed fiercely for a brief moment before being snuffed and blunted by the confusion and fog cavorting in his brain and steadily chipping away his consciousness.
Merry dropped his cloth back into the basin with a small splash. Merry gently pulled Frodo's shirt over his back again and covered Frodo with the blankets just below his injuries. Frodo suddenly became aware of Merry's face very near to his ear.
"Sleep, Frodo, sleep," Merry whispered. "I'm sorry to leave you, but I have other charges under my care that need my attention. But you, Frodo, are very special."
Merry kissed Frodo's cheek and with an "I'm glad you're home Frodo," tiptoed softly out the door.
Frodo heard the door click shut. He tried to relax and let the patter of the rain lull him into a dreamless sleep.
TBC
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Some fic recs:
Oh course, I must always recommend Nasty Hobbitsess by Iorhael! Most of you are following it, but if you are not, and you LOVE Frodo angst, you need to read it NOW. Plus it has illustrations!!! And if you read it and never reviewed, well the story is drawing to a close for her and you should at least leave one to let her know that you've enjoyed the ride!
My beta, Aratlithiel, is a brilliant writer. You will like anything she does!!
Tesekian's "Trial of Fire" is the perfect cure for a Pippin fix-very original plot!
I have not had time to read this week-so my list is rather short! I do know that several of my reviewers are working on some fics that sound really great! As soon as they are up, I will plug them!
There are some great Frodo-angst fics up-but the ffnet search engine is not coorperating, so I will tend to that later!
Oh-and a Frodo-Sam mild slash fic that I ran into which only has one review- mine! It is called "Master and Servant" by Vissy, and if you don't mind a tiny bit of kink, it is really charming and well-written with good description. A guilty pleasure you might like. And do review and tell her I sent you! http: e too-WITH PICTURES! (Merry get his but pounded by Aragorn, etc). So if reading and seeing that will make you feel better, write me for the link!! (It is actually a very funny, charming fic)
Aratlithiel-You want handcuffs because-You just want Frodo for yourself! Well he's mine! My only, MY PRECIOUSSSSSS!!!!!
Endymion="If this was true Frodo, Sam and Pippin should be the best educated hobbits in whole Middle-Earth by now!" LOL! This one made my day!!!
Iorhael-well, we do always hurt the ones we love, don't we? Hee hee!!! And write we must!
Sue-Well, by chapter 25 you will see that you have every reason to worry about PIP!!!
MBradford- yep-it does have to go! I cannot wait for your update! NOW NOW!
Tesekian-feel free to point out boo-boos-because I do go back and correct them! And update Trial of Fire soon! (PLUG!)
Frodo lay quiet and still in Merry's lap. He had finally managed to escape his torment in the only way left available to him - a deep, drug and pain- induced slumber that left him senseless in his cousin's arms. Sam had not been so fortunate. Sam remained standing bound to the tree in a cruel cocoon of unforgiving cords. He remained agonizingly alert and awake, pain searing through his body and his mind.
Merry thumbed his own tears away as he lay Frodo gingerly, almost reverently face down upon the dew-moistened grass, ever-so-gently pulling his arms in front of his body and binding them with a spare piece of rope. Merry leaned down to whisper something at the still form, as if intoning a benediction for a slain brother, caressing Frodo with very same hand that had clutched and swung the whip only moments before. Sam glared at Merry as he tended to his fallen master. To Sam, Merry's hands were tainted. Merry had no right to offer his comfort, not now. ¶
Merry pulled himself onto unsteady legs, pulled down his sleeves, and turned his gaze to Sam. Sam continued to glower at Merry, even as Merry approached him. Merry stumbled, as if it were he who had been whipped into oblivion. Sam's glower transformed into a sneer, then to a guttural growl from deep in the back of his throat. Yet Sam remained quiet for fear of bringing any more abuse upon Frodo through rash words. He kept silent, he kept still, allowing the venom and the bile to seep into his heart until he feared he might implode.
Merry brought his tear-stained face up to Sam's flushed one. Sam's jaw clinched vice-like, pushing back the flood of wrath and sobs that begged to surge forth. The object of Sam's undiluted hatred stood inches from him now, his face wearing an expression of sorrow but not regret. Merry finally spoke.
"Samwise," said Merry in a voice cracking under the weight of emotion, "You did well-better than I had thought. You controlled your temper for the sake of your master."
Sam imaged himself pounding the hobbit before him to a sticky pulp with his fists as Merry spoke. Outwardly, Sam was impassive.
"I know you love Frodo, just as I do. But you must find a better way of showing it. You are a poor influence on our Frodo at present, and I cannot let you corrupt him. Not when he is such an important asset to all the Shire."
Merry turned and began to pace. "Frodo loves you. He trusts you, and he listens to you. Out of respect to that friendship, I will not let my anger get in the way of my helping you to become a worthy companion for him." Merry gazed into Sam's eyes, seeking a reaction that Sam did not reveal.
"To that end you shall stand here next to Frodo's whipping tree to reflect upon your actions and the terrible effect they had upon your master. I want you to think of this as a learning experience rather than exclusively a punishment."
Sam buried his emotions, kept his face immobile, locking away his tears. He'd not react. In fact, Sam had expected this punishment. He'd not give Merry the satisfaction of knowing that he ached to his very core; that his wrists and ankles had gone numb and useless; that the ropes, and not his feet held him up; that his whole body and soul were beyond pain but not beyond strength. Merry smiled sadly, tenderly, as he cupped Sam's face in his hands and forced their eyes to meet.
"Sam," said Merry. "I know your heart is breaking-perhaps even just as much as mine. I am a stern teacher, but not a heartless one. I will not allow you to speak, but you have sorrow to release, and I give you permission to do so. Sam, you may cry. You may sob now without any fear of repercussions to Frodo. Go ahead, Sam. Let it out, cry."
Sam wished to explode into wracking sobs with every fiber of his being. His jaw started to loosen, and tears battered relentless at the backs of his eyelids. But he forced it back, swallowed it down like the bitter drought that it was. Sam would not let Merry be the lever of his emotions. If Sam cried, it would be on his own terms-and his own terms did not include the presence of Merry. Merry stepped back, wordlessly waiting for Sam to break. But Sam did not break. Sam maintained eye contact with Merry as he drew back a breath, and spat on the ground at Merry's feet.
Merry flinched, but did not otherwise react. A long stand at the tree would surely cure him of his intransigence. No need to pick up the venom- filled gauntlet. Without a word, Merry turned to Frodo, lying lifeless upon the grass. Grasping Frodo up under the arms, Merry pulled the limp bundle up and draped him over his shoulder like a corpse, and silently slugged over the fields to the house. The sloshing of grass was the only sound that could be heard in the misty morning, the sloshing of grass and Sam's uneven breathing. Sam watched in misery as the door of Crickhollow opened up and swallowed his master. The distant echo of the slamming door was drowned out by the unearthly howl that loosed itself from Sam's chest and tore at his soul as the door clicked shut and Frodo was, once again, beyond his reach and beyond his aid.
* * *
Water. Frodo felt himself being sucked down by a churning whirlpool into the murky depths of some unknown sea, his limp body shaken and tossed, spiraling into the blackness. His lungs screamed for air, his fingers clutched for land, and his mind screamed for the solace of death. Frodo felt himself being pounded against nameless cliffs like driftwood, his back scratched, scraped and torn each time the waves flung him at the unforgiving rocks. The pain was excruciating; the fear unbearable.
Then the remarkable! The deafening crash of waves soothed to a splash, and then a trickle. The waters receded, the seas becalmed by some unknown force. The splashes faded to ripples-finally falling silent as a pond on a windless morning. The same current that had pulled Frodo down now pushed him up toward the sparkling light. Surfacing. Suddenly the darkness retreated and Frodo broke through to a world of light and air. He was in water, but no longer under it. Frodo heard a distant voice, like the calls of seagulls carried on the wind. The voice hummed and sang a song that was both familiar yet very strange. Enchanted, Frodo felt his body uncoil and his mind drift like a feather in a breeze. Frodo drew in a deep breath to convince himself that he was still alive. He lolled his head back, floating. The icy sea was now warm and comforting. The briny scent had been overcome by the tangy musk of rosemary and mint. Soft hands ran through his damp hair, luring him back to awareness.
"Drink this, love," cooed the sweet voice as a steaming cup was pushed to Frodo's yielding lips. "Drink this to dull the pain. Drink, love, drink."
Frodo took a few slow sips. The liquid was hot, but soothed his body the moment it reached his mouth. The tangy scent of Rosemary rose from the bathwater, permeating the room and calming the hobbit's mind. His whole world seemed to be floating on the edge of a dream-a dream Frodo never wished to leave.
Frodo floated back to consciousness, realizing that his eyes had been open, but unfocused. That soft voice beside him hummed a lullaby as a warmed, scented cloth was brushed over his face.
"Fro-do," called Merry in a lilting playful tone.
Frodo's vision landed upon the piercing grey eyes of his cousin. His eyes were now sparkling, not glinting, and full of compassion. Merry's blonde locks now moistened by the steam rising from the tub, giving him an almost angelic quality.
"Where am I?" asked Frodo in a small voice.
"Home, Love, you are home." Merry offered Frodo a warm smile. "Home where you belong."
Home. The word* meant nothing in the muddle of his mind-or rather, if it meant something, it meant Bag End. Time and place had shifted and swirled for Frodo, and he could place nothing.
"Where's Bilbo?
Merry chuckled softly. "He left you, Frodo. He left you alone many years ago. We are your family now-and we shant ever leave you."
Frodo glanced around, slowly coming to the realization that this was not Bag End. Merry noticed and allayed his cousin's confusion.
"You're here in your new home at Crickhollow, Frodo," said Merry. "You're here with your family, Pippin, Sam and I."
"Sam-?"
A memory of a terrifying tree and a dark forest flowed back into his mind like a nightmare. Other memories came back too-memories of a shattering pain slashing down his bared back again and again, memories of Sam's anguished face, memories of Sam's eyes filled with tears and profound despair, memories of Sam's mouth clenched shut, locking in the screams and the sobs. Frodo suddenly lurched up, only to find that the movement set his injured back on fire. He moaned at the stabbing pain, then leaned back into the healing waters with a gentle splash.
"Sam," mumbled Frodo. "I must see Sam."
"Sam is just fine, Frodo," soothed Merry. "You bore his punishment bravely. Sam is in a place now where he can be alone and undisturbed with his thoughts. I wish for him to reflect on his actions and on how those actions brought harm upon you. I am angry with Sam, Frodo. Angry at him for making me do this to you. But, Frodo, I will forgive him. I will forgive him for your sake and for the sake of our family."
Merry tipped Frodo's face toward him gently. "It is you that concerns me now, Frodo."
Frodo's head swam with confusion. He had a flurry of trenchant responses he longed to aim at his cousin, about how Merry had done this, done everything, how Sam had been his protector, that if he could disavow Merry as his cousin, he would. But the water was so warm, and the smells so lovely, seeming to creep through his nostrils and into his head swirling his thoughts, and the caresses so gentle, that his words fluttered away before they left his mouth. His mind suddenly felt as if all the clutter and cobwebs had been swept away, leaving only the warmth of the bath and of Merry's smile. He floated, as if in a drunken haze. His erstwhile diatribe sank into an unintelligible murmur punctuated by a yawn.
"Peace, now, Frodo," said Merry. "You are injured, and I must tend to you. I've filled your bath with rosemary. It will help your wounds heal quickly. There are a few other lovely herbs in your bath and your drink that will calm your overactive mind and help you to relax."
Overactive mind? What did that mean? His mind barely felt active at all spiraling as it was with thoughts he barely recognized as his own. He felt muddled and bewildered, unable to stir his thoughts to anything resembling sense. There was only the drifting in the warmth and the aroma rising with the steam to swirl inside his head, gentling him and coaxing him into a haze of dreamy lethargy.
Frodo glanced down at the water. Herbs and petals floated languidly on the surface of the water. Frodo, in his daze, imagined himself as the main ingredient in a bowl of steaming soup. Tomato soup, he thought. Too sleepy for shock, Frodo did not register that his water had turned a deep crimson color, the result of his own blood.
"Aren't you relieved to be home after such a terrifying ordeal, Frodo?" asked Merry. "Such an //unnecessary// ordeal?"
Frodo nodded, his chin hesitating on his chest with each slow nod. Frodo could not help but think that this response was somehow not the one he'd intended. But once again the fragrant herbs were soothing, and caressed his mind with the most blessed thoughts. Frodo's chin sank down and his eyes fell half-mast. Why had he and Sam had to leave with such haste in the first place?
The Ring!
Frodo was naked. Where was it? Where WAS it?!
Merry anticipated Frodo's panic. "Do not fear, Frodo," said Merry to a question Frodo did not even verbalize. "I would not steal it from you. No, that would defeat the purpose. The Ring is yours. I understand that. Here--."
Merry held up Frodo's jacket, allowing Frodo to dig the Ring out of the pocket with lazy uncooperative fingers. Merry set the jacket down and held up a shimmering silver chain.
"Here, Frodo, thread your ring on this."
Frodo did not question Merry's suggestion. He groggily took the chain and threaded it through the Ring, fumbling and nearly crossing his eyes in concentration in his attempt to get the slender chain through the gaping band of gold in his groping fingers. Merry stood behind Frodo, and threaded another object on the chain before fastening it around Frodo's neck.
"There now!" exclaimed Merry with another pat to Frodo's head. "There you are-the lord of the Ring."
Frodo pulled the Ring up on its new chain and rolled it lazily * between his fingers, at first absentmindedly, then with growing intensity. Such a beautiful, perfect, circle of gold! How grand his small hand would look with such an ornament! 'You must never put it on.' The words crept into his haze, a deep, rumbling baritone eddying in a mist with the scent of pipeweed and his brows came together in a frown. 'Gandalf,' he thought and his mouth came up in a lazy smile. Gandalf had said he must never put it on and so he would not. The Ring reflected the bathwater rippling below it, its bottom half echoing a shimmer of deep blood red. Frodo marveled at the way the colors danced over its smooth surface. Frodo no longer paid heed to any other sight, sound, or scent in the room, turning his full consideration to the gold and crimson circle of gold turning tantalizingly between his fingers.
Without realizing it, Merry also fastened his gaze upon the Ring as it slid like a tiny sun between Frodo's fingers. He tore his glance away with colossal effort to finish his thoughts.
"Frodo," continued Merry in a serious tone. "You are the Ring's keeper." Merry reached out to grasp Frodo's shoulder possessively. "Just as I am your keeper."
Frodo turned his eyes to meet his cousin's, a look hovering between gratitude and fear.
"Frodo, you may trust us," said Merry. "You see, we've taken care of everything -even the things you neglected to take care of yourself."
Merry grasped the small silver ornament that had been resting on the chain at the back of Frodo's neck, as yet unnoticed by Frodo himself and teased it around to the front. Merry plucked up the chain with his thumb and forefinger so that the locket and the Ring both dangled in front of Frodo's face. Picking up the locket, the Ring slid to Frodo's back. Merry pressed the sides of the locket, wordlessly urging Frodo to look. It opened with a tiny snick, revealing a miniature painting of a hobbit lass, plump and pretty, with Frodo's deep azure eyes and chestnut curls, as well as the unmistakable Brandybuck cleft in her chin. Frodo did not need Merry to tell him that he was gazing upon an image of his mother. Frodo stared, mute. The longing and grief hitting so suddenly and with such driving force that for a moment his breath caught in his throat. He closed his eyes and a single, fat tear slid down his cheek to drop and join the swirl of crimson. Oh, Mama. Look what your lad has come to.
"I know how much you miss her, Frodo, dear," said Merry, the back of his hand ghosting over Frodo's checks. "All the Brandybucks at the hall took you under their wings and into their hearts after your parents drowned, Frodo. We loved you. You were the only remaining echo of your dear mother, Primula Brandbuck, who was so beloved at the hall. The Brandybucks tried to make it all better. But there were some things that could not be replaced. Even when I was a small lad grasping at your knees, I perceived your sadness."
Frodo's eyes glazed over in memory of his childhood in Buckland after his parents had died. He couldn't recall having been taken under anyone's wing - that is until Bilbo had taken him in hand. He had drifted through his teens and part of his tweens in a steady state of melancholy. Living at Brandy Hall meant living in a perpetual crowd and the solitary and rather odd orphan was easily and often overlooked in the bustling hive, learning early to nurse his own colds and clean his own scrapes and hurts. He'd been surrounded by kin, yet lonely, deeply, profoundly lonely. Merry's words once again broke his reverie.
"I know you probably had forgotten this locket. But I hadn't. I've been looking for this a long time. I wanted to find it so that I could give it to you-so that you could have a memento that you could remember her by. I searched in every bag and chest at Brandy Hall until, at last, I found it in my father's desk. He had kept it there all these long years, certainly in expectation that it would find its way back to you. Well, dear cousin, now it has!"
Frodo did not answer, his eyes now fixed upon the small painted image of his mother.
"You always treated me with kindness, Frodo, even when I was an irrepressible little tag-a-long and you a fully-grown tween. I still remember the day you left to live with Bilbo in Hobbiton. Did you know I cried for two days straight when you left? I didn't understand why you had to leave. In many ways, I still don't."
Frodo glanced at Merry with vague, unfocused eyes. The horror of the morning seemed to have receded into the rosemary-scented steam, leaving only a vague sadness and uneasy sense of things being.wrong somehow. Merry leaned over the tub, capturing Frodo in a soft embrace.
"And now, Frodo, the Brandybucks shall care for you again," said Merry. "We are your family. And unlike the Baggins side, we shall not leave."
* * *
Merry eased a drowsy and dizzy Frodo out of the tub and wrapped him in a large towel before leading him down the corridor.
Frodo let himself be led to a clean bedroom in a part of the house into which he had not yet ventured. On the far side of the room was the hearth, already ablaze with a welcoming fire. The droplets of rain clouded the three small round windows that faced the fields, and at a distance, the tree to which Samwise had been so mercilessly bound. In this room was set up Bilbo's very nicest furniture as well as some noticeable additions taken from Brandy Hall. There was Bilbo's mahogany writing desk, an intricately carved chest of drawers, a sturdy wardrobe, a tall spindly bed stand holding a basin and pitcher, and, finally, a thinish but long four-poster bed piled high with pillows.
Frodo hardly noticed, as his desire to sleep had become well nigh overwhelming. Merry leaned Frodo against one of the filigreed posts as he pulled the green brocade bedcover down, revealing luxuriously clean silk sheets.
Merry patted the bed. "Down you go, Frodo. This is the best bed in the house."
Frodo winced as he sat. Merry held Frodo's shoulders upright as Frodo began to lean back.
"No, dear," said Merry. "Lie down on your stomach. I'll not let you reopen your wounds."
Frodo complied. He'd planned to do this anyway, he'd simply forgotten on the way down.
Merry took Frodo's shoulders and guided him face-down on the bed as gently as he could, pulling the sheet up to his waist so as not to irritate the angry-looking stripes on his back. Merry sang a hobbit lullaby as he knelt down on his haunches to tie strips of cloth to the upper bedposts out of Frodo's eyeline. ¶
Frodo could feel himself drifting off, Merry's soothing voice cooing words to a tune he no longer sought to understand. Merry then gently took one of Frodo's wrists, then the other, and pulled them above him so that he could tether them to the bedposts. Frodo vaguely understood what was happening and whimpered in protest, but had not the strength to do more. The bath and tea had soothed him stupid.
"Hush, Dear," said Merry as he poured a sweet-smelling liquid from the pitcher into the basin. . "Let cousin Merry tend to your hurts. Just relax and lie still."
Frodo moaned again as he felt a warm scented cloth soothe over his throbbing back.
"I felt awful for having to do this, Frodo." Merry said as he traced his finger over one of the weals. "I do hope Sam has learned his lesson. I care deeply for you both."
His thoughts once again turned to his friend and the sadness was near to overwhelming in its intensity. Hot tears gathered behind his eyes and burned a fiery path through the haze of his thoughts. 'I'm so sorry, Sam.' Sorrow and anger flamed fiercely for a brief moment before being snuffed and blunted by the confusion and fog cavorting in his brain and steadily chipping away his consciousness.
Merry dropped his cloth back into the basin with a small splash. Merry gently pulled Frodo's shirt over his back again and covered Frodo with the blankets just below his injuries. Frodo suddenly became aware of Merry's face very near to his ear.
"Sleep, Frodo, sleep," Merry whispered. "I'm sorry to leave you, but I have other charges under my care that need my attention. But you, Frodo, are very special."
Merry kissed Frodo's cheek and with an "I'm glad you're home Frodo," tiptoed softly out the door.
Frodo heard the door click shut. He tried to relax and let the patter of the rain lull him into a dreamless sleep.
TBC
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Some fic recs:
Oh course, I must always recommend Nasty Hobbitsess by Iorhael! Most of you are following it, but if you are not, and you LOVE Frodo angst, you need to read it NOW. Plus it has illustrations!!! And if you read it and never reviewed, well the story is drawing to a close for her and you should at least leave one to let her know that you've enjoyed the ride!
My beta, Aratlithiel, is a brilliant writer. You will like anything she does!!
Tesekian's "Trial of Fire" is the perfect cure for a Pippin fix-very original plot!
I have not had time to read this week-so my list is rather short! I do know that several of my reviewers are working on some fics that sound really great! As soon as they are up, I will plug them!
There are some great Frodo-angst fics up-but the ffnet search engine is not coorperating, so I will tend to that later!
Oh-and a Frodo-Sam mild slash fic that I ran into which only has one review- mine! It is called "Master and Servant" by Vissy, and if you don't mind a tiny bit of kink, it is really charming and well-written with good description. A guilty pleasure you might like. And do review and tell her I sent you! http: e too-WITH PICTURES! (Merry get his but pounded by Aragorn, etc). So if reading and seeing that will make you feel better, write me for the link!! (It is actually a very funny, charming fic)
Aratlithiel-You want handcuffs because-You just want Frodo for yourself! Well he's mine! My only, MY PRECIOUSSSSSS!!!!!
Endymion="If this was true Frodo, Sam and Pippin should be the best educated hobbits in whole Middle-Earth by now!" LOL! This one made my day!!!
Iorhael-well, we do always hurt the ones we love, don't we? Hee hee!!! And write we must!
Sue-Well, by chapter 25 you will see that you have every reason to worry about PIP!!!
MBradford- yep-it does have to go! I cannot wait for your update! NOW NOW!
Tesekian-feel free to point out boo-boos-because I do go back and correct them! And update Trial of Fire soon! (PLUG!)