Frodo cast his eyes down at his body. He was tied and naked. He's been
stripped of his clothes while asleep; stripped of his dignity while awake;
stripped of everything except for the brand and the accursed Ring.
AN_ thanks to Iorhael-my inspiration, and Aratlithiel-my lovely beta! And thanks to my reviewers that keep me writing!
____________________________________________________________________________ _Chapter 28 - Waking Dream
Frodo was aware of the throbbing of his hip before he was fully aware of being conscious. His eyes slid open reluctantly, blinking against the light that pushed through the half-open shutters. How long he'd drifted in the soft embrace of slumber, he did not know-and the one hobbit in the position to tell him was the one hobbit he wanted to avoid like the plague. Frodo gave an exploratory tug at his bonds. Still tied - his whole body in considerable discomfort; his hip in active pain.
Frodo quickly cast his eyes down at the rest of his body. He was naked, covered partially by a linen sheet. He's been stripped of his clothes while asleep; stripped of his dignity while awake; stripped of everything except for the two things he longed to discard-the brand and the accursed Ring.
His hip felt as if it were continually being run through with tiny but well- sharpened swords, still heated from the crucible in which they were formed. He dragged his eyes unwillingly toward the source of the stinging pain - not really wanting to see, but helpless to resist the compulsion to confirm the fact that yes, this had really happened, the nightmare not only real but still playing out with himself unable to wake and stop its inexorable reality. His eyes stopped and focused on their dreaded objective and Frodo saw it - clear as day, black as night. The brand. Merry had pressed the red-hot brand until his flesh smoked, his skin burned, and his screams filled the room and echoed through the hall. But he'd not seen the result of the violation, not until now.
"B" is for Brandybuck his subconscious mind teased, bringing to the surface a childhood joke Merry sounded each time Frodo had set the lad upon his lap to read him his alphabet primer. "B is for Brandybuck!" Merry would giggle. "Yes it is," Frodo would chide, "But what it says here is "B is for Book." Merry, his impish face alight with glee, would tug playfully at the page and pretend to repeat Frodo's lesson -"B is for Book-LAND! Buckland!" squealed Merry each and every time. Of course they would never arrive at "C" for cat, or "D" for duck. Frodo clinched his eyes shut, driving back fond memories rendered painful by the current situation. The memory of the sweet hobbitlad who chortled gleefully upon his knee at their shared joke juxtaposed with the hobbit who had stood over his helpless body and pressed a searing piece of iron to his flesh until his screams had threatened to rupture his throat and his mind had teetered on the brink of insanity was more than he could bear and enough to make him want to weep with the horror and misery of his loss.
"B" a sign of ownership he'd carry the rest of his days. B for Brandybuck, B for beaten. B for branded. B for broken. B for ---bearer.
Frodo craned his neck to focus upon the silver chain round his neck. Yes, it was still there - the Ring, just as much a curse as the brand, and one that at ay moment might sink into his flesh and imbed itself into his heart, spreading its malignant poison through his blood, capturing his soul as it had done Merry's. His own burden, but one that he had chosen voluntarily. How could he have known what it would cost him, what it would cost his loved ones? Had he known, would he have agreed to bear it? 'Such questions cannot be answered.' the wizard's voice spoke sternly in his mind, '.but you have been chosen.' How long ago had that been? A hundred years? Five hundred?
No, perhaps it was not a choice at all. He had been chosen. C is for chosen. By whom or by what he couldn't fathom, but chosen he had been and the weight of that choice now smothered him with the remembrance of cousins loved and beyond his ability to escape or save. This was his doom, doom meaning fate, and, perhaps, doom meaning death. D is for death. E - escape. No chance. F is for futile. G -for Gandalf?
Where was he - the wizard who had sworn to find him, who'd said he'd come yet did not? Frodo wondered if Merry's agile mind had yet wound itself around similar questions. Surely Merry would be no match for the Maia, if only the wizard would keep his word and seek Frodo out!
Frodo pressed his head back down into the pillow; halfway hoping the bed would swallow him up-suck him from all memory and all pain. As Frodo moved his head, a slow, languid shift in the balance of the mattress to his left made him suddenly aware that he was not alone in the bed. Frodo turned his head sharply to the left and found his blue eyes staring into a pair of glassy green ones.
"Pippin," sighed Frodo, nearly growling in frustration.
Pippin, no longer capable of reading the most basic of non-verbal cues, flashed Frodo a drowsy grin, as if waking up next to a cousin bound hand and foot to the bedposts was business as usual. Although upon reflection, Frodo supposed that in light of the events of the past week, it couldn't be looked upon as terribly extraordinary either.
Pippin was curled up like a cat, his body covered with the lion's share of Frodo's sheet, except for the far third that flowed uselessly over the left side of the bed. Pippin instinctively reached up to run his slim fingers through Frodo's sweat-drenched hair in a gesture designed to be comforting. Frodo endured the caress but avoided Pippin's sparkling gaze, choosing instead to keep his eyes fixed on the carved ceiling of the room.
"I'm afraid I've stolen your cover, Frodo dear," Pippin mumbled cheerfully, his voice heavy with sleep.
Pippin pushed his body up with his palms, and with a single firm shake, cast the cover over Frodo. It rose gracefully on the current and billowed slowly over his prone form, its silken weave held suspended for long moments before floating to caress against his skin and finally alight and drape in elegant contrast to the hideous bonds at his wrists and ankles.
"That's better!" he chirped before inserting his own wiry body under the sheet and resting his curly head in the warm fleshy pillow of Frodo's chest just above where Frodo's arm radiated at a sharp angle toward the bedpost. Pippin wrapped his small arm around Frodo's chest and tucked it lovingly between Frodo's torso and the mattress. Tears burned behind his eyes as he realized that his first unconscious reflex had been to wrap his arm protectively around his young cousin as he had so often in the past - an action cruelly prevented by his bonds and one he wasn't sure if he even desired anymore. This was not the cousin he had cuddled and comforted through nightmares and skinned knees - this was a walking, talking open wound whom he scarcely even recognized and Frodo could not help the bit of revulsion that welled up and gnawed at his heart.
"Does it hurt terribly, Frodo?" Pippin asked with a childlike lilt in his voice.
"It hurts," Frodo ground out, "In more ways than one."
Frodo turned his head to capture Pippin's eyes with his own, wondering who this hobbit was and how deeply his Pip had been buried within his own tormented mind.
"Please tell me," Frodo said slowly and deliberately, "what came over you to accept such a grievous thing, Pip? Have you completely taken leave of your senses?"
Pippin pulled the neck of his shirt down to reveal his own mark on his collarbone. The brand stared back at him, cruelly, unnaturally, while Pippin gazed at it, wide-eyed, as if it were the font of all earthly joy. A tear escaped from one of Pippin's eyes and anger and grief nearly overcame Frodo as he mourned the loss of his clever, ebullient cousin.
"I think," sighed Pippin as he traced a languid finger over the B, "that this is the most beautiful thing that I will ever possess." A lazy parade of tears slid down Pippin's cheeks as he caressed this manifest symbol of Merry's undying devotion.
B is for brainwashed, mused Frodo, nausea welling up in his stomach and threatening to surge up into his throat at any moment. What on earth had Merry done to Pippin's impressionable mind? Is this the kind of behavior that Merry hoped to receive from himself? 'Ludicrous!' thought Frodo. And impossible. Frodo would never be pulled into Merry's thrall and, more than that, he would try to yank his sweet younger cousin back to reason. Not only for Pippin's own sake, but because Frodo could not deny a very troubling truth - Pippin might still be their only hope. Merry might imprison Frodo's body, but he would not snare his mind and Pippin might be the only tool left that Frodo could lay hands on and wield against him.
"Oh Frodo!" lamented Pippin as he ran his fingertips over Frodo's furrowed forehead. "I just wish you could see what I see in Merry! He is so strong, so courageous, and so very clever. He'll not lead us astray, Frodo. He'll not abandon us no matter how badly we err. He's just like that, Frodo, a noble soul, so rare in this world. Frodo, Merry loves us so much," Pippin began stroking his brand again, "he loves us enough to do all the hard, unpleasant things that will help us become stronger. He does what he does to protect us, to keep us safe, and, Frodo, I for one have never felt safer!"
Pippin gently tugged down the sheet to glance over Frodo's brand, to compare it in size and beauty to his own. He smiled approvingly as he patted it softy, unintentionally sending spikes of pain radiating from the fresh wound and Frodo gasped as Pippin glanced at him apologetically.
"I wish you would stop fighting Merry, Frodo," continued Pippin as he re- covered Frodo's body with the sheet. "It seems like you are always cross with him, and I think it hurts his feelings. Merry needs our support, your support right now, Frodo. Let him love you. Merry is more loving than any hobbit I've ever known, so giving, so lovely, so precious."
Frodo sucked in his breath in protest, a shudder like cold lightning surging through his spine.
"Is Merry the keeper of your soul, Pippin?" asked Frodo, suddenly harsh. "Where is your mind, your own mind, Peregrin?! You are the future Thain, not some prized calf from the Brandybuck herds! Can't you see how Merry has reduced you, Pippin, to a shadow of your former self? And look at me, Pip! Look at me, will you! I'm naked, tied, beaten and branded! Is that love, Pippin? Is it? I am in unfathomable pain, Pippin. I hurt body and soul, and Merry is the one that hurt me. He hurt you too, Pippin, and you rejoice in his abuses as if they were daisies in a summer field!"
Frodo's voice was growing thick with emotion, the thought of his cousin disappearing before his eyes chipping at his heart and rending his composure. Pippin continued to finger comb Frodo's hair as he raged, paying no heed to his words and the emotion that propelled them. Instead, Pippin looked back at Frodo, eyes wide with pity and wet with tears. Pippin wondered to himself if Frodo had ever experienced real love.
"My poor, poor Frodo!" lamented Pippin. "You do not understand at all, do you? I wish I could help you to feel what I feel, bring you to my place so you could open yourself enough to let Merry's love and compassion in. Then you would never be sad again. Never sad and always safe. Merry and I just want you to be happy!"
Frodo expelled a breath that began as a groan and expired as a whimper.
"Pippin" began Frodo, "If my happiness is your true goal, then know this. My wrists and ankles are in agony, and my arms and legs are numb beyond measure. And I detest being naked and thrown open wide as I am now. You ask me to be open-well, Pippin, I am. Open like a split fruit, open and vulnerable just waiting to be devoured by any creature that might happen by and decide it wants to have a go at me - Merry himself not the least. If you really wish me to be happy, Pippin, untie me, let me dress, let me see Sam. Let me go."
Pippin threw Frodo another pitying look before turning his glance up to the back corner of the room, the corner well beyond Frodo's current line of vision and Frodo knew suddenly and without doubt what - or rather who - Pippin was looking at.
"That he will not do-will you Pippin?" replied a soft but stern voice from behind the bed.
Frodo heard the squeak of a chair and footfalls drawing near to the bed. With dismay, Frodo arched his back and twisted his neck to lock eyes with Meriadoc, newly emerged from the shadows. He'd been sitting in silent observance for Eru knew how long and Frodo found that the most surprising thing about this revelation was that he was not in the least surprised. Pippin immediately rolled off the bed and into the welcoming arms of Merry. Merry smiled warmly at his captive, lowering his hand down on Frodo's damp brow before returning his hand to the head of his adoring young cousin. Frodo twisted his head away and emitted a soft growl, which Merry pointedly ignored.
"My two lovely jewels," Merry said, eyes twinkling in the firelight.
Pippin glowed; Frodo glowered.
"Now Frodo," Merry chased. "Let's begin this day anew, shall we? Even though it's well nigh afternoon, we need to practice our morning "routine" until we get it right, because, Frodo, this morning you did not get it right."
Frodo met Merry's smile with a sneer.
"Will you dress me then?" snarled Frodo. "Not like this, I reckon." Frodo pulled demonstratively on his bonds. . "First things first," said Merry
Merry stepped soundlessly out the door, returning minutes later with a basin full of steaming, sweet-smelling water, a few towels flung over his arm. Merry set his burden down, and with one jolting tug, ripped the shielding sheet from Frodo's vulnerable body, leaving Frodo naked and powerless before his younger cousin.
"Time to clean you off, dear one," said Merry in a maternal tone.
"Merry!" groused Frodo, more in irritation than fear.
Merry raised a palm to Frodo's objection.
"Frodo," Merry calmly explained, "I'm not going to hurt you -I'm going to bathe you. Let me do this for you, Frodo. Let me tend you. Besides, you're in no position to do it yourself. If you see fit to complain, I'll just gag you, but must it always come to that? Submit to my care, and we'll all fare just fine. Fail to submit voluntarily and I'll just force you. You see, your choices are limited, severely. Now, relax!"
Frodo buried his humiliation and fury at being forced to be washed like an invalid. Choose your battles, he thought. Embarrassing, yes, hurtful, no- unless he considered the sullying of his self respect. Frodo feared Merry had some twisted reason for wishing to care for Frodo's most basic needs. To reduce him? Yes, to reduce Frodo as Pippin had been reduced-surely that was it! But how much harm could rife embarrassment really achieve?
Frodo considered Merry's motives when a small cup was brought to his lips. He flinched.
"Just water, Love," said Merry.
Frodo was thirsty, and since food was probably not forthcoming, this small drink might be his breakfast, elevensies, luncheon, dinner and supper all in one. Frodo drank the sweet-tasting water down in a matter of greedy gulps. As he fell back into the pillow, Frodo noted the strange but not unpleasant aftertaste that lingered tantalizing in his mouth, thinking it somewhat familiar. He could not place the taste nor call to mind when he had tasted such, but the amorphous memory tugged at his mind with an unreasonable sense of dread.
Merry set the cup down with a soft clang of porcelain on wood and picked up the basin of warm scented water. Frodo drew his stomach in quickly when Merry first moved the cloth to his exposed and vulnerable belly. Merry laughed a little.
"Don't fret, Love," assured Merry. "It's warm."
Frodo inhaled, bringing his stomach up to normal position, watching it rise up to meet Merry's damp cloth. Warm. Yes it was. Warm and soothing. Already Frodo was feeling a nagging sense of wrongness as his thoughts grew cloudy and the room began a lazy, rolling spin.
Starting from Frodo's belly, Merry continued to run the warm scented cloth over every inch of Frodo's body, slowly, gently, lovingly. Merry's expression radiated tenderness as he worked, like he was a mother bathing her newborn infant, or a high priest cleansing a shrine. And it felt wonderful, by the Valar, it felt wonderful! Frodo could not deny it, much as his conscious mind recoiled at the thought. Frodo felt his whole body go limp, the scent of the water again unraveling his mind until it was as loose as his muscles. Merry smiled gently at Frodo each time their eyes met--So wrong, such a travesty, so despicable.
Frodo slammed his eyes shut to block out any ability Merry might have to read him, half-wishing he'd been blindfolded. But it was too late. Merry's smug grin-Merry knew. Yes, Merry knew that Frodo unwillingly savored this, savored it despite the most obstinate objections of his conscious mind that tried, with all of its might to rise to the surface and bring this emasculating experience to an end. Frodo cringed again, and then felt his face slacken and go limp, following the rest of his body on the path of total relaxation. 'The water,' thought Frodo through the murky haze that blunted his thoughts and dulled the foreboding his mind had dredged at the familiar taste and scent of it. "Damn, damn.the water.it's in the water.'
His anger evaporated and his anxiety fled as the scent carried him away within his own mind, his fading consciousness whispering the nonsensical phrase over and over until he could no longer remember what it meant or why it had seemed so very important just a moment ago. 'the water.the water.the water.'
The water smelled like springtime in the Shire, conjured every happy childhood memory before all the pain had begun-it recalled the embrace of his mother, the warmth at Bag End, lovely moments with the Brandybuck clan, his substitute family-his kin. B is for Brandybuck-and how the little imp had warmed his soul. B for beautiful, bountiful, (brand. brand? no) B is for Bath, soft cloth soothing skin abused and broken but no longer remembered or felt. C is for coddled, comforted, cared for. D is for (death, doom) damp. Warm and damp, his whole body tingling with the sensation of being cleansed and tended like a sacred, cherished object.
E is for end-Frodo groaned at the loss of contact as the cloth was withdrawn. He became aware of the gentle splash of the used cloth being dropped back in the basin, and the feeling of a soft dry towel tracing over the paths where the wet, warm cloth had been. Frodo's eyes had gone glassy, and when Merry smiled at him now, Frodo smiled back, the smile seeming somehow wrong on his face but his mind unable to remember why. F is for Frodo-where was he? (where is frodo? who is frodo?)
"There, Love," cooed Merry. "All clean."
Frodo nodded, passively, stupidly.
Merry pulled the sheet back over Frodo, the linen clinging slightly to Frodo's still-damp skin. Frodo watched impassively as Merry took the sweet smelling water from the room, the water softly sloshing with his every step, the scent and the footfalls retreating down the corridor. The sweet scent clung to Frodo's skin, slowly evaporating, along with Frodo's unaccountable peace of mind.
* * *
Frodo lay, stretched and subdued, his eyes opened but unfocused, his mind at least as unfocused as his eyes. The bath had somehow transformed Frodo's feelings of intense vulnerability to something akin to a warm, comforting embrace, a need to be taken care of, joy of letting go and handing self-sovereignty onto shoulders better equipped to carry it.
Footsteps again. Merry. In the swirl and chaos of his mind Frodo could not even be sure whether to hate or love his cousin, whether his return was something to dread or savor. Frodo turned his head to Pippin, sweet Pippin reclining in a bedside chair, his elbow balanced on the chair arm, his head leaning heavily on his open palm. Pippin offered Frodo a lackadaisical smile set off by two half-closed eyes.
"See how well Merry cares for you, Frodo?" Pippin said sleepily. "See how much he loves you?"
Frodo stared dumbly at his cousin, nodding in acknowledgement, but not agreement and somehow not caring about the difference between the two. Rolling his head to the other side, Frodo's eyes met Merry's. Merry grinned benevolently and seated himself in the triangle-shaped space between Frodo's right arm and leg, pulled straight and taut by the unforgiving ropes.
"Comfortable, Frodo?" asked Merry in a voice filled with concern.
Frodo felt his head nod again as if invisible hands were guiding the motion, though he neither understood the question nor cared what his acknowledgment could mean. He only cared that it seemed vital right now that he give his cousin what he seemed to want from him and maybe spare himself what his sluggish unease clamored to warn him from.
"How are you feeling sweetheart?" The sound of Merry's question blended seamlessly into the sensation of Merry's hand drifting down to caress Frodo's damp brow.
Angry? Hurt? Violated? Pained? Healed? Cherished? Loved? Relaxed? Hungry? Yes, hungry.
"Hungry," mumbled Frodo in a small voice. "I'm hungry."
"I daresay you should be, Love," replied Merry, his hand now cupping Frodo's cheek. "But, if you'll remember, you kicked the bowl of porridge from my hands, the porridge I lovingly prepared for you. That was unkind, and for that, I'm afraid, you'll not be receiving more for a day. I'm sorry for that. My softer impulses impel me to feed you, but without consequences for your behavior, you will never learn. It upsets me-makes me very sad that your behavior forces me to withhold food from you. Do you understand why I must refuse you, Frodo?"
Frodo nodded, his expression blank and sleepy, his eyes clouded and unfocused.
Frodo continued to stare up into Merry's smiling face, handsome, open, yet somehow stern. Frodo considered Merry's eyes, now lit behind by pale fires, symbols of an unspoken threat.
"Merry?" breathed Frodo, half in curiosity, half in fear.
Merry held Frodo in his gaze for an endless second, cupping his face in his two strong hands. This normally comforting gesture shot a bolt of dread down Frodo's spine, piercing his dreamy fog and Frodo began to tremble. Merry responded by running his hand through Frodo's hair, his fingernails dragging against his scalp, plowing through days worth of tangles relentlessly and causing Frodo considerable pain. Frodo winced with each vanquished knot, wondering if Merry would continue until his hair lay about his head in tangled clumps on the white linen of the pillow, snarls of it clutched in Merry's grasping hands. He wanted Merry's hands off of him; he wanted to flee; to break loose from Merry's cold, harsh eyes, but Merry's gaze, just as much as his bonds held him firmly in place.
"Frodo," spoke Merry abruptly, "there are still some things we must discuss while we are here together, you and I-Questions that need answering."
Frodo unconsciously bit down on his inner lip but did not otherwise react to Merry's query. Even when treading through the thick mists of his foggy mind, Frodo knew that he would neither love the questions, nor the required answers.
"Frodo," asked Merry, a new seriousness in his voice, "where is Gandalf?"
Frodo hesitated. He could not defend himself here. He could not ward off blows. But just the same, he could not answer; and he could not answer because he did not know.
"I don't know," Frodo answered in a voice scarcely above a whisper.
Merry's retribution was swift. A stinging slap whipped across Frodo's face, eliciting a moan from Frodo and a gasp from Pippin. Frodo's eyes reforged contact with Merry's face within seconds, his mind wild with confusion. Merry's face contorted with anger; then within moments was calm and serene again, his slapping hand gone back to caressing Frodo's newly- slapped cheek. Frodo flinched as Merry's finger traced his quivering jaw line, still throbbing with pain.
"Sam told us that Gandalf would meet you in the Shire -is that not true, Frodo?"
Relief swelled over the bound hobbit like a calming wave. He was so happy to be asked a question for which he had an answer. Frodo nodded emphatically.
A slow sadistic grin spread over Merry's face and he patted Frodo's head as if in reward.
"But Gandalf did not come, isn't that right Frodo?"
More relief. More nods.
"So I ask you, Frodo," Merry's smile darkening to a sneer, "Where //is// Gandalf?"
Frodo's brow furrowed, his hands tugging uselessly at the cords that held them tight in vain hopes of fending off the expected blow. What should he, could he say? The truth was the only answer he had, yet it had brought him pain already and Frodo found he wanted nothing more at this moment than to avoid pain.even if only long enough to allow his mind to clear and the room to stop it's nauseating spin. The same unwanted answer would only bring the same unwanted response. But to risk a lie-very dangerous in his position.
"Frodo?"
Frodo startled.
"Striking me cannot change the truth of my answer!" Frodo cried out suddenly. "And I am already in such pain - Please! I do not know!"
Another bruising slap to Frodo's face. Crowds of tears shoved against the backs of his eyelids, struggling to spill out; Frodo held all but a few back with colossal effort.
"Wrong answer," said Merry curtly, his frown deepening.
Frodo had never felt so vulnerable, so trapped. Merry could ask him the same question limitless times until the end of eternity and he'd never outrun Merry's stinging palm-not after two times, not after a hundred.
Merry sensed Frodo's desperation and raised his hand a third time, the glint in his eyes promising only pain.
"Stop!" cried Frodo. "Please stop! I do not know! Please---!"
Another slap thundered across Frodo's face, this time abrading flesh and bringing blood. Frodo felt the warm liquid trickle from some unknown wound, sliding across his aching cheek and down into his ear. His face felt as if it were on fire, his arms and legs screamed in agony and joined the cacophony already shrieking from his hip. No longer trying to hold back his tears, Frodo let them flow freely and hotly down his abused face, running diagonally across his neck and absorbed by the waiting pillow. Frodo's breaths were now jagged with both fear and the anticipation of pain. Frodo observed in horror as Merry pulled his arm back yet again, the fire behind his eyes leaping up as if Frodo, through his words, was stocking them. Frodo was afraid. He braced himself for another shock of pain, his mind racing to find something, anything, he might say to release him from this hell. Finally, Frodo burst out in a whimper-
"Gandalf-is---"
"Yes?" Merry lowered his hand.
"-is," spluttered Frodo, "missing."
Frodo cried out in agony as Merry's fist hit his open and unprotected stomach. His breaths now carried the sound of high-pitched yelps, a jagged unnatural sound as of a sparrow felled by the hawk, its frantic screeches plummeting with it as it beats its broken wings in desperate denial of its knowledge of the ripping talons and jagged beak that pursues it in its fall to the earth.
Merry, quick as lightening, drew something out of the scabbard that Frodo now noticed for the first time Merry wore at his belt. It was a short, sharp sword with a mean-looking curved blade. Frodo heard his breath catch at the glint of the knife before his eyes. This was more than whips and blows now and Frodo found himself, for the first time, fearing for his life. In all the time this horror had been going on, Merry had not yet actually threatened his to kill him and Frodo had allowed himself to trust that there was still some small part of his cousin buried deep within him that would not allow him to injure him to the point of death. He saw now how foolish he had been, the flash of light on the blade as it drew nearer an undeniable reminder that he no longer had power over his fate and that the choice between life and death lay wholly in Merry's hands.
Merry turned the blade down to Frodo's belly, the tip chasing his descending stomach sucked down by a deep inhale, the flesh itself recoiling in horror at the touch of the cold metal. Frodo shook uncontrollably, gasping in too short, sharp breaths to keep his stomach from rising up to meet the blade.
Merry turned to Frodo with an unforgiving smile.
"Can't you see, Frodo?" he asked. Merry's voice seemed almost musical to Frodo's ears, the words terrifying, yet compelling. "Is it not clear yet? I control you. I tell you when you get up, when you may sleep, when you may dress, when you may eat or drink, even when you may breathe. You have no power here, no choices. You need not suffer indecision, as I will make your decisions for you. Yours is now a life free of burdens. Just submit to me, Frodo, and your life will become so easy, so carefree. I will take excellent care of you, beloved, if you do as I say, and answer what I ask."
Frodo stared at the knife in terror as Merry brought the blade down, lower, lower, until it found its mark and broke the flesh beneath its honed point, blood welling beneath it to stain the tip and blunt the merry glint that dazzled his eyes and mocked him with its cold purpose. As if the taste of his blood on its sharp tongue pleased it and left it hungering for more.
"I have control over your life, Frodo," continued Merry as he dragged the knife to create a thin crimson line down the undulating white field of Frodo's belly, his choked screams beating in his own ears, careening and echoing through his mind - pushing it toward the brink of his sanity. "And, if I choose, your death."
Merry stopped the progress of the blade and brought it to rest beneath Frodo's chin, its sharp edge scraping his throat and forcing him still and silent. Merry drew close, his face inches from Frodo's, his breath hot and moist against the cold of the steel resting precariously against naked flesh.
"Do you feel your death calling you, my love?" Merry breathed in his ear. "Can you feel it reaching for you? Does it sing the same song to you as it did to your parents?" Frodo drew a sharp breath and closed his eyes tight, his mind faltering and his heart bursting in his chest. The blade, now hot with borrowed heat from his own skin, caressed the line of his jaw as Merry continued its torturous progress to just below his ear where the pulse of life thrummed below his skin.
"Does the song still ring with your mother's strangled screams as she was dragged beneath the water by the weight of her own skirts?" Scalding tears burned Frodo's eyes and he shut them against the face so close to his own, the mouth spilling obscenities in his ear. The point of the blade broke his flesh, a hair away from slicing through, severing his life's blood and ending his nightmare. "Do your father's choked cries reach out to harmonize with his wife's dying breaths?"
A tortured, guttural cry emerged from Frodo's throat and Merry drew back, smiling and pleased with himself.
"Tell you what," said Merry, getting to his feet and patting Frodo's knee, "let's find out, shall we? An outing will do us a world of good."
Frodo did not open his eyes, allowing his mind to close in on itself and soothe him with the broken sound of his sobs in his ears.
TBC
AN: I am just convinced that no male has ever read my tale! If I'm wrong- do let me know! My husband won't even read this thing! So if you are a guy and reading this -prove me wrong and lift my spirits! Leave a review!
And if you are female-you know I want to hear from you! ( ____________________________________________________________________________ __ For fans of THE PRICE by Anemone Frost, I wanted to announce that she has created a new yahoo group just for this wonderful fic! It is called Marroc's den and is at http-- //ting to break. And, as you know-those are very sad! Your Frodo is having some BIG problems too! Hey-people! Check out Nasty Hobbitsess for the ORIGINAL evil!Merry!!!!
Sue-yes-you will see sweet Merry again, but at a great cost. And once he snaps back to reality-who will have him but Pip?
Endymion-yes-I did fix that boo-boo-now I said pip got his brand on his collarbone-which is what I meant in the first place! And thank youfor liking the Many meeting twist-that was fun to write-just look at the text and adopt it to the AU Merry also has stolen Boromir's lines early on. My beta and I have joked about merry's endless supply of rope. Look for Sam to have a cynical line about that later on. Merry did prepare in advance, you know, though he must have bought out the ropers supply!
Krista-A sequal-wow! Now that would be interesting! Probably takes palce in a therapists office!
Chloe! I'm so glad you wrote to me! I forwarded your great information to my beta, and she was floored you knew so much. Feel free to write any time with suggestions and information because we really do love it!!
Tesekian-let them escape? Hmmmm. I forsee more attempts in the future. We'll see how they go! AJ- So glad to hear from you! Yes-one of the big themes of the story is how the ring distorts the personal relations between these characters.
QTPie-I'm glad you are enjoying this story! And it is really creepy- because even in this tale, Merry is really a sweet hobbit under the ring thrall-but the ring distorts everything, doesn't it?
Trust NO One-You really got it right when you said Frodo and sam were each other's weakness. And their strength. That too is a major theme in this tale!
Salysha- thank you for dropping by! And you really hit it on the head with your comments about Merry-even before he was ring corrupted, it was obvious that he was the responsible one, --so the ring would take advantage of that very quality of merry. And thanks for your comments about slash because- gee- you are right-aren't you! ;)
AN_ thanks to Iorhael-my inspiration, and Aratlithiel-my lovely beta! And thanks to my reviewers that keep me writing!
____________________________________________________________________________ _Chapter 28 - Waking Dream
Frodo was aware of the throbbing of his hip before he was fully aware of being conscious. His eyes slid open reluctantly, blinking against the light that pushed through the half-open shutters. How long he'd drifted in the soft embrace of slumber, he did not know-and the one hobbit in the position to tell him was the one hobbit he wanted to avoid like the plague. Frodo gave an exploratory tug at his bonds. Still tied - his whole body in considerable discomfort; his hip in active pain.
Frodo quickly cast his eyes down at the rest of his body. He was naked, covered partially by a linen sheet. He's been stripped of his clothes while asleep; stripped of his dignity while awake; stripped of everything except for the two things he longed to discard-the brand and the accursed Ring.
His hip felt as if it were continually being run through with tiny but well- sharpened swords, still heated from the crucible in which they were formed. He dragged his eyes unwillingly toward the source of the stinging pain - not really wanting to see, but helpless to resist the compulsion to confirm the fact that yes, this had really happened, the nightmare not only real but still playing out with himself unable to wake and stop its inexorable reality. His eyes stopped and focused on their dreaded objective and Frodo saw it - clear as day, black as night. The brand. Merry had pressed the red-hot brand until his flesh smoked, his skin burned, and his screams filled the room and echoed through the hall. But he'd not seen the result of the violation, not until now.
"B" is for Brandybuck his subconscious mind teased, bringing to the surface a childhood joke Merry sounded each time Frodo had set the lad upon his lap to read him his alphabet primer. "B is for Brandybuck!" Merry would giggle. "Yes it is," Frodo would chide, "But what it says here is "B is for Book." Merry, his impish face alight with glee, would tug playfully at the page and pretend to repeat Frodo's lesson -"B is for Book-LAND! Buckland!" squealed Merry each and every time. Of course they would never arrive at "C" for cat, or "D" for duck. Frodo clinched his eyes shut, driving back fond memories rendered painful by the current situation. The memory of the sweet hobbitlad who chortled gleefully upon his knee at their shared joke juxtaposed with the hobbit who had stood over his helpless body and pressed a searing piece of iron to his flesh until his screams had threatened to rupture his throat and his mind had teetered on the brink of insanity was more than he could bear and enough to make him want to weep with the horror and misery of his loss.
"B" a sign of ownership he'd carry the rest of his days. B for Brandybuck, B for beaten. B for branded. B for broken. B for ---bearer.
Frodo craned his neck to focus upon the silver chain round his neck. Yes, it was still there - the Ring, just as much a curse as the brand, and one that at ay moment might sink into his flesh and imbed itself into his heart, spreading its malignant poison through his blood, capturing his soul as it had done Merry's. His own burden, but one that he had chosen voluntarily. How could he have known what it would cost him, what it would cost his loved ones? Had he known, would he have agreed to bear it? 'Such questions cannot be answered.' the wizard's voice spoke sternly in his mind, '.but you have been chosen.' How long ago had that been? A hundred years? Five hundred?
No, perhaps it was not a choice at all. He had been chosen. C is for chosen. By whom or by what he couldn't fathom, but chosen he had been and the weight of that choice now smothered him with the remembrance of cousins loved and beyond his ability to escape or save. This was his doom, doom meaning fate, and, perhaps, doom meaning death. D is for death. E - escape. No chance. F is for futile. G -for Gandalf?
Where was he - the wizard who had sworn to find him, who'd said he'd come yet did not? Frodo wondered if Merry's agile mind had yet wound itself around similar questions. Surely Merry would be no match for the Maia, if only the wizard would keep his word and seek Frodo out!
Frodo pressed his head back down into the pillow; halfway hoping the bed would swallow him up-suck him from all memory and all pain. As Frodo moved his head, a slow, languid shift in the balance of the mattress to his left made him suddenly aware that he was not alone in the bed. Frodo turned his head sharply to the left and found his blue eyes staring into a pair of glassy green ones.
"Pippin," sighed Frodo, nearly growling in frustration.
Pippin, no longer capable of reading the most basic of non-verbal cues, flashed Frodo a drowsy grin, as if waking up next to a cousin bound hand and foot to the bedposts was business as usual. Although upon reflection, Frodo supposed that in light of the events of the past week, it couldn't be looked upon as terribly extraordinary either.
Pippin was curled up like a cat, his body covered with the lion's share of Frodo's sheet, except for the far third that flowed uselessly over the left side of the bed. Pippin instinctively reached up to run his slim fingers through Frodo's sweat-drenched hair in a gesture designed to be comforting. Frodo endured the caress but avoided Pippin's sparkling gaze, choosing instead to keep his eyes fixed on the carved ceiling of the room.
"I'm afraid I've stolen your cover, Frodo dear," Pippin mumbled cheerfully, his voice heavy with sleep.
Pippin pushed his body up with his palms, and with a single firm shake, cast the cover over Frodo. It rose gracefully on the current and billowed slowly over his prone form, its silken weave held suspended for long moments before floating to caress against his skin and finally alight and drape in elegant contrast to the hideous bonds at his wrists and ankles.
"That's better!" he chirped before inserting his own wiry body under the sheet and resting his curly head in the warm fleshy pillow of Frodo's chest just above where Frodo's arm radiated at a sharp angle toward the bedpost. Pippin wrapped his small arm around Frodo's chest and tucked it lovingly between Frodo's torso and the mattress. Tears burned behind his eyes as he realized that his first unconscious reflex had been to wrap his arm protectively around his young cousin as he had so often in the past - an action cruelly prevented by his bonds and one he wasn't sure if he even desired anymore. This was not the cousin he had cuddled and comforted through nightmares and skinned knees - this was a walking, talking open wound whom he scarcely even recognized and Frodo could not help the bit of revulsion that welled up and gnawed at his heart.
"Does it hurt terribly, Frodo?" Pippin asked with a childlike lilt in his voice.
"It hurts," Frodo ground out, "In more ways than one."
Frodo turned his head to capture Pippin's eyes with his own, wondering who this hobbit was and how deeply his Pip had been buried within his own tormented mind.
"Please tell me," Frodo said slowly and deliberately, "what came over you to accept such a grievous thing, Pip? Have you completely taken leave of your senses?"
Pippin pulled the neck of his shirt down to reveal his own mark on his collarbone. The brand stared back at him, cruelly, unnaturally, while Pippin gazed at it, wide-eyed, as if it were the font of all earthly joy. A tear escaped from one of Pippin's eyes and anger and grief nearly overcame Frodo as he mourned the loss of his clever, ebullient cousin.
"I think," sighed Pippin as he traced a languid finger over the B, "that this is the most beautiful thing that I will ever possess." A lazy parade of tears slid down Pippin's cheeks as he caressed this manifest symbol of Merry's undying devotion.
B is for brainwashed, mused Frodo, nausea welling up in his stomach and threatening to surge up into his throat at any moment. What on earth had Merry done to Pippin's impressionable mind? Is this the kind of behavior that Merry hoped to receive from himself? 'Ludicrous!' thought Frodo. And impossible. Frodo would never be pulled into Merry's thrall and, more than that, he would try to yank his sweet younger cousin back to reason. Not only for Pippin's own sake, but because Frodo could not deny a very troubling truth - Pippin might still be their only hope. Merry might imprison Frodo's body, but he would not snare his mind and Pippin might be the only tool left that Frodo could lay hands on and wield against him.
"Oh Frodo!" lamented Pippin as he ran his fingertips over Frodo's furrowed forehead. "I just wish you could see what I see in Merry! He is so strong, so courageous, and so very clever. He'll not lead us astray, Frodo. He'll not abandon us no matter how badly we err. He's just like that, Frodo, a noble soul, so rare in this world. Frodo, Merry loves us so much," Pippin began stroking his brand again, "he loves us enough to do all the hard, unpleasant things that will help us become stronger. He does what he does to protect us, to keep us safe, and, Frodo, I for one have never felt safer!"
Pippin gently tugged down the sheet to glance over Frodo's brand, to compare it in size and beauty to his own. He smiled approvingly as he patted it softy, unintentionally sending spikes of pain radiating from the fresh wound and Frodo gasped as Pippin glanced at him apologetically.
"I wish you would stop fighting Merry, Frodo," continued Pippin as he re- covered Frodo's body with the sheet. "It seems like you are always cross with him, and I think it hurts his feelings. Merry needs our support, your support right now, Frodo. Let him love you. Merry is more loving than any hobbit I've ever known, so giving, so lovely, so precious."
Frodo sucked in his breath in protest, a shudder like cold lightning surging through his spine.
"Is Merry the keeper of your soul, Pippin?" asked Frodo, suddenly harsh. "Where is your mind, your own mind, Peregrin?! You are the future Thain, not some prized calf from the Brandybuck herds! Can't you see how Merry has reduced you, Pippin, to a shadow of your former self? And look at me, Pip! Look at me, will you! I'm naked, tied, beaten and branded! Is that love, Pippin? Is it? I am in unfathomable pain, Pippin. I hurt body and soul, and Merry is the one that hurt me. He hurt you too, Pippin, and you rejoice in his abuses as if they were daisies in a summer field!"
Frodo's voice was growing thick with emotion, the thought of his cousin disappearing before his eyes chipping at his heart and rending his composure. Pippin continued to finger comb Frodo's hair as he raged, paying no heed to his words and the emotion that propelled them. Instead, Pippin looked back at Frodo, eyes wide with pity and wet with tears. Pippin wondered to himself if Frodo had ever experienced real love.
"My poor, poor Frodo!" lamented Pippin. "You do not understand at all, do you? I wish I could help you to feel what I feel, bring you to my place so you could open yourself enough to let Merry's love and compassion in. Then you would never be sad again. Never sad and always safe. Merry and I just want you to be happy!"
Frodo expelled a breath that began as a groan and expired as a whimper.
"Pippin" began Frodo, "If my happiness is your true goal, then know this. My wrists and ankles are in agony, and my arms and legs are numb beyond measure. And I detest being naked and thrown open wide as I am now. You ask me to be open-well, Pippin, I am. Open like a split fruit, open and vulnerable just waiting to be devoured by any creature that might happen by and decide it wants to have a go at me - Merry himself not the least. If you really wish me to be happy, Pippin, untie me, let me dress, let me see Sam. Let me go."
Pippin threw Frodo another pitying look before turning his glance up to the back corner of the room, the corner well beyond Frodo's current line of vision and Frodo knew suddenly and without doubt what - or rather who - Pippin was looking at.
"That he will not do-will you Pippin?" replied a soft but stern voice from behind the bed.
Frodo heard the squeak of a chair and footfalls drawing near to the bed. With dismay, Frodo arched his back and twisted his neck to lock eyes with Meriadoc, newly emerged from the shadows. He'd been sitting in silent observance for Eru knew how long and Frodo found that the most surprising thing about this revelation was that he was not in the least surprised. Pippin immediately rolled off the bed and into the welcoming arms of Merry. Merry smiled warmly at his captive, lowering his hand down on Frodo's damp brow before returning his hand to the head of his adoring young cousin. Frodo twisted his head away and emitted a soft growl, which Merry pointedly ignored.
"My two lovely jewels," Merry said, eyes twinkling in the firelight.
Pippin glowed; Frodo glowered.
"Now Frodo," Merry chased. "Let's begin this day anew, shall we? Even though it's well nigh afternoon, we need to practice our morning "routine" until we get it right, because, Frodo, this morning you did not get it right."
Frodo met Merry's smile with a sneer.
"Will you dress me then?" snarled Frodo. "Not like this, I reckon." Frodo pulled demonstratively on his bonds. . "First things first," said Merry
Merry stepped soundlessly out the door, returning minutes later with a basin full of steaming, sweet-smelling water, a few towels flung over his arm. Merry set his burden down, and with one jolting tug, ripped the shielding sheet from Frodo's vulnerable body, leaving Frodo naked and powerless before his younger cousin.
"Time to clean you off, dear one," said Merry in a maternal tone.
"Merry!" groused Frodo, more in irritation than fear.
Merry raised a palm to Frodo's objection.
"Frodo," Merry calmly explained, "I'm not going to hurt you -I'm going to bathe you. Let me do this for you, Frodo. Let me tend you. Besides, you're in no position to do it yourself. If you see fit to complain, I'll just gag you, but must it always come to that? Submit to my care, and we'll all fare just fine. Fail to submit voluntarily and I'll just force you. You see, your choices are limited, severely. Now, relax!"
Frodo buried his humiliation and fury at being forced to be washed like an invalid. Choose your battles, he thought. Embarrassing, yes, hurtful, no- unless he considered the sullying of his self respect. Frodo feared Merry had some twisted reason for wishing to care for Frodo's most basic needs. To reduce him? Yes, to reduce Frodo as Pippin had been reduced-surely that was it! But how much harm could rife embarrassment really achieve?
Frodo considered Merry's motives when a small cup was brought to his lips. He flinched.
"Just water, Love," said Merry.
Frodo was thirsty, and since food was probably not forthcoming, this small drink might be his breakfast, elevensies, luncheon, dinner and supper all in one. Frodo drank the sweet-tasting water down in a matter of greedy gulps. As he fell back into the pillow, Frodo noted the strange but not unpleasant aftertaste that lingered tantalizing in his mouth, thinking it somewhat familiar. He could not place the taste nor call to mind when he had tasted such, but the amorphous memory tugged at his mind with an unreasonable sense of dread.
Merry set the cup down with a soft clang of porcelain on wood and picked up the basin of warm scented water. Frodo drew his stomach in quickly when Merry first moved the cloth to his exposed and vulnerable belly. Merry laughed a little.
"Don't fret, Love," assured Merry. "It's warm."
Frodo inhaled, bringing his stomach up to normal position, watching it rise up to meet Merry's damp cloth. Warm. Yes it was. Warm and soothing. Already Frodo was feeling a nagging sense of wrongness as his thoughts grew cloudy and the room began a lazy, rolling spin.
Starting from Frodo's belly, Merry continued to run the warm scented cloth over every inch of Frodo's body, slowly, gently, lovingly. Merry's expression radiated tenderness as he worked, like he was a mother bathing her newborn infant, or a high priest cleansing a shrine. And it felt wonderful, by the Valar, it felt wonderful! Frodo could not deny it, much as his conscious mind recoiled at the thought. Frodo felt his whole body go limp, the scent of the water again unraveling his mind until it was as loose as his muscles. Merry smiled gently at Frodo each time their eyes met--So wrong, such a travesty, so despicable.
Frodo slammed his eyes shut to block out any ability Merry might have to read him, half-wishing he'd been blindfolded. But it was too late. Merry's smug grin-Merry knew. Yes, Merry knew that Frodo unwillingly savored this, savored it despite the most obstinate objections of his conscious mind that tried, with all of its might to rise to the surface and bring this emasculating experience to an end. Frodo cringed again, and then felt his face slacken and go limp, following the rest of his body on the path of total relaxation. 'The water,' thought Frodo through the murky haze that blunted his thoughts and dulled the foreboding his mind had dredged at the familiar taste and scent of it. "Damn, damn.the water.it's in the water.'
His anger evaporated and his anxiety fled as the scent carried him away within his own mind, his fading consciousness whispering the nonsensical phrase over and over until he could no longer remember what it meant or why it had seemed so very important just a moment ago. 'the water.the water.the water.'
The water smelled like springtime in the Shire, conjured every happy childhood memory before all the pain had begun-it recalled the embrace of his mother, the warmth at Bag End, lovely moments with the Brandybuck clan, his substitute family-his kin. B is for Brandybuck-and how the little imp had warmed his soul. B for beautiful, bountiful, (brand. brand? no) B is for Bath, soft cloth soothing skin abused and broken but no longer remembered or felt. C is for coddled, comforted, cared for. D is for (death, doom) damp. Warm and damp, his whole body tingling with the sensation of being cleansed and tended like a sacred, cherished object.
E is for end-Frodo groaned at the loss of contact as the cloth was withdrawn. He became aware of the gentle splash of the used cloth being dropped back in the basin, and the feeling of a soft dry towel tracing over the paths where the wet, warm cloth had been. Frodo's eyes had gone glassy, and when Merry smiled at him now, Frodo smiled back, the smile seeming somehow wrong on his face but his mind unable to remember why. F is for Frodo-where was he? (where is frodo? who is frodo?)
"There, Love," cooed Merry. "All clean."
Frodo nodded, passively, stupidly.
Merry pulled the sheet back over Frodo, the linen clinging slightly to Frodo's still-damp skin. Frodo watched impassively as Merry took the sweet smelling water from the room, the water softly sloshing with his every step, the scent and the footfalls retreating down the corridor. The sweet scent clung to Frodo's skin, slowly evaporating, along with Frodo's unaccountable peace of mind.
* * *
Frodo lay, stretched and subdued, his eyes opened but unfocused, his mind at least as unfocused as his eyes. The bath had somehow transformed Frodo's feelings of intense vulnerability to something akin to a warm, comforting embrace, a need to be taken care of, joy of letting go and handing self-sovereignty onto shoulders better equipped to carry it.
Footsteps again. Merry. In the swirl and chaos of his mind Frodo could not even be sure whether to hate or love his cousin, whether his return was something to dread or savor. Frodo turned his head to Pippin, sweet Pippin reclining in a bedside chair, his elbow balanced on the chair arm, his head leaning heavily on his open palm. Pippin offered Frodo a lackadaisical smile set off by two half-closed eyes.
"See how well Merry cares for you, Frodo?" Pippin said sleepily. "See how much he loves you?"
Frodo stared dumbly at his cousin, nodding in acknowledgement, but not agreement and somehow not caring about the difference between the two. Rolling his head to the other side, Frodo's eyes met Merry's. Merry grinned benevolently and seated himself in the triangle-shaped space between Frodo's right arm and leg, pulled straight and taut by the unforgiving ropes.
"Comfortable, Frodo?" asked Merry in a voice filled with concern.
Frodo felt his head nod again as if invisible hands were guiding the motion, though he neither understood the question nor cared what his acknowledgment could mean. He only cared that it seemed vital right now that he give his cousin what he seemed to want from him and maybe spare himself what his sluggish unease clamored to warn him from.
"How are you feeling sweetheart?" The sound of Merry's question blended seamlessly into the sensation of Merry's hand drifting down to caress Frodo's damp brow.
Angry? Hurt? Violated? Pained? Healed? Cherished? Loved? Relaxed? Hungry? Yes, hungry.
"Hungry," mumbled Frodo in a small voice. "I'm hungry."
"I daresay you should be, Love," replied Merry, his hand now cupping Frodo's cheek. "But, if you'll remember, you kicked the bowl of porridge from my hands, the porridge I lovingly prepared for you. That was unkind, and for that, I'm afraid, you'll not be receiving more for a day. I'm sorry for that. My softer impulses impel me to feed you, but without consequences for your behavior, you will never learn. It upsets me-makes me very sad that your behavior forces me to withhold food from you. Do you understand why I must refuse you, Frodo?"
Frodo nodded, his expression blank and sleepy, his eyes clouded and unfocused.
Frodo continued to stare up into Merry's smiling face, handsome, open, yet somehow stern. Frodo considered Merry's eyes, now lit behind by pale fires, symbols of an unspoken threat.
"Merry?" breathed Frodo, half in curiosity, half in fear.
Merry held Frodo in his gaze for an endless second, cupping his face in his two strong hands. This normally comforting gesture shot a bolt of dread down Frodo's spine, piercing his dreamy fog and Frodo began to tremble. Merry responded by running his hand through Frodo's hair, his fingernails dragging against his scalp, plowing through days worth of tangles relentlessly and causing Frodo considerable pain. Frodo winced with each vanquished knot, wondering if Merry would continue until his hair lay about his head in tangled clumps on the white linen of the pillow, snarls of it clutched in Merry's grasping hands. He wanted Merry's hands off of him; he wanted to flee; to break loose from Merry's cold, harsh eyes, but Merry's gaze, just as much as his bonds held him firmly in place.
"Frodo," spoke Merry abruptly, "there are still some things we must discuss while we are here together, you and I-Questions that need answering."
Frodo unconsciously bit down on his inner lip but did not otherwise react to Merry's query. Even when treading through the thick mists of his foggy mind, Frodo knew that he would neither love the questions, nor the required answers.
"Frodo," asked Merry, a new seriousness in his voice, "where is Gandalf?"
Frodo hesitated. He could not defend himself here. He could not ward off blows. But just the same, he could not answer; and he could not answer because he did not know.
"I don't know," Frodo answered in a voice scarcely above a whisper.
Merry's retribution was swift. A stinging slap whipped across Frodo's face, eliciting a moan from Frodo and a gasp from Pippin. Frodo's eyes reforged contact with Merry's face within seconds, his mind wild with confusion. Merry's face contorted with anger; then within moments was calm and serene again, his slapping hand gone back to caressing Frodo's newly- slapped cheek. Frodo flinched as Merry's finger traced his quivering jaw line, still throbbing with pain.
"Sam told us that Gandalf would meet you in the Shire -is that not true, Frodo?"
Relief swelled over the bound hobbit like a calming wave. He was so happy to be asked a question for which he had an answer. Frodo nodded emphatically.
A slow sadistic grin spread over Merry's face and he patted Frodo's head as if in reward.
"But Gandalf did not come, isn't that right Frodo?"
More relief. More nods.
"So I ask you, Frodo," Merry's smile darkening to a sneer, "Where //is// Gandalf?"
Frodo's brow furrowed, his hands tugging uselessly at the cords that held them tight in vain hopes of fending off the expected blow. What should he, could he say? The truth was the only answer he had, yet it had brought him pain already and Frodo found he wanted nothing more at this moment than to avoid pain.even if only long enough to allow his mind to clear and the room to stop it's nauseating spin. The same unwanted answer would only bring the same unwanted response. But to risk a lie-very dangerous in his position.
"Frodo?"
Frodo startled.
"Striking me cannot change the truth of my answer!" Frodo cried out suddenly. "And I am already in such pain - Please! I do not know!"
Another bruising slap to Frodo's face. Crowds of tears shoved against the backs of his eyelids, struggling to spill out; Frodo held all but a few back with colossal effort.
"Wrong answer," said Merry curtly, his frown deepening.
Frodo had never felt so vulnerable, so trapped. Merry could ask him the same question limitless times until the end of eternity and he'd never outrun Merry's stinging palm-not after two times, not after a hundred.
Merry sensed Frodo's desperation and raised his hand a third time, the glint in his eyes promising only pain.
"Stop!" cried Frodo. "Please stop! I do not know! Please---!"
Another slap thundered across Frodo's face, this time abrading flesh and bringing blood. Frodo felt the warm liquid trickle from some unknown wound, sliding across his aching cheek and down into his ear. His face felt as if it were on fire, his arms and legs screamed in agony and joined the cacophony already shrieking from his hip. No longer trying to hold back his tears, Frodo let them flow freely and hotly down his abused face, running diagonally across his neck and absorbed by the waiting pillow. Frodo's breaths were now jagged with both fear and the anticipation of pain. Frodo observed in horror as Merry pulled his arm back yet again, the fire behind his eyes leaping up as if Frodo, through his words, was stocking them. Frodo was afraid. He braced himself for another shock of pain, his mind racing to find something, anything, he might say to release him from this hell. Finally, Frodo burst out in a whimper-
"Gandalf-is---"
"Yes?" Merry lowered his hand.
"-is," spluttered Frodo, "missing."
Frodo cried out in agony as Merry's fist hit his open and unprotected stomach. His breaths now carried the sound of high-pitched yelps, a jagged unnatural sound as of a sparrow felled by the hawk, its frantic screeches plummeting with it as it beats its broken wings in desperate denial of its knowledge of the ripping talons and jagged beak that pursues it in its fall to the earth.
Merry, quick as lightening, drew something out of the scabbard that Frodo now noticed for the first time Merry wore at his belt. It was a short, sharp sword with a mean-looking curved blade. Frodo heard his breath catch at the glint of the knife before his eyes. This was more than whips and blows now and Frodo found himself, for the first time, fearing for his life. In all the time this horror had been going on, Merry had not yet actually threatened his to kill him and Frodo had allowed himself to trust that there was still some small part of his cousin buried deep within him that would not allow him to injure him to the point of death. He saw now how foolish he had been, the flash of light on the blade as it drew nearer an undeniable reminder that he no longer had power over his fate and that the choice between life and death lay wholly in Merry's hands.
Merry turned the blade down to Frodo's belly, the tip chasing his descending stomach sucked down by a deep inhale, the flesh itself recoiling in horror at the touch of the cold metal. Frodo shook uncontrollably, gasping in too short, sharp breaths to keep his stomach from rising up to meet the blade.
Merry turned to Frodo with an unforgiving smile.
"Can't you see, Frodo?" he asked. Merry's voice seemed almost musical to Frodo's ears, the words terrifying, yet compelling. "Is it not clear yet? I control you. I tell you when you get up, when you may sleep, when you may dress, when you may eat or drink, even when you may breathe. You have no power here, no choices. You need not suffer indecision, as I will make your decisions for you. Yours is now a life free of burdens. Just submit to me, Frodo, and your life will become so easy, so carefree. I will take excellent care of you, beloved, if you do as I say, and answer what I ask."
Frodo stared at the knife in terror as Merry brought the blade down, lower, lower, until it found its mark and broke the flesh beneath its honed point, blood welling beneath it to stain the tip and blunt the merry glint that dazzled his eyes and mocked him with its cold purpose. As if the taste of his blood on its sharp tongue pleased it and left it hungering for more.
"I have control over your life, Frodo," continued Merry as he dragged the knife to create a thin crimson line down the undulating white field of Frodo's belly, his choked screams beating in his own ears, careening and echoing through his mind - pushing it toward the brink of his sanity. "And, if I choose, your death."
Merry stopped the progress of the blade and brought it to rest beneath Frodo's chin, its sharp edge scraping his throat and forcing him still and silent. Merry drew close, his face inches from Frodo's, his breath hot and moist against the cold of the steel resting precariously against naked flesh.
"Do you feel your death calling you, my love?" Merry breathed in his ear. "Can you feel it reaching for you? Does it sing the same song to you as it did to your parents?" Frodo drew a sharp breath and closed his eyes tight, his mind faltering and his heart bursting in his chest. The blade, now hot with borrowed heat from his own skin, caressed the line of his jaw as Merry continued its torturous progress to just below his ear where the pulse of life thrummed below his skin.
"Does the song still ring with your mother's strangled screams as she was dragged beneath the water by the weight of her own skirts?" Scalding tears burned Frodo's eyes and he shut them against the face so close to his own, the mouth spilling obscenities in his ear. The point of the blade broke his flesh, a hair away from slicing through, severing his life's blood and ending his nightmare. "Do your father's choked cries reach out to harmonize with his wife's dying breaths?"
A tortured, guttural cry emerged from Frodo's throat and Merry drew back, smiling and pleased with himself.
"Tell you what," said Merry, getting to his feet and patting Frodo's knee, "let's find out, shall we? An outing will do us a world of good."
Frodo did not open his eyes, allowing his mind to close in on itself and soothe him with the broken sound of his sobs in his ears.
TBC
AN: I am just convinced that no male has ever read my tale! If I'm wrong- do let me know! My husband won't even read this thing! So if you are a guy and reading this -prove me wrong and lift my spirits! Leave a review!
And if you are female-you know I want to hear from you! ( ____________________________________________________________________________ __ For fans of THE PRICE by Anemone Frost, I wanted to announce that she has created a new yahoo group just for this wonderful fic! It is called Marroc's den and is at http-- //ting to break. And, as you know-those are very sad! Your Frodo is having some BIG problems too! Hey-people! Check out Nasty Hobbitsess for the ORIGINAL evil!Merry!!!!
Sue-yes-you will see sweet Merry again, but at a great cost. And once he snaps back to reality-who will have him but Pip?
Endymion-yes-I did fix that boo-boo-now I said pip got his brand on his collarbone-which is what I meant in the first place! And thank youfor liking the Many meeting twist-that was fun to write-just look at the text and adopt it to the AU Merry also has stolen Boromir's lines early on. My beta and I have joked about merry's endless supply of rope. Look for Sam to have a cynical line about that later on. Merry did prepare in advance, you know, though he must have bought out the ropers supply!
Krista-A sequal-wow! Now that would be interesting! Probably takes palce in a therapists office!
Chloe! I'm so glad you wrote to me! I forwarded your great information to my beta, and she was floored you knew so much. Feel free to write any time with suggestions and information because we really do love it!!
Tesekian-let them escape? Hmmmm. I forsee more attempts in the future. We'll see how they go! AJ- So glad to hear from you! Yes-one of the big themes of the story is how the ring distorts the personal relations between these characters.
QTPie-I'm glad you are enjoying this story! And it is really creepy- because even in this tale, Merry is really a sweet hobbit under the ring thrall-but the ring distorts everything, doesn't it?
Trust NO One-You really got it right when you said Frodo and sam were each other's weakness. And their strength. That too is a major theme in this tale!
Salysha- thank you for dropping by! And you really hit it on the head with your comments about Merry-even before he was ring corrupted, it was obvious that he was the responsible one, --so the ring would take advantage of that very quality of merry. And thanks for your comments about slash because- gee- you are right-aren't you! ;)