A note from [Emma's incredibly talented beta] Aratlithiel in defense of
Emma:
To any and all potential flamers (and to star in particular) - While you
have every right to express your opinion, and to do so anonymously, you
should be made aware that the author also has a right to express her
creativity in any way she sees fit. If you do not enjoy fics of this
nature, then don't read...it's fairly simple. I find less shame in Emma's
open sharing of her work with dozens of readers who are enjoying it than I
do in someone who would express their opinion anonymously and cringe in a
corner lest someone's opinion differ from their own.
This fic was never billed as a H/C fic or anything else other than what it
is. Emma has never made any pretense that it is anything other than an AU
romp into darkness and horror. The ratings and descriptions are clear and
honest. Why one would even begin reading it when they've been properly
warned is simply beyond my comprehension, but once they have, they have
done so at their own risk and have therefore lost their right to complain
about content. Criticism of writing style, grammar or canon facts are
really the only things that someone who has been duly warned has the right
to point out.
Constructive criticism is welcomed and encouraged by most responsible
authors. A flame, by definition, however, is a cowardly insult that
masquerades as valid criticism. Emma shoud be ashamed? I beg to differ -
anyone without the courage to express their opinion and then stand behind
it openly should be ashamed.
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"Frodo and Merry were caught in the thrall of that thing that bound them inexorably together, a tie stronger than kinship, thicker than blood."
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Chapter 29: A Journey in the Dark ____________________________________________________________________________
The room was silent save for the sound of Frodo's own shuddering breaths-- deep ragged breaths that provided more noise than oxygen. Frodo had spent the fair share of the past few hours trying to pull himself together after what seemed to have been a near-death experience. Merry had pulled a red line of lightly sliced flesh across Frodo's belly with his unforgiving knife, threatening to plunge it deep and cut off Frodo's very life. Merry had repeated his question again and again, a ridiculous mantra of "where is Gandalf?" followed invariably by a shot of pain. Frodo cringed and shook with the black memory. Then came the knife, the cruel mention of his drowned parents, the call for an "outing," the playful smirk.
Then Merry was gone, out the door, leaving Frodo open, naked, bleeding, alone with his pain, his terror, and the clinging cloud of dread that spread across the room like a blackening storm. And Frodo was left alone with guileless Pippin, now sleeping peacefully in his chair, a carefree, beatific smile gliding across his face as he dreamt.
Frodo glared down at the straight crimson river stretching down from his chin almost to his navel, now producing thin streams of blood eddying off the main column of scarlet that marched from just below his ribcage to his neck and running down either side of his torso before being absorbed by the awaiting bed sheets. He felt the warm, sluggish stream on the side of his neck as it flowed to drip and pool behind his ear. Merry had very nearly killed him with that one and Frodo found himself wondering if his cousin would be able to stop himself from going too far the next time. Would Merry kill him? Could he?
Frodo's eyes were again drawn down, fixing upon the bright gold band. Frodo's blood had pooled around the Ring perched in the center of his breastbone, a grotesque moat surrounding a shining castle of gold. The Ring was red with blood, yet still breathtakingly beautiful, its beauty only enhanced by the pretense of color lent by his own blood. The red veneer shone translucent, effervescent, and luminous, like a perfect red dawn.
Frodo unconsciously tugged at his bonds -the desire to touch the Ring, caress it, suddenly overwhelming. The Ring called to him, singing a sibilant song, promising him healing, promising him salvation, promising him comfort, promising him-death? The line in Frodo's mind between comfort and death now had become perilously blurred. Frodo wondered if the Ring sung to Merry as well.
Frodo's eyes tore from the Ring at the sound of the door creaking open followed by chipper whistling. Merry. Pippin nearly rolled off his chair as he snapped to attention- his eyes voicing a silent plea that his hands be made useful in the service of his beloved. Frodo lifted his head, the wound on his chest flashing with pain at the sudden movement. To Frodo's great relief, Merry carried only a bundle of clothing and appeared to be unarmed. Regardless, Frodo felt his heartbeat quicken, the hammering in his chest very nearly audible.
"Fro -do," called Merry in a sing-song voice. "Time to get you dressed. You can't go on our little outing in ought but your skin."
Frodo did not respond. He blocked out the dread at this "outing" - concentrating instead on the brief respite from his anguish that clothing would provide.
Merry quickly dressed him, untying one limb at a time to slip it into sleeve or trouser leg and promptly refasten it to the appropriate bedpost. He worked efficiently with an economy of motion that suggested this were a skill he had practiced for years before ascending to the mastery of it instead of one acquired so recently.
Pippin's assigned task, apparently, was to hold Frodo's limbs still as Merry worked. Had they thought to ask, and had his throat not been so tight and his tongue not been a dry, dead weight in his mouth, Frodo might have told them their vigilance was unnecessary. He had no intention to resist. He endured the rather complicated process in silence, shutting his eyes to create the unconvincing illusion of sleep. Somehow, slumber was the best excuse he could muster in his own mind for not struggling. He just did not have the heart at present, he told himself-though if he'd been honest with himself, Frodo would have admitted the true reason for his new pliancy. Frodo was now very much afraid of Merry.
Merry plopped himself on the bed to lace up Frodo's trousers, but hesitated with the buttons on the shirt. Without a word, Merry traced his finger along the thin red line he'd cut into Frodo's chest just a few hours before. The ribbon of blood had dried somewhat, though when Merry pressed down along the wound, crimson bubbles popped up to the surface, causing Frodo to wince in pain.
Frodo was unable to read Merry's thoughts, but could guess them well enough. By his pensive expression, Frodo supposed Merry was fascinated by his own handiwork, yet another mark Merry had placed upon his unwilling flesh- yet another brand. Merry massaged the line, first with one, then two fingers, moving ever upward, belly, chest, then, a tiny clang of fingernail hitting metal.
Merry had accidentally hit the Ring, or had he? Merry muttered an apology, yet his finger and his eyes lingered. The Ring had offered resistance, now glued to Frodo's neck by the dried pool of blood. The two hobbits held their strange pose, two pairs of eyes fixed on the same perfect shiny roundness, the same bloodstained band. In unison, their breathing slowed to a near stop, and neither knew anything other than the object of indescribable beauty that reclined lustily in front of their dilating pupils. Frodo and Merry were caught in the thrall of that thing that bound them inexorably together, a tie stronger than kinship, thicker than blood. Merry unconsciously dug his nail under the Ring, as if to dig a tunnel under it, lay siege to the castle of gold. Frodo gasped loudly as Merry hit the eminently tender spot on Frodo's neck where Merry's blade had first burrowed home. Merry lifted his gaze to Frodo's face, his reverie shattered.
"I must cleanse this," muttered Merry awkwardly, not really sure whether he referred to Frodo's wound or the ring.
Frodo nodded, not knowing why.
Merry reached over to the bed stand, waiting for Pippin to take the cue to hand him the basin of water. Pippin did not. Instead, his eyes were glued to Frodo's neck and the piece of jewelry that lay there.
"Pippin!"
Pippin started, looked lost and confused for a moment before clumsily handing Merry the basin, a wave of scented water sloshing over the bowl's ceramic edge as it traveled indelicately over Frodo's chest.
Where Merry's biting blade had slid, so now did Merry's gentle touch. Merry wrapped the dripping rag around his index finger and dabbed the wound with the cold water, incongruously glancing up at Frodo as he progressed to make sure he was not paining his cousin. When he reached the Ring, Merry rubbed the cloth along the smooth surface of the band, his expression going strange as he stuck his cloth covered pinkie slightly inside its beckoning center to swipe away the blood. Merry did not look up at Frodo's face through this part; if he had, he would have seen something akin to that of a mother bear whose cub was being threatened.
"Where are we going then?" growled Frodo abruptly, now wanting Merry as far from his neck as possible.
Merry jolted slightly, his eyes uncharacteristically clouded. His face darkened, and his lax lower lip turned more firmly down into a scowl.
"You will know soon enough! We are not ready to leave quite yet. I need to make some preparations, Frodo!" Merry turned his eyes to Pippin who, leapt to his feet.
"Rest while you can, Frodo," said Merry in a threatening tone. "We've a long night ahead of us, thanks to your intransigence. I must see to Samwise."
"Where are you ke---?"
Frodo's strident query was cut short by the slamming of the door. He was alone again. But for how long?
* * *
Sam opened a single bleary eye, his body involuntarily shrinking back as he reluctantly focused on the smiling face of Merry leaning over him at close range.
"Merry," grumbled Sam, drowsily.
"Have you been sleeping well, Samwise?" Merry asked, almost friendly.
Sam scrunched up his face, blinked his eyes hard a few times, and attempted to sit up. To his dismay, Sam found that during his slumber, he'd been bound once again at the wrists and ankles. Sam shot Merry an accusatory glance, secretly wondering how he'd slept so heavily as to allow this disgrace. How long had he been sleeping anyways? He felt half past dead.
"I'm sorry Sam," apologized Merry as his tapped Sam's wrist bonds lightly with his forefinger. "It's only temporary. You see, Pippin and I are taking Frodo for a little outing. But I'm afraid you have to stay here. In memory of recent events, I thought you'd best be bound just in case."
The information slowly pushed through Sam's musty brain, like a worm wriggling through clay soil. Taking my Frodo on an "outing?" What could that mean? What if Mr. Frodo was too far from Sam's reach to attempt to help him, not that he was much good at the moment anyway. But at least he was in earshot and could hope, in his heart of hearts, to plan some sort of a rescue. Sam did not like the idea of Frodo being trundled off to some undisclosed location to face who-knows-what. Sam's breath fell uneven and he began to sweat. By the time he spoke aloud, his rage was already climbing and his voice erupted in a roar of fury.
"Where are you taking Mr. Frodo?!? If you harm him in any way, Mr. Merry, I swear I'll---"
"Sam, Sam," interrupted Merry with an infuriating calm. He stopped for a moment and gazed at Sam, seeming to be turning something over in his head. Sam waited, knowing without doubt that whatever it was that was on Merry's mind, it would mean nothing but trouble for his master. He tried to prepare himself for the inevitable when Merry opened his mouth to speak. "Actually, Sam, this trip might be entirely unnecessary. This is a matter which you may be in a position to assist Frodo where he has failed to assist himself."
Sam narrowed his eyes and growled, remembering what had transpired last time he was given an opportunity to influence Frodo's fate. He fixed his bloodshot eyes upon his master's keeper, full expecting to explode in a rage upon hearing Merry's "offer."
Merry knelt down on his haunches, bringing himself down to Sam's eye level. Absentmindedly, Merry began to stroke Sam's sandy curls.
"Get your hand off of me unless you want it bit off!" threatened Sam, clinking his teeth loudly together for full effect.
Merry's hand quickly retreated to his trouser pocket where it fiddled with the assorted coins and remnants of tobacco leaves that resided there. Merry drew out his clay pipe from his jacket, filled it with a distracted, practiced ease, then lit it, shaking the lit match before crushing it in his palm. Merry took a long drag, blowing the fragrant smoke from his lungs directly into Sam's cringing face.
"Smoke, Sam?" asked Merry innocently.
"WHERE are you taking Mr. Frodo?" demanded Sam. "And, yes, I'd love a smoke. Untie me so I may share your pipe and we may chat like old friends."
Merry chuckled lightly. "And throttle me with your free hand, I suspect. Sorry Sam. Smoke as you are, or smoke not at all."
Sam hadn't really expected his request to be fulfilled, but even so he smiled inwardly. Merry had read his mind with uncanny precision, but even Merry could not see all things all of the time. Keeping his expression as straight as he could manage, Sam nodded and parted his lips.
Merry lifted the pipe gingerly to Sam's mouth, not noticing the servant's mischievous grin. Sam inhaled the fragrant leaf slowly, savoring the taste, keeping the stem of the pipe fixed firmly in his teeth. Keeping his eyes locked on Merry's, he allowed his smile to spread and blowing out, he bit down on the pipe's neck with all of the strength in his jaws with a loud, satisfying crunch. Merry's eyes widened a bit and his fingers tightened around the bowl as Sam leaned over the mattress to spit the ceramic shards, slimy with saliva, down at Merry's knees.
Sam grinned; Merry grinned back. Merry would not be baited, not today. Merry smiled as if facing a misbehaving, yet adorable kitten. He took a final drag from the crumbling end before setting the fractured pipe on the bed stand.
"Sam," offered Merry. "I had a brief but unfruitful discussion with Frodo this afternoon about the whereabouts of Gandalf."
Sam's face reddened immediately. He sensed intuitively how this "discussion" must have played out.
"We don't know where Gandalf is, Mr. Merry!" Sam's voice was raised again, flooding with growing desperation. "You know as much as we do! Don't you hurt him! He don't know nothin'!"
Merry sighed dramatically. "I was afraid that is what you would say, Sam. I was hoping to avoid the hassle and unpleasantness of taking Frodo to the river, but---"
"Vile rat!" cried Sam. "He don't know! You know as well as I that Gandalf was expected in the Shire months ago, but never showed up! You can't hurt Mr. Frodo for things he don't know!"
"I think he does know, Sam," replied Merry as the tapping of his fingers on the wooden floor filled the room. "And I think you do too."
"Weasel!" yelled Sam. "Don't you think if Gandalf knew what you done to Mr. Frodo, he'd be on you in a flash? And I would love to be the one to suggest to him all manner of foul creature that he could turn you into, Mr. Merry! But Gandalf is not here! And he's not coming, or he'd be here by now! Yes, Merry, I would be the first to summon him here to Crickhollow, but I CAN"T Merry, because I DO NOT know where he is! Nor does Frodo!"
Merry stared at Sam, wondering to himself if Sam should be punished for his insolence; Sam stared at Merry, wondering how the Brandybuck would look as a green-bellied tree frog - or better yet, a green-bellied tree frog squashed beneath his hard and callused foot. Merry stood again, the floorboard creaking loudly below his feet.
"Well, sighed Merry, "I guess we still need to take Frodo to the Brandywine River. Did you know, Sam, that the very spot where Frodo's parent's washed up is just a few short miles from here?"
Sam howled in inarticulate curses, and lunged toward Merry-succeeding only in rolling himself off the bed and onto the hard floor with a mighty thud.
"Merry!" bellowed Sam. "Don't you hurt him again or you'll have to answer to me! Merry! I will have your life if you harm him! I shall!"
Sam's screams were momentarily overridden by the loud slam of the door as Merry put himself on the other side of it and turned the lock home. Sam rolled himself over to the exit and delivered four slamming kicks with his bound feet. Though the noise was impressive, the kicks only succeeded in shooting a searing pain up through Sam's knees, nothing compared to the agony welling up in Sam's soul.
* * *
Frodo pushed his unwilling eyes shut. It was growing dark anyway, the lines of the room and its contents softening in the gloaming of the evening's approach. How long had it been since Merry and Pippin had left the room? An hour or two, perhaps, maybe more. Sleep, perhaps. Sleep this nightmare away. Sleep blissful and content, like Pippin. Sleep dead like his parents. His parents. Why had Merry brought up his parents? As the inky blackness finally engulfed the room, Frodo sighed in relief. Surely this "outing" was an idle threat and Merry and Pippin were curled up in blissful slumber. Frodo's eyes stayed closed and waited for sleep to come.
He was jolted awake with a shock with no recollection of when sleep had finally overtaken awareness. His hands had just been cut free-no, not really free, just bound together now in front of him, his arms now a chaos of pinpricks and numbness as the circulation returned violently to his suddenly lowered arms. His legs, now free, now tied at the ankles. How did this happen so fast? More comfortable, yes, but why? The room was completely dark save the bright circle of candlelight that hovered eerily around the end of the bed. Frodo turned his gaze to the candlelight, faintly illuminating a dark shape, the dark shape binding his legs. The candlelight provided no answers as it moved forward toward the head of the bed, then disappeared along with all other traces of light in the room. Frodo had just been blindfolded. What to say? What else was there to say but that which invariably crossed his lips at such times?
"Merry?"
What was intended as a protest came out as a question but Frodo hardly noticed the difference in his growing alarm.
Strong arms wrapped around his torso, delicate tenuous fingers grasped at his ankles. Frodo was being lifted off the bed.
"Merry?" Less a question, more a tremulous whimper of foreboding.
"Don't wor--"
Pippin's voice.
"Shhush!"
Merry.
The source of the hands spoke no more and Frodo heard the padding of footsteps. Down the corridor, the parlor-a thick door opening, closing. Outside. Outside? Frodo's panic began to swell.
"Merry?" cried Frodo, his voice now lit with alarm. "Merry?!"
Frodo was squeezed close by the hobbit behind him in a strange variation of a hug after which a small kiss was delivered to the side of Frodo's temple. Strangely, Frodo found the gesture inexplicably soothing and ceased his thrashing and calling out for the moment, allowing himself to be lulled by the rocking motion and the scent of the night air he had thought never to encounter again.
Under the blindfold, Frodo saw only blackness, but could hear the squelch of damp grass under his cousins' heavy footfalls, their slightly labored breathing as they moved their Frodo-sized burden, the rustle of leaves, the chirps of a thousand crickets, and, of course, Frodo heard his own heart thudding absurdly loud in his chest. Then, a soft neigh. A pony.
Frodo felt his torso and feet heaved upwards in a coordinated yet still awkward movement. For a few nervous seconds, Frodo feared he would be dropped into bottomless crevice, never to be heard from again. It was with relief that Frodo felt himself set heavily down upon a flat wood surface. Merry's pony trap. The joints on the wheels creaked and strained as one, then another hobbit climbed up. Muffled whispers and Frodo heard, then felt a warm body climb over the front seat and place itself beside him. Pippin? Unseen hands pulled a rough blanket that smelled of hay and horse over his body and most of his head. Certainly the blanket was more for the purpose of hiding Frodo from unwanted eyes rather than to keep him warm. Slim, nervous fingers played in his thick curls and the cart lurched forward and began to bump and trundle Frodo to an unknown destination.
Frodo began to shake again, his fear, once subsided, now flowed back with full force. Pippin, mistaking Frodo's fear for cold, gently tucked the thick blanket under Frodo's body and around his feet before returning to his former task of running thin fingers through Frodo's hair.
They continued on the road for what seemed like the better part of an hour. Frodo could sense no other carts or wagons passing, and assumed it must be very late. Even Pippin's massaging fingers fell lax upon his scalp, soon followed by the sounds of soft, nasal snores.
Frodo very slowly, very tenuously bent his bound hands up, then inch by tantalizing inch he moved them toward his face. If Frodo could manage to pull down his blindfold, he might peek furtively over his blanket and get his bearings. Frodo's hand crept up to his neck, his chin, to his nose, and finally, grasping on the cloth with one slow steady pull, --the blindfold was down. Now to lower the blanket without being seen. Frodo still heard Pippin's uneven sniffles and snores, and could assume with relative certainty that Merry's eyes were glued on the path ahead. Frodo could smell the fragrance of longbottom leaf blending with the outdoor smells of damp grass and the cloying scent of pine. Merry was smoking a pipe as he drove. Frodo hoped the pipe and the reins would occupy Merry's hands and attentions for now. He tugged the blanket down with the tips of his fingers until his eyes were just above the hem, like two rising blue suns over a fuzzy wool hill.
It was dark. Frodo's eyes caught the tips of overhanging trees, black against the star strewn indigo sky. A pale full moon rode low in the heavens looking at once incandescently beautiful and unnaturally eerie. Merry had not lit the lantern on his cart, which told Frodo that he very consciously did not wish to be observed. The road was empty, save the occasionally scurrying creature bounding in back of their wheels. Scattered smials were visible but unlit. For all the lights to be out in Buckland, it indeed had to be very late. In the distance, a dog barked out his dissatisfaction.
Their cart bumped along past the disordered jumble of smials which thinned to nothing as they progressed. Now the only signs of life were crickets and trees. Down a gradual incline, then, the cart halted and turned sharply, knocking along down a narrow path that bore only a passing resemblance to a road. Frodo's body jostled wildly for a few scary seconds before the cart evened itself out -the pony plodding slowly through what must have been more challenging terrain. Pippin recommenced his snoring, and the smell of smoke perked up again. Merry had steered the cart off the road and was back to his pipe.
Almost imperceptibly at first, a new sound danced on the edges of Frodo's hearing -running water. A river. This could only be the Brandywine. Frodo strained his neck to the side to confirm his supposition. Frodo caught sight of the Brandywine, a thick line of gently moving sparkles visible through the scattered trees. Merry was traveling alongside the river, but what destination he had in mind remained a mystery. Frodo knew better than to ask Merry, as it would give away his now blindfoldless state, and he was not likely to get an answer at any rate. Frodo concentrated instead upon the night sky and Brandywine's roll, hum, and churn.
Frodo had just allowed the alluring idea of bringing the rope around his wrists to his teeth and testing the knots to gain credence as a possibility when without warning, Merry pulled the cart to a stop, making Frodo suddenly regretful of pulling his blindfold down around his neck. Surely he'd pay for that once Merry noticed, and Merry would, of course, notice. Curiosity now overwhelmed Frodo, curiosity and dread. Merry had framed this outing, not as a reward, but as a punishment, and Merry's punishments were escalating.
Frodo felt his blanket ripped from his shuddering frame, exposing him to the chill Autumn air. The blanket had been smelly, but warm and he regretted its loss immediately. Frodo lifted his eyes to meet Merry's, instantly feeling anxious at the anticipated rebuke and subsequent punishment, like a child caught stealing tarts from his mother's pantry. Merry caught Frodo's expression and grinned knowingly.
"Oh, I see that we've waylaid our blindfold," chirped Merry. "Well, now that you have your sight, Frodo, can you tell me where we are?"
Frodo could not and said nothing.
"Perhaps we need to move closer, then," said Merry. Merry clapped his hands together loudly, startling Pippin awake. "Pippin!"
Pippin blinked and threw his eyes wildly around him to find his lodestar.
"Asleep on the job, eh Pip?" chided Merry. Merry's mirthful tone did nothing to assuage Pippin's fear.
"I-I'm---"
"Never mind, Pip." said Merry curtly. "I need you to sit Frodo up so we can start."
Start? Frodo shivered with fear. Start what? This could not be good.
Pippin eased Frodo into a sitting position.
"Do you know where we are now Frodo?" asked Merry.
Frodo knitted his eyebrows together. Should he know?
Merry sighed. "It seems as though we need to go on our little boat ride. Besides, what is a river outing without a boat ride!" Merry turned to Pippin and held out a lantern. "Pip, be a dear and pull up the rowboat underneath the willow down there."
Pippin looked quizzically at his cousin.
"Don't fret, Pip," Merry chuckled. "You will find a rowboat down there. You see, I've had this outing prepared for days now."
Pippin took the lantern with alacrity and clambered down toward the river until his curly head disappeared behind the embankment. Merry, meanwhile, gathered a few items into his pack in the front of the cart, ignoring Frodo's futile attempts to twist his neck enough to see. Merry dropped his heavy pack with a loud thud and walked to the back of the cart.
Merry pulled the cart's gate down and wrapping his hands around Frodo's tied ankles, dragged Frodo to the edge until his legs hung over like a child awaiting a hayride. It was now Frodo's turn to look quizzically at Merry. Merry was in far too chipper a mood for it to bode well for Frodo - his experiences of the past week had quickly taught him that a smiling Merry was a very dangerous Merry and any mirth or good humor in his cousin's wildly swinging moods invariably meant further torment for himself or Sam. Frodo had seen far too much recently to allow himself to believe that this boat ride in the middle of the night meant anything other than serious - perhaps even deadly -trouble.
"Ah, there's Pippin!" observed Merry enthusiastically. "Time to go."
Pippin reappeared, huffing with exertion, his trouser legs damp up to the knees.
"Is the boat on shore, Pip?"
"Yes, Merry!" answered Pip. "It was heavy but I did it!"
"Good lad!" said Merry. Merry turned toward Frodo. "Frodo, this is such a big moment for you, that I think I will give you a treat. I'm going to cut your legs free and allow you to walk! I will, however, refasten your blindfold, just for our walk. I want this to be a surprise!"
Frodo was so thrilled at being allowed to walk anywhere, he forgot for a moment to be terrified. He nearly smiled, then stopped himself as he realized the sheer absurdity of his gratitude. He could not, however, push back his sigh of relief as Merry bent down and cut the rope binding his legs together.
"Pippin," ordered Merry. "Take one of Frodo's arms. We'll help him down the embankment."
The cousins lifted Frodo down, setting him on shaky, unsteady legs. He felt like a toddler taking his first tenuous steps. Not only were his legs shaky from lack of circulation and use, but the withholding of food and frequent drugging was beginning to take its toll on his stamina. He staggered and lurched, but whenever he stumbled, Pippin and Merry lifted him back to his feet. It took the three nearly 15 minutes to travel the distance that Pippin had crossed in moments. Finally Frodo was set down on the muddy ground beside the river. The playful rippling of the slow moving water took on an angry, churning sound to Frodo's terrified ears, sounding threatening somehow in its unceasing song as it roiled past him and continued its ominous melody, following its relentless course through the wilds of Buckland.
"We're here, Frodo!" exclaimed Merry.
Frodo swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry and his throat tight. "Where is here?" he asked softly and as steadily as he could manage. He was reluctant to allow his voice to betray his terror in these, the first words he had uttered on the entire journey.
"That is for you to tell me, Frodo!" said Merry.
Merry pulled off Frodo's blindfold with a flourish. Frodo's eyes went wide and he tried desperately to back away as he cried out in anguish. Frodo knew exactly where he was.
TBC __________________________________________________________________________ New illustrations for this fic can be found on the Merry-pip lovers group. Write me and I'll be happy to send them to you. __________________________________________________________________________ To the reviewers!
Tavion-So nice for you to stop by and chat with us! It makes my day when lurkers come out if the woodwork!
Tesekian-Don't hurt me! Here is your update-nice and quick!!
Iorhael-and you have the nerve to ask ME that-hee-hee-after what YOU put Frodo through! Of course-I love both NH and Taken too!!!
QTPIE- merry will indeed use that to his advantage. As I said before, it will take a lot to make Frodo break, but Merry knows all the buttons. Sam will never stand idly by, but hope appears right when it is least expected. This tale will not end in misery-I promise!
Camellia- a peep-yeah right-with a microscope! Nekkid Frodo!!!! And I'm sure he'll eat whatever you have to offer.
Unhobbity hobbit- Pippin had a moment of truth next chapter in which his higher self must take control. But he is truly in Merry's thrall-think abused spouse syndrome. Merry will be redeemed-eventually-but not until he hits rock bottom and has the ring taken out of his reach in the most unexpected way.
Krista- Wait until you see the outing!
Endymion- I'm glad you liked those quotes. I think next chapter is the very most intense one and I hope you like it. It is one of my favorites.
Sam is always frodo's salvation-though the point of this fic is to see how all of the characters function under very dark circumstances. Events will force some VERY hard choices on Sam in the next number of chapters.
MBradford - I just thought of the alphabet thing right before I went to bed one night after far too much coffee. Glad you liked it.
Aratlithiel-why thank you-and you KNOW which lines are yours because they are just so very -poetic! People loved your bit with the singing song of death you cooked up! WOW! More than a beta-you are Merry's henchwoman!!!
Chloe-thank you! And-did you notice I DID do an illustration for a bath scene on the MEr/pip lovers board?! And-yes-Merry under ring thrall is really good at breaking Frodo down. I think the next chapter is just a juggernaut of angst!
And finally, Star-This is a dark fic, and I've never pretended otherwise. I am sorry if it disgusts you-but even Tolkien was not afraid to take his characters in some VERY dark places (read the Silmarillion lately? Or even- read that chapter of Frodo in Cirith Ungol???). Even in Tolkein's lovingly crafted world, there are very VERY dark corners -and these were created by the author himself. The Ring in his Middle-earth, takes things that exist and distorts them-that is what it did to Boromir, that is what it did to Denethor-who-if you remember-tried to burn his own son alive. That is dark! And I imagine that if Merry claimed the ring, it would take his normally good impulses and mangle them hideously.
The whole point of AU's is to thrust existing characters into new situations and see how they react. I try very hard to keep Sam and Frodo true to form. And cross Merry with the Ring, and this is what I think you would get. Cross anything with the Ring of Power, and you will get something unspeakable. You ask how I think of these things? -I did not-it is an actual brainwashing technique that has been used on thousands of people throughout history to have them identify with their captors-in common parlance, Stockholm Syndrome. And, may I remind you, these are fictional characters, and irreparable damage can be cured with the click of the delete button on my keyboard.
Believe it or not, I do love these characters, and have since age 11. Just because I allow them to journey on a road not taken, does not mean I disrespect them or Tolkien's memory. It is a journey that I, as an expression of my own creativity, chose to lead the characters on. In the words of Elrond, "no oath or bond is laid on you to go further than you will." So if you do not like the direction my tale is taking, stop reading.
And for those that choose to follow-- there is a light at the end of this tunnel, and that light, as in the original story, will be dear simple Sam.
"Frodo and Merry were caught in the thrall of that thing that bound them inexorably together, a tie stronger than kinship, thicker than blood."
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Chapter 29: A Journey in the Dark ____________________________________________________________________________
The room was silent save for the sound of Frodo's own shuddering breaths-- deep ragged breaths that provided more noise than oxygen. Frodo had spent the fair share of the past few hours trying to pull himself together after what seemed to have been a near-death experience. Merry had pulled a red line of lightly sliced flesh across Frodo's belly with his unforgiving knife, threatening to plunge it deep and cut off Frodo's very life. Merry had repeated his question again and again, a ridiculous mantra of "where is Gandalf?" followed invariably by a shot of pain. Frodo cringed and shook with the black memory. Then came the knife, the cruel mention of his drowned parents, the call for an "outing," the playful smirk.
Then Merry was gone, out the door, leaving Frodo open, naked, bleeding, alone with his pain, his terror, and the clinging cloud of dread that spread across the room like a blackening storm. And Frodo was left alone with guileless Pippin, now sleeping peacefully in his chair, a carefree, beatific smile gliding across his face as he dreamt.
Frodo glared down at the straight crimson river stretching down from his chin almost to his navel, now producing thin streams of blood eddying off the main column of scarlet that marched from just below his ribcage to his neck and running down either side of his torso before being absorbed by the awaiting bed sheets. He felt the warm, sluggish stream on the side of his neck as it flowed to drip and pool behind his ear. Merry had very nearly killed him with that one and Frodo found himself wondering if his cousin would be able to stop himself from going too far the next time. Would Merry kill him? Could he?
Frodo's eyes were again drawn down, fixing upon the bright gold band. Frodo's blood had pooled around the Ring perched in the center of his breastbone, a grotesque moat surrounding a shining castle of gold. The Ring was red with blood, yet still breathtakingly beautiful, its beauty only enhanced by the pretense of color lent by his own blood. The red veneer shone translucent, effervescent, and luminous, like a perfect red dawn.
Frodo unconsciously tugged at his bonds -the desire to touch the Ring, caress it, suddenly overwhelming. The Ring called to him, singing a sibilant song, promising him healing, promising him salvation, promising him comfort, promising him-death? The line in Frodo's mind between comfort and death now had become perilously blurred. Frodo wondered if the Ring sung to Merry as well.
Frodo's eyes tore from the Ring at the sound of the door creaking open followed by chipper whistling. Merry. Pippin nearly rolled off his chair as he snapped to attention- his eyes voicing a silent plea that his hands be made useful in the service of his beloved. Frodo lifted his head, the wound on his chest flashing with pain at the sudden movement. To Frodo's great relief, Merry carried only a bundle of clothing and appeared to be unarmed. Regardless, Frodo felt his heartbeat quicken, the hammering in his chest very nearly audible.
"Fro -do," called Merry in a sing-song voice. "Time to get you dressed. You can't go on our little outing in ought but your skin."
Frodo did not respond. He blocked out the dread at this "outing" - concentrating instead on the brief respite from his anguish that clothing would provide.
Merry quickly dressed him, untying one limb at a time to slip it into sleeve or trouser leg and promptly refasten it to the appropriate bedpost. He worked efficiently with an economy of motion that suggested this were a skill he had practiced for years before ascending to the mastery of it instead of one acquired so recently.
Pippin's assigned task, apparently, was to hold Frodo's limbs still as Merry worked. Had they thought to ask, and had his throat not been so tight and his tongue not been a dry, dead weight in his mouth, Frodo might have told them their vigilance was unnecessary. He had no intention to resist. He endured the rather complicated process in silence, shutting his eyes to create the unconvincing illusion of sleep. Somehow, slumber was the best excuse he could muster in his own mind for not struggling. He just did not have the heart at present, he told himself-though if he'd been honest with himself, Frodo would have admitted the true reason for his new pliancy. Frodo was now very much afraid of Merry.
Merry plopped himself on the bed to lace up Frodo's trousers, but hesitated with the buttons on the shirt. Without a word, Merry traced his finger along the thin red line he'd cut into Frodo's chest just a few hours before. The ribbon of blood had dried somewhat, though when Merry pressed down along the wound, crimson bubbles popped up to the surface, causing Frodo to wince in pain.
Frodo was unable to read Merry's thoughts, but could guess them well enough. By his pensive expression, Frodo supposed Merry was fascinated by his own handiwork, yet another mark Merry had placed upon his unwilling flesh- yet another brand. Merry massaged the line, first with one, then two fingers, moving ever upward, belly, chest, then, a tiny clang of fingernail hitting metal.
Merry had accidentally hit the Ring, or had he? Merry muttered an apology, yet his finger and his eyes lingered. The Ring had offered resistance, now glued to Frodo's neck by the dried pool of blood. The two hobbits held their strange pose, two pairs of eyes fixed on the same perfect shiny roundness, the same bloodstained band. In unison, their breathing slowed to a near stop, and neither knew anything other than the object of indescribable beauty that reclined lustily in front of their dilating pupils. Frodo and Merry were caught in the thrall of that thing that bound them inexorably together, a tie stronger than kinship, thicker than blood. Merry unconsciously dug his nail under the Ring, as if to dig a tunnel under it, lay siege to the castle of gold. Frodo gasped loudly as Merry hit the eminently tender spot on Frodo's neck where Merry's blade had first burrowed home. Merry lifted his gaze to Frodo's face, his reverie shattered.
"I must cleanse this," muttered Merry awkwardly, not really sure whether he referred to Frodo's wound or the ring.
Frodo nodded, not knowing why.
Merry reached over to the bed stand, waiting for Pippin to take the cue to hand him the basin of water. Pippin did not. Instead, his eyes were glued to Frodo's neck and the piece of jewelry that lay there.
"Pippin!"
Pippin started, looked lost and confused for a moment before clumsily handing Merry the basin, a wave of scented water sloshing over the bowl's ceramic edge as it traveled indelicately over Frodo's chest.
Where Merry's biting blade had slid, so now did Merry's gentle touch. Merry wrapped the dripping rag around his index finger and dabbed the wound with the cold water, incongruously glancing up at Frodo as he progressed to make sure he was not paining his cousin. When he reached the Ring, Merry rubbed the cloth along the smooth surface of the band, his expression going strange as he stuck his cloth covered pinkie slightly inside its beckoning center to swipe away the blood. Merry did not look up at Frodo's face through this part; if he had, he would have seen something akin to that of a mother bear whose cub was being threatened.
"Where are we going then?" growled Frodo abruptly, now wanting Merry as far from his neck as possible.
Merry jolted slightly, his eyes uncharacteristically clouded. His face darkened, and his lax lower lip turned more firmly down into a scowl.
"You will know soon enough! We are not ready to leave quite yet. I need to make some preparations, Frodo!" Merry turned his eyes to Pippin who, leapt to his feet.
"Rest while you can, Frodo," said Merry in a threatening tone. "We've a long night ahead of us, thanks to your intransigence. I must see to Samwise."
"Where are you ke---?"
Frodo's strident query was cut short by the slamming of the door. He was alone again. But for how long?
* * *
Sam opened a single bleary eye, his body involuntarily shrinking back as he reluctantly focused on the smiling face of Merry leaning over him at close range.
"Merry," grumbled Sam, drowsily.
"Have you been sleeping well, Samwise?" Merry asked, almost friendly.
Sam scrunched up his face, blinked his eyes hard a few times, and attempted to sit up. To his dismay, Sam found that during his slumber, he'd been bound once again at the wrists and ankles. Sam shot Merry an accusatory glance, secretly wondering how he'd slept so heavily as to allow this disgrace. How long had he been sleeping anyways? He felt half past dead.
"I'm sorry Sam," apologized Merry as his tapped Sam's wrist bonds lightly with his forefinger. "It's only temporary. You see, Pippin and I are taking Frodo for a little outing. But I'm afraid you have to stay here. In memory of recent events, I thought you'd best be bound just in case."
The information slowly pushed through Sam's musty brain, like a worm wriggling through clay soil. Taking my Frodo on an "outing?" What could that mean? What if Mr. Frodo was too far from Sam's reach to attempt to help him, not that he was much good at the moment anyway. But at least he was in earshot and could hope, in his heart of hearts, to plan some sort of a rescue. Sam did not like the idea of Frodo being trundled off to some undisclosed location to face who-knows-what. Sam's breath fell uneven and he began to sweat. By the time he spoke aloud, his rage was already climbing and his voice erupted in a roar of fury.
"Where are you taking Mr. Frodo?!? If you harm him in any way, Mr. Merry, I swear I'll---"
"Sam, Sam," interrupted Merry with an infuriating calm. He stopped for a moment and gazed at Sam, seeming to be turning something over in his head. Sam waited, knowing without doubt that whatever it was that was on Merry's mind, it would mean nothing but trouble for his master. He tried to prepare himself for the inevitable when Merry opened his mouth to speak. "Actually, Sam, this trip might be entirely unnecessary. This is a matter which you may be in a position to assist Frodo where he has failed to assist himself."
Sam narrowed his eyes and growled, remembering what had transpired last time he was given an opportunity to influence Frodo's fate. He fixed his bloodshot eyes upon his master's keeper, full expecting to explode in a rage upon hearing Merry's "offer."
Merry knelt down on his haunches, bringing himself down to Sam's eye level. Absentmindedly, Merry began to stroke Sam's sandy curls.
"Get your hand off of me unless you want it bit off!" threatened Sam, clinking his teeth loudly together for full effect.
Merry's hand quickly retreated to his trouser pocket where it fiddled with the assorted coins and remnants of tobacco leaves that resided there. Merry drew out his clay pipe from his jacket, filled it with a distracted, practiced ease, then lit it, shaking the lit match before crushing it in his palm. Merry took a long drag, blowing the fragrant smoke from his lungs directly into Sam's cringing face.
"Smoke, Sam?" asked Merry innocently.
"WHERE are you taking Mr. Frodo?" demanded Sam. "And, yes, I'd love a smoke. Untie me so I may share your pipe and we may chat like old friends."
Merry chuckled lightly. "And throttle me with your free hand, I suspect. Sorry Sam. Smoke as you are, or smoke not at all."
Sam hadn't really expected his request to be fulfilled, but even so he smiled inwardly. Merry had read his mind with uncanny precision, but even Merry could not see all things all of the time. Keeping his expression as straight as he could manage, Sam nodded and parted his lips.
Merry lifted the pipe gingerly to Sam's mouth, not noticing the servant's mischievous grin. Sam inhaled the fragrant leaf slowly, savoring the taste, keeping the stem of the pipe fixed firmly in his teeth. Keeping his eyes locked on Merry's, he allowed his smile to spread and blowing out, he bit down on the pipe's neck with all of the strength in his jaws with a loud, satisfying crunch. Merry's eyes widened a bit and his fingers tightened around the bowl as Sam leaned over the mattress to spit the ceramic shards, slimy with saliva, down at Merry's knees.
Sam grinned; Merry grinned back. Merry would not be baited, not today. Merry smiled as if facing a misbehaving, yet adorable kitten. He took a final drag from the crumbling end before setting the fractured pipe on the bed stand.
"Sam," offered Merry. "I had a brief but unfruitful discussion with Frodo this afternoon about the whereabouts of Gandalf."
Sam's face reddened immediately. He sensed intuitively how this "discussion" must have played out.
"We don't know where Gandalf is, Mr. Merry!" Sam's voice was raised again, flooding with growing desperation. "You know as much as we do! Don't you hurt him! He don't know nothin'!"
Merry sighed dramatically. "I was afraid that is what you would say, Sam. I was hoping to avoid the hassle and unpleasantness of taking Frodo to the river, but---"
"Vile rat!" cried Sam. "He don't know! You know as well as I that Gandalf was expected in the Shire months ago, but never showed up! You can't hurt Mr. Frodo for things he don't know!"
"I think he does know, Sam," replied Merry as the tapping of his fingers on the wooden floor filled the room. "And I think you do too."
"Weasel!" yelled Sam. "Don't you think if Gandalf knew what you done to Mr. Frodo, he'd be on you in a flash? And I would love to be the one to suggest to him all manner of foul creature that he could turn you into, Mr. Merry! But Gandalf is not here! And he's not coming, or he'd be here by now! Yes, Merry, I would be the first to summon him here to Crickhollow, but I CAN"T Merry, because I DO NOT know where he is! Nor does Frodo!"
Merry stared at Sam, wondering to himself if Sam should be punished for his insolence; Sam stared at Merry, wondering how the Brandybuck would look as a green-bellied tree frog - or better yet, a green-bellied tree frog squashed beneath his hard and callused foot. Merry stood again, the floorboard creaking loudly below his feet.
"Well, sighed Merry, "I guess we still need to take Frodo to the Brandywine River. Did you know, Sam, that the very spot where Frodo's parent's washed up is just a few short miles from here?"
Sam howled in inarticulate curses, and lunged toward Merry-succeeding only in rolling himself off the bed and onto the hard floor with a mighty thud.
"Merry!" bellowed Sam. "Don't you hurt him again or you'll have to answer to me! Merry! I will have your life if you harm him! I shall!"
Sam's screams were momentarily overridden by the loud slam of the door as Merry put himself on the other side of it and turned the lock home. Sam rolled himself over to the exit and delivered four slamming kicks with his bound feet. Though the noise was impressive, the kicks only succeeded in shooting a searing pain up through Sam's knees, nothing compared to the agony welling up in Sam's soul.
* * *
Frodo pushed his unwilling eyes shut. It was growing dark anyway, the lines of the room and its contents softening in the gloaming of the evening's approach. How long had it been since Merry and Pippin had left the room? An hour or two, perhaps, maybe more. Sleep, perhaps. Sleep this nightmare away. Sleep blissful and content, like Pippin. Sleep dead like his parents. His parents. Why had Merry brought up his parents? As the inky blackness finally engulfed the room, Frodo sighed in relief. Surely this "outing" was an idle threat and Merry and Pippin were curled up in blissful slumber. Frodo's eyes stayed closed and waited for sleep to come.
He was jolted awake with a shock with no recollection of when sleep had finally overtaken awareness. His hands had just been cut free-no, not really free, just bound together now in front of him, his arms now a chaos of pinpricks and numbness as the circulation returned violently to his suddenly lowered arms. His legs, now free, now tied at the ankles. How did this happen so fast? More comfortable, yes, but why? The room was completely dark save the bright circle of candlelight that hovered eerily around the end of the bed. Frodo turned his gaze to the candlelight, faintly illuminating a dark shape, the dark shape binding his legs. The candlelight provided no answers as it moved forward toward the head of the bed, then disappeared along with all other traces of light in the room. Frodo had just been blindfolded. What to say? What else was there to say but that which invariably crossed his lips at such times?
"Merry?"
What was intended as a protest came out as a question but Frodo hardly noticed the difference in his growing alarm.
Strong arms wrapped around his torso, delicate tenuous fingers grasped at his ankles. Frodo was being lifted off the bed.
"Merry?" Less a question, more a tremulous whimper of foreboding.
"Don't wor--"
Pippin's voice.
"Shhush!"
Merry.
The source of the hands spoke no more and Frodo heard the padding of footsteps. Down the corridor, the parlor-a thick door opening, closing. Outside. Outside? Frodo's panic began to swell.
"Merry?" cried Frodo, his voice now lit with alarm. "Merry?!"
Frodo was squeezed close by the hobbit behind him in a strange variation of a hug after which a small kiss was delivered to the side of Frodo's temple. Strangely, Frodo found the gesture inexplicably soothing and ceased his thrashing and calling out for the moment, allowing himself to be lulled by the rocking motion and the scent of the night air he had thought never to encounter again.
Under the blindfold, Frodo saw only blackness, but could hear the squelch of damp grass under his cousins' heavy footfalls, their slightly labored breathing as they moved their Frodo-sized burden, the rustle of leaves, the chirps of a thousand crickets, and, of course, Frodo heard his own heart thudding absurdly loud in his chest. Then, a soft neigh. A pony.
Frodo felt his torso and feet heaved upwards in a coordinated yet still awkward movement. For a few nervous seconds, Frodo feared he would be dropped into bottomless crevice, never to be heard from again. It was with relief that Frodo felt himself set heavily down upon a flat wood surface. Merry's pony trap. The joints on the wheels creaked and strained as one, then another hobbit climbed up. Muffled whispers and Frodo heard, then felt a warm body climb over the front seat and place itself beside him. Pippin? Unseen hands pulled a rough blanket that smelled of hay and horse over his body and most of his head. Certainly the blanket was more for the purpose of hiding Frodo from unwanted eyes rather than to keep him warm. Slim, nervous fingers played in his thick curls and the cart lurched forward and began to bump and trundle Frodo to an unknown destination.
Frodo began to shake again, his fear, once subsided, now flowed back with full force. Pippin, mistaking Frodo's fear for cold, gently tucked the thick blanket under Frodo's body and around his feet before returning to his former task of running thin fingers through Frodo's hair.
They continued on the road for what seemed like the better part of an hour. Frodo could sense no other carts or wagons passing, and assumed it must be very late. Even Pippin's massaging fingers fell lax upon his scalp, soon followed by the sounds of soft, nasal snores.
Frodo very slowly, very tenuously bent his bound hands up, then inch by tantalizing inch he moved them toward his face. If Frodo could manage to pull down his blindfold, he might peek furtively over his blanket and get his bearings. Frodo's hand crept up to his neck, his chin, to his nose, and finally, grasping on the cloth with one slow steady pull, --the blindfold was down. Now to lower the blanket without being seen. Frodo still heard Pippin's uneven sniffles and snores, and could assume with relative certainty that Merry's eyes were glued on the path ahead. Frodo could smell the fragrance of longbottom leaf blending with the outdoor smells of damp grass and the cloying scent of pine. Merry was smoking a pipe as he drove. Frodo hoped the pipe and the reins would occupy Merry's hands and attentions for now. He tugged the blanket down with the tips of his fingers until his eyes were just above the hem, like two rising blue suns over a fuzzy wool hill.
It was dark. Frodo's eyes caught the tips of overhanging trees, black against the star strewn indigo sky. A pale full moon rode low in the heavens looking at once incandescently beautiful and unnaturally eerie. Merry had not lit the lantern on his cart, which told Frodo that he very consciously did not wish to be observed. The road was empty, save the occasionally scurrying creature bounding in back of their wheels. Scattered smials were visible but unlit. For all the lights to be out in Buckland, it indeed had to be very late. In the distance, a dog barked out his dissatisfaction.
Their cart bumped along past the disordered jumble of smials which thinned to nothing as they progressed. Now the only signs of life were crickets and trees. Down a gradual incline, then, the cart halted and turned sharply, knocking along down a narrow path that bore only a passing resemblance to a road. Frodo's body jostled wildly for a few scary seconds before the cart evened itself out -the pony plodding slowly through what must have been more challenging terrain. Pippin recommenced his snoring, and the smell of smoke perked up again. Merry had steered the cart off the road and was back to his pipe.
Almost imperceptibly at first, a new sound danced on the edges of Frodo's hearing -running water. A river. This could only be the Brandywine. Frodo strained his neck to the side to confirm his supposition. Frodo caught sight of the Brandywine, a thick line of gently moving sparkles visible through the scattered trees. Merry was traveling alongside the river, but what destination he had in mind remained a mystery. Frodo knew better than to ask Merry, as it would give away his now blindfoldless state, and he was not likely to get an answer at any rate. Frodo concentrated instead upon the night sky and Brandywine's roll, hum, and churn.
Frodo had just allowed the alluring idea of bringing the rope around his wrists to his teeth and testing the knots to gain credence as a possibility when without warning, Merry pulled the cart to a stop, making Frodo suddenly regretful of pulling his blindfold down around his neck. Surely he'd pay for that once Merry noticed, and Merry would, of course, notice. Curiosity now overwhelmed Frodo, curiosity and dread. Merry had framed this outing, not as a reward, but as a punishment, and Merry's punishments were escalating.
Frodo felt his blanket ripped from his shuddering frame, exposing him to the chill Autumn air. The blanket had been smelly, but warm and he regretted its loss immediately. Frodo lifted his eyes to meet Merry's, instantly feeling anxious at the anticipated rebuke and subsequent punishment, like a child caught stealing tarts from his mother's pantry. Merry caught Frodo's expression and grinned knowingly.
"Oh, I see that we've waylaid our blindfold," chirped Merry. "Well, now that you have your sight, Frodo, can you tell me where we are?"
Frodo could not and said nothing.
"Perhaps we need to move closer, then," said Merry. Merry clapped his hands together loudly, startling Pippin awake. "Pippin!"
Pippin blinked and threw his eyes wildly around him to find his lodestar.
"Asleep on the job, eh Pip?" chided Merry. Merry's mirthful tone did nothing to assuage Pippin's fear.
"I-I'm---"
"Never mind, Pip." said Merry curtly. "I need you to sit Frodo up so we can start."
Start? Frodo shivered with fear. Start what? This could not be good.
Pippin eased Frodo into a sitting position.
"Do you know where we are now Frodo?" asked Merry.
Frodo knitted his eyebrows together. Should he know?
Merry sighed. "It seems as though we need to go on our little boat ride. Besides, what is a river outing without a boat ride!" Merry turned to Pippin and held out a lantern. "Pip, be a dear and pull up the rowboat underneath the willow down there."
Pippin looked quizzically at his cousin.
"Don't fret, Pip," Merry chuckled. "You will find a rowboat down there. You see, I've had this outing prepared for days now."
Pippin took the lantern with alacrity and clambered down toward the river until his curly head disappeared behind the embankment. Merry, meanwhile, gathered a few items into his pack in the front of the cart, ignoring Frodo's futile attempts to twist his neck enough to see. Merry dropped his heavy pack with a loud thud and walked to the back of the cart.
Merry pulled the cart's gate down and wrapping his hands around Frodo's tied ankles, dragged Frodo to the edge until his legs hung over like a child awaiting a hayride. It was now Frodo's turn to look quizzically at Merry. Merry was in far too chipper a mood for it to bode well for Frodo - his experiences of the past week had quickly taught him that a smiling Merry was a very dangerous Merry and any mirth or good humor in his cousin's wildly swinging moods invariably meant further torment for himself or Sam. Frodo had seen far too much recently to allow himself to believe that this boat ride in the middle of the night meant anything other than serious - perhaps even deadly -trouble.
"Ah, there's Pippin!" observed Merry enthusiastically. "Time to go."
Pippin reappeared, huffing with exertion, his trouser legs damp up to the knees.
"Is the boat on shore, Pip?"
"Yes, Merry!" answered Pip. "It was heavy but I did it!"
"Good lad!" said Merry. Merry turned toward Frodo. "Frodo, this is such a big moment for you, that I think I will give you a treat. I'm going to cut your legs free and allow you to walk! I will, however, refasten your blindfold, just for our walk. I want this to be a surprise!"
Frodo was so thrilled at being allowed to walk anywhere, he forgot for a moment to be terrified. He nearly smiled, then stopped himself as he realized the sheer absurdity of his gratitude. He could not, however, push back his sigh of relief as Merry bent down and cut the rope binding his legs together.
"Pippin," ordered Merry. "Take one of Frodo's arms. We'll help him down the embankment."
The cousins lifted Frodo down, setting him on shaky, unsteady legs. He felt like a toddler taking his first tenuous steps. Not only were his legs shaky from lack of circulation and use, but the withholding of food and frequent drugging was beginning to take its toll on his stamina. He staggered and lurched, but whenever he stumbled, Pippin and Merry lifted him back to his feet. It took the three nearly 15 minutes to travel the distance that Pippin had crossed in moments. Finally Frodo was set down on the muddy ground beside the river. The playful rippling of the slow moving water took on an angry, churning sound to Frodo's terrified ears, sounding threatening somehow in its unceasing song as it roiled past him and continued its ominous melody, following its relentless course through the wilds of Buckland.
"We're here, Frodo!" exclaimed Merry.
Frodo swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry and his throat tight. "Where is here?" he asked softly and as steadily as he could manage. He was reluctant to allow his voice to betray his terror in these, the first words he had uttered on the entire journey.
"That is for you to tell me, Frodo!" said Merry.
Merry pulled off Frodo's blindfold with a flourish. Frodo's eyes went wide and he tried desperately to back away as he cried out in anguish. Frodo knew exactly where he was.
TBC __________________________________________________________________________ New illustrations for this fic can be found on the Merry-pip lovers group. Write me and I'll be happy to send them to you. __________________________________________________________________________ To the reviewers!
Tavion-So nice for you to stop by and chat with us! It makes my day when lurkers come out if the woodwork!
Tesekian-Don't hurt me! Here is your update-nice and quick!!
Iorhael-and you have the nerve to ask ME that-hee-hee-after what YOU put Frodo through! Of course-I love both NH and Taken too!!!
QTPIE- merry will indeed use that to his advantage. As I said before, it will take a lot to make Frodo break, but Merry knows all the buttons. Sam will never stand idly by, but hope appears right when it is least expected. This tale will not end in misery-I promise!
Camellia- a peep-yeah right-with a microscope! Nekkid Frodo!!!! And I'm sure he'll eat whatever you have to offer.
Unhobbity hobbit- Pippin had a moment of truth next chapter in which his higher self must take control. But he is truly in Merry's thrall-think abused spouse syndrome. Merry will be redeemed-eventually-but not until he hits rock bottom and has the ring taken out of his reach in the most unexpected way.
Krista- Wait until you see the outing!
Endymion- I'm glad you liked those quotes. I think next chapter is the very most intense one and I hope you like it. It is one of my favorites.
Sam is always frodo's salvation-though the point of this fic is to see how all of the characters function under very dark circumstances. Events will force some VERY hard choices on Sam in the next number of chapters.
MBradford - I just thought of the alphabet thing right before I went to bed one night after far too much coffee. Glad you liked it.
Aratlithiel-why thank you-and you KNOW which lines are yours because they are just so very -poetic! People loved your bit with the singing song of death you cooked up! WOW! More than a beta-you are Merry's henchwoman!!!
Chloe-thank you! And-did you notice I DID do an illustration for a bath scene on the MEr/pip lovers board?! And-yes-Merry under ring thrall is really good at breaking Frodo down. I think the next chapter is just a juggernaut of angst!
And finally, Star-This is a dark fic, and I've never pretended otherwise. I am sorry if it disgusts you-but even Tolkien was not afraid to take his characters in some VERY dark places (read the Silmarillion lately? Or even- read that chapter of Frodo in Cirith Ungol???). Even in Tolkein's lovingly crafted world, there are very VERY dark corners -and these were created by the author himself. The Ring in his Middle-earth, takes things that exist and distorts them-that is what it did to Boromir, that is what it did to Denethor-who-if you remember-tried to burn his own son alive. That is dark! And I imagine that if Merry claimed the ring, it would take his normally good impulses and mangle them hideously.
The whole point of AU's is to thrust existing characters into new situations and see how they react. I try very hard to keep Sam and Frodo true to form. And cross Merry with the Ring, and this is what I think you would get. Cross anything with the Ring of Power, and you will get something unspeakable. You ask how I think of these things? -I did not-it is an actual brainwashing technique that has been used on thousands of people throughout history to have them identify with their captors-in common parlance, Stockholm Syndrome. And, may I remind you, these are fictional characters, and irreparable damage can be cured with the click of the delete button on my keyboard.
Believe it or not, I do love these characters, and have since age 11. Just because I allow them to journey on a road not taken, does not mean I disrespect them or Tolkien's memory. It is a journey that I, as an expression of my own creativity, chose to lead the characters on. In the words of Elrond, "no oath or bond is laid on you to go further than you will." So if you do not like the direction my tale is taking, stop reading.
And for those that choose to follow-- there is a light at the end of this tunnel, and that light, as in the original story, will be dear simple Sam.