AN: This is the most angsty and perhaps the best chapter yet. I do want
to hear what you think! OH-and for the adultfanfic.net reviewer that
wrote "this sucks a lot. You should cut your hands off"-well-I'm happy to
say my hands are still happily attached and typing out the next chapter!!!
-emma_____________________________________________________________________
Chapter 30 - Drowning in Memories
(flashback) A crowd of Bucklanders gathered along the banks of the Brandywine, mumbling softly, somberly amongst themselves, eyes cast down, heads shaking in disbelief, a few sobbing into their hands. Words like "pity" "shame" and even "foolhardy" wafted through the knot of hobbits, carried along by the morning breeze. The morning had dawned, grey and gloomy, the perfect setting for a grotesque discovery. Morbidly curious hobbit lads pushed through the throng to have a look, only to be pulled back roughly by their collars and handed a curt dose of "It ain't none of your affair" by older hobbits who could not have explained how it was their affair any more deftly than the lads.
Hobbitfolk were quick to emotion, but quicker to blame. This whole mess was the tragic result of someone not applying their hobbit sense. A boat, at night? What had possessed them to follow such folly? Oh baleful decision! Now what would become of the boy?
The chorus of sobs and sighs and "what a pity"s was interrupted by a shocking and unexpected sight. A small hobbit lad of twelve burst through a copse of trees, looking more like a wild animal than a boy. The lad was breathless from having sprinted all the way from Brandy Hall, wild-eyed, disheveled curls, half-dressed. His shirt was buttoned askew and only partially so, the lopsided front waving unevenly and untucked tails flying behind him, his unfastened braces flapping off his thighs as he ran.
A piece of salacious new gossip dropped carelessly by the wrong Brandybuck, fluttering down to the ears of the right Baggins, a child who'd sensed something was awry, a dark intuition lit on the wings of dread. And now he knew. Aunt Esme tried to stop him, the blurry figure dashing past her voluminous skirts, but it was too late. The lad was already out the door and halfway down the hill, the calling of his name echoing unheeded behind him.
Down the road like lightning he had sprinted, heaving breaths, eyes wide, feet kicking up dirt and pebbles as he dashed along in a fit of near madness. He ran, not feeling the distance, not feeling the pain in his legs, ignorant of the exertion. The lad was driven by pure undiluted panic. He heard his name yelled from a few passing wagons. They knew where he was heading and made to stop him, but to no avail. An army of grown hobbits would not have kept the lad from his horrific destination. A mile and he was panting, face flushed, hot tears scalding reddened cheeks, but on he went. A winding right, to the dock.
His feet hit the wooden surface of the dock like hammers before he halted. A familiar wagon abandoned. Not here then-downstream. The lad whirled around on a heel and followed the course of the river. Faster now, along the embankment, threading through trees with the quick reflexes of a child who knew his terrain intimately. Faster still, a knot of hobbits ahead, the sound of scattered wails lifted on the breeze. His heart thrummed in time with his quickening footfalls. Time slowed down as he broke through the last copse of trees.
They saw him now, the assembled crowd. They pointed, their eyes in shock and sorrow, the decision unmade on how to "handle" this contingency. Closer now. And the mumbling, crying hobbits fell into an awkward stony silence, their pitying eyes boring into him, searing into his very soul. He was upon them now, the lad, gulping air, drenched in sweat, eyes still wild.
He skidded to an abrupt halt at the outer ring. The hobbits closed ranks, but none of them dared to utter a word. Instead they silently, sorrowfully blocked the lad from what would surely be the worst thing he would ever see.
He stood panting, locking eyes with two dozen hobbits who would deny him this. After several endless moments, an elderly hobbit knelt to the lad's side, placing both griseled but strong hands on the boy's shoulders, and held the boy in his compassionate gaze, his silence speaking volumes.
"Lad," the man said softly as he brushed the boy's tears away with a crooked finger. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
The boy's lower lip began to quiver and his eyes burst forth with a new flood of tears. Yet he nodded slowly, clearly, and without hesitation. The wizened hobbit eased himself back to his feet, continuing to squeeze the lad's shoulders.
"C'mon then."
Mumbles of disapproval swung through the crowd. But the hobbit stood firm.
"He's got every right!" the old hobbit exclaimed firmly. "It is his affair. *E'll have to know sometime."
Reluctantly, as if moving through molasses, the hobbits made way, stepping aside to create an opening for the wide-eyed lad and his impromptu chaperone. Frodo could feel the weight of their collective stares, but quickly turned his attention to the terrible sight opening up before him.
Two forms, wet and frightfully still, laying side by side, skin as pale as newfallen snow. They seemed asleep except for the wet clothes molded around their unmoving forms and their ashen faces with bluish lips. Their hair was wet and threaded with riverweeds and caked with mud. A quick thinking hobbit had rushed to close their eyes before Frodo caught sight of them. Frodo's last memory of them would be of them as if in slumber rather than with the open-eyed glassy stare that the rest of the crowd had observed.
Frodo stumbled forward and fell at their feet before casting himself on top of their immobile forms. So cold! They felt as cold as stone. The world around him crumbled as the lad arched his back like a stricken animal and let out the most gut-wrenching wail that most of the crowd had ever heard, or would ever hear. Birds alighted from the surrounding trees as the sound of ragged keening rent the morning silence.
The lad's heart and soul fell to tatters, his whole world in shreds. He bent down to lean his warm face next to his mother's cold cheek, as if he could bring her back to life just by effusing her with his own body warmth.
The hobbits stared in respectful silence as the boy sobbed his heart out, now embracing his mother, now his father, calling out "Ma! Da!" in jagged soul-piercing wails before collapsing again into wrenching sobs.
The lad remained there for a small eternity sensing nothing around him but the still bodies of his parents and his own fathomless sorrow. Finally, a comforting hand fell on his shoulder and coaxed him back to awareness.
"Dear Frodo," said a woman's voice, thick with empathy. "I am so sorry sweetheart."
Frodo stared up, his blue eyes floating in a sea of crimson. "Aunt Esme," he spluttered out.
The mistress of Brandy Hall cast a pitying yet dignified smile down at Frodo, her own eyes wet with tears, and held her arms open wide. Frodo stood on shaky legs and flew into her arms, sobbing into her skirts. Esmerelda damned the staring crowd with a glance and led her new charge to an awaiting wagon.
"You'll be living with us now Frodo," she said as she lifted the lad into the high seat. "Come home with me now."
* * *
(present) Frodo had not set foot on that tainted shore along the riverbed. Not for thirty-eight years. Not until this night with Merry and Pippin.
Merry lifted the wailing Frodo into sitting position, Pippin patting his back. Neither Merry nor Pippin had been born at the time when Frodo's parents had drowned. By the time the story had reached their ears, Frodo was nearly grown, and the tragic incident had sunk into the fabric of legend. Still the emotional impact of this stretch of shore upon Frodo was unmistakable. Merry smiled. His instincts had been spot on. Finally Merry spoke.
"My mother took you in that day, Frodo. She took you into her home and her heart despite all of her manifest responsibilities as Mistress of the Hall. And my father, he guided you for eight years, as your mentor and friend before Bilbo came and stole you away from us." Merry thumbed away Frodo's tears as he spoke. "In a way, Frodo, you were my parents' first child. I wasn't born until the next year - but, Frodo, you were always like a brother to me. Sacrifices, Frodo, sacrifices were made to keep you healthy and whole at Brandy Hall all those years. No, Frodo, no one begrudged your presence, for we loved you. But, Frodo, you must have realized that it was hard, very hard."
Frodo sniffed like a child and stared up, his eyes wide and vulnerable, to Merry's open and compassionate countenance. Merry's eyes also flowed with tears.
"Don't you think you owe we Bucklanders a little loyalty, Frodo, for all that we have done on your behalf?"
Frodo knitted his brows, a look of confusion washing over his face.
"I am loyal, Merry," answered Frodo, his voice clogged with emotion. "I would gladly give my life to save Buckland. I hoped to save all the Shire, Merry, by spiriting away the object that would draw evil to these borders. Merry, can't you see that I am loyal?"
Merry snorted, nearly haughty.
"Here is how you prove your loyalty to Buckland, Frodo," chased Merry. "Right here and right now."
Merry grasped hold of Frodo's chin and glared relentlessly into Frodo's timorous eyes. "Tell me where Gandalf is now, and when and if I may expect him."
Frodo swallowed and fixed Merry with a steady gaze, hoping the truth of his answer shone in his eyes. "I don't know."
Merry growled and roughly pushed Frodo down on the muddy ground before leaping to his feet and standing menacingly over the hobbit sprawled before him.
"Why can you not be truthful?!" Merry bellowed fiercely. "Why must you dissemble?!"
Merry drew his sword threateningly, the same one that had sliced through his skin earlier that evening. Frodo began to quake in terror.
Merry moved his blade toward Frodo's neck, forcing the hobbit's head down to the ground. Merry leaned down, leering. The pale flame behind his eyes was back, and Frodo recognized it at once and was deathly afraid. The honed point stuck into Frodo's neck, one press, and it would draw blood. Frodo lay there, not moving a muscle, breathing hard. Instead of bearing down, Merry, with a savage grin, drew out the silver chain with his sword point, exposing the locket and the Ring.
"You dishonor your mother's memory, Frodo," said Merry calmly as he lowered his sword. "I think it is time to revisit the past in a more tangible manner. Perhaps if we," Merry paused, searching for the perfect word, "dredged up the manner of your parents' untimely end, we might also rekindle your memories about what has happened to Gandalf."
Merry motioned to Pippin, who at that point was staring up at Merry like a god.
"Pippin!" ordered Merry. "Help me get Frodo into the boat!"
Frodo cried out, instantly understanding what Merry had planned. He clambered to his feet in a flash and began a mad dash up the embankment. Merry had expected this reaction, and in an instant, Frodo found himself face down in the grass, crushed under the weight of his stronger cousin. Merry had tackled him.
"Come, now, Frodo," whispered Merry into Frodo's ear. "You would be amazed at what you can see from a boat."
"No! Please! No!" Frodo cried through his sobs, his fingers digging into the yielding soil, his legs kicking, hard and uselessly.
Merry turned back to Pippin. "Pippin! My pack!"
Pippin scurried over and reverently handed his cousin his heavy pack. Merry rifled through it with one hand and drew out a coil of rope.
"Bind Frodo's ankles, Pip," commanded Merry, "But leave at least three feet of slack."
Frodo made Pippin's chore extremely difficult, screaming and protesting while continuing his volleys of solid kicks. Finally, Pip had bound Frodo's feet, but not before Frodo had undercut Pippin's chin with one random blow. There would be a nasty bruise tomorrow.
"Is that too tight, Frodo?" Pippin asked as he rubbed his aching chin.
Merry chuckled; Frodo screeched and continued thrashing.
Merry stood up from Frodo's protesting form, watching with amusement as the bound hobbit crabbed away, awkwardly grasping at the soft soil to aid his movement.
Merry deftly grasped Frodo's bound ankles and literally dragged Frodo to the rowboat. Frodo threshed, screeched and cried, all semblance of bravado washed away with the river current. He flopped, roiled and writhed like a newly-caught fish and clawed madly at the yielding soil, making deep rake marks with his fingers as he was pulled relentlessly back, all the while moaning "No, NO NO!!"
"Up we go, Frodo!" said Merry as he and Pippin lifted the twisting, squirming, screaming Frodo into the creaky rowboat.
Frodo landed with an undignified "oomph!" on his knees and palms, immediately making every effort to scramble out. Merry pushed Frodo down with his heel, drawing his sword up to Frodo's throat.
Frodo momentarily stilled, now sniffling and glowering like an obstreperous child.
Merry bent down and pulled Frodo's abandoned blindfold and refastened it as a gag.
"Pippin," called Merry. "I'll need my pack again."
Pippin pulled the pack over to the boat, and anticipating Merry's need, handed Merry the coils of rope.
"Good lad," beamed Merry.
Merry roughly cut Frodo's wrist bonds and pushed Frodo's resisting arms behind him. Pippin again took his cue, and bound Frodo's wrists tightly behind him. Frodo turned his eyes to Pippin in a poisonous glare, accompanied by an angry groan.
Merry grinned without mirth, and wound a second length of rope around Frodo's chest, threading it through his bound arms, and attaching the long lead to the iron oar cleats at the gunwale of the small craft. Frodo moaned and whimpered loudly, suspecting what this rope was for. Merry sat himself ceremoniously in the seat facing Frodo, Pippin quickly plopping down in the seat behind.
"I'll need one more item from my pack, Pip," said Merry with a wry smile. "But let's push off first."
Pippin took the oars, and with surprising strength, rowed the boat into the open water. The boat rocked and pitched, but fortunately for the hobbits, the Brandywine was a slow moving river.
"Pippin," ordered Merry. "We want to row against the current. We want to go to the middle of the river, but not down it. Do you understand? That is your job tonight. I will deal with the other matter."
Pippin nodded enthusiastically, proud to be given such an important job. He brought the boat to a goodly point mid-river, Frodo's heart pounding faster and harder with every stroke.
"Now," said Merry as they paddled out. "For that other item in my pack." Merry heaved up his pack, and brought out a heavy plate-sized millstone. Frodo's eyes widened in abject terror, his muffled screams lost in the sudden oppressiveness of the night air and his legs renewing their frenzied kicks as Merry held them tightly and threaded the rope at his ankles through the stone.
Merry looked his trembling captive up and down. His eyes glowed darkly and Merry wore a smirk.
"I'm going to remove your gag, Frodo," said Merry, tracing a finger along Frodo's quivering jaw line. "It will do no good to scream. No one will hear you, just as no one heeded the cries of your parents all those years ago. And then we will ask our questions again, Frodo."
Merry pulled down the gag. Frodo did not scream this time. Instead, he was hyperventilating.
"Breath easy, Frodo," soothed Merry. "Breath in all the air you can, for if your answers are unsatisfactory, you may be at a want for air very soon."
An inarticulate moan emanated from deep in Frodo's throat as he tried desperately to will himself awake from what his screeching mind insisted could only be a horrifying dream.
"Alright, Frodo," said Merry. "I'm going to ask you the question again. And I want you to answer very very carefully. Ready now? Frodo-where is Gandalf?"
Frodo shook so hard, he thought his chattering teeth might clank right out of his skull.
"No, Merry!" Frodo cried. "No, please, no, no!" Frodo was sobbing now and shaking his head wildly, unable to articulate his fear and weeping at the horrifying knowledge that the truth would not save him. "I don't know, Merry! I swear on my life I don't know! PLEASE!"
"Wrong answer."
Before Frodo could scream, he was turned to the side, and set on the edge of the rowboat, now leaning to the side, his feet submerged in the cold murky water. Frodo sobbed openly now.
"Let's try that again, Frodo," purred Merry. "Where is Gandalf?"
"Please!"
Frodo felt two strong hands give a mighty push, and with a horrifying splash, Frodo was submerged in the icy waters of the Brandywine.
Frodo's first shock was the extreme cold that instantly covered every inch of his body. It was a cold that seized his breath, stopped his heart, hurt his eyeballs, and made his teeth sting; a cold so hard and sudden that he felt as if he had been stabbed by hundreds of knives. It was so cold so deep it felt scalding hot, casting his form in a bath of pure pain. Frodo instantly stiffened in agony. His ears filled, his nose throbbed with the sharp intake of water. It felt like being encased alive in ice, the river's frigid fingers squeezing the warmth from every pore.
Then came the panic. Frodo could swim, the Brandybucks had insisted upon that, all things considered; but he could not swim well and had retained a fear of water that he'd never really been able to shake. Even if he had been an adroit swimmer, the stone and the bonds prevented Frodo from making any movement that could possibly keep him afloat. The weight around Frodo's ankles pulled him down deeper until at last the cord around his torso pulled tight. Frodo tugged frantically at the cords around his wrists, but could gain no purchase. And the weight on his legs strained his knees, tugging him ferociously at his ankles, begging for the rest of the struggling hobbit to follow it down to the murky depths, down to oblivion, down to darkness and death. The only thing that separated Frodo from the bottom of the river was a taut piece of rope connecting him to the hobbit that was both his captor and his only hope. Frodo's life was in Merry's hands now. Frodo opened his mouth to scream Merry's name, allowing a rush of icy water to pour down his throat.
Then came the end of Frodo's air. He had exhaled with his attempted scream, but there was no inhale to be had except one filled with unforgiving river water. Frodo could not breath, pure and simple; and without air he would die. Frodo's lungs began to burn, blocking out all other sensations. His next breath, should he be granted one, would only come at the discretion of Merry. Frodo felt his heart thud fast, beating in time to the swishing of the water the moved around him. He stared above him, a dark reflection framed by the roundness of the moon. The source of his air. "Please, Oh Merry, please let me breathe!" screamed Frodo to himself as he continued to pull the weight up by bending his knees, and pull wildly at the wrists. His lungs felt as if they were on fire, like they would burst any second. He puffed his cheeks, blocking out his natural impulse to breath in. No hope, no end. Frodo moved from pain to despair. He would die here, here where his parents had lost their battle with the river all those years ago. Did their lungs feel like this? Did the ability to flail their arms and legs, albeit uselessly, bring them any comfort? Is this what it felt like to drown? Frodo stopped thrashing, praying that Merry would let this torment end.
Then it was over. The misery lasted for only half a minute, though for Frodo it seemed like an eternity. He felt the rope tighten around his torso before feeling the sensation of swoshing upward through the water. His knees strained under the weight of the millstone, but Frodo did not notice. Closer, closer now, moving upward a foot at a time in measured tugs. Finally, Frodo's head breached the surface of the churning water, and he inhaled a deep, searingl lungful of air that made a high-pitched screech as it went down. Frodo spluttered out water and gasped in agony. His bound hands struggled to move forward and grasp onto the side of the boat. Frodo cast his eyes up desperately at Merry, who was breathing heavy with exertion, beads of sweat dripping down his temple.
"Frodo," Merry called, nearly panting. "Frodo release us both from this nightmare! You need not join your parents, Frodo! You need not die here! Tell me, Frodo, please tell me where Gandalf is, and all this ends. Tell me!"
Frodo moaned, begged, and gurgled, spitting out the water that splashed in his mouth as he cried.
"M-M-Me-Merry! Please! Merry!" Frodo stuttered out between deep, straining ragged breaths choked with terror. "No, up! Get me up! No! No! Not again! Please now! Get me up!"
"I want to, Love!" Merry yelled down. "I want to so much, Frodo. Please let me! Just answer! Frodo! Where is Gandalf?"
Frodo sucked in his breath and cried out,
"I don't----!"
Merry let go of the rope again and Frodo plunged back into the cold, wet, and dark. Frodo's shoulder knocked against the hull on the way down, emitting a hollow muted clunk-more pain, but nothing compared to the pure, thick terror. His lungs were on fire again. The weight pulled down mercilessly, like strong hands pulling him down to his death. Longer this time. Merry would abandon him down here longer this time - perhaps forever. The rope would break and he'd be sucked down into the jaws of the river. Blackness. Cold death.
Then the rope was tugged and Frodo was pulled up again. He wheezed in air, too weak to struggle anymore. He stared mutely at the hobbit that held the key to his continued existence in his rope-burned palms.
"Please, Frodo," begged Merry, his eyes betraying something close to humanity. "Please, where is Gandalf."
"Please," gasped Frodo. "End this torment!
The darkness washed back over Merry's face, and he became stern again. Merry reached down and closed his fist around Frodo's wet collar with one hand, and pulled the silver chain off his neck with the other.
"You are not a worthy carrier of either of these items," growled Merry fiercely as he dangled the ring and the locket in front of Frodo's widening eyes. "Your parents should thank the Valar they died before they could see how their son betrayed the whole of the Shire! I wonder what the last thought that ran through your mother's head was as the weight of her skirts dragged her down. I wonder if your father entertained a thought of his only son as the water flowed into his lungs and he succumbed to his doom. I wonder if they ever, EVER suspected you'd come to this-to have this opportunity to save the Shire and all who call it home. And if they could see you now, I suspect that they would wail with grief and disgust. You have soiled their memory. Perhaps it is time for you to join them, Frodo. You miss them, don't you? But too young, you are too young, so tell me, cousin, tell me to redeem yourself to me and to them. Where IS Gandalf?"
Frodo's eyes tore away from his cousin's rage-contorted face, focusing on the gold band that now dangled tantalizingly out of his reach. Merry's words blended into the hum of the river, the cold turned to numbness, and the fear transformed into anger. Frodo's life or death seemed of little consequence, not even to himself. All that mattered was the Ring that hung in front of him, the Ring that Merry had stolen. Frodo's pale face darkened, an unknown strength powered by malice welled up within him. Merry made eye contact with Frodo, expecting to see pleading eyes and begging lips. What he did see and hear caught him off guard.
Frodo's voice rung out, clear, crisp and cold as the water that engulfed him.
"Give it back!"
Merry sneered, his teeth glinting like fangs in the moonlight, his eyes as cold as stone.
"Answer me first, Frodo!"
"Thief!" cried Frodo. "Give it back, I say!"
Merry made a show of pulling one finger at a time off of the rope until Frodo again plunged down into the depths, out of sight, out of mind.
Frodo sank and sank until the rope drew taut. A light had gone out in Frodo. He no longer struggled to reach the surface, he no longer held his breath. Frodo turned his head up to the surface, the last place he had seen his precious ring. There it was, just above the water. Or was that the perfect roundness of the moon? It did not matter, for without the trinket, it was no use breathing, no use continuing on.
Everything sounded more musical when heard from underwater, so Frodo thought as he noted the swishing of the water against the boat's hull, the tinkling and swoosh of the water around him, even the creak of the rope that held his weight carried its own lovely melody. The darkness of the river was actually quite beautiful. Frodo gazed absently at the tendrils of his own chestnut hair, flowing to and fro, dancing and swaying with the current, tickling his face. Frodo let his body go absolutely still. He'd never felt so relaxed and carefree. He was free of burdens now, devoid of cares. The quest was not important, nor was the future of Middle-earth, nor, even, was his breathing. Too much effort, really. Frodo's lips curled up in a resigned smile.
Then he saw it, a vision of a beautiful young hobbit, younger than himself, her long curly locks dancing about her radiant face, her dress a magically flowing gown, diaphanous and sparkling with the glow of a thousand tiny jewels. She drifted toward him, arms open in a welcoming embrace. It seemed to Frodo that he saw her, not through the murky waters, but crystal clear. The water moved around them, but it was no longer cold and dark, but undulated warm, white, and inviting. The water caressed him and it seemed now that Frodo could breathe. Frodo smiled as widely as he ever had and moved toward the hobbit woman, the weight having disintegrated into the milky waves. She enveloped Frodo in her warmth, and Frodo laughed with complete joy. It was if they had both been swept up into a breathtaking world crafted from pure light. A middle-aged hobbit, rosy-cheeked, handsome and somehow ethereal approached the embracing hobbits and wrapped his strong arms around them both. Frodo's heart soared.
"Ma! Da!" he cried without opening his mouth.
* * *
"Merry! Merry!" squeaked Pippin in a voice laced with pure desperation. "Merry, he's been down there for ages! Merry, please!"
Hands closed around his shoulders, and Merry snapped his head to the side to face his distraught cousin. Merry's eyes had been locked on the gorgeous gold band that hung from the chain in his hand. The Ring called, beckoning for Merry to touch it, to claim it, to slip it on. Merry just stood and stared dumbly, not heeding the cries of his cousin, nor the rope that hung lax and unmoving over the edge of the boat. Pippin had begun to shake Merry, before throwing down his oars to tug upon the rope himself. Something in Merry's mind suddenly cleared.
" Help me pull Frodo up, Pippin! Quickly!"
* * *
Frodo cried out in dismay as his parents let go of him and receded into a blinding white light that tunneled around them. He flung out his hands desperately reaching for his heart's desire, but they smiled sadly as they faded into the brightness. Frodo felt his body pushed back, growing heavier and colder with each passing moment. The light flashed and blinked, growing fainter as Frodo moved back, the soft light now mingling with darkness and stars and water. He was deathly cold, shivering, and in tremendous pain. Air scented with Longbottom leaf forced itself into his resisting lungs. He coughed up a sickening throatful of river water. Frodo blinked his eyes open in disbelief. The tunnel of light was now naught but a soft white circle in the sky. Frodo was looking up at the full moon. And at Merry's careworn face staring down at him, eyes brimming with tears and compassion.
"Frodo! Frodo!"
Pippin's clear, high hobbit voice.
Merry bent down and breathed into Frodo's mouth one last time, satisfied when he saw Frodo's frightfully still chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm once more. Merry wrapped Frodo gently in a blanket and lay him down on the bottom of the boat and he leaned back against the seat in physical and mental exhaustion.
"Merry," breathed Frodo, eyes full of confusion.
"We thought we'd lost you, Frodo," cried Pippin. "But Merry brought you back to life! He saved you! He brought you back to us! Oh, Frodo!" Pippin said as he gathered Frodo in his arms. "You gave us such a scare!"
Frodo's muddled mind recalled an unanswerable question as if it had just been asked seconds ago.
"Merry," gasped Frodo. "I swear that I do not know where Gandalf is."
Merry smiled back wanly at Frodo with tired eyes.
"I believe you, beloved," sighed Merry as he dropped down to his knees and placed his warm hands on Frodo's pale and shivering face. "Here, I believe these are yours."
Merry placed the chain around Frodo's neck, the Ring dropping behind Frodo's wet shirt, out of sight, out of mind. Then he stood, and moved himself behind Frodo so that he could gather Frodo in his blanket and in his protective arms.
"If you don't mind, Pippin," said Merry. "You'll drive the cart this time. I want to tend to Frodo."
Pippin smiled and nodded, keeping his cousins, his most favorite two hobbits, in his adoring sights. Pippin began smooth, steady strokes with the oars. Merry dried Frodo's hair with a small towel and kissed the side of his face, a tear dripping from his face on to the back of Frodo's neck. Frodo relaxed and let himself be held and comforted. Merry stared at the stretch of shore so filled with awful memories and then back down into the river before turning his attentions back to his bundled-up cousin. He heaved a sigh, then spoke.
"Pippin, row us back to the pony trap," Merry said softly. "Let's get our Frodo back home."
TBC
Pics for this fic can be found on the merry-pip lovers site and by writing me. I have a new spam blocker, but please bear with me, and ask to be added to my address book. I REALLY like hearing from you and I want people to see the pics! _______________________________________________________________________
FIC RECS:
Time for some nice recs!
Well-I am so embarrassed I missed this one, but QTPie has written a lovely complete AU fic called "What If" about what happened to Frodo in the Tower. It is extremely well-written and has more than your daily dose of Frodo and sam angst. I highly suggest you take a look at it! QTPie told me about it, then I was glued to my chair for the next half-hour. So go now and read "What if"
Iorhael, in addition to working on Nasty Hobbitsess, has began 2 new very cool Frodo angst fics-one, called "taken" is an AU about part of Frodo's spirit being kept captive at Barad-Dur while he goes on his quest. It is great for Frodo angst. And "A Bradybuck turns Baggins" which is about Merry's reaction to when Frodo tells him that he will be living with Bilbo.
MBRadford has an oft-updated fic called "On the Banks of the Brandywine" in which Frodo recounts being sold as chattle to some men in Bree. A very exciting romp!
And, of course, My beta, Aratlithiel, and Ariel have written a wonderful fic about a Frodo Rosie romance that is breathtaking!
And Sven the Bounder is now updating "fighting for Love again, and you really need to take a look-great Mer Pip romp!
Finally- Anemone frost has put together a yahoo group just for her soap opera M/p fic "the Price"-for slash fans who like sex , slash, and angst in heavy doses, you must drop by this site. (mumble, mutter, I'm the illustrator and I just finished a pic with Pippin in chains which is (cough!) quite yummy (blushes) write me for the link, as ffnet is not cooperating! More recs soon! ____________________________________________________________________________ __ to the reviewers!
Elizabeth-so glad to hear from you! This will have a happy ending, but Frodo and Merry will travel some very dark roads until I can get them there,
Ariel-thank you for your support! It means the world to me-and I do hope you like this chapter's flashback!
Tesekian- There will more escape attempts-and one will succeed, just not in the way any of the hobbits guess. I warn you-the brainwashing will start to take effect in about 6 more chapters, but this fic will end on a hopeful note. It will be a very long fic.
Iorhael-Oh-now I HAVE to get your chapter back to you because I want to see the next one so badly! And you left quite a little cliffhanger yourself!!
QTPIE- Oh-I hope you liked this one-I will be laying down the angst with a shovel in the next few chapters! And I just adored your "what if! As you can see-I heartily recommended it. Very nice and bittersweet! No wonder you have no trouble handling the pathos in this one! (
Krista- I hope this makes up for my cruel cliffhanger!
Endymion- Thank you! Well-they did have a form of matches, though I would love to see a picture. In fur trade society they had flint and often used their hair (hair is great kindling)-but in the cities they did have something better. Anyone want to do a web search for 18thc matches? And I do hope you like this chapter-it is one of my favorites!
MBradford - Sam seems to be the only one immune to the Ring's call. I am thinking of having the ring start to take hold of Frodo, even as Merry breaks him. And pippin, well pippin is getting it through Merry. When Sam finally does have to make a decision to get the ring away for frodo's own good, it will be a wrenching scene for all involved (hint-this will be the climax of part I of this story-meaning there WILL be a part II)
Aratlithiel- Yes-and we are getting ever closer to your GUEST CHAPTER!!!! YEAH!!!! Though all chapters are guest chapters to some extent-as I could not do it without you!
Chloe-thank you! I rather liked that imagery too. Sam will play a big part in the upcoming chapters. I also have some good interaction between Pippin and Frodo coming up too. I hope this chapter lived up to people's expectations, because it is one of my favorites! My beta's favorite is next chapter.
Cailen- Yep-I love doing that switcheroo in AU because then I can spot who really knows the book enough to spot them! There is a later chapter where I will do this too.
Chapter 30 - Drowning in Memories
(flashback) A crowd of Bucklanders gathered along the banks of the Brandywine, mumbling softly, somberly amongst themselves, eyes cast down, heads shaking in disbelief, a few sobbing into their hands. Words like "pity" "shame" and even "foolhardy" wafted through the knot of hobbits, carried along by the morning breeze. The morning had dawned, grey and gloomy, the perfect setting for a grotesque discovery. Morbidly curious hobbit lads pushed through the throng to have a look, only to be pulled back roughly by their collars and handed a curt dose of "It ain't none of your affair" by older hobbits who could not have explained how it was their affair any more deftly than the lads.
Hobbitfolk were quick to emotion, but quicker to blame. This whole mess was the tragic result of someone not applying their hobbit sense. A boat, at night? What had possessed them to follow such folly? Oh baleful decision! Now what would become of the boy?
The chorus of sobs and sighs and "what a pity"s was interrupted by a shocking and unexpected sight. A small hobbit lad of twelve burst through a copse of trees, looking more like a wild animal than a boy. The lad was breathless from having sprinted all the way from Brandy Hall, wild-eyed, disheveled curls, half-dressed. His shirt was buttoned askew and only partially so, the lopsided front waving unevenly and untucked tails flying behind him, his unfastened braces flapping off his thighs as he ran.
A piece of salacious new gossip dropped carelessly by the wrong Brandybuck, fluttering down to the ears of the right Baggins, a child who'd sensed something was awry, a dark intuition lit on the wings of dread. And now he knew. Aunt Esme tried to stop him, the blurry figure dashing past her voluminous skirts, but it was too late. The lad was already out the door and halfway down the hill, the calling of his name echoing unheeded behind him.
Down the road like lightning he had sprinted, heaving breaths, eyes wide, feet kicking up dirt and pebbles as he dashed along in a fit of near madness. He ran, not feeling the distance, not feeling the pain in his legs, ignorant of the exertion. The lad was driven by pure undiluted panic. He heard his name yelled from a few passing wagons. They knew where he was heading and made to stop him, but to no avail. An army of grown hobbits would not have kept the lad from his horrific destination. A mile and he was panting, face flushed, hot tears scalding reddened cheeks, but on he went. A winding right, to the dock.
His feet hit the wooden surface of the dock like hammers before he halted. A familiar wagon abandoned. Not here then-downstream. The lad whirled around on a heel and followed the course of the river. Faster now, along the embankment, threading through trees with the quick reflexes of a child who knew his terrain intimately. Faster still, a knot of hobbits ahead, the sound of scattered wails lifted on the breeze. His heart thrummed in time with his quickening footfalls. Time slowed down as he broke through the last copse of trees.
They saw him now, the assembled crowd. They pointed, their eyes in shock and sorrow, the decision unmade on how to "handle" this contingency. Closer now. And the mumbling, crying hobbits fell into an awkward stony silence, their pitying eyes boring into him, searing into his very soul. He was upon them now, the lad, gulping air, drenched in sweat, eyes still wild.
He skidded to an abrupt halt at the outer ring. The hobbits closed ranks, but none of them dared to utter a word. Instead they silently, sorrowfully blocked the lad from what would surely be the worst thing he would ever see.
He stood panting, locking eyes with two dozen hobbits who would deny him this. After several endless moments, an elderly hobbit knelt to the lad's side, placing both griseled but strong hands on the boy's shoulders, and held the boy in his compassionate gaze, his silence speaking volumes.
"Lad," the man said softly as he brushed the boy's tears away with a crooked finger. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
The boy's lower lip began to quiver and his eyes burst forth with a new flood of tears. Yet he nodded slowly, clearly, and without hesitation. The wizened hobbit eased himself back to his feet, continuing to squeeze the lad's shoulders.
"C'mon then."
Mumbles of disapproval swung through the crowd. But the hobbit stood firm.
"He's got every right!" the old hobbit exclaimed firmly. "It is his affair. *E'll have to know sometime."
Reluctantly, as if moving through molasses, the hobbits made way, stepping aside to create an opening for the wide-eyed lad and his impromptu chaperone. Frodo could feel the weight of their collective stares, but quickly turned his attention to the terrible sight opening up before him.
Two forms, wet and frightfully still, laying side by side, skin as pale as newfallen snow. They seemed asleep except for the wet clothes molded around their unmoving forms and their ashen faces with bluish lips. Their hair was wet and threaded with riverweeds and caked with mud. A quick thinking hobbit had rushed to close their eyes before Frodo caught sight of them. Frodo's last memory of them would be of them as if in slumber rather than with the open-eyed glassy stare that the rest of the crowd had observed.
Frodo stumbled forward and fell at their feet before casting himself on top of their immobile forms. So cold! They felt as cold as stone. The world around him crumbled as the lad arched his back like a stricken animal and let out the most gut-wrenching wail that most of the crowd had ever heard, or would ever hear. Birds alighted from the surrounding trees as the sound of ragged keening rent the morning silence.
The lad's heart and soul fell to tatters, his whole world in shreds. He bent down to lean his warm face next to his mother's cold cheek, as if he could bring her back to life just by effusing her with his own body warmth.
The hobbits stared in respectful silence as the boy sobbed his heart out, now embracing his mother, now his father, calling out "Ma! Da!" in jagged soul-piercing wails before collapsing again into wrenching sobs.
The lad remained there for a small eternity sensing nothing around him but the still bodies of his parents and his own fathomless sorrow. Finally, a comforting hand fell on his shoulder and coaxed him back to awareness.
"Dear Frodo," said a woman's voice, thick with empathy. "I am so sorry sweetheart."
Frodo stared up, his blue eyes floating in a sea of crimson. "Aunt Esme," he spluttered out.
The mistress of Brandy Hall cast a pitying yet dignified smile down at Frodo, her own eyes wet with tears, and held her arms open wide. Frodo stood on shaky legs and flew into her arms, sobbing into her skirts. Esmerelda damned the staring crowd with a glance and led her new charge to an awaiting wagon.
"You'll be living with us now Frodo," she said as she lifted the lad into the high seat. "Come home with me now."
* * *
(present) Frodo had not set foot on that tainted shore along the riverbed. Not for thirty-eight years. Not until this night with Merry and Pippin.
Merry lifted the wailing Frodo into sitting position, Pippin patting his back. Neither Merry nor Pippin had been born at the time when Frodo's parents had drowned. By the time the story had reached their ears, Frodo was nearly grown, and the tragic incident had sunk into the fabric of legend. Still the emotional impact of this stretch of shore upon Frodo was unmistakable. Merry smiled. His instincts had been spot on. Finally Merry spoke.
"My mother took you in that day, Frodo. She took you into her home and her heart despite all of her manifest responsibilities as Mistress of the Hall. And my father, he guided you for eight years, as your mentor and friend before Bilbo came and stole you away from us." Merry thumbed away Frodo's tears as he spoke. "In a way, Frodo, you were my parents' first child. I wasn't born until the next year - but, Frodo, you were always like a brother to me. Sacrifices, Frodo, sacrifices were made to keep you healthy and whole at Brandy Hall all those years. No, Frodo, no one begrudged your presence, for we loved you. But, Frodo, you must have realized that it was hard, very hard."
Frodo sniffed like a child and stared up, his eyes wide and vulnerable, to Merry's open and compassionate countenance. Merry's eyes also flowed with tears.
"Don't you think you owe we Bucklanders a little loyalty, Frodo, for all that we have done on your behalf?"
Frodo knitted his brows, a look of confusion washing over his face.
"I am loyal, Merry," answered Frodo, his voice clogged with emotion. "I would gladly give my life to save Buckland. I hoped to save all the Shire, Merry, by spiriting away the object that would draw evil to these borders. Merry, can't you see that I am loyal?"
Merry snorted, nearly haughty.
"Here is how you prove your loyalty to Buckland, Frodo," chased Merry. "Right here and right now."
Merry grasped hold of Frodo's chin and glared relentlessly into Frodo's timorous eyes. "Tell me where Gandalf is now, and when and if I may expect him."
Frodo swallowed and fixed Merry with a steady gaze, hoping the truth of his answer shone in his eyes. "I don't know."
Merry growled and roughly pushed Frodo down on the muddy ground before leaping to his feet and standing menacingly over the hobbit sprawled before him.
"Why can you not be truthful?!" Merry bellowed fiercely. "Why must you dissemble?!"
Merry drew his sword threateningly, the same one that had sliced through his skin earlier that evening. Frodo began to quake in terror.
Merry moved his blade toward Frodo's neck, forcing the hobbit's head down to the ground. Merry leaned down, leering. The pale flame behind his eyes was back, and Frodo recognized it at once and was deathly afraid. The honed point stuck into Frodo's neck, one press, and it would draw blood. Frodo lay there, not moving a muscle, breathing hard. Instead of bearing down, Merry, with a savage grin, drew out the silver chain with his sword point, exposing the locket and the Ring.
"You dishonor your mother's memory, Frodo," said Merry calmly as he lowered his sword. "I think it is time to revisit the past in a more tangible manner. Perhaps if we," Merry paused, searching for the perfect word, "dredged up the manner of your parents' untimely end, we might also rekindle your memories about what has happened to Gandalf."
Merry motioned to Pippin, who at that point was staring up at Merry like a god.
"Pippin!" ordered Merry. "Help me get Frodo into the boat!"
Frodo cried out, instantly understanding what Merry had planned. He clambered to his feet in a flash and began a mad dash up the embankment. Merry had expected this reaction, and in an instant, Frodo found himself face down in the grass, crushed under the weight of his stronger cousin. Merry had tackled him.
"Come, now, Frodo," whispered Merry into Frodo's ear. "You would be amazed at what you can see from a boat."
"No! Please! No!" Frodo cried through his sobs, his fingers digging into the yielding soil, his legs kicking, hard and uselessly.
Merry turned back to Pippin. "Pippin! My pack!"
Pippin scurried over and reverently handed his cousin his heavy pack. Merry rifled through it with one hand and drew out a coil of rope.
"Bind Frodo's ankles, Pip," commanded Merry, "But leave at least three feet of slack."
Frodo made Pippin's chore extremely difficult, screaming and protesting while continuing his volleys of solid kicks. Finally, Pip had bound Frodo's feet, but not before Frodo had undercut Pippin's chin with one random blow. There would be a nasty bruise tomorrow.
"Is that too tight, Frodo?" Pippin asked as he rubbed his aching chin.
Merry chuckled; Frodo screeched and continued thrashing.
Merry stood up from Frodo's protesting form, watching with amusement as the bound hobbit crabbed away, awkwardly grasping at the soft soil to aid his movement.
Merry deftly grasped Frodo's bound ankles and literally dragged Frodo to the rowboat. Frodo threshed, screeched and cried, all semblance of bravado washed away with the river current. He flopped, roiled and writhed like a newly-caught fish and clawed madly at the yielding soil, making deep rake marks with his fingers as he was pulled relentlessly back, all the while moaning "No, NO NO!!"
"Up we go, Frodo!" said Merry as he and Pippin lifted the twisting, squirming, screaming Frodo into the creaky rowboat.
Frodo landed with an undignified "oomph!" on his knees and palms, immediately making every effort to scramble out. Merry pushed Frodo down with his heel, drawing his sword up to Frodo's throat.
Frodo momentarily stilled, now sniffling and glowering like an obstreperous child.
Merry bent down and pulled Frodo's abandoned blindfold and refastened it as a gag.
"Pippin," called Merry. "I'll need my pack again."
Pippin pulled the pack over to the boat, and anticipating Merry's need, handed Merry the coils of rope.
"Good lad," beamed Merry.
Merry roughly cut Frodo's wrist bonds and pushed Frodo's resisting arms behind him. Pippin again took his cue, and bound Frodo's wrists tightly behind him. Frodo turned his eyes to Pippin in a poisonous glare, accompanied by an angry groan.
Merry grinned without mirth, and wound a second length of rope around Frodo's chest, threading it through his bound arms, and attaching the long lead to the iron oar cleats at the gunwale of the small craft. Frodo moaned and whimpered loudly, suspecting what this rope was for. Merry sat himself ceremoniously in the seat facing Frodo, Pippin quickly plopping down in the seat behind.
"I'll need one more item from my pack, Pip," said Merry with a wry smile. "But let's push off first."
Pippin took the oars, and with surprising strength, rowed the boat into the open water. The boat rocked and pitched, but fortunately for the hobbits, the Brandywine was a slow moving river.
"Pippin," ordered Merry. "We want to row against the current. We want to go to the middle of the river, but not down it. Do you understand? That is your job tonight. I will deal with the other matter."
Pippin nodded enthusiastically, proud to be given such an important job. He brought the boat to a goodly point mid-river, Frodo's heart pounding faster and harder with every stroke.
"Now," said Merry as they paddled out. "For that other item in my pack." Merry heaved up his pack, and brought out a heavy plate-sized millstone. Frodo's eyes widened in abject terror, his muffled screams lost in the sudden oppressiveness of the night air and his legs renewing their frenzied kicks as Merry held them tightly and threaded the rope at his ankles through the stone.
Merry looked his trembling captive up and down. His eyes glowed darkly and Merry wore a smirk.
"I'm going to remove your gag, Frodo," said Merry, tracing a finger along Frodo's quivering jaw line. "It will do no good to scream. No one will hear you, just as no one heeded the cries of your parents all those years ago. And then we will ask our questions again, Frodo."
Merry pulled down the gag. Frodo did not scream this time. Instead, he was hyperventilating.
"Breath easy, Frodo," soothed Merry. "Breath in all the air you can, for if your answers are unsatisfactory, you may be at a want for air very soon."
An inarticulate moan emanated from deep in Frodo's throat as he tried desperately to will himself awake from what his screeching mind insisted could only be a horrifying dream.
"Alright, Frodo," said Merry. "I'm going to ask you the question again. And I want you to answer very very carefully. Ready now? Frodo-where is Gandalf?"
Frodo shook so hard, he thought his chattering teeth might clank right out of his skull.
"No, Merry!" Frodo cried. "No, please, no, no!" Frodo was sobbing now and shaking his head wildly, unable to articulate his fear and weeping at the horrifying knowledge that the truth would not save him. "I don't know, Merry! I swear on my life I don't know! PLEASE!"
"Wrong answer."
Before Frodo could scream, he was turned to the side, and set on the edge of the rowboat, now leaning to the side, his feet submerged in the cold murky water. Frodo sobbed openly now.
"Let's try that again, Frodo," purred Merry. "Where is Gandalf?"
"Please!"
Frodo felt two strong hands give a mighty push, and with a horrifying splash, Frodo was submerged in the icy waters of the Brandywine.
Frodo's first shock was the extreme cold that instantly covered every inch of his body. It was a cold that seized his breath, stopped his heart, hurt his eyeballs, and made his teeth sting; a cold so hard and sudden that he felt as if he had been stabbed by hundreds of knives. It was so cold so deep it felt scalding hot, casting his form in a bath of pure pain. Frodo instantly stiffened in agony. His ears filled, his nose throbbed with the sharp intake of water. It felt like being encased alive in ice, the river's frigid fingers squeezing the warmth from every pore.
Then came the panic. Frodo could swim, the Brandybucks had insisted upon that, all things considered; but he could not swim well and had retained a fear of water that he'd never really been able to shake. Even if he had been an adroit swimmer, the stone and the bonds prevented Frodo from making any movement that could possibly keep him afloat. The weight around Frodo's ankles pulled him down deeper until at last the cord around his torso pulled tight. Frodo tugged frantically at the cords around his wrists, but could gain no purchase. And the weight on his legs strained his knees, tugging him ferociously at his ankles, begging for the rest of the struggling hobbit to follow it down to the murky depths, down to oblivion, down to darkness and death. The only thing that separated Frodo from the bottom of the river was a taut piece of rope connecting him to the hobbit that was both his captor and his only hope. Frodo's life was in Merry's hands now. Frodo opened his mouth to scream Merry's name, allowing a rush of icy water to pour down his throat.
Then came the end of Frodo's air. He had exhaled with his attempted scream, but there was no inhale to be had except one filled with unforgiving river water. Frodo could not breath, pure and simple; and without air he would die. Frodo's lungs began to burn, blocking out all other sensations. His next breath, should he be granted one, would only come at the discretion of Merry. Frodo felt his heart thud fast, beating in time to the swishing of the water the moved around him. He stared above him, a dark reflection framed by the roundness of the moon. The source of his air. "Please, Oh Merry, please let me breathe!" screamed Frodo to himself as he continued to pull the weight up by bending his knees, and pull wildly at the wrists. His lungs felt as if they were on fire, like they would burst any second. He puffed his cheeks, blocking out his natural impulse to breath in. No hope, no end. Frodo moved from pain to despair. He would die here, here where his parents had lost their battle with the river all those years ago. Did their lungs feel like this? Did the ability to flail their arms and legs, albeit uselessly, bring them any comfort? Is this what it felt like to drown? Frodo stopped thrashing, praying that Merry would let this torment end.
Then it was over. The misery lasted for only half a minute, though for Frodo it seemed like an eternity. He felt the rope tighten around his torso before feeling the sensation of swoshing upward through the water. His knees strained under the weight of the millstone, but Frodo did not notice. Closer, closer now, moving upward a foot at a time in measured tugs. Finally, Frodo's head breached the surface of the churning water, and he inhaled a deep, searingl lungful of air that made a high-pitched screech as it went down. Frodo spluttered out water and gasped in agony. His bound hands struggled to move forward and grasp onto the side of the boat. Frodo cast his eyes up desperately at Merry, who was breathing heavy with exertion, beads of sweat dripping down his temple.
"Frodo," Merry called, nearly panting. "Frodo release us both from this nightmare! You need not join your parents, Frodo! You need not die here! Tell me, Frodo, please tell me where Gandalf is, and all this ends. Tell me!"
Frodo moaned, begged, and gurgled, spitting out the water that splashed in his mouth as he cried.
"M-M-Me-Merry! Please! Merry!" Frodo stuttered out between deep, straining ragged breaths choked with terror. "No, up! Get me up! No! No! Not again! Please now! Get me up!"
"I want to, Love!" Merry yelled down. "I want to so much, Frodo. Please let me! Just answer! Frodo! Where is Gandalf?"
Frodo sucked in his breath and cried out,
"I don't----!"
Merry let go of the rope again and Frodo plunged back into the cold, wet, and dark. Frodo's shoulder knocked against the hull on the way down, emitting a hollow muted clunk-more pain, but nothing compared to the pure, thick terror. His lungs were on fire again. The weight pulled down mercilessly, like strong hands pulling him down to his death. Longer this time. Merry would abandon him down here longer this time - perhaps forever. The rope would break and he'd be sucked down into the jaws of the river. Blackness. Cold death.
Then the rope was tugged and Frodo was pulled up again. He wheezed in air, too weak to struggle anymore. He stared mutely at the hobbit that held the key to his continued existence in his rope-burned palms.
"Please, Frodo," begged Merry, his eyes betraying something close to humanity. "Please, where is Gandalf."
"Please," gasped Frodo. "End this torment!
The darkness washed back over Merry's face, and he became stern again. Merry reached down and closed his fist around Frodo's wet collar with one hand, and pulled the silver chain off his neck with the other.
"You are not a worthy carrier of either of these items," growled Merry fiercely as he dangled the ring and the locket in front of Frodo's widening eyes. "Your parents should thank the Valar they died before they could see how their son betrayed the whole of the Shire! I wonder what the last thought that ran through your mother's head was as the weight of her skirts dragged her down. I wonder if your father entertained a thought of his only son as the water flowed into his lungs and he succumbed to his doom. I wonder if they ever, EVER suspected you'd come to this-to have this opportunity to save the Shire and all who call it home. And if they could see you now, I suspect that they would wail with grief and disgust. You have soiled their memory. Perhaps it is time for you to join them, Frodo. You miss them, don't you? But too young, you are too young, so tell me, cousin, tell me to redeem yourself to me and to them. Where IS Gandalf?"
Frodo's eyes tore away from his cousin's rage-contorted face, focusing on the gold band that now dangled tantalizingly out of his reach. Merry's words blended into the hum of the river, the cold turned to numbness, and the fear transformed into anger. Frodo's life or death seemed of little consequence, not even to himself. All that mattered was the Ring that hung in front of him, the Ring that Merry had stolen. Frodo's pale face darkened, an unknown strength powered by malice welled up within him. Merry made eye contact with Frodo, expecting to see pleading eyes and begging lips. What he did see and hear caught him off guard.
Frodo's voice rung out, clear, crisp and cold as the water that engulfed him.
"Give it back!"
Merry sneered, his teeth glinting like fangs in the moonlight, his eyes as cold as stone.
"Answer me first, Frodo!"
"Thief!" cried Frodo. "Give it back, I say!"
Merry made a show of pulling one finger at a time off of the rope until Frodo again plunged down into the depths, out of sight, out of mind.
Frodo sank and sank until the rope drew taut. A light had gone out in Frodo. He no longer struggled to reach the surface, he no longer held his breath. Frodo turned his head up to the surface, the last place he had seen his precious ring. There it was, just above the water. Or was that the perfect roundness of the moon? It did not matter, for without the trinket, it was no use breathing, no use continuing on.
Everything sounded more musical when heard from underwater, so Frodo thought as he noted the swishing of the water against the boat's hull, the tinkling and swoosh of the water around him, even the creak of the rope that held his weight carried its own lovely melody. The darkness of the river was actually quite beautiful. Frodo gazed absently at the tendrils of his own chestnut hair, flowing to and fro, dancing and swaying with the current, tickling his face. Frodo let his body go absolutely still. He'd never felt so relaxed and carefree. He was free of burdens now, devoid of cares. The quest was not important, nor was the future of Middle-earth, nor, even, was his breathing. Too much effort, really. Frodo's lips curled up in a resigned smile.
Then he saw it, a vision of a beautiful young hobbit, younger than himself, her long curly locks dancing about her radiant face, her dress a magically flowing gown, diaphanous and sparkling with the glow of a thousand tiny jewels. She drifted toward him, arms open in a welcoming embrace. It seemed to Frodo that he saw her, not through the murky waters, but crystal clear. The water moved around them, but it was no longer cold and dark, but undulated warm, white, and inviting. The water caressed him and it seemed now that Frodo could breathe. Frodo smiled as widely as he ever had and moved toward the hobbit woman, the weight having disintegrated into the milky waves. She enveloped Frodo in her warmth, and Frodo laughed with complete joy. It was if they had both been swept up into a breathtaking world crafted from pure light. A middle-aged hobbit, rosy-cheeked, handsome and somehow ethereal approached the embracing hobbits and wrapped his strong arms around them both. Frodo's heart soared.
"Ma! Da!" he cried without opening his mouth.
* * *
"Merry! Merry!" squeaked Pippin in a voice laced with pure desperation. "Merry, he's been down there for ages! Merry, please!"
Hands closed around his shoulders, and Merry snapped his head to the side to face his distraught cousin. Merry's eyes had been locked on the gorgeous gold band that hung from the chain in his hand. The Ring called, beckoning for Merry to touch it, to claim it, to slip it on. Merry just stood and stared dumbly, not heeding the cries of his cousin, nor the rope that hung lax and unmoving over the edge of the boat. Pippin had begun to shake Merry, before throwing down his oars to tug upon the rope himself. Something in Merry's mind suddenly cleared.
" Help me pull Frodo up, Pippin! Quickly!"
* * *
Frodo cried out in dismay as his parents let go of him and receded into a blinding white light that tunneled around them. He flung out his hands desperately reaching for his heart's desire, but they smiled sadly as they faded into the brightness. Frodo felt his body pushed back, growing heavier and colder with each passing moment. The light flashed and blinked, growing fainter as Frodo moved back, the soft light now mingling with darkness and stars and water. He was deathly cold, shivering, and in tremendous pain. Air scented with Longbottom leaf forced itself into his resisting lungs. He coughed up a sickening throatful of river water. Frodo blinked his eyes open in disbelief. The tunnel of light was now naught but a soft white circle in the sky. Frodo was looking up at the full moon. And at Merry's careworn face staring down at him, eyes brimming with tears and compassion.
"Frodo! Frodo!"
Pippin's clear, high hobbit voice.
Merry bent down and breathed into Frodo's mouth one last time, satisfied when he saw Frodo's frightfully still chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm once more. Merry wrapped Frodo gently in a blanket and lay him down on the bottom of the boat and he leaned back against the seat in physical and mental exhaustion.
"Merry," breathed Frodo, eyes full of confusion.
"We thought we'd lost you, Frodo," cried Pippin. "But Merry brought you back to life! He saved you! He brought you back to us! Oh, Frodo!" Pippin said as he gathered Frodo in his arms. "You gave us such a scare!"
Frodo's muddled mind recalled an unanswerable question as if it had just been asked seconds ago.
"Merry," gasped Frodo. "I swear that I do not know where Gandalf is."
Merry smiled back wanly at Frodo with tired eyes.
"I believe you, beloved," sighed Merry as he dropped down to his knees and placed his warm hands on Frodo's pale and shivering face. "Here, I believe these are yours."
Merry placed the chain around Frodo's neck, the Ring dropping behind Frodo's wet shirt, out of sight, out of mind. Then he stood, and moved himself behind Frodo so that he could gather Frodo in his blanket and in his protective arms.
"If you don't mind, Pippin," said Merry. "You'll drive the cart this time. I want to tend to Frodo."
Pippin smiled and nodded, keeping his cousins, his most favorite two hobbits, in his adoring sights. Pippin began smooth, steady strokes with the oars. Merry dried Frodo's hair with a small towel and kissed the side of his face, a tear dripping from his face on to the back of Frodo's neck. Frodo relaxed and let himself be held and comforted. Merry stared at the stretch of shore so filled with awful memories and then back down into the river before turning his attentions back to his bundled-up cousin. He heaved a sigh, then spoke.
"Pippin, row us back to the pony trap," Merry said softly. "Let's get our Frodo back home."
TBC
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FIC RECS:
Time for some nice recs!
Well-I am so embarrassed I missed this one, but QTPie has written a lovely complete AU fic called "What If" about what happened to Frodo in the Tower. It is extremely well-written and has more than your daily dose of Frodo and sam angst. I highly suggest you take a look at it! QTPie told me about it, then I was glued to my chair for the next half-hour. So go now and read "What if"
Iorhael, in addition to working on Nasty Hobbitsess, has began 2 new very cool Frodo angst fics-one, called "taken" is an AU about part of Frodo's spirit being kept captive at Barad-Dur while he goes on his quest. It is great for Frodo angst. And "A Bradybuck turns Baggins" which is about Merry's reaction to when Frodo tells him that he will be living with Bilbo.
MBRadford has an oft-updated fic called "On the Banks of the Brandywine" in which Frodo recounts being sold as chattle to some men in Bree. A very exciting romp!
And, of course, My beta, Aratlithiel, and Ariel have written a wonderful fic about a Frodo Rosie romance that is breathtaking!
And Sven the Bounder is now updating "fighting for Love again, and you really need to take a look-great Mer Pip romp!
Finally- Anemone frost has put together a yahoo group just for her soap opera M/p fic "the Price"-for slash fans who like sex , slash, and angst in heavy doses, you must drop by this site. (mumble, mutter, I'm the illustrator and I just finished a pic with Pippin in chains which is (cough!) quite yummy (blushes) write me for the link, as ffnet is not cooperating! More recs soon! ____________________________________________________________________________ __ to the reviewers!
Elizabeth-so glad to hear from you! This will have a happy ending, but Frodo and Merry will travel some very dark roads until I can get them there,
Ariel-thank you for your support! It means the world to me-and I do hope you like this chapter's flashback!
Tesekian- There will more escape attempts-and one will succeed, just not in the way any of the hobbits guess. I warn you-the brainwashing will start to take effect in about 6 more chapters, but this fic will end on a hopeful note. It will be a very long fic.
Iorhael-Oh-now I HAVE to get your chapter back to you because I want to see the next one so badly! And you left quite a little cliffhanger yourself!!
QTPIE- Oh-I hope you liked this one-I will be laying down the angst with a shovel in the next few chapters! And I just adored your "what if! As you can see-I heartily recommended it. Very nice and bittersweet! No wonder you have no trouble handling the pathos in this one! (
Krista- I hope this makes up for my cruel cliffhanger!
Endymion- Thank you! Well-they did have a form of matches, though I would love to see a picture. In fur trade society they had flint and often used their hair (hair is great kindling)-but in the cities they did have something better. Anyone want to do a web search for 18thc matches? And I do hope you like this chapter-it is one of my favorites!
MBradford - Sam seems to be the only one immune to the Ring's call. I am thinking of having the ring start to take hold of Frodo, even as Merry breaks him. And pippin, well pippin is getting it through Merry. When Sam finally does have to make a decision to get the ring away for frodo's own good, it will be a wrenching scene for all involved (hint-this will be the climax of part I of this story-meaning there WILL be a part II)
Aratlithiel- Yes-and we are getting ever closer to your GUEST CHAPTER!!!! YEAH!!!! Though all chapters are guest chapters to some extent-as I could not do it without you!
Chloe-thank you! I rather liked that imagery too. Sam will play a big part in the upcoming chapters. I also have some good interaction between Pippin and Frodo coming up too. I hope this chapter lived up to people's expectations, because it is one of my favorites! My beta's favorite is next chapter.
Cailen- Yep-I love doing that switcheroo in AU because then I can spot who really knows the book enough to spot them! There is a later chapter where I will do this too.