AN: I am happy to say that I have begun to post the new prelude to this tale which will give the background and early relationships between the 4 hobbits. It is a PG story called "ring Around the Merry Prelude" and is currently posted on ffnet. If you can't find it, feel free to email me with the url! I'd love to hear what you think!
Also, the next chapter (35-"the Cave and the Divided Line") was guest written by my very talented beta. It will just blow you away, and you will all think my writing has drastically improved-but it is my beta! But I did not step completely away! I did make up the title (a Plato essay) and was so inspired by the beauty of Aratlithiel's angsty prose that I made 2 pictures for that chapter that I will post on the yahoo groups soon. I'm positive that you will be amazed by her talent! But meanwhile-here is some Sam and Frodo angst that I hope you will like.
Please email me with your current story titles so I can finish up my recommendation list! I see some of you have just done some excellent work, and you deserve some plugs!
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Chapter 34 – The Sounds of Silence
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Sam leaned against the heavy oak door, his mind pawing at the horrifying sights and sounds of the past day: Frodo's terrified eyes as he peered through the peephole, his harried voice, the begging and pleading for the help that Sam had been utterly unable to provide. Sam had never felt so impotent, being able to respond only by knocking his skull against the floor and his feet to the door in emotional anguish.
Every sight that had played itself out before his horrified eyes, every cry of tortured fear that had fallen upon his ears now repeated in his mind in a never ending continuum until he thought it might drag him down into the madness that seemed to breathe from the very walls of this hated prison. The sounds of a desperate struggle, his master's eyes vacant of all but terror and pain, the pounding echo of running feet, the loud crash, then a silence more deafening and terrifying than any of the shrieks and cries that had preceded it. Hours later, there were the raised voices, Pippin and Frodo? Finally, after evening had fallen, there had been yelling and crying—Frodo's voice. And later, after yet another blood-freezing shriek made of pain and grief, Sam had heard Frodo screaming out a name. His name? NO. Merry. Frodo had been calling out for Merry.
But how could this be?
Sam did not want to admit it, could not bring himself to accept it, but plain as day, Frodo was beginning to break down. What had happened that past night when Frodo had been stolen off on his "outing"? What had they done to him at the river? Sam shuddered to think, but think he did, as there was little else to do while tied in a small room than to give his tortured mind free range. What had Merry done to his noble master to reduce him to such a state?
How Sam longed to wrap his arms around Frodo, comfort him, take him from this awful place and nurse him back to health. And how he longed to pound Merry to a pulp, wrap his brawny fingers around Merry's neck and squeeze—make him pay for every hurt his master had endured, strike him one blow for every tortured scream his master had uttered.
Sam stood up deliberately and stared out of the small window. He glanced down at his wrists, now resting languidly upon the sill. They were still encircled by bracelets of rope, but not bound together. Merry had entered quietly while Sam slept, left him a supper of over-salted soup, dried meats, buttered bread, along with fresh, sweet-tasting water that soothed his soul. Merry had also sliced Sam's bonds. Why? And how in Middle-earth had Sam managed to doze off when his mind had been in such unimaginable turmoil?
Sam was suspicious of any food or drink that passed his lips while under Merry's "care." But Sam justified it by reminding himself that he must keep up his strength if he hoped to save his master, should the opportunity present itself. And the water was required to slake the throat-devouring thirst that seemed to rise minutes after consuming his salty meals.
Merry had paid Sam a short visit hours before, just as afternoon had faded into evening. Sam was still tied hand and foot, lying prone on the hard floor. He had slammed Merry with a volley of threats and demands for Merry to produce his master. Merry had let Sam's words roll off of him like water off oilskin. He had calmly gagged Sam so he would listen to his reassurances that Frodo was whole and unharmed. Sam had continued his barrage of threats behind the gag as Merry righted him, pulling him onto the bed with promises that he'd be ungagged "soon" after he had a chance to cool down.
Merry as he sat himself on the bed beside Sam.
"Frodo is in good hands, Sam," soothed Merry as he stared into Sam's red-rimmed eyes lit with fury. "And if you both coorperate tonight, I shall arrange a visit. Would you like that, Sam?"
Sam's anger dissipated for a few seconds. He mumbled something through the gag that sounded more like a question than a threat.
"Would you like to speak, Sam?" asked Merry teasingly. "Have you calmed enough to be civil?"
Sam nodded, and the gag was brought down.
"You will let me see Frodo," asked Sam, nearly cordial.
"Yes, if you cooperate," replied Merry evenly.
Sam's face darkened after the surprise wore off.
"Will I recognize him, Mr. Merry? Will I recognize my Frodo after your vile treatments?"
"You are angry, Samwise, because you do not understand my purpose." replied Merry. "I know you chose not to believe me, but I am trying to help your master."
"Frodo looked through that peephole up there, Merry, just a few hours ago," recalled Sam, indicating the peephole with his bound hands. "I saw something in his eyes that I had never seen before. I can't rightly explain it, but I did not like it! It just wasn't him! What did you do to him, Merry? WHAT?!"
"More like do //for// him," corrected Merry. "You will see, Samwise. When am I done, you shall have your Frodo back. He will be changed, yes, but in a //good// way. He will be a happier, more carefree Frodo, not the brooding, careworn Frodo you now know."
"I like my Frodo just as he is—thank ye!" snarled Sam. "And how do you plan to //change// him, pray tell? Torture? Whippings? 'Cause I don't trust you to reform a cockroach after what I seen of your methods! And just what did you do to him down at that river? He come back changed he did. What did you 'do for him' there that frightened him so?"
"Patience, Sam, patience," answered Merry with a reassuring pat to Sam's shoulder that made the other hobbit immediately flinch. "Frodo will be fine. Let //me// take charge of Frodo's happiness for now. Your job is to cooperate so that you and Frodo may visit with each other. And your task is to be there for Frodo when I am through."
"Be there for what is left of him, isn't that closer to the mark Master Brandybuck? Frodo's changing already—I can see it—and it is no improvement!" yelled Sam. "You're driving Frodo mad! You plan to break him, don't you? Just like you've broken young master Pip!"
Merry's eyes suddenly blazed and he drew up his hand, as if to deliver a slap. But his eyes calmed, like the sea after a strong wave has broken and dispersed into harmless foam. Merry set his hand back down on his lap with a sigh.
"That," said Merry icily, "was uncalled for. Pippin is fine. In fact, he's maturing each day under my stewardship. He's only got older sisters, you know, and he needs a strong male figure to guide him into adulthood – a mentor if you will."
"You sound as if you are trying to convince yerself, Mr. Merry, and right now you shouldn't mentor a sack of potatoes, much less a hobbit lad!" contested Sam harshly. "Pip is a husk of his old self. You have destroyed something in him, any fool can see it—any fool but you! And if you try to do the same to Frodo, I swear to you, I'll have your life!"
Merry shook his head in mocking exasperation.
"Sam, Sam," he sighed. "You mistake my intentions. I am Frodo's greatest friend and ally at present."
Sam snorted his disagreement. Merry roundly ignored it and continued speaking.
"I hope you eventually come to see me as your friend too, as I do what I do for the well being of all hobbits, including you, Sam."
"I got enough friends," answered Sam curtly.
"I will still allow you to visit with Frodo tomorrow morning, granted he make //progress// tonight, and granted you show good behavior."
Merry pushed forward a ceramic mug full of water.
"Drink, Sam," offered Merry. "Cold, clean water will do you a world of good. I shall untie you later this evening when you are---"
"Asleep?" offered Sam sharply.
"Calmer," supplied Merry.
"I don't want none of your cold clean water now," said Sam, turning his head aside.
"Then you must not desire to see Frodo," scolded Merry. "Cooperation includes accepting the food and drink I offer. Drink up! You shall not see Frodo if you refuse this."
Sam shot Merry a stony look, brought the cup up to his mouth with his bound hands, and took a mouthful of water large enough to puff out his cheeks.
"There now!" exclaimed Merry as he stood. "That wasn't so hard, now was it?"
Sam did not answer, but rolled on his stomach and flopped his head on the lumpy pillow, wordlessly indicating that he wished to sleep.
"Goodnight, Sam."
Merry shut the door softly. Sam listened as the sounds of Merry's footsteps receded down the hall. As soon as Merry seemed to be out of earshot, Sam leaned over the bed and spit the mouthful of water into the waiting chamber pot below.
"I'll not be drinking any more of yer funny water," mumbled Sam to the door.
Sam regretted the cupful he had downed with his supper, and suspected he was already feeling its effects. Drowsy. Far too drowsy than he ought to be. The water—that must be why Merry was so keen for him to drink it! If the water were drugged, it might explain Merry's inscrutable willingness to keep him untied. Drinking funny water willingly, sleeping like the dead—that would be Samwise all over! No more! His throat might become parched as a July creek bed, but he would endure it if it gave him a frail hope of saving his Frodo. Sam just hoped it wouldn't be too late.
* * *
Frodo's heart skipped erratically in dread anticipation of more time alone with Merry.
Somewhere in the room, a hobbit circled is chair, his footsteps echoing in what had become a dark, yawning cavern in Frodo's fevered imagination. Frodo felt Merry's eyes upon him, cutting through the blackness, staring, glaring judging. But Merry did not speak. Five minutes, ten minutes, thirty. Hours. Frodo was uncertain of where Merry had placed himself in the room. The silence hung heavy upon the air, the darkness closing in for the kill.
Frodo felt the familiar panic well up again, surging from his gut, up his spine, in his throat, to his head, a tingling, stabbing, tightening sensation coursing through his body, heartbeats quickening, fingers quivering, fingernails digging into the wood, throat constricting. Alone. Alone in the dark with no salvation to cling to.
Alone? No, Merry was here. Was that a comfort? Cold comfort. Dark. Bound. Alone. Frodo shook with the cold, the familiar feeling of sickness rising up, clogging his head, dizziness, shudders more violent now. Cold. Alone?
"Merry?" called Frodo. "Merry?!"
No answer yet, just the thrumming of his heart, his own uneven breaths in the black, gaping space surrounding him. His fear rose up and surrounded him, wrapped its icy fingers around his throat and strangled him, all the while whispering in his ear that he was alone here…that he would stay this way for eternity - spiraling in darkness, cold and alone with stabbing pain and gnawing fear his only companions.
The panic reached a crescendo, only to gently subside like a waning tide. Sleepy, so sleepy now. Dark. Alone. Quiet. Sleep, yes. Even here, even now he could sleep. Frodo lolled his head down to his chest, unprepared for the stinging slap that followed. Merry was here after all. But he did not speak. Was Frodo not to sleep still? He fought to keep his head up, but it was a losing battle. So tired, so hungry, so thirsty, so tired. Sleep. Frodo's head drooped down again. Another slap. Frodo gasped in pain and shock.
"Merry! Please let me sleep!" he cried to the onerous silence. No answer.
Would this never end? Frodo's eyes shut behind the blindfold, lid to rim, eyelashes connecting to skin, chin to chest.
A punch to the gut, a sharp intake of breath, and pain, flowing, pounding, radiating through his whole body.
"Merry!" choked Frodo, dragging in painful gasps through his suddenly seizing lungs. "What do you want from me, Merry? Speak! I'm so tired! No more! Please!"
No answer.
"Speak, for Eru's sake-speak, will you!"
An hour passed, his limbs screaming in pain, tired eyes screaming in agony as he fought to keep them open. Frodo again lost his battle with the pull of slumber.
Icy water poured over his head. Frodo's body stiffened with the impact, in shock, cold, misery. The water dripped down, seeping under the binds, attacking his naked skin with its frigid tendrils as it trailed its way down to his feet. Pain. Cold. Always the cold.
Pain everywhere, but tired, so tired. Frodo again lost his battle with the pull of slumber and again was jolted by a bruising slap to his face.
An hour passed, his limbs screaming in pain, eyeballs in agony. The silence of the room was broken by the grumbling of Frodo's empty stomach. Merry landed a blow at the source of the noise.
"Merry!" moaned Frodo, frantic for an answer crafted from words and not pain. "Merry! Merry!"
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
Frodo's body forgot about sleep for the next hour, the wet and cold occupying its attentions. A shudder shook him to wretched awareness whenever he threatened to doze. The wet faded to damp, and damp to damp-dry, and the desire to sleep flew back. Head dropped.
Frodo's nose exploded in agony, the blood that ran down from it to creep in bitter paths to his mouth the only warm thing touching his skin. And Frodo wept, openly, unabashedly.
He let his head fall back and a scream of anger, sorrow, frustration and fear left his throat, rending it as the wind of his cry passed from his lungs in long, bitter gasps. He felt blood in his torn throat and tasted it in his mouth and he gnashed his teeth in protest of its presence. This could not be! This should not be! His cousin, his Merry – the lad who had crawled into bed with him in the middle of the night to cuddle against the nightmares – his Merry had left him alone here in the darkness with the monster who wore his skin. A walking nightmare worse than any the young lad of so long ago could have conjured stalked Frodo now, reveling in the scent of his blood, feeding on his pain.
* * *
An hour passed. Frodo's mind began to unravel under the pressure of the dark and the silence.
"Merry!" Frodo called, his voice now a dry rasp edged with desperation. "Merry! I'm not asleep! Please speak to me! Merry! MERRY!"
Another hour, and Frodo fell silent, nearly catatonic
* * *
Soft footsteps traveling away from him…moving through the eternity of darkness that bore down on him and choked him in its blackened hold. Moving away and leaving him alone in utter stillness and suffocating silence.
"Merry! Please! Don't leave me alone!" Frodo cursed himself for his weakness but was unable to stop himself from voicing the fear in a trembling cry.
Footsteps moved toward him now in measured paces that shrunk the space around him and buried him alive under the weight of their slow approach. They stopped and Frodo felt Merry's presence on his skin, could taste his hot breath on his tongue. His whole body quaked as he felt unexpected fingers spidering along the knot of cloth behind his head. A hand at the back of his head and Frodo's eyes were suddenly assailed with a grey light, a blur of wheat-colored hair and shaded eyes filling his vision.
Frodo's relief at his newfound vision manifested itself in the form of tears and he barely managed to choke back the tremulous thanks he had almost voiced before realizing how ludicrous gratitude would be. Instead he bowed his head and wept silently, trying desperately to hide his pleasure at the small respite restored sight allowed him from the hobbit for whom he knew it would give twisted satisfaction.
Frodo took the opportunity to observe his surroundings once more. The room was still large, grey, and dreary, though with the window now heavily curtained, he could not even mark the passing of day into night. Merry stood behind him out of his line of vision, giving Frodo no comfort of his presence, no indication of his mood. Nor did he speak. Frodo entertained himself by staring at the disintegration of his own body, the rope burns, the shaking knees, the crimson lines of abraded flesh where the ropes cut across his shoulders and chest.
These morbid sights were not enough to stimulate Frodo back to alertness for long. His eyes, freed from the blindfold, now were imprisoned by the closing of his own lids. So tired.
Another slap, this time to the back of his head. Merry circled around to meet Frodo's gaze now, not speaking, but glaring at him critically, almost challenging him to sleep again. And when Frodo's eyelids moved inexorably down, Merry's palm knew where to find its mark.
Then Merry backed up again, surveying Frodo from a cold distance, ready to advance only when Frodo fell to slumber, only when he meant to strike.
* * *
Frodo was unsure exactly when he had started to sob again. But here he was, head bent down, tears raining upon his lap, gut-wrenching sobs wracking his body. Then footsteps again. They stopped and a low chuckle tumbled across the darkness to bleed into Frodo's ears and creep in silvery shivers into his bones. Then a hand, a gentle hand upon his clammy shoulder, a kiss on his cheek, a soothing voice calling his name.
"Frodo, I'm here, love."
Relief surged through him at the sound of the hated voice – yet a voice nonetheless and he simply could not suppress the wash of liberation at the resonance of it in his starved ears. Frodo closed his eyes and let out a long, shuddering breath. Merry's hand moved from his shoulder and stroked gently across his swollen cheek. Before he could stop himself, Frodo flinched and drew his head away from the touch. The hand stilled abruptly and fell away from his face.
"I see," said Merry thickly. "I shall leave you once more to your thoughts then."
Frodo kept his eyes closed and felt his breath catch as Merry's footsteps moved in a steady retreat toward the door.
"No," he said quietly, and the footsteps halted.
"I beg your pardon?" said Merry, his tone flat.
Frodo opened his eyes and turned his head, his neck creaking, his eyes burning and weary.
"I said no. Please. Don't leave me alone."
Merry voiced another soft chuckle as he made his way slowly back to his cousin's side. He lifted his hand to Frodo's cheek once more and this time Frodo only closed his eyes and allowed Merry to tenderly brush his tears from his bruised cheeks, turning his face unwillingly but inexorably into the caress.
"Is this what you want of me, Frodo?" Merry asked softly. "Is this what you ask?"
A small sob escaped his throat. "Yes," Frodo whispered. "Please. I cannot bear it any longer."
The corners of Merry's mouth turned up in a sardonic smile.
"Did I not tell you that you would beg for my touch?"
TBC
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To the Reviewers!
Tavion- Sam is actually being cared for better than Frodo right now. Well get to see him very soon, after Merry and Frodo have a little more time together.
Ben-thank you so much! Your compliments mean the world to me! I'm going to have more "lost moments" in my prelude, if you have time to read it!
AndysPrincess –Merry does use sleep deprivation to amzing effect, doesn't he? If carried on long enough, you'll start to hallusinate-which I hope you never did at summer camp!!!
Ariel – More gratuitous angst coming your way!
Mei – I think that Pippin's character will be better fleshed out in the prologue and with my complete rewrites of the first 5 chapters. I hope you like them!
Unhobbity Hobbit –Your comment "By the end they have come to accept that there is not much they can do for each other but be there." Was exactly right. You broke this chapter down better than even I could! Thank you for making me feel smart!
Camillia – Frodo will get away-eventually, but not quite in the way anyone imagined. And Merry just might get a taste of his own medicine down the line.
Trust no One-you hit the nail on the head- I wanted to show that Frodo's desperation is such that he employs the only weapon he has while bound and blindfolded-his wit. Like Merry, he knows he has to be cruel to be kind-in essence, using the same tactics on Pip that Merry is using on him.
Aratlithiel- Pissy mood I think is a very good word for it! Ooo! We are getting vloser to your chapter!!!!!!
Sue – well-Merry has plenty in store, as you can see!
Sven- These next two chapters are going to be very angsty for Frodo and Merry. I do hope you like them!
Marilyn, thank you for your suggestions! As you see, I've started posting the prelude. More seeds of doubt to come!
Krista- Pip will have some recovery in the second part of this fic, but with an unlikely "counselor"
Chloe – Thank you-I always look forward to your detailed reviews! I thought of this chapter as a way for Frodo and Pip to really show what the captivity had done to both of them. I almost think Pip comes off as more of a prisoner than Frodo. And the leaning of Pip on frodo's legs, I didn't know if it would work, but I'm glad it did. I just think of this as two souls starting to unravel, wanting to hold on to something, but in different ways falling apart.