Merry had peeled him, hollowed him out, devoured his meat, sucked out his
marrow, drunk his blood, inhaled his spirit. And the ruined husk that was
left hated him for it.
AN: Congrats to Elizabeth and Cailen Braern, and Chloe for finding one of the Tolkien quotes: the "Are you going to bury me" line-originally used my Merry after pip finds him injured in Gondor. No one found the narrative line about Faramir, originally used when Faramir is considering a struggling Gollum (in my story, when Merry is watching Frodo struggle): "looking at the wretched creature with a keen glance but without any expression in his face of either anger, pity, or wonder." I do not think there is a line in this chapter, but there are many in the coming chapter, Enjoy!!!
Big thanks to my beta, aratlithiel, without whom this tale would not be half as good!
Chapter 38: Food for the Soul
______________________________________________________________________
Frodo craned his neck at the sound of footsteps.
"Frodo!" Merry called as he burst through the door, plate of bread and cheese in hand. "I've brought you a little something to eat."
Frodo was too famished to offer Merry anything else but pleading eyes and a low moan. Not a bite had passed his lips for days now and other parts of his body besides his long-suffering stomach were beginning to be affected. He felt a weakness in his bones more profound than plain exhaustion-- and the eerie sensation that his whole body was slowly unraveling and falling away. Now the hobbit most responsible for his hunger had come to assuage it.
Frodo's eyes latched onto the small plate of food and did not release it even as the plate and its bearer floated up to his side. Merry gave a teasing smile, then set the food on Frodo's pillow just inches from his face. For Frodo, it might as well have been miles away, though the smell of the food nearly drove him mad with desire. He tugged up grasping fingers toward the plate, only to be forcibly reminded that he was still tied fast.
"It seems ages ago since you kicked that bowl of porridge from my hands, does it not?" asked Merry.
Frodo did not speak; but gave Merry a confused look touched with irritation.
"If I remember," said Merry, "It was because you could not brook being fed by these kindly hands." Merry stared at his hands regretfully. Frodo's gaze was still upon the bread and cheese sitting enticingly just inches away from his face.
"Am I to understand that you will bear it now?"
Frodo nodded as well as his position would allow, his eyes still boring into the plate.
Merry sat himself down upon the rocking chair and, with a long squeak, slid it up to the bed. Picking up a piece of cheese, he moved it slowly toward Frodo's open mouth, then pulled it up abruptly, much to Frodo's dismay.
"Frodo," said Merry. "Before you eat, I would like to have an apology from you."
Frodo tore his eyes away from the beckoning cheese just long enough to give Merry an incredulous look. "For what?" he asked in a voice barely above a whisper.
"For making this so unnecessarily difficult," answered Merry. "For scorning my care. For taking part in Sam's ill-advised escape plans, And naturally, for kicking the bowl from my hands two days ago, for which you have paid dearly for, it seems."
Frodo was too stunned to speak. A kernel of Baggins pride was surfacing despite his misery and his hunger.
"Let me eat," pleaded Frodo. "Then we shall speak of apologies."
Frodo's bit of sleep, however inadequate, cleared his muddled mind enough for him to conclude which direction any apologies ought to go.
"Ah, ah, ah!" tutted Merry. "It seems you are not as hungry as I imagined."
Merry lifted the cheese to his own lips, and to Frodo's horror, bit off a corner. Frodo glared at Merry with the eyes of a cat whose hard-won sparrow is snatched from underneath its jaws.
"This," Merry said as he lifted the plate, "is all you shall get, and, perhaps, considerably less than this if you stall. So come, dear boy! Show some hobbit sense and make your amends!"
A spasm of fury passed over Frodo's features. Merry noticed and lifted the cheese again to his mouth. Frodo began to tug wildly and uselessly at his bonds, cursing beneath his breath. Merry took a second larger bite.
"You have lost your taste for cheese, it seems, chided Merry meanly.
"Stop!" cried Frodo in a ragged voice. "Please stop! I'm sorry for whatever you require me to be sorry for! Just please give me the food, Merry. This is torture!"
"No," said Merry, a coldness seeping into his tone. "This," Merry ran a cruel finger along the deepest weal on Frodo's back, "is torture." Frodo sucked in his breath in agony. Merry continued.
"Forcing me to desecrate your fair skin with hard whips, that is torture. And it is my torture, torture inflicted on me by you, Frodo, though you may not think it. Forcing me to deny you food, rest, freedom, the most basic of comforts instead of listening to reason, that is torture! Oh Frodo, keeping you under my care has been a hard chore! And it is a chore without reward, it would appear, as the only way you chose to repay me is with obstinacy, which you confuse with perseverance. Have you not figured out that I control your life now? And that I do it only because I am fighting to save it! So forgive me, my cousin, if I need this small thing!"
As Merry spoke, Frodo continued gawking at the piece of cheese that rose and fell with each of Merry's wild gestures. Frodo's mouth watered, his stomach growled, and the aroma of the cheese seemed to dance upon the very air around him.
A sudden light slap across Frodo's face brought him back to the present.
"You are not listening," said Merry sternly. "Must I withhold even this?"
"No!" cried Frodo desperately. "No-please! I /am/ sorry, Merry."
Merry leaned in close. "For what, Love?" he said, eyes intense, pupils like burning coals. "Tell your Merry so that we may clear the air between us!"
"For-- running," stammered Frodo, and seeing that Merry was unsatisfied, added "and fighting you." Merry fingered the small pieces of bread as if determining which one to devour next. Frodo's heart raced and his stomach roared in anguish.
"What would you have me say, Merry? And I shall say it!"
Merry softened and tore off a bite-size piece of bread and fed it tenderly to Frodo. Frodo swallowed it with barely a perfunctory chew.
"There now, Frodo, slow down," said Merry, gentle again. "I don't want it coming up on you."
Frodo parted his lips, like a babe awaiting his mother's spoon. Merry ruffled Frodo's hair, smiled tenderly, yet did not move his hands toward the plate.
"Now you see," sighed Merry. "Now you see how all that you require to live comes from me. But the decision on whether you will receive these things rests upon you, Frodo-on you."
"More," said Frodo. "Please, another bite!"
"I need to know that you've understood me, Frodo," said Merry. "Who prepares your food?"
Frodo bit his lip out of self-revulsion, then ground out, "You do."
"Good lad!" said Merry, and thrust a slice of cheese into Frodo's mouth. Frodo took it greedily.
"And who decides whether or not I give the food to you, Frodo?" chased Merry.
Frodo knitted his brow in consternation. He was too famished and too exhausted to have this manner of conversation. His jumbled mind sought out an answer that seemed best to him-an answer that would please Merry.
"You do," answered Frodo thinly.
Frodo gasped in shock as Merry slapped his face brutally for no apparent reason.
"You would do well to listen to me, I think," said Merry, "as the matter touches you deeply." Merry took up the plate and set it down upon the floor, away from Frodo's sight. Frodo began to strain his eyes toward the floor and his hands against his bonds.
Tears welled up in Frodo's eyes, then a soul-piercing shriek exploded from him, followed by convulsive gut-wrenching sobs. Broken! Broken! He had been a grown gentlehobbit appointed by cruel chance or sadistic fate to carry the burden of burdens. And now, here he was, cut down, stripped, and shamed, naked to the world, laid bare and bleeding. He was a wrecked and ruined creature. To say that he was a shadow of his former self was to say too much. Frodo had lost every stitch of autonomy he had ever dared call his own. This was more than the lack of freedom to go as he pleased or to make decisions that seemed best to him, no! This was a more elemental deprivation that struck at the very roots of his being. It was a deprivation of will, of thought, of impulse.
Frodo no longer had even a marginal control of his most basic needs- food, clothes, shelter, sleep. Frodo had been kicked down to the level of an infant, then kicked lower still. He was now dependent upon Merry, body and soul. Even light, speech, sound, movement, air, and life itself could be revoked on the wings of Meriadoc's whims, and Frodo could do nothing. It hurt! Oh! How it hurt! Frodo's pride had long ago been extinguished, his sense of self sure to follow, pulled inexorably down into the pit of nothingness. He was just a cipher now, a blank slate on which Merry could carve whatever he would. Merry had peeled him, hollowed him out, devoured his meat, sucked out his marrow, drunk his blood, inhaled his spirit. And the ruined husk that was left hated him for it.
Hate, deep penetrating hate, roiling like magma in a volcano crafted from bile. Here was a hate so potent that Frodo could hear it thrumming in his ears, could taste it on the tip of his tongue, could smell it in the air all around him, could feel it pulsing through his own veins just as surely as his own blood. But buried in the heart of his antipathy was a strange compulsion. It was not love, but a connection borne from abject dependence. Merry had stolen Frodo, and if Frodo wished to find himself again, he must then find himself in Merry, his thief and savior rolled into one.
Frodo had never felt less in control than that moment when that tiny bit of food was moved from his sight. And now, it seemed, Frodo did not even have the slightest control of his emotions. Part of Frodo had not heard himself scream, and was not aware that he was weeping. It was Merry's voice that alerted the shell of Frodo to his own outburst. Merry-calling him back, the only thread connecting Frodo with the surety that he still existed in any form at all.
"Don't weep love!" soothed Merry as he thumbed away Frodo's tears.
Frodo recoiled, fearing a slap. No slap came, but the fear had been worse than any slap could have been. Frodo now lived in a continual state of recoil, bracing for the next arbitrary blow. Frodo's best defense had been predicting Merry's desires, but Merry of late had become worse than mercurial, he had become unpredictable. Frodo's comprehension of Merry before his corruption did not avail Frodo. This was not the Merry he had known, despite what appearances might be.
"This is much simpler than you would believe!" continued Merry. "Silly ass, I just gave you the answer moments ago, though you had not the wit to see it."
"What was the question?" asked Frodo tentatively, bracing himself for yet another blow. It came, but not on his face, as he'd tried to predict, but across his back. Frodo felt a burst of pain, and hissed out his agony as he felt liquid warmth drip down his back. Merry had struck him across his weals.
"Why do you not seek the answer before you?" asked Merry, face filled with pity and regret. "I would prefer to be gentle rather than stern, yet again you force my hand! But there it is again, the answer. It is /you/, Frodo, or rather your behavior that guides your fate. Now say it."
It is I," mumbled Frodo as if from a great distance.
Merry smiled widely and fed Frodo a second piece of bread, cupping Frodo's chin with his once-punishing hand, and staring into Frodo's eyes as the bound hobbit chewed frantically. Frodo retreated into his own mind to keep from drowning in the depths of those eyes.
"More," he gasped after swallowing. "Please."
"You need not even ask," answered Merry sweetly, and bite by bite, hand fed Frodo alternating with soft caresses and softer words.
"It is such a pleasure that you allow me to do this for you," said Merry as Frodo finished his last bite.
"Water," pleaded Frodo.
"Of course," answered Merry. "On one condition."
Frodo groaned in protest, remembering too late that it was not allowed. His ears rang as Merry's hand flew down and clouted him on the exposed side of his head.
"On one condition," repeated Merry just as sweetly as before. "That you allow me to unbind you for a few minutes while Pippin and I change the linens upon your bed. That you will sit still and not move while we do this. If I may have your word, you shall have your water."
Frodo could scarcely believe his ears. Did they really mean to unbind him? He nodded his affirmation.
"Pippin!" called Merry. "Come!"
Pippin burst through the door carrying a basket of clean linens, obviously taken from the bounty now stored at Crickhollow. Pippin smiled at Frodo, knowing he had eaten a little, and knowing at last that he was being allowed to do something kind for his wretched cousin.
Merry drew a small knife from his belt and sawed one of the bracelets of rope loose from Frodo's wrists. Frodo kept his arms perfectly still, not wanting to anger Merry with any sudden movements, even after he was free. The cutting of the cords at his legs produced the same reaction, or lack thereof. Merry then gently placed one hand, then the other at Frodo's back, leaning down to kiss his dampened neck, then bound Frodo's hands together in a loose knot. Frodo remained still as a corpse as Merry pulled a pair of battered trousers over his hips, tied his ankles together, then sat him up in bed. Frodo's head spun, so long had it been since he had sat upright.
"Pippin," ordered Merry. "Help me carry Frodo outside for a few minutes. I can help him relieve himself and catch a breath of air while you strip the bed."
Merry lifted Frodo under the arms, and Pippin took his legs.
"Steady now," said Merry, noticing that Frodo's head lolled down upon his breast. What he did not see as he carried his battered cousin down out of the room, was that Frodo's eyes had fixed upon the gold ring dangling below his collar bone. It was such a pretty thing, such a perfect circle. Frodo let his mind get lost in his reflection in the gold, even as Merry and Pippin carried him down the hall.
Frodo did not lift his eyes as they entered the corridor of his childhood home, not in nostalgia, or even, curiosity. 'Why cast your eyes toward anything else when the most lovely sight in Middle-earth beckons before your eyes?' he thought.
"Out the back way, Pip" instructed Merry. "We don't want to pass, well you know what we don't want to pass."
* * *
The object that Merry did not want to pass was at that moment rousing from his prison of unconsciousness only to find himself in a prison of another sort. Sam's head throbbed as if he had a herd of wild horses galloping inside of it. He opened his eyes slowly, wondering what his present accommodations would consist of; he was unhopeful. As far as Sam could see, he was set in a dimly lit room filled with covered furniture, a parlor, perhaps. Its two round windows were boarded tight with weak shafts of dusty light piecing through gaps in the boards. This frail light was supplemented only with three candles that sat flickering upon the mantelpiece. All the furniture was shrouded in white linen, like a legion of ghosts, all save one item. The chair Sam sat upon, or rather, was bound upon, had been uncovered, the linen pooled about his feet as if it had been removed in great haste. Sam thought to pick it up, then thought better of it. His hands had been tied tightly behind his back. 'Of course! You ninnyhammer!' thought Sam. Then Sam remembered what had brought him here.
"Little Panswinger," he growled.
Sam was marginally surprised to realize that he was neither blindfolded nor gagged. Merry was nothing if not cautious-but, of course, who would hear him if he yelled? And perhaps returning of his own accord had moved him up a notch or two in Merry's regard. Sam still figured there was more to it than that, then sighed when he believed he understood. 'He reckons the same thing that brought me back will keep me here, I bet!' thought Sam.
Sam's thoughts then turned to 'poor Mr. Frodo.' Where was he, or, more to the point, how was he? Sam hoped that their latest vie for freedom had not cost him any dearer than it had already. A secret fear, too awful to acknowledge also began to flutter about Sam's mind. What if Frodo ceased to trust Sam? Every escape attempt had brought Frodo only torment, agony, and mental anguish. What if poor Mr. Frodo began to associate these horrors with Sam and not their true author? If Sam was not Frodo's faithful servant, then what would Sam Gamgee be? And if Frodo remained in Meriadoc's grasp much long, what would /he/ become?
Just then, Sam heard rustling down the corridor-two pairs of feet. Sam supposed by the uneven footfalls that it was Merry and Pippin carrying his master outside. Sam panicked for the next few minutes, worrying that his Frodo would be taken somewhere apart form him, somewhere that Sam could not possible help him, not that he /had/ been much help thus far. But, lo! A new set of feet, just one hobbit. Sam guessed that Merry would not trust Pippin alone with Frodo outside, so the feet must belong to-
"Pippin!" Sam called. "Pippin!"
Sam realized that he had dropped the "Mr." for the first time. 'Begging your pardon, Mr. Pippin,' Sam thought to himself, 'but the knock on the head has put us on familiar terms, so to speak.'
The sound of footsteps grew closer. Pippin finally rounded the corner looking positively abashed.
"Samwise! So good to see you up!" said Pippin breathlessly and sheepishly- and before Sam could make an answer, Pippin blurted out, "I'm sorry about the blow, Sam, truly! But Merry said I wasn't to move you unless you were under on account of your strength. But Sam, I did convince Merry not to gag or blindfold you since you shan't try to escape now."
Pippin's words tumbled out in a line of hastily cobbled sentences to cover up a path of guilt.
Sam locked eyes with Pippin, waiting for his yammering to play itself out. Pippin's ramblings trialed off at last and he turned his gaze shamefacedly toward a rather dark knot in the floorboard.
"Pip," sighed Sam. "I reckon the reason Merry had you knock me out don't have a whit to do with me."
Pippin glanced up, his green eyes bathed in confusion. Sam pushed on.
"Merry wanted me senseless because he doesn't trust you, I bet."
Sam could almost see his words percolating in Pippin's mind as the expression on the lad's face turned from guilt to fear. Pippin, obviously distressed, whirled about on his heel and scrambled back down the hall with an abrupt, "I must strip Frodo's bed before I call them back."
"From where?" cried Sam, but it was too late; Pippin had already disappeared down the corridor with a flurry of patters. He was left alone with the ghost furniture and the specters of his own fears.
* * *
After Pippin had left them, Merry had cut the cords around Frodo's ankles and stood him on shaky legs. Frodo made no protest as Merry helped him relieve himself, nor did he protest as Merry shepherded him over to a patch of soft green grass a dozen feet from the door, gingerly set him down, and retied his feet.
Merry had been careful to chose a spot set out of view of the whipping log. They sat, instead, facing what must have been, long ago, a well ordered pumpkin patch, now a frightful many-headed creature with tentacles sprawling and grasping all across a large field. To Frodo they reminded him forcibly of clusters of yellow eyes, watchful and intent--eyes that spied upon him, eyes peering into his soul through the tall grass and the dandelions. Across the field, Frodo saw small eyes, fat eyes, rotten eyes spilling out seeds to grow legions more of their watchful progeny. Perhaps these pumpkins were akin to the great unblinking eye ringed with flames that came to Frodo in his troubled dreams; the eye that was forever seeking him and that which he bore.
Something rubbed against his side, and Frodo gave a sudden violent shudder. But it was only Merry sitting himself down beside him. Only Merry.
Merry observed the fear that had crept into Frodo's eyes, and wrapped his arm around Frodo's neck in a gesture of comfort, or so he thought it. Merry's embrace, gentle as it was, pained the uppermost weals upon Frodo's back, but Frodo had a care not to flinch. He was sure it was not allowed.
"You must have many fond memories of this place, Frodo," said Merry kindly.
Frodo nodded weakly. The sun began to beat down upon his battered back, causing the wounds to burn.
"Tell me something about your childhood here, Frodo, before you came to live with us."
Frodo's heartbeat quickened. Was this a command that would earn him punishment if he answered wrong? Or was Merry merely curious? Frodo decided not to chance it.
"Mother grew pumpkins," he offered uncreatively, and offered no more.
"I have been told that your mother had one of the grandest gardens in Buckland," said Merry, "And that her gourds and melons made some of the most delectable pies this side of the Brandywine. Is that true?"
"Yes," answered Frodo blandly.
"Do you miss them, Frodo? Your parents, I mean?"
Frodo nodded and a sad look entered his eyes. Merry drew him close.
"When we get back to Crickhollow, Frodo, we can have a garden just as lovely and grand as your mother ever had. We can even grow some of the flowers that she grew here, if you can remember them. We can make it look just like home. Would you like that, Frodo?"
Frodo supposed he was expected to nod, but realized to his dismay that he had begun to weep.
"Frodo love! What /is/ it?" asked Merry in distress. "Has something I've said upset you?"
"I have no home," Frodo answered more to himself than to Merry. "And I have no family."
"Of course you do, silly goose!" said Merry, but not unkindly. He squeezed Frodo so violently that several of the scabs bled anew. Frodo squeezed his eyes tighter but would not release the gasp that caught sharply in his throat. "We are your family; and Crickhollow is your home."
"No," answered Frodo as if in a dream, "You are not my family. Not anymore. You are my gaoler. And Crickhollow is my prison."
Frodo had momentarily forgotten that unwanted answers often brought unwanted consequences. But much to Frodo's surprise, Merry did not strike him, but seemed himself to weep.
"Frodo," Merry said at last in a voice rasped with tears. "Do not say such things! Not only are you a member of our family, but our /dearest/ and /most precious/ member. Keeping you has been a sore trial, but as with any good garden, well worth the effort once things begin to flourish and bloom. Your confusion will be cleared away like clouds after a spring rain. If only you would trust me!"
Frodo spoke no more. He had stopped crying and had turned his eyes back to the piece of jewelry dangling at his throat, gleaming bright and magical in the afternoon sun. Merry still spoke on about home, family, duty, and some assorted grand plans for the Shire; but Frodo did not heed them. To Frodo Merry's words became but a hum on the breeze, no more comprehensible than the birdsongs about them or the voices in his head. The Ring had its own song too, a love song for Frodo. But to this song, Frodo listened intently.
Without warning, or so it seemed, Merry grasped on to Frodo's chin and drew his eyes up to his own.
"Do you hear me, love," continued Merry.
Frodo nodded, both a gesture and a lie.
"And Sam can turn the garden at Crickhollow into a mirror image of Bag End, if that would please you."
A familiar name.
"Sam, echoed Frodo. But Merry had supposed Frodo had really meant it as a question.
"Sam has been dealt with appropriately. He is comfortable. He is safe," said Merry, now seeming to speak in a faraway voice. "By and by he shall be brought round. By and by all shall be brought round."
TBC
____________________________________________________________________________ ______ LJ question of the week- I want to thank all of you that sent in your great suggestions! WOW!!! But some of those suggestions have led to yet another question!
Several people have suggested that Frodo's breaking should have a sexual element. Now, mind you, I would not put this in the story proper, but would put it as a clearly marked alternative chapter, probably on a separate site. You may leave your thoughts here or on my livejournal under aelfgifu. And if the thought disgusts you, I want to know that too.
Friend me! ____________________________________________________________________________ _____
To the Reviewers:
First, I want to offer a BIG congratulations to Iorhael for finally finishing her 60-chaptered "Nasty Hobbitsess, the story that both inspired this tale, and began me writing fan fiction! If you have not read it, you must, if you like Frodo angst, and if you have, well-the last chapter is up, and now would be the time to thank here for a tale very well written! I have my last pic from Nasty Hobbitsess on my author site! (as I am the beta and illustrator). Congrats Iorhael!
Caelin- Great job on the quote, and, yes, more is coming! And thank you for answering my lj poll! So nice to read a familiar face!
Chloe-I KNOW you will want to sound off on the lj question! And I love your use of the word "lustration" -damn-quite a vocab you have, my dear. I want the post breaking chapters to be thae same thing, "a combination of evil, violence, and lustration" as you say. And I cannot wait of that line in the movie as well.
Endymion That last line was the genius of my beta. I wanted Pip to question if he was really happy. I will hit this theme harder in future chapters. I think, as Frodo Baggins 1982 had said, "Pip" is really Merry's guinea pig.
Aratlithiel-see above, people loved your little line! What would I do without you!
Elizabeth-glad to know I did not make you throw up! LOL! Well, more sad to come, but the torment part is nearly over, leading to some very good (I hope) Merry, pippin. Sam angst.
Sue, well eventually, I think, Pip's attempts to help Frodo will do some good, but you'll have to wait and see! ;)
MBradford-I think people will be surprised at how Pippin reacts in later chapters, hopefully, pleasantly surprised! QTPIe-thank you for your nice email that really got me thinking! And to me you are never anonymous! I do think you will like the interaction between Frodo and Sam in the coming chapters, and I hope you will like the interaction between Sam and Merry when Frodo begins to unravel in earnest. I'm glad the creepiness worked, as that was exactly what I was going for!
Shire Baggins-I don't want to give it away, but you may get your wish with Pippin. And I do see another Pip lesson coming on. And the torment for Frodo is almost over-and though "rescue" may come in a form unexpected, I will get them out of there eventually, I promise!!!
Frodo baggins1982-Thank you for your thoughtful comments here and on my lj! They really do make me think. As you can see on this chapter, I really underlined a theme you had mentioned, which is Pip as A guinea pig for Merry. Your comment made me think it would be interesting if I made Pip begin to understand that Merry has done something to him, and that he is using a similar method on Frodo. And I think Merry should have moments of doubt seeing that Frodo is not "happy" as he promised Pippin. This could get very interesting, and you are right, I think most readers would like to see Merry experience some "be careful what you wish for" moments, which, naturally, Sam will use to his advantage, I suspect, as a lever for influence Pip.
AN: Congrats to Elizabeth and Cailen Braern, and Chloe for finding one of the Tolkien quotes: the "Are you going to bury me" line-originally used my Merry after pip finds him injured in Gondor. No one found the narrative line about Faramir, originally used when Faramir is considering a struggling Gollum (in my story, when Merry is watching Frodo struggle): "looking at the wretched creature with a keen glance but without any expression in his face of either anger, pity, or wonder." I do not think there is a line in this chapter, but there are many in the coming chapter, Enjoy!!!
Big thanks to my beta, aratlithiel, without whom this tale would not be half as good!
Chapter 38: Food for the Soul
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Frodo craned his neck at the sound of footsteps.
"Frodo!" Merry called as he burst through the door, plate of bread and cheese in hand. "I've brought you a little something to eat."
Frodo was too famished to offer Merry anything else but pleading eyes and a low moan. Not a bite had passed his lips for days now and other parts of his body besides his long-suffering stomach were beginning to be affected. He felt a weakness in his bones more profound than plain exhaustion-- and the eerie sensation that his whole body was slowly unraveling and falling away. Now the hobbit most responsible for his hunger had come to assuage it.
Frodo's eyes latched onto the small plate of food and did not release it even as the plate and its bearer floated up to his side. Merry gave a teasing smile, then set the food on Frodo's pillow just inches from his face. For Frodo, it might as well have been miles away, though the smell of the food nearly drove him mad with desire. He tugged up grasping fingers toward the plate, only to be forcibly reminded that he was still tied fast.
"It seems ages ago since you kicked that bowl of porridge from my hands, does it not?" asked Merry.
Frodo did not speak; but gave Merry a confused look touched with irritation.
"If I remember," said Merry, "It was because you could not brook being fed by these kindly hands." Merry stared at his hands regretfully. Frodo's gaze was still upon the bread and cheese sitting enticingly just inches away from his face.
"Am I to understand that you will bear it now?"
Frodo nodded as well as his position would allow, his eyes still boring into the plate.
Merry sat himself down upon the rocking chair and, with a long squeak, slid it up to the bed. Picking up a piece of cheese, he moved it slowly toward Frodo's open mouth, then pulled it up abruptly, much to Frodo's dismay.
"Frodo," said Merry. "Before you eat, I would like to have an apology from you."
Frodo tore his eyes away from the beckoning cheese just long enough to give Merry an incredulous look. "For what?" he asked in a voice barely above a whisper.
"For making this so unnecessarily difficult," answered Merry. "For scorning my care. For taking part in Sam's ill-advised escape plans, And naturally, for kicking the bowl from my hands two days ago, for which you have paid dearly for, it seems."
Frodo was too stunned to speak. A kernel of Baggins pride was surfacing despite his misery and his hunger.
"Let me eat," pleaded Frodo. "Then we shall speak of apologies."
Frodo's bit of sleep, however inadequate, cleared his muddled mind enough for him to conclude which direction any apologies ought to go.
"Ah, ah, ah!" tutted Merry. "It seems you are not as hungry as I imagined."
Merry lifted the cheese to his own lips, and to Frodo's horror, bit off a corner. Frodo glared at Merry with the eyes of a cat whose hard-won sparrow is snatched from underneath its jaws.
"This," Merry said as he lifted the plate, "is all you shall get, and, perhaps, considerably less than this if you stall. So come, dear boy! Show some hobbit sense and make your amends!"
A spasm of fury passed over Frodo's features. Merry noticed and lifted the cheese again to his mouth. Frodo began to tug wildly and uselessly at his bonds, cursing beneath his breath. Merry took a second larger bite.
"You have lost your taste for cheese, it seems, chided Merry meanly.
"Stop!" cried Frodo in a ragged voice. "Please stop! I'm sorry for whatever you require me to be sorry for! Just please give me the food, Merry. This is torture!"
"No," said Merry, a coldness seeping into his tone. "This," Merry ran a cruel finger along the deepest weal on Frodo's back, "is torture." Frodo sucked in his breath in agony. Merry continued.
"Forcing me to desecrate your fair skin with hard whips, that is torture. And it is my torture, torture inflicted on me by you, Frodo, though you may not think it. Forcing me to deny you food, rest, freedom, the most basic of comforts instead of listening to reason, that is torture! Oh Frodo, keeping you under my care has been a hard chore! And it is a chore without reward, it would appear, as the only way you chose to repay me is with obstinacy, which you confuse with perseverance. Have you not figured out that I control your life now? And that I do it only because I am fighting to save it! So forgive me, my cousin, if I need this small thing!"
As Merry spoke, Frodo continued gawking at the piece of cheese that rose and fell with each of Merry's wild gestures. Frodo's mouth watered, his stomach growled, and the aroma of the cheese seemed to dance upon the very air around him.
A sudden light slap across Frodo's face brought him back to the present.
"You are not listening," said Merry sternly. "Must I withhold even this?"
"No!" cried Frodo desperately. "No-please! I /am/ sorry, Merry."
Merry leaned in close. "For what, Love?" he said, eyes intense, pupils like burning coals. "Tell your Merry so that we may clear the air between us!"
"For-- running," stammered Frodo, and seeing that Merry was unsatisfied, added "and fighting you." Merry fingered the small pieces of bread as if determining which one to devour next. Frodo's heart raced and his stomach roared in anguish.
"What would you have me say, Merry? And I shall say it!"
Merry softened and tore off a bite-size piece of bread and fed it tenderly to Frodo. Frodo swallowed it with barely a perfunctory chew.
"There now, Frodo, slow down," said Merry, gentle again. "I don't want it coming up on you."
Frodo parted his lips, like a babe awaiting his mother's spoon. Merry ruffled Frodo's hair, smiled tenderly, yet did not move his hands toward the plate.
"Now you see," sighed Merry. "Now you see how all that you require to live comes from me. But the decision on whether you will receive these things rests upon you, Frodo-on you."
"More," said Frodo. "Please, another bite!"
"I need to know that you've understood me, Frodo," said Merry. "Who prepares your food?"
Frodo bit his lip out of self-revulsion, then ground out, "You do."
"Good lad!" said Merry, and thrust a slice of cheese into Frodo's mouth. Frodo took it greedily.
"And who decides whether or not I give the food to you, Frodo?" chased Merry.
Frodo knitted his brow in consternation. He was too famished and too exhausted to have this manner of conversation. His jumbled mind sought out an answer that seemed best to him-an answer that would please Merry.
"You do," answered Frodo thinly.
Frodo gasped in shock as Merry slapped his face brutally for no apparent reason.
"You would do well to listen to me, I think," said Merry, "as the matter touches you deeply." Merry took up the plate and set it down upon the floor, away from Frodo's sight. Frodo began to strain his eyes toward the floor and his hands against his bonds.
Tears welled up in Frodo's eyes, then a soul-piercing shriek exploded from him, followed by convulsive gut-wrenching sobs. Broken! Broken! He had been a grown gentlehobbit appointed by cruel chance or sadistic fate to carry the burden of burdens. And now, here he was, cut down, stripped, and shamed, naked to the world, laid bare and bleeding. He was a wrecked and ruined creature. To say that he was a shadow of his former self was to say too much. Frodo had lost every stitch of autonomy he had ever dared call his own. This was more than the lack of freedom to go as he pleased or to make decisions that seemed best to him, no! This was a more elemental deprivation that struck at the very roots of his being. It was a deprivation of will, of thought, of impulse.
Frodo no longer had even a marginal control of his most basic needs- food, clothes, shelter, sleep. Frodo had been kicked down to the level of an infant, then kicked lower still. He was now dependent upon Merry, body and soul. Even light, speech, sound, movement, air, and life itself could be revoked on the wings of Meriadoc's whims, and Frodo could do nothing. It hurt! Oh! How it hurt! Frodo's pride had long ago been extinguished, his sense of self sure to follow, pulled inexorably down into the pit of nothingness. He was just a cipher now, a blank slate on which Merry could carve whatever he would. Merry had peeled him, hollowed him out, devoured his meat, sucked out his marrow, drunk his blood, inhaled his spirit. And the ruined husk that was left hated him for it.
Hate, deep penetrating hate, roiling like magma in a volcano crafted from bile. Here was a hate so potent that Frodo could hear it thrumming in his ears, could taste it on the tip of his tongue, could smell it in the air all around him, could feel it pulsing through his own veins just as surely as his own blood. But buried in the heart of his antipathy was a strange compulsion. It was not love, but a connection borne from abject dependence. Merry had stolen Frodo, and if Frodo wished to find himself again, he must then find himself in Merry, his thief and savior rolled into one.
Frodo had never felt less in control than that moment when that tiny bit of food was moved from his sight. And now, it seemed, Frodo did not even have the slightest control of his emotions. Part of Frodo had not heard himself scream, and was not aware that he was weeping. It was Merry's voice that alerted the shell of Frodo to his own outburst. Merry-calling him back, the only thread connecting Frodo with the surety that he still existed in any form at all.
"Don't weep love!" soothed Merry as he thumbed away Frodo's tears.
Frodo recoiled, fearing a slap. No slap came, but the fear had been worse than any slap could have been. Frodo now lived in a continual state of recoil, bracing for the next arbitrary blow. Frodo's best defense had been predicting Merry's desires, but Merry of late had become worse than mercurial, he had become unpredictable. Frodo's comprehension of Merry before his corruption did not avail Frodo. This was not the Merry he had known, despite what appearances might be.
"This is much simpler than you would believe!" continued Merry. "Silly ass, I just gave you the answer moments ago, though you had not the wit to see it."
"What was the question?" asked Frodo tentatively, bracing himself for yet another blow. It came, but not on his face, as he'd tried to predict, but across his back. Frodo felt a burst of pain, and hissed out his agony as he felt liquid warmth drip down his back. Merry had struck him across his weals.
"Why do you not seek the answer before you?" asked Merry, face filled with pity and regret. "I would prefer to be gentle rather than stern, yet again you force my hand! But there it is again, the answer. It is /you/, Frodo, or rather your behavior that guides your fate. Now say it."
It is I," mumbled Frodo as if from a great distance.
Merry smiled widely and fed Frodo a second piece of bread, cupping Frodo's chin with his once-punishing hand, and staring into Frodo's eyes as the bound hobbit chewed frantically. Frodo retreated into his own mind to keep from drowning in the depths of those eyes.
"More," he gasped after swallowing. "Please."
"You need not even ask," answered Merry sweetly, and bite by bite, hand fed Frodo alternating with soft caresses and softer words.
"It is such a pleasure that you allow me to do this for you," said Merry as Frodo finished his last bite.
"Water," pleaded Frodo.
"Of course," answered Merry. "On one condition."
Frodo groaned in protest, remembering too late that it was not allowed. His ears rang as Merry's hand flew down and clouted him on the exposed side of his head.
"On one condition," repeated Merry just as sweetly as before. "That you allow me to unbind you for a few minutes while Pippin and I change the linens upon your bed. That you will sit still and not move while we do this. If I may have your word, you shall have your water."
Frodo could scarcely believe his ears. Did they really mean to unbind him? He nodded his affirmation.
"Pippin!" called Merry. "Come!"
Pippin burst through the door carrying a basket of clean linens, obviously taken from the bounty now stored at Crickhollow. Pippin smiled at Frodo, knowing he had eaten a little, and knowing at last that he was being allowed to do something kind for his wretched cousin.
Merry drew a small knife from his belt and sawed one of the bracelets of rope loose from Frodo's wrists. Frodo kept his arms perfectly still, not wanting to anger Merry with any sudden movements, even after he was free. The cutting of the cords at his legs produced the same reaction, or lack thereof. Merry then gently placed one hand, then the other at Frodo's back, leaning down to kiss his dampened neck, then bound Frodo's hands together in a loose knot. Frodo remained still as a corpse as Merry pulled a pair of battered trousers over his hips, tied his ankles together, then sat him up in bed. Frodo's head spun, so long had it been since he had sat upright.
"Pippin," ordered Merry. "Help me carry Frodo outside for a few minutes. I can help him relieve himself and catch a breath of air while you strip the bed."
Merry lifted Frodo under the arms, and Pippin took his legs.
"Steady now," said Merry, noticing that Frodo's head lolled down upon his breast. What he did not see as he carried his battered cousin down out of the room, was that Frodo's eyes had fixed upon the gold ring dangling below his collar bone. It was such a pretty thing, such a perfect circle. Frodo let his mind get lost in his reflection in the gold, even as Merry and Pippin carried him down the hall.
Frodo did not lift his eyes as they entered the corridor of his childhood home, not in nostalgia, or even, curiosity. 'Why cast your eyes toward anything else when the most lovely sight in Middle-earth beckons before your eyes?' he thought.
"Out the back way, Pip" instructed Merry. "We don't want to pass, well you know what we don't want to pass."
* * *
The object that Merry did not want to pass was at that moment rousing from his prison of unconsciousness only to find himself in a prison of another sort. Sam's head throbbed as if he had a herd of wild horses galloping inside of it. He opened his eyes slowly, wondering what his present accommodations would consist of; he was unhopeful. As far as Sam could see, he was set in a dimly lit room filled with covered furniture, a parlor, perhaps. Its two round windows were boarded tight with weak shafts of dusty light piecing through gaps in the boards. This frail light was supplemented only with three candles that sat flickering upon the mantelpiece. All the furniture was shrouded in white linen, like a legion of ghosts, all save one item. The chair Sam sat upon, or rather, was bound upon, had been uncovered, the linen pooled about his feet as if it had been removed in great haste. Sam thought to pick it up, then thought better of it. His hands had been tied tightly behind his back. 'Of course! You ninnyhammer!' thought Sam. Then Sam remembered what had brought him here.
"Little Panswinger," he growled.
Sam was marginally surprised to realize that he was neither blindfolded nor gagged. Merry was nothing if not cautious-but, of course, who would hear him if he yelled? And perhaps returning of his own accord had moved him up a notch or two in Merry's regard. Sam still figured there was more to it than that, then sighed when he believed he understood. 'He reckons the same thing that brought me back will keep me here, I bet!' thought Sam.
Sam's thoughts then turned to 'poor Mr. Frodo.' Where was he, or, more to the point, how was he? Sam hoped that their latest vie for freedom had not cost him any dearer than it had already. A secret fear, too awful to acknowledge also began to flutter about Sam's mind. What if Frodo ceased to trust Sam? Every escape attempt had brought Frodo only torment, agony, and mental anguish. What if poor Mr. Frodo began to associate these horrors with Sam and not their true author? If Sam was not Frodo's faithful servant, then what would Sam Gamgee be? And if Frodo remained in Meriadoc's grasp much long, what would /he/ become?
Just then, Sam heard rustling down the corridor-two pairs of feet. Sam supposed by the uneven footfalls that it was Merry and Pippin carrying his master outside. Sam panicked for the next few minutes, worrying that his Frodo would be taken somewhere apart form him, somewhere that Sam could not possible help him, not that he /had/ been much help thus far. But, lo! A new set of feet, just one hobbit. Sam guessed that Merry would not trust Pippin alone with Frodo outside, so the feet must belong to-
"Pippin!" Sam called. "Pippin!"
Sam realized that he had dropped the "Mr." for the first time. 'Begging your pardon, Mr. Pippin,' Sam thought to himself, 'but the knock on the head has put us on familiar terms, so to speak.'
The sound of footsteps grew closer. Pippin finally rounded the corner looking positively abashed.
"Samwise! So good to see you up!" said Pippin breathlessly and sheepishly- and before Sam could make an answer, Pippin blurted out, "I'm sorry about the blow, Sam, truly! But Merry said I wasn't to move you unless you were under on account of your strength. But Sam, I did convince Merry not to gag or blindfold you since you shan't try to escape now."
Pippin's words tumbled out in a line of hastily cobbled sentences to cover up a path of guilt.
Sam locked eyes with Pippin, waiting for his yammering to play itself out. Pippin's ramblings trialed off at last and he turned his gaze shamefacedly toward a rather dark knot in the floorboard.
"Pip," sighed Sam. "I reckon the reason Merry had you knock me out don't have a whit to do with me."
Pippin glanced up, his green eyes bathed in confusion. Sam pushed on.
"Merry wanted me senseless because he doesn't trust you, I bet."
Sam could almost see his words percolating in Pippin's mind as the expression on the lad's face turned from guilt to fear. Pippin, obviously distressed, whirled about on his heel and scrambled back down the hall with an abrupt, "I must strip Frodo's bed before I call them back."
"From where?" cried Sam, but it was too late; Pippin had already disappeared down the corridor with a flurry of patters. He was left alone with the ghost furniture and the specters of his own fears.
* * *
After Pippin had left them, Merry had cut the cords around Frodo's ankles and stood him on shaky legs. Frodo made no protest as Merry helped him relieve himself, nor did he protest as Merry shepherded him over to a patch of soft green grass a dozen feet from the door, gingerly set him down, and retied his feet.
Merry had been careful to chose a spot set out of view of the whipping log. They sat, instead, facing what must have been, long ago, a well ordered pumpkin patch, now a frightful many-headed creature with tentacles sprawling and grasping all across a large field. To Frodo they reminded him forcibly of clusters of yellow eyes, watchful and intent--eyes that spied upon him, eyes peering into his soul through the tall grass and the dandelions. Across the field, Frodo saw small eyes, fat eyes, rotten eyes spilling out seeds to grow legions more of their watchful progeny. Perhaps these pumpkins were akin to the great unblinking eye ringed with flames that came to Frodo in his troubled dreams; the eye that was forever seeking him and that which he bore.
Something rubbed against his side, and Frodo gave a sudden violent shudder. But it was only Merry sitting himself down beside him. Only Merry.
Merry observed the fear that had crept into Frodo's eyes, and wrapped his arm around Frodo's neck in a gesture of comfort, or so he thought it. Merry's embrace, gentle as it was, pained the uppermost weals upon Frodo's back, but Frodo had a care not to flinch. He was sure it was not allowed.
"You must have many fond memories of this place, Frodo," said Merry kindly.
Frodo nodded weakly. The sun began to beat down upon his battered back, causing the wounds to burn.
"Tell me something about your childhood here, Frodo, before you came to live with us."
Frodo's heartbeat quickened. Was this a command that would earn him punishment if he answered wrong? Or was Merry merely curious? Frodo decided not to chance it.
"Mother grew pumpkins," he offered uncreatively, and offered no more.
"I have been told that your mother had one of the grandest gardens in Buckland," said Merry, "And that her gourds and melons made some of the most delectable pies this side of the Brandywine. Is that true?"
"Yes," answered Frodo blandly.
"Do you miss them, Frodo? Your parents, I mean?"
Frodo nodded and a sad look entered his eyes. Merry drew him close.
"When we get back to Crickhollow, Frodo, we can have a garden just as lovely and grand as your mother ever had. We can even grow some of the flowers that she grew here, if you can remember them. We can make it look just like home. Would you like that, Frodo?"
Frodo supposed he was expected to nod, but realized to his dismay that he had begun to weep.
"Frodo love! What /is/ it?" asked Merry in distress. "Has something I've said upset you?"
"I have no home," Frodo answered more to himself than to Merry. "And I have no family."
"Of course you do, silly goose!" said Merry, but not unkindly. He squeezed Frodo so violently that several of the scabs bled anew. Frodo squeezed his eyes tighter but would not release the gasp that caught sharply in his throat. "We are your family; and Crickhollow is your home."
"No," answered Frodo as if in a dream, "You are not my family. Not anymore. You are my gaoler. And Crickhollow is my prison."
Frodo had momentarily forgotten that unwanted answers often brought unwanted consequences. But much to Frodo's surprise, Merry did not strike him, but seemed himself to weep.
"Frodo," Merry said at last in a voice rasped with tears. "Do not say such things! Not only are you a member of our family, but our /dearest/ and /most precious/ member. Keeping you has been a sore trial, but as with any good garden, well worth the effort once things begin to flourish and bloom. Your confusion will be cleared away like clouds after a spring rain. If only you would trust me!"
Frodo spoke no more. He had stopped crying and had turned his eyes back to the piece of jewelry dangling at his throat, gleaming bright and magical in the afternoon sun. Merry still spoke on about home, family, duty, and some assorted grand plans for the Shire; but Frodo did not heed them. To Frodo Merry's words became but a hum on the breeze, no more comprehensible than the birdsongs about them or the voices in his head. The Ring had its own song too, a love song for Frodo. But to this song, Frodo listened intently.
Without warning, or so it seemed, Merry grasped on to Frodo's chin and drew his eyes up to his own.
"Do you hear me, love," continued Merry.
Frodo nodded, both a gesture and a lie.
"And Sam can turn the garden at Crickhollow into a mirror image of Bag End, if that would please you."
A familiar name.
"Sam, echoed Frodo. But Merry had supposed Frodo had really meant it as a question.
"Sam has been dealt with appropriately. He is comfortable. He is safe," said Merry, now seeming to speak in a faraway voice. "By and by he shall be brought round. By and by all shall be brought round."
TBC
____________________________________________________________________________ ______ LJ question of the week- I want to thank all of you that sent in your great suggestions! WOW!!! But some of those suggestions have led to yet another question!
Several people have suggested that Frodo's breaking should have a sexual element. Now, mind you, I would not put this in the story proper, but would put it as a clearly marked alternative chapter, probably on a separate site. You may leave your thoughts here or on my livejournal under aelfgifu. And if the thought disgusts you, I want to know that too.
Friend me! ____________________________________________________________________________ _____
To the Reviewers:
First, I want to offer a BIG congratulations to Iorhael for finally finishing her 60-chaptered "Nasty Hobbitsess, the story that both inspired this tale, and began me writing fan fiction! If you have not read it, you must, if you like Frodo angst, and if you have, well-the last chapter is up, and now would be the time to thank here for a tale very well written! I have my last pic from Nasty Hobbitsess on my author site! (as I am the beta and illustrator). Congrats Iorhael!
Caelin- Great job on the quote, and, yes, more is coming! And thank you for answering my lj poll! So nice to read a familiar face!
Chloe-I KNOW you will want to sound off on the lj question! And I love your use of the word "lustration" -damn-quite a vocab you have, my dear. I want the post breaking chapters to be thae same thing, "a combination of evil, violence, and lustration" as you say. And I cannot wait of that line in the movie as well.
Endymion That last line was the genius of my beta. I wanted Pip to question if he was really happy. I will hit this theme harder in future chapters. I think, as Frodo Baggins 1982 had said, "Pip" is really Merry's guinea pig.
Aratlithiel-see above, people loved your little line! What would I do without you!
Elizabeth-glad to know I did not make you throw up! LOL! Well, more sad to come, but the torment part is nearly over, leading to some very good (I hope) Merry, pippin. Sam angst.
Sue, well eventually, I think, Pip's attempts to help Frodo will do some good, but you'll have to wait and see! ;)
MBradford-I think people will be surprised at how Pippin reacts in later chapters, hopefully, pleasantly surprised! QTPIe-thank you for your nice email that really got me thinking! And to me you are never anonymous! I do think you will like the interaction between Frodo and Sam in the coming chapters, and I hope you will like the interaction between Sam and Merry when Frodo begins to unravel in earnest. I'm glad the creepiness worked, as that was exactly what I was going for!
Shire Baggins-I don't want to give it away, but you may get your wish with Pippin. And I do see another Pip lesson coming on. And the torment for Frodo is almost over-and though "rescue" may come in a form unexpected, I will get them out of there eventually, I promise!!!
Frodo baggins1982-Thank you for your thoughtful comments here and on my lj! They really do make me think. As you can see on this chapter, I really underlined a theme you had mentioned, which is Pip as A guinea pig for Merry. Your comment made me think it would be interesting if I made Pip begin to understand that Merry has done something to him, and that he is using a similar method on Frodo. And I think Merry should have moments of doubt seeing that Frodo is not "happy" as he promised Pippin. This could get very interesting, and you are right, I think most readers would like to see Merry experience some "be careful what you wish for" moments, which, naturally, Sam will use to his advantage, I suspect, as a lever for influence Pip.