Frodo's eyes lost some of their distance as he stared up at Merry. A light flickered to a steady burn behind his eyes—a light of recognition, a light of anger.
* * *
AN: Well, Frodo's breaking is coming in the next 2 chapters, but this one is about his "last stand" if you will. Please do check out the illustrations web page (see the link at my author page) if you have not seen them yet. And I would love more LJ users to friend me!
This chapter is named after the Latin word for "will" as defined by 5th century church father St. Augustine. He perceived that all sin was due to the failure of will, and that in every person, there were 2 wills-one to do good, and one to do evil (devil and angel on shoulders). I thought the title was appropriate to this chapter, as I hope you will see. Sorry for the history lesson-but I teach western civ and I just can't help it!!
Voluntas
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The ride back to Crickhollow had been an open torment for Sam, for he could no longer pretend that his master was himself. He had been hurt, hurt deeper than Sam had dared believe. He wanted nothing more than to hold Frodo in his arms and protect him, but doubted those glossy orbs that once passed for Frodo's eyes would recognize him. How long until Merry would claim the Ring? How long until Merry would no longer need his gentle master, the Ringbearer?
Sam understood for the first time, truly understood why Frodo had run back into the arms of his tormenter despite the cost. He'd wanted to give them some hope. And Sam had made a decision that saved his master's back at the cost of all Middle-earth. Had he made the right decision? Sam sighed in resignation. He'd made the only decision he could have made; the only one he was equipped to make. He was first and foremost bound to Frodo, and it was Frodo to whom he owed his primary allegiance—even at the cost of everything. A second voice spoke in the muddle that was Sam thoughts, the voice of Frodo. "If only one can escape, Sam, leave me behind, go on, get away!" Frodo would want him to finish this. Sam felt this in his heart of hearts. Even if Frodo Baggins was rendered a speechless, senseless shell, Frodo would want Sam to finish this.
These were the thoughts of Samwise Gamgee as he lay in the parlor at Crickhollow, bound hand and foot yet, perhaps kindly, set down reclining on a couch facing a fire that gave warmth but no comfort.
'Oh, Master!' thought Sam. "What shall I do to help you when you've no strength or will to help yourself? What kind of terrible choice must I make, and how will I be able to go on without you? /Without you!/ Tears burst forth from Sam's eyes as he repeated these last words in his mind. For it hit him, perhaps for the first time, that the Frodo he knew /was/ gone and whatever horrible choice he would have to make, he would have to make it alone. Sam's fear was much greater than the sort of a person who by the exigencies of a situation, was thrust into unwanted leadership. Sam was a born follower, if there was such a thing. And yet the decision he'd make, that he feared, that he knew he'd have to make was of such great consequence. But even with the fate of Middle-earth hanging upon his sturdy shoulders, Sam's thought returned to his dear Frodo, the sum total of his sorrow. He dearly wished to save both Middle-earth and his Frodo. But what if he could only save ONE? Sam wondered whether it was a mark of loyalty or rank stupidity that he wished that one to be Frodo Baggins.
* * *
Frodo had been set upon the spacious bed that had been designated for his use before the latest round of torments had begun. He was bound, but not to the bed, and not naked. If Frodo had been present enough in his mind, he might have thanked the stars for small mercies. But he was not and so did not. His eyes stared at the crackling fire in the room, and part of him wondered when the flames would leap up and consume him. In Frodo's decimated mind, death did not seem such a torment, though Frodo rather wished it would just come and claim him, and have done.
Merry and Pippin had set him down here with gentle hands, explaining with some ceremony that they needed to unload the cart, tend to the ponies, and then they would give Frodo all the attention that he required. Frodo had made no answer, but stared with unfocused eyes, and wept silent tears.
Merry gave Frodo a look of pity and concern, but not undue concern. Pippin, however, had become undone by the bad state of his cousin, and Merry had wrapped his arms around Pippin, letting him burrow into his chest, and uttered hushed words of "almost done" and "one more test," which Frodo, if he indeed heard them, neither understood, not cared to understand.
Frodo's back was still in agony, but it was a pain of the body, and Frodo had trained himself to withdraw from corporal hurts. He now knew how to cleave his mind from his body, how to make a separation so complete that the torments of his flesh—his hunger, his thirst, his wounds- no longer troubled him. He was, indeed, only nominally aware that he wept.
Frodo lay still, his face turned to the fire, eyes unblinking, for a space of time that his conscious mind did not note. His hollow reverie was only broken when his view of the mesmerizing flame was abruptly obscured by a dusky green blur—Merry's weskit. A small intake of breath, a tensing of muscles as Merry knelt down beside the bed and peered into the dim blue pools of Frodo's eyes. Merry's face was open, his hands kind. He thumbed away Frodo's tears, peering into his vacant eyes with benevolence. Frodo did not heed him, and instead wondered at the disappearance of the claiming fire from the line of his vision. He absently wished the face would move so that he might once again gaze into the dancing yellow-red flames, like tongues of gold doused with blood.
A familiar sound swept the room. His name. How long had Merry been calling him?
"Frodo!" called Merry. "Come back!"
No, Frodo thought not. No reason. The risk was too great and the rewards too paltry. The only recompense for being present in his mind was pain and heartbreak.
"Frodo! Frodo! Frodo!" called Merry; but to Frodo the sounds came across a great distance like a voice swept across a wide plain upon the wind, a running river reduced to a hum by distance, or the crashing of waves received as an extended sigh when echoing through heavy fog. For Frodo, Merry's voice was background noise, as was every sound save the voices in his own head.
Frodo could see the fire again, and understood that his position had been altered. Merry had gathered him into his arms and whispered in his ear sounds that Frodo could not, without great effort, force to coalesce into discernable words. Perhaps it was because Frodo was restless, and perhaps it was because he was bored or curious, Frodo opened his ears and listened.
"Frodo, do not weep! Do you not see that we will always care for you? Please tell your Merry what you require. You are home now, and you are safe. And because you are home, the whole Shire is safe. Please speak with me a little!"
Frodo did not speak, not even when Merry lay him down, and lay down beside him, held him in his arms, enclosed Frodo's cold fingers in his warm palms, and kissed the back of his clammy neck. Frodo lay still and continued to stare at the beckoning fire and listened to the lilt of Merry's voice fill all the room with its calming somnolence.
By and by, Pippin entered the room, carrying a small ceramic basin of steaming water and a loop of rope. He lowered his gaze clumsily as his eyes landed upon the two figures curled on the bed, silently wondering if he had interrupted a moment of quiet intimacy. A spike of pain lit by something like jealousy pierced him, unexpected and deep. Pippin mastered himself in a moment before raising his eyes and offering a wan smile to his cousins. Frodo stared blankly, his tears glistening livid orange like an unceasing stream of lava down his ashen cheeks. The moment Pippin saw Frodo thus he felt a wave of remorse wash over him. It was guilt for both what had been done to Frodo and for his unaccountable jealousy of that selfsame Frodo.
Merry tilted his head up above the damp locks of his unmoving cousin, propped himself up on an elbow, and with a sad smile, addressed Pippin.
"Pippin, our Frodo is not himself tonight."
Pippin nodded rather stupidly. He wanted to scream. Instead he stared down at his own tortured expression in the water basin.
"I think, Pippin, that perhaps Samwise's presence might sooth him. Will you help me bring him in?"
Pippin nodded brusquely. Frodo's unblinking eyes and unceasing tears cut him to the quick despite Merry's sanguine assurances. Merry's suggestion brought him some hope, however dim, that something, someone might bring life back into those ghastly eyes and stony features. Merry leaned down and kissed Frodo on the forehead before sliding off the bed.
As his two cousins trotted out of the room, Frodo rolled his head to the side and stared back into the fire.
* * *
Sam jerked his head up as Merry and Pippin entered the room.
"Samwise," said Merry, kneeling in front of Sam. "If you can promise to behave with maturity, I believe Frodo would appreciate your presence in his room. He's had quite enough of being alone, I think."
Sam exercised every last reserve of his hobbit willpower not to breach his dam of self-control as to unleash a flood of bile that would engulf them both and choke out all hope of seeing his master. Sam took a steadying breath, and answered with a clipped, "Aye."
Merry and Pippin loosed Sam from the chair, now tying his hands at his back and his ankles together. Sam silently wondered why they would not just save themselves the trouble and let him walk, but was in no mind to pose such a question. The hobbits hefted his unwieldy form from the room like baggage and carried him through the corridor, with no small effort, Sam wryly observed. But, as his own body dipped and swayed between the cousins, Sam now understood another aspect of Frodo's captivity that he had not grasped before. Being carried, being denied the opportunity to walk under one's own power, was, in its own small way, profoundly humiliating. And this lowering experience was certainly part of Merry's plan all along. Sam had wondered why Merry had continually carried Frodo about even though loosening his legs would have offered no hope of escape. 'More trouble for themselves, I reckon—the fools!' he'd thought. But now Sam understood that restraint had never been the real point, had it? The real purpose had been to increase Frodo's feeling of powerlessness. 'Damn you!' thought Sam. At least he had the more honorable, if not more painful experience of being knocked out cold and then dragged.
With his thoughts laced with righteous anger, Sam was taken aback by the apparent luxury of his Master's lodgings. Sam had expected that Frodo had been held in some dank storeroom, but this, obviously, was the largest bedroom in the smial, not to mention the most finely furnished. On one side was a hearth with a wide, welcoming fire, which now had Frodo's full attention, and at the back was a lovely four-poster bed, on which the pale figure of his master seemed even more frail and small. Sam noted with dismay that Frodo did not look up. His eyes were bolted to the fire; his face streamed with the ghosts of many tears.
"Frodo?" called Merry softly as they set Sam upon a study oak chair beside the bed. "We've brought you a visitor!"
Frodo did not tear his eyes from the fire. He did nothing as Pippin, with a nod from Merry, cut Sam's leg bonds and retied his ankles to the legs of the chair. But Sam himself scarcely noticed, so intent was his gaze upon his master.
"Mr. Frodo!" called Sam. "It's me. Your Sam."
Frodo did not respond, and Sam swore that he heard a dejected sigh from Pippin's direction, echoing his own stolid despair.
Merry pulled Frodo languidly into sitting position. Frodo's head lolled, and he still stared at the fire.
"Time to bathe your wounds, Frodo dear, so let's get you undressed."
Merry cut the cords binding Frodo's wrists and ankles and unbuttoned Frodo's shirt. He slipped limp arms out of the sleeves, leaning Frodo against him for support as he did so. Frodo's head leaned against Merry's strong shoulder, facing Sam without outward emotion of any kind, despite the tears. Sam struggled to find any spark of recognition, any light in his master's eyes, and finding none, set his mind to boil.
Merry braced Frodo with outstretched arms as he stood and propped Frodo up against one of the banisters into an unstable sitting position before collecting the basin from Pippin.
Sam cringed inwardly at the whole scene, now armed with a new understanding. This bath was more about submission than about cleanliness, and, as such, was almost unbearable to watch.
"Time for me to wash you Frodo," said Merry, setting the basin beside Frodo on the bed and hovering over him like an over-enthusiastic nursemaid. Merry took up the small towel in the basin and swooshed it about in the aromatic water.
"Why not let Mr. Frodo bathe himself?" cut in Sam, his attempt at evoking a neutral tone an unqualified failure. "He don't need no one else to bathe him."
"I don't recall asking your advice in matters touching my cousin, Master Gamgee," said Merry flatly as he wrung out the towel.
"You brought me here to help him – you said so, leastwise!" answered Sam sharply. "I reckon this might do the job. Might give him some pride, I bet."
"Pride is not the object," answered Merry, dropping the towel with a startling splash. "Frodo's problem is that he has had far too much pride."
"That so?" growled Sam, quietly enraged. "Well, after all you put 'im through, don't he deserve this? I know my master! Whether he says it or no, he don't want no one but himself to bathe him! Do you Mr. Frodo?"
Frodo did not look up. His head had lolled down again, chin to neck, eyes to ……His eyes had been yanked away from the fire by his new position. Now they fixed upon a new view of the fire, a reflected view upon the lovely gold band dangling like a promise around his neck, invading and dominating his field of vision, a golden canvas for the flickering lights that capered across its perfect surface.
Merry braced his hands upon the arms of Sam's chair and leaned in as he spoke.
"Sam," he said. "Frodo is connected to me through a bond of blood, which go deeper than bonds between master and servant. I shall decide what is best for him."
"Well thank `ee, Merry," said Sam leaning back against his bound wrists in the chair. "But at present it seems as though Frodo is connected to you through bonds of rope, and they ain't more than skin deep, if you catch my meaning."
Sam knew his remark had been ill advised, and was relieved when he was not immediately marshaled out of the room or struck. Merry straightened himself, face red with barely contained fury. His eyes burned for a few seconds before he schooled his features and replied in an even tone.
"Tell me, why would you protest me washing my own cousin? It is a gesture of love."
"I say it ain't," retorted Sam. "I say you let him do it himself."
"Frodo is not well right now, Sam, if you hadn't noticed!" exclaimed Merry. "Does he look like he is capable of doing anything for himself? He is in transition! He must learn to obey me in all things so that I may save him! He will gain independence again soon enough, perhaps with your help, but now it is for him to submit to my care, and for you to submit to my wishes."
Sam ignored Merry's answer, and instead called out to his master.
"Mr. Frodo-why don't you wash yourself as you used?"
Merry shot Sam a warning look. "Do not offer Frodo options that are not there!"
"But why shouldn't he, Merry?" asked Sam. "Give him a little self respect. It won't do him any harm to do it; won't do you any harm to allow it!"
"You should not speak of things that you do not understand, Master Samwise," retorted Merry sharply. "I brought you here to help me to help him. I had hoped you might convince him to talk to us a little while I bathed him. And all you can do is encourage him to defy me! But you shall see that he will listen to his Merry."
"Out of fear, no doubt!" said Sam. "And I'd like nothing better than to see him talk a bit! But you've hurt him hard, and he's scared of you. As for meself, I can think of nothing I'd rather see than for Frodo to wash himself—Frodo! C'mon me dear! You are unbound! Show your Sam you are still there!"
Frodo made no move and it both broke Sam's heart and stoked his anger. "Look what you've done to him!" cried Sam. "He's not there!"
"He is," said Merry. "He knows to obey me. I will save him yet."
It was Sam's turn to lean in toward Merry, his own eyes blazing with righteous anger. "There's naught left of him, leastwise, there won't be once you're done with him! How can you say you love him and treat him like this?!"
"I DO love him! More than you know! Get that through that thick skull of yours, Samwise, and we shall get on all the better!"
"You---!"
Sam's words were cut off by the sound of a gasp from behind that could only have come from Pippin. He immediately turned his attention to his master. He and Merry had been so busy yelling at each other that they failed to notice that Frodo had stirred. To Sam's manifest surprise and boundless joy, he watched as Frodo tenuously took up the wet towel in his own hand. Slowly he ran the cloth clumsily and unsurely over his shoulder, down his arm, and to his wrist with the care and awkwardness as a child washing himself for the first time. Frodo showed little awareness for the other hobbits in the room, all of his attention turned to the task at hand.
Sam glanced up, beaming with joy.
"That's it Mr. Frodo, just like you used!"
Frodo did not look up from his task, sliding the cloth in a slow, smooth motion as if it were the most important action he would ever accomplish. Merry swiveled his head and observed Frodo wash himself. Sam could not see the slow burn of Merry's rage bubbling up into his eyes as Frodo flouted the abject dependence that Merry had worked so hard to impart.
"Frodo," said Merry in a pleasant, lilting tone. "Can you hear me, Frodo?"
Frodo did not look up, but continued to wash with purposeful movement, which, while they were executed with the utmost of concentration, still spilled a terrible mess of water upon the bed.
"Frodo?' repeated Merry.
Frodo tore his eyes away from the cloth and looked up to Merry with a blank and inscrutable expression. Merry held Frodo in his gaze for a moment, then savagely backhanded him.
"Hoy!" cried Sam, as if he himself had been struck. "Leave off him! All he wanted were a little dignity! Mr. Frodo, don't you mind your cousin!"
Frodo did not mind his cousin, nor did he mind Sam. He reached for the dropped cloth a second time as if the slap had not occurred. Merry struck him again twice, hard across the face. Frodo's teeth rattled, and eyes watered with the sting. Frodo ignored even these as if he were impervious to pain, and with a trembling but unhesitant hand, reached for the cloth yet again.
"Do not, Frodo," warned Merry.
"Leave off!" warned Sam. "Let him be!"
Frodo did not waver, and was rewarded for his persistence by a closed fisted clout to the face.
Frodo was slammed back upon the pillow by the force of the blow, but had not shown any other indication it had caused physical pain. Frodo did not acknowledge Sam's bellows, nor Merry's castigations, but turned his face back to the fire, his eyes glossing over as if a cloud had passed over them. He did not reach for the cloth again.
Merry rolled Frodo onto his belly, exposing completely the livid red weals. Sam flinched at the sight and teared up
"This is your doing, Sam," said Merry, "so don't bother with your indignation."
Sam grumbled, remaining present to his master's indignity, as Merry wrung out the cloth and bathed the wounds.
Frodo lay completely still, hearing Sam and Merry exchange some words that grew in volume and vehemence as the minutes ticked by. But he did not react. Finally Merry huffed and exclaimed, "Time to get you undressed completely now. And I don't think you will fight this time, will you, Frodo love?"
Merry reached toward the fastenings on Frodo's trousers. Much to Merry's astonishment, a pair of hands wrapped about his own wrists and pried them away from the buttons.
"No," uttered a soft voice.
Three curly heads snapped their heads around.
"No," repeated the voice, and this time Frodo recognized the voice as his own.
"Mr. Frodo!" cried Sam. "You're back!"
"Back to defying my wishes!" huffed Merry. "Now let's take off those trousers for your bath, Frodo!"
"No," repeated Frodo, this time with more force.
A spark of life had returned to Frodo's eyes, and a look that would not be gainsaid. Merry clouted Frodo again, and violently shoved him down, tore off his pants, and washed him with rough unloving stokes. Frodo did not struggle or argue further. He had, in truth, retreated back into his head where nothing Merry did to him seemed to hurt or humiliate.
When Merry had finished, he flipped Frodo over and sat him up like an overstuffed sack of meal. Frodo made no reaction when Merry helped him into his trousers and set him back down upon the bed. Frodo had gone limp again, and Merry tipped Frodo's head so that it rested solidly upon his shoulder.
"You know," whispered Merry into Frodo's recumbent ear, "I had thought to let you keep your trousers on as a reward of sort. But that is no longer possible with out substantial recompense."
Merry stroked Frodo's curls in a gesture of comfort that made Sam's stomach turn just as much as his words.
"I do not enjoy striking you."
Merry cradled his limp cousin in his arms, rocking him to and fro as one would comfort a crying child. But Frodo did not cry; he stared into the fire.
"Can't you see why I must discipline you so?"
"He don't need no discipline, Merry," groused Sam. "If you can hear me in there, Mr. Frodo, you don't deserve none of this. You are not a child."
Sam no longer feared the price of his words. Most crucial, he thought, was that Frodo hear them, that the germ of Frodo knew that he still existed, and that Sam still acknowledged it.
"Don't make a debt with your mouth that your master's back can't pay," retorted Merry, and continued to rock Frodo. "Sam does not understand, Frodo. But you do, my love. You understand that your Merry knows best, and just wants to save you from yourself."
Sam opened his mouth to speak, but sucked his retort back between his teeth and swallowed it down whole. Sam might have gained a measure of consolation had he known that part of what he had said had pierced through Frodo's protective wall, niggled it's way down into the roots of his mind, and reawakened the part of himself that had tried so hard to wash himself. Unbeknownst to Sam, his words had hit their mark.
"Frodo," continued Merry. "To prove to you that I have your desires in mind, I'm going to give you a chance to earn back the right to wear your trousers, as I know you dislike being naked, and you must know that I dislike forcing you to be so. This is what I need. If you will apologize for forcing me to strike you, I shall allow you to keep your trousers on. Do you think you could do that for your Merry?"
Frodo's eyes lost some of their distance as he stared up at Merry. A light flickered to a steady burn behind his eyes—a light of recognition, a light of anger. Deep inside, Frodo knew this was wrong, knew he should not do this if he had any hope of keeping his spirit intact. Deep inside he realized that he had not only barred back his pain, but his rage, and thus, his /self/ as well.
"Answer me!" cried Merry, and he grasped Frodo's chin until their eyes locked, steely grey melting into cerulean blue. "Frodo?"
Frodo gave a small, almost imperceptible nod
"Splendid!" exclaimed Merry, grinning smugly at Sam, who scowled back. "Now I must hear your apology. We all must hear it."
As Merry leaned in to accept Frodo's final humiliating submission, something in Frodo snapped. The feeling was visceral, animalistic, in its own way, nearly a reflex, an instinct; but an instinct that came from the last buried remnants of the hobbit who had been Frodo Baggins.
Merry's face was now inches from Frodo's, ears primed, eyes wide, ready to receive the lowering of Frodo. "Yes?" repeated Merry, now cupping Frodo's face in his hands.
Sam observed the scene with rapt attention. He watched as Frodo's eyes took on a strange look, and his lips quirked up in what might have even been a smile.
Frodo reached up with quaking hands and cupped Merry's face, just as Merry cupped his own. Frodo smiled outright now, and Merry smiled back, sensing a victory.
"Yes, Frodo. Give me your apology," said Merry.
Frodo grinned, took a deep steadying breath, pursed his cracked lips together, and spit squarely in Merry's face.
TBC
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To the reviewers!
Trust no one-despite your busy-ness, your review made my day!! Good to see you here! Hey-have ya seen my website with piccies???
Trishette- thank you! So glad to see you here!
MarlaLP – I am so happy my story dominated your weekend! I hope it was entertaining. And yes-more charcters are coming, but not until the very end of part one-which is principally concerned with the relationships between the hobbits and the RING. Give your feedback anytime!
Daonering-wow! The best? Thank you! I am very flattered and I do hope you will keep reading. More Pip angst to come!
MBradford-you know me too well-this is indeed the beginning of both sam and Pippin realizing how hard, and how important, their decisions will be concerning Frodo.
Tavion-glad to hear from you! I must give due credit to my lovely beta, aratlithiel, for the flower bit. I knew she was going to do a great job with it when I asked her to help me with it. And it seems many people, yourself included, picked out that fantastic passage right away!
Aratlithiel! Heh heh-so you noticed the lovely flower bit too! Probably because its yours! (snigger). Well, sorry to say, but Frodo will be broken soon, but I will let him get his licks in as best I can.
Celandine- thank you for the info bout Sam. I noticed it too, and fixed it in a later upload. You know-I always want to hear about stuff like that as I am a perfectionist! I think there is plenty of room for drama at the breaking-you'll see, and in fact, I think you may help!
Calla- don't worry, I will heal everyone. But none of them will ever be the same.
Iorhael-thanks for the heads up on the paragraphs! And I hope to see more of your stories too. Send them down when you have them!
Shire Baggins – Frodo will get better, and Gandalf is far too wise to be fooled for long. But that is a matter for part two!
Krista-wow! Icelandic gods! I used to work at the Nordic heritage museum and knew all that once. What are those cycles called? I love mythology. And thank for your comments!
Endymion – thank you so much, as always! LOL on the germs bit. You are right-it wasnot so much about germs than Pippin's way of trying to do something nice for Sam-assuming that he'd like a clean gag better than a dirty one. And, of course, it is ironic that he cannot help Sam with the big things, like escape. Yes-there will be a second version attached to my website—now that I have one!
Chloe-breaking is near, and, as you see, Sam is starting to get to Pippin. All the relationships will need mending, and I hope the way I do it will be interesting to read! Thank you again, and I will write to you about the guest website chapt!
Cailen-yep-merry does not know quite what he has done yet-but he will-perhaps I shall call that chapter "Be careful what you wish for"