I apologize for the long wait, but I have had about 1004 papers to grade for my western civ class, and I was agonizing over this chapter-wanting to get it just right!
And I also have a treat! On my website I have not one, but two alternative slash versions of this chapter, by the wonder long-time supporters of RATM, Celandine Goodbody and Chloe Amethyst. Warning-both are dark and disturbing and defiantly in more of the R to NC-17 range, though if you like slash, I guarantee they are very very well written and so full of angst your computer may explode!
Check out my author page (aelfgifu) or livejournal for links to those!
Also-I have created a timeline of bookverse vs RATM verse on my website that shows exactly how much time has gone by, and where the plots diverge. I worked very hard on this, and I do hope you will find it helpful.
So, without further ado- here is the long awaited chapter 47 (Part 1, version1)
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Chapter 47: The Taming of Frodo (Part I)
Sam's immediate reaction was blunt elation. His master fought back! His master was still in there! But these feelings of joy were immediately washed away by the flood of dread that surged into the pit of his stomach. What torments would be brought to bear against his master for this latest show of defiance?
What happened next seemed to play out in slow motion. The spittle slowly, languorously dripped down Merry's trembling lips, down his iron-set jaw and onto his linen collar – a foamy rivulet of shame announcing to the world that his charge had defied him. As he stared into the now vacant eyes of his opponent, Merry's whole body grew tensile, his muscles wound tight and his hands balled up into fists, crushing his thumbs inside strangling fingers. But it was his rage-widened eyes that riveted Sam and Pippin. Merry held his face taut, though behind his eyes the other two hobbits perceived a rumbling volcano ready to burst forth with murderous violence. And they feared greatly for Frodo.
Frodo's face, meanwhile, carried no look of defiance toward his gaoler, but the faraway look of someone watching themselves from a distance. Frodo had launched his attack without warning and, sensing both its gravity and probable result, beat a hasty retreat back into the sanctuary of his own mind. Still, he did not drag his eyes from Merry's glacial stare--a mistake, as it turned out, since Frodo's vacant orbs enraged his cousin even further.
The hobbits remained suspended in time for endless moments after Frodo had spat upon his self-appointed mentor. Merry and Frodo kept perfectly still: Merry out of shock; Frodo out of detachment.
Pippin and Sam watched in mute horror. Sam expelled a whistling breath through gritted teeth and felt every muscle in his sturdy frame pull tight as a bowstring. Pippin stuffed his knuckles in his mouth and drew a deep gulp of air that he neglected to exhale until the awful tableaux stirred.
Merry slowly, deliberately wiped the spittle off his disbelieving face with the back of his hand, staring at the viscid moisture as if it were a magical substance that would dissolve his skin on contact. Not for a moment did he tear his eyes from Frodo. Frodo cocked his head in abstract curiosity, wondering what might happen next. His sights were so bolted upon the pale blue flames flickering in his cousin's eyes that he did not observe Merry drawing his fist back and plunging it with savage force into his own unsuspecting jaw. The crack of fist meeting bone rang so loud it echoed off the walls, a sound that was followed by the audible gasps of Sam and Pippin. Frodo reeled backwards into the welcoming pillows—only marginally aware that he had been hit.
"How DARE you!" cried Merry, nearly apoplectic with rage. His clawing fingers pulled his limp cousin up by the shirtfront and shook him senseless.
"How dare you!" he repeated.
Merry dug his nails into Frodo's shoulders and with a mighty heave, threw him violently upon the floor where he landed in a ragged heap beside Sam's chair. Sam eyed his master in anguish and screamed out words of protest that no one save Pippin seemed to notice. But Merry was not done. He leapt off the bed and, crouching like a cat, glowered hungrily over his prey.
"Ungrateful---!" .
Merry seized Frodo by the arms, and to his consternation, stared into a face that smiled blankly back at him and bled at the nose.
Pippin, was standing behind Samwise, unsure of how he got there. Even restrained, Samwise seemed to provide a measure of security, a voice of reason through all this madness and violence and cruelty. Sam noted Pippin's hovering presence with no small measure of relief. Sam prayed that Pippin might function as his own legs and arms in defense of Frodo if it came to it, and seeing the murderous gleam in Merry's eyes, Sam feared that it might come to it in mere seconds.
Sam craned his neck back, straining against the bonds and with a pleading expression, caught Pippin's eyes The other hobbit immediately sensed what Samwise was desperately trying to convey with his eyes – He'll kill him, Pip! If you do nothing, he will kill him this time!
Pippin understood. He raced up to his cousin and caught his arm just as it rose for a blow.
"Wait Mer!" exclaimed Pippin. "What are you going to do?"
Merry glared daggers at Pippin, a malignant stare that seared Pippin to the core. Pippin realized then that he was going to be hurt, and was deathly afraid. Still he continued to speak beyond all fear.
"P – please, Mer," stammered Pippin. "Calm down. Let it go, just this one time, Mer. H-he didn't mean it, Mer. Please."
Before Pip could register what had happened, he found himself propelled against the opposite wall with preternatural force by a cousin who was angry beyond reckoning. He hit the wall with a sickening thud and, blinking stupidly several times, crumpled down into an insensible heap. Sam's sharp hiss of breath was audible in the resulting, albeit momentary silence. What was to be done now that his only ally had been knocked aside? Yet perhaps Pip's brave stand had served some small purpose. Perhaps, beyond hope, it had absorbed some small measure of Merry's fury. Perhaps this would not be his master's day to die after all.
But these hopes were strangled as he watched Merry pull Frodo roughly to his feet and stare into his cousin's dilated eyes before shaking him again like a rag doll.
"FRODO! LOOK AT ME! DAMN YOU! COME BACK!" yelled Merry, his own eyes bulging, face purple with rage. "YOU WILL LOOK AT ME!"
But Frodo did not. He had retreated back into his own head, and the screeching beet-red face may as well have been an empty wall, so little did he acknowledge these physical and verbal assaults pounding into him with the force of a sledgehammer.
"FRODO! YOU SHALL NOT ESCAPE ME THIS WAY! YOU SHALL COME BACK AND FACE THIS!"
Escape. Sam had never thought of his master's actions in this light. Perhaps Frodo was alive and well within the only escape open to him, the confines of his supple mind. Certainly, this retreat was indeed the only escape available to him at this point. Perhaps this was something he could undo at any time—like a cloak slipped on when the weather turned cold, and just as easily slipped off when no longer needed. This idea, that Frodo was still master of himself, comforted Sam, or at least gave him a ray of hope to which he could cling. Perhaps he has escaped, if only for a little while.
Sam's reverie was interrupted by the thump of Frodo's body hitting the floorboards as Merry threw him down in disgust. Merry proceeded to kick his cousin solidly as Frodo stared up with unseeing eyes. An eerie silence fell upon the room, broken only by the low grunts and rasped exhalations forced from Frodo's lungs as Merry's foot violently and repeatedly connected with his chest and abdomen.
Sam hung suspended in time, caught for an eternity between righteous outrage and wretched fear. Dare he open his mouth and intercede, hoping to jolt Merry from the haze of fury? Or would one word from Sam finally push Merry over that thin line he'd been walking between abuse and outright murder?
"Merry!" screamed Sam at last. "Merry, this is my fault! Your quarrel is with ME! Kick ME! I can take it! Leave off 'im! LEAVE OFF!"
If Merry heard Sam's cries, he did not show it; his attentions and his rage were focused on the unmoving figure on the floor, which hey continued to kick and verbally bludgeon with wild abandon above the competing din of Sam's bellows. Suddenly, it stopped. The blackness that threatened to well up finally doused Frodo's consciousness and his cloudy eyes and mind closed off. Sam saw that Frodo's eyes had shut.
But Frodo's unconsciousness was a gift, for as soon as Frodo had fallen senseless, Merry took out his wrath on the entire bedroom, leaving off the original target for a few merciful minutes. Merry grasped up the rag Frodo had used to clean himself, and flung it into the fire where it blackened and disappeared with a fusillade of wet hisses. Frodo's shirt flew over Sam's astonished head, also cascading to a fiery death. Merry grunted as he flung the basin against the wall where it shattered in a hail of shards and a drizzling ceramic mist in every direction. He threw down the bedstead and stomped upon it until it was no more than a pile of kindling. Sam cringed as he heard a table overturned with a furious thud. Then, approaching the place where he had begun, Merry picked up a chair and threw it against the wall. It lost a leg on impact and a spray of splinters hit the ground where it fell.
Sam knew better than to say anything that might further stoke Merry's anger. He was also quite aware that with his captor in this state, both he and his master were in mortal danger. Sam twisted back his head and cut his eyes sideways to ascertain if either his master or poor Pippin were beginning to rouse, silently hoping at least that Frodo would stay quiet until Merry's rage had played itself out.
As quickly as the tantrum had begun, it ceased, and the room fell into an unnatural quiet pierced through only by the shuddering gasps of Merry's breaths. Merry leaned down, bracing his palms against bent knees, the back of his shirt soaked with sweat, his back arching up with each deep swallow of air. Sam thought Merry might even sick up, as he remained in this curious posture for what seemed a small eternity. As Merry rose, Sam felt his whole body tense in fear and anticipation. "Please don't hurt him…please don't hurt him…" he repeated to himself in a silent prayer.
Finally Merry returned to the original object of his fury. He leered over Frodo, maintaining the fiction that Frodo could hear him.
"So you would spit upon your benefactor, then flee inside your head," Merry cried. "It won't answer! Your defiance won't answer! You shall pay dearly, Frodo! Dearly! And I shall make sure you are alert when payment is extracted! I shall be back in a moment and may the Valar help you when I return!"
Merry stormed out, the sounds of his pounding feet receding down the corridor. Sam once again craned his neck to its fullest extent to gaze upon the back of the prone figure that was his master.
"Frodo!" cried Sam in a low voice. "Frodo? Please pretend to be out even if you ain't! It may protect you. I know you can hear me!"
Sam knew no such thing, but hoped it so hard and with such ferocity that it congealed in his mind into the form of flat fact. It was something of a small mercy that Sam could not see Frodo's face from where he sat, just the graceful curve of his spine and his poor battered back. If Sam had seen Frodo's face, it would have given him no comfort for he would have seen that Frodo's eyes had fluttered open, and once again he stared blank and unblinking into the hypnotizing depths of the fire.
* * *
Merry trampled back in the room shortly, as if through the obscuring haze of his fury, he had forgotten something crucial. He stomped over to Pippin, still an unmoving pile of linen with feet, and, without warning, kicked him solidly in the back, eliciting a breathy yelp.
"Up, Pip! UP!" Merry ordered. "I shall need you now! UP!"
Merry did not linger to see if Pippin rose, but burst out the door again, still burning with unspent rage. Sam jerked his head back for a cursory glance before calling out for Pippin.
"Pippin! Lad! You must rise! Please! Up! Untie me! I can take him! Together we can stop this madness! This will end badly, Pip! Lor', me lad! Please help!"
Even if Pip had been inclined to jump at Sam's command, which was another matter altogether, he had not yet come to full awareness. Merry blustered back into the room in minutes, and Pip had only just managed to prop himself up on a shaky elbow, his face screwed up in pain and swimming with confusion. And when Merry offered a demanding hand to his young cousin, the eyes that looked up at him were shot through with fear.
"Up!" growled Merry, and pulled Pippin upright so violently that after a tenuous second balanced on unsure feet he nearly toppled back to the floor. His fall was broken by a sturdy palm which steadied him vertically. Pip blinked down to find a coil of rope somehow dangling from his right hand. He found himself stumbling toward his fallen cousin, understanding that he had been shoved from behind with ungentle hands.
"Help me bind your petulant cousin!" ordered Merry. He lowered himself down, and grasped one of Frodo's limp hands with the intention of tying it.
The part of Frodo's mind that functioned as instinct screamed out at him to flee, not mentally, but bodily this time. MOVE!. But it was the bite of hated twine upon his skin was the fuel that lit the flame of his will into livid awareness. Suddenly he was not only alert, but violently so.
Frodo immediately howled in protest, flipping himself over and glaring at the predator above him with wild, defiant eyes. Frodo's whole body sprang into frantic motion--kicking, thrashing, and screaming.
"NO! NO! NO!" cried Frodo in equal measure with wracking sobs, screeches, howls, and other alarming animalistic noises of protest. Frodo had no concept of what torment might await him, but abject, visceral fear commanded his hands to flail, his feet to kick, his voice to scream, his nails to scratch, his teeth to bite.
"No! No!" Shrieking now, and Merry's hands were upon his wrists, burning like fire, and he tried to bite them off, sinking his teeth into tender flesh. Merry yelped in pain and doubled over, slapping Frodo as he straightened, then jutting his knee into Frodo's groin. Frodo bent down in anguish, but only for a moment before rushing back at his attacker, limbs powered by pure white rage. But anger did not endow him with coordination, and when Merry jumped aside, Frodo lunged at air and fell flat on his stomach with a roar. Merry stole the moment and leapt upon Frodo with the full force of his body, pinning him to the ground. With the strength of an injured wolf, Frodo bucked him off and growled before pulling a fistful of Merry's wavy hair and slamming his captor's face to the floor. Merry's nose spouted blood, and when he raised himself blearily off the ground, he glowered at Frodo with undiluted wrath. Frodo did not run. He had no plan, no more than a panicked cow that retreats back into a burning barn. Frodo stood, breathing shallow, tattered breaths as Merry raised himself, ready to move in for the kill.
Like two wild animals, they seemed; one fighting for domination, one for his life. Merry stood, eyes blazing, rounding his prey, circling now, closing in. Frodo panted, stood for an instant opposite his attacker, and then swung for all he was worth, missing the face of his tormenter by miles. Merry stared dumbly, and for a moment, he considered his cousin, now staring him down in a wordless challenge.
"I shall have your obedience!" announced Merry imperiously as he sucked in deep huffing breaths. "Your absolute submission Frodo! You shall not defeat me, so stand down and accept the fate you've brought upon yourself! Stand down!"
No articulate, well-aimed riposte came from Frodo, but instead something between a shriek and a wail. Frodo growled and stepped forth, his hands flailing out to his foe in ill-aimed, unstudied swipes, the way a bear would fight off a swarm of bees. Quick as lightening, Merry's hands latched onto Frodo's wrists and pulled him forward, even as he made to strike. Frodo tumbled down and rolled to his back just in time to catch the glint of Merry's knife at his throat.
"How dare you!" Merry yelled once again.
Frodo was beyond rational, and crabbed back to escape the knife, creating a shallow but shockingly bloody lash across his neck for his pains. Merry kicked him in the gut - hard - and observed with satisfaction that Frodo at last curled up into a fetal ball.
NO!" cried Frodo as he curled into himself tighter.
"Pip!" ordered Merry. "Hand me the rope."
Frodo uncoiled at the sound of that detestable word, but too slowly. Merry slammed his own body atop Frodo's pinioning him to the ground.
"Now! Now! Now!" cried Merry.
Pippin obeyed, his eyes laden with tears. Merry forced Frodo upon his belly - no mean feat - and sat upon the small of his back, drawing back his arms as Pippin bound them together.
"Please Merry!" begged Pippin as he tied a knot around the wrists of the shrieking form. "Don't hurt our Frodo!"
Merry snarled and backhanded Pippin savagely before sturdying Pippin's knot with a second one of his own.
"Stand, Frodo!" ordered Merry. "What a treat! I shall allow you to walk! Up!"
Frodo stood readily, eager to use his legs for something other than the storage of rope. Forgetting his tied hands for a moment, he lurched toward Sam--only to find himself roughly pulled back.
Merry's laugh was cold and mirthless as he dug his fingers into Frodo's forearm.
"You forget, Frodo, lad. We fought and you lost. Outside we go! Merry is once again your master. Come!"
Merry hoisted Frodo roughly from the floor, his fury endowing him with strength unknown. Frodo was breathing hard--shallow and fast--yet even faster as he was pushed from the room. He moved his head frantically from side to side as he was marched toward the door. His heart galloped, spurred on by Sam's relentless screams.
"Where are you taking him?" cried Sam. "He can't take no more! Merry! On my life, I shall have yours if you harm him again! Merry!"
As Frodo reached the threshold, Sam craned his head around, his eyes meeting the terrified, feral eyes of his master. And with a wrenching cry, Frodo screamed out the word that Sam had longed to hear, even as it stabbed him through his heart.
"SAAAMMMMMM!"
Sam did not come. He could not. All he could do was bellow and bluster uselessly while tugging at bonds that would not yield. Merry ignored his antics as he dragged Frodo, kicking and screaming, from the room, leaving Sam finally alone with his threats and his tears.
* * *
Frodo writhed like a panicked cat as he was dragged from the smial, the volume of his protests amplifying as they rounded the corner and crossed the courtyard. Frodo had an awful premonition of where they might be headed, and it stuck him with terror.
The night was lovely -- the sweet autumn air, scented like cinnamon, the wind gently blowing the tops of the golden trees, the beckoning stars, the pregnant moon, glowing blue and round. Frodo noticed none of these beauties. The senses that registered for Frodo were all associated with his own perilous situation and his unbridled fear. The displacement of mud between his toes as he struggled against his captors, the squelch of dewy grass each time he fell to his knees, the feel of the warm vice-grip upon his arms, the scratch of cord around his wrists, the smell of his own fear -- these were the senses that came to Frodo's mind as they walked across the moon-kissed field to a terrible destination.
When they reached a small hillock on the edge of the large courtyard, Frodo perceived he had been right and died inside.
The root cellar was a dismal affair dug into the side of the hill. It was not built for cheer, but for the storage of root vegetables in a cool environment. Frodo had seen it but once in the daylight, when Merry had given him a tour of the property and even then it had been so dark and foreboding that he had not ventured inside. Its door was of rough, thick wood, its interior, lined with shelves and jars, was no more than a half-dozen feet at its greatest width, filled with dusty foods, cobwebs, rat droppings, and a cornucopia of unappealing smells that all fell under the category of "musty" or "rotting".
Merry halted a dozen feet from the hillock. His enraged face took on a more thoughtful countenance, although there was something about it that made Frodo intensely uneasy.
"Pippin!" ordered Merry abruptly. "I need you to get a few things for me—a few things, rather," he turned and smirked at his captive, "for Frodo."
Merry whispered his instructions in Pippin's ear and the younger hobbit's face screwed up in confusion, yet it was not the same distress he had felt when Merry had put the whip in his trembling hands. Frodo supposed that torture implements were not on the list, but did not choose to second guess the will of his cousin, who still carried an ugly glint in his slitted eyes.
"Quickly!" prodded Merry. "Quickly! GO!"
Pippin scurried off, leaving the two cousins alone. Frodo opened his mouth to speak, to plead, but the words would not come. And what would it have mattered if they had. In desperation, he sought the only escape that had served him well. Retreat! Yes. Go back! Retreat to your mind! Frodo thought. Escape! Go where you can't be harmed!
Frodo's body went slack and he slumped to the ground, despite the undaunted efforts of Merry to hold him upright. Merry fell to his knees, staring at the vacating light of awareness in Frodo's eyes. He knew he had only seconds to act, to cut off Frodo's last escape.
"NO!! COME BACK, FRODO!" Screamed Merry and slapped him as quickly and as hard as he could.
This time Frodo felt the full force of the pain and found himself pulled back to forsaken awareness. Merry nodded with satisfaction as he noted Frodo's dilated pupils constrict back to normal size. He pulled Frodo roughly back to his feet and waited as the shaky legs regained their purchase.
"You will stay right here, Cousin!" snarled Merry, squeezing his arm until Frodo yelped. "I suspect a walk will wake you up!" he continued harshly, "a walk to your place of punishment! You have made it clear that you do not appreciate the nice home I have created just for you, nor do you appreciate your family's sacrifices! And since you apparently cannot accept this smial as your home, I shall give you a taste of a different one! Come! See the new dwelling you have bought for yourself! "
With no defense against his greatest fear, Frodo shrieked like a child as he was dragged up to the root cellar. Merry leaned him against the wall, offering neither comfort not chides as Frodo sobbed hysterically and babbled out disjointed protests, all the while feeling the weight of Merry's eyes upon him. Almost mechanically, Frodo tried to stumble away from the outbuilding, but it was a pitiful gesture that spoke more to his desperation than to his sense. Merry instantly pulled Frodo back by the waistband of his trousers as one would tug back a wandering toddler, then slammed his back mercilessly against the cellar door. Frodo grunted in agony as he felt warm blood trickling down from all the re-opened wheals.
"Stay Put!" ordered Merry , now pressing Frodo against the door with a sturdy hand upon his bare chest. Merry's other hand gripped his chin like a vice, forcing an eye contact more painful than anything else Frodo was enduring. Merry's eyes burned as he held Frodo in place, an intense range of emotions moving across his face like dark clouds rolling across a storm driven sky. Silently Merry stared and seethed at Frodo, the sole focus of his enraged, fuming vitriol. Frodo's eyes were no less Merry's prisoner as he crushed his cousin ever-harder against the door in silent judgment and quiet fury. Frodo's breath came in jagged rasps, quickening its pace the longer they stood, fearing that soon he would be sucked into those ferocious eyes and devoured alive.
Frodo was wheezing hard, now in full, desperate panic. It was thus with some sense of relief that he caught the sloshing, jangling sounds of Pippin scurrying up from across the courtyard. But when Merry caught sight of Pippin returning, a terrible smile flashed across his lips, and just as quickly was gone. He moved his own face very close to Frodo's, narrowed his eyes, and spoke in a low dreadful voice.
"It comes to this, Frodo. You must be broken completely before you can be remade. I see it now, though I hesitated at first." Then, in a gesture paradoxically tender, Merry kissed Frodo on the forehead, ghosting a fingertip along the sensitive tip of Frodo's ear. "This was your choice, love," he whispered.
"No!" Frodo screamed, the trickle of tears becoming a flood. "No! NO!"
But Merry would not be swayed. He shoved Frodo roughly to the ground, spun on a heel, and proceeded to the cellar door. Frodo writhed and wailed helplessly on the grass as Merry pried the reluctant door open with dexterous fingers limbered by anger. As it creaked open, the dark seemed to pour out the entrance in waves, covering all it touched and sucking the lighter world about it into its black jaws – the ebb and flow drawing all it caught into an inky void.
Frodo keened, pitifully, turning his swollen face from side to side, muddying it with dirt and grass that only accentuated the dried blood and bruises already present. In all it made him out as some wild, feral creature desperate and cornered by jackals.
Merry displayed a wicked grin and pulled Frodo up to his knees facing the door. He placed his hands on either side of Frodo's head and forced him to stare into the maw of the cellar.
"Behold! Your new home!" He smiled. "Alone, Frodo, completely alone in the dark."
"NOOOO!! Pleeeese, NO!"
"Alone with the carrots and the potatoes and the creatures unseen that scrabble over the floor during the night! Just look at yourself, Mr. Baggins of Bag End, Hobbiton. Filthy, sniveling, groveling on your knees. I think you'll fit in here just fine. Then we'll see how you fare without your dear Merry! See how you like things without me! "
With an hysterical wail, Frodo fell upon his belly, thrashing about like a wild animal and babbling.
Pippin did not look much better than Frodo as he closed the distance between himself and his two cousins. He avoided eye contact with either one but sat his tray and bag down at Merry's feet before instinctively backing away from the awful scene.
Merry pulled Frodo back up to his feet, leaning him against the hillock for support. Frodo glanced down at the tray Pippin had brought, surprised that it contained bread and water. Frodo glanced up at Merry, the confusion in his face melding with the abject fear in his eyes.
"Hungry?" asked Merry in a threatening tone as he lifted a piece of bread to Frodo's quivering lips.
Frodo made no answer but allowed Merry to feed him, devouring what was given him in greedy wolfish bites until the thick slab of bread was naught but a scattering of crumbs upon Frodo's mouth and feet. Frodo did not have the courage to ask how he would pay for it for in his heart, he knew that this bread was some strange, sadistic component of his upcoming punishment. His suspicions were correct. The moment he had finished, Merry took the plate and flung it petulantly against a nearby tree. Frodo and Pippin both flinched as it shattered into a thousand pieces.
Merry bent down and lifted the pitcher of water and a ceramic cup. He poured the water into the cup with a sloppy, over-quick motion, sending much of it sloshing over the cup's rim in his anger. Merry raised it to Frodo's lips like a warning, a vicious look dancing across his face. Terrified or no, Frodo was parched, and emptied the cup in a half dozen gulps, much of the contents dripping liberally upon his chin and chest. Once again, Merry took the cup and pitcher, and shattered them against the tree.
"Savor the memory of my food and drink," ground out Merry, eyes ablaze. "For it will soon be a distant memory indeed! You see, you're losing your benefactor for a time along with the sustenance, and the love, dear cousin, that he lavishes upon you!"
Frodo felt a sickening thud at the pit of his stomach. Now he understood Merry's game—his strange method of ceremoniously gifting Frodo his necessities, then, one by one, stripping them away. His throat tightened in fear at what might be taken next, and how could endure it.
"Walk, Frodo!" commanded Merry. "Parade down your street and enter your kingdom!" He grasped Frodo's forearms from the back and pushed him forward into a useless journey around the hillock. Frodo's breath went shallow and quick, not from exertion, but from fear of the inevitable result at journey's end. Frodo trod slowly down the makeshift path, his knees like dough and his feet like bricks, ever more hesitant as they rounded the last corner. In less that minute, Frodo approached the place where they had begun. Pippin, whose pink eyes were swelling with tears, stood miserably at the root cellar door, holding a length of rope in his trembling hands.
Frodo tried to continue walking past the door, past Pippin and all he represented, but that was not in Merry's plan. He shoved his prisoner roughly to his knees in blatant subjugation to the new, dark world in front of him. A shrill hollow sound came from the back of Frodo's throat as he landed upon the dewy grass, his eyes locked upon the impenetrable darkness of the cellar.
"I hope you enjoyed our little stroll," said Merry haughtily, "for you shall not walk, nor, indeed, even move a muscle for a very long while, I think!" And, tuning to Pippin, he barked out his next order in a pitiless voice.
"Pip! Bind Frodo's ankles."
Frodo's breath tore from his chest in panicked huffs as Pippin retied his ankles, tears pouring from both Frodo's eyes and those of the one that bound him. Frodo scarcely noticed as an unseen hand cut the cords binding his hands behind his back. "Pip, hold Frodo's arms together in front a moment," said a voice behind him.
Pippin held them. And Merry bound Frodo's hands in front of him, none too gently.
Frodo felt rough hands grip his chin and force his eyes up into the velvety sky spangled with stars winking through the tree branches.
"Look up at the stars, Frodo," said Merry, as he brandished a dark cloth in front of Frodo's fear-dilated eyes. "Relish the sight. Memorize every detail of this night, this place, my face, for perhaps when we are through, you might be well-pleased to see them again. Enjoy this last speck of vision, Frodo, for in moments your world shall be enclosed in complete darkness."
Frodo was full sobbing now. Merry brought down the blindfold over his eyes. He pleaded and screamed, but darkness set down and enclosed Frodo in its inky embrace and he shrieked.
"Hear the lovely crickets sing, hear the sweet voice of one who loves you, and remember it," said Merry maliciously above Frodo's screams. "For these sounds too will now be forced down!"
Merry balled a piece of beeswax between his fingers and stuffed it deep into one of Frodo's ears, keeping it in place with a stopper of wool and held down with the tight blindfold. Merry left one ear open so that Frodo might hear his parting comments.
Frodo struggled madly, but Merry easily forced Frodo onto his belly. Then Merry stood, dark and fearsome, and pronounced sentence upon his prisoner.
" Frodo Baggins!" exclaimed Merry. "I now shall remove you from my presence, from everyone's presence, as you are poor company indeed! Your new family will be the spiders and the rats and whatever other vermin also call this dreadful place home. Perhaps they will rejoice in your form of gratitude, for surely I do not! I shall leave you here, forsaken, forgotten and alone--utterly alone! I shall leave you naked, blind, deaf, mute, and still until your will has been utterly reined in and suborned to those with the wisdom and strength to control your Gift."
Frodo no longer feared Merry's pain or his words. He had suffered them to the point of insensibility. But he feared isolation; he feared abandonment. Most of all, he feared this. Somehow Merry had found it--his gaping vulnerability, the gnawing fear that had tormented him all his life in the dark recesses of his very being. The nameless, cruel void that had always left him quivering and helpless before it. Oh, by the Valor, Frodo thought, I cannot do this.
Frodo's conscious, articulate mind resurfaced in a last ditch attempt to avert his fate. But the words only came in disjointed bursts of shattered syntax, products of the disconnect within his mind. He had sundered the connecting threads between his mind and body to protect him from the pain, and now that he required them, he could no longer stitch them together at will.
"No! No! No! Not dark! No! Not alone! Not alone! Please, Merry! No dark! Please! Not again! NO!"
"Use this time wisely, Love," hissed Merry into the frantic hobbit's ear. "Farewell."
And with that, Merry blocked out Frodo's other ear, leaving him in darkness that was impenetrable and silence that was profound. His rational mind now sundered as Frodo continued to thrash, now keening, now wailing, now babbling, now breathing in jagged, torn breaths that brought little to the lungs.
Pippin sank down, his face sodden with tears and, without thinking, wrapped pitying arms as far around Frodo as he could.
"Oh, dear, Frodo, don't cry," he sobbed through his own tears. "It'll be all right, you'll see. We all love you."
He did not even see the kick coming. Pippin was knocked breathless by the unseen foot and dropped Frodo in his agonized shock.
"Perhaps Frodo is not the only one who must be brought to heel!" spat Merry, his shape silhouetted in the pale blue moonlight, face set in shadow, eyes smoldering like the last embers of a dying fire. Pippin looked up, face ashen, eyebrows quirked in disbelief.
"But Merry!" he screeched. "I don't think he can take anymore!" Pippin's eyes overflowed with tears, and for that brief second, he cared nothing for his own well-being.
Merry lurched down, lifted Pippin with a fistful of shirtfront, and threw him viciously to the ground.
"If you do not have the strength to help me, Pip, then sit down and be silent, lest the sitting and the silence be thrust upon you by more coercive means!"
Pippin did not mistake the threat in Merry's words. He recoiled , sitting very still, went quiet, watching in mute horror as Frodo was dragged screaming into the blackness of the cellar.
* * *
"Sam." Sam glanced up with red-rimmed eyes to see a still-wrathful looking Merry accompanied by a miserable, wet-eyed Pippin standing to his side. Sam had been so caught up in his own fears and sorrow over his master that he had not heard the cousins return. He had spent the past half hour weeping and calling out, and pulling vainly at his bonds, all the while wondering what torment Merry had in store for his Frodo and if his master would have the strength to bear it without losing his mind. Sam looked up at Pippin's woebegone face and he saw his master's fate written all over it. His heart sunk as low as it could go. Horrible. Whatever it was, whatever Merry had done must be horrible and no mistake; he could see it in Pippin's eyes.
"Where's Frodo?" growled Sam, turning his gaze to Merry.
Sam sucked in his breath as a strong hand pushed his chair backwards, sending both it and him tumbling down to the floor. White lights danced before Sam's eyes. The fall had full knocked the breath out of him, and he had hit his head hard. Sam glowered up to see Merry's livid face leering over him.
"Do you want to see, Samwise?" snarled Merry. "Would you like to see where your ill-considered encouragement has brought your master—the master you claim to love? Well, do you?"
"I do," answered Sam defiantly. "Take me to him, tho' you might put your bitter crop in the field of the right farmer."
"The blame is where it belongs," Merry spit back. He motioned for Pippin to cut Sam's legs free from the chair.
Sam did not complain as Merry placed a slip-knot around his neck, supposing, rightly, that a disturbing sight might give Sam the kind of strength he needed to throttle him, even with tied hands. And both Sam and Merry knew full well they were in store for a disturbing sight.
"Come!" said Merry, lifting Sam to his feet. 'Come see how low your actions have brought your master! See what you are responsible for!"
Merry kept a death grip on Sam's forearm with one hand, holding tight the end of the rope about Sam's neck with the other. Pippin stumbled along to Sam's side, grasping a lantern with a flickering, reluctant light up to illuminate their path. Sam threw glances at Pippin whenever position allowed, and noted with dismay that the younger hobbit averted his eyes each time he did. Dread again surged up into Sam's gut as he was pulled toward the outbuilding, the root cellar?
Merry gave Pippin a warning look, handed him the end of Sam's noose, and threw the rickety door open with a thick, dead crunch. Sam peered in fearfully, but could see nothing but blackness.
"Pip, hold up the lantern. I need to find the hatch," ordered Merry.
"The hatch?" thought Sam in terror. "The hatch?" Could it be that his master was in a darker prison that even this?
Merry pulled up on a rope projecting from a wooden floor strewn with hay. A trap creaked open, revealing now mean, low stairs that led down into a gaping black void.
Then Sam heard it. Moans, shrieks, sobbing, disjointed babbling, and more sobbing.
"Frodo!" he screamed, his own eyes welling with tears. "Frodo!"
"He can't hear you, Samwise!" snapped Merry. "Not a whit! I've stoppered his ears.. He shan't glean any more insolent suggestions from the likes of you!"
Sam snapped his head up to face Merry, both of their eyes blazing with barely contained rage. Merry flung back the trap door and watched with satisfaction as the impact kicked up a flurry of dust, the smell of damp hay, and the sound of Frodo's pitiable moans.
"Come now, Sam! See the fruits of your advice! Come see what you have done to your poor Frodo!"
Merry grasped Sam by the crick of his elbow, leading him down a dozen steep, complaining stairs. Sam could see nothing but the barest reflection of the next few steps as Pippin's lantern was stingy with its luminescence. But he could hear his master, oh! how he could hear him. Closer now. The heart-rending cries rising up to pummel him as hard as any blow.
"NO! AGH! Dark, dark, dark and dead. Dead! MERRY! Help me, please, someone please help me!"
Frodo babbled, slurring words together as if he were speaking to a voice deep inside himself that urged him to pack up his soul and make an end to it all. A line of words, a sharp burst of sobs, more babbling, a train of thought cut through by screams, then low moans then, and this pierced Sam's heart as nothing he had ever heard in his waking life, a frail thin cry, "Sam! Where? Where? You let me down! I needed you! No! Sam! Gone forever. Oh, why did you come back?! Sam! No hope! Only death. Merry! MERRY!!"
And then Frodo screeched out a hideous, animalistic shriek, and sobbed.
"FRODO!" cried Sam as he reached the floor at last. "Your Sam is here! Please! Mr. Frodo! I shan't leave you! Master! Where are you?" And he sobbed.
Sam felt Merry's hand claw into his jaw and forcibly turn his head toward the darkest part of the cellar.
"He cannot hear you!" Merry repeated cruelly. "And your tears won't help him now! They are misplaced. You did this, Sam. This, what you're about to see, you did this! You let him down, just like he said! Even he knows it, Sam! You led him astray! You led him HERE!
Sam said nothing, but tried to force his eyes to make out the figure of his master in this womb of despair. He felt himself pushed back against a beam of some kind, and tethered to it by the long rope about his neck. Merry wrapped a cloth about his eyes, though why it should be necessary in this pit, he could not guess.
"Pippin!" called Merry. "We're ready! Hand down the lantern, if you please."
Sam steadied his nerves as he heard Merry rush up, then back down the stairs, taking his place now by Sam's side. Sam felt the blindfold ripped off his head. He opened his eyes, looked down at the figure on the floor in front of him, and yelled out in anguish.
He was naked. Frodo had been stretched out on his back upon the hard packed earth of the sub-cellar, his hands bound together and pulled taut above him, lashed into this position by a stake driven into the ground. His feet had been given a similar treatment, also bound together and lashed to a stake. The ropes binding his wrists and ankles were coated with blood, evidence of his furious struggle against his bonds. His body, pulled taut, was open, vulnerable, and covered with bruises. His eyes were blinded with a thick, black band which not only blocked out all light, but held the wool firmly against his ears. Already several large bugs were crawling across his torso and a big black rat was sniffing his toes.
Sam watched in horror as his master continued to twist and writhe about as if he lay upon a hive of wasps. What Sam could see of Frodo's face was a twisted knot of terror and anguish. Here in the darkness and the silence, his Frodo had come thoroughly undone.
Merry's mouth pulled back in a sinister grin as he knelt before his cousin in Sam's sight and with a terse "almost forgot," pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and tied it about Frodo's mouth as a gag. Frodo's screams were then replaced with Sam's, who thrashed about so violently, Merry feared he would actually strangle himself on the rope.
Pulling Sam out of the cellar was a more difficult task than Merry had imagined. When his pleas to be allowed to stay with his master were flatly refused, Sam lunged himself at Merry until the rope about his neck pulled taut, cutting off his air. Merry was able to subdue him only with the threat of violence against Frodo, and by tugging on the noose about his neck long enough to make Sam well nigh pass out. He was in a frightful state, and if Merry had planned to shock him with Frodo's subterranean accommodations, it had worked extraordinarily well. It took all of Merry and Pippin's strength to drag him back to his room and bind his ankles and wrists to the bed.
Merry came in a few minutes later carrying a plate of food, a jug of beer, and a few items of clean clothes.
"I don' want no food and no drink if Mr. Frodo ain't getting any!" bellowed Sam. "I give this all to Mr. Frodo! He needs it! If his state is all my fault, as you say, then why am I not stored like taters beneath the earth? Let us trade places, snake! Punish ME! If you must torture someone, torture me!"
Merry smiled sadistically, ruffled Sam's hair, and set the food down with a clang on Sam's bed stand.
"My good hobbit," said Merry in an icy tone. "Can you not see it? I /am/ torturing you! I do so by forcing you to eat and drink and be comfortable while your Master starves in darkness, silence and misery! That is your punishment - to know that you brought on Frodo's situation, and yet he suffers physically and you do not! I want you to think of him while you eat your lovely meat and drink your delicious beer and sleep in your warm bed. I want you to consider how he is feeling at this very moment, damn you! You forced me to do this to him! Do you think I like this? No, I do not, Samwise Gamgee. But I must do what is best for my family and for the Shire. And that is what I am doing whether you like it or not! And I have decided that you should feel some of the pain! Now eat! If every scrap on your plate is not gone by the time I return for it, I shall keep him in the cellar so long he will be convinced that he is dead! Is that what you want? So eat!"
Merry dipped down and quickly cut Sam's wrist bonds before moving toward the door. "And I expect those leg bonds to be undone before you go to sleep Samwise. Good-night and pleasant dreams. Dream of your sweet Frodo, if you like!"
Sam flung his beer jug against the door the moment it closed and watched as it shattered into a hundred pieces, permeating the air with the pungent smell of ale.
"Curse you, Merry!" he cried. "Curse you and all your misbegotten comforts!" Sam pounded his fist into the wall until it bled, then collapsed sobbing upon the soft warm feather bed.
TBC
Want to see alternate versions of this chapter? Having withdrawals because of slightly slower updates (damn doctorate!)? Want to see illustrations? Want to see the timeline? Check out my author page (aelfgifu) or livejournal for links to those! Or write me, as I always love to hear from you!
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To the reviewers:
Chloe- I am so happy you decided to get involved with this story and write your own alternative chapter! I am sure folks will like it, as I do. Hard to believe this is your very first fanfic chapter! Don't worry-I do foersee another bath scene in the future!
Celandine _ Same to you! Well, I am just in awe that you could pump out a chapter of that level and sheer angsty magnitude in so short a time! I will post your chapter on my website and wherever else I can think of, and will do your second 2 when I post part 2 (as they correspond with part 2 of "taming". I'm glad you enjoyed writing them. Folks! Go to my website-these chapters are great!
H Warrenbeck _ There will be a happy ending to this story-and I am so glad to have a new reader! Thank you for your kind comments, and remember, when I break Frodo, it will not be permanent!
Tavon –Thank you so much! I loved writing a defiant Frodo, and I hope you liked the fight scene here!
Daughter of Rohan – I hope you liked what came after the spit scene!
Heart of a hobbit- I am so happy that I made your enforced convalescene a little more interesting! And, as I said in the private email, I would not discount Saraman's henchmen—no- not yet!
Iorhael –I can write such a strong story because I had excellent inspiration and practice with another fine story-Nasty hobbitsess!! Written by the lovely Iorhael!
Tulip Proudfoot- I hope you like the fight scene-Frodo is stronger than we can imagine!
MarlaLP-well- I would have written a nice note in reply to your kind comments, but I had no email, so I'll say thank you right here! Many thanks and it makes my day to hear that you like the characters I have crafted from out of tolkiens; stock!
Tesekian! Good to see you, and I will correct that as soon as I can! Thank you!
Lurky McLurk (LOL! GREAT NAME!) Frod will never completely go, though it might seem so for a little while, creating some very strong tensions between the other 3 hobbits.
MBradford—Hope you are feeling btter, as I cannot wait to see what you've cooked up in your own story BIG HUG!!!!
Aratlithiel –of course, this story would be a much lesser product without you (blows kiss) and the spit scene you wanted to see-well it was great! Thank a million.
Trishette-Fatty is—well, don't forget Fatty! He may still have some part to play!
Bringhurster- (sarah) you are right-love shall conquer all, and lucky dog-meeting Dom!
Lauelion – I hope this chapter met you expecttions! Thank you for writing!
Endymion- I hope you are having a nice vacation! And I'm glad you like my history lessons!
Unhobbity hobbit – I love they way you described it ""Sam and Merry remind me of two really possessive friends. They both hate each other, but are linked by Frodo." -wonderful! I see this interaction as an echo of the original sam-frodo-gollum interaction.
Luthien Caresir –I loved your "huff, ouff finally causght up—and I am so glad you did! Thanks for pointing out the grammar errors too-I never can catch them unless I'm told about them! J
Cpsings4him – I am so happy to have you as a new reader, and really enjoyed all your very cool comments. It seems you put a lot of thought into what you read, which is so rewarding as an author! I already used some of the great comparisons you wrote about themes in Tolkien (redeption,etc). Feel free to write and comment any ol' time! Welcome aboard!
QTPIE-good to see your review pop up just as I was writing and thank ou for dropping by my guest book!!!
The link for the website, the uillustrations, and the timeline can be found on my author page. And do check out the alternate versions of this chapter on my site (under "chapter 47, The taming of Frodo". But remember-those ARE slash!)