"Frodo don't belong to you!" cried Sam forcefully. "And neither does his Ring! You shan't have back what weren't never yours!"
* * *
Well, this is my birthday today (Easter) so this is officially a mathom for you! But I also got lots of prezzies in the form of help!
You see- I had this all ready to go, when my disk went up in flames, and I lost HOURS worth of work! I screamed out my frustration to the roleplay group, and to the lovely Ariel and Celandine, and got so much help that this version is not only superior than the old one-but VASTLY superior! First- thank you to Ariel and Celandine_g for getting rid of those nassssteeee errors (I am queen of typos) and for adding content ideas (and regular ol' content) that really worked both before and after the draft was done! Thank you frodoslegacy for the fight bunnies (the ball!) Thank you to Merry from the rp for feeding me all sorts of great ideas as well! You the hobbit! (can't say "you the man!") Frodo baggins 1982 pushed me for the climatic merry-sam fight scene which I know you will enjoy. Frodo also insisted on more violence-which is necessary here too-and some very savvy plot points which will be fully realized next chapter! And Skye12 (pippin in our Roleplay) added some brilliant stuff in the fight itself which I thought was just amazing. Every last one of these folks are great writers in their own right, and you need to run and read their fics!!!
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Chapter 57: A Knife in the Dark
Sam heard the rooster's crow break through the silence of the night. He raised his head, his eyes wide in horror, as if he had never heard the sound before. The cock crowed again and he broke into a cold sweat. It couldn't be dawn yet. Couldn't be. The cock crowed again and Sam inhaled deeply, watching the inky blackness of the sky outside soften to a gauzy blue-gray. Dawn had indeed arrived and Sam was running out of time.
He had not slept that night. His hands were clenched around the sword as if frozen in place, his face and fingers red with exertion. The rings on the chain were thin but very hard. Sam had first tried to pry the chain asunder, and failing that, had sawed at what seemed to be the weakest link, a deformed ring with a lump on one side, a dip in the other. Into the dip Sam set his sword and sawed like mad.
For hours it seemed that he merely scratched the surface, gaining no purchase, losing hope with each futile stroke. Sam had let himself stop for only a few seconds at a time to catch his breath and rub at his aching wrists before setting to the link again. But he would not let himself lose hope, not yet. He plowed on beyond all weariness. At last the scratch had transformed into a groove, and the groove to something close to a break. When the cock crowed, however, the chain was a little more than halfway sawed through, and Sam's blade was beginning to dull. Hearing the cock again, he pulled at the chain maniacally, trying to break it by the sheer strength in his arm and shoulder.
Only this thin slip of metal stood between him and freedom, if he didn't count the thick oak door and Merry's indomitable will. He took a deep breath, gathering his own will and common sense. First things first. Hysteria would not win the day. Sam bent his head and continued his relentless, methodical assault on the chain link. Underneath, however, he promised himself he would split the link if he had to chew through it with his bare teeth. As sweat ran in rivulets down the sides of Sam's face, he prayed it would not come to that.
* * *
Merry awoke to a cold and empty bed. The only indication that Pippin had lain beside him was the pink blotches of blood upon the sheets. He turned his bleary eyes toward the lavender finger of pale light stretching through the window. Dawn had arrived.
Merry sat up abruptly then immediately regretted it. As the blood rushed to his head, it throbbed as if a hammer were knocking away at the inside of his skull. His stomach lurched and he almost retched, barely keeping its contents within. Covering his mouth, Merry groaned loudly and forced his body to stand up. He had much to do today. Why had he let himself drink so much last night?
Merry gave himself no answer. He had no time to dwell on such questions. He must find Pippin, and somehow make ready to leave for the Hall with his family--and with It, the most powerful object in Middle Earth. His little drinking escapade had to be forgotten. His moment of destiny had come.
* * *
Merry bathed, letting the hot water and steam unclog his clotted mind as he stared into space.
Frodo.
Poor bookish Frodo – too kind to be cunning, too wise to be smart. What twist of fate had put such a weapon into his uncalloused hands? It seemed cruel that such an awesome responsibility should have fallen to a hobbit so guileless and devoid of ambition. Cruel hard. Yet, there it was. And Merry had done what he had to do. But Frodo seemed weary beyond recall. He had even ceased speaking to Merry in his special way. And the humming and rocking was nothing if not eerie. These actions were those of a disconnected mind. And – much as Merry hated to admit it- signs of weakness.
Frodo was weak, that's all there was to it.
How could he expect Frodo to wield this thing at such an early point in his recovery? How could he?
Should he?
Perhaps it was selfish for him not to follow Frodo's request that Merry hold It awhile, just until he got better. Perhaps it was selfish for Merry not to help.
Merry's mind moved irresistibly onwards as he stepped out of the tub and dressed. He found himself standing in front of his mirror without quite remembering how he got there. In the glassy surface he saw a fine figure of a hobbit with a familiar face – yet not so. The face was much sterner than Merry remembered, the jaw more set, the eyes….
Merry drew back suddenly. The eyes that stared back at him were lit with an unfamiliar glint – like cold steel. Merry suddenly felt as if he were looking into the eyes of a stranger and it frightened him.
He tried to wipe the disturbing image from his mind as he made his way to the front entry. It had become a daily morning ritual for him to survey the scene out of the open door; the morning mist still clinging to the grass and the tully fog twirling lazily between the low bushes like miniature ghosts. He perked up his ears, seeking out any signs of danger. There was nothing but the contented chattering of finches, the cooing of nightingales, and the flittering of gently-blowing leaves. The world, for now, was at peace.
A folded piece of parchment crunched like a dead leaf beneath Merry's foot. He looked down. It was a letter, folded in quarters and held in place by a broken chink of brick. Someone had obviously left it during the night. But who?
His brow creased as he picked up the letter and unfolded it with unsteady hands, as if the contents might reach out and strangle him where he stood. It had been written in a rushed script – probably in poor light and with a quill that refused to cooperate. The hastily crafted words scuttled across the page like panicked black insects. Taken together, they screamed out a warning.
Dearest friends,
They are coming! They know you are near Crickhollow, though how they came by this knowledge I dare not guess. They have been moving through Buckland, lane by lane, house by house, crashing down doors of those who will not speak with them. Your smial is hidden, but not invisible. It is only a matter of time. You are no longer safe there! Flee! – though, I beg you with all my heart do not to flee to the Hall unless you would run into the very arms of the ruffians! I have risked much to bring you these tidings. PLEASE do not let my effort be in vain.
Yours, etc.
Estella
Merry crushed the letter in his fist, spun on his heel, and disappeared into the shadowy interior of the smial. It was time to wake his family.
* * *
Merry did not have to wonder where he would find Pippin. He padded solemnly to Frodo's room.
Pippin did not awaken when Merry quietly entered. He lay asleep next to his cousin. He did not see the crushed expression on Merry's face when he saw Frodo curled up lovingly into Pippin's arms. He did not see the growing wave of jealousy that washed over Merry's features as he realized that Frodo would never allow him this simple intimacy. Pippin never saw the tears that ran down Merry's cheeks as the full weight of his loneliness crushed him. He did not know that Merry had sat silently by the bed for many minutes just gazing at them in wonder. Pippin did not know that Merry, for a brief moment, felt that drowning himself in the Brandywine would have made a better ending to this day than claiming his inheritance and vanquishing the Shire's foes.
Pippin knew none of these things as he continued in dreamless slumber, his breathing in tune with that of his elder cousin. He did not feel Merry's eyes upon him.
It was no wonder, then, that Pippin awoke peacefully at the soft touch of Merry's quivering hand brushing his hair away from his forehead.
"Wake up, Pippin, dear," whispered Merry. "Wake up. It's time."
Pippin's eyelids fluttered open, heavy with sleep. Merry's breath caught. He had forgotten how lovely Pippin's eyes were – emerald with sprinkles of gold when the sun hit them just right. How they twinkled when he laughed! How he loved those sweet, trusting little bits of joy. And they looked at him now, confused, guileless, and full of promise.
Merry thought his heart would burst in that moment. His face opened in a wide smile, tears falling down his face anew.
"Pippin?" he said.
For a moment, Pippin forgot all the horrible things that had happened; and he forgot their cause. He looked into the face of his cousin, his Merry whose steel-gray eyes shone like the stars, full of confidence and strength. Merry smiled down at him, his face open and clear. He had dressed in his formal clothes, green weskit, yellow shirt, coat of midnight blue. He had just bathed, thought Pippin abstractly, and peering at his cousin, thought that Merry had never looked so fine. Nor so sad.
Then he rolled over, his wheals striping the sheet, sticking to it and pulling it up with light pink lines. He twisted to rise, and his back exploded in agony. Tears welled in his eyes. He stared up at Merry whose own face had darkened at the sight of Pippin's struggling. In a voice like a child still muddled by sleep, Pippin turned his face to Merry and said in a small voice, "I hurt."
Pippin did not at first understand why Merry began weeping into his palms, but when Pippin shifted to sit up, the scabs tore open and blood flowed anew down his back. Pain surged up his spine, and he almost screamed out loud. And then Pippin was fully awake and he remembered…everything.
He averted his eyes from Merry now, and despite the pain, stood and began to walk on shaky legs toward the door.
"Pippin," said Merry, his face crumpling, "Pippin, do not go. I need to tend to your wounds. You cannot do it alone. We are going to the Hall today, and I'll not have you bleeding."
Pippin continued to walk away, his back toward Merry in a macabre rendition of his walk the previous day when he had defied his cousin in every manner possible.
"I've prepared another bath for you," continued Merry in a more desperate tone, staring at the frightening damage he had done. "And…and you will need to decide what you wish to bring with us, for your part. I will gather it for you while you rest."
Pippin did not turn.
"You can sulk all you want when I am done tending to you, love!" called Merry in a harder voice. "You've no choice but to accept my forgiveness. You've no choice but to obey."
Pippin stopped and turned his head. For the first time since his punishment, Pippin met Merry with fully aware eyes. Merry thought he saw something dark in them that did not resemble guilt.
He pushed his suspicions down and sidled up to Pippin taking his forearm.
Pippin winced but said nothing. He did not avert his gaze purposely, but rather bent his head until his eyes were no longer upon his cousin. Somehow that seemed less a submission, less than the acquiescence he would never again permit himself. Pippin lifted his hand to the wall and leaned heavily against it. It was not a matter of will anymore, or independence. His back was on fire and his legs felt like mush. His head spun in uneven waves and he was seeing bright sparkling spots in the air that weren't there.
He had no choice now. He would not meet Merry's gaze in helplessness but falling on the floor would gain him nothing. Instead, Peregrin Took lifted his arm off the wall and leaned into his cousin's grasp, which in the end, barely stopped his plunge toward the floor. Clinging to his cousin, Pippin somehow righted himself in a way that was almost purposeful and let Merry lead him gently to the washroom where the scent of peppermint and rosemary wafted out into the shadowy hall.
* * *
Merry had cleaned Pippin's wheals, breaking the scabs that had not closed properly and pressing a tobacco poultice over the worst and deepest cuts. Closing his mind to his cousin's shuddering intakes of breath, he had helped him from the bath and toweled him off--so gently that Pippin barely felt the soft cloth caressing his skin. Throughout this time, Pippin had averted his eyes, his throat groaning out a tuneless dirge to still his mind against the waves of shimmering pain and the equally abhorrent touch of his cousin's ministrations.
Although he moved stiffly and with obvious pain, Pippin, now wrapped in a towel like a child, stood in their bedroom looking as clean as a field of spring flowers Merry had picked out a loose silken shirt, fancy but comfortable, and a bright green coat to match the eyes that no longer would look at him. The linens about Pippin's torso, Merry thought, would contain any telltale blood, granted Pippin made no sudden moves. The worst of the wounds would, he hoped, scab over properly before Merry had to offer any explanation to his relations. Perhaps they needed none. These were war wounds, after all, and his subjects at the Hall would, by the by, be made to understand. Merry would see to that.
Pippin had not indicated which clothes he desired to bring, so Merry had gathered Pippin's things and wrapped them in a blanket. Merry turned as he tied up the bundle to the sound of Pippin raising himself from the bed where Merry had set him to rest.
"Pippin," said Merry. "Stay there. I will do it. I know what you require better than you, I think. Just rest."
Pippin did not heed Merry, and with shaky steps and a body shot through with pain, Pippin limped out the door toward the kitchen.
"Pippin?" called Merry.
But Merry did not stop his cousin. He assumed, rightly, that Pippin was headed to the kitchen to gather some provisions. He wrongly assumed it was done as a token of his slavish obedience –as yet another way of showing regret for his rebellion.
"Thank you, Pip," called Merry from the doorway, and added gently, "You are a great help to me, you know."
Pippin did not turn, but bit his lip to push down all the different kinds of agony assaulting both his body and his mind. One journey made this day would require food, and if Pippin did not prepare it, no one would.
* * *
Now Frodo.
Merry had considered calling in Sam to bathe and dress Frodo. But something in Merry thirsted for some manner of connection with the ringbearer. Perhaps Frodo would speak to him again. Perhaps he would be calm and let Merry tend to him as lovingly as he had the day before.
Merry creaked open the door to Frodo's room. He was sitting up in bed, humming again, rocking to and fro, his eyes like a fogged-over mirror.
"Frodo, love," said Merry. "We are going home in a little while – your real home, where you and I grew up. Isn't that wonderful?! We will go as soon as you are ready."
Frodo did not look in Merry's direction, but continued humming as before. Merry tilted his head and tried to listen for anything his cousin might have to say to him, but Frodo said nothing.
Perhaps, thought Merry, he is too weak for this right now. Perhaps I have pushed him too hard, perhaps it is too much to ask that he wield It just now. It is selfish that I ask! Perhaps I should take him up on his offer to bear it for him, if only for just a little while. Perhaps it is time.
"Frodo," said Merry as he sat gingerly down by his cousin, half-expecting hysterics but taking it slowly, counting each moment of silence a victory. "I'm going to dress you now. I want you to let me dress you. I know Sam usually does it, but I want to do this for you. I'm no servant, but it is a way to show my devotion and I would have you let me do this for you."
Frodo continued to rock and hum, louder now, more emphatic, more dissonant and insistent. It was as if his mind were troubled for some reason that it could not quite grasp.
Merry reached for Frodo's collar with the intention to pull apart the thread. Frodo lurched back violently, tumbling off the bed. He cried out wildly.
"Frodo! It is just me. Merry! Why do you recoil? You are worse than I imagined!"
Merry rounded the bed. Frodo crabbed back against the wall, eyes feral, breathing hard.
"Frodo!" cried Merry as he advanced. "You are quite undone today! Will you not talk to me again? Come now. Let me hold you!"
Merry held out his hand to Frodo's face and his cousin flinched as if it were on fire.
"It is the Ring – isn't it?" said Merry, now very close. "It is too hard a burden for you right now--I can see it in your eyes! Well I pity you, my dear! I do! And I shall do as you asked. I shall hold it awhile! Now be still!"
Frodo screamed and kicked, but Merry was stronger and had a light in his eyes that would no longer be denied. For weeks he had wanted this, yes, he wanted it, and to pretend otherwise was the most puerile ruse. He was the head of this family. He was responsible for Frodo and he would save his poor, sick cousin from this Thing. Oh, he would only hold it awhile, a month or so, perhaps, while the Ringbearer recovered, then give it back. He would give it back…he would.
Merry grasped Frodo's forearms, ignoring his hapless struggles, ignoring his outraged cries. Merry's face was twisted now, no longer benevolent but as wild as Frodo's own, captivated by the same burning desire. He wanted this one Thing! Just this one little Thing for today, and he was tired of being denied. He would not be.
"GIVE IT TO ME!" growled Merry.
With a burst of violence, Merry tore open Frodo's collar. The threads hissed out their anger when ripped apart, but it was nothing compared to the rage that surged through Merry when his eyes set upon Frodo's chest. Upon the button.
And he stared at it, his mouth dropping open. And stared at it. He couldn't believe his eyes. They were playing tricks on him, surely. He was hung-over, he had had too much ale… a dozen explanations flashed through his head to account for what he was seeing. Merry ran his hand through his amber curls, pulling them, digging his fingernails into his scalp. But his sinking heart knew the truth. The Ring was gone. He had been betrayed. Samwise Gamgee!
Betrayed! That gardener, that deceptively simple, little bastard gardener, who Merry had poured out his heart to last night. That gardener, who he had thought was coming along well, who was now respectful and obedient, who had agreed with Merry's course of action, had stolen his Ring! It had all been a ruse!
Merry threw back his head and screamed a feral screech of rage, the likes of which had never come from the throat of a hobbit before.
The gardener would pay. And pay dearly. There would be no more mercy this time.
* * *
So close. Just a hair's thickness of metal and it would be done.
Then Sam heard it - the piercing cry bursting forth from the end of the hall. He had run out of time.
He sawed down upon the chain now as if his very life depended on it. No need for secrecy or silence. Sam flipped over the sword and bludgeoned the chain with the blunt end, heedlessly, like a drunken blacksmith. Three heavy pounds went into it, seemingly in time with the pounding of footsteps coming toward his door. On the fourth, Sam lifted the sword high above his head, and bore down upon the link with all his might. With a high pitched squeal, the chain split, Sam almost cried out in elation, but he had other immediate concerns. A frantic key was turning in the lock. With stiffened fingers, Sam pried the link off, and with it, the hated ball and chain. The shackle would have to wait. Sam stood, placed his feet apart, and held the sword behind his back. Merry was coming to claim what he imagined was his. But it was not. And Sam would stop him.
* * *
Merry's mind was in a turmoil as the tumbler gave way and he kicked open the door. Sam stood square in the center of the small room, one arm behind his back, his face flushed with exertion. He saw with dismay that Merry had dragged Frodo into the room, his master looking utterly out of sorts, but when Frodo saw Sam, his eyes bolted upon the gardener in a most unexpected manner.
Focused.
Sam's eyes widened at the longed-for sight. At first his heart rejoiced, but in an instant he knew it was the Ring his Master sought with those quick, darting pupils. Not his Sam. Not anything or anyone else but It. Dangerously ignoring Merry, he stared harder at his master. No. Frodo was staring down at Sam's pocket. Sam felt a terrible thud in his stomach as he too, like Merry, was forced into the truth. It was the Ring.
Merry noticed none of this. His hand was clawed around Frodo's forearm, but his eyes pierced through Samwise like a strike of lightening. Sam had never seen Merry, nor any living creature look so angry. Merry pulled Frodo into the room and kicked the door closed with his foot.
"What have you done with IT, thief?" cried Merry. "I'll hurt Frodo again! I mean it. Give it BACK!"
Sam held his ground.
You can't hurt him anymore, and you know it, rat. But I'll thump you good just for saying that!
Sam moved out his arm, slowly revealing the sword. His hands shook as he held it, awkwardly, as one who is more comfortable holding a hoe. He pointed the sharp point outward, as he knew he must, but otherwise had no idea how the unfamiliar tool might be gainfully employed against his foe.
Merry sneered derisively, but unable to tighten his grip around Frodo's neck– incapable of harming his sacred object. Clearer heads might have found the scene humorous--with neither hobbit capable of using their chosen weapon. Changing tactics, Merry pulled Frodo in front of him like a shield and continued to bluster.
"Give it back, thief!" he cried. "I know you have it!" Merry seized the chain around Frodo's neck and tore off the button. "This is YOUR handiwork, I wager!"
Merry flung the button at Sam's chest. Though tiny, it had been thrown with force. Sam flinched as it struck him but did not move.
"Give it back! You have no idea what you are meddling with! Your purpose is to dig in the ground and serve your betters! You know NOTHING of higher powers and the way of this world. Now Give IT back, or so help me…."
"My job," cried Sam, "is to protect my master."
"Then protect him, you idiot! Do you think he wants you to have it?! Don't be a fool! Give it to me."
Merry yanked Frodo to his chest and wrapped his arm around his neck as if to strangle him. Frodo did not react, but stared at Sam with those haunted, hungry eyes and always at the same place. Merry relaxed his arm a moment later, a look of real pain crossing his face.
Sam's eyes slowly and mercilessly bore into Merry's with a gaze like Merry had never seen from any servant before, let alone from Gaffer Gamgee's youngest son.
You can't hurt him. And I will kill you if you try.
Merry swallowed hard. "I'm warning you, Sam! This is your very last chance to do the right thing by the Shire and for Frodo. What would Frodo think of you, stealing his Ring. Now, give it back to us!"
Sam stayed still, his sword drooping downward as he spoke.
"So…it's "us" now is it?" jibed Sam. "I don't recall him giving It to you."
"Well he did not give It to you!" screamed Merry like a Brandywine fishwife, his eyes wide and red-rimmed. "I am Frodo's Keeper. He needs my help with It! Give It back!"
"I think you've helped my master quite enough," said Sam, now advancing a step. "You are no one's keeper. You can't even manage yourself!"
"Give It back!" screamed Merry, his voice shriller now. "I don't want to hurt Frodo!"
Merry's hand shook harder as he tried again to press his thumb into Frodo's throat, but he immediately drew it back, his eyes filling with tears.
Sam smiled wickedly.
I knew you couldn't do it! Can't hurt him any more than I could now! Now step away from my master so I can give you your medicine!
"Frodo don't belong to you!" cried Sam forcefully. "And neither does his Ring! You shan't have back what weren't never yours!"
The words were flame to kindling. Pushing Frodo aside and howling in fury, Merry charged at Sam like a battering ram. Frodo did not seem at all daunted by the fact that he had hit the ground full force. He raised himself on visibly weak and trembling arms to rest his feral gaze upon his deepest desire. Sam's heart stung beneath the wanton stare and he faltered, his attention taken away from Merry for that brief instant. It proved his folly.
Merry's onslaught was quick and cruel and brought both hobbits to the ground with a single blow. The sword flew from Sam's hands and slid mockingly across the smooth floor. Sam found himself flat on his back staring into Merry's enraged face, two inches away.
"Where is It?" spat Merry, his hands on Sam's throat.
"Right here, maggot" growled Sam. Raising his fist, he drove it into the side of Merry's face. A smile turned his lips upward. The feel of his knuckles meeting Merry-flesh was more satisfying than Sam dared imagine.
Merry reeled back; giving Sam's eyes time to land on the sword beckoning across the floor. Sam rolled to his stomach and tried to stumble to his feet; but he never quite got there. His attempt was stymied by a violent tug at his foot that dropped him to his knees. Sam cried out in pain, but quickly grasped a fistful of Merry's hair and flung his head against the floorboards. Sam stood again, but Merry was upon him, swinging before he regained his balance.
Sam answered with a steady punch of his own. Merry arched back as a long aching hiss emitted from his clenched teeth, and Sam knew he had met his mark.
But he had no time to savor his small victory as Merry threw himself forward and shoved Sam to the ground, thrusting his knee mercilessly into Sam's gut. Sam curled into himself and a grunt of pain betrayed him as Merry rose and dove for the discarded weapon.
Sam stood, but gingerly, and that gave Merry the opportunity to throw him to the ground again. The Ring-corrupted hobbit pinned Sam's head down with his elbow, stretching his hand out, inch-by-inch, for the weapon.
Merry clasped the hilt of the sword in a stone-steady grip that dared any fool to wrest it from him.
But Sam, taking advantage of Merry's stretch, wrestled himself free of the elbow and sprang to his feet. He turned to find Merry's sword at his neck, and his attacker wearing the most unsavory smile he had ever seen.
Merry stepped forward, Sam stepped back. He dared not swallow for the closeness of the blade. In spite of the damage Sam had done the weapon, he knew it could still kill.
The room filled with the sound of their ragged breathing, overpowered only by the scent of fear now emanating from both of them. This was no idle brawl, or battle over honor, it was a fight to the death. The Ring would see to that.
His eyes blazing, Merry advanced, backing Sam into a far wall. Even as he twisted to avoid the sword, Sam again felt Frodo's gaze heavy and delicious upon him. Though every instinct told him not to, he looked across the room to see his suspicions confirmed. Still sprawled on the floor, Frodo had raised himself onto his elbows. His head was bent forward, his shoulders hunched, and from beneath the shadows of his curls his gaze smote Sam and jelled his bones. An animal he was, hungry and primal, fixated with the blackened depths of lust that would not be denied. Those eyes were drawn by a force more alluring than friendship, more visceral than memory. And merciless.
Sam would have to win this fight if he were to have any hope of destroying that Ring-lust, of ending this sad parody of light and goodness that had once dwelt in Frodo Baggins' eyes.
The feel of liquid warmth running down Sam's chest brought him back to the present. Merry's sword had broken deep into Sam's skin and he was bleeding.
Merry's face contorted with rage as he pressed the tip of the sword into Sam's chest. "I will see you pay for this!" growled Merry.
But Sam again turned to Frodo, the haunting expression reminding him suddenly of what he had in his pocket. Sam drew a deep breath as he reached inside.
"That is if you see me at all!" snarled Sam as he plunged his finger into the Ring and vanished.
Merry cried out in surprise, lifting his sword instinctively as he turned his head this way and that, looking for his foe. His brain realized immediately what had happened—"He has put It on!"—but his senses, rooted in the material world, were slow to catch up, and his eyes kept trying to adjust, to see what could not be seen.
A slavering intake of breath came from Frodo, sickeningly out of place on his once-articulate lips. His wild eyes shot about in a frenzy of desire as his breaths became greedy and ragged.
Merry took a couple tentative steps back and waved the sword threateningly as far as he could reach.
"Where are you?" he cried. "Show yourself!" But before he could even finish the command, he was struck a powerful blow right in the groin.
Merry grunted in pain, dropping the sword and doubling over. But he wasn't given the chance to finish that action either, for something unseen took him by the shoulders and shoved him hard, toward the wall.
Merry's body was contorted and weakened and his mind was now fully occupied by the searing pain in his private parts. He toppled backwards and landed with a resounding thud upon the wooden floor, where he thrashed and writhed in agony.
Sam regarded him with eyes that held no pity, and moved purposefully to where he had been standing earlier. He placed his hands on the iron ball that had held him rooted to Crickhollow and swung it with all his might in Merry's direction.
"Take that, villain!" Sam cried.
The ball fell near Merry and rolled a short distance to strike the writhing Brandybuck on the side of his head. And Merry moved no more.
"Glad to see that rock finally put to good use!" said Sam. "You're welcome to it, Mr. Merry. I won't be needing it no more!"
Sam pulled off the Ring and ran to Frodo's side. His master stared up at him, his pupils wide with longing, two swollen black pools. It occurred to Sam that Frodo stared not at him, but at It – the Ring. His anger at the cursed thing grew in proportion to the hunger in Frodo's eyes. But no time to dwell. He must go or be lost.
Sam felt his heart breaking as he knelt to take final leave of his master. He was already sobbing.
"Mr. Frodo, your Sam has to go now. Just for a while, mind you. Sam's going to get help for you. Your Sam is so very sorry!"
Sam felt a feather-soft touch upon his hand. He let himself rejoice for a split second, but no longer. The fingers were not there to caress but to seek. He looked into Frodo's wild eyes and felt his heart break.
"No, master," said Sam. "No, no."
Sam dropped the Ring back in his pocket, and watched with horror as the light of awareness faded from Frodo's eyes and a constricted exhale like a hiss pushed through his lips. He took Frodo's clawed hands in his own and held them to his check. Tears fell upon their entwined hands like warm briny rain.
"What's It done to you, me dear!" sobbed Sam. "What's it done to my sweet master? Can any part of you still hear your Sam?"
Sam placed his hands on either side of Frodo's face and lifted Frodo's gaze to his own as he spoke.
"I made a promise, Mr. Frodo. I promised you that if I could escape, I would leave you. I don't want to leave you, Mr. Frodo. I don't! Can any part of you understand that? I love you and I don't want to leave you." Sam's voice was broken by sobs. "But I don't got no choice! Do you understand, Mr. Frodo? I've got to go on."
Sam wiped his eyes and continued.
"Merry won't hurt you, love, you'll be all right," he whispered. "And Pippin is here. Pippin will protect you."
The pale flames in Frodo's eyes twisted hideously as if they were animate things wreathing in agony. The sight terrified Sam, and on impulse, he drew his master's eyes closed with his palm. Sam felt Frodo's body go limp. He set Frodo carefully down upon his own bed, posing him as if he were asleep, as if he were more than asleep. He allowed himself the luxury of staring at Frodo as he was now- still, quiet, perhaps napping. As Sam looked he pulled thoughts from the most gullible portion of his mind, the seat of his most childlike and naïve imagination. He let himself believe for just this instant that Frodo was undamaged and whole, and that he was taking a simple cat nap; that in waking he would reveal the bright intelligent eyes lit through with cheer that Sam had loved all these long years. Sam let this fiction be the last vision of his master.
He leaned down then and placed a gentle kiss upon Frodo's clammy brow. "Sweet dreams," he murmured.
Sam exhaled noisily as he leapt to his feet, his face the very picture of wretchedness. His last words to Frodo were in a low and broken voice.
"Farewell."
* * *
Sam turned from his master, numb with pain, and saw Pippin standing in the doorway, silent as a ghost. He wondered how long the lad had been keeping vigil over the pitiful scene.
"Pippin," said Sam as he approached the hobbit. "You must take care of Frodo, now. I'm giving my job to you because I've got another that needs doing." Sam wiped the tears from his eyes as he spoke. "I don't reckon Merry will hurt Frodo once I'm gone but he'll bear watching no matter what. And I must go – now."
Pippin did not speak, but grasped on to Sam's arm, indicating that he must follow.
"Pip - I ain't got no time! I must go!"
Pippin continued to lead Sam into the kitchen. Upon entering, Pippin indicated a pack on the floor with a nod of his head – a bedroll and some extra clothes for Sam. From the counter, Pippin lifted a leather sack. He pressed it emphatically into Sam's hands. Sam quickly opened it, and saw it was filled with food. Sam smiled sadly.
"Pippin," said Sam, fighting back tears.
Pippin nodded his understanding and embraced Sam.
"Thank 'ee, Pip," Sam said under his breath. He then seized up the pack, and turned toward the front door. Sam grasped hold of the doorknob, scarcely able to believe that he was about to open it. The door creaked as it revealed the wide world outside the smial. Just then the two heard the sound of uneven footsteps, followed by a harsh cry that rent the silence.
"Pippin!"
Pippin gave a meaningful nod to Sam. Sam gave a final glance to Pippin as he slipped on the Ring and faded from sight. The door slammed shut, seemingly of its own volition. Sam was free.
Pippin turned toward the corridor, toward the echo of his name, toward the doom that awaited him. It was a doom all the more binding in that he had chosen it himself. As the footsteps advanced, Pippin wondered how Sam would fare on the long road that led away from Crickhollow.
TBC
How to give me a birthday present, you ask?! Well review review review! Itsssss my birthday, preciousssesss and we wantssssss it!
Next chapter last in part one! It is called "The Choices of Master Peregrin" and if you want to see it soon- best review!!!! HUGS from birthday girl!
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To the reviewers!
Unhobbity hobbit – Thank you for the nice long review and for the story! I loved it! Can I put it on my site?
"If Sam doesn't suceed in escaping I don't know what I'll do, but it won't be nice."
So – are you happy now? Well there is more to come, and I think you may want to kill me for next chapter- but we'll see- no- I promise nothing happens to Sam! And- yes- Merry is entirely corrupted and un-hobbity! Don't you think he needs to have a little of his own to be redeemed? I'll leave that question there! It will be important rather soon. Very soon! Mwhahahah!!!
And yes- his powers of self-deception are really something!!
Misslw - I know a lot of people have been asking this, but when are you planning to bring Frodo back into the main story? Im getting impatient now..
In next chapter. And his recovery starts in part two- immediately. Thank you for the kind words about the drawings. Most are by viceroy. Shes very good-isnt she?
Rebecca starflower- lets just plie merry with booze again! Heheeh! Well he'll be getting a belly full of SOMETHING soon! And grade A star stuff! Thank you!
Aratlithiel- Your Drunk!Merry was somehow scary and entertaining at the same time. Drunk merry was fun- and so pathetic! I'm bringing your Frodo back very soon (next chappie- in fact. But meanwhile, thanks to Ariel- I have ninja!Pip.
Chloe – thank you so much as always, for the kind words here! Yes-Merry is underestimating Pip- but not for long! And Sam way of dealing with merry is the best he can do now- well- unless you see the end of the chapter heheheeh! I am so glad you like the turn of events! Yes- Frodo is coming back in less chapters than you can count on your thumbs! I misss him too!
Uchiha Itachi – you and your Gandalf! LOL!! Well, we can expect him to enter the story, but not quite as you have quessed! And Merry is too drunk to hear sawing, but this chapter, I hope, gave you some satisfaction. Next chappie is the lat in part one- so enjoy!!!thank you for writing.
Flick chan- as they are still aware that no matter what happens to them, they are still not owned by him, there remains hope. Both characters have the chance to create a new definition of 'self', and Merry too will most likely have his chance, but only after this is all over.
Wow! You really have a great oway of putting things- again- making me sound much smarter than I actually am! Heheheh! And I am glad you like the comparison. I want the second part of the story to be about parallel journeys in which all the hobbits find their own ways to redemption and healing. I know you will have many good insights to share!
Endymion- Sorry, once again I'm too busy to write down a coherent thought, LOL. Loved the „real Merry/ lured Merry, the outrageous plans that have been put into his head;
Thankyou! And most days I cant form a coherent thought! Hence my reliance on great comments by readers!!!
Huiferr - I am I am! And the next chapter is already in progress! Keep reviewing!
Jen- *crawls out of the corner* Eps, all right, I admit -- I finally de-lurked today!
Does it feel great to admit your addictions! So glad to have you! There is planty more of this virtual crack to come!
Lyta padfoot- Merry's not going to be a happy camper in the morning: grief, hangover, and a determined and free Sam with a sword.
Damn straight! You speak wisdom!!
Ariel- You must like spunky Pip- you helped create him! And the people love him! Hope you liked Estella's cameo here! And many thanks to all your pushing- I mean gentle help-with Pippin's backbone! Heheheheh!
Breon Briarwood – yes-things are going to happen now! Check it out! Hope you like!!!
Iorhael- you are just writing like a madwoman-and such great stuff! I just love your new Aria chappie and will send it down on Monday!! Thanks for the comments!!!!
Lady of mirkwood- Frodo is coming back soon! I promise!
Celandine- How can I think you other than wishing you the best in London!!! How exciting! You BETTER post some piccie of you in front of English monuments!!!!!! Smooch!!!!!
DAONERING- I CAN AND I WILL- AND IF YOU THINK YOU ARE MAD NOW…(MWHANAAAAAAA!)
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A big thanks goes out to Ariel and Celandine_g who have been crucial to the beta work-but also-to everyday bouncing off of plot points and character development. You may not see what they do, but trust me, this fic would not be half as good without them! Hugs!!!
I am working on a fic recs list on my site now which should have a big list of fics I love, many by contributing writers here. I hate the fact this site wont let me link, but I hope the page will give you all good reading. There are some very high quality fics out there, and I would be remiss if I enjoyed them without plugging them to you!