The Long Winter

by AngieT

When the Shire is hit by a severe winter Merry goes missing.

Title:The Long Winter

Author:Angie

Summary:Young Frodo is living at Brandy Hall when a very hard winter starts to claim lives.

Ages:SR 1387: Frodo is 19, Merry 5, and Pippin is just a gleam in the Thain's eye.

Warning: PG. Sick hobbits.

Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, no gain. Just playing with hobbits and inventing a few of my own and probably taking quite a few liberties with canon.

Thanks:Thanks to Maura for betaring above and beyond the call of duty.

Frodo was still living at Brandy Hall in SR 1387, the year of The Long Winter. Shire winters were usually quite mild and hobbits had no trouble weathering them out in the shelter of their burrows and houses with well-stocked larders and woodpiles. But this winter arrived early and seemed determined to stay until well into normal Springtime, and the extreme temperature drops caught several families unaware. Most at risk were the very young and the very old. News would not reach the Hall until after the first thaws, but more elder hobbits than usual died that winter, from illness or just from the cold.

Brandy Hall had its own supply of healers and they stayed close in these cold months, and especially close to the Mistress of the Hall. Esmeralda was expecting her second child at mid winter and the whole of the countryside seemed to be holding its breath beneath its blanket of snow to await the great event. The Hall had become a hushed place considering the number of relatives that lived under its roof, and more than a few refugees who sought shelter in the hard months. There was tension in the air – Esmeralda had lost two children already in the early months of pregnancy and five-year-old Meriadoc was the Master's only surviving child and heir.

Frodo had moved out of his room to make place for a displaced mother and baby and moved in to share his cousin Merry's quarters. This was no hardship as the two boys were very fond of each other. At 19 Frodo might be considered a little young to have charge of his cousin but Merry was a dear lad. He still had to grow into his ears but he was enthusiastic, loving, always ready to follow Frodo into what ever scheme the older lad could invent, and given to fits of serious thinking, already having had it impressed upon him that he was future Master of Buckland and a lot depended upon him.

Normally Merry had a tutor but today he had some free time and as it was far too cold to go out he was in his little study. Frodo was reading by the fire while Merry sat at his desk, tongue stuck firmly between his teeth and drawing a fat brown pony in an apple orchard. The room was warm and peaceful – only the crackle of the logs on the fire, the occasional rustle of Frodo's turning the pages of his book and the squeak of pencil against paper.

At last Merry sat back satisfied with his drawing and the creak of his chair drew Frodo's attention. "All done, Merry lad?"

Merry nodded and reached for an apple from the ready supply on his desk. "Can we go show Mum?"

"Of course," Frodo also thought it was about time they went to check on the progress of teatime. "We can call by the kitchens and see how the baking is going."

Munching apples, the two boys made their way down the corridors to the main kitchen, only to find the usually calm, cheerful room in a state of chaos. Maids and cooks were running around with pales of hot water and cloths and getting in each other's way. Aunty Antirrhinum was presiding over all in her usual manner and adding panic to the confusion with her barked orders.

For a while the two new arrivals went unnoticed – until a kitchen maid with a bale of towels literally tripped over them.

Merry hid behind Frodo, clutching hold of his cousin's waistcoat as they were scolded out of the room.

With all the fuss and flurry Merry had got separated from Cousin Frodo and was now hiding behind the umbrella stand watching an Aunt greet a new visitor who stood stamping snow from his feet.

The Aunt was red-eyed and crying and neither noticed the small lad in his hiding place; they passed by on their way into Brandy Hall. But Merry watched them, and heard what the Aunt was crying; "We have lost the baby!"

'Lost the baby?' Merry pricked up his ears. They had lost his little sister! And he had not even seen her yet. Grown ups were so forgetful. But really! How could one lose a baby?

Merry stood on one leg to think for a moment. He had been lost on more than one occasion. Several times in the maze of passages that was Brandy Hall. Usually he followed his nose and came out all right in the end at the kitchens. Sometimes he had been lost for ages until some searching relation found him.

With all these people around if the new baby had got lost indoors they would have found her by now, Merry reasoned. He looked at the small flurry of melting snow on the doormat. If the baby were lost outside it would be very difficult to find her!

Merry had got lost outside once in his memory. Someone had left the front door open and he had wandered out to chase a butterfly; when the insect finally escaped him he did not know where he was. That had been an awful time.

Then there were the times he had deliberately wanted to get lost. His favourite spot was the little copse where the orchard started to turn into the forest.

His father had impressed upon Merry that he would have a lot of responsibility when he grew up. People would rely on him and he would be the head of the family. That meant looking after people.

Reaching up to hook his jacket from its peg Merry made a decision. He would go out and find the lost baby himself!

Frodo was trying to dodge older relations and find himself a quiet spot to think. The sound of crying Aunts seemed to come from all sides. He would never find Merry in this! Where had the lad got too? Frodo wanted to find his cousin. While the elders bustled around Merry would be easily overlooked. Some one had to find him and tell him. Explained to him what had happened – if it was possible to explained death to a five year old. What Merry would need most, Frodo reasoned, was reassuring. Reassuring that his mother was doing all right and nothing was going to happen to her, and as for the baby… well… Frodo did not know quite what to say. Merry had been looking forward so much to having a sibling. He had been full of plans of what to show the baby.

Frodo decided that going back to Merry's rooms would be the best plan. Either Merry would turn up there himself or some relation would bring him back and Frodo would have a chance to comfort his little cousin. It was suppertime when Aunty Antirrhinum herself pocked her head round the door of Merry's room and imparted the news that Merry was not to be found anywhere. The lull that had fallen in the aftermath of tending to the Mistress gave way to more activity as it was discovered that Merry was nowhere to be found and his cloak was missing.

"If his mother finds out about this it will kill her for sure," one grim-faced elder relation remarked before being hushed up and reminded that Frodo was present. "It's getting dark out."

A group of grown-ups had gathered in the hallway putting on cloaks and scarves and the womenfolk, those who were not being useful and fetching lanterns, were clucking around.

Frodo grabbed up his cloak and followed in the wake of the adults before anyone could notice. There was no way he was leaving Merry out there by himself while he, Frodo, stayed in Brandy Hall waiting for the searchers to return.

Outside it was starting to get dark. A thin layer of extra snow was settling – thus obscuring any tracks. Frodo shivered. He could not imagine being lost out here for long. It was so cold! And Merry was such a little thing! Lamps were fanning their way out. Some were following the buried pathways, some heading for the outbuildings. He had to think. Where was Merry's favourite place – the orchard! A few of the adults were heading that way but Frodo knew a quicker route, through a loose plank in the fence behind the pigsty. The animals were sometimes let into the orchard to pick up the last of the fallen apples and there was a loose board between the fence and the gate that a hobbit lad could squeeze through. He and Merry had used it on more than one occasion that summer to steal early apples and plums.

With the stealth and alacrity of Buckland's most notorious mushroom thief Frodo was through the fence and into the orchard well ahead of any of the adults. He chose a path between the snow-laden trees and ran as fast as the snow would allow him. The snow was deep here, piled up in mounds and furrows against the lines of the tree bows. Soon he was out of earshot of the adults and the world became a strange vaulted room of silent pillars over which sunset was starting to throw her mantle.

Frodo felt himself to be the only living being left in a desolate world. The cold stung at his face, making his nose and ears tingle. The lights of the hall faded behind him but he had a goal in mind and it drew him. His feet knew this path well – it was their special place, his and Merry's, for escaping adults; when hiding; or just wanting some time alone.

Darkness was falling rapidly and snow and tree roots made the path strange and heavy going. A wind was blowing up. Treacherous obstacles would trip him and Frodo had fallen three times before he came in sight of his goal. He was wet through and panting by the time he reached the ancient gnarled apple tree at the back of the orchard. Breathing was painful. The icy wind was rising and stung his face. He was about twenty paces away when he stumbled again and fell – to fall on something less yielding than the snow but not so hard as a tree root.

For an awful moment he thought he was too late and that his little cousin was already dead. Frodo forced himself to remain calm. The little hobbit was huddled up in his cloak and was fast becoming indistinguishable from the snowy surroundings. By the time the adults reached the spot they could well miss the green cloak as it became mantled in white.

Frodo grabbed at the body and hauled Merry over to lie in his lap. The blond curled head lolled upon Frodo's knee, seemingly lifeless. There was a bruise already forming just under the hairline. Merry must have tripped and hit his head.

"Merry!" Frodo yelled. He pulled off his own mittens that were already damp and stiff from snow and placed his own barely less cold hand against his little cousin's pale cheek. He could not tell! They were both so cold!!

Frodo chafed the pale cheek beneath his hand in an attempt to raise some sign of life. "Merry! Can you hear me?" Then Frodo turned his head back to yell the way he had come. "Help us! Over here!"

There was no response from either direction. In the lulls between the rapidly strengthening wind there was silence. Nothing else for it. Frodo would have to try to get back to the Hall, or at least as far as meeting one of the search groups. He pulled off his own cloak and used it to wrap round Merry. He then picked up the lad in his arms The healthy five-year-old was quite a weight for young Frodo, but he was determined to get Merry back to safety.

The journey back was even more frightening that the journey there. The wind was whipping up flurries of snow to blind Frodo and the temperature was dropping. Teeth chattering Frodo made slow progress determined not to fall with his precious burden. The wind seemed to be deliberately against them, buffeting the two small hobbits and impeding their progress.

Somehow, one step in front of the other, Frodo moved forward. He did not know how he was going to make it. Should he run ahead and fetch back help? But what if he could not find Merry again? What if the snow covered up his cousin totally before he could get the adults? Frodo sobbed in frustration. He would just have to carry on. He could not leave Merry! Tears were stinging his cheeks and he had not a hand free to dash them aside. His breath was tearing at his lungs with icy fingers.

Staggering and sobbing at his own inability to continue Frodo sank to his knees, the little body still clutched tightly to his chest. "O, Merry! I am so sorry!"

The smallest sound, no more than a whimpered out breath galvanised him into action and Frodo hauled himself back to his feet with a strength of will he did not know he possessed and floundered on.

There were cries, voices on the wind and Frodo tried to grate out his own answering cry, but fatigue and over exertion had robbed his voice. They were so near! He tried to shout but the wind took the faint sound and drowned it totally. He could see shapes through the swirling snow. He fell again, sobbing in frustration, struggled up. He would not give up. One foot in front of the other – but the snow was pulling him down, did not want to let him go; he was up to his knees now, trying to hold Merry up away from the snow's grip.

"Here! Here!" screamed Frodo, "We are here!" Before finally collapsing face first into the frosty embrace and not moving again.

His hands, feet and face hurt awfully. Some heavy weight was pressing him down and he was pinned in place and could not move. He must be buried deep in a snowdrift; he could sense the density above him. He wanted to move, to reach out but he could not! He was being held immobile.

"Merry!"

"Shush, lie still now," mocked a voice - as if he had a choice. "Hush. You are safe."

Was this some trick of the snow?

Frodo let out a little cry of pained anguish. And found he could breath. Oh, but it was too far to dig himself out! Too deep buried.

Something was put to his lips. Warmth. It hurt as it went into his mouth and he could not swallow until gentle fingers rubbed at his throat. At the third sip he managed to swallow for himself. It hurt his chest; it seemed as if he was coming back to the surface all in a rush – like the snow was spitting him out. He tried to kick out his legs but they would not work; he could not tell if he were being held down or if they would not respond to his brain's panicked commands.

"Shush love," came the voice again, sounding more kindly this time. "It's alright. Just open your eyes if you can and you will see you are safe."

He was in Merry's room, a warm fire, a soft bed. Aunty Antirrhinum, leaning over him with a mug in one hand and a cloth in the other which she now used to wipe his mouth.

"Merry?" Frodo croaked.

"Shush, you are to fret yourself no more. He is in his bed and the doctor has been to see you both."

"Merry!" Frodo craned his neck round but he could hardly get his body to obey him. A hand reached under his shoulders and sat him up just enough so he could see the bundle in the next bed. Blond curls stuck up around a pale little face – but Merry's lips were pink once again – as were his nose and ears. Little black spots were swimming round the peripheral of Frodo's vision and he closed his eyes as his head was lowered back down to the pillow.

"Merry?"

"Shush my lad. You are quite the hero of Brandy Hall."

Antirrhinum was being so kind Frodo was regretting all the times he had called her a Snapdragon. The darkness was surrounding him again and he struggled against it.

"I'm not a hero," Frodo denied. "I just love Merry."

Frodo had no idea of how long it was before he woke again. He had a vague idea that he had been partly awake before, that some one had washed him and put him in a fresh nightshirt, that there had been warm broth, but the memories were only fragmented and could be part of a dream. His head throbbed too much for him to pursue them. There was movement in the room around the other bed and Frodo peered round as far as his pounding head and the stiffness in his neck allowed him.

Aunty Antirrhinum and one of the serving girls were stripping down the other bed! Of Merry there was no sign.

"Merry!" Frodo's torn voice put as much force behind the word as he could and the two women all but jumped out of their foot hair.

"Frodo! Goodness!" Antirrhinum was fussing over him.

"Where's Merry?" Frodo rasped in a voice that sounded most peculiar to his own ears.

"No fretting. There he is." Frodo was supported enough so that he could see a copper tub by the hearth and May, one of the assistant healers leaning over its small occupant.

"Is he all right?"

Aunty Antirrhinum gave him a small cup of a honey mixture to sip. "As well as can be. Poor little mite. He got so very cold he is taking his time coming back to us."

"But he will be all right?"

"Yes, he will be all right."

Frodo watched as May lifted his little cousin out of the tub and into a big towel that swallowed him up. Feet dangled limp below the covering and Frodo felt tears well up in his eyes. "I should have been there to look after him!"

"You were there. You saved him." Antirrhinum soothed back sweaty curls from Frodo's face. The lad's eyes were over bright as they fixed upon Merry. "The Masters of Buckland owe you a great debt, Frodo Baggins." Frodo stirred fretfully; her hand felt like sandpaper on his face. He was too hot anyway and wanted to get free of the covers that tangled his legs. He pulled the collar of his nightshirt away from his neck. His skin felt slippery wet, moisture pooling in the indentation at the base of his throat.

His hands were taken in her rough cool ones. Her fingers felt like the parchment of one of Bilbo's elvish books. She tucked his hands back under the covers. "If you pout like that the wind will change and your face will set," she warned and tapped his nose but there was affection in her voice and Frodo managed to smile a little, though he thought he was getting a toothache to add to his troubles.

He closed his eyes against the light which hurt them, and felt her put a cool cloth to his face and mop up some of the moisture. It felt so good that he fell asleep once again.

He was out in the orchard again – or so he thought. The trees seemed taller though and darker. Although it was night he could see clearly, moonlight filtering clear and bright through the bare branches. The snow had melted, leaving the trees bare and stripped of even its transient covering. Some of them appeared to have been burnt… but that could not be so…

Frodo ran to the edge of the orchard and found Merry swinging high up in the branches of their favourite tree – though that too appeared to be taller than he remembered. It must be a trick of the shadow and darkness because even Merry appeared to be taller – not just fully grown but taller than even a grown-up hobbit, nearly the height of a dwarf!

"Merry!" Frodo called. "Wait for me!" But Merry was climbing even higher into the tree and calling down. "The Ents are going to war! I can see them!"

Frodo stumbled over a protruding tree branch and fell back against the trunk of another tree. A branch caught in his hair and snagged at it. In his mind it seemed the tree had deliberately reached out to grasp him. He tried to pull his head free but another branch came swinging down and wrapped around his chest. Frodo yelled.

Two twining roots like great arms reached up for him, grasping a leg apiece and pulling him off balance. He found himself flat on his back looking up at the twisted tree – and he did not like the look of it. He tried to kick out, but both his feet were caught fast and, as he looked down, he yelled out in horror! They had disappeared into the ground beneath the tree roots and his legs were rapidly following.

Wildly Frodo fought for a handhold but everywhere was the treacherous tree intent on consuming him. He was being stuffed into the ground! Each time he struck out at a branch it seemed to recoil for a moment but then came back to hold him more securely. There were more branches than he had limbs to fight them off with – and they were winning. Slowly, thrashing for all he was worth, Frodo was pulled under ground! He could still see light, but not much of it. His body was being squeezed in a vise. He could hardly draw breath into his crushed chest.

The ground was about to close over his head when he hauled in a last desperate gasp of air.

It was much later that Frodo awoke again. His body felt stiff and achy. His head ached horribly but he felt a bit clearer. He frowned for a moment, there was something prickling the back of his memory but the images slipped away as he thought of them. Something heavy was lying across his left side and he looked down to see Merry's blond curls peaking out from under the covers.

Frodo smiled. Merry was safe. That was all that mattered. He moved his arm enough so curl around the little bundle of hobbit lad and the movement woke Merry. Bright eyes peered up and Merry smiled in greeting. "You're awake!"

Frodo opened his mouth to speak but all that came out was a croak. Merry instantly scrambled up and reached for a tumbler by the bedside. "It's blackcurrant cordial." He said steadying the glass for Frodo to sip. The liquid felt wonderful on his dry throat.

"Thank you," Frodo managed this time in a more reasonable approximation of his own voice.

"You saved me!" Merry said. "I was lost and you bought me back."

"That's what I'm here for." Frodo tried to sit up a little. He felt as weak as a newborn lamb, and twice as wobbly.

"Look!" said Merry, sticking on of his feet out from under the covers, "They put mittens on my feet!" The lad waggled the loose sock around on his foot and laughed. "How silly they look!"

Frodo laughed back. "Big people wear them all the time."

"No they don't," contradicted Merry. "That would be just silly."

"Big people have small feet and have to wear shoes and boots."

Merry laughed again. "If they are big and have small feet they would fall over."

Frodo did not know how to answer that one. "They put weights in their boots to hold them down." He improvised. "That's why they make so much noise when they move around."

"You've never seen a big person!"

"Bilbo has."

Suddenly subdued, Merry sat back on the bed next to Frodo and looked down at the eiderdown. "They never found my sister though."

Frodo reached out and wrapped his arms around Merry. "I'm sorry, sprout."

Merry tucked his head under Frodo's chin, his voice was low. "She never was lost in the snow."

"I know."

"Mum's very sad."

"It's a good thing I found you then."

"Yes."

The fire crackled in the grate and the two lads watched the flames for a moment.

"Let's make a pact," Merry said at last. "A promise. We must promise never to lose each other."

Frodo hugged his small cousin close. "I promise, Merry lad. I will never lose you."

"And I promise never to lose you."

end