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Ring Around the Merry	By : emma Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 1731 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 47
- 48
- 49
AN: First I want to thank Aratlithiel, my lovely beta, and to thank Celandine Goodbody, a talented writer who has done a remarkable job of scripting the inner Frodo here.

Second, I wanted to ask you all to sign my petion asking PJ to ad all the cut scenes to an uber-extened dvd of ROTK-which had been chapped within an inch of its life. There is a space to put your favorite filmed-but-cut scene that you really would love to see. twelve of Merry�s scenes were cut, and I would like to see them all. Link is on my official website at www.geocities.com/aelfgifuemma/RATM

Third, thank you all for being a part of my story! You all making writing worth it, and I hope each and every one of you has a great holiday season. As for my present-well, reviews of course�and perhaps to hear from a few loyal lurkers that I have not yet met! Beood ood Santa and show yourselves!

* * *

Chapter 46: Be Careful What You Wish For
Frodo was smiling, docile, his arm wrapped languidly about Merry�s waist, his eyes sparkling with joy as they turned up to Merry�s face in a luscious mix of admiration and supplication. Merry smiled back.

A spe spending the winter at Crickhollow, it was heartwarming to see his cousin so serene and content, so eager to bask in Merry�s love and revel in his counsel. How different this was from the Frodo of several months ago, the stubborn intransigent Frodo who had screamed and clawed against the bulwark of his destiny. Merry had been required to tie him down, to stifle the independence that was so dangerous, to snuff out his sense of self so that Merry could reconstruct him into the new, happier being standing beside him.

�How did you sleep, Love?� asked Merry with a honeyed tone.

�Fine, Merry,� said, Frodo, leaning into the embrace. �Shall we go for a walk today?�

�If you like, Frodo,� said Merry, "if it would make you happy.�

Merry loved to make Frodo happy.

�It would,� said Frodo. He smiled again, and tipped his face to Merry�s, asking in a musical voice, �Would you like to see the Ring again?�

Merry gave Frodo an indulgent grin and ruffled his hair. Frodo's beautiful eyes were calm and trusting, no longer troubled or blank as they had been the previous fall. He was accepting and happy in his new life. Merry smiled again. It had been worth all the pain and struggle.

�That�s alright, Love, perhaps after our nice walk. But, tell me again, what must you always remember about the Ring, Dear?�

�Not to touch it � of course!�

Merry placed an approving kiss on Frodo�s forehead and called for Sam. The gardener skidded in bearing a tea service containing two steaming cups and a silver plate piled high with cakes.

�What would you be needing, Mr. Brandybuck?� asked Sam quietly. �I cooked the cakes just as Mr. Frodo likes.�

And with a clatter of tapping metal and porcelain, he set the service on the table.

Merry liked Sam. He had been so difficult at first, but now, after being shown the truth, he was as dutiful a servant as ever there was. He tookt ext excellent care of Frodo and had turned Crickhollow�s spring garden into a mirror image of Bag End. Almost as a bonus, he had lived up to the Gamgee promise of being a remarkable cook. But most importantly, like Frodo and Pippin, he listened to Merry in all things.
�Master Pippin begged to be excused from breakfast,� said Sam, and in a conspiratorial tone added, � �e wanted to allow you and Mr. Frodo to have your special time together, for your daily walk.�

�Nonsense,� said Merry with a dismissive wave of his hand. �We shall all go, of course. A family outing isn�t a family outing unless the whole family goes. We all shall go, including you, Samwise,� Merry said as he acknowledged Sam with a friendly nod of his head. He then lifted a finger to his mouth in thought, and broke into an unexpected smile. �And Sam, make us up a basket! It is spring and spring is the time for picnics! What say you, Cousin? A picnic with me, you, Sam and Pippin?�

Frodo could scarcely contain his joy.

�A picnic! A picnic!� exclaimed Frodo with childlike enthusiasm as he bounced on his heels. �Yes, Merry! I do think that would be lovely! You have the best plans, Merry!�

Frodo then bounded over to Sam, his face written over in joy.

�Sam, please say you�ll come! Sam! Sam! Sam��..�

* * *

�Sam! Sam! Sam!�

Merry startled awake from his deep slumber at the sound of Frodo�s voice. He had fallen asleep as he kept vigil beside Frodo�s bed, waiting for his cousin to awaken from the tightly locked prison of his mind. Outside, fall leaves tumbled to the ground and the lovely spring of his dreams dissolved into nothingness.

Frodo had not spoken a word that related to the world outside his head, save one terrible utterance. Mine. By and large, this Frodo was silent, still, and dead to the world about him, ignorant of the Ring, even of the love and family that surrounded him. Merry had tried to leave Frodo in peace, but separation from his dear cousin had become increasingly difficult for him. Love compelled him here, to his proper place by Frodo�s side. And if, rather, when Frodo awoke, Merry would be there to guide him tenderly to his new, happy life--as a hobbit reborn. Hours he had sat here, sometimes leaning back in this bedside chair, sometimes upon the bed with Frodo encircled in his comforting arms. Long had Merry waited to hear Frodo�s voice calling out his name.

�Sam! Sam!�

Yes, it was Frodo�s voice, but shredded with fear, sodden with delirium, and not calling for Merry but for his own damnable �

�SAM!�

-- gardener.

But the happy Frodo, the docile Frodo who loved him, the dutiful Sam, the obeisant Pippin, the walk, the spring, the picnic?

All a dream. All disintegrated into the autumn chill of the room. It had been Merry�s family as he had wished it, dreamed it, but not as it was. Frodo was not happy. Sam was not dutiful, not to Merry at least. And Pippin feared him, his own cousin. After all he had done, Merry was not loved. No, he was feared, he was disliked, and he was lonely. The reality crashed down upon Merry like a welter of hail and he suppressed a sob, burying his face in his hands until Frodo�s cry rent the air once again.

�SAM! Help me, Sam!�

Merry leaned over the bed and clutched Frodo�s limp, cold hands in his own. �Frodo, Love!� cried Merry. �Frodo, Love! Your Merry is here! Please come back to me!�

Frodo hagun gun thrashing about the moment Merry touched him, and in his obvious delirium, he continued to call out for Sam.

�Sam! Take me out of here! Sam! Don�t leave me, SAM!�

�It is me!� called Merry, now cupping Frodo�s jaw in his hands and leaning in close to his cousin�s distraught face. �It is me, Merry! And I shan�t leave you! I shall never, ever leave you!�
�Sam!�

�NO!� screamed Merry, his tears falling upon Frodo�s white and drawn cheeks. �It is ME, your Merry! Your cousin! Wake up, Love, please! Wake up and see how well you shall be cared for!�

But Frodo did not wake, nor did he show any cognizance of Merry�s presence. Merry now began to shake Frodo with increasing desperation, trying in vain to rouse him from his troubled dreams.

�Sam,� cried Frodo, louder than ever. �Come get me, Sam! It is too dark and too quiet and too terrible! SAM!�

Merry, in fury and sorrow, clamped Frodo�s mouth tightly with his hand, hoping to force the competitor's name back down Frodo�s throat, to make sure that Sam did not hear his own name called by the one he loved most. Sam must not know.

But the moment Merry�s hand landed, Frodo�s body jerked violently and Merry felt teeth dig into his palm. He yelped and in reflex, slapped Frodo hard across the face.

�SAM!�

Merry drew back, aghast at his own reaction. He gathered Frodo�s writhing body in his arms and wept openly.

�Frodo! I am so sorry! I shall not lift a hand to you! I would rather cut off my hand than have it strike you again! Frodo, you are safe with me! Cared for! Frodo--why must you do this to me! Wake up!�

�Sam!" Frodo screamed hysterically but his face was outwardly calm, with eyes that refused to open. "Get me away from him!�

At these words, Merry cried out in anguish, beating his fists against the bedposts before collapsingbbinbbing beside Frodo. His cousin continued to toss and cry but without any purposeful movement, as if his voice and his body were disconnected, operating in different spheres of influence. Finally, with a soft murmur, Frodo's legs stretched out stiffly and Merry watched in horror as they closed tightly in on each other and his arms stretched out over his head, wrists together, in the exact same position as he had been tied for so long in the cellar. Frodo sighed out loud--almost a contented whimper--and his eyes sunk deeply into their sockets.

If this position made Frodo feel safe, it had a terrible, opposite effect on his cousin's guilty conscience. Merry quickly moved Frodo's arms down and rolled the now slack buponupon its side, facing the fire. He then jumped off the bed and knelt at Frodo�s eye level, speaking once more, but this time in a cold, calm tone with more the timbre of a threat.

�Open your eyes, Frodo.� It was not a request.

Slowly, listlessly, Frodo turned his face, glistening with perspiration, down toward his cousin. Merry felt his heart race--filling with anticipation that Frodo might finally acknowledge him. Merry pressed Frodo�s eyelids by way of instruction and called his cousin back, sweetly now, his voice soft and mellifluent.

�Frodo, Love, please open your eyes now, for your Merry who loves you.�

Frodo went very still, his cries long ceased and Merry�s breath caught in his throat as his cousin�s eyelids started to flutter.

Finally!

With an abrupt motion, Frodo�s eyes shot open. Merry again found himself staring into clouded disks, dead as stone, as lifeless as the hobbit who owned them. Merry dropped his head, despair welling up once again upon the tide of his tears. But then, softly, barely perceptible at first, a voice rose up. The voice sounded in his mind.

I am here with you! I see you! I SEE YOU!

It was a voice much like Frodo�s voice, and yet more beautiful and terrible than Merry had ever remembered. And when it spoke, Merry�s joy intermingled with his terror until they were one.

* * *

The clammy air, thickened with drizzle, was gloomy but it gave Pippin the perfect excuse to draw his hood over his head � a layer of disguise, or so he thought it. Pippin felt naked and vulnerable on the road to the marketplace, Merry's words knocking about his head, echoing btheitheir warning.
I have betrayed some people. Some of them powerful. Some of them dangerous.

What would Pippin do if he should cross paths with such people? Would he even know them? Would they be the same people who were to drag Pippin back to torment and misery should he ever try to bolt? Or were there more nameless, faceless enemies than he could count? Oh--how had it come to this?

At the market, Pippin was in a constant state of panic, his muscles coiled tightly, ready to spring should he need to run. As the only son of the Thain, Pippin Took was known in Buckland, although not as immediately recognizable as the grand, confident, and popular Meriadoc. Still, he could not expect to be anonymous. Unobtrusive was the best he could hope for.

And Pippin an an admirable job of being unobtrusive. He managed to pick up most of his goods without significant comment, or questions any more trenchant than predictions about the weather in Tuckborough or the health of the Thain. Pippin was an efficient shopper, avoiding hobbits of the more garrulous stripe, and when buying a roast from deaf Farmer Roper, he was evasive to the limit of being rude.

There was something surreal about being here in the normal world, the world texisexisted outside the suffocating closeness of the house at Crickhollow. Pippin stared wistfully down the road to Tuckborough, part of him knowing that he could run home, now, dash down the familiar path and force Merry to make good on his threat to have him hunted down like a coney. But those thoughts were wisps in the wind, mere fantasy. Pippin would return to Crickhollow, of course. He feared Merry, he feared his threats, but there was something else. In his heart oartsarts Pippin loved Merry. Their talk this morning and Merry�s unfeigned desperation, had again made Pippin feel unaccountably protective. Pippin loved him--the idealized Merry that existed in the mists of his memory. This Merry he loved and any life apart from him would be thin and uninteresting, utterly devoid of meaning.

But Pippin also knew him, knew Merry as he was now. Knew what he might be capable of. And Pippin�s decision to return to Crickhollow was as much a child of his fear for Frodo as his love for Merry. In his heart, Pippin knew his dear Frodo needed him more than he ever had in his life and could not should not leave him alone with Merry. Not now.

Pippin's thoughts were interrupted once again by the sense that something was not quite right at the market, a dark undercurrent, an unmistakable feeling of unease. The hobbits about him acted as they did when standing at the cusp of a coming storm � on edge, irritable, skittish, and without their usual effortless mirth. It seemed they wanted to get their business done, flee home, and burrow down into their smials. Perhaps Pippin was not alone in feelitalktalked. Something was just not right.

With some effort of will, Pippin shook it off, smiling to himself as the last barrel of flour was loaded upon his cart. None oese ese dangerous [CG9] people had leered up out of the ground, no one had asked him about Frodo, Sam, or even Merry, and he had located every item on his cousin�s long and detailed list. Pippin gave a quick nod to the miller�s son, a stout lad who had no idea who Pippin was or what he was about, and flicking the reins, he rode back toward the main road, back to his cousins, to Crickhollow and safety.

As Pippin�s trap rounded the last hillock out of the market, he breata dea deep sigh of relief. He had made it! No one of measure had recognized him, no one had asked uncomfortable questions, and he had done well by Merry�s requests. All he needed now was to make it home without encountering any unsavory folk and he would be�.

Just then a shrill, h but but familiar voice rent the air, shattering his thoughts.

�Pippin!� it called from behind him.

Pippin's heart flew up to his throat. The voice was distant, far back but gaining fast.

�PIP! PER-E-GRIN TOOK!�

Pippin could feel all the color drain from his face. He did not turn, and instead feigned deafness and urged his pony on faster, pretending he had never heard the eminently familiar voice.

* * *

Pippin�s heart slipped back down from his throat after about a mile, slowing from a violent drumming to a mild clomp as his pony neared the gate at Crickhollow. He pushed down the memory of the voice and instead concentrated on the road and the unnamed danger that he might find upon it. The rain had disintegrated into a grey, cheerless sky, weak rays of sunlight filtering through tiny breaks in the clouds. Pippin did not lower his shielding hood and the veneer of comfort it idedided until at last he closed the gate behind him.

To Pippin�s surprise, Merry did not race out to meet him, nor even walk out. Merry did not materialize at all, in fact, and Pippin found himself unloading the goods one by one off the cart and onto the front porch of the smial. Slowly, Pippin unlatched the pony and led him to the stables, all the e coe considering with dread what he would find once he stepped inside the bright green door. Pippin creaked the door open slowly, pushing with one hand, bearing a heavy sack in the other. All was quiet but with each sack Pippin carried to the kitchen, he caught Sam�s eyes. He knew Samwise was desperate to speak to him, and he was also fairly certain that in Sam�s eyes, Pippin would gravely disappoint.
�Hullo, Sam,� said Pippin quietly. �Where�s Merry?�

�Haven�t seen him, Pip,� sighed Sam, moving his eyes from side to side by manner of a question. Pippin understood and moved closer.

�Snakes and adders, Pippin! Why did you come back? Can�t you open your fool eyes! The longer we stay, the greater the danger. Please tell me lad, please tell me you got help.�

Pippin lowered his eyes.

�Lor bless me!� sighed Sam and shook his head. �You must have flour in that head of yours in place of the thinking bits!

�You don�t understand, Sam!� whispered Pippin. �It�s much worse than you could imagine, worse than even I could imagine!�

�How so?�

�I can�t say, Sam. Not now. Sa Sam opened his mouth, but Pippin cut him off once again. �Don't even ask! I don�t dare untie you for both our sakes, Sam. And if I don�t report back to Merry, I fear we�ll both be flayed!�

�Frodo�" began Sam.

�No change,� said Pippin. �But you can see for yourself at dinner.�

Sam grit his teeth and stared back into the fire.

�Celebration dinner,� he ground out, "ain't it?"

* * *

Pippin stepped tentatively down the hall, halting in front of Frodo�s room at the sound of voices. Slowly, silently, he moved his ear close to the thick door and listened. No, only Merry spoke. Pippin could not make out the words through the heavy grain that reduced them to an insubstantial mumble, but the tone and timbre were not reassuring. Carefully, squeezing his eyes almost closed, he turned the knob and stepped in.

Merry sat by Frodo�s bedside, a small leather-bound volume held in his quing ing hands. He was reading aloud to an utterly unresponsive Frodo, lying corpselike upon the bed, the covers drawn protectively up to his chin. The story, it seemed to Pippin, was one of those tales of dragons and magical creatures that Frodo had once read to them as children.

As children.

Merry did not look up. He read a few more sentences, and without varying his cadence, never raising his gaze from the page, addressed his cousin.

�So you have opted to return after all, my Pip. So glad I did not need to send my wolves after you.�

Pippin shuddered but did not otherwise move.

�I was concerned your love for me had faded. You have come and that is well. But I know not whether you return to me through love or fear.�

Merry�s face betrayed no emotion, but its disconcerting neutrality felt like ice in Pippin�s ears, and cold against his heart. Pippin stood straight as a statue, unsure how to respond. A shudder coursed through his spine. Pippin felt Merry might pounce upon him and rip out his throat at the slightest provocation.

�So,� continued Merry lifting his head at last and holding Pippin captive with his eyes, �Which is it? Love or fear?�

Merry�s relentless gaze made Pippin want to jump out of his skin. His feet were now rooted to the floor. Pippin was unsure if he even breathed.

�I bought potatoes,� answered Pippin stupidly, and averted his eyes from Merry�s stare by looking down at the floorboards.

�Come here, Pippin.�

Pippin did not want to come; yet, he found his feet driven forward by some strange compulsion. He stood awkwardly as Merry roved over him with his eyes, and gripping Pippin�s chin, held his cousin captive with his searing gaze.

�Such lovely green eyes,� sighed Merry as if half in a dream. �And when I stare into their depths, I can see right into your heart, Peregrin.�

Pippin felt he would fall to pieces in seconds if he could not free his eyes from Merry�s merciless stare.

�It would pain me so to look into those beautiful eyes one day and see deception � to see that love had fled and that the hobbit I held dearest had betrayed me.�

Pippin stopped breathing until at last Merry dropped his burrowing eyes and kissed him on the forehead.

�Look at our dear Frodo,� said Merry as he fell back into his chair. �Sleeping so peacefully.�

Pippin glanced nervously, as it did not seem Frodo was asleep. He checked upon the very slow rising and falling of the covers before his fears eased somewhat.

�He enjoys it when I read to him,� said Merry, his eyes glazing over wistfully. �It is just one of the many nice things we do together.�

Pippin said nothing, but felt a sudden sting of nausea niggling at his gut.

�Frodo and I had a lovely, quiet afternoon together, just the two of us,� said Merry.

Doing what, Pippin could scarcely imagine.

�He so appreciates the way I take such good care of him and he never likes it when I leave his side. I can hear him when he calls to me.�

Pippin suppressed his befuddled look and nodded as if Merry's statement had made the most perfect sense.

�Frodo,� continued Merry in a low, discomforting voice, �will never leave me."

After an eerie pause, Merry stood, leaned over, and ran his fingers through Frodo�s hair. �I will only be gone a few minutes, Love,� he whispered in his cousin's ear. �Your Merry must begin our feast. Do not be fretful.�

Far from being fretful, Frodo remained utterly still. Merry wrapped his arm serpent-like around Pippin and led him out of the room.

* * *

They worked in silence. The three of them, Merry, Pippin, and Sam were at the kitchen table, slicing, chopping, mixing, and pouring ingredients into pots and pans, Merry�s mood living up to his name, Pippin anxious and tense, and Sam morose with a growl vibrating just below his skin, all making for an interesting orchestration of emotions. Sam's feet and torso were bound to the chair, though he did not mind the change of scene. Yet, tied or no, Sam�s expertise in the culinary arts had been recognized. Since he was the best cook of the three, and had secret knowledge of Frodo�s favorite dishes, his help was essential in Merry's mind.

Sam spoke only to demand this or that ingredient be passed to him as he continued to work in silence. Then, in clipped sentences, he gave baking instructions to the two hobbits that had the good fortune of not being not tied to their chairs. Merry supervised, though he constantly left the kitchen to �check� on Frodo, each visit drawing out longer and longer until it was tacitly admitted that his supervisory role was a ruse. Finally, Pippin was set in charge of the baking chores, Sam was escorted to his locked room, and Merry dashed back to be with Frodo, seemingly unable to keep away from his cousin and his precious trinket for more than ten minutes at a time.

* * *

Pippin stared miserably into the candle�s dancing flame as he leaned back in his chair and waited for Merry to bring out the guest of honor. Everything was perfect--Merry had insisted upon it. The plain oak table was rendered stately with a lace-edged cloth covering its rough surface while candles burned in tree-shaped brass holders polished to a high shine by Sam. The flames reflected in the silver serving bowls and plates, and split the light into tiny rainbows through the delicate curves of the wine glasses. Each dish had been prepared with skill, principally through the culinary genius of Samwise. Though he was a prisoner, Sam would not deny himself the opportunity to do something that his Mr. Frodo might enjoy in all this endless swirl of misery.
Sam did not need to be reminded that Frodo had only eaten such scraps as Merry chose to give him for several weeks now. Though his mind raged, he could not stop his hands from preparing Frodo�s favorite dishes with love and care. The tantalizing smell of roast, seasoned potatoes, steamed mushrooms, baked fruit pies, puddings, and a host of other dainties commingled with the scent of candle wax and the lavender stems leaning purple and bright over the edge of fluted vases. There was enough food for twenty hungry hobbits, though today there would only be four: one captor, two captives, and one distant guest of honor, too deep in his mind to appreciate his splendid fete.

Pippin wiped a tear from his eye with the sleeve from his best blue shirt--the one Merry had insisted he put on for the occasion. Sam, too, had been ordered to wear the best he had, and when his �best� was not good enough, he was given one of Merry�s bigger linen shirts, a deep green one and actually a fair fit after two weeks of deprivation had thinned Sam down. Both Pippin and Sam had been ordered to bathe for the occasion, Sam aided by Pippin since Merry did not feel safe enough to unbind his hands.

Pippin now glanced at Sam, sitting to his side. Sam, clean scrubbed and dressed in fine clothes, looked surprisingly noble � or perhaps it was not the shirt. Perhaps it was a manner of bearing that had kept him proud and unbowed despite everything Merry had put him through.

Sam did not glance back at Pippin, but squeezed his unbound hands together nervously, his eyes piercing the darkness of the corridor for any sign of his master, or what was left of him. Merry had been careful to keep Sam�s many bindings well below the level of the table so as not to �distract� Frodo. Sam understood implicitly that Merry would try to pass this off as a normative dinner for Frodo�s sake, and it was his job to pose as a guest and not a prisoner. Merry had promised him a greater role in Frodo�s care if he would prove himself worthy of it. Sam had no choice but to obey�.for now.

The two empty chairs across the table were intended for Merry and his guest, who from the sounds of footsteps down the hall, were on their way to join them.

Pippin's gaze was purposefully downcast but he clenched his teeth at the sound of Sam�s gasp. Even from a distance, Pippin knew the impact of those dead empty eyes upon the first time observer. Merry led Frodo forward in carefully measured steps, his hands wrapped protectively around Frodo�s forearms to keep him on a path his eyes should have been able to see.

Merry was dressed in the same outfit he had worn for his coming of age banquet--in other words, his very best suit. He was resplendent in his daffodil yellow cambric shirt, emerald green embroidered weskit lined with gold buttons, and pressed wool trousers. But if Pippin had thought his elder cousin beautiful, Frodo was absolutely breathtaking. Merry had dressed him all in blue velvet, cloth as deep as the evening sky, a sapphire glow flowing across the material as each fold caught the light. Frodo�s skin shone luminous and white against the deep blue while his clean, dark locks, longer than Pippin remembered, framed his face like ivy around a statue. Pippin remembered painfully how the lasses had flocked about his bachelor cousin, and wondered bitterly what they�d think of poor Frodo now, lovely, doll-like, precious as porcelain and just as fragile.

�Here he is, friends!� chirped Merry. �Our dear, beloved Frodo come home at last to take his proper place in the bosom of his family!�

Merry�s face was flush with childlike joy as he pulled the chair out and bid Frodo to sit. But Frodo did not sit until Merry gently forced him down by slight pressure on either of his shoulders.

Frodo did not look at any of the faces present, not even Sam. Instead, he stared straight into the hearth, showing no curiosity about the elegant spread, the cornucopia of aromatic food, or the guests.

"Frodo, say something to your family." Merry rested his hands lightly on Frodo's shoulders.

Sam turned his head and threw Pippin an agonized look, to which Pippin only replied by dropping his eyes and sliding his sleeve across them once more. In his heart, Pippin felt so deeply for Sam but there was nothing he could do.

Sam would have toppled over had he not been bound to the chair. Master! What has he done to you? Where have you gone? Where did you get those horrible, horrible eyes? By the Valar, what has he done?

Sam felt Pippin�s gentle hands patting his back and he swallowed his tears. Pippin had warned him, but nothing he might have said could have prepared him for this.

The actions and emotions of his guests were lost to Merry, whose whole attention was upon his work of art. He knelt beside Frodo, staring lovingly at his cousin. Finally, smiling widely he stood and sat himself next to his gorgeous blank-eyed creation.

The four hobbits sat silently for a few awkward minutes, the stillness a heavy weight upon the room, the air becoming dense and harder to breathe by the second. All eyes were upon Frodo who did not stir.
�Pippin,� said Merry softly.

Pippin jumped.

�Please pour the wine for us so that we may raise a toast to our beloved cousin.�

Pippin stood up, nearly toppling his chair as he did so. His mind was aflutter and his frazzled thoughts had shaken the balance of his hands. They shook, as did his legs, as did the very foundations of his soul. He grasped the antique cut crystal decanter. It was filled with a half-century old, almost indigo claret, the very jewel of the stores at the Hall. Slowly, maladroitly, Pippin began to pour, dribbling a vermillion rain about the perimeter of each glass.

As he finished with the last one, Pippin suddenly felt he must have air or perish. Without a word, he set down the bottle, scrambled up to the window behind Frodo, lifted the handle and pushed outwards. The hinges creaked, and a delicious, crisp autumn breeze smelling of burning wood, cedar, leaves, and cinnamon swooshed in, bathing the room in a tangy scent that immediately made everything seem less oppressive.

�Fool of a Took!� yelled Merry angrily. �Close it! Close it! NOW! Do you want our poor Frodo to catch his death! Close it!�

Pippin slammed the handle shut, the sealing of the window sounding like a landslide of rocks to his ears, one that would again bury him alive.

�Hand me that blanket, Pip!� barked Merry, now standing up to tend his injured cousin.

Pippin picked up a thick wool blanket sitting near the hearth and threw it to Merry. He watched with dismay as Merry wrapped up Frodo in the blanket�s soft folds as if he were a child coming in from a blizzard.

�There, there,� cooed Merry. �We will let you warm up again, Love. Forgive Pip. He does not understand how sensitive you are to the cold. No one understands your needs as well as I do. I shall warm you up. Forgive him. All shall be made right, Frodo.�

Pippin could feel Sam�s eyes upon him as he returned to his seat. He risked a quick look. It was a question in both of their minds--how could someone who had been so ruthlessly cruel now be so obsessed with Frodo�s comfort that they could not even brook a small breeze. It made no sense.

Merry did not give the two a chance for any more meaningful glances. He raised his glass and indicated that the other two were to do likewise.

�I propose a toast,� exclaimed Merry. �To my most beloved and precious cousin, Frodo Baggins, a hobbit who has walked through pain and doubt, and in doing so, gained wisdom and strength. I toast a hobbit whose gift will ensure that the Shire and all who live here will remain safe and secure in their lands for endless generations of hobbits, a hobbit that will remain part of our family, protected and loved just as he protects and loves us. I propose a toast to Frodo Baggins, Lord of the Ring!�

Pippin shuddered, Sam bit his tongue, but both raised their glasses and sipped the priceless wine that went down like poison. Underneath the heavy blanket, Frodo's fingers were moving, unseen by his companions.

Merry still stood behind Frodo and setting his drained glass down, placed his hands on his cousin's shoulders. He faced his astonished audience and spoke.

�Frodo wanted me to tell you how much he appreciates the sacrifices we all have made on his behalf and how very happy he is to be home.�

Sam and Pippin stared up at Merry, slack jawed, but they said nothing. Surely Merry was losing his mind.

�Now,� smiled Merry as he traced Frodo�s set jaw with the back of his hand, �Frodo says it is time to eat.�

* * *

Here he is, friends! Our dear, beloved Frodo come home at last to take his proper place in the bosom of his family!

Frodo. He hears the word, wonders what it means, decides it doesn�t matter. Nothing matters but the somnolent silence that is so close to slipping away beneath the voice that demands entry. The voice that speaks of family, speaks of love, but lies with each breath, each word, each tender touch from the hand that claws then strokes, sears then soothes.
Another calls to him from the depths within, over-rides the harsh voice with sweeter tones that drop against his skin like summer showers. It renews its promise of silence, safety � asks but one small thing and in his heart, cut raw and bleeding by the hands upon him, he whispers yes.

Frodo, say something to your family.

Harsh, low and demanding, this voice but the words fall through his mind and echo in meaningless resonance. It makes its demands, speaks its lies. He is weary and the light burrows into him, stings his eyes, burns his skin. He casts himself to the dark, to the black � seeks the sweet voice that can chase away the harsh one�and finds it.

"Froodo." It comes from within, diaphanous yet mighty in its gentle music. Feminine almost with an echo that folds in upon itself, cascades into a cacophony of whispered dreams. He opens his soul to it, prostrates himself to it. He listens with his heart, clawing it til it�s splayed and open to the voice it longs to hold within. "Frodo, Frodo�come, Dearest."

He falls toward it, follows it deeper into welcoming darkness, down and down. There is no pain, there is no betrayal. There is only love and darkness.

It retreats, abandons him and he wants to weep at the loss. He throws his soul open to it, casts himself into the void, seeking, begging, demanding. He spirals in the black, arms thrown wide in supplication and invitation.

He is buried within himself, far from all things, a fugitive from his own heart, an expatriate of his own soul. He is filled with the darkness within and without, cradled in its cold arms and he revels in the touch. He casts his spirit to the voice and waits.

A seed of music within his heart and with sudden, sweet demand it is upon him, within him. It holds him in its dark embrace and he falls to his knees, weeps in gratitude. "Frodo, Frodo�come."

Something cold drew him deeper into the welcoming black ecstasy. Family, it says again, clearer, now. Family. It is real. Every ounce of strength will be needed but he will find it.

"We love you, Frodo. You are loved, you are loved." Love? Is that what it says, what they say? They? The scent of lilac and rainwater drifts through him and silently speaks its meaning: Mother. Pipeweed and spice, parchment and sepia � all of it surrounds him and tell him of those beloved and thought lost. And suddenly he understands. All are here, all are waiting � he needs but to fulfill his promise.. His beloved parents, Bilbo, Gandalf, even dear Sam and his cherished cousins. "Oh," his weary mind relaxes into the welcoming love, as soft and warm as a featherbed on a cold winter night. He reaches for them, wants to feel their warmth in his bones, wants to bury himself in them, feel their breath in his hair. He reaches for them but they are beyond his feeble grasp and his heart spills forth tears of loss.

"Froodo." He stays his tears and opens himself to the voice. It scintillates up and up a harmonious scale, high pitched and sweet. There are no commands or orders, only sounds that melt into his soul, becoming one with it. It is so beautiful, so beautiful, sooo�

"Frodo." The sound now possesses his very nerves, his soul; there is no part of him it does not fill. And he submits, sinking into the depths without care, without reservation. There is nothing but the voice.

There, there. We will let you warm up again, Love.

He has never felt so warm, so cherished. He is cradled in the perfume of lilac and rainwater and wrapped in the warmth of Mother. His father's custom pipeweed is full in his senses and then he is there, just across the table. Bilbo and Gandalf sit next to him, chatting quietly, Merry and Pippin stand nearby, arm in arm, so young and full of life. Sam waves at him from the fireplace. He can almost touch them. All he has to do is� And then he knows what the voice asks. Exactly.

He can feel his fingers moving, very purposefully now, just as it tells him. He smiles with joy. Joy, pure joy. In one second, one second, he will have everything he ever wanted enfolded within his arms.

The threads holding his shirt to his trousers are an impediment at first but the power of the high voice was overwhelming, it cannot be defied, even if that is what he wants�but it is not. He claws at his neck deep into his skin through the velvet, aching to find purchase, skin to gold. It might have hurt, but it doesn�t matter. His family is all that matters. Mine, he says to himself as his fingers crawl along the warm flesh of his chest. Mine.

He can feel the delirium like no joy he has ever known. His fingers long to touch Its cold surface. The voice is stronger and more powerful than he has ever heard it.

His mother stands behind him and he can feel her soft hands on his shoulders. And then he feels his mother's sweet kiss. After so many years. He turns to her and she reaches out her arms, enfolds him, welcomes him. All he must do, the voice says, is get�his�finger�inside�
* * *

The celebration dinner was a travesty in every conceivable way. Poor Pippin picked at his food, all the while looking as if he might shatter. Merry ate with relish, but observing that Frodo made no move toward his spoon, immediately began to coo and cosset Frodo in a way that made Sam�s stomach churn. Frodo stared blankly into space, occasionally clawing silently at his neck until Merry would take his cold hands and force his fingers back down to his lap.

Frodo�s lack of initiative in the eating capacity led to what Sam considered the most agonizing aspect of the meal � watching Merry tenderly, joyfully feeding his master. Merry lifted a bite of each dish to Frodo�s lips, prompting him to chew, lifting the wine glass to Frodo�s lips, and dabbling Frodo�s pale face with his own napkin as if he were incapable of doing it himself. The most wrenching pain for Sam came when he realized that Frodo, in his current state, was indeed incapable of doing it himself. Frodo�s hands, freed from the burden of lifting food to his mouth, busied themselves instead with fondling the hard round bump at his collarbone sitting tantalizingly just under his blue velvet shirt.

He sat quietly, waiting and listening, his fingers so close and yet so far. He was full in the piercing light and surrounded by loneliness once more. The love he had longed for was gone but he would listen for the sweet, high voice again, listen as hard as he could for it to come back for him�because he knew, without any doubt in his mind, that it would.

�Frodo, what should you like to try next?� asked Merry. �Of course,� he answered as if Frodo had supplied a crucial section of the conversation, "how foolish of me to forget. Pippin, pass the plate over there. Frodo wants mushrooms.�

Sam turned to Pip with an expression of utter befuddlement. Pippin shrugged and closed his eyes in anguish as Merry continued in the same bizarre vein.

�Frodo says that he especially likes your apple tarts, Sam,� smiled Merry.

Frodo, was now staring at the fire, still fingering his Ring, but Merry finger combed his hair and continued speaking. �Why certainly, Love,� he said. �Sam can make these tarts as often as you wish, every day if you like. No, Love," Merry continued emphatically, "he doesn't mind.�

Merry paused for a minute and then turned Frodo�s face toward Sam with the tips of his fingers. �No, Frodo, you must know by now that Samwise will never, ever leave you.�

* * *

Though Sam�s stomach was full, he had never felt so empty inside. An anger deep and pure began to well up in his belly as he watched the charade. Merry, who had nearly drowned Frodo, who had whipped him within an inch of his life, who had left him tied down in�that place�for days, who had kept him here like a disobedient child, and now had the nerve to play the benefactor, to speak to Frodo as a child might speak to a favorite doll at a tea party--this was too much to bear.

Don�t go running off at the mouth and making it worse for your Frodo, thought Sam. Don�t you give Merry an excuse to hurt him again.

But this last �conversation� caused the dam of Sam�s self control to burst. For the first time that evening, he spoke.

�Merry," said Sam. �Why don�t you ask our Frodo to speak up for himself, to speak so�s we can all hear him.�

Merry shot Sam a malignant look, but it softened quickly. �Frodo is still very tired Sam,� and cocking his head as if to listen, repeated, �yes, too tired, he says.�

�Just the same, Merry,� continued Sam, his eyes finding Merry's. �Just one word would do the trick, I think. Put my mind at ease. One word and I will know Frodo is just as happy as you say.�

Sam flatly ignored the desperate, pleading looks that Pippin threw him each time Merry turned back to Frodo.

�Not today, Sam,� said Merry. �Frodo tells me he is fine, more than fine.� Merry continued to stroke Frodo�s hair. "Oh, that's nice." Merry smiled as he leaned over and kissed the side of Frodo's face. He looked up at Sam. "Frodo says that he enjoyed your meal very much, Sam, and that he is most grateful for all your hard work."

A long cruel grin spread across Sam�s face and Pippin felt himself start to tremble again.

�Why not have Frodo say your name, Merry? If you are the only one he speaks to, surely he will do that for you. Come now, Merry. That is not too much to ask of even a very tired hobbit. It would be like a kind of �thank�ee� to all you�ve done for him too.�

�Alright, Sam. I will ask him,� said Merry confidently. �Frodo, say my name now.�

Frodo was silent and continued to finger his Ring.

�Just my name aloud, and then you will need to do no more.� Merry�s voice was more insistent this time.

Frodo stared at the fire and clutched onto the Ring with more insistence. Merry had sewn his collar, but Frodo nails began to tear into the fabric and he paid no heed to Merry.

Merry was becoming more agitated and Sam now felt Pippin�s hands pulling at his sleeves, wordlessly begging him to retract. �He can�t do it, can he?� said Sam.

Merry pulled Frodo�s hands off the Ring and cupped his cousin�s face in his hands. �Say my name!� he ordered.

A strange gleam entered Frodo�s eyes, and for a split second, it seemed Frodo came into himself. He said nothing, but those blank blue eyes suddenly glowed with something like rage and blame before clouding over again. Much to Sam and Pippin�s astonishment, Merry dropped his hands, dropped his eyes, and stepped back as if he had been shamed.

He is ashamed. Thought Sam, astonished. Somewhere inside he knows. He knows how far this has gone wrong!

As if he had read the gardener's mind, Merry snapped his head to Sam, and seeing him gloating, cried out, �Wipe that expression off your miserable face if you don�t want your Frodo to suffer for your insolence!�

Sam was too shocked to do anything, but he prepared to thrash out should Merry try something on Frodo. �I said stop staring!� cried Merry. �Stop it! NOW! Both of you!�

Merry raised his hand up as if to strike Frodo. Sam and Pippin gasped, hoping this would not end badly. But to their astonishment, Merry stared down at the lovely impassive face of his intended target, and with tears flowing from his eyes, brought his hand down and drew Frodo into a weeping embrace.

Sam let out a heavy breath, his mind stampeding and tumbling over unexpected terrain. And then the truth hit him like an avalanche of twenty-ton boulders.

Merry won�t hurt Frodo anymore! He can�t hurt him anymore! Not even to punish me. He is unable!

Sam dug his fingernails into the table, understanding full well what this might mean. In taming Frodo, Merry had lost his only hold over Sam. For Sam, the time of decision had come.
TBC

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Ring Around the Merry