Ring Around the Merry

AN-there is a short questions at the end of this chapter for readers. Could you take a minute and answer?

Chapter 27 – Marked and Claimed

Frodo was hefted by Merry and Pippin back down the corridor and back to his room - his prison - and plopped down in a sturdy wooden chair with smooth, flat armrests, his arms crushed awkwardly between his torso and the unyielding chair back.

“I’m going to have Pippin cut your bonds for just a second while we get you…” Merry angled for the perfect word—“Resituated. Do not try anything rebellious, beloved. I want you to sit here, silent and docile, while we set you back up. If you resist, Frodo, you will be deeply, profoundly sorry.”

Merry handed Pippin his small knife and nodded toward the bonds securing Frodo’s legs. Pippin, wincing as he knelt, began slicing away at the ropes. The cords unraveled then separated with a snap. Pippin glanced up at Frodo, glossy-eyed and unfocused, wearing a smile that originated on his lips, not in his heart.

“Now, Frodo,” said Merry in an authoritative tone, “stand up and turn. I’m going to cut your wrists free –but just for a few seconds, mind you. Remember, I’m expecting you to handle this maneuver with //maturity//.”

Frodo betrayed nothing in his expression, and perhaps his fist had not related its big plans to Frodo’s mind – its desire to connect with any part of a certain Brandybuck with high speed and great force. Frodo turned obediently, his wrists facing their jailer, awaiting parole. Merry sawed at the cords until they split apart and severed. Before the broken ropes even hit the floor, Frodo whirled around and clouted Merry’s jaw, thech pch propelled by a week’s worth of frustration, fury, and agony.

Merry fell with a resounding thud, taking the chair, the bed stand, and the unfortunate Pippin with him.

Frodo smiled, nearly laughed. If his situation were helpless, by Eru, he would at least get his licks in. But was it still helpless? Merry and Pippin both sprawled on the floor in a dazed heap of hobbit feet and furniture legs and Frodo suddenly realized there was nothing binding his limbs and only a tangled pile of hobbits between him and the door. Fly, you fool! His mind screamed. Fly!

Frodo literally leapt over his cousins to reach the door and his freedom, his hope reawakening as he careened across the room. Frodo sprinted faster than he thought he could, Sam’s name emblazoned on his mind. I’m coming, Sam! I’m coming!

Time slowed down as Frodo reached for the doorknob, skin on metal, hands turning, metal not. The sweat dripped off of Frodo’lms,lms, slicking the brass knob, making his hands slide uselessly around the obstinate knob as if it had been greased. Locked! Frodo wildly jerked the knob to the left, then right, listening to the knob click, clank, and complain, as he tried to impose his will upon it. Frodo continued to push and pull frantically, shaking the whole door and ramming his full weight against it in his desperate struggle.

His wild battle with the doorknob consumed him, he did not think to turn around at the shuffling sound behind him until the rope fell over his head and was drawn tight around his throat. Frodo instinctively released his hold on the knob and dug shaking fingers under the rope to steal back some air, but to no avail. His throat closed with the force of the rope around it and his chest burned as his lungs se wit with the sudden loss of air. Frodo felt his limbs weaken and his eyes bulge from their sockets as the pressure in his head thudded heavily behind . S. Still he scrabbled at the noose, trying desperately to get a finger-hold beneath it and release the pressure constricting his throat.

“Hands down and I’ll let you breathe, Frodo!” yelled a voice inches behind him.

Frodo continued clawing; Merry drew it tighter causing Frodo’s sight to grow dim and his mind to begin a wandering course as it stumbled from consciousness.

“I will indeed let you pass out, Frodo! Hands down! I will not warn you again, Cousin!”

Frodo complied, seconds from succumbing. Merry spun Frodo around violently, meeting Frodo’s glassy eyes with his own stare of unmitigated rage. Frodo felt his head snap back as Merry backhanded him with terrible force.

“Why must you test me at every turn?” bellowed Merry, gripping his shoulders and shaking him hard. “Why must you always disobey?”

Frodo, disoriented by the slap, off Mer Merry a defiant grin, his face stinging but his self-respect restored. The lack of oxygen, if anything, had made Frodo giddy, dissolving much of his inhibition and most of his hobbit sense.

“You’re bleeding,” observed Frodo, nearly giggling.

Merry socked Frodo again across the face, cracking his lip cruelly against his teeth.

“So are you,” replied Merry curtly.

The two battered and bleeding hobbits stood inches apart, staring at each other, breathing heavily, eyes darkened with rage as if they were two surly lads facing off in a bar room after consuming one too many ales. Merry broke the spell with a swift hard punch to Frodo’s gut that sent him reeling to the floor.

“You will pay dearly for that little stunt, Frodo,” breathed Merry. “You shall pay with your body and soul!”

Frodo stared up at the hazy figure hovering above him, the room spinning out of control and the figure losing its clarity in the whirlwind of his mind.

“Was –worth it,” muttered Frodo quietly as he lapsed from consciousness.

* * *

Frodo woke and found himself lying in bed. At first he thought he had slept late after a long long unpleasant dream that still hovered on the edge of memory. (AN-lifted from “many meetings)

Where am I and what is the time?” Frodo said aloud to the bed canopy.

“In our home at Crickhollow and it is ten o’ clock in the morning,” said a voice. “It is the morning of September twenty-seven if you want to know.”

“Gandalf!” cried Frodo in his delirium.

Merry leaned over into Frodo’s field of vision. “Certainly, not, Frodo, love.” Merry raised his eyebrows in thought. Was Gandalf expected? If so, Merry would need all possible information to deal appropriately with the situation. But first he’d need to reign in Frodo to make him more manageable.

“Merry,” sighed Frodo.

“Yes,” Merry said. “I am here. And you are lucky to be here too, after all of the absurd things you have done this morning. I had half a mind to take that rope around your neck and strangle the life out of you. But I love you too much which is the only thing that has saved you thus far, dear cousin. Punishment will be exacted now, dear, but you need to wake up first.”

Frodo’s eyes fluttered open, his mind returning to the present. He’d fought back and lost. What would that cost him, Frodo wondered. Frodo tried to move his limbs with low expectations. Not an inch. Frodo had been trussed spread eagle on the bed, a rope and a limb to each post, stretched to the limit on all sides. His body felt opened, vulnerable, helpless--which, of course, was Merry’s intention. Frodo’s range of motion was less than half an inch on any side, and, judging from the stiffness in his limbs, he had been in this position for several hours.

Merry slapped Frodo’s face brusquely to bring him back to full awareness.

“Up! Up! Love. This correction won’t mean a thing if you are too groggy to appreciate it!”

Frodo’s eyes involuntarily shut—remaining that way until the shock of cold water hitting his face forced them open. Frodo spluttered in surprise, opening his eyes to the sight of Merry above him holding an empty cup. Silent fury and frustration swept him and he raged inwardly at this newest predicament – just the latest in the growing list of Fate’s cruel turns.

“That’s more like it, Frodo,” smiled Merry. “So kind of you to join me!”

Frodo said nothing.

“Frodo,” explained Merry as he turned toward the roaring fire, “I’m going to call for Pippin in a moment.” Merry picked up a thin poker and gently stoked the flames. “Pippin and you will endure the same thing—but, Frodo, with an elemental difference. Pippin will look upon it as a gift. He will submit to it voluntarily, even enthusiastically. I hope that someday you will be able to see it the same way. But since you choose to resist me at every turn, I’m afraid I will have to administer this gift through force while you are bound.”

Frodo screwed up his face. What could this mean?

Merry rolled the poker between his fingers in a gentle twirling motion, turning over embers that crackled and burst in response. The flames gave Merry’s complexion an orange cast as golden shadow shimmered on his skin, giving him the appearance of some malevolent creature from the deep recesses of the earth. The reflection of the fire hit Merry’s pupils, bestowing upon them a living but unnatural light. Merry set down the poker and turned, eyes glinting, then strolled toward the open door.

“Pippin, my love, your Merry needs you!” called Merry down the hall. “Pippin!”

Frodo heard Pippin’s uneven footfalls padding down the hall. He burst through the doorway, flushed and excited. His Merry needed him! Pippin bounded up to his cousin like a puppy, his face awash with unfettered joy and youthful enthusiasm.

“Yes, Merry?”

Merry threw his arm around Pippin, pulling him into a gentle embrace, kissing the lad’s cheek and ruffling his hair as Merry led him to a chair near the fire.

“Sit down, sweetheart,” Merry said.

Pippin sat, a smile plastered on his face, anticipation in his eyes. He watched as Merry pulled up a second chair and placed it across from his own. Merry plopped down, catching Pippin’s gaze and grasping TookTook’s hands together in a loving gesture.

“Merry?”

Merry’s lips curled up in slow, cruel smile. Frodo shuddered. He wanted to shout out a warning to Pippin, but against what he did not yet know.

“Pippin,” purred Merry. “I’m so very proud of how much you’ve matured and how well you’ve helped me in this difficult business.”

Pippin looked happy enough to cry. Merry rubbed the tops of Pippin’s hands with his thumbs and continued speaking.

“I’m so happy with you, Peregrin, and for that reason, I want to do something very very special for you. It is something that will bind you to me forever. Would you like that, Pippin dear?”

Pippin looked as if he would burst out of his skin. “Anything, Merry,” Pippin answered as if speaking in a dream. “Anything.”

Merry’s smile widened, his eyes seeming to twinkle - or was that a glint? Frodo wasn’t sure, but it filled him with a gnawing fear.

“Pippin,” said Merry in a serious tone, “I want to put my mark upon you. Literally.”

Pippin looked confused but ebullient. He nodded, silently agreeing to whatever Merry wished-- Merry’s desires now so intertwined with his own that Pippin scarcely knew where Merry’s mind ended and his own began.

Merry slowly, deliberately, stood up and grasped the thin iron handle protruding from the flames like some long-dead snake, blackened and petrified but maintaining its wickedness and ability to strike out. Merry placed a reassuring pat on Pippin’s shoulder.

Frodo craned his neck from the bed to view the grotesque tableau stretched out before him. This would not end well. Dread seeped into his heart, a searing poison.

“This may hurt a little bit at first, Pippin,” said Merry calmly. “But when it’s done, you’ll be mine forever. Nothing will ever take that away.”

Frodo suddenly understood and screamed.

“Pip!” Frodo called. “Don’t let him do it! Pip! Say no! Pip! NO! Pippin, No!”

Merry whirled around, fire in his eyes. “Let the lad answer for himself!”

“Yes, Merry! Yes! I’ll do it!” cried Pippin as he stood up. “I’d love to do it! Anything, Merry, anything!”

“Pippin!” cried Frodo desperately. “Listen to me! You don’t know what you’re doing! Pippin!”

Merry smiled warmly, cupping Pippin’s chin gently, grabbing the handle of the poker with the other. As he lifted the thing from the fire, it became obvious that it was no poker at all.

“This is a brand, Pip,” explained Merry as he held the heated end up to Pippin’s expanding pupils. Its end was shaped with a small flat piece of iron twisted into a double loop—a “B.” The end was no bigger than the head of a teaspoon, but glowed angry and red with heat.

“PIPPIN!” screeched Frodo from the bed. “Don’t let him do this! For Eru’s sake! No!”

Merry swerved around. “HUSH, Frodo!” Merry yelled before turning back around to face his wide-eyed younger cousin.

“Do you know what this “B” stands for, Pip?” Merry asked.

“Brandybuck!” chirped Pippin. “It stands for Brandybuck!”

“That’s right!” laughed Merry. “We use it on our few cows so we may claim them when they wander. You see Pip, in a way you have strayed in your devotion to me, but you are back now, aren’t you, devoted and mine. By branding you, Pippin, I would claim you for my own. It would be a mark of our undying connection. Do you understand, Pip? Do you understand what an honor this is, to be claimed by the future Master of Buckland?”

Pip nodded, forgetting for a moment that he himself was the future Thain, and, technically, would outrank his older cousin.

pin!pin!” screamed Frodo. “You can’t. You must not!”

“Enough!” snapped Merry. He set the brand down with a clang, pulled a handkerchief form his pocket. “I’m going to gag you now. Must you lose every privilege for yourself?”

Merry carried out his plan quickly, leaving Frodo moaning and yelling at Pippin through the handkerchief.

“Now,” said Merry turning his sights back on Pippin. “This is an important decision for you, Pip. You will now have to decide where you’d like me to mark you. Remember, once I do this, my mark will never leave you. It is absolutely permanent, so choose wisely.”

Pippin scrunched up his face quizzically, as if he were deciding on which shirt to wear. Finally, his eyes widened as he came to a decision.

Pippin smiled coyly and pointed to his shoulder blade. “I want to be able to see it,” said Pippin proudly. “I want to be able to look at it whenever I have a difficult choice to make.”

Merry pulled Pippin into his arms. “A lovely choice, dear lad! You’ve no idea what it means to me to be able to give this gift to you!”

Frodo continued to yell through the gag, but his complaints and warnings bounced off the wall and fell lifeless to the floor.

Merry lovingly began to unbutton Pippin’s shirt, capturing Pippin’s eyes as he worked. He pulled the opened shirt down over Pippin’s shoulder, revealing a flawless white patch of skin, creamy soft and without blemish.

“Here, Pip,” said Merry as he offered Pippin a rag from his trouser pockets. “You’ll want to bite on this while I mark you. It will be over before you know it.”

Merry tenderly leaned down and kissed the spot on the inside of Pippin’s shoulder blade, the very place he intended to desecrate with his brand. Love pushed fear of the pain from Pippin’s mind. As Merry brought the brand up, Pippin grinned around his gag.

Quick as lightening, Merry brought the brand down upon Pippin’s unsuspecting skin, Pippin’s gagged scream mingling with the sizzle and stench of burning flesh. Pippin let his rag spill to the floor, eyes widened in agony, mouth gasping indecipherable words. He glanced down at his abused flesh to see a small “B” in crisp black lettering, skin steaming and hurting more than Pippin thought possible. Merry gathered Pippin in his arms, cooing as he reached for the damp, cool rag hanging from the water basin and dabbed the steaming wound with it.

“Mine.” Purred Merry.

“Yours,” sighed Pippin as his eyes rolled back and he fell limp in Merry’s arms in a dead faint.

* * *

Frodo observed with terror as Merry set Pippin gently on the floor and placed the brand back home in the fire. He had moaned and yelled through the whole thing, nearly vomiting at the stench of charred tissue. Merry glanced up at Frodo, and with a devilish smile, approached to bed where he lay trussed like a stretched hide.

“Now, Frodo,” said Merry. “It’s time to mark you. Where is your special spot? Shall you chose, or should I?”

Merry lowered Frodo’s gag, releasing a torrent of screams, cries and threats, most in a more colorful language than Merry had ever heard spill from his cousin’s mouth.

“Frodo!” exclaimed Merry above the din. “I am giving you a chance to choose. I daresay you should take it!”

“I do not wish to be branded, Merry! Get that thing awaom mom me!” screeched Frodo, nearly shrill. He tugged desperately and uselessly against his bonds like a trapped animal fighting for its life. “You’ve no right to burn me! Get away, I say! I’ll not carry your mark like a piece of your property!”

Merry remained calm and thoughtful, paying no heed to Frodo’s agonized screams.

“Chest? Stomach? Arm? Hip? What shall it be? Chose in five seconds or I chose for you!”

Frodo lifted his voice, not in a choice, but in an inarticulate wail.

“Five, Four, three---” counted Merry at a measure.

“No! No! NO!” shrieked Frodo. “Don’t! Oh- Heavens, Please Don’t! Merry!”

“Two!”

“Merry! NO! MEERRRRRYYY!!”

“One.”

With a sparkle in his eyes and a smile dancing upon his lips, Merry pulled up Frodo’s shirt, loosened his trousers, and with a sturdy yank, revealed one of Frodo’s hips. Frodo bucked and fought, but to no avail. The burning brand met its target, sending Frodo into paroxysms of searing agony. He screamed louder than he ever had screamed in all of his life as the scent of his own burning skin wafted through the air. Frodo sucked in a deep breath, emitting a hollow sound like wind through a tunnel. A long round of rough, ragged gasps followed. His pain was so deep and all consuming, Frodo barely noticed Merry dabbing the wound with a damp cloth.

“There, there,” soothed Merry as he brought up the cloth to Frodo’s forehead. “All over. The lesson is over, though it is one you shall carry to the end of your days.”

Frodo longed to pat down his own wound, to pull off the burning flesh, to rid his hip of that accursed mark and the anguish it bore down upon his body. Merry sensed his pain, and disappeared from the room, stepping over his unconscious cousin as he exited. When he returned, he held a cup of tea.

“Drink this, love,” offered Merry. “Sleep away the pain.”

Frodo did not hesitate, did not fight. He accepted the cup and its contents eagerly, greedily. Within minutes his world went soft around the edges and he fell into a dreamless, painless sleep.

* * *

Sam shuddered to wakefulness. Somewhere down the hall someone had let loose a bloodcurdling scream that shook the walls with its virulence. Frodo! Sam tried to leap up, but his limps wouldn’t cooperate. An unaccountable drowsiness had come upon him. The food, the water? Something, something. Sam knew he must find the source of the soporific and stop ingesting it. But now—Frodo, poor Frodo! Sam stood with clay limbs and flung himself at the door, yelling through the hole.

“Frodo! Frodo!”

Worse than Frodo’s scream was the eerie silence that followed. What had happened? What terrible torment had his master been forced to endure this time? Sam knocked his head slowly into the door. He felt utterly emasculated, unable to do a thing to help his master from here. Sam set his jaw as his thoughts cleared. He must get his Frodo out of here—any way, anyhow. He must get Frodo out of here before it was too late.

TBC

Question; I was told that the slash genre was the domain of stright females, and I wanted to put that to the test. Are any of you readers male? I am VERY curious! If you are male and reading this, please leave a quick note to me (maykemykempe@earthlink.net) or on the board here to the effect of "I'm a guy." OH-of course I'd love to hear what you think of this fic, but I really want to see if any of my readers are guys! (P.S.-I'm not a freak, I'm a history teacher. And I am merely curious! A big thank you!)