Ring Around the Merry

Chapter 36: Many Meetings
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Sam perceived the slapping of hobbit feet hitting wood approaching his door. He immediately lay back down in his bed, pulled the scratchy wool blanket over his ears, and pretended to sleep. He had decided to stop drinking the “funny water” as he called it, that Merry gave him, opting to pour the best part of it either in his chamber pot or let it seep between the wooden floorboards. What he drank was just enough to keep him alive, but not enough to drug an ant. Sam noticed a shift in his energy level within hours. Whatever Merry had administered to his draughts had lulled him into an unnatural slumber for days now. But Merry could not know that he had discovered his ruse, so Sam feigned sleep at the sound of footsteps.

Sam heard the sounds of Merry’s brisk double knock at the door, and gave his best dramatic interpretation of a hobbit startled out of a sound sleep.

“May I come in, Samwise?” Merry asked politely.

The tips of Sam’s mouth curled up in a facetious smile. Merry had spoken as if this was Sam’s study and it was for him to bid his visitor to enter. Sam rolled over languidly and turned his attention to the intense grey eyes visible through the peephole. As he turned, Sam reminded himself to make his expression look drowsy. Failing that, Sam rubbed his fingers hard over his eyes and delivered a counterfeit yawn.

“What if I say ‘no?’” mumbled Sam, trying his hand at waking up grouchy.

“Then I would come in regardless,” answered Merry, a knowing smile playing across lips. “But I think you will want me to come in after you hear what I have to say.”

“You are setting us free and sending us off with a grand banquet and enough beer to flood the Shire?” groused Sam, now taking a stab at waking up sarcastic.

“Would you like to see Frodo now?” asked Merry evenly.

Sam was so taken aback, he forgot to be surly. He sprung to his feet and dashed to the door, pressing his face into the peephole. “Where is he? Is he here? Frodo? Mr. Frodo? Where /is/ he, Merry? Where is he?”

“You did not answer my question, Sam,” replied Merry. “Do you still wish to see Frodo now?”

“Yes!” exclaimed Sam, his churlishness forgotten at the prospect of seeing Frodo. “Yes, of course!”

“Sam,” continued Merry. “I’d like to come and speak with you about this visit, as, naturally, there will have to be some controlled circumstances for everyone’s own good. But when I come in, I do not wish to be attacked. So here is what I need you to do so that we can make this visit happen. I’m going to slip a loop of rope through the peephole. nt ynt you to put your hands behind your back and slip the loop around both wrists. Then I’m going to pull it tight from here.

Merry tutted at Sam’s wholly predictable growl. “These are the rules, Sam. I want you to see Frodo, but your past behavior makes this precaution necessary.

Sam gritted his teeth together and gave a nearly imperceptible nod. The loose loop of rope attached to a line held by Merry slid through the door and dropped with a thud to the ground. Sam duly wrapped it around his right wrist, reached for his left at the small of his back, and joined his left hand in the loop with its brother. He could not suppress his grimace as he felt the coarse fibers pull taut, crushing his wrists together in a tight bond.

“Lie face down on the bed, will you Sam?” instructed Merry. “And turn your face away from the door.”

Sam growled inwardly, but complied. Sam heard the door creak open and felt the rope loosen just a little before being pulled tight again within seconds. Sam felt the bed dip down as Merry sat beside him and tied a second length of rope over the slip-knot.

“Alright,” said Merry with a pat on Sam’s back as if he had just fastened his braces. “You may sit up. Any harsh words or threats to me and the visit is off.”

Sam bit his tongue and let himself be eased into sitting position.

“Now,” said Merry. “About this visit. First I must lay down some ground rules for both my own protection and Frodo’s well being. You see, Sam, Frodo is very fragile at present and I don’t want you working him up with notions of escape or by sullying the name of his kin. I need your help with Frodo, Sam. I need you to be a comfort, not an irritant.”

Sam nodded, not wanting to do anything that might give Merry the excuse to revoke this visit.

“Yes, yes—Now where is he?” stammered Sam.

“Patience! I’m not done!” ordered Merry in a tone that would have been more appropriate to an obstreperous hobbit child. “Now Sam. Frodo is not well. He has been calling for you, and he needs you, at least he thinks he does. And, since I love him and want him to recover, I will go against my better judgment to give Frodo what he wishes. Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes,” replied Sam, nearly bursting with anticipation, and too excited to inquire on exactly how “not well” Frodo was. He hoped to soon see for himself and make his own judgement.

“To that effect, Sam, I’m afraid I have two choices for you, neither of which you will like. Since I do not want you to trouble Frodo, and because I don’t entirely trust you yet, you may either agree to have me supervising your visit, or you may agree to be gagged, and have your visit in private. Which do you chose?”

Sam felt the word “Neither!” pounding at the back of his teeth struggling to break out. Merry noted the ruddy flush rising up Sam’s neck and cheeks, the clear result of suppressed rage. Merry kept his expression neutral as he awaited his answer.

“I want to be alone with Mr. Frodo without you buzzing around like a fly stuck in a window,” said Sam thickly.

“So you wish to be gagged?”

Sam grinned sardonically. “’Wish’ is a stronger bit of language than I’d choose to use meself, Merry.”

“But you will endure it?”

“Yes,” Sam ground out. “I’ll endure it if I can be alone with my Master.”

“Very well, Samwise,” answered Merry. “I shall wait to gag you until we are done with our discussion.”

Sam sighed audibly, wondering how long this discussion would go on. But he gave another unenthusiastic nod.

“Now,” said Merry, “Frodo will not be gagged. He will be free to speak to you about whatever is on his mind. But, Sam, I have warned him and I shall warn you that any plotting of escape will be met with the most unpleasant of circumstances. This is not a game, and I take this business deadly serious. Other than that, I think your mere presence will be a great comfort to Frodo and will speed his recovery.”

“Recover from ////?”//?” Chanced Sam.

“All right, Sam,” said Merry, ignoring Sam’s question as he stood up. “Pippin and I will now bring Frodo in and set him on your bed. I need to gag you now.”

Sam cringed as the cloth was brought around his head and tied fast. Merry smiled warmly as he picked up the remains of Sam’s meal with a clinking of ceramics.

“I’m glad I can do this for you both, Sam,” said Merry. “Very glad.”

Sam said nothing. He was gagged, so it would have served little purpose anyway. Instead, he stared intently at the closed door, as if he might melt it with the sheer weight of his glare. He anticipated this visit with both glee and fear. How sick was Frodo? And was he sick in mind, in body, or both?

The double knock, when it came, startled Sam. He felt a surge of what? Panic, shot through his body. How bad would his master look? What sight would greet his weary eyes?

The door creaked ajar and Sam’s breath caught in his throat. The bundle that Merry and Pip carried, wrapped in a blanket, bore little resemblance to the vivacious Master Frodo he had once known. His face was puffy and swollen, marred with ripening bruises. His nostrils were caked with dried blood inside, blotchy smears on his upper lip left as evidence of a cloth that had tried to cleanse them. Aside from the obvious hurts, an ashen pallor had invaded his Master’s one-rosy skin, giving him a pasty, unhealthy look. Frodo’s curly locks were stiffened with sweat, and he was visibly quivering, the smaller shakes occasionally giving way to powerful shudders that jolted his whole body. Frodo’s chin rested heavily upon his chest as if lifting his head straight on his neck was far more effort than he could muster. Sam noted with dismay that Frodo’s ankles and wrists were bound tightly, l crl crimson lines burrowing into his skin rubbed raw and bleeding where ropes had seemingly taken up permanent residence.

Frodo lay utterly limp in his cousins’ arms. It seemed to Sam that, somehow, even Frodo’s involuntary reflexes had been somehow blunted. Frodo’s eyes remained closed as they set him gently on the bed, his head placed on Sam’s waiting lap. Indeed, Frodo seemed completely unaware of Sam’s presence. It occurred to Sam that his master was asleep. Asleep? Wasn’t Frodo just as excited to see Sam as he was to see Frodo? Unless, unless they had not allowed him any sleep at all—or was it just that Frodo was just very ill? Sam swallowed hard. His poor, poor master! How Sam longed to take Frodo in his arms, an impossibility with his bound hands. He shot Merry an emphatic look.

“You wish me to wake him, don’t you Sam?” asked Merry.

Sam nodded hard, thinking to himself, ‘Yes, and I wish to throttle you with the last measure of my strength, you vile snake!’

Merry caressed Frodo’s clammy brow in the way Sam longed to, but could not.

“Frodo, Love,” called Merry. “Wake upodo.odo. Sam is here! Your Merry has brought your Sam to you, Frodo. Surely you won’t sleep through the visit I’ve arranged special for you!”

“No more, Merry!” moaned Frodo-unaware of his new surroundings. “I’ve answered your questions. Please let me take my rest!”

Sam died inside, his insides roiling with pity, sorrow, and pure, cold, rage.

“Sam is here, love,” continued Merry. “Open your eyes, Frodo. Look up!”

Frodo open his eyes as slowly as if they were covered with stones. Once again, Sam gasped behind the gag. Those eyes! Pupils dilated, unfocused, bloodshot, and framed in deep crimson, the left swollen almost shut. It was as if Sam were staring into the clouded eyes of a corpse.

“Sam!” mumbled Frodo weakly, slurring through cracked and swollen lips almost as if speaking in a dream. “Sam, when are we leaving this awful place?”

Merry drew back his hand as if to slap, but halted when he caught the fire raging in Sam’s eyes. It was a look that spoke volumes and threatened pain. It was a look that let Merry understand that laying his hand on his master in anger would give Sam the strength to burst through his bonds, tear off Merry’s arm, and beat him with it. It was more than threatening, it was feral. Merry nearly sheepishly brought his own hand harmlessly down to his side.

“I shall leave you two for a short while,” said Merry calmly. “Please do not make me regret granting you thrivirivilege. Pippin, come.”

Merry wrapped his arm protectively around the younger hobbit and led him out. Pippin flashed a sincere grin at Frodo, as he knew the visit would please him. As soon as the door shut, Frodo tried to speak.

“Oh Sam,” muttered Frodo as if his mouth were full of cotton, too weary to open his eyes. “I see Merry, and it turns into Sam! Sam, be a dear and untie me. Will you? Like the last time?”

Sam shook his head. Could Frodo not see that he too was bound? His master was obviously confused.

“Oh, Sam, I am sorry,” sighed Frodo. “You are tied too, of course. My, but my cousins are thorough.”

Frodo laughed, but it was all wrong. It was a laugh of nervousness and despair, not mirth.

“Oh, Sam. I am so sleepy. Sam, so very tired. They did not let me sleep, for---so long! Sam, I have not slept in ages.”

Sam nodded in sympathy, tears beginning to flow from his eyes, the pent up rage and sorrow now pouring out unchecked.

“Do not weep, Sam,” soothed Frodo. “None of this is your fault! You have tried so hard! You have done so much.”

Sam nodded, trying to pull himself together.

“Sam, Merry is trying to break me down. I can feel it. And, Sam, I do not wish to frighten you, but I think it may be working. I don’t know what I said in there, in that terrible room. I can’t remember. I am so confused these days. I know I am rambling. Sam, one of us must get loose and find help! And I do not think I’ll be strong enough for much longer. I think it will have to be you, Sam. Merry cannot keep up both under control forever, Sam. But what he is doing to me, Sam, he is----”

Frodo trailed off as if he had lost his words and stared dumbly at the ceiling. “Cracks up there, Sam,” Frodo mumbled. “Perhaps we can plaster them before the winter rains come. But, wait, we wish to be gone. You are so quiet Sam. Oh yes-the gag. I am so, so, tired, Sam. May I p nop now?”

Sam nodded, his heart breaking anew with his Master’s obvious confusion. Perhaps a little shuteye would cure the worst of it.

“Sam!” exclaimed Frodo in a suddenly clear voice. “I have just recalled what I wished to say! You must promise me something! You must promise me something while I still have mind enough to make you do so! Will you promise me something?”

Sam nodded emphatic, ch, chanting “anything! Anything!” through the gag.

“Sam, I need you to take any opportunity that presents itself to escape. ANY opportunity. Merry has been very good at using our loyalty to bend us to his will. It must stop! If there is any hope to be had, Sam, it is in you. You must do this. Escape! Maybe I can come, but probably I will not be strong enough. It may be too late for me already. But Sam, you must find a way out of here, with or without me. Get help! Find Gandalf! You must.”

Sam shook his head, and Frodo did not need Sam’s gag removed to know what he was saying. Sam would not abandon Frodo to Merry’s torments. No! It was too much to demand!

“You MUST!” exclaimed Frodo, nearly harsh. “Can’t you see it? You must! If you stay, I will be harmed, if you leave, I will be harmed. Escape, and at least I have a chance, Sam!”

Sam bowed his head, refusing to nod. No, he would not leave his master.

“Sam, we both know what will happen if you escape without me. And I accept it. Merry will hurt me to draw you back. But Sam, no matter what you hear, no matter what you see, if you escape, you need to keep going! Fly! I can take the pain of the whip, honestly I can. I cannot, however, bear the torment of knowing that Middle-earth and everything in it will be brought to ruin because you would not brook a few scars to your master. You’ve no choice! I need you to promise me this one thing, SAM!”

Frodo’s voice grew increasingly frantic. He continued on the same trail of thought, each time meeting only Sam’s silence, or shaking of his head. Frodo began to lose his clarity of thought, a blessing under the circumstances, thought Sam, as it might save him from this terrible vow. But Frodo, even in his confusion and exhaustion, would not let Sam escape this oath.

“Promise me, Sam! If you escape, no matter what you see or hear, you will not be drawn back! You will ignore my hurts and run like the win Bre Bree and find help—or, if needed, to Rivendell. We are running out of time, Sam! If Merry claims it, we are all done for, you, me, the whole Shire, the whole of Middle-earth. And I shall be lost regardless. Sam!” Frodo’s voice was ragged with desperation now, and he was starting to weep.

“Sam, if you do not promise me this, I will relinquish you from both my service and my friendship, for you are no real servant if you cannot follow orders, and no real friend if you will do do the one thing that will actually save me.” Frodo’s voice becamedenldenly stern and cold, and Sam shuddered at the threat. More than that, Sam believed it. “I mean that Sam, I will cut you off! Now nod your promise! Sam! My dear Sam, do this one hard thing for me!”

Sam was crying hard at this point, so torn between obedience and love that he felt his insides would burst. Could he do as Frodo asked? Could he follow through should the opportunity arise? Would the opportunity arise?

Then they both heard it, a sound they had not heard in what seemed like forever, muted by the distance but unmistakable-- A knock at the door! Both Sam and Frodo fell silent, craning their ears. Sam dashed up to the peephole, but it was no use, he could not see who the mysterious visitor was. For five minutes, there was a heated discussion between Merry and an unknown hobbit, as Sam guessed due to the clear high voice that was not that of one of the Big Folk, and certainly not Gandalf.

Then the second sound, hurried footsteps plodding down the long hall.

“Sam!” Frodo whispered but in a stern voice. “Sam, I must have your promise NOW! Or I will no longer consider you my friend, and I shan’t be your master. Now! Sam! Promise me!”

Sam nodded as if it burned his neck to do so. Frodo sighed heavily in relief and closed his eyes. “My dear, dear Sam. Thank you, my dear Sam!”

The two hobbits nearly held their breath as the footsteps reached their room and unlocked the door in a frantic, fumbling rush. The door flew open, and Frodo and Sam both observed Merry’s face, written over in panic.

“Frodo, Sam!” Merry panted. “You need to come with us this instant! We’re going!”

TBC

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