Ring Around the Merry

A corrupted Merry holds Frodo captive with intent to break and
remake him. Back chapters and pics at
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author: Emma
beta: Arthiethiel
Rated: R
Pairing: m/p with f/s implied
Warnings: AU violence, high angst, adult themes

____________________________________________________________________

"You need me, Merry," said Sam, his eyes darkening as he
spoke. "It kills you to see it, but you do."

Chapter 46: Leverage

_____________________________________________________________________


Sam was still reeling from his discovery as he sat quietly in his
chair waiting for Merry tnishnish feeding Frodo.

Merry can no longer bring himself to hurt Frodo.

Of that, Samwise was now sure. Just minutes ago, Merry had raised
his hand to strike Frodo, as he had done dozens of times but iadn\adn't happened. And now he was sitting beside his cousin, arm
wrapped protectively around him, cosseting him with soft words,
caresses, and small spoonfuls of apple tart. Something elemental
had changed in Frodo since Merry had brought him out of the cellar
but something had changed in Merry too. Sam now bent his mind to
untwisting the mystery.

Merry spoke to Frodo as if Frodo could hear him, and answered Frodo
as if Frodo had spoken. Yet Merry seemed convinced of his special
bond with Frodo despite all evidence to the contrary. Merry was
many things but he was not stupid. He might not even be mad. Sam's
mind worked harder.

The Ring

The answer came from out of nowhere. Surely the Ring had turned
Merry into a being capable of tremendous cruelty. Could it now
be "speaking" to him directly?

`Well now,' thought Sam, `something is talking to him but it ain't
Mr. Frodo.' And it could just as well be all in his head …but…

Sam could not push the idea from his mind. He remembered an old
concern when he was a lad. He had often heard Mr. Bilbo speaking to
something in his pocket the year before he left to stay with the
elves. He'd not told his gaffer, then too deaf to hear such
whispers for himself. But Sam had heard them as he'd worked about
the house and garden, unnoticed by the elder Baggins in the thrall
of…

Of the Ring.

Sam shivered as the realization dawned on him. And now there was
Merry--talking to it too? True, he had not taken possession of the
Ring—yet. But he had possession of Frodo and that seemed close
enough.

`To Merry,' thought Samwise, `Frodo is the Ring. They are one.'

A river of dread flowed into Sam's gut as the truecamecame clearer
and clearer. It was only a matter of time before the Ring would
call to Merry, just as it had called to Bilbo. And Merry had only
to reach out and take it—then woe to the world!

`Sam Gamgee,' thought Sam Gamgee, `you know what you gotta do, so
you might as well screw yourself up to do it! Merry won't hurt
Frodo but Frodo can't bear It no more, not as he is, poor master!'

It wasn't long before another voice, sounding uncannily like his
gaffer, spoke: `But you made a promise not to leave him!'

This was answered by a smaller voice, filled with sorrow and
remorse: `Or what is left of him.' But how could Gildor Inglorian
have predicted this? `No, it is up to you yourself, Master Gamgee,'
thought Sam, `there ain't nobody else this time to tell you what to
do or how to decide. You are now a counsel of one. The worstest
job in all of Middle Earth,' thought Sam. Well, besides that of
Ringbearer. And Sam gulped, understanding now how this first
terrible decision might lead to other equally awful ones.

"Sam?"

Merry's voice.

Sam looke int into Merry's benevolent face, shocked to discover that
during his reverie, the meal had ended and Frodo and Pippin were no
longer at the table.

"Sam, have you had your fill?"

Sam looked down at his empty plate.

"Yea," he answered, and turning his head from side to side,
searched for the whereabouts of his companions.

"Frodo and Pippin are in the parlor," said Merry, smiling. "We are
going to have a nice family time by the fire, enjoy some tea, and
talk--just like old times."

Sam bit his tongue. A comatose Frodo and a terrified Pippin bore
little resemblance to any "old times" that Sam recalled.

"I know these past few weeks have been difficult for you, Sam. But
I want to start bringing you into the family fold, such as it is. I
know it is important to Frodo, and what makes Frodo happy will make
me happy. Understand?"

Sam wanted time with Frodo more than anything. Yes, he could be
cooperative to this end. He needed Merry to trust him, even if it
hurt.

"Are you asking me to sit with the lot of you then?" asked Sam
quietly. "I've a mind to if you'd allow it."

"I'd not only allow it," answered Merry. "I'd welcome it."

Sam nodded.

"Of course," said Merry with a warning look, "we still have the
issue of trust hanging between us. I will have you join us but with
the small discourtesy of having your hands bound, though in front if
it would be more comfortable.

Sam swallowed a curse and nodded again.

Merry smiled with delight and called for Pippin, who entered on cue
as if waiting for the summons.

"Cut Sam loose, Pip. He has agreed to join us."

Pippin knelt down and cut the cords attaching Sam to the chair,
patting Sam's ankles in surreptitious support as the rope fell.
Merry took care of the cords binding Sam's waist to the chair with
his knife.

"Do not move yet, Sam," Merry ordered, in a voice all the more
menacing for its quiet tenor. As if in confirmation, he moved his
blade very close to Sam's neck, continuing softly. "Stand now, Sam,
very slowly. I would hate to cut you."

Sam stood, all the while feeling the touch of cold steel upon his
neck, and knowing the blade would indeed plunge down if his action
meted it.

Put your hands behind your back as we walk, Sam," said Merry, but
not unkindly this time. "I shall not bind you yet but I will cut
you if you move your hands. And no riling Frodo up or you shall
regret it. He is in a delicate state. Do we understand each other?"

Perfectly," muttered Sam as he clasped his warm hands together
behind him, set his jaw, and kept his mind focused on Frodo.

Merry picked up a used piece of rope and stepped by Sam's side,
moving the point of his knife to the small of Sam's back. He dug it
in sharply as if to make his point--literally this time--before
motioning Pippin to flank Sam's other side.

"Let us go," Merry said. "Frodo does not like to be left alone."

* * *

Frodo had been posed in the armchair, stock still, as if sitting for
a portrait. The deep red upholstery accentuated the pallor of his
face as his glassy eyes pointed in the general direction of the
fire. A steaming cup of tea sat by his side on a small table,
although clearly Frodo had not touched it. His hands were folded
neatly in his lap.

Merry and Pippin stood Sam like a prize in front of Frodo, blocking
his view of the dancing flames.

"We've brought Sam to join us, Frodo," said Merry brightly,
exhibiting Sam with a flourish of his hand.

Frodo did not raise his eyes.

Sam felt pressure on his shoulders and took this as a cue to sit
down in the chair behind him. Merry knelt before Sam, rope in hand,
turning his head up to face him. "As we agreed."

Sam gave an impassive nod--his true focus upon the shell of his
master. Merry handed Pippin his knife, drew up the rope and began
to wrap it around Sam's wrists. Suddenly, a light came into Frodo's
eyes as they widened with fear. His breathing grew hard, fast, and
erratic, his utterly pale face drained of even more color, and his
once-placid hands beginning to flail wildly, as if striking out
against some unseen foe.

Pippin ran up beside Sam, his eyes huge.

"Frodo!" Sam cried. Merry snapped his head around to see Frodo in
a bad state. He turned back to Sam.

"What did you do?" asked Merry. "What did you do to upset him?"

Sam shook his head.

"Nothing, Mer!" cried Pippin. "Sam did nothing! But something is
scaring Frodo!"

"Frodo!" said Merry. "Frodo! Calm down! Your Merry will be right
with you!"

Merry worked on the knot with rushed fingers but this seemed to
upset Frodo all the more.

Frodo's dilated pupils had narrowed and actually focused, bolted now
upon the rope around Sam's wrists. His eyes teared up, wild with
terror, and roved across the length of cord, his hands striking out
so violently that Merry feared he would fall out of the chair. He
finished the knot, stood, and gathered Frodo in his arms, sitting
squashed in the large chair with his cousin, rocking and cooing, but
to no avail.

Frodo's eyes bulged out, his breathing became ragged and he began to
tremble, then outright shake, as the last bit of color drained from
his face.

Merry grasped Frodo's flailing hands as he patted his hair but this
only stoked the fires of Frodo's panic – a visceral terror that
shook him to the core. He cried out but with no discernable words–
and clawed madly at the arms that held him.

"Lovove!ove!" cried Merry. "What is it? Tell your Merry! He'll
make it better!"

"It's the ropes, I think," said Sam softly, staring at Frodo with
concern. "He can't abide the sight of 'em."

"Nonsense," said Merry breathlessly. "He's not been tied of late,
nor will he be. He knows this!"

Frodo cried out again, nearly pulling the two of them out of the
chair with his flailing. Merry was not in control, and his face
contorted with a growing panic over his precious charge.

"Calm, Frodo!" cried Merry. "Calm. You are to to be t"
"

"It don't matter if he thinks he is to be tied or no," said
Sam. "He can't abide the sight of ropes no how. Cut me loose and
see."

"No!" screamed Merry, more in exasperation than in anger as he
tried to hold on to Frodo.

Sam scowled, then held his bound hands out to Frodo's eyeline.
Frodo responded with an unearthly howl that reached a horrible
crescendo before descending into desperate hyperventilating.

"Need more proof?" asked Sam.

Pippin for one did not, and found his thin fingers tightening around
the knife handle waiting for the slightest excuse to cut Sam's
bonds.

"Put your hands down, Sam!" cried Merry. "You're upsetting him!"

"Not me!" answered Sam patiently. "The ropes! Remove the ropes
and he'll calm."

"So you can rile him more!" yelled Merry above Frodo's cries. "I
think not!" And turning to Frodo, riedried, "Frodo, love--please be
still!"

"It's the ropes, I tell you!" Sam didn't bother to hide his
exasperation this time. And to prove his point, he held up his
bound hands once more, earning him another howl and convulsive shake
from Frodo.

"Stop it, Sam!" cried Merry.

"Cut me loose and he'll quiet!"

"I will not—" cried Merry, but then seeing Frodo bucking as if
stabbed and screeching out more terror, Merry's furious expression
melted and he sighed. "I will not—for more than a few minutes. For
Frodo." He held on to his cousin tightly and whispered in his
ear. "Quiet now, love, your Merry will do what you want. Whatever
you want Frodo-dear, I only want you to be happy."

Merry motioned for Pippin to cut the ropes. Pippin sprang up as
fast as he was able and sawed at them with barely concealed
enthusiasm. Frodo's eyes followed the ropes as they dropped. Still
he cried.
'll'll not move," said Sam calmly, "but Pippin, you need to get the
cords out of his view."

Merry was still struggling with Frodo but he wouldn't let that one
pass. "Pippin," he cried out, "don't you move. I give the orders
around here."

Sam bit his tongue, fighting back all the acrimony in his heart, but
he kept silent.

Finally, as Merry continued to struggle with his charge, he shouted
across to his cousin with exasperation. "Pippin, well, just get
those damn things out of here. Burn them…DO IT!"

Pippin did as he was bid, casting the ropes into the fire andtchitching Frodo's screams subside as the flames consumed them. Merry
held Frodo but Frodo's breathing refused to settle and it seemed
likely he would pass out.

"Merry's here. All is well. Merry's here," cooed Merry.

Very slowly, Sam lifted his unbound hands to his master.

"Mr. Frodo," he said softly, "Frodo, calm down, me dear. Your Sam
is here. See, no ropes. Now quiet, me love."

Frodo's breathing slowed as if some magic had been poured down upon
him. Merry loosened his grip on Frodo ever so slightly. "We"We're together, Frodo," said Sam. "And I'll take care of you."

Frodo's breathing slowed even more at the sound of Sam's voice and
his hands fell down to his sides. Still, his whole body continued
to tremble uncontrollably.

"Keep talking," ordered Merry. "Tell him how much we love him."

"Frodo--there's naught to fear," Said, id, as if talking to a
child; then, perceiving an opportunity, continued. "Your Sam won't
let no harm come to you."

Sam could not help but relish his newfound power. He could calm
Frodo where Merry had so obviously failed. Emboldened, he reached
out his hands toward his master. "Your Sam will keep you safe, my
dear."

Merry stood quickly, leaving his cousin alone in the chair. He
purposefully blocked Frodo's view of Sam and grasped the gardener's
wrists, pushing them down.

"That's enough!" said Merry, grabbing the knife from in. in. "No
touching!" Merry straightened up and moved aside as he turned to
watch Frodo's reaction.

Frodo's breathing went ragged again, and to Sam's infinite delight,
he raised his own hands out to him, tears falling down his face from
eyes that again refused to focus.

* * *

Frodo had seen nothing but the rope.

He had sat in relative comfort by the fire, his mind in link with
the voice. It was the sweet, high, tingling voice inside which bid
him to do this one small thing in exchange for happiness…and
something else.

/Power/

But what use was power when the world was such a lonely and desolate
place--full of hurt, darkness, and the other voice. The voice of
pain.

/Because with power, he won't hurt you again./

Though the soft words seemed loving, he wasn't sure. He still
feared the voices. He had been hurt so many times.

/Don't let his kind words fool you. He won't let you touch It.
Because… Because he wants It for himself./

What would you have me do?

/Put it on./

Can't. Hands stop me.

/Put It on. Put it on. It's yours./

It hurts me.

/No. He hurts you./

He hurts me because of It.

/Bilbo gave It to you. To have. To keep. To claim. It is
precious to you./

Bilbo is gone. He left me alone with It.

/He abandoned you./

Perhaps.

/Are you lonely?/

Yes.

/What do you desire?/

Frodo thought hard.

/I've a job to do./

That iswishwish. That is a responsibility. What do you wantometomething special just for Frodo.

I should like to see Sam.

/I can get him for you./

But that is for Merry to decide.

/Trust ME. He will bind you. He will bury you alive again. He
won't give you Sam./

I shall obey Merry.

/He shall bind you. I shall clear your sight. What do you see?/

Rope!

/He shall bind you./

ROPE!

/He shall bury /
/

No! I cannot bear it! Not again!

/Trust in me then. I shall give you Sam./

I am afraid.

/Open your ears. What do you hear?/

A familiar voice. Sam. Oh, Sam.

/My gift./

* * *

Merry did not allow Sam to touch Frodo. Instead, he stood at the
back of Frodo's chair, motioning for Sam to keep speaking until
Frodo calmed down. It took a number of minutes before Frodo went
still again and turned his eyes back to the fire, seeming neither
soothed nor upset. And once again he had no outward vision but the
fire. Yet none in the room could miss the fact that Frodo had come
undone, and that Samwise had been the only one to quiet his inner
demons. To Sam, this knowledge tasted like pure sunshine; to Merry,
it was a bitter draught.

The cadence of Frodo's breathing went back to its very slow pace as
Merry inched forward, leaned over the top of Frodo's chair, and
placed gentle hands protectively upon his cousin's rigid should
sq
squeezing them with affection.

"There, there, Frodo," said Merry, his own breathing not yet back
to normal. "See how Merry brings you your friends, dearest?" And
throwing a significant look up to Sam, added, "But Sam is very tired
and must return to his room now."

Sam stared daggers at Merry, who returned them in kind. Merry
brandished his knife behind Frodo's back, where Frodo could not see,
and stepped over behind Sam.

"Stand up, Sam," whisperedry, ry, between clenched teeth. "And do
not make this unpleasant. Put your hands behind your back."

Sam did so while staring Frodo straight in the eyes.

"I've got to GO now, Frodo," said Sam, his voice provocatively
harsh. "I'm going to leave you ALONE with Merry now."

Frodo's reaction was immediate. Thin composure torn to shreds, he
stood on his own, flailing his arms out toward Sam and screeching
pitifully.

Sam stared in horror as his weed med mastemedimediy coy collapsed
upon the floor in front of him.

Merry gasped and rushed to Frodo's side. He gave Sam a dark look
and mouthed the words "bind him" to Pippin. Then he tenderly bent
down and picked his cousin up off the floor, resetting a trembling
Frodo back upon his chair. Merry kissed his cheek softly and
whispered something in his ear but Frodo continued to whimper and
cry without ceasing.

Sam cringed as he felt the ropeow oow out of Frodo's sightiling
tg
tightly about his wrists.

"Pippin, stay with your cousin," ordered Merry as he grabbed Sam's
arm. He turned to Frodo, his voice changing to a quieter but
nonetheless harried one. "I'll be back in just a moment, love,"
said Merry above Frodo's agonized cries. "Now I want you to be
quiet, Frodo." He narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips like a
benevolent parent patiently admonishing a beloved child.

Frodo continued to cry and paw at the air, though his eyes did not
seem to see the object of their desire. Without another word Merry
jabbed the knife into Sam's neck harder than was necessary as he
yanked him, stumbling and slipping back to his room. Once at the
door, he pushed him in without undoing his hands, and locked it fast
before running down the hall back toward the sound of Frodo's
screams now intermingled with Pippin's.

Sam plopped down on his bed flush with victory and sighed.

"He'll be back."

* * *

Pippin had watched the newest disintegration of Frodo with horror,
completely at a loss for an appropriate action. The moment Sam had
been escorted from the room, Frodo had flung himself upon the ground
in a fit, writhing, crawling, crying, screaming, inconsolable.
Pippin tried to soothe Frodo but it was no use and he quickly called
for Merry.

Pippin heard Merry's hurried footsteps rushing down the hall as he
held Frodo, writhing and bucking with unnatural force. He turned up
his eyes the moment Merry skidded into the room.

"We can't leave him like this!" cried Merry in a panic.

Merry knelt and yanked Frodo from Pippin's arms, now holding the
thrashing figure close to his own chest. He hummed, whispered
little snatches of nonsense, stroked and gentled, but to no avail.
The sound of Merry's voice seemed to agitate him all the more.

"It's not working!" screamed Pippin. "Go back and get--"

"NO!" cried Merry breathlessly. "Get me the Valarian tea. Now!"

Pippin scampered to the kitchen but came back empty handed a few
minutes later.

"You've nothing but scraps and dust," said Pippin. "You used the
last." Pippin wanted to add "on me" but refrained.

Merry continued to hold the flailing figure with a desperate grip
but it was not going well and it was clear that Frodo, in this
state, would outlast both his cousins. Pippin watched in horror as
Merry's eyes drifted over to a stray piece of rope on the floor and
lingered there too long.

"No!" cried Pippin. "You promised!"

"What would you have me do?" said Merry in desperation. "Tell me!"
he cried louder, holding Frodo's wrists together with all the
strength he could muster, his hands shaking with the exertion. "But
be aware, my little Cousin, that Frodo will hurt himself if this
keeps up, and I won't have it!"

"Sam could calm him!"

"This is happening because of Sam!" exclaimed Merry between heaving
breaths.

"But he can calm him and we can't!" cried Pippin. "We tried and
failed." Pippin slid over beside his cousins, placed his warm hands
softly over Merry's straining ones, lowered his eyes in
supplication, and choked out, "Please, Mer!"

A familiar dark look flowed across Merry's face and Pippin sat
still, afraid even to breathe for fear of unlocking the rage
imprisoned behind those eyes. But Merry ignored Pippin, making a
noise deep in his throat that sounded almost like a growl. Withoutwordword, Merry set his flailing burden upon the ground and stood--
solid, -lik-like, and terrifying. Amid Frodo's screams, he stomped
out of the room, his angry footsteps shaking the very floorboards of
the smial.

Pippin reached for Frodo's trembling hands with his own fingers,
shaking just as hard. And terror once again rose up in his throat,
the numbing fear of death and insanity that he had felt so recently
in the cellar.

For Pippin knew that Merry had gone to get Sam, and Pippin knew that
it killed him to do so.

* * *

Sam's door slammed open, and at once he knew.

"Get up."

Merry leaned over Sam, grasped him by the shirtfront and pulled him
up.

"Get up, I said!" ordered Merry. "Now!"

His hands still bound behind his back, Sam stood and looked straight
at Merry, trying his best to hide the feeling of triumph bubbling to
his surface.

"Move," Merry ordered.

Sam bit his lip in hopeful anticipation as he saw he was being led
to the parlor. He heard screams.

Frodo.

In spite of Pippin's soothing hands, Frodo was writhing on the
floor, kicking and screaming, shaking violently--eyes wide and
terrified, clearly distraught beyond reason. Merry approached Frodo
and watched with dismay as Frodo crabbed back still crying out,
still flailing his arms as if to ward off a blow.

"I've brought you Sam, Frodo," said Merry as his eyes filled with
tears.

"Go to him," ground out Merry into Sam's ear as if the order pained
him to distraction.

Sam felt his wrist bonds being cut.

"Calm him. Do what you must but calm my Frodo down!"

Sam did not hesitate. He stumbled over to his stricken master, fell
upon his knees, and gathered Frodo up in his arms.

"Frodo," cried Sam, his eyes tearing up, his heart breaking with
joy. manymany times had he longed to do this, watching his poor
master endure so much suffering while he remained bound and
helpless. "It's me, it's me. I've come back at last! Oh, me love,
please be still."

The sound of the familiar voice was like rain on fire to Frodo's
unhinged state. He immediately stopped flailing, curled himself up
in a fetal ball, and went totally silent and still. Sam wept and
drew the limp hobbit into a long awaited embrace.

"I'm here, Mr. Frodo. Your Sam is finally here."

* * *

Sam had stitched Frodo together with his soothing words, though
Frodo responded only by calming down, not by any purposeful
reaction. He stilled, went quiet, and his eyes turned back toward
the comforting fire. Merry made some ceremony of positioning Frodo
back into his chair, having Sam sit across from him and inviting
Pippin over to enjoy the family time, just as Merry had originally
planned. Merry made clear that Sam was only to speak when Merry
prompted him, and only on such topics as flowers and foods, topics
that might sooth our Frodo's frazzled nerves and bring back safe
memories.

As the evening progressed, Sam played his part to perfection,
chatting calmly with Frodo about each of the allowed topics and
trying to find any glimmer of understanding within his master's
lusterless eyes. But Pippin wanted to scream, to crawl out of his
skin, to disappear out of sight or memory of this travesty of a
celebration. Merry, sensing Pippin's unease, leaned up beside him
and drew him into a gentle one-armed embrace.

"This is hard, I know, love," he whispered in Pippin's ear. "But
it is all for the best."

In spite of Merry's words, Pippin felt nothing but overwhelming
relief when at last Merry bade him tend to the dishes while he
helped Frodo back to his room. "Frodo," Merry said, "wanted to lie
down on his bed and look into the fire for a spell." And for once
Pippin had no problem believing him.

* * *

Would you like an ale, Samwise?"

Merry stood quietly in the doorway of Sam's room. The room was dark
save the light of several sputtering candles. Sam had sat himself
at his small table as the sounds of yells and struggles continued,
waiting for this very moment. Sam tore his eyes up from the grain
of the small table to face his jailer. He smirked a little despite
his heartbreak, knowing that Merry's eyes would not have had time to
adjust to the dim light.

He needs me, thought Sam with no small amount of satisfaction. And
he knows that I know it.

"I would like an ale," said Sam pleasantly. "And a pipe, with
Longbottom leaf. And more candles as it is too dark and dreary in
here for my tastes. And I want to see Frodo again. And I don't wish
to be bound and stored away like a spare mattress for guests that
never come."

"I can help you with the first three," said Merry. "And perhaps
the last two, if you'll cooperate."

Sam nodded and raised his eyebrows.

"Ah, well, yes…let me get your drink and smoke," said Merry as he
stepped toward the hallway. "And then we shall speak."

Merry left the room, clicking the lock behind him.

Sam took several long breaths, steadying his mind and preparing to
wield his newfound bargaining power to the greatest extent
possible. Sam could not ask too much of Merry. Nor could he ask
too little and risk Merry's suspn. Wn. With a brain quite unused to
manipulation or scheming, the simple Hobbiton gardener steeled his
nerve, narrowed his eyes, and widened his mind to the
possibilities. What he needed first was time alone with Frodo, and
from there, the strength and cleverness to craft a plan.

Merry returned in minutes, a frothy mug of ale in one hand, a
smoking pipe packed tight with weed in the other. He set the ale on
the table with a flourish, handed Sam the pipe, drew out three
candles from his pocket, and after setting them about the room and
setting them alight, Merry sat himself down facing his family's
biggest problem child.

Sam stared into the eyes of the other hobbit, trying to siphon off
some of the cleverness and deception that Merry usedused so
adroitly. Frodo's only hope was for him to beat the master at his
own game of cunning. Samwise Gamgee took a deep breath as a
primitive plan began to form, slowly and twistingl his his mind. He
waited patiently for the other hobbit to speak, reveling in how much
this conversation seemed to pain him.

"Sam," said Merry after an awkward pause. "Frodo needs your help."

Sam looked Merry dead in the eyes, took a cleansing drag on his
pipe, and exhaled straight into Merry's face.

"I know."

A venomous cloud passed over Merry's countenance then faded.

"Frodo is my primary concern," said Merry, now putting his own pipe
between his teeth. Merry gripped his pipe with studied ease, though
Soticoticed that his hand shook as he did so.

"That's one of the few things we have in common," answered Sam
levelly.

"So you will help him then?" asked Merry.

"I suppose I could, yes," said Sam. "If you asks nice."

"I am," spat Merry as his mask of civility momentarily fell
away, "asking nicely."

Sam smiled sadly and knowingly, realizing at once that this victory
would bring him no joy.

"It hurts, don't it?" asked Sam, his eyes now glistening and wet.

"What hurts?"

"It hurts to see the one you love broken to pieces right before
your eyes and yet just out of your reach."

Merry was silent. His internal voice had not yet decided whether to
be angry, empathetic, or sad. When Merry at last replied, his voice
was surprisingly gentle.

"What is it you want from me, Sam?"

Sam slammed his fist against the table with alarming force, causithe the mug of ale to totter from side to side, and the ale to slosh up
against its edges as if roiled by a miniature tempest.

"I want my Frodo BACK!" The force of Sam's words reverberated
about the small room. Fear sparked in Merry's eyes as he leaned
into the back of his chair and fingered the knife on his belt. He
did not speak until the last of the echoes had died down.

"Frodo never left you, Sam," answered Merry, disarmingly calm. "It
is you who abandoned him and his mission. Frodo and his destiny are
one, Sam. You betray him when you try to cleave him in two, when
you confuse and confound him. He cannot always be torn in twain,
Sam, if he is to be happy and whole for the remainder of his days.
He is the Ringbearer and you cannot change that, however your simple
heart and simple mind may desire it.

"You wish him happy, as do I. But you have to think of Frodo, Sam!
No one asks to be a people's savior. It is something appointed, not
sought. It is usually thankless and always hard. Frodo was
appointed by fate to save the Shire with his gift. I was appointed
to prepare him and to aid him. You, Sam, have a role in this as
well, though I deem you are reluctant to fulfill it. Frodo needs
you to soothe him now, to bring him what comfort can be had in this
long, perilous road."

"If I'm to help Frodo on this road," snarled Sam, "then why will
you not let us get on it?"

"The perilous road," answered Merry sternly, "will come soon
enough! I do not know when but time is short. Frodo must be
brought back to himself as soon as may be and to this end, he needs
us both. He needs all we can give and before his path closes in on
us, he must be made ready."

"Ready for what?" asked Sam. "What are you hiding?"

"I am hiding nothing that you need know!" snapped Merry. "What you
need to know is that Frodo requires our help, you as his aide and I
as his guide until he can handle this all on his own!"

"His guide?" snorted Sam derisively. "Frodo fears you."

"When we speak together," explained Merry, "he is obedient,
respectful, and thankful-- not afraid. Frodo loves me."

"Then why can't you quiet him? Why does he jump outta his skin at
your touch? Why does he cry?"

"Frodo is fragile now," answered Merry. "He has no control over
his emotions, he told me as much. And that scares him. He asked
for you, Sam. He wants you to stop rebelling against fate and help
him now. Frodo wants you, and under my care, Frodo shall get what
he wants!"

"And how am I to be of use trussed up like a ham each time I'm with
him?" barked Sam spitefully and without thinking. "He don't like
the ropes! Even you could see that!"

"I have a solution for that, Sam. It isn't perfect, but if you'll
endure it, I'll let you be with Frodo as often as he wishes and
without the distressing ropes. What say you?"

Sam raised an eyebrow as his mind screamed out its suspicions but he
brought his emotions into check using all the energy he had.

"What must I do, then?" he asked.

"Permit me to blindfold you a moment and I shall explain," answered
Merry.

Sam's eyes narrowed.

"For my own safety only, Sam," continued Merry. "Frodoes yes you
but he warned me that you are still dangerous. If you'll endure
this small discourtesy, you may see him again today. I will let you
see him alone – no ropes, no gags, no guard."

This offer was too good to refuse and the look in Merry's eyes told
Sam that Merry was being truthful. He bit his lip to the point of
drawing blood then nodded.

"I shan't fight it. But promises is promises."

Merry smiled, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and drawing it
over Sam's eyes. Sam sat silently, waiting for…something.

Merry's footsteps retreated toward the door, then returned in
seco his his steps heavy as if he bore something of considerable
weight. Before Sam had time to contemplate the possibilities of
this observation, he felt cold metal close around his ankle and the
snick of a lock.

Sam ripped off his blindfold and stared aghast at his foot. A loop
of iron had been fastened around his ankle and shut tight with a
pak. Ak. A long chain, thin but strong, extended from the shackle
to what was obviously a rather heavy round ball of solid iron,
resting against the door. Sam sucked in his breath and glared at
Merry.

"What in Middle Earth?" cried Sam, nearly shrill. "What is this?
This ain't Shire make! Where did you even get such things?"

Merry backed up against the opposite wall, waiting for Sam to calm,
and knowing he was well beyond the point at which the chain would
pull taut.
ou aou are right," said Merry softly, "it is not of the Shire. But
where I got it is not your concern. All you need know is that this
small discomfort is your ticket to Frodo. No more ropes to upset
him, no more binds to hold you in place, yet I will have no more
fears of you running off either."

Merry smiled, not disguising a bit of mirth in his expression. "At
least, not very quickly." He fought to keep from grinning openly at
the gardener. "Now Sam. It won't be so bad. You have half a dozen
feet of slack, an improvement over staying tied to a chair or locked
in your room, I think.t'st's more, you may now be trusted to
spend time with Frodo as he wishes or to calm him when it is needed,
as it is now."

Sam seethed and roiled inside. He was furious, but mainly at
himself for letting this happen, for letting himself be so
restrained--so close to what might have been an opportunity.

Sam Gamgee--you fool! How could you let this happen? This is Sam
Gamgee all over!

Then Sam remembered that he was not without power. He still had one
card to play – one very important card. He crossed his arms in
front of him, set his jaw, and spoke in the most imperious voice he
could muster.

"I have mulled over your offer," said Sam. "And I shan't help
you. Not now."

Merry blanched and he dashed over to the table again.

"Surely you wish to visit Frodo?" said Merry, an of of
uncertainty creeping into his voice.

"Do I now?" raged Sam. "P'rhaps I do, P'raphs I don't. And what
would you have to say if I didn't?"

"You must!" Merry voice screeched.

"Must I then?" chased Sam. "Why? Because you said so? You can't
force me to sooth him if I don't have a mind to."

"You will," said Merry, "because you love him."

Sam grinned wide. It wasn't a happy grin but the grin of one who
knows when his next words will sting a hated adversary.

"You need me," said Sam.

"Frodo needs you," said Merry with wavering firmness. "Frodo."

"No," said Sam, his eyes darkening as he spoke. "You do. You need
me, Merry, and it kills you to see it, but you do."

Merry's eyes glinted, and Sam couldl thl the urge to strike rising
in Merry. No. Not this time.

"I have a proposition for you," said Sam, seating himself and
tenting his fingers in front of him. "I will help you with Frodo if
you admit that you need me."

"Rot!" screamed Merry, clearly livid. "Can you think of no one but
yourself?"

"Say it," repeated Sam. "Or next time Frodo has a fit, I won't
help and you'll watch Frodo go wild and cry out for hours and pull
back from your touch even more than he already has!

"You would not want to do that to Frodo," said Merry, angry but
pleading.

"No," cried Sam. "But I would want to do it TO YOU!"

Sam stood up abruptly, the chains rattling ominously as he did.

"Say it, damn you! Say, I need your help, Sam. Say it because you
damn well need me to manage Frodo. For all your big plans, you need
this simple, little gardener."

Sam lurched across the table. Merry shrunk back.

"Say it, and you shall have my help!"

Merry breathed hard, a cold flame rising in his eyes. Yet, on a
rational level, he realized that

Sam's words were infuriatingly true. Merry took a steadying breath.

"I would like--"

Sam med med his fist down so hard he toppled his ale.

"Need!"

Merry mastered his anger as the chink of the rolling ceramic mug and
the dripping of ale filled the long silence.

"I need your help, Sam," Merry blurted out before falling into his
chair as if exhausted.

Sam sunk back into his chair with a self-satisfied smile that lit
the room.

"Now that weren't so hard, was it…Mer?"

Merry stood and gave Sam a warning look. Sam returned it as aptly
as if he were a mirror.

"I shall see Frodo later tonight and every day after that, or I
shan't help when I'm needed."

Merry said nothing as he stomped out of the room, diminished now.

"And before you go too far," added Sam provocatively, "I'll need a
refill on my ale. Seems mine spilt somehow."

Merry slammed the door with a resounding crunch, yet within minutes
a second mug of ale was slipped in the room by unseen hands. Sam
ambled slowly over to the mug, the metal of his chains hissing
across the floor as he moved. He downed every last drop in minutes,
then lay down in his bed and waited.

* * *

Frodo had napped for hours, and Merry, his face ashen and blank, had
settled in the chair beside the bed, again keeping vigil. Merry did
not speak of his conversation with Sam but had assured Pippin in a
tired voice that all had been handled and that Frodo would be taken
care of next time he fell into a fit. Merry had redressed Frodow, aw, and set him in the parlor for eight-o-clock supper. But Frodo
did not even let Merry feed him; still, Merry had put on a good act
for Pippin of not showing his sorrow. Now he dozed on the sofa,
exhausted by the emotional crescendos of a very trying day.

Pippin had waited for a half hour to pass, then secretly took up the
untouched plate and knelt before his damaged cousin. It was as if
Pippin were seeing Frodo for the first time.

Frodo sat upon the overstuffed chair staring into the fire, eyes
that had once sparkled with life now glacial and distant—as if Frodo
were staring at another fire in another part of the world far, far
away from Pippin. He was dressed in a fine pressed linen shirt
embroidered at the collar with leaves of green yarn curling out from
vines sewn from golden yellow thread. In the center of this design
was the decorous Brandybuck "B" carefully sewn in the same shape as
the brand upon Frodo's hip andhis his own shoulder. The trousers,
which Merry had had fitted to perfection weeks ago, now hung loose
on Frodo's diminished frame. All for the best, echoed throughout
Pippin's mind and yet he believed not a syllable.

It was still strange to see Frodo like this, unbound, dressed as if
for Yule, face, hands, and feet newly washed and clean as morning.
Moving closer now, Pippin set the plate down upon Frodo's lap,
drawing a napkin across his chest once it became clear that Frodo
would take no initiative to do this himself. Pippin had no better
luck getting Frodo to take hold of thete, te, as he did not make so
much as a twitch in response to Pippin's urgings. In fact, Frodo
gave no indication that he knew or cared that Pippin was in the room
at all. Pippin awkwardly set the plate upon the floor.

"Frodo?" said Pippin as he raised up a fresh roll dripping with
butter. "Frodo, I've brought your supper."

Still, Frodo's head did not turn, his eyes pulled into the depths of
the fire.

"I have some fine slices of roast left over from our dinner."
Pippin spit out the words fast and nervously, afraid of the awkward
silence. "And taters and bread. Surely you must be hungry, Frodo.
Surely you must be hungry after…" Pippin silenced, the next words
catching them in his throat like a chunk of ice. "…after
everything," he mumbled, almost to himself.

Frodo was still as a statue, beautiful and ghastly by the firelight--
eyes dilated, full lips now pulled thin and rigid, drawn tightly
across a pale and stony countenance.

"Frodo," said Pippin, nearly begging. "Frodo, please talk to your
Pippin!" Frodo remained silent and still, as Pippin knelt down and
put his hands on Frodo's knees. "Frodo – it's over!" he exclaimed
abruptly, feigning excitement as if reading a fairy story to a
child. "All the hard things are over now and we've come through!
There is nothing to fear! Please Frodo, speak to me!"

But Frodo did not, nor did his eyes drift down to Pippin, who by
this time had taken Frodo's hands in his own and kissed them with
desperate affection and cloying hope. Frodo's cold and clammy skin
smelled of peppermint and rosehips.

"Frodo-love!" cried Pippin as if he were calling to a hobbit
standing in a distant corner of a large room. "Frodo! Please
answer! Look at me, at least! You frighten me, you know! It's
over I said! Please Frodo! A bite! A bite for your Pippin!"

"Frodo!" called Pippin again. "Frodo---I---I…love you so much."
And then the trickle of fear and emotion became a flood and Pippin
lowered his head to Frodo's knee as he openly and unashamedly wept.

Pippin finally lifted his teary eyes to Frodo's blank ones, his
panic unresolved. "I'm so sorry Frodo! It was for the best! Time
to be happy! Oh, please tell me you understand! Please tell me
anything!"

Oblivious to his cousin's agony, Frodo was indeed happy, deep in his
own mind. But it was not in the parlor of Crickhollow. It never
had been. The mind of Frodo Baggins was somewhere altogether
different.

"What is the matter, Pip?" Asked Merry, suddenly raising his head
from the arm of the sofa. "Is our Frodo still not eating?" Merry
yawned and stood unsteadily, taking a few steps toward his cousins.

The knot of emotions exploded in Pippin's head. He leapt to his
feet, fueled by all the rage, fear, doubt, and anguish that had
plagued him throughout this ordeal. He spun around on one foot and
barreled onto his older cousin's solid mass.

"He's not eating! He's not speaking!" cried Pippin as he pounded
into Merry's chest with ill-aimed fists. "You promised he'd be
happy! You swore to me! But he's NOT happy! He's not anything!
He's NOT THERE! Fix him, Merry! B him him back, damn you! Fix
him!"

TBC

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