Final Desecraton

Title: Final Desecration (Ring Around the Merry, Part I Universe) An alternate slash version of The Taming of Frodo
Author: Celandine Goodbody
Email: CelandineG@aol.com
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Graphic slash content, some nonconsensual situations, violence, angst
Pairing: M/F, P/F, M/P
Category: Slash, AU, angst
Feedback: Yes
Summary: Merry uses sensory overload (thorough noncon sexual situations) followed by sensory deprivation to complete the breaking of Frodo.
Disclaimer: The author claims no legal rights to the characters, settings, situations, or other characteristics that are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, their licensees, or others and no copyright infringement is intended. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money or other remuneration is sought or received.
Copying: This fanfiction is available only for the private enjoyment of RATM readers. Please ask permission before copying or re-posting elsewhere.
A/N: As Emma has clearly stated, this work includes graphic sexual scenes involving slash pairings and some non-con. Please don’t read it if this offends you. Many, many thanks to Emma, my light of Earendil, for her wonderful support and encouragement throughout this process—and for letting me *play*. –Celandine


RATM
The Taming of Frodo
(Slash Version)


Final Desecration
By
Celandine Goodbody

Merry sat motionless, gaping at Frodo as if he had turned into a purple dragon with six legs. His eyes were huge in shock and his mouth open in disbelief. In contrast, his cousin’s eyes were glazed over and lifeless, mere caricatures of their former beauty and benevolence. The spittle ran down Merry’s cheek and still he did not react.

Sam held his breath, helplessly pulling at his bonds. This is gonna be bad, he thought.

Pippin shoved his knuckles into his mouth, his eyes wide as saucers.

Merry exhaled slowly, raising his hand to his cheek and feeling the dripping wetness that announced his humiliation to the whole world. Humiliation at the hands of his own creation, the one he had trained so carefully, the one he had bragged about, the one he had branded with his own name! B is for Brandybuck.

As his brain started to function again, the horror grew exponentially. His own creature had defied him! Never again could he brag of Frodo’s obedience and respect, never again could he feel proud in front of Pippin, never again could he smile smugly at that fucking gardener tied in that fucking chair. They would laugh at him now, they all would, Buckland would laugh, the whole Shire would laugh, Middle Earth and everyone in it would laugh…at Meriadoc Brandybuck!

Pippin had seen all of Merry’s tantrums but nothing had ever come close to the look now on his cousin’s face. He forced himself to move, hurrying across the room. “He didn’t mean it, Merry,” Pippin said, timidly offering his handkerchief. “Let it go, just this once, please.”

Merry slid off the bed, scarlet with rage. He took the handkerchief without looking at Pippin and wiped his face clean. Then he dropped it on the floor, never taking his eyes off Frodo but the ringbearer had retreated into his timeless, colorless, seasonless world where nothing could ever hurt him. Pippin backed away quickly, bumping into Sam’s chair and almost falling in his lap. He moved sideways and stood behind Sam, somehow feeling safer. Sam let out his breath noisily as if he had been holding it a long time

Merry whipped around, eyes blazing, looking at the two of them so close together. Ungrateful bastards! They were all against him! Everyone was against him!

Sam fought to maintain a neutral expression but somewhere in his eyes, whether real or contrived, Merry saw ridicule, laughter even. The stupid gardener was laughing at him, at the future Master of Buckland, the present Savior of the Shire, of all Middle Earth!

The dam broke.

“FRODO!” Merry turned around and screamed at him as if the mere volume of his voice could bring Frodo back into his realm. But Merry was no longer in control, no longer even the Master of Crickhollow.

Merry grabbed Frodo by the arm, dragging him off the bed. “FRODO!” He screamed even louder, infuriated at the dull eyes that didn’t care. “LOOK AT ME!” He shook him by the shoulders and then shoved him to his knees. Merry pulled his head up by the hair, backhanding him viciously. “FRODO, DAMN YOU! YOU ARE MINE! YOU WILL OBEY ME!” He hit him again, “FRODO” and then again, “FRODO” and again, “FRODO” and again, “FRODO” again, “FRODO,” yelling and screaming, until Sam lost count and finally bowed his head, closing his eyes over his tears.

Frodo swayed on his knees, holding his hands weakly to his face, and they got hit as well until Merry finally had to stop from sheer exhaustion. He let go and Frodo sunk in a heap on the floor, blood flowing freely from his face and hands. No tears, however, marred his cheeks and no recognition or pain showed in his eyes.

Merry knelt down on the floor beside him and pulled his face viciously back by the hair. “FRODO!” He was hyperventilating, his scream hysterical, a feral, animal screech that echoed through the room and out into the courtyard beyond. “YOU WILL LOOK AT ME!” He hit Frodo again.

Pippin grabbed hard onto the back of Sam’s chair, his hands wet with sweat.

There was no response in Frodo’s eyes or any indication that he had heard or felt anything. Infuriated, Merry pulled his hair harder, moving within inches of his damaged face. “YOU SHALL NOT ESCAPE ME, YOU, YOU….” His own cheeks flushed with frustration, Merry screamed at the pallid, peaceful face of his older cousin. “FRO…DO, DAMN YOU!” He shook Frodo mercilessly by the hair and then reached out and slapped him again, feeling for the first time, the damage to his own hand. “DAMMMMMN YOUR SOUL TO SAURON! YOU COME BAAAACK HERE! COME BACK HERE!! TO ME!”

In the middle of the tirade, Sam turned and tried to face Pippin. “Pip,” he whispered over his shoulder.

“BACK HERE!”

Pippin was in shock, too terrified to move.

“Pip!” Sam hissed as loud as he dared, turning further in the chair, his bonds cutting into him.

Pippin finally leaned down to Sam, hoping for a sane voice in this sea of madness.

“You gotta stop him, Pippin,” said Sam desperately. He’s gonna kill him!”

“BACK!”

Pippin nodded, raising his head. “Merry?” he squeaked, so softly that even Sam had trouble hearing him.

“OH, STOP IT, MERRY!” shouted Sam, unable to contain himself any longer. “He’s freakin’ gone.”

Merry turned, panting and fuming, and looked up at Sam but the gardener was also out of control. “It’s over, Merry!” Sam turned around to the younger hobbit. “TELL HIM, PIP! Tell him what’s true, what we can see right here, in front of our own eyes!”

Before Pippin could open his mouth, Sam continued. “MR. FRODO’S GONE…HE’S ESCAPED!” He laughed hysterically. “Escaped forever, you bloody, damn fool sick, mother fu…” He took a deep breath. “You’ll never reach him, Merry, not no how, now way, no matter what you do, and that’s the fact!”

“Sam, don’t!” Pippin grabbed his shoulders.

Sam let out a sob as he looked down at Frodo, bleeding and senseless on the floor with Merry’s hand entangled in his hair. He knew it would cost him dearly but he didn’t care anymore. It didn’t matter because it really was over. Merry could kill him if he wanted. He didn’t care.

Sam looked down into Merry’s eyes and laughed in his face. “Mr. Frodo’s won, Merry, and you have lost.”

****

Merry stared at Sam, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession but somewhere deep inside, another Merry was breaking through the hysteria, another Merry who was far more dangerous.

The future Master of Buckland let go of Frodo’s hair and stood up. His breathing rate was slowing and his face returning to normal. He rubbed his cheek where Frodo had spit on him but his eyes were fixed on Sam. Merry walked over to the gardener slowly, and without a word he raised his hand.

Sam cringed, expecting the worst and wondering briefly if he would see another day in this life. But Merry stopped and brought his hand down. He looked at its swelling appendages and red, damaged skin. Merry rubbed his sore hand, grimacing at the pain for a minute, then he balled it into a firm fist and drove it into Sam’s jaw using every muscle fiber he could recruit from his powerful shoulder.

Pippin stood behind the chair, his hands releasing from Sam’s shoulders as the gardener slumped forward, unconscious. He didn’t look at Sam but rather at his cousin as Merry turned on his heel and walked out of the room.

****

Pippin’s legs were shaking as he sank into a nearby chair. Frodo lay on the floor like some dead thing and Pippin wondered if perhaps he had died. Still, the future Thain of Tuckborough stayed where he was and put his head down on the soft, upholstered arm of the chair. He didn’t want to know.

Pippin had lost track of time when Merry opened the door and stepped back inside, carrying a leather bag. He had changed his clothes and his hair was wet at the edges. His face was clean and washed—as if he had recently splashed cold water on it. He was calm now and his lips had relaxed into a smile as he dropped the bag by the door and walked up to his younger cousin, stepping around Frodo as if he was a heap of dirty laundry.

Merry looked deep into Pippin’s eyes, gripping them with the considerable force of his psychopathic energy. His voice, however, was matter-of-fact, its icy calm a harbinger of every disaster Pippin could imagine. “Whose side are you on, Pippin?” Not a trace remained of the hysterical maniac who had nearly beaten Frodo to death. “Just tell me, because I need to know and I need to know now.”

Pippin stared at him.

“Whose brand do you proudly wear, little Cousin?” Merry’s eyes were glacial and uncompromising. “Have you forgotten everything I’ve done for you? Or are you still a child, whimpering to a stupid gardener.”

There was no threat in Merry’s tone yet Pippin had never been so afraid. But it seemed a new Pippin was also emerging, tempered by confrontation, a stronger incarnation of himself, perhaps even a hobbit to be reckoned with. No, he was not a child. Pippin stood up and took at step toward Merry.

“B is for Brandybuck,” he said with conviction, before throwing himself into Merry’s arms.

Merry hugged him tightly, closing his eyes for an instant. “Thank-you, Pip. I think this little…episode has helped you to see just how serious our problem is…with Cousin Frodo especially, because in truth, Sam doesn’t matter very much. And now we will have to do things that are not pleasant, even worse things than before.”

Pippin swallowed hard, looking down at Frodo. “What do you mean, Merry?”

“Frodo is the only true ringbearer, Pip, and he must come back to us, body and soul, if the Ring is to save the Shire from its enemies. He has been enchanted, maybe by Gandalf, I don’t know…but we must get him back.”

Pippin’s eyes were growing wider. “Enchanted? You mean magic?”

“Of course I do! Look at him!” Merry walked over to where Frodo lay unmoving. “Do you think this is normal? Is this your cousin?”

“N…no,” said Pippin. “I saw his eyes, it was like he was dead. But Merry…”

“Yes, love?”

“I hate it when you hurt Cousin Frodo, I do. And now that we have established…that I am not a child, I…I want to have a say in what we do.”

Merry looked at him affectionately, trying to hide his smile, like a parent hearing the naïve demands of an unsure adolescent. “Pippin, you are right, and you will have some say in my plans but being an adult has responsibilities. You must be trustworthy and unwavering in your support.”

Pippin beamed with pride. “Oh, I will, Merry, I will.”

“No talking with gardeners.”

“No, Merry, no, I won’t do that anymore.”

Merry smiled in his most charming manner. “Then give us another hug, my sweet little adult, I do love you so much.” He stretched out his arms.

Pippin fell into them with complete devotion. “I love you too, Merry, more than anyone…and…I will do whatever you say.”

“Of course you will, Pip,” said Merry, holding Pippin at arm’s length. “And I have decided that we won’t hurt Cousin Frodo any more.”

Pippin’s smile widened and his eyes danced with joy.

“No, the pain was too strong,” said Merry, his eyes unfocused and thinking. “It helped him to withdraw. Now we have to try something else to keep him here with us, something so powerful that he can never leave again. But first, we must bring him back from the dead, so hard and so fast that he can never return to his little sanctuary.”

****

They got Frodo back on the bed and cleansed his face with fresh soap and water. The cloth came back pink with blood but Frodo’s cheeks were only slightly puffy, his hands having taken the brunt of Merry’s fury.

Just as they were finishing, a groan came from the other side of the room. Merry poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the bedstead and walked over to Sam. “Thirsty?” Without waiting for an answer he threw the water in Sam’s face.

Sam sputtered and yelled hoarsely until his eyes focused on Merry. His head ached horribly but his thoughts were of his master. “Mr. Frodo, is he all right?”

“Look for yourself,” said Merry.

Sam’s vision cleared and he could see Frodo lying on the bed, his eyes staring up at the ceiling at some beautiful private vision. Sam sighed but at least Frodo’s breathing was regular and his color not too bad.

Merry stood next to Sam, his hands folded across his chest, his mind deep in thought. “Pip,” he said finally, “help me move Sam closer to his master.”

Pippin complied and soon they had Sam’s chair right next to the bed.

Sam couldn’t help himself. “Mr. Frodo, it’s me, it’s your Sam.”

Frodo made no movement nor did he show any sign of recognition.

Merry turned to him. “Do you still think I’ve lost, Samwise?”

“I…I don’t know, Merry,” said Sam hesitantly. “My head’s near to explodin’. I can’t think. I love my master but if all he has to come back to is you…then I hope…he never does.” Sam braced himself but instead, Merry bent down and untied one of his hands.

“I don’t believe you, Sam,” said Merry. “I believe that you would give anything to see him come back to us. And if I let you hold Frodo’s hand, I believe you would do it.”

Sam stretched out his hand, clenching and unclenching it, trying to get the circulation going again. He looked over at Frodo’s lost face, wounded and wandering on some foreign shore. It was something the practical Sam just couldn’t fathom.

Suddenly he felt something soft and wonderful—Merry had shoved Frodo’s hand into his own. Automatically, he grasped it. He eyes welled up with tears as he looked down at the small, smooth fingers, their nails chewed down to the quick with stress. “Oh, Mr. Frodo,” he cried, his voice shaking, “wherever you are, please stay safe.” He didn’t kiss the hand but instead squeezed it gently and put his head down, his tears dripping freely onto his lap.

****

Frodo Baggins was indeed drifting on a foreign shore of his own making. Perhaps it was Valinor, he didn’t know but neither did it matter. It was not Crickhollow.

He was sitting by a stream, watching the sun glint off the rippling water. Flowers bloomed from impossible places between reddish rocks lining the riverside and tall grasses waved in the distance. The ground he lay on was soft, so soft that he thought perhaps he was on air or clouds or something equally pleasant.

There was music too, high and light, not Shire music but more elven in character. Beautiful voices were singing in complex harmonies, songs he had never heard before, instruments he had never imagined. Maybe this is Rivendell, he thought vaguely. Rivendell, where Bilbo has gone and maybe I will see him soon, and Gandalf too. Frodo smiled as the wizard’s image seemed to materialize before him, his gaze warm and welcoming. “Stay, Frodo,” said Gandalf in a pleasant voice. “I will help you. The Ring will be safe.”

Before he could answer, Frodo drifted somehow backwards into a lush garden where fountains burst sparkling water high into the air and small trees were cut to look like animals. He smiled at that. There were flowers everywhere and their fragrance filled his senses as he floated higher. Just in front of him loomed the golden Ring and he looked at it with all the love in his heart. He could see flames reflecting off it as he was lifted higher and higher into the air; higher, until he was surrounded by clouds, softer and sweeter than the lightest meringue he had ever tasted. Suddenly, something brushed his hand but it was soothing and seemed to come from far away. Frodo looked down and saw Gandalf’s face, smiling reassuringly, and Gandalf’s hand in his own, clasping it tightly. He felt warm and safe as he stared at the clouds, closing his eyes and swirling around and around in bliss.

****

Merry left Sam and walked over to the fireplace. He reached inside and pulled out a poker with a small brand at the end, glowing red-hot. Pippin gasped but Merry shook his head, putting his finger to his lips for silence. He quietly crossed the room back to Sam, who was lost in his sorrow.

Without warning, Merry shoved the hot branding iron into the back of Sam’s tied hand, pressing it firmly to the arm of the chair and holding it there.

Every nerve in Sam’s body exploded. “AHHHHHHHH!!!”

He screamed as loud as he had ever screamed in his life, again, and again, and again, squeezing Frodo’s hand in a crushing grip that he could not stop or control.

Merry held the branding iron down on Sam longer than was necessary but finally he pulled it up and handed it to Pippin. Sam was still screaming in rage and pain and shock.

****

The clouds were so cool and sweet, soft and peaceful as he drifted in and out, in and out, listening to the music again, holding Gandalf’s hand and sometimes seeing Bilbo smiling at him. Gandalf’s loving touch lingered at his hand, making him feel safe and secure. His mother and father were there too, somewhere, just out of reach. They seemed to be caressing his face, washing it clean of childhood dirt. I love you. They said it over and over. Yes, he was loved. Frodo smiled to himself. This must be Valinor, just like Gandalf had told him, and he would never go anywhere else, ever again. Valinor, Valinor, Val…

Suddenly, the grasp on his hand increased…hurtful…painful. Fear rose up as he looked but Gandalf was gone. His hand still hurt! NO, no, no, hurt. He focused his mind on the clouds but there was screaming, someone he loved, someone he loved was in pain. He was swirling downwards, NO, he had to help, NO, he had to stay here. Sam, yes, it’s Sam. I won’t abandon you, Sam. He was twisting down and down and the screaming in his ears wouldn’t stop, please stop! I don’t want to go, I don’t want…now he could feel his hand being crushed, and the pain, excruciating. STOP! He tried to pull it away but he wasn’t strong enough. Sam, where are you! Finally, like speeding through a dark tunnel toward a brilliant light, his eyes came into focus, stunning sharp focus, stunning bright light.

But Sam was not the one he saw.

****

Merry was straddling his chest, his fingers in his hair on either side of his head. “Frodo Baggins, you will stay right here!” He pulled Frodo’s hair so that his head couldn’t move an inch.

Frodo stared at his cousin, suddenly smelling the burnt flesh in the air. He could hear Sam screaming unintelligible sounds of fury and he thought that Pippin was yelling too. He tried to struggle but it was useless. “Merry, no…no…” Frodo was enraged now, to be jolted out of his own private paradise. He relaxed into the pillows and closed his eyes, determined to return to Valinor. He had to do it now, before it was too late.

“Oh, no, you don’t!” Merry yelled furiously, backhanding Frodo across his swollen and battered face.

Frodo’s lids fluttered and he stared into Merry’s furious gray eyes. Against his will, Valinor and peace were slipping, almost physically, from his grasp, becoming a filamentous, ethereal thing. Suddenly his memory returned in full force, and with it all the fear and pain. He was too much in the present now, the sensations too strong to ignore or escape. He could feel his crushed hand shooting pain up his arm, his damaged back, and the cuts and bruises throbbing on his face. Silently, he screamed in fury, enraged at the fates that had given him paradise and cruelly taken it away.

Merry smiled, seeing the focus in Frodo’s eyes. “Welcome back, my dear, we all missed you.” He leaned over and kissed Frodo on his lips, lingering over them, feeling their puffy, injured touch. “Ummm, now that was nice,” he said, straightening up. “I think I might enjoy this after all.”

Sam had stopped screaming but he was panting heavily, still holding Frodo’s hand in a vice-like grip. His eyes were glaring, switching between Merry and his blackened hand, his emotions on the verge of hysteria.

Merry turned to his younger cousin, “Pip, please re-tie Master Gamgee’s hand. If he screams anymore, gag him.” He chuckled a bit to himself before turning to Sam. “Now, Sam, you will never forget me, will you. Every time you plant something, looking at the back of your hand, you will always remember that,” he grinned at the gardener, “B is for Brandybuck.”

The reality of Merry’s words hit Sam hard. Every time he looked at his hands…the mark of the monster would be there…forever. He would see it every day…and everyone else too. Sam tried to think of something bad enough to say to Merry but instead found himself muttering incomprehensible nonsense like a crazy hobbit.

Still straddling his cousin, Merry gazed into Frodo’s beautiful blue eyes, now fully focused and in the present, much to their owner’s chagrin. “And now for you, Frodo Baggins,” he said. “Whatever I am to do?”

He took each of Frodo’s wrists in his hands and using his full weight, pressed them firmly to the mattress beside his head. Frodo’s eyes grew larger and he began to struggle, pulling his arms and twisting his head from side to side. But he was no match for his stronger cousin. Merry pressed down harder and leaned into Frodo, kissing him again, parting his lips, and thrusting his tongue deep inside. The more Frodo struggled, the more Merry giggled with delight, defiling every corner of his cousin’s mouth for as long as it suited him. Finally he rose up, his eyes glinting, more with power than pleasure. “Well, what is it they say, Cousin, incest is best?”

“That’s…dis…gusting.” Frodo whispered raggedly, struggling to free his hands from Merry’s grasp. “Leave me…alone.”

Merry sat up, pulling Frodo’s arms with him and positioning himself on Frodo’s waist. He turned to his younger cousin. “Pippin, let’s do…um, hands in back, legs to the bed…for starters.” He twisted Frodo over and shoved his arms in back, holding him sideways. Pippin tied the knots around his wrists and scurried to the foot of the bed where he tied Frodo’s ankles spread-eagled, one to each post.

Merry extracted a sharp knife from his pocket and began to slice Frodo’s breeches expertly off his body. He watched Frodo’s eyes as the cold knife slid slowly between skin and wool, slicing off part of one pant leg. Then he moved the knife into Frodo’s groin, lingering there dangerously, moving and tilting the blade at different angles, alternately pressing against the cloth and his cousin’s delicate flesh.

Frodo’s fear bordered on panic as he watched Merry’s hand, not knowing what his deranged cousin would do. His sweet paradise was out of sight now and he knew, coldly and clearly, that he would never see it again, this side of death.

Soon Merry tired of the game and with one fell stroke, rapidly sliced up through the breeches, causing Frodo to yelp with fear. He balled up the material and threw it into the fire, where it flamed brightly and died. Merry then turned his full attention to his cousin, looking him up and down with his cold, gray eyes. “Oh, dear me,” Merry said, putting the knife back in his pocket. “You are so beautiful.”

Frodo was terrified, naked, and helpless, his legs spread wide and his arms tied behind his back.
“Merry, no, please.”

“Please? Well, now that’s a nice word I haven’t heard for a long time.” Merry leaned over and ran his fingers down Frodo’s jaw and over his lovely, exposed throat. “Please…yes, it is a very nice word.” He reached over into the nightstand drawer and extracted a small vial of amethyst glass. Merry removed the delicate stopper and deposited a single droplet of fragrant oil directly onto Frodo’s pale nipples.

Frodo squirmed involuntarily. “Merry! Stop it! This is wrong!”

The scent of lavender filled the air.

“No, sweets, I don’t think so,” said Merry, as he gently rubbed the oil into Frodo’s soft flesh, watching the nipples rise and darken. It took some effort but he avoided touching the Ring. It was lying on its chain in the middle of Frodo’s chest, exposed and in the open, much like the ringbearer himself. Merry leaned down and tenderly kissed the darkening pink nubs, sucking and nipping at them until they were erect and bright. He licked the oil off his lips and leaned over Frodo’s face, watching him grimace. “No, Frodo-love, my sweet little Frodo-cousin, before I’m through with you,” Merry squeezed his nipples again, “you will be on your knees, begging for my touch...and bargaining everything you own.”

“No.”

Merry smiled, a mirthless, cruel expression. “And I do mean…” He looked down at the sparkling slice of gold recumbent on Frodo’s chest. “Everything.”

****

Sam’s world was pure physical anguish, the agony in his hand, exquisite—throbbing, burning, screaming nerve endings sending wave upon wave of pain. He looked down at the horrid B, now so prominent on his hand. He would see that abomination every day for the rest of his life. Samwise Gamgee closed his eyes and found his own little world of rage, where he retreated for a time to plan his revenge.

But there was no retreat for Frodo or any place to hide. Merry was now massaging the perimeter of his ears, rubbing up and down over the soft cartilage. Frodo inhaled sharply, the pleasure frustrating but undeniable.

“Shall I do the tips, Frodo-love?” Merry asked innocently.

“Merry, oh, please…”

“Ah, there’s that word again.” Merry smirked, staring into Frodo’s helpless eyes. “Perhaps you mean yes?”

Merry moved his fingers up to the exquisitely sensitive tips of his cousin’s ears. He pressed in on them with scented fingertips and lingered teasingly while Frodo sighed with helpless pleasure. The ringbearer sunk further into the soft pillows, parting his lips as he inhaled deeply. Merry took his advantage and planted a sensuous kiss on his cousin’s lips, parting them easily with his tongue and entering Frodo’s mouth with little resistance this time. Once inside, Merry lost no time to explore and then to bring Frodo’s tongue into his own mouth, sucking and teasing, perhaps by force, perhaps not. It was hard to tell.

After a time, Merry withdrew and also removed his fingers from his cousin’s ears. Frodo was breathing hard, not from fear this time but from helpless, unavoidable pleasure. It was not a normal sensation, borne of desire but rather forbidden fruit, amplified and forced upon the senses against one’s will. Somehow that heightened everything.

Frodo shook his head, increasingly horrified at his own reactions. “Stop…just…just…stop it,” he sighed, trying to catch his breath. “I don’t…want to do this, Merry. We’re cousins, this is wrong…in every way.”

Merry pretended to ignore Frodo as he sat back on the bed, toying with his cousin’s nipples in a careless, preoccupied manner. The scent of the oil was everywhere and Merry continued as if he had all the time in the world.

“Pippin?” Merry called to his younger cousin who was standing by the bed. “Come on up, love. I think Cousin Frodo needs some convincing.”

The younger hobbit’s feelings were in a jumble. He was jealous, for Merry had been his own lover, yet he was also sympathetic, seeing Cousin Frodo used against his will. He cleared his throat. “You mean…you want me up there?”

“Yes, you ninny, where do you think I mean?” Merry laughed and motioned with his hand. “Come, Pip, let’s have some fun.” But behind the eyes that were shinning too brightly, there was no thought of fun or even pleasure.

Using a nearby stool, Pippin slowly climbed up onto the high four-poster and immediately sunk into the luxurious featherbed. On all fours he crawled over to the center and sat next to Frodo, trying not to look at his private areas. Even though he had seen his cousin naked before, Pippin flushed with embarrassment. Or perhaps it was embarrassment for Frodo, who was old enough to be his father and who had never been anything but kind to him, now spread out and vulnerable, in abject humiliation.

Frodo’s oiled nipples were glowing bright red due to the punishment they were receiving from Merry’s fingernails. They positively shone against the alabaster whiteness of his perfect skin. Without stopping his ministrations, Merry leaned over and planted an affectionate, wet kiss on Pippin’s lips, lingering there for a time. “Pippin,” Merry asked, “do you agree with Cousin Frodo?” Before Pippin could answer, Merry kissed him again, deeply and passionately. “Do you think this is wrong?”

Pippin shook his head, panting slightly. “No, Merry, it’s…not…wrong at all. Not if you love someone.”

Merry smiled. “Right answer, my dearest Pippin.” He continued to rub Frodo’s nipples, squeezing and tweaking them until Frodo finally moaned with pleasure. “And we all love each other, so it can’t possibly be wrong, can it?” Merry punctuated his last statement with a nasty pinch causing Frodo to wince. Then he leaned toward Pippin again for another kiss.

Sam raised his head, startled at the noise, and slowly the tableau came into focus. Frodo was naked, on his back, his ankles tied to the bed and his hands bound behind him. Merry and Pippin were sharing an intimate kiss while Merry rubbed Frodo’s nipples with oil, and to top it off, the room reeked of lavender. Nothing in Sam’s experience had prepared him for anything like this.

“By all that’s sacred, WHATTA YA DOIN?!’” Sam was now beet-red but he couldn’t take his eyes off the three cousins.

“We’re just getting started, Sam, ” said Merry brightly. “You can watch if you keep quiet, you may as well see for yourself.” Merry lifted Frodo up by the shoulders and turned him sideways. “What do you think of your master now?”

Frodo was flushed with pleasure, he was breathing fast and his erection was already halfway there. His nipples were red and erect, soaked in oil, and for all to see he looked like a Bree harlot, ready and waiting.

Sam took in a quick breath. He knew it was wrong but he couldn’t take his eyes off Frodo. His master was breathtaking, even after so many deprivations and torments.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” Frodo whispered, his voice shaking and his eyes averted. “I can’t help it.”

Sam eyes were suddenly drawn to the pink ridges on Frodo’s hip, a clear, sharp B branded into his master’s skin, healed and permanent. Sam’s flesh erupted in goosebumps as he stared at his own identical mark, newly imprinted on his hand. By Eru, he’s got us all, thought Sam despondently. But just as quickly he thought of Frodo. “Well, of course, Mr. Frodo; of course you can’t. Don’t you worry none.” Sam spoke reassuringly as he finally drew his eyes away, looking down in respect for his master.

Merry, who was enjoying Sam’s discomfort, turned to Pippin. “Pip, why don’t you take off your shirt and show Sam how beautiful you are.”

“No!” Sam raised his head again. “Don’t do it, Pippin.”

Pippin frowned at Sam and answered petulantly. “I’m not a child, Sam.” With that he quickly unbuttoned his weskit and removed it along with his shirt, throwing them both to the floor. He puffed up his bare chest and thrust it forward. “See?”

Sam closed his eyes in torment.

“Look at him!”

Sam opened his eyes and observed the innocent young hobbit, not even of age yet, eyeing Merry seductively. Merry smiled and kissed Pippin again, running one hand down his bare back and into his breeches, while the other hand continued with Frodo.

After a time, Merry broke the kiss and turned to Sam, both of his hands remaining busy. “Sam, I think you should watch this little exercise, if for nothing else but your own education. So this is an order. If I ever see your eyes closed or anyplace else but here on this bed, I swear I will brand you on your forehead and Frodo too. Do you understand? All you have to do is watch.”

Sam had learned long ago that it was futile to argue or disobey the sick mind that now controlled Meriadoc Brandybuck. He nodded in agreement but couldn’t help pulling again at the ropes that perpetually held him to that damnable chair.

Merry smiled as he removed his oil soaked fingers from Frodo’s nipples and traced them along his cousin’s pink mouth, spreading the fragrant lavender. Full by nature, Frodo’s lips were even more enticing now--puffy, swollen, and sensitive from the beating he had received. Merry continued to rub them as he turned to Pippin. “Do you want to try out your oldest cousin, love? His lips and his mouth are as sweet as your own.”

Pippin looked at Merry and then at the horror in Frodo’s eyes. He could feel his erection growing at even the thought of something so forbidden. “Oh, Merry, I don’t…”

“Pippin-love,” said Merry sweetly, “I thought you were an adult.”

Pippin swallowed hard. “Well…yes…I am.” He licked his lips and took a few deep breaths. Frodo was so beautiful, with his eyes huge, his face flushed, and his nipples pink and erect. Pippin’s young body reacted in the only way possible. His heart was beating fast as he leaned over further. Frodo’s eyes were pools of cornflower blue and his mouth was slightly open as he vigorously shook his head NO. He seemed to be incapable of speech.

“Isn’t he luscious, Pip?” whispered Merry, directly into Pippin’s ear. He breathed heavily on its sensitive tip, flicking it a few times with his tongue.

Pippin shivered with pleasure. His own breathing was impossibly fast, his erection was growing and his fingers felt like ice. Cousin Frodo. Never in his wildest dreams had he ever…

Without consciously willing it, Pippin found himself directly over Frodo’s horrified face, looking down at the open mouth and the soft, pillowy lips, aromatic with lavender oil. It was more than he could take, probably more than any hobbit could have taken. Pippin leaned down only a fraction and he was touching Frodo, breathing in his sweet, damaged essence, more intoxicating than the finest wine. Pippin moaned as he kissed his cousin, deeply, wildly, caressing his lips in every direction, nipping and licking, in and out. Frodo tried to move but Pippin’s hands buried themselves in his silken hair, holding him immobile. Pippin closed his eyes and sank into Frodo’s mouth as if there was nothing else in the world.

Merry smirked at Sam while his fingers rubbed Pippin’s back and shoulders, kneading the young muscles and watching the kiss progress with great enthusiasm. By then Pippin’s tongue had found its way into Frodo and he was in complete control, exploring everywhere inside as he devoured and devastated his cousin in many more ways than one. Finally, when he could sustain it no longer, Pippin sat up, breathing heavily, licking his lips, tasting the oil…and Frodo.

The look on Frodo’s face was frightening to behold. His eyes were full of tears and his passions in disarray, totally out of his governance. But Merry could see his arousal. His face was flushed, his nipples stiff and even darker, his penis almost fully erect. There was gooseflesh up and down his arms.

“Pippin.” Merry chuckled a little. “I do believe you are an adult. I’m glad to see I taught you something useful.”

Pippin was hyperventilating, his own face flush with the magnitude of what he had so obviously done. Bookish, intelligent, serious Cousin Frodo was writhing and helpless under little Peregrin’s touch. It was almost more than he could bear.

Merry was breathing heavily too, feeling flush with victory. Frodo could no longer withdraw into solitude. Wherever he had been, it was closed to him now, and spell or no spell, Gandalf had lost. Frodo would soon find himself helpless and stimulated beyond endurance. Merry smiled. Then he would take it all away and leave his cousin staked in the dirt, in unfathomable darkness, deprived of all senses, and insane from longing—until his mind could encompass nothing but submission.

Merry gives. Merry takes away. That’s how it was.

****

“Pippin,” Merry shook himself out of his machinations. “I think it’s time you made love to your dear cousin here and really gave him something to remember.” He looked at the bulge between Pippin’s legs. “Looks like you’re ready, love.”

Pippin nodded. Reaching down, he began to unbutton his breeches but he was having trouble, perhaps because his hands were trembling so hard. Merry knelt in front of his cousin and began to unfasten them himself.

“Mer…ry.” The sound was hoarse and low, less than a whisper, seeming to come from far away.

Merry turned to its source. “Yes, Frodo-dear.” He chirped. “Are you enjoying yourself? I guarantee you’ll be even happier in a minute. Pippin here is a great little lover, with all the enthusiasm of youth.” He turned to his younger cousin. “Now remember, Pip, Frodo isn’t used to this. You’ll have to prepare him first and be sure to use a lot of oil when you…”

“Merry…pleeeease.”

Sam would have sold everything he owned for some earplugs. The sound of his master’s heartbreaking pleas were tearing him apart. He bit his lip and could taste the blood as he dutifully watched the unhappy tabloid on the four poster bed.

“Now there’s that word again. Please.” Merry was smiling at his cousin. “By the Valar, Frodo, I’m giving you my greatest treasure.” He cupped Pippin’s chin affectionately. “What more can I do to make you happy?”

“Please,” said Frodo again, pleading straight into Merry’s eyes.

With an exaggerated sigh, Merry stopped unbuttoning Pippin’s breeches and leaned toward Frodo to hear him more clearly.

“I don’t care for myself,” Frodo whispered, his voice shaking, “but don’t use Pippin like this. Please, Merry. Don’t do this to the boy. He’s so young and this is so wrong. He will never forgive himself. It will ruin him.”

Frowning, Merry straightened up, never taking his eyes off Frodo.

“Please don’t, Merry,” Frodo whispered again, his eyes steady, his voice stronger. “I’ll do…whatever you say.”

Merry raised his eyebrows and laughed. “My, my, Mr. Baggins. Begging and bargaining. It didn’t take long, did it?”

****

Pippin had collapsed back down into the featherbed and was sitting cross-legged next to Frodo, his breeches still on. He cocked his head, listening to the conversation and looked, at least to Sam, as innocent as a pre-tween at his morning lessons.

Merry turned to the young hobbit. “What do you think, Pippin? You asked to have a say in what happens and I promised to listen. Do you want to make love to Cousin Frodo or not?”

“Oh, Master Pippin, please don’t.” Sam’s voice was pleading. “Mr. Frodo’s only shown you kindness and love. Please don’t hurt him so. He loves you, Pippin, like you was his own child.”

“Nice job, Sam,” said Merry, sarcastically. “But Pippin doesn’t listen to gardeners anymore, leastwise, stupid ones. He’s an adult now and makes his own decisions.”

“Can I?” said Pippin. “Can I really make this decision for myself?”

Merry caressed Pippin’s face with the back of his hand. “Yes, dearest, I will let you decide...just this once. You can make love with Frodo to your heart’s content, use him any way you like, over and over and over, ‘till you fall on this bed in a heap. But our older cousin here has made a bargain with me and I will hold him to it. If you release him, he will do as I say.”

Pippin looked from Merry’s smirk to Frodo’s fearful eyes and back again.

“Don’t do it, Pip!” Sam pleaded.

“I…am an adult,” Pippin said evenly, looking at all of them in turn. “And I will do what I want. And I want…to do it.” He gazed again at Frodo’s beautiful face and saw that he was trembling. “But, I…I won’t…if that’s all right with you, Merry?”

“Yes, dear-heart, it’s your decision.” Merry sighed. “But I was so looking forward to watching.” He looked down at Frodo but his cousin had closed his eyes.

“Pip,” said Merry, “give your Frodo-cousin one last kiss.”

Pippin heaved a big sigh and leaned over Frodo. He kissed him beautifully on the mouth, stopping to suck one of his lips with all the affection he could manage. I love you, he mouthed to Frodo, so that Merry couldn’t see. Then he kissed away the tears that were falling down Frodo’s cheeks.

“Merry,” said Pippin when he was finished. “You promised that Frodo would not be in pain but I think this bondage is hurting him. His shoulders look so uncomfortable and I…think we should untie him.” Pippin’s voice was strong and almost demanding.

Merry smiled patronizingly. “I appreciate your opinion, Pip, and, as I said, you may offer it, but...” He sighed. “Well, all right, why not. As a hobbit of honor, I know Frodo will comply with whatever I request, because he has made a bargain.”

Forgetting himself, Pippin grinned at Sam and received a small smile for his trouble. “Yes, oh, thank-you, Merry!” He quickly untied the ropes around Frodo’s wrists and ankles.

Frodo groaned as he stretched his shoulders and rubbed his wrists, trying to get feeling back into his hands.

Sam stared at Merry with apprehension.

Pippin sat back on the bed, satisfied with himself.

While Merry grinned at them all. “And now, my little Frodo-cousin,” he said, “you are mine.”

****

Merry stretched down and picked up Frodo’s hands, rubbing them and bringing their color back. “But first, are you hungry, love?”

Frodo was coming down fast off the sexual tension. He tried unsuccessfully to sit but ended up leaning on one elbow. “No, I’m not,” he said petulantly.

Merry frowned. “Pippin, go to the kitchen and bring us some fruit, cheese and sweet rolls, and I think we brought some mushrooms back from our previous residence. And a bottle of wine too, with some glasses.”

Pippin re-fastened the top buttons on his breeches and jumped down from the bed. “Yes, Merry,” he cried as he ran from the room.

Merry pulled Frodo into a sitting position, eyeing him carefully. He took out a comb and ran it through Frodo’s ebony curls, smoothing out the tangles. Then he held his cousin out at arm’s length. “You are really so lovely, I can’t imagine how Pip could resist you.” He caressed Frodo’s swollen lips, trailing his finger onto an open cut. He sighed in an exaggerated manner. “I just wish you wouldn’t make me hurt you, Fro. You must learn to behave.”

“Merry,” Frodo said wearily, shaking off Merry’s fingers. “If we have to do this…this thing…I…please…could we at least be alone, without Pippin and Sam. I promise to…cooperate.”

Merry pulled him further up, until Frodo fell exhausted on his shoulder. He held his cousin close, rubbing the back of his neck. “More bargains? But you already promised, dear, and without conditions.” Merry frowned, observing his cousin’s tired face. “But I was right, Fro, you do need something to eat and I bet Sam is hungry too.” He looked up but got nothing more than a glare from the gardener.

Merry held Frodo and rocked him gently, humming a popular hobbit children’s lullaby. “I know how unhappy you must feel, love,” he whispered in between verses. “But that will be over soon, when you accept your new, loving family and your place in it. This evening’s exercise is about obedience, Fro, obedience to me as the head of your family. Only then will you be happy.” Merry continued rocking but Frodo made no response other than a soft sigh as Merry rubbed him up and down between his shoulder blades.

Finally the door opened and a smiling Pippin came in with a huge tray full of food, which he placed on the bed. In spite of himself, Sam perked up as the aroma of fruit, mushrooms and cheese assailed his senses.

“Wonderful!” exclaimed Merry, nodding his approval.

“I brought some salve for Sam’s…ah…mark.”

“That was very thoughtful, Pip,” said Merry. “Why don’t you put it on now.”

Pippin went over to the chair, returning Sam’s hard look with a smile. He gently rubbed cream on the nasty burn. “Is that better, Sam?”

Sam frowned but it was hard to stay mad at Pippin. “Yes, Pip,” he sighed. “I guess it is.”

“Merry,” said Pippin, still rubbing in the salve. “I have another request.” He looked up at his cousin. “I would like Sam to have some food. I can take a little plate over here and untie one hand like before.”

Merry chuckled to himself, still rubbing Frodo’s back and rocking him like a babe. “Sure, Pippin, whatever you say.”

Pippin rushed over to the tray and prepared a small plate, heaping it with food. “How is this, Sam?” he said, bringing the plate over to the nightstand along with a glass of wine.

Sam was trying to remember the last time he had eaten. His eyes got larger and his mouth filled with saliva as he focused on the fruit, mushrooms, two generous slices of cheese, plus a big sweet-roll laden with butter.

“Oh, Pip, yes, I could do with a bite after all.” His eyes showed a higher level of gratitude than his voice as Pippin untied his unburned hand. Sam stretched out his numb fingers but he couldn’t stop himself from grabbing for the food as fast as he could.

Meanwhile, Merry had reached into the bowl of strawberries and was slowly feeding one to Frodo, who was now sitting in his lap, his head against Merry’s chest. “Sam,” he said, absentmindedly, watching Frodo eat. “If you make any attempt to abuse this privilege, your master will pay for it.”

Sam swallowed a large bite of roll, closing his eyes in delight. “Aye, Merry,” he said, choking a bit on the mouthful. “You win this time, but please…don’t…I’m tellin’ you, just leave off him ‘cause he can’t take no more hurt!”

“I’m not going to hurt him,” said Merry in mock irritation. “Why does everyone think I want to hurt my own dear cousin? I only want him to be happy.” Merry caressed Frodo’s shinning hair and dropped his voice to a whisper. “And you will be, pet.” He raised his voice again. “Pippin, come on up.”

Pippin moved the tray aside so he could crawl up on the bed. He then sat down cross-legged in front of it and filled a plate with food. He grinned. “Almost like a picnic, huh, Merry?”

Merry nodded as he fed Frodo a small piece of cheese. Frodo’s arms were at his sides, his eyes focused and clear as he chewed the food that Merry allowed him to have. Pippin had poured some wine into short, round glasses and he passed one to Merry. His cousin took a long drink and then brought the glass to Frodo’s lips. Frodo drank a few sips until Merry took the glass away with a sigh. “This is so nice, all of us just enjoying ourselves…don’t you think so, Pip?”

Pippin was swallowing a large handful of mushrooms. “Oh, yes, Merry,” he said, taking a drink of wine. “It’s the best.”

“Yes,” said Merry as he pressed Frodo’s head against his chest and kissed his hair. “It is the best.”

Holding Frodo with one arm, Merry reached for the vial of oil and poured some onto his fingers. He traced Frodo’s collar bone, trailing his fingertips slowly over his shoulder-tip and down into the crook of his elbows, rubbing the soft skin there again and again until Frodo moaned with contentment. Then he went on to his forearm, pausing at the damaged wrists and taking special pains to rub oil into the bruises there.

He smiled as Frodo leaned deeper into him, relaxing against his chest with a soft sigh. Merry repeated the same treatment on his other side before gently rubbing Frodo’s chest, stopping briefly to re-awaken his sore nipples until they glowed shiny pink once more. Merry ran his fingers lower, back and forth across Frodo’s flat belly, streaking the oil over his skin and then filling in the blank spaces with a soft massaging touch.

Merry reached out his hand and Pippin took the hint, dropping a nice golden mushroom into it. He fed it to Frodo, slowly, painstakingly, demonstrating his control over every aspect of Frodo’s life. “Your favorite, isn’t it, love?” said Merry.

Frodo looked up at him and nodded, chewing the delicious mushroom with delight. When he had finished, Merry held Frodo’s head firmly against his chest, feeling his tension lessening. “I love you, Frodo,” he whispered as he leaned over and sucked lightly on his ear-tip causing Frodo to moan with helpless pleasure, nuzzling in closer to his cousin’s throat. Merry licked the inside of his ears and again up to the tip. “Umm, you taste so good, Cousin.” He lowered his voice even more, breathing into his ear. “Pippin was a fool.”

Merry’s fingers wandered lower on Frodo’s abdomen, slowly massaging in tiny, widening circles, working their way further down.

“Merry, oh...” Frodo raised his head as he clutched at Merry’s hand. “Don’t.”

“You promised, love,” said Merry seductively, moving the hand away. “Now, as they say, relax and enjoy it.”

With that Merry moved his slick fingers down into the curly hair between Frodo’s legs, pulling it lightly, coating it with oil, teasing, reaching lower. He wrapped around Frodo’s firming erection, spreading oil up and down, lingering on the underside for a time, until his penis was firm and strong. Merry could feel his cousin’s rapid breathing as he strained against his hand. “Nice, Frodo, very nice,” said Merry as he softly stroked his cousin’s balls, pulling them away slightly from their soft nest.

Pippin moved down toward the foot of the bed and tried to look somewhere else. He picked up the bottle of red wine and proceeded to fill his glass again.

In spite of himself, Sam felt better for having eaten, even the pain from his hand was diminishing. Trying to forget what was happening on the bed, he watched Pippin drink his wine.

Merry withdrew his hand, and to his great delight, Frodo groaned with disappointment. His fingers migrated higher up his cousin’s body. “Frooo-do,” Merry whispered mischievously, “what could this be?”

Frodo bit his lip but he said nothing.

“Answer me, love,” said Merry, his tone changing to harshness. “You promised to do whatever I say.”

Frodo’s chest was heaving.

“FRODO!”

Frodo jumped, causing Merry to grab him tighter.

“Ah, it’s…a…mark,” answered Frodo between breaths.

“It’s more than that, love.”

“All right, a brand.”

“And what does it mean, sweets, tell us. Mr. Gamgee will want to know too.”

Frodo’s hands clenched into fists, a sign of defiance that caused his cousin to frown. Merry reached back and gripped his penis at the base, caressing it upward in long sweeping strokes, then rubbing against the tip. Shivers streamed through Frodo’s body and his hands spasmed open.

“TELL US!”

Frodo jumped again. “B…is…is…for Brandy…buck.” Frodo’s voice was shaking, his body quivering under Merry’s touch.

Sam swallowed hard, wishing again for those earplugs and gluing his eyes to Pippin, who was drinking his third glass of wine.

“And what does that mean?” Merry’s hand was stroking harder.

Frodo caught his breath, unable to answer.

Merry let go, sighing in frustration as he bent over and gave Frodo a kiss. “All right, love, we’ll try again later.”

He moved Frodo closer to the headboard, up against the numerous soft pillows. Then Merry sat back and unbuttoned his weskit and shirt, removing them quickly and throwing them on the floor. He took a deep breath, staring at Frodo’s blue eyes, focused and fixed on him. His cousin’s cheeks were brilliant, flushed with hormones, as if he had been out in the snow. “Undo my buttons, love,” said Merry. “Let’s make you part of this.”

Frodo couldn’t tell anymore whether he wanted to do this or not. He reached out and grabbed Merry’s breeches, unfastening the buttons, one by one, and then he helped Merry pull them off.

Merry was semi-erect as he looked down at Frodo Baggins undressing him. The sight was irresistible. He fell on Frodo, bare chest to bare chest, and kissed his cousin again, plunging his tongue deep inside. After a time, he withdrew. “You too, Cousin,” he demanded.

Frodo closed his eyes and timidly reached his tongue into Merry’s mouth, keeping the promise he had made to save Peregrin Took from himself; nevertheless, he found the destination warm and welcoming. They engaged then in a fornication match of sorts, each one of them licking and sucking tongues until they were lost in each other. They rolled over and over on the bed, the passion growing between them, the air full of their scent. Finally Merry knelt up over Frodo, his skin aglow with perspiration. He again reached out to Pippin, who deposited a fat mushroom in his hand. Straddling his chest, he fed it to Frodo, watching the ambiguous need growing in his eyes. “The rewards of obedience,” said Merry, caressing his face.

Frodo’s expression was complex as he opened his lips, flush with mushroom bits, his chest heaving.

“Do you think you could take me, love?” Merry whispered, so that only the two of them could hear. Without waiting for an answer, he thrust his penis inside Frodo’s mouth, his hands clenched on the back of his head, guiding his movements. Frodo did his best to accommodate, and using his tongue, helped Merry to grow until he was straining against Frodo’s throat, stiff and ready, helplessly aroused.

Merry was breathing hard and the ache in his groin monstrous as he pulled out, and without further ceremony, shoved Frodo over on his stomach into the thick pillows. He viewed his cousin’s lacerated back with ambivalence as he briefly explored the numerous welts and cuts. He rubbed over them with his moist fingertips, still wet with oil, feeling Frodo wince with pain and maybe pleasure, whimpering unintelligible protests.

Merry then ran his fingers over Frodo’s buttocks and along his graceful hip, moving tantalizingly slowly, streaming a thin film of oil in his wake. He reached into Frodo’s inner thighs, pinching and scratching until his cousin bucked helplessly with the sensations.

“Careful, now, love, don’t move,” Merry whispered as he reached through Frodo’s legs, back into the pillows and caressed his balls, kneading them softly, feeling his nearby erection, strong and straining. “Very nice, Fro, but not yet,” Merry said as he gleefully reached out his other hand for a mushroom. He fed it to Frodo with one hand while he gently squeezed his balls with the other.

Merry adjusted his stance a bit and moved slightly higher on the beautiful canvas. He traced a circle of oil on Frodo’s firm buttocks and planted a big, wet kiss in the center, leaving his tongue to give the final ministrations at the top of his cleft. Frodo’s whole body was quivering now as Merry caressed the perfect, snow-white, skin, so in contrast with the horribly spoiled back that it looked like a soft velvet pillow. Then finally he spread the cheeks wide.

Frodo squirmed at the strange sensation. “Merry, no…” He unexpectedly kicked his legs sideways causing Merry to lose his balance for a second.

“I told you, don’t move!” Merry ordered, slapping him hard on the behind, then straddling his legs and holding him.

Frodo lay still as he had been told, his eyes closing in humiliation, his teeth clamping down over shaking lips.

Merry reached again for the vial and poured oil in a tiny stream onto Frodo’s cleft, smiling in satisfaction at the spreading red spot where he had slapped his cousin. He was breathing harder, his excitement peaking as he trailed his fingers down the small of Frodo’s back into his cleft, now slick with oil. His cousin froze, tense and stiff as Merry parted his cheeks again and ran his fingers down to the soft indentation.

“Are you an ass-virgin, Fro?” said Merry, matter-of-factly. “Looks like it.” And not waiting any longer, he drove a finger deep inside.

Frodo cried out at the violation and stretched his arms sideways, grabbing at the bedclothes. Merry rubbed the finger around his opening, pulling and stretching. Then he drove it deeper, finding the prostate with its raised patch of sensitive nerve endings. He knelt up and whispered in Frodo’s ear. “Obedience, Frodo. Relax, love, and it won’t hurt so much. You might even enjoy it.”

“I don’t want to enjo…Oh!” Frodo yelped with helpless pleasure, lifting his rear reflexively as Merry massaged the patch over and over.

Merry smiled at his cousin’s escalating passion. “Stay still, Fro, do as I say…now, that’s nice.” He could hear Frodo’s labored breathing but his own excitement was overwhelming him and his aching organ demanding haste. Soon he had two fingers inside, pushing them back and forth as hard as he could.

“Please, Merry.” Frodo whimpered hoarsely, not knowing anymore what please meant or what he wanted. He cried out all the louder as Merry thrust three fingers deep inside.

“Obedience,” Merry whispered leaning into his ear. “You will submit, love.”

Frodo was breathing faster and faster, clutching at the bedclothes, his erection straining, his tendons and muscles stretched to their limit. Every nerve ending was firing in torment or pleasure; he was no longer sure which.

Suddenly from nowhere Frodo felt a strong hand, firm and reassuring. He grabbed it desperately, turning his head to see Sam reaching over as far as he could, his hand holding Frodo’s. Sam’s teary eyes focused only on his master’s face, offering his strength as well as he could.

Frodo clung hopelessly to Sam’s eyes, with a deep, silent appeal that Sam could do nothing about. Then he squeezed Sam’s hand in a vice-like grip, almost breaking the bones when Merry entered him for real. Merry tried to be careful, slowly penetrating with the head but soon he forced himself inside, quickly, without mercy, as if he could bear it no longer. He plunged deeper and deeper, stretching and tearing, until blinding pain was all Frodo knew.

Frodo grasped Sam’s hand desperately, pulling it hard and feeling the powerful muscles straining against his own, hanging on as if his life depended on it. But Frodo didn’t cry out anymore. Instead, he listened to Merry and tried hard to relax, until the stabbing pain turned gradually to breathtaking pleasure. And at last he surrendered to the sweet sensations, the feel of his cousin firmly inside him, the waves of inescapable delight.

Over and over Merry moved in rhythm, faster each time, deeper each time, carefully, expertly rubbing the nerve endings, again and again, driving his cousin into spasms of ecstasy. And Frodo gave in still more, letting Merry possess him until there was no pain or pleasure, only his Merry, his cousin, his lover, his world.

Merry was moving faster now, creating fireworks between them that eliminated thought. Finally, when Frodo could take no more, Merry reached underneath and grabbed his penis, cupping and pulling it in concert with his deepest thrusts. “You’re doing fine, love,” breathed Merry. “Just relax, now, relax…obedience.”

Merry thrusted harder and harder, controlling Frodo’s erection, matching each penetration, until they were moving with one rhythm and one mind. And Frodo submitted totally, in absolute obedience to Merry until finally they exploded in mutual passion with a synergy quite beyond either of their abilities to control.

Merry collapsed on top of Frodo, his softening organ still inside, his head resting on Frodo’s damaged back and his eyes closed in spent pleasure. Indeed, he thought, Pippin had been a fool.

Frodo was still holding Sam’s hand but he turned his face away, his chest heaving with fire, his senses burning with passion. Suddenly, Sam found his hand empty as Frodo turned over in the pillows and reached up, throwing his arms around Merry. He found Merry’s mouth and devoured it hungrily, kissing his cousin with every emotion he could command.

Merry was panting too, his body covered with sweat, his nerve endings raw and vibrating. He finally broke the kiss and lifted himself up a few inches over Frodo. He was smiling as he reached around and grabbed a handful of strawberries, shoving them into Frodo’s mouth all at once, laughing, watching his eyes dance.

Merry licked his fingertips, tasting the strawberries. “So tell me now, Frodo Baggins,” he said, between heaving breaths. “B…is…for…Brandybuck—what does that mean—to you, my sweet Cousin?”

Frodo was quivering with more sensations than he had ever felt before. There was no part of him that was not alive and shaking, vulnerable and desperate. His arms were around Merry’s neck as he looked deep into his slate gray eyes, swirling up into them, losing himself completely. “It means,” he said, through breaths that racked his body, “that I am yours.”

Merry smiled to himself as he ran his hand gently alongside Frodo’s cheek, feeling the stale moisture mixed with remnants of oil. “Right answer, love,” he whispered as he leaned over and picked up a damp cloth from the bedstead. He tenderly washed his cousin’s face, mindful of the cuts and bruises. Then he slowly ran the cloth over Frodo’s entire body, carefully removing the oil and sweat.

Frodo lay limp and content, and much to Sam’s frustration, allowed his cousin to wash him like a baby.

“Are you happy, love?” said Merry softly as he cleaned Frodo’s inner thighs with small, gentle strokes.

Frodo spread his legs wider for Merry as he lay back into the pillows with a sigh. “Yes, Merry,” he said, equally softly.

“And do you understand,” Merry smiled as he washed Frodo’s groin area, smirking victoriously at Sam, “that you have been wrong to fight me?” He rubbed Frodo intimately, then bent over to plant a kiss on Frodo’s brand. “Even in little things?”

Frodo groaned in pleasure. “Yessss.”

Merry dropped the cloth and leaned over his cousin, kissing him lightly on the lips. “Then I am happy too, love. Very happy.” Merry sat up and took a deep breath. “Frodo, I have now removed all traces of your former life from your body. Your former clothes are gone and soon you will have new ones. You will be reborn and those who have led you astray,” he looked up at Sam, “will be gone.”

“Gone,” repeated Frodo, almost in a daze, his blue eyes looking up trustingly.

Merry had tears in his eyes as he gazed lovingly at his cousin. For a moment he wished it was the end of it and they could stay there forever, eating strawberries and making love. But he knew they were only on the brink, that one more “exercise” was needed—in quite the opposite direction.

****

“Pippin!” Merry called for his young cousin, sitting behind him, holding an empty wine bottle.

Pippin widened his eyes, trying to bring the room back in focus. “Yes…Merr…y.”

“Tie Master Gamgee’s hand back to the chair.” Merry slid to the floor and pulled on his breeches and shirt. He walked over to the door and bent down, opening the bag he had left there.

Pippin scrambled as fast as he could and quickly tied Sam’s hand back to the armrest. Sam’s nerves were in a panic, having watched his master once again glide closer and closer to disaster. His lower lip trembled and he felt himself swirling into self-pity. What more could possibly happen, he thought; what more could he possibly have to endure.

Frodo was still lying in the pillows, tasting the strawberries and enjoying the afterglow of obedience—of the most pleasurable and intense experience he had ever had.

“Frodo-love,” Merry called to him gently.

“Yes, Merry.” Frodo’s voice was supple and soft.

“You need to get out of bed and come here.”

Frodo slowly crawled out of the pillows and jumped down to the floor, steadying himself on the bedpost. He walked over to his cousin. “Yes, Merry.”

Merry gently took his hand and planted another soft kiss on Frodo’s mouth. “There is one more thing you have to do for me, love.” He spoke quietly, holding up another strawberry.

Frodo eyed the sweet fruit, opening his mouth automatically for Merry to feed him. And Merry did, slowly pushing it inside. “You promised to do whatever I asked.”

Frodo’s smiling blue eyes focused on his cousin. “Yes, Merry,” he said dreamily.

“And you will obey me in all things?”

Frodo paused for a minute. “Ah…”

Hesitation, thought Merry. Well, we will soon rid him of that. “Pippin.” Merry called his younger cousin as he grabbed Frodo’s wrists pulling them in front. “Pippin, there’s rope in the bag, tie our cousin’s hands. We’re leaving.”

Frodo’s eyes widened. “What?”

Pippin scurried over and did as he was bidden.

“And the ankles.”

“No, Merry,” whimpered Frodo. “I don’t…”

Merry glared at him.

“My clothes!” said Frodo, his voice rising, “I have to…”

“You won’t need them where you’re going.” Merry picked up the bag. “Come, Pip”

“MR. FRODO!” shouted Sam, but all he caught was a glimpse of fear as Frodo was carted unceremoniously out the door

****

Merry and Pippin managed to carry Frodo out into the warm, dark night.

“Merry,” Frodo was stammering, “I want to go back inside.”

“This will be your final test, Frodo, before we can be a family.”

There was a small utility cart by the barn and Frodo was loaded into it along with the bag. Merry lit a lantern and grabbed the cart handle while Pippin pushed from behind, stumbling a bit more than usual. The three hobbits traveled across the expansive lawn, through the ring of trees, to a hill at the end of the property. It curved around in a large, uneven circle and was covered with tall weeds and shrubs. Clouds drifted over the moon, plunging them into more darkness as they started to move around it. Even Pippin was having questions as he stumbled along, trying to push the cart. His head was throbbing with wine and he was about to venture his opinion about what in the Valar’s name they were doing.

It was Frodo, however, who made the inquiry. “Merry, where are we going and what are we…oh, no.”

Merry’s footsteps had halted so abruptly that Pippin almost fell into the cart. They were standing in front of a dark, low door set into the hillside and hidden almost entirely by tall weeds and bushes growing around its entrance. It was gated by an ornate wrought iron fence that was rusted from disuse and exposure.

Merry took the bag from the cart and extracted a large key.

“NO!” Frodo screamed to the emptiness of the night.

Merry frowned. “We’re going to get that word out of your vocabulary, love.”

He unlocked the gate, which squeaked and groaned when he opened it. Inside was a thick wooden door that fit tightly to the entrance. Merry opened it without hesitation, bringing in the bag and the lantern. Then the two of them dragged Frodo inside the old root cellar.

The atmosphere seemed to come at them in great physical waves of blackness, descending in rhythmic patterns from the depths of the cavern. As Pippin’s eyes adjusted to the lantern light he could see rows of wooden shelves along each wall, filled with jars of preserves and baskets of vegetables, potatoes, carrots, turnips and other such things. There was a barrel of brewed ale and rows of wine bottles, covered with dust. The sides and ceiling were shorn up with large, cut beams and from the top of one of them hung row upon row of dried herbs and spices, including rosemary, lavender, oregano and thyme.

Their fragrance was lost, however, in the musty, rank odor of dampness, the dirt floor, and the vermin who made it a permanent residence. Massive cobwebs also foretold of the other inhabitants who ruled that dreary place.

Frodo was shaking. “NO, Merry, Oh, No, I don’t want to be here, I don’t want to be alone anymore, I couldn’t…”

“Be quiet or I’ll blindfold you now!” shouted Merry irritably. He pulled Frodo deeper into the cellar. “You will learn, Frodo Baggins, to obey me without question. If I tell you to stay here, you will do it! Until I say you can leave.”

“NO, NO, NO, please, Merry, I couldn’t do it, I can’t stay here alone, I can’t.”

“You made me a bargain, a promise, Frodo.”

Frodo grabbed Merry’s hand with his bound ones. “Yes, but…”

Merry stopped and squeezed his hands reassuringly. “You’ve just had sensory overload and now you will have sensory deprivation. Your old life has been washed away and you must prepare for your new life. You must think about what you’ve done wrong and how sweet life will be when you obey me—just as you did tonight.”

Merry turned to his other cousin who had just knocked over a jar of preserves. “Pippin!”

Pippin jumped. “Yes…Merry.”

“Come, help me,” Merry said as he bent down and pulled open a wooden trap door in the floor, all but obscured by dirt and cobwebs. Beneath it was only darkness.

Holding the lantern aloft, Pippin didn’t think Frodo’s face could get any paler, but it did. He swallowed hard as he handed the lantern to Merry and climbed down the ladder. Between the two of them, they maneuvered Frodo down into the small room. Pippin sat Frodo on the dirt floor as Merry came down the rungs, precipitating the scurrying of some black creature along the wall. He hung the lantern on a nail projecting from the ladder.

Pippin looked around at the blackness. The small dirt room was empty, the air fetid, and they had to bend their heads due to the low, three-foot ceiling.

“Merry, no,” Frodo found his voice again. “No, no, no, you, no…can’t, I, no, can’t.” Frodo was stammering, whimpering, pleading, his voice no longer capable of yelling, his mind no longer operating in syntax.

Merry stood over him. “You must learn to obey, Frodo, to lose your will and your arrogance. This exercise will help you to do that.”

“Long? Merry? Tell me!”

Merry smiled. “As long as it takes, love.”

Frodo struggled to his knees and took Merry’s hand, summoning the last of his sanity. “I will do anything.”

“I’m sure you will, Frodo,” said Merry patiently, “but that must come later—when you accept that I am right and when you want to obey me.” Merry looked up. “Pippin, get the rest of the rope.”

Pippin rushed up the ladder to retrieve the bag.

Frodo hesitated for a minute then he looked up into Merry’s eyes, the same eyes that had so recently loved him on a soft featherbed. His tied hands went to his chest and lifted the object there, his only possession in the world. He held it as high as he could, breathing in deep, cavernous breaths. “I…will…give it to you freely.”

Merry stared down at the Ring and at his naked cousin kneeling at his feet in abject terror. He knew just what that offer meant to Frodo. You will come to me on your knees, begging and bargaining. Time stood still as Merry gazed at It, overwhelmed at the power just inches from his fingertips. The seduction and the music were intense, staggering, and for the first time he knew what Frodo was contending with. His strength wavered like grass in a windstorm; his will was nothing compared to Its call. Merry reached out his hand, trembling no less than his cousin below him.

“MERRY!” Pippin cried out from the ladder, the bag in his hands, alcohol slurring his words. “You…can’t! Frodo is the true ringbearer, you…said so…yourself.”

Merry’s head jerked up and he stared at Pippin’s outline as he scurried down the ladder. Suddenly his arm drew back, almost of its own accord. Merry stepped away from Frodo clutching at his chest, hyperventilating in shock. He threw his arms around Pippin and hugged him so tightly that the younger hobbit yelped. “Yes, yes, of course, Peregrin, you’re right, you’re right. He is…the ringbearer.”

You are the Ring’s keeper…and I am your keeper. He had said that once. Merry stepped back and smiled at his young cousin, his voice as shaky as Pippin’s. “Thank-you, Pippin, you are my true and faithful partner.”

“Ohhh…Merry.” Pippin reached out his arms, tears in his eyes.

But Merry already had turned away. “Get the rope.” He ordered

Pippin’s eyes were blurry and his head spinning but he managed to extract several short lengths of rope from the bag.

Frodo had sunk down to the ground by the time Merry returned to him. Merry knelt and picked him up off the dirt floor, hugging him tightly. “I love you, Frodo Baggins,” he said. “And I am sending you to be reborn. I want you to think—without any distractions—about all the good things you have experienced under my care, all the guidance, comfort, and love that have been showered upon you. I want you to think about your new family and all the joy we will bring to you in your new life.”

He ran his fingers affectionately along Frodo’s eyebrows. “And to that end, I take away your sight, so you may soon see more clearly in your coming happiness.” He extracted a thick blindfold from the bag and tied it tightly around Frodo’s eyes.

Frodo shivered in the total darkness. “Oh, Merry, please don’t,” he whispered.

“And now, I take away your freedom, so you will serve me freely and happily in your new life.”

He motioned Pippin over and they began to tie more ropes around Frodo, starting at the calves, and progressing to the knees and thighs, tying his legs tightly together. Then a rope went around his waist and his knees were bent and tied up tightly to it, into his body, along with his ankles as close as possible. Then, with his hands still bound together, his arms were tied to his torso by the wrists and elbows, so that he couldn’t move them and finally his head was bent down toward his body with rope, all in all, simulating a fetal position, floating in a dark womb. Merry extracted a hammer and two pointed stakes, which he pounded into the dirt, intertwined among the ropes to hold his cousin in place.

Frodo struggled for a minute and then he lay still. “Merry,” he cried in a pitiful whisper.

“And now, I take away your voice, so that in your new life you may speak only in agreement with those who protect and love you.”

“Pleasss.” Frodo made one last plea before Merry pulled out a long rag and tied it around his mouth.

“And lastly, Frodo, I take from you your hearing so that when you emerge into life you will hear only good things and submit to the one who cares for you.”

Merry reached into his bag and pulled out some softened beeswax which he warmed in his hand before stuffing it deep into Frodo’s ears. On top of that he placed heavy wool plugs and tied them in place with the strap from the blindfold. He clapped his hands in front of Frodo but there was no response. Merry stood up, bending his head against the low ceiling, and wiped his hands against his breeches. He took the lantern off the nail and motioned Pippin to climb back up the ladder. The younger hobbit had no problem getting out of there as fast as he could.

Putting his foot on the first rung of the ladder, Merry raised the lantern one last time. Frodo was lying on the dirt floor, immobile, blind, deaf, and mute, whimpering weakly and trying desperately to move even an inch. Merry let out a big sigh and turned, climbing the ladder to the top. He pulled it up after him and closed the trap door with a thud.

Merry shone the light on Pippin, who was leaning against one of the shelves, looking like he was ready to vomit. “Come, Pip,” he said wearily, leading his cousin to the outside, closing the wooden door, and locking the gate. “It’s time for bed.”

****

Dawn was breaking over Buckland, streaking rays of promise for another day of growth and sunshine before the autumn harvest. Outside a lovely cottage in Crickhollow, one hobbit in particular was acutely aware of the brightening sky and the rising temperature. Meriadoc Brandybuck had watched the dawn from its very inception and before that he had stared wide-eyed at the stars, glorious in a clear night sky.

He and Pippin had returned from the root cellar and sequestered Sam, unbound for once, in a locked room for the night. Then the two of them had climbed into Merry’s small bed, Pippin falling off almost immediately due to the large amount of alcohol he had consumed. But sleep had eluded the older hobbit. Leaving Pippin lightly snoring, he had climbed out of bed and found another bottle of wine in the kitchen. He took it outside to the steps where he sat, gradually diminishing the bottle’s contents and looking up at the night.

It was Frodo’s beautiful cornflower eyes—hating him, fearing him, loving him, wanting him, then pleading with him in terror, even offering him the Ring. Merry shuddered at the devastating memories, the range of emotions they had evoked and were still evoking in him. He should have known better than to look into those eyes. Even as a child growing up at Brandy Hall, they had captivated him. And he had been captivated last night too, almost to the point of loosing sight of everything. Frodo and strawberries…

Merry shook his head, trying to purge his thoughts and get down to business. He had a lot to do and time was running out. Standing and stretching his arms, he reached up to the sky and then around to his sides. It had been a difficult time, breaking Frodo. More difficult than he had ever intended but soon it would be over…and the rewards would be great.

****

It was later in the morning when Merry climbed up the steps and entered the cottage, making his way to his bedroom where Pippin was still sleeping soundly. “Pippin!”

The young hobbit stirred and then covered his head with the bedclothes.

“PIPPIN!”

Pippin Took rolled over and opened one eye. “Humphh,” he murmured, frowning and squinting at the light.

“Get up, Pip. We’ve a lot to do today. We need a fire in the kitchen, I want to go to market, and someone needs to muck out the barn. Life goes on, love. We have a household to run.”

Pippin turned over on his side. “Oh, by Eru, Merry, I feel terrible. What happened?”

Merry slapped him on the behind and laughed. “You drank a bottle of wine, sweets. You deserve to feel terrible.”

Pippin slowly sat up and threw his legs over the side of the bed. Suddenly the memories flooded back. Squinting his eyes, Pippin looked up at Merry, his voice quiet. “How’s Frodo?”

“Frodo has to learn…”

Pippin stood up, his voice stronger. “Merry…”

Merry went up to him and hugged him tightly. “Don’t worry, Pip,” his voice had a catch in it that he couldn’t disguise. “I just checked on him. I watched him for an hour and he’s fine, really, he’s all right.”

Pippin let out his breath. “Oh, thank Valinor.” He hung on to Merry, breathing hard.

Merry broke away, wiping something out of his eyes. “Now, hurry up and get breakfast started and I’ll feed the pony.”

****

Samwise Gamgee had also had a sleepless night. He sat in a chair with his head in one hand, his other hand hanging down, still burning from the branding he had endured the previous evening. His memories were raw and burning too, full of his master’s degradation and his own inability to help. I am yours, Frodo had told Merry Brandybuck. Yes, those three words had cost Sam a night of sleep and what else, he dared not imagine. Maybe it was over, he thought. Maybe Merry has won after all. So engrossed was Sam in his thoughts that he didn’t hear Merry open the door.

“Good Morning, Mr. Gamgee,” said Merry cheerfully. “Did you have a good night?”

Merry’s question was answered by Sam’s bloodshot eyes and his weary demeanor as he slumped in the chair looking up at his captor. He dropped his head again as if the sight of Merry was more than he could bear. “How is Mr. Frodo?” Sam said, his voice flat.

“Pippin cooked some nice bacon and eggs for you, Sam. You have to keep up your strength.” Merry uncovered the tray he was carrying and the aroma of food filled the room.

Sam looked up, his eyes despondent. “What have you done with him?”

“Eat this nice food and I will tell you.” Merry dropped the tray on Sam’s lap. “But he isn’t here in the house, Samwise. As you could see last night, Frodo has come a long way but he still has some lessons to learn, and he can’t learn them here.”

Sam stared at him for a minute but the fire in his eyes was gone. “I just want to see him.” There was no demanding tone, no threats, or even hostility left in Sam’s voice.

Merry said nothing but stood with his arms crossed, staring at Sam until he finally ate a few bites. It tasted like straw in his mouth but he managed to finish it. He put the tray up on the dresser and turned back to Merry, his eyes dull and listless.

“Good, Sam” said Merry. “If you cooperate and do as you’re told, and that includes eating everything put in front of you with no insults or complaints, you will see Frodo this evening.”

Looking at Merry standing there and hearing his arrogant voice caused all the horror to flood back into Sam’s memory. His kind, sweet master, stripped, raped, humiliated, and tortured. But that was not the worst part, not by a long shot. The worst part was seeing Mr. Frodo with his arms around Merry, hugging and kissing him freely. I am yours.

Sam started to weep, big pitiful tears and sobs that shook his whole body. “How could you do it, Merry?” Sam blurted out between sobs. “What did he ever do to you? He loved you. I know he did. And you…you…you…oh, I can’t even say it!” Sam wept, breathing in raggedly as his own personal dam broke. “What did we ever do to you? What did I ever do? Oh, by the Valar, by the Valar…I just don’t…know…what to do anymore.” Sam buried his head in his hands and sobbed as if his heart would break, his shoulders shaking and the big red B showing clearly on the back of his charred hand.

For once, Merry had nothing to say that was sarcastic, clever, or just plain mean. He watched the gardener for a few minutes but Sam’s weeping never let up. Finally, he turned and left the room, kicking the door closed with some force.

****

A few hours later, Merry showed up again in Sam’s room. The gardener was sitting in the same spot but his eyes were dry, as if he had cried all the tears he had. Merry took a deep breath. “Samwise, I think you need some fresh air. I just got back from the marketplace and I feel much better.”

Sam looked up at him. “Mr. Frodo?”

“No, Sam, not yet. If you cooperate and are obedient, you will see him tonight.”

Sam’s eyes started to show some of their old spirit. “Oh, you monster, you snake…what are you DOIN’ to…”

“Now,” said Merry smiling, “that’s the old Sam we all know and love.”

“I want to KNOW what…”

Merry held up his hand. “One more word, Sam, and you will not see him at all.”

Sam clamped his teeth over his lip tightly. He swallowed hard, glaring at Merry.

“All right. Now, here’s the deal, Sam. We need to get some work done around here and you need some fresh air and exercise. If you do as you are told, you can see Frodo tonight. If you try to escape or do any harm whatsoever…well, you know that I have no compunctions about heaping your punishment upon your master, and you can be sure that I will. So, you must give me your word. What do you say?”

Sam knew that Merry was right. He was no good to Frodo or even to himself in the state he was in. He needed to move around and forget about his troubles for a time. He couldn’t help Frodo now but maybe later, if he was fit and healthy…if Frodo could be helped at all, that is. “All right, Merry, you have my word…that I won’t try anythin’.”

Merry broke out into a genuine smile. “Very good. Come, there is a huge woodpile that needs to be split if we’re not to freeze this winter.”

Sam followed Merry outside and indeed, it was a beautiful day, cool and crisp, with a light breeze blowing from the east. The sun shone brightly in a clear blue sky and the leaves were just starting to turn all manner of splendid fall colors. It seemed to Sam that it had been ages since he’d stood in the sun without bonds cutting into him or terror running through his veins. He took a deep breath of autumn air and it felt wonderful.

Merry led him toward the barn, to a huge pile of cut logs drying in the open. He handed him a log splitting wedge and a heavy sledgehammer.

“Enjoy yourself.” Merry said as he sat down under a large tree. There was a basket of apples next to him and he began to peel one with his knife. “Fresh from the marketplace, Sam. If I get these all peeled, Pippin will make us a pie for dinner, WON’T YOU PIP?”

“YES, MERRY,” Pippin called out from the barn where he was mucking out the stalls. He came outside and leaned against his rake. “Isn’t it a beautiful day?”

Sam had worked the wedge into a crack in a large log. He raised the sledgehammer high over his head and brought it down onto the wedge with a thundering blow, splitting the log in two.

“That it is, love,” said Merry as he sliced off a huge piece of apple peel. “That it is.”

****

Sam continued to work on the woodpile while the other hobbits puttered around the yard, partly attending to chores and partly keeping their eyes on him. But Sam was not interested in escape; he had made his decision. Frodo was the one he would save, Frodo was all that mattered to him. If the Shire needed saving, then others would have to do it.

“Samwise!” Merry called from the open door.

Sam grimaced at the sound of Merry’s voice. He turned but he didn’t reply.

“It’s time for supper, come in and clean up.”

So intent had he been on the welcome physical labor that Sam hadn’t noticed the sun setting. He took a deep breath of clean, crisp air. His muscles ached and sweat poured down his arms but it was wonderful to move and work. Next to the barn was a huge pile of nicely split wood that would warm the halls of Crickhollow for a long time to come. In spite of himself, he was pleased; he had accomplished something. He even felt hungry. Sam dropped the sledgehammer and without answering Merry, headed for the house.

“You’ve done well, Sam,” said Merry in a pleasant tone.

Sam grunted, not wanting to talk with his captor more than he had to.

Merry ignored the small insult. “Go in and wash. I will let you eat in the dinning room tonight, provided you promise to behave.”

Once again Sam felt pangs of hunger. He shrugged. “Aye, I promise, if that’s what you want.” He looked Merry in the eye. “When do I see Mr. Frodo?”

“When I say so, Sam.”

Sam shrugged again and headed down the hall to the washing room. When he finished, Merry was waiting outside the door. He led Sam to Crickhollow’s dinning room where Pippin was ladling out a rich stew of beef, tomatoes, onions, carrots, and potatoes. It was flavored with dried spices that Merry had recently brought in from the root cellar. The smell was overpowering and Sam forgot for a minute his circumstances. He sat down and inhaled the stew. “Pippin, this is wonderful!”

Pippin beamed. “Thank-you Sam. I even baked some bread.” He took the wooden door off the brick oven and removed a steaming loaf of sweet bread. Pippin handed it over to Merry who began slicing the loaf onto a plate. Sam noticed that they had fresh butter and cream on the table too.

“The marketplace was full of wonderful things this morning, Sam, and we will enjoy them.” Merry busied himself with passing out the bread while Pippin poured a generous mug of ale at each of the place settings.

Sam’s senses finally died down to the point where his mind was able to function. He looked at the table. “Where’s Mr. Frodo’s place?”

“Sam,” smiled Merry, “have a nice slice of warm bread, and take some of these creamed mushrooms with parsley and rosemary sauce.”

Sam put the bread down on his plate. “But where is he? He would love this wonderful meal. Mushrooms are his favorite.”

Merry sighed. “Enjoy your dinner, Sam, you earned it. Frodo will get his meal when he earns it.”

Sam’s face dropped. “By the Valar, Merry, what does he have to do…after last night...I mean.”

Merry took a huge helping of mushrooms and put it on his plate. “That is for me to decide, Sam. Now, you will eat your dinner if you want to see your master tonight.”

Sam started to open his mouth but Merry held up his hand for silence and Sam knew it was beyond argument. He put his head down and slapped a huge chunk of butter on his slice of bread. Then he lost himself in the stew and the mushrooms and the ale.

Dinner progressed, and in spite of himself, Sam enjoyed every bite, hoping that wherever he was, his master’s dinner was equally good. Merry and Pippin chatted freely about the marketplace, Buckland’s latest gossip, and if the harvest would exceed last year’s splendid offering. At the end, they all devoured a luscious apple pie flavored with cinnamon.

Sam leaned back in his chair and finished his ale. “That was a grand meal, Pippin, and I do thank ye, my lad.”

“Then you can help him clean up,” said Merry as he took out his pipeweed and headed for the parlor.

“Mr. Frodo?” said Sam.

Merry stopped in the doorway. “All in good time, Sam, the evening is young.”

****

The clock was chiming nine when Sam and Pippin came into the parlor, their hands damp with dishwashing, cleaning, and organizing around the kitchen.

Merry had built a small fire and was smoking his pipe, sitting in a large leather chair that had once been at Bag End. He had a glass of brandy in one hand and his feet were propped up on a large ottoman. He looked calm and content, very much the lord of the mannerhouse.

“Can you see how sweet life can be, Sam?” said Merry as the gardener came to stand in front of him. “There is no reason to fight it.”

“Mr. Frodo,” said Sam with a strong voice. “I done everything you wanted, Merry. I worked and I ate. Now I want to see him…you promised.”

Merry smiled pedantically. “That I did, Samwise.” He took a sip of brandy. “All right, here are the rules. I will take you to see your master. You will not speak to him or touch him. He is learning how to behave in his new life and I will not have you interrupt him. If you do, his…ah…learning time will be increased by one day. Do you understand?”

“No, Merry, I don’t!” said Sam, getting angrier by the minute. “What learning time? What does he have to learn?”

“He has to learn to be happy, to enjoy a nice dinner like we just had. He has to learn to do as he is told without question, like you did today.”

“Now, wait just a minute…”

“He has to learn submission, Sam.”

Sam caught his breath as cold chills ran up and down his spine. “Merry, by the Valar, what have you done.”

Merry stood up and finished his brandy. He placed his pipe in the pipeholder and clapped his hands. Pippin ran over to the cupboard and pulled out some ropes.

“You will have to be tied, Sam. I don’t trust you one inch where Frodo is concerned.”

Sam swallowed hard. “All right.”

Pippin tied Sam’s hands behind him. They were cold as ice.

“One more thing.”

Sam glared at Merry, the delight of the meal forgotten. “What.”

“I am taking you to see your master so you can understand the learning experience, so you will know better than to interfere, either now or in the future. Frodo will be…where he is…for two days at least. If you interfere in any way, his stay will be extended. Once his learning experience is over, I expect that he will finally be…shall we say…happy.”

Sam tried to say something but Merry raised his hand for silence.

“And I want him to remain so. If you interfere…EVER…in Frodo’s coming happiness, well, a refresher course can be arranged at any time.”

Sam glared at Merry but he kept his mouth shut. He had to see Frodo and that was all that mattered. He was sure he could put up with anything to see his master. But he was wrong.

****

Pippin grabbed on to Sam’s arm and they led him out of the house. Once outside, Merry pulled out a blindfold and tied it around his eyes. Sam held still for it not really expecting anything less from Merry. He was led in several directions over hills and down back roads until he had no idea how far he had come or in what direction. Finally he heard the creaking of rusty iron and was pushed forward into a stuffy, musty place. Merry removed Sam’s blindfold and his eyes beheld a storage room of sorts, full of supplies and foodstuffs.

“What in all that’s sacred are we doin’ here, Merry. Looks like a root cellar or somethin’.” Sam stared at his surroundings. “I don’t understand, there’s no one here.”

“Pippin,” said Merry.

Pippin hurried over and grabbed Sam’s arm. Together he and Merry dragged Sam to the trap door and Pippin tied Sam’s ankles together.

“His ears are blocked, Sam,” said Merry quietly. “But if you somehow disturb him or if he hears you, he will stay in here an extra day.”

Sam’s eyes got larger as he saw the trap door. “No,” he hissed. “Oh, no, you couldn’t have.”

Merry quietly opened the hatch in the floor and slid the ladder down into the opening. Pippin quickly ran down and helped carry and drag Sam into the sub-cellar. The air was mustier and heavier, full of moisture, and something else.

Merry quickly came down and shoved Sam against the wall. “Don’t you move an inch,” he whispered, “or Frodo will be sorry.”

Sam leaned against the dirt wall, bending his head with the low ceiling. The room was so black, he couldn’t see anything at all. Fear, he thought suddenly. That was the other smell in the air. Fear. He could smell it plainly now. It was everywhere.

Pippin had gone up the ladder to get the lantern and now he descended with the meager light.

And it was then that Sam saw him. He was naked, tied into a small ball with numerous ropes so tight that he couldn’t move. He lay in the center of the tiny room with stakes holding him in place. There was a blindfold around his eyes and a gag in his mouth. As Merry had said, his ears were stuffed with something so he hadn’t heard them come in. It suddenly hit Sam that Frodo had been tied like that for at least 24 hours. He opened wide to scream but Merry clapped his hand over Sam’s mouth. “Not a peep out of you,” he whispered hoarsely, “or you will earn him an extra day in here. I mean it.”

Sam fought the urge to bite Merry’s fingers off but he gained control and nodded his agreement. His legs were suddenly wobbly and he leaned against the wall, trying to steady himself. He stared down at his master.

Frodo was awake. He was whimpering unintelligible sounds and twitching as a huge spider walked leisurely across his face. His bindings were so tight that he couldn’t move enough to dislodge it, yet it was obviously bothering him. His toes were clenching and unclenching.

Pippin came over to hold Sam’s arm and Merry shot him another warning glance before walking over to where Frodo lay. He stood there for a long time, arms akimbo. He finally bent down and swished the spider away without touching Frodo or letting him know he was there. Merry walked around him, checking the bindings and listening for his breathing. He nodded approval to himself and knelt down next to Frodo, removing something dark from his pocket.

Sam strained his eyes and finally made out what it was. He inhaled deeply, causing Pippin to squeeze his arm in warning. “Oh, no,” Sam whispered, closing his eyes.

Merry held the small black object in his hands and removed a tiny stopper. He immediately lowered the object to Frodo’s nose and the scent of lavender exploded into his nostrils. He let out a high pitched whimper as Merry simultaneously caressed his buttocks, lightly, tantalizingly, as Frodo’s whimpers increased in intensity and pitch. Then Merry stood and re-stoppered the amethyst bottle, putting it back in his pocket. He watched as his cousin soon realized that he would receive no further stimulation. Tears of longing started down Frodo’s cheeks and cascaded freely into the gag around his mouth.

Sam leaned against the wall and thought of the nice day he had had in the sun, the wonderful meal he had thoroughly enjoyed and the good ale. All the while his beloved master had been tied down here in this tomb, starving and thirsty, in the dark, with no stimulation or senses, bugs crawling over him. Sam’s tears were no less than Frodo’s as his guilt and helplessness grew, his eyes riveted to this master’s pitiful form.

Merry also watched Frodo, who began twitching again, whimpering softly, trying to move toward the source of the touch. Finally, he seemed to accept that it was gone and he was still and silent, a ceaseless cataract of tears streaming down his pallid cheek. Merry then leaned down and used his knife to slice away the gag. Before his cousin could react, Merry moved Frodo’s hand the short distance to his mouth. Then he straightened up and stepped back.

Sam didn’t think his despair could have worsened but then he caught Merry’s eyes gazing intently on Frodo and his head nodding in smug satisfaction. Sam’s eyes followed Merry’s line of vision and they suddenly grew large with the worst horror he had ever seen.

Tied in the fetal position, Frodo was vigorously sucking his thumb and the little squeaking sounds he made reverberated and reverberated around the room.

****