Turnabout

Title: Turnabout
Three alternate slash chapters to accompany RATM--Part II: The Redemption of Meriadoc
Author: Celandine Goodbody
Beta: Chloe Amethyst
Email: CelandineG@aol.com
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: AU, graphic slash, some nonconsensual situations, interspecies, violence, angst
Pairing: M/F, M/Other
Feedback: Yes
Summary: Frodo and Merry face captivity at Isengard--in quite different ways.
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: “Turnabout” references scenes from the original RATM story (Parts I and II) and also from my earlier slash alternate, “Final Desecration.” It includes graphic sexual scenes involving slash pairings and some non-con. Please don’t read it if this offends you. I offer many thanks to Chloe for her great beta and as always to Emma, my light of Earendil, for her wonderful RATM universe, her support and encouragement, and for letting me *play*. –Celandine

***


Saruman's lips curled up in a slight expression that on a human or hobbit might have been branded a smile. On his alabaster face, however, it had an altogether different meaning. "Very well," he said softly. "Come closer."

Turnabout
By
Celandine Goodbody


It was dusty and hot. Sweat poured down his moist skin, pooling into his eyes and making him blink. He wiped it away, and taking a deep breath, lifted the whip high over his head, cracking it against the backdrop of pristine blue sky. The pony reared up in defiance, bringing its front hooves off the ground, but not as high as before. The hobbit turned and smiled at his ponymaster, who was leaning against the corral fence, shading his eyes from the sun.

The heir to Brandy Hall was standing in the center of the corral, shirtless, tan, and muscular. His sandy hair gleamed in the bright light, his grey eyes sparkling as he cracked the whip again, grabbing the pony's training line and pulling him in close.

"Shush, shush, little one," he whispered, everything will be fine when you obey me. You will have everything you ever wanted, love."

The pony's terrified eyes reflected his fear although the hobbit refused to acknowledge it. He pulled the animal closer, jerking the line as the animal started to rear again.

"Oh no, you don't," he said softly. "I am master here." He lifted the whip high and brought it down on the pony with a crack. It screeched and reared away.

The ponymaster gasped. He could take it no longer. "Mr. Merry! That ain't no way to treat…"

The hobbit turned to him, fire in his eyes. He stomped over to deliver his reprimand at close range, dragging the terrified animal behind him.

"Now you listen well, Tom." Merry's voice was loud and menacing. "I am master here. Master! I will not have my methods questioned!"

Punctuating his order, Merry raised his whip and turned back to the pony, now dragging hard on the line and neighing loudly. He brought the whip down again but this time it was different.

The pony was gone and the whip instead came down upon another hobbit. Another hobbit's back to be more precise. It raised a huge red welt on his naked skin and he screamed.

Merry stared at the scene dumbfounded. His older cousin, Frodo, was tied to a tree near the smial at Crickhollow. He had to be punished for some reason. Merry raised his arm and brought the whip down again. Another welt, this time deep enough to bleed. Another scream, this time louder and more hysterical.

Merry brought the whip down again and again, listening to his cousin's screams with clinical detachment. Sam Gamgee was there too and his cousin, Pippin, from Tuckborough. It was all so strange and misty and he didn't know why Frodo kept screaming or why he kept whipping him. He tried to stop but he couldn't. Something was compelling him on and on.

And now it was different again.

He was just off the Greenway, far to the south. And he was tied to the tree this time, bark in his face, rubbing his naked chest raw.

A tall man's laughter. A cruel whip, poised and waiting.

It fell again and again on his bare back, tearing the sunburned skin, showering his senses with the most exquisite pain he had ever experienced. He pulled at the cords around his wrists, trying to escape, knowing it was futile but unable to stop. And with each blow, he screamed like a coward into the gag, helpless, so helpless and angry. He leaned his head back, staring up into the fading leaves of autumn. Waiting, anticipating. He grit his teeth.

The whip fell again, and in spite of all his efforts, he screamed again at the top of his lungs. But somehow, in his mind at least, it came out as words.

I'm sorry, Frodo, sorry, Frodo, SOOOORRY, FROOOODO…

He kept screaming and screaming but the whip kept falling all the same.

"Here, you, shut your filthy mouth."

Meriadoc opened his eyes, awakened by a kick to his side and a deep male voice. He squinted, looking around his prison cell, memories of his last few days flooding back.

"Bastard!" He tried to curse at the man but his voice was weak from thirst and his epithet came out sounding more like a compliment.

Broga laughed. "Not so feisty today, are we, maggot?" He kicked the chained hobbit again, right in the middle of his naked back, newly awaking the sore, healing stripes of red and cut flesh.

"Now, here's your daily meal, little master." He gestured around the room and bowed, dropping a piece of water-soaked bread on the floor. "And how are you enjoying your new kingdom, me Lord?"

Merry would have spit at him if he'd had any saliva to spare. Instead he turned his face to the stone wall, leaving the bread where it was.

****

Frodo Baggins was homesick in spite of the comfortable atmosphere high in Isengard's tower. He had awakened in a fog, sunk deeply into a giant mattress on a bed trimmed with silken hangings. When his vision finally cleared, he'd seen three large men standing around it, and one other, taller than the rest. His eyes were the color of hardened steel with a warmth to match. They had said nothing, just turned and left him alone.

He had been stripped of his travel clothes and bathed, he assumed, as he fingered the heavy nightshirt he wore. He recalled none of it. Frodo sighed and leaned back into the plush bedding, letting sleep take him. Perhaps this was all a dream and he will laugh and tell Sam all about it in the morning.

But the next day, there was no Sam, only a bent-over human fussing over him. He got his clothes back (suitably cleaned) and food was brought to his room. Even brandy and pipeweed of the highest quality were provided for his enjoyment.

Once he had been summoned to Saruman's presence but the tall being only stared at him for a moment and then gestured him out of the room. Frodo was only too happy to comply. The wizard had none of Gandalf's warmth and he gave the hobbit chills, raising gooseflesh up and down his arms.

Nothing was hobbit-sized. None of the furniture fit his short legs and he felt awkward and childish climbing on stools or being lifted up by servants. It was embarrassing. He drowned within the huge, soft featherbed and feared falling from its dizzying heights.

He was intimidated by the sheer size of the men and their gross movements so high over his head. The stone floor hurt his feet and the air was heavy with something unpleasant--smoke that came from something other than fireplaces, evil almost if he had to describe it. Even the food, though plentiful, was greasy, tasteless, and foreign to his palate.

But the worst was not knowing why or how he had come to be there. No one would answer his questions for fear of the all-knowing wizard—who ruled this kingdom with an iron hand. He did however catch snippets of conversation about another hobbit held somewhere in the tower and this gave him hope—hope that one of his own kind could tell him what had happened.

For try as he might, Frodo could remember nothing—other than a vague longing that was always with him, and a high, light voice that sang in his head, ever so sweetly.

****

It was rumors of the other hobbit, however, that had brought Frodo Baggins to the dark, underground corridor in the middle of the night.

Every evening, when his guard fell asleep, he had roamed the passageways from top to bottom, using his inborn hobbit-stealth to good advantage. But he only encountered men and orcs, too bent upon their own business to notice him.

So this night he headed underground, to the black tunnels he had hoped to avoid. It was a moonless sky, making the darkness even more sinister and the strength of his one candle even more precious. Frodo cupped his hands around it, appreciating the warmth and indulging himself in a sigh. It was much colder the lower he crept and the dampness clung to the ancient stone.

He started forward again, trailing his fingers against the wall for guidance. As the corridor bent ever downward, the walls became rougher, the floor more uneven, and windows, a thing of the past.

The musty air hurt his lungs and he pulled in his breathing as much as possible. He could feel the dampness in his very bones now, in spite of the heavy nightshirt he wore. It had been appropriated from one of the men and was huge, billowing all around him in numerous folds. In spite of the buttoned collar and rolled up sleeves, it hung down awkwardly from Frodo's shoulders and reached below his ankles, having been hastily cut off at the bottom. But he was glad for this warm barrier against the cold.

Frodo crinkled his nose at the smell as he crept further along the passage, his fingers now encountering moist slime on the walls. He grimaced as he lightly felt his way along, fear rising in his throat.

A dull noise made him stop dead in his tracks. It was an unpleasant sound of metal against stone, and something else, an angry cry of some kind. Frodo knew that no human voice had made it. He bit his lip and stood still, silently holding up the candle, peering into the darkness.

The sound again. Only the sound.

He had the direction now and he moved down a narrower corridor to the right. He listened intently as he stepped with care, hanging on to the slimy wall more tightly than before, careful not to make any sounds of his own.

Then he heard it clearly—words in the Common Tongue. A curse, vile and bitter, and well known on the docks of the Brandywine, when his Uncle Merimac's riverbarge was unloading goods.

Frodo smiled in the darkness. Now that could only have come from a hobbit. He moved forward faster, holding the candle in front of him.

****

The door at the end of the passage was tall, heavy, and man-sized, with a barred window too high for him to see through. Fortunately, the key hung on the wall a few feet away and he was able to dislodge it with the candle. Frodo picked it up off the floor and quickly turned it in the lock. He reached up for the handle and using all his strength, pulled it open a few inches, causing the hinges to creak in an eerie way. Frodo shuddered as he lifted the candle and dimly illuminated the small, stone room.

It was scattered with straw and otherwise unfurnished save for a bucket in the corner with a wooden cover. In the opposite corner a small figure was hunched up against himself, his back to the walls, his arms wrapped around his knees. As the hobbit glared up at the light, Frodo saw his hairy feet, curly, sandy-colored hair, and pointed ears. The face, he took longer to recognize. It was wan and colorless, strained from thirst, starvation, and the damp, cold atmosphere.

Still, fire burned in the large, grey eyes--a fire to rival the candle's light.

Frodo lifted the flame higher and shimmied in through the crack in the doorway, staring intently at the other hobbit. Then he was sure.

"Merry!" He whispered, his thoughts in a turmoil of confusing memories and blankness. Frodo was happy to see his cousin but for some reason he didn't move. Something repulsed him about Merry and he didn't know why. He shivered but not from the cold.

Frodo stared across the dismal room, trying to remember what had happened, how they had come to Isengard and into the clutches of Saruman. Perhaps it was a wizard's spell, something he couldn't quite grasp in his mind, but he fervently hoped Merry could tell him.

Still, he didn't run to his cousin and embrace him.

Merry stared up, squinting his eyes against the light and grimacing in pain. He said nothing.

Frodo walked in a few steps, holding the candle high. His cousin was chained by the ankle to a large, iron ball rolled up against the wall. His wrists were also collared in heavy steel with a 12 inch chain between them. He was completely naked, filthy, and shivering from the damp chill of the underground prison.

Merry pulled his arms and legs in closer to his body. "Stay away, scum." His voice sounded gravelly from thirst, and rough, as if he had not spoken in a long time. "I'll kill you!"

"Merry," Frodo repeated. He stood where he was, still strangely uncomfortable in his cousin's presence. "It's me, Mer…your cousin…Frodo." He stepped closer, holding the candle in front of his face, his voice even quieter. "What are you doing here?"

Merry wiggled back, further into the stone corner, lifting his shackled hands to rub his eyes with his palms. He covered them for a moment, shielding them from the unaccustomed light. After a moment, he peered out at his older cousin, warm in his heavy woolen nightshirt, well fed, and clean.

The Brandybuck brain in his head started spinning and Meriadoc began to plan.

"Frodo," he squeaked out, "is it really you?" The sound was weak, a mere caricature of the strong, commanding voice of the heir to Brandy Hall.

Frodo was standing next to his cousin now, his emotions in ambiguous disarray. He looked down at Merry, crumpled in upon himself. Part of him wanted to hug his cousin in tearful, joyous reunion. Here was the Merry he had grown up with, the Merry he loved, who had been a brother to him in every sense of the word.

But something stopped him. There was something else in those cold grey eyes that sent a chill up Frodo's spine, something he couldn't quite remember. Something bad.

"Oh, Frodo, it's really you!" Merry's voice was stronger as he cleared his throat rigorously, peering up at his cousin. "You're better. I knew it would happen. Here, quick, help me up." He reached out his hand.

Frodo took it automatically, pulling Merry to his feet. He grimaced, looking away from his cousin's mud-caked body and his nakedness.

Merry seemed unperturbed. "Here, help me with this thing, we've got to get out of here."

He bent over the large, iron ball, giving Frodo an unexpected close-up view of his Brandybuck behind, mottled from sitting unshielded on a rough stone floor--but muscular, well shaped, and appealing nonetheless.

Frodo shook the thought and watched as Merry grabbed the heavy ball down low, by its connecting chain. "Frodo, please!" His voice was shaking. "Come on!"

Frodo loaned his free hand and they tried to lift or drag the ball but it was clear that even the two of them would not move it far. Finally Frodo dropped it and straightened up. "Merry, stop. It's too heavy."

Merry grunted and tried to pull it further on his own but it was impossible. "By Eru," he puffed, "it's twice the weight of the one I used to…"

He stopped abruptly as Frodo looked at him. Then the air seemed to go out of Merry and he sunk back into his corner, a curse just inaudible under his breath. He bent his head into his shackled hands with a huge sigh.

Frodo stared down into Merry's bleeding wrists and forgot his apprehensions and even his questions for the moment. It was Merry. His Merry. He fell to his knees.

"Oh, Merry, what have they done to you?" Frodo propped the candle into a crack in the stone floor and took Merry's icy hands in his own, rubbing them hard and raising some color. He could see the open sores on his cousin's wrists where the steel shackles had cut into them.

"Oh, dear, oh dear," Frodo whimpered in sympathy as he rubbed his cousin's arms and neck. "Tell me what happened. How did we get here? Did the wizard put a spell on us? I don't remember anything!"

Merry sighed with relief, closing his eyes. The Brandybuck brain continued to plan as Frodo rambled on, his hysteria growing with the telling.

"…And we're in a huge, stone tower, Merry, with orcs and ruffians everywhere, and I am questioned and questioned but I don't know what they are talking about. And why are you chained in this horrible place? What did you do to these men? And what is this Ring the wizard wants. I don't have It, I don't know where It is, I don't know what It is, Mer."

"Frodo, calm down." Merry's voice was stronger still, now with a hint of command. He held out his hands in a stopping gesture.

"Oh, Merry!" Frodo stared at his cousin's damaged wrists. "We have to get these things off you." He grabbed the heavy steel, causing Merry to wince, but the bolt was welded in. "This will leave scars."

Scars were the least of Merry's problems. "It's all right," he growled, already put off by Frodo’s overly solicitous behavior.

But Frodo was suddenly staring at his own scarred wrists. "Merry, did they chain me up too? Was I down here with you?"

"Fro…"

"And look!" Frodo stretched out his hand to show a long red mark. "I've been cut on the hand, Mer, see how bad it looks?"

Merry held Frodo's hand up to the candle light and sighed. The cut he himself had inflicted glowed red and inflamed. "It could use some kingsfoil, all right." He said softly.

"But how long have we been here, I can't remember anything!"

Merry stared at Frodo in the dim light. "And what is the last thing you do remember, Fro?"

Frodo frowned. "I…we…we were all at Crickhollow and I was taking…" He stopped. "Taking some kind of journey…with Sam Gamgee." He frowned deeper, shaking his head.

Merry held his breath.

"Something. Something important, Merry, I was taking something important to…somewhere." Frodo shook his head. "It's all fuzzy." He rubbed his scarred wrists and grimaced with his own pain. "Like a dream where you can't wake up."

"Don't try to remember, Fro, no good can come of it."

"But…you must know what…"

Merry coughed in an exaggerated manner. "Oh, Frodo, I'm sooo cold." He sniffed loudly. “And thirsty and hungry.”

Frodo's eyes teared up. "Here I am talking about myself when…oh, Merry…wait." He reached inside a huge pocket in the nightshirt. “They take away the food at night so I always save something for a midnight snack. Here, take it, please.”

Merry already had the buttered roll in his hands and he devoured it. Although swallowing was difficult, solid food in his stomach brought him back to normal and he felt stronger than he had in days.

“I wish I had some water, Merry, I know you need…”

"What I need is to get out of here." In spite of himself, Merry's teeth chattered on the last few words.

Frodo sat down next to his cousin, putting his arm around him and drawing him close. "There are huge orc guards at the doors leading outside…by Eru, you're freezing, Mer, you're all gooseflesh."

He looked down at his cousin's body and his cheeks flushed at Merry's nakedness. "Ah…and you need some clothes. All I have is this nightshirt but it's very warm. One of the men cut it down for me…it's huge, of course."

As a demonstration, Frodo tugged at the shirt, lifting it out in front of him in numerous folds. His eyebrows rose as a thought hit him and suddenly he lifted the nightshirt up to his knees and wiggled his arms out of the huge sleeves. His bare bottom hit the cold stone floor as he pulled the nightshirt higher. He tore the buttons off the V-neck opening and ripped it down a bit further. Then he lifted the nightshirt over Merry's head, bringing him inside it. There was ample room for the two of them and Merry's head poked out the opening next to Frodo's as his cousin tore the nightshirt more and pulled it down over them both.

"Here, here, lift your bum and sit up on my lap."

Merry did so, propping his hands on Frodo's shoulders and Frodo pulled the nightshirt over him and along the underside of his own legs as far as it would go.

Even Merry couldn't help but exhale with pleasure as his behind rested on his cousin's warm skin. Without thinking, he leaned into Frodo, siphoning even more of the delightful body heat.

The chill of Merry's body caused Frodo to shiver but he moved closer and wrapped his arms around his cousin, offering him all the warmth he had.

"I'm so sorry, Mer." Frodo leaned his head against Merry's.

"Why? You didn't do it." Merry shivered again but he was warming up and feeling better every minute.

"I just hate to see you suffer so…and I will get you out of here, I will. Spell or no spell. I'm not afraid of…that wizard. Saruman, he is called. But I have summoned Gandalf from the window in my room and perhaps he will hear me…"

"Oh, stop it, Frodo! Will you not see the truth? Gandalf is evil. All these wizards are…they are plotting against the Shire.”

"Saruman might be evil but not Gandalf, Mer, he… "

"He wants IT! He wants the…" Merry stopped.

Frodo pulled his cousin toward him, rubbing his cold flesh along the hips. "Wants what? You're not making sense. What does Gandalf want?"

Merry didn't answer but struggled to get even closer under the nightshirt. He pulled his numb feet higher, rattling the chain, trying to get them up against Frodo's calves. As he did so, a sigh of delight escaped his lips. "Nothing, Fro. Nothing."

"I want to know, Mer. Tell me what you know!"

Merry frowned in an exaggerated manner. "Oh, Frodo, let's not talk. I'm so cold."

Frodo pursed his lips, trying not to withdraw from his cold and clammy cousin. "But Merry, I must have hit my head or maybe Saruman put a spell on me. I keep trying, and sometimes it almost comes to me, but then it's like a wisp of a dream just out of reach."

There was silence as Merry snuggled in still closer to Frodo's warmth.

"Merry…"

"Yes, love," came the distracted answer. "Oh, Frodo, you feel so good."

"Maybe if you told me what happened, then I could remember it."

Merry leaned in closer to his cousin. Frodo smelled warm and fragrant, like fresh soap after a scented bubble bath. He rubbed his face against Frodo's, touching cheeks and feeling the extra warmth as Frodo flushed.

"You don't need to know, Frodo, you only need…" And Merry brushed his cracked lips against Frodo's plump and full ones.

Frodo cringed at the feel of Merry's damaged lips, so rough that they scratched and cut into his own.

But Merry leaned on him until Frodo's head was against the hard stone wall. Merry's dry, deprived tongue pressed in hard. "Frodo, please." Merry rasped as he continued inward.

Frodo relented and Merry found the moisture he wanted, wet and dripping on Frodo's tongue. He drove in, pressing Frodo harder against the wall with his shackled hands, devouring his cousin's mouth like a hobbit lost in a desert.

Passion and necessity drove him. Frodo was so sweet and damp inside, vaguely reminiscent of spiced tea and sugar cookies. Yet it was the singular taste of his cousin that drove Merry harder and firmer against him, his own tongue softly caressing Frodo's damp mouth, his dry lips, sucking Frodo's delicious tongue, little squeaks of pleasure emitting from his throat.

Taken at first by surprise, Frodo didn't stop his cousin. Underneath the nightshirt, he dug his fingers into Merry's shoulders, trying to stay relaxed amid the onslaught. It made sense that Merry needed moisture. It was a healing thing, almost. Really.

But healing was not on Merry's mind as his tongue glided around and around the moist sanctuary, reaching further back, sucking Frodo harder and rubbing the underside of his tongue with his own agile member in broad, linear movements.

Frodo leaned back, closing his eyes, swallowing when he could, letting Merry have his way. And the sensations themselves were pleasant enough, oddly reminiscent of something else he couldn't quite remember. But Merry was all over him now, pressing him harder and more passionately against the wall. Frodo twisted his head, sitting upright, and he grabbed Merry harder by the shoulders.

"Fro, please, I…need…"

Merry would not be stopped. He shoved Frodo against the wall again, reaching for his mouth and bringing his hands up to Frodo's throat. But the momentum drove Frodo sideways and he fell with Merry on top of him.

Frodo struggled to free his arms inside the nightshirt and since there was no place else to put them, he wrapped them around Merry's back.

Frodo gasped, immediately pulling his fingers up. The ridges and scars on his cousin’s recently flogged skin were raw and swollen.

"It's nothing, Frodo…please…just some men having fun."

Frodo shut his eyes in pain. "Oh…then that explains my back." He said quietly.

Merry looked at him and took a deep breath. For a minute he didn't say anything but then he smiled. "It's alright, Fro, it doesn't hurt anymore. It feels good when you touch me."

Frodo smiled too, gently holding his cousin, feeling the heavy nightshirt press into the back of his arms.

Merry reached around Frodo’s neck and pulled him closer.

"Mer…" Frodo sputtered and groaned as the manacles drove into his windpipe.

Merry paid no attention, holding Frodo's chin upright with his fingertips while gently exploring his warm, moist mouth.

"Mer…RY" Frodo twisted again and got enough leverage to lift Merry up and slip sideways, out from under his cousin. They ended up tumbling together on the hard, stone floor, giggling like tweens and facing each other's smiles.

Frodo sighed as he listened to Merry's laughter, feeling less afraid, even in the dismal prison cell. He had found his beloved and quick-witted Merry. It felt so good to hold him again, almost like a tween-visit at Bag End, sharing a bed, laughing at hobbit gossip, sneaking a bit of pipeweed, and trying, albeit noisily, not to wake poor Bilbo.

But sex. Of course, they had experimented a bit in that direction…a long time ago.

"I don't know if we should continue this...and you still haven't answered my questions. I want to know…"

"Frodo, please?" Merry smiled sadly into his cousin's eyes. "I'm so cold and lonely…and we're all right…they won't be back for hours. Believe me, they never heard of breakfast--first, second or otherwise. Besides, I…want to…" Merry's voice trailed off as he slipped his linked arms though the torn neck opening and over Frodo's head. He purred in Frodo's ear as he rubbed his chest against the other hobbit's nipples, creating a friction that heated them up all the more.

"Hold still, Fro." He smiled as the two lay on their sides together inside the nightshirt. "Let me try…some…things."

Merry moved his shackled hands down Frodo's back, bringing his cousin in very close, scratching his skin and making Frodo shiver. His scars were healed but Merry could not escape their gravelly touch. Mr. Merry! That ain't no way to treat… He could see the pony again, rearing in the corral and then Frodo, screaming under his lash.

A small cry escaped Merry's lips as he held Frodo tightly. He rubbed harder against his cousin, moving first sideways and then up and down, biting, licking, and nipping at his throat. His hands shook, clinking the chain as his ever agile brain shoved Crickhollow and everything that had happened there far into its depths.

****

Slowly Merry worked his hands lower until Frodo's skin was soft and smooth again. He sighed with relief. "I…this is…so nice, Frodo, just don't move for a minute, all right?"

Frodo frowned but his eyes were dancing. "All right."

"I never did it," Merry laughed quietly, "inside a shirt before…but oh, yes…yes, this may work after all."

In spite of himself, Frodo relaxed and joined in Merry's laughter.

Merry's hands grabbed his cousin's lower back as his nipple found one of Frodo's. He rubbed it hard, causing both nubs to stiffen and rise in tandem. Merry sighed.

"Nice, Fro." He kissed him again. "Ummm, let's try the other side."

Frodo darted a glance toward the door, still open a crack.

"We have hours, Cousin, hours and hours. Please?"

Without waiting for an answer, Merry twisted around until they were again nipple to nipple. This time he rubbed Frodo harder as his now-moist tongue trailed along Frodo's chin and up the outside of his ear. Frodo bent his head as Merry sought higher territory and soon he was licking and sucking at Frodo's sensitive eartips, slowly, slowly, while his erect nipple ground hard and furious into his cousin's pink counterpart.

"Mer…I…oh…oh…"

Frodo was reduced to monosyllabic responses by the pleasurable chills running through his body. His heart was beating faster and his mind slipping into amused submission. Sweet little Merry could always get him to do anything--and nothing had changed. He looked up into his cousin's sparkling grey eyes--and the delightful way his mouth curved into that sly little smile--just like when he was a tween with some mischief in mind.

"Oh, I do love you." Frodo whispered as loud as he dared. "And I always will." He reached up and kissed his cousin lightly on the lips with a chaste, sweet devotion that stopped the other's heart.

Merry halted his ministrations and leaned back, looking at Frodo with troubled eyes. The smile faded. "I hope you will, love…I hope you will."

Frodo shifted his legs against the hard floor, banging against the heavy collar surrounding Merry's ankle. "Oh!" The rough steel scraped his shin, breaking the mood somewhat. "Merry!" Frodo whispered. "What in the Shire are we doing? We must be daft."

Merry raised his head in the dim light, the smile returning. "It's not like we never did it before, love. Don't you remember at Crickhollow with strawberries dripping out your mouth and Pippin on the bed drinking wine and Sam tied to the…"

"What?!"

"Umm…never mind." Merry nuzzled Frodo's ear again, this time dipping his tongue into its depths, causing shivers to quake thorough his cousin. Slowly he dragged the chain up and down Frodo's back, eliciting twitches and gooseflesh from the damaged skin.

His protests forgotten, Frodo grunted and arched his back as much as he could inside the shirt. Merry smiled as he dragged the chain up and down, even more slowly and lightly.

"Frodo and strawberries, ummm, oh love," Merry laughed. "I can't tell you how many times I dreamed of it afterwards… and wanted to do it again." He smiled enticingly into Frodo's eyes.

"You are wonkers, my dear ass of a cousin." Frodo laughed as he rubbed his injured ankle against his leg. "And I don't believe you. Strawberries?"

His cousin was squirming lower, running his fingertips over Frodo's smooth buttocks, dragging the shackles and scraping the rough pitted chain over his firm cheeks.

"Hmm, this might be interesting," Merry whispered to himself as he moved the chain up and down. "Maybe this thing is good for something after all."

"Aaa…Oh, Mer…I never…I…uh…never…oh, Mer…ate strawberries in bed with you…and Pippin? And…Sam…?"

"Shush." Merry ordered. He twisted them both until Frodo was on top, his legs wiggling in between Merry's.

Frodo squirmed again, turning his behind aside but he shuddered in pleasure, giving himself away in part.

"Well, maybe I dreamed the whole thing, dear," Merry whispered affectionately. "What does it matter?"

Merry dragged the chain lazily across Frodo's buttocks, producing larger and larger shivers in his cousin. He could feel Frodo's erection growing and pressing now, hard against his own rapidly expanding member. The heavy wool scratched his arms and the heat between their legs was akin to a furnace. Merry could not remember now, ever being cold.

Breathing heavily, he scrunched down further along Frodo's torso and moved sideways, positioning his hands so the chain fell directly into Frodo's cleft.

Frodo inhaled loudly and grabbed Merry by the hair. "What are you…ah…oh…Mer…"

Ignoring his cousin's whimpers, Merry pulled the chain along the inside of Frodo's cleft, twisting his own body to accommodate the movement and feeling his hair being pulled rather strongly as Frodo sought his mouth but failed to find it, kissing him instead on the side of his nose.

Merry laughed and pulled the chain harder.

All four sets of Frodo's cheek muscles contracted involuntarily as his breathing heightened and his body leaned into Merry's touch. Twisting his hands in Merry's clumped curls, Frodo finally found his cousin's mouth. He passionately licked his broken lips like a cat--long, firm strokes, then he trailed his moist tongue down Merry's neck, into the hollow in his throat.

Now Merry was dragging the chain along the back of Frodo's upper thighs and then back across his ass, driving him wild.

Merry grimaced at the pain to his wrists but the shivers he was producing in Frodo and the look of hunger in his eyes were well worth it—to say nothing of his own shivers as his fingertips caressed the satiny smooth, untouched rear of his older cousin. He didn't think that anything on earth could feel so wonderful. He sighed. If only they had some strawberries.

He leaned down further and dropped the chain between Frodo's legs, allowing it to gently smack his dangling balls. Then he dragged it slowly up between his cousin's spread legs, letting the weight of the cool, heavy chain pull slowly along Frodo's underside until it came up into his cleft again.

Frodo's erection throbbed mercilessly and he started to scream but Merry clamped hard against his lips, using his own mouth to inhale the scream, quieting his cousin.

"Oh…"

Frodo was hyperventilating and could barely talk, his shaft, burning and begging--as Merry was well aware from its proximity to his own stiff column.

Frodo ran his hands along Merry's neck and down his sides, and finally around the edges of his thin belly. At the same time, his cousin was trying to figure out how to get his shackled hands to the more interesting side of Frodo. He dragged his arms up along Frodo's back as Frodo sighed heavily, letting his head drop down on Merry's chest.

"Frodo, please…hold still." Merry grabbed him again, harder this time and used his strong legs to push Frodo's erection up against his own. As he rubbed it up and down, the furnace of mutual heat warmed him to the tips of his furry toes.

But Frodo didn't need any more encouragement. His cock was throbbing as he leaned into Merry's breasts, sucking and pulling them tighter, letting Merry move him in rhythm now, shaft to shaft, their pubic hair entwining and their pulsing matched.

Frodo reached for Merry's hair and pulled his mouth down again, fully the aggressor for the moment, forcing his teeth against Merry's cracked lips and opening them hard.

Merry screamed with delight, pressing his reddened lips into the other smooth set. Then he opened his mouth wide and welcomed Frodo inside.

Frodo reached deep into Merry's moist chamber, exploring its depths and giving as well as he got until Merry struggled to dislodge him.

"Rot!" whispered Merry, finally breathless under Frodo's touch. He was trying to get his hands back over Frodo's head while the night shirt held him in confinement. "I never realized how inconvenient these things are.

"Here, let me…" Frodo turned sideways to let Merry move but this twisted them out of balance and Frodo tumbled off Merry. The two of them rolled across the floor, finally falling against the candle and knocking it over. The small flame was immediately engulfed by molten wax and it sputtered out.

They were suddenly alone in the absolute darkness of Merry's damp cell, lying on the floor together, erection to erection, imprisoned in a human's nightshirt.

"Wait," Frodo sputtered, trying to dislodge Merry's eager lips. "I'll never find my way out of here now, it's pitch black. They'll find me and make me a prisoner too. Then we'll never escape."

Merry licked his lips, still quivering from Frodo's passion. "They never come here in the morning and there is always some light at dawn, a tiny bit from above, you can see well enough to leave." His heart was beating hard now. "Frodo-love…"

Frodo held his cousin close, "Mer, I'm so sorry but I'll get you out of here, I promise."

Merry massaged Frodo's neck with his fingertips, heedless of the darkness. He bit Frodo's lip, then leaned in and licked his cousin with newly-awakened taste buds.

"It's several hours until dawn, dearest," he whispered in Frodo's ear, trailing his tongue up its ridge and lingering over it's tip, sucking and flicking it with alacrity. "And I am not sorry."

****

It was a long time before any words were exchanged as the darkness softened things between them and focused their attention to the sensation of touch.

"Mer…I…"

"No, no, don't talk, love," Merry whispered as his head disappeared from the nightshirt's opening. "It's time for the main event."

He slid slowly down Frodo's body, scratching, nipping, licking, and sucking while Frodo tried hard not to scream his lungs out. Finally, he reached the spot between Frodo's legs and took his erection, now dripping with precum, into his hands. He gently licked the underside as Frodo shook with pleasure.

"Oh…" Frodo whispered shakily. "Don't stop."

Merry was just holding on, his bare ass now out in the frigid air while his own erection trembled on the cold stone floor.

"I won't…but…it's…so…cold."

Frodo was quivering, his fingertips digging hard into the nightshirt's heavy wool fibers. "Wait, then, I…I have an idea."

Merry licked the tip of Frodo's leaking, rosy length, holding his cousin tightly at the base, controlling his passion. He laughed to himself. "If you can still think, love, I must be doing a bad job down here."

Frodo laughed as he reached for his cousin's damp curls, digging in, trying to hang on and knowing he must. He pulled Merry's lips off of his heat.

"What are you…"

But Frodo was wiggling down. "Don't move, Mer."

Frodo squirmed his way completely out of the night shirt, his erection hanging painfully in the cold. But quickly he reached down and pulled the shirt back over Merry's ass, giving it a tender pat, and he pulled the warm, woolen material all the way back over his cousin's legs.

Then he crawled into the nightshirt again but this time, feet-first until his own legs were sticking out the neck of the shirt and his lips were teasing Merry's declining erection back to its former glory.

Merry laughed as Frodo's legs made their way past his face, each part earning a wet smack of his lips. Ankles, knees, thighs, until the part he was waiting for reappeared in front of his face. The darkness notwithstanding, Merry cupped Frodo's balls in his fingertips while he renewed his ministrations to his cousin, his own throbbing shaft, now pleasantly ensconced in Frodo's hungry, warm mouth.

Following Merry's lead, Frodo gripped the base of his cousin's erection, slowing him down and extending their mutual ecstasy. Merry was quivering under his touch as he did to Frodo everything he himself enjoyed during sex, everything he had so carefully taught to Pippin's little mouth. And Frodo repeated it all on him, one step after the other, slowly sliding up and down, licking underneath the shaft, blowing, teasing, sucking the tip, just a touch of teeth, just a brush of tongue…

Meriadoc no longer remembered his own name.

Slowly he released his hold on the base of Frodo's member and took his cousin deeply into his mouth, allowing the cock to rub against the back of his throat while his lips and tongue played with Frodo's massive length.

Frodo followed in turn, taking Merry deep inside and slowly releasing his hands, letting his cousin's shaft swell and pulse within him. And as he tried to follow Merry's lead, he wondered aimlessly if his head would explode right there, if he was merely a physical appendage of the controlling Brandybuck brain that seemed to always get its way. But his own mind wasn't really functioning anyway, whatever happened, whatever happened, what…ever…he was so close to…

But Merry had one more trick up his sleeve.

Without letting up on what his mouth was doing, he bent Frodo's legs and reached over them, hands in tandem, until he was slipping along the satin-skinned, ivory posterior again. Merry ran his fingers down his cousin's cleft, spreading the cheeks wide.

Frodo flinched but he followed in turn, wrapping his arms around and slipping into Merry.

Without further warning, Merry drove his finger deep into Frodo's hole finding the prostate.

Mindlessly, Frodo followed suit, and no power in Middle Earth could have halted them. The two cousins exploded in mutual orgasm, too powerful for screaming, white-silent intensity, exploding deeply inside and melting the two together in the most powerful emotion either had ever experienced.

Waves and waves of vibrations shook their bodies as they each came in the other's mouth, their fingers pressing hard against the most sensitive spot in a hobbit's anatomy. They pressed harder, holding each other tightly and eliciting thermal sensations of pure pleasure--over and over again until a closeness was forged, unmatched throughout their long and loving relationship.

They were one hobbit, seamlessly bonded to each other from a perfectly shared and perfectly executed passion.

When he was finally spent, Frodo turned around inside the nightshirt, unable to live another second without Merry's strong arms around him. They held each other close, in darkness and exhaustion, skin to skin and heart to heart, for the rest of the long, cold night. And for that night at least, the memories of one of them and the amnesia of the other were cast into the darkness.

****

The dawn light woke Frodo harshly and for a frightening instant, he didn't know where he was. He gazed upon a straw-filled, stone room that he had never seen before--at least by the light of day. He closed his eyes tightly, hoping it was a bad dream, and then opened them again, now feeling the hard stone pressing deeply into his bare bottom. Grimacing, he spit some hair out of his mouth, hair that was not his own, but rather the property of his cousin, Meriadoc.

Frodo sighed with weariness and pain from sleeping on a cold hard floor with a larger hobbit snuggled on top of him. Merry looked comfortable enough, thought his cousin, with me as his nice, warm mattress.

"Merry!" Frodo whispered, "wake-up!"

"Hurrumph" Merry reached out awkwardly but only succeeded in banging Frodo in the eye with his manacles.

"Dammit, Mer." Frodo struggled inside the nightshirt and managed to get Merry over to the side but he was unable to sit up due to the weight of his cousin. "Wake up!"

Frodo's intense whisper finally got through to Merry and he groaned, twisting himself up against the wall into a sitting position, dragging his cousin with him.

"Oh, Frodo, that was so wonderful." Merry sleepily nuzzled Frodo's ear, flicking his tongue inside. "Hmmmm."

"Ummm..." Frodo squirmed, moving sideways.

Merry quickly lifted his bound hands over Frodo's head, bringing them down against the back of his neck. He jerked his cousin close. "Hold still, Fro," Merry whispered, opening his mouth against Frodo's. Without waiting for permission, he found his way in, again indulging himself within Frodo's moist reservoir.

"No, Mer, it's dawn!" Frodo shoved him away--although given the geography of the nightshirt, it wasn't far.

Merry licked his lips, frowning. "Hmmm, you didn't mind last night." He looked down between them and smiled at the dried evidence of their activities staining the nightshirt.

"I have to go," said Frodo, twisting his mouth into a reluctant smile as he stood and lifted the nightshirt over Merry's head. "I have to get you out of here!"

"I grant you that, Cousin," said Merry. "There's a certain gardener, that I have business with."

"Sam, yes, Sam. He was at Crickhollow, wasn't he? Oh, I hope he is not a prisoner too." Frodo's eyes showed their concern.

"You can rest assured of that, my dear Frodo." Merry's voice dripped with venom.

"Listen," Frodo grimaced at the sight of Merry's ankle, torn with fresh blood. "You need some athelas powder on that, kingsfoil. I will try to find some."

Merry grabbed his hand. "No, listen, I have a plan…"

Frodo looked up at the brightening light. "I must go." He pulled his hand away and picked up the candle.

"Frodo!" Merry hissed in a fury, lunging for his cousin and tearing his ankle all the more.

But Frodo was half-way across the room. "I'll think of something, don't worry." He cast his last words over his shoulder as he slipped out the door and closed it shut.

Merry heard the key twist in the lock as he leaned back into his corner. He shivered from the cold again as he picked up the chain and, using all his strength, moved the heavy ball a few inches but no more.

Meriadoc then opened his mouth and let out a curse that would have done his Uncle Merimac proud.
Chapter Two


Frodo Baggins twisted and turned within the luxury of his silken bedsheets, his dreams frightening and terrible.

Merry.

Merry was angry at him, Merry was hurting him, Sam was yelling, the smell of burning flesh, the cold touch of gold, a sweet, singing voice in his head…the images tormented him with fear and yet above it all was a longing…he made love to it in his mind as it held him in its sway, loving him back and pleading with him never to…

"Master hobbit, master hobbit?" Large hands were shaking his shoulders.

Frodo opened one eye, not on Bag End and the friendly smile of Samwise Gamgee, but on a tall, thin creature with knurled hands, a stooped over carriage, and an empty, scarred eyesocket where once a dark brown eyeball had resided.

The human was hideous looking but Frodo sighed with relief. He was awake. Merry was not torturing him or shouting at him, Sam was not a prisoner, cursing and tied to a chair, and Pippin was not whimpering, bowing and scraping to his older cousin. And something else…but Frodo shook his head, heaving a huge sigh as he awoke to the morning. Thank Eru, even Isengard was better than that improbable nightmare.

"Ah, Sarkat…good…morning…if it is a good morning."

The servant of Saruman bowed his head and his straight, grey hair fell in tumbles around his shoulders. "Aye, sir, it is. Now, best ye be up and dressed. My lord is a wantin' ta talk to ya."

Frodo sunk into the soft feather mattress, grimacing. "I have nothing to tell him."

It was not Sarkat's place to make judgments about his master's affairs, and he made none as he pulled the heavy covers off Frodo and gently tugged him out of the bed.

A sharp intake of breath followed. "Why, sir, whatever 'appened to this nightshirt?"

Frodo shivered, his feet cold upon the stone floor. He looked down to see the events of the previous night spelled out across the woolen material. The huge nightshirt was torn, buttonless, and dirty from the dungeon floor, and there were other, rather obvious stains that needed no explanation.

And Frodo offered none. "I will need a replacement," he said in a voice he hoped sounded authoritarian and no-nonsense.

Sarkat nodded. "We sent some lads to Bree for some proper clothes and food more to your likin', sir."

He lifted the nightshirt over Frodo's head and threw it into the corner. Frodo donned his robe and followed the man to the bathing room where a hot bath was drawn and scented. After he had bathed, the servant brought Frodo back to his room and produced the new clothes--just the right size, hobbit styled, and of fine linen material. As he dressed, Sarkat laid out hot tea and muffins with butter and jam.

Dressed in new clothes and consuming his delicious first breakfast, Frodo thought about his shivering cousin, so far below him, naked and starving.

"On second thought, I will be happy to see your lord," he said, his voice strong with determination. "I have a proposition for him."

Sarkat's eyes got huge. "Oh, master hobbit, you'd best say nuthin' to 'im. You don't know what 'e can do." Sarkat wringed his hands together. "Just answer 'is questions, all right-like and proper, and don't go tellin' 'im nothing else."

He hesitated as Frodo looked up from his breakfast table, wiping his lips daintily with a linen napkin. Sarkat's voice fell to a whisper. "You don't know 'im, sir."

"Nonsense." Frodo took a sip of tea and continued buttering his roll. He added a dollop of blueberry jam as Sarkat refilled his tea cup from the silver service. "I have spoken with wizards before, I know how to deal with them."

Sarkat bowed, hiding his sly grin. It was no matter to him. "As ye say, sir." He put the teapot down and stepped back. "I'm ta take ye to see 'im once you're done eatin'."

"Good." Frodo slid himself out of the high chair, ignoring Sarkat's helping hand. "We should go now then, because I have a lot to say."


****

Saruman's shining white hair wafted lightly on the breeze as he leaned his long fingers over the polished silver balustrade. His large balcony overlooked a deep, verdant valley where trees grew and rivers flowed. But ecology was not in the wizard's mind.

The palantir had told him to find It soon or he would have Nazgul on his doorstep. It was the last thing he wanted. The living dead were not easy to deal with, even for someone as powerful as himself. The further away from Isengard they stayed, the better.

Saruman sighed. The Ring of Power had been found.

He had seen two Shire-hobbits--one dark, one fair--in the palantir. Surrounding them was the Golden Ring, a huge background, shimmering and shining, paining his eyes. Its inscription had been frightening--even to one ancient and powerful, but oh, so compelling. One Ring to Rule Them All.

Saruman had sent ruffians into the Shire to find them and bring them back. The dark one had been quiet, the fair one sullen and sent to the dungeons on Grimbold's request. They had been stripped and searched but they carried nothing. For good measure he had searched the ruffians too but they only carried booty from pillaging hobbit homes. No rings were found of any kind. Had the palantir misled him? Had he failed to understand its message?

Saruman turned and leaned backwards against the railing, spreading his arms along its surface, his eyes on the floor, unfocused in thought. Perhaps he should chance another look into the seeing stone. Perhaps he was missing something, and if so, the Dark Lord would not be forgiving. But he wanted to avoid any show of doubt. He must not appear weak or ineffectual.

"My Lord." Sarkat stood in the entryway, his grey head bowed low below his waist. Behind him was the dark hobbit, his eyes averted, his fingers strumming nervously against his palms.

Saruman stared intently at the diminutive halfling. "Leave us," he ordered.

Sighing in relief, Sarkat bowed still lower and quickly departed.

Frodo shifted his weight, not knowing what was expected of him, his earlier aplomb a bit diminished. The possibility that Saruman had invaded his very mind was heavy on his thoughts and fears. If the wizard could wipe out vast pieces of his memory, what else could he do to him?

The hobbit swallowed hard, trying to find his courage as the incredibly tall figure left the balcony and came into the chamber, almost gliding across the floor with barely perceived footsteps. He closed the double doors behind him, then slowly turned toward the hobbit.

Saruman was twice Frodo's height, and dressed completely in white, brocaded silk—long, voluptuous robes that caressed the floor beneath him. Although the material looked heavy, it seemed to float around his person, defying gravity as the wizard moved gracefully across the room. His shining, white hair hung almost to his waist and his steely eyes, protruding over a long, sharp nose, were focused on the hobbit. They were red and purple, shining with all the intensity of Gandalf's fireworks.

Frodo swallowed hard, unable to meet his gaze. This was not Gandalf nor did it bear him any resemblance.

Saruman floated up the steps to his high throne and sat down, towering all the more over the hobbit. He continued to glare at him as he motioned him closer.

Powerless to disobey, Frodo moved up to the first step but he dared go no further. Gathering his courage, he looked up into Saruman's face but the power of speech seemed to have left him.

"Your name is Frodo Baggins?"

Frodo nodded.

“A Shire-halfling, the Squire of Hobbiton, I've been told."

"Yes," Frodo whispered, determined to hold his own in this conversation, "but I claim no title. I am Frodo Baggins, nothing more."

"My men tell me that you have not answered their questions."

Frodo squinted his eyes and forced them to focus on Saruman's. "Why am I here? Why is my companion a prisoner in your dungeon?" His courage grew with the sound of his own voice. "Why is he naked and starving! And what have you done with my memory!"

Saruman glared down at him, focusing his lightening-sharp vision on the wide blue eyes. "I will ask the questions, halfling."

But the hobbit before him had spoken with wizards and he would not be intimidated. Frodo gathered up all his courage and lifted his eyes to meet Saruman's grey, flashing mirrors, wondering briefly if he was breathing his last sweet breath. Legend had it those eyes could kill.

"Then ask them," he said firmly, hoping that the tremor he felt had not been transmitted in his voice.

Saruman's lips curled up in a slight expression that on a human or hobbit might have been branded a smile. On his alabaster face, however, it had an altogether different meaning. "Very well," he said softly. "Come closer."

Frodo squeezed his fingers tightly together as he climbed the steps to Saruman's throne. He held his small body erect and proud because deep inside he was working out his own plan. He gazed on the frightening, immortal creature seated before him, swallowing hard.

"Come closer, halfling. I would see your face."

Frodo swallowed hard as he stepped across the dais and found himself foot-to-cloth, standing against Saruman's voluptuous robe. The cloth was cold to his feet, like he had stepped against ice.

Saruman reached out his long spindly arm but Frodo stood his ground calmly as the white fingers grabbed him under the chin, lifting up his face until he had no choice as to where his eyes were focused. Something probed his mind but he threw up mental smokescreens like Gandalf had taught him.

"Where is the Ring of Power?" The wizard's voice was barely audible; perhaps, Frodo thought later, it had been telepathic. He wasn't sure. But he had been ready for the question.

"I don't have it."

The wizard squeezed his face with fingers of desiccated ice, pulling him closer. "That's not the right answer, halfling. I know you don't have it, neither does your naked cousin in my dungeon."

Frodo took a deep breath and stepped back, just enough to disengage himself from Saruman's grasp. Throwing up all the gibberish he could command in his brain, he answered.

"That's because he's not my cousin."

Saruman dropped his hand, which had been extended out in the air. It fell on his robes like a dead thing.

"Well, now, that is interesting. My servant, Grimbold, assures me that he brought Frodo Baggins, Squire of Hobbiton and Meriadoc Brandybuck, the future Master of Buckland into my humble abode. Aristocrats of the Shire as my guests." Saruman indulged himself in a small, sarcastic laugh.

"Then I hope," Frodo said firmly, "that you have not yet paid him for he has only half discharged his duties."

Saruman stood and Frodo backed off to avoid being trampled as the wizard glided effortlessly down the numerous steps to the doorway. He passed through it and Frodo could hear the voice of command issuing orders, whether they be for his own execution, he did not know.

Finally, the wizard returned and summoned Frodo to come down the steps. When he reached the floor, Grimbold was hurrying through the door, looking disheveled and worried.

"Yes, my Lord Saruman." He bowed low, eyeing Frodo until his posture no longer permitted him to see the hobbit.

"Who were the halflings that you brought to Isengard?" Saruman's voice was like frigid air wafting off a glacier.

Grimbold hesitated as if looking for the trick in the question but Saruman's hiss of frustration forced him to answer.

He swallowed hard. "The future Master of Buckland and his captive, this one here, my Lord, just as you ordered. We're still soften' up the master, like you said we could."

Before Saruman could answer, Frodo spoke up, his lips curving into a forced smile. "You should have inquired further, Grimbold. The Master's son is still in the Shire. What you have chained below is my servant, Samwise Gamgee, a common gardener."

"No! That's a lie."

Frodo laughed. "All right, if you say so. It is no matter to me."

"Well it is to me!" Saruman was shouting as he grabbed Grimbold's shirt. "Explain yourself!"

Grimbold's knees buckled as the wizard stared into his soul. "My Lord…he…he even said he was Mr. Brandybuck…yes…he did…he said it clearly, my Lord."

Frodo laughed again. "Do you really think that Meriadoc Brandybuck, the heir to Brandy Hall and future ruler of all Buckland would identify himself to a common…human? Or that he would be traveling without an escort?"

Frodo turned to Saruman as if he were an old friend, his smile broader and his eyes emoting honesty. "My cousin is a very important hobbit, Saru…my…my Lord Saruman. He never travels with less than ten armed soldiers for his personal security."

The reality of Frodo's words were just beginning to penetrate Grimbold's brain. "But…but…my Lord, he said he was…."

"Oh, but you are a credulous human idiot," said Frodo with as much distain as he could muster. "Samwise Gamgee has been trained to impersonate the master's son when it suits my cousin. They look a bit alike…in a superficial way. This little ruse has served my cousin well in the past and we oft times laugh on it. There are many threats against Meriadoc's life…a hobbit in his position and all." Frodo smiled at Saruman. "That poor wretch in the basement will claim to be my cousin until I tell him to stop."

"No!" shouted Grimbold, "he said…"

"Cretin!" Saruman slapped Grimbold on the face, spinning him across the room and into the wall where he slumped down to the floor and did not move again.

The wizard turned to Frodo, who backed up a step. "And now, halfling, since you are suddenly so forthcoming with information, where is the Ring?"

"I am finally feeling like myself," Frodo glanced at the unconscious Grimbold and then back at Saruman, raising his eyebrows haughtily and straightening his weskit. "After a considerable amount of ill treatment, I might add."

Frodo felt Saruman's icy gaze and he shivered, early memories flooding back into his mind. He did remember a Ring, long ago. He cleared his throat. "However, you were correct in your original premise," he looked up evenly and bowed, "my Lord Saruman."

The wizard stared at him.

"About the Ring,” Frodo said calmly, straightening up. “My Ring, that is."

"Tell me!" Saruman's voice was a hiss, his normally keen judgment clouded by his lust for the most powerful object in Middle Earth.

"My older cousin, Bilbo Baggins, found It on his travels decades ago. I have owned It for many years myself, using It…for my own amusement."

Saruman's eyes widened and he sucked in his saliva to keep it from drooling down his face. Again, the mind that should have known better was clouded with lust for the Ring and a longing it could barely contain.

Frodo continued, trying to keep his voice steady as more memories crept into his mind.

"Another wizard, a friend of Bilbo's, asked me to take It to Rivendell."

Saruman stared at the hobbit, his eyes a cold shaft of dawn light, and so intent he was on Frodo's words that a small drop of spittle did spill from his lips. "Gandalf the Grey."

"Quite." answered Frodo crisply. "Well, in any event, the adventure sounded amusing so I left Hobbiton with my servant, Samwise, and we stopped at my cousin's country home in Crickhollow."

He stopped, his mind swirling in blackness. Sweat stood out on his brow. "I…I don't remember any more."

"You insolent…" Saruman raised his hand and Frodo braced himself but the wizard thought better of it and stopped. "So the Ring is with the Heir to Buckland?"

Frodo tried to make his voice relaxed—no small feat given how fast his heart was beating.

"Ah, my cousin, Meriadoc. Yes. He is doubtless in hiding with his army of guards. But I might be able to find him…when I am better rested."

Saruman looked at him hungrily, again his keen judgment taking second place in his mind.

"But I need my servant back," Frodo continued, "if it is not too much trouble? Sarkat does not properly serve my needs. A gentlehobbit requires a hobbit to serve him." Frodo yawned. "We are not men and we require special care not known to humans. You understand."

"Your servant is no matter to me, provided you prove useful."

Frodo felt like he was going to faint. He swayed on his feet but quickly recovered. "Meriadoc is no friend of mine…My Lord…I will help but now I am fatigued."

Saruman called for Sarkat who was hovering around outside the door. "Take this halfling back to his room and release the other one into his custody." He turned to Frodo. "I will hold you responsible for your servant's actions."

Frodo yawned again. "You have no need to worry, my Lord. He is quite obedient."

****

Frodo Baggins stood at the window to his room, trying to summon the strength he would need to pull off his little masquerade. He gripped the stone window sill tightly, staring out at the lush Greenway with unseeing eyes. His mind instead focused on the blankness of the last few weeks, trying to remember how he had come by the wounds on his back and the scars on his wrists. All he could remember was the sweet, high voice of something beloved, deep inside, calling to him, and another voice, a male voice from the outside that brought all the terrors of his worst nightmares.

"Mr. Baggins."

Frodo swung around quickly to see Sarkat standing at the door to his room.

"Yes, what is it?" Frodo responded with more anger than he intended but before he could continue, two orcs dragged in a hobbit and threw him across the room, landing at Frodo's feet. He was even dirtier than Frodo remembered. And still naked.

"Your servant, I take it, sir?" Sarkat's disdain was manifest on his face, as if the orcs had dragged in a giant cockroach. "The one what's better'n me?"

Frodo gasped at the sandy head that didn't move. He wanted to kneel and hug Merry in his arms but instead he stepped aside and glared coldly at Sarkat. "For Eru's sake, man, clean him up. I can't have him serving me in this state."

Merry groaned and started to stir but Frodo put his foot on his cousin's rear, stamping him down to the stone floor. He hissed a warning under his breath, hoping that Merry would hear and stay still. But his hope was in vain.

"What is going on here?" Merry turned his face and braced his palms against the floor, trying to rise up.

Frodo winced at his cousin's bloody ankle and his purple wrists. Still, he shoved his foot down harder. "Quiet!" He ordered.

Merry recognized the voice. "FRO…"

Frodo quickly reached down and grabbed his hair, twisting it until Merry yelped. "Not another word out of you, my good hobbit."

"But…"

Frodo twisted harder.

"Ahhh!!" Merry screamed this time.

"Samwise, Samwise, look at the state you are in." Frodo spoke strongly, in a cold, authoritative voice that he had certainly never used with the real Sam. "You are a disgrace, hobbit. A disgrace to your station."

"But Fro…Ahhh!!"

Frodo twisted Merry's hair again, as hard as he could. "Not another word out of you, Samwise. I mean it!"

Moaning, Merry reached his hands around to grasp Frodo's fingers but he was weakened by long days of starvation and could not dislodge his cousin's grasp. He dropped his hands with a thud, his breathing fast and shallow as he fell into a faint.

With a sigh of relief, Frodo dropped his cousin's hair and let his head thump on the floor.

"Just get him cleaned up!" he shouted. I can't stand the sight of him…or the smell. Take him to the baths and scrub him within an inch of his life. Then get him something to wear and bring him to me. Listen to nothing he says, for he has been well trained to lie."

Sarkat started slowly across the floor.

"Move!" Frodo ordered, a little too loudly.

"Yes, sir." The human ran to the sandy-haired hobbit and picked him off the floor by the arm, his own lips curling into a complex expression that Frodo could not interpret.

As Sarkat dragged Merry out of the room, Frodo turned back to the window and grasped the stone sill, hoping the human would not see his shaking hands or the tears of frustration threatening to spill out of his eyes.

****

"Scrub 'im, you slimy maggots! 'Ard! Jus' like Mr. Baggins ordered!"

A large whip handle stuck out of Sarkat's belt and he squeezed his fingers around it as he loomed over the two twisted orcs. They were both bent double over a large, oval tub, scrubbing a little hobbit within an inch of his life.

The ruffian knew which way the wind was blowing at the moment—in the direction of Mr. Frodo Baggins. And he would blow with it, he would . Sarkat tightened his grip on the whip once again, an action not lost on the orcs.

"'Arder!"

“Ahhh!!” Merry yelped as the gruesome creatures scrubbed him with their warg-hair brushes. He was up to his neck in hot, soapy water and after days of freezing in Saruman's dungeon, the welcome heat was almost worth the raised welts and orc-claws rubbing up and down his appendages.

But not quite. He grabbed the sides of the tub and pulled himself up, muscles rippling as he grabbed the brush from the startled orc. It growled and reached a clawed hand toward Merry--only to have it smashed by the brush, bones cracking.

"Stop it, you filthy sod." Merry brought the brush down again, this time on its head, as he tried to stand in the tub.

Sarkat shoved Merry’s face underneath the water's surface and held him there. He glared at the dispassionate orc as it quickly reclaimed the brush from Merry's flailing hand.

The ruffian grabbed Merry's sandy curls, now wet and soapy, and pulled his head out of the water with a violent jerk.

"Ye better just sit tight, ratling, and do as you're told, or I'll make a present of ye ta one a these lovely, affectionate fellows 'ere." He grinned sadistically. "Ye wouldn't like it much, love."

Merry grimaced as he stared into the emotionless, yellow eyes of the orcs.

"'Arder!" Sarkat yelled suddenly.

Merry half jumped out of the water as the orcs brought their brushes down on his tender skin. But he bit his lower lip and kept his mouth shut while they scrubbed. Sarkat stood up and stepped back a few feet, folding his arms and watching the spectacle with a grim smile.

Finally the biggest one pulled Merry's legs apart and raised them up, making him grab the sides of the tub to keep himself above water. The other orc shoved his brush downwards seeking to clean Merry's genitals with the hard, bristly brush, using the same firm strokes as before.

“AAAAHHHHHHH!!!” Merry screamed at the top of his lungs, and energized by the pain, wiggled his slippery legs away. He turned around quickly, grabbing the orc's claw, and splashing water half way across the room.

"NOW THAT IS QUITE ENOUGH!" Merry was on his knees in the water, panting hard, his eyes bugged out in fury. "Quite enough, you, you…bloody creature. Get your hands off me!" Merry shoved harder and managed to push the orc away, emptying the tub even more.

He stood up in the sudsy water, his skin still caked with grime. "Give me a towel," he ordered Sarkat. "I will not endure another second of this treatment. You obviously don't realize who I am." He stretched out his hand, quite expecting Sarkat to comply.

"Are you deaf, man? A towel."

Sarkat was staring at him, or more precisely, at the reddening, furry cluster of privates between his legs, dripping with soap suds. His tongue slipped out of his mouth, licking his lips until a drop of yellow saliva darted down his chin. Sarkat grabbed Merry by the shoulders and shoved him back into the huge tub until he was completely underwater again.

Merry came up sputtering and cursing like a Brandywine riverbarge hobbit.

Sarkat’s large, knurled hand then easily encircled the hobbit's throat, holding him just out of the water. "Now, lookie 'ere, maggot. Mr. Baggins wants ye clean and clean ye shall be. So jus' keep your filthy mouth shut," He looked down at Merry's lower body, "If'n ye wants ta keep all yur…" he laughed, "sweet little parts."

To emphasize his point, Sarkat plunged Merry down into the water again until his face was just underneath. Merry’s fingernails dug desperately into the back of his hand but the man ignored it as he ran his other hand lower along the hobbit's body. He threaded his fingers through Merry’s furry cluster and grasped his genitals, easily encircling them with his huge hand.

"That is quite enough." The firm voice of Frodo Baggins echoed through the bath chamber as he stepped in the door. He was beautifully dressed in brown linen breeches with a crisp white shirt and a silk, brocade weskit, embroidered in green and yellow.

Sarkat turned, and letting go of Merry, stood up straight, more or less at attention, dripping with bath water.

Merry spit out a mouthful of the sudsy liquid. "Fi-lthy bug-g-er!” His mouth was so full of water, the words were almost unintelligible. He spit out the gray, sudsy mess and started to say more but a stern glance from Frodo stopped him.

Sarkat frowned as he turned back toward the bath. "'Ere," he threw a heavy wool cloth at one the orcs. "They's sensitive down there. Use this."

The orc put the brush down and took up the cloth with no expression whatsoever. To Merry's consternation, the creature rubbed lye soap over the cloth and reached down between his legs, picking up his balls. He pulled them out and began scrubbing them vigorously.

"Owooowoowouuo!! Owww!!" Merry screeched again.

Sarkat touched his forehead in salute to Frodo before kneeling and holding down the heir to Brandy Hall as he struggled and cursed at the top of his lungs, interspersing his cousin’s name unintelligibly in his fury. None of this had any effect on the orc, who scrubbed Merry's organs with the rough wool while the other orc worked on his legs with a brush.

Frodo bit his lip, folding his arms across his chest, trying to play the part of a stern master. Finally, he cleared his throat. "Stop it."

Sarkat snapped his fingers and the orcs immediately stood up, each bending over in their natural posture. The ruffian gestured his head towards the door and they scampered out.

"You may go too." Frodo nodded dismissively to Sarkat, then turned and stared wide-eyed at Merry, demanding silence.

Sarkat frowned. "We only done the front of 'im, sir. 'E needs to be scrubbed on the backside too.

Merry cringed, and try as he might, tears came to his eyes at the thought of any more brushing.

Frodo rolled up his bright, clean shirtsleeves. "I'll do it. You men don't know how to bathe hobbits. You're too rough, you'll damage him and then he won't be any use to me at all."

Merry's eye's widened and a quizzical expression crossed his brow but Frodo cut it off with a glance.

"Not a word out of you, SAMWISE GAMGEE!" he ordered harshly--but his eyes pleaded with Merry's to be quiet.

Sarkat fingered his whip as he looked Merry over. "Well, ye do look clean enough on this side."

He leaned down and grabbed the hobbit by the shoulder, unceremoniously turning him over, splashing water on himself and Frodo.

"Sorry, sir," He said to Frodo as he picked up one of the brushes--a grim-looking affair with wire-hard, warg hair glued together in numerous perpendicular bundles.

The ruffian’s one rheumy eye stared at the hobbit in the tub, with dirt-caked skin sticking up through the soap suds. "You needn't bother yourself, Mr. Baggins," Sarkat said, turning to Frodo and rifling the bristles. I'll clean 'im up to your satisfaction, sir. Ye won't 'ave no complaints."

Frodo grabbed the brush from his hands. "I said that I would do it, Sarkat."

The ruffian's eye narrowed suspiciously. "Thought 'e was your servant. No master I ever 'ear'd of ever washed down a servant."

Merry's mouth opened again but Frodo shoved his head under the water. He came up sputtering and coughing and for the moment incapable of speech or protest.

Frodo smiled as best as he could. "Well, he is more than a servant…to me."

Sarkat inclined his head questioningly.

"SAM HERE," Frodo nodded at Merry, "performs many services for me." He stared at Sarkat's eye in a knowing manner.

The ruffian knitted his eyebrows for a second than burst into laughter. "Oh, I sees, sir!" He laughed. "Loud'n clear." He leaned down and ran the brush lightly over Merry's upturned ass causing him to jerk it back under the water.

"It is purdy, Sammy, I'll give ya that." He stroked the submerged bum again with the brush, harder this time, raising a line of welts.

"AAAHHH STOP IT, YOU PONY'S ASSHOLE!" Merry screamed again, his fury out of control as he tried to turn and stand. "I AM NOT…"

Sarkat laughed as Frodo dunked Merry's protesting mouth back under the grimy water. He then handed the brush to Frodo and stepped back, still snickering. "Whatever ye wants, Mr. Baggins."

"You are dismissed." Said Frodo, taking the brush.

"Well, sir, now I dunno." Sarkat looked toward the door. "My Lord Saruman didn't say nuthin' about leaving you twos alone in 'ere. Don't think I should, sir." He looked down at the sputtering, naked hobbit in the tub, and licked his lips lightly. "No, sir, don't think I should."

Frodo sighed but he didn't call Sarkat's bluff. Instead he knelt down beside the tub and stared at Merry's eyes, his own eyes wide with insistence, pleading silently. He held Merry under the collar bone, keeping his face out of the water and gently rubbed his back with the brush.

"Owwww!" Merry screeched again.

"My, this dirt is deep in his skin, Sarkat." Frodo stopped brushing and leaned in to examine Merry’s back. "Very deep."

He leaned over further. "Mer, just go along." Frodo whispered almost inaudibly into his cousin's ear.

But Merry continued to squirm, trying desperately to get out of the water. He got his hands on the rim again and tried to stand up, only to slip and then be shoved hard into the water by Sarkat, whose big hand lingered on Merry's ass.

The huge splash of dirty water had soaked Frodo's new clothes.

"SAM!" Frodo raised the brush and slapped Merry hard on his behind, just missing Sarkat's hand, which may have been his intended target. The sound reverberated through the room.

"Hold still!"

Merry winced but relaxed back into the water, glaring at Sarkat.

"Good,” said Frodo. “Now…I'll, I'll broke no nonsense from you, SAMWISE, do you understand?" He glared at Merry.

Merry merely nodded, his eyes dark with rage.

Under Sarkat's watchful gaze, Frodo put down the brush and picked up the woolen cloth. He scrubbed Merry's arms and then gently down his damaged back, trying to be careful but reddening the skin nonetheless. Merry's lips were clamped shut, his upper teeth quite deeply imbedded in his lower lip. He cringed and whimpered as Frodo began cleaning his scarred buttocks again.

Sarkat smiled as he stepped back up to get a better look.

Frodo soaped the rough cloth and used it to gently caress Merry's smooth, rear cheeks. He rubbed them in ever-growing circles, avoiding the previous brush scratches, scrubbing away the embedded dungeon dirt, and gently smoothening out the creases that still marred the once-perfect hobbit flesh.

Ever the thorough hobbit, Frodo rubbed the rough cloth deep inside Merry's cleft and cleaned him thoroughly--not only there but between his legs and down the inside of his thighs.

Merry kept still, fighting a growing erection and tears of humiliation as he heard the ruffian laughing and repeating under his breath purdy, purdy, 'e is, Mr. Baggins, I'll surely give 'im that, I'll surely give 'im that.

Finally Frodo continued downwards, across the backs of Merry's calves and to his cousin's feet. Wrapping them in the cloth, he gently cleaned between his toes and scrubbed the furry tops, pulling at the, thick, sandy colored hair and eliciting a small sigh of pleasure from Merry.

Frodo smiled as he wrung out the cloth and laid it neatly on the edge of the tub. He reached inside and turned Merry over, causing Sarkat to slurp his saliva in lustful sounds, moving even closer.

"That's enough!" Merry sat up and covered his lengthening shaft , desperately wishing that the floor would collapse and swallow him and the tub into its depths.

Frodo turned to Sarkat. "Get me some fresh, hot water!"

Sarkat walked over to a large caldron and filled a bucket. When he returned, Frodo was rubbing the back of Merry's neck and shoulders, his strong fingers flattening out the knots of tension. He gently poured some hot water over Merry's matted hair and, with fresh soap on his hands, lathered them up with suds. Merry closed his eyes as Frodo washed and untangled his hair, gently massaging his scalp with tender fingertips. Finally he poured more hot water over Merry's curls and washed away the soap.

"Stand up, Sam." Frodo spoke firmly.

Merry frowned at him but he placed his hands on the rim of the tub, and with Frodo's help, stood up in the dirty water, a much cleaner and redder hobbit than when he had been dragged into it. He closed his eyes with embarrassment and quickly put his hands down but his erection was impossible to hide.

"Oh, my yes, purdy he is," whispered Sarkat as Frodo poured the rest of the water over his cousin, washing away the clinging soapsuds.

"Get me a towel or a robe or something!" ordered Frodo angrily, as he helped Merry out of the tub. "I can't have my servant walking around.. .like this!"

Sarkat smiled, "Right 'ere, Mr. Baggins." He procured a small towel from a nearby shelf. "Right 'ere."

Frodo stepped aside as Sarkat proceeded to rub Merry down, none too gently and, it seemed to Merry, a bit too slowly in some areas.

"There ye be," said Sarkat when he was finished. "No need ta fuss."

Merry grabbed the small towel from him and wrapped it around himself as best he could.

They walked back to Frodo's room and Merry's mouth opened agape when he saw the beautiful quarters. Velvet furniture, large by hobbit standards, but luxurious, with a heavily padded sofa and chairs set in front of a warm fire. On the other side, a huge four poster featherbed was appointed with a thick down comforter and numerous silken-clad pillows. There was a large window across from the doorway that let in bright sunlight, and next to it, a dinning table was laden high with second breakfast and steaming hot tea. A carved oak chair was pulled back and waited invitingly.

Sarkat shoved Merry into the room so hard that he had to grab for the scanty towel.

"Where's 'e gonna sleep, sir?" Sarkat asked. "I can bring in a cot or somethin' to put in the corner."

"Well…" Frodo hesitated.

"Or," Sarkat smiled licentiously. "I suppose 'e could sleep yonder." The ruffian smirked as he pointed with his thumb to the four-poster. "With yourself."

Merry opened his mouth but Frodo grabbed his arm. "Quiet, SAM," he ordered loudly. He looked down at Merry's barely concealed body and squeezed his arm harder. "Oh, dear. Just…just get into bed until you can… relax…and we can find you some decent clothes."

Merry face was scarlet as he stared at the luxurious bed. But he made no protest as Frodo dragged him by the arm and helped him climb the steps into the inviting feather mattress, taking the wet towel from him.

Merry snuggled into the covers and laid his head on the soft pillow, the events of the day bearing down on him all at once. Within seconds he knew no more.

****

He awoke some time later to find Frodo standing on the steps staring over him.

"How do you feel?"

Merry yawned and a loud sigh escaped his lips. "Terrible…but the bed was nice." He glanced around the room. "What is this place?"

“Saruman's best guest room, I imagine. Here, get dressed, quickly before Sarkat comes back. We need to talk.”

Merry climbed out of bed and put on the clothes Frodo handed him.

"What is this!?" He said angrily, looking at himself in the mirror-glass.

"Well, it’s better than being naked, Mer. Now, listen to me..."

"But," Merry glared at himself in the mirror, his voice rising. "These are servant's clothes!"

And indeed, Meriadoc Brandybuck was dressed in liveried servant attire, identical to Sarkat's uniform. A large white palm with fingers raised upwards was painted on his right shoulder and on the back of his shirt.

Merry stared into the mirror at Frodo, standing behind him. "Get me some clothes like yours." He turned to his cousin, looking him up and down. "Those are nice."

"They sent someone to Bree for them and they brought back some decent food, too." Frodo gestured to the well appointed table. "You must be hungry."

Merry's glance lingered on the table for a second but then his angry eyes found Frodo's again. "I am not wearing these clothes. Get me something else, Frodo. I mean it."

Frodo turned on his heel and walked over to the table. He sat down and began to pour himself some tea..

"Oh, balls!" Merry's stomach overcame his pride and he stomped over to the table, pulling out a chair. The food looked delicious and he was famished.

"NO!" Frodo shouted at him.

Merry stopped dead in his tracks, thinking an orc was about to stab him, while Frodo stared fearfully at the open door.

"What?!" Merry said, seeing nothing amiss. "Have you gone daft?" He reached out to take a hot roll but Frodo grabbed his hand.

"What is the matter with you, Fro? I'm hungry!"

Frodo sighed, looking at the door again. "Very well, quick, just don't sit down."

Merry grabbed the roll and stuffed it in his mouth, mindless for a time of all his questions. But that time wasn't long.

"What is going on?"

"I told them you were my servant, that you were Sam Gamgee."

Merry's eyes bugged out. "WHAT?!!"

"It was the only way to get you…" Frodo stopped abruptly as they heard heavy footsteps in the hallway.

"So I sees the clothes fits 'im. Thought they would." Sarkat was standing in the open door, his arms folded across his chest. "Used ta belong to me little brother when 'e was a kid."

With a sigh, Frodo leaned back in his chair. "Samwise," he said quietly, "pour me some fresh tea, you've let this cup get cold."

****

Merry stood where he was, unmoving. Slowly he turned to face his cousin, his eyes blazing, a little hissing sound escaping his lips.

Frodo clenched the arms of his chair to keep them from shaking. He looked up at Merry but his cousin was giving no quarter.

Merry opened his mouth. "Fr…"

"SAMWISE!" Frodo shouted desperately.

Merry jumped, meeting Frodo's pleading eyes with his own infuriated ones. He sucked in his breath and slowly picked up his cousin's teacup. He poured the stale tea into a basin on the dresser and wiped the cup with a towel. Then he placed it back down on the saucer and poured fresh tea for Frodo.

Frodo cleared his throat, almost soundlessly.

Merry swallowed hard. "Will there be anything else…"

Frodo cleared his throat again.

"…Ah…Mr…Mr. Frodo?"

Frodo sighed with relief and took a slow sip of tea. "Set me out some breakfast and then make the bed and tidy up, of course." He looked around. "The floor could use a scrub and that bag of clothes in the corner needs washing. I will be glad of your service once again, Sam."

Frodo turned to Sarkat as Merry proceeded to fill his plate with rolls, fruit, and cold meat. "You must have other duties better suited to your talents, Sarkat. I have my own servant now." He clicked his tongue in frustration as Merry dropped a spoon, clanging loudly on the floor. "And he knows how best to fulfill my needs."

Sarkat eyed Merry lecherously. "I'm sure 'e does, Mr. Baggins," he laughed. "But I 'ave not been relieved of me duties, sir, and I don't need ta be askin’ for any more, if'n ya git me meanin'." I'll jus' be outside the door 'ere…in case ye needs me."

Frodo opened his mouth but thought better of it. He picked up his knife and fork, gesturing to Merry with a shake of his head, and started to eat his breakfast. His cousin moved to a position beside Frodo’s chair and stood there silently.

Sarkat smirked at Merry again before turning and walking back into the hallway. The hobbits could hear his footfalls stop right outside and his chair scraping up against the wall.

Frodo closed his eyes in frustration. "That will do, Sam," he said, a bit louder than necessary. "Now attend to your other duties."

Merry bared his teeth and glared with enlarged eyes but he kept his mouth shut as he grabbed another roll and a piece of meat off Frodo's plate. He stuffed them in his mouth as he walked over to the bed. Pulling the covers up, Merry straightened the bedclothes with more force than necessary while Frodo buttered a sweet roll and proceeded slowly to eat it.

****

Before Frodo could finish his extravagant meal, Sarkat was back. He gestured to Merry who was just smoothing down the bed for the seventeenth time.

"Hey you, Samwise, whatever your name is."

Frodo cringed at another hiss escaping from Merry's lips.

"Hey, I'm talkin' to ye, lad."

Merry turned to face his tormentor. "WHAT!" He caught Frodo's reproving eye. "What," he repeated.

"Come along with me, ye needs to eat and get some things for your master."

"I will do no such thing," said Merry. "There is plenty of food here."

Sarkat laughed out loud. "This ain't for the likes o' you, Samwise, ye eat like the rest of us…downstairs."

"I will not…"

"Sam," said Frodo quietly, "go with Sarkat, now there's a good fellow."

Merry turned on Frodo with a look that would have shattered glass but his cousin was intent on applying a large dollop of butter very precisely to yet another sweet roll.

Merry pulled upon the bedcovers one more time, tearing the silken fabric. Without looking at his dining cousin, he stomped out of the bedroom behind the ruffian.

****

Frodo Baggins was sitting on the sofa, reading a beautifully bound elvish book when his cousin finally returned from his excursion into the kitchens of Isengard. He was lugging a huge bucket of soapy water, followed by two orcs, each carrying more buckets and a large washtub. Sarkat made up the end of the procession but he wasn't carrying anything.

Merry, sweat pouring down his face, put down the bucket with a thud that sent the soapy water all over the floor. He looked longingly at the soft chair by the fireplace.

"Well now," said Sarkat, "ye 'ave what ye needs to do your work, and ye had a chance ta eat. Not my fault ye wouldn't touch it, laddie." He smiled as he ordered the orcs to remove the food on Frodo's table, much to Merry's chagrin. "Can I bring ye anythin' else, Mr. Baggins?"

Frodo waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. "No, Sarkat, this is fine."

Sarkat bowed and motioned the orcs out of the room. He turned to Merry. "Well, what are ya waitin' for, Yuleday? Scrub the floor, like your master's told ya!"

Merry shot a glance at Frodo but his cousin seemed quite intent on the book he was reading. Merry made sure he heard his hiss of rage as he shoved the bucket over to the wall and dropped down on his knees. He then took out a small warg brush and began to scrub the dirty stone.

Sarkat walked over to Merry and gave him a kick in the calves. "I'll be back ta check your work, maggot," he whispered, "so don't ye be slackin' off. Me thinks your master's too kind ta ye, I do, but you'll find out, Sammy, that I am not that nice."

Merry turned his head but thought better of expressing the rejoinder he had in mind. Instead he turned to the task at hand and continued scrubbing.

Sarkat turned in the doorway. "I better hear you scrubbin' hard, lad, or I'll be back 'ere and give ya what for."

Frodo looked up and Sarkat bowed. "Jus' lookin' after your interests, sir," he said quietly. "Give the like o' 'im an inch an' they takes a mile, sir."

Frodo nodded a dismissal and Sarkat turned into the hallway, leaving the door open. The hobbits heard his chair scrape once again against the stone.

Merry knelt up and turned to Frodo, his eyes enraged. His cousin quickly made little scrubbing movements with his hand and Merry twisted back, scrubbing the floor as noisily as he could.

Frodo sighed as he wondered once again how they had gotten into this predicament, what had happened to his memory, and how he would get Merry to cooperate. He watched his proud cousin on his knees scrubbing Saruman's floor and for a moment, was taken by the beautiful, rounded, Brandybuck behind. Clothed in tight fitting, Orthanc livery, it moved vigorously back and forth.

Yes, thought Frodo as he indulged his eyes a bit longer. It is purdy.

****

Frodo listened to the scraping of bristles on stone, trying to concentrate on the book of poetry. The verse was First Age and not to his taste, making it all the harder. He leaned back against the sofa with a sigh and peeped over the top. Merry was sitting down on his heels glaring at him, all the while wiping the brush uselessly in circles—just enough to make a noise. His eyes were red as fire and his mouth cursed his cousin in soundless fury.

Gone was the Merry who had wept for Frodo by the river; the Brandybuck before him was his cousin of Crickhollow, stripped of his power but not of his pride or determination.

“Just wash the floor!” Frodo mouthed vigorously, his eyebrows raised, his own eyes pleading as he eyed the door. He could see Sarkat’s bouncing foot crossed over his leg as he sat humming an unintelligible tune.

Suddenly the ruffian slid his chair off the wall, making a dull thud on the floor.

Frodo buried his eyes in the poetry and he could hear the familiar hiss as Merry quickly turned, head downward, and began to scrub the filthy stones.

“’Ow’s ‘e doin’?” Sarkat poked his head in the door, lingering his eyes a bit too long on Merry’s prostrate form.

“The room will shine in no time,” said Frodo, staring into the book with forced boredom in his voice. “Sam’s quite adept at housekeeping.”

"Aye," Sarkat smacked his lips. "'E's quite…adept."

Frodo turned to the wretched human and mustered his most authoritarian manner. “I would speak with your master.” He looked back into the book. “Please arrange for an audience.”

Sarkat laughed. “My Lord Saruman does all the ‘arrangin’ around ‘ere, Mr. Baggins.” His eyes again shifted to the other side of the room. “Best if ye jus’ do the waitin’, if’n you get me meanin’…sir.”

Frodo clicked his tongue in frustration. “Then you can just leave me in peace while I do it.” He glanced over the top of the book as Merry’s beautiful ass crawled backward to continue scrubbing a fresh spot. In spite of himself, Frodo smiled.

Sarkat lowered his eyes and twisted them toward the scubbing hobbit as he bowed, backing out into the hallway. He tilted his chair back against the wall and sat down.

Merry stopped again but this time Frodo was on his feet, fingers to his lips. He swiftly walked to the door and started to close it. Sarkat was back on his feet in a flash. “Stays open, sir. Orders.” He smirked at Frodo. “I stays here too.”

Frodo turned on his heel and made another scrubbing pantomime to Merry. He then walked over to the desk, pulled out writing materials and began furiously to write a letter. When he had finished, he sealed it with wax and walked over to the door.

"Deliver this to your master."

Sarkat took the letter but he didn't move.

"He will be unhappy if you are delaying his mail, Sarkat."

Outmanoeuvred, Sarkat bowed and turned to leave. Suddenly he stopped and marched into the room. "You, get up."

Merry lifted his sore knees off the stone floor and stood, his hands dripping with sudsy water.

"Come with me, you'd best get your master's elevensies from the kitchen."

Merry gritted his teeth but he didn't say anything this time, only rolled his eyes toward Frodo as he was marched out the door with Sarkat's hand grabbing the scruff of his neck.

****

Frodo was staring out the window when they returned. He reeled around quickly and Merry's keen eyes caught the complex look of longing on his cousin’s face…and the beginnings of tears. He hurried across the partially washed floor, balancing a heavy tray laden with steaming quail, cheese, rolls and fruit. The smell filled the room.

But Frodo had recovered his equanimity. He coughed a few times into his handkerchief and nodded at his cousin without expression.

"Serve your master, now, git on with ya." Sarkat growled fiercely.

Merry was too intent on the tray to grumble and with great effort he set it down on the table without spilling anything. Frodo sighed apologetically and sat down, allowing Merry to pour him some hot tea with sugar. Under the watchful eye of Sarkat, Merry carved the meat off the tiny quails and placed it on Frodo's plate, surrounding it with cheeses and vegetables. He looked longingly at the food, having again refused the greasy roots he had been offered in the kitchen.

Frodo took a roll, split it in half and covered it with butter while Merry stood by his cousin's chair, hands to his side.

Sarkat returned to his hallway post, giving Merry the chance to grab some food and stuff it quickly into his mouth. He appeared at the door again just as Merry was refilling Frodo's teacup. "My master will see you now, Mr. Baggins."

Frodo rose quickly. "Very well. Sam, you will accompany me."

"No." Sarkat was adamant.

"My servant always attends me at important meetings."

"No, sir. No. My Lord Saruman will not be pleased ta see this one. 'Sides, he needs ta finish the floor." There was no hint of any compromise in Sarkat's tone.

Frodo wiped his lips with a linen napkin and dropped it on his plate.

"Very well. Sam, you will finish the floor and wash my laundry," he said, indicating the large cloth bag in the corner. "I shall return presently and will expect to see it completed."

“Yes, Mr. Frodo." Merry squeaked the words out as best he could.

Frodo sighed and stepped into the hall where an orc stood ready to escort him to Saruman's study.

Sarkat stepped inside and piled himself a generous plate of food from Frodo's table. He sat down on the plush sofa and kicked Frodo's book across the table, propping his feet in its place. He picked up a huge piece of quail and stuffed it in his mouth.

"Well, Sammy," he said with an upturned grin. "Git at it."

****

Frodo bowed before Saruman, showing a respect he did not feel but that he hoped would get him closer to his freedom. "My Lord."

The wizard strode across the room, his feet barely touching the floor. Without a word he grabbed the bending hobbit violently by the arm, pulling him off his feet.

Too stunned to speak, Frodo grunted in protest while the tall wizard pulled him forward, quite horizontally, heels dragging against the polished granite floor. They soon reached the stark, grey balcony with its silver balustrade. Saruman grabbed Frodo's other arm and easily lifted him high in the air and over the railing, down on the other side. The ground suddenly appeared beneath his dangling legs, hundreds of feet below.

The Greenway view in the distance was lost on the Master of Bag End as his eyes widened and his breath caught in terror. Speech evaded him but his hearing was functioning all too well.

"Now, master halfling," Saruman's voice vibrated down the valley. "What say you?"

Frodo tried to answer but his brain no longer controlled his vocal chords. "Ummaaaa!!" was all he could articulate.

"Your miserable, useless, little life is in my hands and I will determine its disposition, I alone. Do you understand?"

"Ye…s." Frodo choked out, confirming the obvious between hyperventilations.

"You do not write notes to me, nor do you dictate terms in my own tower!"

Frodo closed his eyes against his terror, his legs flailing miserably in the open air. But he came to terms with his situation. "No…Saru…My Lord Saruman." He stopped wiggling and hung from the wizard's strong hands, perfectly still. "My…my con…cern is for myself and…and my servant, Samwise."

Saruman shook him violently, causing his eyes to open against his will. The valley far below seemed unreal, like he was a bird looking down upon it—a bird without wings.

In spite of himself, Frodo’s voice shook with fear as his feet railed helplessly in the open air. "I will…help you find the…Ring…my…my Lord…Saruman."

Saruman shook him again, harder this time.

“And…and my thieving cousin, Meriadoc. You needn’t worry…he has It, my Lord, and” Frodo clenched his hands and prayed Eru would forgive him. "I know where he…is."

****


Chapter Three

While his cousin dangled over the park at Isengard, Meriadoc Brandybuck was actually on his knees bending over the large washbasin on the shinning clean floor of Frodo's room. The water was steaming-hot and sudsy with Frodo's dirty clothes at the bottom, waiting to be scrubbed.

"Well, watarya waitin' for?" Sarkat had abandoned the sofa and was now sitting at Frodo's table, stuffing himself with the remainders of elevensies. He had discovered Frodo's brandy stores and was helping himself to that as well. "Your master'll whip ya if'n ye don’t 'ave 'is clothes clean when 'e gets back."

Merry's stomach growled as the smell of roast quail permeated the chamber. He looked up at the door and then at the huge man sitting at the table, guzzling brandy straight out of the decanter. Realizing that his choices were few, Merry sunk his sore hands back into the water and grabbed a piece of linen. Lifting it out, he realized it was Frodo's smallclothes.

Cringing and wrinkling his nose, Merry picked up the warg-hair brush and started to scrub his cousin's underwear, feeling as low as he ever had in his life. His mind drifted back to the glorious days at Crickhollow when Frodo, Pippin, and Sam were more than happy to jump to his every command. When he was loved and feared. When he was the ruler of all.

Merry twisted and wrung out the underwear, squeezing it damp. He dropped it on the floor but before he could reach for another piece of clothing, Sarkat yelled from across the room.

"That ain't clean. Wash it again! And no brush on your master's new clothes."

Merry didn't bother to reply. He picked up the underwear and dipped it in the water again, scrubbing it with his hands and leaning so deeply over the tub that his elbows were in the water.

His stomach cramped in hunger, his back and knees ached and his hands burned with the strong lye soap. The beginnings of self-pity brought tears to his eyes.

It wasn't fair. He was no servant, he didn't know how to be a servant, he had never washed clothes, he didn't even know how to do it! This stupid, crass, menial…

"Need some help, little ratling?"

Sarkat was standing over him. "Ye don't look too comfortable." The ruffian bent down on one knee and put his arm around Merry's shoulder. "I could help ye git it done sooner, ye know, so's we can 'ave some free time 'afore your master gits back."

"Get your filthy hands off me, bugger." Merry shook off Sarkat's arm.

Sarkat laughed as he dipped his hand into the steaming basin. He pulled out a large, woollen garment, dripping and heavy.

"My, my, but this needs…some cleanin'," he said, smirking at Merry, his words slurred with drink. "My old nightshirt, what I lent 'im. Mighty damaged, I'd say, and full of nasty…ah…little stains."

He reached out, grabbing Merry by the shirt and pulling him in close. "Go ahead and wash this up now, little sweetling." Sarkat shoved Merry's shoulders over the basin, running his hand down his scarred back and over his waist. "And while you're at it, maybe ye can explain about 'ow they got there…Samwise…me little prize." He giggled, grasping Merry's waist tighter. "Sweetling, halfling, sweetling, halfling...ol' Sarkat would loooove to 'ear all about it, now. And maybe my Lord Saruman will let me 'ave you, all permanent-like." He smiled, his three teeth shining in the mid-day sunlight streaming through the windows. "Then ye can wash my underpants…and other things."

****

Saruman laughed to himself as he effortlessly dangled Frodo over the balcony. The cocky halfling wasn't so sharp anymore, he thought. “You have learned your lesson?” He asked evenly.

Frodo closed his eyes in torment. “Yes, my Lord Saruman,” he whispered.

The wizard suddenly leaned over and tossed Frodo straight up into the air, arms and legs flailing, a small scream escaping his lips.

But Saruman caught him easily on the way down, this time, without a sound. The silence made him wonder if the hobbit had passed out or died of fright. Reluctantly, he pulled the halfling back over the railing and stood him on the floor. Frodo was neither unconscious nor dead. He stared up at the wizard, chest heaving, his big blue eyes shaken but not subdued.

Saruman laughed out loud. "You have courage, halfling,” he said. “Come.” And with that he turned and walked through the open doorway.

Frodo took one last look at the valley and shuddered, then he followed Saruman into the dark, black-walled room, lit only from the outside through glass stained with red.

He felt small and insignificant standing next to the immortal Istari within his sacred lair--this spiritual being who had lived thousands of years, with powers he could not even imagine. None of Gandalf’s friendliness was there, only the raw strength of one who had witnessed the history of this world and beyond. Frodo shivered, wondering how he would ever outwit this fearsome creature.

At present, the creature was ignoring him, his hand feeling along the side of a tall bookcase, laden with manuscripts, powders, wands, and magic tokens. Frodo wondered briefly if Gandalf had such a home somewhere where he stayed during his long absences from the Shire.

His thoughts were interrupted by a tiny clicking sound and his eyes widened to see the entire bookcase swing open upon another chamber, dark as a starless night. Saruman lit a candle and stepped inside, beckoning for Frodo to follow.

Still trembling from his brush with death, Frodo looked around the wizard's chamber, considered his options and found them lacking. He thus stepped inside and the bookcase closed soundlessly, leaving them alone in a perfectly round, windowless room. The walls were bare and there was no furniture save a six foot high pedestal in the exact center—and on top of that rested a perfectly symmetrical globe of richly polished, black glass.

"A palantir." Frodo whispered in awe, unable to take his eyes off the legendary object.

"Not only courageous but intelligent and studied as well." Saruman looked upon the hobbit with more respect than before. "I am impressed with you, halfling, and perhaps you are indeed equivalent to the task I require."

Frodo swallowed hard. Hobbits had no business near such objects of supernatural power, especially hobbits who could not even contain their own memories. He had no right to be there.
"I…no…" Frodo backed against the seamless wall behind him.

Saruman gestured at the pedestal and it shrank down and down, bringing the sacred seeing stone just below Frodo's eye level.

Frodo stared at the dark, limitless object, hopelessly drawn to its beauty…and something else. The high, light voice in his head was louder now and more beautiful. It too longed for something, longed as deeply as he did.

Saruman gestured higher, and the globe began to glow with the faintest of lights.

"You will look."

"NO!" Frodo forced his back into the unyielding wall. "No, no, no, I cannot…My Lord Saruman."

The voice in his head called louder. It was the voice he had clung to through the long, dark mists, the voice of his parents, his friends, his beloved family.

Frodo, come…

Saruman gazed at Frodo, his silver eyes mesmerizing and controlling. "Do not fear, halfling. This stone is mine. If I allow you to look, you will be safe."

The palantir glowed more brightly, vibrating to the sound of Saruman's voice. Frodo stared into its depths, hypnotized by its power. He took a step forward.

Saruman smiled. "Come, halfling. Let us see your cousin and the Ring of Power."

Frodo stepped closer. It was so beautiful. The voice was so beautiful. As he closed his eyes to listen, Saruman took his hand and led him forward. Frodo walked the remaining steps as the globe shone brightly through his closed lids. Powerless, he reached out and grasped its smooth, hot surface as Saruman backed quickly away, averting his eyes and any contact with the will of Sauron.

But the halfling was not so wise or knowing. Unable to help himself, he opened his eyes wide and stared into the globe of dazzling light.

****

Merry scrubbed the nightshirt with the warg-hair brush, trying to remove the dungeon stains that permeated its fibers. He concentrated hard on the task, trying to ignore Sarkat's spindly arm across his shoulder and his fetid breath on his cheek.

"'Ere, Sammy, let ol' Sarkat show ye 'ow it's done." Sarkat leaned forward, wrapping his arm completely around Merry, and grabbed the shirt from the other side. He proceeded to scrub it, all the while rubbing Merry's sore back with his outstretched arm. The pain was excruciating and Merry leaned in closer to the tub but Sarkat also bent lower, planting a slobbering kiss on the hobbit's cheek.

"NO!" Merry ducked low and slid out from under Sarkat's arms but the ruffian was too fast and too big. He grabbed Merry by his damp shirt and pulled him close.

Merry slapped him hard across the face, hurting his own hand but doing very little damage to the crusty old human.

Sarkat laughed out loud. "Ah, a feisty little sweetling." He planted a wetter kiss on Merry's lips, trying to force his tongue between tightly clenched teeth. "Just 'ow I likes 'em."

Merry spit out the human's saliva. "Let me go!" He wiggled hard but the man was far too strong.

Sarkat stood up and dragged Merry with him to the door, which he quietly shut. "So's we 'ave some privacy, ya know." He gazed lustfully at Merry. "Mighty purdy, sweetling. Been wantin' to git me 'ands on that sweet baby ass for a long time."

Merry struggled and twisted but the human held him fast. Finally he used the one advantage he had against a human, jumping up high and swinging into Sarkat's groin with all the considerable strength of his big, hairy, hobbit feet.

"Owwww!!" Sarkat screamed at the top of his lungs and Merry was out of his grasp.

He ran to the other side of the room but there was no place to go or escape. The ruffian was between him and the door whereas the window led to a straight drop and certain death. He leaned against the wall, panting, looking for some kind of weapon as Sarkat growled mannish curses, bent over in agony.

"You gonna wish you'd never been born, rat." Sarkat panted with rage. "Ye no more me sweetling, no, little one, ye now me rat…and I'll use ye like a rat." He looked up, rubbing his privates and enjoying the fear in Merry's eyes. He grimaced and straightened up painfully.

"Rat, rat, rat." Sarkat whispered, moving forward, his guttural breathing shaky with lust.

Merry looked from side to side. It was folly to stay where he was so he took the only path open to him, forward. He straightened himself up and marched toward the human, reaching the tub of dirty clothes. He picked it up and dumped its contents all over the floor, the sudsy water washing over Sarkat's feet and making the clean floor all the more slick.

Still unsteady from the pain, Sarkat slipped badly and fell on the overturned tub with a loud groan. Merry saw his chance and leapt around the side, darting past but he hadn't counted on Sarkat's own legs, which splayed out at the last minute to trip him.

They were both lying sideways on the sudsy floor, inches from each other, each crying out in anger. But it was a lost contest for the hobbit. The human grabbed his hair, dragging him across the soaking floor. He pulled Merry up against his chest with his other hand and held him there, struggling and kicking against the hard stone.

"Calm down, little rat, little rat." Sarkat' brandy-soured breath hit Merry's nostrils like pond slime. His knurled hand reached down and covered Merry's behind. He squeezed it hard, pressing Merry's genitals into his own.

"No!" Merry wiggled every which way but to no avail.

Sarkat pressed him down hard, while at the same time lifting his head by the hair and planting a slobbering kiss all over Merry's mouth.

"Ack!" Merry spit again and turned his face away but the pain was terrible as Sarkat twisted him back by the hair.

"And now, Samwise, me lad, I'll be showin' ye what rats is for."

"NO!! YOU BLOODY IDIOT!!" Merry screamed in helpless rage. "I AM NOT…"

Sarkat laughed as he sat up, dragging Merry into his lap and kissing him again, smothering his cries of protest. Finally he stood up, never letting go of Merry's hair, and dragged the future Master of Buckland to he high four-poster bed, easily lifting him onto it, face down, his legs dangling over the edge. Sarkat held him by the hair as Merry flailed helplessly, and avoiding the kicking legs, he reached underneath the hobbit and undid his buttons..

Merry pounded the soft bed with his arms as his rear end was suddenly exposed to the open air. It quivered and clenched as his breeks and small clothes slid down his legs.

"Oh, no. No. Please…" Merry squeaked out, begging in spite of himself, knowing it was futile but unable to stop. Suddenly a memory came to him. A memory as sharp as broken glass, glittering in the sunlight.

"No. Please…" Frodo was on a four-poster bed, much like this one, tied hand and foot. "Please." He had pleaded with Merry and even begged as his cousin made plans to force him. "Please…Mer…no." Frodo had said.

Merry took a deep breath. But that was for a purpose, he thought; yes, in Frodo's best interests, and it couldn't have been as bad as this…Frodo couldn't have been as frightened…

Sarkat ran his fingers over Merry's naked mounds, then he bent down and planted a kiss on the beginning of his cleft. "Purdy, purdy," he whispered, his tongue lapping deep inside the hobbit's soft, velvety curve. He spread Merry's cleft roughly. "And soooo tight, hmmm, this'll be right good, I'll say."

“NO! Oh, no.” Merry squeezed his buttocks reflexively, in fear and tension.

Sarkat laughed as he slapped him hard. "We'll teach ye not to be doin' that, little rat. You'll learn." He slapped him again. "Methinks I'll be owning ye very soon, and me friends'll be likin' ye too, pretty little assling."

He laughed again. "Yes, yes, I'm gettin' the picture now, I am. Ye'll wash men's clothes for money by day and fuck men's cocks for money by night." He spread Merry's cheeks wider. "Yeah, it's tight all right. And me thinks I'll charge 'em lots for this lovely little assling hole."

Merry grabbed Sarkat's hand, sunk deeply into his hair. As painful as it was, he pulled hard but he had lost much of his strength during his long captivity. He was truly helpless against the human as his shirt was torn from his body and tossed on the floor. Sarkat then pulled a length of rope from his pocket and tied Merry's hands tightly behind his back. Obviously prepared, he produced another length for his ankles.

Merry lay hyperventilating, naked on the bed, face down, his arms tied behind him and his bound legs dangling helplessly over the side. Sarkat removed a vial of oil from his breeches and unfastened his buttons quickly. Then he slipped them off and tossed them neatly into the overturned wash basin.

"When I'm done with your ass, ye can wash me clothes. Might as well get used ta it, assling "'cause that's gonna be your life from now on. Me thinks we'll even change your name. I like Assling. What da ye think? Yeah, that's the ticket. We'll call ya Assling and I'll ‘ave a big sign in front of me door: Assling for ‘ire, day or night." He dissolved in laughter.

"Wait until my cous…my, my master returns…" Merry was desperate, breathing fast. "He will see you put into the dungeon for this."

Sarkat slapped him on the behind again. "Well, I didn't wanna tell ye, Assling, but ol' Mr. Baggins ain't likely ta return from this little encounter with my Lord Saruman." He twisted Merry's head around to face him. "So's you'll be up for auction tomorrow." He raised his eyebrows and grinned. "Understand now, Sammy-rat? You'd best behave and make me 'appy, 'cause you're lookin' at your new master, and 'e ain't so nice as the last one."

Sarkat opened the vial of oil and spread it quickly over his privates.

"You be lucky, Assling, I don't wanna damage the valuable goods 'ere, just test 'em out so's I can tell me buddies about ya." He rubbed some oil into Merry's squirming cleft, lingering at his hole and popping an oiled finger inside. He smiled as Merry winced and clenched his buttocks muscles.

"Now, musn't do that, Sammy-ass." Sarkat spoke in a patronizing voice, adding another finger inside and twisting them around, pulling and tugging at the hobbit’s opening, ignoring his high-pitched whimpers. "But, like I said, you'll learn to lay perfectly still and perfectly silent—if that’s what the customer wants."

Sarkat then leaned over the bed and stuck his tongue deep into Merry’s ear. “But,” he whispered gently over its wet surface, “ya can scream if ye like with me, Assling…the louder the better. Some of my customers'll prob’bly like that too.” He ran his tongue over Merry’s sensitive ear-tip. “Maybe I'll charge 'em more ta have ya screamin' all night."

Merry twisted his head away, shaking the ruffian off his ear but Sarkat just laughed, giving his growing erection a few tugs. He grabbed Merry by the waist, pressed him hard against the bed and spread his cheeks.

The ruffian’s glistening cock was stiff and erect.

"Don't fight me now, Sammy," Sarkat whispered, his lips drooling saliva on Merry's back as he leaned low into his ear, "or it'll just 'urt more. Just ye relax now and enjoy it.” He sucked in his breath noisily through his teeth.

“'Ere we go."

****

Merry caught his breath as he felt himself spread even wider, the ruffian’s heavy, dripping member pressed against him. He would have gladly been a washerhobbit for the rest of his life if Sarkat would only drop dead.

Whimpering and crying like a child, Merry Brandybuck promised every promise to every god or spirit he could think of...and he must have hit the right deity, for Sarkat indeed fell dead at that very moment, crumpling to the floor in a heap.

Merry twisted around at the loud crash but he couldn't see anything. Finally he managed to roll over on his side and stared into the space where Sarkat had been standing, into the eyes of his cousin, Frodo, wide and intense, his hands gripped around part of a broken chair.

Frodo dropped the chair he had smashed over Sarkat’s head as both hobbits stared down. The ruffian was clearly dead, his single eye staring into the ceiling, its pupil dilating.

Merry was hyperventilating from terror and relief and more emotions than he had ever experienced. "Frodo, Frodo," was all he could articulate, his voice weak and helpless.

Frodo dragged the body over by the door and grabbed a knife off the table. He cut Merry's bonds and climbing on the step-stool, helped him stretch his shoulders back into place.

"Here," Frodo looked at his naked, oiled cousin, "just…just get under the bedclothes for a minute and let me think."

Merry was still whimpering as Frodo helped him slide underneath the down comforter. In a sitting position, he grasped the quilt around his neck with shaking hands, his breaths coming in heavy, deep spurts.

Frodo dragged the ruffian’s body through the doorway and into the hall, disappearing from sight.

Merry pulled the bedclothes around himself tighter and tighter, trembling uncontrollably. The thought of what had almost happened and Sarkat's monstrous plans for his future, ripped through him as he bent his head down and swayed back and forth.

****

He had lost track of time before Frodo reappeared, breathless, his eyes bright with excitement. "I left him hidden in the bathing room, under some dirty towels. He probably won't be found until morning.”

Frodo closed the door and reached up high, running the steel bolt through its holder on the wall. Then he walked to the bedside, stepping over the broken chair. Merry was still bent over and swaying, unintelligible sounds coming from his lips.

Frodo frowned and quickly picked up the pieces of the chair Sarkat had used in the hall. He carried them to the window and threw them into the courtyard far below where they landed on a pile of debris and shattered into unrecognizable bits of wood.

Grabbing the windowsill, Frodo tried to still his own shaking, tried to forget the last few minutes—and the even worse minutes that had preceded them in Saruman's chamber. It was more than he could take and he bent his head to the cold stone and wept bitterly.

Time stood still and he didn't know how long it had been before Merry called to him weakly from the bed.

Frodo turned, his eyes red and swollen.

"Frodo?" Merry called again, staring at him with eyes that were just as red.

Frodo wiped his face with his handkerchief and took a few deep breaths. But he stayed where he was.

Merry was recovering. His analytical brain was telling him that he was not going to be raped or made into a sex-slave. And he was free from his tormentor forever. All in all, not a bad situation.

"Frodo!" His voice was stronger. "I do thank you, Cousin." He smiled goodnaturedly. "Not of course for making me into Sam but things are much improved. Here, hand us our clothes, Fro. We can escape before they discover the bugger."

Frodo stared at Merry, his eyes clearing, his face set into a hard expression. Without moving, he began to unbutton his weskit.

"Fro!" Merry shouted from the bed. "What…?"

"We can't escape now, Mer," said Frodo with no expression in his voice. "It's dusk. They'll be changing the orc guards at the tower entrances. Perhaps later, during the night--if Sarkat isn't found." He continued to unbutton his weskit and shirt, pulling them off his shoulders and letting them fall to the ground.

Merry squirmed uncomfortably. Something in Frodo's eyes was upsetting, unusual for his mild-mannered cousin.

Frodo walked over to the bed and climbed onto the step-stool. He stared into Merry's eyes for a long time, as if hoping to see something there that he had not seen before. Finally he sighed and turned around.

"What do you see?" Again, that calm, even voice, so unlike his cousin.

"Fro, I don't know what you mean. I see your back, silly. Say, why don't you climb in here and we can pass the time in a…more relaxing way."

Frodo didn't move. "And what else do you see?"

Merry tilted his head and sighed in frustration but before he could answer, Frodo spoke again.

"Touch it."

Merry swallowed hard but he reached out, running his fingers over the many scars, stripes, and healed-over red splotches.

Frodo turned around and without looking at Merry, unbuttoned his breeks and let them fall with his smallclothes on the stool. Then he climbed into the bed and under the covers, next to his cousin.

"Oh, Frodo…" Merry leaned over and kissed him on the lips. "Let's forget about the past." He kissed Frodo again, harder, pushing him down into the soft pillow. "We only have here and now."

His cousin kissed him back but Merry could tell there was something lacking. He sat up. "What is it, Fro?"

Frodo stared up at him, then he sighed and shoved the bedclothes down. "And what is this?" He picked up Merry's hand and ran it over some dark, nasty ridges forming a perfect letter B on his hip.

Merry clicked his lips in frustration. "Frodo, this is all in the past, all in the…"

"What is it, Meriadoc." Frodo's voice was almost a hiss, an unnatural sound that froze Merry's blood.

"Well," Merry's voice was less than steady as he looked down at the cruel brand, remembering all too well his cousin's screams as he had plunged the red-hot poker into Frodo's soft skin. "I don't know, Frodo, it looks like a B."

"And what would that stand for, then?"

Merry grimaced. "Ah…well, Frodo, I don't know…I suppose it…that it stands for Baggins?" He rubbed it again, his expression changing slowly into a smile. "It's really rather nice…quite fine, don't you think?"

Frodo looked up at him from his prone position on the bed. Again his voice was even, flat. "I didn't think so when it was being done to me."

Merry caught his breath and for a time, forgot to breathe at all. "What do you mean?" He said quietly, reaching down to caress Frodo's hair.

Frodo looked up at him, his guileless eyes moistening. "One can learn much from a palantir, Merry."

"A palantir!" said Merry, hoping desperately to change the subject. "You looked into a seeing stone?"

"It shows the truth, sometimes, Mer." Frodo's voice was so quiet. "The truth lost, the truth one has refused to remember, the truth one can not bear to remember." Frodo took a deep breath and Merry had to lean down to hear his next words.

"B is for Brandybuck."

Gooseflesh stood out on Merry's arms as the realization hit him between the eyes.

Frodo knew.

He knew everything, everything that had happened at Crickhollow, in the Old Forest, at his former home…at the river. Merry's hand continued to caress Frodo's hair but he averted his eyes into the pillow.

"I had to…to do it…for the Shire, Fro." Merry's voice shook as he stared at the weave in the silken pillowcase. "Gandalf led you down the wrong path, you know, Cousin. All wrong."

"Stop it, Merry!" Frodo's voice was stronger, more himself.

"No, it’s true," Merry's voice was steadier too, more in control. "You don't know, you don't realize…"

"I know that you tortured me mercilessly, that you hurt poor Samwise, whose…whose only crime was his loyalty…" Frodo's voice broke. "And little Pippin. Oh, by Eru, Merry, you drove the child mad with loving you, then you whipped him within an inch of his life…" Frodo shuddered but his voice was stronger still. "You even tried to make him rape me!”

Merry clicked his tongue. "Now, Fro, you know it wasn't like that, not really…you make it sound so bad."

Frodo stared at him, eyes wet with unshed tears.

"Well, I mean, maybe I did go over the top a bit, but…you…you have to understand…" Merry's hand was trembling although he seemed to have control over his voice. "You have to understand that, I…I am the future Master of the Hall. I have responsibilities that you do not have…to all of Buckland. I could not let the…the…" He took a deep, shaky breath.

"Ring." Said Frodo evenly, his own breaths coming in deep gasps as he stared up at his cousin.

"Yes." He leaned down and kissed Frodo tenderly on the lips. "Yes, my love. You are the Ring's keeper."

"Mer…"

"And I am your…" Merry kissed him again, more slowly and more deeply. He whispered a single word in Frodo's ear before lazily running his tongue around its outside rim, then up to the exquisitely sensitive tip, sucking and tugging at it until Frodo squirmed, twisting his head on the pillow, moans of pleasure escaping his lips.

"No, Mer, you were wrong," Frodo whispered, trying to gain control of himself. Gandalf…"

"I apologize," Merry cooed softly, "if that's what you want." He kissed Frodo again, all the while running his fingers through the moisture he had left on Frodo's ear-tip.

"STOP IT!!" Frodo screamed at his cousin, sitting up and supporting himself with his hands stiffly behind him. "Who do you think you are, you petty little aristocrat!"

Merry sat back, his eyes wide in shock, his face more serious. "Then explain it to me, Frodo! What were you and Gandalf planning!? Would it have fared any better for Sam and Pippin if you had succeeded? If they were now Gandalf's slaves?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Merry glared at him. "Yes you do, my love."

He grabbed Frodo's shoulders, pulling his hands off the bed, holding him fast. "The Ring is evil, Frodo, and you were taking it to a wizard and that elf-king, Elrond, in Rivendell." He grabbed Frodo more tightly, shaking him in the process. "And what did they offer you, Cousin? A piece of the Shire for yourself?"

"That's ridiculous." Frodo tried to wiggle out of Merry's grasp but his cousin held firm.

"Buckland, perhaps?"

Frodo stopped struggling and stared at him.

"You, the Master of the Hall…with my family as your slaves!? With my sisters as your…"

Frodo broke Merry’s grasp and slapped him across the face. "How dare you…" he hissed, chest heaving, his voice barely audible.

"How dare you," Merry answered, shoving Frodo roughly back into the pillows. He followed his cousin down and held him to the mattress. Frodo struggled but Merry had the advantage and he used it, leaning in to kiss Frodo in a way that was more possession than love.

"You will never…" Merry devoured Frodo, panting with rage and passion, "you will…never…never…have…" He was breathless, thrusting his tongue deep into his cousin's mouth, brushing his throat and twisting his own he ad to get a more generous angle.

Frodo turned his mouth away but his voice was soft and not as angry as his words. "You are insane, I never…made any bargains.”

Merry leaned his lips deep into Frodo’s ear, caressing its curves, his breath hot and heavy.

"Buckland,” Merry whispered, "is mine!"

Then he kissed Frodo again, tongue sliding across his teeth and then deep inside, silencing his cousin's meagre attempt at an answer.

But the same passion darkened Frodo's blue eyes, and as Merry persisted, the warmth in Frodo's groin could not be denied or the weakness in his extremities as his heart beat faster and faster. He bent his legs wide, as Merry fell between his knees.

Frodo sighed, it felt so good.

He reached his hands into Merry's hair and pulled him closer, feeling his cousin's swelling cock rubbing naked against his own.

He thrust his tongue into Merry's warm chamber, opening his own mouth wider, not to be bested by the Brandybuck. He bent one leg hard and twisted his body, bringing Merry to his side and finally underneath him. Frodo could feel his cousin tremble as his shaft stretched out hard between their entangled legs.

Frodo was breathless as he pressed Merry into the pillows, his hands on his cousin's shoulders, his emotions in as much a tangle as his body, his words pouring forth totally outside his governance. He didn't know if it was love or hate.

"You…you…whipped me…you bastard…you tied me and…left me alone…scream…ing," Frodo dug his fingernails into Merry's naked skin. "And screaming, and SCREAMing…losing myself in your...torment. Oh, yes…I…remember it, all of it, you monster."

Merry's eyes blazed up at him, his own voice shaking and fearsome, his thoughts of a singular mindset. "Buck…land." He whispered between deep, heaving breaths. "You shall not…have it!"

In a burst of energy, Merry threw Frodo's hands off him and his cousin fell hard on his chest, nipple to nipple. Merry reached down between them, hands shaking, his need growing beyond his ability to control.

Frodo's hands followed and entangled between their two straining shafts, each of them vying for dominance.

"Don't touch me!" Frodo's voice was a hiss of emotion. He tried to move his cousin's hands but Merry grabbed Frodo's length, pulling it down as they flipped sideways.

"Frodo, Frodo…don't…" Merry reached his other hand around his cousin's damaged back and held him tightly against his chest. "Stay with me…"

More unbidden memories flooded through Frodo's eyes and mind, just as he had seen them in the palantir.

He was naked, humiliated, on his knees in a black, underground pit, arms outstretched, begging and pleading to his younger cousin, Merry. He held The Ring of Power high in his hands, offering it…oh dearest Eru, offering it to Merry, his fear making him speechless and powerless to stop himself.

Merry wrapping ropes around him, couldn't move, helpless, helpless…dark

"You left me in the dark! Tied down and helpless!"

"Frodo, Frodo," Merry whispered softly as one would trying to calm a child. At the same time he wound his fingers around Frodo's cock, each one caressing it separately by the fingertips, moving in rhythm, up and down. "I love you, Fro." He pulled it next to his own thick shaft and rubbed them together.

Frodo was trembling, the heat unbearable between his legs, the rage undeniable within his mind.

He was tied in the root cellar, gagged, blindfolded, wax in his ears.

It was so dark and silent and empty. He screamed hysterically, eyes begging and pleading. Merry stood above him, heartless and cold. As long as it takes…he had said.

Unable to struggle, his body shut down as his brain repeated the mantra until it too no longer functioned. As long as it takes…As long as it takes…And all was darkness save the scent of lavender and the love of his cousin.

Merry's hand caressing his balls brought him sharply into the present.

Frodo looked at him. "Bugger…" he started to swear again but a wave of pleasure caught him by the throat. His whole body shuddered. "Oh, Merry…Merry…why…how could…"

Merry hissed as his grip tightened, making Frodo's eyes grow wide with fear and excitement. His own hand closed around Merry's cock, trembling and straining.

"You still don't understand, do you!" Sweat poured down his face as Merry pressed against his cousin, breathing hard, the words spurting out as his passions permitted. "Living in your…Hobbiton ivory tower…reading useless stories under the…trees."

Merry shouted out as a wave of pleasure shook him to his toes. The heat between them ran up and down their bodies as Merry stared into Frodo's steel-blue eyes. He pressed closer as the blue darkness glared back.

"…Translating…elvish poetry…to no known fucking…purpose under the fucking sun. For sweet Eru's sake, Fro. How dare you judge me! No titles, no duties, no one depending on you to save them from every conceivable evil. What do you know of crushing family responsibilities, of the Hall and the land I will inherit and the hobbits I will rule…you limp little dandy!"

Frodo thought briefly that he was hardly limp but then he clenched his jaw, encircling Merry's shaft with his hand, squeezing until his cousin let out a yelp between his clenched teeth. Sweat poured down his chest as well, dampening the heat between them.

"I may be a…dandy," his whole body shook with the pleasure he was trying so hard to deny, "…but what you did to Sam and Pippin..."

"There are always casualties in war." Merry's entire body was bathed in sweat, his breathing totally out of control as he thrusted against his cousin's heat.

"They were innocent!"

"This is the REAL WORLD, Frodo, not your ridiculous elvish fantasies! No wonder…" He could hardly speak. "No wonder…Gandalf…was able…"

The emotion between them was hard and fine as mithril.

"To fool…you."

Merry closed his eyes, wrapping his legs around Frodo, rubbing himself harder and harder against his cousin but climax eluded him.

Suddenly, Frodo shoved with all his strength and drove Merry across the huge bed.

"I will not make love to you!"

Without thinking, Merry was on his knees in the soft mattress, his throbbing member hanging down in agony from its soft, furry nest.

"You will." He said, like a commander giving orders, his chest heaving and thrusting out between them.

Frodo stared at his cousin, trying to remember the sweet little Merry he had entertained with stories or swam with in the Brandywine. Glimpses broke through the pain of his vision in the palantir. Glimpses of the whole picture that his hurt and pain could not obscure.

He turned his back and curled up into a ball. "Oh Mer, just stop."

But Merry was out of control. He grabbed Frodo and twisted him back, flat on the bed, exposing Frodo's need more than any words could have done. Frodo looked up at him, his eyes flaming with the same desire, his lips tight with anger, his voice not his own.

"It is your peril, then, Cousin."

Within the next second, Frodo sat up and tackled Merry down on the mattress. His hands were in his cousin's hair and his mouth on his lips in earnest. He spread Merry's legs with his own, shuddering at the length of him, trembling with desire.

But his own need was all his agonized brain could process. Frodo grabbed his cousin's legs and lifted him high, resting them on his shoulders and penetrating Merry’s still-slick hole in one smooth movement.

Merry screamed and dug his fingertips painfully into Frodo's hair. Frodo smiled at him as he thrust again, deeper and harder. Merry screamed once more but this time it was pleasure, unbearable pleasure at the hands of his Frodo. Perhaps he had dreamed of this long ago, longed for it, but before his brain could consider more, it was jolted again by Frodo's strength.

"Noooo, oh, ohooo," Merry was helplessly twisting, screaming, and whimpering as his arms flailed about uncontrollably. Finally he dug his fingers into the bedclothes, grabbing them in submission as his hips arched up to meet his cousin's need.

Frodo continued relentlessly, his fingers digging into Merry's waist, controlling his position on the bed, relentlessly lifting him up and down, his own eyes black with emotion, his body not his own. He thrust harder and deeper each time, showing his cousin no mercy.

And Merry was beyond asking. Beyond anything but staring at Frodo with tearstained eyes. But what he was begging for, neither of them knew.

Finally, even the scarred, trembling mass that was Frodo Baggins could take it no longer and he came—deep inside his cousin—more stunningly and more prolonged than ever before in his life. He raised his head and screamed in passion and perhaps he heard Merry screaming too but he wasn't sure.

For once, Frodo Baggins was thinking only of himself.

****

Frodo pulled out of Merry, flaccid and spent, his penis red and bruised from the punishment he had forced upon it. Gently, he lowered Merry's legs.

Merry's chest was heaving, his eyes bright with tears. "Frodo," he whispered. "Frodo."

Frodo saw that Merry had come at the same time, his seed spread on their skin, melting them together somehow. He couldn't speak or think as he fell on top of his beloved cousin, far beyond accusations or anger.

Merry was beyond them too. He was panting, spent, and taken like a harlot. Lazily, he ran his fingertip through his cousin's thick, silky hair, feeling Frodo's breath, soft against his chest. He knew he would one day be Master of the Hall, ruler of all Buckland, a leader of hobbits with others obeying his every command.

But for the moment, he belonged to Frodo Baggins.

****

Frodo awoke gently a few hours later, spent of his rage and recriminations. He remained on top of his cousin, who was lightly caressing his hair. Merry was staring out the window at the stars, hanging by the thousands in a cloudless, black sky. Tears cascaded down his cheeks in helpless succession.

He knew Frodo had awakened but he didn't turn to him.

"I'm sorry, Fro." He whispered, in a voice that was truly his own. "I don't know why I did those things. It seemed like the right thing to do…for the Shire."

Frodo leaned up on one elbow, reached over, and in silence wiped the tears from his cousin's face.

"Frodo?"

"We have to go tonight, Merry," Frodo wiped another tear away. "I lied to Saruman. I told him that I saw nothing in the palantir--so he wants me to come back tomorrow and try once more." Frodo shook his head. "But I won't fool him again."

Merry turned, his face puffy and red. "What else did you see?"

Frodo smiled at him. "I know where they are, Mer. Sam has the Ring and Pippin is with him in Bree. They've met a man of some kind."

"A man?!"

"I think this one is all right, Mer. He will take them to Rivendell."

Merry frowned. "I don't trust men."

Frodo sat up and ran his fingers through his dishevelled hair, his voice was crisp. "We have to go, quickly, before dawn. The orcs are usually dozing by now."

They scrambled down from the bed and dressed quickly. Merry took the empty laundry sack and filled it with the remains of Frodo's food and the sharper knives from the dinner table. He also grabbed whatever pipeweed was left and the pipe Frodo had been given.

Frodo cracked open the door and peered out into the hall. It was silent and empty. "Come on, we must go," he whispered over his shoulder to Merry.

His cousin was standing right behind him, looking down at his clothes. "I wish I had something else to wear. I mean, really, Fro, servant's clothes."

Frodo bit his lip to keep from laughing out loud. "Merry, you will never change," he whispered, his eyes dancing. "I love you."

Merry put his arm around his cousin and hugged him but his voice was deadly serious. "I love you, too, Frodo." There was a pause. "Can you ever forgive me?"

Frodo opened the door wide and stepped out from under his cousin's embrace, into the silent, hallway. "We must go, Mer. Now."

Merry sighed and picked up the sack. He stepped out the door but Frodo was half way down the narrow passageway signalling for him to follow.

****

It was not difficult for two stealthy hobbits to sneak past the dozing orc guards and creep through the shrubs and trees of the park that surrounded the tower of Orthanc. Once outside, the sounds of furnaces and forges rang in their ears as armies of orcs were driven by ruffians with whips. They marched as one into the underground factories, looking straight ahead, the fate of two little hobbits hiding under a bush not anywhere near their consciousness.

Other work parties were chopping down trees in the once-beautiful park and working far into the woods beyond the wall, the land around them lit bright by torches rising high in the air.

These islands of light and noise intensified the darkness and silence around them, making it easy for the two hobbits to sneak past the workers. In such a darkened spot they easily found footholds in Isengard’s stone wall and were over it before anyone noticed.

****

Together they ran under the familiar stars, helping each other over fallen trees, fording small rivers, and steadily making their way back towards the North-South Road. They would hide by day and travel by night, hoping to escape capture. If they could manage it, they would find Sam and Pippin, along with their human stranger. They would warn them of Saruman and quickly deliver the dreaded Ring to Gandalf and Elrond. Then it would be over.

With this plan in mind, Frodo spotted a small cave that looked out over the valley below. With dawn breaking and bone-tired, they helped each other up a few stone footholds and stumbled inside. It was dry and empty--as good as they could hope for.

Merry sat at the entrance, panting for breath as he watched the brightening sun quickly light the sky. Frodo sat down next to him and the two leaned against each other, feeling safe for the first time in weeks.

"This cave will be all right for today," said Frodo. "I can take the first watch, if you're tired."

Merry didn't answer but continued to stare out the cave's opening. The road they would take was visible far below in the distance.

"Mer?"

"We'll have to ration the food, not eat more than we absolutely have to."

"Yes, of course."

"But we can hunt with stones when it runs out and gather berries or mushrooms in the woods. We'll find small rivers for water."

"Yes, Mer. We'll be all right, don't worry."

"Frodo…"

"Yes?"

"I asked you, back there, if you could forgive me."

Frodo inhaled deeply, his eyes glazing over. He shifted slightly away from Merry and wrapped his arms around his bent knees, exhaling noisily.

"Can you?" Merry whispered. "I have to know."

"I have thought about that," said Frodo, equally softly.

Merry didn't answer for a minute but finally he found his voice again. "And what have you thought?"

There was another short silence before Frodo answered. "That I cannot."

****

Merry took in another deep breath. "I see."

"Mer…"

"It's understandable. I understand." His voice was a bit louder but flat and emotionless.

"No, you don't understand, Merry." Frodo paused and he could hear his cousin's heavy, uneven breathing. "I cannot forgive you until…"

"Until what?" Hope glimmered in Merry's tone.

"Until Sam and Pippin have forgiven you. When they have freely blessed you, and all is right between you and them, come back to me…and ask again."

****