REPOST

Smoke and Mirrors Chapter 28

Merry slowly opened the door to Frodo's room and peeked inside. All
he could see of his cousin was his tousled head upon the pillow. He
silently closed the door behind him and crept to the bed. Frodo’s eyes
were closed, his face composed in still beauty. Merry looked upon
that face that had gotten him in and out of so many scrapes back home.
Gone was the innocent facade that Frodo had been able to ply on any
and all matrons at Brandyhall. Left in its place, the creases and
worn appearance of one who had suffered too much in too short a time.
Dark smudges lay below the long eyelashes. Pronounced cheekbones
spoke of nights and days of sparse meals and little rest. Reaching up
he caressed the cheek softly, "No more, my dear. If it takes forever,
we will see you whole again," he spoke lovingly.

Frodo's eyes opened slowly, and Merry was once again, caught in the
blue depths. "Your eyes, Frodo. Your eyes are such a color I've never
seen anywhere else in the Shire. They're so ... blue," he said.

Frodo smiled. "You are just now noticing my eyes are blue," he said
matter-of-factly.

"Of course not! I've seen your eyes before, it's just that..." he
searched for the words.

"Just what, Merry?" Frodo said quietly, suppressing a grin.

"Well, it's just that...they're not a typical blue, they're more
indigo, I'd say," Merry stammered, feeling incredibly silly, standing
there caressing his cousin's face and talking of, of all things, his
eyes. He blushed. "I've come back to give you that back massage, I
promised," he said flushing crimson.

Frodo laughed. A real laugh, at Merry's obvious discomfort. "Merry,
I'm glad you like my eyes," he said smiling. His cousin turned even
redder, if possible, and Frodo laughed even harder. It was a
wonderful sound that Merry had not heard, it seemed, for an age. This
alone made him start laughing too and he felt his heart lighten
considerably.

"Enough of you," said Merry as he poked at his cousin. "Roll over and
prepare to be made into bread dough," he said brusquely.

"Oh, have mercy on an old hobbit," laughed Frodo. "Merry....you *are*
a delight." Merry jumped up on the bed and gently rolled Frodo onto
his stomach. He placed the pillows around his cousin's body to keep
his head and abdomen from being pressed into the bed. Merry had to
squelch the gasp that rose to his lips. Frodo's back was a purple
crisscross design of healing, ragged welts. He could count every rib,
every bone that was on his cousin's back, he was so thin. The pale
skin was livid with reminders of the orcs brutality. Again, he tried
to fathom what his dear friend had been forced to endure.

"Comfy?" Merry asked, his voice quavered slightly. He sat astride
Frodo, oil in hand.

"Just. If it weren't for this huge Brandybuck squashing me, that is,"
came the muffled reply.

"Really? Frodo, am I squashing you? I can move a little...." a
frantic Merry asked.

"Merry, please. I won't break. I was only jesting with you." Frodo
turned to look over his shoulder with a large smile. "We used to jest
quite alot, as I recall, don't you remember?"

"Sorry, Frodo, but you have been quite sick. And while I do want to
jest, I don't want to squash you.....but maybe..." he smiled.

"Maybe what?" Frodo asked hesitantly. Merry was notorious about,
once he had someone pinned, using it to his advantage unmercifully.

"Since I have you, cousin, perhaps you could give me a little more of
that laughter I heard earlier. It truly was a delight to my ears,"
Merry grinned slyly. Frodo's eyes widened as he realized Merry's
intent. "I seem to recall it was Pippin that was the one with the
ticklish feet, but you, my dear, were oh so ticklish along your
ribs---is that correct, Frodo?" Merry smiled widely.

"Merry ... you wouldn't ..." Frodo began. "Oh no .... no...
Merry...not the ribs." Frodo started giggling and thrashing as Merry's
nimble fingers dug and poked along the ribcage. "Mer...Mer..."
(giggle, chortle, gasped) Frodo was helpless with laughter, to the
point where he was gasping for air. Merry chuckled as Frodo bucked
and flailed to escape the onslaught.

Frodo's thoughts drifted to happier times when the three of them,
Merry, Pippin and himself had piled onto each other and tickled and
laughed so hard they had ended up exhausted, their faces tearstained.
Merry had always been the largest and could hold him down
(holdhimdown) with one hand, tickling with the other. He could hold
him down....(hold him down....). Time seemed to slow, then stop.
Frodo found himself suddenly world's away from Merry and the happy
memories of the Shire. He was being held down....(held down, they
were holding him down, holding him down, holding him down....) dirty
clawed hands pawed at his body. Horribly twisted, stinking faces
leered down at him in his nakedness. Knives were run along his flesh
and he was helpless to move (holdinghimdownholdinghimdown), helpless
to escape the agony. Even unto unconsciousness because then the
poison brew was poured into him and he was forced to swallow.
Suddenly, he kicked and violently twisted trying to escape the claws
(holdinghimdownholdinghimdown) that held him tight. A low feral
scream began in his gut until he pushed it out through his throat and
it became a desperate animal cry for release. He screamed, retched
and screamed some more, twisting, thrashing, desperate to escape the
stench, the pain, the humility. He screamed for his very life, his
last desperate struggle against those that would tear asunder all that
he was, all that he had ever been, those who had taken His Ring.

******

Merry giggled as he watched Frodo twist. He held him now with one
hand as he tickled with the other. Then something went horribly
wrong. Frodo stopped struggling, his muscles tensed beneath Merry's
weight. With a sudden burst of strength that Merry thought Frodo no
longer capable of, he began fighting Merry like one possessed. He
flailed and kicked, but then he started to make a low growling sound,
low in his chest, that erupted into an ear splitting wail, like a
wounded animal being torn in two. Merry released him and sat
straddling Frodo, a look of complete and total terror on his face.
Frodo twisted and kicked and immediately Merry found himself on the
floor beside the bed. Frodo screamed again, a scream that made the
hair on Merry's neck, stand on end. A scream of desperation and
agony so deep that Merry felt nauseous just at the sound of it.
Aragorn and Saleth burst through the door and froze at the sight that
greeted their eyes. Merry was on the floor, pale and badly shaken,
apparently in shock, his eyes riveted on Frodo. Frodo had moved away
from the bed into the corner where the headboard met the cabinet, his
eyes wide and unseeing, a sheen of sweat coated his trembling face and
body. At a glance, Aragorn could see that Frodo did not know where
he was, seeing something so terrifying and indescribable that
Aragorn's heart sank in despair.

"Merry....Merry, what happened?" Aragorn shook Merry until the hobbit
pulled his eyes away from what had been, his cousin, until a moment ago.
Merry didn't recognize the pathetic creature before him. He seemed
more wild animal than hobbit, and this terrified Merry beyond endurance.

He looked up into Aragorn's eyes, tears flowing down his face, "What
have I done? What's wrong with him, Strider?" he plead. He grasped
Strider's tunic desperately, "What's wrong with him?" he shouted at
the King.

"Merry, tell me what happened," said Aragorn trying to sound calm
although his guts were wrenching at the sight of the Ringbearer.
Saleth was trying to approach Frodo, to calm him, but this resulted in
another screaming wail and a litany of threats. Aragorn motioned for
him to be still. Frodo cringed further back into the corner of the
headboard. The hobbit had completely withdrawn into himself and was
trembling violently, his eyes shifting quickly between Saleth, Aragorn
and Merry, as he rocked back and forth on his heels.

"We were laughing," Merry smiled a little at the memory, "and jesting.
It was wonderful to hear him laugh again," he murmured. "Then I
started tickling him and he was giggling like when we were little
hobbits. I held him down and went for under his ribs---Frodo's really
ticklish there. But he stopped moving and he got all tensed up
underneath me, then he started kicking and flailing. You should have
seen him, Strider, it was like he was under attack by some fell
monster. He was kicking so hard, I fell off the bed. Then he started
screaming, screams I've never heard from any creature in Middle Earth,
and hope to never hear again," Merry was sobbing now. "What
happened? I don't understand, he was fine. He was *more* than fine,
and now he's ....he's. What is it? What did I *do* to him?" he
sobbed inconsolably.

Aragorn pulled Merry to him and sighed. He grimly looked over at
Frodo. "I will explain after we get Frodo calmed down. For now,
stand over here in case we need your help. He doesn't recognize us
right now, Merry, so we may need you to help us subdue him," he said
sadly.

Frodo could tell they were talking about him. They kept looking his
way and reaching out towards him. He looked around for some way to
defend himself, determined not to let them repeat the horrible things
they had done before, to him. A tray of food was on the table near
the bed, complete with large, man sized utensils. He reached out
quickly, grasping the knife that lay on the tray. Saleth gasped. He
had been watching the Ringbearer while Aragorn had tried to calm
Merry, and had witnessed the grab for the knife. The knife was very
long, made for a man, and Frodo held it in his right hand by the
blade, causing the bandages to slowly turn crimson in his desperate
grip. He pointed the blade at Aragorn then Saleth as they made to
approach him, panic clear on his face and body, the small hand now
running with a bright red stream of blood. He felt no pain.

"You will not touch me! I will not allow your fell claws to paw my
body, I will not drink your brew. Your Master wanted me 'Alive and
Unspoiled', but you shall have neither!" Merry almost didn't
recognize the growling low, voice of his cousin, it was so full of
menace and loathing. The look on Frodo's face was no longer one of
fear, but one of acceptance and finality. Suddenly, Merry knew what
Frodo intended to do and it chilled him to the bone.

"Aragorn, he means to sacrifice himself in order to avoid capture!"
Merry cried.

Aragorn had seen the look in Frodo's eyes and recognized it for what
it was. He had seen many soldiers with that same look when placed in
impossible situations where a choice had to be made between the
sacrifice of their life or complying with whatever the enemy wanted.
He knew they needed to move quickly to avoid disaster.

Frodo brought the knife swiftly up to his throat, "I deny you your
prize!" he said without emotion. As he made to slice across the pale
flesh, Aragorn leapt and grabbed the thin arm, pulling it away from
his neck and pinning it to the bed. Frodo screamed and twisted in
frustration, his cries those of a soul tortured beyond endurance.

"Saleth, Valerian Root PASTE, NOW!" yelled Aragorn. Saleth hesitated
then scurried to retrieve the jar.

"My Liege, it is very potent in this form, are you sure?" Saleth
asked hurriedly. Merry had grabbed Frodo's legs and now sat astride
them to keep him from kicking Aragorn. Aragorn was trying desperately
to subdue the hobbit who continued to fight and struggle beneath him.
Frodo was weakening. He had been strengthened by the adrenaline
coursing through his small body, but now it was fading and he had no
reserves to draw on to fight his attackers.

"Saleth, I know it is dangerous, but we must calm him or I will have
to strike him again. I will monitor him carefully, now give me the
paste.” Saleth held the twisting, bloodied hands while Aragorn leaned
over the crazed hobbit and pried open his mouth.

"No biting, Frodo," Aragorn allowed a small smile. But one look in
Frodo's eyes told him that he was beyond control, so terrified, so
panic stricken, that the King again wondered at what had been done to
this fragile creature. He felt at the pulse point on Frodo's neck,
and found it racing faster than he could count, the ragged breathes
coming much too quickly. If they didn't do something soon Frodo would
die from sheer terror. Aragorn dipped two fingers into the paste,
bringing out a large gob.

Saleth gasped, "Too much! Too much!" he exclaimed. Aragorn looked up
into the healer's frightened eyes and wiped off one of the fingers.
Saleth relaxed slightly. He quickly slipped the bitter paste under
Frodo's tongue and pushed his head back, closing the whimpering lips
of his friend. He waited patiently until he saw Frodo grimace and swallow then Aragorn just held him, immobilizing him against his chest. Aragorn understood exactly how much energy the hobbit had expended and knowing that the small body could not withstand any further losses. He spoke softly to him, watching Frodo's eyes. They were wide with panic and tears flowed freely down his face. His lips trembled, "please, please, don't hurt me anymore," Frodo whimpered.

Aragorn's face crumpled in grief as he looked down on his friend's
face, "no more pain, Frodo, no more pain. Just try to relax, little
one," he whispered as his tears fell, mingling with Frodo's. Frodo's
mouth quivered as his eyes slowly closed. He struggled to
remain conscious but his body, heavy with fatigue, fought
against him. His eyes finally rolled up into his head as he slipped
into oblivion.

TBC