Chapter 4

With shaking fingers, Merry untied the twine from the arrow shaft, freeing the two soft locks. They wafted into his clutching hand, their weight negligible in his palm. He closed his hand over them and clutched them to his heart. Another gasp escaped him and a blackness swam before his eyes.

"Merry, calm down or you will pass out. Frodo, make him breathe." Aragorn resumed his crouching stance, turning his attention back to the hidden men somewhere in the prickle-patch. Frodo wrapped his right arm around his cousin, hugging him close as Merry fought for control. Aragorn ran his hand through his dark hair, pushing it out of his eyes. "Something is wrong here…" He reached across Frodo and gently gathered the mingled locks from Merry’s grasp. He turned the locks over in his hand, examining them closely. "Sliced neatly off with a sharp knife. Not torn out … no blood. Why do they not answer?" he murmured softly, returning the curls to Merry’s care. Merry looked up at him, fresh fear in his blurring gaze.

"I want to see the hobbits! We will not discuss a trade until I know they are all right!"

Aragorn inched forward again, Merry behind him and Frodo to the rear. Silence met them, then faintly, muttered oaths and snarling voices pitched too low to carry. There seemed to be some disagreement going on. A thorny branch rattled, and the Ranger put hand to bow, but he did not dare to shoot without a clearer target. He could as easily shoot one of the hobbits as their captors.

The brush rattled again, and Pippin emerged. Merry bit his tongue on a cry. Pippin stood very stiffly, his face pale and his green-gold eyes enormous. He looked to have been weeping. He took several steps forward, his gait strained and unnatural. Then Merry saw why. Pippin’s hands were tied behind him at a cruel angle that forced his shoulders back. From the bindings hung a rope that snaked back into the concealing brush. The men were taking no chances of his escape.

"Cowards," Aragorn hissed. Merry felt that slow rage building in him, that unfamiliar and frightening anger. Pip was staring up towards them, though he probably could see little of them over the crest of the hill. A dirty cloth was bound tightly over his mouth. The tweenager looked very young and very frightened.

"And the other? I will see them both before we talk!"

"You don’t need to see him, Ranger! We sent out one of the little rats out for you—that’s enough! Now, send us the wounded halfling, or we’ll start cutting on your friends here!"

"I don’t make blind trades," Aragorn called back. Merry inched forward a little more and raised himself up on his elbows. Pippin saw him immediately, and met his eyes with a look of desperation. He shook his curly head, mouthing something. Merry narrowed his eyes, trying to understand. Behind Pippin, an argument was taking place, growing louder but still unintelligible to those on the hill. Pippin half-twisted his body, hitching his shoulder, shaking his head frantically.

Immediately, the rope was jerked taught and Pippin was pulled backward to land hard on the ground. Merry had to restrain himself from leaping to his feet. "Stand still, rat!" came Squint-Eye’s harsh voice. Using his shoulder to push himself, Pip climbed painfully upright. The argument in the thorn-patch seemed to be resolved, as the half-orc shouted again. "All right! That’s fair. The other one gave us a bit of a fight, and we had to quiet him down some."

Merry’s heart twisted in terror. Behind Pippin, the brush quivered again then was pushed aside as the man that Aragorn had spared two nights before in the clearing emerged, holding in front of him a stumbling and half-conscious Sam. Blood still ran from a great gash on the side of his sandy head. Those watching helplessly saw him shake his head groggily, and saw that his hands were tied, too. The man kept a hand clamped to his shoulder, all that seemingly kept Sam on his feet. The half-orc stayed out of sight, holding Pippin’s rope and hiding behind the other man.

Ahead of Sam, still several feet out of the brambles, Pippin was staring into Merry’s eyes and jerking his head, looking as if he were imitating a billy goat butting a fence post. Merry tore his gaze away from Sam’s stumbling figure and tried to read the frantic message in Pippin’s eyes.

Then he feared he understood. He whirled in place so quickly that beside him, Aragorn startled. He and Aragorn crouched alone on the hilltop. Frodo was nowhere to be seen.

The Ranger’s gaze followed his around the small area. The pony stood placidly, ignoring the shouting and commotion about him. Aragorn swore and scrambled back from the crest, casting his eyes frenetically about the small hilltop. Even Merry could see where Frodo had half-dragged himself back and circled down the side of the hill. Unable to stand, he had crawled, using his one good arm as support.

There—a handprint. A few steps further, blood. "He’s torn it open again," whispered Aragorn. "The fool! Merry, you must delay them. I’ll bring him back."

Far enough back from the crest to stand, Aragorn rose to his feet and strode after Frodo, his eyes on the ground and his face livid. Merry scrambled back just in time to hear, "Hoy! Well, you’ve seen ‘em! Now if you don’t send down the injured one right now, we’ll start playing with these little rats!"

Delay them… Merry rose to his full height above the lip of the crest, hoping that his foreshortened figure would discourage them from shooting at him. "I know you!" he shouted, pointing down at the man holding Sam. "It’s a pity that my friend didn’t kill you with your leader and all your dirty thieves in your brigand band!"

"I know you, too, you little rat! He was a good leader, he was, and looked after me and me mates. We had easy pickings and never any trouble, until you came along!" The surviving brigand seemed to be growing more furious by the moment. He swung around, jolting Sam, and snarled something to the hidden half-orc in the prickle-patch.

Though Merry could not hear what he had said, he heard the reply. "No! I only want the hurt one! I don’t care about your revenge."

More unintelligible conversation. Sam was weaving on his feet now, standing by his own strength. Merry saw him raise his head and look about with awareness returning to those sharp grey eyes. Pippin had turned back to the man behind him at Merry’s words, and confusion was mirrored in his eyes. Then Pippin stiffened and his gaze sharpened at something near the bottom of the hill. Sam followed his gaze and Merry saw him pale.

Then the man was turning back to Merry, and the hobbit could feel the hatred in that hot stare. "You," the man hissed, "cost me my mates and the best leader I’d ever worked under. You’re going to pay for that. I’m going to enjoy making you pay for that.

"The stakes just went up, you little rat. Now if you want your friends back, you’re going to have to come down with the other one. Two for two—that seems more even, don’t it? And then you and I’ll finish what my leader started that night, only I don’t need you to be able to talk, after."

Merry’s taunting reply was interrupted by Aragorn sliding up beside him. Looking over his shoulder, Merry saw his cousin propped up against the packs, a blanket pulled over him. Frodo’s eyes were closed and his jacket over his left shoulder dark with blood. He was very pale and looked to have fainted.

"I caught him near the bottom of the hill," the Ranger whispered. "He’d almost made it down to them. That’s what Pippin was trying to tell us, wasn’t it?"

"Yes," Merry said. "And Sam’s awake. Can you—"

Their hurried exchange broke off when Squint-Eye emerged cautiously from the brambles, still holding tight to the rope that restrained Pippin. The half-orc’s attention was not upon them, but on the brigand he had hired. In his other hand he held the heavy gold purse he had displayed to the band two nights ago, when Merry had chanced upon them as the brigands sought their trail.

"Don’t be stupid," Squint-Eye sneered at the man. "This," and he shook the heavy purse so that its contents jingled, "my master gave me to split among those who followed my orders. There’s only you, now. All this, for you … if you follow my orders."

Unreguarded by either man, Pippin again caught Merry’s eyes. Staring unwaveringly into his cousin’s eyes, he took one step back then stopped and inclined his small body forward. Above him, Merry nodded and turned to the Ranger at his side.

"Aragorn, if Pippin can drag down the orc, can you shoot over them to the brigand holding Sam?"

Aragorn leaned forward, gauging the distance and angle. "I can, if Pippin can pull the man flat. And if Sam doesn’t move."

"He won’t," Merry assured him. I hope, he added to himself silently. Merry turned back to his waiting cousin and nodded, then canted his head at the watching Samwise. Sam had held himself as still as he could while the men argued with each over above his head, using his hobbit-ability of being unnoticed when he wished. Sam nodded and tried to sink a little lower without alerting his captors.

Merry pulled back and gestured for Pippin to make his move. The youngster had been almost forgotten by the two. Pippin closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, almost visibly steeling his resolve, then suddenly dug in his toes and threw himself forward with all the strength of his small body. The rope, still twined around the half-orc’s wrist, snapped taught, pulling the orc down on his face. The brigand whirled, reaching for his knife and pulling Sam upright just as the hobbit twisted and threw himself down. Aragorn’s arrow took the man directly through the base of the throat.

The man’s gurgling cry was lost in the half-orc’s scream of fury. As the man fell backwards, hands going to his throat, Squint-Eye jerked on the rope, dragging Pippin towards him. Pippin saw him raise his knife … then stagger as Merry’s thrown dagger imbedded itself in his shoulder. A moment later, Pippin saw him stiffen then fall as a second arrow took him directly through the heart.

Merry ran forward from where he had crouched at the bottom of the hill and caught Pippin just as the tweenager collapsed. Fumbling, Merry untied the gag from his cousin’s mouth, then loosened the cruelly tight bonds. Pippin was choking, then started to weep. Merry could only rock him gently and rub his back, as Sam walked slowly to join them.

* * *

Though all the hobbits wanted to quit that evil place, Aragorn made them rest and gather their wits. Pippin had made the mistake of looking back at the two still forms. He had darted behind a large rock and been noisily sick. Sam and Merry waited for him while Aragorn examined the bodies, retrieving and cleaning Merry’s dagger as he did so. Aching with weariness, Merry thought of how the Ranger’s mercy had allowed all this to take place, when the brigand begged for his life and Aragorn had granted it. And he … he had wanted retribution on the miserable half-orc, but he hadn’t wanted him dead…

Frodo had dragged himself to the edge of the crest and witnessed the ending. Though his cousin said nothing, Merry knew that Frodo held these additional deaths his fault, his responsibility, because of what he bore. When the five of them had returned to the hilltop, Frodo had agreed with Aragorn that it had been "necessary." But his cousin’s beautiful eyes had been shuttered and haunted, and Merry could not bear the guilt and pain he saw there.

His face turned from them, Frodo rested against the packs, his good arm tucked around Pippin. Both of them looked up when Aragorn knelt by Frodo’s side, then Pippin ducked his head and buried his face against Frodo’s side. The Ranger laid a hand on the curly head for a moment, then addressed Frodo.

"Let me see the wound," the Ranger said softly.

"I am all right, Aragorn," the hobbit replied stubbornly.

"You are not. There is blood on your jacket. Let me see."

Frodo tensed, then gently nudged Pippin. The lad reluctantly withdrew and edged around his cousin to press himself against Merry. Merry looped an arm around him and hugged him reassuringly.

Aragorn peeled back the jacket wordlessly. Blood stained the once-fine linen and marred the velvet waistcoat. Frodo looked away again as Aragorn shook his head and began to work.

"You must not endanger yourself, Frodo," Aragorn said softly as he accepted a wetted cloth Sam handed him. Merry upended the water bottle and prepared another.

"I should stand by when my kin and friends are in danger?" Frodo shot back.

Aragorn handed the bloodied cloth back to Sam. "Yes," he retorted, his voice humorless and cold. "You will do whatever you must to protect yourself, Ring-bearer."

Frodo shuddered, and Merry could not tell if the cause was pain or what the man had called him. Then his cousin shook his head. "The Ring was in no danger of being taken by them." He leaned past Sam and slid his fingers into the pocket of Merry’s jacket. All eyes followed his hand blankly. Merry felt movement through the cloth, then Frodo was withdrawing his fist. In the center of his spread palm, the Ring gleamed like a band of frozen fire.

"I’m sorry, Merry-lad," he said quietly. "I knew you’d keep it safe for me." He closed his hand and a shiver ran through him. Silently, Frodo re-fastened the Ring to the small chain that held it to his pocket and tucked it out of sight.

"When…" Merry stammered, "… how…"

"When I made you breathe, when those Men made Pip walk out, tied like some beast. I slipped it into your pocket when I was holding you.

"I don’t think they had been told why I was to be brought to their master," Frodo continued, his expression remote. "That information was too dear. Or maybe they were just told I carried something of great value. In any case, I judged they would take me and question or search me later." He looked up into Aragorn’s face, weariness making his features look pale and pinched. "The Ring was in no danger of being taken by them."

Merry would have laughed, then, if he had anything other than exhaustion left in him. Pippin sagged against his side, relaxed now enough to drowse. Sam struggled to his feet, folding the bloodied cloth, drawing Aragorn’s eyes to him.

"Sam, let me look at your head. That was a hard blow you took."

Sam shook his head, then grimaced. "No need, sir, thank you. I’m fine." Anger chased briefly across his features. "I’d never a-let them get so close if they hadn’t been hidden in the prickle-patch. I’d rather be away from this place, if you take my meaning." He resolutely walked past the two corpses and tied his and Pippin’s recovered saddlebags onto Bill’s panniers. Not for the first time, Merry marveled at the strength of mind and heart in that stocky figure.

"Come, all of you. Let us be gone from here. We still must backtrack to find our path."

Aragorn picked up Pippin and set him on his feet. Watching the Ranger lift Frodo to the pony, Merry had the oddest sense of unreality, as if what had just happened could not possibly have been real. Pursuit and violent death were so alien to all that he knew. Returning his dagger to its sheath at his belt, Merry wondered if the nightmare was just beginning.

~ The End ~