Chapter 51: A Shadow and a Threat
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Merry stood gazing into the fire; his back turned away from the three astonished faces behind him. Pippin turned to Sam, his face written in terror but Sam made no expression, concluding that if Pippin had any idea who “they” were, he was hiding it very well. Estella, meanwhile, glanced at Merry then Pip and finally turned her attention to Sam, who was the only hobbit reacting in anything resembling a sane manner. Long moments crawled by, with the only disturbance, the crackle of the fire and the sound of their own breathing, now magnified beyond comfort in their ears.
Merry returned his attention to the seated hobbits, his face hard, but otherwise serene, as someone who has come to and accepted a difficult decision. The three stared up at Merry, but only Estella gasped in surprise. This was not her Merry, the cheery, resourceful lad she had grown up with. This was not anyone’s Merry. Estella stared into the eyes of a stranger and breathless thrill ran up her spine as he, , in a voice far too calm for the situation, spoke.
“Pippin, please tend to the dishes. Sam, please come with me to check on Frodo. Estella---"
“I will help Pippin with the dishes,” she said quickly.
“No,” countered Merry, his voice neither angry nor kind. “You shall stay right here and relax by the fire until I return. Pippin will brew you some fresh tea, if you like. But I desire no assistance. I will take it ill if you do not accept your proper place as our guest and let us serve you.”
Estella opened her mouth to speak but then carefully shut it again. The request sounded like an order. Nevertheless, courtesy demanded she obey. She took a feigned sip of her tepid tea as the other hobbits abandoned her to her wretched ‘relaxation.”
VVVVV
Frodo had gone still in the interim, not sleeping, but with his moon-wide eyes gazing unblinking into the fire. He had rolled to an awkward angle, as his bonds would not allow him to lay full on his side and face the bright object of his attraction, the beckoning hearth. Sam’s heart sunk to see his Frodo bound again, but somehow he preferred this to seeing Frodo in the throes of distress, beyond the comfort of even his own gentling. Sam knelt by Frodo’s bedside, and carefully removed the gag. Frodo did not respond, aside from exhaling an unobstructed trail of breath.
Sam sighed as his ever-hopeful eyes stared at his master's blue orbs. Frodo's eyes were empty and unyielding, either unable or unwilling to communicate even the slightest feeling to the outside world. Sam had busied himself running his fingers through Frodo’s damp curls when he heard Merry’s hesitant footsteps approach from behind.
“Stay there,” said Merry. “Don’t turn.”Sam felt the tip of Merry’s knife at the back of his neck and he grit his teeth. He knew what was coming. And he was right. He felt an iron band close around his ankle and the snick of a lock. Merry lowered his knife. “Please stand, Sam.”
Sam stood to face his gaoler and in memory of the afternoon, began to snicker.
“Seems you made quite an impression on our guest,” quipped Sam, needing a verbal jab to redress the humiliation of the shackle.
Merry punched Sam hard in the gut and watched with satisfaction as he doubled over in pain. But Sam soon straightened himself and Merry glared into eyes prepared to give as well as they got.
“Temper, temper, Sam,” said Merry as he raised his knife. “You know that you more than earned that from your attempts at humor out there. Did you think there would be nothing to pay for your ten seconds of fun? You underestimate my charity, and that, dear Samwise, is a dangerous oversight. ”
Sam’s gut swam with pain, yet he returned Merry’s threat with a wry smile. He knew this reaction would cut Merry deeper than his anger. But he smiled inwardly for another reason that Merry could not have suspected. Ever since their recapture in the Old Forest, Merry had punished Frodo for Sam’s transgressions – and it had worked all too well.
But things had altered after the cellar. Merry could no longer torment Frodo for Sam’s actions; in fact, he seemed mentally unable to do so. Frodo had become like a sacred object, a thing beyond pain, beyond punishment, beyond Merry even. Sam guessed that even Merry himself did not recognize this change, but Sam saw it, and for him, it was crucial. And now, for the first time in weeks, Merry had gone back to his old ways, had taken retribution on Sam directly. It seemed that Frodo, the Frodo cleaved from his identity of Ringbearer, might now be safe from Merry. But if Merry's cousin was safe, “the Ringbearer” had never been in greater peril.
“That didn’t hurt so bad, Merry,” said Sam, hoping to test his theory again--although at some cost to himself. “In your charity, I reckon, you punched me like one of my sisters.”
The pain of another punch exploded into his gut. Sam doubled over, but inwardly rejoiced.
“You should know better when our guest is still not free from peril!” snarled Merry, eyes blazing. “So have a care, Master Samwise!”
Sam raised himself, aware of the danger. “You don’t mean to hurt her, Merry!” he cried in what he hoped was an apologetic tone. “Because it wouldn’t do you nothing but harm!”
“No,” answered Merry, softening. “Not at present. Of course, that will ultimately depend on how I hear you conducted yourself out there, which shall be gotten out of her.”
As Merry spoke, he stuck his knife back in his belt. Sam noted his scabbard was empty, but did not hazard a guess on why that might be.
“She don’t know nothing, and I didn't tell her nothing,” said Sam, now in true distress. “She’s just trying to help.”
“And so she has.” Merry smiled grimly, giving Sam a discordant pat on the back. “And soon she shall help yet more.” Merry saw the glint in Sam’s eye and raised his palm. “You need not fear for her. I will not need to harm her, I think. She may actually do me a great service, while yet remaining in blissful ignorance of our…situation.”
Sam nodded, strangely comforted.
“I will let you stay with Frodo,” said Merry briskly. “For his sake, not yours. You need to find your needle again, so we can sew up his shirt and unbind him. Frodo and I are depending on you to find the needle, Sam,” said Merry in an almost friendly tone as he made for the door. “I have other matters to tend to and will not have time to seek out another at present. Take good care of my Frodo until I return.”
“Merry,” called Sam from across the room.
Merry turned, reaching for the doorknob.
“A word of advice, if you’ll have it,” continued Sam in a supplicative tone.
Merry’s face was a cross between curiosity and bemusement. “Yes, Samwise?”
“Don’t try to explain nothing else to Estella,” said Sam. “It ain’t your strength.”
VVVVV
The hairs on the back of Estella’s neck prickled as she heard Merry’s footsteps plodding up the hall and into the parlor.
“Estella,” said Merry. She felt his warm hand descend upon her shoulder from behind. “Before we speak, may I get you anything? Are you comfortable?”
Estella dropped her gaze but the worry did not leave her face. She sighed.
“I did not press you, Merry, but… I heard those cries....” She looked back at him, her dark eyes imploringly.
Estella’s gentle bluntness disarmed him. Merry felt a surge of warmth run down his spine. It seemed she honestly did care for him and for Frodo. But she was skirting on perilous ground. With Sam’s warning wriggling at the back of his head, Merry tried to explain in the most lack-luster or at least probable terms possible.
“Frodo is not all right, Estella,”’ sighed Merry. “As you well guessed. But he is as well as he can be at present. He has nightmares when he sleeps, and it takes all that I have to calm him. That’s what you heard. When he is in this state, he will only respond to me.”
“Oh, Merry….” she breathed. A single tear fell from her eye but she held his gaze with tender empathy. “I am so sorry.”
A strange euphoria filled Merry, emboldening him. He rejoiced that his story had seemed to be doing the trick. Perhaps some flattery might be thrown in for good measure.
Merry leaned forward and gathered Estella’s hands in his own. “I think seeing you made Frodo happy, somehow,” he said. “You are a small window into the outside world. Something…” Merry paused to consider his words carefully, “You are something familiar to him. Something that helps make him feel normal again.” As Merry spoke, he realized that he was expressing something closer to his own thoughts than anything Frodo was presently capable of feeling.
Estella drew in a trembling breath and smiled sadly. “I am sorry to be the bearer of such news. At such a time as this. It grieves me to take anything away from your care of Frodo.”
Merry smiled at her warmly. “It is not for you to apologize, Stel. I am heartily glad you have come. You were brave to come, and this house has been too long without a lass' touch.”
Estella’s face warmed instantly. She felt the firm grip of Merry’s hands on hers and was acutely aware of his hard , searching gaze. The thrill of fear returned to charge her frame and she was suddenly very aware of how alone the two of them were. Flustered by the sudden weight of the silence, she gathered her wits and spoke. “Did you wish to discuss something more with me?” she asked, breathing more rapidly than she might have.
“I do,” said Merry. “Questions best answered without others around who might be unduly distressed.” Merry indicated the kitchen with his head, where the sound of splashing water and clanking dishes could be heard.
“I understand,” answered Estella, lowering her voice. “Though, I must tell you that we, meaning your ma, and I, suspected what that letter to “the heir of Buckland” might have contained, that is if it followed the foul speech of those men.” She spat out the word as if it were a vile thing.
Merry raised his eyebrow.
“I wouldn’t poke my nose in-- Merry, if it were not at your ma’s request”
Merry did not respond, his face now growing serious. “Go on,” he said, newly stern.
“We suspected the letter asked you to meet them, or someone they work for and bring something…something of great value to them that they seem to think you have. Something they wish to have – or,” Estella hesitated, “something they think they’ve been promised.”
Merry made no reply, but his eyes bored hard into her and his grip tightened on her hands. She could not tell if he was angry, or if she hit nearer to the mark than was comfortable for him, or if he was simply shocked into silence. All she knew was that the air suddenly seemed thick, heavy and dangerous. She wished he’d respond, somehow, to break the oppressive silence.
“We suspected,” she said in a tight voice. “the attack on your da was meant as a warning to you – a way to flush you out of your hiding place.” Estella freed her hands and grasped Merry’s impulsively. “I don’t know if that is part of the reason you are here, but I hope so! So few know you are here! It is a good place to stay hidden!”
Merry did not withdraw his hands, but he did not answer either. Estella felt them tense under her touch, and if possible grow harder. “Please!” she implored. “Say something!”
“It is not my part to speak yet,” said Merry flatly. “Not until you finish your tale.”
The shiver skittered up her spine again, and she straightened, instinctively withdrawing her hands and tucking them in the folds of her dress as if to warm them.
“Merry,” she said, more firmly. “I plead, on behalf of both your mother and myself that you do not let yourself be dragged into this trap, for we do believe it is a trap! There is nothing you will gain, and nothing you can do by returning now and letting them take you–or worse. Please! Stay hidden, stay safe! The Hall is not unguarded anymore. Stout lads from the Hall have put up an iron door and Paladin has sent Tooks to help defend it. He assumes his Pip is with you, and knows better than to call him back. They rightly understand that he would be in more danger on the road where he might be caught than hiding with you. Esmeralda pleaded with me to bring her the assurance that you will stay where you are hidden. I promised her I would and would not be proved faithless. If I can get your vow, I’ll have fulfilled my task and will slip away with any message you might have for your family, and any Pip might have for his folks. May I have your promise, Merry?”
Merry stood, grim and solid, framed in light, and magnificent. “I will promise nothing until I get the information that I require,” he said with a nearly imperious air. “You are a careful messenger,” he continued sternly. “Careful, but not careful enough for me. You betray the truth with your silence. You have told me that my father fares well, yet you give me no words directly from him and neglect to describe his decisions behind the Hall’s preparations. I believe this is so not because he did not wish to, but because he could not.”
Merry swooped down, his hands gripping the arms of Estella’s chair, his face coming to within mere inches of her own. “Now tell me lass, and do not lie! How does my father really fare?”
Estella summoned up her courage and looked him directly in the eye, grieving for the pain she was sure the news would cause him and hoping her carefully chosen words would lead him to respond with reason rather than his rage.
“He is as well as can be expected!” she said softly and with deep pity. It struck her as ironic that she seemed to be echoing Merry’s own evasive words concerning Frodo.
A spark came into Merry’s eyes and for a split second, she had the absurd fear Merry would strike her. Instead, Merry stood. “That won’t do! I am his son! I have the right to know and as good as be expected want to!”
Estella blinked, feeling breathless. Whatever reaction she had expected, this was not it.
“It is all the answer I dare give!” she cried. “You have done the same to me, have you not?” She stood and faced him eye to eye. “For love of Frodo, you have kept me in the dark of the seriousness of his condition! Can you not see it is for love that your mother and I keep this news from you? There is nothing you can do, and by all that is fair and right, we will save you from your own folly even if I have to latch onto your coattails to do it!”
“He is MY father!” yelled Merry, and then, softening, he repeated, “He is my father. I must know. Tell me the truth and I will not ask rashly. I must know. He is my father.”
Estella’s lip trembled and she shook her head desperately trying to deny him.
“Speak,” ordered Merry. “I will not throw away all you have bravely risked to protect, but I must know the truth. I give you no choice but to answer me.”
Estella sighed miserably and sunk back into her chair. “I betray you mother by telling you this…” she looked up, and he could see it pained her heart to break that trust.”
“You will be forgiven, my dear, but I must know how my father fares.”
His form and manner were iron and Estella knew she would not win. She bowed her head, defeated and choked back a sob. “Saradoc has not woken since the attack,” Estella wept. “He is not dead. But he remains senseless. Your ma made me swear to keep it secret as she knew what you would do. And now that you know, I beg you not to break your ma’s heart. Stay here where you are safe! Stay here where you are needed and where those men won’t ever find you!”
“Who, then,” asked Merry brusquely, “is Master of the Hall with Saradoc indisposed? “Who?”
“The only one who can be!” cried Estella. “But your ma is a strong lady and with Paladin’s help she will protect the hall as well as any could!”
“It is not fair that she should have to take this on, not while I draw breath!” said Merry gravely. It is not right that I stay hid like a rabbit in a warren when my people are in peril!”
“Have you heard nothing I have said? Your mother bids you stay hidden! I have come here at great risk to tell you this! You are the one they search for and your reappearance would only serve to entice them to attack again. Why would you risk it? Is your damn title so important that you would risk running needlessly into the arms of your enemies in order to claim it? It is just a title, not your doom!”
“It is not just a title!” exclaimed Merry. “It is a responsibility, a burden, a bane, perhaps, but it is my bane! What should my subjects think of me if I hid like a mouse when they needed me most?”
“They would think you were being very wise keeping yourself out of harms way!”
“I think not,” answered Merry coldly.
Estella looked at him and shook her head in disbelief. “Merry, I saw the hall after those… men came. The doors were stove in. Your father was…” She paused and drew a breath. “If they take you, or things go ill, where would Buckland be? You are the only heir, and you have no son. You would leave Buckland with no master. Is that the legacy you wish?”
Merry quieted for a moment, considering these last words. He stood staring into some unfocused distance, deep in thought.
“Merry?” she asked when she could no longer bear the silence.
“I promise you I shall not act rashly,” he muttered. “This is too important. But some action is required. No, I can make no mistakes. We’ve come too far to be undone by mistakes.”
Estella should have been assured, but something about Merry’s fixed gaze, his self absorbed demeanor, made her uncomfortable. “You have some time, Merry,” said Estella, coming up behind him and placing a gentle hand upon his shoulder. “I know my news was a shock, but things are not so immediate as they seem. The men were seen to the Bree road, and will be there for a while I should think. Your mother is doing better than you give her credit for with keeping the Hall in order. And your family has many friends.”
“And many enemies,” said Merry as he turned. “More than they know.”
“Please,” said Estella, “that is all the more reason not to be rash! Be wary!”
“When have I been hasty or unwary, who have waited and prepared for so many long years?” said Merry. “No--but you are right. I must take time to make a proper plan. I need to take counsel with he whom this touches most deeply.”
“Counsel?” asked Estella, blinking in surprise. “With whom?”
“Stay here, Estella,” ordered Merry, turning and giving her a hasty peck on the cheek. “I must talk to someone. You shall have a message for my family when you return--upon my honour. But what it shall be has yet to be determined. I must discuss this.”
“Merry?” asked Estella.
But Merry had already turned and had disappeared into the darkness of the corridor.
VVVVV
Sam leaned down to the floor, hot wax from his lowered candle dripping upon the wood. He had thought that a ray of sunlight slanting from the window had revealed a small glint of metal and a hint of white thread.
“There you are!” exclaimed Sam as his meaty fingers closed around the tiny frayed edges of thread peeping from out of the wood. Slowly, he took hold of the thread and lifted it from its prison between the floorboards, exposing at its end the head of a shiny needle. The needle stuck at first, but with gentle, dexterous wiggling, Sam was able to pull it free.
“If only I hadn’t dropped you,” said Sam to the needle, “We’d of spared Mr. Frodo and ourselves a barrel of trouble!” Sam hopped to his feet, needle enclosed in his fist. “Here it is, Mr. Frodo. Your Sam has found it.”
Just then Sam perceived the hurried padding of feet toward the room. For a reason he could not explain, Sam stuck the newfound needle deep in his pocket as the door slammed open.”
“Have you found the needle?” asked Merry hurriedly. “I must speak to Frodo on a matter of utmost importance and I would prefer he be unbound."
Sam opened his mouth to answer in the affirmative, but instead of his intended words, something else entirely came out. “No, Merry. I have not.”Sam could not account for his response. Did he not want Frodo unbound? Why not give Merry the thread? Yet somewhere deep inside, his instinct stirred. Do not give it to him! Do not let him have it!
“I think,” continued Sam in what he hoped was a conversational tone, “it must have fallen clean between the boards. You’ll find another quick enough, I reckon.”
Merry growled. “No time! Well, then Frodo must suffer his binds a bit longer, though I am sorry for it. I will try to make him understand. But now other matter press. Sam, tend to the fire. It is going low, and Frodo must have it to relax. But stay near, as he may need you if he riles.”
Like I have a choice, thought Sam, and on second glance, saw that Merry was as flustered and disjointed as he had ever seen him--more on edge and, if possible, even more insane than usual. As such, thought Sam, he could be a real danger. Sam stepped quietly toward the fire and as noiselessly as possible, put a series of small logs upon the hearth. Simultaneously, he kept his ears turned toward the “conversation” happening on the other side of the large room.
Merry had knelt down at Frodo’s bedside, his face written over with concern, speaking in low and urgent tones.
“Frodo, love,” said Merry. “Something has happened that I wish to share with you. Something important. Shall I confide in you?”
Silence.
“Good,” said Merry. “Because I need your council. It is something that touches us both.”
Silence.
“Yes, Frodo, it does. And it is very bad.”
Silence.
“Estella has told me that the Hall has been attacked and my father has been injured.”
Sam sighed in relief. No--this was no worse than he had heard before.
“Gravely injured. Estella was loath to tell me how bad it was – but I got it out of her. I did because I knew that you would wish to know the truth.”
Sam felt his body tense. No! Please, no! Don’t give him a reason to take It!
“No,” said Merry. “Not dead. But he hasn’t awoken since the attack.”
Silence.
“Well, mother, of course, but yes, by rights it falls to me.”
Sam’s hands began to quiver. This was growing very treacherous indeed!
“No, you’ve guessed right," Merry continued steadily. "She does not. She wants us to stay where we are.”
Silence.
“Of course I do, as is my duty. But it is you, Frodo, who concerns me. I would not forgive myself if I let them—"
Sam's hands trembled and he dropped a large log awkwardly into the fire. It rolled to a stop past the hearth, scattering flaming embers around the floor in its wake. "Sorry," he muttered to himself, extinguishing the little flames.
But Merry paid it no mind.“Yes, well," he continued. "I knew that is what you would say, beloved Frodo, but you are still weak. We had to go much faster than I would have wanted to bring you around. And though your mind is clear now, you cannot deny that you are not wholly recovered in body. Your emotions are still in a torrent. You still depend on me for so much, not that I resent it in the least.”
Silence.
“She is still in the parlor. Why do you ask?”
Silence.
“Yes, she is. I do not know how you guess my mind so well, Frodo, for this was another matter I wished to speak on.”
Silence.
“Yes, I suppose she could. You trust her then?”
Silence.
“Good. I had thought the same thing. She has an honest concern for you."
Silence.
Merry laughed. “You know me too well, dearest. But, yes, you are right. Other considerations. I am an only child and the line must survive. It is my duty.”
Silence.
“Yes, of good family, not exactly of equal standing, but who are save the Tooks? It is a respectable line, suitable stock, strong, stout, healthy to be sure, long-lived as a rule. Many children from what I’ve seen.”
Merry laughed. “Yes, you're right! And well fed.”
Sam stared into the fire, his back turned to the bed, his ears perched on each word. By the Gods! Thought Sam. He cannot be meaning to--? If he is, he is more cracked than even I reckoned! This could turn out so very, very bad!
“Not right away, no,” said Merry thoughtfully. “That would be unwise, as you well know. Little by little, perhaps. Eventually she could be made to understand.”
Silence.
“True, but even if that provides for the future, what of our present peril? What of them?”
Sam hazarded a glance behind him under the pretense of scratching his back. Merry had stood at some point and his eyes were glinting with an unnatural light. Frodo remained quiet, unresponsive, his eyes open and empty.
“Invincible, yes,” said Merry, staring at Frodo intently.
No! No! No! thought Sam.
“You know why, Frodo!” cried Merry. “It is one thing to bear It, quite another to wield It--on this, at least, Gandalf was right, I think.”
He was! He was! screamed Sam’s thoughts. Please, please let him leave now!
“No,” answered Merry as if turning down a sweet he ardently desired but was too full to eat. “No, not even now, I could not.”
Sam sucked in a nearly audible gust of air.
“But,” he continued, his voice going low, “perhaps…together. At least until you are better.”
Sam concealed a cry of agony as he tugged on the chain around his ankle, trying desperately to come up with a plan. Please not now! No! By the power of all that is good in this world! NO!
“You sooth my heart, Frodo,” said Merry cheerfully. “I shall take care of the former, and then we will think seriously upon your offer. You know that I would do anything to keep you and what you bear safe. Together we will scour the Shire of these enemies. I have always known that it would be so!”
Frodo did not speak.
“Yes, Frodo,” said Merry as he gazed down at Frodo’s pale face, his own eyes swelling with love. “Our destiny.”
Merry reached his hand out to run his fingers through Frodo’s hair, but somehow he found his hand reaching lower, toward the exposed neck, the glitter of the chain peeking through the weave of the shirt.
Frodo, suddenly, bucked up, let out a screech, and rolled in the opposite direction as far as his bonds would allow. He had turned toward Sam.
Merry withdrew his hand in shock, and looked up to see Sam racing forward, dragging the heavy ball and shackles awkwardly toward the bed.
“Mr. Frodo!” called Sam. “Are you all right, Mr. Frodo?”
VVVVV
Sam gave Merry a look which he hoped would show neither suspicion nor terror. Or that he knew what Merry had nearly done. Merry did not acknowledge Sam at all; instead, he ran his eyes over Frodo’s newly thrashing body and distressed face.
“Poor Frodo!” cried Merry. “When shall you be whole?”
Merry did not attempt to touch Frodo again, but promised to return “when I have done as you bid.” Merry then turned to Sam. “Comfort him,” ordered Merry. “Gag him if you cannot quiet him, for I cannot be disturbed for the next hour. That is upon Frodo’s own direction, though his body may take it ill. Frodo does not think we should unbind him until the thread is found, or until I find another. I shall return, and when I do, I expect to find a calm and docile Frodo. That is your purpose today if you wish all to proceed without mishap. Do you understand, Sam?”
Sam nodded, and even threw in a “Yes, Mr. Merry” for good measure--so anxious was he to get Merry out of the room.
Merry smiled, pleased it seemed, by the return of Sam’s long-lost sense of deference. He went out the door, and when it closed, Sam at last dared to breathe.
Sam stared down at Frodo, thrashing and crying below him, and felt tears stream down his own face. You know what’s got to be done, Sam. Now you’ve got to screw yourself up to do it!
VVVVV
Sam at first did not move, but stood and wrung his hands, crying silently. At last his shaking hand grasped around the hated piece of cloth that had been Frodo’s gag, and fastened it back around Frodo’s mouth, muffling his cries.
“I’m so sorry, dear, dear, Master!” sobbed Sam. “So sorry that I must do this--but there is no choice anymore! No hope if I let things be!”
Frodo continued to tug at his bonds and moan, seeming, on some level, to sense his peril. For Sam, this fear made what he was about to do all the worse.
“Master, I hope you’ll understand. Because there ain’t no more options, Mr. Frodo. Your Sam, he’s run out of time! I may not get another chance!”
The tears came out of Sam’s eyes so thick and fast that he nearly cried himself to blindness.
“I’m sorry, me love!” muttered Sam, moving closer. Sam gave his eyes one more sloppy wipe with the back of his sleeve, and, moving his trembling hand down, reached for the malevolent bump under Frodo’s collar.