CHAPTER 2

Merry went into the guest room that night and sprawled upon the bed fully dressed. Egads, he was exhausted. Keeping this secret was the most wearing thing he had ever done. It did not help that he was also scared spitless. He did not know which frightened him more--going with Frodo into a danger far greater than he had ever anticipated, or getting left behind after all--or leaving Pip behind.

For a brief instant today, he had thought Pippin suspected. But he put it down to his own jumpy nerves and guilty conscience. Secrets.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. As far back as Merry could remember, he knew that one day he would go on an adventure with his cousin Frodo. When Pippin got older, he had always thought it would be the three of them, heading off into the wide world, to follow Bilbo, and see Elves and Dwarves and other wonders.

Thinking about Bilbo was what had caused Merry to put his plan into motion. Last year when Frodo had held his usual Birthday Party in Bilbo’s honor, and they had raised the toast to the byrdings, it had suddenly dawned on Merry: Frodo was forty-nine, which made Bilbo one hundred twenty-seven. Rather a ripe age for a hobbit, even one with Took blood. If Frodo was planning to one day follow after Bilbo, he would have to do so soon, or there’d be no point in it. And Merry had no intention of letting his older cousin slip off without him.

He needed information. There was no point in bringing Pippin in until he had something real to go on. Pip could keep a secret, though many did not think it of him, but he tended to go overboard in his enthusiasm. Samwise Gamgee, now he spent a lot of time at Bag End, as much Frodo’s friend as his gardener. He had found Sam at The Green Dragon one afternoon in early Winterfilth, and stood him to an ale at an out-of-the-way table.

Merry was not really surprised that Sam was not interested in his coin. And he was only a little surprised at Sam’s counter-offer: he wanted to be included when the time came to leave. Merry briefly considered before agreeing. Sam was stout-hearted, practical, reliable and fiercely protective of Frodo. He’d make an excellent travelling companion.

Merry grinned wickedly at the gardener. “You know that Frodo may not have us on a bet.”

Sam grinned back. “Well, Mr. Merry, we just might have to trail along behind for a little while, and then he’d lose that bet.”

They raised their ales to one another in a silent toast.

xxxxx

Yet things had seemed to come to a standstill after that. Oh, Sam had dutifully reported to Merry that Frodo did indeed seem more restless that year, but he showed no signs that he was making any plans for an imminent departure, and Merry had begun to think that his cousin’s quiet, scholarly Baggins side was winning out over his more adventurous Tookish side.

And then the end of the second week in Astron, he received a short letter from Sam: Dear Mr. Merry--Gandalf is back. S.G.

Merry thought that things would be moving at last. After all, it was the old grey Wizard who had gotten Bilbo out of his cosy home and on the road to adventure in the first place.

Sure enough, a few days later, he had another letter from Sam. Dear Mr. Merry--Can you come to Hobbiton as soon as possible? I have somewhat to tell you about what we were talking of. It is a lot more important than we thought. S.G.

When he met Sam again at The Green Dragon, the young gardener’s face was anxious, his eyes serious.

“Mr. Merry, I don’t know what you’re going to think of me, but I let myself get caught, and after tonight, I can’t tell you nothing more. I promised. And I‘m sure Mr. Frodo would think I‘m already breaking that promise talking to you now” He stopped and took a pull on his ale. “But I think it’s only fair enough to tell you what all I heard before old Gandalf caught me listening. It’s no pretty story, and Mr. Frodo is in a lot of danger.”

“For goodness’ sake, Sam, he’s not left the Shire yet, how could he be in danger?”  

And then Sam began to tell Merry what Gandalf had told Frodo. And Merry felt the blood drain from his face, and his stomach began to rebel, and he was shivering as if frozen. The One Ring of the Dark Lord. Bilbo’s harmless little magic ring was the most horrible thing imaginable, and it was here in the Shire, drawing danger ever nearer. He downed his ale without even tasting it.

Two things were crystal clear to him: Frodo might as well have a target painted on his back and there was no way he could let Pippin come with them. Not into this kind of trouble.

“It’s still on, Sam,” Merry said with determination. “You’re an excellent fellow, and I’m glad you’ll be going, but Frodo is going to need more than one companion in this kind of trouble.”

“Aye.” But Sam looked miserable, and Merry could not blame him. Sam finished his ale and got up to leave. “I am sorry, Mr. Merry.”

“I know, Sam.” He watched Sam finish his ale and leave.

Merry had remained morosely at the table, his mind working frantically, like an animal in a trap.

He had counted on Sam’s help; now it was lost. Sam had already stretched his promise to the limit, and Merry could ask no more of him. He didn’t really think Gandalf would turn Sam into something--but it would not be a good idea to anger a Wizard.

He had counted on Pippin’s help; now it, too, was lost. No matter how dangerous it was, Pip would never agree to staying behind if he knew they were going. And Pip was just barely twenty-eight. He wouldn’t even be an adult for five more years; to take him into this kind of trouble would be worse than cruel.

He’d give a lot to have his father’s help; but he’d not get it for this. As fond of Frodo as Merry’s father was, the Master of Buckland would never countenance his only son and heir to go off into the Wild on a journey from which he might very well never return.

Who was left? Who could he trust?

Fatty Bolger?

He turned the idea over in his mind. It was not obvious, but it could work.

Fredegar Bolger and his friend Folco Boffin were a couple of years older than Merry. Like Merry and Pippin, who were often thought of as one person with two names, it was so with Fatty and Folco; they were to most observers a pair of amiable half-wits who took nothing seriously. For a long time, Merry had wondered what Frodo saw in them to keep them as friends.

But Merry was nothing if not observant, and he began to discover that while Folco really was a half-wit with a positive talent for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time--though he was very good-hearted and generous, and never meant any offense--Fatty was putting on an act that easily hid quite a good mind.

It was this that had earned him Frodo’s friendship. Fatty had a taste for books and languages and scholarly pursuits that he hid well from most. Unlike Frodo, however, he really only ever wanted to study those things. He had no desire whatsoever to see any of them in his own person. He was no coward. He had earned Merry’s respect the day he had witnessed Fatty face down Lotho S-B. and his lackey Ted Sandyman for picking on poor Folco; but the idea of leaving the Shire was sheer anathema to him.

And anyone who could hide his intelligence as well as Fatty hid his, could keep a secret.

Fatty Bolger. He’d just have to get hold of him when he didn’t have Folco at his side.

And so he had. And it had at least been a comfort to share his distress with someone else, even if it wasn’t Frodo or Pippin. But it had been more than a week now, and neither of them had come up with any ideas.

But now he’d be going to Bag End, with Frodo and Pippin both there. Maybe he could learn something new--if it did not drive him mad first trying to keep the secret.