Afternoon Tea

Tea was more quiet and somber as Sam and Merry’s cousins had still not yet arrived. Merry got the feeling that even the easy-going Fredegar was now growing concerned. Merry had made enough sweet rolls for five hobbits, but only two sat here at the table eating them. The dark thoughts from earlier in the day tried to rear up in his thoughts again, but Merry set them aside. Frodo’s a grown hobbit, he said to himself, he knows the way here.

“Up for a game of draughts?” Fredegar had drained his cup and was clearing the table, but not before taking the last roll and shoving it into his mouth. They were finished with the chores of putting Frodo’s things away and now had time for leisure.

“Why not,” Merry replied, more of resign than actual interest.

Soon the two were set up in the sitting room at the game table near the fireplace. Merry was thoughtfully drawing on his pipe while Fredegar contemplated his next move. Merry grimaced when Fredegar saw the opportunity that he had accidentally left wide open and triple jumped him.

“I’m rather enjoying this,” Fredegar remarked, neatly stacking his captured pieces off to the side.

Merry sighed. “I’m not being a very good opponent, am I?” Merry normally had a competitive spirit and was quite skilled in the game of draughts.

“Usually, you are the one to take advantage of my hopeless skills with numerous moves. Your concentration is elsewhere, isn’t it?” Fredegar had brought out his own pipe and was in the midst of lighting it. “Frodo, eh?” asked Fredegar, puffing on his pipe.

“Frodo,” answered Merry, absently tapping the one draughtsman on the table that he won from a move early in the game. “Frodo, Sam, and Pippin. Where are they?”

“I’m not going to worry overmuch until after sunset,” said Fredegar, blowing out the small flame on the kindling stick, then tossed it into the hearth. He leaned back in his chair blowing out one smoke ring after another. Fredegar was proud of the fact that he took First Place at the Tuckborough Mid-Summer Fair a couple of months ago; a position coveted by their younger cousin, Pippin.

Pippin….Merry’s thoughts once again traveled to the dark crevices in his head. He imagined his young friend walking lost and alone in the Yale. Merry had taken him through there many times while playing truant--as Gandalf like to refer to it, so Pippin knew the land fairly well. Then again, his subliminal voice countered, Frodo has an enchanted Ring--a Ring that can make him disappear. He could be in this very room right now watching you lose a game of draughts to Fredegar! Merry awkwardly looked around the sitting room. Deep in his thoughts again, Merry imagined Frodo slipping the Ring on his finger and disappearing. Leaving the tween and Sam to find their own way home--alone with that baleful creature out in the wild. 

“Sunset will be too late,” Merry said, suddenly jumping up from his seat, nearly toppling the game board over. “I’m going out to find them.”

“Have you cracked?” Fredegar rose up from his seat and followed after his Brandybuck cousin heading for the bedrooms down the hall. “Didn’t you hear that odd noise earlier?”

“Yes, I heard it,” Merry answered, “and that’s one of the reasons why I’m going out to find them.” He found his cloak right where he left it--in his bedroom hanging on the post of the headboard. He threw it around himself, taking a quick glimpse at the weather outside through the window. The sun was already near the tops of the trees while vapors from the cool autumn air appeared drifting around the shrubbery. The sun would be setting within the next couple hours. “I should have left before tea,” he remarked, grabbing his scarf from the wardrobe then headed for the front door. Yes, he thought, after sunset would be too late. Frodo should have been here by now.

Bucklebury Ferry

Merry’s first plan was to ride up towards Newbury. Frodo detested crossing the Brandywine upon the Ferry ever since the untimely death of his parents when he was a boy. He usually avoided the Ferry if at all possible. Merry anticipated that perhaps Frodo might take the bridge on foot rather than trusting to the ‘floating contraption’, as his cousin called the Ferry. After riding for nearly an hour, Merry saw no sign of the traveling companions then decided to head back to Bucklebury. He swiftly turned his pony round, making a mad dash towards the Ferry crossing.

Soon he was approaching the landing-stage; he had already brought Buttercup down to a trot to cool her down. The staging area was empty; not a soul to be seen in the vicinity. The Ferry Master ended his runs across the river at teatime unless someone had a mishap on their hands. No Ferry runs were permitted after sunset without the Master’s leave--especially in foggy weather. However, Merry was persistent, if nothing else. He was not about to let a little thing like fog discourage him. Merry dismounted and walked his pony down to the wooden planks. He knocked on the lean-to that served as the Ferry Master’s office; no one answered. Good, he thought, locked up for the night.

* * *

Merry’s thoughts wandered far and near as he raced full gallop northwards toward Stock. Perhaps his cousins and Sam decided to stop at one of the inns to dry off and wait for the rain to stop. He hoped this was the case anyway. Then again, what if Frodo did not take the road? No, he thought, Frodo wanted to arrive in Buckland by the quickest way, yet in a leisurely fashion.

Then another horrific idea struck him; what if they did stop at an inn and Pippin had one beer too many? What if his younger cousin carelessly let his tongue fly and gave everything away about their plans to Frodo--or worse to the other hobbits?

Merry tried his best to ignore his cheerless thoughts. He kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead, paying little heed to the underbrush and trees that he passed. Wait--what if Sam and his cousins were hiding in these very shrubs? He slowed his pony down to a trot, riding close to the road’s edge searching with his eyes between the rocks and tree trunks. The hazy vapors that drifted along the underbrush were fast becoming a thick fog, making it a perfect cover for Frodo if--if he really did want to disappear.

Merry had to be careful of the ruts and ditches in the road that the fog was hiding--his pony could lose a shoe while stumbling over them, rendering her unfit to ride or even become lame. Buttercup here was one of the ponies they were to use in their journey. Merry rode cautiously; he was not about to lose a pony, nor walk all the way back to Crickhollow.

As he drew near the town of Stock, Merry remembered that there were four inns and eating houses from which they could choose to eat or lodge: The Brown Fox, The Misty Brook, the more aptly named Stockbrook Inn, or The Golden Perch. He had a hunch that Pippin would try and coax his elder cousin into stopping at the Golden Perch, but he would try all four. No rock or stone would be left unturned.

Things Unseen

“I’ve not seen ’em Mister Merry,” said the Golden Perch landlord. “At least not since I’ve been here, and that’s been since--,” he looked at the clock on the wall, “two o’clock, sir.” The innkeeper then looked over to his helper, “Hi! Tom! Have you seen Mister Pippin or Mister Baggins in here at all today?” Without a word, Tom shook his head. The landlord shrugged at Merry, “Sorry.”

“Thank you, Mat,” said Merry, sighing in his frustration. The air was thick with pipe smoke in the Golden Perch in spite of the open windows. Merry figured it was the heavy, moist air preventing a good breeze from coming through. He choked back a cough, making a mental note to cut down on his pipe smoking.

Back outside, he untied his pony from the hitching post, then hoisted himself into the saddle. There may not have been a good breeze going as twilight settled in the Shire, but the damp chill was surely finding its way into his bones. Merry pulled his hood over his head and swathed the scarf about his neck. His dampening curls clung to his forehead. Where else could his friends be? It will be suppertime soon. Merry turned his pony around, heading back south.

Merry was nearly beside himself in trying to figure out the path Frodo had chosen. As he rode south, Merry had plenty of time to think of every which way Frodo could outwit the Conspiracy and depart the Shire without them. The Ring was what kept Merry on edge. If Frodo resorted to using the Ring, everything they had worked for over the past year would be useless. He wished now that Sam had been more careful and not gotten caught, as he was their chief supplier of information.

As darkness enveloped the Shire, Merry sunk deeper into his murky thoughts. He envisioned Frodo’s flight--imagining the three travelers hunkering in fear underneath the nook of a huge boulder when that odd screech pierced the air earlier in the afternoon. He could see Frodo grappling at his pockets for the Ring. Once Frodo had the Ring on his finger, he would be invisible to all things, including whatever that creature was. It would be easy to abandon Pippin and Sam where they were and run off, drawing away the foul thing from his young friends. Merry had a suspicion that the Ring was not altogether wholesome, though it would not be until Weathertop that the young hobbit would fully understand the true depths of its evil.

Merry stiffened in his saddle. Slowly he turned around; someone was on the road behind him. He could neither see him nor hear him, but he could feel his presence. Fear was making his limbs tremble. Merry knew that he was alone in a dense fog with no other hobbits in sight. He swallowed hard, deciding to turn and face head-on whatever was prowling behind him. Just as he turned Buttercup around, he saw a dark shape move in the bushes. “Hullo! Come out of there!” he shouted. The evil feeling was behind him again; raising the hairs on his neck. Merry turned Buttercup around again, but no one was there. No matter how or where he turned, evil was looking at him from behind. Merry kept turning his head this way and that. He stood up on the stirrups looking about him. The road was empty in both directions. He never saw the black shape creeping up behind him. The black figure raised his arms; no hands showed forth, but Merry suddenly fell forward in his saddle, then down to the ground.

When Merry came to, he was lying on his back in the middle of the road, though the evil feeling was gone. What happened? He stood to his feet and looked around. “Buttercup!” He heard the pony snort far down the road. So it wasn’t just me, he thought. As he made his way towards his pony he noticed his shirt was hanging outside of his breeches and his buttons were mismatched; he had been searched. What was it looking for? Why would anybody go to the trouble of…the Ring! Merry broke into a run. Whatever evil overcame him would surely overcome his three friends.

Farmer Maggot

The fog became thicker as he approached the Ferry causeway further south, forcing Merry to slow the pony down to a jog. At one point, he stopped and lit the lantern he brought with him, but soon judged he could see better in front of him without it, so he closed it up. Clip clop, clip clop. He had been riding for over three hours now with no sign of Frodo, Sam, or Pippin; he was very worried now. The resonance of the pony’s shoes echoed in his mind, but sank within the misty void ahead of him. He could barely see more than five feet in front of him. He hoped he hadn’t missed them in the grey fog. Clip clop, clip clop. Merry was very tired and road weary, though still shaken over what had just happened in the road. He decided to ride a mile or two past the causeway to see if the three travelers lost their way and ended up farther south than they intended. However, if that proved as fruitless as the rest of his search, then he would go back to Crickhollow, eat supper, and then try again afterwards. He shivered in the damp chill. This would not be a good time for him to get sick, either. His hair was wet, his clothes damp; if nothing else served, he at least needed to get back to change his clothes. Clip clop, clip clop.

Merry woke up from his inner thoughts. He would have sworn that he had just heard muffled voices up ahead in the distance. They were mere whispers, but voices nonetheless. Merry perked up in his seat.

“Hallo, there!”

Merry startled, stopping the pony. He patted Buttercup’s neck to keep her calm. The voice sounded familiar, but it wasn’t who he sought.

“Now then! Don’t you come a step nearer! What do you want and where are you going?”

Merry recognized the voice as that of Farmer Maggot. “I want Mr. Baggins. Have you seen him?” Merry realized the old hobbit could not see him in the fog, so he uncovered the small lantern that he had brought with him.

“Mr. Merry!”

“Yes, of course!” answered Merry. Mr. Maggot was behaving strangely; did he also see--or feel what he did just a couple miles down the road? “Who did you think it was?” he asked. Merry rode his pony a bit further for a better view of whom he was speaking to. Then he nearly cried at what he saw next. Frodo sprang out of the farmer’s wagon to greet him; running behind him was Pippin, while Sam stood squarely next to the old hobbit. Merry laughed with relief; Frodo had not used the Ring, and the evil being had not found him…yet. “So there you are at last!” he said. Merry dismounted and ran into Frodo’s outstretched arms.

Frodo loosed his young cousin, “I do believe you’re shaking, Merry!”

Merry sniffed; he did have a runny nose. “Just cold is all.” He wanted to shift the attention away from himself and get Frodo home to safety. “I was beginning to wonder if you would turn up at all today, and I was just going back to supper. When it grew foggy I came across and rode up towards Stock to see if you had fallen into any ditches.” He smiled at Frodo; Merry was once again glad, and now at ease in knowing that his cousin was standing in his midst. “But I’m blest if I know which way you have come. Where did you find them, Mr. Maggot? In your duck pond?” He laughed when he heard that they were caught trespassing. He had vivid memories of accompanying Frodo on his wild adventures at Bamfurlong as a small lad. Finally he said, “Come along, lads. Let’s go home.”

Once Mr. Maggot turned his wagon round and left, Merry led them down to the Ferry and onto the wooden landing-stage. He would not feel safe until they were on the Ferry and drifting towards the Buckland side of the river. Merry was reluctant to tell Frodo of his encounter with the evil being. Perhaps after supper, if the telling of their little conspiracy did not take it from his mind.

The End

** Bold print is dialogue taken directly from Lord Of The Rings, by JRR Tolkien.