Chapter 2 – Farewell to Crickhollow

Sam shut the gate on the Crickhollow smial with enough force to drive dozens of nearby birds from their perches.  Pippin’s slate-grey pony jumped and shook his bridle in agitation.

“There now,” he said to Pippin.  “We’re off.”

Sam mounted his pony clumsily and he and Pippin stared down the road in the direction Sam had seen his master taken.  The ponies danced and snorted, impatient to be off, but Pippin and Sam kept them in check, almost as if they were unwilling to move forward.

“Samwise,” began Pippin awkwardly.  “Where are we going?”

Sam did not answer.  He had never missed his master so sorely.  He did not relish playing the leader, and was not even sure if, between him and Pippin, he was the leader.  Still, Sam sensed that he was expected to make some definitive order, or to point in a direction that they must follow.  Pippin’s question reminded him that beyond trotting off in the general direction of the captors, he had no idea what they ought to do.  Sweat beaded on his brow despite the chill breeze and he shifted miserably in the saddle.

“Samwise,” repeated Pippin nervously.  “Merry had mentioned you and Frodo were headed to Bree.”

“So we were,” snarled Sam, more angrily than he had intended.  “Until we were delayed by your cousin who thought we shouldn’t ought to go there.”

Pippin flinched.  “Well, then, perhaps it might be wise to follow your original plan.”

Sam urged his pony forward so that he was even with Pippin. “My business is to rescue Frodo now,” said Sam, his eyes flashing.  “And there ain’t no other thing on my mind.”

Pippin frowned at Sam, his jaw beginning to set with irritation. “And how do you expect to do that without help?  We could follow the big folks’ trail until it runs out,” he said.  “And then what?”

“I don’t know!” snapped Sam.  “I haven’t thought upon it yet!  I just want to find Mr. Frodo!”

“That’s all well and good,” said Pippin.  “But I think we need to make a plan before we set out.”

“Every second we jabber, Mr. Frodo gets further away.”

“Then let’s be quick about it!”

Sam threw Pippin a sour look.

“Look Sam,” said Pippin, taking a deep breath.  “We have both been following another’s lead up until now.”

“And?”

Pippin did not answer.  He realized then that Merry had been the planner between them, magnificent at strategies and contingencies and subtle manipulation.  As corrupted as his cousin had become, it had required many forces aligned against him to make his lovely plans fall apart.  Sane or maniacal, Pippin could not deny that his cousin had been a hobbit of vision.

“I don’t mean any harm, Sam.  I mean that we don’t have as much experience as --?”

“As Merry?” said Sam sharply.  “Is that what you are saying, Pip?  That you’d rather have Merry planning for us than me?  Very fine!  I’m sure your Merry made nice tidy plans ‘cept for the fact that he’s insane!”

“I wasn’t thinking that at all!” lied Pippin.  “I mean, Frodo was a leader as well.  Why don’t we think on what he’d want us to do?”

Sam shook his head, his own jaw setting.

“I don’t have to think, Pip, I know,” he said with a quiver of fear in his voice.  “He’d want us to let him perish and keep on.  That would be Mr. Frodo all over!  But I won’t leave him – I won’t!”

“I don’t want you too,” said Pippin.  “I want them back as much as you.  But how shall we do it?”

 “Well, Frodo had a mind to find Mr. Gandalf at Bree,” and, with a barely suppressed scowl, added, “I reckon Merry worked that out, too.”

Pippin nodded.

“And from there, Rivendell.” Sam paused, sighed, and added, “I think.”

“Well,” said Pippin thoughtfully, “The ruffians rode that way.”  Pippin pointed down the road to the southwest.  “And that is the road that hooks up to the Buckland road, and that, in turn, meets the East Road, which is the main thoroughfare in these parts.”

Sam shook his head.  “You’ve lost me, lad.  And we ain’t even made a step.”

“Yes, that would work,” murmured Pippin, “We could start out following the men to the crossroads.  If they go north along the Buckland road, we can trail them and find help somewhere along the way to get Frodo and Merry back.”  And if they went another way, he thought.  We’ll cross that road when we get to it.  “Unless, you have a better idea?” he added aloud.

It seems fair enough to me,” sighed Sam, strangely relieved.  “Let’s ride, then. We’ve lollygagged long e------”

Pippin was off down the road before Sam could finish his sentence.  He spurred his own pony and followed in Pippin’s dusty wake.

VVVV

Every muscle in Merry’s protesting body ached as the horse that bore him galloped on.  Held down by cruel ropes, he felt like one big bruise as his body rose and fell with the animal’s rolling stride.  He had ceased to struggle when it became apparent he could not loosen his bonds and when he it became clear his captor would leave him alone if he lay quietly.

Merry caught the occasional glimpse of Frodo riding peacefully in front of Scur.  And in his own immense discomfort, Merry’s mind turned back to the time in the Old Forest when he had forced Frodo into this same position.

But he’d deserved it, thought Merry.  Frodo  wouldn’t mind me.  He’d not listened to reason, and thus forced my hand.  I’d not wanted to hurt him. It was his own choice.

Merry unconsciously tugged against the cords binding his hands.  The chafed skin made it feel like there were tiny insects biting at his wrists and ankles with every movement of the horse.

“Stop wriggling!” came a hated voice from above as cudgeling fingernails dug into his skull.  Merry winced in pain, but did not cry out.  When would this misery end?  How far was it?  And did he want to get there?  His rage and fear growing, Merry could not prevent himself from struggling against the ropes again.

“I said be still, rat!” ordered Broga.  “I’ll take my impatience out on your back if you don’t obey, so be still!  Be a good ratling like your ‘teched little buddy.”

“He’s not ‘touched’!” cried Merry reflexively.

Merry grunted in pain as a fist came down upon the small of his back.

“And you ain’t good!” snarled Broga.

“I don’t … h…have to be good for the likes of you,” wheezed Merry defiantly.  “You…. You’ve no right to order me about!”  He braced himself for the inevitable.

Instead of the expected clout, Merry was answered by a loud peel of laughter from both Broga and Scur.  Broga ruffled Merry’s hair as if he were a child.

“Don’t I now?” Snorted Broga.

“Looks like yours has gotten right uppity!” snarled Scur.  And, wrapping Frodo in a tight mocking embrace, he  added, “Mine’s as sweet as a newborn babe.  P’raps I just have a way with these ratling pups.”

“Stop it!” cried Merry.  “He’s not a child!”

“Eh now?  You both look like babes to us!”  Broga roared with laughter as he turned to Scur with a smirk.  “I’ll show you what I know.  I bet he’ll understand this!”

Broga gleefully delivered a volley of hard slaps to Merry’s rear and Merry felt the heat of shame and fury rise to his face.  He did not react as the raucous laughter of the men swelled in his ears, but he truly felt as if he would rather have been stabbed.

VVVV

The clear trail frayed at the end of the dirt road.  Another wider road crossed the first, this one peppered with all manner of hoof prints.  It was a well traveled road.  Pippin's heart sank.

“Why, these prints could be from any of a hundred horses!” cried Pippin.  He took a few steps onto the packed rock and gravel way.  It was a landscape stingy with its secrets.  Pippin carefully lowered himself to his knees to get a closer look.  “There may be horses that came off the path and went that way.”  Pippin pointed toward the river.  “These prints seem to go south, if they are prints at all.”  He looked up and sighed. “I am no tracker. For all that I know these roads, I feel lost.”

Pippin stood up from the ground that he had been examining, his face contorting in pain as he did so.  A sulky expression crossed his face then, replaced by an edge of determination.  “But we must make a decision.”

Sam surveyed Pippin from on his pony.  The young lad's spirit had almost made Sam forget he was injured.

“How's your back doing, Pip?”

“Badly.  Meaning it hurts,” answered Pippin.  “But I can feel it healing over, which is good, I suppose.”  Pippin looked up, trying to grin.  “Until it starts itching,” he added.

Sam gave him a mirthless, sympathetic grimace in return but he was beginning to worry.  He had no idea which way his master had gone and, apparently, neither did Pippin.  He looked out at the lowering sun.  “Where are we?  I’ve no sense of this place.”

“The Brandywine is a ways off in that direction,” answered Pippin, leaning heavily against his pony.  “And if we head north on this road, it will take us to the east road.”

“Those vermin ain’t headed towards Buckleberry, ” frowned Sam.  “I don’t reckon they’d try and hide two kidnapped hobbits in a town full of curious-eyed folk.”

“No,” sighed Pippin.  “I suppose not.”

Sam felt a flame of anger leap in him.  How could Pippin have lost his master already?  But even as he thought it he realized he couldn’t blame Pippin.  It was his fault Frodo had been captured in the first place.  His frustrated mind sought another avenue. “Pippin, do you know aught about these Big Folk?  What are they about?”

 “I don’t know, Sam,” said Pippin regretfully. “You know Merry only told me what he pleased.” He paused, with a sad inward look that Sam pitied, then recollected himself and added hopefully, “But it sounds like they are working for someone else.”

“Some friend of the black riders?” asked Sam, a new fear seeping into his voice.

 “I don’t think so,” mused Pippin. “Truly, Sam, if you could summon black riders, would you not summon black riders? These men sound bad, of course, but the riders put terror into my heart.”

Sam hesitantly nodded.  “Aye, you’ve a point there, lad.”  He stood in his stirrups, stretching his legs.  “So we don’t know who they are, we don’t know where they’re from, and we don’t know where they are taking Frodo!” Or why!”  Sam slumped down in the saddle, letting out a huge sigh.  “A tidy mess, it is!” he cried with frustration as he squinted far up the road, shading his eyes against the sun.  “I’ve never wanted to see Gandalf so bad in all my life!”  He dropped his hand and looked at Pippin. “I just don’t know what to do!” he said, his voice edged with desperation.

“Easy, Sam.  I’d say you have made the decision for us,” said Pippin with a cautious glance at Sam.

“What do you mean?”

“Bree!” said Pippin as he struggled back onto his pony.  “That’s where Gandalf said he would meet you and Frodo, and that is the only place we know to look for him.  Maybe he’ll be there, Sam.  Surely he at least left a message of where he’s got to.”

“We could use him now, that’s certain.”  Sam shook his head.  “But I ain’t heard no good report of Bree,” he muttered, circling his horse around.  “Who’s to say we won’t just find more ruffians there?”

 “We’ve no other choice, Sam,” said Pippin staring at the setting sun.  “Especially now that the men’s trail is cold.”

 “I know there ain’t much other choice but to go to Bree, Pip!  But I don’t like none of our roads when they ain’t got Frodo at the end of them!”  Sam closed his eyes, feeling tears of frustration threaten behind his lids.  He hadn’t wanted to admit that fact aloud, but since Pippin had, there was no use denying it.  They had no idea which way the men had gone.  It was either make a guess of their direction which might prove wrong, or abandon the trail entirely and seek help.   Mastering himself, Sam grumbled, “Lead the way since you know it.”  He stared down the empty road again.  “And how far is it anyway?”

“Expect to sleep under the stars tonight,” answered Pippin.

Sam nodded, and dashed away the few tears he could not suppress.  ‘I’m still coming, Master,’ he thought.  ‘I’ve gone to get some help, but don’t you worry, your Sam won’t leave you to those ruffians as long as there’s breath in him.’

VVVV

The sun hung low in the sky when Merry felt the horse skid to a halt.  He raised hid head wearily to see that the other men had stopped as well, and that the Brandywine still flowed beside them.  He watched Scur hand Frodo down to the leader, who promptly bound his wrists and ankles with leather thongs and set him down in a mound of grass.  Merry felt his own ropes slacken and he tumbled to the soft ground with a thud.  Broga swept him up roughly and slung him over his meaty shoulder.  He galumphed across the grass to where Grimbold and Scur leaned over Frodo, who was staring up at the sky.

“Not a word the whole way,” muttered Scur.  “Like the living dead, he is.”

“Just as long as he is living when we get him delivered,” said Grimbold.  “If he’s not, we’re all as good as dead.”

“Do you think he’ll eat something?” asked Scur.

“He will if I have to stuff it down his throat myself,” answered Grimbold.  “I won’t have him dying on the way.”

“What about this ‘un?” asked Broga as he dropped his burden unceremoniously on the ground next to his cousin.  “When do we get our fun?  I’ve a mind to give him his reward for biting, to say nothing about making my ride such a pain in the arse!”

“He’ll pay,” answered Grimbold.  “But not tonight.  We’re still in the Shire and I don’t want to attract any unwanted attention.  That will wait until we are safe on the Greenway.”

“What if we gag ‘im while I strike?” suggested Broga helpfully.  “Won’t be as satisfying as hearing the little whelp scream, but its better than nothing.”

“I said no,” said Grimbold.  “Now make yourself useful and get a fire going.”

Broga grumbled as he watched Grimbold lead his horse to the river.  He reached down and seized Merry by the collar.

“Delayed,” he said in a guttural growl.  “Not cancelled.”

A fire came into Merry’s eyes and he latched onto the man’s fist and sunk his teeth into it.  Broga cried out and dropped Merry as if he were something hot.

“Little filth!” he screamed, and turning to Scur, cried, “That little rat bit me again!”

“Then don’t put your clammy hands where they don’t belong!” said Merry triumphantly.

Broga threw an indignant look to Scur, only to find his partner sniggering.

“It ain’t funny!” cried Broga.  “This one’s gotta learn some respect!”

“I neither respect nor fear you!” said Merry from the ground.  “And you shall rue your treatment of me before the end.”

“Rue my treatment, eh?” Broga pulled Merry up by the back of his collar and proceeded to drag him toward the river.  “I’ll show you some rueing, you little maggot!”

“Where are you going?” asked Scur.  “We were to make a fire!”

“To wash the filth from this one’s mouth,” answered Broga.  “I’ll not have something half my size mocking me.  Come along if you want.  I’ll give you something real to laugh about, take the edge off your day.”

“What about my rat, then?  I don’t want to get into trouble with Grimbold.”

“Bring ‘im,” said Broga.  “If he were biting rat’s captive, it might cheer ‘im up some, get him out of his shell.”

Against his better judgment, Scur bent down to undo Frodo’s leg bonds and stood his captive on his feet.  “Up ye go,” he said.  “Time for a nice little walk.”

Frodo let himself be steered by Scur’s hand as they followed behind Broga and his now struggling captive.

“Broga” cried Merry.  “You heard your boss!  We are not to be harmed! They’ll kill you, he said!”

“They were talking about your pal,” said Broga. “You ain’t worth nothing to no one.”

“He meant us both, and I’d hate to be you if Grimbold finds out!” cried Merry, unable to hide the growing fear in his voice.

 “I thought you weren’t scared of me, rat?” laughed Broga as he walked in long crunching steps and dragging the heir to Brandy Hall.  The sound of running water was drawing closer.

“I’m giving you a chance to save your hide!” cried Merry as he thrashed.  “Don’t be a fool!”

“It’s your own hide I’d be concerning meself about, if I were you,” said Broga.  “And it’s about to get wetter and colder!  Up for a swim?”

The river water gurgled directly behind Merry and he heard the sickening splash of Broga’s boots stepping, one and then the other, into it.  An icy wetness hit his rear and lower back and Merry cried out in his fright.  Like it or not, he was going in.

The hands let go of his collar and Merry was suddenly yanked out of the water by his wrists.  He found himself dangled in front of Broga’s leering face.

“Let go of me!” he cried.  “You cannot do this!”

 “That’s just the point,” said Broga as he took another series of strides into the river.  “I can do this!”  Three more steps and Broga was up to his thighs in the water.  Merry gasped as the cold enveloped his feet, with the first step, his legs with the second, and his waist with the third.  “I can do as I like, and you, little rat, can do nothing to stop me.”

“Don’t!” gasped Merry.

“And, little runt,” said Broga with the hint of a smile.  “If you ain’t afraid of me yet-- you will be.”

Merry opened his mouth to cry out, but found his whole body thrust into the river, his nose scraping against the rocky bottom, his mouth and ears filling with liquid ice.  He was a good swimmer, but bound, he was helpless as the relentless hand held him down until his lungs burned.  He struggled wildly and screamed into the current.  Above the rush of the water and the hollow sound of his own cries, Meriadoc detected the echo of laughter.

At last he was pulled up, gasping and spluttering, his heart pounding like a hammer.

“Scared yet?” said Broga with a slow cruel smile.  “Anything else you wanna bite?”

“Enough!” said Merry gasping.  “You’ve made your point.  Now set me back!”

Broga raised his head to Scur.  “Now didn’t that sound like an order?”

“Yup,” called Scur from the shore.  “I don’t think he’s learned nothing.”

“Down we go!”

Merry was plunged into the water again.  He struggled, but expected no reprieve from the one who held him down.  His mind spun to another evening by the river and his own muffled cries intermingled with those that seemed to come from a distance – the cries of another, an echo of memory.  Thirty seconds, and he was again pulled up to laughter.  He was weaker and more frightened than before.  The ruffian was speaking to him, but Merry did not hear.  His eyes were drawn to the small blue figure standing motionless upon the shore by the thin man, his hands bound, his eyes open.  Frodo.  A wave of concern flowed through Merry, and for a moment, it was greater than his own fear.

“T…take him away!” he coughed to Scur.  “Don’t make him watch this!  He’s done nothing to you!”  He wheezed fitfully, trying to draw breath.  “He can’t see this!  I beg you!  Please take my cousin away!”

“He don’t seem to be concerned in particular,” sneered Broga.

He was right.  It was a lovely sunset, and Frodo's attention was drawn to the fiery disk sinking quickly behind the hills.  He paid little heed to the drama playing out in the river before him.

“P’raps he needs something else to watch!” laughed Broga, and dunked Merry under again.  Merry was in agony, his body knotted in fear.  He had no control, no way of stopping this.  He could die, and Broga would not care a whit.  Merry though he heard a voice calling wildly - Merry! Merry! Bring him up! He’s been down there for ages! Merry! Now!  But no one was bringing him up.

This time when Broga yanked him out of the water, Merry was too exhausted to do anything but gasp for air.  He was facing the shore when he emerged and when he blinked the water from his eyes, he caught sight of Frodo’s face.  In the last few seconds, his cousin’s eyes had changed and for the first time in ages Merry saw that Frodo’s eyes were upon him.  There was a look of fear on his face.

“Don’t!” gasped Merry. “Make.  Him.”

Merry was pushed under again and all thoughts of Frodo vanished.  He would surely perish if this went on.  He did not struggle, did not move, in hopes of sating the anger of his captor.  When Merry was yanked up again, his mind swimming in fear and desperation, he called out to the only thing near that was his, the only thing near that he loved.  Merry called out to his cousin.

“Frodo! Frodo!  Please!  Frodo!”

Merry had no idea why he yelled, or what he expected Frodo to say or do.  He had no other to call, no other familiar name.  So he kept on, submitting to a terror he had never known before, all the while staring into eyes which glinted with their own fear and the faintest trace of remembrance.

“Frodo! Dear Frodo! Frodo, please!”

In the end, Merry wept out Frodo’s name like a child calling out to a mother who is far away.  He heard Broga’s laugh, felt himself lowered, and this time he was sure he was to die.

“What are you doing?  Fools!”

The miracle that saved him came in the form of the most unlikely voice.  Merry wept in relief at Grimbold’s furious shout.

“Bring that drowned rat back here or I’ll have you floating face-down in the river yourself!  Now!”

Broga’s hand twitched at the sound of his leader’s voice, confirming to Merry that Grimbold would never have approved of the exercise.  His own body shook violently from the cold, but he did not mind.  He could breathe and it was not his day to die.  As Broga slogged back to shore, Merry turned to look at Frodo again.  The blue eyes were dull, glassy.  No light of recognition or fear flickered there.

Broga set Merry roughly upon the shore and Merry dropped his head down and wept quietly into the mud.

“He bit me, Grimbold!  I had to draw a line!”

“I don’t care if he eats your whole cursed arm!” yelled Grimbold.  “He’s not to be harmed without my say so!  I said that you could have your fun - when we get on the Greenway, and I meant it!  Not before! If it got lost in the water, he’ll have your head, and most likely mine as well.”  Grimbold gathered Broga’s shirt in his fist and pulled him close.  “I’m in charge here, and I will not hesitate to kill you if you disobey me again.  Make no mistake.”

Broga swallowed hard, trying to maintain his bravado.  “What does he have then?” asked Broga.  “Is the rat made of gold?  Why can’t we just take what ever it is, kill the rats, and have done!”

“None of your concern!” said Grimbold, gritting his teeth as one who knows he’s said too much.  “You wouldn’t know it if you saw it, and, to be fair, neither would I.  But the order was clear as water, ‘alive and unspolit.’  We’re getting paid more than we have ever seen for this job, but the risk of failure is death.”

“That were a manner of speech,” put in Scur. “Weren’t it?”

“We are working for a very literal man, Scur, if man he can be called,” snarled Grimbold.  “And a pitiless one, if you didn’t take note beforehand.  I hope for all our sakes that the folly of your partner here hasn’t done something that can’t be undone.”

Broga did not reply, but stared sulkily into the river as he removed his trousers and began to wring them out.

Merry was nudged onto his back and found himself staring up at Grimbold.  “Are you breathing?” he asked in a hard tone, his eyes bereft of pity.

Merry nodded without a hint of defiance.

“Broga, go start the fire.  Scur, get your imp.”

Merry let himself be plucked up by the leader and did not struggle as he was borne, sodden and shaking, back to their camp. A warm fire was soon blazing and Frodo and Merry were both set beside it.  Scur had taken Frodo aside to tend to his basic needs and to remove his blue jacket to sleep.  He had rebound his hands and ankles, but not tightly, and wrapped his charge in a blanket.  Frodo did not take the bread and sausage offered by his captor until pieces of it were stuffed in his mouth.

 “Sit up,” ordered Grimbold to the still shivering Merry.

Merry complied, leaning on his elbows in the soft grass and then pushing himself to a sitting position.

 “Broga will have his fun, runt,” said Grimbold soft and menacingly, “But more fun can be added at any time, fun that won’t kill you, but might make you wish you were dead.  I can be a reasonable man if this trip goes smoothly.  Don’t get on my bad side.  Do you understand?”

Merry nodded and bit his tongue.

“I won’t have a dead hobbit on my hands and that includes by natural causes.  Now I’m going to strip off your wet clothes.  Don’t cause me any troubles or your start on the Greenway will be even worse.”  The man sliced through Merry’s bonds.  “”Now stand up.”

Staring at the ground, Merry did as he was told.  He let the man pull off his sodden clothes and watched with thinly veiled glee when they were handed to Broga to wring out and dry along with his own.  Merry made no resistance as an oversized shirt was pulled over his head and his wrists were rebound with leather cords.  He was then given leave to relieve himself, granted it was in full view of his captor.  Grimbold bound up his ankles, wrapped him in a blanket, and set him beside his cousin.  A few bites of stale bread, fed to him by Scur, were Merry’s supper.

But the opportunity to speak to Frodo, once the lot of them had fallen asleep, made him positively pliant.

“Frodo,” whispered Merry, rolling to face his cousin.  “Frodo, do not fear, I am alive.  I am not drowned! Can you hear me, my love?”

Frodo’s eyes focused at the sound of his name and Merry suppressed a cry of joy.  He instead brought his bound hands out from the blanket to touch Frodo’s pale face.  As they drew near, Frodo’s eyes widened in horror, and his body recoiled in visceral disgust.

“Frodo, it’s me. Merry!” he said, drawing his hands back.  “I am no ruffian!”

Merry saw Frodo’s eyes bolt for one moment on his, clear and lucid, but as he watched, they lost their luster and focus.  Frodo turned away from him and fastened his hypnotized gaze upon the livid orange of the fire.

And for the second time that evening, Meriadoc Brandybuck bowed his face to the damp grass and silently wept.

TBC

thanks for reading!  Next chapter up in a few days, though reviews make us post faster.  Constructive criticism also welcome. Betas Ariel and Celandine G *bows down to them*