Chapter Two: Enemy

Blasted uncomfortable chair! Merimac shifted for about the hundredth time, but there was no way to get comfortable enough to rest. Why hadn't he thought to bring a cushion? After all, he had been complaining about this involuntary duty for quite a while. He was sick of spending his nights in front of this door. If he hadn't feared his mother and brother would kill him for it, he would have just chained the lad to his bed and been done with it. Two doors down his wife was asleep. Adamanta was quite advanced in pregnancy. His mother had said she might give birth any day, and he was stuck spending the better part of his nights here?! Grumbling to himself, Merimac shifted again and almost slipped off the chair.

The first time Frodo had sneaked out of the smial in the middle of the night had been about three weeks ago. All Brandy Hall had been in an uproar and, as on so many other occasions, it had fallen upon him, Saradoc and his father to find the boy. Frodo had actually gone quite far. Saradoc found him north of Stock, freezing cold and pale with hunger and exhaustion. His brother had been beside himself with relief at finding him, but even Mac could see how much Frodo's repeated attempts at escape and his growing alienation tore at his brother's heart.

The Master and his sons had agreed to keep watch on Frodo's door every night since. The lad had been caught three times before he had seemingly given up trying to escape, but he had not given up his defiant behaviour. Whenever he could, he lashed out at Saradoc and Esmeralda. Merimac had been at the receiving end of a few of his outbursts as had his father and even his mother. But it was Sara who got the brunt of it and Merimac wondered how much longer it would be before his brother lost patience with the lad. Mac could not tell whether it was despair or anger that caused the elder to stare blankly into his mug on the rare occasion they found a moment to go to the inn.

A hiss startled him from his doze. Merimac almost fell from the chair again and cursed his awkward situation. The lamp, which had been the only light in the corridor, had gone out. Merimac sighed heavily and got to his feet. His back hurt, his right foot was asleep and his backside told him that he had been sitting for too long - again. What an entertaining way to spend the night!

Silently, he opened the door and peeked into the dark chamber to see if he could risk fetching another candle. The bed was situated against the opposite wall and though Mac could see poorly in the darkness, it looked as if his cousin was sound asleep. He closed the door with care and ambled to the storage room mumbling crossly to himself.

Scratching his head sleepily, he tucked the spare candles into his pocket and closed the door to the storage room. Just then, a fearful outcry roused him. His first thought was to run to Adamanta, but as soon as he darted down the corridor, he realised that it could not possibly have been her voice. He stopped short in front of Frodo's door, opening it just as carefully as he had earlier. Sure enough, Frodo was sitting upright in his bed, panting for breath.

Merimac hurried to his side. "It's all right, lad. I'm here."

"Mac?" Frodo's voice was confused and when Merimac touched his arm he felt a tremor in the small body.

Thinking that light might reassure the boy, Mac fumbled for a match and lit the candle on the nightstand. Frodo's face as full of fear as his cry had been. Damp curls stuck to an ashen forehead and glassy eyes, still heavy with sleep, looked wildly from one corner of the room to the other. "Don't you worry, little one. It was but a nightmare," Mac reached for his hand.

"No," Frodo hissed, his eyes still searching the room. "It was not. It was not!"

He tensed and pulled his hand from Merimac's. A cold glare met him, but Mac could also see tears shimmering in the hidden infinity of those blue depths. He held the child's gaze until Frodo broke away. The grim boy clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white and pressed his lips into a thin, tight line. Merimac found himself remembering the cousin whose constant babbling used to follow him and his brother everywhere. It did not seem possible that this was the same young boy.

"Do…" he asked hesitatingly. "Do you wish to talk about it?"

Frodo looked at him in silence. His expression unreadable in the darkness, but Mac could almost feel the resentment in him. In one quick movement, Frodo turned his back on him and crawled to the farthest end of the bed where he curled into a small ball.

Merimac sighed, unsure whether he should be relieved or disappointed at this obvious negative. Nevertheless, he was reluctant to leave. He possessed neither his mother's insight nor his father and brother's patience, but he didn't like the air of despondency that lingered over his cousin. The child needed someone and it broke his heart to be so close to him and yet so far away. He reached out to touch him, but stopped mid-movement. The small body shook with silent tears. Merimac frowned, hesitating yet again.

"You know what?" he said, more cheerfully than he felt. "This bed of yours looks much more comfortable than that chair I've been sitting on. I believe I shall just stay here the rest of the night."

With that, Merimac plopped down next to his cousin. He folded his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling, ignoring the boy so as to give him the distance he desired. A pale circlet of light danced above his head. If he had felt awkward outside, he felt even more so now. He became aware of his own heartbeat and growing uneasiness. It was sheer force of will that kept him from fidgeting. Frodo's increasing agitation did not help. The boy kept stretching out and coiling up again. One moment he shifted the next he seemed determined to crawl into the wall, but not once did he turn to face Mac. The older hobbit smiled grimly at the boy's determination.

"Why are you doing this?" The question was so sudden Merimac was caught for an answer. Raising an enquiring eyebrow, he turned to Frodo who had finally sat up to glower at him. "Staying here when I don't want you to?"

"Ah, but you do," Mac said simply. "You just don't want to admit it."

There was a flash in those eyes. Frodo's glare turned ice cold and if looks had been able to kill, Mac would have dropped dead then and there. "Don't pretend you know me," the boy hissed between clenched teeth, "you're…"

"… not your father," Merimac finished calmly, cutting him short. "I know that. You told me yesterday, and last week, and I think even the week before that. But, Frodo," his voice softened as he sat up to look at him, "I'm your cousin. I've known you since the day you were born and I can tell when you're in need of someone. And at this moment you most certainly do."

Frodo glared at him, his mouth working, but he seemed unable to find words to say. Merimac prepared himself for the storm that seemed to be brewing, but instead, Frodo turned his back on him once more and pressed himself against the wall.

"Go away!" he mumbled rather grumpily.

Merimac scowled at the boy, his own temper beginning to rise. Pigheaded Baggins, that's all he was. They were worse than any Brandybuck! He resisted the urge to shake some sense into the lad and stubbornly laid back down.

The situation was almost comical. Here he was, about to become a father, and acting the sullen tween. If Adamanta could see him now, she would give him a piece of her mind. He thought of Mantha, sleeping peacefully two doors down the corridor, and longed to hold her, to feel the swell of their unborn child under his hands. She needed him there, whereas Frodo…

He looked at the boy again. Frodo needed him too, didn't he? Wasn't that Merimac had just finished telling him? Anyone could see that the boy was deeply troubled. "Why are you trying to leave?" he asked with a suddenly burning curiosity.

"That's none of your business," Frodo told him grimly.

Merimac rolled his eyes. "Frodo…"

All of a sudden the child turned to him. His eyes glistened in the candle light and his face was morose. "Because I keep looking for…" Frodo seemed unable to control the trembling in his words. "I keep thinking that maybe they'll be…" He looked away and clenched his fists before repeating in a small broken voice: "I still hope..."

Merimac felt a sting in his heart. Frodo was a brave lad, fearless, but death was an opponent he could not defeat. He looked sadly into the teary eyes. "That's a foolish hope, little one."

"Don't you think I know?" Frodo cried with a thick voice. "I know and," a tear trickled down his cheek, "it still hurts so much."

Merimac reached out a hand, but Frodo pulled away. The death of Drogo and Primula had really shattered the boy. He was now afraid to love. Frodo was like a skittish, untamed colt; he feared closeness and the loving touch of a friend. The loss of his beloved aunt and uncle tore at Merimac's own heart but he couldn't even grasp what Frodo might be going through now.

"I hurt too, little one," he finally said. Frodo looked up at him, his eyes forlorn and empty, and Merimac suddenly missed the young cousin he used to spend so much time with. Frodo could become that boy again, if only he would stop locking them out. He could be such a wonderful playmate for his own child. "It pains me that you no longer see me as a friend but as your enemy."

Frodo's eyes widened, but then he looked away again, his body trembling. Merimac pressed on. Perhaps, there was a chance he might reach his cousin this time. "You're being unfair to me and even more so to Saradoc. He loves you dearly, Frodo. As does Esme. As do all of us. You're…"

"Stop it!" Frodo cried out in a shrill voice. "Go away! Leave me alone!"

The boy threw the pillow at him and curled up by the wall once more, sobbing openly. Merimac felt his heart sink. How could he make Frodo understand how much he was loved? What else could he do to prove it? By all the green grass in Buckland, didn't he remember his early childhood days? How could he forget the family in whose bosom he had been cherished?

With a heavy sigh, Merimac lay back down. He stared at the ceiling and touched the scar on his chin. He remembered the day he had acquired it. Frodo had wanted him to spend the night in his bed then. Merimac pulled the comforter up and settled in. Even if his cousin did not want him to, he was determined to stay. Come what may. He would not leave the boy alone with his tears.

~*~*~

You can read about how Merimac acquired his scar in Looking After which is part of my Many Aspects of Merimac Brandybuck series.