Angst

Chapter 1. Conspiracy

Merry picked his way across the crowded room, trying not to step on toes, and also guarding his own unprotected toes from the boots of the Men surrounding him. The talk ran high, there was a festive atmosphere, and sprinkles of laughter were scattered about the common room of the Prancing Pony.

When he reached the long bar, Merry climbed up on the step provided for hobbits, for Men and Hobbits mixed freely in this place, and there were high tables with Man-sized benches and high stools where both kinds of folk could mingle, as well as low tables with Hobbit-sized benches where the Little Folk could meet with any Man who wished to sit upon the floor.

'What's taking so long, Pip?' he asked. 'I might die of thirst before you get back with the mugs.'

'Mr Butterbur was just telling me about how the Rangers chased away the ruffians that we sent packing last winter,' Pippin said with a grin. 'Seems as if it wasn't a fair fight.'

'You mean, several dozen ruffians for each Ranger?' Merry asked.

'No,' Barliman said. 'One Ranger for each several dozen of ruffians. The ruffians were far outmatched, you see.'

'Ah,' Merry nodded wisely. 'But I think we had better get some beer into Samwise before he starts having second thoughts about the wedding.'

'We brought him to Bree for a last fling, you see,' Pippin said earnestly. 'He's about to become an old stick-in-the-mud, you know, marrying and all that.'

'He won't come to any of our parties, now,' Merry agreed.

'He never came anyhow,' Pippin said. 'Too busy planting trees and whatnot.'

'The Shire blooms again,' Merry said, seizing one of the waiting mugs and lifting it in a toast, quaffing deeply of the mug and wiping his mouth with a satisfied sigh. 'Ah, Barliman, you have the best beer this side of Buckland.'

Pippin lifted his own mug, 'To gardeners,' he said.

'Well let's get the beer to the table before we drink it all,' Merry urged, and the cousins took two mugs each back to their table. Sam came in from checking on Bill the Pony, taking up the mug Merry shoved at him with a nod of thanks.

'Where's Frodo?' Merry said.

Sam looked startled. 'He gave Strider an apple and came ahead of me, whilst I was talking with Nob and Bob,' he said. He was referring, of course, to Strider the pony, not the King of Gondor and Arnor. 'He ought to have been here.'

'I don't like this,' Pippin said.

'D'you suppose he went to our room?' Sam asked. 'He's been a bit tired lately.'

'You go check,' Merry told him. 'Pippin, you look around outside, and I'll ask Mr Butterbur if he's seen him.'

'Outside?' Pippin said, his eyes wide.

Merry gave him a push. 'Go on with you,' he said cheerily. 'No black breath to worry about anymore.' Pippin took another deep draught of his beer, set it down, and stood up from the bench.

'Don't let my beer wander away, now,' he said sternly, and Merry laughed.

'Plenty more where that came from,' he answered.

Merry looked about the crowded room, trying to locate his missing cousin. He'd begun to wonder if perhaps Frodo had found another Ring, when he felt a tug at his trouser leg. Looking down, he saw Frodo peering up at him from under a table.

'What in the world are you doing down there?' he asked. Surely Frodo had not had time to drink himself under the table yet...

'Shhh,' Frodo said urgently, then hissed, 'Get down here!' Merry ducked under the table.

'Come out, cousin,' he said. 'What is this, some kind of joke?'

'No joke!' Frodo whispered. 'And keep your voice down! I do not want any of them to notice us here.'

'What is it?' Merry asked, then more slowly said, 'What... did you see some ruffians mixed in with the crowd? Is Bill Ferny back?'

'Worse,' Frodo said.

Merry looked around uneasily, but saw only Big Folk and Little making merry.

'Frodo, are you feverish again?' he asked. His cousin impatiently fended off his seeking hand.

'No I am not feverish!' he snapped in a low tone. 'But that's part of it.' He gestured to one of the tables, full of a cheery crowd of Big Folk, talking animatedly.

'Did you ever wonder why I got so many fevers along the way?' Frodo asked.

'What are you talking about?' Merry said reasonably, then thought back. 'Well, now that you mention it, I did think it a bit odd. But I thought, perhaps, it might be an effect of the... well, you know.'

'If it were the Ring, it affected more than myself,' Frodo said quietly. 'You had your share of fever, as well as Pippin, and even Sam. Not to mention Aragorn and Boromir. Do elves get fevers?'

Merry scratched his head, thinking back. 'Legolas might've,' he said. 'I don't remember.'

'It's their doing,' Frodo said, gesturing to the table of merrymakers again. 'They're the ones gave us the fevers.'

'You're delirious,' Merry said. 'What in the world are you talking about, Frodo?'

'And that table over there,' Frodo said, ignoring his cousin's words, 'they're responsible for all the knocks on the head we had. Why, that one...' he gestured to a laughing female, 'she caused an avalanche that swept myself and Pippin over the side of a cliff... gave the poor lad such a turn that he didn't speak for days afterwards, as I recall.'

'That was an act of nature,' Merry protested. 'Or of Saruman, at the most. How could she have...?'

'And that one,' Frodo continued, 'broke your wrist, and it had to be splinted with some sort of abominable bread sculpture or somewhat...'

Merry had a vague memory of such an event, but really, so much had happened along the way...

'Not to mention the shards you had in your pocket that cut your fingers to shreds,' Frodo went on. Merry stared down at the fine white scars on his hand, then back to the indicated figure.

'And speaking of broken bones...'

'Do we have to?' Merry asked, feeling rather queasy.

'That one over there delights in breaking Pippin's,' Frodo continued determinedly.

'Frodo, I think you're light-headed. Why don't we get you something to eat and...'

'And that one caused a flash flood that washed Aragorn and Boromir downstream; they nearly drowned!' Frodo finished indignantly. 'And had Pippin fall over a cliff, now there was a fine knock on the head... he might've died!' He breathed heavily for a moment. 'She could've had Gimli and Legolas learn to cooperate in a manner much less dangerous and painful to our young cousin!'

Pippin walked by then, only to be grabbed and dragged under the table by their crazed cousin. Frodo slapped a hand over the tween's mouth until he stopped struggling, seeing who had grabbed him.

'Frodo tells me there's some kind of conspiracy about,' Merry said, 'that somehow a lot of the folk here tonight were mixed up in our mishaps on the quest.'

Pippin shot him a quizzical look. Grimly, Frodo said, 'That's right. Why, that one, over at that table...'

Pippin looked, saying, 'She seems a pleasant enough lass, though over-large for my taste. I prefer hobbit lasses, myself...'

'She had orcs doing unspeakable things,' Frodo said grimly.

'What sort of things?' Pippin said.

'You're too young to know,' Frodo snapped. Merry leaned closer with an inquiring look, and Frodo whispered into his ear. His face blanched with shock.

'What is it, Merry?' Pippin asked curiously.

'You're too young to know,' Merry echoed. His head was beginning to ache, and Frodo noticed.

'Hah,' he said cryptically. 'And don't you go trying to pry it out of Merry's brain, Pip, for he is wise to your tricks...'

'Pry it out of Merry's brain?' Pippin said, puzzled.

'Don't tell me you've already forgotten how we could mind-speak,' Frodo said, annoyed. 'That was all her doing, you know,' and he pointed to a Big Person next to the "unspeakable orc" lass. 'Thick as thieves,' he muttered, and gave a shudder.

'Mind speak?' Merry whispered. He began to wonder if he ought to seek out a healer; Frodo was obviously out of his head.

Just then, one of the Big Folk slammed her mug down upon the table, saying fiercely, 'I won't! And you can't make me!'

Another at the same table smiled and nudged a bundle of sticks with her toe, saying soothingly, 'That's all right, my dear. You just have another mug and think it over, I'm sure you will see reason...' Merry felt a distinct chill tickle its way down his spine.

'And that one!' Frodo said, pointing discreetly. 'Because of her, Pip, you nearly died of pneumonia as a child, and Merry nearly died of pneumonia a few years later!'

'Because of her?' Pippin said, growing more confused.

'Believe me,' Frodo said, 'We have got to make our escape whilst we still can. Who knows what dastardly things they may be plotting, even now?'

Merry looked a bit sick. 'I don't even want to imagine,' he said. 'Look, there's Samwise.'

'Pip, you grab him, quick pack up the room. Merry and I will go to the stables, saddle the ponies. We'll make our escape, head back to the Shire.'

...but would the Shire be far enough? Would it be safe? From what he'd overheard, some of these folk were crazed enough to follow him there... he might not be safe in the Shire, or anywhere in Middle-earth. He wondered again about Arwen's offer. Had she known, even then, about this? Had she been offering the only possible avenue of escape? He thought about the Havens... That choice was looking more attractive with each passing moment...