Chapter 49 - A Least Expected Party
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All that could be heard in the parlor was the sound of pounding hearts and heavy breaths. Pippin held his small sword in sweaty, white-knuckled hands, Sam in steady ones. Merry’s head blocked out much of the small window beside the door, and the other hobbits found themselves staring at his back, waiting for an answer. Frodo stood unmoving behind the protective bulk of his servant and cousin, hands dangling loose at his sides, eyes open and glazed.
“Oh balls!” exclaimed Merry. “Balls!” that time louder and with more anger, but the fear in his voice was gone. He sheathed his dagger.
Sam and Pippin exchanged a confused look tinged with no small relief. Surely this was not the reaction to a deadly foe.
“It’s Stella,” Merry spat out.
“Stel---“ began Pippin.
“Estella Bolger!” yelled Merry in an exasperated voice. “Fatty’s sister.”
Pippin blanched. Of course. She was the source of the familiar voice at the marketplace, the one calling his name. The voice he’d tried to ignore, and failing that, outrun. How had she found them? Had she followed? Had she assumed they would be with Frodo? God’s help him if she had found them through any fault of his own. And Gods help him if Merry found out.
Sam’s mind was also running, though along a very different track. He knew and liked Estella, but in coming here she was unwittingly putting herself in grave danger. Sam glanced at Frodo, then his eyes wandered down to his own hand, now holding a dagger. He was armed and Merry was….
“Oi!” cried Sam at the feel of cold metal at his throat. You miserable dolt! You waited too long!
Merry was standing behind him with his sword at Sam’s throat – his eyes blazing with frustration. “Take his weapon, Pip – now!” ordered Merry. “Or I shall cut his throat! Now!”
Sam had little time to reflect on the fact that Merry had forced Pip to comply by threatening himself, and that that threat had worked. Sam felt the hilt gently tugged from his grasp.
“Put it back in the cabinet,” said Merry harshly, “Along with your sword, Pip. Then close the lock.” Sam could not see Pippin’s crestfallen expression as he did this. Merry pressed the knife ever deeper against Sam’s throat. “Sam,” he said in a low hiss. “When Estella comes through that door, you will not say anything that will reveal our purpose at this house, or I shall be forced to kill her. I won’t want to, but I will do it. Not one word, Sam. Do we understand each other?”
Sam breathed out a “yes” –knowing that Merry was both very serious and quite capable. The knife lowered and Sam breathed again. He turned to Merry more in curiosity than anger.
“Why will you say you are here then?” asked Sam in a non-confrontational tone. “And how are you going to explain the state of Mr. Frodo?” Sam watched Merry’s brow furrow and immediately regretted his words. He feared Merry was considering killing Estella regardless. The seconds crawled by.
“Set Frodo in his room, Sam,” ordered Merry at length. “Stay with him until I call for you.”
Sam breathed a gusty sigh of relief. As he took Frodo’s arm, Sam tensed, waiting for the inevitable raps at the door. He had only taken a few steps with his charge when the knocks came. The hobbits jumped out of their skins at the once-ordinary sound of fist on wood. Merry snapped his head around to Sam and mouthed, “Go.” Sam went.
Merry flatted his curls down with an unsteady hand, took a cleansing breath, and opened the door. “Stella!” exclaimed Merry with a light, welcoming voice that Pippin had not heard for weeks.
Merry embraced the plump hobbit lass ferociously before marshalling her inside. The rustle of her skirts reminded Merry of the Hall and bustle of all the maids and matrons who scrambled throughout its many tunnels. But aside from being a female invading a house of lads, Estella was not noteworthy. She was a plain lass, with standard hobbit lass hair, long, brown, curly, tied back in a hasty bow, typical ruddy cheeks, round face, brown eyes. She was a girl who, though she was still young, already had the look and manner of a matron. She had been so since her teens – older than her years. Perhaps it stemmed from her competence, her confidence, her way of mothering anything male that moved. But no lad chased her that Merry could remember. She had the carriage of one who had been married for years; and one did not court such a lass. She had the additional misfortune of being born at the same time as a large crop of unusually fair girls. Thus, Estella, though just a few years younger than Merry, was already well on her way to becoming an old maid.
“Hullo, Mer,” she said without ceremony, and nodding to a pale and quivering Pippin, added in a motherly tone, “Hullo Pippin. Are you quite all right?”
Pippin gave a non-committal nod, and scurried wretchedly off toward the kitchen mumbling something about water for tea.
“Have I come at a bad time?” asked Estella.
“Certainly not,” said Merry bowing low. “A fair hobbit lass is always welcome in my home.”
Stella cocked her head. “I thought this was Frodo’s home,” and with a suspicious slant of the eyes, added “and since when have you considered me fair? Last time you used any such language, it was to distract me as Fatty stuffed a toad down my bodice.”
“Ah, come on, Stel, we were teens,” laughed Merry, reaching for her muddied cloak.
“You were tweens,” she corrected. “And you were drunk.”
Merry snorted as he turned to hang the cloak on a hook.
“Meriadoc Brandybuck!”
An instinctual shiver ran down Merry’s spine at the sound of his full name. It reminded him eminently of his mother.
“You never answered me,” said Stella. “Is this not Frodo’s house?”
Merry bit his lip and steadied his mind before turning back around. “Course it is, love,” he answered, then turning, added, “Frodo has been ill, and Pippin, Sam and I have been tending to him. We’ve been here so long it feels like home.”
“Frodo? Ill?” She exclaimed, frowning with concern. “Will he be all right? Where is he?”
Merry gave her a conspiratorial look, and waved her into the parlor, near the fire. He motioned to a chair and she sat down. Merry dragged over a second chair and sat across from her. “I am sorry to be so mysterious,” Merry whispered, “but I do not wish to unduly distress Pippin or Sam.” Estella’s eyes went huge. “May I confide in you, dearest Stella?” whispered Merry, his face the awash in earnestness.
“Of course!” she replied.
Merry flashed a fragile smile he hoped conveyed an aura of vulnerability. “That is well,” he said, “because I have always felt I could speak frankly with you. Even when I was helping put frogs down your dress, I did so because I knew you’d not stay mad. I don’t know why, Stel, but I’ve always felt I could…talk to you.”
Estella felt heat rush to her cheeks. This was quite unlike either the mischievous Merry-lad, or the mature-Merry she’d come to know. She could not help feeling something here was off. “Is it about Frodo?” asked Estella, concern furrowing her brows.
Merry glanced up through his long, thick lashes, noting that Estella did actually look rather fetching with that rosy blush. She looked at him with neither fear, nor derision. It had been so long since he’d had a normal, even mundane interaction that he found himself unsure on how to proceed.
Merry shook himself from his muddled thoughts. What to say. What to say.
“I’m afraid so, Stel,” replied Merry finally, shaking his head for emphasis. “He was laid low with a terrible fever just a few weeks ago. He was already down with leaving Bag End, more than he thought he’d be, I think. You’ve noticed he’s been acting queer, haven’t you?”
“We all did,” she answered. “I mean, more queer than usual. All due respect.”
Merry nodded knowingly. “Well, he came down with this ...sickness,” said Merry ominously.
“Sickness?”
Merry fumbled for the right words. How would he explain Frodo to Estella without giving too much away? He must distract her, yet prepare her for what Frodo had become.
“Frodo was so immersed in fever,” explained Merry, “that he thrashed and fought me. I had to tie him down to keep him from hurting himself. A few weeks went by, and he stopped thrashing, but went still and silent, his eyes open, but glossed like a dusty mirror. He cried out sometimes as if in a fever dream and—"
Merry had been speaking quickly, staring at the wall as he skirted dangerously near the truth, yet not straight to it. Now as he glanced up to check Estella’s reaction, he saw that her eyes had filled with tears.
"Oh, Mer." Estella's voice was soft and low. "How terrible for you."
It was a normal reaction. And it awoke something buried deep inside Merry that could still connect with such things. In her eyes he saw the kind of empathy that he had not seen turned in his direction for many a day, and felt a lump form in his throat. He turned his eyes to a crack on the wall, wrapped his emotions in the armor of subterfuge, and continued speaking.
“Frodo now is free from his long convalescence. He walks, and eats, with Sam’s help, but he is not back to the Frodo you know. I don't think he will speak to you see him.”
“Poor Frodo!” she cried. “And poor Sam! He is devoted to Frodo, that one!”
“Well, of course,” blurted Merry awkwardly. “As is his duty as his servant.”
“The Gamgees have served the Bagginses for many years,” said Estella. “But Sam’s devotion goes beyond mere duty." She smiled coyly and lowered her eyes. "He’ll make a lovely husband and someday. Folk think he’s simple, but he’s got many admirers among the lasses, you know. Too busy cosseting his master to see any of it, though."
Merry did not answer for a moment, unaware of why Estella’s unexpected burst of admiration for Samwise suddenly cut so deep.
“Well surely," Estella tisked her lips and shook her head, in a way that again reminded Merry of his mother. "Sick as he is, Frodo will speak to you or Sam.”
“He will not!” exclaimed Merry with more violence than he intended. “Frodo only will speak to me! Only me. Not to Sam!”
Merry looked into brown eyes swollen with hurt. He leaned over and caressed her shoulder, softening his voice. “Forgive me,” said Merry regretfully. “Since Bilbo left, I feel so responsible for him. I would have him be happy here in Buckland. I thought that coming here, he could make a new start, and that we could be companions as we were when he lived at the Hall. We had something so special between us, Stel. And now he seems so pale, so unresponsive, and he fights me so over his care. My love and respect for him is boundless, and I ask of him so little," his voice lowered to a whisper, tight with emotion. "So very little. Sometimes I think he refuses to recover as a way to defy me. He knows not what is best for him, Stella!” Merry stopped speaking when he saw that Estella’s expression had turned from sorrow to confusion.
“You speak of Frodo as if you were his master,” she said quietly.
“I am his master when he is out of his mind!” cried Merry. “Who else could do it?”
“Sam and Pippin, and –“
“No, I am responsible for Frodo…and I do not wish to burden them,” cried Merry. “You cannot know how Frodo’s state has broken my heart, Stel! And I would ask for help from Sam and Pippin, but it is too great a pain for them to bear. They know he is sick, they know he has not been eating, but they do not understand the extent of it! I hid from them how bad it was. You are right, if Sam knew, it would tear him apart. And Pippin speaks to Frodo as if he hears, and it is pathetic to see, but I have not the heart to explain to the lad that Frodo is just not the same. They were not in the room when I had to tie Frodo down as he thrashed and cried out and beat his arms bloody…" Estella gasped and started to speak but Merry help up his hand for silence "I took this on myself, Stel," as they are good-natured lads, soft at heart, who would not have the strength to do what was needed to keep our Frodo safe! I am alone in this, though it is my choice. I am utterly alone!”
“Oh, you poor dear!’ exclaimed Estella, cupping Merry’s face in her soft hand. “You poor, poor dear. Please do not weep! You are not really alone!”
Merry made to protest, but realized he was indeed crying. Why could he not master himself?
“You are carrying such a weight upon your shoulders!” she said empathically. “And anyone who loves Frodo should thank you for your sacrifice.”
Merry stared up in astonishment. She understands. Estella understands what I have endured.
Estella stood from her chair and disappeared behind Merry’s back. She began to knead Merry’s tense shoulders just as his mother often did. He felt himself sinking back into her touch. So long had it been since he had been touched by willing fingers, so long since the feel of his skin did not produce a flinch. Such a pity that he could not unburden his heart to her. Such a pity he must repay her empathy with half-truths, deception, and outright lies. He swallowed hard. Such a pity she still might have to die if the visit went ill.
“My poor Merry!” she repeated as her fingers continued to work their magic.
Merry felt his self-possession slipping with every caress. He must regain control. He would trip up everything if he allowed his frailty to lower his guard. He stood up abruptly, his mind racing, frantic to reassert his will on the situation. Stella stepped back, puzzled. Without a second thought, he took Stella in his arms, and kissed her full on her startled lips.
It felt more delightful than he had imagined, kissing this surprised but unresisting maid. She did not respond but neither did she shrink away and Merry pressed home his advantage while he had it, running his hand up her back and forcing her, wide eyed, to submit to him. Estella's hands rose defensively, pushing against his shoulders, but there was little conviction in her resistance; almost as if she knew his actions were improper but she was not wholly closed to them.
The din of cascading crockery exploded into the silence.
Merry spun around to see a shocked looking Pippin standing amidst a scattering of crockery shards, the steaming liquid pooling about his ankles, a silver tray dangling limply from one hand.
“Fool of a Took!” cried Merry angrily.
“Yes!” cried Pippin, his eyes blazing with something Estella could not place. “I am a fool!”
Pippin’s features hardened. He threw the tray across the room toward Merry, where it landed with a clatter at his feet, turned on a heel, and stomped out of the parlor.
“Pippin!” screamed Merry in a fury. Merry felt a comforting hand upon his shoulder.
“Not to worry,” said Estella, her cheek still in high color. “I'll clean it.”
Merry snapped his head to Stella, fire in his eyes. “No, you shall not.”
Estella shrunk back, seeing something in Merry’s eyes that almost frightened her. But before she could determine why, Merry laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. He lowered his eyes and his voice. "Can you see now what I am dealing with?" He turned and slumped into his chair by the fire, looking spent and tired. “No, Stella. Pippin spilled it. It is for him to clean.”
“But surely it was an accident, he did not—”
“It is for him to clean,” repeated Merry as if speaking from a dream, then added, “forgive me. I must go to him. He is five years from his majority, but in many ways, he is still a petulant child who needs my guidance just as much as when he was knee-high." He sighed heavily but made no move to stand. "Please, sit by the fire, and let me tend to my charges.”
Estella considered Merry with pity, as she stepped to the back of his chair and began kneading his shoulders again. “My poor dears,” she cooed. “You are all in such distress, yet now here I come in and pile more cares upon your head!”
“What do you mean?” asked Merry. “You are no burden.”
“Not me,” said Estella regretfully. “It is the news I bear.”
Merry sprung to his feet, nearly toppling Estella over in the process. “What news, Stella?” he cried. “Pray, speak!”
“Hoy there, Meriadoc! Be easy!” Estella ordered, pressing down on his shoulders with firm hands. Much to his surprise, Merry found himself obeying her maternal command.
“I shall say nothing to you until I have fixed you all a proper meal. You have need of a lass’s touch here, I can see that plain enough. Poor Pippin’s a mess. Frodo and Sam are not much better, no doubt, and you, love, are stretched to the point of breaking. You look thin and drawn, Merry. You’ll have need of strength in the days to come, and strength means sustenance. Now, you’ll go apologize to Pippin for your outburst, and let Estella bake the lot of you something worth eating. I’ll not be able to look your ma in the eye again if I’d do otherwise. I’ll feed you right or I’m not a Bolger! And I will see you eat before I lay out a word of news.”
Merry opened his mouth to speak, then, seeing the look in Estella’s eyes, closed it again.
“You won’t change my mind, Meriadoc, so there’s no use trying. Now go!”
Merry made a quick bow with his head before stepping out of the room to search for Pippin.
VVVVV
Pippin had hid himself very well this time, choosing a small storage room at the end of the hall. The process of elimination had brought Merry here. He had thrown open door after door until he reached the last two at the end. He twisted the knob, and quickly threw the door ajar. He was met by an utterly combative Pippin holding a small hammer in one hand, and a broom in the other. “Get back!” cried Pippin. “Don’t touch me!”
“Get out of the storeroom, Pippin,” ordered Merry. “We’ve no time for this foolishness!” Merry advanced a step toward Pippin, only to find himself knocked on the side of the head with the broom. He cried out more in shock than in pain.
“I said, stay back!”
“I’m losing my patience, lad,” growled Merry. “Put the broom and the hammer down. I shan’t hurt you, not if you listen to reason.”
“I’m tired of reason!” cried Pippin. “You don’t need me! You've got her now so let me go home!”
‘You wouldn’t survive, Pip,” answered Merry sternly as he stepped into the closet. “You’re safest here with me. Now hand me the broom. I need you and I need you now!”
Merry grunted with real pain as the broom hit him square in the gut. When he raised himself, his eyes were wild with fury. He drew out his dagger, and when the broom came down again, it was split in twain by Merry’s blade. Pippin gasped in terror, dropped the splintered handle, and backed deeper into the small room, now brandishing only a rusty hammer. Merry advanced like a battering ram, his dagger extended, until Pippin found himself crushed into a corner, the side of Merry’s blade indenting his neck.
“You had your chance to kill me, Pip,” said Merry coldly as he grabbed the hammer out of Pippin's limp hand and tossed it away. “Perhaps you should have taken it.”
Pippin said nothing; his staccato breaths filled the room, his pale face set with anger, his eyes filled with fear. Merry drew up his hand and Pippin flinched, closing his eyes. Instead of striking him however, Merry thumbed the moisture from under his wet lashes. Not calmed in the slightest, Pippin opened his eyes to find Merry’s expression hard and without pity.
“Do you wish to die, Pippin?” he asked in a stony voice. “Because if that is your choice, by all means, continue along in this vein. Just know that your decision will kill not only you, but every last hobbit in this house. And it will not be by my hand either.”
“I-I don’t want to die,” gasped Pippin. “But I don’t want to live much either. Not like this.”
Merry dropped his sword, and drew the quivering hobbit into his arms, feeling Pippin's every muscle grow tensile in fear.
“I know, Pippin,” said Merry, stroking his cousin’s curls. “This has been harder than you could have expected. You knew not what you were getting into. But I cannot now let you go home. You would draw evil to you, and I would not let you throw yourself to the wolves and be devoured. You are my –,”
“Do not insult me,” snarled Pippin. “I was in the parlor. I have eyes, Merry, and perhaps a brain to go with them.”
“What you saw was a necessary part of my plan,” said Merry patiently. “I cannot have Estella grow suspicious. It meant nothing. Estella is not a fair lass, and she knows it. If giving her this manner of attention will draw her focus from our purpose, then it is what I must do, and what you must bear. A few sweetened words, a few kisses, and she shall leave us none the wiser. If she digs too deeply, I will have to be rid of her."
Pippin stared at Merry's eyes and his blood froze in his veins. Suddenly he could see the two of them in the root cellar, shovels in hand, digging a deep hole, burying…
"So you see," Merry continued calmly. "I did what I did to save her. She will go, and it will be just you and me again, watching over our cousin and Sam. Never doubt that I love you best.”
Merry placed a gentle kiss upon Pippin’s forehead.
“You do not comfort me,” answered Pippin sadly. “Not a whit.”
“Does Sam comfort you?” asked Merry, a harshness creeping back into his voice. “I see how you cling vine-like to that gardener for support. He’s had words with you Pip, of that I’m sure. Don’t insult me by denying it! He will lead us all into a darker doom than you would dare imagine. You have no idea what we are really up against.”
“Then tell me!” cried Pippin. “Give me a reason to trust you!”
Merry did not answer, but held Pippin’s face in his hands, and looked deep into his eyes, sternly searching their luminous depths. Without warning, he gave Pippin a brutal slap, then grabbed his curls on either side of his face, holding Pippin’s gaze again, smiling a cruel smile as he did so. “There now!” said Merry, his voice soft as silk. “I have wiped clean your eyes, knocked free their ability to dissemble.”
Merry continued to stare as if gazing into a pool newly cleared of obscuring leaves. Pippin had never felt so naked; so violated. When Merry spoke again, his tone was flecked with malice.
“I see it clearly now, the sweet, luscious pain, pure and deep. I see that even as you distrust me, your love for me is undimmed, unfathomable. Your hurt would not be so evident if I did not have your heart." Merry's lips curled even darker. "I also see fear in those eyes, but as fear is a form of respect, I cherish it. Believe me, Pip, I do love you, even as I must hurt you. And if you cannot trust the one who loves you most, then trust this.” Merry planted a savage kiss upon Pippin’s damaged lips, savoring the metallic taste and the small noises of pain that emanated from the back of Pippin’s throat. Merry felt the rush of control again.
“Go wash your face, love,” said Merry, suddenly twisting Pippin around and pushing him from the room. “You’re a mess. I need you to look presentable at the table for Estella’s sake as much as your own. Come to my room when you have cleaned yourself up so that I may inspect you before you present yourself and your apology to Estella. Now go.”
VVVVV
Sam sat upon Frodo’s bed, his master’s head lying on his lap, his own hand finger-combing Frodo’s hair. Sam did not speak, but relished the peaceful look upon Frodo’s beautiful face as he caressed him. Yet all the while, a feeling of intense dread surged through Samwise, and he wondered if he might trust his own instincts, wondered how on earth this visit might play out without anyone getting hurt. In Estella, Sam saw both his greatest fear and his most promising opportunity. Dare he take it?
In spite of his worries, Sam savored his time with Frodo, even though his once vital master was like a sleeping babe in his arms. Sam felt his own heart might burst with his love for his master, and he wondered how many of his kind words and loving ministrations reached the Frodo trapped deep inside his broken mind.
VVVVV
Pippin entered, feeling reduced. His bleeding lip had been wiped clean, his face dutifully washed. “Come here,” ordered Merry, looking at Pippin with a searching eye.
Pippin stood before his cousin, feeling like a glorified sheep. He began to quake as Merry undid his buttons, removed his shirt, and fetching a clean one from a chest, tenderly redressed him as if he were a doll. Merry combed through Pippin’s hair, wet his fingers in a basin, and smoothed it down, mumbling something about the lad needing a haircut. Merry smiled warmly, tipped Pippin’s nose with a finger, and declared Pippin the most fetching hobbit in the Shire. Merry then drew Pippin into his arms, cooed into his ear, and promised him that when this madness was over and done, Pippin would remain his one and only treasure.
Pippin allowed himself to be cosseted, but not comforted. Merry’s loving words were an undertow that Pippin thought might drag him down to his own doom. Did he still Love Merry? With all his heart. But he hated him too, and these emotions warred with each other as Pippin let himself be kissed and cherished in a way that in times past, would have made his heart burst with joy.
“No one shall replace my Pip. My everything.”
Pippin said nothing, visions of the dark room under the root cellar and shovels helplessly invading his mind.
VVVVV
Merry felt his heart sink as he opened he door to Frodo’s room and saw his cousin with his head resting contently upon Sam’s lap.
“It is time to eat,” Merry said curtly. “Estella has baked and will dine with us.”
“And what of Mr. Frodo? Have you thought about how you'll explain this?" asked Sam sharply, as he smoothed away Frodo's curls and revealed the dull, empty eyes. “She’s no fool.”
“I’ve taken care of that, Samwise,” said Merry, taking a puff from his pipe. “You are to assist Frodo as you will, answer her questions as blandly as dry toast, and let me lead the conversation. If you have fancy ideas about alerting her to your unique situation, I will remind you that I was dead serious about doing what I must to keep my family intact and safe. You are to be polite, but closed. Frodo is sick. We are all here to care for him. We need no outside help, thank-you-very-much-and-a-good-day-to-you-ma’am. Understand?”
Sam nodded without enthusiasm.
“Time to eat, Frodo,” said Merry in a softer tone, reaching down to caress his face. The action produced the normal flinch and Merry retracted his hand, trying hard not to show his pain.
VVVVV
Pippin was never so glad to see Merry as after a solid ten minutes sitting across the laden table from Estella Bolger. He had apologized for the outburst, as Merry had instructed, but she would not have it. Next came the questions- endless questions! They carried a tone of open familiarity, but with an incisive bent. She obviously hoped to milk more information from Pippin than Merry would have him give. How long had they all been at Crickhollow? Hadn't he heard her at the market? What exactly were Frodo symptoms? Did his family not expect him home soon? Was he sure he felt quite well? How did he cut his lip? How might she be of some help in this bad business? She hinted at news, hinted at a larger purpose for dropping by than just a hobbity how-do-you-do. And behind her chipper speech was an uncharacteristic solemnity, a sadness. And something that Pippin might have even called fear.
Merry stepped into the parlor before entering the kitchen. He noted the spot where Pippin had dropped the tea service and flung the tray. The floor had been scrubbed so clean it shone, not a speck of porcelain dust to be seen. This clean up had been the work of a lass.
Pippin stood up with an inflectionless “Stella-fixed-this-all-isn’t-it-lovely-please-sit-down!”
“Estella, my dear, you have outdone yourself!” said Merry as he entered the kitchen.
In less than an hour, Estella had taken the Crickhollow stores, together with the last evening’s meal, and whipped up potatoes pasties, boiled carrots and winter corn, apple tarts, and a new-heated roast. She had placed a jug of beer and a bottle of red wine on the table, while the fragrance of fresh brewed tea wafted up from the spout of a teakettle. Merry set a candle at the center of the table.
“I brewed some tea," she said brightly, " but put out some beer and wine as well. I know it is still early, but it seems as though you all might need a touch of spirits.”
Merry sidled up to Estella, explaining that Frodo would be in momentarily and not to act shocked for the benefit of Sam and Pippin. She nodded.
Estella held up a teakettle and began warming up each cup as Sam entered the kitchen with a blank-eyed Frodo in tow. “Hullo Stella,” said Sam. “So nice to see you.”
Estella glanced up, her smile dissolving, her hands nearly letting loose the teakettle in her shock. Frodo! By the gods! “Hullo, Sam,” she stuttered out, regaining her composure quickly.
Merry noted Estella’s aghast expression then looked across the table tenderly at his charge.
"Frodo-love, do you know that Stella has come to visit?
“Hullo, Frodo-love,” echoed Estella in a fluttering voice.
Pippin bit his lip. Sam smiled wanly at Estella, and said regretfully, “Mr. Frodo ain’t himself. He won’t talk much.” Then turning his head to Merry, added, “He’ll only speak to Merry.”
Merry caught his breath and Sam willed his mouth to shut before he got them all killed. He noted with dismay that he already seemed to be failing. He tried to sink back into banalities.
“A good morning to you, Mr. Merry,” said Sam, returning to his formal address he’d long since abandoned. Even his deference sounded sarcastic in his own ears.
“Good morning, Master Samwise,” replied Merry. “Why don’t you two have a seat next to Pippin. Estella has prepared us a lovely meal, as you can well see.”
“Thank ‘ee, Stella,” said Sam as he gently settled Frodo down into his chair and took his place beside him. Frodo fidgeted in the chair and began to tremble at the sound of so many voices, his sightless eyes moving back and forth.
Using a taper from the fireplace, Merry quickly lit the candle. Frodo calmed down immediately, his eyes drawn to its small flame and there they stayed, quiet and unfocused. Sighing, Merry sat down opposite Sam and his cousins, waving Estella to the chair beside him.
“Now enough of that, Stella,” said Merry, taking the kettle from her hands. “You are our guest, not a serving maiden." He proceeded to pour the tea.
“I shall,” answered Estella as she turned and rifled through a drawer. “As soon as I find a proper carving knife for our roast.” And under her breath, muttered, “What kind of a kitchen has nothing sharper than a butter knife for meat?”
Pippin stared up at Sam with anxious eyes, and Sam understood. Merry of course, had stowed away any kitchen implement that might second as a weapon. An explanation was in order, a fact that clearly eluded Merry.
Sam, cleared his throat. “I’m not much one for packing. All Mr. Frodo’s lovely carving knives were left with the Sackville-Bagginses, along with the feather beds! More’s the shame!”
Sam passed a significant look at Merry, who peered back with something akin to gratitude.
“I believe I might have a knife set in with my own things.” offered Merry flatly He disappeared down the hall and returned with a carving knife that he’d locked in a chest in his room.
“That will do!” she said, taking it and carving the meat.
At last they were all sitting and eating, Estella throwing concerned looks as Sam assisted Frodo with the food, and then to Merry, who showed an alarming lack of concern as Sam did so. None of them seemed to be their talkative selves this morning, and that, in itself, was odd. Sounds of clanking silverware and chewing filled the room until Estella opted to insert her own voice.
“Samwise," Estella said, breaking the silence. “And how do you find Buckland?”
“Haven’t had a good look at the place,” said Sam after swallowing a bite. “Been tied up here at Crickhollow with Mr. Frodo, if you catch my meaning.”
Estella thought she did, and gave a pitying nod. Pippin choked on his wine, and Merry gave a warning clank on his knife against his plate, as if slicing into an especially stubborn piece of gristle.
“I admire your devotion, though you must miss your home something terrible!” she said.
“Course I do!” answered Sam, smiling. “But I couldn’t let Mr. Frodo come alone! My gaffer always said folks is queer in Buckland," he turned with a smirk, "begging your pardon, Mr. Merry, and who knows what manner of rogues my master would end up meeting if left to himself!”
Merry cut into his meat violently again. Pippin quailed; Sam ignored it.
“Frodo is also very lucky," said Estella, turning to Merry, "to have such cousins to keep him company here. It must be nice for you, Merry, to have Frodo in your backyard again after so long.
Merry nodded emphatically. “I can see him all the time now, not just on special occasions.”
“With a cousin like Mr. Merry around,” said Sam, taking another deep draught off his ale, “Mr. Frodo’s not likely to ever leave Buckland again.”
Merry stabbed at his meat so hard that a sliver of the crockery chipped off and flew through the air, landing past the salt a foot away.
“Why Merry,” chided Estella, “the meat is already quite dead. No need to hunt it down even as it sits upon your plate!”
Merry did not laugh, but gave what he hoped was a sheepish grin, his eyes lit by something mirthless and unlovely. “I am glad to keep an eye on Frodo,” said Merry, now eating his apple tart with a becalmed fork. “He used to watch over me as a lad, and now I may return the favor.”
“Mr. Merry has done a right fine job of keeping the Baggins in Mr. Frodo under control,” said Sam between bites. “Wouldn’t want him racing off into the Old Forest in search of adventure!” Sam winced as Pippin kicked him under the table.
Merry set down his fork in exasperation, not wanting his anger to become manifest. He changed the subject. “This is delicious food, Stella,” said Merry with forced lightness in his voice. “Will you not now tell us of your errand here? What brings you to Crickhollow?”
Estella’s face grew serious. I have not one, but two errands,” she said. “And they well may be bound up with each other. But I shall speak of neither until we have finished eating. It will not make good table conversation.
“Please, lady,” said Merry, his façade crumbling a bit. “Do not be so mysterious! I am to be master of the Hall in time. I can certainly manage what you have to tell, full stomach or no!”
Sam saw a tear congeal at the corner of Estella’s eye and noted the catch of her breath.
“No, Meriadoc,” Estella said. “Patience. What all of you need is one last nice meal before--- well, enjoy what I’ve made for you, if you please. Enjoy a few more minutes of peace.” She turned her matronly face on Sam. "Why Samwise, Frodo has eaten so little!"
"Now Estella," said Merry. "I am more interested in your news. You need not worry about Frodo, we have his care well in hand."
VVVVV
"Froodo."
He smiled. It was coming from his mind and not his ears, sweet, magnetic, elvish almost, like a treasured memory from his youth. He listened harder, but other voices were interrupting.
No, quiet. He had lost it again. The beautiful sound. Oh, please. He listened hard and his mind leapt eagerly into the void, seeking it. Please, he begged again to the voice and stopped thinking to listen…harder than he had ever listened in his life.
Be careful what you wish for. The earlier fear echoed in his mind. But he didn't want to be careful anymore because suddenly he knew. Anything he wanted. It would be granted. And suddenly he heard it, not intangible anymore but physical and real.
"Frodo-lad."
It was a feminine voice, his mother's voice.
Be careful what you wish for.
VVVVV
"He's moving his hand, look!" Estella was now fascinated by Frodo's state, or, at least, its apparent change.. She raised her voice. "Frodo!"
Sam pressed Frodo's hand back down into his lap. "He does that sometimes, Stella, it don't mean nothing."
She tisked her lips and stood up, walking around the table to Frodo's chair. "Here, Frodo, let me rub your shoulders a bit." She started her massage as Sam frowned, not knowing what to do and not wanting this meal to go terribly, horribly wrong. Merry, in contrast, gave her a different kind of look. He was touched over her care for Frodo, her attention to detail. Frodo might benefit from this sort of care. He himself might benefit from this sort of care.
"Why, he's trembling." Estella grasped up Frodo’s icy hands and rubbed them. "He's cold."
She undid the knot in her shawl and draped it over Frodo's shoulders, tying the heavy fabric in front of him. “Fevers are like that sometimes, you get cold, even when the room is warm." She gave Frodo another squeeze and returned to chair.
Instead of responding to Estella, Frodo seemed to withdraw. He leaned sideways, limp against the chair's arm and would have fallen if Sam hadn't caught him quickly. He propped Frodo back up and leaned him against the back.
"Oh, dear," whispered Estella, her eyes large with concern. "Did I do something wrong?"
Sam threw Pippin an agonized look, to which Pippin only replied by dropping his eyes. In his heart, Pippin felt so deeply for Sam but there was nothing he could do. Sam felt Pippin’s gentle hands patting Frodo's shoulder and tried to keep his own composure.
"Try giving him something to eat," Merry said, trying to break the tension.
Sam filled the fork with a small piece of roast. He lifted it up to Frodo's lips, staring intently for any sign of recognition in his eyes. There was none.
The five hobbits sat silently for a few awkward minutes, the stillness, a heavy weight upon the room, the air becoming dense and harder to breathe by the second. All eyes were upon Frodo who leaned back in the chair and stared at the candlelight unblinking.
VVVVV
Higher, the voice whispered intently.
Frodo undid the second button, his hand now behind the bulky shawl. Someone was talking but he couldn't understand the words. Maybe because he wasn't listening with his ears anymore. He could feel the third button give way as he touched Its metallic surface, cold against his hot, moist skin. The sweet voice in his head was stronger, more powerful than he had ever heard it.
"Frodo-lad…"
His fingers encircled the golden ring. It was his world now, everything he would ever want or need. He could feel the smooth rim under his fingertips and it was warm and inviting.
Be careful what you wish for.
Why? I don't want to be careful, I want to be loved.
He smiled at his mother sitting next to his father and the rest of the people he loved. They must not disappear again, not like the last time. He would do anything to make them stay.
Be careful…
No. This is what he asked for.
His fingers slid around the rim again, teasing temptation. Primula smiled at him, her beautiful blue eyes showering him with love, her voice an entreaty, "Come to me, beloved."
Frodo smiled. "Yes, mother."
VVVVV
“It is a joy to see Frodo eating,” smiled Estella. “He is far too thin for a hobbit. But none of you look right. If I were any kind of friend, I would offer to stay here and nurse the lot of you back to health." Sam almost dropped the fork. Pippin swallowed hard. Merry made to speak, but Estella’s reply cut him off. “But circumstances keep me from doing so. My errand here will be the extent of my help, if help it can even be called.”
Sam patiently wrapped Frodo's fingers around the fork and held the steaming meat to his lips but his master refused to open his mouth this time, seeming to sink deeper into his own world. Sam sighed and put the fork down. "Well," said Sam, "I really believe Mr. Frodo has had his fill.”
Frodo’s eyes focused on the light of the candle and did not waver as Sam dappled his master's mouth off with a napkin.
“Nonsense,” said Merry. “Frodo has not been eating well enough. I think he would like a few more pieces of roast.” Both Sam and Pippin riveted their attention to Merry.
No! No! No! Please no! thought Pippin. Please no conversations!
Sam felt emboldened by the liquor and unwisely pressed on. “Well,” he said, taking another swig of beer. “Why don’t you ask Mr. Frodo yourself, Mr. Merry…sir. You know he’ll talk to you.”
Sam felt Pippin’s foot dig into his leg from underneath the table. But it was too late. Estella’s eyes had lifted to Frodo in anticipation of hearing him speak. Frodo did not acknowledge her, and continued to stare at the now-guttering candle. Merry did not seem unduly perturbed.
“Very well, Sam,” said Merry. “Frodo, what would you say to a few more bites of roast?"
Pippin could not bear to see the results of this “conversation.” He did the only thing his muddled mind could come up with in the seconds given to him between Merry’s question and Frodo’s anticipated “answer.” Pippin purposefully knocked his wine glass over onto his shirt in a great purple splash, crying out in feigned shock as the wine soaked into the white weave. Pippin could not have judged Estella’s reaction better. She immediately tore her attention from Frodo and jumped up to assist Pippin with his shirt.
“Stand up now, Pip!” she commanded. “Off with the shirt, now! Don’t worry, I’ve a gaggle of brothers and you’ve got nothing I have not seen a hundred times before." Estella unbuttoned the shirt and eased Pippin out of it. “We can still save the garment if we get it in cold water quickly and douse it with salt! I don’t suppose you have white wine?”
Estella did not wait for an answer, but flounced to the sink and set to work on the soiled shirt, leaving Pippin standing shirtless and staring alternately into Merry’s angry eyes, and Sam’s amused ones. He inhaled deeply, feeling that his ruse had worked, then turned his glance to Frodo. Pippin suppressed a scream, releasing a shuddering gasp instead. In the chair where Frodo had sat just seconds ago was—nothing. Nothing! Frodo had disappeared into thin air.