Sam tried to conjure up something threatening to say, but being rather new at this hostage-taking business, found himself at a loss.
Chapter 16- Samwise the Stouthearted
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Pippin looked nearly comical as he stood in shock. His clothes were dripping in odd places from the spilled water, and long strips of cloth, meant a wound dressings, hung from his neck and arms, giving him the general appearance of a curtain that had been rained upon.
Sam moved quickly toward his new captive, watching as the quivering figure leaned right, then left, trying desperately to find a way back through the door.
“Don’t be afraid, Pip” said Sam as he stepped toward him. “I just want to talk.”
Sam watched in horror as Pippin breathed in deeply, obviously taking in the necessary air to produce a scream on his exhale. Sam could not risk it. With the speed of a lion, Sam tackled Pippin to the floor; Pippin’s erstwhile scream transforming into an ignominious “Oomph!” as he was splayed out on the floor under Sam.
Pippin could not move a muscle, his entire body pressed into the floor by Sam’s weight. Sam had taken no time to cover Pippin’s mouth with his hand while the other searched blindly for one of the bandages to use as a gag.
“Sorry, Pip,” breathed Sam as he pulled one of the stripes out from under Pippin’s body. Somehow it seemed rather cruel to bind Pippin with the clothes he’d brought to tend his own wounds.
With one hand, Sam wadded the strip into a ball, and, quickly removing the other hand from Pippin’s face, and stuffed the wad into Pippin’s mouth. Pippin immediately moved his hands to pull the hateful thing out. Sam quickly caught Pippin’s hands in his own before they could reach their intended target. Encircling Pippin’s wrists with one hand much more effectively than Merry had done, Sam pulled out a second strip, and held it under his chin as he pulled back Pippin’s arms. Pippin let out a fearsome scream behind the gag as he realized what was happening. Of all the humiliations! No! No! Not again!
Pip struggled wildly to spit out the gag to warn Merry and redeem himself. Sam saw, and tied a rapid knot before covering Pip’s mouth with a firm hand.
“No you don’t Pip. We’ll not be needing Mr. Merry’s help in here at present!”
With Pippin’s hands out of commission, Sam lifted himself off of Pippin and found a third strip to fasten the gag in Pip’s mouth through a knot around his head.
Pip screeched and keened – a sound that would have been impressively loud had it not been muffled by two layers of gag. Sam stood up, a little bewildered at Pip’s resistance. Pippin moaned and screamed like a corned animal beneath the gag, obviously truly terrified. Sam felt his own guilt surge through him.
A swift kick to his shin by Pip dissolved some of Sam’s quilt.
“OW!” cried Sam. “Alright then!”
Sam stomped over by the bed, and picked up some of the frayed rope that had once been his own shackle. He sat on Pip’s knees as his tied Pippin’s ankles together.
“There!” huffed Sam. “Now please be still. I’ve got little time and less patience, lad!”
Sam stood up, shocked at the decrepit sight on the floor. Pip had continued to thrash, his wretched state now emphasized by the addition of heaving muffled sobs. The tied form shook all over, and was clearly starting to hyperventilate.
“Now calm down, Mr. Pippin.,” soothed Sam. “I’ll not hurt you. Besides, I’ll be needing your help soon.”
Sam gently set the thrashing Took into sitting position, but was startled by the high whimper of pain that came from Pippin as he was sat down. Sam was convinced he’d been overly rough in subduing the lad.
“Does that hurt, Pip?”
Pippin nodded. He knew that Sam’s tackle had caused some of his wounds to re-open, and could feel the wet warmth of blood soaking through his shirt. He hoped Sam would set him back on his stomach. His wounds throbbed horribly when he sat on the hard floor.
“Let’s take a look, then,” said Sam.
This was not the result Pippin had hoped for. Pippin shook his head emphatically and whined pitifully in protest. Sam thought this was an unaccountable reaction until he remembered Pippin’s screams from the night before.
Sam ignored Pippin’s protest, gently, but irresistibly rolling him over on his stomach and lifting his blood-spotted shirt. Pippin heard Sam gasp and winced violently as Sam quickly lowered Pippin’s trousers to get a full view of his wounds. Sam blanched as he pulled Pip’s trousers back up.
“Dust and Ashes, Pip!” cried Sam. “Did Mr. Merry do that to you?!”
Pippin remained silent, though it was obvious to Sam from the uneven pattern of breaths that Pippin was sobbing silently behind his gag.
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”
The fear quickly occurred to Sam that his might be a mere shadow of what Frodo might be made to endure if Sam could not get them out of here. He’d known Merry was clearly not himself, but Sam had no inking he was capable of such brutality. If Merry could do this to his innocent little cousin, what would he do to poor Frodo?
“This was for the knife, I reckon,” sighed Sam, not expecting an answer from the miserable gagged figure below him.
“Pip,” announced Sam. “I am going to lift you onto the bed so we can talk. I don’t want to go making your hurts any worse than they out’ta be, so be still.”
Sam bent down and slid one arm under Pippin’s chest, and the other under his thighs, heaving his burden gently up and onto the bed. Sam rolled Pippin on his side, and braced his back with a lumpy pillow.
“Is that alright for now, Mr. Pippin? Your backside, I mean.”
Pippin nodded, his wide eyes now flowing with tears.
Sam noted with concern that Pip still was breathing very erratically, as if terrified out of his wits by some greater nameless fear.
“Now, Mr. Pip!” soothed Sam. “I’ll not hurt ye. If you don’t breathe normal like you’ll off and pass out.”
Pippin nodded weakly but continued to whimper and take shallow lurching breaths.
“Alright now,” explained Sam. “I’ll not unbind your hands or feet, but I’m full willing to remove your gag if you’ll be sensible and not call out.”
Pippin nodded.
“Now I’m going to take off this gag, Mr. Pippin,” said Sam as he placed his fingers over the back knot. “No Tomfoolery, Mr. Pippin, or.…or ….”
Sam tried to conjure up something threatening to say, but being rather new at this hostage-taking business, found himself at a loss.
Sam heaved a frustrated sigh. His version of threatening was coming off as avuncular.
“Well, Mr. Pip, I’m a fair deal stronger than you and you’re in poor shape to start with! So you’d best keep quiet when this gag comes off.”
Pip nodded. Sam gently untied the knot and let the gag fall to the pillow. Pippin whimpered softly, looked up at Sam with forlorn eyes, but said nothing.
“Now where’s Mr. Frodo now?” asked Sam directly.
“In—in Merry’s room,” muttered Pippin. “Talking.”
Sam shuddered. He hoped it was not the brand of talking that required a belt.
“Look here, Mr. Pippin,” said Sam. “I’m takin’ Mr. Frodo out of here today ‘cause I don’t think Mr. Merry is right in the head or in the heart right now. You can’t come with us, but I don’t reckon you should stay either. I’m not sayin’ I approve in your part in all this, But I think, Mr. Pippin, that Mr. Merry’s capable of a good deal worse than the damage he’s done to your backside, if you catch my meaning.”
Pippin didn’t.
“Merry loves me,” Pippin whimpered.
Sam nearly jumped out of his skin in amazement. He resisted the urge to shake the bound hobbit until his brain fell back into place.
“A hobbit that would belt another black and blue ain’t got no respect for the person he’s doing it to!” asserted Sam pointedly. “No one who could’a done this loves you, Mr. Pip. Merry is USING you! Master Pippin- Merry does NOT love you! D’ya hear me you injured fool of a Took? Merry does not love you!”
Sam regretted the words as soon as they had left his mouth. Sam watched in horror as Pip’s face turned to stone, a mask of fathomless despair and raw emotional agony. A shrill panicked whine sounded from the back of Pippin throat like an alarm, eventually crescendoing into a full-fledged howl. One tear, two tears, then the damn burst and Pip broke down into such a profound burst of wracking sobs that the whole bed shook and rattled in time with his heaving ragged breaths.
Sam, the would-be kidnapper, somehow found himself seated by his captive, shusshing and cooing him and thumbing the tears that Pippin’s bound hand prevented him from reaching.
“There, there, Mr. Pip,” soothed Sam. It’s going to be fine. Please stop yer crying, Mr. Pip. Please, Master Pip, shhush! Please quiet yourself lad! Please! SHUUSSSSSSSH!!”
But Pippin was inconsolable, a broken thing. Sam thought to himself that he had never laid eyes on a more miserable looking specimen than Pippin Took tied hand and foot, sobbing as if his heart had been ripped out and rent apart.
“Mr. Pippin, please, me dear, shussssh!-------“
It was no use, and Sam knew it. His soothing words only seemed to escalate Pippin’s whirlpool of emotions as Pippin neared a state of hysterics. Sam felt hideous, but he had to stop this racket or fail in his primary goal, saving his Frodo.
“Nothing for it,” sighed Sam, knowing full well that his next move was going to be just awful.
The look of bewilderment, helplessness and betrayal that Sam saw in Pippin’s green eyes as he refastened the gag over his wailing mouth pierced Sam to the core. He was just too soft for this kidnapper business.
“Sorry Mr. Pip,” sighed Sam as he patted Pippin’s head gently. “But you must understand, Mr. Frodo needs saving and I’m the only one here to do it.”
Muffled sobs and pitiful moans still emitted from the gag, with was already wet with tears.
“I’d a mind to have you help me,” explained Sam, “to have you help me draw Merry away from Frodo but—”
Sam stopped himself just in time. Pippin his vulnerable state did not need to know that abused cousins made lousy bait.
“Well,” continued Sam awkwardly, “I’ll leave you to rest here a spell and pull yerself together while I deal with Merry.”
Sam cringed as Pippin made another muffled wail at the sound of his last phrase “deal with Merry.”
“I’ll not hurt him, Master Pip,” said Sam as he stepped towards the door. Sam finished the sentence in his own mind. “—Unless I need to.”
Sam creaked the door open silently and stealthily, checking for any sign of life in the corridor. He breathed a sigh of relief first, to find the key- still stuck in the lock, and secondly, to see that it had been undiscovered. Sound rounded the door, silently as a cat, before shutting it slowly and throwing the lock. Pippin’s moans were still audible for the first few paces down the corridor, but a second sound soon competed for, then won Sam’s complete attention – this one coming from Merry’s room. Merry’s voice, raised and stern, yelling unintelligible words to an answering moan. Frodo!
Sam, now more concerned with speed than stealth, bounded through the corridor to the parlor in the desperate search for a makeshift weapon. He slid, breathless, into the large room, his eyes alighting on the nearest useful object, the poker. Then it was down the hall to the left for the kitchen. Sam needed a knife. Sam surveyed the kitchen quickly before pulling out one after another drawer in a frantic race against time.
Napkins! No!
Spoons! No!
Empty! No!
Knives! Yes!
Sam rifled through the drawer for the biggest carving knife he could find, knicking himself on his thumb in his haste. This knife had obviously cut into nothing worse than a pork roast; Sam desperately hoped it would remain that way. He stuck the knife under his belt and began to make for the room. Wait! What else” Rope! You’ll want it if you haven’t got it, as his gaffer used to say. Blast! No where. No matter! Time to go! Sam approached the green door to Merry’s room, first down the hall on the right. He placed his ear on the wood, and was instantly horrified by what he heard.
Whoosh! Whap! Then moans. Then silence. The Merry’s commanding voice.
Sam’s veins seemed to fill with liquid fire. Sam, gripping the poker with whitened knuckles, tested the doorknob just an inch. The knob gave no resistance. Unlocked! More swooshes, more whaps, More moaning. More Merry. Sam suddenly realized that the only thing holding him back from his rescue was his own fear. Sam took a deep breath, not knowing or wanting to know what sight would greet him behind that door. Another whoosh, and Sam threw open the heavy door, catching it before it hit the opposite wall.
Then he saw it—Merry, his back to the door, belt in hand, ready to strike at the helpless figure bound to the chair. Frodo!
Frodo, restrained by the gag, could not cry out, but his eyes went wide as he made eye contact with his Sam, his savior.
Merry lowered his belt hand but did not turn.
“Pip!” Merry yelled in irritation. “I told you that Frodo and I were not to be disturbed!”
Sam stood silently in the doorway, momentarily frozen with shock.
“No matter,” growled merry. “I guess it is only appropriate that you should see the end result of your carelessness.”
Merry made to strike again, raising his arm menacingly, belt in hand—
But the blow never fell.
Sam leapt across the room, poker raised in fury. Frodo flinched. Merry whirled round, but too late.
“Sa--!”
Sam swung his poker, striking Merry solidly across his back. This first blow knocked the startled hobbit to his knees in front of his erstwhile victim, his belt flopping lifeless to the ground beside its wielder. Merry wheezed and coughed, his face a mix of feral rage and human pain.
“You’ve hurt my Master, Meriadoc, and now you will pay!” exclaimed Sam as he raised his poker again.
Sam landed a second blow to Merry’s rear, this one sending him sailing, chin-first, to the floor. Sam planted his foot upon Merry’s back to keep him in place.
“And THAT was to pay you back for what you done to poor little Pip!” growled Sam. “How’s it feel? Villain!”
Merry did not respond, as he was nearly senseless.
Frodo moaned through his gag to remind Sam of his presence.
“Frodo!
Sam knelt down on the small of Merry’s back like a pillow to tear away at Frodo’s cruel binds. Judging form the soft moans, the “pillow” did not appreciate being used as such. Sam restrained the deep urge to kick it.
Sam, violently yanked the gag down over Frodo’s chin. Much to Sam’s chagrin, he noticed that his master was panting. A small rivulet of blood dripped down the corner of Frodo’s mouth where he had obviously been struck. Sam glanced down and saw lines of blood seeming through Frodo’s trousers on his shins.
“Me dear master!” exclaimed Sam. “What has he done?!”
“It’s not important, dearest Sam,” said Frodo. “Just please untie me.”
Sam pulled the carving knife from his belt and started sawing at the thick ropes around Frodo’s shoulders, jamming fingers under the ropes as the cords began to separate to keep from slicing Frodo’s shirt. After much exertion, the ropes loosened and feel slack around the chair, like a hemp moat around a wooden caste.
“Just a moment, Mr. Frodo,” said Sam, looking down at his now wiggling and groaning pillow. “I’ve the perfect use for these cords.”
Sam seized the fallen ropes in one hand, and, moving his knee from Merry’s back, exuberantly, almost gleefully pulled Merry’s wrists behind his back and bound them tightly with the rope. Sam grabbed a second section of rope to give his ankles a similar treatment. Merry groaned, but was too insensible to offer any resistance.
“There!” crowed Sam. “How’s it feel, Sir? Have a bit of your own medicine!”
Sam considered making a gag, just for good measure. But to what purpose? Pip was in no position or mindset to attempt a rescue. Instead, Sam seized hold of the back of Merry’s collar and dragged him to the center of the room.
“Stay!” ordered Sam somewhat gratuitously before padding back to free Frodo.
“Gods, Frodo!” grumbled Sam as he continued sawing. “How much rope did they need to truss you up with? There’s enough rope here to wind to the shire and back!”
“Too much,” sighed Frodo. Sam’s comment had made him smile despite the echoes of pain surging through his legs where the belt had hit and the appalling numbness of his limbs from the binds.
After what seemed like hours, the last of Frodo’s binds fell lifeless and frayed to the floor. Frodo stood up shakily, taking Sam’s outstretched hands in his own for support.
“Thank you Sam,” said Frodo. “I was quickly tiring of that ‘conversation’.”
“What now, Mr. Frodo?” asked Sam, whipping the sweat off his brow,
“We go, Sam. We go.”
“What shall we do about Merry and Pippin?”
Frodo as he eyed the struggling figure tied up on the floor.
“That dear Sam,” answered Frodo, “is a very good question.”
TBC
This chapter and other have pictures linkedon my official site at www.geocities.com/aelfgifuemma/RATM
Once again- the original verson of this story has a finite number of slash chapters-so if you start reading it there, be aware of that!