Sophinisba Solis (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sophinisba) wrote2006-08-23 11:46 am
sophinisba) wrote2006-08-23 11:46 am
Entry tags:
Not Yourself 11
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
Title: Not Yourself 11/12
Author: Sophinisba Solis
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Gen AU following mostly movie-verse. Faramir takes the Ring and means to save Frodo from madness.
Disclaimer: Of course, of course, I don't own these characters or their setting, and I make no money by writing about them.
Warnings: Kinda dark, some off-screen violence, no happy ending. More extensive intro, summary, warnings and author's notes here.
Note: This chapter is unbetaed because I suddenly got impatient. Please comment or e-mail if you spot any mistakes.
Chapter 11, Another Journey
Frodo stares up at the night sky, saddened but not really surprised at its emptiness. He has looked forward to this night and often dreamt of it, and he always imagined the sky would be much more beautiful than this. He hasn't been awake during the night for months, and even if he had, he wouldn't have seen more than patches of sky through the window grating of his cell. He has been lying awake for hours, trying hard not to think of the way he used to stay up with the Ring, the hours he spent admiring and caressing it. He tries to focus instead on the present, and on the task ahead of him. But he needs to make these hours pass without movement or sound, and his mind wanders.
Frodo isn't given a turn at watch, of course. The journey is difficult enough for him, even though he often rides a pony while the others walk. Most evenings he's been exhausted by the time they stop to make camp. He takes the sleeping draught from Sam just after they eat. He stretches out, thanks Pippin for staying up, and sleeps until they wake him in the morning.
They all fall into patterns of routine and watchfulness so easily now that the order was established quickly, as soon as they separated from the others at Edoras. Sam himself drinks half a cup of the same drink each evening, the better to ignore that hard, uneven ground on which he, Frodo; and Merry lie down together; Pippin stays up a few hours later. When his own shift is over, Pippin downs the rest of Sam's cup and then sleeps soundly until morning, doing his best to stay in bed as late as possible. Merry, who won't touch the drink, takes the loneliest hours of the night for his own watching and worrying. And Sam waits for the dawn, which is always grey, and starts preparing breakfast for four and heating water for their baths before waking the gentlehobbits. (Frodo understands now that Sam will never lose his deference, even after having wrestled Frodo to the ground and forced medicines down his throat.)
Everyone trusts everyone else to follow the pattern. And here is Frodo's reward for six months of compliance at Minas Tirith and seven nights of it on the road: a few hours ago, as they got ready to lie down for another night, no one watched to make sure Frodo drank from his own cup.
It was already dark then. Merry had been in a mood and he'd walked off by himself just after supper. Pippin had followed him, naturally, and Sam had been left to tidy things up on his own. Frodo had spilled the cup's contents on the grass. It was not a large quantity and Sam was not suspicious. It was easy.
Frodo murmured, "I do hope Pippin can bring Merry round to seeing things our way. I hate to see him worry so." He settled into his sleeping place without really listening to Sam's similarly optimistic and insincere reply. It wasn't necessary to fake sleepiness, as Frodo was truly very tired.
There is no danger, on the other hand, of him falling asleep now. His nerves are completely on edge, and the tension increases as time passes, as his last dose of tea drifts farther back in memory, and as more and more of his impossible plan appears to be working. He wonders how anyone does manage to sleep, when everything in the world is so very frightening and wrong.
Besides all that, the ground is hard and uncomfortable beneath him. He has to make a conscious effort not to shift his position. The good Frodo, he reminds himself, the one who drank his medicine, the one Sam believes in, the good Frodo is sleeping now. Better you keep still as well.
He remembers all those times in the first weeks at the House when it seemed that was all he heard. Calm down, Frodo, be still. No one is going to hurt you. They haven't needed to talk to him that way in quite a while. He still cries sometimes, but it is a quiet, hopeless kind of cry, usually when he is alone. Afterwards he's never sure whether the others can tell, from the redness of his eyes or through some form of surveillance he hasn't been able to perceive. Gandalf might give him a questioning look, Pippin give him an extra kiss, Merry an extra squeeze around the shoulders, but no one says anything. And Frodo has learned how to conjure a smile whenever he needs to offer reassurance.
Frodo was pleased to find out they did not sit up discussing him tonight, as he had feared they might. Shortly after returning to camp with Pippin, Merry had settled in at Frodo's side. Sam was at the other side already, and they both went to sleep without words. Pippin did not, as Frodo had feared, keep constant watch over the three of them, but went up the short distance to the crown of this hill, and Frodo supposed he scanned the distance and the edge of the trees, so they'd not be surprised by enemies in the night
Several hours have passed, and Merry is sleeping, but he tosses and turns more than Frodo does. Sam lies peacefully. Frodo waits.
He continues to lie quiet for a time after Pippin returns and rouses Merry. He listens for Pippin's breath beside him to reach the same slow, even rhythm as Sam's.
It's a bit of a trick rising from in between them, and Frodo wonders whether they sleep in this arrangement, always with him in the middle, in order to increase their vigilance, to prevent just such an action as tonight's, or whether they stay close to him out of simple affection. He manages to step away and then to kneel beside Sam and get what he needs from him, for Sam and Pippin sleep almost as soundly with their half dose as Frodo normally does with the full one.
The safest thing for Frodo would be to do it now. But he worries about what might happen afterwards if Merry doesn't know how to interpret the action. Some things need to be explained to him, and Frodo has not yet had the chance. No soldiers or chaperons were sent along with them this far, but Frodo doesn't want to reveal his secrets within hearing of Sam and Pippin, and he's never out of it on this journey.
So he accepts the risk. Quietly as a hobbit knows how, he creeps up the hill toward his cousin. Merry is quite close and able to recognize him by the time Frodo passes around into his range of sight, so he is startled for a moment and reaches for his sword, but controls his voice in time and does not sound the alarm. Frodo smiles at him and sits down by his side. Merry stares but says nothing.
"You're not angry, are you?" Frodo begins softly.
He's not surprised to see Merry shake his head. "You know I'm always wishing you wouldn't drink it." There is a slight pause. "Why tonight?" Merry inquires.
Frodo shrugs. "Sam looked away. I took the opportunity."
"The others didn't notice? They didn't stir when you got up?"
"No."
Merry grins. "Was my bit of theatrics earlier this evening helpful then?"
"The storming off so Pip had to run after you? A lovely distraction, Merry, I wasn't sure whether you'd done it on purpose."
"Everything I do has a purpose."
"Of course, dear, but I thought your purpose might only be to make Sam and Pip feel guilty."
Merry's smile fades a little and he shakes his head. "I thought you looked like you wanted a distraction," he says.
"Always so conspiratorial, cousin. I thank you."
Merry appears to try out several statements in his mind before deciding to repeat his question, "So why tonight?"
The truth, then. Frodo takes a deep breath. "Because I wanted to talk to you." There, that wasn't so hard.
Merry nods. "I miss talking to you, Frodo, the real you."
Frodo decides to let this pass. "I know, Merry. But I think you realize this conversation won't be an easy one."
"Nothing is easy anymore," Merry mutters, then looks apologetic. "I understand. But I'll listen to anything you have to tell me, Frodo. What is it?"
Frodo has rehearsed this conversation often, whenever his thoughts are clear enough. But it is still difficult to begin. "It isn't working," he tries, hearing his own words sounding petulant and childish.
He senses a new tension in Merry, knows this is only the beginning.
"What isn't working?" Merry asks apprehensively.
"I thought we could get away, but we haven't." That sounds a little better.
Merry, being Merry, thinks he has an answer to this. "But we have gotten away, Frodo, what are you saying? We've been sleeping under the stars for a week. No one tells us what to do and no one's following us. It'll be your birthday in a few more weeks, and we'll come to Rivendell -- "
"Ah, yes, and see Elrond and all the Elves in Faramir's thrall. Won't that be lovely. Bilbo too, I shouldn't be surprised."
"You don't know that."
Frodo is quite sure, but that isn't the point. "Anyway," says Merry, "if it's not what we'd hoped for we can leave, and soon enough we'll be -- "
"Back in the Shire. Yes."
"It's not a lie, Frodo. Things will get better for you there, I'm sure of it."
Frodo shakes his head. "I'll never get better, I understand that now. I shouldn't have hoped for it… But that's only part of it, Merry. You're wrong when you say no one is following us. I mean to say, I don't think there are spies hiding in the bushes -- I'm not that kind of mad."
"You know I don't think that," Merry cuts in, sounding hurt.
"I'm sorry," Frodo says. "I shouldn't have said that. I… I only have one chance to explain this to you. I shouldn't waste time --"
A noise startles them both. Frodo is scared to silence and Merry reaches again for his sword before they both see that it is only a small bird, perhaps a sparrow, startled by their own speech and flying away to the safety of thicker trees.
"Spies in the bushes, at that," Merry chuckles.
Frodo smiles and rolls his eyes. They catch as he looks up; he is again disconcerted by the empty sky, and thinks he knows what to say to Merry: "We haven't been sleeping under the stars."
"What?"
"Surely you've noticed the shadow which no one talks about."
"Yes," says Merry.
"Surely it makes you uneasy."
"It does. But Frodo, we're just at the edge of it. There's light by the horizon, I see it toward the end of every day. That's why I know everything will become clearer as we keep heading toward home."
"No." It seems almost a shame to keep crushing Merry's strained optimism, but Frodo is finished with pleasant lies. "I had hoped the same thing. But don't you see? We're always at the edge of it because it follows us. It follows me."
"No, Frodo," Merry says hollowly, and Frodo fears he's already stopped listening.
"This is not a delusion. I know this is true."
"Oh, hang it all, this is me you're talking to, Frodo! I have never believed there was anything wrong with you, and I don't believe it now."
"Then believe me. No, Merry, just listen to me for a moment," says Frodo, because Merry is moving restlessly, though Frodo can't think where he means to go. "Sam and I noticed it when the two of us were traveling alone, when we were close to Mordor. We were at the edge of it then too, but we knew we had to move toward it. All of Mordor is dark like that, much darker even than Minas Tirith has become. Not just the darkness of the sky but this dryness, the prickles on your skin, the darkness in your mind. You know what I speak of. It isn't only me." Merry acknowledges this with a nod, and Frodo continues. "We could see the deeper shadow beyond the mountains, but we walked toward it because we had a task to complete. Now," Frodo's voice loses some of its steadiness, "we weren't allowed to do this. I can't understand now how Gandalf or the rest of us ever thought it could work. But in any case we failed, and we weren't allowed to keep walking into the darkness. But here's what I believe: by the time Faramir captured us, Sauron already had me."
"Frodo, you're not making sense."
"No, wait, only because you're not listening," Frodo says in frustration. "Just think about it. They're all one."
"What…?"
Frodo thinks for a moment of how to make Merry comprehend the danger, of what things have most upset Merry, apart from the transformation in Frodo himself. "I didn't know the Lady Éowyn before she was brought to Minas Tirith," he begins slowly, "but Gandalf has told me something of her story. And I heard you telling Pippin something more of how she used to be. And you cried, and you said it wasn't right what they'd done."
"Yes," Merry says, sounding surprised.
"I saw the way you looked at her in the ceremony in the Courtyard, Merry. I think I can make you can understand."
"I didn't think you knew what was going on at the ceremony. Or when I tried talking to Pip afterwards."
"I know you like it when I act like my old self," Frodo says gently. "It makes you feel more comfortable, yes?"
Merry nods dumbly.
"But sometimes it's easier for me not to be aware of it all. It hurts so much. And it hurt that day. I heard everything Faramir said and I saw how the others reacted, and how you did, dear, and there was no reasonable way for me to react to all that, so it was easier not to react to anything at all. I choose to do that sometimes; it's something that Gandalf taught me how to do and I'm grateful to him for it. And other times they make me do it with the drugs, of course. But you can't let it upset you so."
"It's only that I want you to be happy again, like you were before."
"But that can't happen now, Merry, that's what I'm trying to explain. It's too late for me, as it is for Éowyn, and you can't be angry at her or at me for going away, when you don't know, when you can't possibly comprehend how hard it is for us to be here, and how helpless." Frodo stops, realizing his words are getting away from him, along with his emotions. He did not mean to spend so much time dwelling on his own suffering. And he's upset Merry again, rather than convincing him of anything.
"Faramir is a wicked, wicked man," Merry says with hushed anger. "I can't understand how she ever submitted to him."
"No, Merry," says Frodo, "Faramir is no more wicked than Éowyn or I. And she is not weak and neither was I, but she… She was made to marry him, you know this. Faramir put a ring around her finger and now she belongs to him. She was strong and she was good, but now she belongs to him."
"How can you say he's not wicked, Frodo, after all he's done to both of you?"
"But it's the same thing, Merry, I really believe that. At the beginning of it all Faramir was strong and good too, but the Ring, the One Ring took hold of him, and now he serves Sauron, whether he knows it or not. And Gandalf" -- yes, he knows he must speak of Gandalf, but his voice breaks on the name -- "Gandalf was the strongest and the best and the wisest of all of us once. But he wears another of the rings, and that means he belongs to Faramir, and he belongs to Sauron, because they're all one." And now Frodo does see the beginning of understanding in Merry's eyes. Because we are all one. Frodo has said it already and he sees plainly that Merry is hearing the words again in his head.
"But not you, Frodo."
"Yes, and also me," Frodo responds immediately. "I carried it long enough that it became part of me, and that's what the real madness is, what they never had any hope of curing me of. I was at the edge of it when we met Faramir, I told you, but I was far enough gone that it was too late to turn back. I could never be free from that power unless the Ring was destroyed."
"You mean to say," Merry says slowly, "that it became part of you, and you became part of it."
Frodo nods. "I tried to be good," he says, working to keep his voice steady, "and I tried so hard to be strong, Merry, but I lost. They took the Ring away, and for all these months I've been without it, I still carry it with me. I know you know this."
Merry does know it, he does understand now, but still he resists. "It will fade. The distance… and time, Frodo, as you move away from it all I know it will become easier for you."
Frodo recognizes this as nervous chatter and doesn't bother to respond. "I should have known, of course," Frodo says, not noticing whether Merry in turn is paying attention or not. "I should never have hoped I could go home again. Do you know, when Gandalf -- the old Gandalf, the one who tried to help us -- when he first came and told me the whole story of the Ring, who'd made it and what it meant, I understood then that I should have to leave everything else and take the Ring away, and that I should be exiled forever. I don't know what made me forget that. I suppose I was so desperate to imagine any life other than what they'd made for me in that House, I was willing to believe in an ending as absurd as 'He lived happily ever after till the end of his days.'"
"It was wrong of him," says Merry, "he was wrong even back then. I know he was Bilbo's friend and you trusted him, but he should never have asked you to take it. It was wrong for any of us hobbits to get mixed up in any of this."
Frodo does consider this, but shakes his head slowly. "No, I'm sure he meant well then, that somehow he believed I was capable of… but it doesn't matter anymore. Merry, I can't go back to Minas Tirith. I won't."
"They hurt you, Frodo. I never should have let them do the things they did --"
"No, Merry, you're not listening again. Pay attention, now, we haven't got so much time. I won't go back there, but I can't take this power back to the Shire with me either. You have to go."
"I don't understand."
"It's hopeless trying to fight them in Gondor." This part is easier to say. "It's worse than trying to fight the dark power in Mordor. In Gondor every friend's become an enemy, and you don't know what you're for or who you're against. There's no way of resisting it. No, look," he says before Merry can interrupt, "you have to back to the Shire. And not only there, of course, you'll have to go to Bree as well, and places I've never seen, and tell the hobbits there what's happened. The hobbits and the dwarves and the elves and the men. I know it sounds quite absurd when I say it like this, but you're capable of much more than you know, cousin."
But Merry is excited now. "That's just what I've wanted, Frodo. I haven't been able to talk to you."
"Good then, you understand," says Frodo, knowing he still doesn't, not really. "I do think some kind of resistance will be possible, though I don't know how it'll be. And you can win Pippin and Sam back. I know it's difficult to understand them right now, when they've acted the way they have for the past few months, but it was only the circumstances that made them go along with Faramir and Gandalf. I think once they stop worrying about my well-being you'll be able to make things clear to them.
"They'll never stop caring for you, Frodo."
"They will once I'm out of the way."
There it is. Frodo braces himself for the reaction. He is not at all expecting, after a few seconds of silence, to have Merry pounce on top of him, grab his hands by the wrists and flatten him on his back. Still, he is able to control his movements and his voice. He knows Merry has the physical advantage and he doesn't want to wake the others. "Let go of me," Frodo says, low, quiet, and cold.
"Have you taken it yet?"
"Yes." He hasn't. "Just before I came up here."
"You're lying," says Merry. "Something strong enough to kill you would have had some effect by now."
"I don't want to fight you, Merry, not now. I've had to fight and deceive everyone else I love. I tell you I drank it already." He pushes his hands in Merry's grasp without really trying to break free of them. "Come, you know I'm tired and you know I'm weak. Let me go, I won't try anything."
"You've never been weak. Just because you can't fight me doesn't mean you won't win."
"This is not your decision to make." Frodo knows that by saying this he is half admitting that he hasn't yet taken the poison. He does need Merry's help. He does need Merry to make this decision. This is the trust Frodo has put in his cousin.
"This isn't you," Merry says, and Frodo takes some satisfaction from the fact that he too is keeping his voice low, has not yet decided to call for Sam. Frodo just needs time to convince him. "You wouldn't be thinking this way if you could see a bit beyond this hell we're stuck in right now."
"Not we, Merry, I told you, I'm alone in this."
"Then I'm sorry, Frodo, I'm sorry I said it that way and I'm sorry you're suffering so and that I can't understand it. But listen, if you could understand me, I'm telling you, it will get better. You need to believe me."
"Damn it, Merry," Frodo whispers furiously, "do you think I haven't heard this before?" Merry's grip loosens at these words, but only a little. Frodo tries to shift underneath him to get more room to breathe. "Six months, Merry, six long months of everyone who loves me telling me what I want doesn't matter because I'm not myself. Six months of other people making decisions for me. Every single detail of my life was taken out of my hands. You never did join them in that. You never tried to take away my freedom. Don't do it now."
"I'm sorry for what they did to you," Merry says, "but you're not going to win this by manipulating me."
"You're right," Frodo says, and he means it, for all that he is also still angry. "It's not about guilt and it's not about what happened to me, really. It's not about me at all, I'm trying… But this is ridiculous, Merry, I can't talk to you while you're lying on top of me. I shouldn't have lied before. You're right, I haven't drunk it yet. I waited because I trusted you enough to come talk to you first. Now I need you to trust me. You can keep holding my hands if you need to, but please let me sit up and let me breathe a little. I promise you I won't do it until you let me go."
There is a pause, but not a very long one. Merry slowly shifts his legs off Frodo's and onto the ground on one side, then puts his weight on his knees, and Frodo can breathe again, though he still can't move. "Where is it?" Merry asks.
The clothes they had made for Frodo have no pockets. "The hem of the left trouser leg," he says quietly. "I pulled out some of the stitches." The phial was small enough to fit there without looking terribly obvious, although it probably would be noticed in daylight.
Merry very carefully allows Frodo to sit up, never letting go of his hands. He wraps his right arm around Frodo and takes both his wrists in that hand, then reaches down with his left to pull out the tiny bottle with the dark green tincture. He stares at it for a few moments before hiding it in his own pocket. He holds Frodo close. "One of Sam's ingredients?" he asks.
Frodo nods. "He puts a drop of it in the sleeping draught every night. I heard him talking with the other gardener when they thought I wasn't there. I mean, when they thought I was too far gone to be listening. He said half of what's in that phial would be enough to kill a man."
Frodo can feel Merry start to tremble, though he tries to hide it in another movement, squeezing Frodo, trying to turn his fear into warmth and affection. "I won't let you go," Merry says.
Frodo smiles, knowing that Merry cannot actually see his face. "That's what Sam used to say."
"Sam failed you."
"He didn't, Merry, he never did. How long are you going to go on blaming everyone else? I failed Sam. I did. I let the Ring take over me, and once that happened there was nothing Sam or anyone else could have done to make things come out right. Not and have me live."
Merry has no answer. He holds on tight.
"Let go of my hands, Merry, let me hug you."
"No."
"Do you think I mean to wrestle you for it?"
"No. You'll just keep asking for little things until before I know it I'm handing you the poison."
"And your plan is what? To hold me here in place until Sam wakes up and finds us?"
"I'll wake him. He'll know what to do."
"You won't. You hate him too much."
Merry tenses and takes a deep breath upon hearing this truth. Before he can answer there is another sound that makes them both go perfectly still. Hoof beats, and not far off. Spies in the bushes, at that. Frodo doesn't know who is coming for them, but he knows there is no more time for debate or stalling.
Frodo closes his eyes, then twists his head so he can speak very softly in Merry's ear. "Now, cousin." Merry's eases his grip.
next part | series tag | fic index
Title: Not Yourself 11/12
Author: Sophinisba Solis
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Gen AU following mostly movie-verse. Faramir takes the Ring and means to save Frodo from madness.
Disclaimer: Of course, of course, I don't own these characters or their setting, and I make no money by writing about them.
Warnings: Kinda dark, some off-screen violence, no happy ending. More extensive intro, summary, warnings and author's notes here.
Note: This chapter is unbetaed because I suddenly got impatient. Please comment or e-mail if you spot any mistakes.
Chapter 11, Another Journey
Frodo stares up at the night sky, saddened but not really surprised at its emptiness. He has looked forward to this night and often dreamt of it, and he always imagined the sky would be much more beautiful than this. He hasn't been awake during the night for months, and even if he had, he wouldn't have seen more than patches of sky through the window grating of his cell. He has been lying awake for hours, trying hard not to think of the way he used to stay up with the Ring, the hours he spent admiring and caressing it. He tries to focus instead on the present, and on the task ahead of him. But he needs to make these hours pass without movement or sound, and his mind wanders.
Frodo isn't given a turn at watch, of course. The journey is difficult enough for him, even though he often rides a pony while the others walk. Most evenings he's been exhausted by the time they stop to make camp. He takes the sleeping draught from Sam just after they eat. He stretches out, thanks Pippin for staying up, and sleeps until they wake him in the morning.
They all fall into patterns of routine and watchfulness so easily now that the order was established quickly, as soon as they separated from the others at Edoras. Sam himself drinks half a cup of the same drink each evening, the better to ignore that hard, uneven ground on which he, Frodo; and Merry lie down together; Pippin stays up a few hours later. When his own shift is over, Pippin downs the rest of Sam's cup and then sleeps soundly until morning, doing his best to stay in bed as late as possible. Merry, who won't touch the drink, takes the loneliest hours of the night for his own watching and worrying. And Sam waits for the dawn, which is always grey, and starts preparing breakfast for four and heating water for their baths before waking the gentlehobbits. (Frodo understands now that Sam will never lose his deference, even after having wrestled Frodo to the ground and forced medicines down his throat.)
Everyone trusts everyone else to follow the pattern. And here is Frodo's reward for six months of compliance at Minas Tirith and seven nights of it on the road: a few hours ago, as they got ready to lie down for another night, no one watched to make sure Frodo drank from his own cup.
It was already dark then. Merry had been in a mood and he'd walked off by himself just after supper. Pippin had followed him, naturally, and Sam had been left to tidy things up on his own. Frodo had spilled the cup's contents on the grass. It was not a large quantity and Sam was not suspicious. It was easy.
Frodo murmured, "I do hope Pippin can bring Merry round to seeing things our way. I hate to see him worry so." He settled into his sleeping place without really listening to Sam's similarly optimistic and insincere reply. It wasn't necessary to fake sleepiness, as Frodo was truly very tired.
There is no danger, on the other hand, of him falling asleep now. His nerves are completely on edge, and the tension increases as time passes, as his last dose of tea drifts farther back in memory, and as more and more of his impossible plan appears to be working. He wonders how anyone does manage to sleep, when everything in the world is so very frightening and wrong.
Besides all that, the ground is hard and uncomfortable beneath him. He has to make a conscious effort not to shift his position. The good Frodo, he reminds himself, the one who drank his medicine, the one Sam believes in, the good Frodo is sleeping now. Better you keep still as well.
He remembers all those times in the first weeks at the House when it seemed that was all he heard. Calm down, Frodo, be still. No one is going to hurt you. They haven't needed to talk to him that way in quite a while. He still cries sometimes, but it is a quiet, hopeless kind of cry, usually when he is alone. Afterwards he's never sure whether the others can tell, from the redness of his eyes or through some form of surveillance he hasn't been able to perceive. Gandalf might give him a questioning look, Pippin give him an extra kiss, Merry an extra squeeze around the shoulders, but no one says anything. And Frodo has learned how to conjure a smile whenever he needs to offer reassurance.
Frodo was pleased to find out they did not sit up discussing him tonight, as he had feared they might. Shortly after returning to camp with Pippin, Merry had settled in at Frodo's side. Sam was at the other side already, and they both went to sleep without words. Pippin did not, as Frodo had feared, keep constant watch over the three of them, but went up the short distance to the crown of this hill, and Frodo supposed he scanned the distance and the edge of the trees, so they'd not be surprised by enemies in the night
Several hours have passed, and Merry is sleeping, but he tosses and turns more than Frodo does. Sam lies peacefully. Frodo waits.
He continues to lie quiet for a time after Pippin returns and rouses Merry. He listens for Pippin's breath beside him to reach the same slow, even rhythm as Sam's.
It's a bit of a trick rising from in between them, and Frodo wonders whether they sleep in this arrangement, always with him in the middle, in order to increase their vigilance, to prevent just such an action as tonight's, or whether they stay close to him out of simple affection. He manages to step away and then to kneel beside Sam and get what he needs from him, for Sam and Pippin sleep almost as soundly with their half dose as Frodo normally does with the full one.
The safest thing for Frodo would be to do it now. But he worries about what might happen afterwards if Merry doesn't know how to interpret the action. Some things need to be explained to him, and Frodo has not yet had the chance. No soldiers or chaperons were sent along with them this far, but Frodo doesn't want to reveal his secrets within hearing of Sam and Pippin, and he's never out of it on this journey.
So he accepts the risk. Quietly as a hobbit knows how, he creeps up the hill toward his cousin. Merry is quite close and able to recognize him by the time Frodo passes around into his range of sight, so he is startled for a moment and reaches for his sword, but controls his voice in time and does not sound the alarm. Frodo smiles at him and sits down by his side. Merry stares but says nothing.
"You're not angry, are you?" Frodo begins softly.
He's not surprised to see Merry shake his head. "You know I'm always wishing you wouldn't drink it." There is a slight pause. "Why tonight?" Merry inquires.
Frodo shrugs. "Sam looked away. I took the opportunity."
"The others didn't notice? They didn't stir when you got up?"
"No."
Merry grins. "Was my bit of theatrics earlier this evening helpful then?"
"The storming off so Pip had to run after you? A lovely distraction, Merry, I wasn't sure whether you'd done it on purpose."
"Everything I do has a purpose."
"Of course, dear, but I thought your purpose might only be to make Sam and Pip feel guilty."
Merry's smile fades a little and he shakes his head. "I thought you looked like you wanted a distraction," he says.
"Always so conspiratorial, cousin. I thank you."
Merry appears to try out several statements in his mind before deciding to repeat his question, "So why tonight?"
The truth, then. Frodo takes a deep breath. "Because I wanted to talk to you." There, that wasn't so hard.
Merry nods. "I miss talking to you, Frodo, the real you."
Frodo decides to let this pass. "I know, Merry. But I think you realize this conversation won't be an easy one."
"Nothing is easy anymore," Merry mutters, then looks apologetic. "I understand. But I'll listen to anything you have to tell me, Frodo. What is it?"
Frodo has rehearsed this conversation often, whenever his thoughts are clear enough. But it is still difficult to begin. "It isn't working," he tries, hearing his own words sounding petulant and childish.
He senses a new tension in Merry, knows this is only the beginning.
"What isn't working?" Merry asks apprehensively.
"I thought we could get away, but we haven't." That sounds a little better.
Merry, being Merry, thinks he has an answer to this. "But we have gotten away, Frodo, what are you saying? We've been sleeping under the stars for a week. No one tells us what to do and no one's following us. It'll be your birthday in a few more weeks, and we'll come to Rivendell -- "
"Ah, yes, and see Elrond and all the Elves in Faramir's thrall. Won't that be lovely. Bilbo too, I shouldn't be surprised."
"You don't know that."
Frodo is quite sure, but that isn't the point. "Anyway," says Merry, "if it's not what we'd hoped for we can leave, and soon enough we'll be -- "
"Back in the Shire. Yes."
"It's not a lie, Frodo. Things will get better for you there, I'm sure of it."
Frodo shakes his head. "I'll never get better, I understand that now. I shouldn't have hoped for it… But that's only part of it, Merry. You're wrong when you say no one is following us. I mean to say, I don't think there are spies hiding in the bushes -- I'm not that kind of mad."
"You know I don't think that," Merry cuts in, sounding hurt.
"I'm sorry," Frodo says. "I shouldn't have said that. I… I only have one chance to explain this to you. I shouldn't waste time --"
A noise startles them both. Frodo is scared to silence and Merry reaches again for his sword before they both see that it is only a small bird, perhaps a sparrow, startled by their own speech and flying away to the safety of thicker trees.
"Spies in the bushes, at that," Merry chuckles.
Frodo smiles and rolls his eyes. They catch as he looks up; he is again disconcerted by the empty sky, and thinks he knows what to say to Merry: "We haven't been sleeping under the stars."
"What?"
"Surely you've noticed the shadow which no one talks about."
"Yes," says Merry.
"Surely it makes you uneasy."
"It does. But Frodo, we're just at the edge of it. There's light by the horizon, I see it toward the end of every day. That's why I know everything will become clearer as we keep heading toward home."
"No." It seems almost a shame to keep crushing Merry's strained optimism, but Frodo is finished with pleasant lies. "I had hoped the same thing. But don't you see? We're always at the edge of it because it follows us. It follows me."
"No, Frodo," Merry says hollowly, and Frodo fears he's already stopped listening.
"This is not a delusion. I know this is true."
"Oh, hang it all, this is me you're talking to, Frodo! I have never believed there was anything wrong with you, and I don't believe it now."
"Then believe me. No, Merry, just listen to me for a moment," says Frodo, because Merry is moving restlessly, though Frodo can't think where he means to go. "Sam and I noticed it when the two of us were traveling alone, when we were close to Mordor. We were at the edge of it then too, but we knew we had to move toward it. All of Mordor is dark like that, much darker even than Minas Tirith has become. Not just the darkness of the sky but this dryness, the prickles on your skin, the darkness in your mind. You know what I speak of. It isn't only me." Merry acknowledges this with a nod, and Frodo continues. "We could see the deeper shadow beyond the mountains, but we walked toward it because we had a task to complete. Now," Frodo's voice loses some of its steadiness, "we weren't allowed to do this. I can't understand now how Gandalf or the rest of us ever thought it could work. But in any case we failed, and we weren't allowed to keep walking into the darkness. But here's what I believe: by the time Faramir captured us, Sauron already had me."
"Frodo, you're not making sense."
"No, wait, only because you're not listening," Frodo says in frustration. "Just think about it. They're all one."
"What…?"
Frodo thinks for a moment of how to make Merry comprehend the danger, of what things have most upset Merry, apart from the transformation in Frodo himself. "I didn't know the Lady Éowyn before she was brought to Minas Tirith," he begins slowly, "but Gandalf has told me something of her story. And I heard you telling Pippin something more of how she used to be. And you cried, and you said it wasn't right what they'd done."
"Yes," Merry says, sounding surprised.
"I saw the way you looked at her in the ceremony in the Courtyard, Merry. I think I can make you can understand."
"I didn't think you knew what was going on at the ceremony. Or when I tried talking to Pip afterwards."
"I know you like it when I act like my old self," Frodo says gently. "It makes you feel more comfortable, yes?"
Merry nods dumbly.
"But sometimes it's easier for me not to be aware of it all. It hurts so much. And it hurt that day. I heard everything Faramir said and I saw how the others reacted, and how you did, dear, and there was no reasonable way for me to react to all that, so it was easier not to react to anything at all. I choose to do that sometimes; it's something that Gandalf taught me how to do and I'm grateful to him for it. And other times they make me do it with the drugs, of course. But you can't let it upset you so."
"It's only that I want you to be happy again, like you were before."
"But that can't happen now, Merry, that's what I'm trying to explain. It's too late for me, as it is for Éowyn, and you can't be angry at her or at me for going away, when you don't know, when you can't possibly comprehend how hard it is for us to be here, and how helpless." Frodo stops, realizing his words are getting away from him, along with his emotions. He did not mean to spend so much time dwelling on his own suffering. And he's upset Merry again, rather than convincing him of anything.
"Faramir is a wicked, wicked man," Merry says with hushed anger. "I can't understand how she ever submitted to him."
"No, Merry," says Frodo, "Faramir is no more wicked than Éowyn or I. And she is not weak and neither was I, but she… She was made to marry him, you know this. Faramir put a ring around her finger and now she belongs to him. She was strong and she was good, but now she belongs to him."
"How can you say he's not wicked, Frodo, after all he's done to both of you?"
"But it's the same thing, Merry, I really believe that. At the beginning of it all Faramir was strong and good too, but the Ring, the One Ring took hold of him, and now he serves Sauron, whether he knows it or not. And Gandalf" -- yes, he knows he must speak of Gandalf, but his voice breaks on the name -- "Gandalf was the strongest and the best and the wisest of all of us once. But he wears another of the rings, and that means he belongs to Faramir, and he belongs to Sauron, because they're all one." And now Frodo does see the beginning of understanding in Merry's eyes. Because we are all one. Frodo has said it already and he sees plainly that Merry is hearing the words again in his head.
"But not you, Frodo."
"Yes, and also me," Frodo responds immediately. "I carried it long enough that it became part of me, and that's what the real madness is, what they never had any hope of curing me of. I was at the edge of it when we met Faramir, I told you, but I was far enough gone that it was too late to turn back. I could never be free from that power unless the Ring was destroyed."
"You mean to say," Merry says slowly, "that it became part of you, and you became part of it."
Frodo nods. "I tried to be good," he says, working to keep his voice steady, "and I tried so hard to be strong, Merry, but I lost. They took the Ring away, and for all these months I've been without it, I still carry it with me. I know you know this."
Merry does know it, he does understand now, but still he resists. "It will fade. The distance… and time, Frodo, as you move away from it all I know it will become easier for you."
Frodo recognizes this as nervous chatter and doesn't bother to respond. "I should have known, of course," Frodo says, not noticing whether Merry in turn is paying attention or not. "I should never have hoped I could go home again. Do you know, when Gandalf -- the old Gandalf, the one who tried to help us -- when he first came and told me the whole story of the Ring, who'd made it and what it meant, I understood then that I should have to leave everything else and take the Ring away, and that I should be exiled forever. I don't know what made me forget that. I suppose I was so desperate to imagine any life other than what they'd made for me in that House, I was willing to believe in an ending as absurd as 'He lived happily ever after till the end of his days.'"
"It was wrong of him," says Merry, "he was wrong even back then. I know he was Bilbo's friend and you trusted him, but he should never have asked you to take it. It was wrong for any of us hobbits to get mixed up in any of this."
Frodo does consider this, but shakes his head slowly. "No, I'm sure he meant well then, that somehow he believed I was capable of… but it doesn't matter anymore. Merry, I can't go back to Minas Tirith. I won't."
"They hurt you, Frodo. I never should have let them do the things they did --"
"No, Merry, you're not listening again. Pay attention, now, we haven't got so much time. I won't go back there, but I can't take this power back to the Shire with me either. You have to go."
"I don't understand."
"It's hopeless trying to fight them in Gondor." This part is easier to say. "It's worse than trying to fight the dark power in Mordor. In Gondor every friend's become an enemy, and you don't know what you're for or who you're against. There's no way of resisting it. No, look," he says before Merry can interrupt, "you have to back to the Shire. And not only there, of course, you'll have to go to Bree as well, and places I've never seen, and tell the hobbits there what's happened. The hobbits and the dwarves and the elves and the men. I know it sounds quite absurd when I say it like this, but you're capable of much more than you know, cousin."
But Merry is excited now. "That's just what I've wanted, Frodo. I haven't been able to talk to you."
"Good then, you understand," says Frodo, knowing he still doesn't, not really. "I do think some kind of resistance will be possible, though I don't know how it'll be. And you can win Pippin and Sam back. I know it's difficult to understand them right now, when they've acted the way they have for the past few months, but it was only the circumstances that made them go along with Faramir and Gandalf. I think once they stop worrying about my well-being you'll be able to make things clear to them.
"They'll never stop caring for you, Frodo."
"They will once I'm out of the way."
There it is. Frodo braces himself for the reaction. He is not at all expecting, after a few seconds of silence, to have Merry pounce on top of him, grab his hands by the wrists and flatten him on his back. Still, he is able to control his movements and his voice. He knows Merry has the physical advantage and he doesn't want to wake the others. "Let go of me," Frodo says, low, quiet, and cold.
"Have you taken it yet?"
"Yes." He hasn't. "Just before I came up here."
"You're lying," says Merry. "Something strong enough to kill you would have had some effect by now."
"I don't want to fight you, Merry, not now. I've had to fight and deceive everyone else I love. I tell you I drank it already." He pushes his hands in Merry's grasp without really trying to break free of them. "Come, you know I'm tired and you know I'm weak. Let me go, I won't try anything."
"You've never been weak. Just because you can't fight me doesn't mean you won't win."
"This is not your decision to make." Frodo knows that by saying this he is half admitting that he hasn't yet taken the poison. He does need Merry's help. He does need Merry to make this decision. This is the trust Frodo has put in his cousin.
"This isn't you," Merry says, and Frodo takes some satisfaction from the fact that he too is keeping his voice low, has not yet decided to call for Sam. Frodo just needs time to convince him. "You wouldn't be thinking this way if you could see a bit beyond this hell we're stuck in right now."
"Not we, Merry, I told you, I'm alone in this."
"Then I'm sorry, Frodo, I'm sorry I said it that way and I'm sorry you're suffering so and that I can't understand it. But listen, if you could understand me, I'm telling you, it will get better. You need to believe me."
"Damn it, Merry," Frodo whispers furiously, "do you think I haven't heard this before?" Merry's grip loosens at these words, but only a little. Frodo tries to shift underneath him to get more room to breathe. "Six months, Merry, six long months of everyone who loves me telling me what I want doesn't matter because I'm not myself. Six months of other people making decisions for me. Every single detail of my life was taken out of my hands. You never did join them in that. You never tried to take away my freedom. Don't do it now."
"I'm sorry for what they did to you," Merry says, "but you're not going to win this by manipulating me."
"You're right," Frodo says, and he means it, for all that he is also still angry. "It's not about guilt and it's not about what happened to me, really. It's not about me at all, I'm trying… But this is ridiculous, Merry, I can't talk to you while you're lying on top of me. I shouldn't have lied before. You're right, I haven't drunk it yet. I waited because I trusted you enough to come talk to you first. Now I need you to trust me. You can keep holding my hands if you need to, but please let me sit up and let me breathe a little. I promise you I won't do it until you let me go."
There is a pause, but not a very long one. Merry slowly shifts his legs off Frodo's and onto the ground on one side, then puts his weight on his knees, and Frodo can breathe again, though he still can't move. "Where is it?" Merry asks.
The clothes they had made for Frodo have no pockets. "The hem of the left trouser leg," he says quietly. "I pulled out some of the stitches." The phial was small enough to fit there without looking terribly obvious, although it probably would be noticed in daylight.
Merry very carefully allows Frodo to sit up, never letting go of his hands. He wraps his right arm around Frodo and takes both his wrists in that hand, then reaches down with his left to pull out the tiny bottle with the dark green tincture. He stares at it for a few moments before hiding it in his own pocket. He holds Frodo close. "One of Sam's ingredients?" he asks.
Frodo nods. "He puts a drop of it in the sleeping draught every night. I heard him talking with the other gardener when they thought I wasn't there. I mean, when they thought I was too far gone to be listening. He said half of what's in that phial would be enough to kill a man."
Frodo can feel Merry start to tremble, though he tries to hide it in another movement, squeezing Frodo, trying to turn his fear into warmth and affection. "I won't let you go," Merry says.
Frodo smiles, knowing that Merry cannot actually see his face. "That's what Sam used to say."
"Sam failed you."
"He didn't, Merry, he never did. How long are you going to go on blaming everyone else? I failed Sam. I did. I let the Ring take over me, and once that happened there was nothing Sam or anyone else could have done to make things come out right. Not and have me live."
Merry has no answer. He holds on tight.
"Let go of my hands, Merry, let me hug you."
"No."
"Do you think I mean to wrestle you for it?"
"No. You'll just keep asking for little things until before I know it I'm handing you the poison."
"And your plan is what? To hold me here in place until Sam wakes up and finds us?"
"I'll wake him. He'll know what to do."
"You won't. You hate him too much."
Merry tenses and takes a deep breath upon hearing this truth. Before he can answer there is another sound that makes them both go perfectly still. Hoof beats, and not far off. Spies in the bushes, at that. Frodo doesn't know who is coming for them, but he knows there is no more time for debate or stalling.
Frodo closes his eyes, then twists his head so he can speak very softly in Merry's ear. "Now, cousin." Merry's eases his grip.
next part | series tag | fic index
no subject
no subject
It's interesting that Tolkien's letter addressing this would be posted today:
http://taleofyears.livejournal.com/247796.html
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
Thank you for updating.
no subject
no subject
Next chapter soon, please. I'm now all anxious about this. Which means it's very effective!
You'd asked for some corrections. I don't know if you meant this to be deliberate, but there are two places where you switch from present to past tense and then back again. My eyes kept flying back to them during the story trying to see if there was a reason within the story, but I didn't think so. (Where Frodo gets away with pouring out his cup, then when Frodo is pleased they don't sit up discussing him.)
I'm so glad that you gave Frodo his voice and allowed him to explain to Merry. It's odd, but if it's true about the shadow, I want Frodo to make his escape in his own way.
no subject
The past tense on those sections was deliberate because they're flashbacks (by a few hours) from the beginning of the story, which is Frodo lying awake at night and waiting for Merry's turn at watch. But maybe that gets confusing because I'm also using the present tense to talk about every night's routine. Anyway, I will look at it, maybe just put in an "earlier this evening and see if that clarifies things a bit. Thanks for pointing it out. *ponders*
no subject
That last line, I don't quite get what Frodo meant by Now. Is he going to drink the poison?
Cant wait for the next chapter.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
On to 12. *bites nails*
no subject
Yeah, my feelings are all over the place with this story too. Thank you very much for reading and commenting!
no subject
no subject