Fic: BONFIRE NIGHT
Oct. 29th, 2006 04:48 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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hobbit_holidaysAuthor: ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mews1945
Title: Bonfire Night
Characters/Pairing: Frodo, Merry, Pippin, Sam
Rating: G
Summary: Frodo's cousins have come to celebrate All Hallows with him, but they are not getting along well with each other.
"Come along, Pip, or we'll miss the lighting of the bonfire," Frodo called.
"We should just go on and leave him behind." Merry scowled, but he evaded Frodo's reproachful look and dug with his toes at the rug by the front door, hands shoved into the pockets of his breeches.
Bilbo snorted. The old hobbit was losing patience with the lot of them, Merry could tell. Not that he cared if Bilbo was annoyed with them. It was Pippin's fault anyway, and Frodo's fault as well. After all, Frodo was the one who'd invited the pipsqueak along on a visit that should've been Merry's alone.
"I'll just be off then." Bilbo spoke briskly as he shrugged into his warm grey coat and checked the small pocket in his waistcoat, then patted it. "And I'll tell everyone you'll be along once you get your cousins sorted, shall I?"
"We'll be there soon," Frodo answered.
Merry cast a baleful glance toward the hallway that led to Frodo's rooms and the small guest chamber which he himself had been given. Pippin, of course, had demanded to sleep with Frodo. Frodo had agreed, naturally, because he spoiled the little blighter rotten whenever they were together. Not that Merry cared. He was sixteen now, too old to be sleeping in Frodo's bed as he used to. But he'd have liked to have an opportunity to choose.
"He's such a brat," he muttered. "I don't know why you invited him along too."
"You mustn't call Pippin a brat, Merry." Frodo spoke softly, but the chiding in his voice stung Merry. "He's just a little lad, after all. And since he was staying with you at Brandy Hall, I couldn't very well invite you, and leave him out. He's my cousin too, and he loves us both very much."
"Well, why don't you help him with his costume, then?" Exasperation tightened Merry's voice. They'd been waiting and waiting, ever since supper ended, for Pipping to get washed up and go to the privy and change his old clothes for his costume.
"Because he wanted to do it himself." Frodo sounded as though his teeth were on edge. "He wants to surprise us." He leaned against the wall, his arms folded across the front of his new chestnut brown jacket. The waistcoat beneath it was embroidered satin, stitched with gold leaves and amber berries, and his shirt was snowy white, with a deep green cravat tied in a loose bow. His dark curls were perfectly ordered and even his foot hair was neat and glossy with brushing. He looked like a perfect dandy, and he didn't seem impatient at all.
Merry couldn't understand it. Only the year before, Frodo had been as excited as Merry about dressing up and getting to the party field as early as possible, eager for the candy favors made by Mistress Smallburrow, the confectioner. For the All Hallows Night feast, she made cream-based candies shaped to look like little golden pumpkins and yellow sickle moons and lovely white mushrooms, and there would be bowls of them set out, the candies placed inside small paper sacks tied with string. One picked a sack, and never knew until opening it what shapes of candies it contained. Part of the fun was in the discovery, though of course most of it was in the eating. Some of the candies would be flavored with butter, some with peppermint, some with sassafras or apple wine.
And of course there would be lots of other foods to eat. The party tables would be piled high with baked hams and roasted beef with rich brown sauce, and there would be dishes of potatoes with cheese, browned and bubbling, and squash baked in its own shell with a sugar and butter glaze, and all sorts of vegetables and mushroom dishes and breads and gingerbread and pies. Each hobbit lady always brought her own special dish to add to the feast. And there would be mulled cider and ales to drink. The All Hallows party was one that everyone looked forward to all year long, with its feasting and dancing and the bonfire, and late at night the ghostly stories told round the fire. The young hobbit lads and lasses dressed up in funny or scary costumes and ran about playing pranks on each other and their elders, and hardly anyone minded or scolded them for making mischief on that one night of the year.
It was a night Merry had been anticipating for ever so long. At the first of the month, Frodo and Bilbo had invited him to come and spend the fortnight before and after the festival at Bag End, and Esmeralda and Saradoc had agreed. Even though he was only a teenager, Merry had worked like a full-grown hobbit to help bring in their own harvest, and they'd decided he deserved a reward. A visit with Frodo was the greatest gift they could give him.
Frodo himself had come to fetch Merry and bring him back to Hobbiton, and of course that was when the problem had arisen, because Pippin had been visiting at Brandy Hall, and he'd simply assumed he would be coming with Merry. And Frodo had agreed to it. Merry loved Pippin, truly he did, but he'd been hard pressed to hide his disappointment. It had been ages since he'd seen Frodo, and he'd been looking forward to having his cousin all to himself. Instead, they had a small, inquisitive shadow trailing their every step. And they were forced to listen to Pippin's high, irritating voice piping question after question, when he wasn't telling silly jokes or boring stories that went on and on, winding here and there and never coming to any point. Merry had quickly lost patience with the whole situation, and almost wished he hadn't come at all.
"Mr. Frodo? Aren't you comin' to the bonfire?"
Frodo smiled at Sam Gamgee, who'd appeared at the kitchen doorway, standing shyly outside on the step.
"Come in, Sam. We're just waiting for Pippin."
Merry scowled. Couldn't help it. Not only must he share Frodo with Pippin, but now with a rank interloper who wasn't even family. Sam was a nice enough lad, but Frodo seemed to like him as much as he liked his own cousins, and gave him just as much of his attention. That was one more thing that had changed since Frodo had moved to Hobbiton, and Merry couldn't help but resent it, and therefor he found that he resented Sam, who seemed to sense that. Sam gave him an apologetic look that made Merry grind his teeth. His parents had taught him that there was no difference in hobbits, that workinghobbits were just as good as gentry, and Merry had taken the lessons to heart. So it wasn't Sam's station that he resented, it was Sam's importance in Frodo's life. It felt as though Merry's place had been usurped by the other lad.
"I was only thinkin' you might not come," Sam answered. "I'll be off."
"You can wait and walk along with us," Frodo said. "I like your costume, Sam. Did your sisters help you with it?"
Sam grinned, his hazel eyes sparkling with pleasure at Frodo's praise. He was dressed as a scarecrow, in ragged shirt and trousers tied with string at wrists and ankles and leaking straw at the sleeves and cuffs, a tattered straw hat on his head, his cheeks painted with patches of red, edged with drawn-on stitches.
"Daisy helped me with it," he said. He looked at Merry, who was dressed as a river pirate, complete with eyepatch, tri-cornered hat and wooden cutlass at his belt, and said respectfully, "You look a right pirate, Mr. Merry. The lasses will all be squealin' at the sight of you."
It was hard to stay angry with someone who was so frankly admiring, and Merry found himself grinning back at Sam. "Thanks, Sam. My mum helped me with it, and my Dad carved the cutlass for me."
Pippin shouted from the hallway. "I'm ready. Everyone close their eyes!"
Merry's good humor vanished and he felt himself cringe at the piercing quality of that voice. Frodo chuckled and straightened up, turning his back to the door. "Come on, lads, let him surprise us."
Sam also turned, and Merry, sighing, followed suit. He could hear Pippin smothering giggles as he entered the kitchen, breath puffing through his nose like a baby dragon.
"You can look now!"
The three of them turned round at once and surveyed the smug little brat as he posed before them in his costume.
He was wearing a tatty old fur coat that must once have belonged to his mum, its hem nearly dragging on the floor, and soot blackened the tip of his pointed nose. Someone, probably his mum, Merry surmised had made him a cap with two floppy brown ears that sat precariously on his bushy curls, and when he spun about to show them, they saw that someone had also sewn a long, furry tail to the back of the coat.
"What are you supposed to be?" Merry asked, unable to stop himself from giving a snort, although Frodo fixed him with a look that made his cheeks burn with a blush.
"I'm a puppy!" Pippin's face was one great smile, his green eyes nearly disappearing in the creases about them. "Pearl helped me make my costume. Mum said it's the best costume she ever saw and cook tried to feed me scraps because she really thought I was a real puppy."
Merry sneered, but Frodo gave him such a glare that he shut his teeth and said nothing. But Pippin saw and understood. He was little, it was true, and Merry thought he was a perfect dunce sometimes, but Pippin had wit enough to realize when he was an object of ridicule. And he seemed especially sensitive when it came to Merry, who could crush him with a word. Merry felt guilty, but only for a moment, then he forced that aside. He wasn't going to let anything, especially a silly brat, spoil his fun.
Pippin's smile had faded from his face and his narrow shoulders drooped. He sidled over to Frodo and reached up to clutch their elder cousin's hand. Frodo bent and murmured to him, speaking softly into Pippin's ear, and Pippin looked up at him hopefully.
"Really, Frodo?" His voice wasn't nearly so high and piercing as before.
"Really," Frodo answered solemnly. "Now, we'd better go. We don't want to miss the lighting of the bonfire, and we certainly want to get our share of the candies, don't we?"
"Yes!" Pippin flung his arms around Frodo's neck and gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek, then he dashed over to Sam and grabbed Sam's hand, looking up at him with a grin nearly as wide as it had been before Merry had scorned him.
"Let's go, Sam! Frodo said there are candies shaped like pumpkins! Let's hurry so we can get some of those."
Sam cast a questioning glance at Frodo, who nodded slightly, then he turned, holding Pippin's small, grubby hand, and started down the hill toward the party field. Lanterns had been placed along one edge of the road to light the way, and the flickering lights looked a bit eerie, as Frodo and Merry followed Sam and Pippin.
The night was fine; cool, but not cold, with a white half-moon sailing amongst the gauzy black clouds in a deep blue sky. In the field, most of the inhabitants of Hobbiton had gathered beneath the lights hanging from the branches of the party tree. The teen and tweenage hobbits were dancing at one side of the field, whilst their elders sat at tables arranged on the other side. The food tables stood in a line, laden with so many platters, bowls and covered dishes that it was impossible to see the tablecloths. Barrels of ale and cider rested on racks, already tapped and ready for service, with tankards stacked up on a smaller table nearby. The candy bowls were full, although Merry saw that a few of the more daring lads had managed to steal sacks, and were sampling the contents.
Sam and Pippin approached one of the groups of youngsters who were gathering to play a game of hide and seek. Merry decided he didn't really want to play games, so he followed Frodo, who had spied Bilbo standing by the barrels, talking to Farmer Cotton and his wife, and strolled over to join them.
Farmer Cotton was holding forth about the best way to grow potatoes, while he gestured with the tankard in his hand, the other hand gripping the lapel of his too-tight "for best" jacket. Lily Cotton wore a crisply starched and ironed dress made of green sprigged cloth, with a white apron pinafore over it, and was holding her youngest daughter on her hip. The little girl was gnawing on a hard biscuit with small white baby teeth. Her dimpled face was smeared with a mixture of crumbs and spit and she stared at Merry and Frodo with huge brown eyes and a solemn expression that would have been funny if she hadn't been such a disgusting mess.
"Here's my lad," Bilbo said, putting an arm about Frodo's shoulders. "And this is our Merry. You remember the Master's son, Tom. Where are the little lads, Frodo?"
"Sam took Pippin off to play a game with the other boys," Frodo replied. He bowed. "Good evening, Mr Cotton, Mrs. Cotton." He reached out to touch the baby's nose with the tip of his finger, grinning. "Good evening, Rosie."
The group continued to talk for a while, discussing the weather and the harvest, whilst Merry fidgeted and tried to pretend he was interested in such boring subjects. Finally, Bilbo said, "Shall we go and get something to eat? I'd say it's time for a bit of supper, wouldn't you, Frodo?"
"Yes. I'll just go and find Sam and Pippin," Frodo answered.
"I'll come with you." Merry followed Frodo toward the other side of the field, where the dancers still twirled and capered. Beyond the area set apart for dancing, at the edge of the lighted space, the younger lads were running about. Those who'd already been found were seeking for the ones who'd managed to hide themselves more cleverly. Pippin and Sam were amongst the seekers, and both came trotting at Frodo's call. Pippin had already shed his coat, although he still wore his ears and the soot had smeared rather all over his face, so his black nose was only smudged now.
"Where is your coat, Pippin?" Frodo asked, looking down at the little lad who'd wrapped himself around his leg with both arms and sat himself down on the top of Frodo's foot, his head tilted back to look up at him with that silly grin.
"Over there somewhere." Pippin waved vaguely in the direction of the trees edging the field.
"You'd better go and find it." Frodo answered the grin with an indulgent smile. "I'm sure your mum wouldn't want it to be lost."
"Must I, Frodo? I'm hungry." Pippin clung as Frodo started to take a step, and Frodo stopped, looking down at him with a chuckle.
"I'm afraid you must, young Peregrin. You must learn to take care of your things. Go and find it. I'll wait for you here."
Pippin sighed and untangled himself from Frodo's leg, then looked hopefully at Merry. "Will you go with me to find it, Merry?"
Merry snorted. "Of course not, you silly twit. You lost it, you go and find it yourself. And hurry up. We've all been waiting for you all evening and I'm bloody tired of it. You're such a sodding nuisance."
Pippin's face crumpled for just a second. The next moment, the incipient tears vanished and the Took temper flared up so that his eyes blazed. He flung himself at Merry, crying shrilly, "Take it back! I'm not a noostance! You take that back, Merry Brandybuck!"
Merry was too shocked at first to defend himself against the hammering of small, hard fists against his chest and a kick to the shin from one of Pippin's sturdy feet. Then he seized Pippin's shoulders and gave him a shake that snapped his head forward and back on the thin stem of his neck. "Stop it, you little bugger! I'll slap you silly! I've had all I want of your company and I'd send you back to Tuckborough tonight if it was up to me! Bloody little sod. . ."
"Merry!" Frodo's voice was only slightly raised, but the shock and disappointment in it were enough to stop Merry in mid rant and make him realize just what he was doing. And who he was doing it to. He released Pippin, his hands gone weak and numb, and such shame and regret welled up in him that he thought it would choke him where he stood. He watched Pippin stagger back from him, his face white and stunned beneath the smears of soot, and reached out hesitantly toward him
"Pip, I'm . . ."
"You hurt me!" Pippin's face scrunched up into a mask of tragedy. "You hate me!" And he wheeled about and ran blindly away, into the darkness toward the woods.
Merry stood with his hand outstretched, his heart pounding wildly, and felt as though all the blood was draining out of him into the ground under his feet. He met Frodo's sad, reproachful eyes, and couldn't speak, even to try to excuse himself. He'd been vile, and he knew it, and he thought if Frodo didn't stop looking at him like that he would die of shame and sink into the earth.
Sam had stood by, watching everything with his eyes wide and his mouth open, but now he stepped forward and said quietly, "I'd best go and find him. It's not a good thing for him to be runnin' about in the woods alone."
"You're right, Sam." Frodo spoke as softly as always, but Merry could see the worry in his eyes and hear it in his voice. "Will you go and get two lanterns from the party tree? We'll go together."
"I'll come too." Merry yanked off the silly eyepatch and tossed it down, then took a step toward them, but stopped when Frodo turned a cool, judging look on him.
"I doubt that Pippin would let you find him if you do come," he said. "You hurt him terribly, Merry, and not by shaking him. It was the things you said that wounded him most."
Merry tried to scowl and speak up for himself, but the words died in his throat and he couldn't go on meeting Frodo's gaze for more than a second before he had to lower his eyes.
"I know. I'm sorry."
"I'm not the one who deserves an apology," Frodo replied. "It's Pippin whom you cut with your words."
Sam returned with two of the lanterns, and young Tom Cotton and Ned Banks following him. Both the lads were rumpled and their clothes were soiled. Their round faces were flushed with the cold and exercise.
"Tom and Ned will help look for him," Sam said. "He can't have gone very far. He's too small to run far or fast."
Merry's heart seemed to be squeezing into a tight knot in his chest. He moved closer to Frodo and pleaded, "Let me come too. I need to help find him. . .I need to tell him. . ."
"Come along then," Frodo answered. "If you can promise that you won't lose your temper with him again."
"He lost his first."
"He had a right to lose it. You've been resentful and unpleasant to Pippin ever since the two of you arrived at Bag End for this visit, and he's felt every slight you've portioned out to him. And your calling him names and telling him you'd send him home straightaway were the last straw. He was sorely provoked before he ever lost his temper and you know it." Frodo spoke so softly that only Merry could hear him, but every truth stung fiercely, and Merry kept his head bowed and felt tears burning his eyes.
"I'm sorry, Frodo. You're right. I've been a cad, and I will apologize to Pippin as soon as we find him." He finally found the courage to raise his eyes. "Please stop being so angry with me, Frodo. I can't bear it."
"Just as Pippin can't bear it when you're angry with him," Frodo answered. Then he softened. "Very well. I know you're sorry, and I accept your apology. Now, let's go and find Pip."
They split into two groups, Frodo, Sam and Merry taking one lantern, Tom and Ned the other, and separated at the place where Pippin had run. Frodo's group went right, whilst Tom and Ned took the left side of the field. The grass there was tall and wet with dew, and their feet and the legs of their breeches were soon soaked and cold. The wind had risen and it nuzzled at exposed skin and chilled them even more as they moved further away from the lights and the fire and the warmth of the larger company. The woods that grew in a crescent around the edge of the field were not dense or even very far-reaching, and during the day made a pleasant playground for hobbit children. But at night the branches creaked and shadows crept and shuddered, and the wind moaned amongst them, and Merry found himself sidling as near as he could to Frodo and the lantern, whilst Sam did the same at Frodo's other side. The ground beneath their feet was cushioned by fallen leaves and moss, but here were thick, gnarled tree roots snaking here and there, ready to trip an unwary walker. Merry jammed his toes on one of them and yelped at the pain, then silenced himself at once, wondering what else might be lurking in the darkness, perhaps attracted by the very sounds a group of young hobbits were making as they walked. He grew more and more anxious as they searched amongst the shadows for any sign of his little cousin, and he began to wish they could go back and bring Bilbo and other adults to come and find Pippin.
The thing that kept him going on, rather than running back to safety was the thought that Pippin, little and hurt, was somewhere in the dark alone. And Merry knew he was to blame. It made him ache with shame and sorrow and he knew he would never feel happy again unless he could find Pippin and apologize and be forgiven.
The night was split by a high, thin, wavering cry. They stopped and listened, and Merry gripped Frodo's arm so tightly his fingers hurt. His heart thumped and bumped against his ribs.
"Was that Pippin?" he whispered.
"No, it was an owl," Sam whispered back.
Merry felt icy fear shiver its way down his backbone. Owls could be very dangerous to small hobbits, who weren't so very much larger than a big rabbit. "We have to hurry and find him. It might catch him."
"It's a screech owl, Master Merry," Sam said. "Not big enough to hurt Master Pippin."
"Just big enough to make our blood freeze," Frodo added, as the owl wailed again. The branches overhead rattled like bare bones clattering together as the wind gusted through them. He held the lantern higher to cast the light as far about them as possible. "Come on, lads, let's go on. And it might help to call for him. I imagine he's frightened enough by now that a friendly voice will be welcome."
They moved on slowly, the unsteady glow of the lantern lighting their way, along with the chancy light of the moon that was hiding, then peeking out amidst the scudding clouds. As they walked, they took turns calling out Pippin's name. Occasionally, they could hear Tom and Ned doing the same in the distance.
"Wait!" Sam said suddenly, stopping in his tracks. "Listen. . ."
Frodo and Merry stopped too, and Merry strained his ears to hear any sound besides the wind's whimpering and the scraping and squeaking sounds of the branches. He caught a faint, shrill cry, and shook his head.
"Just another owl."
"No," Sam disagreed, concentrating too keenly and too distracted to realize he'd actually corrected someone he considered his "better." He pointed off to the right, and ahead. "There's a creek, and an old sinkhole there, remember, Mr. Frodo? It fills up with water in the summer, and turns into a bog in the winter. Could be he's got himself caught in there."
Frodo nodded and took a step forward, but Sam caught hold of his arm, and Frodo turned to the younger hobbit. "What, Sam?"
"Just that it's easy to come upon the marshy places before you know it, and you might fall in yourself if you don't walk careful," Sam replied. "Best take care."
"Well thought out, Sam," Frodo said, and Merry ground his teeth, wishing he'd been the one to think of the danger first. Then he wanted to kick himself for being so jealous. What did it matter who had thought of it first? Pippin was the important thing here. Pippin could be in trouble.
He heard that thin little cry again, and this time he realized it didn't sound at all like the owl's voice. "Pip," he whispered, and tugged at Frodo's arm. "We've got to find him."
They went forward, looking for any sign of water ahead, but it was hard to see in the darkness, and Merry's left foot came down in a puddle of muck before he realized it was there, overgrown as it was with rank, shaggy weeds. He gasped and pulled his foot out of the ooze, and stumbled back a step, shuddering at the feeling of cold mud between his toes.
"I think you found the bog," Frodo murmured, holding the lantern higher. In its fitful light, they could see small, bright glints reflected from many points in the flat land ahead of them. Merry noted that the trees had become sparse, stunted, and twisted, and grew in clumps, with clear spaces between. A narrow creek wound its way amongst the tussocks and roots, and wisps of pale mist rose here and there.
"Pippin?" Frodo raised his voice. "Pip, lad, answer me!"
"Frodo?" Pippin's answer was thin and breathless, as though he'd nearly lost his voice.
"There." Sam pointed to the left without hesitation, and Merry wondered how he could be so certain. He had no idea from which direction the cry had emanated.
"Call out again, Pip," Frodo urged, moving at once where Sam had pointed. Merry followed, shivering, and feeling his feet sink into the mire with every step he took. He knew Frodo and Sam were suffering the same hardships, but neither of them uttered a word of complaint, so he kept his teeth clenched and endured the discomfort and the cold without a sound.
"Frodo!" The cry was a bit clearer, and even Merry could tell where it came from now, and he moved more quickly, passing Frodo, who caught his arm and pulled him back hard.
"No, Merry, we must be careful. We'll be no help to Pippin if we get mired in this swamp too."
And, though he was desperate to move quickly, to find their little cousin and rescue him from whatever predicament he'd gotten himself into, Merry obeyed Frodo and stayed at his side, within the circle of light.
They had to cross the creek a few steps further on, and the cold, sluggish water soaked them to their knees. The bottom wasn't stony, but slimy and oozy instead, and Merry shuddered over and over as they waded to the opposite bank and climbed out, gripping handfuls of the tough, wiry grasses to help pull themselves onto drier ground.
It was Sam who spotted the sinkhole, a deep depression in the earth, surrounded by thistles, cattails, nettles and briar bushes. He took Frodo's arm and pointed to the place where the weeds had been broken down, and before he could say a word, another cry came floating up to them. Pippin's voice quavered and caught with a little sob at the end.
"Frodo? Merry?"
"We're here, Pip," Frodo called back, and now he moved more quickly, to the very edge of the hole, where he knelt down and held the lantern high, extending it as far out over the dark depression as he could reach. Merry leaned beside him, staring, and saw the trail of flattened grasses that led down into the sinkhole, water shining below, and a small, pallid, dirt-streaked smudge that was Pippin's upturned face.
"Pippin!" he cried. "What happened? Can you move?"
"I slipped," Pippin replied, the words nearly inaudible. "And slid to the bottom. . .there's a root and I caught. . .my foot."
Frodo studied the slope and said, "I believe I can get down there and climb back with Pippin on my back."
"Let me," Merry begged.
"I'm not sure you're strong enough, Merry."
"I am. Please, Frodo. If I can't do it, I'll come back up and you can try."
Frodo looked down again. "Pippin, Merry's coming," he called. "We'll get you out of there." He turned to Merry. "Better take off your jacket. It might get caught on twigs or something."
Merry shrugged out of his frock coat and gave it to Frodo, then sat down and edged himself over the rim of the sinkhole. He began to slide at once on the slope and caught at the grass with both hands to slow his descent. With his gaze fixed on Pippin's face, he loosened his hold and let himself slide a bit more, using his hands only to slow himself. The grass felt like sharp blades and cut his hands, and the soggy ground beneath him was soaking his breeches, but he tried not to mind that, concentrating only on reaching Pippin.
The last few feet were not quite as steep and he was able to let go of the grasses and slide the rest of the way on his bottom. and stop when his feet found the boggy, waterlogged ground. Pippin was a couple of feet to his left, lying on his back with one knee bent, his left leg stretched down to where the foot and ankle were hidden beneath a gnarly grey root as thick as Merry's arm. The little hobbit was a sad, bedraggled sight, his clothing saturated with mud and water, his hair a thicket of snarls, with little twigs and leaves caught in them, his forehead smeared with mud. He'd been crying, and the tears had washed much of the dirt and soot off his cheeks. He looked at Merry, a picture of misery, and said, "I hurt my foot, Merry."
"I know, Pip. I'm here. I'll get you out as quickly as I can." Merry twisted round to look up to the rim, where Frodo was still leaning and holding the lantern as far out as he could to give them as much light as possible. "Frodo, keep the light there if you can, so I can see if I can get Pippin's foot free."
He stepped cautiously from the tussock where he stood, to the next one, which was just beside Pippin, and crouched down to look at the trapped foot. It seemed to be wedged tightly under the root, and the foot itself was keeping Pippin from being able to pull loose. Merry leaned as close as he could, looking carefully to see if the bone had been broken. He could see a bit of blood on the ankle, but that was all.
"I think we have to pull you to that side and try to turn your foot," he told Pippin. "If you can turn it so that the side of your ankle is up, we should be able to slip your foot free."
"Will it hurt more?" Pippin asked, his voice quivering. He blinked wet lashes.
"I'm afraid it will," Merry answered. "You're stuck really tightly, and if we can't do it that way, we'll have to get more help, some of the grown up hobbits to come and cut the root so we can lift it off you. We can do that if you want us to, Pippin." He sat as close as he could to Pippin, and carefully combed dirty fingers through the lad's filthy hair.
"No, we should try first," Pippin said, after taking a deep breath and setting his small jaw with determination. "You tell me what to do, Merry."
Merry gripped the thin shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. He tried hard to sound more sure of himself than he felt. "I'll see if I can get some mud from the bog to smear on your ankle. That may make it a bit easier to turn and pull it free."
He moved on his knees to the edge of the tussock and sank both hands into a pool of muddy water, to the bottom where he found slick, slimy mud. Shuddering, he pulled up a double handful of the stuff, then knee-walked back to Pippin and leaned down to plop the mud onto his ankle.
"Uhg," Pippin muttered. "That feels awful."
"I know." Merry used his fingertips to push the mud as far down on Pippin's foot as he could, soaking the thick, cinnamon-brown curls there with the stuff.
"All right, Pip. I'm going to get on the other side of you and pull your leg to that side. When I do, you try hard to turn your foot and leg in that direction, understand?"
"Yes, Merry." Pippin's eyes were enormous and he shut his mouth into a thin line, waiting fearfully for Merry to begin the attempt to free him.
Merry crawled round him, above his head and down to kneel beside his legs. "Put your right knee down, Pippin." He waited for Pippin to lower his knee, leaned over him to grasp the trapped leg, then gasped in a deep breath.
"Ready?"
Pippin nodded.
Merry began to pull steadily but carefully on Pippin's leg, afraid that too much force would actually do more harm than good. Pippin's breath escaped him in a thin squeal of pain, and his whole body tensed with effort. There was a moment when Merry thought they would have to give up, when it seemed impossible, but then there was a slight give, and a slip as Pippin's ankle turned. Merry pulled just a bit harder and Pippin yelped, but never stopped trying, and a moment later, his foot slipped free.
Both of them collapsed, Pippin on his back with his face tilted up to the night and tears running down his face, Merry slumped on his knees, struggling to catch his breath and withhold his own tears.
"I'm sorry, Pip," he whispered. "I'm so terribly sorry."
Pippin rolled toward him and Merry felt his cousin's soft little hand patting his cheek. "It's all right, Merry, I know you didn't hurt me on purpose."
"No, of course not. But that's not why I'm sorry." Merry gathered Pippin up onto his lap and cuddled him. "I was dreadful to you earlier, and I wanted to tell you how sorry I am for that. I had no right to say such awful things to you. I don't even know why I was angry with you."
Pippin snuggled closer to him and even though he was wet and he smelled rank from the filthy water and mud he'd been lying in, Merry hugged him.
"It's all right, Merry," Pippin said, and Merry could hear in his voice how very tired he was.
Merry held the lad away in order to see his face, and smiled, wondering how Pippin could be so easily forgiving. He knew that if their places had been reversed, he would have stayed angry much longer, before he would be ready to forgive. And he was humbled by that knowledge and made a silent promise to himself that he would try hard to become more like Pippin.
"Do you think you can walk at all?" he asked.
Pippin shook his head. "My leg really hurts, Merry, and so does my foot and I'm ever so c-c-cold." The last word ended on a little whimper.
"Very well then." Merry patted his back gently. "Now listen to me, Pip. I'm going to get on my hands and knees and I want you to climb on my back and wrap your arms round my neck and your legs about my waist and I'll carry you to the top."
Pippin looked up at him and in the dim, uncertain light, his eyes looked black. His chin quivered a little. "Are you certain, Merry? Can you do that?"
"I'm twice your size and I'm very strong for my age," Merry answered. "I can do it. Come on, now, get on my back."
He helped Pippin to stand and steadied him when his left leg refused to bear his weight. Pippin balanced on his right foot, the toes of his left just touching the ground and set his jaw in that look Merry knew so well. "All right, Merry, I can manage now."
Merry set himself on hands and knees and crouched as low as he could and Pippin struggled and strained to crawl atop him, finally settling in like a rider ahorseback, then leaned forward and wrapped his thin arms about Merry's neck.
"Hold on tight," Merry told him. "But try not to choke me. I'm going to start now, Pip."
Going back up the sloping side of the sinkhole was quite a different proposition than the descent had been. He was fighting for every inch he gained, carrying Pippin's weight, which seemed to grow heavier with each lunge forward and upward. He had to grasp the sharp grass to help pull himself up, and he could feel it cutting into his palms and feel the little cuts beginning to bleed, but there was nothing for it but to go on. He forced himself not to look up to see how far there was to go, concentrating only on the next reach with his hand, the next shove with his knee and the panting of his breath as he struggled. Pippin's arms seemed to get tighter round his neck, half-strangling him, but there was no time, and no breath to tell him to loosen his grip, so Merry endured it. The climb seemed to take hours and the cold bit into him more as he went up, the wind cutting at him like a blade of ice.
Then he heard Frodo saying his name, and Sam calling to him, "Just a bit more, Master Merry, only two more feet. . ." and then Frodo's hand closed on his wrist and pulled him up and over the edge and he collapsed flat on his stomach on the cold ground. Pippin's weight was lifted off him and he heard Frodo murmuring to their little cousin. Pippin cried, "Merry! Merry, are you all right?" Merry managed to raise his head, every muscle in his arms and legs trembling with exhaustion, but he smiled to reassure his cousin and said, "I'm all right, Pip."
Frodo let him rest for a few moments, whilst he examined Pippin's ankle and decided it was not broken, only badly twisted, perhaps sprained. Then, gently, but inexorably, he pulled Merry to his feet and picked Pippin up in his arms, whilst Sam held the lantern.
"Arms round my neck, Pip, and legs around my waist," Frodo instructed, and Pippin clung to him as he'd been told. Sam offered Merry his shoulder, and Merry leaned on him gratefully. The four of them made their way back from the darkness and cold to the light of the bonfire, where Sam's father and Bilbo were organizing the other hobbits for a search. Young Tom and Ned Banks were there too, and both of them stared, eyes wide, as Frodo and the others limped and stumbled into the light.
Bilbo caught sight of them and his face changed, the worry giving way to utter relief. "There are our lads," he said. He came to meet them, reaching out for Pippin, who clung to Frodo for a moment, before allowing Bilbo to take him.
"Well, I can see there's quite a tale to be told," Bilbo said. "But I think it will wait for the morning. I need to get you lot to Bag End, where you can all have a hot bath and a nice hot cup of tea."
Sam said, "I don't know, Mr. Bilbo. . ." But Merry interrupted. "Please, Sam, I need your help to get home."
"Go along, Samwise," the gaffer said brusquely, shaking his head as he surveyed the state of them. "Do what you can to help, and come back when you've cleaned up a bit."
"Yes, Dad." Sam settled Merry's arm more comfortably over his shoulders and they followed Bilbo up the hill.
Heating water for baths took nearly two hours, and they had hot tea whilst they waited. Then Frodo shared his bath with Pippin, washing the little lad's hair and scrubbing him clean of soot and mud, and Merry didn't mind at all, nor did he mind waiting and letting Sam have the first bath in Bilbo's tub. When Sam was done, Merry bathed as quickly as he could, anxious to get back to his cousins, to make sure that Pippin truly was all right. And of course he was, happy as a lark and splashing water everywhere with abandon, whilst Frodo, who'd finished, got dried off and dressed. The two older cousins fished the young one out of his tub and tickled him and rubbed him dry, then dressed him in a warm nightshirt and his green and black plaid dressing gown.
When the four of them gathered in the kitchen, they found that Bilbo had warmed a pot of milk and brought out a pan of gingerbread and made buttered toast for them. And each of them had a little paper sack of candies to open in the morning. Bilbo put a healing cream on Merry's hands. None of the cuts on his palms and fingers were deep, but they were many and painful, and the cream was soothing. Pippin's ankle was swollen, but the soaking in a hot bath had done it good, and Bilbo rubbed it with arnica cream and bandaged it to support it.
Bilbo gave Merry's back a pat, then tousled Pippin's curls. "You lads get into entirely too much mischief," he said, then he chuckled. "But that's as it should be. Drink your milk and then scamper off to bed. Sam, you'll stay the night. I'll go back down and tell the gaffer I've put you to bed in the guest room next to Merry's, and you'll come home in the morning. I'll tell him to send some of your clothing up the hill."
"Thank you, Mr. Bilbo," Sam murmured, smiling shyly at the old hobbit.
"Frodo, see that they all get to bed soon, will you?"
"Yes, Uncle," Frodo answered.
Bilbo left to return to the party and Merry watched him go and was surprised that he wasn't more disappointed at missing so much of the party. But he was too tired to want to play games or steal candy with the other lads, and he really only wanted to stay with his cousins and Sam and be glad that they were all safe and warm, at Bag End.
End.
mews1945Title: Bonfire Night
Characters/Pairing: Frodo, Merry, Pippin, Sam
Rating: G
Summary: Frodo's cousins have come to celebrate All Hallows with him, but they are not getting along well with each other.
"Come along, Pip, or we'll miss the lighting of the bonfire," Frodo called.
"We should just go on and leave him behind." Merry scowled, but he evaded Frodo's reproachful look and dug with his toes at the rug by the front door, hands shoved into the pockets of his breeches.
Bilbo snorted. The old hobbit was losing patience with the lot of them, Merry could tell. Not that he cared if Bilbo was annoyed with them. It was Pippin's fault anyway, and Frodo's fault as well. After all, Frodo was the one who'd invited the pipsqueak along on a visit that should've been Merry's alone.
"I'll just be off then." Bilbo spoke briskly as he shrugged into his warm grey coat and checked the small pocket in his waistcoat, then patted it. "And I'll tell everyone you'll be along once you get your cousins sorted, shall I?"
"We'll be there soon," Frodo answered.
Merry cast a baleful glance toward the hallway that led to Frodo's rooms and the small guest chamber which he himself had been given. Pippin, of course, had demanded to sleep with Frodo. Frodo had agreed, naturally, because he spoiled the little blighter rotten whenever they were together. Not that Merry cared. He was sixteen now, too old to be sleeping in Frodo's bed as he used to. But he'd have liked to have an opportunity to choose.
"He's such a brat," he muttered. "I don't know why you invited him along too."
"You mustn't call Pippin a brat, Merry." Frodo spoke softly, but the chiding in his voice stung Merry. "He's just a little lad, after all. And since he was staying with you at Brandy Hall, I couldn't very well invite you, and leave him out. He's my cousin too, and he loves us both very much."
"Well, why don't you help him with his costume, then?" Exasperation tightened Merry's voice. They'd been waiting and waiting, ever since supper ended, for Pipping to get washed up and go to the privy and change his old clothes for his costume.
"Because he wanted to do it himself." Frodo sounded as though his teeth were on edge. "He wants to surprise us." He leaned against the wall, his arms folded across the front of his new chestnut brown jacket. The waistcoat beneath it was embroidered satin, stitched with gold leaves and amber berries, and his shirt was snowy white, with a deep green cravat tied in a loose bow. His dark curls were perfectly ordered and even his foot hair was neat and glossy with brushing. He looked like a perfect dandy, and he didn't seem impatient at all.
Merry couldn't understand it. Only the year before, Frodo had been as excited as Merry about dressing up and getting to the party field as early as possible, eager for the candy favors made by Mistress Smallburrow, the confectioner. For the All Hallows Night feast, she made cream-based candies shaped to look like little golden pumpkins and yellow sickle moons and lovely white mushrooms, and there would be bowls of them set out, the candies placed inside small paper sacks tied with string. One picked a sack, and never knew until opening it what shapes of candies it contained. Part of the fun was in the discovery, though of course most of it was in the eating. Some of the candies would be flavored with butter, some with peppermint, some with sassafras or apple wine.
And of course there would be lots of other foods to eat. The party tables would be piled high with baked hams and roasted beef with rich brown sauce, and there would be dishes of potatoes with cheese, browned and bubbling, and squash baked in its own shell with a sugar and butter glaze, and all sorts of vegetables and mushroom dishes and breads and gingerbread and pies. Each hobbit lady always brought her own special dish to add to the feast. And there would be mulled cider and ales to drink. The All Hallows party was one that everyone looked forward to all year long, with its feasting and dancing and the bonfire, and late at night the ghostly stories told round the fire. The young hobbit lads and lasses dressed up in funny or scary costumes and ran about playing pranks on each other and their elders, and hardly anyone minded or scolded them for making mischief on that one night of the year.
It was a night Merry had been anticipating for ever so long. At the first of the month, Frodo and Bilbo had invited him to come and spend the fortnight before and after the festival at Bag End, and Esmeralda and Saradoc had agreed. Even though he was only a teenager, Merry had worked like a full-grown hobbit to help bring in their own harvest, and they'd decided he deserved a reward. A visit with Frodo was the greatest gift they could give him.
Frodo himself had come to fetch Merry and bring him back to Hobbiton, and of course that was when the problem had arisen, because Pippin had been visiting at Brandy Hall, and he'd simply assumed he would be coming with Merry. And Frodo had agreed to it. Merry loved Pippin, truly he did, but he'd been hard pressed to hide his disappointment. It had been ages since he'd seen Frodo, and he'd been looking forward to having his cousin all to himself. Instead, they had a small, inquisitive shadow trailing their every step. And they were forced to listen to Pippin's high, irritating voice piping question after question, when he wasn't telling silly jokes or boring stories that went on and on, winding here and there and never coming to any point. Merry had quickly lost patience with the whole situation, and almost wished he hadn't come at all.
"Mr. Frodo? Aren't you comin' to the bonfire?"
Frodo smiled at Sam Gamgee, who'd appeared at the kitchen doorway, standing shyly outside on the step.
"Come in, Sam. We're just waiting for Pippin."
Merry scowled. Couldn't help it. Not only must he share Frodo with Pippin, but now with a rank interloper who wasn't even family. Sam was a nice enough lad, but Frodo seemed to like him as much as he liked his own cousins, and gave him just as much of his attention. That was one more thing that had changed since Frodo had moved to Hobbiton, and Merry couldn't help but resent it, and therefor he found that he resented Sam, who seemed to sense that. Sam gave him an apologetic look that made Merry grind his teeth. His parents had taught him that there was no difference in hobbits, that workinghobbits were just as good as gentry, and Merry had taken the lessons to heart. So it wasn't Sam's station that he resented, it was Sam's importance in Frodo's life. It felt as though Merry's place had been usurped by the other lad.
"I was only thinkin' you might not come," Sam answered. "I'll be off."
"You can wait and walk along with us," Frodo said. "I like your costume, Sam. Did your sisters help you with it?"
Sam grinned, his hazel eyes sparkling with pleasure at Frodo's praise. He was dressed as a scarecrow, in ragged shirt and trousers tied with string at wrists and ankles and leaking straw at the sleeves and cuffs, a tattered straw hat on his head, his cheeks painted with patches of red, edged with drawn-on stitches.
"Daisy helped me with it," he said. He looked at Merry, who was dressed as a river pirate, complete with eyepatch, tri-cornered hat and wooden cutlass at his belt, and said respectfully, "You look a right pirate, Mr. Merry. The lasses will all be squealin' at the sight of you."
It was hard to stay angry with someone who was so frankly admiring, and Merry found himself grinning back at Sam. "Thanks, Sam. My mum helped me with it, and my Dad carved the cutlass for me."
Pippin shouted from the hallway. "I'm ready. Everyone close their eyes!"
Merry's good humor vanished and he felt himself cringe at the piercing quality of that voice. Frodo chuckled and straightened up, turning his back to the door. "Come on, lads, let him surprise us."
Sam also turned, and Merry, sighing, followed suit. He could hear Pippin smothering giggles as he entered the kitchen, breath puffing through his nose like a baby dragon.
"You can look now!"
The three of them turned round at once and surveyed the smug little brat as he posed before them in his costume.
He was wearing a tatty old fur coat that must once have belonged to his mum, its hem nearly dragging on the floor, and soot blackened the tip of his pointed nose. Someone, probably his mum, Merry surmised had made him a cap with two floppy brown ears that sat precariously on his bushy curls, and when he spun about to show them, they saw that someone had also sewn a long, furry tail to the back of the coat.
"What are you supposed to be?" Merry asked, unable to stop himself from giving a snort, although Frodo fixed him with a look that made his cheeks burn with a blush.
"I'm a puppy!" Pippin's face was one great smile, his green eyes nearly disappearing in the creases about them. "Pearl helped me make my costume. Mum said it's the best costume she ever saw and cook tried to feed me scraps because she really thought I was a real puppy."
Merry sneered, but Frodo gave him such a glare that he shut his teeth and said nothing. But Pippin saw and understood. He was little, it was true, and Merry thought he was a perfect dunce sometimes, but Pippin had wit enough to realize when he was an object of ridicule. And he seemed especially sensitive when it came to Merry, who could crush him with a word. Merry felt guilty, but only for a moment, then he forced that aside. He wasn't going to let anything, especially a silly brat, spoil his fun.
Pippin's smile had faded from his face and his narrow shoulders drooped. He sidled over to Frodo and reached up to clutch their elder cousin's hand. Frodo bent and murmured to him, speaking softly into Pippin's ear, and Pippin looked up at him hopefully.
"Really, Frodo?" His voice wasn't nearly so high and piercing as before.
"Really," Frodo answered solemnly. "Now, we'd better go. We don't want to miss the lighting of the bonfire, and we certainly want to get our share of the candies, don't we?"
"Yes!" Pippin flung his arms around Frodo's neck and gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek, then he dashed over to Sam and grabbed Sam's hand, looking up at him with a grin nearly as wide as it had been before Merry had scorned him.
"Let's go, Sam! Frodo said there are candies shaped like pumpkins! Let's hurry so we can get some of those."
Sam cast a questioning glance at Frodo, who nodded slightly, then he turned, holding Pippin's small, grubby hand, and started down the hill toward the party field. Lanterns had been placed along one edge of the road to light the way, and the flickering lights looked a bit eerie, as Frodo and Merry followed Sam and Pippin.
The night was fine; cool, but not cold, with a white half-moon sailing amongst the gauzy black clouds in a deep blue sky. In the field, most of the inhabitants of Hobbiton had gathered beneath the lights hanging from the branches of the party tree. The teen and tweenage hobbits were dancing at one side of the field, whilst their elders sat at tables arranged on the other side. The food tables stood in a line, laden with so many platters, bowls and covered dishes that it was impossible to see the tablecloths. Barrels of ale and cider rested on racks, already tapped and ready for service, with tankards stacked up on a smaller table nearby. The candy bowls were full, although Merry saw that a few of the more daring lads had managed to steal sacks, and were sampling the contents.
Sam and Pippin approached one of the groups of youngsters who were gathering to play a game of hide and seek. Merry decided he didn't really want to play games, so he followed Frodo, who had spied Bilbo standing by the barrels, talking to Farmer Cotton and his wife, and strolled over to join them.
Farmer Cotton was holding forth about the best way to grow potatoes, while he gestured with the tankard in his hand, the other hand gripping the lapel of his too-tight "for best" jacket. Lily Cotton wore a crisply starched and ironed dress made of green sprigged cloth, with a white apron pinafore over it, and was holding her youngest daughter on her hip. The little girl was gnawing on a hard biscuit with small white baby teeth. Her dimpled face was smeared with a mixture of crumbs and spit and she stared at Merry and Frodo with huge brown eyes and a solemn expression that would have been funny if she hadn't been such a disgusting mess.
"Here's my lad," Bilbo said, putting an arm about Frodo's shoulders. "And this is our Merry. You remember the Master's son, Tom. Where are the little lads, Frodo?"
"Sam took Pippin off to play a game with the other boys," Frodo replied. He bowed. "Good evening, Mr Cotton, Mrs. Cotton." He reached out to touch the baby's nose with the tip of his finger, grinning. "Good evening, Rosie."
The group continued to talk for a while, discussing the weather and the harvest, whilst Merry fidgeted and tried to pretend he was interested in such boring subjects. Finally, Bilbo said, "Shall we go and get something to eat? I'd say it's time for a bit of supper, wouldn't you, Frodo?"
"Yes. I'll just go and find Sam and Pippin," Frodo answered.
"I'll come with you." Merry followed Frodo toward the other side of the field, where the dancers still twirled and capered. Beyond the area set apart for dancing, at the edge of the lighted space, the younger lads were running about. Those who'd already been found were seeking for the ones who'd managed to hide themselves more cleverly. Pippin and Sam were amongst the seekers, and both came trotting at Frodo's call. Pippin had already shed his coat, although he still wore his ears and the soot had smeared rather all over his face, so his black nose was only smudged now.
"Where is your coat, Pippin?" Frodo asked, looking down at the little lad who'd wrapped himself around his leg with both arms and sat himself down on the top of Frodo's foot, his head tilted back to look up at him with that silly grin.
"Over there somewhere." Pippin waved vaguely in the direction of the trees edging the field.
"You'd better go and find it." Frodo answered the grin with an indulgent smile. "I'm sure your mum wouldn't want it to be lost."
"Must I, Frodo? I'm hungry." Pippin clung as Frodo started to take a step, and Frodo stopped, looking down at him with a chuckle.
"I'm afraid you must, young Peregrin. You must learn to take care of your things. Go and find it. I'll wait for you here."
Pippin sighed and untangled himself from Frodo's leg, then looked hopefully at Merry. "Will you go with me to find it, Merry?"
Merry snorted. "Of course not, you silly twit. You lost it, you go and find it yourself. And hurry up. We've all been waiting for you all evening and I'm bloody tired of it. You're such a sodding nuisance."
Pippin's face crumpled for just a second. The next moment, the incipient tears vanished and the Took temper flared up so that his eyes blazed. He flung himself at Merry, crying shrilly, "Take it back! I'm not a noostance! You take that back, Merry Brandybuck!"
Merry was too shocked at first to defend himself against the hammering of small, hard fists against his chest and a kick to the shin from one of Pippin's sturdy feet. Then he seized Pippin's shoulders and gave him a shake that snapped his head forward and back on the thin stem of his neck. "Stop it, you little bugger! I'll slap you silly! I've had all I want of your company and I'd send you back to Tuckborough tonight if it was up to me! Bloody little sod. . ."
"Merry!" Frodo's voice was only slightly raised, but the shock and disappointment in it were enough to stop Merry in mid rant and make him realize just what he was doing. And who he was doing it to. He released Pippin, his hands gone weak and numb, and such shame and regret welled up in him that he thought it would choke him where he stood. He watched Pippin stagger back from him, his face white and stunned beneath the smears of soot, and reached out hesitantly toward him
"Pip, I'm . . ."
"You hurt me!" Pippin's face scrunched up into a mask of tragedy. "You hate me!" And he wheeled about and ran blindly away, into the darkness toward the woods.
Merry stood with his hand outstretched, his heart pounding wildly, and felt as though all the blood was draining out of him into the ground under his feet. He met Frodo's sad, reproachful eyes, and couldn't speak, even to try to excuse himself. He'd been vile, and he knew it, and he thought if Frodo didn't stop looking at him like that he would die of shame and sink into the earth.
Sam had stood by, watching everything with his eyes wide and his mouth open, but now he stepped forward and said quietly, "I'd best go and find him. It's not a good thing for him to be runnin' about in the woods alone."
"You're right, Sam." Frodo spoke as softly as always, but Merry could see the worry in his eyes and hear it in his voice. "Will you go and get two lanterns from the party tree? We'll go together."
"I'll come too." Merry yanked off the silly eyepatch and tossed it down, then took a step toward them, but stopped when Frodo turned a cool, judging look on him.
"I doubt that Pippin would let you find him if you do come," he said. "You hurt him terribly, Merry, and not by shaking him. It was the things you said that wounded him most."
Merry tried to scowl and speak up for himself, but the words died in his throat and he couldn't go on meeting Frodo's gaze for more than a second before he had to lower his eyes.
"I know. I'm sorry."
"I'm not the one who deserves an apology," Frodo replied. "It's Pippin whom you cut with your words."
Sam returned with two of the lanterns, and young Tom Cotton and Ned Banks following him. Both the lads were rumpled and their clothes were soiled. Their round faces were flushed with the cold and exercise.
"Tom and Ned will help look for him," Sam said. "He can't have gone very far. He's too small to run far or fast."
Merry's heart seemed to be squeezing into a tight knot in his chest. He moved closer to Frodo and pleaded, "Let me come too. I need to help find him. . .I need to tell him. . ."
"Come along then," Frodo answered. "If you can promise that you won't lose your temper with him again."
"He lost his first."
"He had a right to lose it. You've been resentful and unpleasant to Pippin ever since the two of you arrived at Bag End for this visit, and he's felt every slight you've portioned out to him. And your calling him names and telling him you'd send him home straightaway were the last straw. He was sorely provoked before he ever lost his temper and you know it." Frodo spoke so softly that only Merry could hear him, but every truth stung fiercely, and Merry kept his head bowed and felt tears burning his eyes.
"I'm sorry, Frodo. You're right. I've been a cad, and I will apologize to Pippin as soon as we find him." He finally found the courage to raise his eyes. "Please stop being so angry with me, Frodo. I can't bear it."
"Just as Pippin can't bear it when you're angry with him," Frodo answered. Then he softened. "Very well. I know you're sorry, and I accept your apology. Now, let's go and find Pip."
They split into two groups, Frodo, Sam and Merry taking one lantern, Tom and Ned the other, and separated at the place where Pippin had run. Frodo's group went right, whilst Tom and Ned took the left side of the field. The grass there was tall and wet with dew, and their feet and the legs of their breeches were soon soaked and cold. The wind had risen and it nuzzled at exposed skin and chilled them even more as they moved further away from the lights and the fire and the warmth of the larger company. The woods that grew in a crescent around the edge of the field were not dense or even very far-reaching, and during the day made a pleasant playground for hobbit children. But at night the branches creaked and shadows crept and shuddered, and the wind moaned amongst them, and Merry found himself sidling as near as he could to Frodo and the lantern, whilst Sam did the same at Frodo's other side. The ground beneath their feet was cushioned by fallen leaves and moss, but here were thick, gnarled tree roots snaking here and there, ready to trip an unwary walker. Merry jammed his toes on one of them and yelped at the pain, then silenced himself at once, wondering what else might be lurking in the darkness, perhaps attracted by the very sounds a group of young hobbits were making as they walked. He grew more and more anxious as they searched amongst the shadows for any sign of his little cousin, and he began to wish they could go back and bring Bilbo and other adults to come and find Pippin.
The thing that kept him going on, rather than running back to safety was the thought that Pippin, little and hurt, was somewhere in the dark alone. And Merry knew he was to blame. It made him ache with shame and sorrow and he knew he would never feel happy again unless he could find Pippin and apologize and be forgiven.
The night was split by a high, thin, wavering cry. They stopped and listened, and Merry gripped Frodo's arm so tightly his fingers hurt. His heart thumped and bumped against his ribs.
"Was that Pippin?" he whispered.
"No, it was an owl," Sam whispered back.
Merry felt icy fear shiver its way down his backbone. Owls could be very dangerous to small hobbits, who weren't so very much larger than a big rabbit. "We have to hurry and find him. It might catch him."
"It's a screech owl, Master Merry," Sam said. "Not big enough to hurt Master Pippin."
"Just big enough to make our blood freeze," Frodo added, as the owl wailed again. The branches overhead rattled like bare bones clattering together as the wind gusted through them. He held the lantern higher to cast the light as far about them as possible. "Come on, lads, let's go on. And it might help to call for him. I imagine he's frightened enough by now that a friendly voice will be welcome."
They moved on slowly, the unsteady glow of the lantern lighting their way, along with the chancy light of the moon that was hiding, then peeking out amidst the scudding clouds. As they walked, they took turns calling out Pippin's name. Occasionally, they could hear Tom and Ned doing the same in the distance.
"Wait!" Sam said suddenly, stopping in his tracks. "Listen. . ."
Frodo and Merry stopped too, and Merry strained his ears to hear any sound besides the wind's whimpering and the scraping and squeaking sounds of the branches. He caught a faint, shrill cry, and shook his head.
"Just another owl."
"No," Sam disagreed, concentrating too keenly and too distracted to realize he'd actually corrected someone he considered his "better." He pointed off to the right, and ahead. "There's a creek, and an old sinkhole there, remember, Mr. Frodo? It fills up with water in the summer, and turns into a bog in the winter. Could be he's got himself caught in there."
Frodo nodded and took a step forward, but Sam caught hold of his arm, and Frodo turned to the younger hobbit. "What, Sam?"
"Just that it's easy to come upon the marshy places before you know it, and you might fall in yourself if you don't walk careful," Sam replied. "Best take care."
"Well thought out, Sam," Frodo said, and Merry ground his teeth, wishing he'd been the one to think of the danger first. Then he wanted to kick himself for being so jealous. What did it matter who had thought of it first? Pippin was the important thing here. Pippin could be in trouble.
He heard that thin little cry again, and this time he realized it didn't sound at all like the owl's voice. "Pip," he whispered, and tugged at Frodo's arm. "We've got to find him."
They went forward, looking for any sign of water ahead, but it was hard to see in the darkness, and Merry's left foot came down in a puddle of muck before he realized it was there, overgrown as it was with rank, shaggy weeds. He gasped and pulled his foot out of the ooze, and stumbled back a step, shuddering at the feeling of cold mud between his toes.
"I think you found the bog," Frodo murmured, holding the lantern higher. In its fitful light, they could see small, bright glints reflected from many points in the flat land ahead of them. Merry noted that the trees had become sparse, stunted, and twisted, and grew in clumps, with clear spaces between. A narrow creek wound its way amongst the tussocks and roots, and wisps of pale mist rose here and there.
"Pippin?" Frodo raised his voice. "Pip, lad, answer me!"
"Frodo?" Pippin's answer was thin and breathless, as though he'd nearly lost his voice.
"There." Sam pointed to the left without hesitation, and Merry wondered how he could be so certain. He had no idea from which direction the cry had emanated.
"Call out again, Pip," Frodo urged, moving at once where Sam had pointed. Merry followed, shivering, and feeling his feet sink into the mire with every step he took. He knew Frodo and Sam were suffering the same hardships, but neither of them uttered a word of complaint, so he kept his teeth clenched and endured the discomfort and the cold without a sound.
"Frodo!" The cry was a bit clearer, and even Merry could tell where it came from now, and he moved more quickly, passing Frodo, who caught his arm and pulled him back hard.
"No, Merry, we must be careful. We'll be no help to Pippin if we get mired in this swamp too."
And, though he was desperate to move quickly, to find their little cousin and rescue him from whatever predicament he'd gotten himself into, Merry obeyed Frodo and stayed at his side, within the circle of light.
They had to cross the creek a few steps further on, and the cold, sluggish water soaked them to their knees. The bottom wasn't stony, but slimy and oozy instead, and Merry shuddered over and over as they waded to the opposite bank and climbed out, gripping handfuls of the tough, wiry grasses to help pull themselves onto drier ground.
It was Sam who spotted the sinkhole, a deep depression in the earth, surrounded by thistles, cattails, nettles and briar bushes. He took Frodo's arm and pointed to the place where the weeds had been broken down, and before he could say a word, another cry came floating up to them. Pippin's voice quavered and caught with a little sob at the end.
"Frodo? Merry?"
"We're here, Pip," Frodo called back, and now he moved more quickly, to the very edge of the hole, where he knelt down and held the lantern high, extending it as far out over the dark depression as he could reach. Merry leaned beside him, staring, and saw the trail of flattened grasses that led down into the sinkhole, water shining below, and a small, pallid, dirt-streaked smudge that was Pippin's upturned face.
"Pippin!" he cried. "What happened? Can you move?"
"I slipped," Pippin replied, the words nearly inaudible. "And slid to the bottom. . .there's a root and I caught. . .my foot."
Frodo studied the slope and said, "I believe I can get down there and climb back with Pippin on my back."
"Let me," Merry begged.
"I'm not sure you're strong enough, Merry."
"I am. Please, Frodo. If I can't do it, I'll come back up and you can try."
Frodo looked down again. "Pippin, Merry's coming," he called. "We'll get you out of there." He turned to Merry. "Better take off your jacket. It might get caught on twigs or something."
Merry shrugged out of his frock coat and gave it to Frodo, then sat down and edged himself over the rim of the sinkhole. He began to slide at once on the slope and caught at the grass with both hands to slow his descent. With his gaze fixed on Pippin's face, he loosened his hold and let himself slide a bit more, using his hands only to slow himself. The grass felt like sharp blades and cut his hands, and the soggy ground beneath him was soaking his breeches, but he tried not to mind that, concentrating only on reaching Pippin.
The last few feet were not quite as steep and he was able to let go of the grasses and slide the rest of the way on his bottom. and stop when his feet found the boggy, waterlogged ground. Pippin was a couple of feet to his left, lying on his back with one knee bent, his left leg stretched down to where the foot and ankle were hidden beneath a gnarly grey root as thick as Merry's arm. The little hobbit was a sad, bedraggled sight, his clothing saturated with mud and water, his hair a thicket of snarls, with little twigs and leaves caught in them, his forehead smeared with mud. He'd been crying, and the tears had washed much of the dirt and soot off his cheeks. He looked at Merry, a picture of misery, and said, "I hurt my foot, Merry."
"I know, Pip. I'm here. I'll get you out as quickly as I can." Merry twisted round to look up to the rim, where Frodo was still leaning and holding the lantern as far out as he could to give them as much light as possible. "Frodo, keep the light there if you can, so I can see if I can get Pippin's foot free."
He stepped cautiously from the tussock where he stood, to the next one, which was just beside Pippin, and crouched down to look at the trapped foot. It seemed to be wedged tightly under the root, and the foot itself was keeping Pippin from being able to pull loose. Merry leaned as close as he could, looking carefully to see if the bone had been broken. He could see a bit of blood on the ankle, but that was all.
"I think we have to pull you to that side and try to turn your foot," he told Pippin. "If you can turn it so that the side of your ankle is up, we should be able to slip your foot free."
"Will it hurt more?" Pippin asked, his voice quivering. He blinked wet lashes.
"I'm afraid it will," Merry answered. "You're stuck really tightly, and if we can't do it that way, we'll have to get more help, some of the grown up hobbits to come and cut the root so we can lift it off you. We can do that if you want us to, Pippin." He sat as close as he could to Pippin, and carefully combed dirty fingers through the lad's filthy hair.
"No, we should try first," Pippin said, after taking a deep breath and setting his small jaw with determination. "You tell me what to do, Merry."
Merry gripped the thin shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. He tried hard to sound more sure of himself than he felt. "I'll see if I can get some mud from the bog to smear on your ankle. That may make it a bit easier to turn and pull it free."
He moved on his knees to the edge of the tussock and sank both hands into a pool of muddy water, to the bottom where he found slick, slimy mud. Shuddering, he pulled up a double handful of the stuff, then knee-walked back to Pippin and leaned down to plop the mud onto his ankle.
"Uhg," Pippin muttered. "That feels awful."
"I know." Merry used his fingertips to push the mud as far down on Pippin's foot as he could, soaking the thick, cinnamon-brown curls there with the stuff.
"All right, Pip. I'm going to get on the other side of you and pull your leg to that side. When I do, you try hard to turn your foot and leg in that direction, understand?"
"Yes, Merry." Pippin's eyes were enormous and he shut his mouth into a thin line, waiting fearfully for Merry to begin the attempt to free him.
Merry crawled round him, above his head and down to kneel beside his legs. "Put your right knee down, Pippin." He waited for Pippin to lower his knee, leaned over him to grasp the trapped leg, then gasped in a deep breath.
"Ready?"
Pippin nodded.
Merry began to pull steadily but carefully on Pippin's leg, afraid that too much force would actually do more harm than good. Pippin's breath escaped him in a thin squeal of pain, and his whole body tensed with effort. There was a moment when Merry thought they would have to give up, when it seemed impossible, but then there was a slight give, and a slip as Pippin's ankle turned. Merry pulled just a bit harder and Pippin yelped, but never stopped trying, and a moment later, his foot slipped free.
Both of them collapsed, Pippin on his back with his face tilted up to the night and tears running down his face, Merry slumped on his knees, struggling to catch his breath and withhold his own tears.
"I'm sorry, Pip," he whispered. "I'm so terribly sorry."
Pippin rolled toward him and Merry felt his cousin's soft little hand patting his cheek. "It's all right, Merry, I know you didn't hurt me on purpose."
"No, of course not. But that's not why I'm sorry." Merry gathered Pippin up onto his lap and cuddled him. "I was dreadful to you earlier, and I wanted to tell you how sorry I am for that. I had no right to say such awful things to you. I don't even know why I was angry with you."
Pippin snuggled closer to him and even though he was wet and he smelled rank from the filthy water and mud he'd been lying in, Merry hugged him.
"It's all right, Merry," Pippin said, and Merry could hear in his voice how very tired he was.
Merry held the lad away in order to see his face, and smiled, wondering how Pippin could be so easily forgiving. He knew that if their places had been reversed, he would have stayed angry much longer, before he would be ready to forgive. And he was humbled by that knowledge and made a silent promise to himself that he would try hard to become more like Pippin.
"Do you think you can walk at all?" he asked.
Pippin shook his head. "My leg really hurts, Merry, and so does my foot and I'm ever so c-c-cold." The last word ended on a little whimper.
"Very well then." Merry patted his back gently. "Now listen to me, Pip. I'm going to get on my hands and knees and I want you to climb on my back and wrap your arms round my neck and your legs about my waist and I'll carry you to the top."
Pippin looked up at him and in the dim, uncertain light, his eyes looked black. His chin quivered a little. "Are you certain, Merry? Can you do that?"
"I'm twice your size and I'm very strong for my age," Merry answered. "I can do it. Come on, now, get on my back."
He helped Pippin to stand and steadied him when his left leg refused to bear his weight. Pippin balanced on his right foot, the toes of his left just touching the ground and set his jaw in that look Merry knew so well. "All right, Merry, I can manage now."
Merry set himself on hands and knees and crouched as low as he could and Pippin struggled and strained to crawl atop him, finally settling in like a rider ahorseback, then leaned forward and wrapped his thin arms about Merry's neck.
"Hold on tight," Merry told him. "But try not to choke me. I'm going to start now, Pip."
Going back up the sloping side of the sinkhole was quite a different proposition than the descent had been. He was fighting for every inch he gained, carrying Pippin's weight, which seemed to grow heavier with each lunge forward and upward. He had to grasp the sharp grass to help pull himself up, and he could feel it cutting into his palms and feel the little cuts beginning to bleed, but there was nothing for it but to go on. He forced himself not to look up to see how far there was to go, concentrating only on the next reach with his hand, the next shove with his knee and the panting of his breath as he struggled. Pippin's arms seemed to get tighter round his neck, half-strangling him, but there was no time, and no breath to tell him to loosen his grip, so Merry endured it. The climb seemed to take hours and the cold bit into him more as he went up, the wind cutting at him like a blade of ice.
Then he heard Frodo saying his name, and Sam calling to him, "Just a bit more, Master Merry, only two more feet. . ." and then Frodo's hand closed on his wrist and pulled him up and over the edge and he collapsed flat on his stomach on the cold ground. Pippin's weight was lifted off him and he heard Frodo murmuring to their little cousin. Pippin cried, "Merry! Merry, are you all right?" Merry managed to raise his head, every muscle in his arms and legs trembling with exhaustion, but he smiled to reassure his cousin and said, "I'm all right, Pip."
Frodo let him rest for a few moments, whilst he examined Pippin's ankle and decided it was not broken, only badly twisted, perhaps sprained. Then, gently, but inexorably, he pulled Merry to his feet and picked Pippin up in his arms, whilst Sam held the lantern.
"Arms round my neck, Pip, and legs around my waist," Frodo instructed, and Pippin clung to him as he'd been told. Sam offered Merry his shoulder, and Merry leaned on him gratefully. The four of them made their way back from the darkness and cold to the light of the bonfire, where Sam's father and Bilbo were organizing the other hobbits for a search. Young Tom and Ned Banks were there too, and both of them stared, eyes wide, as Frodo and the others limped and stumbled into the light.
Bilbo caught sight of them and his face changed, the worry giving way to utter relief. "There are our lads," he said. He came to meet them, reaching out for Pippin, who clung to Frodo for a moment, before allowing Bilbo to take him.
"Well, I can see there's quite a tale to be told," Bilbo said. "But I think it will wait for the morning. I need to get you lot to Bag End, where you can all have a hot bath and a nice hot cup of tea."
Sam said, "I don't know, Mr. Bilbo. . ." But Merry interrupted. "Please, Sam, I need your help to get home."
"Go along, Samwise," the gaffer said brusquely, shaking his head as he surveyed the state of them. "Do what you can to help, and come back when you've cleaned up a bit."
"Yes, Dad." Sam settled Merry's arm more comfortably over his shoulders and they followed Bilbo up the hill.
Heating water for baths took nearly two hours, and they had hot tea whilst they waited. Then Frodo shared his bath with Pippin, washing the little lad's hair and scrubbing him clean of soot and mud, and Merry didn't mind at all, nor did he mind waiting and letting Sam have the first bath in Bilbo's tub. When Sam was done, Merry bathed as quickly as he could, anxious to get back to his cousins, to make sure that Pippin truly was all right. And of course he was, happy as a lark and splashing water everywhere with abandon, whilst Frodo, who'd finished, got dried off and dressed. The two older cousins fished the young one out of his tub and tickled him and rubbed him dry, then dressed him in a warm nightshirt and his green and black plaid dressing gown.
When the four of them gathered in the kitchen, they found that Bilbo had warmed a pot of milk and brought out a pan of gingerbread and made buttered toast for them. And each of them had a little paper sack of candies to open in the morning. Bilbo put a healing cream on Merry's hands. None of the cuts on his palms and fingers were deep, but they were many and painful, and the cream was soothing. Pippin's ankle was swollen, but the soaking in a hot bath had done it good, and Bilbo rubbed it with arnica cream and bandaged it to support it.
Bilbo gave Merry's back a pat, then tousled Pippin's curls. "You lads get into entirely too much mischief," he said, then he chuckled. "But that's as it should be. Drink your milk and then scamper off to bed. Sam, you'll stay the night. I'll go back down and tell the gaffer I've put you to bed in the guest room next to Merry's, and you'll come home in the morning. I'll tell him to send some of your clothing up the hill."
"Thank you, Mr. Bilbo," Sam murmured, smiling shyly at the old hobbit.
"Frodo, see that they all get to bed soon, will you?"
"Yes, Uncle," Frodo answered.
Bilbo left to return to the party and Merry watched him go and was surprised that he wasn't more disappointed at missing so much of the party. But he was too tired to want to play games or steal candy with the other lads, and he really only wanted to stay with his cousins and Sam and be glad that they were all safe and warm, at Bag End.
End.
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Date: 2006-10-29 10:34 pm (UTC)Merry held the lad away in order to see his face, and smiled, wondering how Pippin could be so easily forgiving. He knew that if their places had been reversed, he would have stayed angry much longer, before he would be ready to forgive. And he was humbled by that knowledge and made a silent promise to himself that he would try hard to become more like Pippin.
Awww.
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Date: 2006-10-30 01:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-29 11:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-30 01:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-30 01:19 am (UTC)I hope someone thought to save the lads a bag of candy. :)
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Date: 2006-10-30 01:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-30 02:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-30 02:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-30 04:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-30 02:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-30 04:01 pm (UTC)And you made me hungry for some of that hobbity candy, darnit!
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Date: 2006-10-30 07:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-02 03:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-02 04:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-02 03:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-02 04:40 pm (UTC)