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Merry
Merry Brandybuck rode his pony along the weaving trail
through the Old Forest in bitter silence. In the dark whirl of his thoughts, he
had resolved that Frodo and Sam could not move quickly nor easily through the
bewildering woodland, where paths turned amiss and the trees closed in
unexpectedly for unwary travelers. Since he had been a lad, he had taken an
interest in the nature of the trees that loomed menacingly over the eastern
borders of Buckland, and diligently studied their behaviour in correspondence
with day, night, and the change of seasons. Henceforth, he was learned in the
lore of the forest, and was capable of separating truth from myth. He had heard
all of the bogey-stories that spread from one end of the Shire to the other, but
there was little fact to be traced in them, and he did not fear the forest.
Dangers did exist, but these can be evaded by foreknowledge. For instance, never
would Merry, or any Bucklander, journey willingly into the forest by night,
because it is the time when he observed the trees to be at their peak of
awareness. In the midday, the heat of the sun lulled the trees into a state of
inactivity, or sleep, and it was during this time that Merry chose to stroll in
and go where he wished, with no trouble ensuing.
The branches that tangled overhead in a mesh of leaves creaked and gave a soft
sigh that sounded strangely like a voice whenever a chance wind stirred their
boughs. The path did not go straight, or follow exactly any map, and there were
several occasions when Merry and Pippin suddenly found the way blocked. Another
would open to the side, leading them gradually towards the center of the forest,
where supposedly all of the queerness came from. A grim smile twisted the
corners of Merry’s mouth to think of Frodo and Sam eventually winding up in such
a dreaded area. There was no doubt in his mind that they would encounter some
obstacle, and be delayed to the point of grief. There were tales of trees that
could whisper, talk to each other, even move. Merry believed them to some
extent, and he was learned in some of the secret speech that passed from tree to
tree. But this knowledge was kept only in a hidden place in his mind, and he did
not speak of it or attempt to teach it to other hobbits. Not all Shire-folk
would take it seriously, for one thing, and many of them already thought the
Brandybucks queer.
His head swam, the potent effects of the sleep-drug not completely worn off yet.
In fact, he had caught himself nodding off several times, but his severe
intentions prevented him from falling fully back into slumber. There had been
one benefit from his forced drink of the tainted tea; the medicinal herbs
soothed the injuries he’d obtained when Sam had assailed him with poker, fists,
and fury. Still, the attack should never have occurred, and all participants who
shared responsibility in the escape would face the consequences. There had been
no flaw in his planning, for he had exceedingly practiced caution and made
certain that every bond was secure; it was the tactical mistake of Pippin that
proved their defeat. Merry loved his little cousin, but it shamed him each time
the lad failed to follow his direction, or let himself be swayed by the
treachery of a hostage’s words. Merry had taken the opportunity as they had
saddled the ponies and prepared their leave, to thrash Peregrin with threats and
a dark recount of what he had suffered because of Pippin’s foolishness. A lesson
needed to be learned so this incident would not happen in the future, but for
now, more urgent tasks required his attention. As their pony-ride took them
deeper into the forest, Merry spoke less, and kept his eyes ahead.
Frodo
The relief that Frodo felt once he and Sam had put some distance between
themselves and the little house at Crickhollow was quickly leached away by the
eerie atmosphere of the Old Forest. It was worse in there than he had made it
out to be to Sam, worse even than he had remembered from his youthful excursion
into it.
Then he had been a rambunctious lad who, though he had known great sorrow, had
been unaware of the true nature of the Evil that existed in Middle Earth. Now,
he was not only the Bearer of an instrument of that very Evil, but he had
witnessed its destructive power take hold of his own kin with his own eyes. And
he had felt the results of that corruption turned upon his own body as well as
watched it inflicted on others that he loved. He had watched helplessly, in
horror, as Merry had hurt Samwise and Pippin…
Merry. Beloved Cousin Merry had been transformed into a mad and violent
stranger—and Frodo couldn’t help feeling that it was somehow his fault. Frodo
had been charged with getting the Ring out of the Shire, after all. Charged with
keeping the Shire safe before the evil that was drawn to the Ring could harm
anyone. He had failed on several counts. Not only were Black Riders now abroad
in the homeland of the hobbits, but also Merry, who had long been making plans
to aid him, seemed suddenly bound and determined to hinder Frodo’s mission at
any cost! The failure of said mission would mean disaster, disaster on a scale
Frodo couldn’t even imagine, and Frodo feared that far more than he feared
anything else happening to him personally.
If only he hadn’t delayed so in setting out, Frodo chided himself. If he had
left a month earlier, would this have happened? If he had left even three weeks
earlier, would this have happened? But he had delayed. And then he had been
delayed even further by Merry...
All the more reason to hurry now. They had to get to Bree at once. And hope that
help would be waiting for them at the Inn of the Prancing Pony. Hope that
Gandalf would be waiting there. They must hurry…
Yet the path that Frodo and Sam’s ponies picked through the underbrush was
agonizingly slow. And then, even as Frodo was mentally urging them on faster for
the millionth time, the horses, thoroughly spooked, dug in their hooves and
stubbornly refused to go any further. Frodo sighed at yet another delay, but in
his heart he couldn’t really blame them. He didn’t want to go any deeper into
this forest either.
Even at high noon, the light in the forest was dim, and it was well past noon
now. Frequently there would come the sharp sound of a twig snapping just behind
them or beside them—snapping if trod on by an unseen foot. But when the hobbits
whirled about, anxiously peering this way and that, there was never anyone
there. Too, the canopy of branches above them rustled and creaked continuously,
which was rather unnerving. And ever since they had entered the place, Frodo had
had the sense of being watched. It made the back of his neck prickle. No, he
would not go on either, had he not such an urgent mission to complete!
There was nothing to do about the horses but dismount and try to soothe them.
Frodo sucked in his breath sharply as he flung one leg over the side of his pony
and slid down to the ground. The motions caused his skin to stretch and tug at
the wounds recently inflicted upon his shins and his thighs by Merry’s belt. Oh,
but they stung!
Frodo awkwardly patted his pony on the nose—it tossed its head and neighed
nervously—and moved carefully over to where Sam stood.
"Can you do something for them, Sam? Something to calm them down enough so we
can proceed? Maybe if we fed them?
Frodo eyed the sack of provisions they had brought, wondering if it contained
anything that a pony might like.
"Whatever we do, we must do it fast! We don’t want to be in this forest come
nightfall." Frodo took another quick look around, yawning as he did so.
Sam
Samwise shifted once more, struggling to get comfortable upon the saddle of
his pony. Both himself and his master had been sat or laid down for far too
long, but the ponies would cover more ground than they would on foot, so he
endured the uncomfortable ride, for all the good in the Shire it did them.
They were lost in the Old Forest, unable to find a path to lead their way
through, and for what seemed like hours the had plodded their way through dense,
thick forest.
Sam grumbled to himself in annoyance and shifted again, earning a disapproving
snort from his pony.
"There's something sinister about this place, like there's eyes watching us,
from the trees I warrant." Sam turned to Frodo, riding besides him and then back
at their surroundings. The forest was silent save for the dripping of dew on the
leaves. No sound could be
heard from any living creature beside the snorting of their nervous ponies. The
air felt closer, and the eyes he felt upon them focused, and Sam shifted once
more from uneasiness.
"Mr. Frodo?" Isn't there supposed to be a path around here somewheres?"
His master seemed calmer than Sam, yet he sat in his saddle with a stiffness,
and a sense of alertness, as if he were on edge. Sam didn't blame him one whit.
Sam's pony stopped in his tracks. "Hoi!" Sam urged, digging his heels into the
sides of the pony, but he reared his head and whinnied, and refused to go any
further.
"You couldn't ever call a pony dumb, Mr. Frodo" Sam said as he watched Frodo
dismount with some effort, and he hurried to do the same. "Refusing to go on
when there's a bad feeling about the place."
Sam watched Frodo pat his pony on his nose, and took the reins as the pony
trotted over to him.
"Fed them? There's naught much for the ponies in our packs sir, save the odd
carrot or two. I just assumed there would be some grass around where we're going
for them to eat. This here's a forest, so there must be some grass around
somewhere. Come on lads!"
Sam pulled gently, but firmly on the reins and led the two ponies with a lot of
coaxing and reassuring deeper into the forest. For hours they plodded through
slowly, managing eventually to find a slim path that looked very unwelcoming,
but it was a path nonetheless.
What little of the sun penetrating through the forest's canopy had faded, and it
was dusk all around them. He turned to express his concerns to Frodo, but
instead he gave a great yawn, feeling his eyelids droop.
"We've come far Mr. Frodo, or so I guess. I must have a little sleep now, I am
too tired to go on." He fell to his knees and felt his head droop.
Pippin
Pippin felt his insides churn as he rode beside Merry. There
was not a moment of peace for the poor Took as every insult he could possibly
contrive for himself buzzed about his head, stinging him viciously. He visibly
winced and cringed at every thought as if it caused physical pain. And Oh! he
wished it had! Some pain, some release from this purgatorial existence... to
deliver him. He glanced briefly at Merry... to hell.
The fire in those eyes. Pippin didn't know for what reason he hated himself
more; for betraying Merry in the first place, or for entering the room Sam and
Frodo had explicitly told him not to. Pippin cringed again. No! His initial
betrayal was far worse! The Took hung his head in shame and felt so low that he
thought his neck might break. But lo!
no such mercy for the condemned.
He dared to glance up and immediately regretted it as he saw the fiery eyes of
Meriadoc Brandybuck boring into him. He quickly turned away in submission and he
wondered briefly if this pleased Merry's twisted mind. Again he blanched at his
horrid thoughts.
The forest around them was just beginning and already it was suffocating him. He
wanted to scream and tear at his throat until he opened it completely in a torn
bloody mess to let the air in. Pippin turned pale at the violence of his
thoughts. Was this the trees doing
or was it his own? Or was it Merry's? He fought the urge to glance at Merry
again. What had Merry done to him? What would Merry do to Frodo and Sam? Pippin
nearly swooned at his vivid thoughts of torment and gore.
Perhaps Merry did this to make him a better hobbit. Perhaps this was the reaping
before the sowing. Pippin saw the pain sometimes within Merry when he needed to
punish. The young Took stiffened with a new resolve. If the lover of the land
could bear tearing it apart during the reaping then the earth should bear it and
look forward to the sowing. He so desired to thank Merry. To fall to his knees
and kiss Merry's hands and press his head to the dirt below and offer his whole
self for Merry's pleasure. This could be this thanks to Merry.
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