The Unlikely Ones
Chapter Three: Start Over
a Lord of the Rings fanfiction
by Van Donovan
joy@crackerboxpalace.com

Frodo did not show up for dinner that night, and the rest of the family could tell that something had happened between Merry and he, for Merry was withdrawn and Frodo was refusing to talk to anyone. After dinner Sam took Merry aside in the kitchen and looked at him hard. "What happened?"
Merry closed his eyes and shook his head. "He's just sad I'm leaving." He lied, for a lie was impossibly easier to say than trying to explain the truth: your son is in love with me. Sam took the explanation as it was and let Merry go. "I'll talk to him again tomorrow," he said, although he did not know if he would. Sam had let him go and Merry had spent a long time before the fire smoking and thinking.
After the rest of the children had gone to bed, Merry found little Merry and Pippin curled on the couch behind him sleeping curled into each other and wondered why. He was about to go an rouse them to send them off to bed when he remembered Frodo was sharing their room while he stayed here. Three weeks now and the boys had never once complained that their older brother had impeded their privacy, and now he had kicked them out and still they slept on the couch contently. It touched him in a way he didn't think he would be touched, so he left them there to slumber.
He walked to the room he was staying in and sighed and glanced over his shoulder at the room that Frodo was in. He walked to the door and put his ear to it, near the top of the curve and listened. He heard nothing: no crying, no snoring, no speaking. So he sighed and turned away, retiring at last to his own room where sleep found him not long after.
Morning came and Merry reluctantly went to breakfast. He sat beside Frodo during the entire meal and never once did they look at each other or exchange words. He had to bite his lip several times for Frodo's mood was foul and he was taking his rejection out on everyone by being cold and snappy. Breakfast ended and Merry left for a walk, unable to stay in the house where Frodo was putting everyone on end any longer that day. He let his feet carry him around town and his mind mused on the eldest son of Samwise Gamgee as he walked. There were so many factors against him he didn't know why he was thinking about it, except for the idea that Frodo seemed so devastated, although he had obviously prepared himself for such a reaction as Merry would give.
It wasn't that Frodo was a boy that bothered him so much, nor even that he wasn't of age yet, but that he was forty-one years younger and the son of one of his dearest friends. If he had met Frodo in a bar in Brandyhall and things had happened somehow it might have been different; what he did and who he did it with were his own business. But Frodo was Sam's son! His oldest no less, who had responsibilities that preceded him. Merry found himself sitting on an old worn bench somewhere in the middle of town pondering and pouring over everything. He wanted to help Frodo so badly to help him get over his rejection, because he had grown fond of the boy, just not in the ways perhaps Frodo had grown fond of him.
'Perhaps?' Merry thought to himself. 'He told me he wanted to wake up to me each morning and hear me whisper sweetly to him.' He got chills and tried to shake them off. It had been a long time indeed since someone had liked him like 'that'. He got a lot of fluff during his time, but rarely someone quite so honest and open and, well, sincere. "What do I do?" He breathed, bending his head and running his hands through his hair. He thought of seeing Pippin; he would give good council. After laughing profusely first and cracking several jokes of course, but he would sober eventually. And yet it didn't seem right to go and tell this secret of Frodo's to just anyone, not even Pippin. It was something he needed to figure out on his own.
"Figure out?" He muttered and stood up. "There's nothing to figure out. Another four more days and you'll be back in Buckland and Frodo will forget all about you," he said with a nod. But a voice inside wondered if that would be true.
He returned to Bag End to find little Merry and Pippin in the gardens with Frodo, helping him weed. It was nice, because it looked as though the two brothers were aware of how upset Frodo was lately and were trying to help him through it. Merry felt relieved in some regards, because it meant that at least Frodo wasn't going to be alone when he left. The three boys didn't look up as he passed the path beside them and entered Bag End. Inside it smelled absolutely wonderful and Merry followed his nose to the kitchen where Rose Goldilocks and young Rose were all busy cooking.
"Smells wonderful in here girls," he commented, enjoying the smiles they gave him. The Gamgee's were well known for their excellent cooking, but it seemed that today they were really outdoing themselves. "Any special occasion?"
Rose smiled and simply said, "Frodo's been down lately, so we thought we should try to cheer him up with something tasty to eat."
Goldilocks added, "some of the boys are helping him garden." She smiled sweetly at him and he wondered if he didn't detect a hidden knowledge behind her eyes. "I'm sure he'd love for you to help too."
Merry looked at her and sighed, unsure if he wanted to go out there and try to pretend like nothing had happened between them. "I'm feeling a little dizzy right now, so I was just going to lie down, but perhaps in a little I shall join them," he lied and nodded to the three and took his leave, walking down the hall into the room he was staying in. He sat on the bed, and realized it was Frodo's bed. It was Frodo's room. He pulled the small portrait of Estella over to him and looked at her simple painted face and sighed.
"He's just a boy," he said softly, running his thumb over her cheek, "a silly little boy." She looked back at him unblinking, smile unfaltering. "Yet his tears break my heart and his smile warms it." He laughed sadly and shook his head. "What do you think, my dear? Have I completely lost it? That boy has unhinged me."
Estella smiled at him.
He laid back on the bed with the portrait resting on his chest and closed his eyes and sighed, and before he knew it, sleep had taken him.
He awoke sometime later, after the sun had set, to a knocking on his door. "Hmm?" He sat up and rubbed his eyes and set the portrait on the nightstand. "C'min!" The door opened to reveal little Merry, who was smiling at his uncle's sleepy face.
"Time for dinner," he said. Merry rubbed his eyes, looking out the window and nodded.
"Right, right, that's a good lad. Go run along now and I'll be there soon."
So he got up, stretching and yawning and wondering about the dream he'd just had, which had been nice, but was something he had almost completely forgotten already. Dinner was lovely, as he had expected, and the girls had really out done themselves with the dishes and desserts. Still, Frodo did not pay him mind and although he smiled at his father's jokes and merrily ate, he did not seem truly happy. And it hurt Merry. The little ones went off to bed and Sam asked him to stay up with him some and smoke, and so Merry did. They talked about being mayor and master of lands respectively, and discussed crops and the new Shire-weed, and how the Party Tree was doing and how big little Tolman had gotten. Then Sam said. "Merry, you're talking to me, but I don't think you're listening. What's wrong?"
Merry looked at him fondly, for Sam was as dear a friend as one could wish for in a whole army of friends, but the thing that was ailing his heart was not something he could tell Sam. Sam was Frodo's father. "My heart grieves me." He finally said, and that was true in many regards. Estella, his beautiful wife, had been taken from him only a month ago and he was still saddened by her death. Still, he had known she was ailing for over a year and that she was likely going to die, so he had been able to prepare himself. The comment lead to his ailing over Frodo's feelings for him as well, as he felt torn over how he felt towards the lad. Sam seemed to understand though and he smiled softly and stood and put a strong hand on Merry's shoulder and squeezed it.
"You don't have to go back yet, if you don't want to," he said kindly. Merry looked up into Sam's compassionate eyes and nodded.
"I know; but they need me back in Buckland." He put his hand over Sam's gratefully. "You and Rosie have been too kind to me Sam, I only hope I shall be able to express my gratitude someday." Sam laughed softly and set his pipe down.
"Dear Merry," he said and patted his hair, "we do not take you out of pity or out of duty, but because we love you. There is nothing you have to repay us for. All we wish to see is your smile again."
Merry offered him one, but it was faint and shadowed and nothing like his former self, mischievous and carefree. "It's late Sam," he said after a moment, getting to his feet, "you should get to sleep. I think I would like to console with the stars for a while."
Sam looked to the windows, for it was cold and windy tonight, but he knew the urge Merry had. Estella was with the stars, so they believed, and perhaps that would lighten his friends mood. Sam often took to the stars as well, when he thought about Frodo Baggins. It was true Frodo was not dead, but in the Shire they treated him as though he were, and Sam knew that the stars he saw would be the ones Frodo saw wherever he was over the sea, and so he took comfort in them. "Goodnight then Merry," he said with a smile, "but it is cold, so don't tarry too long."
Merry laughed and shook his head looking at Sam. "Being a father has really changed you, you know?" Sam just nodded and smiled, for he knew all to well.
The fire crackled before him as Merry studied it awhile after Sam left him in peace, but he pulled out his pipe and moved to the hall, donning his jacket and scarf and stepped into the wind outside. The moon was out and almost full, setting the landscape into silvery shades of grey. The wind tousled his hair and howled through the leaves of the trees, but there were no clouds in what otherwise would have been a rainy night. It was cold, and so Merry buried his hands in his pockets as he walked around Bag End and started up the gently sloping hills there. He did not favour the wind nor the rain but found them more tolerable than the snow and so he was glad that the worst of winter had passed and spring was heading in, however slowly.
It wasn't until he reached the top of the hill that he realized someone else was already sitting there. It was Frodo. He wore just his dress shirt from dinner, with his suspenders up over his shoulders and his sleeves billowing in the wind along with his dark hair. Merry stopped where he was, completely not having expected to see the lad there. If Frodo had seen or heard him approach, he did not move or acknowledge him. Merry sighed and felt himself giving in to the power of the boys pain and he crossed the knoll to him. He was chilled with his winter coat on as it was and here was Frodo with naught but a thin cotton shirt. He shrugged his jacket off and draped it over the boy's shoulders. "What brings you out here on so cold a night?" He asked, his voice soft and light as he sat down beside him.
Frodo turned his face away from Merry although he did not reject the coat. His shoulders were shaking slightly but Merry couldn't tell if it was because he was crying or because he was cold. He sat there looking at Frodo beside him trying to decide what to do. Frodo had come out here to be alone no doubt, and here he was ruining everything. Yet, Frodo was running from -him- and Merry wasn't so sure he wanted that anymore. "Frodo," he coaxed, but Frodo's only response was to hunch his shoulders, "Frodo we need to talk."
Frodo finally lifted his head looking at Merry and it was clear he was near tears, but had not yet shed them. "Just leave me alone, Merry," he said quietly, and the underlying statement was: you've hurt me enough already; don't rub it in.
Merry was taken in by his eyes, so deep and sorrowful. He looked young and lost in the moonlight, but also old and full of pain. Merry wanted to reach up and brush those sad cheeks and wipe the crystal glinting in his eyes, but he didn't dare. "I'm so sorry I've hurt you, Frodo-lad," he said, needing to break the silence some how.
Frodo made a sound like a soft snort and shook his head, getting to his feet. It was too hard to sit there beside Merry and look at him without feeling his heart being torn asunder and mocked. "It's my own fault," he said, his voice light and almost lost on the wind, "so just don't worry about me any more." He turned his back to Merry as the older hobbit got to his feet.
"I was a little harsh the other night," Merry contented, trying to push the conversation he wanted to have despite Frodo's cold shoulder. "Your confession . . . just caught me off guard." He opened his mouth to say more when Frodo rounded on him.
"Just stop it!" He shouted and the tears fell. "I should never have said anything, because I knew how you'd feel. I'm just a foolish boy with foolish dreams and I never really expected anything to come from it. You've been nicer to me than I deserved, and I'll be fine once you leave. So just leave already!"
Part of him wanted to believe him; part of him just wanted to turn around and go star watching somewhere else. The rest of him, however, could not bear to leave him here, alone with tears on his cheeks and rents in his heart. "Frodo, please," he coaxed, not sure what he wanted to say. He took a step towards the boy.
"Don't," Frodo said, looking at him over his shoulder, "if you're not going to go, I will." He cast off Merry's coat with that, looked away and started stalking down the hill.
Merry's body reacted faster than his mind, for all he knew was that he could not let Frodo go in such a distressed state. His hand reached out and grabbed the younger hobbit's left wrist as it swung back and with a pull he had Frodo stopped and spun around to face him. His left hand rose to take Frodo's shoulder in its grip and he had the boy looking at him. "Don't run away when I'm trying to talk to you." He said, his voice coming out more huskily than he had intended, changing the mood in the air dramatically. Frodo's eyes were wide and startled, but he couldn't say anything in return. "I fear the repercussions this will have," Merry said after a moment, his voice changed and light as he studied Frodo's eyes. The hand he had on Frodo's shoulder rose to touch his neck and then lightly brush his cheek, fingers flitting tenderly through dark hair, "but right now I don't care."
He bent his head until he was level with Frodo. "Let's try this; see where it leads." And he moved forward hesitantly, as if to brush his lips against Frodo's, but before he could Frodo's hands went about his shoulders and kissed him first. Merry was surprised by the lad's boldness but he yielded what would have been a short kiss by him into a much longer one led by Frodo. Frodo was vivacious and hungry and as soon as they kissed he was in control. He had wanted this for so long he knew every move he wanted to make. Where Merry was hesitant, Frodo was confident and where Merry's passion was more relaxed with age Frodo's was heightened by the unreal. Frodo was young and full of raging hormones and he was finally getting what he had been desiring for many years and so his pent up desires and wants came pouring out with this one kiss.
By the time they broke apart, both of them breathing heavily. Frodo had gotten himself entangled in Merry's arms and they were pressed close together. Frodo's head only came to Merry's shoulder and so that's where he rested it, trying to calm his racing heart. Merry's arms were warm around Frodo in the otherwise bitter cold night, and one hand was gently stroking the curly brown hair there. "Merry." It didn't sound like a question, but still Merry responded.
"Mmm?" The silence was nice.
"Thank you."