Frodo and Merry One-Shots

Demons

I sat on the edge of my bed. I was in deep thought. Tonight wasn't any ordinary night. It had been at least two years since Frodo encountered me in the Eastfarthing Woods, on this particular eve. Frodo brought me to Bag End after discovering that I was seriously injured and was in desperate need of medical aid.

I pictured myself lying on the hard forest floor, crying out in agony. I was in serious pain. Dark red blood poured out from the wounds on my legs and lower abdomen. It stained my clothes, which looked like they had been almost torn to shreds by some savage beast that lurked in the woods. That memory always haunted me.

I was reflecting on what had happened today. I kept to myself most of the time, not wanting to talk to Frodo. At breakfast, I did not bother eating my food that was laid upon my plate. I stared down at my plate, with revulsion. I poked at the food with the metal tongs of my fork, then pushed my plate away from me. Frodo noticed that I was unhappy.

"What is troubling you, my dear one?" I remember Frodo asking me.

My shoulders initially sank. "Nothing." I replied, grievously. "It's nothing. I'm fine."

Frodo could tell that something was bothering me. It was like he had a sixth sense. His wide baby blue eyes widened with curiosity. "Do you not like the food that I have made for you, Brianna?" He asked me, in a soft spoken manner. "I'll gladly make you something else to eat, if you'd prefer."

"I don't feel like eating breakfast, Frodo." I groaned. "There's nothing I like."

"I'm sure that there is." replied Frodo, with encouragement. A smile grew upon his face. I could tell what Frodo was trying to do. He was trying to make me feel better. No matter how hard he tried, I couldn't cheer up.

Frodo gazed at my plate. There was a small pile of cold, scrambled eggs, a few pieces of bacon, and a couple of seed cakes that were left on it. Frodo wondered if there was something about the food that made me not want to eat it.

"It must've been the eggs." Frodo pondered. "Brianna must not like them very much. Every time I make them for her, she doesn't bother eating them. It was my fault for putting them on her plate. I should've known better."

I clasped my hands together and stared down into my lap, melancholy. I sighed, softly. Frodo called my name, quietly. I raised my head and barely made eye contact with the hobbit.

"I think I've figured out what's bothering you." he grinned. "It's the eggs you don't like, isn't it? Every time I make them..."

"It's not about the food, Frodo." I interrupted. "I don't care much for it." I shrugged my shoulders and frowned.

Frodo's heart softened. "Then, what is troubling you, dearest?" He asked, with his voice flooding with sympathy. "It is alright. You can tell anything. I am here to listen."

I shook my head. I rose from the table and left the kitchen. I headed to my bedroom and didn't bother coming out.

A couple hours after breakfast, Sam came over to visit Frodo. The two hobbits sat quietly in the kitchen, helping themselves to a spot of tea that Frodo had prepared, along with freshly baked seed cakes. As they ate and sipped at their tea, Sam engaged in a lighthearted and friendly conversation with Frodo.

"Thank you for inviting me over, Mr. Frodo. That's awfully kind of you."

Frodo smiled and nodded his head. "You are welcome, Sam. Say, how is the Old Gaffer doing these days?"