Frodo shifted on the stone edge to the fountain. The sun had begun its descent, which meant that it was much later than three. In fact, according to the vine-covered clock in the courtyard, it was half past five. Frodo shivered. He had not brought a cloak.

Aragorn had bid him to wait for him at three. He had winked, implying a pleasant surprise. Frodo hated the condescending smile that had played over the king's face. He had neglected Frodo for weeks on end, and then expected him to jump for joy like a child when he deigned to give him some of his precious time.

Frodo dug his nails into his palms. And what had he done? When Aragorn asked him to meet him, he had jumped up with a joyful shout. Aragorn had finally turned his attention back to him, and he had not hesitated in his agreement. That was the way it had been lately.

Frodo dipped his hand into the fountain. The water was icy. September had been unusually cool in Gondor that year. Now a brisk breeze rattled the trees. Frodo clutched himself and shivered. He would wait only a few minutes more.

Frodo should not have expected that it would be any different on his birthday. Men did not put as much stock in birthdays as hobbits did. Aragorn probably hadn't even remembered. Frodo had not reminded him because Aragorn would smile in the patronizing way he did whenever Frodo did something or acted typical of hobbits.

Sam had warned him. On the day Sam, Merry, and Pippin had left for the Shire, Sam's face had been twisted in grief. He had been dismayed by Frodo's decision not to come back to the Shire with him.

"Mr. Frodo, I love you and I will support you whatever you do, but I think you're making a big mistake. This Mr. Strider--or the King of Gondor as he is now--I'm mighty fond of him. He came through for us on many occasions. Nobody deserves this kingship more than him. But you mark my words. You stay with him and he'll tire of you."

"No," Frodo had said. His cheeks had bloomed with new love. Aragorn could not keep his hands from him. Every night had been a new adventure. "No, he will not tire of me. He loves me. And I love him more than..." He had wanted to say more than anything, but he could not bear to hurt Sam. He had always suspected that Sam harbored more feeling for him than as a dear friend and servant. After his loyalty, Sam did not deserve Frodo's casual disregard of him.

Sam had shaken his head.

"Mr. Frodo, please come back to the Shire. Don't you miss your home?"

"I do, Sam," Frodo said. "But it's like this. You have your Rosie lass waiting for you when you return. I have nothing. Don't look at me like that, Sam. You know I love you. You've been the best friend a hobbit could have. But I've never had somebody love me like Aragorn does."

"He is a man," Sam said with some resentment. "You will never be equal with him, Mr. Frodo."

Now Sam's words haunted him. How many times in recent weeks had Frodo felt like a petulant child begging for a moment of Aragorn's time? He cringed at how pathetic he must seem. He had to accept that he had become a mathom to Aragorn. Aragorn had taken everything he needed and yet he did not have the courage or inclination to send Frodo home to the Shire in shame.

Frodo's cheeks burned. He should not have agreed to meet Aragorn. He should have told him he had other matters to attend to. A lump filled his throat. He had to face the fact that it wouldn't have mattered if he had refused to meet Aragorn. Aragorn simply would have shrugged and said, "Perhaps another time." And then that other time would never come.

Frodo stood, stretching out his stiff legs. He was cold, and he had not even brought a book to read. He would not wait a moment more.

---

Frodo lay in bed. The candle still burned on his night stand. He wondered if Aragorn would come tonight. He had not come to bed in nearly a week. Frodo felt the ache of lonely despair grow in his throat. He had been alone all evening. He had eaten leftover soup with stale bread, hardly typical fare for one so high in the king's favor. He had no friends in the palace. Nobody spoke to him. They whispered about him, that he was the king's pet halfling. He was off limits and very lonely.

He had to admit that without Aragorn's companionship, he was quite bored. He had read all the books in the library. He had explored the city. He wrote to his dear friends in the Shire at least once a week. He tried to make conversation with the various servants. They indulged him for short periods of time, but they always seemed uncomfortable, as if they didn't want to be caught talking to him.

The door clicked open. Frodo quickly debated to himself whether he should pretend to be asleep or confront him. The later won because his rapid breaths of fury would counteract any attempt to feign sleep.

"Aragorn!" he said. His voice sounded throaty and desperate, and that angered him further.

"Hello, Frodo," Aragorn said with a dismissive smile. "I am sorry. I cannot stay. I am still meeting with Prince Faramir. I just stopped by to pick up a map I had left here."

"Where were you?" Frodo asked, his throat aching. He would not cry.

Aragorn smiled thinly. "I just told you, Frodo. I was with the Prince Faramir."

"Yes, I know." Frodo knew his blue eyes blazed with anger. "Where were you this afternoon--when you were to meet me?"

"Meet you?" Aragorn looked genuinely puzzled.

"Yes!" Frodo hated how his voice cracked. "You told me three. I waited until nearly six."

"Oh, Frodo. I am sorry. I have no recollection of promising you this. I don't know why I would have. I've been in conference with Faramir all day."

Frodo bit the insides of his cheeks to keep from bursting with uncontrollable rage. Aragorn had forgotten. The one time he had deigned to give Frodo his time, he had forgotten. Heat filled his chest. Aragorn seemed not at all to care that he had barely seen Frodo in over a month. They had not pleasured each other in nearly two months. Even when Aragorn was with him in bed, he was distant. Aragorn's eyes softened with pity. Frodo clenched his hands into small fists.

"I'm sorry for the misunderstanding, Frodo. I'm sorry you waited so long for me." Aragorn knelt in front of him. "Let us plan to meet again when I have a little more time."

Frodo's rage burst over at that moment. His right hand flew up and struck Aragorn across the face. He pulled back immediately in shame. He had never struck anybody before--certainly not someone he loved. Aragorn's face changed to shock as his hand covered the cheek that Frodo had struck. His grey eyes hardened. He grabbed Frodo's wrists and pulled the hobbit to him.

"Why did you do that?"

"I'm very sorry, Aragorn," Frodo said, tears spilling out of his eyes at last. First he had lost control and struck his lover, the King of Gondor. Then he could not control his tears. It was no wonder Aragorn had dismissed him. He was behaving like a child who didn't get his way. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hit you. I don't know what came over me."

Aragorn released Frodo's wrists. His face softened as he drew the hobbit into an embrace. He rubbed Frodo's back in a soothing manner. "Frodo, it is I who am sorry. You are lonely. I can see that now. I've been selfish and thoughtless. Tomorrow I will talk to the warden in the house of healing. I think I will have him train you in aspects of healing. What say you to that?"

Frodo lay his head on Aragorn's shoulder. "All right." At least it would give him something to do. And he would have regular interaction with other people.

"Please be patient," Aragorn said. "I am very busy right now, but I have not forgotten you. I'm sorry if I've neglected you as of late."

"I'm so sorry I hit you," Frodo said. "It was inexcusable."

Aragorn chuckled a little. "It will be amusing to explain to Faramir."

Frodo hugged Aragorn more fiercely. Aragorn kissed Frodo tenderly over the mouth. "Tomorrow, Frodo. I promise I will give you time tomorrow."

Frodo woke alone. Only his side of the bed appeared to have been used. A lump of bitter disappointment filled his chest. What had he expected? Still, he continued to harbor a faint hope that Aragorn was sitting in the next room, sipping tea and waiting for the lazy hobbit to wake up. Frodo smelled fresh bread. He smiled a little. The Shire never made bread like Aragorn's cook! Frodo's smile faded. He didn't hear any indication that Aragorn was in the next room or even that he had come back at all in the night. Aragorn had promised him time today, but when?

Frodo padded into the other room. It was silent and empty, as though Aragorn had never come home. He must have imagined the bread, too, because there was no food in sight. A faint memory tugged at Frodo—or perhaps it was only a wishful dream—that Aragorn had snuggled close to him for a short time in the night and kissed his forehead.

He saw a note taped to the door. His heart leaped. Aragorn hadn't forgotten. Surely there Aragorn had indicated where they would meet. Frodo grabbed it, his heart thumping in anticipation.

Frodo,

Please go to the House of Healing and meet with the healer Aven at noon today. He will explain your duties. I am sorry, but I will not be able to see you for the next two weeks. I have agreed to accompany Faramir to Emyn Arnen to resolve some issues he is having with border control.

Aragorn

Frodo's throat filled with a strangling lump. Aragorn had not even signed his name with "love," nor had he put "Dearest" before Frodo like he always had in the past. He was not sure why that struck him more than being separated from him for two weeks. Perhaps Aragorn had been furious that Frodo had hit him. But Frodo suspected that was not the case. Aragorn didn't deal with his anger in sneaky ways. He confronted it. If he had been upset about it, he would have canceled his meeting with Faramir and discussed it with him long into the night.

Frodo bowed his head. He would have preferred it if Aragorn had struck him back. At least that would have had emotion behind it. Frodo's eyes felt dry, but a pain spread over his chest. He had no urge to work with the healer. He didn't want to see anyone. He wanted to bury himself under the covers and cry until his chest didn't ache anymore.

Sam had been right. He should have gone back to the Shire with his friends. He lifted his head, thinking with longing of his cozy hobbit hole, everything his size. Hobbits were never indifferent or cold with one another. He missed the easy laughter of his friends, the constant joking, and the sweet understanding.

The idea of seeing his friends and kin again sent a surge of joy through him. He could go to the Shire alone. He did not know the way, but it would be easy enough to follow a map. He knew that the closest route would be through the pass of Rohan. In order to plan for the trip, he would have to gather help from the servants. He would need help packing for such a long journey. He would need supplies. The servants would question him, though they did not have the right. When Aragorn came back, he would find him gone.

Aragorn had considered passing an edict banning men from the Shire. If that was the case, Frodo might never see him again. His chin quivered at the thought. Perhaps Aragorn would not care. No, Frodo couldn't leave without a blunt conversation with Aragorn. When Aragorn returned, Frodo would force a conversation, even if he had to follow him into his council chamber and kick out emissaries.

Frodo clenched his breeches. Tears rolled from his eyes then. How had it come to this point? When Aragorn had begged him to stay, to not go home with his friends, his eyes had been full of love. He had promised Frodo that they would be happy.

---

Frodo washed his face and put on clean clothes. He felt cried out, but his chest still felt so heavy. He was still not in the mood to visit with Aven. He walked down the long corridors, feeling as if a heavy weight rested on his shoulders.

The captain of the guard approached him. Frodo's heart leaped in anticipation of being spoken to. The man bowed slightly. Frodo cringed with self-disgust. He was like an eager dog, leaping with excitement if anyone paid him a little attention.

"Mr. Baggins," the guard said. Frodo tried to stand as tall as possible, but he felt very small next to the guard. The man, whom Frodo could never remember his name, was exceptionally large. Aragorn had once told Frodo that the man was over six and a half feet.

"Yes?" Frodo said.

"I wanted to warn you that because of the rat problem, we have put traps in various corners, even in the royal suite area of the castle."

"Rats?" Frodo said in disgust. "I did not know it was a problem!"

"Mostly deep in the dungeons, where the inhabitants deserve the problem in my opinion, but the cook has seen a few in the past weeks."

"Oh, that's vile," Frodo said, shuddering. He hated rats. They did not have a problem with them in the Shire, but he had seen a few in Bree.

"Anyway, I especially thought to remind you because you do not wear shoes. Mind that you don't step on one of the traps. They have poison on it, and you being so small and all, it may have an especially harmful effect."

"Thank you," Frodo said with a smile. He felt warm inside. Aragorn had been thinking about him. "It was kind of the king to consider that before he left."

"The king didn't say anything to me," the guard looked puzzled. "I'm warning you myself."

"Oh," Frodo felt himself cringe with embarrassment and disappointment. He forced a smile. "Well, I thank you for the warning."

"Good day, Master Halfling."

Frodo continued down the corridor, and the heaviness in his shoulders grew worse. He didn't know why it should disappoint him so much that the warning message hadn't come from Aragorn. He just craved any hint that Aragorn cared for him, even a small amount.

Frodo reached the House of Healing just after noon. A wave of heat had come on Gondor just that day after several days of cool weather. Frodo wiped the sweaty dust from his face on his sleeve, smudging it.

"Ah, good day, Frodo," Aven said. He appeared to be in his late forties. He still looked hale, like he could wield a sword. His hair was starting to gray.

"Good day," Frodo said with a smile. "The king says you're to train me."

"I hope I can do that," Aven said. "The King Elessar spoke so highly of you that I am positive it will be a pleasure."

"Thank you," Frodo said, blushing. That Aragorn had said kind words of him made him feel a little better.

"Shall I give you a tour first?"

"Yes. That would be a good start."

Frodo put forth the most cheerful front he could. He already felt better with human contact. Perhaps this was a good idea. If he immersed himself in this activity, he could not think too much about Aragorn. He didn't need to depend on Aragorn for happiness.

Aven took him through the rooms, showed him where the dried herbs were stored, where the towels and bandages were.

"Last I will take you into the garden where we grow the herbs. I'm afraid that is where we are having a shortage."

"Oh," Frodo said. "How so?"

He followed Aven into the garden. It was a charming circular garden, surrounded by a tall wall. Several guards with bows guarded it.

"Why the armed guards?" Frodo whispered in awe.

"Like I said, the war caused a terrible drought of healing herbs. This is the only garden in the city. Despite the war being over, there are plenty of unscrupulous people who would steal herbs. Those guards shot a man dead last week. Can you believe it?"

Frodo's eyes widened with horror. Somehow, he had been naïve enough to believe that once the new order had come to Middle Earth with the fall of Sauron that it had cleaned out all evil. It was a silly notion. More sickening was that even with Sauron gone that men would kill each other. It seemed a terrible waste.

"What do you think?" Aven finally asked, squeezing Frodo's shoulder.

"I think I'll like working here," Frodo said with genuine feeling. He would keep his head high and his pride intact. Maybe once he wasn't so available to Aragorn, Aragorn would begin to seek him out.


Frodo trekked up the dusty street for the third time, confused and lost. He was certain that Aven had bid him walk down the main thoroughfare for a count of ten minor streets, then turn left, then walk for a count of five alleyways, then turn into a tiny alley called Tower Point. Now Frodo was on a street called Ithilien, but he had wandered up and down the street and could not find an alley by the name of Tower Point.

Strangely, within a forty-minute walk or so, he had entered an area where the people did not seem as noble and well-dressed as they did in the heart of the White City. He had never realized that people in the rich fortress city, even after the fall of Sauron and Aragorn's benign rule, suffered from poor conditions. He wondered if Aragorn was aware. The people on this street did not look at Frodo in awe and reverence as they did in the main part of the city. They stared at him, and especially his feet, in blatant curiosity, but mostly, it seemed, because they had never seen a hobbit. Frodo was uncomfortable under their leers and chuckles. His velvet breeches and light Elven cloak seemed too fancy for this area of town.

He stopped and wiped the sweaty dust from his face. His feet ached fiercely. He had grown soft in the castle, unused to excessive walking. He sighed in frustration. Aven had sent him for supplies nearly an hour ago and he was expected back soon. He was going to have to retrace his steps and admit that he was lost. Perhaps if he could just get back to the main thoroughfare, he would not be so turned around. Why hadn't Aven given him the name of the street he was to have turned onto in the first place? He should have demanded more specific instructions!

"'Cuse me," A rough voice said just above him. "Are you lost?"

Frodo looked up to see a man wearing a bright red cloak and a lot of gold jewelry around his neck. There was something unstable and frightening about his piercing blue eyes, though his voice sounded kind enough.

"Ah...yes, actually I am lost. I'm looking for the alleyway Tower Point. I'm to get supplies for the healing house."

"Tower Point." The man frowned. "You must be really turned around. There's no Tower Point anywhere near here."

Frodo's heart sank, and his frustration must have been evident.

"Hey," the man said, a look of wonder on his face. "I thought you were a boy when I first saw you. But." He stared at Frodo's feet. "What sort of creature are you?"

Frodo looked at him in disbelief. Surely this man had been present when he and his companions had been praised by Aragorn right after the Ring had been destroyed. At the very least, this man should have had second-hand knowledge of the event.

"I'm a hobbit, a halfling," Frodo said. He felt miffed at being referred to as a creature.

"A halfling?" The man laughed and then spit. The slime from his mouth landed only a few inches from one of Frodo's furry feet. "I thought the king kept one as a pet, so it's been told, but you can't be it. The King wouldn't let such an exotic pet roam this part of the city alone."

Frodo's throat closed. He was not certain which emotion was more predominant—repulsion by the man's lack of class, annoyance by the man's ignorance of hobbits, grief at yet another reminder of how little Aragorn seemed to care for him lately, a nagging fear that this man might do him harm.

"Come," the man said, clapping a heavy hand on Frodo's shoulder. "Why not come into the tavern with me and my companions? I'll buy you a drink and then maybe one of them can help you get where you're going? They'd all be thrilled to meet a halfling!"

Frodo knew he shouldn't. Aven was waiting for him back at the healing house. He had sent him for a specific list of supplies. But now he was thirsty and his feet ached. He was also too warm in the cloak. Getting out of the sun with a cold drink would be good. And if one of the men knew how to get out of his mess, all the better.

Inside the tavern, the man led him to a small crowd of men squeezed in a circular booth. He put his arm around Frodo's shoulder.

"Hey, Triston," his friends greeted him. "Where have you been?"

"I've got a new friend here. This is—what's your name, halfling?"

"Frodo," Frodo said. He felt uncomfortable under the curious eyes of the man's friends. There was a quality about them that seemed sly, as if they had much evil in their pasts.

"Hey, ain't you the king's special friend?" one of them demanded Frodo.

"Yeah," another man with no tooth added. "I heard the king was keeping some halfling against his will. That he keeps him chained to his bed like a dog and pleasures himself with him."

"'Twas one of them little fellows as ended the war, so says the king," another man said with a barely perceptible sneer.

"Naw," the man with no tooth answered. "The king wants an excuse to pillage the land of the halflings. They have the best pipe weed, and the king smokes it. So, he makes a big fuss over some made-up deeds of the little fools—sorry, halfling, probably shouldn't say that to you, should I?—" He laughed and continued. "Then keeps one for his own pleasure and then has all the excuse in the world to make sure no one else gets a taste of that rich little land. I have a cousin in Bree that says those halflings have it pretty damn good there—good soil, good farming, ideal climate..."

Frodo's face twisted into revulsion. These men had no respect for their new king! He could not conceive of it since everyone he had so far had contact with had either fought in the war or worked directly for Aragorn. He had seen only reverence and love for Aragorn. He thought about Aragorn's compassionate gray eyes and for a moment forgot about Aragorn's coldness toward him as of late. He missed Aragorn with a sudden fierce longing. He yearned to go home and curl up against his hard chest, to feel Aragorn's muscled but gentle arms around him. His throat filled. He bit his cheeks, willing himself not to weep.

"Naw, this isn't the king's halfling," Triston said. "I found this fellow outside lost. He works in the healing house. He's trying to get to Tower Point. Anyone know where that is?"

"Yeah," one of them chuckled. "Didn't Rimey here just rob that store last week? Stole a bunch of knives."

Frodo's heart sped. He seemed to have met up with criminals and cut-throats—inside the very gates of the city! The money that Aven had given him to buy the supplies was in his vest pocket, and he hoped the men didn't discover it.

"Don't look so worried, halfling," Rimey said, pinching his cheek hard. "We're only bad some of the time." The whole table roared with laughter at that. Frodo forced a smile. His cheek smarted from Rimey's pinch.

"I...I should probably go," he said. He wanted to get away from these rough men.

"Nonsense," Triston said, squeezing his shoulders. "I promised you a drink, and I don't go back on my word."

"Ya don't want to disappoint Triston," Rimey said. "He's killed for less."

"Shut up!" Triston shoved Rimey against the wall. "You're scaring Frodo. Besides." He dropped his voice and leaned into Rimey, thinking Frodo couldn't hear him, but Frodo caught part of what he said. "...Kill such a...those eyes...tight...good lay, ya think?"

Frodo's heart plummeted. He didn't like this at all. He would have a drink with the men, but he would escape as soon as he could. He regretted telling Triston that he worked in the healing house. The less information the men had about him, the better.

Triston helped Frodo onto the seat and slid in beside him. Frodo was squeezed between Triston and Rimey. His eyes were at eye level with the table's edge. He couldn't seem to will his heart to stop pounding.

"What's ya poison?" Triston asked Frodo.

"Pardon?" Frodo said.

"What will you have? What do you drink?"

"An ale, please," Frodo said. He hoped Aven wouldn't be too angry that he was going to be so late getting back.

"Ah, we'll get something stronger than that in you," Triston said, winking.

"All right," Frodo said uncertainly. He would just drink a little. It would never do to return to the healing house tipsy. He pictured the quiet look of disappointment on Aragorn's face if he heard about Frodo acting in such a disgraceful manner. He had never longed for Aragorn more than he did right now.

A cold hand like a snake crept under Frodo's shirt and began massaging his skin. Frodo let out a small gasp. "You're so tense, little one," Rimey whispered in his ear. "I'd like to get to know you better. What do you say we break away for a bit?"

"Please stop," Frodo said, pulling away. He was ashamed of his fear. He was the Ringbearer, after all. He had a place of great honor among all the free peoples. These men neither knew nor cared. Here the only thing that mattered was that he was small and unarmed and they were so much stronger.

Triston backhanded Rimey, and Rimey cursed. Blood trickled from his nose. Triston was obviously the leader of this bunch. "You keep your crawling hands off him. I won't tell you again." Frodo cringed at the hard gleam in his eyes. His eyes softened when he looked down at Frodo.

"I'm sorry about that," he said. "Apes are more civilized than my friends sometimes, I'm afraid."

"Please, Triston," Frodo said. "I appreciate you wanting to buy me a drink, but I really must be going. Aven will worry and I will get into trouble."

"All right," Triston said with a thin smile. He turned to his friends. "We wouldn't want you to get into trouble. Which of you—besides Rimey, that is--wants to show Frodo to Tower Point?"

"It's all right," Frodo said hastily. "I can find my way. You're very kind. I just need to retrace--"

"Nonsense!" Triston squeezed Frodo's shoulder. "Just relax. I won't send you with anyone's gonna do you harm."

Frodo climbed out of the booth after Triston. He had no choice but to follow the man who called himself Tarn. Frodo wasn't sure what to make of him. He had not said anything the whole time Frodo had sat with them.

"Thank you," Frodo said, flushing. "I appreciate your help."

"My pleasure," Triston said, squeezing Frodo's hand. "I'm sorry you didn't have time to drink with us. Maybe another time? You're welcome to come any time and gnaw bones with us. I hope you will. It was my pleasure to meet my first halfling." He shot a warning glance at Rimey, who had started to salaciously chuckle.

Frodo followed Tarn out of the tavern, feeling the eyes of all the men on him. He couldn't wait to get back to Aven. He would never go on another errand without specific directions. At least another hour had passed since Aven had sent him on his errand.



Three and half hours after he had left, Frodo returned to the Healing House empty-handed. Sweat ran down his back and his legs ached so badly that he could barely stand. His face was smudged with dirt, and a strangling ball filled his throat. He felt ashamed by his desire to fall into tears. Less than a year ago, he and Sam had stumbled across Mordor with less in their stomachs and infinitely more pain. He had encountered much worse than Triston and his friends.

"Frodo!" Aven exclaimed in surprise when he saw Frodo's dusty clothing and pained expression.

"I'm sorry it took so long," Frodo said in a dull voice, leaning against a chair and desperately trying to hold back tears. He was a hobbit, and hobbits had not been raised to hold back their emotions as many children of men had. Still, he would control himself in front of Aven and the other workers for the next several hours. When he got back to his lonely chamber, then he could let out his fear and repulsion. If he lost control in front of Aven, it would reflect badly on his status as the Ringbearer and dear friend of the king. Why that seemed so important to him right now, he did not know.

"We've been quite busy," Aven said in an irritated voice. "We could have used your hands. Did you get the supplies?" He glanced at Frodo's trembling hands and peered at Frodo's face in concern.

"Has something happened?" he asked, his thick eyebrows furrowed. He kneeled and took Frodo's chin in his large hands. Frodo saw the kind concern in Aven's eyes and the pain in his chest collapsed. He clutched Aven in a fierce embrace, as if he thought Aven would push him away. Choked sobs burst from him—full of delayed fear, relief that he had made it back alive and in one piece, and grief that Aragorn wasn't here to comfort him. He had only known Aven for a week. He was afraid to pull back and observe Aven's reaction to his outburst.

"Frodo, Frodo," Aven said in a soft voice which contradicted his normally gruff manner. He took Frodo's cheeks in his hands and examined his face. "Did something happen to you? Are you hurt?"

Frodo could not answer. His throat was so tight that he felt strangled. He choked over tears that he did not want to shed in front of this man and the other workers, who stared in sympathetic curiosity.

"Come, lie down on a bed," Aven said quietly. "Tell me what happened. If someone attacked you, I want to know who and where to find him—and certainly the king will want to know."

"No," Frodo said, wiping his face with his dirty sleeve. "I'm all right. I shouldn't be such a coward. I'm safe. I'm very sorry, Aven. I'm ready to get back to work. I just got lost. I didn't know—there were some men—they didn't hurt me, but I didn't know there was such a rough edge to this city."

"Oh," Aven groaned as he led Frodo to a bed and helped him to lie down. "The king will have my head for putting you in such a position." He kissed Frodo's head. His casual affection for the hobbit he had only known a week made Frodo's throat fill with gratitude. It was so good to hear a kind voice. "Let me get you some tea. You relax. If you wish to tell me what happened, I am happy to listen. We've got everything under control for now."

Frodo nodded. It was wonderful to rest his aching feet. Aven's face was so caring, a contrast to his usual stern efficiency. Frodo tried to calm his breathing as Aven left to boil water for tea. When Aven returned, Frodo still could not stop the trembling in his hands long enough to hold the mug. Aven watched him with a frown of concern and then helped him take a few sips of the tea.

"I got lost," Frodo said. He told Aven about meeting Triston and his rough friends. His voice began to shake as he told about what happened after he had left the tavern with Tarn.

Once they had left Triston's sight, Tarn had turned around, his eyes bright with opportunity. They had been in a dirty, empty alley, and nobody else had been in sight.

"Got money, halfling?"

"No...no, none," Frodo gasped. He was ashamed of his fear. He had faced worse. He had been a prisoner in Mordor, whipped by orcs, stung by a giant spider. A common ruffian should not evoke any fear in comparison. Yet he was so frightened that his skin felt cold.

Tarn whipped out a sharp, dirty knife. He shoved Frodo against the wall and held the knife to his throat. "Then how you going to buy supplies at the store? Now you have two choices as I see it. You can hand me the money nice and easy or I will pull down your fancy breeches and bang you like a common whore. You got it—king's pet?"

Frodo felt faint and a roaring filled his ears. Somehow his numb fingers found the money. Tarn grabbed the coins from Frodo's trembling hand.

"Yep, I knew you was him as the king's been pleasuring himself with. What're you doing so far from your cushy castle?" He traced the knife along Frodo's jaw, and Frodo couldn't hide a gasp. "What would happen if I just cut your throat and left you to die right here? Who would ever know? The king wouldn't care. He'd just find another little rat. A little rat for a rat king. Aw, the pretty little rat is crying. Your fancy clothes are all dirty, I see. Well, don't worry, rat. I ain't gonna kill you. Triston has a far better use for ya, I'd warrant. I'm smart enough not to really touch ya if Triston wants ya."

Tarn pulled back with a sly smile, holding Aven's coins in his hands. "Thanks, little ratling."

He had strode down the alley, jingling the coins in his hand. Frodo had forced himself to run in the opposite direction.

Aven rubbed Frodo's hand. He shut his eyes, deeply disturbed. "It can't be tolerated. I'll inform the captain of the guard. They'll clear that area out by nightfall. Frodo, I'm so sorry. I should never have sent you alone. You of all people should not have had to go through that."

"No," Frodo said. "No, please don't tell the guard!"

"You could have been hurt or worse today. Someone needs to clean that part of the city. Too many filthy stragglers from the war."

Frodo looked down at his hands in shame. "I don't want Ara—the king to know."

He looked into Aven's kind eyes. In this moment, the sympathetic healer was so dear to him. Frodo couldn't predict how Aragorn would react to the situation. He did not want Aven getting blamed. It had not been his fault. Frodo had gotten lost. Another far more selfish fear was the opposite--that Aragorn would find out and would barely get upset. Frodo couldn't bear to have such evidence of the king's indifference to him.

Aven squeezed his hand. "The king would not stand for you to be treated such by his subjects. You did a deed for Middle Earth that can never be matched. We are all in your debt until the end of our lives. It burns my heart to think of anyone treating the Ringbearer such."

"Anyone," Frodo said, clutching himself miserably. "It doesn't matter that I was the Ringbearer. Nobody should be treated in such a manner. But please, Aven, do not tell the king!"

Aven stared at him a long time. Then he rubbed Frodo's shoulder. "All right then. I'll not—"

They were interrupted by a strangled shout from the main compartment of the Healing House. "Hey! Can someone help me? I'm in a lot of pain!"

Frodo jumped from the bed, wiping his eyes of the tears.

"No, I will take care of it," Aven said, pushing Frodo back down on the bed. "You rest."

"I'm all right," Frodo said. "I'd rather help."

"Wash yourself first then," Aven said.

Frodo and Aven went into the main room. The injured man was a guard by his uniform, though Frodo had never met him. He leaned heavily against two other guards, gasping in pain. He had taken one of his boots off and he was holding his foot up as if it caused him great pain to put weight on it.

"What has happened?" Aven asked. "How are you injured?"

"I was bit by a rat!" The man gasped. "I'm a guard in the dungeons. They're all over the place down there."

"It happened a few days ago," his friend said. "Now it appears to be infected."

"Come, help me get him lying down on a bed," Aven said to the other guards. "Frodo, boil some water and put a pinch of kingsfoil in it."

Frodo nodded and did as he was told. He watched the guard gasp in pain. Watching his agony made Frodo forget about his own misery.

After the water was prepared, Aven dipped a cloth in the water and cleansed the man's foot. Frodo watched helplessly as the guard cringed and tried not to cry out. Frodo could not bear to watch him in so much pain. He put another cloth in the kingsfoil water and wrung it out. He wiped the cloth over the guard's brow.

The guard twisted suddenly and gripped Frodo's arm. His face was drenched with sweat. "It hurts, can you stop the pain?"

"What's your favorite place?" Frodo asked, using a tactic that had often worked on his younger cousins when they had been ill or hurt. He felt a little ridiculous using it on a hardened guard in so much pain. This was not a mere scraped knee, after all. He wiped the man's forehead again. He could tell that the kingsfoil was already having a calming effect.

"Not down in the dungeon. It's horrible down there."

"I know," Frodo said, wincing. "Think of a place where you like to go."

"Library. I love to read."

Frodo smiled. "Wonderful. Let's go there together. You walk in. Where do you go first?"

The guard managed a small smile. He gasped a little as Aven dabbed at the infected bite wound. "I like history. I read about the history of our city. The books are dusty and old, but I love the smell."

"Yes, there's nothing like an old but loved book," Frodo said. He smiled wistfully, remembering Bilbo's library in Bag End.

"Yes," the guard said. He gripped Frodo's arm harder as Aven cut into the bite, trying to drain the pus from it. Frodo tried not to wince, though the man's fingers would surely leave bruises later. He did not want to distress the guard further. "I love reading maps. Old history maps, especially. I'm fascinated with what lies to the South—the region of Umbar and the cities by the sea."

"You and I have something in common," Frodo said with a smile. "I grew up reading maps of the world long before I left the Shire. I was considered odd."

"Ah, even I found a map of the Shire," the guard laughed. "Hole dwellers you are, aren't you?"

"Yes," Frodo said.

"You're finished," Aven said, stepping back. The guard's foot was fully bandaged.

"That wasn't so bad," the guard said, laughing with some relief. His companions chuckled nervously. He leaned into Frodo and whispered. "Thank you for distracting me. I did not want to scream like a woman in front of my friends."

"My pleasure," Frodo said. He waited until the guard looked away before he rubbed his sore arm.

"Frodo, come, I want to speak with you," Aven said, beckoning.

Frodo followed Aven into the next room.

"I liked what you did," Aven said. "I was very impressed by your manner. Often it is difficult to keep them calm. A rat bite gone bad is very painful and brings a high risk of disease."

"Thank you. It helps to come from a large family with many younger cousins."

Aven squeezed Frodo's shoulder. "Go on now. You've had a long day and you look exhausted. Get some sleep and come back tomorrow. I promise you I won't send you on any errands."

"All right then," Frodo said. "Thank you, Aven."

He walked back to his suite in the castle. He looked forward to taking a bath and climbing right into bed. Already the horrible encounter with Triston and his friends was beginning to fade. He was safe inside the castle. The rough men would never dare come to this part of the city. He wished more than anything that Aragorn would be waiting for him. He longed to fall into his arms, to be held and kissed.

Aragorn woke up gasping. He trembled despite the heat, and his eyes were wet from weeping. The breeze through the open window was too warm but it soothed his sweaty brow. A nearly debilitating relief that what he had experienced had just been a dream rendered him breathless.

He had never in all his life had such a horrible nightmare. In it, he had returned to Minas Tirith. He had gone directly to his chamber, looking forward to resting in his own bed. Frodo had been sitting cross-legged on the bed, and when he saw Aragorn, he jumped from the bed and ran to greet him with a shout of joy. Aragorn's heart swelled when he saw Frodo, but he was tired and only wanted to rest. He sat on the edge of the bed, wishing for peace, but Frodo kept trying to talk to him, touching him, laughing and pulling at him. A buzzing rage filled Aragorn's head. He wanted silence—a moment to think after the difficult work in Emyn Arnen. He felt an irrational surge of fury at Frodo.

His rational side didn't know why he was so angry. Frodo had missed him, which was understandable. He had missed Frodo, too, and yearned to hold him. But somehow the sight of Frodo's overly eager face—his sparkling eyes implied that he had clearly not been working around the clock as Aragorn had--sent him into an irrational fury. Frodo started to speak again, and Aragorn slapped him hard, watching as the hobbit's eyes—initially filled with trust and love—darkened with confusion and pain. Aragorn's hand tingled with the desire to strike him again. He told himself to leave the room, but instead he stood up and backhanded Frodo again. Frodo stumbled backward, away from the bed. Blood streamed from his nose. He whimpered in shock, backing away, clearly not knowing what to make of Aragorn's unprecedented violence. He tripped and landed on his back. Aragorn stared down at him, breathing hard. His groin was heavy, though he had no desire to bed Frodo, only a desire to keep hurting him. His whole body tingled with the urge to hit and kick. Frodo had begun to weep in loud shuddering gasps.

Aragorn kicked the hobbit in the ribs, taking foggy satisfaction in his squeal of pain. He smashed his booted foot into Frodo's back and his soft abdomen area. Again and again his boot slammed into him. After awhile, Frodo stopped crying out. His breath came out in ragged whistles.

The fog cleared from Aragorn's brain, leaving him cold and frightened. He stared down at the broken body under his boot. Frodo's huge blue eyes, filled with pain and bewilderment, were focused on him. He coughed, and blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth.

"Oh, no," Aragorn gasped. He staggered back in horror. A cold heavy ball sank in his stomach. He fell to his knees beside Frodo. He felt nauseated as he gazed upon the damage he had done. What had come over him? He had once pledged to die for this hobbit, who had saved Middle Earth. And now he had brutalized him. In a matter of minutes, he had rendered the one he loved most into this broken, wheezing figure.

"Frodo, oh, my Frodo, what have I done? Oh, no. I'm so sorry." He broke into tears, clutching Frodo's cold hands for dear life.

Frodo struggled for every breath. His lips were white, and Aragorn realized that he was going to die. Aragorn had hurt him so badly that even with the best care, he would not recover. The only merciful thing he could do was to kill him so that he would not suffer. Shaking with agonized sobs, Aragorn pulled out his sword. As he brought its edge to Frodo's throat, a tear trickled down the hobbit's cheek. He did not protest. He merely closed his eyes in resignation.

Aragorn had awakened then. He continued to shake. He could still see Frodo's blue eyes bright with pain and could hear his wheezing.

"Never," Aragorn whispered into the dark. It was understandable that he would have an anxiety dream about Frodo. Frodo had been upset with him before he left. While on the road to Emyn Arnen, Aragorn had realized that it had been Frodo's birthday. For a hobbit to have his birthday go unrecognized--that was a sore trial indeed, even a hobbit who had gone through as much as Frodo. And Frodo was lonely. His hobbit friends had gone home and there was nobody else in the castle to interact with. Aragorn was glad he had arranged for him to help in the Healing House. He had a feeling Frodo would thrive on it. And he would love Aven.

When Aragorn returned to Minas Tirith, he would make it up to Frodo. He would take time off from his duties. In fact, he would take Frodo on a trip away from the city where they could be alone together. And it had been far too long since they had made love. Thinking about Frodo's tight heat made Aragorn's member stiffen. He sighed and drifted off to sleep, somewhat calmer.

---

"Your mind is not on our business," Faramir said. They sat hunched at his great dining table, bent over crudely drawn maps of the region. "No disrespect intended."

"No matter," Aragorn said. "You are right. I am thinking about Frodo. I wish I had spoken to him before I left."

"Frodo?" Faramir said with some concern. "He is all right, isn't he?"

"Yes, yes," Aragorn said. "He is not ill. But since I must stay here longer than expected, I only wish that I had sent the messenger directly to Frodo—and not the Captain of the guard."

"Your absence grieves him?" Faramir asked.

"I believe so," Aragorn said. "I miss him, too. But it's harder for him. Sometimes I've wondered if it was not selfish on my part to ask him to stay with me, keeping him away from his people and his country. And I am so busy that he is often alone."

Faramir smiled as if in far away memory. "I remember when I first came across him and Samwise. They looked like trapped rabbits. At the time I remember thinking that halflings must be stupid little creatures to get lost in the dark land. I was commanded to slay anyone not there without leave of the Steward. I couldn't. To slay such innocent creatures would have been a direct triumph for Sauron, though at the time, I did not know exactly how truthful that was. Then Frodo spoke and I was in awe. His voice was like music; his words put me to shame. His willingness to walk into death...I've never known any warriors of our kind to go so bravely. He's a rare gem, Aragorn."

Aragorn's throat filled as he nodded. The dream had left him shaky and easily emotional all day. He wished Frodo was beside him. He wanted to hold him and whisper words of appreciation and love. He knew Frodo stayed in Minas Tirith of his free will. He stayed out of love for Aragorn. Aragorn had no right to take that gift as lightly as he had as of late.

The next three weeks would not go fast enough. When he got back to the city, he would make certain Frodo was as happy as he deserved.

---

"Go on, take it!" Frodo grinned and climbed on the stool beside the bed. The guard who had been bit by the rat cautiously opened the crisp map that Frodo had handed him. His foot was still bandaged. He was to be allowed out of bed the next day after two weeks of being bedridden.

Frodo's smile lit up his face, though not only because of the guard's obvious pleasure of the map. Aragorn was expected back any day. Surely now that Aragorn was finished with his business in Emyn Arnen, he would not be so busy. Frodo couldn't wait to tell him about his experiences in the Healing House. A shadow passed over him at the memory of being robbed the day he had gotten lost. It seemed like a long time ago. He hoped Aven would truly keep his word and not tell Aragorn. So far the guards had not found out about it. Frodo turned a fond smile to Aven, who was cleaning the nearly healed wound on the guard's foot.

"Are you certain?" the guard, who was called Damin, said. He seemed afraid to touch a map so nice.

Frodo nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes! As long as I bring it back before the king returns. This is not an archive, mind you. It's a map in use!"

"Oh, I don't want you to face trouble," Damin said. "Not when you've been so kind to me."

"Nonsense," Frodo said with a laugh. The guard did not seem to know of the relationship between himself and Aragorn. "The king is a very dear friend."

Aven chuckled knowingly at that last. "Yes, it is good to befriend Frodo. He has a direct line to the king's ear."

"Ah," The guard said, taking the map from Frodo. "Well good then. I will look at it without fear."

"And," Frodo added, reaching behind him. "I brought tarts." He lifted a cloth off a wooden bowl. The tarts were fresh and bulging with apple chunks, just as Bilbo had taught him so many years before. Apples were so tasty and ripe this time of the year. The cook had helped him by directing him to the ingredients, but he had allowed Frodo free reign of the kitchen.

"Frodo!" Aven said with the first joyful smile Frodo had seen on him. "You didn't have to do that!"

"I though I smelled baking," Damin said. "Thank you. They smell delicious."

"It was my pleasure."

As Frodo turned to put the cloth back on the bowl, the Captain of the guard came in.

"Hello!" Frodo greeted with a hobbity enthusiasm that brought a new smile to Aven's lips. "Have a tart? I made them myself."

"Oh," the Captain said. "Then I must try one, of course." He reached for a tart. He took a bite and raised his eyebrows. "Tasty. I won't tell the cook. He may get jealous."

"Oh, I don't think so," Frodo said, blushing. "What brings you here?"

"I just thought you should know that the King Elessar has been delayed. He has sent me word that he will remain in Emyn Arnen another few weeks."

"Oh." Frodo's smile faded. His stomach sank. "Few weeks? What does that mean?"

"This is the message." The Captain handed the note to Frodo.

Frodo read: Please be aware that I will be remaining in Emyn Arnen an additional two or three weeks. Continue your duties as appropriate for an absent king.

Frodo felt his chest fill with cold disappointment. Not a single word of the message was directed toward him. Aragorn had not found it important to let Frodo know that he was delayed. The Captain had come to Frodo on his own.

"Thank you," Frodo said, handing him back the message. His lips felt numb. "Thank you."

"May I take another tart with me?" The Captain asked, smiling encouragingly at Frodo. Frodo tried to smile back. The Captain was so sweet. He had gone out of his way to tell Frodo about the delay.

"Take as many as you like."

The Captain squeezed Frodo's shoulder and walked out of the Healing House.

Frodo leaned against the table, keeping his back turned to Damin and Aven. He didn't want them to see how upset he was. His throat filled with a strangling urge to cry. More than that, he felt suddenly ill--like a swimmer in a lake who swam into a cold pocket. A veil of darkness passed over his eyes. The screech of a Ringwraith filled his ears. His shoulder wound throbbed. All too clearly he remembered the cold night on Weathertop, how the black figures had advanced on him, icy swords drawn.

"...are you all right?"

Aven's warm hands on his shoulders pulled him out of the vision. His vision was still cloudy. He was so weak he was not sure if his legs would hold him much longer.

"I'm cold," Frodo said. Through the haze, he saw that Damin had sat up on his bed with a concerned expression on his face.

"What's wrong with him?" he asked Aven.

"Let's go lie down," Aven said. "Here's a bed next to Damin. My, you're shaking. This was awfully sudden."

"It's my shoulder," Frodo murmured. "My old wound."

Then he realized that it was October sixth, exactly a year after Weathertop. Gandalf had told him that this wound might never fully heal. Frodo had been sure that he had proven the wizard wrong. Aven covered Frodo's lower body with blankets. He unbuttoned Frodo's vest and linen shirt. He pulled Frodo's shirt off the shoulder and touched the wound.

"It's a little pink. And very cold to the touch. I will bring you a towel soaked in warm water."

Frodo nodded gratefully, and Aven scurried out of the room. Frodo turned to Damin, who still looked worried.

"I am all right," Frodo said. "It is an old wound."

"That came on suddenly," Damin said. "At least you were here and not off alone somewhere."

"Yes," Frodo said. He managed a smile as Aven returned with the warm towel. "I'm lucky to work with Aven."

Aven pressed the towel soaked in warm water over the shoulder wound. Frodo felt the chill lessen. Some of the haze in front of his eyes dissipated. He longed for Aragorn's arms around him, but he would have to be patient. He would not see him for another few weeks.


Frodo lay in a half doze. Fierce claws dug into his shoulder, spreading the pain down his arm and to his stomach until he was nauseated. He did not dare move for fear he would vomit. He was too weak to call out for Strider. Sweat broke out on his forehead.

He was lying on the hard ground at a hastily constructed campsite, far from care. Strider had gone for firewood. The wraiths were still in the area, and they called to each other in piercing wails that made Frodo frantic to cut his own throat, jump off a cliff, anything to block them out. Sam—loyal, sweet Sam—was holding his hand, rubbing it, trying to get warmth into it. They were so far from Rivendell and the night was so cold. His muscles ached with weariness when he thought about how much farther he had to go. Even if he ever reached Rivendell and recovered, there was still so much yet to endure--the long cold march across Hollin, the snowstorm on Caradhras, Moria, where he would be stabbed again. He would watch Gandalf fall into the chasm again, though at least this time he knew he would see him again. How his muscles ached! He would never have the strength to go through it all a second time. Even in Lorien there would be little rest, because this time, he knew the worst was still to come.

"When did he take ill?" A kind, familiar voice broke through the shadows. Frodo clawed his way up to consciousness. He was not in the wild outside of Rivendell. He was in Minas Tirith. Though he ached everywhere, he was in a soft bed under Aven's care. The Ring had been destroyed. He did not have to find a way into Mordor.

"It came on very suddenly. Right after you left, he collapsed."

The Captain of the Guard. Of course. He was a kind man, but why had he come back? No doubt to remind Frodo that Aragorn was going to be even further delayed.

A warm hand felt his forehead. "He's so cold, Aven. Can you not do anything?"

"The king should be notified," Aven said with a sigh. "This one is very dear to him." Frodo's heart pounded, but he was too weak to shake his head. Aragorn would be aggravated if he was torn away from his work because of one sick hobbit. "He's grown worse. I know nothing of this type of illness. I cannot even ease his pain because we have almost no kingsfoil left."

"Damn those thieves!" the Captain said, his voice harsh with fury. "They should have all been slain! The king should be here. Even if he can do nothing else, Frodo will gain comfort from his presence." The Captain's voice dropped. "Aven, you're a good friend. Can I trust that anything I say will not leave this room?"

"You have my word."

"Then I shall say something possibly treasonous. I love my liege lord and I would die for him. But I do not approve of the way he treats Frodo. More often than not, I see him wandering alone, looking bewildered. It's such a shame. He saved us all. If not for him, we would all be dead. Or slaves to the shadow that once was in the east. Very few people seem to recall that." The Captain's voice grew softer. "And he's so sweet and loving and he deserves the full attention of his lover."

"You are on very perilous ground," Aven said in a tight voice. "Speak no more of it! I shall be right back. I'm going to warm another towel to put on his wound. It's all I can do to ease his pain."

The Captain's hand fell back on Frodo's forehead and ran through his curls. "Sweet Frodo, recover soon," he whispered. "I need to see your shining eyes." Then Frodo heard heavy footsteps as he left.

Before Frodo could allow the Captain's words to sink in, he slipped into a dark dream.

He was again in the dark wild outside of Rivendell; his friends had disappeared. He was alone. Five dark figures advanced on him, all with icy swords drawn. Frodo tried to draw his own sword, but his hand was numb. It would not respond to anything he wished it to do. He fell on his back, gazing up at the cold, silver stars. The five wraiths blocked the dim celestial light. They breathed on him until he was so cold that he could no longer move. When he craned his neck away from them, something sharp and frozen, like a shard of glass left in the snow, pierced his soft skin. Warm blood ran from his neck and over the thin layer of ice on his body that had rendered him motionless.

"...I am not sure what to do next."

"This is grievous news," another voice said. "Is he going to die?"

"I do not know. He's had a relapse of some kind, but only the king knows about this illness. He treated several people who suffered from wounds of the Enemy, including another halfling, a friend of this one."

"It seems they are very brave, these halflings." Frodo recognized his voice as being that of Damin the guard with the rat bite. Frodo couldn't understand why he wasn't in bed. Damin had been in so much pain. The rat bite had turned him cold and sick. He needed Frodo's care. "It is a pity to see him suffer so. Would not the king want to be informed that he is ill?"

"We've sent for him. I fear he will die before the king returns home. It burns my heart that I can do nothing else for him. I've become so fond of him."

When Frodo managed to force his eyes open, Damin was sitting beside him though it was as if he viewed the soldier through a dim black curtain. Though Damin adjusted the blankets over Frodo, pulling them tight around his shoulders, Frodo could not stop shaking.

"Damin," he whispered. "Your foot is better?"

"Never mind me," Damin said. "My foot is fine. It is my turn to fuss over you."

Aven leaned over him, his kind brow creased with worry. "Frodo, can you tell me—what sort of wound was this?"

"Poison," Frodo said, his voice trembling with effort. "Blade of the Enemy. A piece of it was inside me for 17 days. Lord Elrond in Rivendell got it out but Gandalf said...he said it would never heal completely."

Aven took Frodo's hand. "I have very little kingsfoil left but what little I have, I will give you."

"Please do not waste it on me," Frodo said. "It barely affects the pain and...save it for someone who will benefit from it."

Aven still looked worried. "I have sent for the king."

"No, no," Frodo said, shaking his head. "I do not want his work disturbed for this."

The chill lessened somewhat at the prospect of seeing Aragorn's dear face above him. Aragorn would crawl into bed with him. Frodo was certain he would not feel so cold with Aragorn's arms enclosed tightly around him.

But what if he did not come? The idea nearly took Frodo's breath away. He could not think about that. Aragorn would come. If he cared, even a little, he would return home if he knew how desperately Frodo needed him.

---

Aragorn stared out the window. He had finally retired to the guest room after another long day of negotiating; all his efforts bent on preventing another war so soon after the defeat of Sauron! Faramir was the most pleasant of hosts, but Aragorn longed to return to Minas Tirith. He wanted to see Frodo, to have the opportunity to make up for the neglectful way he had treated him. He had wanted to write him a note, but he had not found the time. A pang of guilt twisted his stomach. Frodo had looked so unhappy when Aragorn had left him to meet with Faramir. Aragorn shook his head and sighed. There would be plenty of time to talk to Frodo when he got back. Right now, he did not have the time to think about it. He sighed again, this time in irritation. He had to get a night of sound sleep. Then another full day of negotiation with Umbar.

The situation in Emyn Arnen was much worse than Faramir had indicated. Several soldiers in the White Company had been attacked by bands of men from Umbar, and one of them had died. The emissary from Umbar denied that any of his men were involved, but the soldiers who had survived all described their attackers as speaking the language of Umbar. The emissary took great offense that the king was accusing his people of the attacks when the people of Umbar did not need or want a king meddling in their affairs.

A sharp knock on his chamber door startled him.

"Yes?"

"A message for you, my lord."

Aragorn opened the door. A nervous-looking soldier handed him an envelope.

"Thank you." Aragorn gazed at the soldier, waiting for him to exit. He finally bowed and scurried down the corridor.

Aragorn ripped open the letter. He stared down at it in confusion. It was from Aven: "Orlion, Please be prepared. I will be sending one of my workers to your store for more supplies. We will need bandages and cloths."

Aragorn creased his brow in irritation. The messenger had mixed up his messages again. This was a habit that could one day be costly. When he returned to Minas Tirith, he would speak to his soldiers. His stomach sank. If he had received a wrong message, then Orlion the storekeeper had received the message meant for him. He prayed it was not a private matter. Or one that needed his critical attention. He tried to push the worry from his mind. Orlion would discover the error and he would send the message back.

No. That was not enough. He called for his guard, who was sleeping in the suite next to his. Aragorn heard a thump as the guard stumbled out of bed. Normally the young guard's sometimes clumsy attempts to please made Aragorn smile, but this time he was too worried. The guard stood at attention, bleary-eyed but ready to do as he was bid.

"The soldier from Minas Tirith has sent me a message meant for a storekeeper named Orlion. I need you to return to Minas Tirith, find Orlion the storekeeper, and make certain that he has not received a message meant for me. And you may give him the message meant for him."

The guard bowed and returned to his room to get ready to depart.

---

"Aragorn!" Frodo called. Why wasn't Aragorn here? He had sensed the sun rising and falling several times. Surely enough time had passed for Aragorn to reach him. "Aragorn." His throat was so dry.

He opened his eyes. For the first time, he did not feel so cold. His shoulder ached, but it was much less than the piercing coldness from before. The Captain of the Guard had returned. He and Aven smiled at him. Frodo tried to return the smile, but he felt so weak.

"How are you?" the Captain asked. As always, his voice was kind. Frodo had a nagging feeling that he had learned something about the Captain, about his regard for him. But he could not remember details. Everything about his illness was so hazy.

"I feel much better," Frodo said in a soft voice. "How long...how long have I been ill?"

"It's been nearly ten days."

"Ten...ten days?" His stomach sank with dread. "Have I been unconscious all that time?"

"You've been delirious," Aven said. "We've managed to get some water and broth in you, but that's about it."

"Is...Did the...Is the king back?" Frodo's heart thudded so hard that black dots smattered in front of his eyes. The answer could determine crushing disappointment or giddy happiness. Surely Aragorn had returned after they sent for him. He just would have been too delirious to remember.

He watched as Aven and the Captain glanced at each other. His heart sank. They both knew about Aragorn's neglect and pitied him. Their pity made him want to flee the Healing House and lock himself in his own chamber. He would lock the door and never face them again. If he had more resolve, he would head home to the Shire.

"No." Frodo recognized suppressed anger in the Captain's voice. "I sent word, though."

"I'm so sorry, Aven," Frodo said, his eyes filling with tears. The pain in his heart swelled in his chest until he could barely breathe. He had not really expected Aragorn to drop everyt Middle-earth under his care. Frodo was just one hobbit. But had Aragorn cared at all? There was no evidence. "I've left you all the work. I was sent to help you—and I've only been a burden."

Not even a note. Aragorn had not even sent a simple note, voicing his concern or his care or well wishes.

"Nonsense," Aven said. "You've not been a burden at all. The only problem is that our supplies are very low and I sent a message to Orlion and never heard back from him. The messenger left the note there, though he said the place was dark and closed. I wonder if he has closed shop for some reason? This would be a burden to us. And I would not have sent you back to that place--" Aven broke off as he suddenly realized that he had revealed the incident he had promised to keep secret from Aragorn and his guards.

"Why? What happened?" The Captain asked.

"Nothing," Frodo said. He did not blame Aven. It had been a slip of the tongue and nothing more.

"Did something happen?" The Captain's voice grew tense, and for the first time, Frodo realized how dangerous this man could be to his enemies. "Aven, you must be honest with me."

Aven glanced at Frodo with a worried frown.

Frodo looked at the Captain. "A few weeks ago, I got lost running an errand for Aven, and I was robbed. I...I didn't want to trouble the king, so I asked Aven not to mention it to anyone. It is not Aven's fault. I am the one who got lost."

"Robbed." The Captain's face looked grim. "Was your life threatened?"

"Please, I do not wish to talk about this right now. I am weary and my heart is heavy. I'm sorry. Please do not mention this to the king. I beg of you."

"Very well," the Captain said with a bitter smile.

Frodo did not answer. He bit his lower lip, willing himself not to break into tears in front of the two men. Really, he had not thought that Aragorn should drop what he was doing in Emyn Arnen to come home to him. But he could have sent a message, a personal note to him. But nothing. Frodo could not stay under such circumstances. As soon as he was well enough to travel, he would return to the Shire.



"Careful, Frodo," Aven said. "Do not overexert yourself."

"I am all right," Frodo said from the top of the stepping stool as he jammed clean towels into the cabinet in the storage nook with a grunt of frustration. There were too many to fit in the small space. His left arm still stiff and sore to the touch, he climbed down and leaned against the wall, struggling to catch his breath. Perhaps he had overexerted himself...just a little.

Two weeks had passed since the Captain of the Guard had brought the message of Aragorn's delay. Aragorn could return any day, but this time, Frodo refused to get his hopes up.

Aven's hand fell on Frodo's shoulder. "You're not still thinking foolish thoughts about traveling to the Shire, are you?" He smiled and his voice became less serious. "The king would have my head."

Frodo flushed with annoyance. "I'm not your responsibility," he said in a sharper voice than he intended.

"Yes, I know. Do not take offense by my concern. But the roads are not safe, even in this new and peaceful age. Even Holis would not travel to the North alone...And he certainly would not be happy about you doing so."

"Who is Holis?" Frodo asked, his frown replaced by a curious smile.

Aven looked at Frodo in surprise. "Holis -- your friend -- the Captain of the Guard."

Though Frodo saw the Captain almost daily, it had never occurred to him to address him as anything other than "Captain." Frodo burst into laughter. "No wonder you looked at me so oddly. I cannot believe I've never learned his name." His laughter faded when he saw the continued quiet concern in Aven's eyes. "You need not worry. I will not go to the Shire...not yet."

Frodo had been certain he would leave for the Shire as soon as he recovered, but now he found that he could not do it. If he left Minas Tirith, he would never see Aragorn again, and though the king's neglect during his illness still hurt terribly, he was not ready for a complete break from him. He wanted to study Aragorn's face, to hear the tone of his voice, to know for certain that Aragorn no longer loved him. Only then could he gather the courage to leave forever.

Besides, Frodo thought with a fond smile, he now had friends in Minas Tirith. Even just a few weeks earlier, he had not foreseen that. Nearly every day he saw either Damin or Holis. And he adored his job in the Healing House, working with Aven, who was always kind to him.

After Frodo helped Aven clean for a short while, the healer squeezed his shoulder. "Go home and rest. I'll see you tomorrow."

Frodo almost went straight to his chamber to rest, as Aven had commanded, but he decided instead that he would try to find Damin where he was on duty in the dungeons. Frodo had never visited him on duty, but now that he was well again, he intended to do so regularly. Damin expressed so much unhappiness with his environment. The dungeons were dark and full of rats, and Damin spent hours down in the deep underground without seeing daylight. Frodo planned to talk to Aragorn about getting Damin transferred to more a more pleasant guard station.

Frodo climbed down a roughly hewn spiral staircase until he was far underground. He shivered as the air became dank and chilly, and he covered his nose to block a foul smell. His heart squeezed in sympathy for Damin, who had to face this as his daily duty.

He felt somewhat queasy, suddenly nervous at being in the dungeons. While he knew Aragorn kept prisoners, seeing them with his own eyes was jarring. He padded down a narrow, slimy corridor that led past sullen men pacing in their cells like wild animals. Frodo shuddered and drew his cloak around him as if that would divert the predatory stares directed toward him. He let out a large sigh of relief when he saw Damin sitting at a table at the end of the corridor.

"Damin!" Frodo called out.

Damin startled. "What are you doing here, Frodo?" He jumped up and walked to meet him.

"Such a pretty little thing," a raspy voice breathed from one of the cells. "Think the guard will let ya in to give me a little treat?"

"Shut your mouth!" Damin shouted. "Or you will pay for it later! Come, Frodo."

Damin shuttled Frodo down the corridor and to the flight of steps that he had just descended. Kneeling, he gripped Frodo by the shoulders and spoke more calmly. "You shouldn't have come here."

"I'm sorry if I bothered you—" Frodo flushed, embarrassed that Damin did not seem pleased to see him.

"No, never that." Damin shook his head and stood again. "But this is not a place for nice folk. And you're barefoot, which makes me worry that you'll step on any number of foul things in here. Remember what happened to me! Go on back to the Healing House, and I will meet you there in an hour!"

Though Frodo was disappointed that his visit had not only failed to please Damin but had upset him, he was more than a little relieved to be out of the dungeons. He gulped in the fresh air, reveling in the sunlight.

Frodo did not see the strong hand that grabbed him until he was against the wall in a tiny alley off the main road. He gasped, looking up; when he saw who it was, his heart pattered in nervous dread.

"Triston," he said quietly. The man still wore his bright red cloak.

The man kneeled beside him. "Hello, halfling. I'm sorry, but your name has escaped me."

"Frodo," Frodo said, frowning. He failed to see the necessity of dragging him into an alley. "What brings you here?"

"I was looking for you," Triston said, still not releasing Frodo's arm.

"What...What can I do for you?" Frodo asked, trying to keep his voice confident. "Why are we hiding?"

"I got the impression from our last visit that you have a heart...and I remembered that you work with Aven..." Triston sighed and looked down, his blue eyes clouded with sadness. "My son, a little lad of six summers, is in terrible pain. I do not know what ails him, but--"

"Bring him to us," Frodo interrupted. "We will have a look at him."

Triston let out a scornful laugh and spit on the ground, still not releasing Frodo's arm. "Your Aven, the one you work for, is very tightfisted with the kingsfoil."

"There is a shortage," Frodo said stiffly, uncomfortable with the obvious scorn in Triston's voice regarding Aven. "He saves it for the extreme cases."

Triston's grip on Frodo's arm tightened, and Frodo struggled not to react. He somehow suspected that might be dangerous with this man. "I warrant you received some when you were ill."

Frodo looked at him in suspicion, longing more than ever to break out of his grip and wish him a good day. This conversation was making him more uncomfortable with each passing moment. He wasn't sure anyone would hear him if he cried out for help, and it would only serve to worsen Triston's agitation. "How did you know I was ill?"

"Word gets around. Now will you help me? You surely do not wish a child to suffer."

"No," Frodo said faintly. "But you must bring him to--"

"Meet me at midnight tonight, right here in this alley, with a handful of kingsfoil."

Frodo's heart sped, and he could not get in enough breath. "I do not have leave to go into the garden...It is not part of my duty!"

"You will find a way." Triston's smile was cold. "You cannot tell me it is that difficult."

"I will not do it. It is not mine to take."

Triston shoved Frodo against the wall, and the hobbit stifled a cry as the back of his head was nicked by an uneven stone. "You would let a child die because you're too pure and moral to take what the king is hoarding for himself? Do you understand? A child will die if you do not do this for me!"

Frodo looked up in misery. "If you bring him in, I will make certain he is looked at. If he is in need of the kingsfoil, he shall have it."

"Frodo, I'm surprised." Triston shook his head, and his voice was deadly quiet. "I expected more cooperation from you. You leave me no choice but to tell you this next part. If you do not do this for me, I will tell my men to lie in wait for your dear friend Aven. They will beat him to death and it will look like a common robbery. And I have men at my command that will have no qualms about doing this. Is that what you want?" Triston shoved Frodo against the wall again. "I know you are very fond of him."

Above the jangling ringing in his ears, caused by his head hitting the wall the two times Triston had shoved him, Frodo heard heavy footsteps, and a harsh voice cried, "Release him!"

Frodo nearly wept in relief when he saw Holis striding toward them, eyes flashing with anger, sword in hand. Triston grunted and released Frodo, and Frodo stumbled away, holding the back of his head.

"I did not mean any harm," Triston said, spreading his arms in surrender. "It's just that my son is ill and—"

"I am not interested in your excuses." Holis strode to Triston, blocking him against the wall, and held his sword at his throat. "I think the king will not object to seeing you rot in the dungeons."

"No!" Frodo clutched Holis' arm, pulling at the man to draw his sword away from the wretched Tristan's exposed throat...Holis turned to him with an expression so dark and cold that Frodo nearly backed away with trembling legs. He forced himself to remain still, and in fact he spoke in as brave a voice as possible. "Holis, it is all right. Let him go. He didn't hurt me."

Very reluctantly, Holis drew back his sword, continuing to stare at the man in black hatred. "By Frodo's grace, you go free. If I see you again, I will not be so merciful."

Triston cast Frodo a final threatening look. "Remember." He fled down the alley, his red cloak flapping behind him.

Holis immediately kneeled beside Frodo. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," Frodo said, swaying on his trembling legs. "He did not hurt me."

"What happened?" Holis asked, drawing his powerful arms around Frodo to steady him.

"He...he was angry..." Frodo looked down, unable to meet Holis' sympathetic gaze. "Because...because his son is ill and he thinks Aven will not treat him."

"But why has he approached you?" Holis asked, but before Frodo could answer, the man grunted in disgust. "Oh, I know why. You're an easy target for him to bully. Why did you not allow me to lock him up?"

"His son is ill," Frodo said. He closed his eyes, trying to block out Triston's final threat against Aven's life. "If he is locked up, his son will have nobody to care for him."

"If he indeed has a son," Holis said with a cynical grimace. "Come, Frodo, I will walk you to your quarters."

Frodo straightened up, finally feeling strong enough to stand without support. "I'm to meet Damin at the Healing House..." He felt suddenly so weary that he longed to collapse into bed and sleep for days on end. That, of course, would not be possible since he had to meet Triston at midnight. "Though I do not much feel like it now."

"Do you wish me to give him a message instead?"

"Oh, would you?" Frodo said in relief. "Tell him...tell him to meet me tomorrow when he is off duty."

"I will do that." Holis squeezed Frodo's shoulder.

"Thank you, Holis." Frodo said. "You are a good friend."

Holis grimaced slightly. "It is really no matter. Damin is not far out of my way."

"No," Frodo said, looking up at him. "I meant for arriving when you did."

Holis' mouth was set in a grim line. "It is my duty to protect you."

"Why don't you come back to my chamber after you deliver the message to Damin?" Frodo asked, grabbing his hand. "You can--"

Holis looked down at him, his face still harsh. "I...No, Frodo. I do not think that would be a good idea."

Frodo flushed, a sudden memory washing over him, where he had heard through the fog of his illness Holis' quiet, desperate voice whispering to Aven of his feelings for Frodo. Though that had the potential to cause an awkward situation, Frodo felt safe, knowing that Holis would never risk his position to articulate his feelings. Frodo had occasionally caught expressions of stark pain and bitter longing on the man's face, but Holis had never otherwise betrayed his feelings. If in the agony of illness Frodo had not overheard him say "...he's so sweet and loving and he deserves the full attention of his lover" and Aven's response, "You are on very perilous ground," he would never have suspected anything.

"I am sorry," Frodo said, pulling his hand away miserably. If his mere presence was making Holis unhappy, then perhaps he should stop seeking out his company, though the idea made his heart sink in cold dismay.

"Do not apologize," Holis said in a faintly bitter voice. "Come, I do wish to make certain you reach your quarters safely."

Frodo followed Holis out of the alleyway. He walked beside the tall man in gloomy silence, feeling the awkward weight of Holis' unrequited feelings between them. More than that, he could not imagine how he was going to find a way into Aven's herb garden that night. He knew he would have to sneak in – he would never justify to Aven a reason to go to the herbs. Because of the shortage and the problem with thieves, only Aven picked the herbs. The only time Frodo had been in the garden was the first day when Aven had led him around the grounds. Frodo's heart thudded at the idea of doing something so unlawful. He'd likely be shot for a thief before they realized who he was...but worse than that, he could not bear to lose Aven's favor, to see the expression of betrayal on his face when he realized who the thief was.


Frodo paced in his chamber, barely able to keep his eyes open. He was afraid to sit on any of the plush settees in the room or his hobbit-sized chair, much less lie in bed. The clock ticked with agonizing slowness, and his shoulder had begun to ache again. He paced back and forth, holding a book on the history of Minas Tirith, reading it aloud with exaggerated expression, striving especially to pronounce the Elvish words correctly.

Finally, he put on his cloak and slipped out of his chamber, hoping he had allowed for plenty of time...to sneak into Aven's herb garden, get what he needed, and make his way to the alley where he would meet Triston. He hoped nobody would see him leave the castle...especially Holis, who would certainly protest his going out alone so late.

Frodo passed several guards, but they barely acknowledged him. And there was no reason for them to. Frodo was free to roam the city at will.

Outside, the air was crisp, and the stones under his tough feet felt cold and unyielding. In the upper level of the city, the only people out so late were the patrolling guards. Everyone else was either asleep or in taverns in the lower levels of the city.

When he reached the Healing House, his legs began to tremble so violently that he worried whether they would continue to support him. What excuse would he make to the night apprentices, who may not know him? Aven was on duty only during the day unless there was a sickness or injury that his night apprentices could not handle alone. He saw the tall guards who kept watch over the herb garden, their bows clutched in their hands, ready for use.

Frodo stopped, feeling cold all over. He could not do this. Triston's threats were probably unfounded.

But vividly before his eyes, he could all too clearly see Aven's kind face brutalized by the blows that Triston's men would deliver. If anything happened to him...Frodo would much rather risk being caught stealing the herbs. If he was sent to prison, then so be it. Triston at least could not bother him in the rat-infested dungeons below the castle.

Frodo slipped inside the Healing House, but instead of greeting the men who worked there, he crept soundlessly down the corridor, prepared to dash and hide if he heard or saw anyone. His stomach turned, and he heard his breath, harsh and raspy, echoing through his ears as he made his way through the small rooms until he reached the door to the garden. He stood there, momentarily paralyzed, his heart battering against his chest. It was odd that the guards protected the garden so ruthlessly from the outside, but it was so easy to reach the garden from the inside. Any thief could walk through the front door and slip unseen into the garden.

Of course, not every thief had Frodo's knowledge of the inside of the Healing House. Frodo's stomach rolled again. The Ringbearer was a common thief. He was no better a person than the man Aven had claimed had been slain for sneaking into the garden.

Frodo crept into the garden, clutching his cloak around him, as if it could give him the power of invisibility. He smiled grimly, craving the Ring. Bilbo had used it for burglary purposes...with no ill effect.

Frodo gasped when he noticed that one of the tall guards stood right above him on the high wall that surrounded the garden. If Frodo moved, even slightly, he would see his movement and shoot. His face heated and then immediately turned cold, and his heart sped until he felt faint.

Slowly Frodo bent to his knees, trying to still the banging of his heart. If he could make it behind the thick brush to his left, he could at least try to plan what to do next. He quickly scuttled behind the bush, but as he did so, his cloak got caught on the branches, causing them to shake and rustle.

"Who goes there?" a sharp voice called.

Frodo froze, suddenly nauseated as a cold pit filled his stomach. He knew that voice. He barely suppressed a whimper as he at last wriggled his cloak free from the thorny branches and desperately closed his eyes, as if that would prevent Holis from seeing him.

Frodo had faced horrors in Mordor that would always haunt him in the empty hours of the night. But even in the darkest moments, he had been spurred on by the knowledge that he was saving the Shire, working for good against the greatest evil. But now he was the cause of evil, the enemy, and that knowledge sent a chill from his poisoned shoulder down his arm until he felt sick to his stomach. If Holis caught him, – no matter what his personal feelings for Frodo were -- he would be obliged to lock him in the dungeons...and he would have the perfect right to do so. Aragorn would likely be relieved, as it would be the perfect solution to rid himself of the hobbit who clung to an unreturned love.

Through a break in the bush's leaves, Frodo spied a clump of kingsfoil. Slowly, his hand trembling so badly he could not hold it steady, he reached through the break in the leaves.

"There's somebody here," Holis said, his voice cold and stern. "You men keep your posts and I will flush him out and slay him."

Frodo stuffed the kingsfoil in his pocket and curled into a terrified ball, trembling wildly. How was he going to get out without Holis seeing him? His heart battered so hard that he could not breathe.

Something slammed hard into his side, but he clenched his teeth, determined not to make a sound.

"I'll have you, thief. Make no mistake of that."

The object slammed into Frodo's back, and the pain drew tears to his eyes. He shut his eyes with regret. He could not handle another blow. "Wait!" he squeaked. "It's only me!"

A shocked silence followed. "Frodo?"

Frodo crawled out, swallowing the bile that threatened. He could not face the disdain on Holis' face.

Holis was on his knees, and as Frodo crawled out from the brush, the man grabbed his shoulders, squeezing tightly. "What are you doing here? Are you hurt?"

Frodo's side throbbed where Holis had hit him, but he did not want to admit it. Not now. "I...I'm sorry, Holis --"

"Aven should never have sent you out here! What was he thinking?" Holis' voice trembled. "He should have warned you...the guards have eager fingers on their bows, and they have direct orders to slay anyone in the garden after dark." He shook his head, letting out a shaky sigh. "I struck you with the hilt of my sword...felt the impact...Are you certain you are not hurt?"

"I'm all right...Aven's not here," Frodo said, squeezing back tears. "I..."

"Come, let's discuss this elsewhere," Holis said, his lips set in a grim line. Climbing to his feet, he waved the other guards away. "It's all right. He is no thief."

Still gripping Frodo's shoulder, he led the hobbit firmly through the Healing House and back into the shadowy street.

Frodo felt low and frightened. Judging by Holis' grim silence, Frodo guessed that he was about to lose one of the few friends he had made in Minas Tirith. Holis may have told the guards that he was not a thief, but he knew...had to know.

When Holis finally spoke, Frodo was surprised by the gentle tone of his voice. "I do not usually patrol this way and not generally this late at night, but this evening, I stopped to talk to the guards at the herb garden."

Holis found a stone hewn stairway and he sat, pulling Frodo beside him.

"I'm sorry, Holis," Frodo said, wrapping himself tightly in his cloak, unable to stop shaking. "I did not intend to cause you trouble."

"I'll speak to Aven," Holis said in a choked voice. "How would we have felt if we had slain you?"

"I will speak with him," Frodo said, casting his eyes down. "I don't want...I would rather speak to him myself."

Holis gripped Frodo's chin, forcing him to look into eyes that were piercing and grim. "Aven did not give you permission to be in the garden."

Frodo met the man's gaze, his eyes wet. "Please, Holis..."

Holis shook him lightly. "Do not tell me you are one of the thieves, Frodo." He swallowed and winced, as if the thought made him want to vomit. "The king has given us complete authority to slay on sight any thief in the herb garden...and from what I understand, he doesn't care whether it's his own kin. Do you think I can bear the thought of you in that kind of danger?"

Frodo breathed quickly, wincing under Holis' unyielding grip. Finally, he spoke in a faltering voice. "It is Triston...the man you chased away earlier today." His lips shook. "If I don't...if I do not give him the kingsfoil, he will kill Aven."

Frodo watched Holis' face reflect a myriad of emotions – murderous hatred, fury at Frodo for allowing himself to get into such a predicament, fear for the one he loved and for his position as Captain of the Guard.

"You have the kingsfoil now?" Holis asked quietly, releasing Frodo's chin. Frodo nodded, and a surge of weariness filled his limbs.

"By allowing you...by saying nothing..." Holis swallowed. "...if you were anyone else..." He wiped his brow, relaxing his grip on Frodo's arm. "Frodo, I cannot bear to see you hurt...you must know my feelings for you...my admiration for you...for your deeds...I know of nobody braver."

"That no longer matters," Frodo said, bowing his head in grief. He, the Ringbearer, had stolen healing herbs from a garden sadly lacking...to give them to a thief. He leaned against Holis, barely aware of the man putting his arm around him and squeezing him close.

"Yes it does," Holis said. "Nothing can take that away."

"You must think so poorly of me now," Frodo said dully. "That is the worst thing about all this."

"It is not your fault." Holis straightened, and his voice hardened. "I will accompany you to meet this thief and this time I will show no mercy. I will not allow him to threaten you or Aven."

"No!" Frodo said, clutching the man's hand and looking up at him, his eyes wide and frightened. "You must not do this! He has loyal friends."

"What would you have me do?" Holis asked, his voice shaking with rage. "Allow you to go into danger? Allow you to continue to thieve for them against your will until you are slain by the guards?"

"I do not wish to do this again. I will...I will tell Aragorn when he comes home. I will tell him everything and he will help."

"Will you?" Holis asked bitterly. "Will he listen?"

Frodo jumped to his feet, his face hot with shame. "If you wish to punish me, do not do it by twisting my state of affairs with Aragorn!"

Holis sighed, his mouth turning down, and Frodo immediately felt pity for the man. He had put his life on the line by speaking so frankly.

"I am sorry, Frodo," Holis said. "It is only that I cannot accept that the Ringbearer, the one who should be most honored in all of Middle earth, is in such a predicament. I apologize for what I said about Aragorn, but allow me to be frank. I am frightened for you. How dear are you to him?"

Frodo's chest ached as he sat beside Holis again. He tried to picture Aragorn's face gentle with love for him, but he could only conjure an image of the king looking at him in utmost disgust.

"What—why do you ask?"

"I risk treason by speaking such to you, and my life is forfeit if what I say angers you."

"Speak," Frodo said, his face feeling numb.

Holis released a sigh. "It seems to me that the king little appreciates the treasure that he has. You love him, Frodo. I see it in the way your eyes shine when you speak about him, the wretched disappointment in your face the day I informed you he was delayed. It broke my heart, Frodo, seeing you in pain."

"What does this have to do with..." Frodo said stiffly.

"Only this. The king holds you in such little regard that he did not return when you were deathly ill—"

"He is a king," Frodo said, his eyes flashing. "He has many duties that expand beyond one sick hobbit!"

"Nothing would have kept me from you!" Holis said, gripping both of Frodo's arms, his face filled with pain. "Do you know how close you came to death?"

"You are making me very uncomfortable."

Holis shook his head, a bitter smile curving his lips. "I love you, Frodo. You'd have to be a village idiot not to guess that by now. My life is in your hands to do with as you will. I will never speak of it again because it makes you uncomfortable and it can never be."

"Why...?" Frodo said, his throat dry.

"How can I not love you, Frodo? You are the size of a child of eight or nine summers here...yet...you battled the Dark Lord and his servants and survived. You walked into Mordor, the place no man wishes to speak of, much less enter, not even with an army of ten thousand men. You faced horrors I cannot even begin to imagine. Yet you sit here before me...your face is pure and innocent, as if that evil could not touch you at all."

"I am not innocent," Frodo said with a weary sigh. "Look at what I am about to do. And I must go now. Triston will not wish to be kept waiting."

"Frodo," Holis said. "You know I cannot allow you to go into danger alone."

"You cannot go with me!" Frodo cried. "Do you wish to put Aven into danger?"

"No," Holis said, letting out an angry sigh. "You go forth and give that foul man what he wants. I will hide nearby, out of sight. If you get into trouble, you call out. Understand?"

Frodo nodded, finally relieved to have someone that knew about everything.

"Yes." Frodo hugged Holis, squeezing tight, and kissed his cheek. Holis' face turned swiftly, and before Frodo was aware of what was happening, he and Holis were locked in a furious kiss. Frodo was too weak from shock and trepidation to push him away, and he found he did not wish to. His lips melted into the kiss, and tears welled in his eyes, as it had been too long since he had felt a kiss so tender and searching.

Holis broke the embrace, and his face was pale, his eyes full of fear. "I am sorry."

As they gazed at each other, Frodo noticed Holis' hands trembling. The man closed his eyes.

"It is as much my fault," Frodo said dully. "I'm afraid I needed it. You were right, Holis. Things are..." He looked down the street warily, but he did not see anyone. "Things are not ideal between Aragorn and myself."

"Yes," Holis said.

"I fear he no longer..." Frodo's throat caught. "I fear he does not love me as he once did."

Holis' jaw stiffened but he said nothing.

Frodo shook himself from his daze and jumped to his feet. "I must go now! I'm afraid I am already late meeting Triston."

Holis forced his face into an impervious mask. "I'll be behind you."

Frodo's stomach heaved as he got closer to the dark alley. As he approached it, he saw a long dark shadow, and he cringed inside, remembering Triston's temper and hoping that he wouldn't do anything to attract Holis' protective rage.

"There you are," Triston said, staggering. He reeked of ale. "I was beginning to wonder if you cared enough about old Aven to bring me what I needed."

"It was not free of risk," Frodo said stiffly, handing him the kingsfoil. "I was nearly caught."

"You don't impress me," Triston said scornfully. "You can't tell me they would kill the king's special little...what did Holis call you? Treasure?" He laughed and leaned against the wall, hovering above Frodo.

Frodo's stomach turned cold. Had Triston overheard his latest conversation with Holis? Had he seen...?

"Now how about a reward from old Triston for doing as you're told?"

"What do you mean?" Frodo asked sharply. Triston dropped to his knees, clearly drunk. He roughly grasped Frodo around the waist and leaned his chin on Frodo's shoulder, nearly causing Frodo to fall with his weight.

"See?" Triston whispered in his ear. "I know about your big shadow. I didn't say nothing because it doesn't matter. You and I both know that whether Aven lives or not depends on how well you work with me. Now, do you feel something big and hard pressing into your leg?"

Frodo nodded, squeezing his eyes shut in terror and feeling so cold and numb that he couldn't speak or move.

"Oh, it's not so much that you'd be a good lay that's making me hard, though I imagine you would, given that the king keeps you and all. What's making me hard is how easily I can hurt the king with one of several actions. I can inform him of a kiss I witnessed between you and the good Captain." Frodo's heart battered painfully, and his stomach turned. He had seen. "Or perhaps the king could receive word that his little Shire friend's been pilfering the kingsfoil. Or at some point I might just do this." Triston removed his arms from Frodo's waist and gripped Frodo's neck. "I could easily snap your neck. Any one of those things, perhaps all three of them would hurt the king, and therefore would make me very happy. So you see, halfling, it's really nothing personal against you."

Frodo's chest heated with rage. "You have no right to do this!" His throat filled, and he felt battered and broken, dismayed to find that tears had filled his eyes.

"Oh, don't weep. That may work with the others, but I still have more I require from you."

"Leave me in peace," Frodo said. "I will not do anything more for you."

"Oh, yes you will. For now I want only a kiss, just like you gave the Captain not too long ago."

Frodo's lips parted in disgust, and Triston took full advantage. His lips crushed the hobbit's until he could barely breathe. He pushed at Triston's chest, but it was hard and unyielding like a stone wall.

"That is all," Triston said, shoving Frodo away. "Go on, now. I'm finished with you for tonight. I will find you when I need you again."

Frodo staggered into the main street, and it was not too long before Holis met him.

"Are you all right?"

Frodo nodded. They had no time for further conversation before three guards ran to them.

"Captain, we have been searching everywhere for you," the first guard said. "The king is arriving now into the city."

Frodo clutched his chest, barely able to breathe. Aragorn had come back! Frodo took in deep breaths, trying to gain the strength to face Aragorn, his brain whirling with so many thoughts that it made him dizzy. He was desperate to lie in his arms again, yet furious at him for neglecting him during his illness. But if he swallowed his anger, he could bask in Aragorn's gentle smile...could beg for Aragorn's protection against Triston, both for Aven and for himself.

As his heart soared with a happiness and hope he hadn't felt in weeks, he watched Holis' face crumple. He wanted to offer him some parting words of comfort, but he could say nothing in front of the other guards.

And even Holis' pain could not block the joy Frodo felt that on this night he would finally lie in the warmth and safety of Aragorn's arms.

Aragorn was so weary that the idea of listening to the Captain's report filled him with dread. His muscles ached as though he had a fever, and his mind was foggy. He wished he could sneak past his guards unnoticed until he reached his chamber. He would crawl into bed, cradle his dear Frodo in his arms, and sleep for at least three days.

Frodo's anger at him before he had left seemed distant, and he hoped that the time apart had allowed Frodo to forgive him. Yes, he was bone weary, but he would not sleep until he saw Frodo's eyes tender with forgiveness. A chill ran down his back as he remembered his nightmare in which he had beaten Frodo to his death. Aragorn vowed from this day forward that he would never again batter Frodo's heart with neglect or harsh words.

"Welcome, my liege," Holis said, bowing.

"I am weary, Holis, so I will ask you to hold the reports until tomorrow. If they have waited thus far, they can wait until morning. I need to sleep."

Holis nodded. "As you wish, my liege."

Aragorn was not certain whether his fatigue was causing him to perceive that which was not real, but it seemed a shadow passed over the guard's face at Aragorn's mention of sleep.

Aragorn continued. "I do have concerns about a message I received while in Emyn Arnen, but I shall not worry about it just now."

He was surprised by a sudden angry flush on Holis' face.

"What is it?" Aragorn asked, suddenly fully alert. "Do you know more about this?"

"My liege, it is not my place to question your decisions..." Holis swallowed several times as if trying to control his emotions.

"Speak."

"He was heartbroken you did not come." Aragorn doubted that Holis was aware of how much angry accusation was in his eyes.

"I am too weary to play riddling games, Holis."

"He was near death." Holis swallowed again, hard and deliberately, clearly trying to contain a rage he did not dare show. "And you did not come. I merely wonder at it."

"Near death..." Cold pressure filled Aragorn's chest and he grabbed Holis' shoulder. "Is it Frodo?"

"Frodo was very ill." Holis suddenly looked uncertain. "Did you not receive the message, my liege?"

"Ill?" Aragorn's heart battered painfully against his chest. "Ill? How? Is he recovered?"

Holis nodded. "He has recovered, but it was close. The message --"

"You told him you sent a message to me..." Aragorn said, his stomach rolling. That Frodo had been so ill -- near death -- and Aragorn had not known, shook him deep inside. He had to see him at once. "And then I did not come. What must he think?"

Aragorn urged his horse up the levels of the city, heedless of whether his guards kept up, wishing he could ride as fast as in the open country. Holis held back, did not follow him, but Aragorn had no time to marvel at how deeply Frodo's illness seemed to have affected the Captain. Aragorn only felt sick inside, imagining how it would be if he had come home to the news of Frodo's death.

---

Aragorn found Frodo pacing near the window in their chamber. The hobbit turned, cried out in joy, and ran to his lover. Aragorn fell to his knees, enveloping Frodo in his arms, holding him close, desperately relieved to hear the hobbit's strong heartbeat.

Aragorn kissed Frodo hungrily on the lips. "I'm so sorry. I did not know you were ill. I never received the message, else I would have come immediately. Please believe I would have come."

"I know," Frodo said, his voice cracking. He nuzzled his soft cheek against Aragorn's neck, sagging into the Man's embrace as if his limbs had given out. "I knew there had to be a reason."

"I missed you so much," Aragorn said as Frodo pressed frantic kisses all over his neck, cheeks, and lips. "I made you unhappy...I just want to lie with you, hold you close."

"Yes, now," Frodo said, his wide blue eyes filling with tears of open joy that shamed Aragorn. Time and time again, Aragorn had hurt the one he loved more than anyone else, the one who loved him back unconditionally. "Come to bed."

Once under the covers, Aragorn held Frodo close, rubbing the hobbit's arms as if trying to warm them. "Tell me about your illness."

"It was my shoulder," Frodo said softly. "The wound Gandalf said would never heal. I'm all right now."

Aragorn kissed Frodo's head. "I will never...I will be with you from now on when your illnesses come on."

Frodo squirmed in the Man's arms, turning until he was facing Aragorn. He slid his arms around Aragorn's neck, pressing his body against him. His thigh rubbed playfully against Aragorn's groin.

"No, Frodo," Aragorn whispered, though his breath caught somewhat. "Not tonight. I want to... love you so much...but I am weary beyond reckoning. Let me just hold you tonight."

---

Frodo's cheeks glowed the next day as he helped Aven wrap clean bandages.

"I've not seen you look so happy in a long time, Frodo," Aven said, smiling slightly, despite a worried pucker in his brow. "It cheers my heart."

"What is the matter, Aven?" he asked. "You seem upset."

"Aye." Aven nodded, but before he could speak, Aragorn entered. Aven bowed. Frodo's heart soared, as Aragorn had not sought him outside their chamber in such a long time.

"I have come to take Frodo with me, to join me for lunch." He chuckled slightly. "I have rid myself of all my advisors for the time."

"Oh, yes!" Frodo jumped to his feet. Then he paused, glancing at Aven. "That is, if that is all right with you."

"Far be it from me to try to go against the king's wishes," Aven said, forcing a smile. "My liege, may I have a word with you before you leave?"

"Certainly."

Aven sighed deeply. "I was just about to inform Frodo as well, but...Last night, more kingsfoil was stolen. Now all that remains is a single clump, barely enough to help one person."

"Are you certain?" Aragorn asked sharply. When his gray eyes became hard and stern, Frodo's heart thudded against his chest. In the excitement of Aragorn's arrival, he had nearly forgotten the horrid events of the night before. Now his stomach sank, and a sour strangling filled his throat.

"Yes, my lord. We are in serious trouble."

Aragorn flushed, balling his hands into fists. "Aven, that thief...or thieves... must be caught. I will show no mercy. When he is caught, I want him brought before me and I will slay him myself." Aragorn slammed his fist into the wall, causing both Frodo and Aven to flinch. Frodo had never seen him lose control, and it sickened him. "I am sorry." The king drew his lips into a thin, grim line. "As a healer myself, this angers me beyond anything I've felt before. I will double the guards in the herb garden tonight."

"That is well," Aven said. "For if you slay the thief, I should like to be there to spit in his eye."

Aragorn nodded. He turned to Frodo. "Are you ready?"

"Yes." Frodo came to Aragorn, who took his small hand and squeezed it, absentmindedly rubbing it while staring forward in anger. "You're cold and shaky, Frodo." He looked down and smiled softly at the hobbit. "Do not worry -- we will catch him. And he will pay."

---

"Holis, I'm very concerned about Frodo."

"My liege?"

Aragorn noticed the guard visibly tense. "He's so quiet and withdrawn, but when I ask him what bothers him, he only says he's tired. He has taken to feigning sleep when I come to bed, and often, he is already dressed and gone before I wake up. I barely see him as of late, and when I do, he is nervous and flustered. Worst of all, he recoils from my touch, and I do not understand it. I know you were kind enough to keep him company while I was gone, and that you two became good friends. Tell me, have you noticed this behavior in him? Has he confided anything in you?"

"That is certainly odd," Holis said, and Aragorn was quite sure he caught a tremble in the guard's voice. "It's not like him, is it? I wish that I could help, but in truth, I have not seen him since you arrived home last week."

---

When Frodo heard the chamber door open, he began to concentrate on his breathing. In and out, deep and relaxed. That was the only way that Aragorn would believe he was asleep.

Just four days earlier, he had been sent to the herb garden for the second time and stolen the final clump of kingsfoil. Since then, he had been unable to meet Aragorn's eyes. Triston had not been satisfied by the puny clump Frodo had presented to him, and he had struck the hobbit hard several times in the stomach, leaving him to gasp painfully for breath, before he had threatened him with worse if he did not manage to find more kingsfoil by the next time. The bruises from Triston's rough treatment had ached for days.

Each time he had taken a breath to tell Aragorn everything, he pictured Aragorn's stern countenance as he vowed to find and punish the thief. He thought about Holis and how precarious his position was. He thought about how vulnerable Aven was, should Triston carry out his threat.

He couldn't do it...couldn't tell Aragorn. Surely Triston would soon understand that there truly was no more kingsfoil to be had, and then he would leave Frodo alone.

"Frodo."

Frodo feigned a light groan and turned a little. Most of all, he did not want Aragorn to touch him, because if he did, he might want to make love. The bruises on his tender abdomen skin and on his upper arms were far too dark to pass Aragorn's notice.

"Frodo." Aragorn's voice was insistent, and now he shook Frodo's shoulder. "Frodo, wake up."

Frodo opened his eyes a crack, but he bolted up, fully awake, when he saw the grim expression on Aragorn's face. "What is it?"

"Holis has been badly injured, and he is calling for you."

Frodo clutched his chest, which had turned icy as his heart galloped out of control. A roaring filled his ears. "What has happened?"

Aragorn shook his head, throwing Frodo's shirt and breeches on the bed. "I do not know what he thought he was doing, without aid, but he rode into the lower levels of the city to try to clean up some of the problems. He killed a man...one of the thieves we have been tracking, a man by the name of Triston."

Frodo gasped as he pulled his nightshirt over his head, turning away so that Aragorn could not see the bruises on his belly. "What happened?..." Frodo asked as if Aragorn had not said anything. "Is Holis...?"

As he dressed, his thoughts whirled. Holis had foolishly killed Triston, but Triston had many friends and he had probably made them all aware that Holis was protecting Frodo.

Holis, you must pull through this, Frodo thought as tears sprang to his eyes.

"He is grievously injured," Aragorn continued. "He has been sliced over his abdomen, and we have...there is no kingsfoil left to ease his pain. Aven is doing his best to close and clean the wound."

Frodo's burning cheeks were relieved only by the tracks of tears that now freely streamed from his eyes. He jumped out of bed and fetched his cloak. Everything was his fault. Holis was badly hurt, and because of the kingsfoil Frodo had stolen, there was no way to ease his pain. Holis had fought for him from the beginning, had been willing to sacrifice everything – his position, his very life, to ease Frodo's pain. And now he lay badly injured, possibly dying, and Frodo could do nothing to ease his pain in return.

Aragorn squeezed his shoulder in brief reassurance as they left the chamber, but instead of feeling better, Frodo's stomach rolled. Aragorn had behaved in a kind and loving manner toward him since coming home from Emyn Arnen, but if he knew...if he had any idea what Frodo had done, that kindness would disintegrate – and he would deserve it. Frodo pictured Holis suffering and bleeding in bed, with no relief for pain, and he closed his eyes, vowing that if the Captain survived, he would endure anything. Now that Triston was dead, he could tell Aragorn all that had happened, whatever the price.



Frodo wiped his eyes with his sleeve, struggling to keep pace with the king's long strides, and by the time they reached the Healing House, Frodo was weeping freely again. If Aragorn was so worried, had bothered to wake him out of sleep, then Holis' injuries must be grave indeed.

Holis, you cannot die.

Throughout the past weeks of wretched tension, during which time Frodo had been sure Aragorn no longer loved him...he had been so terribly ill...he had encountered Triston three horrible times...he had stolen the healing herbs, Holis had been the only stable force, a protector who loved him despite what he had become.

Frodo rushed to the bed as Holis let loose a gut-wrenching groan. Frodo clutched Holis' huge hand, now cold and clammy, and Holis opened his eyes. His pallid face relaxed into a faint smile when he saw Frodo.

"Frodo..." he whispered. "He's dead...He...he can't harm you anymore..." He clutched Frodo's sleeve. "Listen..."

"Don't speak," Frodo said, his jaw trembling. "Hush...you must rest."

"Oh, don't..." Holis reached up to wipe the tears from Frodo's cheek, but his hand fell limply back on the coverlet. "...doesn't hurt too badly."

"It's my fault you're hurt," Frodo said, trying to swallow away the strangling hold on his throat. He wanted more than anything to be able to speak words that would make Holis understand how much Frodo appreciated his kindness and selfless devotion.

"No," Holis said, wincing again. "...couldn't bear him hurting you...worth it."

"Rest, Holis. We have nothing to ease your pain." Frodo's voice cracked at that last. "But I am here...and I shall stay..."

Suddenly Holis' hand clamped around on Frodo's wrist, and he writhed and bucked, moaning desperately, his eyes squeezed shut. Frodo gasped, trying to endure the unbearable pressure on his wrist as Holis' grip continued to tighten. Finally it became too much, and Frodo cried out. Holis was unaware of anything but his pain, and he could not let go.

Aven rushed into the room and pried Holis' hand from Frodo's wrist. "There now, let go of Frodo, Holis. Let go. Easy does it."

Once free, Frodo collapsed to his knees, nursing his throbbing wrist. The agony Holis had to be feeling...it was unfair that such a good man should suffer. Frodo should not have cried for help. He deserved any pain that Holis would inflict on him, even if it was unintentional.

"Are you injured?" Aven asked, grasping Frodo's shoulder, and Frodo shook his head.

"I'm all right," he said, climbing back to his feet. "Just bruised."

"Holis needs to be kept still. He will reopen the wound if he thrashes like that. We need someone who is friendly with Holis but strong enough to hold him down while the king treats him. Holis is a big man, and I have no doubt he'd send even me flying against the wall if I tried to hold him down. I've sent for your friend Damin."

"He's in so much pain," Frodo said, looking at Holis.

"I know," Aven said shortly. "But what can I do about it? Nothing." He paused, clearly sorry for being so brusque, and squeezed Frodo's shoulder. "Just have a care, letting him hold your hand like that. The next wave of pain, he's likely to crush your wrist."

"Where's Aragorn?" Frodo asked. If Holis crushed his wrist, he, too, would endure terrible pain with no relief. It was the price he should pay.

He had never felt so low. Even in the months following the destruction of the Ring when he had lain crushed under the guilt of claiming it, something inside him had understood that he had simply not been strong enough. Nobody would have been strong enough.

In this situation, he had been full of cowardice. He should confided in Aragorn as soon as he returned, but he had feared the outcome. But that had been foolish, because Aragorn would have made certain that both Frodo and Aven were protected from Triston's rage. Holis need never have encountered him alone.

"I am here." Aragorn entered the room. "I conducted another search in the garden to see if perhaps we had overlooked some kingsfoil. The filthy thief left nothing." Aragorn sighed. "I want Aven to get some rest, and Frodo, you must leave for a time. Where is Damin?"

"I wish to stay," Frodo said. "Holis needs me."

"I'm going to have to do something that will cause Holis a great deal of pain. He is dear to you, and I don't want you to see it." The sternness in Aragorn's voice left no room for argument.

Frodo tugged at Aven's sleeve. "Aven, you need rest, but first let us go out and get breath of fresh air."

Aven nodded and followed Frodo until they were outside, sitting on the stone steps. The stone felt cold under Frodo's bottom, and he shivered. The vision of Holis writhing and moaning like a dying animal burned in his mind.

"Dear Frodo," Aven said, putting his arm around the hobbit's shoulder. "I know how you care for him. He is in pain, but he will not die."

"Are you certain?" Frodo asked, his throat tightening. He wished more than ever that he could unburden himself to this kind man, to tell him everything about Triston and the stolen herbs. He would leave Holis' part of the story out.

"Not unless his wound gets infected, and between King Elessar and myself, that will be unlikely to happen."

"The kingsfoil," Frodo said faintly, his heart spurting, causing his ears to fill with roaring. "I must tell you--"

"I hope the thieves have made good use of it," Aven said, his mouth forming a grim line again. "For it does us no good."

"The kingsfoil..."

"Alas, Frodo, Minas Tirith is still in ruin if we are surrounded by thieves even in a most sacred place of healing." He stood. "And now I will catch some rest for a few hours. You must get some rest, too, for I will need your help tomorrow."

"Goodnight," Frodo said, his heart still battering his chest. He pressed his palms together, trying to stop their trembling.

Heavy boots and the jangling of chain mail startled Frodo out of his misery, but he jumped to his feet with joy when he saw it was Damin.

Damin grasped Frodo's shoulders. "What has happened to Holis?"

"He is badly hurt. The king needs your assistance to hold him steady. Go on in, Aragorn will explain."

Damin nodded, releasing Frodo as he rushed into the Healing House.

Frodo fell back on the steps again. He had to do something, had to tell someone, whatever the price. Nothing could make up for causing Holis such agony. For a moment he paused, breathless, seeing himself on the brink of flames, a band of fiery malice around his finger. Had he not sacrificed enough? When would there be rest? He leaned against a stone pillar and shut his eyes.

"Frodo." Aragorn's heavy hand was suddenly on Frodo's shoulder. "Holis is sleeping."

"How is he?" Frodo asked, climbing to his feet. He had slept, though he could not tell whether it had been a few minutes or a few hours.

"I have healed the wound. Holis will live, though he will be bound to his bed for weeks." Aragorn grimaced. "It burns my heart not to be able to give him something for the pain. He called out to you, Frodo, but I do not wish to wake him now. You may go to him in the morning. Come, let us try to get some sleep."

---

Once in their chamber, Aragorn crawled on the bed beside Frodo and began to fumble at the hobbit's clothing. Frodo recoiled, pushing at Aragorn's hard chest. He did not deserve the attention of his lover, not after the harm he had caused.

"No, no, Aragorn. Holis..."

"Frodo, please." Aragorn unbuttoned Frodo's shirt, sucking on the hobbit's neck ravenously. "We've had such a night. We need this. I need this."

"Blow out the lamps," Frodo said, pulling away, holding his shirt together with trembling hands.

Aragorn ripped his hands away in sudden anger. "Why will you not let me touch you? Not once since I've returned. Are you punishing me for the way I treated you before I left? I have apologized on several occasions. What more do you want?"

Frodo shook his head. "No, it's not...it's all right, Aragorn." He crawled toward Aragorn, unable to bear the anger in the king's face, an anger that could easily turn into stony indifference.

Aragorn slid Frodo's shirt from his shoulders and gasped. Frodo's heart sank as the Man gripped his shoulders, meeting his gaze fully.

"From whence did these bruises come?"

Frodo's lips parted in dismay. Was this the time to tell him, half dressed in bed? He found he could not speak.

"Did somebody hurt you?"

Frodo swallowed. He shut his eyes, hating himself more for lying. "Holis. He thrashed out in pain."

"I will look more closely at it in the full light of morning," Aragorn said more softly, running his hand over the wounds. Frodo shuddered under his touch, grateful that he had not had to speak his heart just yet. He would make sure that he was out of bed before Aragorn awoke.

"I am all right. Truly." Frodo leaned his head up, capturing Aragorn's lips in his, pulling the man to lie on top of him. Aragorn easily surrendered, kissing Frodo frantically. His hands were strong and insistent as they roamed Frodo's back and sides, slid into his breeches over his hips, and over his buttocks, kneading them roughly. Frodo slipped his hands under Aragorn's tunic and shirt, filled with a sudden fierce possessiveness as his fingers skimmed over the silky hair on the Man's muscular chest. Mine, he's all mine, and I intend to keep it that way. Aragorn grunted with desperate need as he ripped Frodo's breeches down, and suddenly Frodo was filled with searing heat, pumping first pain then shuddering pleasure through him. Frodo's gasps of delight turned to loud cries as his burdens slid from his shoulders in waves.

"I love you so much, Frodo" Aragorn said hoarsely as sticky warm fluid seeped between Frodo's thighs. "...so much."

Tomorrow, Frodo thought, clutching Aragorn's hair as he bucked his hips upward. I'll tell him tomorrow.

---

"What is it, Frodo?" Aven sounded irritated. The dark circles under his eyes were a fierce contrast to his fair skin. He did not look as though he had gotten much rest.

"I must talk to you." Frodo swallowed in determination.

"Can you not see the work we must do? Holis has survived the night but he is still in terrible amount of pain. I need you to boil some water right away."

"Aven, it will be short. In private."

Aven nodded shortly and led Frodo into a small room, no bigger than a storage closet.

"This is where I take my rest when there's no time to go home," Aven said with a wry smile. "There's nowhere to sit but on my bed. Now what is it?"

"This is all right," Frodo said, barely able to keep his voice stable. He wrung a section of his cloak with his sweaty palms. Now that the time had come, he wondered if he had the courage.

"What is it?" Aven asked, his eyes kindly.

"I know..." Frodo swallowed again. His stomach rolled and a discordant ringing filled his ears. "I know who took the kingsfoil."

Aven's concern turned to deadly calm. Frodo suddenly saw him as the warrior he had once been, and it sent cold, scattered pinpricks of fear over his chest. It was best not to draw this out, whatever the consequences.

"How can you know this?" Aven finally asked.

"Because...because it was me," Frodo said, willing his chin not to tremble. His hands clutching his cloak shook wildly, but he forced himself to meet Aven's gaze.

"Do not jest over such matters," Aven said. "This is not the time."

"Do you remember the day I got lost while seeking out supplies, when I was robbed?"

Aven's half smile faded and his eyes became cold stones.

Still, Frodo continued. "The man I told you about, who bothered me, he—"

"You do not jest?" Aven asked again, his voice like granite. "You betrayed my trust?"

"Yes..." Frodo swallowed again. It was useless to explain how it had come to be, as Aven did not care. Frodo had thought nothing would be worse than seeing Holis in such terrible pain, but this, the utter loss of Aven's good opinion, rivaled it.

"Does the king know?" Aven asked. Long gone was the fatherly sympathy that had been on his face only a few moments earlier. Frodo was not sure what he had expected from Aven. Perhaps only understanding from the Man who had treated him with such kindness. And if this was Aven's reaction, what could he expect from Aragorn?

"No, not yet."

"Get out." Aven's voice was deadly. "Get out now, lest I do something irrevocable."

Through blurred vision, Frodo stumbled out of the tiny room. He met Aragorn in the entrance to the Healing House.

"Where are you going?" Aragorn asked, grasping Frodo's shoulder.

Frodo wrenched himself out of his grip and pushed past him into the street. He had to go somewhere, disappear into the crowd, had to do something. He would get the herbs back. He would find the tavern where he had sat with Triston and his friends the regretful day he had gotten lost. He would likely die trying, but as far as he was concerned, his life was forfeit now, and he could not face Aragorn, could not bear to watch his face change to stone as Aven's had.



Aragorn strode into the Healing House, his sharp eyes searching for the cause of Frodo's distress. Frodo had pushed past him in anguish, and now Aven was approaching him with a pale grimace. He longed to follow Frodo, to give him comfort, but he would not until he discovered what had happened. The most obvious possibility made his stomach feel heavy and icy.

"Aven, has something gone amiss with Holis?"

Aven took several jagged breaths. "My king." He swallowed, and Aragorn's chest tightened until he found it difficult to breathe. His vision narrowed to only include Aven. What else, other than Holis' death, could have upset both Frodo and Aven so badly? Aven lifted his chin, his eyes deeply troubled. "What I am about to tell you might cost me my life, but it is my duty. I must."

"What is it?" Aragorn asked sharply. Could Aven have made a mistake while treating Holis? Aragorn found that difficult to believe. Aven was only slightly less knowledgeable about herbs and the treatment of battle wounds than himself. "Speak."

"Frodo professed something to me just now." Aven clenched his fists, and Aragorn suddenly realized that the healer was not struggling to control grief at all. He was trying to harness a wild rage.

"Speak plainly." Aragorn tensed, and he stifled an urge to shake the healer.

"Frodo is the kingsfoil thief." Aven massaged his pale brow with trembling fingers, shaking his head in disbelief. "Frodo."

Aragorn's chest filled with ice, and he found he could not speak.

"I've sent him away, my liege, and whether you banish me or throw me in the dungeons is your decision, but I want nothing more to do with that halfling."

Aragorn shook his numb head, still unable to speak. He had to say something. He should split this healer in two for uttering such appalling lies about Frodo. He grasped desperately for anything to say that would counter Aven's statement, but he could think of nothing.

"You speak in riddles." Aragorn clutched the hilt of his sword and forced his voice into stern command. "If you are to slander the name of the Ringbearer and one dearest to my heart, you must speak more plainly."

"He told me just now." Aven shook his head again, looking miserable. "You cannot understand just how much his deception wounds me. In the short time I've known him, I grew to love him, my liege...And Holis..." Aven's eyes suddenly narrowed as he turned toward the room where Holis lay in painful recovery. "I would guess that Holis knows something of this."

"Holis...?" Aragorn barely had the strength to utter the Captain's name as a newly disturbing thought came to him. The bruising...Aragorn had intended to examine Frodo's bruising again, because something the hobbit had said had not made sense, though now Aragorn's swarming senses could not discern what. "Did Holis attack Frodo yesterday in a fit of pain?"

Aven nodded curtly. "Holis twisted Frodo's wrist, but naught more." A brief flash in Aven's eyes spoke of what he barely was able to conceal, that he no doubt wished Holis had done more damage. Aragorn would deal with that later, after he understood everything. Whatever Frodo had done, he was still the Ringbearer and still deserved the respect of all the people of Middle earth.

And I still love him

He could still see the hobbit as he had been in bed the night before, squirming with pleasure, his cheeks rosy with wanting. His skin had been pale silk – except it had been marred by the bruising.

Frodo had lied about the bruising on his stomach, though Aragorn should have been able to call him on it. Even in the dim light of their chamber, the bruising had looked old and yellow.

"I will speak with Holis."

Aragorn's legs trembled as he approached Holis' bedside. How could Frodo be a common thief when it was not within his gentle nature? Only something unimaginably horrible would have driven him to it.

"Holis." Aragorn's voice came out sharper than he intended, and Holis' eyes flew open in surprise.

"My liege."

"I am sorry I have no time to inquire about your health as I should. I've had some distressing news."

"What is it?" Holis' brow creased in worry.

"Frodo." Aragorn swallowed, barely able to speak. He felt a moment of invertigo, and he clutched his knees until it passed.

Holis gripped Aragorn's arm with a strength that surprised Aragorn, given his injuries. "Is he well?"

Aragorn nodded. "Aven claims you may know something of Frodo...being the kingsfoil thief."

"My liege..." Holis breathed, turning pale.

"You do know." Aragorn stood and began pacing beside Holis' bed. He had not hurt like this in a long time. Angry hornets stung him all over, and hurtful questions nagged at him. How could Frodo have confided in Holis and not in himself? How could Holis have not informed him? How could this have happened?

Holis closed his eyes. "He needed my protection. While you were gone, that man -- orc would be more appropriate for

The bruises had nearly covered Frodo's entire abdomen area. Aragorn was breathless with rage. His love, the Ringbearer, being threatened and beaten by common criminals in his own city...and then confiding not in his lover, but in the captain of the Guard!

"Why did he not tell me?" Aragorn asked, clenching his hands into fists. "He told me nothing! Nothing!"

Aven had joined them, and he leaned against the entrance to Holis' room.

Holis watched them both through bleary eyes. "He was so frightened." He glanced toward Aven. "Triston threatened your life...said that if Frodo didn't steal the herbs that he'd arrange for your death." Aven blanched but said nothing. "I wanted to protect him. You were gone, my liege, and Frodo would not allow me to kill Triston because he was certain that others would carry out Triston's threat."

"How could this happen?" Aragorn asked fiercely. "I have thousands of soldiers and none of them were able to protect one halfling from harm within my own city?"

"They may have been able to help if the halfling in question had sought help," Aven said, though his eyes did not look as hate-filled as they had earlier.

Aragorn leaned heavily against the wall. "I have already publicly proclaimed the fate of the thief...already claimed the penalty of death." What was he to do when he confronted Frodo? He could not pretend it hadn't happened. The very idea of putting Frodo to death as a common thief sent a stabbing grief through him, and his stomach rolled with nausea. It brought to mind the nightmare he had had in Emyn Arnen in which he had beaten Frodo and had sliced his throat to end his pain.

He could never do that. Aside from not being able to imagine life without Frodo, Frodo's deeds had saved them all from falling under the sway of the Dark Lord. Carrying out his law would be absurd. He did not want to punish Frodo; he wanted only to hold him close, to kiss his soft lips and to protect him from further harm.

"Please no," Holis said, voice shaking. "Please have mercy on him."

Aragorn's voice was dull. "By merit of being the Ringbearer he is exonerated from such fate, but you know I cannot let it go completely. I have a kingdom looking to me as a model for justice."

"And shall I share Frodo's fate?" Holis asked quietly. "Whatever that may be?"

"I will have to consider it." Aragorn put his head in his hands.

"Please," Holis said. "Allow me to bear his punishment, my liege. You can proclaim I am the thief, as I should have protected him better. It is only...I cannot bear for him to hurt more than he already has. He loves you so, my lord, and it will tear him apart if you are not kind--" Holis' voice broke off and he looked suddenly worried. "Where is he?"

Aven swallowed. "I sent him away. This is...I did not know he was trying to protect me. But he should not have stayed silent. He should have sought help."

"You sent him away?" Holis asked, breathing rapidly..

"Where would he go?" Aragorn asked.

"He'll do something foolish," Holis said. "He'll want to right this wrong." He looked down at his bandaging in disgust. "Damn my injuries. Damn them." The captain's eyes were wet. "I am useless to him."

Aragorn did not hear Holis' last utterance, as he was already out the door, gathering every soldier in sight for the largest search party ever to have been commissioned in Minas Tirith.


Frodo's legs trembled and nearly buckled under his weight as he paused in the alley called Tower Point and gazed upon the rotting boards that blocked the windows of what had once been the supply shop. He breathed in rapid gasps of frustration and stinging hurt and grief.

Triston had been storing the stolen kingsfoil right here in this shop.

As Frodo had run in blind grief down the winding streets of Minas Tirith, desperate to turn his wrongs to right or die trying, it had clicked for him. While in Emyn Arnen, Aragorn had received a message meant for Orlion, the owner of the shop, and had not received the message meant for him detailing Frodo's illness. Triston had known about Frodo's illness, so the message meant for the king had no doubt been left at the abandoned shop. If Triston had found and read it, then he must have regularly frequented the abandoned shop -- and what better reason than if he were conducting shady business there?

One day, long after Frodo had gotten lost trying to find the shop, Aven had learned that Orlion had disappeared without a trace under suspicious circumstances. Aven's voice had been kind then, and his smile had been fond. Frodo's eyes burned with coming tears, knowing he would never see that smile again.

A pain crushed his chest, and he sagged to his knees on the stone road in the darkest grief he had experienced since Bilbo had left him Bag End without even a goodbye...and before that, the death of his parents. Aragorn must know by now. He must know and hate him. Aven's eyes had been full of hatred, and nothing would have kept him from informing the king who the kingsfoil thief was.

Through tear-blurred eyes, Frodo glanced up and down the empty alley. Trembling, he padded to the front door. He needed to take his chance now, while nobody was in sight to watch him slip inside the shop. If the door was locked, he was not sure what he would do. He was not strong enough to break the boards to the windows.

The door opened easily, and Frodo slipped inside, heart thudding. Despite the bright morning, the store was dark. Frodo paused, a low whimper escaping his throat. If he took another step, he might go sprawling into anything. But there was no time to seek out a lantern. His brow beaded with nervous sweat, and the hair behind his neck stirred uneasily. A place this vital would not be left unguarded forever. The front door was the only means of escape, and if someone entered, Frodo would be cornered.

He had no choice but to continue. To return to Aragorn empty-handed would only get him thrown into the dungeons or worse, banished from Aragorn's heart forever. Frodo had seen it before. Aragorn could turn so regal, so harsh when he judged. The Ring had nearly broken Frodo, but it had not the power to tear him apart as brutally as Aragorn's cold regard.

Frodo dropped to his knees onto a dusty wooden floor and crawled over the dusty, knotted floor. He felt blindly for a basket or trunk where Triston and his men would have stored the stolen herbs. Every street sound caused his stomach to turn with dread. The stomp of boots sent him into a quivering mess, and he cringed, expecting the door to fly open at any moment.

He fumbled with old crates, stacked in a tall pile in the back corner, sneezing every time he disturbed clouds of dust. His eyes slowly adjusted to the dark, and he could see the looming shadows of crates, books, and baskets. Raucous laughter sounded just outside the door, and Frodo scuttled into the darkest corner he could find, his heart hammering so hard he could barely breathe. After a short time in which nothing happened, and he slowly calmed.

"I cannot linger here," he muttered as he brushed a lid off a wooden crate behind the counter, and he shuddered in revulsion as a large spider scampered over his hand and dropped to the floor. The strong smell of athelas that wafted from the crate brought him swiftly back to Weathertop, and he heard Aragorn's soothing voice. His shoulder throbbed and he grasped it, rubbing gingerly before slipping his hands inside the box and clasping handfuls of crinkled, dry leaves.

His chest loosened as he stuffed handfuls of the herb into pockets and down the front of his shirt. The scent calmed him, and he suddenly wished he could curl up on the musty floor and take a nap.

With no warning, the door crashed open. Frodo's heart plunged, and he stumbled, falling on his backside, blinded by the sunlight that streamed in the door. He had no time to scramble out of the way before a rough hand grabbed his vest, yanking him to his feet.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" The Man looked familiar, but in his shivering panic, he couldn't remember which of Triston's friends it was. A second Man hulked in the shadows. "Whaddya got there, halfling?"

Frodo struggled against the grip, but a pair of hands grabbed his upper arms from behind.

Frodo recognized the Man who clasped his vest as Tarn, who had robbed him in the alley the day he'd met Triston. "This is the king's little pet, the one as got Triston killed."

"That true, ratling?" The second Man looked in disgust at Frodo's feet. His voice turned mocking. "What's the king thinking, letting you run about the city on your own? He must not think much of you." He ripped Frodo from Tarn's grip and flung him to the dusty ground, knocking the breath from him. Frodo was truly alone. Nobody knew where he was. Nobody outside the store would hear him if he cried for help. They could slit his throat and leave him, and nobody would find him, not for a long time. And even when they did, nobody would care. Or they would lament what a tragedy it had been that the Ringbearer, savior of Middle earth, had come to such a base and well-deserved ending.

A heavy foot slammed on his stomach, crushing the breath from him. "You trying to rob us, halfling? Don't the king give you enough to eat?" The boot slammed down on him again, and Frodo cried out. He could not take in enough breath. Black dots fluttered in front of his vision, and he pushed in vain at the booted foot that crushed down on his chest.

A commotion at the door caused the men to fumble and curse, and through a dim consciousness, Frodo caught glimpses of the black and silver worn by the guards of the Citadel. Swords clashed, there was more cursing, and suddenly the crushing weight on Frodo's chest was gone as the Man fell dead beside Frodo on the floor, eyes wide and unseeing.

Frodo curled into a ball, too terrified to move, expecting at any moment to be speared.

"There he is!" A strong hand lifted him to his feet. Frodo still could not take in enough breath, and he staggered to his knees. Daylight pierced his eyes and outside the door, he glimpsed the clear sky. How could it be beautiful and bright outside when his world had fallen into darkness? He let out a weak grunt as he was slung over the guard's shoulder, and he retched, though nothing came out. He had not eaten in an ever so long time...couldn't remember exactly when. He was next heaved on the back of a horse. He slumped forward, not caring whether he fell off or not. Nobody spoke to him or asked whether he was hurt, which was just as well. He would rather die of his wounds than face Aven.

He passed in and out of consciousness as the guards made their way back to the Citadel. Sometimes he heard the sound of his own labored breathing whistling in his ears, and sometimes it was just ominous silence. He opened his eyes as the guards dismounted and he was lifted from the horse and set on his feet. A fine black mist fell before his eyes, and he swayed, but strong arms kept him standing.

Aragorn strode toward them, and Frodo's jaw trembled. He could not bear to meet his eyes. Aragorn dropped to one knee in front of him.

"Are you injured?" His voice was hard and toneless, and Frodo was certain his heart could not grow heavier before it would drag his body to the ground.

"No," he managed, and he flung his arms around Aragorn's neck, hugging with all his strength. If Aragorn would just hold him close and speak in a soothing voice, he could face anything at all.

Aragorn firmly pulled Frodo's arms down and held him at a distance. His face was stern. "Why did you not tell me?"

"I don't know," Frodo said, reaching his arms toward Aragorn again. Aragorn firmly kept the hobbit's arms at his side. Frodo now stared at Aragorn in wounded bewilderment. He only wanted to fall into Aragorn's capable arms. "I have kingsfoil for Holis and Aven..."

"Frodo, what I am about to say hurts me more than you can imagine."

"I understand," Frodo whispered, keeping his eyes down. He could not bear to look into those cold eyes any longer. "You wish to send me home in shame."

Aragorn shook his head. "No." He tilted Frodo's chin up, forcing the hobbit to look at him. "I am going to imprison you for a short time."

Frodo's cheeks turned numb, and the breath was socked from him. Of course he deserved it. He deserved much worse for the pain Holis had endured because of the kingsfoil he had thieved. There was no doubt of his guilt, and he would never wish for special treatment. Frodo's lips numbed, and he suddenly felt a buzzing separateness from himself.

"I am sorry," Aragorn said softly. "It will not be long, but please understand that my duty must sometimes supercede--"

"Do as you must," Frodo said, his voice sounding far away. He swallowed. "You must do what you must."

For the first time, Aragorn's eyes softened. "This is such a muddle. I would not have it so."

Frodo stiffened and looked away. He would not even say the obvious, that it did not need to be so. There were other ways for a new king to show to his people the value of justice. The dungeon was going to be dark and cold, but it was nothing compared to how cold he felt toward Aragorn now, as if a sheet of ice separated them.

Aragorn nodded to the guard who still gripped Frodo's arms. "Find a cell as far from the others as possible. I'll not have him exposed to the filth that goes on down there."

Frodo barely was aware of the journey down to the dungeons. He remembered a long ago day when he had gone to visit Damin, whom he had pitied for working in such a grim environment, only to be chided for coming down with bare feet. Now he was going to be living there. Aragorn had said a short time, but he had not specified what short meant to him. One night? One week? A year? Five years?

When the guards who lead Frodo arrived in the dungeons, Damin jumped to his feet. "What—? Whence—? Why are you here, Frodo?"

"King's orders to lock him up," one of the guards said in a toneless voice.

"Why?" Damin asked, the color draining from his face. He tried to meet Frodo's eyes, but Frodo looked down at his feet. Hot shame filled him until he nearly drowned in it.

"It is not your duty to question the king's orders," the guard said coldly. "You are to put him far from anyone else. That is the order."

Frodo kept his face down, too ashamed to face Damin. If the young guard knew the reason for Frodo's punishment, he would be all too glad to lock him up.

"It's frigid down here," Damin said in a choked voice as he led Frodo to his cell. "And he has no cloak."

Frodo still kept his eyes down, unable to speak.

"Damin, a word with you," one of the guards said. "Lock him up and come along."

Frodo was shuttled inside a tiny cell with nothing but a broken cot in it. Frodo collapsed to the cold, slimy floor, leaning against a wall, letting his head rest on his knees in despair.

Damin locked the cell, pausing to look through the bars. "Hold on, Frodo," he said in a hoarse voice. "I will return with something warm to cover you." Frodo was left alone, freezing cold. There was a broken cot in the back corner, though it looked so fragile that even a hobbit's weight would likely cause it to collapse.

He could not bear to contemplate what his life had come to. Instead he curled up on the damp cold stone and silently prayed for death.

Aragorn's tread was heavy as he climbed the winding stairs up to his chamber.

Our chamber, he thought with a sickening lurch of his stomach.

He had dismissed all whom wished to speak to him with a flick of his hand and his eyes had narrowed into the steely gaze that had made him so frightening to folk in Bree. Nobody dared speak to him, and this was just as well, but – they looked away in fear, and he felt the crush of isolation. He had no desire to be a tyrant. He wished only to fall into the dark forgetfulness of sleep. Not that his sleep would be pleasant. Whenever he closed his eyes, Frodo's eyes haunted him, wide and rimmed with red, looking to him for help. The last look Frodo had cast in his direction would burn in his mind forever, and he had felt the hobbit's heart close forever against him with an audible click.

I have the power to release him, Aragorn thought, clenching his fists. I only need go down into the cold dark myself and bid him go free.

He had no right to hold the Ringbearer. His only crime had been in not telling Aragorn that he was in trouble. And the role Frodo had played in the crime had been like a grain of sand in the deserts of Harad compared to all the hobbit had done for Middle earth.

Aragorn would release Frodo, and soon. To do otherwise was cruel and displayed the most wretched ingratitude.

But Aragorn hesitated, and he knew deep in his heart the reason. Holding Frodo had ceased to have anything to do with his insignificant crime at this time. His hesitancy in releasing Frodo stemmed from a much more cowardly reason.

Aragorn knew that when Frodo was free, he would leave forever.

Aragorn leaned against the arched door to the chamber and surveyed the room that he had shared with Frodo for the past year. The miserable pounding in his head gave him a slight dizzy spell. Frodo's nightshirt was still carelessly strewn on the bed; the hobbit had flung his cloak over the back of a chair. Aragorn staggered across the room and crawled into his side of the bed, his throat heavy.

"Frodo." He longed to have Frodo in his arms now, the Frodo of several weeks ago, whose eyes had sparkled with joy whenever Aragorn had deigned to show him the love he craved.

Aragorn let out a harsh sigh. That he had caused nothing but misery for Frodo seeped deep in his bones. He thought back to Frodo's birthday. He had told Frodo he would meet him in the courtyard – he now remembered, and the hobbit had waited in vain for three hours.

Then instead of making any attempt to soothe Frodo's hurt over the matter, Aragorn had left for Emyn Arnen without even coming in to bid him farewell.

And now Aragorn had struck a deadly blow to their already flailing love as soon as his command to imprison Frodo had been uttered. He could have retracted it, but even had he done so, the words would hang ever between them like the cruel ice on the top of Caradhras that never melted.

He had never had the chance to tell Frodo the pleasant surprise he had planned for him--that he had called Pippin back to Gondor for duty and that he should be here within a month. He wondered if such knowledge would keep Frodo, at least delay him from leaving.

Most of his men gave him uneasy looks as of late. They read the torment in his heart, though he kept his face immobile. Years of living as a Ranger had granted him sharp hearing, and the disapproving whispers had trickled to him.

"...if he would throw the Ringbearer in prison..."

"...if not for his deeds, there would be no Minas Tirith, herbs or not."

"...his own love he could throw away so easily..."

These whispers festered inside him because they were true. Aragorn had at last found his place in the world. Years of wandering friendless, country-less, had given him a rich appreciation of place, to have a city and a people to at last call his own. Without Frodo's bravery, none of it would have come to be.

And it had been Frodo who had given heart to his new life. All those long, tiring days when he was growing accustomed to his role as king, when he ached from dealing with person after person when his nature craved solitary wandering. All those days, and always he had Frodo to come home to.

I would make it up to him.

"My lord."

Aragorn had not heard the knock, and the voice of the guard startled him. He forced himself to focus on the guard who had intruded on his thoughts. He must try to pretend as though he were interested and concerned. He had a kingdom in his hands, and people who looked to him for guidance and leadership.

Then he recognized the guard -- his name was Damin and Frodo had pointed him out as one who had become a friend while Aragorn was in Emyn Arnen – and he became genuinely alert.

"What is it?"

"I am sorry to intrude." The guard bowed again. "But the Ringbearer...he has not eaten in three days."

Aragorn's heart sped. "What do you mean? Speak plainly."

"He will speak to no one." The guard's voice cracked, and Aragorn realized just how deeply the guard cared for Frodo.

They all love him so much, Aragorn thought with the worst pain in his heart yet. And it is I who had his heart and destroyed it!

Aragorn kept his face impassive. He had only meant to keep Frodo imprisoned a short time, but somehow a week had passed.

A sickening memory came back to him – a long ago conversation he had had with a healer in Bree.

Aragorn had denied that the Men of Bree and Hobbits of Bree had laws that were so very different from each other. "And if that is the case, perhaps more attempt should be made to work together. It would behoove the folk of Bree to come together, all the more now that darkness gathers."

"Aye, perhaps so," the healer said. "But the hobbits are much less harsh on their kind. Much less."

"What do you mean?"

"They do not imprison those who have broken the law. Hobbits cannot be imprisoned. Every hobbit imprisoned has fallen ill and died or has simply stopped eating and drinking. They gain strength from the earth, and without it, they whither."

Aragorn had believed the healer's ramblings to be coincidental nonsense, but now a cold surety pressed on his heart.

---

Frodo could not stop shivering. He was damp all over. Damin had not returned with a blanket or cloak, but that was all right. He didn't want to talk to him. If he did, he would weep in misery, and Damin would think him pathetic and leave him. In fact, Damin had probably already found out just why Frodo was in prison, and that was the reason he had not returned.

Frodo forced himself onto shaky feet. He could hear the echoes of crude laughter and curses from the distant cells. He clutched himself, shivering violently. His stomach and chest throbbed where he had been kicked and punched earlier in the abandoned shop. He walked in a circle around the cell, hoping to warm himself. He could not imagine how he would sleep this night.

He began making wider circles around the inside of the cell, and in doing so realized just how closed in he was and just how hard the stone beneath his feet was. He tried to calm the panicked fluttering of his heart. He had a nearly uncontrollable urge to run to the bars and shake them, screaming for daylight and fresh air.

While he walked, forcing one step in front of the other, his mind grasped at everything and anything about his situation. At which point could he have changed his fate? If he had not stayed in Minas Tirith...if Aven had not sent him on that hapless errand to the abandoned shop...if he had not run into Triston...if he had told Holis and Aven about the threat to Aven...if he had told Aragorn... Perhaps things would have gone differently. Well, he had been foolish. He had been so worried about Aven getting hurt, but if he had told Holis, the Captain of Gondor could have called more of the guard to protect Aven. And now Aven despised him, Holis had taken a deadly hurt, and Aragorn – well, Aragorn had just been given the justification he needed to push Frodo out of his life, as he had no doubt desired for the past few months.

Frodo blinked back tears. Now he knew for certain that it was over – all that had been held together with the most delicate of threads had now frayed and snapped apart. Everything clicked at once. He could not stay in Minas Tirith. Even if Aragorn released him now and apologized on bent knees before him, nothing could take this back. Frodo could walk away, knowing he would never again see Aragorn, and it no longer pierced his heart. The long solitary journey home should give him time to think and process. By the time he reached the green hills of the Shire, he would be ready to rest at last.

Damin returned to his cell, his face wan with concern. "Frodo, I could not find you another blanket, but I will leave you my cloak. I cannot watch you..." He swallowed. "Shivering like this." He knelt beside Frodo and wrapped the cloak around him. "I will bring you part of my supper. No sense in feeding you the same fare as the other prisoners. I am certain the king...whatever his intentions, would not have you suffer."

He left bread and fresh butter, as well as an apple. Frodo's throat closed at the sight of it. Food could give him no pleasure. He never wished to eat again. "Frodo...I don't know what has happened, but I know you did not deserve this. Not to be down here."

Damin's voice broke, and Frodo wished he could speak.

---

Frodo lifted a piece of bread, feeling that he ought to eat, but being unable to. His throat closed up and he could not even eat one bite without the urge to vomit. He gripped his stomach as the wave passed.

Dark and stone. He tried to picture Bag End, he was certain Sam must have fixed it up beautifully with flowers and vegetables. He tried to capture the memory of freshly cut grass between his toes, a whiff of spring blossoms, the hum of insects. But the dark stone cell pressed close to his heart.

He remembered lying curled in Aragorn's arms one late morning when things were good. Aragorn had nuzzled his rough face against Frodo's neck, planting kisses here and there. Frodo shivered at the memory.

"Are you happy?" Frodo had asked, searching for something in those gray eyes – perhaps utter devotion.

His shoulder gave a cold throb, a reminder that things could indeed get worse.

"Frodo." Damin's voice intruded on his thoughts, and he wondered how long had passed since the guard had last come. The guard wrapped his voluminous cloak around Frodo's thin shoulders. "Frodo...I'm going to stay here with you. You've not eaten in days and your lips are parched. You don't have to speak to me, but please...please..."

Frodo turned his lips away from the cup of water. Damin was kind – he'd not forget it – but if he swallowed anything he'd throw up, and he didn't think he had the energy.

"Come, Frodo." Damin's voice grew hard. "I will not sit here and watch you fade in my arms."

Frodo clutched Damin's arm and rested his head against the man's arm.

"Oh, Frodo," Damin sighed, and Frodo drifted into a feverish sleep.

---

The fire, consumed by frigid malice, licked at Frodo, deriving strength from the cold in Frodo's shoulder.

"The Ring is mine." The words echoed again and again through him, and sent the familiar dizzy surge through him. How wonderful it had felt to stop resisting the poison of the Ring!

"Frodo." The voice yanked Frodo from the fire and back into the chill of the cell. "Frodo." Warm arms wrapped around him, lifting his head, patting his cheeks. "Wake up." It was Damin, and he was smiling. "You are to be released. The king wishes to see you now."

Frodo was too weak to answer that he did not wish to see the king.

---

Frodo looked pale and shaken when he reached the chamber, but Aragorn did not expect the ice in his eyes. He had expected rage or accusation or sadness – anything but this.

"Frodo," Aragorn forced himself to say. Frodo paused, as if he had heard something but was not sure what.

Then he straightened his shoulders. "I have only come to collect my belongings and I shall leave."

"No..." Aragorn said, swallowing the lump in his throat. "You must stay."

Frodo turned to him with such hatred that he stepped back.

"Frodo..." Aragorn said again, feeling weak and helpless. A loud ringing filled his ears. He gripped Frodo's shoulder, and his heart plunged when Frodo flinched and pulled away. "Where...where will you go?"

"Home...I must return to the Shire." Frodo's voice had softened, but not toward Aragorn.

"Stay for tonight," Aragorn pleaded. If he lost this, he knew he had lost Frodo forever. "You are not well...and there are things...I must talk to you. I have been wrong."

"Aragorn..." Frodo's voice was clear and terrible and he met Aragorn's gaze fully. "Am I free or am I still a prisoner?"

"I have released you..." Aragorn said. "I should never have – " He felt as if he had received a mighty blow to his chest.

"Then I am free to go."

"Will you not stay and have a meal before you go...What hobbit could turn down a meal?" Aragorn tried to joke, though his lips felt numb. He was losing his love, the only one who mattered.

"Please...Frodo...I know I have no such right to beg of you."

Frodo ignored him as he carefully packed his knapsack. Aragorn saw how he shook. The hobbit had not eaten in days – he could not possibly make it outside the city gates.

"No, Aragorn," Frodo said as he walked out the door. "No, you do not."

---

Holis gripped Frodo's hand. Tears had formed in his eyes. "I am so happy to see you well...I heard...when I heard you were attacked in the shop with those men and then." He swallowed. "The king only kept you imprisoned for a short time--"

"Holis, I am leaving Minas Tirith. I came to say good-bye."

"Leaving?" Holis looked crushed, and Frodo managed a smile. The Man had been a good friend to him, and he would miss him.

"This is long overdue, Holis. I miss my home dreadfully."

"He does love you..." Holis said, his voice cracking. "As do – we all."

"Holis?" Frodo's eyes filled with tears. Walking through the last gate would be more difficult than he had anticipated. "I do so appreciate all you've done for me." Frodo kissed Holis' brow. "I love you so, though not in the way you might have wished..."

At that moment, Aven bustled in – and froze when he saw Frodo. Frodo's heart jolted, remembering the muddy hatred in the man's eyes, but he did not move.

Holis' hand grasped Frodo's cheek. "Farewell then, my sweet halfling. I dearly hope we will someday meet."

"I hope so too," Frodo said, but there was little hope of that happening. Frodo straightened and began to walk by Aven.

"Are you leaving Minas Tirith, Frodo?" Aven's voice was soft, and it made Frodo's throat hurt. There had been so many good days, when Aven had been kind and gentle, a good friend.

"Yes," Frodo finally managed, his heart thudding painfully. He could not look up at that face.

"Frodo." Aven knelt so that he was on Frodo's level and slid his hand under Frodo's chin. "You are not in any condition to travel. I know you did not eat for several days and you're on the verge of collapse. I will not have it happen in the wild where there is no help for you."

The concern in his voice was as it had been before, and Frodo nearly wept. "Aven...I cannot. Not after."

"I do not blame you, not anymore. I know now there were those who bullied and frightened you. I am deeply ashamed. If not for you, there would be no free peoples anymore – it matters not."

Frodo's ears were filled with a buzzing. He tried to focus on the door ahead, but everything wavered and shuddered. Aven was right -- he was going to collapse and there was nothing that could be done about it.



When Frodo woke, he found himself propped up by soft pillows, and someone, presumably Aven, had tucked him into one of the beds in the House of Healing. He had a vague recollection of fainting, of collapsing into the healer's arms, and now his limbs felt heavy and useless. His lips were so dry that when he tried to lick them, the cracked edges bit into his tongue.

He could not fully grasp what had happened to him, how he had come to be in this bed in the House of Healing. He must have fainted after returning from wandering lost in Minas Tirith's lower levels after meeting Tristan. No, that wasn't right. Frodo frowned, looking around the room. Too much had happened since then. His heart turned cold as he recalled. Aragorn had returned and Holis had been badly injured and he had betrayed Aven's trust. Frodo had endured a terrible nightmare of shivering in a dank prison deep underground where rats scuttled.

His head swam and his eyes burned. And now he was ill, just when he needed his strength the most. When he shifted in bed, he was suddenly aware that a cool cloth rested on his brow. On the bed beside him, Holis slept fitfully. Frodo started when he suddenly noticed Damin the guard sitting beside his bed. How gentle the guard's arms had been while wrapped around Frodo to still the hobbit's shivering in the dark prison! Frodo's heart filled with affection for the young man.

"Damin," Frodo whispered. Damin leaned forward when he saw that Frodo was awake.

"How do you feel?" the guard whispered. "I cannot stay long. I am due for duty in just a short hour."

Frodo managed a soft smile. "You were so kind to me...down there."

"You did not belong in such a foul place."

Frodo's mouth twisted slightly. "Do you know how long I am to stay bedridden? I do not wish to delay my travel." To be forced to once again look upon Aragorn would cause the ache in his chest to crack open once again, and he could not bear it.

Damin nodded, swallowing. "Aven said you will not be fit for travel for several days, possibly a week or more."

Frodo closed his eyes in despair. "Weeks?" He let out a mournful sigh.

"You did not eat or drink for days. I feared for your life." Damin looked behind him. "The king is near. He has been waiting for you to awaken."

"I cannot speak to him," Frodo said in a low voice. "Not now."

"That would be between you and the king, I am afraid," Damin said, rising to his feet. "It is not my place to stop him."

The king. That Aragorn had come to be only a title caused Frodo's throat to twist in fresh pain.

Damin continued. "Perhaps if I told him your wish..."

Frodo managed a weak smile. "Thank you, Damin. You are a man of rare honor, but you do not have to do that."

"I have done nothing to earn such a title," Damin said.

"I shall never forget your kindness." Frodo paused before continuing. "I am not such an innocent to foul places as you would believe. I've been in captivity before. During...I was held by orcs." Frodo shivered uncontrollably. He could still feel the rope around his wrists, the burn of the whip, their foul hands, their rank breaths in his ears.

"You do not have to speak of it."

Aragorn entered then. "Is he –" When he saw Frodo awake, he seemed surprised, though he quickly composed himself again. He looked away.

"Please leave me."

"I will check on your wounds."

Frodo could not resist a glance then. Aragorn's eyes were naked with pain, and he looked as though he had not slept in days. Frodo knew that all he need do to take away that pain in Aragorn's eyes was to smile at him, to once again open his heart to him.

But he did not, could not. "Aven has already taken care of me. I need only rest. Please, Aragorn." At last he forced his gaze to fully meet the king's grave gaze. "If you have any mercy at all, you will leave me now."

Damin remained nearby at attention, eyes closed, clearly miserable. Frodo was sorry that his dear friend had to be witness to such an awkward scene.

"Very well." Aragorn's voice was tight, his shoulders tense, and he strode out of the room.


The next day, Frodo felt well enough to be out of bed. Aven declared travel still out of the question, especially with his cracked rib. Frodo stood at the window, gazing out into the stone street, wincing at the pain in his rib every time he breathed. If he could only breathe strength into his limbs so that he could leave!

Aragorn arrived again, not long after, and Frodo turned away in despair. If he did not leave Minas Tirith soon, his heart would betray him and keep him from doing what was best for him. Aragorn's face was so dear and familiar, even after all he had done. Frodo lifted his chin, but said nothing.

Aragorn kneeled before him and grasped the hobbit's chin, forcing him to look at him. "You did not tell me you had been injured in the shop by Triston's men. Aven tells me you might have had grave injuries inside, that you might have bled to death."

"Would it have made a difference if I had told you? You had already determined the best fate for me."

Aragorn bowed his head. He said nothing, and Frodo felt fresh anger at him. He would not melt before Aragorn's naked humbleness. He pulled out of Aragorn's grip and clutched the windowsill, gazing out into the streets without seeing anything. Aragorn touched his shoulder, but Frodo flinched as if Aragorn had struck him, and the hand withdrew.

Frodo did not move until he heard Aragorn's footsteps recede. The pain that had crushed his chest broke apart at last and he wept. He tried to muffle the sounds because Holis was sleeping, but to his dismay, Holis opened his eyes and became concerned.

"Frodo," he whispered, stretching his hand toward Frodo. Though he could not reach, the gesture moved Frodo greatly.

"I'm sorry I woke you," Frodo said, wiping his eyes and returning to sit on the edge of his bed.

"Do not worry on my behalf," Holis said. "It wrings my heart to see you so sad."

"I will be sad for a long time."

"I know."

Frodo closed his eyes and fell into a swift sleep.


He had returned home to the Shire. Sam was working in the garden, just as he always had, only now of course he was the master of Bag End. Frodo's heart lifted in joy when he saw him, and he ran up the road toward the gate. He was among hobbits at last, good earth between his toes, and he could not wait to tell all he had endured to his dear friend. He could not wait to have fresh bread and blueberry jam and mushrooms again. How he had missed mushrooms, cooked properly as only hobbits understood how.

Sam! Frodo cried in joy. But when Sam looked at him, his eyes only narrowed and he shook his head.

Frodo's heart turned cold. Sam, what is it?

I told you so, sir. That man's ruined you.

No, Sam. I'm home.

But Sam ignored him. Frodo had never felt so alone in all his life. He stood in the middle of the road, uninvited and cold.

---

"If you would turn your heart against me for the remainder of our days, at least you can afford me one walk in the garden."

Aragorn's voice wormed its way into Frodo's heart, working on the fastenings, determined to open it again.

"Very well. One walk."

They walked in stony silence for a long time. Frodo's heart throbbed for the blissful days when they had walked in this very garden hand in hand. Then Frodo had listened with joy in his heart as Aragorn had explained the varying healing plants that grew there. But now Frodo could scarcely bear to look upon the same garden that had caused so much grief. He could not offer his hand to Aragorn, though he knew the man would gladly receive it.

"When I was in Emyn Arnen," Aragorn finally said in a broken voice. "I had a terrible nightmare, the kind one wishes to forget upon waking but which has continued to haunt me. In this dream, I had beaten you viciously with my bare hands. I had no control over my actions until...I saw that you were mortally wounded because of what I had done to you, Frodo." Aragorn took in a breath. "I was forced to slice your throat to end your suffering."

Frodo glanced up at him, surprised by the trembling in the king's voice, but still he said nothing.

Aragorn continued. "It was the only thing to do, since such injuries as I had dealt you could not be fixed, even by healing hands."

"It was but a nightmare," Frodo finally said.

"But a true nightmare," Aragorn said. "Those with Numenorean blood have the gift of sight." He took in a deep sigh. "I know in truth I have battered all that was sacred between us. I made poor decisions, which have nearly cost your life, have cost me your love and which have broken your heart until it has hardened against me. The only thing for me to do is to let you go, severe my ties with you, as you wish."

Frodo did not answer. His throat had clenched with such tight pain that he feared to try to speak.

"Do you understand me?" Aragorn asked. His gray eyes were sober, his face pulled into a tight mask.

Frodo nodded. "You will willingly let me go," he whispered.

"I could fall to my knees before you and beg you to stay with me. I could promise you anything of your desire. I could love you with utmost tenderness until you melted in my embrace. But I cannot turn back what I have done already, and I see you are lost to me. I will not try to possess that which is lost."

Frodo sank onto a nearby bench, his head bowed.

"Until Aven gives you leave to travel, I will not trouble you further."

Frodo nodded, his throat aching, keeping his head bowed so that he did not need to watch Aragorn's retreat. When he was alone, truly alone, it seemed that there was not enough darkness in all the night to match that which he felt in his heart.

---

Frodo rubbed his eyes. No, it could not be. From where he was sitting on the front stoop of the Healing House it appeared a hobbit on a pony, dressed in the garb of a guard of the citadel, was making his way up the street, waving to all who would recognize him. Frodo stood on shaking legs, unable to believe his ears when he finally recognized Pippin's voice.

"Pippin!" He yelled, breaking into a run down the road. "Pippin!"

The little guard's head whipped in the direction of Frodo's voice. His bright face grew happy and his lips turned up in open joy. "Cousin Frodo!" Pippin jumped from his pony and threw his bulky self into Frodo, nearly knocking them both to the ground. Those around them watched in amusement as the hobbits greeted each other with unabashed emotion, weeping and hugging.

"He kept it a surprise, I see," Pippin finally said. "He's good." He nodded. Frodo swallowed and nodded. Of course, Pippin still assumed that all was well between himself and Aragorn.

"We were so worried! When Aragorn sent for me, he said you'd been ill and could use hobbit company. He wished me to come to cheer you up. You don't look ill, thankfully, just a bit tired and pale. Aragorn has taken good care of you, has he not?"

Frodo's face fell then, and he swallowed hard. He hated to turn this merry greeting into grim truth, but he could not pretend to be in a situation he was not for too much longer.

Pippin grew serious. "Something is wrong."

"Much has happened," Frodo said quietly. "It is a long story. I shall be returning to the Shire soon. Follow me to where I am confined for a few more days at least."

"Oh, no. You are ill, then." Pippin led his pony behind them as they walked back up the street toward the Houses of Healing. "It's not serious then, is it? You're not...you'll live, right?"

Frodo laughed with some effort. Though his heart was crushed, seeing Pippin brought new life into him, and all the more he was eager to return to the Shire.

"I shall live. Come, Peregrin Took. There is another guard of the citadel recovering that I would have you meet." Frodo's eyes twinkled as he realized just how much Holis would take to Pippin.

---

Four years later

Frodo sat on the bench in front of his round door, gazing out over the party field. Funny how he still thought of it as the "party field." He closed his eyes, surprised by how vividly he could still hear the crack of fireworks, the vigorous music, and Sam's nervous laughter. How full of life and youthful energy he had been that night!

With a fond smile, Frodo watched Sam dig patiently around the marigolds so that he could pull stubborn weeds out by their roots. His sturdy hands had long since healed from the burns received in Mordor, and his back was just as sturdy as it had been when he had carried Frodo up the mountain.

Frodo breathed in the aroma of freshly overturned soil. Even in the early fall, when living things prepared to die or sleep, this smell reminded him of spring. Little Elanor helped her dad, her fat face flushed, her little feet filthy. She smiled at Frodo, and she trotted to him with a daisy clutched in her fist. "Pretty!" She thrust the flower at Frodo.

Frodo laughed. "Thank you, sweetheart!"

His shoulder throbbed slightly, and he flexed the fingers in his left hand, dismayed by their numbness. It was too soon. His birthday had not even yet arrived, and already his body failed, weakening to an illness that would continue to worsen for several weeks. The afternoon light began to thin, and a chill breeze made him wish he had brought out his cloak. Yes, October was still weeks away, and already he could feel that thin veil of despair creep over his heart. Every illness stole yet another part of him, a part that withered and died and could not be replaced.

Soon there would be nothing left at all.

A movement behind the hedges startled him, and he leaped to his feet. A hobbit he had never seen before stood uncertainly in front of the gate to Bag End.

Sam paused in his weeding and glared. "Do you know him, Mr. Frodo?" What Sam did not say but meant was, "Must folk bother you at home when you are off your mayoral duties?"

"No," Frodo said with a puzzled frown. "But I suppose I should find out what he wants." He walked down to the gate, the pain in his shoulder forgotten for the moment.

The hobbit – large and strong-looking, though not so much as Merry or Pippin, Frodo was proud to note -- carried weapons, which was indeed unusual for a hobbit of the Shire. Frodo wondered if he came from Bree, and his heart sped. He could not help an image of Aragorn, though he stopped the thought before his heart could feel pain. If Aragorn had not contacted him by now, he would not likely ever do so.

Frodo swallowed. That was what he had wanted, of course.

"May I help you?" he asked the strange hobbit, trying to keep his voice steady. Sam hovered right behind him, his hands filthy.

"Are you Frodo Baggins?" The hobbit had an odd accent, certainly not from either the Hobbiton area or Buckland.

Frodo nodded.

"I am sorry to disturb you." The hobbit bowed slightly. "I am a bounder who patrols the borders of the Shire near the Brandywine River. I have been commanded by the king's men to deliver a message to a Frodo Baggins, mayor of Hobbiton, of Bag End."

"That is I," Frodo said, taking the message in a shaking hand. The world seemed to dim, and he was scarcely aware of anything but his harsh breathing. He stumbled back to the bench without even a farewell to the bounder, who walked away without further ado. Frodo read the message, his heart pounding in his ears, and his vision narrowed to only include the words on the faded paper.

"Mr. Frodo, are you all right?" Sam was beside him, supporting his elbow and keeping him steady. "Now just you sit steady now, Mr. Frodo. Don't you move until you feel well enough to go back inside. Then I'll make you some hot tea and you'll go to bed."

Aragorn had sent for him. He had come at last.

---

Frodo used every ounce of his strength to keep his shoulders erect, his face impassive, as befit the mayor of Hobbiton when he comes before the King.

"My lord," he managed, and he bowed with gentle deference. Aragorn did not answer. The guards that surrounded the king looked stiff, void of emotion. No Holis or Damin.

He nearly smiled at the memory of the last time he had seen Holis. Pippin had been sitting on the edge of the wounded captain's bed, tending to one of his wounds, and Holis' hand had rested on the hobbit's chin. Pippin had still not returned to the Shire, so Frodo assumed all was still well between them.

Holis and Pippin – they both deserved the honest love they could bestow upon one another.

"My friend." Aragorn uttered. Strands of gray now colored his hair. There were creases around his eyes that had not been there even four years earlier.

Frodo took a breath. "It is an honor to greet my lord on the borders of the Shire."

---

Aragorn had feared what he would find when he saw Frodo after all this time. Sam's letter had described Frodo's health in sober tones. His anniversary illnesses had become more ravaging and drawn out. His eyes were hollow, and he always seemed to listen for a distant call that only he could hear. Aragorn had feared that his Frodo would be naught but a broken, thin shadow.

He had not expected Frodo to look so ethereal. His curls brushed against smooth skin, his eyes – so achingly out of touch, like a distant star. They reflected no pain but only it seemed, because in order to feel pain, one needed to be connected to the world and its concerns.

Aragorn had a desperate urge to fall to his knees and crush Frodo in his arms. The ice might melt – or Frodo would stiffen and shatter into dust.

"My lord?" Frodo's eyes were wide and questioning. "What duty would you have me do on behalf of the Shire?"

"Frodo..." Aragorn forced himself back to formality. He could not show his own pain before his men, and certainly not before that unworldly gaze. How wrenchingly similar it was to the gaze in Arwen's eyes that last time in Rivendell, when she had slipped her cold hand in his and looked toward the sea.

Aragorn forced his hands not to tremble as he unrolled the parchment in his hands. "I have come to read a proclamation, one that you shall relate to your people."

"Yes, my lord." Frodo bowed again.

Aragorn would not let Frodo's aloofness twist him inside. He blocked out the memory of how once that same soft voice had been warm with affection, ragged with pain, familiar. Now that seemed like a distant dream, something that had not actually transpired.

---

Frodo was remembering how Aragorn's unshaved cheek had once set fire to his smooth skin. He remembered how those same long fingers had brought him back to life when he had burned in a near-death state, still seeking the Ring.

Frodo had already accepted that his time in this world was waning, and that he would soon pass over the sea. But as Aragorn read aloud that edict which banned men from entering the Shire, his throat filled with such aching despair that for a moment he was wrenched back to this world.

He had been fully aware of how a buried part of his heart had continued to hold hope that Aragorn would come for him. His edict would now make that impossible. With a single paper, Aragorn had hammered the final stroke to cleave them apart forever. For Frodo, it would be when he boarded that ship.

"I shall send word throughout the Shire of your law," Frodo said with a stiff bow. "Is that all my lord wills?"

Aragorn stood tall, like a noble statue of old. At one time, those arms, now thick with armor, had protected him from cold nights. His long fingers had slid playfully between Frodo's smaller ones, especially when they had laughed long into the night.

"Yes." Frodo was not certain, but it seemed that Aragorn's eyes glistened.

"You journeyed from Minas Tirith to relay this simple message?" Frodo asked, his voice cracking slightly, forgetting for just a moment that he meant to remain stiff and formal.

Aragorn's voice softened. "This is an edict of rare significance," he said. "It would be foolish for me to send a messenger. We are staying at Lake Evendim, not far from your borders."

"Farewell, my lord," Frodo finally said, placing his hand over his breast and bowing. He could capture this moment and hold it deep inside. Perhaps after it blurred around the edges and then faded altogether, this image of Aragorn would return to him in dreams.

"Namarie."

Frodo only bowed again, but he did not trust his voice to utter more.

---

Frodo was not sure how he made it back to Bag End. He later remembered placing one foot in front of the other, through winding trails, through thick crops of woods. That first night he recalled sleeping under a tree, heedless of the creeping cold in his shoulder. He dreamed about a vast sky twinkling with starlight over a dark sea. He heard gulls cry and the scent of the sea was so strong it clutched his heart with yearning that left tears on his cheeks upon awakening.

---

Aragorn rode in silence, his back stiff and straight. To those who did not know him well, his eyes appeared cold, his countenance stern. Years of being alone in the wilderness had allowed him to hide the pain. Nay, pain was too mild a term to put to the crushing, wringing of his heart.

During the last four years, he had lived in a half dream state, keeping hope that he would make his way to the Shire and enough time would have passed that Frodo would forgive him and they would greet each other as lovers.

Frodo was lost to him -- more so now than four years earlier. He should have fought for him...should never have let him leave Minas Tirith. But he knew the only way he could have prevented the stubborn hobbit from leaving was throwing him back into prison – and he still burned with shame over his treatment of the Ringbearer...his love.

---

The pony bearing Frodo rounded the last bend, and the sea spread out before him at last, its scent loosening the tension in his chest. Here, at the harbor, dappled in warm late afternoon sunlight, the dull ache in his shoulder faded. He felt weak but giddy, the way he had often felt upon waking the first day after an anniversary illness.

"We saw a lot of different places on our journey, Mr. Frodo," Sam said. "But nothing like this. And to think it's so close to the Shire."

"I dreamed about it," Frodo murmured. A gull soared high into the sky, contrasting with the blue sky. "A long time ago."

"Old Sandyman used to poke fun of me for wanting for moonshine when I talked about the elves sailing. But look here." His voice faded with the wonder of it.

Frodo smiled and affectionately slipped his arm through Sam's. "You'll witness the greatest of elves leaving Middle earth."

Galadriel, Elrond, and Cirdan stood, tall and fair. Frodo looked into their distant eyes and saw there understanding, a reflection of his own detachment from this world. As Galadriel boarded the ship, she spoke not a word, but bestowed a smile upon Frodo, full of promise and healing.

Bilbo, Elrond, and Galadriel had already boarded the ship. Gandalf beckoned to Frodo, and Sam and Merry at last understood. Sam gripped Frodo, sobbing unabashedly, while Frodo tried to explain, all the while gazing with longing toward the ship.

Gandalf's sharp voice roused Frodo out of his dreamy state. "Aragorn?"

Frodo pulled out of Sam's embrace, and his heart lurched as Aragorn dismounted from his steed and strode purposefully toward him. Merry and Sam fumbled to bow before their friend and king, but Aragorn had no eyes for any, save Frodo.

"You must not leave."

Gandalf put a steady hand on Frodo's shoulder and asked in a quiet voice, "Aragorn, what is your intention at this hour? The ship must set sail."

The heart-achingly familiar scent of horse and leather blocked the sea scent. "How...?" A heated rage filled his chest, that Aragorn had broken his calm, yet mixed in with the rage was wonder that the king had ridden all the way to the harbor to stop him.

Aragorn knelt before Frodo and took the hobbit's chilled hands in his. "Come with me. Do not leave these shores."

Frodo swallowed. How warm and earthy Aragorn's hands felt! He had nearly forgotten how those steady hands had often kept away nightmares.

"My days in Middle earth are over," Frodo said haltingly, glancing at the ship. The waves splashed against the side of the ship, calling him, clutching for his heart.

Aragorn's mask fell, and it did not seem to bother him that Galadriel, Gandalf, Elrond, and the hobbits all bore witness. "I've never stopped loving you." His words tumbled out, slurred and wretched. "I have done you grave wrong after grave wrong, but when I lost you...a hole gaped right here." Aragorn tapped his chest. "And it has never been filled. Time does not heal it, as it did when Arwen passed." He glanced at Elrond. "For never once did I feel responsible for her pain--"

"Aragorn..." Frodo's heart sped and warmth filled his cheeks. He had longed to hear those very words through many long, sleepless nights since his return to the Shire. "But..." He glanced toward the ship.

"No. Please." Aragorn squeezed Frodo's hands.

"I cannot go back," Frodo said, looking downward. "Minas Tirith is no place for a hobbit."

"No, no, Frodo," Aragorn said, shaking his head. "We shall not live in Minas Tirith. I will leave charge of the city to Faramir—for now."

"But where would we live, if you have banned all men from entering the Shire?"

Aragorn's face lit up with relief. Seeing that Frodo seemed to be giving in, he talked faster. "Lake Evendim. It is a quiet place. And yet it is a short journey back to the Shire for you to visit your cousins and Sam. I only know I cannot live without you at my side."

"So..." Frodo smiled at last. "I could have both -- you and the Shire." His smile faded. "But you would have a wounded hobbit on your hands all your life. My illnesses have grown worse, Aragorn, and I will most likely perish long before you. What then?"

Aragorn sighed, kissing the tops of Frodo's hands. "My life will be long, this I know to be true. Certainly I am destined to know grief. But should I lose you now, I will have many more years of grief to endure."

"Frodo," Gandalf broke in. "It is time."

Frodo looked toward the ship. Bilbo had already settled into a chair, his eyes closed.

"Look at me." Aragorn tilted Frodo's chin up. Frodo looked at him through blurred eyes. "Look at me fully in my eyes and tell me you would leave me forever."

They were silent as Frodo gazed into gray eyes and found what he sought.

"I love you." Frodo collapsed into Aragorn's embrace, just as he had dreamed of doing for years. Unyielding arms slid around his slight waist, nearly crushing the breath from him. He looked up, and Aragorn's lips descended on his, devouring, until neither could breathe.

"I will stay," Frodo said, gasping for breath. He turned to Gandalf. "I will stay." He laughed in pure joy. Merry and Sam looked at him in overjoyed surprise.

"Are you certain of this path?" Gandalf asked, his eyes bent with sadness. "There will be no more ships, Frodo, should you make this choice."

Frodo looked again to the ship. It was true he would never see Bilbo or Gandalf again. But if he stepped on the ship, he would never see Sam or Merry or Pippin. And Aragorn, whom he needed more than he thought.

"I will not persuade you further," Aragorn said, releasing Frodo. "If you seek healing in the West, know that my love for you will still remain constant. If you stay here, I will humbly spend the rest of my days making certain you know my love."

"I will stay," Frodo repeated.

Sam and Merry rushed to Frodo, pressing him in their rough embraces. Sam babbled incoherently through his tears, and Merry said nothing – just continued to squeeze. Aragorn watched patiently, and as he looked upon Frodo, the aged hollowness left his eyes.

A brief time was allowed for Frodo to bid farewell to Bilbo and Gandalf.

Frodo and Aragorn and the hobbits watched the ship glide through the firth and into the open sea. Aragorn held Frodo in a firm embrace. The younger hobbits wept quietly for the loss of Gandalf and Bilbo, though Frodo's eyes were dry.

At last Merry and Sam bid farewell to Frodo, a much more hopeful farewell this time, and turned their ponies in the direction of the Shire.

"Shall we?" Aragorn asked. Frodo nodded, his heart full at last, but he did not speak. He could look forward to many years to come, in which they could fill the night with tales of what they had done over the years they had been estranged. There was time enough for that later.

For now, as the ship bearing the last of the great Rings passed into the West, Frodo was content just to remain in silent companionship with his Aragorn.