Title: A Successful First Shot
Author: Berlynn Wohl (bobtherobot@hotmail.com)
Rating: R
Pairing: Frodo/Aragorn
Summary: Aragorn takes Frodo on a hunting trip.
Keywords: Romance, drama, angst, interspecies
Archive: Anywhere, just let me know
Feedback: Of course. bobtherobot @ hotmail.com
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters. Tolkien offered them to me, but I
don’t have enough room in my apartment.
Warning: Dark themes. NOT rape, NOT torture, but if dark stuff isn’t your thing
you may want to sit this one out.


It was fortunate that Strider found us, because we could never have packed all
the food we needed, and none of us knew how to hunt. Our provisions were already
diminished when we joined up with Strider. He started going on little
expeditions. He always brought something back; coneys, usually, but one night it
was a small deer.

All the years of my life I’d never eaten something that I’d killed myself. I
didn’t even squash spiders; I picked them up with a napkin and set them outside
my door, or had Sam do it if he was around. When I went to the market,
everything was long dead. I never had to watch a farmer slaughter a pig so that
I could have crisp bacon every morning. Sam had seen those sorts of things, but
he never told me about them.

I was accustomed to animals being living breathing creatures before my eyes, or
cut-up, cooked food in my mouth, but never had I seen one that had so recently
crossed over. Sam and my cousins watched, fascinated, as Strider gutted the
deer. I was revolted, and quietly stepped away from the camp, cold and blind in
the darkness. I heard their voices from afar. “Aye, he can be sensitive,” Sam
said, but I couldn’t make out anything else.

“Come, Frodo,” Strider called to me. “Our meal is almost ready.” When I returned
to the camp someone handed me a plate. I ate dutifully; Sam worried when I don’t
eat. The warm venison filled my stomach, but did not leave me feeling satisfied.
When Sam asked me if I’d enjoyed the repast, I pretended I had not heard him.

The following night, Strider again went for a hunt. He had a light bow and
quiver, but he was a swordsman at heart, so they were nothing special. This time
he asked me to accompany him. I asked why he would want me along; I had nothing
to offer him in his endeavor. He frowned. “You can come with me, or not. But I
am asking you to.”

“Don’t be foolish, Mr. Frodo,” Sam whispered to me. “Go with him.”

I got up and followed him.

Strider knew these woods very well. He led me silently through all the twists
and turns of a path only he could see. Or maybe he couldn’t see it either, but
he felt it. It was as though someone were in front of him, and he was following
them. When he stopped, I nearly crashed into him. He crouched down and brought
me to the ground alongside him.

We waited for a long time. I had questions to ask him. I wanted to know how long
we would have to wait. My legs were cramping and it was already well past
suppertime. But I stayed quiet. I still didn’t know what I was doing here.

There was a rustling of leaves, and a buck appeared. He was full-grown and his
antlers looked dangerous. I counted six points on each. Strider did not make a
move. He was hardly even watching the buck; he was looking around. The buck
passed us by and disappeared into the brush.

When he was gone, and I thought it would not be too inappropriate, I leaned over
to whisper to Strider, as low as I could, “Why did you let him go? He was
standing right there.”

Strider shook his head. “He was too big. Most of him would have gone to waste,
even with five of us. And at this time of year, the meat from a buck would be
gamy. We’re waiting for a young doe. And if that buck is here, there should be
many nearby.”

The skill of a hunter should be judged not by the accuracy of the shots he
takes, but of the shots be passes up. Sure enough, moments later a doe showed
up. She was coming straight towards us. Strider moved so slowly, I didn’t even
notice until his arrow was fully drawn. But still he did not shoot. The doe
stopped, and seemed to be looking right at us, then she turned around and
wandered in the other direction. It was not until later that I realized Strider
was waiting for a broadside shot. But perhaps he waited too long. The doe gave
him a good angle, but now she was trotting away. Strider grunted softly, and the
doe stopped. Her ears twitched. Strider released his arrow. It hit squarely
between her backbone and her brisket, just behind the shoulder. She made as if
to take one more step, but then shuddered and dropped, even before the bowstring
had stilled.

Strider leapt forward and took my arm. “It was a good kill,” he whispered as he
dragged me behind him. “A swift kill.” When we crouched before the doe, she was
already dead. “The meat of a good beast that suffers needlessly before death is
fouler than that of any fell creature.”

I looked at her. Her eyes were still open, and reflected the moonlight. Steam
trickled up out of her wound when Strider pulled the arrow out. There was very
little blood, but seeing it come out of her reminded me of what was flowing
through my own veins. For a moment I had felt a little twinge of triumph, that
Strider had made such a successful first shot that night. But I was not happy
now.

Strider dropped his pack and took from it a cup. It was clay, and shallow. I
opened my mouth to ask what it was for but he got out his knife too, so I shut
it again. He put his hand on the doe’s head to steady it and slit her throat in
one effortless swipe. Blood poured out, and he put the cup under the flow. When
it was half-full he offered it to me.

I refused, shutting my mouth tightly. He tried to coax me; he put his hand on my
neck and pressed the rim of the cup against my lips but I turned my head. “I
will not drink,” I said, with my hands over my mouth. “I am no hunter.”

“Her life energy will become ours,” he said. “Please, drink.”

“You took her life. She did not give it to you!”

He retreated. My eyes followed the cup. He lifted it to his own lips and drank
deeply while I stared. Then he played a dirty trick on me. Even before his head
tipped forward again he reached out and took hold of my nose, pinching my
nostrils shut. When I gasped for breath he put his mouth over mine and delivered
the blood to me in a kiss. He’d tossed the cup aside and was holding me tightly,
filling my mouth with the essence of the animal. His tongue was on mine, and
under it. He was seeking her blood and pushing it down my throat. A fire grew in
my belly and I felt a sudden rush.  I think I left my body. I closed my eyes but
I could still see. I saw myself and Strider, coiled together on the forest
floor. I saw my hands groping aimlessly. I heard, from far off, my whimpers, and
his moans. I thought we were making love. Then there was a taste in my mouth,
like I had a mouthful of coins. I feared that if Strider released me, coppers
would spill from my lips, and I didn’t want him to let go. I was sure my heart
would stop, and then the blood going down my throat would be the only blood
flowing in my body.

He continued to kiss me. They were brief kisses, but forceful. Between each one,
he pulled back to look at my mouth, which I am sure was stained vermilion, as
his was. Our kisses made wet noises, and I became aroused.

“We should leave now,” he said abruptly. “The smell of blood will attract other
beasts.”

It was still a long time before supper was prepared. Strider made us keep watch
while he concentrated on cleaning and gutting the doe. I was not standing guard,
really; I was watching the steam rise from her gaping body. And I could smell
her. She did not smell bad at all. Strider said that was because her whole life
she ate only fresh grass and drank only clean water. Creatures that ate meat
smelled foul when they were opened up.

I stayed close this time as Strider began to cut her up, but averted my eyes. I
could hear his knife tearing through her tendons, and the wet slap as her meat
was thrown into the pan. Then the smell of sizzling flesh.

When I was offered the meat, I refused, even though I was very, very hungry.