Title: Dawn's First Light (2/?)
Author: Xenobia
Paring: Frodo/Aragorn
Rating: NC-17 (mild start)
Summary: Frodo overcomes his trepidation about being treated for his pain by 
Aragorn, but the king of Gondor suddenly finds himself in the same position that 
Frodo was in before.
Disclaimer: The usual.  Tolkien made them and owns them, and I like to write 
dirty little stories about them for fun.  No profit is made.
Warning: Alternate ending storyline


“Dawn’s First Light”
Part 2

	Frodo allowed Aragorn to remove his weskit and pull his shirt over his 
head without complaint, but Aragorn noticed that the hobbit shivered when he 
gently touched the swelling scar on his shoulder.  “Are you cold?  I can light the 
fireplace.”

	Frodo shook his head, and his long lashes cast his eyes in shadow as he 
lowered his gaze.  “Just a slight chill, is all.  Please, don’t worry.”

	Aragorn nodded and slid one arm beneath the hobbit’s knees, while 
supporting Frodo’s back with the other.  He helped his small friend to lie back, 
and he covered him to the waist with the bedsheets.  “Are you comfortable 
enough?”

	Frodo bit his lip.  He was in Aragorn’s room, with the door closed, lying in 
his bed, and they were alone.  Comfortable wasn’t exactly the word he would 
choose for how he was feeling right now.  Though in truth, the huge bed was 
supportive and soft at the same time, Frodo was having difficulty relaxing with 
Aragorn leaning over him.  “Yes,” he lied, “I’m quite comfortable, thank you.”

	Aragorn resisted the urge to chuckle.  Hobbits were such polite folk.  He 
could tell that something beyond physical pain was troubling Frodo, and he 
assumed the little Ringbearer was embarrassed for being fussed over.  Well, he 
would have to accept it.  If there was one thing Aragorn didn’t mind, “fussing” 
over Frodo was it.  Now that his patient was prepared, Aragorn reached into the 
bag he had set down by the bed and produced a jar of ointment.  “Try to relax, 
Frodo.  You should be familiar with this medication I’m going to use, by now.  It 
will sting a bit at first, but then it will warm your injuries and soothe them.”

	Frodo chuckled, and Aragorn paused in removing the lid from the jar and 
raised his eyes to the hobbit questioningly.  “I’m sorry,” Frodo said, “it struck me 
as funny when you remarked that I should be familiar with it by now.  I really have 
been chewed up on my journeys, haven’t I?”

	Aragorn smiled quietly, but didn’t respond.  He was concentrating on 
keeping his mind off of how creamy Frodo’s pale skin was.  The scars he bore 
only drew more attention to the smoothness of the hobbit’s unmarred skin, and 
Aragorn found himself thinking that Frodo’s torso was quite attractive.  No matter 
that it was too thin now...that would right itself as the halfling recovered.  He 
glanced sideways at his companion, and it took a moment for him to tear his 
eyes away from Frodo’s pink nipples.  The cool air had hardened them, and an 
unbidden image of soothing the straining nubs with his mouth struck Aragorn 
suddenly.  He went still and frowned as his groin stirred.  Where had that thought 
come from?!  He was supposed to be administering to a sick friend, not thinking 
about warming his nipples with his lips!

	“Aragorn, is something wrong?” Frodo’s soft voice broke through the 
king’s thoughts.  The hobbit winced as he struggled onto his elbows and tried to 
sit up.

	“No, nothing is the matter, little one,” Strider said quickly, and he gently 
laid one large palm on the hobbit’s comparatively dainty shoulder to coax him 
back down.  “I was only making certain that this is the correct medicine.  Lie back 
down.”

	With a little sigh, Frodo did as he was told and watched as Aragorn 
spooned a glob of the ointment out of the jar with one finger.  Next, the ranger 
smoothed the stuff over his free hand and rubbed his palms flat against each 
other to warm the medicine.  Frodo tried not to squirm in anticipation as the 
man’s large hands moved towards him.  He jerked unwillingly as Aragorn began 
to massage his scar with his palms, carefully rubbing the ointment into the 
damaged flesh.  Aragorn glanced up from his work briefly as Frodo made a soft 
sound of distress and clenched his hands into fists.  He frowned.  “It’s more 
tender than usual today.”

	Frodo nodded wordlessly and blew a sigh, blinking up at the ceiling as 
throbbing pain assailed him.  With typical alertness, Aragorn gentled his touch so 
that he was putting very little pressure on the wound, and the pain lessened.  
Frodo’s features relaxed as the discomfort began to fade and the ointment 
warmed him.  “Better?” Questioned Aragorn with a slight smile.  The hobbit had a 
very expressive face, and he could tell that his ministrations were soothing him.

	“Yes, it is.  Your touch actually feels...nice,” Frodo murmured, and the 
blue flame of his eyes dimmed as his lids grew heavy.

	Aragorn’s eyes were drawn to Frodo’s mouth as the hobbit sighed again, 
this time in pleasure.  What unusually shapely lips Frodo had for a lad!  They 
were the perfect bow in shape, and though somewhat pale with his illness, they 
were quite inviting.  Aragorn caught himself just in time as he began to hover 
closer and closer to his small friend, and he jerked straight up and forced his 
hands to stop moving away from the wound.  Elbereth, but he barely caught 
himself in time before he started to massage Frodo’s chest...and he had come 
dangerously close to kissing the hobbit on the mouth, as well!  *What is the 
matter with me?  Did sending Arwen away make me so desperate for love that I 
would take advantage of one who is under my care? *  These thoughts and 
others raged through Aragorn’s mind as he concentrated on keeping his hands 
where they belonged.

	Frodo felt Strider’s tension, and he opened his eyes and looked up at the 
man curiously.  “Is everything all right?”

	The tense smile that Aragorn gave him did nothing to reassure the 
hobbit.  “Of course, little one.  I’m merely concerned with how agitated your 
wound is.”

	Frodo felt that there was more, but he knew better than to press the man.  
He was getting sleepy, now that Strider had worked his magic and banished 
some of the pain he was in.  He tried to fight his yawn, not wishing to be rude to 
his host, but it was useless.

	Aragorn chuckled as Frodo raised a hand hastily to his mouth to cover 
the jaw-cracking yawn that assailed him.  “You may rest if you like, Frodo.  In 
fact, I insist that you sleep here tonight, where I may watch over you.  I shouldn’t 
leave you alone with your wound so volatile, and it would be best if I were nearby 
to see to you, if it should flare up.”

	Frodo was embarrassed and taken off guard.  “Oh no, my lord!  I couldn’t 
possibly take your bed!  It isn’t proper at all!  I assure you, if I feel the slightest bit 
odd, I’ll come to you immediately.”

	Aragorn shook his head and gave the hobbit a stern look.  “This isn’t 
open for discussion, Frodo...and please, don’t call me ‘your lord’.  It sounds 
wrong from you.  You forget, I’m quite used to keeping odd hours, and honestly, I 
was up all last night and sleeping most of today, due to some documents that 
must be taken care of.  I can take the lounge whilst you rest.  Otherwise, I won’t 
be able to sleep for worry of you.”

	“But-“

	Aragorn crossed his arms over his chest and frowned even more deeply 
at the stubborn halfling, and Frodo snapped his mouth shut and gazed back at 
him bashfully.  “Very well, Strider.  I suppose you would tie me down if I tried to 
leave, anyhow.”  He smiled.

	Aragorn nodded.  “Indeed, I would.  I’m happy that we understand one 
another.”

~**************~

	Aragorn puffed on his pipe and watched over Frodo as the hobbit fell into 
an uneasy sleep.  He kept a low fire on the hearth to maintain warmth in the 
room, and the orange light flickered over the small form curled up in his bed.  
Frodo tossed fitfully beneath the covers, murmuring and fretting.  The hobbit 
kicked the covers down in a little fit, and Aragorn quickly stood up and 
approached.  He paused for a moment, noting the way Frodo’s pale skin 
glistened with sweat.  He briefly considered leaving the covers off of his charge, 
but then the halfling might catch a chill.  “There now, Frodo,” Aragorn whispered 
as he pulled the covers back over the hobbit and tucked him in.  He sat on the 
edge of the bed and stroked Frodo’s hair, marveling at how silky the dark mass 
of curls was.  One slightly damp ringlet took a liking to one of Aragorn’s fingers 
and stubbornly curled around it, and the ranger smiled in spite of himself.

	“You hobbits have unruly hair to match your unruly wiles,” the king of 
Gondor murmured.  He meant to get back up and return to his pipe (which was 
still smoking in the tray beside the lounge), but his body refused to obey him.  He 
remained where he was, and he continued to run his fingers through the nearly 
black ringlets of Frodo’s hair, and before he realized what was happening, he 
had begun to hum.  It was an old elven song, one that he barely remembered 
from his childhood, when his mother was still alive.  It must have been a song 
that she sang to him when he was ill, for it had a protective, nurturing quality to it.

	Aragorn was about to stop humming, realizing how foolish he was being, 
but then he noticed that Frodo had quieted and sighed in his sleep.  The hobbit 
rolled over onto his side and pillowed his cheek beneath both hands, and he lay 
there looking for all the world like a ravished, beautiful elfling who had just found 
a bit of peace.  Aragorn continued to hum what he remembered of the lullaby, 
and he could no longer deny the pang that he felt as he stared at his small guest.  
How and when it happened was beyond his ken, but he knew in that moment that 
he had fallen in love with Frodo Baggins.  “It seems the greatest wonders take 
place around you, Ringbearer,” he said in a shaken whisper.  

	Somehow, he was going to have to hide this.  No good could come of 
these feelings!  Aragorn sighed and caressed Frodo’s smooth cheek with the 
back of his fingertips.  More forbidden fruit for him to pine over.  He didn’t bother 
to question fate as to why this was happening again.  It wasn’t in Aragorn’s 
nature to complain...at least, not out loud.  He had again fallen for someone he 
had no business being drawn to in that way, and he would again have to pay the 
price and move on with his life.

	Unaware of the silent struggle the man hovering over him was having, 
Frodo slept on, sustained and soothed by Aragorn’s presence and the sound of 
his deep, melodious voice humming a tune.

~****************~

-To be continued