Title: Echo of the Gladden Fields
Author: 
Category: Romance, Hurt/Comfort, First-Time, Interspecies, Angst
Rating: NC-17 
Pairing: Aragorn/Frodo 
Warning: None, Graphic Sex 
Disclaimer: Disclaimers. The usual. I make no money off of this
and do not own these characters, much to my chagrin. They belong
to Tolkien Enterprises and New Line Productions and I only give
them interesting---and usually unpleasant---ways to spend their
time. 
 
Story Notes: Archived at lilybaggins.sinfree.net 
Summary: While traveling the Anduin, Frodo comes face to face
with Gollum's devious ways.   



 The eyes were back again, shining at the hobbit from the banks
of the Great River, Anduin. Frodo could see them---indeed he
could not help but seek them out---as he sat between Aragorn and
Sam in the graceful Elven canoe. Behind Frodo, the ranger rowed,
his keen eyes also watching on all sides. Above, the sky was
pitch black, studded with a few twinkling stars. The darkness
had just settled, and the ranger had insisted the Fellowship
journey until well past nightfall. In the bow of the boat Sam
lay curled on his side deep in sleep, oblivious to the night
birds and chirping insects. 

 As for himself, Frodo found it nearly impossible to sleep. The
Ring felt suddenly heavy, and the pale, luminous eyes that
occasionally fixed on him from the darkness caused him to
shudder. He knew what creature those eyes belonged to---they had
been following him for days. Gollum. For more than the hundredth
time Frodo wished Bilbo had taken the wretched creature's life,
despite Gandalf's chastisement in the mines of Moria regarding
such thoughts. 

 Gandalf. Thinking of him, Frodo sighed. How he missed the old
wizard. And Bilbo. And scrambled eggs, and a soft bed, and pound
cake with strawberries and fresh cream . . . better not to think
such thoughts, he told himself, bowing his head down. A chill
wind passed overhead and Frodo shuddered. 

 At once, the rowing momentarily paused, and Frodo felt strong
arms gently fasten another cloak about his shoulders. No words
were spoken, but the large hands rubbed the hobbit's back
briskly for a moment before taking up the oars again. 

 The touch did make Frodo feel better, he conceded. Nothing
could make the loss of Gandalf easier to bear, but Frodo felt
the same level of safety and trust with Aragorn. And given the
way his heart seemed to speed up at the man's touch lately, the
hobbit admitted to himself that he might indeed feel something
else as well. Probably something more than he ought to feel for
the tall ranger, Frodo thought ruefully. 

 Behind him, as if he could read the hobbit's thoughts, Aragorn
spoke softly in Frodo's ear. 

 "Why don't you take some rest, little one?" the ranger asked
him. "Lie down and sleep if you can. We'll not make camp for two
or three hours yet." 

 "I will try in a bit, Aragorn," Frodo told him, although he
figured the attempt would be futile. He was uneasy, and a cold
wind was coming down off the river's edge. Lifting his head, he
narrowed his wide blue eyes and scanned the bank for the pale
globes he knew were watching from afar. 

 After seeing no sign of the eyes for at least a half-hour,
Frodo felt himself growing weary and his head started to droop a
bit. He yawned and sighed, wrapping the cloaks more tightly
about himself. 

 "Frodo," Aragorn whispered, "why don't you lie down? I doubt
you will find any sleep sitting up that way. And you do need
sleep, little one, while you can get it. You've looked rather
weary of late." 

 "You are right, Aragorn," the hobbit replied, feeling suddenly
very sleepy. He carefully eased himself down to curl up in the
bottom of the boat, his body just lightly touching Sam on one
side and Aragorn on the other. After feeling his chest to make
certain the Ring was still secure, Frodo tucked his hands up
under his chin and sighed. He shivered a bit and was not
surprised when he felt Aragorn's hands tucking the cloaks more
tightly about him for warmth. 

 "Rest easy, little one," came the ranger's voice. And Frodo,
lulled by the buoyancy of the water and the gentle lapping of
the waves, soon drifted off to sleep. 

 Aragorn looked at the two hobbits curled up in the boat and
smiled. He could see Sam's crop of sandy curls and one side of
Frodo's pale face in the moonlight. A delicate pointed ear
peeked through the Ring-bearer's mass of hair. Aragorn's glance
lingered on Frodo and the smile was replaced by a look of
longing. When Frodo sighed and wiggled a bit in his sleep,
Aragorn tore his glance away before his thoughts turned to more
than the rowing at hand.  

 About two hours later, Aragorn finally spotted an easily
accessible area of river bank ideal for setting up camp.
"Boromir, Legolas!" he called as loudly as he dared over the
water as he pointed to the site. Acknowledging him, the others
rowed swiftly for the shore. 

 In Aragorn's boat, Frodo and Sam were still dead to the world.
Reaching the riverbank, the ranger climbed out and dragged the
bow of the canoe partly onto the shore, then gathered his and
the hobbits' gear. He hated to wake Frodo and Sam: they had
suffered so much lately and needed the sleep. With a thoughtful
look at Sam and the smallest pat to Frodo's thigh, Aragorn
decided to give them a few more minutes rest. He got the packs
and strode off to help Boromir and Legolas, who had just beached
their boats as well. 

 Frodo, for once, was having pleasant dreams that he was snugly
ensconced back in the huge bed in Rivendell. He sighed in his
sleep, curling his body up closer for warmth. Almost in
response, a hand tucked his cloaks more tightly about him, and
the hobbit relaxed, giving back in to sleep. Beside him, Sam was
softly snoring. 

 The hand that had tucked the cloak around Frodo now grasped the
side of the boat, and two luminous eyes peered down at the small
beings within. Gollum hissed under his breath as he looked at
them, peacefully asleep, and then the evil creature slid back
into the water. 

 Unnoticed by the other members of the company in the darkness
of the riverbank, the canoe began to slide ever-so-slowly back
down into the water. And if Aragorn or the others had seen it,
they would still have failed to notice, hidden on the other
side, the ropy black arm guiding it.  

 Merry and Pippin stepped out of their canoe, stretching their
legs gingerly from the long journey. "Might we have a fire
tonight?" the youngest hobbit asked hopefully. 

 "Nay, it's too dangerous," Boromir answered. "I doubt we'll be
able to have a fire anytime soon, as much as I'd like to feel
the heat and have a nice cooked meal. Which is why I imagine you
asked?" he said with a chuckle. 

 They nodded, and Pippin's face looked very disappointed. He
sighed, looking around the camp for the others. "Where are Frodo
and Sam?" 

 "Asleep in the boat," Aragorn answered. "Why don't you go wake
them up? It's probably not safe for them to be there long, and
it's time we all had something to eat and discussed our plans
for tomorrow." 

 Pippin nodded, looking around for the canoe. But he only saw
two nearby---the third was not beside them. "Aragorn?" the
hobbit began slowly, his voice soft. Turning his gaze, he looked
out at the open water---and his heart leaped in fear as he
spotted a long gray shape slowly making its way from the edge of
the riverbank. 

 "Aragorn!" the young hobbit shouted, heedless of the dangers of
any enemies about hearing him. His friends might be in trouble,
and that was all he gave thought to. "Aragorn, their canoe has
floated off!" 

 Immediately the ranger's head snapped up from unloading a
bedroll and he stared in open-faced shock at the Elven boat
moving toward the center of the river. Moving too rapidly to be
carried by the water alone. 

 And then, with one smooth movement, the boat capsized.  

 Frodo woke with a start as Anduin's icy water enveloped his
entire body. Still in that twilight land between sleep and
wakefulness, he tried to scream but only succeeded in pulling in
a lungful of water. His eyes snapped open as he gasped and all
he could see was murky darkness. Nearby, he heard splashing in
the water, but in his panicked state could not register what it
was. 

 As he became aware of the fact that he was sinking in the
Anduin, Frodo began thrashing and managed to make it to the
surface to gulp a mouthful of air. A wildly flying hand struck
the Elven boat and he clutched at it madly, choking as he came
fully awake and aware of his surroundings. 

 Then he realized who must have gone with him into the water.
"SAM!" Frodo yelled as loudly as he could, but there was no
answer. Frodo was about to call again when something snatched at
his legs. He kicked madly, trying to draw Sting, when he felt
the intense pain of teeth sinking into the fleshy part of his
hand. He gasped, losing his grip, and was pulled down into the
cold water. 

 Suddenly two lamplike eyes came into Frodo's line of vision.
Gollum. Cold skinny hands began clawing at the hobbit, grasping
at his body. The Ring. Yes, that was what Gollum was after.
Frodo fought the prying hands off as best he could, managing
once or twice to get his head above water and take in a mouthful
of air. 

 As if from a great distance he heard voices, but when he tried
to scream, Gollum's hands went around his throat and began
shaking, then forced Frodo back down under the water. 

 "Where issss it?" the creature hissed, his eyes bulging. "Give
the Precious to Smeagol or die like other hobbitses. Other
Bagginsses on boats. Smeagol's a sneak. He drownded them, yes he
did. We hates Bagginses. Hates them forever!" 

 Hearing this, Frodo's eyes widened and he started flailing more
wildly, trying to hit Gollum with his fists. He choked and tried
to rise, but Frodo was not a strong swimmer, especially wearing
several layers of clothing, and Sting and his mithril coat
weighed him down. 

 "Give it to us! Where iss it?" the creature screamed, digging
through one of Frodo's pockets. Suddenly a glow permeated the
water and Gollum wailed hideously, tearing his hands away from
the hobbit. Even as he did so, Frodo managed to grasp the Ring
and slip it on, vanishing from sight. 

 Suddenly the water turned even darker and murkier . . . a
product of the Ring and Frodo's own fading consciousness. He
tried to rise, arms flailing, and at that moment felt something
sharp go through his forearm. The pain caught him off guard and
he breathed in deeply, sinking to the river bottom as water
filled his lungs. Above, Gollum shrieked, and then all was
quiet. 

 Just before blackness claimed him, Frodo saw a glowing object
falling gently with him in the water. Not recognizing it in his
jumbled thoughts, but realizing he needed it, the hobbit grabbed
at it and clutched it tightly. His last conscious thought came
unbidden: the realization that he was going to die just as his
parents had. And then he knew no more.	

 Aragorn wasted no time calling to the others. "Legolas!
Boromir!" he called even as he ran to the water's edge. The
other two swiftly followed, Legolas with his bow, leaving a
stunned Merry, Pippin, and Gimli on the shore. They could hear
the sounds of splashing near the boat and a hobbit's faint cry. 

 Luckily the boat had not gone out terribly far and the water,
although well over a man's head, was not exceedingly deep. The
men immediately took off swimming, but Legolas approached
cautiously, knocking an arrow on his bow. Suddenly, two luminous
eyes turned toward them from the darkness. Legolas let an arrow
fly and the eyes disappeared into the blackness of the night,
although the elf could see no sign that his arrow had hit its
target. 

 Aragorn and Boromir ignored the icy water as they dived under
the boat. There was a slight unexplainable glow under the water,
and the ranger could just make out the shape of a small person
at the bottom of the river, moving gently with the current.
Heading toward it, he tucked the body under one arm and rose to
the surface. 

 It was Sam. Aragorn couldn't see what sort of shape the hobbit
was in, but he was relieved to find a thready pulse. Boromir
came up to the surface to take a breath and Aragorn passed the
unconscious and deathly cold hobbit off to him. 

 "Boromir, take Sam!" the ranger shouted. "Take him to the
shore, quickly!" With that Aragorn, joined by Legolas, dived
back under to search for Frodo. The ranger knew only one thing:
He would not stop searching until he found Frodo. And it had
nothing to do with the Ring. 

 Meanwhile, Legolas skirted along the river bottom looking for
the source of the light. His keen Elven eyes finally found it:
the Phial of Galadriel. It looked to be resting on the sand, but
was not moving very quickly with the current. Of Frodo there was
no sign. Knowing he was running out of air and would soon have
to resurface, the elf grabbed for the Phial---and encountered
something he could not see wrapped around it. Puzzled, Legolas
felt around a bit more and realized small invisible fingers
clutched the star-glass. Realizing it was Frodo wearing the
Ring, the elf wasted no time grabbing him and floating up. 

 "I've got Frodo and the Ring!" he called loudly as he surfaced,
feeling for Frodo's head to make sure he kept it above water.
Aragorn soon resurfaced, his face a momentary mask of relief. It
was replaced quickly with concern. 

 "Here, I will take him, Legolas---you bring the boat in," the
ranger said, strangely reluctant to entrust Frodo to anyone
else. He grabbed for the hobbit and stopped suddenly, realizing
he did not see Frodo in the elf's arms. 

 "He is wearing the Ring," the elf explained hastily, seeing the
ranger's apprehensive look. "I would not have found him but for
this." He held up Galadriel's star-glass. 

 Aragorn nodded and feeling for Frodo's chest, tucked him under
one arm and made his way to the shore as fast as he could go. 

 As he neared the riverbank, the ranger could hear Boromir
yelling for Merry and Pippin to start a fire and boil some
water. The man was pressing on Sam's back to expel water from
the hobbit's lungs. Sam's face was gray, and his lips and the
tips of his ears were tinged with blue, but he was alive. 

 Legolas caught up to them and Aragorn motioned for him to help
Boromir with Sam. Suddenly, Sam brought up some of the water
from his lungs and coughed, his breathing becoming raspy. 

 "Keep working on him, Boromir," the ranger told him. "We need
to make sure we get every bit of water we can out of them." He
knew the complications that could set in from near-drowning:
shock, lung damage, brain damage, and possibly pneumonia even
days later. 

 Aragorn deposited the invisible Frodo on the grassy bank next
to Sam, a bit rougher than he had intended to in his panic.
Feeling his way down Frodo's face, he rested his fingers against
the cold neck and was relieved beyond comprehension to find a
weak pulse. Frantically, the ranger felt around and finally
managed to find Frodo's right hand, which was minus the Ring.
Grasping for the left hand, Aragorn located the thick gold band
around one of the small cold fingers. With a yank, he tugged the
Ring off and instantly Frodo became visible. Aragorn's breath
caught at the sight. 

 Long dark lashes lay on deathly pale waxen cheeks, and like
Sam, Frodo's lips, eyelids, and the points of his ears had a
slightly bluish tinge that did not bode well. The hobbit's coat
sleeve was stained with blood, and his hand appeared to be
bleeding slightly as well. Frodo's dark mass of curly hair was
wet and stringy and dotted here and there with mud from the
river bottom. For a split second, the ranger longed to lean down
and kiss the cold rosebud mouth, making it come warm and alive
under his. But he knew that was not possible. For the hobbit was
not breathing. 

 Trying to control his emotions, Aragorn slipped the Ring in
Frodo's pocket as he flipped the hobbit none-too-gently onto his
stomach. Leaning forward, the ranger placed his hands on Frodo's
back and pressed down many times, pumping the water from his
lungs. The ranger was seriously afraid he would injure the
hobbit or crack a rib with his strength. 

 "Come, little one," Aragorn urged, "stay with me. Let it go. "
Suddenly frothy water poured out of Frodo's mouth and the hobbit
coughed, taking in irregular gasps of air. 

 Legolas's voice cut through the silence. 

 "Boromir, Sam has stopped breathing," the elf said frantically.
"Turn him over, quickly!" Together, Legolas and Boromir flipped
Sam over onto his back. Tilting the hobbit's chin back, Legolas
cleared an airway and lowered his mouth to Sam's, breathing air
into his lungs. After two tries, a ragged intake of breath could
be heard and all three rescuers sighed in relief. Behind the
small group huddled over the stricken hobbits, Gimli, Merry, and
Pippin watched silently, their eyes afraid. Small tears flowed
down Pippin's cheeks. 

 Aragorn kept pressing on the back of his own small charge,
willing Frodo to expel all the water from his lungs and start
breathing properly. Frodo began to wheeze painfully and the
ranger felt like a torturer, but continued his treatment. "Easy,
Frodo," he murmured to the listless hobbit. "It will be over
soon." 

 A minute later, Frodo choked and then vomited a large amount of
water onto the riverbank. He moaned softly as his eyelids
fluttered and his breathing resumed a normal rhythm, although it
was still much too labored for Aragorn's liking. 

 The ranger sighed and carefully rolled Frodo onto his side in
case he vomited again. He ran his hands down the hobbit's body
as he checked for other injuries, relieved to see that other
than the wounds he'd noted earlier, there seemed to be none. 

 Rapidly he yanked Frodo's coat off---not the easiest task since
it was saturated with water---and rolled Frodo's shirt sleeve up
to bare his arm, grimacing. Legolas's arrow had apparently
pierced it all the way through. Given the small size of Frodo's
forearm, the wound was rather large, but not life-threatening
provided no infection set in. Aragorn looked at Merry and Pippin
as he applied pressure to stop the bleeding. 

 "Merry, put some hot water on to boil and bring me my pack,"
Aragorn called to him, then turned to Boromir and Legolas, who
had just finished pumping the last of the water from Sam's
lungs. "How is Sam? Any injuries?" 

 Boromir shook his head. "Nay, none that we can find. He seems
to be in one piece, but is still very cold. I'm going to get
these wet things off of him." He looked over at Frodo's forearm,
his eyes narrowing. "What happened, Aragorn? It looks as if he
took an arrow." 

 Legolas looked grim. "Aye, he did. I was aiming for Gollum and
Frodo was in front of him, invisible. I did not see him," he
finished sadly. 

 "Don't blame yourself, Legolas," Aragorn told him. "You could
not see Frodo, and probably saved his life from Gollum. He's
very lucky he only got shot in the arm and not worse." The
ranger shook his head. "If this is anybody's fault, it is mine.
I should have known better than to leave them . . ." 

 "No, Aragorn," Legolas said gently, "you were watching out for
their best interests at all times. You could not have foreseen
this." 

 The ranger nodded grimly, but the pain in the gray-blue eyes
told Legolas that he didn't take it to heart. 

 Merry returned with the hot water and Aragorn's pack, and the
ranger found his athelas and steeped it. With a gentle cloth he
cleaned Frodo's arm, pouring warm athelas water into the wound
and binding it up as tightly as he dared. It would be extremely
painful for the hobbit for a long while, of that Aragorn was
certain. That done, he cleaned the bite wound Frodo had
sustained on his hand, praying that Gollum's teeth didn't cause
an infection. Elbereth only knew where those teeth had been, the
ranger thought as he gently wrapped the hand in cloth, marveling
at its small size next to his own. 

 Merry's voice cut through his concentration. "Aragorn," the
hobbit asked, looking at his two friends lying on the rocky
ground, "when do you think they'll wake up?" 

 Aragorn shook his head. "I don't know, Merry. Soon, we shall
hope." He could not give voice to his fear that one or both of
them might not wake up at all.	

 Aragorn turned to Boromir and Legolas. "The fire is going well
now. Let's move them closer to it while we finish getting their
wet clothing off. And let us make sure they do not have any
injuries we have missed." He gently lifted Frodo while Boromir
took Sam, and both of them laid the hobbits down close to the
campfire Merry and Pippin had built. Frodo and Sam were still
breathing raggedly and shivering, although their faces did not
look quite so blue as they had earlier. 

 Aragorn began to quickly undo Frodo's sodden clothes, shaking
his head at the umpteen layers of garments the hobbit seemed to
possess. Frodo's coat had already been removed, but that still
left two cloaks he had been bundled up in, followed by his brown
vest containing the Ring, suspenders, and his white shirt.
Taking the Ring out of Frodo's vest, Aragorn restrung it on its
silver chain about the hobbit's neck. 

 Once the ranger had removed these items, he still had the
shimmering mithril coat to contend with---and a light leather
shirt under that. Aragorn had a bit of trouble getting the
mithril coat off of Frodo and had to lift the hobbit partly off
the ground to get it over his head. Once done, Gimli happily
took charge of looking after it. Nearby, Boromir had nearly
finished with Sam's clothing. 

 Aragorn then unfastened Sting from Frodo's hip and began to
unbutton the hobbit's breeches, which were secured by four
buttons in front. Strange clothing the hobbits wore, Aragorn
thought to himself. 

 Listening to Frodo's labored breathing, Aragorn stopped for a
moment to turn Frodo onto his side. He patted the hobbit's back
several times to facilitate further clearing of Frodo's lungs
and airway, but nothing came up. Aragorn sighed and caressed the
pale cheek gently, rolling Frodo back over. 

 Aragorn slid Frodo's breeches off and paused a moment before
removing his underpants---curious linen-like shorts which were
actually very soft to the touch. Like the rest of the hobbit's
clothing, they were wet, so Aragorn went ahead and slipped them
off, averting his eyes as best he could from Frodo's flaccid
member resting softly in a nest of dark curly hair. It would not
do at all, Aragorn thought, to ogle his small patient when he
was vulnerable and unconscious. He had seen Frodo unclothed
before---privacy on a long journey such as this was a rare
thing---but that didn't make resisting lustful urges any easier.


 Taking soft cloths from his pack, he handed one to Boromir and
the two men proceeded to rub the hobbits briskly from head to
toe to warm them up and improve circulation. Aragorn first began
drying Frodo's hair, knowing that it would chill the hobbit as
long as it was wet, then gently dabbed at the delicate pointed
ears and face. He quickly moved down the whole of Frodo's body,
rubbing briskly, businesslike and stern, making sure he had not
overlooked any injuries. 

 And Aragorn ruefully considered it a good sign---and managed to
keep his face perfectly straight---when Frodo's penis rose a bit
in response to the ranger's rubbing motions. 

 He quickly moved down to Frodo's legs and feet. As he finished
and grabbed for cloaks and a bedroll to wrap the shivering
hobbit in, Frodo whimpered and his eyelids fluttered, then he
coughed slightly. Aragorn turned Frodo toward him on his side as
the coughing spasms grew worse. The ranger lightly thumped
Frodo's back with one hand as he spoke soothing words to the
hobbit in Elvish. 

 After a few minutes, the coughing subsided a bit and Frodo
moaned, his breathing still ragged. 

 "Frodo, wake up," the ranger implored, cupping the hobbit's
face with his hands and willing him to consciousness. "Come,
little one," Aragorn said in a sterner voice. "Wake up now . . .
open your eyes. Can you hear me, Frodo?" 

 Slowly the eyelids lifted to reveal the bright blue eyes, which
stared straight ahead, seemingly unseeing. 

 "Frodo?" Aragorn called again, concerned. He patted Frodo's
cheek briskly and the hobbit sighed. 

 "Strider?" Frodo asked in a raspy voice. "Where . . . am I?
What . . . happened?" He coughed a bit with the effort of
speaking and shivered with the cold. 

 "Yes, it's me, Frodo," the ranger told him, draping a bedroll
over the hobbit for warmth. He laid a large hand on Frodo's
cheek and brushed the still-damp hair back from a pointed ear.
Aragorn's mouth was slightly turned up in what was for him
extreme joy at seeing the hobbit awake. "You nearly drowned,
Frodo . . . Gollum attacked you." 

 Suddenly the hobbit's eyes grew hugely wide and a look of panic
came over his face. He tried to reach up, wincing at the pain in
his injured arm. Aragorn knew what he was seeking and lightly
jostled the chain around Frodo's neck. 

 "You still have the Ring," the ranger told him. "It's there
about your neck." The blue eyes simply stared at him and then
relaxed, half closing, before they opened up again. 

 "How do you feel?" the ranger asked him as Merry and Pippin
came over to stand by the two, tears in their eyes at seeing
Frodo awake. 

 "Hurts," Frodo whispered wearily, coughing. 

 "What hurts?" the ranger asked. "Your arm? You were wounded by
an arrow, Frodo. It will heal, but will be painful for a time,
I'm afraid." 

 "Mmm..." the hobbit murmured. "Chest and . . . ears . . .
hurt." 

 Aragorn understood. Frodo probably still had river water
running around in his inner ears that would take awhile to come
out. He was dismayed to hear that Frodo's chest hurt, although
it was probably to be expected given the circumstances. 

 "I'm sorry, little one . . . I'll see what I can do about
easing your pain," Aragorn said as he rubbed Frodo's shoulder
briskly through the bedroll to ease his shivering. Although with
his limited stock of supplies, the ranger wasn't certain what
more he could do. 

 Next to them, Boromir was wrapping Sam up in his bedroll, and
seeing Sam's curly golden hair, Frodo's eyes widened and he
started breathing more quickly. "S . . sam?" he asked, his voice
wavering, his eyes moving back to Aragorn. "Aragorn, is Sam . .
. ?" he trailed off, his lower lip quivering with fear, tears
welling up in his eyes. 

 "No, little one, Sam is alive. He's still unconscious, but he
doesn't seem to have any permanent injuries. We're watching him
carefully and I'm sure he will wake up soon. Now, you rest." 

 Frodo nodded, opening his mouth to speak, but he was still weak
from his near-drowning and blood loss form his arrow wound. He
sighed and closed his eyes in exhaustion, giving back in to
sleep. Aragorn turned to Merry and Pippin, handing them Frodo's
and Sam's wet clothes to lay out by the fire to dry. Boromir
looked at the ranger. 

 "Maybe we should wrap them up together, so they may share body
heat and warm up faster?" Boromir asked him. 

 Aragorn shook his head. "For now, neither has enough body heat
to help the other. It would be better if we held them for awhile
near the fire and shared a bedroll with them later." The man of
Gondor nodded, wrapping his charge warmly. 

 Aragorn gently bundled Frodo tightly in two dry cloaks and two
bedrolls, covering his head so that only his face peeked out.
The ranger caressed the soft cheek gently, lingering a moment
over the lips, then looked to see how Boromir was faring with
Sam. As he glanced up, Aragorn saw Legolas watching him, a kind
but knowing expression on his fair face. The ranger quickly
looked away as he prepared to lift Frodo onto his lap. 

 "Aragorn?" Legolas's voice called to him. "Aragorn, you should
eat something. The other hobbits have already begun to cook a
meal." 

 "I will in a while, Legolas." 

 "Aragorn, I know how stubborn you can be, and you also,
Boromir," the elf went on. "Gimli and I can look after Frodo and
Sam while you two go have something to eat. If only for a few
minutes." 

 Boromir nodded, but Aragorn was extremely reluctant to give
Frodo up to someone else. Looking at Legolas's concerned face,
however, and not wanting to appear ungrateful, he gave in. 

 "Very well," the ranger told him, "but you two shall need to
hold them so they do not lay on the cold ground." Picking his
well-wrapped burden up, Aragorn carried Frodo over to Legolas
and set him in the elf's arms. Legolas took the hobbit and held
him snugly, resting Frodo's cloak-covered head against his
shoulder. Gimli did the same with Sam. 

 Merry and Pippin had just finished preparing sausage and other
sundries from their supplies, and the food smelled good to those
who had not had a hot meal in many long days. Aragorn found it
slightly tasteless, however. He could not really concentrate on
eating---his eyes kept straying to the wrapped figure in
Legolas's arms. The elf and Gimli sat near one another, holding
their charges and engaging in light conversation. Aragorn had
finished his meal and was about to reclaim Frodo when Gimli
called out. 

 "I think Sam is waking up!" he called gruffly as he felt the
hobbit shift slightly in his arms. Setting their tins of food
down, Aragorn and the others ran to Gimli's side. Sure enough,
Sam's eyelids fluttered and he opened them slightly. The ranger
spoke softly to him. 

 "Sam, you're all right. Sam, wake up," he called gently. 

 "Aye, Sam, we want you to open your eyes now," Gimli told him. 

 Sam coughed slightly and moved his lips a bit. "Smells . . .
good," was all he said, then closed his eyes and went back to
sleep. The rest of the company looked at each other, smiling. 

 "I'd say that's a good sign," the ranger told them. "Hopefully
when he wakes we can persuade him to drink a bit. He and Frodo
need to take some water and food, but we can ill afford to have
them choke on it." He sighed, then straightened and looked at
the others. "I'd say it's high time we all got some rest. We
must rise early and figure out our travel plans. We shall have
to see how Frodo and Sam are faring in the morning before we can
decide when to move on." 

 "Aye," said Boromir, "I can't see taking these two sick things
on the boats---that seems folly to me." 

 The ranger nodded. They needed to move on---it was dangerous to
stay in any one place for too long---but he was not willing to
risk the hobbits' health to do so if they were still feeble come
the morrow. 

 Going to Legolas, Aragorn peered down at Frodo's face. "Go and
have a rest, Legolas," Aragorn told him as he felt Frodo's
forehead to check his temperature. "I'll take Frodo. Gimli is
taking the first watch, and Merry and Pippin have already
volunteered to look after Sam." 

 Legolas nodded and gave up his charge to Aragorn's waiting
arms. Deciding he should try to get some sleep, the ranger
spread a bedroll on the ground and lay Frodo down on it. He
unwrapped Frodo from his wad of coverings so the hobbit lay
wrapped in only a dry human-sized cloak. 

 Although Frodo's skin was warmer to the touch than it had been
earlier, Aragorn was taking no chances of the hobbit becoming
chilled. Lying down on his side next to Frodo, Aragorn turned
Frodo to face him and drew him close so the hobbit's head rested
against the man's warm chest. The ranger knew it was important
to keep a person's head warm to prevent heat from escaping, so
he wrapped the bedrolls snugly about the two of them up to his
own neck, so that Frodo's head was completely covered. An
observer would not have been able to see the hobbit wrapped up
with Aragorn. 

 A few feet away by the fire, Merry and Pippin had curled up
with Sam tucked tightly between them, sharing their body heat. 

 The ranger sighed as he felt Frodo's curly hair---still a tiny
bit damp---tickling his chest where his shirt lay open. Pulling
the hobbit into an even closer embrace, Aragorn closed his eyes
and simply enjoyed the feel of the smaller body pressed against
his own. And he admitted to himself, as he felt his member
become slightly aroused, that his protective instincts toward
Frodo did not stem solely from his duty as the leader of the
Company.  

 Two hours later, Frodo slowly opened his eyes and blinked
several times. He was nestled against something warm and
breathing---a person. A person who smelled like Aragorn.
Squirming a bit, he drew his head back and saw that it was
Aragorn. Frodo was lying on his side under a bedroll, pressed up
against the ranger with Aragorn's arms about him. For a moment,
the hobbit was a bit nervous and embarrassed, but he still felt
rather sick and he was so warm, he wasn't about to move. 

 He started to drift back to sleep, but a coughing fit took him
instead. As if in response, Aragorn rubbed his back and then
moved the covers aside. Frodo shivered as the cool wind hit his
skin. With a concerned look in his blue-gray eyes, the ranger
gently disentangled himself from the hobbit, feeling Frodo's
forehead and cheeks. He was gratified to see that Frodo's skin
no longer felt so chilled. 

 "I'll be right back, little one," the ranger told him and slid
out of the bedroll. Getting up, the ranger stopped to check on
Sam, who was still sleeping quietly between Merry and Pippin,
and found that Sam's skin was returning to normal, also. 

 After checking to make sure Gimli was still on watch and
Legolas after that, Aragorn grabbed a water flask and took it
back to his bedroll. Boromir had volunteered to take the last
watch so that Aragorn might continue to look after Frodo and
Sam. Slipping back inside the bedroll next to Frodo, he raised
the hobbit's head and pressed the flask to his lips. Frodo drank
thirstily. 

 "Thank you," Frodo whispered, his voice still raspy. He found
that breathing was a bit painful and his wounded arm and hand
stung abominably. Aragorn seemed to notice and brushed the
hobbit's hair back as he looked down on him, noting the
still-pale face and the weary blue eyes. 

 "Aragorn, how is . . . Sam?" Frodo whispered. 

 "He woke up while you were sleeping, little one. I just checked
on him and he's doing much better---sound asleep right now, as
you should be." 

 So saying, he pulled the hobbit back in close to him so they
lay nestled together once more. "Lay your head against me . . .
that's it." Aragorn once again tucked the bedroll over Frodo's
head to keep out the chill wind. Lying in the ranger's arms
seemed to lessen Frodo's pain, and he soon fell back to sleep. 

 Aragorn dozed off and on throughout the night. Frodo was not a
very quiet sleeper, the ranger realized, as he felt the hobbit
squirming against him periodically, breathing much more raggedly
than normal. He also coughed a bit in his sleep, which concerned
Aragorn, but he had no medicine for it without searching the
woods for herbs, which the ranger planned to do at daybreak. One
time the ranger had definitely felt their groins grinding
together as Frodo shifted, and he prayed Frodo didn't wake up
and feel the ranger's erection pushing firmly into his stomach. 

 Uneasily, Aragorn tried to sleep for a while, but his side was
aching from lying on it for so long. Still clasping Frodo,
Aragorn turned onto his back so that the hobbit lay on top of
him. The ranger had begun to doze lightly when Frodo whimpered
and moaned in his sleep. Worried that Frodo might be in pain,
Aragorn lifted the bedroll to see the hobbit's face. Frodo's
eyes were squeezed shut, then suddenly, his face relaxed and
became peaceful, the rosebud lips parting slightly in a sigh. 

 At the same moment Aragorn felt a small trickle of warm wetness
against his stomach, and his eyes opened wide in surprise.
Hoping Frodo didn't wake up, the ranger slowly reached his hand
between both of their bodies. Frodo's cloak had fallen open and
the hobbit was lying atop him naked. Trying not to brush Frodo's
penis with his hand, Aragorn felt the sticky substance and
realized exactly what had happened---Frodo had come in his
sleep. 

 His heart beating quickly, Aragorn grabbed a cloth from his
pack within arm's length and surreptitiously wiped his stomach
clean. He had a feeling such a thing would embarrass the hobbit
terribly, even though it likely had nothing to do with their
current situation. Frodo could have been dreaming about any
number of things, Aragorn knew. But the ranger was still caught
with an unexplainable urge to slip his hands under Frodo's cloak
and slide them over the nude body beneath it. 

 As if in response, his erection sprung full-force again and
Aragorn decided he needed to get up before this got too painful.
He had definite plans to go off into the woods and take care of
it at the first opportunity---he did, after all, need to wander
and look for a plant bark to ease the hobbits' chest pain. 

 Above, Aragorn could see the moon slowly disappearing as the
sky lightened a bit. Carefully, the ranger turned over and eased
Frodo onto his back, his hands briefly rubbing the hobbit's
chest for a moment as Frodo coughed. Raising the edge of the
covers a bit for privacy, the ranger did allow himself to lean
down and plant just the tiniest kiss on the hobbit's forehead. 

 With that, the ranger patted Frodo's cheek and rose, tucking
the hobbit back warmly in his bedrolls. Going to check on Sam,
Aragorn saw that Merry and Pippin were just waking up and Sam
was still sound asleep between them. Happily, Sam's body
temperature felt normal, if a bit on the warm side. Aragorn
prayed the hobbit was not developing a fever or worse. Leaning
down, he brushed the hair away from Sam's sun-bronzed face and
the hobbit's eyes snapped open. 

 "Strider?" he asked in a weak voice. 

 "Yes, Sam, how do you feel?" Aragorn asked him. "Are you
hungry?" 

 At the mention of food, Sam's face blanched. "No . . . chest
feels . . . achy." The hobbit's eyes widened. "Strider . . . Mr.
. . . Frodo?" he asked, working to get the words out, his voice
worried as he realized he hadn't seen his friend. 

 "He's okay, Sam," the ranger answered quickly. "He woke before
you did. He'll be fine, really." 

 Reaching for a water flask, Aragorn held it to the hobbit's
mouth and made him drink. As soon as he was finished, Sam fell
back into a fitful sleep. 

 The other members of the Company were all stirring, except for
Boromir, who had taken the last watch and was already wide
awake, and Legolas, who seemed to never sleep. Aragorn walked up
to Boromir and knelt beside him. "Any trouble? Any sign of
Gollum?" he asked in a low voice. 

 Boromir shook his head. "Nothing. He's apparently decided to
skulk off and lie low for a bit." 

 The ranger nodded, throwing a glance at Frodo, who was still
unmoving in the bedroll. "Gollum will be back, of that you can
be sure," he said grimly. 

 "Well, Aragorn," the man of Gondor asked him, "what are our
plans? Do we move on or stay?" 

 Aragorn looked thoughtful for a moment. "I do not want to move
on until Frodo and Sam are more recovered from their ordeal," he
said, "but my heart tells me it is not wise to linger here. They
have both awoken, so I say we journey as far as we can today and
stop if we must. But first, I want to tend to the hobbits and
make them as comfortable as we can before we set out." 

 Boromir nodded, agreeing with the plan. Aragorn directed Merry
and Pippin to boil some water, and then, saying he would be back
soon, the ranger strode off into the woods. 

 Meanwhile Frodo lay half-awake in his bedroll, willing himself
to rise, but feeling like he just wanted to sink back into
sleep. He had stayed warm throughout the night, thanks to
Aragorn's kindness, but had not slept soundly, disturbed by
dreams and the ranger's closeness. And he was a bit surprised to
find he was only wearing a man-sized cloak wrapped about him and
nothing else but the Ring---it had not occurred to him to check
when he woke earlier. He hoped Aragorn had not been offended,
and that he had not said anything in his sleep to embarrass
himself. 

 He coughed, turning over on his side and rubbing his eyes,
grimacing as he brushed his injured arm against the hard ground.
Nearby, he could see Merry and Pippin cooking breakfast and Sam
still asleep. 

 Lifting his wrapped hand where Gollum had bitten it the night
before, Frodo stared at it, remembering Gollum's words during
the attack: "Give the Precious to Smeagol or die like other
hobbitses. Other Bagginsses on boats. Smeagol's a sneak. He
drownded them, yes he did. We hates Bagginses. Hates them
forever!" 

 It was too far-fetched, Frodo thought, to imagine that the
wretched creature, no matter how evil, had traveled to the Shire
and killed Drogo and Primula Baggins. Surely he was making it
up. But Frodo also couldn't help remembering the intense fear he
had felt at Gandalf's words when the old wizard had discovered
the truth behind the One Ring. 

 "Baggins would pay for it. He hated Bilbo and cursed his name.
What is more, he knew where he came from." 

 "Why didn't he come to the Shire?" asked Frodo. 

 "Ah," said Gandalf, "now we come to it. I think Gollum tried
to." 

 So it could be true, Frodo thought to himself, and likely was.
Gollum had murdered Frodo's parents. After all, Gollum had spent
years looking for the Shire, and the creature was cunning. He
had probably skulked to the Brandywine River and saw them
boating---perhaps had heard the name of "Baggins" spoken. Or
stalked every Baggins he could and just happened to start with
Frodo's parents. There was no way to know exactly what had
happened. Frodo imagined that if Gollum had been able to make it
further inside the Shire before turning aside, he would probably
have murdered him as well---and anyone else Bilbo cared about. 

 Although he had lost his parents many years earlier, the pain
would never totally leave Frodo, and he found his eyes welling
up with tears. Sniffing, he wiped his eyes and hoped that he
would get a chance to extract revenge on the wretched creature.
If Gandalf had known of these events, would he not have agreed
that Bilbo should have killed Gollum when he had the chance?
Frodo thought so. Nestling back down in the bedroll, he closed
his eyes, trying to forget how the small gold band around his
neck had changed his life before he even knew it existed. 

 A half-hour later, Aragorn returned with a type of cherry bark
that he said would make a healing tea for Frodo and Sam. 

 Merry looked skeptical. "Are you sure, Strider? This stuff
won't poison them, will it?" 

 Aragorn smiled at the hobbit and raised his eyebrows. "Merry, I
have been a ranger for many, many years and have treated
hundreds of illnesses and battle injuries. I actually have not
killed anyone yet with my remedies." 

 Merry grumbled and took the bark, steeping it in the hot water.


 While it was boiling, Aragorn walked back to check on Frodo,
who was lying curled up in his bedroll with his eyes closed,
breathing loudly. Aragorn knelt down next to him and felt the
hobbit's forehead, and Frodo slowly opened his eyes. 

 "Did you sleep well, little one? Pleasant dreams?" the ranger
asked him, feeling just a bit wicked. 

 "I suppose so," Frodo answered around a yawn that turned into a
cough. "I cannot remember them, actually." Which was a bit of a
lie---Frodo recalled one particular dream involving Aragorn only
too well. But he was not about to speak of it. "But I thank you,
Aragorn, for your . . . kindness . . . last night. I hope I did
not prove to be too much of an . . . inconvenience." 

 "Not at all, Frodo," the ranger told him. I would gladly hold
you every night came the thought unbidden. "Now let me see that
arm." 

 Gingerly, Frodo held his wounded arm out and the ranger
unwrapped it, removing the poultice. Frodo bit his lip tightly
as Aragorn washed it. Luckily, the wound showed no signs of
infection, the ranger thought as he looked at it, his blue-gray
eyes concerned, but it was still a ways from healing. Aragorn
applied a new poultice to it and wrapped it up again. He could
tell by Frodo's face how sore the arm must be, but the hobbit
bore it stoically. 

 "Now the hand," the ranger ordered, unwrapping the small hand
and examining the bite on it. Gollum had bitten Frodo quite
deeply, and to Aragorn's dismay, the injury did not look good.
The edges were bright red and the middle was a bit puffy. He
pressed on it slightly and Frodo hissed in pain. 

 "I'm sorry, Frodo. I think I'd better put athelas on the hand,
too---it's looking rather inflamed." 

 When he had finished with Frodo's injuries, the ranger called
to Merry for the cherry bark healing tea. Holding it to Sam's
lips, he made the hobbit drink it, even though Sam sputtered
from the taste. Frodo watched from the same spot in his bedroll,
grimacing at Sam's reaction. When Aragorn came toward Frodo with
it, the hobbit shook his head, ignoring the pain in his chest
and his ears. 

 "Really, Aragorn, my chest is feeling much . . ." he said
weakly, but he could not finish as he began to cough. The ranger
merely looked at him, raising an eyebrow, and handed him the cup
as he helped Frodo sit up. 

 "You will drink it, Master Baggins," the ranger told him with a
tone of voice that brooked no nonsense. Drink it down now." 

 Wincing at the bitter taste, Frodo gulped it. It was indeed
horrible, and he choked as he tried to get it down. 

 "Couldn't you have found a potion that tastes better, Aragorn?"
Frodo asked him, coughing. "I believe this is worse than the
aching chest." 

 "Most likely, little one, but it will do you good. At least you
now admit that your chest does, indeed, hurt. And other parts of
you, I'll warrant. How do your ears feel?" 

 "They've felt better." Frodo intentionally changed the subject.
"What about our clothes---are they dry? If we are leaving soon,
I for one have no wish to travel in the altogether." 

 Aragorn shook his head, trying not to picture Frodo traveling
in the altogether. "They are still damp. But fear not---you
won't need them lying in the boat, Frodo. You won't be exerting
yourself today. Just wrap that cloak around you well and that
will do." He tried to not to laugh at the hobbit's blushing
face. 

 "I think I will put my clothes back on and wear them damp,"
Frodo said resolutely. He certainly had no wish to go about clad
in only a cloak flapping in the breeze---among other things---in
front of Aragorn. 

 "No, you won't, little one," the ranger told him, staring him
down. "You'll catch your death of cold. If necessary, I will
hide your clothes from you. Wear the cloak and you'll be amply
covered." He patted Frodo's shoulder affectionately before
moving off to consult with Boromir. 

 Frodo sighed, realizing the ranger was in no mood for an
argument.  

 Frodo lay on his back in his bedroll, knowing he needed to rise
but putting it off until the last possible moment. He closed his
eyes and sighed, then opened them slowly as footsteps
approached. Merry with a plate of food. 

 "Here, Frodo," his cousin said, "you need to eat. Crispy
bacon---one of your favorites. And a nice piece of lembas to go
with it." Merry tried to sound cheerful and failed miserably. 

 Frodo frowned and sighed. "Really, Merry, I'm not hungry at
all. Aragorn's brew has left a bad taste in my mouth. Just let
me lie here like a dead thing until I have to get up." He
yawned. 

 "Sorry, Frodo," the other hobbit began, sitting down next to
the bedroll. "I can't do that---Aragorn will have my hide. He
said you lost a good bit of blood with your arrow wound and the
only way to get your strength back is to eat. `Get some food in
him, Merry, I don't care if you have to tie him down,' were the
exact words, I believe." 

 Frodo grimaced, not entirely certain Merry wouldn't carry out
his threat, if childhood antics were any reminder. As if on cue,
Aragorn's voice came from a few feet away where he was tending
to Sam. 

 "Merry is correct, little one," Aragorn told Frodo, smiling
slightly. "I've been known to resort to desperate measures with
stubborn hobbits, and some of my techniques of persuasion can be
most unpleasant." 

 "And what techniques do you employ that are pleasant?" Frodo
asked him lightly, leaning up on his elbows in his bedroll.
Frodo had meant it as a bit of sarcasm, but as soon as he said
it, the hobbit realized it had come out all wrong. "Uh, I mean .
. . well . . . you don't seem to have an array of pleasant, er,
pleasant-tasting remedies, Aragorn." That had sounded very
wrong, too, Frodo thought. Blushing furiously, he grabbed a
lembas wafer and nibbled on it, looking at his lap and seriously
thinking about slipping on the Ring and disappearing. 

 Merry laughed, but Frodo couldn't hear any sound coming from
Aragorn. If he had looked, he would have seen an expression of
extreme amusement on the ranger's face. Aragorn knew Frodo had
asked the question innocently enough, but the hobbit's red
cheeks were priceless. Aragorn thought of any number of
responses to Frodo's question, but decided none of them were
appropriate enough to give voice to. He opted for the safe
route. 

 "Well, Frodo, not all of my remedies are painful or taste
terrible. If I recall, you quite like the smell of athelas." 

 Frodo nodded, then began coughing as the dry lembas wafer stuck
in his throat. He reached for the water from Merry and was
grateful when Aragorn finished with Sam and walked across to the
opposite side of the camp. In a moment Merry left also, leaving
Frodo alone. 

 Leaning down, the hobbit examined his bandaged hand and arm.
The bandages felt rather tight, even though Aragorn had only
changed them that morning. Although he knew the ranger would
chastise him if he was watching, Frodo unwrapped his arm, hoping
it wasn't more swollen than it had been earlier. He unwrapped
the bite wound too, gingerly removing the athelas poultices. The
hand looked the same---perhaps a bit worse. Frodo
grimaced---there was nothing to be done for it. Replacing the
poultices, he rewrapped the arm and hand a bit more loosely. He
couldn't remember which wrapping had gone on which wound,
however, and hoped it didn't really matter. 

 Tucking the remaining portion of his lembas wafer into his pack
nearby, Frodo decided to attempt standing. He felt weak and a
bit dizzy, his arm and hand burned like fire, his throat was
raw, and his head and chest still ached badly, but he made it
onto his hands and knees and barely managed to make it up on his
feet. 

 He was better off than Sam, however, Frodo reminded
himself---his friend appeared to be getting sicker. Sam was a
bit feverish and his cough was growing worse, and Aragorn feared
an infection was starting in his lungs. The ranger didn't say
much about it, but when Frodo had questioned him again that
morning, the ranger looked grim. And the thought of something
happening to Sam caused Frodo great anguish. 

 Frodo coughed and crawled over to Sam's side, laying his good
hand across the other hobbit's forehead. 

 "Mr. Frodo?" came the weak voice. Sam's eyes were closed and
his face was slightly flushed. 

 "I'm here, Sam." Frodo picked up a water canteen and held it to
Sam's lips, but the other hobbit shook his head. "Are you . . .
well . . . Mr. Frodo? I promised naught would . . ." 

 "Sshh, don't talk," Frodo soothed. "We'll be leaving in a few
minutes, and you need your strength for the boat ride ahead. I'm
fine. I'll be all right. Just concentrate on getting well, Sam."


 Sam tried to protest, but gave in to his tiredness and closed
his eyes with a sigh. Frodo looked at him with a sad smile,
gently brushing the hair back from Sam's forehead. 

 Struggling back to his feet, Frodo walked shakily toward the
edge of camp to answer a call of nature. On the way back, he
washed his uninjured hand at the river's edge. As he knelt and
felt the cool water flowing over his flesh, the hobbit was
reminded again of the ordeal of the day before and Gollum's
black words. 

 "Time to depart, everyone," Aragorn called, breaking through
Frodo's reverie. "Back to the boats." Coming to get Sam and with
a glance at Frodo, he lifted Sam and carried him off. Aragorn
hoped he was not making a dire mistake by journeying on.
Settling Sam, he packed him in the middle of the boat---so that
he could keep an eye on him as they rowed---among plenty of warm
covers. 

 Frodo got up and followed slowly, trying to stifle his coughs.
He was still rather irritated that his clothing was damp and he
was forced to wear naught but a cloak. It was a man-sized cloak,
so it wrapped around him well and dragged the ground, but still,
he had nothing on underneath and the cool breeze made him feel
rather vulnerable. Although he could have worn his mithril mail
underneath, he couldn't bear the feel of it next to his skin
without the soft leather shirt for cushioning. And the shirt was
still damp. 

 As Frodo neared the boat, Aragorn turned from loading the
bedrolls, Frodo's pack and clothing, and Sting. 

 "Frodo! You should not have walked so far---I was coming to get
you. Here, let me help you in." 

 He bent to lift the hobbit into the boat, but shook his head,
laughing, as he realized there was nothing on Frodo to get hold
of. The hobbit had wrapped his cloak tightly about him and no
hands were even visible. The ranger didn't think hobbits
possessed such modesty---they seemed rather open about nudity
among themselves. Perhaps Frodo was only modest around others
not of hobbit-kind. Or perhaps, Aragorn thought ruefully as his
groin swelled in response to thinking about Frodo's pale nude
body under the cloak, Frodo had seen Aragorn's hungry eyes and
was only trying to protect himself. 

 Trying to think of other things, the ranger bent lower and
picked Frodo up around his waist, sitting him down in the boat's
bow. As he did, he unintentionally jarred Frodo's wounded arm
and the hobbit gasped with the pain, bowing his head and
grimacing with his eyes squeezed shut. 

 "I'm sorry, little one," the ranger told him, kneeling down to
stare at Frodo's pale face, longing to brush the rosebud lips
with his fingers. Instead, Aragorn brushed the hobbit's rather
matted hair back from his face and caressed a smooth cheek until
Frodo's face relaxed. 

 "It's all right," Frodo whispered, coughing slightly. "No harm
done---it feels better now. Just . . . sore." 

 "It will be sore for a time," the ranger agreed. "But let me
know if the pain gets worse. If it does, I'll want to look at it
again and change the athelas poultice." 

 Frodo nodded. He didn't mention that the pain had steadily
grown worse since the injury had occurred. 

 With a last lingering touch on Frodo's shoulder, Aragorn moved
to the back of the boat, giving it a shove and jumping in the
stern. The ranger grabbed for his paddles and started off.
Legolas and Boromir manned the other two boats with Merry,
Pippin, and Gimli. 

 The day was gray and overcast, and the companions were silent
as they went along. Since it was daylight, Frodo had no fear of
Gollum's luminous eyes watching him, and that gave him some
sense of relief. Behind him, he could feel and hear Sam snoring
in his sleep and squirming a bit. Although Frodo realized it was
extremely illogical, he wished he was sitting in the middle of
the boat close to Aragorn so that he might feel the ranger's
comforting nearness. 

 As if he'd read Frodo's thoughts, the hobbit heard Aragorn's
voice from behind him. 

 "Frodo, you should lie down and rest for a bit," the ranger
told him. Truth be told, the ranger was praying Frodo didn't
fall prey to the same sickness Sam seemed to be enduring. "Trust
me, if we stop at all, I shall carry you out of the boat." 

 Frodo nodded, coughing. "I believe I will, Aragorn," he
answered, "but only for a little while. Wake me if you need any
help." 

 So saying, Frodo clutched his cloak about his arms and lay down
on his side, curling up with his back to Sam and the ranger. He
thought about grabbing a blanket near Sam to ward off the chill,
but decided he was too tired to move. Trying to ignore the
aching in his limbs, he sighed, and in a few minutes was lulled
into a restless sleep. 

 Aragorn looked down at the two curled up figures in the boat,
cursing himself once again for his carelessness of the day
before. The day before, both hobbits had been healthy---as least
as healthy as any of them on this arduous journey. But now, both
were ailing---and it was his fault. And Gollum's. He wished he
could get his hands on the miserable creature and put an end to
his treachery. 

 Sam stirred in his sleep, and Aragorn reached down to feel the
hobbit's skin. It was about the same---rather warm. Grimacing,
the ranger sat up straight and resumed his paddling. Meanwhile,
Sam shivered, snuggling closer to the sleeping Frodo next to
him, and his small hands reached out to grasp Frodo's cloak for
comfort. In response to the pulling, the front edge of the cloak
slipped back and then slid off of Frodo's hip, unnoticed, to lie
in soft folds behind him. 

 Aragorn was watching the sky and the riverbanks as he rowed,
his keen eyes searching for possible enemies. Out of habit, he
glanced down at his hobbit charges---and swallowed hard at the
sight of Frodo. The ranger couldn't see the hobbit's face, but
below his waist, the cloak had slipped back and now one
perfectly proportioned, pale creamy bare buttock peeked out. 

 Aragorn felt his cock harden uncomfortably in his breeches. He
rowed harder and averted his eyes, but they kept straying to the
tender flesh, imagining what it would be like to squeeze . . .
what it would feel like to lose himself in the hobbit's snug,
moist depths. In his sleep, Frodo coughed and squirmed, drawing
his knees up tighter and wiggling his lower half. 

 Elbereth, Aragorn thought, this was too distracting. Perhaps,
the ranger calculated, since he could not reach Frodo without
upsetting the boat, he could use his paddle to cover Frodo back
up. 

 Resolved, Aragorn lifted his paddle out of the water and shook
it dry, then aimed it at the folds of the cloak, hoping this
worked and he didn't drop the paddle on Sam, or worse, poke
Frodo with it and wake him up. 

 He had the paddle aimed perfectly when he looked around at the
canoe drawing up near and saw Legolas watching him, his eyebrows
raised and an amused expression on his face. 

 "I am not even going to ask you what you are doing, Aragorn,"
the elf said. "You human- and hobbit- folk and your strange
ways." 

 "Frodo is shivering, Legolas. I was merely trying to cover him
up, but did not want to upset the boat." 

 "Of course, Aragorn," the elf replied, humoring the ranger.
Behind him, Gimli was asleep and snoring loudly, oblivious to
their conversation. "We have a spare blanket here in our canoe.
Let me draw near and cover both of them." 

 Bringing his boat up alongside, Legolas noticed the peek of
bare hobbit flesh tempting the ranger. 

 "Ah, Aragorn, I see why you were so flustered a moment ago,"
the elf remarked. Shaking a blanket out, Legolas quickly covered
Frodo and Sam, then looked at the ranger with kind eyes. "You
should tell him, you know. Humans and hobbits are not like
elves, with thousands of years to waste . . . not even the
Dunedain. Life is fleeting for you and no moment should be
wasted." 

 The ranger shook his head, not even trying to pretend he didn't
understand what Legolas was referring to. He had known the elf
far too long for that. 

 "It's not right, Legolas. I swore to protect him," the ranger
said. "He already has a heavy enough burden to bear---the Ring.
And I have my duties, and Arwen . . . I do love her, Legolas." 

 "Mortal and immortal beings alike can love many, Aragorn, and
there is no shame in it. Arwen would want you to find comfort
where you could. Elves are not subject to the same petty
jealousies as humans." 

 "You don't know that." 

 "Actually, I do, Aragorn. Arwen told me." 

 "When? She knows about my feelings for Frodo? How . . . how
could she?" 

 "In Rivendell. It was quite obvious to both of us, Aragorn,
that you and Frodo had formed quite a bond between you. Arwen
did not fault you for it. If anything, I think it makes the
years without seeing you go by much more quickly for her,
knowing you are finding some form of comfort on your harsh
journeys. She knows the cares that weigh heavily upon you." 

 Aragorn merely looked at Legolas, quite shocked, and yet,
knowing and loving Arwen, it made perfect sense. 

 Legolas cast one last glance at Frodo sleeping in the boat
before picking his oars back up. "He is quite an irresistible
creature, isn't he?" Legolas elf mused, then looked up to meet
Aragorn's eyes. 

 "Make sure you let Frodo know of your desires, Aragorn," the
elf advised. "He is a treasure perhaps too easily lost." 

 The ranger nodded, taking Legolas's words into consideration,
before he resumed his paddling.  

 Two hours later, the hobbits in Aragorn's boat were still
sleeping. Frodo was in a fitful state, moaning softly in what
appeared to be bad dreams, and once or twice the ranger
considered waking him up. Sam was sleeping silently, his
breathing rough and ragged. Every so often he would cough in his
sleep---a deep, wet-sounding cough that did not bode well.
Aragorn was worried for Sam---very worried---and he decided to
make camp at the next available opportunity. 

 A cry from Legolas split the silence. 

 "Spies!" the elf shouted, pointing toward the sky. 

 Aragorn quickly looked up and saw a dark cloud of birds heading
their way. "Everybody down!" he shouted, covering himself with
his Elven cloak for camouflage. The members of the company who
were not asleep hunched in their boats as the birds swept by in
a flurry of cawking and black wings. 

 The shouts and flutter of wings had woken Frodo, who sat up
groggily, rubbing his eyes with his uninjured arm. He felt quite
abominable and hoped they would plan to make camp soon. 

 "Aragorn, what was it?" he asked wearily, looking up at the
now-clear sky. "What were they?" 

 "Spies of the Enemy," the ranger replied, noting with concern
the hobbit's pale face and the dark circles under his eyes.
"Gollum's ill work, I suspect. Several nights before he attacked
you I tried to track and capture him, but to no avail. He would
be useful, but he is too quick and knows these waters much too
well, and I cannot even get near him." 

 Frodo thought for a moment. "That is because he only wants what
I possess," the hobbit said. "He yearns for the Ring---there is
no way he can resist its power. He's too cunning to let you
near. But he would come to me." 

 "What are you proposing, Frodo? That we use you to draw the
creature to us? No, that is out of the question." 

 "It makes perfect sense, Aragorn," Frodo insisted, coughing a
bit. "I can go off alone, with the Ring, and lure him to me. I
will have Sting. I can hold him until you come." Truth to tell,
Frodo wanted to see Gollum captured and deprived of his freedom.
He wished they could end Gollum's life---and Frodo couldn't help
but wonder at himself for thinking such thoughts. It seemed, he
thought ruefully, that Gandalf's advice had been little heeded. 

 "No, little one," the ranger answered. "Have you seen yourself
lately? You might could fend him off in good health, but not in
the state you are in now. You look terrible---as soon as we make
camp I want to have a look at you." 

 "I'm fine. Really, Aragorn, I think it's a perfectly good . .
." 

 "The answer is no, Frodo," the ranger said roughly, wondering
at the hobbit's stubbornness. "It is too dangerous." 

 "He could be useful to us." 

 "Indeed he might. But it's too risky." Aragorn shook his head,
not even able to contemplate the possibility of exposing Frodo
to such danger---or to think of Gollum getting his hands on the
Ring. 

 Frodo sighed. "Very well." He slumped back down in the boat's
bow, cradling his arm, and watched the scenery go by. He felt
miserable. 

 As a spot of suitable riverbank appeared, Aragorn called to the
others to make camp. They moored the boats, and immediately
Boromir helped Frodo out and Aragorn carried Sam to the shore.
The men were taking no chances, even in daylight. 

 Merry and Pippin gathered firewood to start a fire, for it was
decided that the benefits of a fire would far outweigh the
current risks. Aragorn, to Frodo's dismay, heated up more
boiling water for his cherry bark tea, and the smell it gave off
was quite pungent. 

 Once on dry land, Frodo felt a great tiredness settle over him
and he sat down on the ground without even bothering to roll out
his bedroll, his head drooping. His chest still ached, but no
worse than before, so he wasn't certain why he felt so bad.
Perhaps his arm? His arm and hand were aching and burning worse
than ever, and groping them, he was quite certain the swelling
had gotten worse. 

 Nearby, Aragorn, with Boromir's help, was checking on Sam
before he took on the difficult task of corralling Frodo. Sam
felt hot and dry, and he seemed to be breathing more raggedly
than before. Frodo watched the two of them, weary, then looked
around at the rest of the camp. Merry and Pippin were cooking up
dinner, often casting scared glances at Sam, while Gimli
unloaded more gear from the boats. Legolas, as usual, was
nowhere to be seen---probably up in a tree scouting the area.
For an instant, Frodo wished he were a tall elf who could easily
climb trees and escape from this heart-wrenching scene. 

 "His breathing is worse," Aragorn said grimly to Boromir. The
ranger shook his head. "I was afraid of this---it appears an
infection has settled in his lungs. We must keep him warm and
keep his fever down, and make certain we give him doses of tea
at regular intervals." 

 Frodo swallowed hard. "Will he . . . die?" he asked in a small
whisper. 

 The ranger looked up at Frodo's pale face, noting the cheeks
just slightly flushed as with fever, and his eyes softened. "I
don't think so, little one. I will do the best I can for him.
Now why don't you rest for a bit until we're through here?" He
turned back to the sick hobbit, picking up the cherry bark tea
and raising Sam's shoulders as the hobbit sipped it. 

 The sight of it all was almost too much for Frodo to bear and
he bowed his head, looking at the ground. Sam sick . . .
possibly dying . . . the quest before them still, and the
miserable Gollum tracking them. How many more would die before
it was over? Coughing, Frodo realized he could fall as sick as
Sam and die also---leaving someone else in the company to carry
the burden of the Ring. To have their loved ones taken away from
them one by one . . . it would probably be Aragorn, he thought.
But Aragorn would then become corrupted by the Ring, as Boromir
would. Suddenly it was too much, to think about it all, and the
hobbit's eyes welled up with unshed tears. He felt achy and
feverish and knew he was thinking in circles. 

 All at once, Frodo felt a sudden, horrible feeling of dread
wash over him. Turning around, he looked in the distance and
spied a great black shape on the horizon . . . what looked like
a great winged creature coming from the South. 

 "Aragorn!" Frodo called, feeling his breath come in gasps with
fear as he clutched at the Ring. Something propelled Frodo, some
great fear he could not name, and without thinking, he grabbed
Sting and stumbled to his feet, making for a thick copse of
trees. 

 The ranger looked to see Frodo swaying as he closed the gap to
the trees and rose to stop the hobbit. But as he did, Aragorn
too saw the winged shape in the distance. Wasting no time, he
called to the others and picked Sam up, running as fast as he
could to the area where Frodo had disappeared. Gently laying Sam
in the grass, Aragorn ran back out to help Legolas, praying that
Frodo was safe and had not put on the Ring. 

 Outside the camp, Legolas stood with his bow knocked, watching
the approaching winged shape calmly. Aragorn and Boromir drew
their swords and stood ready. As the black thing neared, the elf
let an arrow fly and the creature shrieked, dropping from the
sky. 

 Sheathing his sword, Aragorn ran back for Sam and shouted for
Frodo, but there was no answer. The ranger settled Sam back
among his bedrolls and called to Legolas, his face grim. 

 "Aragorn, where is Frodo?" the elf asked, looking around. 

 "He ran into the trees when the black creature came. I'm going
to find him," the ranger answered. "Get Boromir to stay with
Sam, then search on the other side of camp, in case he circled
around." With that, Aragorn set off on foot into the area where
Frodo had disappeared. 

 The ranger didn't have to look far. He had walked only a short
while when he saw a small still figure sitting huddled against a
tree, its head bowed on its knees. If he hadn't been a ranger,
Aragorn would have passed him right by, so well Frodo blended
into the scenery. 

 "Little one, what are you doing still out here?" the ranger
asked in a gentle voice. "The creature is gone now---Legolas has
slain it." 

 "Just thinking." The voice was weary with despair. 

 "Indeed," Aragorn said knowingly, walking around to face the
hobbit. "Frodo, come back with me. It is cold and it's not safe
for you to be about by yourself when you are hardly recovered
from your ordeal. Gollum still prowls, I am certain." He eyed
the Ring-bearer with concern as Frodo lifted his head from his
knees and sighed. 

 Frodo's face was grimy with a pale sheen of sweat and
tear-tracks marked his cheeks. The downcast blue eyes were
glazed-looking and the face was still flushed---too flushed.
Concerned, Aragorn knelt next to the hobbit and felt Frodo's
forehead and neck. Frodo whimpered slightly at his touch. 

 "You have a fever, Frodo . . . but your coughing hasn't gotten
any worse," the ranger said, puzzled. Gently, he reached under
Frodo's cloak and pulled the hobbit's injured arm out, noticing
Frodo's hiss of pain as he did so. As Aragorn had suspected, the
arm was quite swollen---and the palm of his hand seemed to be
double its normal size. It was hard to ascertain with the
bandages, but Aragorn feared infection had set in. Sucking in
his breath, the ranger sighed and gently put the limb back down.
He reached up and brushed Frodo's matted hair back from his
brow. 

 "Come with me back to camp now, Frodo," Aragorn insisted
firmly. "Your arm needs taking care of. It is foolish to wander
around like this when you're obviously ill." 

 Frodo didn't answer right away. He sniffed, blinking, then met
Aragorn's eyes for the first time. 

 "Gollum," the hobbit stated, his voice rough with weariness.
"You . . . said you were certain he was lurking about. Have you
seen him?" 

 "No, but it is a given he is pursuing us. He cannot resist."
Looking down, Aragorn saw that Frodo's good hand was tightly
gripping Sting. The ranger's mouth set into a firm line. 

 "Frodo, I hope you are not entertaining carrying out the plan
we discussed earlier. I know you want to capture Gollum---put an
end to his evil---but right now, tonight, is not the time or the
place. You cannot take such a creature on alone in your
condition, nor should you try to. We'll keep an eye out for him,
and he will not bother you again as long as I am here." 

 The hobbit shook his head, coughing. "You don't understand,
Aragorn. As long as I have the Ring, I will draw him to me. And
I can't bear to look on him anymore. I have tried to have pity
on him, as Gandalf advised, but when I think of him now, I only
wish that . . . I could slay him. And yet, is he so unlike me?" 

 "I understand, Frodo, but . . ." 

 "No, you don't," the hobbit cut him off, stumbling to his feet.
His arm throbbed and his vision seemed slighly hazy, as if he
was in a waking dream. "You do not understand at all . . . " He
knew he should tell Aragorn what Gollum had said during the
attack, but he was too tired to go into the long explanation of
it. 

 "Little, one, tell me---what concerns you so?" asked the
ranger. "Perhaps I can be of help." 

 "Please, just leave me alone, Aragorn," Frodo insisted. "I
can't bear to go back and see Sam . . . dying. Just like
everyone else." His breath came out in a choked sob. The ranger
didn't move, afraid the hobbit would flee. Instead, he reached
his arms out. 

 "Frodo, be sensible and come here. You're sick and Sam needs
you. Or must I drag you off as I did at The Prancing Pony?" 

 But Frodo wasn't listening. "No, I'm leaving . . . I don't need
. . ." Wearily, he stood, backing away from Aragorn, his breath
catching. "I don't . . . need . . . anyone, least of all you."
Frodo wasn't sure what he was trying to say, but he didn't want
to be around the ranger. To be around him was to feel too
vulnerable----to care too much. Frodo stumbled backward,
dropping Sting by accident. His eyes round with worry, the
hobbit reached for the Ring around his neck to put it on and
disappear. 

 But Aragorn was having none of it. Frodo felt two strong arms
grab him around the waist, stopping him dead in his tracks.
Before he knew what was happening, Frodo found himself lying
flat on his back, pinned to the ground by Aragorn's large hands
on his upper arms. Frodo arched his back in an attempt to rise,
and his cloak fell open, revealing the nude body beneath. The
hobbit coughed and continued to struggle weakly, his good hand
trying to push Aragorn away. 

 In response, the ranger lowered his body weight to lie atop
Frodo, effectively stilling the hobbit. Through his foggy
thinking, Frodo could feel the ranger's soft suede shirt rub
against his bare stomach; could see the ranger's unshaven face
only inches from his own as the man's eyes bore down into his
own blue ones. 

 "Just what did you think you were trying to do, putting the
Ring on?" the ranger demanded. "Have you learned nothing?" 

 "Let me go, Aragorn," Frodo begged, his voice breaking. He
looked away, tears wetting his cheeks. "I don't need a
nursemaid---I can take care of myself. Please, just leave me
here." The last came out as a choked sob as the hobbit struggled
once again. 

 Aragorn tried not to think about the quivering rosebud lips or
the squirming nude body beneath his, but he could feel his
member growing aroused at the contact. "No. Frodo, you're not
well and you're not thinking clearly. Until then, you're coming
back with me. Do you understand?" 

 "No, I mustn't go back," the hobbit insisted. "I have to take
the Ring. I have to get rid of it---it has taken everything,
don't you see? Everyone dear to me---my parents, Gandalf, nearly
Bilbo, probably Sam . . . if I stay, it will take you, also." 

 Aragorn was surprised at Frodo's concern for him. Could Frodo
possibly think him dear? He pondered it for a moment, but
decided it was not the time to pursue the subject. And how could
the Ring have affected Frodo's parents? He meant to find
out---but first he had to calm the feverish hobbit down. The
ranger stared at the flushed face so close to his own---so close
he could smell the sweet breath coming from Frodo and see the
small drops of moisture on his lips. Aragorn's own hair fell
into the hobbit's face, lightly brushing his cheek. 

 "Little one," the ranger began, "I think you underestimate me.
I am not so easily corrupted, nor will I leave you. But I
promise---if you continue to fight me, I will be forced to take
those unpleasant measures we discussed this morning, even if it
means tying you to a tree while I treat your wound. Do you
understand me?" 

 Seeing he had no choice, Frodo conceded. "Y . . . yes," he
stammered, a bit afraid, his chest heaving. His blue eyes wide,
he stared at the lips so close to his own. The ranger gazed down
at him, his gray eyes intent, then leaned up a bit to take his
weight off Frodo. The hobbit shifted his legs as he did, and a
knee gently brushed the ranger's groin, causing him to nearly
groan. Steeling himself, Aragorn put those thoughts out of his
mind. 

 "So you will cooperate with me?" the ranger asked, moving one
hand from Frodo's upper arm to cup his chin. At the hobbit's
slight nod, Aragorn removed his other hand from Frodo's arm. As
he moved to sit up, the ranger placed his hand on Frodo's chest
to pat it and unconsciously stroked downward in a gesture of
comfort, moving down to the pale abdomen. Frodo whimpered and
his eyes grew wide. Realizing what he was doing, Aragorn caught
himself. 

 Looking down, Aragorn's eyes slowly swept the length of Frodo's
body, lingering a bit too long in one certain spot, as if
suddenly noticing the hobbit's state of undress. With a bitter
expression that Frodo had rarely seen before, Aragorn roughly
grabbed the edges of Frodo's cloak and drew them together to
cover the hobbit. 

 "Come then, little one," Aragorn said, his voice strained.
"Let's get back to camp." 

 Lifting Frodo to rest against his shoulder, his injured arm
dangling free, Aragorn bent to retrieve Sting and then made his
way back to the others.  

 Frodo lay curled up on his side on his bedroll, cradling his
injured arm to his chest. The whole length of it ached terribly
and he felt chilled and hot at the same time. He opened his eyes
and groggily surveyed the scene before him. Aragorn was
gathering something out of his pack and talking quietly with
Legolas. Nearby, Sam was bundled up sleeping while Pippin gently
wiped his brow with cool water. Too tired to watch any more,
Frodo closed his eyes and shivered. 

 He opened them slowly when he felt hands tucking a blanket
about his shoulders. Aragorn. Brushing Frodo's hair back from
his ear, the ranger sat down next to him. 

 "Your clothes are finally dry, Frodo," Aragorn told him. "We'll
get you dressed again soon and that will lessen your chill. But
before we do that, I'd like to check your arm and hand." 

 Reaching out, the ranger gently opened Frodo's cloak and pried
the injured limb out of the hobbit's grasp. Frodo whimpered as
the ranger extended it, cradling the small hand between his own.


 Looking at Frodo's pale face, Aragorn carefully unwrapped the
hand, afraid of what he would see. When he hit a particularly
tender spot, Frodo flinched and pulled away, his tiny fingers
curling up tight, and the ranger had to pry them open again to
get the bandages off. 

 "I'm sorry, little one," the ranger said, gazing at the tired
blue eyes. He looked at Frodo, concerned, and touched the
hobbit's cheek. The fever seemed to be a bit higher than it had
been earlier. 

 "I know you . . . have to do it, Aragorn. It just . . . hurts .
. . I'll try to be more quiet," Frodo whispered as Aragorn
pulled the last of the bandages away. The hobbit flinched as
they stuck a bit to the wound. Aragorn frowned---he should have
soaked the dressings off, but they were rather loose,
anyway---Frodo must have unwrapped them at some point earlier
that day. Wasting no time, Aragorn unwrapped the hobbit's arm as
well, noting the slightly stained bandage. 

 Aragorn was dismayed at what he saw. It did not look good---not
good at all. The entire palm of Frodo's hand was puffed up to
double its normal size, and the area around the deep laceration
caused by Gollum's teeth was purplish. The arm didn't look much
better. The skin around the arrow wound was swollen quite
alarmingly and the puncture hole itself was seeping. Both were
streaked with red and hot to the touch---quite obviously
infected. 

 He looked up and saw Frodo watching him, his rosebud lips
trembling with pain and anxiety. Feeling a moment of intense
longing to crush the hobbit to him, Aragorn did his best to hide
his worry. He carefully schooled his features into a neutral
expression. 

 "Your hand and arm are infected, little one," the ranger told
him, "but I have remedies for that. You are not to worry." He
shook his head. "I cannot understand how the arrow wound got to
be this way---it looked quite all right this morning. Did you
unwrap these bandages?" 

 Frodo nodded slightly. "Yes, they were too tight." 

 The ranger sighed. Frodo had likely contaminated the arrow
wound with poison from the hand. But the hobbit couldn't be
blamed---he probably had little experience with battle medicine.
Aragorn had learned throughout the years that touching a wound
or re-using soiled bandages seemed to invariably lead to
infection. 

 Legolas!" he called, and the elf appeared swiftly, followed by
Boromir. A few feet away, Merry and Pippin tended to Sam. 

 "What is it, Aragorn?" Legolas asked, kneeling next to Frodo.
Seeing the hobbit's hand and arm, Boromir's and Legolas's eyes
grew concerned. Aragorn looked at both of them. 

 "I'm going to lance Frodo's wounds and soak the poison out,"
the ranger told the elf. "I thought perhaps you could help to
ease his pain while I do so." 

 "Lance the wound?" Boromir asked. "Are you certain it is not
too late for that, Aragorn? The entire hand looks quite grievous
and he is obviously in a bad state---in Gondor, we would usually
just take the hand at this point and be assured of saving the
patient's life." 

 At this statement, Frodo snapped out of his feverish daze.
"Take the hand?" he asked, his voice tremulous. He looked to the
ranger, his eyes pleading. "Aragorn, what is he talking about?" 

 Boromir answered instead. "To keep the poison from spreading,
Frodo, 'tis customary to . . . amputate the affected limb." 

 "Boromir!" the ranger said loudly, his eyes flashing with
anger. 

 "No," Frodo gasped, trying to pull his hand away. "No, no . . .
you can't do that. I'd rather die first." Trembling, the
hobbit's shoulders started shaking and a sob escaped him. To the
others, it was apparent that Frodo's fever was getting the
better of him. Feeling Frodo's face, Aragorn found that his
temperature had risen substantially in just a short while. 

 "Fear not, Frodo," Aragorn told him firmly as he took the
hobbit's shoulders in his hands and leaned down close. "Little
one, please, calm down. I am not about to do such a thing to
you, I promise." Glancing up, Aragorn cast another displeased
look at Boromir. 

 The man of Gondor looked apologetic. "I am sorry, Aragorn.
Honestly, I did not think . . ." 

 "You are right, Boromir. You did not think." 

 Still leaning in close to Frodo's face, Aragorn whispered
something softly to him and then kissed the pale forehead before
standing and facing the man of Gondor. 

 "Boromir . . . I understand you were speaking only out of
concern. But I must do this my way." 

 The man nodded. "He appears to be getting worse, Aragorn. The
poison of the wound is spreading. And the other hobbit is no
better off---my heart pains me to look upon them." 

 The ranger met the man's eyes as he walked close to the
campfire where Merry and Pippin were. 

 "Truthfully, I also am very worried about Frodo and Sam,"
Aragorn said. "Sam's breathing is getting worse and his fever is
rising. The infection that has set in Frodo's injuries is worse
than I had anticipated. Were I back in Rivendell, I would have
much more than my meager supply of athelas and cherry bark to
rely on." 

 Boromor looked thoughtful. "In Gondor, the old folks use an
infusion of athelas to cure headache. Perhaps that would at
least lessen their pain?" 

 "I had thought of that," the ranger answered. "Athelas is
indeed a powerful curative when ingested. But I have kept it as
a last resort. Athelas is unpredictable if not given in the
proper dosage. I have used it on men---but these are hobbits!
How am I to know what the correct dosage is for a hobbit?"
Aragorn sounded angry with himself. 

 "Unpredictable?" asked Boromir. "Is it that dangerous? I
thought . . ." 

 "The men of Gondor drink it extremely diluted and mixed with
other herbs. For it to have powerful healing properties, it must
be full-strength." He looked at Boromir. "If I give them too
much, it could kill them. And, at any rate, it always works as a
powerful ale---it may make them quite delusional, or merely
lightheaded. I suspect," he added with a wry smile, "that is why
the old folks of Gondor drink it so." 

 "Yes," said Boromir, "I have been aware for many years of the
interesting calming properties, if you will, of kingsfoil tea.
But I do not see that you have a choice, Aragorn, if you are to
save the hobbits." 

 Aragorn sighed. "I believe you are correct." 

 He walked to Merry and reaching into his clothing, withdrew his
smallest dagger and handed it to the hobbit. 

 "Wash this knife---well," Aragorn ordered, "and then boil it
for me." Taking his pouch of athelas, the ranger prepared to
make the brew for the hobbits, crumbling the herb and carefully
measuring it into a pan of water to boil. 

 Going back to Frodo, Aragorn knelt and placed a cool cloth on
the hobbit's forehead. Frodo's pale face was highlighted by a
flush of red across his high cheeks, and although his eyes were
closed, the firm set of his mouth testified to the fact that he
was not asleep. He had curled up as tightly as he could for
warmth and was trembling slightly. Unable to bear it any longer,
Aragorn gently pulled Frodo to him so that the hobbit's head lay
on his shoulder. 

 "Hold on, Frodo," he whispered, stroking the soft dark hair.
"Frodo, I'm going to have to make an incision in your arm and
hand to allow the poison to drain. It's bound to hurt, but won't
take but just a minute. Understand?" 

 Frodo nodded. "Y. . y . . yes. Aragorn, please don't . . . cut
my hand off." 

 "I will not, little one, I promise." 

 At that moment, Merry showed up with the ranger's short knife
on a hot cloth and the athelas brew. Still holding Frodo,
Aragorn directed Merry on how much brew to pour for Frodo and
Sam. 

 "I hope I'm giving them the right amount," he remarked to Merry
and Legolas. "I'm giving them each about half what I would give
a man. Here, Merry, go make Sam drink this right now." 

 Leaning Frodo back, Aragorn held the cup to Frodo's lips.
"Drink it down," he ordered. 

 Even through his fog of fever, the hobbit sputtered as he
swallowed. "Tastes terrible . . . worse than the . . . other,"
he managed. 

 "Mmm-hmmm," Aragorn said, looking at Frodo knowingly. "But it
will help clear the infection out. You may feel a bit woozy
after drinking it, though, Frodo, and may try to say or do
unusual things. Don't let it frighten you---it's just an effect
of the athelas." 

 Frodo felt weak, and the throbbing in his arm and hand had
intensified two-fold. Whimpering, he tried to push the cup away
with his good hand. 

 "Keep drinking it, Frodo," Aragorn insisted when the hobbit
stopped after a few swallows. "It will ease the pain. You
promised to cooperate, remember?" Wasting no time, the ranger
tipped the cup up. When he had drained it, rivulets of the brew
were running down Frodo's mouth and chin. Aragorn took his
fingers and gently wiped the hobbit's soft wet mouth, which
parted slightly under his hand. At that moment, Aragorn had a
sudden vision of that mouth doing unspeakable things to him. A
whimper from Frodo brought him back to the present. 

 Night was beginning to settle, and Aragorn realized he would
have a difficult time seeing well. Beckoning to Merry, he asked
for the Phial of Galadriel. The hobbit retrieved it from Frodo's
things and held it aloft close by. 

 Laying Frodo back down on his back, Aragorn smoothed the hot
forehead and beckoned to Legolas, who came and gently maneuvered
Frodo's head into his lap, hoping to use his Elven touch to
lessen the pain. Boromir sat next to him, holding Frodo's
injured arm. Gimli knelt beside Frodo, trying to distract him
and ready to still the hobbit should he begin to struggle. 

 When Frodo would have turned his head to watch, Boromir gently
turned it away. "It will be easier if you don't look," he said. 

 "Ready?" Aragorn asked Boromir and Legolas as he picked up his
knife, its cold steel glistening under the light of Galadriel's
Phial. They nodded in assent, and the ranger bent down,
purposely not looking at the hobbit's blue eyes pooling with
unshed tears.  

 Hesitating no longer, Aragorn set to his grim task, the knife
blade flashing. He would rather do anything than inflict pain on
Frodo. The hobbit lay trembling, his eyes half-open, as he
breathed raggedly. Beside him, Merry stood holding the
star-glass, his face gray as he watched. 

 Taking Frodo's tiny hand in his, Aragorn gently spread the
fingers out, carefully positioning the knife and cutting across
the swollen flesh. Frodo cried out for a moment, and Aragorn
wasted no time in lancing the hobbit's forearm as well, forcing
himself to ignore Frodo's low moan of pain---like that of a
wounded animal. Sweat beaded the ranger's brow, but his hands
remained steady and in a few seconds it was done. 

 Frodo lay panting on Legolas's lap, his feverish brow damp with
sweat, as blood and other substances ran down his arm. Aragorn
quickly immersed it in a pan of athelas water to soak. As it
made contact with the water, Frodo whimpered and coughed, trying
to pull away. 

 "No, Frodo, you must lie still," Aragorn ordered, holding the
hobbit's arm down. He wiped the hobbit's dewy forehead and
pushed Frodo's sweat-soaked hair back with a gentle hand.
Motioning to Merry to take his place, the ranger left Frodo with
Legolas for a moment to check on Sam. 

 The ranger was pleased to note that Sam's breathing seemed
easier, although the hobbit still had a high fever. Aragorn
directed Boromir to sponge him down with cool cloths and then
walked back to Legolas, who was soothing Frodo with an Elvish
poem 

 "Can I . . ." the ranger trailed off, looking at the hobbit
lying on the elf's lap. Aragorn's face was solemn as he gazed at
Frodo---solemn and filled with pity and longing. 

 Legolas smiled at Aragorn's protectiveness of the Ring-bearer.
"Most certainly, Aragorn. In fact, I believe it would be very
prudent for you to take him. Your touch will undoubtedly soothe
him much more adequately than mine can." 

 "I don't know about that, Legolas. Elves have great powers of
healing." 

 "Nay, Aragorn. For this particular hobbit, I believe the fact
that I am an elf is of little consequence. With you holding him,
he shall surely feel less pain." 

 The ranger said nothing, but as soon as Legolas had eased Frodo
off his lap, Aragorn took his place, tucking the blanket in
around the hobbit. He wanted to hold Frodo in his arms, but as
the injured arm had to stay submerged, Aragorn settled for
placing Frodo's head in his lap. The hobbit's eyes were
half-open, and he was still shaking with chills as Aragorn
caressed his face. 

 "Aragorn?" Frodo asked him, his voice cracking with the pain. 

 "I am right here." 

 "So . . . thirsty." 

 "We'll get you some water." Aragorn called to Pippin to bring a
cup over. Raising Frodo's head, Aragorn held the cup to Frodo's
lips as he drank. "Slowly now," the ranger directed. 

 Pippin looked at his cousin. "Aragorn, Frodo will be all right,
won't he?" 

 Aragorn smiled at the youngest hobbit. "We're soaking his
injuries to flush out the infection," the ranger replied, "and
have given him an infusion of athelas, which is quite powerful.
Hopefully, his fever will break tonight." 

 Pippin made no comment and left, noticing that Aragorn had not
really answered his question. 

 On Aragorn's lap, Frodo groaned, and Aragorn laid a hand on the
warm forehead. Frodo was feeling increasingly strange. In his
feverish state, he couldn't pinpoint what it was from, but he
felt dizzy and lightheaded---and was feeling warmer. He gazed at
the ranger's face above his. 

 "Strider," the hobbit said, coughing, as he fell back into
using the ranger's old nickname. 

 "Yes, little one?" the ranger asked, leaning down close. 

 "N. . . n . . . nothing." Frodo didn't say a word more---just
continued to stare at the ranger with glazed blue eyes.
"Strider, did you know that the cow jumped over the moon? And
the . . . cows and horses stood on their heads?" Reaching up
with his good hand, Frodo touched the unshaven face, his words
coming out slowly and slurred. 

 The ranger's lips curved up a bit in amusement as he stared
down at the fever-flushed face. 

 "You, my dear hobbit, have had a little too much athelas brew,
I think. It's making you tipsy." 

 "I'm . . . hot," Frodo moaned softly. The hobbit had been
chilled earlier, but now Aragorn suspected the athelas brew was
spreading through his system, making him feel flushed. 

 Taking a cool cloth, Aragorn dabbed at Frodo's face with it,
still keeping his hand on the hobbit's brow. Gently easing the
top of Frodo's cloak open, making certain the blanket kept his
lower half covered, Aragorn bared the hobbit's chest and
midsection and gently wiped him down. 

 Watching him, Frodo weakly extended his good arm and grasped
Aragorn's hand, stilling it. Lifting the hand, Frodo examined
it, marveling at the feel of it against his own. "You have large
hands," he stated in a wondrous tone of voice. 

 The ranger laughed. "Compared to yours, Frodo." 

 "Large hands . . . long sensitive fingers . . . they feel cool
against my skin," the hobbit mumbled. Wordlessly, Frodo placed
the ranger's hand on his chest. Aragorn jumped a bit at the feel
of his hand flat against the soft bare skin. He hobbit's eyes
were closed, and he appeared to be sleeping. Gently, the ranger
pulled his hand back and the blue eyes slowly opened. 

 Frodo shifted, staring at the ranger, and then his face
crinkled up in a frown. "Need to . . ." 

 "What is it, Frodo?" the ranger asked, concerned. 

 "Need to . . . get up," the hobbit slurred, his words running
together. "N . . . now," he gasped, reaching his good hand down
to his groin. 

 "You need to urinate?" 

 Frodo nodded. 

 "You can't get up, Frodo. Here, I'll help you." Reaching for an
old cup they had specifically designated for the purpose,
Aragorn quickly pulled Frodo's blanket back and moved his cloak
aside. Taking Frodo's penis in one hand, he inserted it into the
cup. 

 "Go ahead, little one." 

 The hobbit, too feverish and full of athelas brew to even be
embarrassed, went, his face relaxing. When he had finished,
Aragorn removed the cup and bent to cover Frodo back up. The
hobbit shook his head. 

 "No," he groaned restlessly, squirming. "Strider . . . no
covers. I'm so hot, all over." 

 "I know," the ranger told him gently. "This water should help
cool you off." 

 The ranger picked the wet cloth back up and gently moved it in
circles over Frodo's chest and down over his abdomen, studiously
avoiding the hobbit's lower regions. 

 "All over," Frodo breathed. "Please? Everywhere . . . I feel
like . . . I'm burning up." Drawing his legs up, Frodo reached
out and pushed Aragorn's hand up to his chest and then lower,
until the ranger could feel the soft fur above the hobbit's
member. "Like . . . that," the hobbit gasped, his eyes staring
foggily up at the now-dark sky; his lower lip trembling. 

 Aragorn's breath was coming faster, and the tightness in his
breeches gave testament to his hardening arousal. Biting his
lip, he swirled the cloth up and down Frodo's chest and abdomen,
over the rosy nipples and down past the hobbit's navel. He
hesitated when he came to the hobbit's penis, then decided he
was being prudish. With Frodo so ill, surely Aragorn's first
concern should be to make the hobbit more comfortable. Moving
the cloth lower, the ranger lightly sponged Frodo's lower
abdomen, starting at the dark thicket of curly hair and running
the soft cloth over the hobbit's member. 

 Frodo whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut, as his penis rose in
response, and the ranger realized he had better stop before
something happened. Especially before another member of the
company noticed something happening. Using all of his willpower,
Aragorn moved away from the hobbit's privates, sponging down
Frodo's thighs. 

 "Don't . . . stop," Frodo whispered, opening his eyes halfway.
Reaching his free hand up, he traced the line of Aragorn's lips,
his eyes boring into the ranger's face. "Strider . . . Aragorn,"
he whispered, "I never . . . meant it, you know, when I implied
you . . . looked foul and . . . weren't fair." 

 "Frodo, go to sleep." 

 "You're very . . . fair," the hobbit continued, coughing. Frodo
restlessly turned his head to the side, staring at the ranger's
midsection. A tiny hand fell from Aragorn's face to his chest
and slowly slid down the man's black shirt, pausing at the
ranger's waist. Aragorn tried to ignore it, continuing to sponge
the hobbit down. 

 But unfortunately for Aragorn, Frodo was very much in a
disoriented state. The hobbit's hand continued to make its way
down, past Aragorn's waist, and burrowed up under his tunic to
gently settle on the ranger's crotch, curiously rubbing. 

 "It's . . . so big," the hobbit croaked, his eyes wide as they
stared at the growing bulge. 

 Aragorn couldn't ignore that, try as he might. He groaned,
looking down at the hand cupping his erection and Frodo's
flushed face only inches away, gazing at it. The hobbit coughed
suddenly, and Aragorn could feel Frodo's breath on his penis.
The ranger cursed under his breath, throwing his cloth down and
gently removing Frodo's hand. 

 "I do believe it's high time you went to sleep, little one,"
the ranger told him, his voice gruffer than he had intended.
Aragorn felt awful---but he suddenly had to take a break from
the hobbit's closeness. The ache in his groin was proof of that.


 Carefully, he eased Frodo's head off his lap and pulled away.
The hobbit whimpered and reached out for him---jarring his
injured arm. With a sob, Frodo's face paled and he curled up on
his side away from the ranger, clutching the Ring with his good
hand. 

 Rubbing Frodo's shoulders until the fit of pain passed, the
ranger rose and examined Frodo's arm. The wounds looked better
in even so short a time---the swelling had improved and the
poison was draining, as it should be. Going to fetch fresh
athelas water, the ranger stopped to check on Sam, who was still
being tended to by Boromir and was a bit lightheaded himself
from the athelas brew. Fortunately, Sam, too, seemed to be
making progress. 

 Aragorn, his member still painfully aroused, returned to Frodo
and re-submerged his arm in the fresh water, glancing at the
curled-up hobbit as he did so. Frodo's earlier flush was
disappearing and now he was shivering again, his eyes closed,
the rosebud mouth partly open. Taking a deep breath, the ranger
tucked Frodo's blanket around him, gently running a finger down
a soft cheek and tracing the line of one delicate ear. 

 Calling Legolas over, Aragorn directed him to stay with Frodo
in case the hobbit woke up disoriented. Then the ranger walked
across the camp and sat down against a tree, trying to clear his
mind by taking over the watch. His keen eyes looked for movement
in the darkness of the trees, but his thoughts kept straying to
the memory of the hobbit's touch.  

 For the next two or three hours Aragorn kept watch by the tree,
rising periodically to check on Frodo's and Sam's conditions.
Sam was still quite feverish but his congestion seemed to be
better; Frodo drifted in and out of a fitful sleep. At that
time, the ranger decided, he would give the hobbits another dose
of the athelas brew. 

 Suddenly Boromir appeared at Aragorn's side. 

 "Boromir, it's not your turn to take the watch," Aragorn told
him, looking up at the man. 

 "Aye, I know, Aragorn. Frodo has been calling for you in his
sleep. Legolas seems to think you might want to go see to the
little one. I can finish what remains of your watch." 

 Aragorn sighed. It was tempting . . . he wanted nothing more
than to offer Frodo such comfort as he could. But perhaps, he
reflected, it was better if he kept their relationship on
strictly as casual a level as possible---which definitely meant
no comforting in the middle of the night. 

 "No, Boromir . . . you've earned the right to a rest, too. I'll
see to Frodo when my watch is ended. I only have a little while
yet." 

 "Very well, Aragorn, if you are certain." The man of Gondor
moved off. 

 A bit later, after Gimli had relieved him, Aragorn brewed more
athelas potion. Handing it to Merry to administer to Sam,
Aragorn made his way to Frodo. Frodo was still curled up on his
side on his bedroll, his face slightly flushed, his eyes partly
open. He was breathing rapidly, as if he had just run a race,
and although he did not look to be asleep, he uttered no words,
nor glanced at the ranger, as Aragorn approached. 

 Legolas sat next to the hobbit, gently rubbing his back and
talking to him in Elvish. He looked up as Aragorn neared. 

 The ranger knelt down and touched Frodo's face---only to check
his temperature, Aragorn told himself. He was gratified to see
that Frodo's skin felt a bit cooler than it had a few hours
earlier. Taking hold of the hobbit's tiny arm, Aragorn examined
the wounds and found that they seemed to be doing nicely. The
cuts he had made, however, were rather long and deep, and the
ranger feared they would need suturing. 

 "Has he slept much at all?" Aragorn asked. 

 "Not very deeply, I am afraid," the elf replied, with a note of
sadness in his fair voice. "He has been asking for you, Aragorn,
and seems to find no respite of peace in sleep. I sent Boromir
to tell you. Could you not have come to him earlier, to soothe
him and offer him words of comfort?" 

 The ranger didn't reply for a moment, continuing to merely
stare at Frodo's face. "I . . . would have, Legolas. But
whenever I look at him . . . the temptation to take him in my
arms is too great. And I cannot give in---I have sworn to
protect him." 

 "And why, dear Aragorn, do you not think you can love him and
protect him at the same time?" Legolas shook his head. "They say
a plague on elves and their stiff necks, but I would say,
Aragorn, that you are the most stubborn person I have ever
known." 

 For that, the ranger had no answer. He looked down at the
ground, deep in thought. "Here, I will sit with him---my watch
is over. Get some rest." 

 "Ah," said the elf, his eyes sparkling, "already you are unable
to stay away. I do not think you will be struggling with this
issue for long, my friend." He rose gracefully, surrendering his
place to the ranger. 

 Aragorn ranger planted himself down beside Frodo's head, next
to the pan of water holding the hobbit's arm. He gently turned
Frodo onto his back and lifted his head, calling his name softly
as he did so. When Frodo's eyes had opened more fully, Aragorn
put the cup to his lips and tipped it up, holding it until Frodo
had drunk it down. 

 When Frodo had finished, Aragorn sat back and clasped his hands
about his knees, merely watching the hobbit, who moaned and
softly called Aragorn's name in sleep. The ranger winced as he
heard it, and only by the slimmest of margins was he was able to
resist the intense urge to caress the hobbit's mane of soft
hair. 

 Feeling himself growing drowsy, the ranger moved to Frodo's
other side and lay down, far enough away so that he and Frodo
were not within arm's length of each other. In a few minutes,
Aragorn drifted off into his own fitful sleep, plagued by
intense dreams he felt guilty for having. 

 He came awake with a start, his keen ranger's senses signaling
to him that danger was near. And indeed, he knew it was near
when he opened his eyes and saw two large blue ones staring down
at him from only inches away, surrounded by a halo of curly
hair. 

 "Frodo," the ranger whispered, "you should not be up. Let me
help you back to your bedroll." The hobbit was on his knees next
to the ranger, one hand on the ground; his injured hand folded
up against his chest. 

 "But I'm not . . . tired, Strider, and I don't want to die in
my sleep," the hobbit murmured, and the ranger knew the athelas
brew was still affecting his mind. Frodo's breathing was coming
in gasps and his pupils were enormous. Without further ado,
Frodo sank down on top of Aragorn's chest, staring at the ranger
from a very scant few inches away. "I cannot . . . sleep for the
dreams," Frodo went on, breathlessly. "May I not . . . lay with
you?" 

 Images went through Aragorn's mind at the use of that phrase,
and he felt himself becoming aroused at the warm weight on top
of him---not to mention the fact that the hobbit's cloak had
fallen to the side, leaving his behind rather---visible. Frodo's
mind was so beset by the brew that his modesty was nonexistent.
The ranger carefully sat up, grasping Frodo's shoulders and
easing him to sit on the ground, folding his cloak to cover him.


 "Let's get you back to bed, little one." 

 The hobbit shook his head with a sob. "No, the eyes . . . they
are watching me. So many of them, watching. Please," he said,
his brows knitting together, "help me." He raised his eyes to
meet Aragorn's, his lips trembling in fear. 

 Aragorn resisted the urge to pull the hobbit to him. It would
just be too easy, much too easy to give in. "I'm sorry, Frodo,
but you need to lie quietly and let your arm get better. The
dreams will go away just as soon as the athelas is out of your
system.." He reached up to feel the hobbit's face---it was still
feverish, but not dangerously so. "Come, Frodo, you are not
yourself---let's get you back to bed." 

 "Please, Strider . . . don't let them take me," Frodo began
again, his voice rising a bit with each word. But Aragorn was
ignoring Frodo's words. Rising, the ranger bent and grabbed the
hobbit under his arms, dragging him to his bedroll. As soon as
he did, Frodo began to squirm madly, kicking with all of his
hobbit-strength, which was still no match for the man. 

 "Noooooo!" the Ring-bearer cried. "They're watching me . . .
make them go away . . . he'll kill you . . . please . . ." 

 Aragorn finally got the hobbit back down on his blankets and
called to Merry and Pippin to come hold Frodo down while he
tended to the hobbit's arm and hand. Merry pinned Frodo's
uninjured arm to the ground and Pippin sat on his legs. Frodo
arched his back, groaning, as his face twisted up in torment. 

 "They're dead, and he killed them," Frodo wailed. "Dead . . .
all of them. And I shall die, too . . ." 

 "Will he be all right, Aragorn?" Pippin asked. 

 The ranger nodded, his face grim. "He ought to be fine, Pippin.
His wounds are looking much better and his fever is lower than
it was earlier this evening. The delusions he is suffering from
are merely a reaction to the athelas brew." 

 Indeed, the wounds were much improved. The infection looked to
have been halted---the redness had all but disappeared and the
wounds were no longer festering. Cleaning the arm and hand and
washing them out thoroughly with clean water, Aragorn set them
to soak a bit longer. He looked up at the other hobbits,
ignoring Frodo's continued rants, some of which were gibberish
and not understandable. 

 "Frodo's injuries will need suturing, I'm afraid," Aragorn told
Merry and Pippin, "and it's bound to hurt. I would do it now,
while the athelas is in his system, but he has already been
through much tonight. I hesitate to add to his pain in his
weakened condition." 

 Suddenly, Frodo arched his back and opened his mouth widely,
letting loose a blood-curdling scream.	

 At the sound of Frodo's scream, the hairs rose on the back of
Aragorn's neck. Quickly he clamped one hand over the hobbit's
mouth to quiet him---if any enemies were about, the ranger
preferred they not be drawn in to the camp. 

 Wide-eyed, Frodo struggled for a few moments, low moans issuing
from his throat, before his arms and legs slowly relaxed. Then
the hobbit squeezed his eyes shut as his chest began to heave
and sobs started to wrack his small frame. 

 Cautiously Aragorn removed his hand and nodded to Merry and
Pippin. "It's okay---you can let him go now," the ranger
instructed. Merry and Pippin drew back, looking at each other
and sighing. 

 "Go check on Sam," Aragorn told them. "If Frodo is in this sort
of shape, Sam may be thrashing about soon enough. Boromir may
need some help with them." The two nodded and moved off, and
Aragorn looked at the hobbit lying on his bedroll before him. 

 Bending down, Aragorn cupped Frodo's chin with a hand as the
hobbit continued to cry. "Frodo," the ranger called to him,
"Frodo, it is all right. Snap out of it. You're safe, little
one." 

 But the hobbit didn't seem to hear---he just lay there gasping
for breath as tears rolled down his cheeks. What visions Frodo
was seeing in his delirium, the ranger could not guess, but he
surmised that it had something to do with Gollum, or the Ring,
or their Quest. 

 After a few minutes, Aragorn couldn't stand looking at the
hobbit in this condition anymore. Gently lifting Frodo by the
shoulders, the ranger pulled the hobbit tightly to him, resting
Frodo's head against his chest as one hand stroked the soft
hair. After a few minutes the sobs subsided, and Aragorn could
tell by the limp weight against him that Frodo had fallen
asleep. Reluctantly the ranger lowered Frodo back to his bedroll
and covered him warmly with blankets. Then he cleansed and
bandaged the hobbit's injuries, for they seemed to have soaked
long enough. 

 It was rather late---probably only two or three hours until
dawn, Aragorn surmised, as he rose to check on Sam and found the
hobbit much improved. Sam had suffered through his own bit of
delirium earlier, watched by Boromir and Legolas, but it had
been very short-lived before he had settled back into an uneasy
rest. 

 Stifling a yawn, Aragorn realized he needed to get a bit of
sleep before they set off come the morning. And he had plans to
set off---now that the hobbits seemed to be mending, it was
imperative, in Aragorn's eyes, to at least travel for a bit by
boat and camp out in another area. They had already stayed in
one place too long for the ranger's comfort. 

 Walking back to Frodo, Aragorn saw that he had turned over and
curled up on his side, and the ranger made certain he was still
covered by his bedrolls. With a light brush of the hobbit's
hair, Aragorn lay down next to Frodo without actually touching
him, drifting once more into a light sleep for a time.	

 The ranger opened his eyes at the first light of the sun's
rays, feeling a bit more refreshed just from his short sleep. He
had not heard a peep out of Frodo during what had remained of
the night except for a few whimpers and rustling noises as the
hobbit tried to get comfortable under his blankets. When he
heard those noises, Aragorn had curled his hands into fists and
resisted the urge to take Frodo into his arms. "Leave the hobbit
be," a little voice inside of him had insisted. But it was hard.


 Turning, Aragorn now studied the back of the bundled-up figure
next to him. In fact, he could see nothing of the hobbit except
for a bit of dark hair sticking out of the top of the blankets.
Leaning on his elbows, the ranger bent over Frodo and moved the
corner of the hobbit's blanket back so that he could see the
tiny face underneath. 

 Frodo's pale forehead was dripping with sweat, and the hobbit's
hair was practically soaked. Raising his hand to touch a soft
cheek, the ranger realized with a smile that the fever had
finally broken. Tucking the hobbit's blankets back around him,
Aragorn rose to tell the others. 

 Merry and Pippin looked weary---they had been helping to take
care of Frodo or Sam nearly the whole night through. Legolas, as
usual, showed no signs of being tired, and Boromir and Gimli
seemed none the worse for wear. They were all pleased to hear
the news about Frodo, and Aragorn was just as pleased that Sam
seemed to be making progress as well, although he was still
extremely weak and unconscious most of the time. 

 "Well, Aragorn," Boromir called as the ranger bent to look
through his pack, "do we set off today, or do we stay here for
another night to let the little ones mend?" 

 Aragorn looked up at the sky. "We should move on. We have
lingered here already longer than is good for us." He frowned.
"However, I do not think we should push our luck now that Frodo
and Sam seem to be recovering by traveling long. A few hours, at
most, until our next available camp site. And," he added, "I'm
afraid I'm going to have to suture Frodo's wounds before we move
on. They're rather deep, and it will greatly reduce further
chances of infection while traveling if they are closed." 

 Merry and Pippin, cooking breakfast by the fire, turned and
frowned. "But Aragorn, won't that hurt him badly?" Merry asked. 

 The ranger smiled at the note of concern in the hobbit's voice.
He nodded. "It likely will, Merry, but there is no help for
it---it must be done. It will hurt a good deal less, I am sure,
than having the wounds become infected again." 

 Merry looked doubtful, but knew better than to question
Aragorn's healing knowledge. 

 Aragorn, meanwhile, had gone back to kneel by Frodo and was
wiping the hobbit's sweaty face with a soft cloth when Frodo let
loose a great sigh and slowly opened his eyes. 

 "A . . . Aragorn?" he said in a weary voice, clearly himself
once again. His head ached a bit and his throat felt packed with
cotton. 

 "I see you decided to rejoin the land of the living, little
one," the ranger teased, feeling lighthearted at Frodo's return
to awareness. Picking up a cup of fresh water, he lifted the
hobbit's wet head and held it as Frodo took a few sips. 

 "Easy now, not too much at once," the ranger cautioned. 

 Frodo groaned softly and blinked, focusing on Aragorn's face as
he turned further onto his side. 

 "How long have I been . . . asleep?" 

 "Well, Frodo, I wouldn't call most of what you've been doing
lately . . . sleeping, exactly," Aragorn told him as he moved
the blanket back to grasp the hobbit's injured arm. 

 The hobbit looked at him with puzzled eyes. 

 "You've been delirious, Frodo. An unpleasant side effect of the
athelas tea I gave you. I'm sorry. Truly. But it was necessary
to help clear up the infection." 

 Frodo's eyes closed tiredly for a moment. "Such . . . horrible
dreams. That's all I remember . . . horrible, horrible dreams." 

 The ranger smiled in sympathy and began to unwrap the dressings
from the arm. "Frodo, your injuries are looking much better and
your fever has broken. But the wounds need suturing to heal and
prevent further infection. It's going to hurt, little one. But I
think it's best if I do it now and get it over with. And I think
we should give you a bit more athelas tea to numb the senses.
Don't worry," he said at the look of alarm on the hobbit's face,
"only a bit. Not enough to make you delirious again, though you
may feel a bit tipsy." 

 Frodo grimaced at the ranger's words. "Could the wounds not be
bandaged up instead?" he asked in a small voice. 

 The ranger shook his head. "I'm sorry, Frodo. I would do
everything to spare you pain if I could." 

 "Very well," Frodo said resignedly. He shuddered at the thought
of the athelas brew---he did not want to experience those
gruesome dreams again. "Do . . . what you must do. Aragorn . . .
how is Sam?" 

 The ranger's expression lightened. "He is much improved. He
should be just fine, although he is still very weak." 

 The hobbit nodded, closing his eyes tiredly before he spoke up
in an embarrassed voice. "Aragorn . . . may I . . . have the cup
again?" 

 "You would like more water? Of course." 

 "No," said Frodo, his cheeks turning red. "The . . . other one.
I find I must have drunk rather a lot of that athelas brew and
it's finally catching up with me." 

 The ranger nearly laughed at Frodo's modesty---wouldn't the
hobbit be surprised, Aragorn thought, if he remembered the
things he'd said and done the night before? 

 But Aragorn would never mention such to Frodo. Handing him the
cup, the ranger watched him for a moment. "Do you need help with
that, Frodo?" he asked in a gentle voice. 

 "Uh, I think I can do it," the hobbit said wearily, trying to
move his injured arm without grimacing. He had a difficult time
maneuvering the cup with only one hand. 

 "Don't be so modest, Frodo," the ranger chastised, taking the
cup from Frodo's hand and lifting the hobbit's blankets back. "I
had to help you last night with this---it is nothing I haven't
done before. I promise not to look," he said with a smile. 

 Frodo initially protested, but soon became quiet as the ranger
very efficiently set the cup on the ground before him and
grasped the hobbit's member, inserting it into the cup. When
Frodo had finished, Aragorn patted him on the shoulder and rose
to dispose of the contents. 

 Alone, Frodo curled up deeper into his blankets, trying to
forget the nightmares of the night before. Dreams of Gollum
killing his parents. . . . dreams of the Black Rider coming for
the Ring . . . visions of the great black winged creature that
had come toward the camp only . . . what was it . . . a day ago?


 He opened his eyes again as the grass rustled next to him and
saw Pippin kneeling in front of him. "Frodo, here's the athelas
brew Aragorn asked me to give you. Here, drink up," he said,
holding the cup to his cousin's lips as Frodo drank. Frodo felt
the warmth of the flow through his veins, making him feel
slightly flushed. 

 "How about some breakfast, cousin?" Pippin asked him, peering
down into Frodo's face with concerned eyes. 

 Frodo groaned. "Maybe later," he choked out, grimacing as his
stomach seemed to recoil at the prospect of eating. 

 A few minutes later, Aragorn returned with his things to suture
the hobbit's wounds. Sitting down next to Frodo, the ranger
gently turned him to lie flat on his back, so the hobbit
wouldn't be able to see the needle.  

 Frodo gulped as Aragorn completely unwrapped his arm before
washing it thoroughly with athelas water. The arm was sore, and
the hobbit didn't want to think about how painful what was
coming would be. He'd had stitches before as a young
tweenager---he had the scar on his leg to prove it---and he
remembered that it had hurt. 

 Frodo looked at the ranger with a grimace. "Aragorn . . . what
are you using for the stitches? I didn't know you carried
anything with you." 

 "A ranger is always prepared," Aragorn replied. "I have stores
of many things in my pack that come in handy. As for the thread
. . . well, let's just say that Bill most willingly gave up some
of his tail hairs before being set free upon entering the mines.
I was afraid I might need them for this purpose sooner or later.
Merry boiled them for me this morning." 

 Feeling the effects of the athelas brew going through his
system, Frodo smiled slightly. "Then I suppose I am glad to have
a part of Bill still with me. Won't Sam be jealous." 

 The ranger laughed softly and gazed into the hobbit's face.
Reaching out, he gently caressed the soft lips with a finger.
"It does my heart good to see you smile again, Frodo," Aragorn
told him, "even if if is only a small smile and due to your
being a bit . . . drunk." 

 "I'm not . . . drunk," Frodo replied, his speech slightly
slurred. He looked at the ranger seriously, his eyes narrowing. 

 "Aragorn, how old are you?" 

 "Old enough, little one. Old enough to have seen and done many
things." 

 "You don't look very old." 

 "The Dunedain are long-lived. We age more slowly than most
men." 

 "Mmmm . . . are all of the D . . . Dunedain so . . . comely?" 

 Now the ranger really laughed. "Comely? Frodo, I have heard
many adjectives used to describe me, but "comely" has not been
among them." 

 The hobbit continued to regard the ranger with steady eyes.
"Strider, how come you are so loyal to me?" 

 "You are the Ring-bearer, Frodo. I swore to protect you when we
first met, if you remember." He reached out, grasping the
hobbit's chin, and gently turned Frodo's face away. "Now, turn
your head and don't look. It's going to hurt, Frodo, but I am
quick at this . . . it won't take too long, I promise, and if it
gets too bad, we can take a short break." 

 Frodo nodded, feeling woozy, as he felt the ranger grasp his
hand. Aragorn motioned Legolas over, and the elf came and sat on
Frodo's other side, laying a gentle hand on the hobbit's
forehead. From several feet away, the other members of the
company watched discreetly. 

 Aragorn threaded his needle with the clean horse hair and
prepared to begin work on Frodo's small hand. Unfortunately,
sewing skin was a bit different from a garment---for strength
and to avoid puckering, the ranger had to make each stitch and
then tie it off before starting on the next one, making the
entire procedure last longer. 

 "Here we go, Frodo," the ranger said softly, placing the hand
on his lap and holding it firmly. 

 At the first bite of the needle, Frodo jerked and sucked his
breath in, then a low wail issued from his throat. The athelas
brew dulled the senses quite a lot----but not nearly enough. 

 "Strider . . ." the hobbit whimpered, "please, it hurts . . ."
He turned his head to the side as a tear slid down his cheek. 

 "I know, little one, I'm so sorry," Aragorn told him, feeling
like a torturer. "Try to stay still, now. I know it's not easy."
The first stitch made, the ranger tied it off---now he only had
umpteen more to go. He sighed, wishing he were anywhere else,
doing anything else, than where he was. 

 "Tell me, Frodo," Aragorn began as he made the next stitch,
trying to keep the hobbit's mind occupied, "about the Shire.
Bilbo used to rant on and on about the Shire-hobbits' ways . . .
said they never went on adventures and looked down upon him for
doing so." 

 "Y-y-yes, that's true," Frodo replied, jerking and shuddering
again with the pain. "We . . . we're considered rather . . .
cracked . . . for hobbits, Bilbo and I." 

 "Cracked?" 

 "C-c-crazy. Because Bilbo went on . . . adventures and we . . .
we had dealings with the Fair Folk . . . uh, that, that really .
. . hurts . . . ." Frodo moaned, sweat breaking out on his face.


 "Ah, I well remember Bilbo's antics," put in Legolas, wiping
the hobbit's wet face. "It seems, dear Frodo, that you come by
your sense of adventure honestly." 

 The hobbit didn't answer; he screwed his face up with the pain
of Aragorn's stitching, his breathing rapid. The ranger stopped
for a minute, looking at him with sad eyes. 

 "Only a few more to go on the hand," Aragorn told him as he
tied off another stitch. 

 Frodo nodded, lying there motionless for a few minutes to catch
his breath as Aragorn continued his painful work. He was feeling
quite flushed now---and more than a bit lightheaded. 

 During a brief respite from the severe pain as Aragorn knotted
a stitch, Frodo turned his head to look at the ranger. The
hobbit's eyes were slightly glazed from the effects of the
athelas brew. "Strider . . . you have such long legs. Is that
why they call you Strider?" 

 Aragorn looked up for a moment, amused, but didn't answer. He
was aware of Legolas on Frodo's other side, his eyes dancing
with mirth. Aragorn hoped---really hoped---that Frodo didn't
start in on the line of talk he had the night before---at least
not in front of the elf. 

 "I really don't know, Frodo," Aragorn answered. "Perhaps it has
something to do with my wild and untamed look. I'm considered
quite the ruffian in Bree, I'll have you know." 

 The hobbit considered this. "You do look . . . rather wild.
Like you could be a servant of the Enemy, all dressed in
black--" His voice was cut short in a gasp as Aragorn made
another stitch. 

 When that was completed, Frodo turned back to the ranger. "I .
. . I wish I was as . . . frightening looking as you, Strider. I
mean . . . not frightening, but . . . well . . . not so . . .
innocent. More threatening." 

 "You don't want to look like Strider, Frodo . . . I'm just a
weather-beaten ranger, no matter how threatening I may appear to
be," Aragorn said lightly. 

 Frodo groaned and whimpered as another stitch was made, and
Legolas had to hold him tightly. Aragorn eyed the hobbit with
concern. 

 Frodo went on, gasping, when he could speak again. "Arwen is .
. . very beautiful," he droned. 

 "Yes, she is," Aragorn agreed. 

 "I wonder . . . I wonder what it is like to possess . . . such
beauty," Frodo mumbled. 

 The ranger nearly stopped a moment. He longed to tell Frodo
that he found the hobbit equally appealing . . . . that the
first time he had set eyes on Frodo, he had been warring with
himself. Sighing, he remained silent and continued his work. 

 "Your hand is finished, little one," Aragorn told him a minute
later. "Now, we just have the arm to go---and that shouldn't
take as long." He reached up and smoothed the hobbit's hair
back. 

 Frodo nodded. "T-thank you," he began, then his brows knitted
together. "Strider, I have to . . . go again." 

 "Again?" asked the ranger, knowing exactly what Frodo meant. 

 The hobbit nodded. Taking the cup, Aragorn again pushed Frodo's
blankets back to help him urinate. Under the spell of the
athelas brew, Frodo was no longer embarrassed to have Aragorn
assist him in the matter---nor did he even seem to care that
Legolas was next to him, either. When Frodo had finished, the
ranger rose to wash his hands thoroughly before settling back
down to work on the arm. 

 The hobbit stared at him. "Th--thank you, Strider," he said in
a low voice. "I'm a bit . . . embarrassed, you know, to need
such help, after noticing you. You're so large, compared to me."
If the others in the Company could hear Frodo's words, they did
not show it. 

 Legolas did, however. He looked down at the ground and coughed,
avoiding eye contact with the ranger. 

 "But I am a man, Frodo, not a hobbit," Aragorn told him,
pointedly ignoring the elf. "All of me is big, compared to you,"
he said, positioning Frodo's arm across his leg to begin the
suturing. 

 "I should very much like to . . . touch it," said the hobbit
dreamily. "I bet I could not get one of my hands completely
around it, could I?" 

 The ranger sucked his breath in, trying to ignore the prospect
of that and grimacing as his breeches became too tight. He
studiously avoided looking at Legolas and hoped---no,
prayed---that the others had not heard. Steadying his hands, the
ranger bent to stitch. 

 "Easy, Frodo," Aragorn said as he inserted the needle. Again,
the hobbit flinched and whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut as
the needle went through. 

 "Doesn't hurt . . . so bad," Frodo gasped. "Not . . . so bad."
He relaxed a moment, opening his eyes before going on as the
pain receded for a moment. "Can I touch it sometime, Strider?"
he asked, looking at the ranger with big blue eyes. "I'm very
curious. I wish . . . I wish I was that big." 

 "I'm sure you're quite fine as you are, Frodo," the ranger
remarked dryly. "Tell me more about the Shire," he said as he
made another stitch. 

 The hobbit nodded as he moaned softly, trying to pull away.
Legolas was forced to hold him steady. 

 "The Shire . . . hobbits are smaller than the Big Folk,
Strider," Frodo gasped. "Not so . . . large . . . everywhere."
His small face screwed up again. "I bet I could not get my hand
around it, could I?" 

 Aragorn ignored him. "Tell me about Sam's family, Frodo. What
are they like?" 

 "The Gaffer?" Frodo asked, his voice rising in pain as
Aragorn's needle found its mark again. "He . . . he strapped us
good once, when we raided Farmer Maggot's mushrooms . . .
couldn't . . . sit down . . . for a while." 

 "He punished you?" Aragorn asked as he made another stitch and
tied it off, trying to ignore Frodo's rapid breathing and groans
of pain. 

 Frodo nodded. "Y . . . yes . . . it . . . it was my fault. I .
. . took Sam with me. I deserved it. Didn't stop me . . . from
doing it again." 

 Aragorn chuckled. "Seems like you were quite an incorrigible
lad, Master Baggins," he commented as he kept working. 

 "Have you . . . had many lovers, Strider?" Frodo asked out of
the blue, his voice catching from the pain. 

 The ranger was caught quite off guard and nearly dropped his
needle. He frowned at Legolas across f