"Is he going to die?"
Pippin's frightened words stabbed through Aragorn's heart as sure as any blade.
Aragorn turned his back to the Hobbits, unable to face their wide-eyed innocence any longer.
Is he going to die?
Aragorn had no answer to the question.
No! he wanted to shout to the gods. You can't have him! He's mine! My responsibility!
To occupy Sam, Aragorn sent him to look for athelas. It seemed to satisfy the Hobbit but it did nothing to lighten Aragorn's heavy heart. The athelas would not help. Frodo had been stabbed by a Morgul blade; no ordinary plant would cure him of the wound. But he would go through the motions, if only to keep the small ones' worries at bay for another hour or two. He hated himself for deceiving them, but he could see no other way; the truth would wound them deeply and he had no wish to hurt them any further.
Is he going to die?
As he stooped to pull some athelas from the ground, Aragorn felt a blade at his throat. He knew who it was before he heard the voice, but truth be told he had been too lost in his own anguish to sense her approach.
"What's this? A Ranger caught off his guard?"
Aragorn heard the gentle teasing in Arwen's voice, but did not have it in his heart to smile even a little. As he cut a handful of the healing plant, he spoke to her in elvish.
I have come into the company of four Shire folk. One has been attacked and his very life is slipping away. I cannot help him. Aragorn's head hung low, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
I have felt his pain...and yours... Arwen answered. Both of you suffer.
Is he going to die?
Aragorn shook his head in denial. Do not spare a thought for me, he said angrily. Frodo is the one in need of your help. He swallowed hard against his frustration. His friends believe he is dying and I can't let their thoughts become reality.
Arwen brushed the back of her hand against Aragorn's roughened cheek. I sensed that Frodo was something special, she said. And he must be, for you to pledge your help so readily.
I am a Ranger. I am always at the ready to help. Aragorn insisted, kneeling beside Frodo as he and Arwen approached the gathering of Hobbits.
Arwen knelt across from Aragorn. I know you are, she told him gently. But there is something more to this. Something which still remains to be seen. Her words stopped as she laid hands upon Frodo.
Aragorn held his breath as Frodo seemed to focus on Arwen. His stomach dropped, moments later, as the Hobbit's eyes glazed over and rolled up in his head.
"He is fading."
Is he going to die?
Aragorn's hopes fell away. If even Arwen could not see a solution, all was lost.
"We must get him to my father."
As Aragorn picked Frodo up, he feared that the banging of his own heart against his ribcage would jar the small one's injuries. Frodo's harsh breathing and pained gurgles and gasps sent chills down his spine; if the days and hours ahead weren't enough to take his life, the ride on horseback would very likely do so.
As they argued about who would ride to Rivendell, Aragorn had to admit to himself that Arwen was right. She was the faster rider. If anyone could get Frodo to Elrond safely, it was her. He simply did not know how he would let Frodo go.
Though his mind argued that it was illogical to take Frodo himself when he knew he was not the best suited for it, his heart told him otherwise. He felt connected to Frodo, had since the night he'd first seen him in the Prancing Pony, and he couldn't bear to think of the injured Hobbit being out of his sight.
Reluctantly, Aragorn lifted Frodo onto the white horse. It was hard to believe there was any hope left to the sick, frail-looking Hobbit. With a final stroke of Frodo's forehead and a touch to the soft, dark curls, Aragorn turned to help Arwen onto the steed.
Is he going to die?
"Ride hard and don't look back," he advised her, knowing she would do no less.
My love stays with you, Arwen whispered as she took up the reins, just as I know your love goes with him. She took Aragorn's slow blush in stride. As he knows it. We will see you in Imladris.
Urging her horse into a gallop, Arwen disappeared beyond Aragorn's vision.
With feet of lead, Aragorn returned to the Hobbits, preparing them to move again, too weary of body and soul to answer their questions about Arwen and Frodo. It would all have to wait until Rivendell.
Is he going to die?
The question burned in Aragorn's thoughts as they began to walk. Despite the grave injury, the Ringwraiths, and the long journey ahead, Aragorn fervently hoped the answer was no.
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