Frodo shifted on the stone edge to the fountain. The sun had begun its descent, which meant that it was much later than three. In fact, according to the vine-covered clock in the courtyard, it was half past five. Frodo shivered. He had not brought a cloak.
Aragorn had bid him to wait for him at three. He had winked, implying a pleasant surprise. Frodo hated the condescending smile that had played over the king's face. He had neglected Frodo for weeks on end, and then expected him to jump for joy like a child when he deigned to give him some of his precious time.
Frodo dug his nails into his palms. And what had he done? When Aragorn asked him to meet him, he had jumped up with a joyful shout. Aragorn had finally turned his attention back to him, and he had not hesitated in his agreement. That was the way it had been lately.
Frodo dipped his hand into the fountain. The water was icy. September had been unusually cool in Gondor that year. Now a brisk breeze rattled the trees. Frodo clutched himself and shivered. He would wait only a few minutes more.
Frodo should not have expected that it would be any different on his birthday. Men did not put as much stock in birthdays as hobbits did. Aragorn probably hadn't even remembered. Frodo had not reminded him because Aragorn would smile in the patronizing way he did whenever Frodo did something or acted typical of hobbits.
Sam had warned him. On the day Sam, Merry, and Pippin had left for the Shire, Sam's face had been twisted in grief. He had been dismayed by Frodo's decision not to come back to the Shire with him.
"Mr. Frodo, I love you and I will support you whatever you do, but I think you're making a big mistake. This Mr. Strider--or the King of Gondor as he is now--I'm mighty fond of him. He came through for us on many occasions. Nobody deserves this kingship more than him. But you mark my words. You stay with him and he'll tire of you."
"No," Frodo had said. His cheeks had bloomed with new love. Aragorn could not keep his hands from him. Every night had been a new adventure. "No, he will not tire of me. He loves me. And I love him more than..." He had wanted to say more than anything, but he could not bear to hurt Sam. He had always suspected that Sam harbored more feeling for him than as a dear friend and servant. After his loyalty, Sam did not deserve Frodo's casual disregard of him.
Sam had shaken his head.
"Mr. Frodo, please come back to the Shire. Don't you miss your home?"
"I do, Sam," Frodo said. "But it's like this. You have your Rosie lass waiting for you when you return. I have nothing. Don't look at me like that, Sam. You know I love you. You've been the best friend a hobbit could have. But I've never had somebody love me like Aragorn does."
"He is a man," Sam said with some resentment. "You will never be equal with him, Mr. Frodo."
Now Sam's words haunted him. How many times in recent weeks had Frodo felt like a petulant child begging for a moment of Aragorn's time? He cringed at how pathetic he must seem. He had to accept that he had become a mathom to Aragorn. Aragorn had taken everything he needed and yet he did not have the courage or inclination to send Frodo home to the Shire in shame.
Frodo's cheeks burned. He should not have agreed to meet Aragorn. He should have told him he had other matters to attend to. A lump filled his throat. He had to face the fact that it wouldn't have mattered if he had refused to meet Aragorn. Aragorn simply would have shrugged and said, "Perhaps another time." And then that other time would never come.
Frodo stood, stretching out his stiff legs. He was cold, and he had not even brought a book to read. He would not wait a moment more.
Frodo lay in bed. The candle still burned on his night stand. He wondered if Aragorn would come tonight. He had not come to bed in nearly a week. Frodo felt the ache of lonely despair grow in his throat. He had been alone all evening. He had eaten leftover soup with stale bread, hardly typical fare for one so high in the king's favor. He had no friends in the palace. Nobody spoke to him. They whispered about him, that he was the king's pet halfling. He was off limits and very lonely.
He had to admit that without Aragorn's companionship, he was quite bored. He had read all the books in the library. He had explored the city. He wrote to his dear friends in the Shire at least once a week. He tried to make conversation with the various servants. They indulged him for short periods of time, but they always seemed uncomfortable, as if they didn't want to be caught talking to him.
The door clicked open. Frodo quickly debated to himself whether he should pretend to be asleep or confront him. The later won because his rapid breaths of fury would counteract any attempt to feign sleep.
"Aragorn!" he said. His voice sounded throaty and desperate, and that angered him further.
"Hello, Frodo," Aragorn said with a dismissive smile. "I am sorry. I cannot stay. I am still meeting with Prince Faramir. I just stopped by to pick up a map I had left here."
"Where were you?" Frodo asked, his throat aching. He would not cry.
Aragorn smiled thinly. "I just told you, Frodo. I was with the Prince Faramir."
"Yes, I know." Frodo knew his blue eyes blazed with anger. "Where were you this afternoon--when you were to meet me?"
"Meet you?" Aragorn looked genuinely puzzled.
"Yes!" Frodo hated how his voice cracked. "You told me three. I waited until nearly six."
"Oh, Frodo. I am sorry. I have no recollection of promising you this. I don't know why I would have. I've been in conference with Faramir all day."
Frodo bit the insides of his cheeks to keep from bursting with uncontrollable rage. Aragorn had forgotten. The one time he had deigned to give Frodo his time, he had forgotten. Heat filled his chest. Aragorn seemed not at all to care that he had barely seen Frodo in over a month. They had not pleasured each other in nearly two months. Even when Aragorn was with him in bed, he was distant. Aragorn's eyes softened with pity. Frodo clenched his hands into small fists.
"I'm sorry for the misunderstanding, Frodo. I'm sorry you waited so long for me." Aragorn knelt in front of him. "Let us plan to meet again when I have a little more time."
Frodo's rage burst over at that moment. His right hand flew up and struck Aragorn across the face. He pulled back immediately in shame. He had never struck anybody before--certainly not someone he loved. Aragorn's face changed to shock as his hand covered the cheek that Frodo had struck. His grey eyes hardened. He grabbed Frodo's wrists and pulled the hobbit to him.
"Why did you do that?"
"I'm very sorry, Aragorn," Frodo said, tears spilling out of his eyes at last. First he had lost control and struck his lover, the King of Gondor. Then he could not control his tears. It was no wonder Aragorn had dismissed him. He was behaving like a child who didn't get his way. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hit you. I don't know what came over me."
Aragorn released Frodo's wrists. His face softened as he drew the hobbit into an embrace. He rubbed Frodo's back in a soothing manner. "Frodo, it is I who am sorry. You are lonely. I can see that now. I've been selfish and thoughtless. Tomorrow I will talk to the warden in the house of healing. I think I will have him train you in aspects of healing. What say you to that?"
Frodo lay his head on Aragorn's shoulder. "All right." At least it would give him something to do. And he would have regular interaction with other people.
"Please be patient," Aragorn said. "I am very busy right now, but I have not forgotten you. I'm sorry if I've neglected you as of late."
"I'm so sorry I hit you," Frodo said. "It was inexcusable."
Aragorn chuckled a little. "It will be amusing to explain to Faramir."
Frodo hugged Aragorn more fiercely. Aragorn kissed Frodo tenderly over the mouth. "Tomorrow, Frodo. I promise I will give you time tomorrow."
Frodo woke alone. Only his side of the bed appeared to have been used. A lump of bitter disappointment filled his chest. What had he expected? Still, he continued to harbor a faint hope that Aragorn was sitting in the next room, sipping tea and waiting for the lazy hobbit to wake up. Frodo smelled fresh bread. He smiled a little. The Shire never made bread like Aragorn's cook! Frodo's smile faded. He didn't hear any indication that Aragorn was in the next room or even that he had come back at all in the night. Aragorn had promised him time today, but when?
Frodo padded into the other room. It was silent and empty, as though Aragorn had never come home. He must have imagined the bread, too, because there was no food in sight. A faint memory tugged at Frodo—or perhaps it was only a wishful dream—that Aragorn had snuggled close to him for a short time in the night and kissed his forehead.
He saw a note taped to the door. His heart leaped. Aragorn hadn't forgotten. Surely there Aragorn had indicated where they would meet. Frodo grabbed it, his heart thumping in anticipation.
Frodo,
Please go to the House of Healing and meet with the healer Aven at noon today. He will explain your duties. I am sorry, but I will not be able to see you for the next two weeks. I have agreed to accompany Faramir to Emyn Arnen to resolve some issues he is having with border control.
Aragorn
Frodo's throat filled with a strangling lump. Aragorn had not even signed his name with "love," nor had he put "Dearest" before Frodo like he always had in the past. He was not sure why that struck him more than being separated from him for two weeks. Perhaps Aragorn had been furious that Frodo had hit him. But Frodo suspected that was not the case. Aragorn didn't deal with his anger in sneaky ways. He confronted it. If he had been upset about it, he would have canceled his meeting with Faramir and discussed it with him long into the night.
Frodo bowed his head. He would have preferred it if Aragorn had struck him back. At least that would have had emotion behind it. Frodo's eyes felt dry, but a pain spread over his chest. He had no urge to work with the healer. He didn't want to see anyone. He wanted to bury himself under the covers and cry until his chest didn't ache anymore.
Sam had been right. He should have gone back to the Shire with his friends. He lifted his head, thinking with longing of his cozy hobbit hole, everything his size. Hobbits were never indifferent or cold with one another. He missed the easy laughter of his friends, the constant joking, and the sweet understanding.
The idea of seeing his friends and kin again sent a surge of joy through him. He could go to the Shire alone. He did not know the way, but it would be easy enough to follow a map. He knew that the closest route would be through the pass of Rohan. In order to plan for the trip, he would have to gather help from the servants. He would need help packing for such a long journey. He would need supplies. The servants would question him, though they did not have the right. When Aragorn came back, he would find him gone.
Aragorn had considered passing an edict banning men from the Shire. If that was the case, Frodo might never see him again. His chin quivered at the thought. Perhaps Aragorn would not care. No, Frodo couldn't leave without a blunt conversation with Aragorn. When Aragorn returned, Frodo would force a conversation, even if he had to follow him into his council chamber and kick out emissaries.
Frodo clenched his breeches. Tears rolled from his eyes then. How had it come to this point? When Aragorn had begged him to stay, to not go home with his friends, his eyes had been full of love. He had promised Frodo that they would be happy.
Frodo washed his face and put on clean clothes. He felt cried out, but his chest still felt so heavy. He was still not in the mood to visit with Aven. He walked down the long corridors, feeling as if a heavy weight rested on his shoulders.
The captain of the guard approached him. Frodo's heart leaped in anticipation of being spoken to. The man bowed slightly. Frodo cringed with self-disgust. He was like an eager dog, leaping with excitement if anyone paid him a little attention.
"Mr. Baggins," the guard said. Frodo tried to stand as tall as possible, but he felt very small next to the guard. The man, whom Frodo could never remember his name, was exceptionally large. Aragorn had once told Frodo that the man was over six and a half feet.
"Yes?" Frodo said.
"I wanted to warn you that because of the rat problem, we have put traps in various corners, even in the royal suite area of the castle."
"Rats?" Frodo said in disgust. "I did not know it was a problem!"
"Mostly deep in the dungeons, where the inhabitants deserve the problem in my opinion, but the cook has seen a few in the past weeks."
"Oh, that's vile," Frodo said, shuddering. He hated rats. They did not have a problem with them in the Shire, but he had seen a few in Bree.
"Anyway, I especially thought to remind you because you do not wear shoes. Mind that you don't step on one of the traps. They have poison on it, and you being so small and all, it may have an especially harmful effect."
"Thank you," Frodo said with a smile. He felt warm inside. Aragorn had been thinking about him. "It was kind of the king to consider that before he left."
"The king didn't say anything to me," the guard looked puzzled. "I'm warning you myself."
"Oh," Frodo felt himself cringe with embarrassment and disappointment. He forced a smile. "Well, I thank you for the warning."
"Good day, Master Halfling."
Frodo continued down the corridor, and the heaviness in his shoulders grew worse. He didn't know why it should disappoint him so much that the warning message hadn't come from Aragorn. He just craved any hint that Aragorn cared for him, even a small amount.
Frodo reached the House of Healing just after noon. A wave of heat had come on Gondor just that day after several days of cool weather. Frodo wiped the sweaty dust from his face on his sleeve, smudging it.
"Ah, good day, Frodo," Aven said. He appeared to be in his late forties. He still looked hale, like he could wield a sword. His hair was starting to gray.
"Good day," Frodo said with a smile. "The king says you're to train me."
"I hope I can do that," Aven said. "The King Elessar spoke so highly of you that I am positive it will be a pleasure."
"Thank you," Frodo said, blushing. That Aragorn had said kind words of him made him feel a little better.
"Shall I give you a tour first?"
"Yes. That would be a good start."
Frodo put forth the most cheerful front he could. He already felt better with human contact. Perhaps this was a good idea. If he immersed himself in this activity, he could not think too much about Aragorn. He didn't need to depend on Aragorn for happiness.
Aven took him through the rooms, showed him where the dried herbs were stored, where the towels and bandages were.
"Last I will take you into the garden where we grow the herbs. I'm afraid that is where we are having a shortage."
"Oh," Frodo said. "How so?"
He followed Aven into the garden. It was a charming circular garden, surrounded by a tall wall. Several guards with bows guarded it.
"Why the armed guards?" Frodo whispered in awe.
"Like I said, the war caused a terrible drought of healing herbs. This is the only garden in the city. Despite the war being over, there are plenty of unscrupulous people who would steal herbs. Those guards shot a man dead last week. Can you believe it?"
Frodo's eyes widened with horror. Somehow, he had been naïve enough to believe that once the new order had come to Middle Earth with the fall of Sauron that it had cleaned out all evil. It was a silly notion. More sickening was that even with Sauron gone that men would kill each other. It seemed a terrible waste.
"What do you think?" Aven finally asked, squeezing Frodo's shoulder.
"I think I'll like working here," Frodo said with genuine feeling. He would keep his head high and his pride intact. Maybe once he wasn't so available to Aragorn, Aragorn would begin to seek him out.
Frodo trekked up the dusty street for the third time, confused and lost. He was certain that Aven had bid him walk down the main thoroughfare for a count of ten minor streets, then turn left, then walk for a count of five alleyways, then turn into a tiny alley called Tower Point. Now Frodo was on a street called Ithilien, but he had wandered up and down the street and could not find an alley by the name of Tower Point.
Strangely, within a forty-minute walk or so, he had entered an area where the people did not seem as noble and well-dressed as they did in the heart of the White City. He had never realized that people in the rich fortress city, even after the fall of Sauron and Aragorn's benign rule, suffered from poor conditions. He wondered if Aragorn was aware. The people on this street did not look at Frodo in awe and reverence as they did in the main part of the city. They stared at him, and especially his feet, in blatant curiosity, but mostly, it seemed, because they had never seen a hobbit. Frodo was uncomfortable under their leers and chuckles. His velvet breeches and light Elven cloak seemed too fancy for this area of town.
He stopped and wiped the sweaty dust from his face. His feet ached fiercely. He had grown soft in the castle, unused to excessive walking. He sighed in frustration. Aven had sent him for supplies nearly an hour ago and he was expected back soon. He was going to have to retrace his steps and admit that he was lost. Perhaps if he could just get back to the main thoroughfare, he would not be so turned around. Why hadn't Aven given him the name of the street he was to have turned onto in the first place? He should have demanded more specific instructions!
"'Cuse me," A rough voice said just above him. "Are you lost?"
Frodo looked up to see a man wearing a bright red cloak and a lot of gold jewelry around his neck. There was something unstable and frightening about his piercing blue eyes, though his voice sounded kind enough.
"Ah...yes, actually I am lost. I'm looking for the alleyway Tower Point. I'm to get supplies for the healing house."
"Tower Point." The man frowned. "You must be really turned around. There's no Tower Point anywhere near here."
Frodo's heart sank, and his frustration must have been evident.
"Hey," the man said, a look of wonder on his face. "I thought you were a boy when I first saw you. But." He stared at Frodo's feet. "What sort of creature are you?"
Frodo looked at him in disbelief. Surely this man had been present when he and his companions had been praised by Aragorn right after the Ring had been destroyed. At the very least, this man should have had second-hand knowledge of the event.
"I'm a hobbit, a halfling," Frodo said. He felt miffed at being referred to as a creature.
"A halfling?" The man laughed and then spit. The slime from his mouth landed only a few inches from one of Frodo's furry feet. "I thought the king kept one as a pet, so it's been told, but you can't be it. The King wouldn't let such an exotic pet roam this part of the city alone."
Frodo's throat closed. He was not certain which emotion was more predominant—repulsion by the man's lack of class, annoyance by the man's ignorance of hobbits, grief at yet another reminder of how little Aragorn seemed to care for him lately, a nagging fear that this man might do him harm.
"Come," the man said, clapping a heavy hand on Frodo's shoulder. "Why not come into the tavern with me and my companions? I'll buy you a drink and then maybe one of them can help you get where you're going? They'd all be thrilled to meet a halfling!"
Frodo knew he shouldn't. Aven was waiting for him back at the healing house. He had sent him for a specific list of supplies. But now he was thirsty and his feet ached. He was also too warm in the cloak. Getting out of the sun with a cold drink would be good. And if one of the men knew how to get out of his mess, all the better.
Inside the tavern, the man led him to a small crowd of men squeezed in a circular booth. He put his arm around Frodo's shoulder.
"Hey, Triston," his friends greeted him. "Where have you been?"
"I've got a new friend here. This is—what's your name, halfling?"
"Frodo," Frodo said. He felt uncomfortable under the curious eyes of the man's friends. There was a quality about them that seemed sly, as if they had much evil in their pasts.
"Hey, ain't you the king's special friend?" one of them demanded Frodo.
"Yeah," another man with no tooth added. "I heard the king was keeping some halfling against his will. That he keeps him chained to his bed like a dog and pleasures himself with him."
"'Twas one of them little fellows as ended the war, so says the king," another man said with a barely perceptible sneer.
"Naw," the man with no tooth answered. "The king wants an excuse to pillage the land of the halflings. They have the best pipe weed, and the king smokes it. So, he makes a big fuss over some made-up deeds of the little fools—sorry, halfling, probably shouldn't say that to you, should I?—" He laughed and continued. "Then keeps one for his own pleasure and then has all the excuse in the world to make sure no one else gets a taste of that rich little land. I have a cousin in Bree that says those halflings have it pretty damn good there—good soil, good farming, ideal climate..."
Frodo's face twisted into revulsion. These men had no respect for their new king! He could not conceive of it since everyone he had so far had contact with had either fought in the war or worked directly for Aragorn. He had seen only reverence and love for Aragorn. He thought about Aragorn's compassionate gray eyes and for a moment forgot about Aragorn's coldness toward him as of late. He missed Aragorn with a sudden fierce longing. He yearned to go home and curl up against his hard chest, to feel Aragorn's muscled but gentle arms around him. His throat filled. He bit his cheeks, willing himself not to weep.
"Naw, this isn't the king's halfling," Triston said. "I found this fellow outside lost. He works in the healing house. He's trying to get to Tower Point. Anyone know where that is?"
"Yeah," one of them chuckled. "Didn't Rimey here just rob that store last week? Stole a bunch of knives."
Frodo's heart sped. He seemed to have met up with criminals and cut-throats—inside the very gates of the city! The money that Aven had given him to buy the supplies was in his vest pocket, and he hoped the men didn't discover it.
"Don't look so worried, halfling," Rimey said, pinching his cheek hard. "We're only bad some of the time." The whole table roared with laughter at that. Frodo forced a smile. His cheek smarted from Rimey's pinch.
"I...I should probably go," he said. He wanted to get away from these rough men.
"Nonsense," Triston said, squeezing his shoulders. "I promised you a drink, and I don't go back on my word."
"Ya don't want to disappoint Triston," Rimey said. "He's killed for less."
"Shut up!" Triston shoved Rimey against the wall. "You're scaring Frodo. Besides." He dropped his voice and leaned into Rimey, thinking Frodo couldn't hear him, but Frodo caught part of what he said. "...Kill such a...those eyes...tight...good lay, ya think?"
Frodo's heart plummeted. He didn't like this at all. He would have a drink with the men, but he would escape as soon as he could. He regretted telling Triston that he worked in the healing house. The less information the men had about him, the better.
Triston helped Frodo onto the seat and slid in beside him. Frodo was squeezed between Triston and Rimey. His eyes were at eye level with the table's edge. He couldn't seem to will his heart to stop pounding.
"What's ya poison?" Triston asked Frodo.
"Pardon?" Frodo said.
"What will you have? What do you drink?"
"An ale, please," Frodo said. He hoped Aven wouldn't be too angry that he was going to be so late getting back.
"Ah, we'll get something stronger than that in you," Triston said, winking.
"All right," Frodo said uncertainly. He would just drink a little. It would never do to return to the healing house tipsy. He pictured the quiet look of disappointment on Aragorn's face if he heard about Frodo acting in such a disgraceful manner. He had never longed for Aragorn more than he did right now.
A cold hand like a snake crept under Frodo's shirt and began massaging his skin. Frodo let out a small gasp. "You're so tense, little one," Rimey whispered in his ear. "I'd like to get to know you better. What do you say we break away for a bit?"
"Please stop," Frodo said, pulling away. He was ashamed of his fear. He was the Ringbearer, after all. He had a place of great honor among all the free peoples. These men neither knew nor cared. Here the only thing that mattered was that he was small and unarmed and they were so much stronger.
Triston backhanded Rimey, and Rimey cursed. Blood trickled from his nose. Triston was obviously the leader of this bunch. "You keep your crawling hands off him. I won't tell you again." Frodo cringed at the hard gleam in his eyes. His eyes softened when he looked down at Frodo.
"I'm sorry about that," he said. "Apes are more civilized than my friends sometimes, I'm afraid."
"Please, Triston," Frodo said. "I appreciate you wanting to buy me a drink, but I really must be going. Aven will worry and I will get into trouble."
"All right," Triston said with a thin smile. He turned to his friends. "We wouldn't want you to get into trouble. Which of you—besides Rimey, that is--wants to show Frodo to Tower Point?"
"It's all right," Frodo said hastily. "I can find my way. You're very kind. I just need to retrace--"
"Nonsense!" Triston squeezed Frodo's shoulder. "Just relax. I won't send you with anyone's gonna do you harm."
Frodo climbed out of the booth after Triston. He had no choice but to follow the man who called himself Tarn. Frodo wasn't sure what to make of him. He had not said anything the whole time Frodo had sat with them.
"Thank you," Frodo said, flushing. "I appreciate your help."
"My pleasure," Triston said, squeezing Frodo's hand. "I'm sorry you didn't have time to drink with us. Maybe another time? You're welcome to come any time and gnaw bones with us. I hope you will. It was my pleasure to meet my first halfling." He shot a warning glance at Rimey, who had started to salaciously chuckle.
Frodo followed Tarn out of the tavern, feeling the eyes of all the men on him. He couldn't wait to get back to Aven. He would never go on another errand without specific directions. At least another hour had passed since Aven had sent him on his errand.
Three and half hours after he had left, Frodo returned to the Healing House empty-handed. Sweat ran down his back and his legs ached so badly that he could barely stand. His face was smudged with dirt, and a strangling ball filled his throat. He felt ashamed by his desire to fall into tears. Less than a year ago, he and Sam had stumbled across Mordor with less in their stomachs and infinitely more pain. He had encountered much worse than Triston and his friends.
"Frodo!" Aven exclaimed in surprise when he saw Frodo's dusty clothing and pained expression.
"I'm sorry it took so long," Frodo said in a dull voice, leaning against a chair and desperately trying to hold back tears. He was a hobbit, and hobbits had not been raised to hold back their emotions as many children of men had. Still, he would control himself in front of Aven and the other workers for the next several hours. When he got back to his lonely chamber, then he could let out his fear and repulsion. If he lost control in front of Aven, it would reflect badly on his status as the Ringbearer and dear friend of the king. Why that seemed so important to him right now, he did not know.
"We've been quite busy," Aven said in an irritated voice. "We could have used your hands. Did you get the supplies?" He glanced at Frodo's trembling hands and peered at Frodo's face in concern.
"Has something happened?" he asked, his thick eyebrows furrowed. He kneeled and took Frodo's chin in his large hands. Frodo saw the kind concern in Aven's eyes and the pain in his chest collapsed. He clutched Aven in a fierce embrace, as if he thought Aven would push him away. Choked sobs burst from him—full of delayed fear, relief that he had made it back alive and in one piece, and grief that Aragorn wasn't here to comfort him. He had only known Aven for a week. He was afraid to pull back and observe Aven's reaction to his outburst.
"Frodo, Frodo," Aven said in a soft voice which contradicted his normally gruff manner. He took Frodo's cheeks in his hands and examined his face. "Did something happen to you? Are you hurt?"
Frodo could not answer. His throat was so tight that he felt strangled. He choked over tears that he did not want to shed in front of this man and the other workers, who stared in sympathetic curiosity.
"Come, lie down on a bed," Aven said quietly. "Tell me what happened. If someone attacked you, I want to know who and where to find him—and certainly the king will want to know."
"No," Frodo said, wiping his face with his dirty sleeve. "I'm all right. I shouldn't be such a coward. I'm safe. I'm very sorry, Aven. I'm ready to get back to work. I just got lost. I didn't know—there were some men—they didn't hurt me, but I didn't know there was such a rough edge to this city."
"Oh," Aven groaned as he led Frodo to a bed and helped him to lie down. "The king will have my head for putting you in such a position." He kissed Frodo's head. His casual affection for the hobbit he had only known a week made Frodo's throat fill with gratitude. It was so good to hear a kind voice. "Let me get you some tea. You relax. If you wish to tell me what happened, I am happy to listen. We've got everything under control for now."
Frodo nodded. It was wonderful to rest his aching feet. Aven's face was so caring, a contrast to his usual stern efficiency. Frodo tried to calm his breathing as Aven left to boil water for tea. When Aven returned, Frodo still could not stop the trembling in his hands long enough to hold the mug. Aven watched him with a frown of concern and then helped him take a few sips of the tea.
"I got lost," Frodo said. He told Aven about meeting Triston and his rough friends. His voice began to shake as he told about what happened after he had left the tavern with Tarn.
Once they had left Triston's sight, Tarn had turned around, his eyes bright with opportunity. They had been in a dirty, empty alley, and nobody else had been in sight.
"Got money, halfling?"
"No...no, none," Frodo gasped. He was ashamed of his fear. He had faced worse. He had been a prisoner in Mordor, whipped by orcs, stung by a giant spider. A common ruffian should not evoke any fear in comparison. Yet he was so frightened that his skin felt cold.
Tarn whipped out a sharp, dirty knife. He shoved Frodo against the wall and held the knife to his throat. "Then how you going to buy supplies at the store? Now you have two choices as I see it. You can hand me the money nice and easy or I will pull down your fancy breeches and bang you like a common whore. You got it—king's pet?"
Frodo felt faint and a roaring filled his ears. Somehow his numb fingers found the money. Tarn grabbed the coins from Frodo's trembling hand.
"Yep, I knew you was him as the king's been pleasuring himself with. What're you doing so far from your cushy castle?" He traced the knife along Frodo's jaw, and Frodo couldn't hide a gasp. "What would happen if I just cut your throat and left you to die right here? Who would ever know? The king wouldn't care. He'd just find another little rat. A little rat for a rat king. Aw, the pretty little rat is crying. Your fancy clothes are all dirty, I see. Well, don't worry, rat. I ain't gonna kill you. Triston has a far better use for ya, I'd warrant. I'm smart enough not to really touch ya if Triston wants ya."
Tarn pulled back with a sly smile, holding Aven's coins in his hands. "Thanks, little ratling."
He had strode down the alley, jingling the coins in his hand. Frodo had forced himself to run in the opposite direction.
Aven rubbed Frodo's hand. He shut his eyes, deeply disturbed. "It can't be tolerated. I'll inform the captain of the guard. They'll clear that area out by nightfall. Frodo, I'm so sorry. I should never have sent you alone. You of all people should not have had to go through that."
"No," Frodo said. "No, please don't tell the guard!"
"You could have been hurt or worse today. Someone needs to clean that part of the city. Too many filthy stragglers from the war."
Frodo looked down at his hands in shame. "I don't want Ara—the king to know."
He looked into Aven's kind eyes. In this moment, the sympathetic healer was so dear to him. Frodo couldn't predict how Aragorn would react to the situation. He did not want Aven getting blamed. It had not been his fault. Frodo had gotten lost. Another far more selfish fear was the opposite--that Aragorn would find out and would barely get upset. Frodo couldn't bear to have such evidence of the king's indifference to him.
Aven squeezed his hand. "The king would not stand for you to be treated such by his subjects. You did a deed for Middle Earth that can never be matched. We are all in your debt until the end of our lives. It burns my heart to think of anyone treating the Ringbearer such."
"Anyone," Frodo said, clutching himself miserably. "It doesn't matter that I was the Ringbearer. Nobody should be treated in such a manner. But please, Aven, do not tell the king!"
Aven stared at him a long time. Then he rubbed Frodo's shoulder. "All right then. I'll not—"
They were interrupted by a strangled shout from the main compartment of the Healing House. "Hey! Can someone help me? I'm in a lot of pain!"
Frodo jumped from the bed, wiping his eyes of the tears.
"No, I will take care of it," Aven said, pushing Frodo back down on the bed. "You rest."
"I'm all right," Frodo said. "I'd rather help."
"Wash yourself first then," Aven said.
Frodo and Aven went into the main room. The injured man was a guard by his uniform, though Frodo had never met him. He leaned heavily against two other guards, gasping in pain. He had taken one of his boots off and he was holding his foot up as if it caused him great pain to put weight on it.
"What has happened?" Aven asked. "How are you injured?"
"I was bit by a rat!" The man gasped. "I'm a guard in the dungeons. They're all over the place down there."
"It happened a few days ago," his friend said. "Now it appears to be infected."
"Come, help me get him lying down on a bed," Aven said to the other guards. "Frodo, boil some water and put a pinch of kingsfoil in it."
Frodo nodded and did as he was told. He watched the guard gasp in pain. Watching his agony made Frodo forget about his own misery.
After the water was prepared, Aven dipped a cloth in the water and cleansed the man's foot. Frodo watched helplessly as the guard cringed and tried not to cry out. Frodo could not bear to watch him in so much pain. He put another cloth in the kingsfoil water and wrung it out. He wiped the cloth over the guard's brow.
The guard twisted suddenly and gripped Frodo's arm. His face was drenched with sweat. "It hurts, can you stop the pain?"
"What's your favorite place?" Frodo asked, using a tactic that had often worked on his younger cousins when they had been ill or hurt. He felt a little ridiculous using it on a hardened guard in so much pain. This was not a mere scraped knee, after all. He wiped the man's forehead again. He could tell that the kingsfoil was already having a calming effect.
"Not down in the dungeon. It's horrible down there."
"I know," Frodo said, wincing. "Think of a place where you like to go."
"Library. I love to read."
Frodo smiled. "Wonderful. Let's go there together. You walk in. Where do you go first?"
The guard managed a small smile. He gasped a little as Aven dabbed at the infected bite wound. "I like history. I read about the history of our city. The books are dusty and old, but I love the smell."
"Yes, there's nothing like an old but loved book," Frodo said. He smiled wistfully, remembering Bilbo's library in Bag End.
"Yes," the guard said. He gripped Frodo's arm harder as Aven cut into the bite, trying to drain the pus from it. Frodo tried not to wince, though the man's fingers would surely leave bruises later. He did not want to distress the guard further. "I love reading maps. Old history maps, especially. I'm fascinated with what lies to the South—the region of Umbar and the cities by the sea."
"You and I have something in common," Frodo said with a smile. "I grew up reading maps of the world long before I left the Shire. I was considered odd."
"Ah, even I found a map of the Shire," the guard laughed. "Hole dwellers you are, aren't you?"
"Yes," Frodo said.
"You're finished," Aven said, stepping back. The guard's foot was fully bandaged.
"That wasn't so bad," the guard said, laughing with some relief. His companions chuckled nervously. He leaned into Frodo and whispered. "Thank you for distracting me. I did not want to scream like a woman in front of my friends."
"My pleasure," Frodo said. He waited until the guard looked away before he rubbed his sore arm.
"Frodo, come, I want to speak with you," Aven said, beckoning.
Frodo followed Aven into the next room.
"I liked what you did," Aven said. "I was very impressed by your manner. Often it is difficult to keep them calm. A rat bite gone bad is very painful and brings a high risk of disease."
"Thank you. It helps to come from a large family with many younger cousins."
Aven squeezed Frodo's shoulder. "Go on now. You've had a long day and you look exhausted. Get some sleep and come back tomorrow. I promise you I won't send you on any errands."
"All right then," Frodo said. "Thank you, Aven."
He walked back to his suite in the castle. He looked forward to taking a bath and climbing right into bed. Already the horrible encounter with Triston and his friends was beginning to fade. He was safe inside the castle. The rough men would never dare come to this part of the city. He wished more than anything that Aragorn would be waiting for him. He longed to fall into his arms, to be held and kissed.
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The King's Halfling by Claudia
Story notes: Thanks to trianne and baranduin for beta-ing help!
