Aragorn woke up gasping. He trembled despite the heat, and his eyes were wet from weeping. The breeze through the open window was too warm but it soothed his sweaty brow. A nearly debilitating relief that what he had experienced had just been a dream rendered him breathless.
He had never in all his life had such a horrible nightmare. In it, he had returned to Minas Tirith. He had gone directly to his chamber, looking forward to resting in his own bed. Frodo had been sitting cross-legged on the bed, and when he saw Aragorn, he jumped from the bed and ran to greet him with a shout of joy. Aragorn's heart swelled when he saw Frodo, but he was tired and only wanted to rest. He sat on the edge of the bed, wishing for peace, but Frodo kept trying to talk to him, touching him, laughing and pulling at him. A buzzing rage filled Aragorn's head. He wanted silence—a moment to think after the difficult work in Emyn Arnen. He felt an irrational surge of fury at Frodo.
His rational side didn't know why he was so angry. Frodo had missed him, which was understandable. He had missed Frodo, too, and yearned to hold him. But somehow the sight of Frodo's overly eager face—his sparkling eyes implied that he had clearly not been working around the clock as Aragorn had--sent him into an irrational fury. Frodo started to speak again, and Aragorn slapped him hard, watching as the hobbit's eyes—initially filled with trust and love—darkened with confusion and pain. Aragorn's hand tingled with the desire to strike him again. He told himself to leave the room, but instead he stood up and backhanded Frodo again. Frodo stumbled backward, away from the bed. Blood streamed from his nose. He whimpered in shock, backing away, clearly not knowing what to make of Aragorn's unprecedented violence. He tripped and landed on his back. Aragorn stared down at him, breathing hard. His groin was heavy, though he had no desire to bed Frodo, only a desire to keep hurting him. His whole body tingled with the urge to hit and kick. Frodo had begun to weep in loud shuddering gasps.
Aragorn kicked the hobbit in the ribs, taking foggy satisfaction in his squeal of pain. He smashed his booted foot into Frodo's back and his soft abdomen area. Again and again his boot slammed into him. After awhile, Frodo stopped crying out. His breath came out in ragged whistles.
The fog cleared from Aragorn's brain, leaving him cold and frightened. He stared down at the broken body under his boot. Frodo's huge blue eyes, filled with pain and bewilderment, were focused on him. He coughed, and blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth.
"Oh, no," Aragorn gasped. He staggered back in horror. A cold heavy ball sank in his stomach. He fell to his knees beside Frodo. He felt nauseated as he gazed upon the damage he had done. What had come over him? He had once pledged to die for this hobbit, who had saved Middle Earth. And now he had brutalized him. In a matter of minutes, he had rendered the one he loved most into this broken, wheezing figure.
"Frodo, oh, my Frodo, what have I done? Oh, no. I'm so sorry." He broke into tears, clutching Frodo's cold hands for dear life.
Frodo struggled for every breath. His lips were white, and Aragorn realized that he was going to die. Aragorn had hurt him so badly that even with the best care, he would not recover. The only merciful thing he could do was to kill him so that he would not suffer. Shaking with agonized sobs, Aragorn pulled out his sword. As he brought its edge to Frodo's throat, a tear trickled down the hobbit's cheek. He did not protest. He merely closed his eyes in resignation.
Aragorn had awakened then. He continued to shake. He could still see Frodo's blue eyes bright with pain and could hear his wheezing.
"Never," Aragorn whispered into the dark. It was understandable that he would have an anxiety dream about Frodo. Frodo had been upset with him before he left. While on the road to Emyn Arnen, Aragorn had realized that it had been Frodo's birthday. For a hobbit to have his birthday go unrecognized--that was a sore trial indeed, even a hobbit who had gone through as much as Frodo. And Frodo was lonely. His hobbit friends had gone home and there was nobody else in the castle to interact with. Aragorn was glad he had arranged for him to help in the Healing House. He had a feeling Frodo would thrive on it. And he would love Aven.
When Aragorn returned to Minas Tirith, he would make it up to Frodo. He would take time off from his duties. In fact, he would take Frodo on a trip away from the city where they could be alone together. And it had been far too long since they had made love. Thinking about Frodo's tight heat made Aragorn's member stiffen. He sighed and drifted off to sleep, somewhat calmer.
"Your mind is not on our business," Faramir said. They sat hunched at his great dining table, bent over crudely drawn maps of the region. "No disrespect intended."
"No matter," Aragorn said. "You are right. I am thinking about Frodo. I wish I had spoken to him before I left."
"Frodo?" Faramir said with some concern. "He is all right, isn't he?"
"Yes, yes," Aragorn said. "He is not ill. But since I must stay here longer than expected, I only wish that I had sent the messenger directly to Frodo—and not the Captain of the guard."
"Your absence grieves him?" Faramir asked.
"I believe so," Aragorn said. "I miss him, too. But it's harder for him. Sometimes I've wondered if it was not selfish on my part to ask him to stay with me, keeping him away from his people and his country. And I am so busy that he is often alone."
Faramir smiled as if in far away memory. "I remember when I first came across him and Samwise. They looked like trapped rabbits. At the time I remember thinking that halflings must be stupid little creatures to get lost in the dark land. I was commanded to slay anyone not there without leave of the Steward. I couldn't. To slay such innocent creatures would have been a direct triumph for Sauron, though at the time, I did not know exactly how truthful that was. Then Frodo spoke and I was in awe. His voice was like music; his words put me to shame. His willingness to walk into death...I've never known any warriors of our kind to go so bravely. He's a rare gem, Aragorn."
Aragorn's throat filled as he nodded. The dream had left him shaky and easily emotional all day. He wished Frodo was beside him. He wanted to hold him and whisper words of appreciation and love. He knew Frodo stayed in Minas Tirith of his free will. He stayed out of love for Aragorn. Aragorn had no right to take that gift as lightly as he had as of late.
The next three weeks would not go fast enough. When he got back to the city, he would make certain Frodo was as happy as he deserved.
"Go on, take it!" Frodo grinned and climbed on the stool beside the bed. The guard who had been bit by the rat cautiously opened the crisp map that Frodo had handed him. His foot was still bandaged. He was to be allowed out of bed the next day after two weeks of being bedridden.
Frodo's smile lit up his face, though not only because of the guard's obvious pleasure of the map. Aragorn was expected back any day. Surely now that Aragorn was finished with his business in Emyn Arnen, he would not be so busy. Frodo couldn't wait to tell him about his experiences in the Healing House. A shadow passed over him at the memory of being robbed the day he had gotten lost. It seemed like a long time ago. He hoped Aven would truly keep his word and not tell Aragorn. So far the guards had not found out about it. Frodo turned a fond smile to Aven, who was cleaning the nearly healed wound on the guard's foot.
"Are you certain?" the guard, who was called Damin, said. He seemed afraid to touch a map so nice.
Frodo nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes! As long as I bring it back before the king returns. This is not an archive, mind you. It's a map in use!"
"Oh, I don't want you to face trouble," Damin said. "Not when you've been so kind to me."
"Nonsense," Frodo said with a laugh. The guard did not seem to know of the relationship between himself and Aragorn. "The king is a very dear friend."
Aven chuckled knowingly at that last. "Yes, it is good to befriend Frodo. He has a direct line to the king's ear."
"Ah," The guard said, taking the map from Frodo. "Well good then. I will look at it without fear."
"And," Frodo added, reaching behind him. "I brought tarts." He lifted a cloth off a wooden bowl. The tarts were fresh and bulging with apple chunks, just as Bilbo had taught him so many years before. Apples were so tasty and ripe this time of the year. The cook had helped him by directing him to the ingredients, but he had allowed Frodo free reign of the kitchen.
"Frodo!" Aven said with the first joyful smile Frodo had seen on him. "You didn't have to do that!"
"I though I smelled baking," Damin said. "Thank you. They smell delicious."
"It was my pleasure."
As Frodo turned to put the cloth back on the bowl, the Captain of the guard came in.
"Hello!" Frodo greeted with a hobbity enthusiasm that brought a new smile to Aven's lips. "Have a tart? I made them myself."
"Oh," the Captain said. "Then I must try one, of course." He reached for a tart. He took a bite and raised his eyebrows. "Tasty. I won't tell the cook. He may get jealous."
"Oh, I don't think so," Frodo said, blushing. "What brings you here?"
"I just thought you should know that the King Elessar has been delayed. He has sent me word that he will remain in Emyn Arnen another few weeks."
"Oh." Frodo's smile faded. His stomach sank. "Few weeks? What does that mean?"
"This is the message." The Captain handed the note to Frodo.
Frodo read: Please be aware that I will be remaining in Emyn Arnen an additional two or three weeks. Continue your duties as appropriate for an absent king.
Frodo felt his chest fill with cold disappointment. Not a single word of the message was directed toward him. Aragorn had not found it important to let Frodo know that he was delayed. The Captain had come to Frodo on his own.
"Thank you," Frodo said, handing him back the message. His lips felt numb. "Thank you."
"May I take another tart with me?" The Captain asked, smiling encouragingly at Frodo. Frodo tried to smile back. The Captain was so sweet. He had gone out of his way to tell Frodo about the delay.
"Take as many as you like."
The Captain squeezed Frodo's shoulder and walked out of the Healing House.
Frodo leaned against the table, keeping his back turned to Damin and Aven. He didn't want them to see how upset he was. His throat filled with a strangling urge to cry. More than that, he felt suddenly ill--like a swimmer in a lake who swam into a cold pocket. A veil of darkness passed over his eyes. The screech of a Ringwraith filled his ears. His shoulder wound throbbed. All too clearly he remembered the cold night on Weathertop, how the black figures had advanced on him, icy swords drawn.
"...are you all right?"
Aven's warm hands on his shoulders pulled him out of the vision. His vision was still cloudy. He was so weak he was not sure if his legs would hold him much longer.
"I'm cold," Frodo said. Through the haze, he saw that Damin had sat up on his bed with a concerned expression on his face.
"What's wrong with him?" he asked Aven.
"Let's go lie down," Aven said. "Here's a bed next to Damin. My, you're shaking. This was awfully sudden."
"It's my shoulder," Frodo murmured. "My old wound."
Then he realized that it was October sixth, exactly a year after Weathertop. Gandalf had told him that this wound might never fully heal. Frodo had been sure that he had proven the wizard wrong. Aven covered Frodo's lower body with blankets. He unbuttoned Frodo's vest and linen shirt. He pulled Frodo's shirt off the shoulder and touched the wound.
"It's a little pink. And very cold to the touch. I will bring you a towel soaked in warm water."
Frodo nodded gratefully, and Aven scurried out of the room. Frodo turned to Damin, who still looked worried.
"I am all right," Frodo said. "It is an old wound."
"That came on suddenly," Damin said. "At least you were here and not off alone somewhere."
"Yes," Frodo said. He managed a smile as Aven returned with the warm towel. "I'm lucky to work with Aven."
Aven pressed the towel soaked in warm water over the shoulder wound. Frodo felt the chill lessen. Some of the haze in front of his eyes dissipated. He longed for Aragorn's arms around him, but he would have to be patient. He would not see him for another few weeks.
Frodo lay in a half doze. Fierce claws dug into his shoulder, spreading the pain down his arm and to his stomach until he was nauseated. He did not dare move for fear he would vomit. He was too weak to call out for Strider. Sweat broke out on his forehead.
He was lying on the hard ground at a hastily constructed campsite, far from care. Strider had gone for firewood. The wraiths were still in the area, and they called to each other in piercing wails that made Frodo frantic to cut his own throat, jump off a cliff, anything to block them out. Sam—loyal, sweet Sam—was holding his hand, rubbing it, trying to get warmth into it. They were so far from Rivendell and the night was so cold. His muscles ached with weariness when he thought about how much farther he had to go. Even if he ever reached Rivendell and recovered, there was still so much yet to endure--the long cold march across Hollin, the snowstorm on Caradhras, Moria, where he would be stabbed again. He would watch Gandalf fall into the chasm again, though at least this time he knew he would see him again. How his muscles ached! He would never have the strength to go through it all a second time. Even in Lorien there would be little rest, because this time, he knew the worst was still to come.
"When did he take ill?" A kind, familiar voice broke through the shadows. Frodo clawed his way up to consciousness. He was not in the wild outside of Rivendell. He was in Minas Tirith. Though he ached everywhere, he was in a soft bed under Aven's care. The Ring had been destroyed. He did not have to find a way into Mordor.
"It came on very suddenly. Right after you left, he collapsed."
The Captain of the Guard. Of course. He was a kind man, but why had he come back? No doubt to remind Frodo that Aragorn was going to be even further delayed.
A warm hand felt his forehead. "He's so cold, Aven. Can you not do anything?"
"The king should be notified," Aven said with a sigh. "This one is very dear to him." Frodo's heart pounded, but he was too weak to shake his head. Aragorn would be aggravated if he was torn away from his work because of one sick hobbit. "He's grown worse. I know nothing of this type of illness. I cannot even ease his pain because we have almost no kingsfoil left."
"Damn those thieves!" the Captain said, his voice harsh with fury. "They should have all been slain! The king should be here. Even if he can do nothing else, Frodo will gain comfort from his presence." The Captain's voice dropped. "Aven, you're a good friend. Can I trust that anything I say will not leave this room?"
"You have my word."
"Then I shall say something possibly treasonous. I love my liege lord and I would die for him. But I do not approve of the way he treats Frodo. More often than not, I see him wandering alone, looking bewildered. It's such a shame. He saved us all. If not for him, we would all be dead. Or slaves to the shadow that once was in the east. Very few people seem to recall that." The Captain's voice grew softer. "And he's so sweet and loving and he deserves the full attention of his lover."
"You are on very perilous ground," Aven said in a tight voice. "Speak no more of it! I shall be right back. I'm going to warm another towel to put on his wound. It's all I can do to ease his pain."
The Captain's hand fell back on Frodo's forehead and ran through his curls. "Sweet Frodo, recover soon," he whispered. "I need to see your shining eyes." Then Frodo heard heavy footsteps as he left.
Before Frodo could allow the Captain's words to sink in, he slipped into a dark dream.
He was again in the dark wild outside of Rivendell; his friends had disappeared. He was alone. Five dark figures advanced on him, all with icy swords drawn. Frodo tried to draw his own sword, but his hand was numb. It would not respond to anything he wished it to do. He fell on his back, gazing up at the cold, silver stars. The five wraiths blocked the dim celestial light. They breathed on him until he was so cold that he could no longer move. When he craned his neck away from them, something sharp and frozen, like a shard of glass left in the snow, pierced his soft skin. Warm blood ran from his neck and over the thin layer of ice on his body that had rendered him motionless.
"...I am not sure what to do next."
"This is grievous news," another voice said. "Is he going to die?"
"I do not know. He's had a relapse of some kind, but only the king knows about this illness. He treated several people who suffered from wounds of the Enemy, including another halfling, a friend of this one."
"It seems they are very brave, these halflings." Frodo recognized his voice as being that of Damin the guard with the rat bite. Frodo couldn't understand why he wasn't in bed. Damin had been in so much pain. The rat bite had turned him cold and sick. He needed Frodo's care. "It is a pity to see him suffer so. Would not the king want to be informed that he is ill?"
"We've sent for him. I fear he will die before the king returns home. It burns my heart that I can do nothing else for him. I've become so fond of him."
When Frodo managed to force his eyes open, Damin was sitting beside him though it was as if he viewed the soldier through a dim black curtain. Though Damin adjusted the blankets over Frodo, pulling them tight around his shoulders, Frodo could not stop shaking.
"Damin," he whispered. "Your foot is better?"
"Never mind me," Damin said. "My foot is fine. It is my turn to fuss over you."
Aven leaned over him, his kind brow creased with worry. "Frodo, can you tell me—what sort of wound was this?"
"Poison," Frodo said, his voice trembling with effort. "Blade of the Enemy. A piece of it was inside me for 17 days. Lord Elrond in Rivendell got it out but Gandalf said...he said it would never heal completely."
Aven took Frodo's hand. "I have very little kingsfoil left but what little I have, I will give you."
"Please do not waste it on me," Frodo said. "It barely affects the pain and...save it for someone who will benefit from it."
Aven still looked worried. "I have sent for the king."
"No, no," Frodo said, shaking his head. "I do not want his work disturbed for this."
The chill lessened somewhat at the prospect of seeing Aragorn's dear face above him. Aragorn would crawl into bed with him. Frodo was certain he would not feel so cold with Aragorn's arms enclosed tightly around him.
But what if he did not come? The idea nearly took Frodo's breath away. He could not think about that. Aragorn would come. If he cared, even a little, he would return home if he knew how desperately Frodo needed him.
Aragorn stared out the window. He had finally retired to the guest room after another long day of negotiating; all his efforts bent on preventing another war so soon after the defeat of Sauron! Faramir was the most pleasant of hosts, but Aragorn longed to return to Minas Tirith. He wanted to see Frodo, to have the opportunity to make up for the neglectful way he had treated him. He had wanted to write him a note, but he had not found the time. A pang of guilt twisted his stomach. Frodo had looked so unhappy when Aragorn had left him to meet with Faramir. Aragorn shook his head and sighed. There would be plenty of time to talk to Frodo when he got back. Right now, he did not have the time to think about it. He sighed again, this time in irritation. He had to get a night of sound sleep. Then another full day of negotiation with Umbar.
The situation in Emyn Arnen was much worse than Faramir had indicated. Several soldiers in the White Company had been attacked by bands of men from Umbar, and one of them had died. The emissary from Umbar denied that any of his men were involved, but the soldiers who had survived all described their attackers as speaking the language of Umbar. The emissary took great offense that the king was accusing his people of the attacks when the people of Umbar did not need or want a king meddling in their affairs.
A sharp knock on his chamber door startled him.
"Yes?"
"A message for you, my lord."
Aragorn opened the door. A nervous-looking soldier handed him an envelope.
"Thank you." Aragorn gazed at the soldier, waiting for him to exit. He finally bowed and scurried down the corridor.
Aragorn ripped open the letter. He stared down at it in confusion. It was from Aven: "Orlion, Please be prepared. I will be sending one of my workers to your store for more supplies. We will need bandages and cloths."
Aragorn creased his brow in irritation. The messenger had mixed up his messages again. This was a habit that could one day be costly. When he returned to Minas Tirith, he would speak to his soldiers. His stomach sank. If he had received a wrong message, then Orlion the storekeeper had received the message meant for him. He prayed it was not a private matter. Or one that needed his critical attention. He tried to push the worry from his mind. Orlion would discover the error and he would send the message back.
No. That was not enough. He called for his guard, who was sleeping in the suite next to his. Aragorn heard a thump as the guard stumbled out of bed. Normally the young guard's sometimes clumsy attempts to please made Aragorn smile, but this time he was too worried. The guard stood at attention, bleary-eyed but ready to do as he was bid.
"The soldier from Minas Tirith has sent me a message meant for a storekeeper named Orlion. I need you to return to Minas Tirith, find Orlion the storekeeper, and make certain that he has not received a message meant for me. And you may give him the message meant for him."
The guard bowed and returned to his room to get ready to depart.
"Aragorn!" Frodo called. Why wasn't Aragorn here? He had sensed the sun rising and falling several times. Surely enough time had passed for Aragorn to reach him. "Aragorn." His throat was so dry.
He opened his eyes. For the first time, he did not feel so cold. His shoulder ached, but it was much less than the piercing coldness from before. The Captain of the Guard had returned. He and Aven smiled at him. Frodo tried to return the smile, but he felt so weak.
"How are you?" the Captain asked. As always, his voice was kind. Frodo had a nagging feeling that he had learned something about the Captain, about his regard for him. But he could not remember details. Everything about his illness was so hazy.
"I feel much better," Frodo said in a soft voice. "How long...how long have I been ill?"
"It's been nearly ten days."
"Ten...ten days?" His stomach sank with dread. "Have I been unconscious all that time?"
"You've been delirious," Aven said. "We've managed to get some water and broth in you, but that's about it."
"Is...Did the...Is the king back?" Frodo's heart thudded so hard that black dots smattered in front of his eyes. The answer could determine crushing disappointment or giddy happiness. Surely Aragorn had returned after they sent for him. He just would have been too delirious to remember.
He watched as Aven and the Captain glanced at each other. His heart sank. They both knew about Aragorn's neglect and pitied him. Their pity made him want to flee the Healing House and lock himself in his own chamber. He would lock the door and never face them again. If he had more resolve, he would head home to the Shire.
"No." Frodo recognized suppressed anger in the Captain's voice. "I sent word, though."
"I'm so sorry, Aven," Frodo said, his eyes filling with tears. The pain in his heart swelled in his chest until he could barely breathe. He had not really expected Aragorn to drop everyt Middle-earth under his care. Frodo was just one hobbit. But had Aragorn cared at all? There was no evidence. "I've left you all the work. I was sent to help you—and I've only been a burden."
Not even a note. Aragorn had not even sent a simple note, voicing his concern or his care or well wishes.
"Nonsense," Aven said. "You've not been a burden at all. The only problem is that our supplies are very low and I sent a message to Orlion and never heard back from him. The messenger left the note there, though he said the place was dark and closed. I wonder if he has closed shop for some reason? This would be a burden to us. And I would not have sent you back to that place--" Aven broke off as he suddenly realized that he had revealed the incident he had promised to keep secret from Aragorn and his guards.
"Why? What happened?" The Captain asked.
"Nothing," Frodo said. He did not blame Aven. It had been a slip of the tongue and nothing more.
"Did something happen?" The Captain's voice grew tense, and for the first time, Frodo realized how dangerous this man could be to his enemies. "Aven, you must be honest with me."
Aven glanced at Frodo with a worried frown.
Frodo looked at the Captain. "A few weeks ago, I got lost running an errand for Aven, and I was robbed. I...I didn't want to trouble the king, so I asked Aven not to mention it to anyone. It is not Aven's fault. I am the one who got lost."
"Robbed." The Captain's face looked grim. "Was your life threatened?"
"Please, I do not wish to talk about this right now. I am weary and my heart is heavy. I'm sorry. Please do not mention this to the king. I beg of you."
"Very well," the Captain said with a bitter smile.
Frodo did not answer. He bit his lower lip, willing himself not to break into tears in front of the two men. Really, he had not thought that Aragorn should drop what he was doing in Emyn Arnen to come home to him. But he could have sent a message, a personal note to him. But nothing. Frodo could not stay under such circumstances. As soon as he was well enough to travel, he would return to the Shire.
"Careful, Frodo," Aven said. "Do not overexert yourself."
"I am all right," Frodo said from the top of the stepping stool as he jammed clean towels into the cabinet in the storage nook with a grunt of frustration. There were too many to fit in the small space. His left arm still stiff and sore to the touch, he climbed down and leaned against the wall, struggling to catch his breath. Perhaps he had overexerted himself...just a little.
Two weeks had passed since the Captain of the Guard had brought the message of Aragorn's delay. Aragorn could return any day, but this time, Frodo refused to get his hopes up.
Aven's hand fell on Frodo's shoulder. "You're not still thinking foolish thoughts about traveling to the Shire, are you?" He smiled and his voice became less serious. "The king would have my head."
Frodo flushed with annoyance. "I'm not your responsibility," he said in a sharper voice than he intended.
"Yes, I know. Do not take offense by my concern. But the roads are not safe, even in this new and peaceful age. Even Holis would not travel to the North alone...And he certainly would not be happy about you doing so."
"Who is Holis?" Frodo asked, his frown replaced by a curious smile.
Aven looked at Frodo in surprise. "Holis -- your friend -- the Captain of the Guard."
Though Frodo saw the Captain almost daily, it had never occurred to him to address him as anything other than "Captain." Frodo burst into laughter. "No wonder you looked at me so oddly. I cannot believe I've never learned his name." His laughter faded when he saw the continued quiet concern in Aven's eyes. "You need not worry. I will not go to the Shire...not yet."
Frodo had been certain he would leave for the Shire as soon as he recovered, but now he found that he could not do it. If he left Minas Tirith, he would never see Aragorn again, and though the king's neglect during his illness still hurt terribly, he was not ready for a complete break from him. He wanted to study Aragorn's face, to hear the tone of his voice, to know for certain that Aragorn no longer loved him. Only then could he gather the courage to leave forever.
Besides, Frodo thought with a fond smile, he now had friends in Minas Tirith. Even just a few weeks earlier, he had not foreseen that. Nearly every day he saw either Damin or Holis. And he adored his job in the Healing House, working with Aven, who was always kind to him.
After Frodo helped Aven clean for a short while, the healer squeezed his shoulder. "Go home and rest. I'll see you tomorrow."
Frodo almost went straight to his chamber to rest, as Aven had commanded, but he decided instead that he would try to find Damin where he was on duty in the dungeons. Frodo had never visited him on duty, but now that he was well again, he intended to do so regularly. Damin expressed so much unhappiness with his environment. The dungeons were dark and full of rats, and Damin spent hours down in the deep underground without seeing daylight. Frodo planned to talk to Aragorn about getting Damin transferred to more a more pleasant guard station.
Frodo climbed down a roughly hewn spiral staircase until he was far underground. He shivered as the air became dank and chilly, and he covered his nose to block a foul smell. His heart squeezed in sympathy for Damin, who had to face this as his daily duty.
He felt somewhat queasy, suddenly nervous at being in the dungeons. While he knew Aragorn kept prisoners, seeing them with his own eyes was jarring. He padded down a narrow, slimy corridor that led past sullen men pacing in their cells like wild animals. Frodo shuddered and drew his cloak around him as if that would divert the predatory stares directed toward him. He let out a large sigh of relief when he saw Damin sitting at a table at the end of the corridor.
"Damin!" Frodo called out.
Damin startled. "What are you doing here, Frodo?" He jumped up and walked to meet him.
"Such a pretty little thing," a raspy voice breathed from one of the cells. "Think the guard will let ya in to give me a little treat?"
"Shut your mouth!" Damin shouted. "Or you will pay for it later! Come, Frodo."
Damin shuttled Frodo down the corridor and to the flight of steps that he had just descended. Kneeling, he gripped Frodo by the shoulders and spoke more calmly. "You shouldn't have come here."
"I'm sorry if I bothered you—" Frodo flushed, embarrassed that Damin did not seem pleased to see him.
"No, never that." Damin shook his head and stood again. "But this is not a place for nice folk. And you're barefoot, which makes me worry that you'll step on any number of foul things in here. Remember what happened to me! Go on back to the Healing House, and I will meet you there in an hour!"
Though Frodo was disappointed that his visit had not only failed to please Damin but had upset him, he was more than a little relieved to be out of the dungeons. He gulped in the fresh air, reveling in the sunlight.
Frodo did not see the strong hand that grabbed him until he was against the wall in a tiny alley off the main road. He gasped, looking up; when he saw who it was, his heart pattered in nervous dread.
"Triston," he said quietly. The man still wore his bright red cloak.
The man kneeled beside him. "Hello, halfling. I'm sorry, but your name has escaped me."
"Frodo," Frodo said, frowning. He failed to see the necessity of dragging him into an alley. "What brings you here?"
"I was looking for you," Triston said, still not releasing Frodo's arm.
"What...What can I do for you?" Frodo asked, trying to keep his voice confident. "Why are we hiding?"
"I got the impression from our last visit that you have a heart...and I remembered that you work with Aven..." Triston sighed and looked down, his blue eyes clouded with sadness. "My son, a little lad of six summers, is in terrible pain. I do not know what ails him, but--"
"Bring him to us," Frodo interrupted. "We will have a look at him."
Triston let out a scornful laugh and spit on the ground, still not releasing Frodo's arm. "Your Aven, the one you work for, is very tightfisted with the kingsfoil."
"There is a shortage," Frodo said stiffly, uncomfortable with the obvious scorn in Triston's voice regarding Aven. "He saves it for the extreme cases."
Triston's grip on Frodo's arm tightened, and Frodo struggled not to react. He somehow suspected that might be dangerous with this man. "I warrant you received some when you were ill."
Frodo looked at him in suspicion, longing more than ever to break out of his grip and wish him a good day. This conversation was making him more uncomfortable with each passing moment. He wasn't sure anyone would hear him if he cried out for help, and it would only serve to worsen Triston's agitation. "How did you know I was ill?"
"Word gets around. Now will you help me? You surely do not wish a child to suffer."
"No," Frodo said faintly. "But you must bring him to--"
"Meet me at midnight tonight, right here in this alley, with a handful of kingsfoil."
Frodo's heart sped, and he could not get in enough breath. "I do not have leave to go into the garden...It is not part of my duty!"
"You will find a way." Triston's smile was cold. "You cannot tell me it is that difficult."
"I will not do it. It is not mine to take."
Triston shoved Frodo against the wall, and the hobbit stifled a cry as the back of his head was nicked by an uneven stone. "You would let a child die because you're too pure and moral to take what the king is hoarding for himself? Do you understand? A child will die if you do not do this for me!"
Frodo looked up in misery. "If you bring him in, I will make certain he is looked at. If he is in need of the kingsfoil, he shall have it."
"Frodo, I'm surprised." Triston shook his head, and his voice was deadly quiet. "I expected more cooperation from you. You leave me no choice but to tell you this next part. If you do not do this for me, I will tell my men to lie in wait for your dear friend Aven. They will beat him to death and it will look like a common robbery. And I have men at my command that will have no qualms about doing this. Is that what you want?" Triston shoved Frodo against the wall again. "I know you are very fond of him."
Above the jangling ringing in his ears, caused by his head hitting the wall the two times Triston had shoved him, Frodo heard heavy footsteps, and a harsh voice cried, "Release him!"
Frodo nearly wept in relief when he saw Holis striding toward them, eyes flashing with anger, sword in hand. Triston grunted and released Frodo, and Frodo stumbled away, holding the back of his head.
"I did not mean any harm," Triston said, spreading his arms in surrender. "It's just that my son is ill and—"
"I am not interested in your excuses." Holis strode to Triston, blocking him against the wall, and held his sword at his throat. "I think the king will not object to seeing you rot in the dungeons."
"No!" Frodo clutched Holis' arm, pulling at the man to draw his sword away from the wretched Tristan's exposed throat...Holis turned to him with an expression so dark and cold that Frodo nearly backed away with trembling legs. He forced himself to remain still, and in fact he spoke in as brave a voice as possible. "Holis, it is all right. Let him go. He didn't hurt me."
Very reluctantly, Holis drew back his sword, continuing to stare at the man in black hatred. "By Frodo's grace, you go free. If I see you again, I will not be so merciful."
Triston cast Frodo a final threatening look. "Remember." He fled down the alley, his red cloak flapping behind him.
Holis immediately kneeled beside Frodo. "Are you all right?"
"Yes," Frodo said, swaying on his trembling legs. "He did not hurt me."
"What happened?" Holis asked, drawing his powerful arms around Frodo to steady him.
"He...he was angry..." Frodo looked down, unable to meet Holis' sympathetic gaze. "Because...because his son is ill and he thinks Aven will not treat him."
"But why has he approached you?" Holis asked, but before Frodo could answer, the man grunted in disgust. "Oh, I know why. You're an easy target for him to bully. Why did you not allow me to lock him up?"
"His son is ill," Frodo said. He closed his eyes, trying to block out Triston's final threat against Aven's life. "If he is locked up, his son will have nobody to care for him."
"If he indeed has a son," Holis said with a cynical grimace. "Come, Frodo, I will walk you to your quarters."
Frodo straightened up, finally feeling strong enough to stand without support. "I'm to meet Damin at the Healing House..." He felt suddenly so weary that he longed to collapse into bed and sleep for days on end. That, of course, would not be possible since he had to meet Triston at midnight. "Though I do not much feel like it now."
"Do you wish me to give him a message instead?"
"Oh, would you?" Frodo said in relief. "Tell him...tell him to meet me tomorrow when he is off duty."
"I will do that." Holis squeezed Frodo's shoulder.
"Thank you, Holis." Frodo said. "You are a good friend."
Holis grimaced slightly. "It is really no matter. Damin is not far out of my way."
"No," Frodo said, looking up at him. "I meant for arriving when you did."
Holis' mouth was set in a grim line. "It is my duty to protect you."
"Why don't you come back to my chamber after you deliver the message to Damin?" Frodo asked, grabbing his hand. "You can--"
Holis looked down at him, his face still harsh. "I...No, Frodo. I do not think that would be a good idea."
Frodo flushed, a sudden memory washing over him, where he had heard through the fog of his illness Holis' quiet, desperate voice whispering to Aven of his feelings for Frodo. Though that had the potential to cause an awkward situation, Frodo felt safe, knowing that Holis would never risk his position to articulate his feelings. Frodo had occasionally caught expressions of stark pain and bitter longing on the man's face, but Holis had never otherwise betrayed his feelings. If in the agony of illness Frodo had not overheard him say "...he's so sweet and loving and he deserves the full attention of his lover" and Aven's response, "You are on very perilous ground," he would never have suspected anything.
"I am sorry," Frodo said, pulling his hand away miserably. If his mere presence was making Holis unhappy, then perhaps he should stop seeking out his company, though the idea made his heart sink in cold dismay.
"Do not apologize," Holis said in a faintly bitter voice. "Come, I do wish to make certain you reach your quarters safely."
Frodo followed Holis out of the alleyway. He walked beside the tall man in gloomy silence, feeling the awkward weight of Holis' unrequited feelings between them. More than that, he could not imagine how he was going to find a way into Aven's herb garden that night. He knew he would have to sneak in – he would never justify to Aven a reason to go to the herbs. Because of the shortage and the problem with thieves, only Aven picked the herbs. The only time Frodo had been in the garden was the first day when Aven had led him around the grounds. Frodo's heart thudded at the idea of doing something so unlawful. He'd likely be shot for a thief before they realized who he was...but worse than that, he could not bear to lose Aven's favor, to see the expression of betrayal on his face when he realized who the thief was.
Frodo paced in his chamber, barely able to keep his eyes open. He was afraid to sit on any of the plush settees in the room or his hobbit-sized chair, much less lie in bed. The clock ticked with agonizing slowness, and his shoulder had begun to ache again. He paced back and forth, holding a book on the history of Minas Tirith, reading it aloud with exaggerated expression, striving especially to pronounce the Elvish words correctly.
Finally, he put on his cloak and slipped out of his chamber, hoping he had allowed for plenty of time...to sneak into Aven's herb garden, get what he needed, and make his way to the alley where he would meet Triston. He hoped nobody would see him leave the castle...especially Holis, who would certainly protest his going out alone so late.
Frodo passed several guards, but they barely acknowledged him. And there was no reason for them to. Frodo was free to roam the city at will.
Outside, the air was crisp, and the stones under his tough feet felt cold and unyielding. In the upper level of the city, the only people out so late were the patrolling guards. Everyone else was either asleep or in taverns in the lower levels of the city.
When he reached the Healing House, his legs began to tremble so violently that he worried whether they would continue to support him. What excuse would he make to the night apprentices, who may not know him? Aven was on duty only during the day unless there was a sickness or injury that his night apprentices could not handle alone. He saw the tall guards who kept watch over the herb garden, their bows clutched in their hands, ready for use.
Frodo stopped, feeling cold all over. He could not do this. Triston's threats were probably unfounded.
But vividly before his eyes, he could all too clearly see Aven's kind face brutalized by the blows that Triston's men would deliver. If anything happened to him...Frodo would much rather risk being caught stealing the herbs. If he was sent to prison, then so be it. Triston at least could not bother him in the rat-infested dungeons below the castle.
Frodo slipped inside the Healing House, but instead of greeting the men who worked there, he crept soundlessly down the corridor, prepared to dash and hide if he heard or saw anyone. His stomach turned, and he heard his breath, harsh and raspy, echoing through his ears as he made his way through the small rooms until he reached the door to the garden. He stood there, momentarily paralyzed, his heart battering against his chest. It was odd that the guards protected the garden so ruthlessly from the outside, but it was so easy to reach the garden from the inside. Any thief could walk through the front door and slip unseen into the garden.
Of course, not every thief had Frodo's knowledge of the inside of the Healing House. Frodo's stomach rolled again. The Ringbearer was a common thief. He was no better a person than the man Aven had claimed had been slain for sneaking into the garden.
Frodo crept into the garden, clutching his cloak around him, as if it could give him the power of invisibility. He smiled grimly, craving the Ring. Bilbo had used it for burglary purposes...with no ill effect.
Frodo gasped when he noticed that one of the tall guards stood right above him on the high wall that surrounded the garden. If Frodo moved, even slightly, he would see his movement and shoot. His face heated and then immediately turned cold, and his heart sped until he felt faint.
Slowly Frodo bent to his knees, trying to still the banging of his heart. If he could make it behind the thick brush to his left, he could at least try to plan what to do next. He quickly scuttled behind the bush, but as he did so, his cloak got caught on the branches, causing them to shake and rustle.
"Who goes there?" a sharp voice called.
Frodo froze, suddenly nauseated as a cold pit filled his stomach. He knew that voice. He barely suppressed a whimper as he at last wriggled his cloak free from the thorny branches and desperately closed his eyes, as if that would prevent Holis from seeing him.
Frodo had faced horrors in Mordor that would always haunt him in the empty hours of the night. But even in the darkest moments, he had been spurred on by the knowledge that he was saving the Shire, working for good against the greatest evil. But now he was the cause of evil, the enemy, and that knowledge sent a chill from his poisoned shoulder down his arm until he felt sick to his stomach. If Holis caught him, – no matter what his personal feelings for Frodo were -- he would be obliged to lock him in the dungeons...and he would have the perfect right to do so. Aragorn would likely be relieved, as it would be the perfect solution to rid himself of the hobbit who clung to an unreturned love.
Through a break in the bush's leaves, Frodo spied a clump of kingsfoil. Slowly, his hand trembling so badly he could not hold it steady, he reached through the break in the leaves.
"There's somebody here," Holis said, his voice cold and stern. "You men keep your posts and I will flush him out and slay him."
Frodo stuffed the kingsfoil in his pocket and curled into a terrified ball, trembling wildly. How was he going to get out without Holis seeing him? His heart battered so hard that he could not breathe.
Something slammed hard into his side, but he clenched his teeth, determined not to make a sound.
"I'll have you, thief. Make no mistake of that."
The object slammed into Frodo's back, and the pain drew tears to his eyes. He shut his eyes with regret. He could not handle another blow. "Wait!" he squeaked. "It's only me!"
A shocked silence followed. "Frodo?"
Frodo crawled out, swallowing the bile that threatened. He could not face the disdain on Holis' face.
Holis was on his knees, and as Frodo crawled out from the brush, the man grabbed his shoulders, squeezing tightly. "What are you doing here? Are you hurt?"
Frodo's side throbbed where Holis had hit him, but he did not want to admit it. Not now. "I...I'm sorry, Holis --"
"Aven should never have sent you out here! What was he thinking?" Holis' voice trembled. "He should have warned you...the guards have eager fingers on their bows, and they have direct orders to slay anyone in the garden after dark." He shook his head, letting out a shaky sigh. "I struck you with the hilt of my sword...felt the impact...Are you certain you are not hurt?"
"I'm all right...Aven's not here," Frodo said, squeezing back tears. "I..."
"Come, let's discuss this elsewhere," Holis said, his lips set in a grim line. Climbing to his feet, he waved the other guards away. "It's all right. He is no thief."
Still gripping Frodo's shoulder, he led the hobbit firmly through the Healing House and back into the shadowy street.
Frodo felt low and frightened. Judging by Holis' grim silence, Frodo guessed that he was about to lose one of the few friends he had made in Minas Tirith. Holis may have told the guards that he was not a thief, but he knew...had to know.
When Holis finally spoke, Frodo was surprised by the gentle tone of his voice. "I do not usually patrol this way and not generally this late at night, but this evening, I stopped to talk to the guards at the herb garden."
Holis found a stone hewn stairway and he sat, pulling Frodo beside him.
"I'm sorry, Holis," Frodo said, wrapping himself tightly in his cloak, unable to stop shaking. "I did not intend to cause you trouble."
"I'll speak to Aven," Holis said in a choked voice. "How would we have felt if we had slain you?"
"I will speak with him," Frodo said, casting his eyes down. "I don't want...I would rather speak to him myself."
Holis gripped Frodo's chin, forcing him to look into eyes that were piercing and grim. "Aven did not give you permission to be in the garden."
Frodo met the man's gaze, his eyes wet. "Please, Holis..."
Holis shook him lightly. "Do not tell me you are one of the thieves, Frodo." He swallowed and winced, as if the thought made him want to vomit. "The king has given us complete authority to slay on sight any thief in the herb garden...and from what I understand, he doesn't care whether it's his own kin. Do you think I can bear the thought of you in that kind of danger?"
Frodo breathed quickly, wincing under Holis' unyielding grip. Finally, he spoke in a faltering voice. "It is Triston...the man you chased away earlier today." His lips shook. "If I don't...if I do not give him the kingsfoil, he will kill Aven."
Frodo watched Holis' face reflect a myriad of emotions – murderous hatred, fury at Frodo for allowing himself to get into such a predicament, fear for the one he loved and for his position as Captain of the Guard.
"You have the kingsfoil now?" Holis asked quietly, releasing Frodo's chin. Frodo nodded, and a surge of weariness filled his limbs.
"By allowing you...by saying nothing..." Holis swallowed. "...if you were anyone else..." He wiped his brow, relaxing his grip on Frodo's arm. "Frodo, I cannot bear to see you hurt...you must know my feelings for you...my admiration for you...for your deeds...I know of nobody braver."
"That no longer matters," Frodo said, bowing his head in grief. He, the Ringbearer, had stolen healing herbs from a garden sadly lacking...to give them to a thief. He leaned against Holis, barely aware of the man putting his arm around him and squeezing him close.
"Yes it does," Holis said. "Nothing can take that away."
"You must think so poorly of me now," Frodo said dully. "That is the worst thing about all this."
"It is not your fault." Holis straightened, and his voice hardened. "I will accompany you to meet this thief and this time I will show no mercy. I will not allow him to threaten you or Aven."
"No!" Frodo said, clutching the man's hand and looking up at him, his eyes wide and frightened. "You must not do this! He has loyal friends."
"What would you have me do?" Holis asked, his voice shaking with rage. "Allow you to go into danger? Allow you to continue to thieve for them against your will until you are slain by the guards?"
"I do not wish to do this again. I will...I will tell Aragorn when he comes home. I will tell him everything and he will help."
"Will you?" Holis asked bitterly. "Will he listen?"
Frodo jumped to his feet, his face hot with shame. "If you wish to punish me, do not do it by twisting my state of affairs with Aragorn!"
Holis sighed, his mouth turning down, and Frodo immediately felt pity for the man. He had put his life on the line by speaking so frankly.
"I am sorry, Frodo," Holis said. "It is only that I cannot accept that the Ringbearer, the one who should be most honored in all of Middle earth, is in such a predicament. I apologize for what I said about Aragorn, but allow me to be frank. I am frightened for you. How dear are you to him?"
Frodo's chest ached as he sat beside Holis again. He tried to picture Aragorn's face gentle with love for him, but he could only conjure an image of the king looking at him in utmost disgust.
"What—why do you ask?"
"I risk treason by speaking such to you, and my life is forfeit if what I say angers you."
"Speak," Frodo said, his face feeling numb.
Holis released a sigh. "It seems to me that the king little appreciates the treasure that he has. You love him, Frodo. I see it in the way your eyes shine when you speak about him, the wretched disappointment in your face the day I informed you he was delayed. It broke my heart, Frodo, seeing you in pain."
"What does this have to do with..." Frodo said stiffly.
"Only this. The king holds you in such little regard that he did not return when you were deathly ill—"
"He is a king," Frodo said, his eyes flashing. "He has many duties that expand beyond one sick hobbit!"
"Nothing would have kept me from you!" Holis said, gripping both of Frodo's arms, his face filled with pain. "Do you know how close you came to death?"
"You are making me very uncomfortable."
Holis shook his head, a bitter smile curving his lips. "I love you, Frodo. You'd have to be a village idiot not to guess that by now. My life is in your hands to do with as you will. I will never speak of it again because it makes you uncomfortable and it can never be."
"Why...?" Frodo said, his throat dry.
"How can I not love you, Frodo? You are the size of a child of eight or nine summers here...yet...you battled the Dark Lord and his servants and survived. You walked into Mordor, the place no man wishes to speak of, much less enter, not even with an army of ten thousand men. You faced horrors I cannot even begin to imagine. Yet you sit here before me...your face is pure and innocent, as if that evil could not touch you at all."
"I am not innocent," Frodo said with a weary sigh. "Look at what I am about to do. And I must go now. Triston will not wish to be kept waiting."
"Frodo," Holis said. "You know I cannot allow you to go into danger alone."
"You cannot go with me!" Frodo cried. "Do you wish to put Aven into danger?"
"No," Holis said, letting out an angry sigh. "You go forth and give that foul man what he wants. I will hide nearby, out of sight. If you get into trouble, you call out. Understand?"
Frodo nodded, finally relieved to have someone that knew about everything.
"Yes." Frodo hugged Holis, squeezing tight, and kissed his cheek. Holis' face turned swiftly, and before Frodo was aware of what was happening, he and Holis were locked in a furious kiss. Frodo was too weak from shock and trepidation to push him away, and he found he did not wish to. His lips melted into the kiss, and tears welled in his eyes, as it had been too long since he had felt a kiss so tender and searching.
Holis broke the embrace, and his face was pale, his eyes full of fear. "I am sorry."
As they gazed at each other, Frodo noticed Holis' hands trembling. The man closed his eyes.
"It is as much my fault," Frodo said dully. "I'm afraid I needed it. You were right, Holis. Things are..." He looked down the street warily, but he did not see anyone. "Things are not ideal between Aragorn and myself."
"Yes," Holis said.
"I fear he no longer..." Frodo's throat caught. "I fear he does not love me as he once did."
Holis' jaw stiffened but he said nothing.
Frodo shook himself from his daze and jumped to his feet. "I must go now! I'm afraid I am already late meeting Triston."
Holis forced his face into an impervious mask. "I'll be behind you."
Frodo's stomach heaved as he got closer to the dark alley. As he approached it, he saw a long dark shadow, and he cringed inside, remembering Triston's temper and hoping that he wouldn't do anything to attract Holis' protective rage.
"There you are," Triston said, staggering. He reeked of ale. "I was beginning to wonder if you cared enough about old Aven to bring me what I needed."
"It was not free of risk," Frodo said stiffly, handing him the kingsfoil. "I was nearly caught."
"You don't impress me," Triston said scornfully. "You can't tell me they would kill the king's special little...what did Holis call you? Treasure?" He laughed and leaned against the wall, hovering above Frodo.
Frodo's stomach turned cold. Had Triston overheard his latest conversation with Holis? Had he seen...?
"Now how about a reward from old Triston for doing as you're told?"
"What do you mean?" Frodo asked sharply. Triston dropped to his knees, clearly drunk. He roughly grasped Frodo around the waist and leaned his chin on Frodo's shoulder, nearly causing Frodo to fall with his weight.
"See?" Triston whispered in his ear. "I know about your big shadow. I didn't say nothing because it doesn't matter. You and I both know that whether Aven lives or not depends on how well you work with me. Now, do you feel something big and hard pressing into your leg?"
Frodo nodded, squeezing his eyes shut in terror and feeling so cold and numb that he couldn't speak or move.
"Oh, it's not so much that you'd be a good lay that's making me hard, though I imagine you would, given that the king keeps you and all. What's making me hard is how easily I can hurt the king with one of several actions. I can inform him of a kiss I witnessed between you and the good Captain." Frodo's heart battered painfully, and his stomach turned. He had seen. "Or perhaps the king could receive word that his little Shire friend's been pilfering the kingsfoil. Or at some point I might just do this." Triston removed his arms from Frodo's waist and gripped Frodo's neck. "I could easily snap your neck. Any one of those things, perhaps all three of them would hurt the king, and therefore would make me very happy. So you see, halfling, it's really nothing personal against you."
Frodo's chest heated with rage. "You have no right to do this!" His throat filled, and he felt battered and broken, dismayed to find that tears had filled his eyes.
"Oh, don't weep. That may work with the others, but I still have more I require from you."
"Leave me in peace," Frodo said. "I will not do anything more for you."
"Oh, yes you will. For now I want only a kiss, just like you gave the Captain not too long ago."
Frodo's lips parted in disgust, and Triston took full advantage. His lips crushed the hobbit's until he could barely breathe. He pushed at Triston's chest, but it was hard and unyielding like a stone wall.
"That is all," Triston said, shoving Frodo away. "Go on, now. I'm finished with you for tonight. I will find you when I need you again."
Frodo staggered into the main street, and it was not too long before Holis met him.
"Are you all right?"
Frodo nodded. They had no time for further conversation before three guards ran to them.
"Captain, we have been searching everywhere for you," the first guard said. "The king is arriving now into the city."
Frodo clutched his chest, barely able to breathe. Aragorn had come back! Frodo took in deep breaths, trying to gain the strength to face Aragorn, his brain whirling with so many thoughts that it made him dizzy. He was desperate to lie in his arms again, yet furious at him for neglecting him during his illness. But if he swallowed his anger, he could bask in Aragorn's gentle smile...could beg for Aragorn's protection against Triston, both for Aven and for himself.
As his heart soared with a happiness and hope he hadn't felt in weeks, he watched Holis' face crumple. He wanted to offer him some parting words of comfort, but he could say nothing in front of the other guards.
And even Holis' pain could not block the joy Frodo felt that on this night he would finally lie in the warmth and safety of Aragorn's arms.
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