The King's Halfling by Claudia

Aragorn was so weary that the idea of listening to the Captain's report filled him with dread. His muscles ached as though he had a fever, and his mind was foggy. He wished he could sneak past his guards unnoticed until he reached his chamber. He would crawl into bed, cradle his dear Frodo in his arms, and sleep for at least three days.

Frodo's anger at him before he had left seemed distant, and he hoped that the time apart had allowed Frodo to forgive him. Yes, he was bone weary, but he would not sleep until he saw Frodo's eyes tender with forgiveness. A chill ran down his back as he remembered his nightmare in which he had beaten Frodo to his death. Aragorn vowed from this day forward that he would never again batter Frodo's heart with neglect or harsh words.

"Welcome, my liege," Holis said, bowing.

"I am weary, Holis, so I will ask you to hold the reports until tomorrow. If they have waited thus far, they can wait until morning. I need to sleep."

Holis nodded. "As you wish, my liege."

Aragorn was not certain whether his fatigue was causing him to perceive that which was not real, but it seemed a shadow passed over the guard's face at Aragorn's mention of sleep.

Aragorn continued. "I do have concerns about a message I received while in Emyn Arnen, but I shall not worry about it just now."

He was surprised by a sudden angry flush on Holis' face.

"What is it?" Aragorn asked, suddenly fully alert. "Do you know more about this?"

"My liege, it is not my place to question your decisions..." Holis swallowed several times as if trying to control his emotions.

"Speak."

"He was heartbroken you did not come." Aragorn doubted that Holis was aware of how much angry accusation was in his eyes.

"I am too weary to play riddling games, Holis."

"He was near death." Holis swallowed again, hard and deliberately, clearly trying to contain a rage he did not dare show. "And you did not come. I merely wonder at it."

"Near death..." Cold pressure filled Aragorn's chest and he grabbed Holis' shoulder. "Is it Frodo?"

"Frodo was very ill." Holis suddenly looked uncertain. "Did you not receive the message, my liege?"

"Ill?" Aragorn's heart battered painfully against his chest. "Ill? How? Is he recovered?"

Holis nodded. "He has recovered, but it was close. The message --"

"You told him you sent a message to me..." Aragorn said, his stomach rolling. That Frodo had been so ill -- near death -- and Aragorn had not known, shook him deep inside. He had to see him at once. "And then I did not come. What must he think?"

Aragorn urged his horse up the levels of the city, heedless of whether his guards kept up, wishing he could ride as fast as in the open country. Holis held back, did not follow him, but Aragorn had no time to marvel at how deeply Frodo's illness seemed to have affected the Captain. Aragorn only felt sick inside, imagining how it would be if he had come home to the news of Frodo's death.




Aragorn found Frodo pacing near the window in their chamber. The hobbit turned, cried out in joy, and ran to his lover. Aragorn fell to his knees, enveloping Frodo in his arms, holding him close, desperately relieved to hear the hobbit's strong heartbeat.

Aragorn kissed Frodo hungrily on the lips. "I'm so sorry. I did not know you were ill. I never received the message, else I would have come immediately. Please believe I would have come."

"I know," Frodo said, his voice cracking. He nuzzled his soft cheek against Aragorn's neck, sagging into the Man's embrace as if his limbs had given out. "I knew there had to be a reason."

"I missed you so much," Aragorn said as Frodo pressed frantic kisses all over his neck, cheeks, and lips. "I made you unhappy...I just want to lie with you, hold you close."

"Yes, now," Frodo said, his wide blue eyes filling with tears of open joy that shamed Aragorn. Time and time again, Aragorn had hurt the one he loved more than anyone else, the one who loved him back unconditionally. "Come to bed."

Once under the covers, Aragorn held Frodo close, rubbing the hobbit's arms as if trying to warm them. "Tell me about your illness."

"It was my shoulder," Frodo said softly. "The wound Gandalf said would never heal. I'm all right now."

Aragorn kissed Frodo's head. "I will never...I will be with you from now on when your illnesses come on."

Frodo squirmed in the Man's arms, turning until he was facing Aragorn. He slid his arms around Aragorn's neck, pressing his body against him. His thigh rubbed playfully against Aragorn's groin.

"No, Frodo," Aragorn whispered, though his breath caught somewhat. "Not tonight. I want to... love you so much...but I am weary beyond reckoning. Let me just hold you tonight."




Frodo's cheeks glowed the next day as he helped Aven wrap clean bandages.

"I've not seen you look so happy in a long time, Frodo," Aven said, smiling slightly, despite a worried pucker in his brow. "It cheers my heart."

"What is the matter, Aven?" he asked. "You seem upset."

"Aye." Aven nodded, but before he could speak, Aragorn entered. Aven bowed. Frodo's heart soared, as Aragorn had not sought him outside their chamber in such a long time.

"I have come to take Frodo with me, to join me for lunch." He chuckled slightly. "I have rid myself of all my advisors for the time."

"Oh, yes!" Frodo jumped to his feet. Then he paused, glancing at Aven. "That is, if that is all right with you."

"Far be it from me to try to go against the king's wishes," Aven said, forcing a smile. "My liege, may I have a word with you before you leave?"

"Certainly."

Aven sighed deeply. "I was just about to inform Frodo as well, but...Last night, more kingsfoil was stolen. Now all that remains is a single clump, barely enough to help one person."

"Are you certain?" Aragorn asked sharply. When his gray eyes became hard and stern, Frodo's heart thudded against his chest. In the excitement of Aragorn's arrival, he had nearly forgotten the horrid events of the night before. Now his stomach sank, and a sour strangling filled his throat.

"Yes, my lord. We are in serious trouble."

Aragorn flushed, balling his hands into fists. "Aven, that thief...or thieves... must be caught. I will show no mercy. When he is caught, I want him brought before me and I will slay him myself." Aragorn slammed his fist into the wall, causing both Frodo and Aven to flinch. Frodo had never seen him lose control, and it sickened him. "I am sorry." The king drew his lips into a thin, grim line. "As a healer myself, this angers me beyond anything I've felt before. I will double the guards in the herb garden tonight."

"That is well," Aven said. "For if you slay the thief, I should like to be there to spit in his eye."

Aragorn nodded. He turned to Frodo. "Are you ready?"

"Yes." Frodo came to Aragorn, who took his small hand and squeezed it, absentmindedly rubbing it while staring forward in anger. "You're cold and shaky, Frodo." He looked down and smiled softly at the hobbit. "Do not worry -- we will catch him. And he will pay."




"Holis, I'm very concerned about Frodo."

"My liege?"

Aragorn noticed the guard visibly tense. "He's so quiet and withdrawn, but when I ask him what bothers him, he only says he's tired. He has taken to feigning sleep when I come to bed, and often, he is already dressed and gone before I wake up. I barely see him as of late, and when I do, he is nervous and flustered. Worst of all, he recoils from my touch, and I do not understand it. I know you were kind enough to keep him company while I was gone, and that you two became good friends. Tell me, have you noticed this behavior in him? Has he confided anything in you?"

"That is certainly odd," Holis said, and Aragorn was quite sure he caught a tremble in the guard's voice. "It's not like him, is it? I wish that I could help, but in truth, I have not seen him since you arrived home last week."




When Frodo heard the chamber door open, he began to concentrate on his breathing. In and out, deep and relaxed. That was the only way that Aragorn would believe he was asleep.

Just four days earlier, he had been sent to the herb garden for the second time and stolen the final clump of kingsfoil. Since then, he had been unable to meet Aragorn's eyes. Triston had not been satisfied by the puny clump Frodo had presented to him, and he had struck the hobbit hard several times in the stomach, leaving him to gasp painfully for breath, before he had threatened him with worse if he did not manage to find more kingsfoil by the next time. The bruises from Triston's rough treatment had ached for days.

Each time he had taken a breath to tell Aragorn everything, he pictured Aragorn's stern countenance as he vowed to find and punish the thief. He thought about Holis and how precarious his position was. He thought about how vulnerable Aven was, should Triston carry out his threat.

He couldn't do it...couldn't tell Aragorn. Surely Triston would soon understand that there truly was no more kingsfoil to be had, and then he would leave Frodo alone.

"Frodo."

Frodo feigned a light groan and turned a little. Most of all, he did not want Aragorn to touch him, because if he did, he might want to make love. The bruises on his tender abdomen skin and on his upper arms were far too dark to pass Aragorn's notice.

"Frodo." Aragorn's voice was insistent, and now he shook Frodo's shoulder. "Frodo, wake up."

Frodo opened his eyes a crack, but he bolted up, fully awake, when he saw the grim expression on Aragorn's face. "What is it?"

"Holis has been badly injured, and he is calling for you."

Frodo clutched his chest, which had turned icy as his heart galloped out of control. A roaring filled his ears. "What has happened?"

Aragorn shook his head, throwing Frodo's shirt and breeches on the bed. "I do not know what he thought he was doing, without aid, but he rode into the lower levels of the city to try to clean up some of the problems. He killed a man...one of the thieves we have been tracking, a man by the name of Triston."

Frodo gasped as he pulled his nightshirt over his head, turning away so that Aragorn could not see the bruises on his belly. "What happened?..." Frodo asked as if Aragorn had not said anything. "Is Holis...?"

As he dressed, his thoughts whirled. Holis had foolishly killed Triston, but Triston had many friends and he had probably made them all aware that Holis was protecting Frodo.

Holis, you must pull through this, Frodo thought as tears sprang to his eyes.

"He is grievously injured," Aragorn continued. "He has been sliced over his abdomen, and we have...there is no kingsfoil left to ease his pain. Aven is doing his best to close and clean the wound."

Frodo's burning cheeks were relieved only by the tracks of tears that now freely streamed from his eyes. He jumped out of bed and fetched his cloak. Everything was his fault. Holis was badly hurt, and because of the kingsfoil Frodo had stolen, there was no way to ease his pain. Holis had fought for him from the beginning, had been willing to sacrifice everything – his position, his very life, to ease Frodo's pain. And now he lay badly injured, possibly dying, and Frodo could do nothing to ease his pain in return.

Aragorn squeezed his shoulder in brief reassurance as they left the chamber, but instead of feeling better, Frodo's stomach rolled. Aragorn had behaved in a kind and loving manner toward him since coming home from Emyn Arnen, but if he knew...if he had any idea what Frodo had done, that kindness would disintegrate – and he would deserve it. Frodo pictured Holis suffering and bleeding in bed, with no relief for pain, and he closed his eyes, vowing that if the Captain survived, he would endure anything. Now that Triston was dead, he could tell Aragorn all that had happened, whatever the price.



Frodo wiped his eyes with his sleeve, struggling to keep pace with the king's long strides, and by the time they reached the Healing House, Frodo was weeping freely again. If Aragorn was so worried, had bothered to wake him out of sleep, then Holis' injuries must be grave indeed.

Holis, you cannot die.

Throughout the past weeks of wretched tension, during which time Frodo had been sure Aragorn no longer loved him...he had been so terribly ill...he had encountered Triston three horrible times...he had stolen the healing herbs, Holis had been the only stable force, a protector who loved him despite what he had become.

Frodo rushed to the bed as Holis let loose a gut-wrenching groan. Frodo clutched Holis' huge hand, now cold and clammy, and Holis opened his eyes. His pallid face relaxed into a faint smile when he saw Frodo.

"Frodo..." he whispered. "He's dead...He...he can't harm you anymore..." He clutched Frodo's sleeve. "Listen..."

"Don't speak," Frodo said, his jaw trembling. "Hush...you must rest."

"Oh, don't..." Holis reached up to wipe the tears from Frodo's cheek, but his hand fell limply back on the coverlet. "...doesn't hurt too badly."

"It's my fault you're hurt," Frodo said, trying to swallow away the strangling hold on his throat. He wanted more than anything to be able to speak words that would make Holis understand how much Frodo appreciated his kindness and selfless devotion.

"No," Holis said, wincing again. "...couldn't bear him hurting you...worth it."

"Rest, Holis. We have nothing to ease your pain." Frodo's voice cracked at that last. "But I am here...and I shall stay..."

Suddenly Holis' hand clamped around on Frodo's wrist, and he writhed and bucked, moaning desperately, his eyes squeezed shut. Frodo gasped, trying to endure the unbearable pressure on his wrist as Holis' grip continued to tighten. Finally it became too much, and Frodo cried out. Holis was unaware of anything but his pain, and he could not let go.

Aven rushed into the room and pried Holis' hand from Frodo's wrist. "There now, let go of Frodo, Holis. Let go. Easy does it."

Once free, Frodo collapsed to his knees, nursing his throbbing wrist. The agony Holis had to be feeling...it was unfair that such a good man should suffer. Frodo should not have cried for help. He deserved any pain that Holis would inflict on him, even if it was unintentional.

"Are you injured?" Aven asked, grasping Frodo's shoulder, and Frodo shook his head.

"I'm all right," he said, climbing back to his feet. "Just bruised."

"Holis needs to be kept still. He will reopen the wound if he thrashes like that. We need someone who is friendly with Holis but strong enough to hold him down while the king treats him. Holis is a big man, and I have no doubt he'd send even me flying against the wall if I tried to hold him down. I've sent for your friend Damin."

"He's in so much pain," Frodo said, looking at Holis.

"I know," Aven said shortly. "But what can I do about it? Nothing." He paused, clearly sorry for being so brusque, and squeezed Frodo's shoulder. "Just have a care, letting him hold your hand like that. The next wave of pain, he's likely to crush your wrist."

"Where's Aragorn?" Frodo asked. If Holis crushed his wrist, he, too, would endure terrible pain with no relief. It was the price he should pay.

He had never felt so low. Even in the months following the destruction of the Ring when he had lain crushed under the guilt of claiming it, something inside him had understood that he had simply not been strong enough. Nobody would have been strong enough.

In this situation, he had been full of cowardice. He should confided in Aragorn as soon as he returned, but he had feared the outcome. But that had been foolish, because Aragorn would have made certain that both Frodo and Aven were protected from Triston's rage. Holis need never have encountered him alone.

"I am here." Aragorn entered the room. "I conducted another search in the garden to see if perhaps we had overlooked some kingsfoil. The filthy thief left nothing." Aragorn sighed. "I want Aven to get some rest, and Frodo, you must leave for a time. Where is Damin?"

"I wish to stay," Frodo said. "Holis needs me."

"I'm going to have to do something that will cause Holis a great deal of pain. He is dear to you, and I don't want you to see it." The sternness in Aragorn's voice left no room for argument.

Frodo tugged at Aven's sleeve. "Aven, you need rest, but first let us go out and get breath of fresh air."

Aven nodded and followed Frodo until they were outside, sitting on the stone steps. The stone felt cold under Frodo's bottom, and he shivered. The vision of Holis writhing and moaning like a dying animal burned in his mind.

"Dear Frodo," Aven said, putting his arm around the hobbit's shoulder. "I know how you care for him. He is in pain, but he will not die."

"Are you certain?" Frodo asked, his throat tightening. He wished more than ever that he could unburden himself to this kind man, to tell him everything about Triston and the stolen herbs. He would leave Holis' part of the story out.

"Not unless his wound gets infected, and between King Elessar and myself, that will be unlikely to happen."

"The kingsfoil," Frodo said faintly, his heart spurting, causing his ears to fill with roaring. "I must tell you--"

"I hope the thieves have made good use of it," Aven said, his mouth forming a grim line again. "For it does us no good."

"The kingsfoil..."

"Alas, Frodo, Minas Tirith is still in ruin if we are surrounded by thieves even in a most sacred place of healing." He stood. "And now I will catch some rest for a few hours. You must get some rest, too, for I will need your help tomorrow."

"Goodnight," Frodo said, his heart still battering his chest. He pressed his palms together, trying to stop their trembling.

Heavy boots and the jangling of chain mail startled Frodo out of his misery, but he jumped to his feet with joy when he saw it was Damin.

Damin grasped Frodo's shoulders. "What has happened to Holis?"

"He is badly hurt. The king needs your assistance to hold him steady. Go on in, Aragorn will explain."

Damin nodded, releasing Frodo as he rushed into the Healing House.

Frodo fell back on the steps again. He had to do something, had to tell someone, whatever the price. Nothing could make up for causing Holis such agony. For a moment he paused, breathless, seeing himself on the brink of flames, a band of fiery malice around his finger. Had he not sacrificed enough? When would there be rest? He leaned against a stone pillar and shut his eyes.

"Frodo." Aragorn's heavy hand was suddenly on Frodo's shoulder. "Holis is sleeping."

"How is he?" Frodo asked, climbing to his feet. He had slept, though he could not tell whether it had been a few minutes or a few hours.

"I have healed the wound. Holis will live, though he will be bound to his bed for weeks." Aragorn grimaced. "It burns my heart not to be able to give him something for the pain. He called out to you, Frodo, but I do not wish to wake him now. You may go to him in the morning. Come, let us try to get some sleep."




Once in their chamber, Aragorn crawled on the bed beside Frodo and began to fumble at the hobbit's clothing. Frodo recoiled, pushing at Aragorn's hard chest. He did not deserve the attention of his lover, not after the harm he had caused.

"No, no, Aragorn. Holis..."

"Frodo, please." Aragorn unbuttoned Frodo's shirt, sucking on the hobbit's neck ravenously. "We've had such a night. We need this. I need this."

"Blow out the lamps," Frodo said, pulling away, holding his shirt together with trembling hands.

Aragorn ripped his hands away in sudden anger. "Why will you not let me touch you? Not once since I've returned. Are you punishing me for the way I treated you before I left? I have apologized on several occasions. What more do you want?"

Frodo shook his head. "No, it's not...it's all right, Aragorn." He crawled toward Aragorn, unable to bear the anger in the king's face, an anger that could easily turn into stony indifference.

Aragorn slid Frodo's shirt from his shoulders and gasped. Frodo's heart sank as the Man gripped his shoulders, meeting his gaze fully.

"From whence did these bruises come?"

Frodo's lips parted in dismay. Was this the time to tell him, half dressed in bed? He found he could not speak.

"Did somebody hurt you?"

Frodo swallowed. He shut his eyes, hating himself more for lying. "Holis. He thrashed out in pain."

"I will look more closely at it in the full light of morning," Aragorn said more softly, running his hand over the wounds. Frodo shuddered under his touch, grateful that he had not had to speak his heart just yet. He would make sure that he was out of bed before Aragorn awoke.

"I am all right. Truly." Frodo leaned his head up, capturing Aragorn's lips in his, pulling the man to lie on top of him. Aragorn easily surrendered, kissing Frodo frantically. His hands were strong and insistent as they roamed Frodo's back and sides, slid into his breeches over his hips, and over his buttocks, kneading them roughly. Frodo slipped his hands under Aragorn's tunic and shirt, filled with a sudden fierce possessiveness as his fingers skimmed over the silky hair on the Man's muscular chest. Mine, he's all mine, and I intend to keep it that way. Aragorn grunted with desperate need as he ripped Frodo's breeches down, and suddenly Frodo was filled with searing heat, pumping first pain then shuddering pleasure through him. Frodo's gasps of delight turned to loud cries as his burdens slid from his shoulders in waves.

"I love you so much, Frodo" Aragorn said hoarsely as sticky warm fluid seeped between Frodo's thighs. "...so much."

Tomorrow, Frodo thought, clutching Aragorn's hair as he bucked his hips upward. I'll tell him tomorrow.




"What is it, Frodo?" Aven sounded irritated. The dark circles under his eyes were a fierce contrast to his fair skin. He did not look as though he had gotten much rest.

"I must talk to you." Frodo swallowed in determination.

"Can you not see the work we must do? Holis has survived the night but he is still in terrible amount of pain. I need you to boil some water right away."

"Aven, it will be short. In private."

Aven nodded shortly and led Frodo into a small room, no bigger than a storage closet.

"This is where I take my rest when there's no time to go home," Aven said with a wry smile. "There's nowhere to sit but on my bed. Now what is it?"

"This is all right," Frodo said, barely able to keep his voice stable. He wrung a section of his cloak with his sweaty palms. Now that the time had come, he wondered if he had the courage.

"What is it?" Aven asked, his eyes kindly.

"I know..." Frodo swallowed again. His stomach rolled and a discordant ringing filled his ears. "I know who took the kingsfoil."

Aven's concern turned to deadly calm. Frodo suddenly saw him as the warrior he had once been, and it sent cold, scattered pinpricks of fear over his chest. It was best not to draw this out, whatever the consequences.

"How can you know this?" Aven finally asked.

"Because...because it was me," Frodo said, willing his chin not to tremble. His hands clutching his cloak shook wildly, but he forced himself to meet Aven's gaze.

"Do not jest over such matters," Aven said. "This is not the time."

"Do you remember the day I got lost while seeking out supplies, when I was robbed?"

Aven's half smile faded and his eyes became cold stones.

Still, Frodo continued. "The man I told you about, who bothered me, he—"

"You do not jest?" Aven asked again, his voice like granite. "You betrayed my trust?"

"Yes..." Frodo swallowed again. It was useless to explain how it had come to be, as Aven did not care. Frodo had thought nothing would be worse than seeing Holis in such terrible pain, but this, the utter loss of Aven's good opinion, rivaled it.

"Does the king know?" Aven asked. Long gone was the fatherly sympathy that had been on his face only a few moments earlier. Frodo was not sure what he had expected from Aven. Perhaps only understanding from the Man who had treated him with such kindness. And if this was Aven's reaction, what could he expect from Aragorn?

"No, not yet."

"Get out." Aven's voice was deadly. "Get out now, lest I do something irrevocable."

Through blurred vision, Frodo stumbled out of the tiny room. He met Aragorn in the entrance to the Healing House.

"Where are you going?" Aragorn asked, grasping Frodo's shoulder.

Frodo wrenched himself out of his grip and pushed past him into the street. He had to go somewhere, disappear into the crowd, had to do something. He would get the herbs back. He would find the tavern where he had sat with Triston and his friends the regretful day he had gotten lost. He would likely die trying, but as far as he was concerned, his life was forfeit now, and he could not face Aragorn, could not bear to watch his face change to stone as Aven's had.



Aragorn strode into the Healing House, his sharp eyes searching for the cause of Frodo's distress. Frodo had pushed past him in anguish, and now Aven was approaching him with a pale grimace. He longed to follow Frodo, to give him comfort, but he would not until he discovered what had happened. The most obvious possibility made his stomach feel heavy and icy.

"Aven, has something gone amiss with Holis?"

Aven took several jagged breaths. "My king." He swallowed, and Aragorn's chest tightened until he found it difficult to breathe. His vision narrowed to only include Aven. What else, other than Holis' death, could have upset both Frodo and Aven so badly? Aven lifted his chin, his eyes deeply troubled. "What I am about to tell you might cost me my life, but it is my duty. I must."

"What is it?" Aragorn asked sharply. Could Aven have made a mistake while treating Holis? Aragorn found that difficult to believe. Aven was only slightly less knowledgeable about herbs and the treatment of battle wounds than himself. "Speak."

"Frodo professed something to me just now." Aven clenched his fists, and Aragorn suddenly realized that the healer was not struggling to control grief at all. He was trying to harness a wild rage.

"Speak plainly." Aragorn tensed, and he stifled an urge to shake the healer.

"Frodo is the kingsfoil thief." Aven massaged his pale brow with trembling fingers, shaking his head in disbelief. "Frodo."

Aragorn's chest filled with ice, and he found he could not speak.

"I've sent him away, my liege, and whether you banish me or throw me in the dungeons is your decision, but I want nothing more to do with that halfling."

Aragorn shook his numb head, still unable to speak. He had to say something. He should split this healer in two for uttering such appalling lies about Frodo. He grasped desperately for anything to say that would counter Aven's statement, but he could think of nothing.

"You speak in riddles." Aragorn clutched the hilt of his sword and forced his voice into stern command. "If you are to slander the name of the Ringbearer and one dearest to my heart, you must speak more plainly."

"He told me just now." Aven shook his head again, looking miserable. "You cannot understand just how much his deception wounds me. In the short time I've known him, I grew to love him, my liege...And Holis..." Aven's eyes suddenly narrowed as he turned toward the room where Holis lay in painful recovery. "I would guess that Holis knows something of this."

"Holis...?" Aragorn barely had the strength to utter the Captain's name as a newly disturbing thought came to him. The bruising...Aragorn had intended to examine Frodo's bruising again, because something the hobbit had said had not made sense, though now Aragorn's swarming senses could not discern what. "Did Holis attack Frodo yesterday in a fit of pain?"

Aven nodded curtly. "Holis twisted Frodo's wrist, but naught more." A brief flash in Aven's eyes spoke of what he barely was able to conceal, that he no doubt wished Holis had done more damage. Aragorn would deal with that later, after he understood everything. Whatever Frodo had done, he was still the Ringbearer and still deserved the respect of all the people of Middle earth.

And I still love him

He could still see the hobbit as he had been in bed the night before, squirming with pleasure, his cheeks rosy with wanting. His skin had been pale silk – except it had been marred by the bruising.

Frodo had lied about the bruising on his stomach, though Aragorn should have been able to call him on it. Even in the dim light of their chamber, the bruising had looked old and yellow.

"I will speak with Holis."

Aragorn's legs trembled as he approached Holis' bedside. How could Frodo be a common thief when it was not within his gentle nature? Only something unimaginably horrible would have driven him to it.

"Holis." Aragorn's voice came out sharper than he intended, and Holis' eyes flew open in surprise.

"My liege."

"I am sorry I have no time to inquire about your health as I should. I've had some distressing news."

"What is it?" Holis' brow creased in worry.

"Frodo." Aragorn swallowed, barely able to speak. He felt a moment of invertigo, and he clutched his knees until it passed.

Holis gripped Aragorn's arm with a strength that surprised Aragorn, given his injuries. "Is he well?"

Aragorn nodded. "Aven claims you may know something of Frodo...being the kingsfoil thief."

"My liege..." Holis breathed, turning pale.

"You do know." Aragorn stood and began pacing beside Holis' bed. He had not hurt like this in a long time. Angry hornets stung him all over, and hurtful questions nagged at him. How could Frodo have confided in Holis and not in himself? How could Holis have not informed him? How could this have happened?

Holis closed his eyes. "He needed my protection. While you were gone, that man -- orc would be more appropriate for

The bruises had nearly covered Frodo's entire abdomen area. Aragorn was breathless with rage. His love, the Ringbearer, being threatened and beaten by common criminals in his own city...and then confiding not in his lover, but in the captain of the Guard!

"Why did he not tell me?" Aragorn asked, clenching his hands into fists. "He told me nothing! Nothing!"

Aven had joined them, and he leaned against the entrance to Holis' room.

Holis watched them both through bleary eyes. "He was so frightened." He glanced toward Aven. "Triston threatened your life...said that if Frodo didn't steal the herbs that he'd arrange for your death." Aven blanched but said nothing. "I wanted to protect him. You were gone, my liege, and Frodo would not allow me to kill Triston because he was certain that others would carry out Triston's threat."

"How could this happen?" Aragorn asked fiercely. "I have thousands of soldiers and none of them were able to protect one halfling from harm within my own city?"

"They may have been able to help if the halfling in question had sought help," Aven said, though his eyes did not look as hate-filled as they had earlier.

Aragorn leaned heavily against the wall. "I have already publicly proclaimed the fate of the thief...already claimed the penalty of death." What was he to do when he confronted Frodo? He could not pretend it hadn't happened. The very idea of putting Frodo to death as a common thief sent a stabbing grief through him, and his stomach rolled with nausea. It brought to mind the nightmare he had had in Emyn Arnen in which he had beaten Frodo and had sliced his throat to end his pain.

He could never do that. Aside from not being able to imagine life without Frodo, Frodo's deeds had saved them all from falling under the sway of the Dark Lord. Carrying out his law would be absurd. He did not want to punish Frodo; he wanted only to hold him close, to kiss his soft lips and to protect him from further harm.

"Please no," Holis said, voice shaking. "Please have mercy on him."

Aragorn's voice was dull. "By merit of being the Ringbearer he is exonerated from such fate, but you know I cannot let it go completely. I have a kingdom looking to me as a model for justice."

"And shall I share Frodo's fate?" Holis asked quietly. "Whatever that may be?"

"I will have to consider it." Aragorn put his head in his hands.

"Please," Holis said. "Allow me to bear his punishment, my liege. You can proclaim I am the thief, as I should have protected him better. It is only...I cannot bear for him to hurt more than he already has. He loves you so, my lord, and it will tear him apart if you are not kind--" Holis' voice broke off and he looked suddenly worried. "Where is he?"

Aven swallowed. "I sent him away. This is...I did not know he was trying to protect me. But he should not have stayed silent. He should have sought help."

"You sent him away?" Holis asked, breathing rapidly..

"Where would he go?" Aragorn asked.

"He'll do something foolish," Holis said. "He'll want to right this wrong." He looked down at his bandaging in disgust. "Damn my injuries. Damn them." The captain's eyes were wet. "I am useless to him."

Aragorn did not hear Holis' last utterance, as he was already out the door, gathering every soldier in sight for the largest search party ever to have been commissioned in Minas Tirith.


Frodo's legs trembled and nearly buckled under his weight as he paused in the alley called Tower Point and gazed upon the rotting boards that blocked the windows of what had once been the supply shop. He breathed in rapid gasps of frustration and stinging hurt and grief.

Triston had been storing the stolen kingsfoil right here in this shop.

As Frodo had run in blind grief down the winding streets of Minas Tirith, desperate to turn his wrongs to right or die trying, it had clicked for him. While in Emyn Arnen, Aragorn had received a message meant for Orlion, the owner of the shop, and had not received the message meant for him detailing Frodo's illness. Triston had known about Frodo's illness, so the message meant for the king had no doubt been left at the abandoned shop. If Triston had found and read it, then he must have regularly frequented the abandoned shop -- and what better reason than if he were conducting shady business there?

One day, long after Frodo had gotten lost trying to find the shop, Aven had learned that Orlion had disappeared without a trace under suspicious circumstances. Aven's voice had been kind then, and his smile had been fond. Frodo's eyes burned with coming tears, knowing he would never see that smile again.

A pain crushed his chest, and he sagged to his knees on the stone road in the darkest grief he had experienced since Bilbo had left him Bag End without even a goodbye...and before that, the death of his parents. Aragorn must know by now. He must know and hate him. Aven's eyes had been full of hatred, and nothing would have kept him from informing the king who the kingsfoil thief was.

Through tear-blurred eyes, Frodo glanced up and down the empty alley. Trembling, he padded to the front door. He needed to take his chance now, while nobody was in sight to watch him slip inside the shop. If the door was locked, he was not sure what he would do. He was not strong enough to break the boards to the windows.

The door opened easily, and Frodo slipped inside, heart thudding. Despite the bright morning, the store was dark. Frodo paused, a low whimper escaping his throat. If he took another step, he might go sprawling into anything. But there was no time to seek out a lantern. His brow beaded with nervous sweat, and the hair behind his neck stirred uneasily. A place this vital would not be left unguarded forever. The front door was the only means of escape, and if someone entered, Frodo would be cornered.

He had no choice but to continue. To return to Aragorn empty-handed would only get him thrown into the dungeons or worse, banished from Aragorn's heart forever. Frodo had seen it before. Aragorn could turn so regal, so harsh when he judged. The Ring had nearly broken Frodo, but it had not the power to tear him apart as brutally as Aragorn's cold regard.

Frodo dropped to his knees onto a dusty wooden floor and crawled over the dusty, knotted floor. He felt blindly for a basket or trunk where Triston and his men would have stored the stolen herbs. Every street sound caused his stomach to turn with dread. The stomp of boots sent him into a quivering mess, and he cringed, expecting the door to fly open at any moment.

He fumbled with old crates, stacked in a tall pile in the back corner, sneezing every time he disturbed clouds of dust. His eyes slowly adjusted to the dark, and he could see the looming shadows of crates, books, and baskets. Raucous laughter sounded just outside the door, and Frodo scuttled into the darkest corner he could find, his heart hammering so hard he could barely breathe. After a short time in which nothing happened, and he slowly calmed.

"I cannot linger here," he muttered as he brushed a lid off a wooden crate behind the counter, and he shuddered in revulsion as a large spider scampered over his hand and dropped to the floor. The strong smell of athelas that wafted from the crate brought him swiftly back to Weathertop, and he heard Aragorn's soothing voice. His shoulder throbbed and he grasped it, rubbing gingerly before slipping his hands inside the box and clasping handfuls of crinkled, dry leaves.

His chest loosened as he stuffed handfuls of the herb into pockets and down the front of his shirt. The scent calmed him, and he suddenly wished he could curl up on the musty floor and take a nap.

With no warning, the door crashed open. Frodo's heart plunged, and he stumbled, falling on his backside, blinded by the sunlight that streamed in the door. He had no time to scramble out of the way before a rough hand grabbed his vest, yanking him to his feet.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" The Man looked familiar, but in his shivering panic, he couldn't remember which of Triston's friends it was. A second Man hulked in the shadows. "Whaddya got there, halfling?"

Frodo struggled against the grip, but a pair of hands grabbed his upper arms from behind.

Frodo recognized the Man who clasped his vest as Tarn, who had robbed him in the alley the day he'd met Triston. "This is the king's little pet, the one as got Triston killed."

"That true, ratling?" The second Man looked in disgust at Frodo's feet. His voice turned mocking. "What's the king thinking, letting you run about the city on your own? He must not think much of you." He ripped Frodo from Tarn's grip and flung him to the dusty ground, knocking the breath from him. Frodo was truly alone. Nobody knew where he was. Nobody outside the store would hear him if he cried for help. They could slit his throat and leave him, and nobody would find him, not for a long time. And even when they did, nobody would care. Or they would lament what a tragedy it had been that the Ringbearer, savior of Middle earth, had come to such a base and well-deserved ending.

A heavy foot slammed on his stomach, crushing the breath from him. "You trying to rob us, halfling? Don't the king give you enough to eat?" The boot slammed down on him again, and Frodo cried out. He could not take in enough breath. Black dots fluttered in front of his vision, and he pushed in vain at the booted foot that crushed down on his chest.

A commotion at the door caused the men to fumble and curse, and through a dim consciousness, Frodo caught glimpses of the black and silver worn by the guards of the Citadel. Swords clashed, there was more cursing, and suddenly the crushing weight on Frodo's chest was gone as the Man fell dead beside Frodo on the floor, eyes wide and unseeing.

Frodo curled into a ball, too terrified to move, expecting at any moment to be speared.

"There he is!" A strong hand lifted him to his feet. Frodo still could not take in enough breath, and he staggered to his knees. Daylight pierced his eyes and outside the door, he glimpsed the clear sky. How could it be beautiful and bright outside when his world had fallen into darkness? He let out a weak grunt as he was slung over the guard's shoulder, and he retched, though nothing came out. He had not eaten in an ever so long time...couldn't remember exactly when. He was next heaved on the back of a horse. He slumped forward, not caring whether he fell off or not. Nobody spoke to him or asked whether he was hurt, which was just as well. He would rather die of his wounds than face Aven.

He passed in and out of consciousness as the guards made their way back to the Citadel. Sometimes he heard the sound of his own labored breathing whistling in his ears, and sometimes it was just ominous silence. He opened his eyes as the guards dismounted and he was lifted from the horse and set on his feet. A fine black mist fell before his eyes, and he swayed, but strong arms kept him standing.

Aragorn strode toward them, and Frodo's jaw trembled. He could not bear to meet his eyes. Aragorn dropped to one knee in front of him.

"Are you injured?" His voice was hard and toneless, and Frodo was certain his heart could not grow heavier before it would drag his body to the ground.

"No," he managed, and he flung his arms around Aragorn's neck, hugging with all his strength. If Aragorn would just hold him close and speak in a soothing voice, he could face anything at all.

Aragorn firmly pulled Frodo's arms down and held him at a distance. His face was stern. "Why did you not tell me?"

"I don't know," Frodo said, reaching his arms toward Aragorn again. Aragorn firmly kept the hobbit's arms at his side. Frodo now stared at Aragorn in wounded bewilderment. He only wanted to fall into Aragorn's capable arms. "I have kingsfoil for Holis and Aven..."

"Frodo, what I am about to say hurts me more than you can imagine."

"I understand," Frodo whispered, keeping his eyes down. He could not bear to look into those cold eyes any longer. "You wish to send me home in shame."

Aragorn shook his head. "No." He tilted Frodo's chin up, forcing the hobbit to look at him. "I am going to imprison you for a short time."

Frodo's cheeks turned numb, and the breath was socked from him. Of course he deserved it. He deserved much worse for the pain Holis had endured because of the kingsfoil he had thieved. There was no doubt of his guilt, and he would never wish for special treatment. Frodo's lips numbed, and he suddenly felt a buzzing separateness from himself.

"I am sorry," Aragorn said softly. "It will not be long, but please understand that my duty must sometimes supercede--"

"Do as you must," Frodo said, his voice sounding far away. He swallowed. "You must do what you must."

For the first time, Aragorn's eyes softened. "This is such a muddle. I would not have it so."

Frodo stiffened and looked away. He would not even say the obvious, that it did not need to be so. There were other ways for a new king to show to his people the value of justice. The dungeon was going to be dark and cold, but it was nothing compared to how cold he felt toward Aragorn now, as if a sheet of ice separated them.

Aragorn nodded to the guard who still gripped Frodo's arms. "Find a cell as far from the others as possible. I'll not have him exposed to the filth that goes on down there."

Frodo barely was aware of the journey down to the dungeons. He remembered a long ago day when he had gone to visit Damin, whom he had pitied for working in such a grim environment, only to be chided for coming down with bare feet. Now he was going to be living there. Aragorn had said a short time, but he had not specified what short meant to him. One night? One week? A year? Five years?

When the guards who lead Frodo arrived in the dungeons, Damin jumped to his feet. "What—? Whence—? Why are you here, Frodo?"

"King's orders to lock him up," one of the guards said in a toneless voice.

"Why?" Damin asked, the color draining from his face. He tried to meet Frodo's eyes, but Frodo looked down at his feet. Hot shame filled him until he nearly drowned in it.

"It is not your duty to question the king's orders," the guard said coldly. "You are to put him far from anyone else. That is the order."

Frodo kept his face down, too ashamed to face Damin. If the young guard knew the reason for Frodo's punishment, he would be all too glad to lock him up.

"It's frigid down here," Damin said in a choked voice as he led Frodo to his cell. "And he has no cloak."

Frodo still kept his eyes down, unable to speak.

"Damin, a word with you," one of the guards said. "Lock him up and come along."

Frodo was shuttled inside a tiny cell with nothing but a broken cot in it. Frodo collapsed to the cold, slimy floor, leaning against a wall, letting his head rest on his knees in despair.

Damin locked the cell, pausing to look through the bars. "Hold on, Frodo," he said in a hoarse voice. "I will return with something warm to cover you." Frodo was left alone, freezing cold. There was a broken cot in the back corner, though it looked so fragile that even a hobbit's weight would likely cause it to collapse.

He could not bear to contemplate what his life had come to. Instead he curled up on the damp cold stone and silently prayed for death.
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