Look Through My Eyes

by Chloe3

All 7-year-old Frodo Baggins was doing was playing “Spider-Slayer” in the woods...he never expected to get hurt, or to meet someone he would never truly forget. (song-vignette)

NOTE TO MY LOTR-FANFIC READERS:

Ranimar (within truth) is now officially finished! (yahoo!! ;) I will start posting it on August 3rd (a week from now) so be keeping an eye out for that. A huge HANNON LE for your patience. (more about that on the fic itself)

Hope you enjoy this fanfic! :)

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Title: Look Through My Eyes

By: Chloe the elvish, angst-loving, enthusiast, also being the 3rd of the "Write Sisters" ;)

Feedback: Yes please! My email is in my profile, and feedback is always welcome.

Rated: PG for angst and violence

Summery: All 7-year-old Frodo Baggins was doing was playing "Spider-Slayer" in the woods…he never expected to meet someone he would never truly forget.

Spoilers: Yes, for Fellowship of the Ring, otherwise, no.

Disclaimers: Frodo, Aragorn, Bree, Rohan, and any other recognizable people or places belong exclusively to J.R.R. Tolkien, and I do NOT have permission to use them, but well, no way anyone's paying me to do this, so that's okay. ;)

Though- if you know someone who is WILLING to pay me for this, I'd be happy to contact J.R.R.'s next of kin as ASK him for permission. :P JK!

Oh, and of course, the song "Look Through My Eyes" is the sole property of either Phil Collins or Disney, not sure which, but it's NOT mine and I don't have permission to use it either.

Disclaimer Note: This is stretching logic, really in the limbo between AU and fanfic. Technically there is no record of Frodo Baggins EVER having met "Strider" before. However, there is no proof he DIDN'T and I'm going to fudge that part of it a bit. ;)

Marks: marks are italics

Dedication: To Hannah for that BEAUTIFUL music-video "Look Through My Eyes" that inspired me to get all teary-eyed, as well as finish this fic. ;)

Oh, and also to whomever at Disney decided Elijah Wood would make a good Huck Finn, seeing I probably couldn't have pictured a "7-year-old Frodo Baggins" otherwise. ;)

Look Through My Eyes

"Captain Thorongil. I am glad you have come."

"Of course, sire, I was summoned."

A smile. Obedience, as always. Was there any flaw in this silver-eyed human? "I hear it is your wish to advance into Gondor and serve under his majesty King Ecthelion."

"That is indeed my wish, but I will not ask it. I am pleased to remain under your command, Thengel my king."

Thengel couldn't help smiling again. "Here! The humility I hear such about from my other captains. You are indeed a rare man, Thorongil, that you are so faithful and selfless."

The man seemed embarrassed by the compliment, and looked to study his bootstraps rather than the king's face. "I do what I must and what I may, sire. Only what could be asked of any man."

"That I know, Captain. And so I would be very pleased to allow you passage into Gondor, and relieve you from any obligation to my troupes here in Rohan."

The young man's eyes darted upwards, shining with an uncanny light of hope and surprise. "Indeed, sire? If that is your desire than I would be very please indeed!" He seemed to shake himself, and let his body know it was being too obvious with its excitement. "But only if it is your desire."

Thengel rose to his feet, and smiled. "Captain Thorongil, you have served me for eighteen long years. I would be a very cowardly king indeed if I were to keep a man such as you to myself." He laughed. "And it is my wish for you to serve in Gondor if for no other reason, than it is your clear wish."

Thorongil's brow creased in regret. "I…forgive my eagerness."

"I will do no such thing, it needs no forgiveness." Thengel sat back down slowly, and studied the Captain before him. "But…before you take your leave, which you have any moment now…I have a favor, a last favor to ask you."

Thorongil's eyes leapt to the king once more, and were as eager as ever. "Of course, anything."

"There is a man, a deserter who has left my ranks not long after receiving instructions on some very delicate matter. I think he is afraid of danger's risk, and thus is the reasoning for leaving. He is a man you know. He is Captain Larohym."

The younger man was silent for a very long moment. Captain Larohym was the captain over Thorongil himself. A very close friend to Thengel. He couldn't understand why this high-esteemed captain would run away like that. At last, he thought of something to say. "Where has he gone?"

"Far, I'm afraid, very far. Last we heard he had passed through the Misty Mountains and who knows where on the other side."

Thorongil blinked in surprise. "That is far." He paused in thought. He knew those Western regions of Middle Earth better than Thengel knew. He was aware of how far a man so afraid of war could run…aware of what could happen to the innocence so few had disturbed, assuming he made it past both Rivendel and Bree to find himself that far…

"Captain? I know I ask you to go a very, very long way from here. But you are a wise man, and I believe you could find him and persuade him back…or kill him, if it comes to that, with assistance."

The other nodded. Yes, he would do it, if for no other reason than as a Ranger of the North, his duties lay there anyway. "I will, majesty. But If I may ask a small favor of you?"

"Of course, Thorongil, ask."

"If I may go alone. Perhaps that will sound proud of me, but I honestly believe I shall travel swifter without the 'assistance' your majesty referred to." And I don't want to lead anyone that close to the Shire if possible he added mentally, though said nothing of the sort aloud.

Thengel was already nodding. "Very well, then. Leave as soon as you may, and…fortune follow you."

Thorongil gave a swift bow, and with an even swifter spin, was walking out the door, already slipping his chain mail shirt off, and replacing it with an old, weather-beaten coat.

There are things in

Life you're learning

Oh, in time you'll see

floflinia flofania flofania

A stream twisted with untwisted words down one bend and another. It stretched all the way from Lake Evendim, which all knew, to the Great Sea which very few knew, and even fewer wanted to know. After all, what being with an ounce of sense would even venture outside his home for such a matter as a sea of greatness never seen before? Adventure indeed. Pah. No one cared about such things, with the exception of old, greedy, and yes, mad Biblo Baggins.

floflinia floflinia floflinia

On, on and on did the Brandywine River twist. Far until no one could see it. No one wanted to. No one had the interest, or the foolishness. There were wonders there, there was adventure, but who really wanted adventure? Something to risk your life over? No, it was best that one kept to good neighboring, gardening, farming, and family-raising. Those were the importances. That is, importances punctuated with a drink now-and-then, and meals are very important as well. Of course.

floflinia floflinia floflinia

Lonely here, cried the Brandywine twisting and swaying in the ground, ever on. Ever alone. Lonely, that no one will walk here. Lonely that no one ventures past what they know. Lonely. Lonely. Who will come and break the lonely?

floflinia floflinia floflinia flo- SPSH! SPSH! SPSH!

Two small, hairy feet splish-splashed out of the Brandywine's current, landing firmly on wetted grass. Tiny fingers ran through already messy hair to flop it around a bit. The breeze could always reach the young one's sweaty head better when his hair was ruffled up so.

He knelt down beside the Brandywine, and cupped his hands into the water, drinking in the sweetness with a relieved sigh. It felt good. He splashed another handful of water on his face, and then another to his messy hair, ruffling it up once more. There. All better.

Frodo straitened up. Had he been here too long already? Surely Uncle Bilbo would want him home before dark, and he was all the way across the Brandywine. But then- the Hobbit looked up at the sky and smiled. It was an awful long time till the sun actually set, and he would be fast in coming back to Bag End…and besides, walking around awhile would help shake off the mud that spattered his trousers from ankle to chest. He didn't want to get mud in Bilbo's nice smial just because of his romp in the mud.

Nodding, he trudged off towards the Old Forest. Just for a moment then, Frodo, he promised himself, and as a seven-year-old Hobbit of his word, he intended to stay true to that promise. I only hope, he thought hesitantly, that Uncle Bilbo won't feel bad, me not coming back as soon as I should. After all, his relationship to me is rather hanging in the balance of my behavior, isn't it? And yes, out of the goodness of his heart, he allows me to stay with him at Bag End a few days, give mum and dad some time alone together…that's always fun. Uncle Bilbo does that every year, and he hasn't got annoyed with me yet. He even says that someday he'll take me on a boating trip, when I'm twelve or so, like Mum and Dad do so often.

Frodo shook his head and smiled, seeing Biblo's jolly face in his head at that moment. "Things are always fine with Bilbo. He understands an adventure like no Hobbit," he murmured, and the words made his heart lighter.

He soon realized he was pretty far into the Old Forest. He grinned and looked about him, searching the tall trees and their towering trunks. At last, he saw what he'd been searching for. He scooped up the long, thick stick, snapping the dead twigs off it so it was simply a smooth twig. Clutching it tightly, he shoved it into the pocket of his trousers and ran pell-mell through woods, shouting loudly, and with all the fear he could muster.

"Run on then, my boy, and let the captain know there's been another spider about!" He screeched to a halt, and whirled around, and slight grin on his face. This was his favorite part. "Save yourself, lad. I shall fight the beast." With every ounce of melodrama he knew, he drew out the stick of a sword from his pocket and brandished it at the forest. "Come out, Attercop, where I can see you! Are you afraid of Sting?" He swung the stick in wide circles, and with a yell, charged the first bush he found.

Over and over he struck at the stickle bush, slicing it's branches off with the sturdy branch. But once, he was not so lucky, and the bush pricked him on the hand, causing him to draw it back with a hiss. He stared blankly at the bleeding scratch on his hand for a moment, perfectly fascinated. Then, with a cackle, he attacked again. "Ha! One shot, aye and one is all you'll get!"

Dancing around the bush, he entered the second stage of his traditional spider-conquest. He'd practiced it so many times, he was sure he did it just as Bilbo by now. Laughing tauntingly, and slicing rapidly, he sang: "Lazy Lob and crazy Cob are weaving webs to wind me! I am far more sweet than other meat, but still they cannot find me!"

Stishhh Stishhh Stishhh

The dead leaves rustled under dead footfalls. Under deadened leather of a dying boot. Everything was dead, all dead. All rotten, all over. War. He hated war. He wanted to get away…away somewhere. Anywhere. Anywhere other than here.

crack

He froze. A twig snap? Wasn't he alone? Wasn't the Old Forest virtually deserted save an animal or two? No. For now, he could sense more than just the twig snapping, he could feel someone near by.

Panicked, he broke into a run, throwing himself into the effort of reaching somewhere- anywhere else. Somewhere away. Far away. Far, far, far…his feet carried him onward, running aimlessly, until…

A sound. A voice. Strange, so strange. It was a young voice. Was that possible? It had been so long since he heard that of the young. All in his world was old, dead, and gone. But indeed, there was a little boy in the woods…

"I am far more sweet than other meat, and still they cannot find me!"

Cause out there somewhere

It's all waiting

If you keep believing

"Here am I, naughty little fly; you are fat and lazy!" Frodo swung at the bush, and chanced a kick towards the trunk, sparing his bare feet the stickles, and yet feeling the satisfying crackle of snapping bush. Imagining a bush to be a spider with many legs wasn't actually too hard, if one put their mind to it. "You cannot trap me, though you try, in your cobwebs crazy!" He laughed and sheathing 'Sting', resorted to kicking at the bush , repeating his favorite part again, "Lazy Lob and Crazy cob! Lazy lazy, crazy c-"

It is so strange seeing the world spin around you. Perhaps Frodo cried out, perhaps he simply froze. But the fear of a grip locked on his wrist, and the alien feel of a knife pulling tight across his throat was there. Unexplainable, but there.

"Stay still, boy, or I'll slit you dead right now." The voice that breathed into his ear smelled like Bilbo often did after a night at the Gaffer's brew. "Be nice and quiet and you can go home soon."

Frodo didn't nod and didn't try to speak. Terrified, he was unsure of what to make of the situation. Why was this stranger trying to kill him? Why were they standing there and doing nothing? It was quiet, so quiet in his frightened world. Not even the loud of his gasping breath made it through his terrified barriers. Uncertainty hung in the air. What was going to happen? Why wasn't the stranger doing anything?

At long, long last, it seemed too much to do nothing, to hear nothing, to understand nothing that was going on. Frodo felt there was a voice still in his throat, and his constant curiosity overcame his current fear. "Can you please let me go?" It was all he could think of to say that he understood. A question he'd be able to comprehend the answer to. Something he could know.

"No," came the rasping reply from over his shoulder, and the knife pressed closer against the young Hobbit's windpipe, restricting what speech had been there.

Quiet again.

So quiet.

Finally, the stranger spoke. Called, more like, yelled so loudly that Frodo shuddered back from the near deafness in his right ear where the stranger pressed so close to him. "Come out, whomever you be! I know you're following me!"

Silence.

"Now, Stranger! I'll kill the child! Do you want a boy's blood on your hands? Show yourself!"

Silence.

Frodo pressed against the smelly man's chest, getting as far away from the knife as he could. "Please don't kill me, my parents and Uncle Bilbo, they'll be so sad-" Frodo gulped through his gasping breath as the knife dove closer to him once more.

"Shut it, boy!" The man hollered furiously, his body panting. Frodo could hear the alcohol in his voice, and shuddered. Uncle Bilbo was often grumpy after a long night at the Brew, but good-natured, it wasn't in him to be angry. But this stranger, this man was different. He was violent. You could sense it every gesture he made and every word he spoke. What would he do? Frodo's knees shook badly underneath him, and he shut his eyes to give them strength to stand.

"Show your face, Stranger!" The man shrieked into the woods, but still they were quiet. Fear seemed to spike so deeply in him that even Frodo could feel it. The man was panicking. He was scared to death something was there, something to get him.

So don't run

Don't hide

Suddenly, Frodo felt the grip around his wrist release, and the knife's pressure harden as the man resorted to holding him in place with the weapon, freeing his hand to reach to his belt. In the Hobbit's peripheral vision, he saw a coiled rope slip into view, and soon the smelly man's breath was in his pointed ear again. "Move an inch, make a sound, and especially if you try to run, I'll kill you. I'm faster than you, and I'll catch you and kill you."

Frodo nodded mutely, his knees aching with the effort of standing.

"Put your hands out in front of you."

The boy was shaking inwardly so bad it made him sick. He complied slowly, holding two trembling hands in front of his chest a few inches. To his surprise, the dagger left his throat, and the man leaned around him with the rope. With tight, jerking motions, he wrapped the course rope around the Hobbit's small wrists, and then knotted it roughly with a painful jerk.

It will be all right

SHWOONT

The man cried out, and Frodo found himself instantly pulled back against the stranger, cold metal threatening his breath again. The man's arm wrapped around his now bound wrists, pinning the boy's hands to his chest, and his shaking body to the stranger's waist.

Frodo suddenly realized why the man had cried out. Glancing down, he spotted a feathered stick protruding from the smelly stranger's boot, where blood was beginning to pool. An arrow, Elvish, for all Frodo knew. Hope sprung up inside him. He wasn't alone…

The man also was looking down at his wounded foot, fury burning in him. Frodo could feel his chest heaving with ire. With another cry, though this of anger, not pain, he swung the knife down towards the Hobbit's chest.

Frodo automatically grasped the blade with his bound hands, cutting its journey to his heart short by a mere inch. "Little brat…" And then the man uttered a word Frodo would never, ever repeat to even Uncle Bilbo. The boy was shaking all over, fear of a worse fate the only thing keeping his hand wrapped around the cold blade. He watched as blood slid down his left wrist where the blade had slit a thin line down his hand, but he continued to grasp the weapon away from his chest, his lip beginning to tremble with the effort.

"Messing me up…what you think you're doing, huh? Think you'll save you? That?" Maybe the stranger was talking to Frodo, he couldn't tell, and didn't care. The man was so clearly drunk, it really didn't matter much what he said, there was little chance he meant or understood a word of it.

SHWOONT

Another arrow landed a few inches from the man's other foot.

"Come out! Come out now, I want to see who you are!" The man's voice was cracking with obvious fear. With a violent jerk, he slashed the knife from between Frodo's bound hands.

The boy could hear himself this time. He cried out with panic and agony, as blood spilled freely from his slit palms, trickling down his arms and staining both the dirt and his own sleeves. The now bloodied knife was suddenly pressed against his windpipe again, restricting his pain to haggard sobs as he tried to clench his trembling fingers in order to staunch the bleeding, knowing in the back of his mind that he had to.

"Hear that?" The man shouted, reaching briefly around the boy's trembling body to squeeze his left fist tight, causing Frodo to scream again, and sob painfully against the knife pressed to him. "Don't make me kill him. Show yourself!"

"Wait! Wait, I'm coming out. Wait…"

There was a quiet rustle from the midst of some shadowed trees, and out stepped a man. That was all Frodo could really see, since the new stranger had a hood covering his features. He was a man with dark hair, dark cloths, dark boots…Frodo's heart fell. Another man. What would happen now? He'd been hoping for maybe an elf like that of the kind Bilbo had so often told him of. An elf from Rivendel; wise and peaceful.

But what now?

The man over his shoulder squinted at the newcomer. "Who are you? Do I know you?"

"Leave the young one alone, Captain Larohym, what do you think you're doing?"

The man's chest heaved in fear again, while Frodo relaxed somewhat. He was here to help…was it possible? Even through his fear he didn't dare to hope.

The newcomer continued. "Aye, you know me. I am Thorongil, your friend and your fellow Captain. I've come to take you home, sir."

Larohym shook his head impulsively. "No, no, I don't want…I don't want to go back to Gondor. There's fear there…if you have seen half the war I have, Thorongil, you would not go back either."

"In that you may be correct, sir, but you can only make matters worse by running. You are known by me and your other men as a discerning man, and I don't believe that is without cause. Your reputation must have a source. Think this through, then. Please."

"Think through what? Think through the fear, the war, the blood? The blood, oh…oh all the blood…" The captain's thoughts seemed to completely disappear, and he was left an empty shell, witless of anything. "No, I'm never going back."

You'll see

Trust me

Thorongil took a step forward. "Sir-"

"Stay back!" Larohym tilted Frodo's head back with the dagger, brining the blade closer to the base of his jaw. "I'll kill him, I don't care if he dies!"

"He's a boy," Thorongil's voice was of forced calm. "And what if you do kill him? What then? What chance have you of a new life, Larohym? Your life is in Rohan."

"No! No, I don't believe…I'll live in- I found a town on my way here, many gamblers, many people…I'll live there."

"You think you can live in Bree with no gold to speak of? Sir, you are tired and I can see you've been drinking. I know you're afraid, and I know that you hate war. I am sick of war as well, and I want to get away. But this is not the way to escape fear, you know this. Please, just come with me and we can sort it out."

There was another pause during which the knife against Frodo's throat pulled even tighter, eliminating the idea of swallowing without slitting his own throat.

"Please!" The captain repeated, seeing that Laroyhym wasn't about to comply.

"I'll…I'll sell him!" the other's eyes grew wide with alcoholic excitement.

"Who, the boy?" Thorongil seemed suddenly more skeptical than worried as he studied Larohym's wildly shifting eyes for reason.

"Think me not a fool, Thorongil, he's no boy. Look at his feet! What child has feet like these? And his ears…" The cold blade slid past Frodo's throat to the side of his head where it flexed up and down his pointed ear. "And yet he is no elf," he concluded, bringing the knife to its familiar spot again. "What is it? I don't know, but I'm sure someone in that town will pay to keep it."

"It." Thorongil snorted. "It is a Hobbit, and I can assure you that the folk of Bree have seen them before. You'll find no gold trying to sell him, Captain, please. Let him go."

Pause.

"You are a well-respected man, and Thengel would have you come home to serve under him once more, I assure you. He sent me to bring you back-"

"I will not go back! There is war there- and I…I won't! S-stay away…" To Frodo's surprise, Larohym started to back up, dragging the Hobbit with him. Before he knew it, the crazed captain was backing deeper and deeper into the woods.

Thorongil took a step forward. "Stay there, or I slit his throat!" Larohym's tone was rasping and witless. Thorongil stopped.

Slowly, slowly…they were backing away. The quiet man wasn't moving. Deeper, deeper…

"Sorry, Thorongil, but war is gone…war is over for me. Tell Thengel I'm not returning to Rohan. Tell him I'll die first! Tell him, Thorongil, tell him!"

"You have nowhere to go, sir." Thorongil's voice was straining with certainty and fear at the same time.

"I'll sell it, I will! If not here, then somewhere…somewhere far. I'll take it to the Dwarves if I must!"

Frodo's heart shocked as sudden realization struck him. "But you said I could go home if I-"

"Shut it!" Larohym hollered angrily, jerking the knife. But Frodo couldn't be silent, he couldn't keep backing into the dark woods to who-knew-where.

"Please!" he gasped from under the knife, dodging to the side to slip away from it a moment as he gasped out his plea to the quiet stranger. "Please- d-don't let him? I gotta go home! I gotta see my parents! Please I gotta-"

"I said to shut up!" Larohym slid his cold metal blade up past the Hobbit's throat, and cut the first thing it hit.

Frodo's words were lost in tears. Perhaps he cried out, he didn't know. He pressed his bleeding ear against the smelly captain behind him, trying to make it stop hurting. He rubbed it gently up and down Larohym's shirt, but it only made it hurt more.

I'll be there watching over you

They were backing away further and further. Frodo looked up from where he was trying to comfort his bleeding ear to see that Thorongil had thrown his hood back and for the first time the Hobbit could truly see him. Though the features were getting foggy with the growing darkness of the forest they were backing into, he could barely make out the human's face.

His head tilted to the side slightly, and a look of anguish overcame his face as he watched the boy press his head against Larohym's shirt. Then he pulled his hood up again, and took off into the dark of the woods.

The boy didn't even notice as the evil captain stopped backing away and slung him over his shoulder instead. Whimpering with pain and fear, Frodo was jostled off into the dark of the forest. How could you leave me? he thought towards the quiet man called Thorongil. I don't know where I'm going, I don't know what's going to happen…and I'm so scared. How could you leave?

"Biblo's got a beautiful smial in The Hill. It's called Bag End, and he'd trade it to you for me, I know…I know he would." Frodo's voice trembled so hard it made his chest hurt as he tried to bargain as best he could.

Larohym snorted. "I don't want a filthy hole in the ground, I'm not interested in living like a rabbit."

Frodo was taken aback. "Not a rabbit, a Hobbit. It's a beautiful home, I can show you-"

"Shut up, boy, shut up!"

Frodo was silent for only a handful of moments as he rubbed gingerly at his sliced ear with wounded hands, mixing blood with blood and staining Larohym's shoulder. "Where are we going?"

"Through the forest. We'll…we'll go through the Misty Mountains, I can sell you somewhere there. They'll of never seen a boy such as you."

Frodo tried to sound calm. "You won't get anything for a Hobbit, they're no good for anyone."

"And how do you know that?" Larohym mocked breathily, swerving to a hard right.

"I…well, Bilbo's traveled…he says-" Frodo's jaw ached with trying to keep it from trembling. He didn't know what to say. Bilbo would, he thought, he'd know what to say to make this man put me down…like he got away from the spiders with…with Sting.

Frodo glanced sidelong at Larohym. Well…why not? So how was he going to convince him…then an idea hit him. He coughed. Loudly. Then he coughed again. And again. Soon he was hacking and coughing over the evil captain's shoulder, gasping for breath, and thrashing about in a spasm.

Surprised, Larohym set him down on the ground, and turned the boy to face him. "What's wrong with you?!" he demanded, shaking Frodo's small convulsing shoulders. Frodo shook his head, still coughing, and then let his knees give out, landing him hard on the forest floor.

"Thurz-ahk!" the man swore in a language Frodo had never heard. "What in Middle Earth is wrong with you?!" He tried to jerk the twitching boy to his feet again, but Frodo only crumpled at his efforts, forcing Larohym to let go of him and allow him to writhe on the ground in his coughing fit.

Frodo's bound hands eased from where they were clutching at his chest to rest on his waist. Larohym didn't even notice. His fingers closed. With a high, rasping gasp for air, he jerked his prize from its hiding place and swinging up to his knees, drove it into the first thing he contacted with; Larohym's knee.

He let go of 'Sting', the sturdy stick that had still been sheathed in his pocket, and shot to his feet, tearing off into the dark of the forest, Larohym's cries of anger and agony following close at his heels.

"Get back here, you brat! Ahk ghraz! Foolish, foolish boy I'll kill you! I'LL KILL YOU!"

Driven by fear more than anything, Frodo thundered through the woods he knew so well, making his way towards the outskirts where the Brandywine River twisted around the Shire. His breath echoed loudly in his keen ears, and his feet thudded against the ground feverishly.

"Gotcha!" Hands out of nowhere caught him around the chest, causing all the breath to pound out of his lungs. Frodo gasped and tried to struggle away from the captain's grasp.

"Let me go! Please- let me go!" He tried to draw breath again, but he was already gasping for air due to the run and the pressure against his chest. He tried to sob, panic overcoming his surprise, but his lungs refused to fill, so he froze all over as Larohym dragged him back a few paces.

"Think you could outsmart me? Think you're so…think you know what?"

Frodo just shook his head, having no idea what the man was talking about, as well as no air to respond verbally even if knew what to respond.

"Well you can't. You can't…not me, I'm a captain and I know."

"Okay," Frodo mouthed as breath filtered slowly back into his chest.

Larohym wasn't looking where he was going at all. He threw Frodo down on the ground, stepping on the boy's wounded hands to hold him there. Frodo whimpered, and his eyes filled with tears as he bit his lip to keep from crying. "My h-hands…on m-my…" he gasped. "Please…it h-hurt…it…" He couldn't control his breath. He couldn't make himself speak, it hurt too much. And Larohym didn't care anyway.

There was a nauseating sucking sound as the captain retrieved 'Sting' from his knee. With a mighty shove, he landed the weapon between Frodo's hands, causing the Hobbit to flinch painfully. The stick shot between the binding ropes and sunk through to the earth on the other side. Larohym nodded, standing up and letting Frodo's wheels spin with confusion a few moments.

It didn't take the Hobbit long to realize he was pinned to the ground. He jerked and pulled at his tied wrists a few moments, but the stick was sharper than he'd given it credit for, and it had dug into the earth very deep.

So he was unable to get up off the ground. He lifted a clear, blue gaze to the man towering over him. "Why?" he whispered. There was no reason in the question. No dramatic demand for the deeper meaning that just may be hovering in Larohym's mind. It was merely all he could think to ask. Why all of this? What was going to happen now? The world was spinning backwards; everything was wrong. His heart pounded in his ears as Larohym smiled unpleasantly.

Slowly, the captain's hand drew from his belt a familiar blade already marked with Hobbit blood. "I said I'd kill you if you ran."

There will be times

On this journey

Where all you see is darkness

Frodo froze inside.

Larohym knelt next to him, and continued to smile dreadfully. "I warned you, boy. I warned you."

"Please don…" He couldn't even seem to make the 'T' sound, his throat was closing too quickly.

Larohym nestled the fingers of his left hand in the boy's curly black hair, shoving his head forward, and pressing Frodo's forehead close to his bleeding hands. Frodo could smell the earth and the copper scent of blood as it came closer to him. He shuddered.

The feeling of cold steel pressed against the back of his unprotected neck and he felt suddenly sick. He was sure he was going to wretch right there. He shook all over, outward, and even more so inward.

How could that be death? Wasn't death always the result of brave conquest? Of an amazing adventure? This was no adventure, he'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Where was the glory in that? He hadn't been brave. Even now he was nearly sick, and shaking all over with tears. But he didn't feel ashamed. Just scared. Just sick.

Tears slipped down his nose to pat the back of his hands. "Please…" but his whisper was barely audible to even him. Larohym didn't care. No one cared. No one was here to care.

He was alone.

All alone.

SHWOONT

There was a strangled cry. The feeling of cold steel was gone, but the fingers continued to probe through Frodo's hair. Larohym toppled to the side, pulling the Hobbit sideways with him. Frodo lay still, his arms straining as he lay on his side, his hands still staked to the ground.

"Didn't see enough death yet?" Larohym's voice was slurred and it sounded as though he were coughing blood. "H-had to see me die too?"

A quiet voice. A sad voice. "Some that live deserve death, Captain. To attack innocence like this, it is something that easily deserves such a death sentence. And…I am cursed that I should give it to you."

"Always noble. Always right." Larohym cackled. A horrible sound that broke off into a cough. His fingers clenched and unclenched, causing and then relieving pain in Frodo's head. "A-attack innocence, yes perhaps you…p-perhaps I have. Well…so be…s-so…be it…" A sigh of breathing.

Larohym was dead.

Frodo lay frozen, his arms beginning to ache at the strain. His wrists had gone beyond sore, and his ear throbbed loudly. There was silence a long moment, with only a slight whisper on the air. A whisper that was perhaps words, perhaps not. He soon realized that the whisper was coming from his rescuer…and it was a beautiful whisper indeed.

The speech of Elves.

At long last, there were hands around his own. It was getting so dark, Frodo couldn't see a face, but only the hands. He watched numbly as the fingers closed around a small eating knife that sawed away at his ropes. There was a ring on that finger, a great green stone surrounded by silver strings. Frodo was mesmerized by it's intricate design, for what he could see of it. At least it was something to get his mind off of his throbbing body.

The ropes were broken. He was free. He didn't move.

"You can trust me, you know." The voice was still sad, but with a deceptive act of reassurance. He was trying to make Frodo stop hurting. He was trying to comfort him. Yet the Hobbit didn't move. He didn't want to. He wasn't sure he cared about being helped. He didn't know what to think or how to feel anymore.

Once the world made sense, and was all villains and heroes…but if that was the case, what was he? Here, crying on the ground, bleeding in three places, and hurting inside and out. What was he now? Neither villain nor hero. Just a victim. A lost child.

A hand slid under his head and soon another eased beneath his knees. Frodo flinched and rolled away from the hands, pushing himself shakily to his knees. "You don't h-have to carry me. I can walk, sure enough."

The shadowy figure nodded apologetically and stood up. "Of course you can, pardon me."

Frodo didn't answer, but stared uncertainly at the stranger as he pushed first one foot then the second against the ground, and got himself upright again. He felt sick. So, so sick, and still trembled in his stomach.

But he could walk, that was for certain. He'd get away on his own steam, yes, he would. He took several steps to the side, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see the stranger back away a bit to give him room to maneuver.

Frodo's eyes wandered over the ground in front of him, trying to see where he'd put his foot next. Then he saw Larohym. A shadowed crumple on the ground with an arrow waving like a naked flagpole from a puddle of blood on the side of the captain's neck. The feeling of steel seemed to press against the back of Frodo's neck again. Tight. Cold. Death was so, so cold.

"I said I'd kill you if you ran."

His knees crumpled. The ground rushed to meet him. He barely caught himself on hands and knees, and coughed hard. There was a strange taste under his tongue making him feel like he needed to throw up. He was sick inside, and his head spun crazily. With a shudder he toppled to the side.

But out there somewhere

Daylight finds you

If you keep believing

"Easy, easy…" the words were so soft in his sensitive ear, and the arms that clutched him away from the ground were gentle.

He felt shame burn in his cheeks as he started to shake all over and whimper with tears. The dark figure who held him half off the ground was soothingly whispering "shhh…"

Frodo's chest rose and fell rapidly with rasping sobs. "H-he was going t'…gonna kill me…wasn' he?" he slurred through his hiccups.

"Shh…you're all right. You're all right…" The stranger rocked him back and forth slightly, whispering his gentle fingers through the Hobbit's tousled dark hair that stuck to his sweat-sticky forehead.

"I can still f-feel it…it was c-cold…" Frodo slid his hand back towards his neck to mark where the knife had left it's cold behind. He cut off suddenly in a gasp and brought his hand back to his chest, clutching it tightly, and squeezing his eyes shut.

The stranger watched as he shut his eyes tightly, letting the saltwater that had collected at his dark lashes slip down his flushed cheeks. He shook. Frodo opened his eyes, pain replaced with confusion. "Are you mad at me?"

The dark figure was surprised. "No, not a bit. Why?"

"You're angry at someone…you're mad, I can feel you being mad." The Hobbit bit his lip. "Are you mad because I've got a cut hand?" he asked, opening his bloodstained fingers to reveal his split palm.

The other tilted his head to the side as he had before in regret. In grief. His fingers slid forward and closed the boy's own fingers into a fist again. "I wish Larohym had not hurt you," he responded quietly, with the air of someone who wanted to say more, but couldn't word it.

"I do too," Frodo responded wisely, and looked down at his shaking hands.

"Here," the man pulled a dark cloth from his coat, and proceeded to rip into thirds. He pulled the first one out from the rest, and gently opened the fingers on Frodo's left hand, pressing the cloth against it. Frodo cried out, and shut his eyes, unconsciously pulling his hand back a bit.

"Shh," the other soothed, gently pulling the cloth against the wounded hand. "Tell me, what's your name?"

"Frodo," the boy responded, gritting his small teeth against the pain, and then paused. "Frodo Baggins," he amended proudly. "I fight spiders."

"Oh, do you?"

The boy nodded.

"Well, that is indeed a noble thing, your parents must be quite proud of you."

Frodo blushed and didn't even seem to notice as the dark man wrapped the second cloth around his right palm. "Well, my Uncle Biblo? He's been all over Middle Earth. He's been to see the Elves even, and met their king, Thranduil. And he's fought spiders in Mirkwood."

This time, the stranger seemed genuinely surprised. "Has he now? Well that is quite a tale, I must say."

"You should hear its entirety sometime." Frodo smiled, proud to pieces of his distant cousin as never before. His courage restored, he glanced up at the dark stranger who was now cleaning the blood from the side of his cheek and ear. "And who might you be?"

The stranger smiled. "Strider. You may call me Strider."

"So you're not really Thorongil like that man said?" Frodo's voice suddenly faltered, and he found himself looking at the dark crumple of Larohym again, and the feeling of steel rushed against his neck.

A gentle finger steered his chin forward again, until he was looking back at the shadowed one called Strider. "Thorongil is just one of my names. I have a few though."

A new thought excited Frodo's mind, taking the thought of Larohym far away from him for now. "So has Uncle Bilbo. He's the clue-finder, the web-cutter, the stinging fly, the friend of bears and guest of eagles, and the Barrel-rider." Frodo smiled, then added half-modestly, "To name a few."

"My," Strider seemed very impressed which made Frodo glow. "I don't think I have that many names. Your uncle must be a very wise Hobbit."

"He's going to write a book," Frodo reported nodding.

"I can see why. And which shall he credit himself as the writer? Clue-finder, web-cutter, stinging fly?"

In the darkness, Frodo grinned. "He shall always be known as 'Bilbo Baggins' and none other in his writing. Though many in the Shire think him as 'Mad Baggins' which I think they are only jealous of his adventures."

"Is that a fact. Well, I know I would be were I a Hobbit."

"Have you ever been on an adventure?" Frodo asked, tilting his head slightly in interest.

"A few," the other responded lightly. "But perhaps none as grand as your uncle Bilbo."

Frodo shrugged. "You never know."

Strider seemed to be smiling again, though still Frodo couldn't see his face very clearly under its hood. "Well, I think that will do it for your cuts. Why don't you keep this cloth and press it against your ear in case it starts bleeding again." He handed the third strip to Frodo who nodded. "So, do you know how to get home from here?"

"Oh yes," Frodo responded easily. "I've been here many, many times. Although…" He hesitated. "It all looks a bit different at dark. See, I'm not allowed in the forest after dark, so I've never been out here at night more than once."

Strider seemed somewhat amused. "What was the 'once'?"

Frodo fiddled with his bandages a few moments. "Well, my cousin Pippin and I…we didn't think that- well…" he sighed. "He thought I was scared to be out so late, and I was out to prove him wrong. But that time was a little different, cause we were lucky and ran in the right direction, ended up back at home in not too long." He glanced up at Strider, and could tell the man was still smiling. "Well we ran because we didn't want to worry our parents, see," he added incredulously.

Strider nodded. "Of course. So I suppose what you're saying is you and I should run and hope we go the right way? You never know, it could work…"

Frodo grinned. "No, but we'll have to take it slow, else we may get lost."

The man nodded again. "Excellently figured."

"Thank you," Frodo nodded importantly.

"We'll figure it out, then. Can you walk all right?"

The young Hobbit pushed himself to his hairy feet, and pressed the strip of cloth to his ear. "I'm fine."

Strider smiled and shook his head. "Hobbits will truly never cease to surprise me."

The boy grinned, and his face flushed with pride. He liked this Strider fellow. "Come on! I think we should start this way."

"Lead on then, Frodo Baggins."

Now this, Frodo thought smiling from pointed ear to ear, is an adventure to be certain! And so he trudged off into the dark of trees, Strider close at his heals.

Run, run please. Fast as you can. Get away.

Cold steel. Cold blade. Cold death. Was it death? Could this be death? No. Not a chance. He wasn't a hero yet. He couldn't die like that. He had to find his way to adventure first. He had to!

"Stay still, boy, or I'll slit you dead right now."

Stay still? How? How could he stay still? Who would save him if he did nothing?

A shadow. A dark figure. A hooded someone. Who? Strider. Just a stranger in somewhere. He wouldn't save him. He'd just stand there, watching. Watching as they disappeared into cold steel, cold death. Cold…cold…cold…

All the things that

You can change

There's a meaning in everything

"Come back! Please- oh you can't go! No!" Frodo writhed on the dirt floor, screaming at the darkness, and staring bewildered at the sky.

"Frodo!" someone called from outside of his dream. "Frodo, ea na gwiil!"

Elvish? The tongue of the Elves soaked into Frodo's fear gradually, calming him for a moment or so. He didn't know what the words meant, but he knew their essence. It's all right. Be calm…be calm…

Strider reached a steady hand from where he lay on the ground beside the Hobbit and rubbed the shaking boy's shoulder. "Ea na gwiil, Frodo. Eail gosta, er tithen. Iston ea le eail…iton er tithen."

The meaning was clear. Frodo's sobs steadied as he wavered in the limbo between sleep and waking. Be at peace, Frodo. Do not fear, little one. I know you are afraid…I know little one.

Frodo felt the man's hand move over his shoulder over and over. He slowly realized that he must have gotten tired…maybe the artificial strength a boy always gets after a big scare had worn out, and he'd fallen asleep standing. Probably Strider had pulled them off to a safe place for him to rest. He felt slowly relieved as his mind drifted towards dreams again, and he tried not to think of what had wakened him.

Strider's gentle knuckles swept against Frodo's cheek, checking for fever. Slowly, they moved towards his forehead, and then the back of his neck. As his fingers moved, the great ring on his forefinger twisted gem-down. As his hand moved over the back of the Hobbit's neck, his ring pressed cold against the unprotected sweaty skin.

Frodo's eyes flinched opened, and panic rose in him at the feeling. Larohym was back. He was back to kill Frodo this time, his knife pressed reassured against the boy's neck. He was back! Frodo had to run, he had to! "Leave me a-alone!"

He leapt to his feet and without looking back, tore off into the woods. "Frodo!" He didn't heed the call of his name till a few moments later. The voice…it was Strider, wasn't it? Realization flooded into him as his stunned mind made it the rest of the way to wakefulness. Larohym was dead. It was just him and Strider, that was all.

He skidded to a halt, and spun around. The path was pitch black behind him. "Strider!" His voice rose to a screech and cracked when it hit its peak in panic. "STRIDER!" he screamed again, but the forest gave him no response.

The trees creaked eerily around him. Suddenly, the stories Merry Brandybuck had so often told him with great pleasure seemed no longer funny.

"There's things in that Old Forest, Frodo, I'm tellin' you! You know all those stories, and yes, you don't think them true, but listen. There are real tales from folks who have been out there real times and they say it all! There's something in those woods that make the trees tall."

"That could be true, very well, Merry. But tall trees isn't so strange, see?"

"Yes, but what about the rest? What if there is something and it…makes them come alive."

"I've never heard such a fantasy in all my life, Meriadoc."

Frodo bit his lip and glanced over his head. The trunks all around him creaked loudly, and the branches sounded as though they were whispering to each other. Swallowing hard he began to step uncertainly in the direction he thought he maybe had just come from.

Finally, there was a clear and sharp sound on the wind. Something to overcome the vague of breeze and creaking.

scritch scritch scritch

Sounded like the quick strokes of flint rock. Frodo froze. Sure enough, in a few moments, there was an orange glow igniting from somewhere ahead of him. "Strider?"

There was a moment of silence. Then, "Frodo! Follow the light, can you see it?" His voice was so distant…Frodo attempted to concentrate on what he was saying and not notice that he was much further than the light indicated.

"I can see it!"

"Good, walk to it, I'll try to come to you. Hear me?"

"Yes!" Frodo heaved a sigh of relief. Strider would take him home, surely. Finally. Something he could know and understand. He was going home, so long as he kept walking to the light. So he did.

As the light grew brighter and brighter Frodo's breath quickened. Somewhere far off a Mocking Bird was flitting to him. I must be nearer the Shire than I thought. There really are few birds in this Old Forest.

"Almos'there almos'there!" it sang to him. "'nother step? 'nother step?"

Suddenly, Frodo was jerked from the Mocking Bird's helpful song, and found a weed wound around his ankle. He continued to wade through the shallow brush as best he could, but the vines continued to snag, and wouldn't rip. Frodo sighed and jerked his foot away from the mass.

The breath knocked out of him as his chest hit the ground full-force. Stupid vine. The tripped Hobbit pushed himself out of the weeds- or he began to.

His deep blue eyes widened impulsively as he sighted what was staring unblinkingly at him. A snake. He bit his lip and didn't move.

"Snakes. Yes, Frodo my lad, you'll find a snake or two, especially in places dark as Mirkwood where the spiders roam with 'em, and they're black as the trees themselves. Poisonous they are, at least often times." Biblo's voice was solemn and wise. "Steer away from them, right? Never touch a snake. Just don't move till he moves first, and hope he moves away from you rather than forward with teeth out."

There was a time Frodo would appreciate just such a frightening story right before sleep, but right now, that story seemed horrifically clear and real. He had nothing for it but to continue not moving.

The great, yellow globes stared expressionlessly into the pools of blue that fixed back at them. It chilled Frodo that the reptile betrayed no emotion whatsoever. He could be thinking anything from 'strange rock' to 'prone victim' and Frodo wouldn't know the difference till it was too late.

A red ribbon shot from his unmoving lips to lick the air, and then it curled back in seamlessly. Then out again, this time to the side, it's forked end flicking frighteningly close to Frodo's nose, then back in with a soundless fwip.

Frodo didn't breathe as the tongue flew out again, this time nearly licking the side of the Hobbit's head. To Frodo's horror, he realized why. There was blood slipping from the boy's wounded ear. It was sliding down his cheek now, in plain sight and scent of the snake.

fwip it swung around and curled in on the air by Frodo's cheek. fwip back into the closed mouth.

Human reflexes are not as good as snakes', and Hobbit reflexes don't match that of human. But luckily for Frodo, the distance between ground and face was a shorter trip for his hand than the snake's fangs, which traveled from its coiled position to the Hobbit's cheek.

Frodo cried as the glossy and pointed teeth sank through bloodied bandages and into his already wounded palm. But the boy's right hand flying up to protect his cheek was a surprising move against the snake, and the black reptile soon found its head lost in folds of cloth that covered the accidental target.

Frodo watched the black creature's scales glitter in the faint light as he tried to pull his tiny head and deadly bite out of the Hobbit's bandage. His breath shuddered loudly in his ears, and tears were spilling down his already sweat-sticky cheeks. It hurt so, so bad. His hand was throbbing with pain that was steadily numbing to nothing. Already his fingers felt big and heavy from lack of blood flow. Looking down, he could see they were starting to swell.

And you will find all you need

There's so much to understand

"Frodo!" The torch light seemed to be instantly before him, and he was at once blinded by the orange glow. Strider crouched down before him, and his fingers twisted to the black snake writhing and wriggling on the ground.

SNICK Frodo winced as the snake's neck broke, and Strider pulled its head out of the boy's bandage.

The man cast this black ribbon out into the night, and then leaned forward to grasp Frodo's hand. The Hobbit flinched as Strider peeled away the blood-stained bandage, exposing the ghastly cut across his palm. Strider was silent as he examined the red-and-white cloth briefly.

"Good," he said at last.

"Good?" Frodo's voice shook.

"Yes," Strider soothed, pulling the Hobbit out of the weeds, and laying him instead in the man's lap. Frodo pressed the back of his head hard against the other's knee as pain shot up his arm from his palm again.

"See, the cloth is stained black on the inside. That means that most of the snake's venom was lost in the fabric of your bandage." He paused, letting the boy be reassured a few moments. "But there is some poison still in you, Frodo. And I need to get it out."

Frodo nodded. "Okay," he agreed, knowing that maybe it would stop the pain shooting sporadically up his arm.

Strider nodded too, and pulled from his coat a handful of wilted plants. Snapping the thick stem off of one, he dangled the severed plant over Frodo's hand, holding the boy's fingers away from the wound gently.

Frodo panted steadily as he watched the murky bubble of plant juice slip from the end of the stem, and land on his hand. He screamed. "No! No- g-get it off! It stings- it burns it- ah!" He was trying to wrestle his hand out of Strider's grip, but the man continued to hold tight to him.

"Frodo, shh…" At last, Strider was able to wrap his arm around the thrashing Hobbit's shoulder and still him somewhat. Pressed tight against the man's chest, Frodo ceased to struggle, and realized that his fingers didn't feel swollen anymore. His shoulder wasn't hurting, though his hand was still throbbed terribly.

"W-what'd you do?" His jaw was trembling so bad, he had to clench to be able to speak.

"It doesn't matter, it's helping." Strider rocked him steadily back and forth, peering intently at the boy's palm. "It's drawing the poison out of your fingers and arm…does it feel that way?"

Frodo nodded stiffly. "My f-finger doesn' hurt 'nymore," he slurred through his chattering teeth.

"Good, that's good."

Silence.

"Frodo?" Strider began hesitantly.

The Hobbit glanced nervously up, unnerved by the uncertainty in the other's voice. "Hm?"

"I have to do it again…a little more this time, if I'm going to get that poison out."

Frodo bit his lip and nodded. Of course, whatever would get rid of the rest of his pain. Whatever it was…

Strider reached down into his handful of plants, and withdrew a thicker stem, snapping it in half. Frodo's eyes became wide, and his throat went dry. "N-no. No, you- it'll hurt don't do i- please?" His breath was panting frantically again.

"It's going to hurt," the man admitted quietly. "But it'll get rid of the poison, all right?"

"No! No not all right!" Frodo tried to back away, but Strider's hand still clutched firmly to his shaking shoulder, pressing him against the bigger one's chest. He resorted to shaking his head wildly, trying to get his point across. His head started to spin with the movement, so he stopped, and only let his fear spill in tears from his great, blue eyes.

"It's all right, Frodo. I'll be gentle as I can, okay?" Frodo didn't reply.

Pulling the young Hobbit closer to him, Strider braced his fingers against Frodo's, keeping the dirty tips away from his split palm. Slowly, he dangled the broken stem over Frodo's hand again, and squeezed gently at the tip. One, great, murky drop splashed from the end, and came to land in the pool of blood beneath it.

Frodo screamed again, and tried to jerk his hand away. Strider held it firmly, and squeezed the stem again, letting a second drop fall quickly as possible to the wound. "Strider!" Frodo's sob cut through the night. "Strider, please! Please! It hurts please stop!"

"One more," Strider assured.

"No! No stop! Just stop hurting me!"

"Frodo, trust me."

"It hurts! Why do you want to hurt me? Why?!" The small voice was pleading and seemed to slash straight through Strider's awareness. He stopped, his poised hand falling to set the broken stem on the ground. When his hand rose, it didn't clutch a plant anymore, but rather went to Frodo's cheek, and gently twisted the thrashing boy's head to the side.

Strider tipped his own head back, and his hood fell away. As Frodo's face was steered to the side, he realized he was looking into his rescuer's face for the first time. He struggled backwards as his surprised was overcome throbbing still going on in his palm, but he soon found himself distracted again.

He was no longer looking into Strider's face, but his eyes.

Just take a look through my eyes

There's a better place somewhere out there

Oh, just take a look

Blue stared into blue. But the eyes of this quiet man were different than any other. A mist hung over them that made them sparkle…wasn't it distracting to look through such mists to sight less magnificent things? And swirling at the pupil was a depth unbelievable. A black that was clearer than dark. A window into something deeper.

A shining…a fading…a feeling…an emotion.

Hope.

"Frodo?"

Frodo couldn't answer. He was lost. Lost in a window to someone he may never really understand. Lost in a quiet stranger. Lost somewhere deep within Strider.

"Frodo. I'm not going to hurt you."

And a strange feeling covered the Hobbit's understanding. Certainty. Certainty of something he didn't fully comprehend, but could feel as clear as day.

"I know," he said. And the two words made so much sense, he almost smiled.

Strider's hand slipped from the boy's cheek, and grasped the broken stem once more. "Trust me, Frodo." And he squeezed.

Frodo flinched painfully, and pressed his head tight against Strider's chest, breathing hard. He shut his eyes tight, and let his tears stain Strider's coat. Sobs wracked his small body as the man beside him whispered in Elvish again, and started dabbing at his hand with a cloth.

As Strider cleaned out the black venom that had now surfaced, thanks to his plants, he started to hum The Old Walking Song, but Frodo was lost to his agony, and didn't recognize it. So he left silence in the air, and the young Hobbit found security in his own thoughts of a better relief once the pain was over…please, oh please be over…

There's a better place

If you look through my eyes

"The poison is gone, Frodo." Strider sighed quietly, and pulled the boy into an embrace, cradling his shaking shoulders close to the beating of the man's heart. Frodo listened to the steady rhythm and felt finally calm. "All gone, Frodo. It's all gone." And the man's hand closed Frodo's fingers over his palm. It was okay now. And it was okay to cry.

So Frodo did.

A hand slid under his head and soon another eased beneath his knees. But this time, Frodo didn't move. He hadn't the strength to walk, he knew, and anyway…he trusted Strider.

"You don' know th' way…" Frodo half-whispered, letting his head fall against the warm chest beside him.

"I'll find it," Strider promised quietly. "Sleep, Frodo. I'll take care of you."

"All right," the boy responded with a smile, and in minutes he was already caught in a dream…

"Frodo?"

"Hm?"

"…Frodo?"

"Hm…"

Slowly, his eyes slid open. "Bilbo!" He sat bolt upright, and instantly felt a little queasy.

"Easy my lad, easy! You've been through a lot, so I hear. Asleep for a whole day!" The elder Hobbit grinned and elbowed his cousin playfully. "Been on an adventure, then?"

Frodo's face was solemn as he shook his head. "Oh no, not an adventure, Uncle Bilbo. It was terrible, and I didn't really…well it wasn't much of an adventure."

Bilbo shrugged. "Well, perhaps you'll feel differently after a cup of tea, eh? I've got some brewed already, I'll get it."

As the Hobbit left, Frodo sat up slowly, and found he was in Bilbo's bed at Bag End. He glanced pensively out the window, trying to remember through his slight nausea what exactly had happened.

He could recall Larohym, the cold, cold steel…the dark figure of a man…the snake bite…he glanced down at his hands, and found there were new cloths wrapped around them, and they were no longer stained with blood. Pulling the one on his right hand away a bit, he found a still-forming scab spreading from one end of his palm to the other. As he flexed his fingers, he felt a slight sting somewhere at the center of his hand, but that was it.

Bilbo came swiftly back into the sunlit room, a tea tray balanced clumsily on his hand. He set the tray down on the bedside table, and grinned. "It's green, I'm afraid, know you don't much care for it, but whatever helps, right?"

"Green tea is fine, Bilbo, I'm really thirsty anyway."

Bilbo nodded, and handed a cup to the boy, sitting down on the end of the bed with a cup of his own. Frodo slurped at the dark tea a few moments, and then glanced down at himself. He was in his nightclothes. He looked up again. "Bilbo, how did you manage to get me into my nightclothes all by yourself? I know I must have been dead asleep last night, I don't even remember getting here."

"Oh, I didn't," Bilbo assured, sipping at his teacup.

"Then who-" Frodo stopped. Of course! "Strider…"

"Quite right, lad. 'bout all he did too…" Bilbo muttered something and took a drink at his tea.

"Well-" Frodo shook his head, looking around the room, and trying to see down the circular hallway. "Where is he?"

"Gone! Quite gone." Bilbo shook his head. "Came walking up the street, you in his arms, and came a-knocking at my door. Well, I was glad to see him at first, so worried I was about you. Out so late and all. D'you know how he found me? Asked the Sackville-Bagginses about a 'Bilbo and a Baggins', is what he did, and of course Lobilia gave him an earful about my jaunt to the brew the other night! A complete stranger, and she-"

"I know," Frodo managed to cut in before Bilbo got warmed up for his 'Sackville-Bagginses' tirade.

Bilbo shrugged off the interruption with a nod of acknowledgment and went on. "Well, he asks where there's a bed, and I take him in here. He lays you down on the bed, and doesn't ask me a thing, only says to get you some nightclothes. 'Something loose-fitting- just anything you think he'd be comfortable in.' he says, so I run to where you've been keeping your things, get it for you. And so I come back to find him doing what? Tearing up weeds and putting them on your cut-up hands.

"So, of course I ask him what happened, what's going on. And while I hand him this weed and that weed, and get him water, he works on tellin' me what happened to you last night. Well I could barely believe him, but you were so beaten up and all, what could I believe?

"While he gets you into your nightclothes, he starts telling me what to do now. He says 'wrap up his hands with new cloth if you see blood through it,' and 'put this weed on this cut and such time,' and finally 'give him a bit of green tea when he's finally waking up, it'll make him feel a bit better'.

"Then what does he do? Lays you down on the bed, picks up his plants, and walks out the door. Aye, and tells me you were brave, then disappears without a trace."

Frodo brightened up for the first time. "He- did?"

Bilbo smiled fondly. "Yes sir, last thing he said to me. 'Your Frodo- he was quite brave, you know. He's a hero. Be proud.' And yes, so I am."

Frodo blushed and grinned back, hiding the crimson in his tea as best he could, and taking longer drinks than necessary.

"Night Bilbo!"

"Night, my dear boy. Pleasant dreams!"

The candle hissed out as Bilbo left the bedroom. Frodo found himself staring into the dark sky for a long time. The stars reminded him of something…a dark window into some…other place. A better feeling. A better thought. A better emotion.

He shook his head, and rolled over, letting himself doze off…into a dream.

Run, run please. Fast as you can. Get away.

Cold steel. Cold blade. Cold death. Was it death? Could this be death? No. Not a chance. He wasn't a hero yet. He couldn't die like that. He had to find his way to adventure first. He had to!

"Stay still, boy, or I'll slit you dead right now."

Stay still? How? How could he stay still? Who would save him if he did nothing?

A shadow. A dark figure. A hooded someone. Who? Strider. Just a stranger in somewhere…but then…the hood fell back…blue…far away, revealing something better…

And the rest of the nightmare was chased away.

Forty-Three Years Later

It was so quiet at once. Only the silent wind and the still whispers of a golden band.

Aaaaaragooorn…

It was calling him. Tempting him. The wind shook as black voices danced on the dead air.

Aaaaaaraaagoooorn…

Fear. Such fear. Anticipation, oh what would he do?

Don't take it. please don't take it. Won't you be the only one I can trust? Please be the one I was right about. Please. Don't give in to it. Be as strong as I wish I were.

Please, oh don't take it.

He sank to his knees. He reached for the gold, but did not touch it. Instead, he closed trembling fingers on it, and pressed the hand towards the beating of a terrified heart. Something was so familiar about it…his fingers closing tightly…

It was okay now. And it was okay to cry.

So Frodo did.

Just take a look through my eyes

"I would have gone with you to the end." The words were so quiet. So sincere. So true.

Blue gazed into blue for a long moment. Such a familiar blue. The kind of blue people only attempt to write about. A shining blue swirling around the depth of a window. A window…to someone he may never really understand.

A shining…a fading…a feeling…an emotion.

Everything changes

You'll be amazed what you find

Hope.

An unfinished memory surfaced from somewhere deep inside him…but then it seemed to waver.

"Into the very fires of Mordor."

And he let go, and left the hand pressed to a sighing chest, its gold still clutched. Its trust still kept.

Frodo's eyes fixed on Aragorn's for a long time as the memory brought a strange feeling over him. Certainty.

"I know," he said. And the two words made so much sense, he almost smiled.

Take a look through my eyes