"I don't think he's going to make it."
Boromir looked up from roasting a slab of salmon on the fire. Gimli sat at Aragorn's side, patting his brow gently with a damp cloth. Close by was Frodo, who hovered over the limp body like a child who lost his mother, who witnessed the murder. The steward bit his lip momentarily, hands shaking as he checked to see if the fish had cooked to an appropriate heat.
"I wouldn't worry. He wouldn't die now."
"Oh, you sound very sympathetic," Merry jested sarcastically. "You could probably care less!"
Pippin eyed the Man carefully. "Are you makin' that for yourself? Cause if you are…"
"It's for Strider, Pippin," Frodo reminded carefully. His cousin gave him a hurt look.
"But he's rejected everything we've shoved down his throat," he protested, wincing at the memory. "We're probably torturing him!"
The young Hobbit glanced down at his fallen friend, pushing back wisps of hair from his sweating forehead. Gimli sighed heavily, eyeing the future king with a wary eye. "The Hobbit has a point. The deathshade is a terrible, bile thing, it is, and we barely have any healing experience."
Frodo ran his fingers through Strider's sweaty hair, chewing on his bottom lip. A quivering feeling rose at the pit of his stomach, a good feeling in a sort, as if something will be right in a matter of time. He smiled faintly at it, staring down at Aragorn's pained features. Maybe he will be fine.
Boromir echoed Gimli's sigh, picking off some meat from the fish. Glaring at the Hobbit, who was looking up at him with the sweetest face possible, he handed Frodo the pinkish meat. "Try giving it to him one more time," he murmured. "Third time the charm?"
"Shove it down my throat and I'll have your head," a charred voice spoke out. Boromir snapped up his head, eyes growing wide at the sound of the new voice. Frodo broke into a wide grin, throwing the fish he had in his fingers up into the air.
"Strider!"
"The fish," Pippin whimpered sorrowfully, wistfully looking over where the meat had been discarded. Merry rolled his eyes and shoved the fish from the spit into his cousin's hands before leaning over to see what had happened. The Hobbit, in turn, bit graciously into the fish, gulping it down in no time at all. The little Ringbearer couldn't suppress his joy and ended up nearly hugging the poor Ranger to death, that of which he had just returned from. It took Samwise and Merry to pry him off, giving the Man room to breathe. Aragorn sucked in a deep breath, mind fogged with confusion and pain.
"I take it I'm not dead, then," he muttered, trying to lie back on his elbows, but failed miserably. Boromir was obliged to have the king rest against his lap, butterflies fluttering anxiously in his abdomen, thankful for his wake.
"You're damn lucky, Aragorn," Gimli scolded lightly, filling a cup with a steaming liquid. "Two arrows, TWO with deathshade! How the hell did that happen?"
Aragorn groaned softly, a sour taste rising at the back of his throat, along with an unpleasant lump. Choking it down, he gratefully accepted the tea the Hobbits had prepared. Warming his shivering hands on the cup, he managed to hiss, "How long has it been…?"
"Three days, one night," Merry replied quickly. "Boromir and Frodo went out lookin' for you after we woke up and didn't find you here."
"Legolas is gone as well," Sam added shamefully. "We couldn't find any trace of him anywhere."
Slowly the memories of that fatal night came flowing back to his brain. The luminous glow surrounding the young prince, the shocking gleam in his eyes, the cruel grin… none of it seemed to make sense. Possessed, possibly, but… it didn't seem to fit! Where would it have come from? Why did it happen? Who could have been the one behind the grueling behaviour? Feeling a treacherous headache barging through, Aragorn furrowed his brow against the rising pain. His chest and back were acting as if they had been torn apart by vicious blades, but upon touching his waist it proved to be in tact. Groaning he tried to resurrect every detail of what he saw, but his head refused to answer to him. He soon gave up.
Frodo cautiously dabbed his friend's forehead, almost as if he feared he might break and crumble under his hand. "We found you cold and pale," he said almost in a whisper. "We thought you had died, but your wrists proved us wrong."
"How you survived that is beyond our knowledge, Aragorn," Gimli broke in. "You must be awfully lucky."
Strider closed his eyes tightly, the weight of Arwen's immortality necklace making itself known against his collarbone. He didn't speak about it, knowing his comrades had forgotten about that item. He didn't wish to talk, though - his body was weary and heavy to him, and all he wanted was rest.
As if he knew of Aragorn's thoughts, Frodo took the cup carefully from his hands. "Let him rest awhile longer. We cannot rush him already, and I'm sure it'll only take a day for him to heal well enough to move on."
Aragorn didn't hear the rest of the conversation. Instead, he had slipped into the welcoming darkness that veiled over his eyes, shifting into the deep slumber that called his name.
*NOTE: This chapter may change. Be on a lookout. ^^
Boromir looked up from roasting a slab of salmon on the fire. Gimli sat at Aragorn's side, patting his brow gently with a damp cloth. Close by was Frodo, who hovered over the limp body like a child who lost his mother, who witnessed the murder. The steward bit his lip momentarily, hands shaking as he checked to see if the fish had cooked to an appropriate heat.
"I wouldn't worry. He wouldn't die now."
"Oh, you sound very sympathetic," Merry jested sarcastically. "You could probably care less!"
Pippin eyed the Man carefully. "Are you makin' that for yourself? Cause if you are…"
"It's for Strider, Pippin," Frodo reminded carefully. His cousin gave him a hurt look.
"But he's rejected everything we've shoved down his throat," he protested, wincing at the memory. "We're probably torturing him!"
The young Hobbit glanced down at his fallen friend, pushing back wisps of hair from his sweating forehead. Gimli sighed heavily, eyeing the future king with a wary eye. "The Hobbit has a point. The deathshade is a terrible, bile thing, it is, and we barely have any healing experience."
Frodo ran his fingers through Strider's sweaty hair, chewing on his bottom lip. A quivering feeling rose at the pit of his stomach, a good feeling in a sort, as if something will be right in a matter of time. He smiled faintly at it, staring down at Aragorn's pained features. Maybe he will be fine.
Boromir echoed Gimli's sigh, picking off some meat from the fish. Glaring at the Hobbit, who was looking up at him with the sweetest face possible, he handed Frodo the pinkish meat. "Try giving it to him one more time," he murmured. "Third time the charm?"
"Shove it down my throat and I'll have your head," a charred voice spoke out. Boromir snapped up his head, eyes growing wide at the sound of the new voice. Frodo broke into a wide grin, throwing the fish he had in his fingers up into the air.
"Strider!"
"The fish," Pippin whimpered sorrowfully, wistfully looking over where the meat had been discarded. Merry rolled his eyes and shoved the fish from the spit into his cousin's hands before leaning over to see what had happened. The Hobbit, in turn, bit graciously into the fish, gulping it down in no time at all. The little Ringbearer couldn't suppress his joy and ended up nearly hugging the poor Ranger to death, that of which he had just returned from. It took Samwise and Merry to pry him off, giving the Man room to breathe. Aragorn sucked in a deep breath, mind fogged with confusion and pain.
"I take it I'm not dead, then," he muttered, trying to lie back on his elbows, but failed miserably. Boromir was obliged to have the king rest against his lap, butterflies fluttering anxiously in his abdomen, thankful for his wake.
"You're damn lucky, Aragorn," Gimli scolded lightly, filling a cup with a steaming liquid. "Two arrows, TWO with deathshade! How the hell did that happen?"
Aragorn groaned softly, a sour taste rising at the back of his throat, along with an unpleasant lump. Choking it down, he gratefully accepted the tea the Hobbits had prepared. Warming his shivering hands on the cup, he managed to hiss, "How long has it been…?"
"Three days, one night," Merry replied quickly. "Boromir and Frodo went out lookin' for you after we woke up and didn't find you here."
"Legolas is gone as well," Sam added shamefully. "We couldn't find any trace of him anywhere."
Slowly the memories of that fatal night came flowing back to his brain. The luminous glow surrounding the young prince, the shocking gleam in his eyes, the cruel grin… none of it seemed to make sense. Possessed, possibly, but… it didn't seem to fit! Where would it have come from? Why did it happen? Who could have been the one behind the grueling behaviour? Feeling a treacherous headache barging through, Aragorn furrowed his brow against the rising pain. His chest and back were acting as if they had been torn apart by vicious blades, but upon touching his waist it proved to be in tact. Groaning he tried to resurrect every detail of what he saw, but his head refused to answer to him. He soon gave up.
Frodo cautiously dabbed his friend's forehead, almost as if he feared he might break and crumble under his hand. "We found you cold and pale," he said almost in a whisper. "We thought you had died, but your wrists proved us wrong."
"How you survived that is beyond our knowledge, Aragorn," Gimli broke in. "You must be awfully lucky."
Strider closed his eyes tightly, the weight of Arwen's immortality necklace making itself known against his collarbone. He didn't speak about it, knowing his comrades had forgotten about that item. He didn't wish to talk, though - his body was weary and heavy to him, and all he wanted was rest.
As if he knew of Aragorn's thoughts, Frodo took the cup carefully from his hands. "Let him rest awhile longer. We cannot rush him already, and I'm sure it'll only take a day for him to heal well enough to move on."
Aragorn didn't hear the rest of the conversation. Instead, he had slipped into the welcoming darkness that veiled over his eyes, shifting into the deep slumber that called his name.
*NOTE: This chapter may change. Be on a lookout. ^^