CHAPTER 2
Suddenly, a hand touched his shoulder, and Legolas' voice came, closer in his ear. "Stay with us, little one. Try not to fall back into the darkness."
Frodo blinked and tried to bring the world back in to focus. Sam was holding his hand and Legolas was bending over him: both faces showed concern. When he saw the hobbit's eyes clear a little the elf smiled.
"That's better. Aragorn will bring you something to drink in a moment. Do you think you could sit up a little if I help you?" Frodo nodded, although he was not at all sure that he had the strength.
Legolas shuffled a little behind him then Frodo felt an arm reach beneath his shoulders and another beneath his knees. He was slowly and gently turned and lifted until he was resting in Legolas' lap, the arrow placed just beyond the elf's legs and Frodo's shoulders cradled in the crook of his arm. The sudden movement left him feeling dizzy and a little sick, as though he had drunk too much ale, and Frodo closed his eyes again as he concentrated very hard on holding down the contents of his stomach. It had also reawakened the pain and he pulled an arm across his chest, attempting to support aching ribs.
Sam caught his free hand again and stroked it between both of his, worried to find it hot and sweaty. He quickly rearranged the blankets to recover his friend and shot a worried look at the elf. Legolas acknowledged him with the slightest of nods. It was obvious that Frodo was developing a fever, which did not bode well, when they were so far from the comfort of Lorien.
"Aragorn says you should try to get him to drink all of this." Frodo opened his eyes as he heard Merry's voice. "Hello, Frodo. Feeling any better now that we've stopped?" His cousin smiled down at him, handing Sam a small, steaming cup.
"A little, thank you, Merry. Is everyone else alright?" In his preoccupation with his own pain the thought had only just occurred to him that others may have been hurt.
"We're all well, Frodo. Just worried about you. But Aragorn is going to help you, when you've drunk that." He nodded at the cup in Sam's hand.
Frodo was still concerned, however. "Where's Pippin?"
"Stop fretting, cousin. Pip is with Aragorn. Our healer has appointed him his official helper and Pippin is taking great pride in mixing herbs and rolling bandages. I am dreading the next time I get a cold. Goodness knows what concoctions he will subject me to," Merry laughed and Frodo managed to respond with a weak smile.
"Well, come on now Frodo. You heard what Mr Merry said. The sooner you drink this, the sooner Strider will be able to deal with that arrow." Sam tilted the cup to his masters mouth and let a little of the warm liquid trickle between his lips. It tasted bitter and smelled awful but Frodo swallowed as best he could and then closed his eyes again as he fought to keep it in his stomach. After a little while the pain dulled and he found his breathing begin to ease. The world seemed to pull away from him and his thoughts became sluggish. The song drifted in to his mind again, its melody soothing him. When Legolas lifted him and carried him to where Aragorn was waiting, by the fire, he let out only a small whimper at the jostling of his ribs; his body lolling like a rag doll in the security of the elf's arms.
They laid him on his right side, his face turned to the small fire and supported by Gimli's rolled cloak so that he didn't fall onto his back. Blankets were wrapped around him, leaving his left leg exposed, where the thick, wicked looking, black arrow skewered his thigh.
Aragorn bent close to Frodo's ear. "I'm sorry, Frodo. This is going to hurt, but I promise I will be as gentle as I can."
The hobbit could only vaguely grasp the meaning of the healer's words; through the haze of the herbs he had been given and the soft murmur of song. Gimli gripped his left leg firmly, above and below the arrow and Legolas held the hobbit's shoulders. Merry took one of his cousin's hands and Sam and Pippin knelt by Aragorn, ready to offer help when required. Pippin was starting to look a little pale.
Boromir spared a glance at the group then returned to his survey of the surrounding countryside. With a threat of smoke from the fire and little cover they dare not go without a guard and the Steward had volunteered for the job. Sam, for one, was not unhappy that the man was as far away from Frodo and the ring as possible.
Aragorn took his dagger and carefully cut away the fabric of Frodo's breaches, around the black shaft of the arrow; pealing back the blood soaked material. Sam handed the ranger a white handled knife with a thin sharp blade. Giving a warning glance to Gimli, the ranger set his blade to the shaft of the arrow, just below the fletching. Frodo moaned as Aragorn ran the blade around the arrow several times, scoring deeper with each turn. The elven blade was very sharp but the vibrations of each circuit were transmitted down the arrow shaft to the hobbit's flesh torturing his nerves like finger nails dragged across a child's writing slate. The fletching finally fell away.
Returning the knife to Pippin, Aragorn bent close to Frodo again. "This will be the worst of it Frodo. After this the pain will lessen."
Then he took hold of the tip of the arrow, just above the wickedly barbed tip, where it protruded from the front of the leg, and placed his other hand on the hobbit's thigh. With a quick glance of warning to the others he pulled the arrow right through, as swiftly as he could. Frodo screamed and bucked under Gimli and Legolas' restraining hands and Pippin turned a brighter shade of green. Sam swiftly reached over and placed two soft clean pads of linen on the wounds, pressing them firmly in place to slow the bleeding.
Although the drought that Aragorn had given him had helped to dissociate Frodo from the pain a little, the agony as the arrow was withdrawn was too much. His frantic attempt to pull away from the additional torture had also exacerbated the injuries in his chest and Frodo could not prevent the tears that flowed down his face, his sobs aggravating further his breathing problems.
Legolas' voice seemed to come from a great distance. "I have never tried this with a mortal but I may be able to help him, Aragorn."
Aware that Frodo was slipping into shock, Aragorn grasped at the offer; understanding instinctively what Legolas was intending and wishing that Elrond were here. "Try it."
Legolas placed a hand on Frodo's brow and took a deep breath; his bright eyes becoming unfocussed, as though in elven sleep. Merry watched, in amazement, as Frodo's breathing calmed, the tears slowing as his cousins eyes lost their wild panicked stare.
Frodo felt the, now familiar, touch of elven healing and accepted it gratefully. Legolas' strong and bright soul melody rang through him, lifting the darkness and chasing away his pain. When he had been recovering, in Rivendell, Elrond had used this healing gift on the hobbit several times. Elrond's song had been deep pools and cool hollows, sentinelled by silence and ancient trees but the wood elf's was a place of sunlit glades, sprinkled with wild flowers and the splash of cool fresh streams.
With the easing of his pain the herbal drought resumed its work and after a few moments Legolas blinked and smiled across at Aragorn. "I think you can proceed now."
Pippin handed the ranger three long leaves. They were withered and dried but Merry recognised the shape of the athelas plant. He pushed Frodo's hair back from a sweat soaked forehead and watched as Aragorn breathed on the leaves and muttered something under his breath, and then he crushed them and let them fall in to the bowl of warm water that Pippin offered. The small dell was filled with the fresh scent of a bright spring morning, just after the rain and all were refreshed and calmed.
Aragorn dipped a clean cloth in the water and then set about bathing the two small wounds on Frodo's leg. Frodo relaxed as the pain lessened but the healer noted a reddening of the flesh around the punctures and a sheen of perspiration on his patient's brow. When he had finished, Sam placed clean, soft pads on the wounds and held them in place with a bandage that Pippin proffered.
With a concerned expression, Aragorn handed the truncated arrow to Legolas. "What do you sense, friend?"
Legolas took the dart, held it to his nose and then scrutinised the point. His face was grim when he replied. "There is poison on the tip. I cannot tell what type"
Pippin's quiet voice chimed in. "Is he going to die?"
Aragorn's face was full of compassion and pity. "I do not know, Pippin. But Frodo has already proved that he is made of stern stuff. I do not think he will give in without a fight."
Sam looked up from where he was tying off the last of the bandage. "If Mr Frodo can survive a morgul blade, a little orc arrow won't see him off."
Gimli smacked Sam on the back, nearly knocking the small hobbit over, "Well said, Master Samwise."
Aragorn's face remained grim, however. "We are a long way from Lorien or Imladris. I have not Elrond's skill and I do not know how the poison will affect him. I am afraid our resources are very limited, here in the wild and Frodo will have to rely very much on his own strength to overcome this injury."