Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with Middle-Earth. I don't even own
my computer! All characters, locations, etc. belong to the Tolkien Estate.
A/N: I decided last night that whatever 'mini-plots' that I can think up to add to this fic won't affect the outcome of what I originally decided to write about. What I mean by that is that there will still be Glorfindel, and Frodo will still be riding Asfaloth across the Ford, etc. I don't want to make the story so A/U that none of the stuff in the book happens. :) So, I don't know for sure what kind of twists I can weave into my fic… I have been thinking about it though, but I still haven't come up with much of anything. Writers block I guess. :( *sigh*
Moving along, Lotesse, I didn't know that the singular form of the word was ainu. :) I thought it was one of those words like 'sheep' and 'deer' where the spelling doesn't change in singular and plural (I don't know the technical term for it). But thanks for telling me! :) I've always thought that it was a pretty word. :) And Tathar, I'm sure you would do an excellent job with a Weathertop fic in Aragorn's POV! :) Let me know if you ever do write one, I promise I'll R/R!
Sorry it took me so long to get the next chapter uploaded (I know I said that it would be up by yesterday afternoon…), I've just got a crazy schedule... :) thanks for your patience!
And as always, please R/R… constructive criticism and ideas are of course, always welcome! :)
Chapter IV
A sickening smell roused Frodo from his restless sleep. He opened one eye slowly, and quickly shut it. The bright early-morning sunlight made his head throb more than ever, and the warmth of day did nothing to ease the pain and chill within him. Frodo felt a warm, work-worn hand stroking back the curls from his forehead. "Shh… Mister Frodo. It's your dear Sam, he's here now." Frodo nodded weakly, acknowledging Sam's presence. "Now Mister Frodo, you remember what Strider said about you takin' your liquids. I've brought you some nice cool water, and a cup of fresh mushroom soup, the gaffers recipe- and one of your favorites." Frodo recoiled at the thought of eating anything. He knew Sam was right though. Strider had told him to drink as much as he could. The smell of the soup was sickening to Frodo. Sam advanced with the steaming cup of soup, and Frodo shook his head and clenched his mouth shut. "Please Mister Frodo, you must eat," Sam began, but it was too late. With a groan, Frodo rolled onto his side and began heaving. He clutched his right arm around his middle, and closed his eyes tightly. Tears streamed down Frodo's cheeks as the pain in his side escalated with each dry-heave that seized him.
After what seemed like hours of torture to Frodo, the heaving finally diminished into sobs, and eventually back down to the shallow gasps of his breathing. Frodo opened his eyes a little, and through the mist he could see that what little he had had in his stomach, was now lying on the ground in front of him. Frodo tried to push himself over onto his back, but gasped as stabs of icy pain tore through his small body once again.
Sam sat next to his Master, his eyes wide with fear. "Mister Frodo," Sam whispered as he rubbed Frodo's cold right hand soothingly, "what have I done to you?" The long forgotten cup of soup and glass of water lay overturned on the grass. Frodo squeezed Sam's hand lightly and said, "Dearest Sam 'tis no fault of yours. I am sorry that I lost myself just now." Frodo could feel tears beginning to slide down his icy cheeks, he shuddered as he swallowed and realized how raw his throat felt. "Sam… thank you for being here for me. It's so awful, this darkness, the cold and stabbing pain. It gives me no rest, Sam. I'm so weary of it, everything I do causes me such great pain and effort." Frodo paused, "even just breathing, and speaking. I don't know how much longer I can bear this." he sighed shakily. Tears had begun to well up in Sams' eyes. He wished now more than ever that he himself had been able to take the blow of the Morgul knife, rather than his poor Master. Sam couldn't find any words of encouragement for his Master, so he continued to rub Frodo's hand in an attempt to comfort him, and perhaps warm him a little.
At length Sam spoke, "Master, please let me fetch Strider, he will bring Athelas water to bathe your shoulder, and some fresh water for you to drink." Frodo didn't answer, he had already begun to slip back into an unconscious state. Sam got to his feet, and went to find Strider. He muttered under his breath as he walked along, "Mister Frodo don't know what's good for him. Always been stubborn, he has." Sam could feel hot tears beginning to sting his face once more.
Aragorn stood on a hill at the edge of camp gazing down bitterly at the River Hoarwell, watching the mid-morning sunlight dance happily off of the Rivers' surface. They needed to get to Rivendell as quickly as possible for Frodo's sake. He wasn't going to last much longer, if his current condition was anything to go by. Every day they lost was one more day that Frodo had to suffer, and one more day for the wound to work its dark magic on the poor ring-bearer. If only there were a quicker way across the river, or a way that would not force them back onto the road.
"Mister Strider?" Sam interrupted Aragorn's thoughts. "Could you fix up some fresh Athelas water for my Master? He's right sick this mornin' getting worse I fear." Aragorn picked up on the anxious tone in Sam's voice and regarded the hobbit gravely, wondering exactly what Samwise meant. But for the moment Aragorn decided to keep his questions to himself. It would be better if he could assess Frodo's condition for himself, first. "Yes of course Samwise, set some water to boil while I get the Athelas."
When the Ranger returned with the Athelas leaves, he called Sam over to him, "Sam, gather the others and tell them to start packing up camp. We're leaving before noon; we must reach the Last Bridge before tomorrow evening.
TBC….
A/N: I hope that one was a little longer than the others have been. :) Hopefully, if the writer's block goes away, I should have another chapter up by this evening.
A/N: I decided last night that whatever 'mini-plots' that I can think up to add to this fic won't affect the outcome of what I originally decided to write about. What I mean by that is that there will still be Glorfindel, and Frodo will still be riding Asfaloth across the Ford, etc. I don't want to make the story so A/U that none of the stuff in the book happens. :) So, I don't know for sure what kind of twists I can weave into my fic… I have been thinking about it though, but I still haven't come up with much of anything. Writers block I guess. :( *sigh*
Moving along, Lotesse, I didn't know that the singular form of the word was ainu. :) I thought it was one of those words like 'sheep' and 'deer' where the spelling doesn't change in singular and plural (I don't know the technical term for it). But thanks for telling me! :) I've always thought that it was a pretty word. :) And Tathar, I'm sure you would do an excellent job with a Weathertop fic in Aragorn's POV! :) Let me know if you ever do write one, I promise I'll R/R!
Sorry it took me so long to get the next chapter uploaded (I know I said that it would be up by yesterday afternoon…), I've just got a crazy schedule... :) thanks for your patience!
And as always, please R/R… constructive criticism and ideas are of course, always welcome! :)
Chapter IV
A sickening smell roused Frodo from his restless sleep. He opened one eye slowly, and quickly shut it. The bright early-morning sunlight made his head throb more than ever, and the warmth of day did nothing to ease the pain and chill within him. Frodo felt a warm, work-worn hand stroking back the curls from his forehead. "Shh… Mister Frodo. It's your dear Sam, he's here now." Frodo nodded weakly, acknowledging Sam's presence. "Now Mister Frodo, you remember what Strider said about you takin' your liquids. I've brought you some nice cool water, and a cup of fresh mushroom soup, the gaffers recipe- and one of your favorites." Frodo recoiled at the thought of eating anything. He knew Sam was right though. Strider had told him to drink as much as he could. The smell of the soup was sickening to Frodo. Sam advanced with the steaming cup of soup, and Frodo shook his head and clenched his mouth shut. "Please Mister Frodo, you must eat," Sam began, but it was too late. With a groan, Frodo rolled onto his side and began heaving. He clutched his right arm around his middle, and closed his eyes tightly. Tears streamed down Frodo's cheeks as the pain in his side escalated with each dry-heave that seized him.
After what seemed like hours of torture to Frodo, the heaving finally diminished into sobs, and eventually back down to the shallow gasps of his breathing. Frodo opened his eyes a little, and through the mist he could see that what little he had had in his stomach, was now lying on the ground in front of him. Frodo tried to push himself over onto his back, but gasped as stabs of icy pain tore through his small body once again.
Sam sat next to his Master, his eyes wide with fear. "Mister Frodo," Sam whispered as he rubbed Frodo's cold right hand soothingly, "what have I done to you?" The long forgotten cup of soup and glass of water lay overturned on the grass. Frodo squeezed Sam's hand lightly and said, "Dearest Sam 'tis no fault of yours. I am sorry that I lost myself just now." Frodo could feel tears beginning to slide down his icy cheeks, he shuddered as he swallowed and realized how raw his throat felt. "Sam… thank you for being here for me. It's so awful, this darkness, the cold and stabbing pain. It gives me no rest, Sam. I'm so weary of it, everything I do causes me such great pain and effort." Frodo paused, "even just breathing, and speaking. I don't know how much longer I can bear this." he sighed shakily. Tears had begun to well up in Sams' eyes. He wished now more than ever that he himself had been able to take the blow of the Morgul knife, rather than his poor Master. Sam couldn't find any words of encouragement for his Master, so he continued to rub Frodo's hand in an attempt to comfort him, and perhaps warm him a little.
At length Sam spoke, "Master, please let me fetch Strider, he will bring Athelas water to bathe your shoulder, and some fresh water for you to drink." Frodo didn't answer, he had already begun to slip back into an unconscious state. Sam got to his feet, and went to find Strider. He muttered under his breath as he walked along, "Mister Frodo don't know what's good for him. Always been stubborn, he has." Sam could feel hot tears beginning to sting his face once more.
Aragorn stood on a hill at the edge of camp gazing down bitterly at the River Hoarwell, watching the mid-morning sunlight dance happily off of the Rivers' surface. They needed to get to Rivendell as quickly as possible for Frodo's sake. He wasn't going to last much longer, if his current condition was anything to go by. Every day they lost was one more day that Frodo had to suffer, and one more day for the wound to work its dark magic on the poor ring-bearer. If only there were a quicker way across the river, or a way that would not force them back onto the road.
"Mister Strider?" Sam interrupted Aragorn's thoughts. "Could you fix up some fresh Athelas water for my Master? He's right sick this mornin' getting worse I fear." Aragorn picked up on the anxious tone in Sam's voice and regarded the hobbit gravely, wondering exactly what Samwise meant. But for the moment Aragorn decided to keep his questions to himself. It would be better if he could assess Frodo's condition for himself, first. "Yes of course Samwise, set some water to boil while I get the Athelas."
When the Ranger returned with the Athelas leaves, he called Sam over to him, "Sam, gather the others and tell them to start packing up camp. We're leaving before noon; we must reach the Last Bridge before tomorrow evening.
TBC….
A/N: I hope that one was a little longer than the others have been. :) Hopefully, if the writer's block goes away, I should have another chapter up by this evening.