Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Middle-Earth. I don't even own my
computer! All characters, locations, etc. belong to the Tolkien Estate.
A/N: Tangelian Proudfoot, I am honored that my story has found a place among your favorites! :)
Chapter V
Frodo lay awake on his bedroll inside the shallow cave where the company had made camp for the night. They were two days into this unwelcoming country, and the weather had taken a turn for the worse. The driving rain and cold air had caused Frodo's pain to double, and sleep would not come to the weary ring-bearer.
Frodo was deep in thought, watching the pale glow of the dying campfire as it reflected off of the moisture-streaked walls of stone. A stray gust of wind swept through the camp, bringing with it sheets of cold rain. Frodo turned his head away from the wind; chills ran down his spine as a familiar dreaded feeling crept over him. He had first felt it nigh on four nights ago, right after his nightmare about the Eye and Bag End. The feeling had been returning again and again, off and on, ever since that night. He vaguely remembered Strider speaking softly to him, and saying that it was just a hallucination, but it was not so. Frodo felt the Shadows; he knew that he was not imagining things. It came without warning, the dark Shadows began to creep upon him, and Frodo could feel them moving all around him. They circled around and around until they had him surrounded. Terror filled Frodo's heart, and froze his voice in his throat. He tried to cry out, it felt as though these shadows were starting at his feet, and moving up his body slowly and agonizingly, inch by inch, freezing everything in their path- stabbing him relentlessly with their foul blades. Then a horrible darkness came over him, and he could remember nothing after that… He knew not how long these fits lasted, but someone was always by his side when he finally regained consciousness. These spells left him drained of all energy, and all desire for everything that creatures of light required for survival, they re-ignited the pain in his wound- as if it had just been dealt. Each time Frodo came to himself, he was surprised to be alive, although he did not know how many more of these horrible fits he could endure before finally giving in to the darkness. They were becoming more frequent with each passing day.
Frodo opened his mouth in a silent gasp, eyes wide with fear and pain, just as an icy grip froze his throat. Then the darkness came once again…
Aragorn sat on the other side of camp, recalling the scene he had witnessed three days earlier. He had left Sam, and gone to retrieve a few Athelas leaves out of his pack. On his way back, he was shocked to see Frodo sitting rigidly upright, facing East. The air had stilled just then, and Aragorn could feel the presence of a great Shadow within their camp. Then the Rangers' thoughts had drifted back to Sam's comment from earlier that morning, "…he's right sick this mornin', getting worse I fear." At the time Aragorn couldn't fathom why Sam had said such a thing. Frodo hadn't sat up willingly, on his own, in days. How could that be seen as a turn for the worse? But, Aragorn had felt the darkness all about him, soaking up all that was good and light. One fading will, battling against many that were so much stronger. Why had the others not felt it? Perhaps because he had dwelt long in the House of Elrond, and was also of Numenorean descent, maybe his senses were more tuned in to such things.
What perplexed Aragorn most of all, was how he and Sam had gone to Frodo minutes later with the Athelas water, and found him collapsed on the ground gasping for breath- tears staining his pale face. The evil that lay within their camp that day, coupled with Frodo's strange behavior, gave Aragorn inklings as to what may be going on. But the Ranger chose not to entertain such dark thoughts. Aragorn then remembered what Frodo had said in his apparent delirium. That night when they camped near the River Hoarwell, he had heard the sounds of a struggle, and rushed to Frodo's side, "Strider… he was after me. He tried to take the Ring. He attacked me… from the shadows, and I was trying to escape…" Maybe there was more to it than Aragorn had originally thought.
Suddenly, Aragorn looked away from the fire as he felt the Shadow beginning to fill their camp- the darkness was once again trying to overcome the light.
TBC…
A/N: I got over the writers block finally! :) This chapter was kind of short; I've got to work on making them longer… Hopefully I will have another one up sometime between tomorrow afternoon and evening. :) Thanks for reading!
A/N: Tangelian Proudfoot, I am honored that my story has found a place among your favorites! :)
Chapter V
Frodo lay awake on his bedroll inside the shallow cave where the company had made camp for the night. They were two days into this unwelcoming country, and the weather had taken a turn for the worse. The driving rain and cold air had caused Frodo's pain to double, and sleep would not come to the weary ring-bearer.
Frodo was deep in thought, watching the pale glow of the dying campfire as it reflected off of the moisture-streaked walls of stone. A stray gust of wind swept through the camp, bringing with it sheets of cold rain. Frodo turned his head away from the wind; chills ran down his spine as a familiar dreaded feeling crept over him. He had first felt it nigh on four nights ago, right after his nightmare about the Eye and Bag End. The feeling had been returning again and again, off and on, ever since that night. He vaguely remembered Strider speaking softly to him, and saying that it was just a hallucination, but it was not so. Frodo felt the Shadows; he knew that he was not imagining things. It came without warning, the dark Shadows began to creep upon him, and Frodo could feel them moving all around him. They circled around and around until they had him surrounded. Terror filled Frodo's heart, and froze his voice in his throat. He tried to cry out, it felt as though these shadows were starting at his feet, and moving up his body slowly and agonizingly, inch by inch, freezing everything in their path- stabbing him relentlessly with their foul blades. Then a horrible darkness came over him, and he could remember nothing after that… He knew not how long these fits lasted, but someone was always by his side when he finally regained consciousness. These spells left him drained of all energy, and all desire for everything that creatures of light required for survival, they re-ignited the pain in his wound- as if it had just been dealt. Each time Frodo came to himself, he was surprised to be alive, although he did not know how many more of these horrible fits he could endure before finally giving in to the darkness. They were becoming more frequent with each passing day.
Frodo opened his mouth in a silent gasp, eyes wide with fear and pain, just as an icy grip froze his throat. Then the darkness came once again…
Aragorn sat on the other side of camp, recalling the scene he had witnessed three days earlier. He had left Sam, and gone to retrieve a few Athelas leaves out of his pack. On his way back, he was shocked to see Frodo sitting rigidly upright, facing East. The air had stilled just then, and Aragorn could feel the presence of a great Shadow within their camp. Then the Rangers' thoughts had drifted back to Sam's comment from earlier that morning, "…he's right sick this mornin', getting worse I fear." At the time Aragorn couldn't fathom why Sam had said such a thing. Frodo hadn't sat up willingly, on his own, in days. How could that be seen as a turn for the worse? But, Aragorn had felt the darkness all about him, soaking up all that was good and light. One fading will, battling against many that were so much stronger. Why had the others not felt it? Perhaps because he had dwelt long in the House of Elrond, and was also of Numenorean descent, maybe his senses were more tuned in to such things.
What perplexed Aragorn most of all, was how he and Sam had gone to Frodo minutes later with the Athelas water, and found him collapsed on the ground gasping for breath- tears staining his pale face. The evil that lay within their camp that day, coupled with Frodo's strange behavior, gave Aragorn inklings as to what may be going on. But the Ranger chose not to entertain such dark thoughts. Aragorn then remembered what Frodo had said in his apparent delirium. That night when they camped near the River Hoarwell, he had heard the sounds of a struggle, and rushed to Frodo's side, "Strider… he was after me. He tried to take the Ring. He attacked me… from the shadows, and I was trying to escape…" Maybe there was more to it than Aragorn had originally thought.
Suddenly, Aragorn looked away from the fire as he felt the Shadow beginning to fill their camp- the darkness was once again trying to overcome the light.
TBC…
A/N: I got over the writers block finally! :) This chapter was kind of short; I've got to work on making them longer… Hopefully I will have another one up sometime between tomorrow afternoon and evening. :) Thanks for reading!