A/N: LillyBaggins, thank you so much for taking time to read my fic and
give me some pointers! I'm so happy that you're enjoying it. :) I see what
you mean about the "Hang in there." idiom, I try to be careful not to
include things such as that, but I guess I must have missed that one. I
also spent some time with the thesaurus; hopefully it will make a
difference in this chapter. I promise to cut out some of the "running to
Frodo's side" stuff. :) I don't want to cut all of it out though, because I
hate to see him suffering and no one comes to help. :( But I agree that
too much is no good either. :)
Arien, I think I'm growing more comfortable with it too. It is a lot easier to write now than it was on the first few chapters. :)
And I thank *all* of you who have reviewed! It means so much to me. :) You guys are great! Sorry it took me so long to get this chapter up, I just seem to stay so busy. *Sigh* I guess it's better to be busy than have nothing to do at all! :)
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Chapter VIII
Frodo woke with a start, nearly falling from Bill's saddle. "Steady now Frodo! Careful, or you'll fall and take me down with you!" Pippin exclaimed, half surprised, and half relieved to see that his cousin was finally stirring.
Frodo glanced all about him, trying to recall what had happened earlier- and where he was now. He remembered toppling from Bill… and then Aragorn and Sam were standing over him, though he couldn't remember why. His shoulder was very painful; it felt as though it had been crushed beneath a fallen tree. Aragorn was cleaning it carefully with a strip of cloth soaked in Athelas water… and then Frodo had lost consciousness.
The ring-bearer allowed his weary head to fall into his hands. His head ached. He wanted to escape the bright light of day; he wanted to escape this painful existence that had become his reality. He wished Bilbo had been there with him, Bilbo would have comforted and reassured him. Frodo admonished himself for being so immature and selfish- he was a grown hobbit… and Bilbo was very old… "*I* ought to be the one taking care of *him*." Frodo thought morosely. He groaned as he felt Bill misstep, jarring his wounded shoulder slightly.
Frodo jumped as a warm hand clasped his right shoulder, rubbing it gingerly. "Where… are we? What time is it?" Frodo muttered wearily, "Have we… much further to go before we reach Rivendell?" Pippin swallowed hard, hearing the pain and anxiety in his cousins' voice, knowing that he could not give Frodo the answers he wanted to hear. "I'm not certain of where we are, Strider says that we are still at least three days out from Rivendell. It is early evening now; you have been passing in and out of awareness all day. How are you feeling, my beloved cousin?" Pippin finished, his heart filled with pity and despair as he looked upon the slumped form of his languid cousin.
Frodo couldn't remember being conscious at all during the day. He thought for a moment, deciding how open he wanted to be with his cousin, "I- I'm so cold, Pippin, and it's so dark. I cannot see very-" Frodo was cut off as a cry of anguish escaped his lips, Bill had stepped on another rock. The path ahead of them was strewn with rocks as far as Frodo could see. The ring- bearer rubbed his stinging eyes, trying to clear the ever-thickening mist that obscured his vision. "I- I feel so completely wretched, Pippin." Frodo finished softly, as he felt his stomach churning and twisting. He wrapped his uninjured arm around his belly. The irregular, jerking movements of Bill's path-picking was starting to get to him.
Pippin and Frodo rode on in silence; save for Bill's occasional snort and the swooshing of the pony's tail. Frodo, who had been focusing on not becoming ill and losing his breakfast, leaned over onto Bill's strong neck trying to steady himself as waves of nausea and dizziness suddenly began to assail him. "Frodo?" Pippin questioned, apprehension in his voice, "You look as though you're going to be sick. Should I get Strider?" Frodo shook his head no, and turned his face away, closing his eyes tightly. He tried to be brave and not let anyone know how much pain he was in; he was such a burden to them all as it was. He oughtn't worry them more than he already had. "I've already been enough of a nuisance today. I'll not let my weak stomach get the better of me and allow it to halt our progress!" Frodo decided. Suddenly a stabbing pain shot through Frodo's head, and his vision blurred. He gave a cry and started sliding from Bill's back…
Pippin held Frodo's head up, stroking the sweat soaked curls out of his cousins' eyes, as he lay on the ground retching. The younger hobbit offered a hand as the ring-bearer groped about for something to take hold of. Pippin nearly winced as Frodo's grip tightened. He was astonished at how strong the ailing hobbit's hold was.
Tears welled in Frodo's eyes, every heave felt as though it twisted the icy, sinister knives that tormented him. He squeezed the hand that was holding his own, trying to will the pain to go away. Frodo gulped for air between each painful spasm, trying to gain control over himself.
Pippin rubbed Frodo's back and spoke soothingly, trying to calm the poor hobbit. "Shh Frodo… Just try to calm down; it'll all be ended shortly. Easy now, cousin." Frodo could not hear Pippins's words. He felt naught but the pain, and saw only dim, murky light through his mist-shrouded vision.
At last, when the spell had passed, Pippin gently turned Frodo onto his back. The hobbit looked into his cousins' tear filled eyes, searching for any hint of recognition. There was none there… Frodo was not himself. The older hobbits eyes looked unseeingly at Pippin- almost through him. Pippin felt Frodo's sweat covered brow, he resisted the urge to pull away from the coldness of it. The older hobbits body started trembling violently from the cold that had suddenly begun to grow within it.
The very last thing Frodo saw was the foliage of the tree's that grew above the rock-strewn trail he was lying in. His eyes closed as the pain intensified and the cold ravaged his small body.
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A vicious roaring sound filled the air. Bitterly cold gusts of wind pounded anything and everything in their path; and tore at garments and flesh. Frodo opened his eyes and peered out into the gloom. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, and was astounded to find that his left arm was movable, and there was no ache lingering in his shoulder. "Where am I?" he wondered aloud, his voice was carried away by the wind. It howled and tore at his clothes persistently. "Hello!", Frodo cried frantically; panic was beginning to set in. "I suppose I have died, and this is what death is like." Frodo sighed, his breath caught in his throat as his eyes came into focus and he saw them all around him. Dark, winged shapes swirled around, stealing his breath, using the wind-gusts as invisible whips- tearing his clothes, bruising his fair skin, lashing out at him from every direction. They mocked Frodo in the Black Speech; he could understand their words- although he knew not what tongue they spoke in.
Frodo threw himself to the ground, trying to escape their dreadful gaze. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to forget their unsightly appearance. He curled into a ball, trying to evade their terrible whips. He covered his ears, trying to block out their malicious words. They spoke of what wickedness was to come, how he would fail a task that would be appointed to him, and they would torment him for all eternity. His journey would be in vain; all would come to ruin. He would be forever bound in the darkness of their lands, in the East.
Although Frodo did not know what they spoke of, he refused to let them tell him how things would or would not be. "Waste not your words on me, fell creatures! I shan't ever give in to you- or this darkness!" Just as the last word left his mouth, the wind ceased. Before Frodo could begin to speculate about what had happened, he doubled over in pain. It felt as though someone had just delivered him a swift kick in the side with a steel- toed boot.
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Frodo's eyes flew open, and he drew a shuddering breath. The hobbit panicked, wondering where he was, and what had happened to the others… He forced himself to calm down, as he realized that he had been positioned carefully beneath a heap of blankets. He could hear Sam's soft snores coming from another spot on the ground, not too far away from him. Frodo felt the blankets piled atop him, and he was glad of it. The blankets kept some of the chill out of his body, and warded away most of the chilly night air. He lay there quietly for a few moments; he could hear the peaceful night noises, the gentle evening breeze stirring the pine trees that enclosed the campsite. He could just barely make out a few points of light spread out among the dark, velvety background of the serene night sky… the stars. Frodo sighed- had it all been his imagination…? No. He remembered the events of the day as they came flooding back to him. It had been that dreadful darkness again… the Shadows had come to him. It hadn't been a dream at all. Frodo wondered how it was that he had remembered the encounter- they had never been like that before. They were always peaceful; all he could remember about them was the darkness, and the fact that he felt no pain.
He cringed in fear, thinking that they were surely hunting him at that very moment. How could he ever escape? The Shadows sensed that the company was drawing near Rivendell; they were planning to take him in the next few days. Frodo could feel it. They were coming to take back what was theirs.
The ring-bearer shifted uneasily under his blankets, he couldn't get comfortable. Frodo felt twinges of soreness returning to his injured shoulder. He whimpered in pain as he felt an unseen force trampling his mid- section once again. Frodo panicked, remembering it as the same feeling from earlier. His breathing became labored as the pain began to increase rapidly. Soon breathing became too painful, and Frodo gave in to the darkness that was closing in on him.
A/N: Thanks for reading! :) I hope to have the next chapter up in a day or so.
Arien, I think I'm growing more comfortable with it too. It is a lot easier to write now than it was on the first few chapters. :)
And I thank *all* of you who have reviewed! It means so much to me. :) You guys are great! Sorry it took me so long to get this chapter up, I just seem to stay so busy. *Sigh* I guess it's better to be busy than have nothing to do at all! :)
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Chapter VIII
Frodo woke with a start, nearly falling from Bill's saddle. "Steady now Frodo! Careful, or you'll fall and take me down with you!" Pippin exclaimed, half surprised, and half relieved to see that his cousin was finally stirring.
Frodo glanced all about him, trying to recall what had happened earlier- and where he was now. He remembered toppling from Bill… and then Aragorn and Sam were standing over him, though he couldn't remember why. His shoulder was very painful; it felt as though it had been crushed beneath a fallen tree. Aragorn was cleaning it carefully with a strip of cloth soaked in Athelas water… and then Frodo had lost consciousness.
The ring-bearer allowed his weary head to fall into his hands. His head ached. He wanted to escape the bright light of day; he wanted to escape this painful existence that had become his reality. He wished Bilbo had been there with him, Bilbo would have comforted and reassured him. Frodo admonished himself for being so immature and selfish- he was a grown hobbit… and Bilbo was very old… "*I* ought to be the one taking care of *him*." Frodo thought morosely. He groaned as he felt Bill misstep, jarring his wounded shoulder slightly.
Frodo jumped as a warm hand clasped his right shoulder, rubbing it gingerly. "Where… are we? What time is it?" Frodo muttered wearily, "Have we… much further to go before we reach Rivendell?" Pippin swallowed hard, hearing the pain and anxiety in his cousins' voice, knowing that he could not give Frodo the answers he wanted to hear. "I'm not certain of where we are, Strider says that we are still at least three days out from Rivendell. It is early evening now; you have been passing in and out of awareness all day. How are you feeling, my beloved cousin?" Pippin finished, his heart filled with pity and despair as he looked upon the slumped form of his languid cousin.
Frodo couldn't remember being conscious at all during the day. He thought for a moment, deciding how open he wanted to be with his cousin, "I- I'm so cold, Pippin, and it's so dark. I cannot see very-" Frodo was cut off as a cry of anguish escaped his lips, Bill had stepped on another rock. The path ahead of them was strewn with rocks as far as Frodo could see. The ring- bearer rubbed his stinging eyes, trying to clear the ever-thickening mist that obscured his vision. "I- I feel so completely wretched, Pippin." Frodo finished softly, as he felt his stomach churning and twisting. He wrapped his uninjured arm around his belly. The irregular, jerking movements of Bill's path-picking was starting to get to him.
Pippin and Frodo rode on in silence; save for Bill's occasional snort and the swooshing of the pony's tail. Frodo, who had been focusing on not becoming ill and losing his breakfast, leaned over onto Bill's strong neck trying to steady himself as waves of nausea and dizziness suddenly began to assail him. "Frodo?" Pippin questioned, apprehension in his voice, "You look as though you're going to be sick. Should I get Strider?" Frodo shook his head no, and turned his face away, closing his eyes tightly. He tried to be brave and not let anyone know how much pain he was in; he was such a burden to them all as it was. He oughtn't worry them more than he already had. "I've already been enough of a nuisance today. I'll not let my weak stomach get the better of me and allow it to halt our progress!" Frodo decided. Suddenly a stabbing pain shot through Frodo's head, and his vision blurred. He gave a cry and started sliding from Bill's back…
Pippin held Frodo's head up, stroking the sweat soaked curls out of his cousins' eyes, as he lay on the ground retching. The younger hobbit offered a hand as the ring-bearer groped about for something to take hold of. Pippin nearly winced as Frodo's grip tightened. He was astonished at how strong the ailing hobbit's hold was.
Tears welled in Frodo's eyes, every heave felt as though it twisted the icy, sinister knives that tormented him. He squeezed the hand that was holding his own, trying to will the pain to go away. Frodo gulped for air between each painful spasm, trying to gain control over himself.
Pippin rubbed Frodo's back and spoke soothingly, trying to calm the poor hobbit. "Shh Frodo… Just try to calm down; it'll all be ended shortly. Easy now, cousin." Frodo could not hear Pippins's words. He felt naught but the pain, and saw only dim, murky light through his mist-shrouded vision.
At last, when the spell had passed, Pippin gently turned Frodo onto his back. The hobbit looked into his cousins' tear filled eyes, searching for any hint of recognition. There was none there… Frodo was not himself. The older hobbits eyes looked unseeingly at Pippin- almost through him. Pippin felt Frodo's sweat covered brow, he resisted the urge to pull away from the coldness of it. The older hobbits body started trembling violently from the cold that had suddenly begun to grow within it.
The very last thing Frodo saw was the foliage of the tree's that grew above the rock-strewn trail he was lying in. His eyes closed as the pain intensified and the cold ravaged his small body.
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A vicious roaring sound filled the air. Bitterly cold gusts of wind pounded anything and everything in their path; and tore at garments and flesh. Frodo opened his eyes and peered out into the gloom. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, and was astounded to find that his left arm was movable, and there was no ache lingering in his shoulder. "Where am I?" he wondered aloud, his voice was carried away by the wind. It howled and tore at his clothes persistently. "Hello!", Frodo cried frantically; panic was beginning to set in. "I suppose I have died, and this is what death is like." Frodo sighed, his breath caught in his throat as his eyes came into focus and he saw them all around him. Dark, winged shapes swirled around, stealing his breath, using the wind-gusts as invisible whips- tearing his clothes, bruising his fair skin, lashing out at him from every direction. They mocked Frodo in the Black Speech; he could understand their words- although he knew not what tongue they spoke in.
Frodo threw himself to the ground, trying to escape their dreadful gaze. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to forget their unsightly appearance. He curled into a ball, trying to evade their terrible whips. He covered his ears, trying to block out their malicious words. They spoke of what wickedness was to come, how he would fail a task that would be appointed to him, and they would torment him for all eternity. His journey would be in vain; all would come to ruin. He would be forever bound in the darkness of their lands, in the East.
Although Frodo did not know what they spoke of, he refused to let them tell him how things would or would not be. "Waste not your words on me, fell creatures! I shan't ever give in to you- or this darkness!" Just as the last word left his mouth, the wind ceased. Before Frodo could begin to speculate about what had happened, he doubled over in pain. It felt as though someone had just delivered him a swift kick in the side with a steel- toed boot.
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Frodo's eyes flew open, and he drew a shuddering breath. The hobbit panicked, wondering where he was, and what had happened to the others… He forced himself to calm down, as he realized that he had been positioned carefully beneath a heap of blankets. He could hear Sam's soft snores coming from another spot on the ground, not too far away from him. Frodo felt the blankets piled atop him, and he was glad of it. The blankets kept some of the chill out of his body, and warded away most of the chilly night air. He lay there quietly for a few moments; he could hear the peaceful night noises, the gentle evening breeze stirring the pine trees that enclosed the campsite. He could just barely make out a few points of light spread out among the dark, velvety background of the serene night sky… the stars. Frodo sighed- had it all been his imagination…? No. He remembered the events of the day as they came flooding back to him. It had been that dreadful darkness again… the Shadows had come to him. It hadn't been a dream at all. Frodo wondered how it was that he had remembered the encounter- they had never been like that before. They were always peaceful; all he could remember about them was the darkness, and the fact that he felt no pain.
He cringed in fear, thinking that they were surely hunting him at that very moment. How could he ever escape? The Shadows sensed that the company was drawing near Rivendell; they were planning to take him in the next few days. Frodo could feel it. They were coming to take back what was theirs.
The ring-bearer shifted uneasily under his blankets, he couldn't get comfortable. Frodo felt twinges of soreness returning to his injured shoulder. He whimpered in pain as he felt an unseen force trampling his mid- section once again. Frodo panicked, remembering it as the same feeling from earlier. His breathing became labored as the pain began to increase rapidly. Soon breathing became too painful, and Frodo gave in to the darkness that was closing in on him.
A/N: Thanks for reading! :) I hope to have the next chapter up in a day or so.