Disclaimer: As usual, I own nothing. :)
A/N: A huge thank you to *everyone* who reviewed! :)
There is supposed to be some Elvish in this chapter, but since I don't know Elvish (and I don't want to make a fool of myself trying to use it here) I'm going to put *'s around parts where it's being spoken, and just use English. :)
Chapter X
Aragorns fears proved true as the day wore on. The shadows of evening lengthened, stretching out across the sloping hills, transforming the familiar sight of trees and rocks into threatening shapes in the twilight. The journey had continued, uneventful, and they were making good progress-, which pleased the Ranger. But Frodo was fading fast- as fast as the sun was setting. Once they resumed their journey after luncheon, he had swiftly grown very weary, and had been in a state of unconsciousness most of the afternoon. They were drawing near the road, and Aragorn was anxious to reach it. After they arrived at the road, it would be a straighter shot to Rivendell, and they would be able to pick up much needed speed.
Aragorn looked back at the hobbits behind him, his eyes resting on young Pippin, he could see all their shoulders sagging and hear their heavy steps. They hadn't had a break since the mid-day meal, and Aragorn hadn't mentioned the prospect of one in the near future. He was reminded of their need for haste when he looked upon Frodo's shivering pale form, his eyes wide- yet unseeing. If they stopped now, then they may not get to Rivendell in time.
Frodo sat limp upon Bill, half in a dream. The ache that had originated in his sides, the night before, had now spread up into and throughout his chest, meeting the throbbing in his wounded shoulder, making it almost impossible for the hobbit to breathe. His limbs felt heavy and were full of pain, the same that had spread from his middle. The mist before Frodo's eyes had deepened and become thicker, he could hardly see through it to the faces of his companions. Every so often, the others would hear him whimper in pain if he breathed too deeply, or shifted in Bill's saddle.
Merry sat behind Frodo, clasping his dear friend securely around the waist- not hard enough to cause the older hobbit pain- but just enough to prevent him from falling. Frodo had slumped against Merry's chest, trying to find a position that hurt him the least.
"Shh, Frodo… Just try to rest now. Don't worry about anything. You're going to be all right… it's not much further now." Merry cooed, as he stroked back Frodo's sweat soaked curls from the pale, freezing forehead. Although Merry himself was distraught about the whole situation, he found strength for his dear friend… he only hoped that he had spoken true when he said that Frodo would be all right. "Can you hear me Frodo?" Frodo nodded slightly and mumbled sounds that Merry discerned as something akin to "yes".
Sam and Pippin walked along on either side of the pony; there was nothing else left for them to do- just get to Rivendell as fast as their feet could carry them. From time to time Sam would reach up and take one of his masters cold, trembling hands in his own, in an effort to warm it. Every now and then Frodo would squeeze weakly in response, which instilled hope in Sam's devoted heart.
"My poor Mister Frodo," Sam sighed, as tears ran down his grimy cheeks. "Please be all right, don't leave your dear Sam. Oh, Master… how I wish you were well again, and we were back home, safe in the Shire…" Sam finished quietly, rubbing his Master's hand soothingly with his own. Frodo cried out, tears stinging his tired eyes, as Bill took another heavy step, jostling him in the saddle. The pony was as weary as the hobbits. "Sam…" Frodo whispered, pausing to clear his throat, "Sam, do not worry," he smiled weakly at his servant, "It will be all right, Sam. I'm sure of it." The younger hobbit smiled back up at his Master as Frodo gave his hand a light squeeze of encouragement.
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The night noises had begun to ring out into the darkness all around them; Aragorn halted the company at the edge of the road. He paused at length, listening for any sound of a horses hooves beating upon the trampled earth. "Come, the road is clear as far as I am able to tell. We must make haste now, while there is still time." The hobbits complied, and fell in step behind him. Bill was now traveling at a brisk walk, with Merry and Frodo riding atop his back.
They had not been long on the road when Aragorn halted them once more, "Shh!" he hissed, "There is someone ahead on the road." The hobbits soon heard the dreaded sound of hoof-beats, too. Aragorn stealthily led Bill away from the road. Pippin and Sam quickly and quietly followed suite.
The steady, light clip-clop of hooves grew closer as the moments passed. The only other sound that could be heard among the company was Frodo's raspy, shallow breathing, and Sam's occasional gentle, shushing of his Master. "It doesn't sound like a Black Riders' horse," Pippin commented hopefully. Sam nodded in agreement, "Yes, Master Pippin, I believe the beat of its hooves sounds far to fair to be any such foul creature's steed." He whispered.
Aragorn glanced up at the injured ring-bearer; his eyes were closed, head bowed. If the Ranger hadn't known better, he would almost have believed that the hobbit was sleeping, were it not for the constant trembling of his small frame. He reached up, putting the back of his large warm hand against Frodo's cheek. Aragorn winced inwardly at the coldness of it. Frodo leaned into his touch, attempting to absorb as much of the warmth as he could. Aragorn sighed, realizing how frail- yet strong, this small creature was, to have endured thus far. "Such a brave little thing, this hobbit is." Aragorn thought aloud.
The horse was drawing nearer; Aragorn sank down into the bushes with the hobbits, and waited for the traveler to come. The Ranger lowered his head to the ground listening, but couldn't help allowing a smile to spread across his face as he did so. He leapt out of the bushes, much to the dismay of the hobbits. *Aragorn, my friend! *, A clear, musical voice called from the road. Aragorn glanced back at the hobbits, signaling that it was safe to leave the shelter of the bushes. "This," the Ranger declared, "Is Glorfindel, of the house of Elrond."
Frodo opened and shut his eyes several times, trying to focus on the bright, yet gentle, light that was standing before him. A tall elf, dressed in finely made, long, flowing robes. His golden hair gleamed like dew- soaked grass reflecting the light of the sun on a warm summer morning.
"I'm pleased to finally meet you, Master Frodo," Glorfindel smiled, speaking in the Common Speech, "I've been searching for your company for nine days. Lord Elrond sent scouts out from Rivendell, when he first learned of your predicament from some of our kinsmen journeying near your lands." The elf finished.
Frodo smiled faintly, acknowledging the elf's presence, and taking in what he had just said.
Glorfindel spoke with Aragorn of the current location of the Ring Wraiths. "There are five behind you. Whither the other four are, I do not know. I fear that they will soon pick up your path on the road, and give chase." He warned, "We must hasten on our way down the road- we shall be fortunate if we do not arrive to find the Ford held against us!" Glorfindel finished, a tone of apprehensiveness evident in his pleasant-sounding voice.
Frodo raised his head slightly, and opened his eyes a little. It was almost completely dark now, he thought, though he could not really tell through the thick mist that shrouded his vision. He could see very little, but felt Sam's hand holding his own, and was comforted by it.
Merry shot an anxious glance at Sam, as he felt Frodo's body tense against his own, and the ring-bearer sucked in a sharp breathe. Sam resisted pulling away from Frodo, as the grip on his hand tightened painfully.
"Sam," Merry questioned, his voice quavering, "What's happening?" Frodo whimpered as an icy grip froze his battered body again; and then was silent. Sam had no time to answer, as Frodo began to slide off of Bill's back. Merry eased Frodo into Sam's embrace, and Sam lowered his Master to gently to the ground.
Frodo began thrashing about, trying to break free from Sam's restraint. He called out in a tongue that was unknown to Sam, but feared by the elf.
Glorfindel hurried to Sam's side, kneeling beside him, helping to contain the delirious hobbit. Aragorn quickly recounted the events from Weathertop to present. He explained the spells that had been coming over Frodo, in which the Shadows hurled him into the Wraith world, and possessed his body. Aragorn then produced the hilt of the blade that had smote the ring-bearer, explaining how the knife blade itself had melted when sunlight hit it.
Glorfindel looked grimly into Frodo's pale face, the hobbit cried out as his tiny features twisted in anguish while the Shadows continued to torture him within the darkness of their cruel world. The elf placed one hand over Frodo's wounded shoulder and quickly withdrew, as if burned by the evil that lay buried within it. Frodo's eyes fluttered open, and he struggled to sit up- but was forced back down by Glorfindel's gentle hands. Frodo closed his eyes tightly and lay there gasping for breath; the world was still spinning before his eyes. Sobs rose in his throat- and he didn't try to contain them. He was so tired of the pain that consumed him, the darkness that separated him from his friends, the unrelenting fear that hounded them day and night, and the feeling of being hunted constantly by the fell creatures seeking to destroy him and reclaim what he carried. Tears streamed down his cheeks as Glorfindel spoke quietly to him- words of hope and encouragement. Frodo could understand little of the language, but the words calmed him and the mists before his eyes thinned a little as the elf spoke.
"I believe," Aragorn stated "That perhaps a short rest will do us all more good than continuing to hurry along the road in our current state of weariness." The hobbits agreed heartily. They had been ready for sleep hours ago, and were pleased that the opportunity had finally presented itself. They all spread out their bedrolls, and Sam curled up next to his Master. They were all asleep within minutes, forgetting their hunger and thirst. Frodo lay unconscious, drained of all energy from his most recent battle with the Shadows and the Wraith world.
Aragorn and Glorfindel talked quietly, long into the night, deciding what should be done the next day. There was no doubt that they must to reach Rivendell hastily; they just hoped with all their hearts that Frodo would last long enough.
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The sun was well up into the morning sky when an insistent Aragorn roused the company from sleep.
"Easy now, Mister Frodo," Frodo heard Sam's voice speaking softly to him; smoothing back his dark curls. Frodo groaned as he was lifted swiftly from the ground, and onto the back of Asfaloth, Glorfindel's white stallion.
Upon inspection of the ailing hobbit Glorfindel spoke in hushed tones, *Come Aragorn, we must hurry. There is nothing I can do for him now. We must reach Elrond's house as soon as is possible. I fear that the hobbit has very little time left. *
None of the others needed any further urging, though their legs and feet ached and their stomachs were demanding food. Glorfindel passed them a small flask, and instructed each to take a sip of the clear liquid inside. It had no taste, but filled their stomachs remarkably well, much to Pippin's surprise.
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A/N: I hope to have the next chapter up in a few more days; it will be the last one before they reach Rivendell. I may post two at the same time, if the next one is too short. :) Thanks for reading!
A/N: A huge thank you to *everyone* who reviewed! :)
There is supposed to be some Elvish in this chapter, but since I don't know Elvish (and I don't want to make a fool of myself trying to use it here) I'm going to put *'s around parts where it's being spoken, and just use English. :)
Chapter X
Aragorns fears proved true as the day wore on. The shadows of evening lengthened, stretching out across the sloping hills, transforming the familiar sight of trees and rocks into threatening shapes in the twilight. The journey had continued, uneventful, and they were making good progress-, which pleased the Ranger. But Frodo was fading fast- as fast as the sun was setting. Once they resumed their journey after luncheon, he had swiftly grown very weary, and had been in a state of unconsciousness most of the afternoon. They were drawing near the road, and Aragorn was anxious to reach it. After they arrived at the road, it would be a straighter shot to Rivendell, and they would be able to pick up much needed speed.
Aragorn looked back at the hobbits behind him, his eyes resting on young Pippin, he could see all their shoulders sagging and hear their heavy steps. They hadn't had a break since the mid-day meal, and Aragorn hadn't mentioned the prospect of one in the near future. He was reminded of their need for haste when he looked upon Frodo's shivering pale form, his eyes wide- yet unseeing. If they stopped now, then they may not get to Rivendell in time.
Frodo sat limp upon Bill, half in a dream. The ache that had originated in his sides, the night before, had now spread up into and throughout his chest, meeting the throbbing in his wounded shoulder, making it almost impossible for the hobbit to breathe. His limbs felt heavy and were full of pain, the same that had spread from his middle. The mist before Frodo's eyes had deepened and become thicker, he could hardly see through it to the faces of his companions. Every so often, the others would hear him whimper in pain if he breathed too deeply, or shifted in Bill's saddle.
Merry sat behind Frodo, clasping his dear friend securely around the waist- not hard enough to cause the older hobbit pain- but just enough to prevent him from falling. Frodo had slumped against Merry's chest, trying to find a position that hurt him the least.
"Shh, Frodo… Just try to rest now. Don't worry about anything. You're going to be all right… it's not much further now." Merry cooed, as he stroked back Frodo's sweat soaked curls from the pale, freezing forehead. Although Merry himself was distraught about the whole situation, he found strength for his dear friend… he only hoped that he had spoken true when he said that Frodo would be all right. "Can you hear me Frodo?" Frodo nodded slightly and mumbled sounds that Merry discerned as something akin to "yes".
Sam and Pippin walked along on either side of the pony; there was nothing else left for them to do- just get to Rivendell as fast as their feet could carry them. From time to time Sam would reach up and take one of his masters cold, trembling hands in his own, in an effort to warm it. Every now and then Frodo would squeeze weakly in response, which instilled hope in Sam's devoted heart.
"My poor Mister Frodo," Sam sighed, as tears ran down his grimy cheeks. "Please be all right, don't leave your dear Sam. Oh, Master… how I wish you were well again, and we were back home, safe in the Shire…" Sam finished quietly, rubbing his Master's hand soothingly with his own. Frodo cried out, tears stinging his tired eyes, as Bill took another heavy step, jostling him in the saddle. The pony was as weary as the hobbits. "Sam…" Frodo whispered, pausing to clear his throat, "Sam, do not worry," he smiled weakly at his servant, "It will be all right, Sam. I'm sure of it." The younger hobbit smiled back up at his Master as Frodo gave his hand a light squeeze of encouragement.
--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
The night noises had begun to ring out into the darkness all around them; Aragorn halted the company at the edge of the road. He paused at length, listening for any sound of a horses hooves beating upon the trampled earth. "Come, the road is clear as far as I am able to tell. We must make haste now, while there is still time." The hobbits complied, and fell in step behind him. Bill was now traveling at a brisk walk, with Merry and Frodo riding atop his back.
They had not been long on the road when Aragorn halted them once more, "Shh!" he hissed, "There is someone ahead on the road." The hobbits soon heard the dreaded sound of hoof-beats, too. Aragorn stealthily led Bill away from the road. Pippin and Sam quickly and quietly followed suite.
The steady, light clip-clop of hooves grew closer as the moments passed. The only other sound that could be heard among the company was Frodo's raspy, shallow breathing, and Sam's occasional gentle, shushing of his Master. "It doesn't sound like a Black Riders' horse," Pippin commented hopefully. Sam nodded in agreement, "Yes, Master Pippin, I believe the beat of its hooves sounds far to fair to be any such foul creature's steed." He whispered.
Aragorn glanced up at the injured ring-bearer; his eyes were closed, head bowed. If the Ranger hadn't known better, he would almost have believed that the hobbit was sleeping, were it not for the constant trembling of his small frame. He reached up, putting the back of his large warm hand against Frodo's cheek. Aragorn winced inwardly at the coldness of it. Frodo leaned into his touch, attempting to absorb as much of the warmth as he could. Aragorn sighed, realizing how frail- yet strong, this small creature was, to have endured thus far. "Such a brave little thing, this hobbit is." Aragorn thought aloud.
The horse was drawing nearer; Aragorn sank down into the bushes with the hobbits, and waited for the traveler to come. The Ranger lowered his head to the ground listening, but couldn't help allowing a smile to spread across his face as he did so. He leapt out of the bushes, much to the dismay of the hobbits. *Aragorn, my friend! *, A clear, musical voice called from the road. Aragorn glanced back at the hobbits, signaling that it was safe to leave the shelter of the bushes. "This," the Ranger declared, "Is Glorfindel, of the house of Elrond."
Frodo opened and shut his eyes several times, trying to focus on the bright, yet gentle, light that was standing before him. A tall elf, dressed in finely made, long, flowing robes. His golden hair gleamed like dew- soaked grass reflecting the light of the sun on a warm summer morning.
"I'm pleased to finally meet you, Master Frodo," Glorfindel smiled, speaking in the Common Speech, "I've been searching for your company for nine days. Lord Elrond sent scouts out from Rivendell, when he first learned of your predicament from some of our kinsmen journeying near your lands." The elf finished.
Frodo smiled faintly, acknowledging the elf's presence, and taking in what he had just said.
Glorfindel spoke with Aragorn of the current location of the Ring Wraiths. "There are five behind you. Whither the other four are, I do not know. I fear that they will soon pick up your path on the road, and give chase." He warned, "We must hasten on our way down the road- we shall be fortunate if we do not arrive to find the Ford held against us!" Glorfindel finished, a tone of apprehensiveness evident in his pleasant-sounding voice.
Frodo raised his head slightly, and opened his eyes a little. It was almost completely dark now, he thought, though he could not really tell through the thick mist that shrouded his vision. He could see very little, but felt Sam's hand holding his own, and was comforted by it.
Merry shot an anxious glance at Sam, as he felt Frodo's body tense against his own, and the ring-bearer sucked in a sharp breathe. Sam resisted pulling away from Frodo, as the grip on his hand tightened painfully.
"Sam," Merry questioned, his voice quavering, "What's happening?" Frodo whimpered as an icy grip froze his battered body again; and then was silent. Sam had no time to answer, as Frodo began to slide off of Bill's back. Merry eased Frodo into Sam's embrace, and Sam lowered his Master to gently to the ground.
Frodo began thrashing about, trying to break free from Sam's restraint. He called out in a tongue that was unknown to Sam, but feared by the elf.
Glorfindel hurried to Sam's side, kneeling beside him, helping to contain the delirious hobbit. Aragorn quickly recounted the events from Weathertop to present. He explained the spells that had been coming over Frodo, in which the Shadows hurled him into the Wraith world, and possessed his body. Aragorn then produced the hilt of the blade that had smote the ring-bearer, explaining how the knife blade itself had melted when sunlight hit it.
Glorfindel looked grimly into Frodo's pale face, the hobbit cried out as his tiny features twisted in anguish while the Shadows continued to torture him within the darkness of their cruel world. The elf placed one hand over Frodo's wounded shoulder and quickly withdrew, as if burned by the evil that lay buried within it. Frodo's eyes fluttered open, and he struggled to sit up- but was forced back down by Glorfindel's gentle hands. Frodo closed his eyes tightly and lay there gasping for breath; the world was still spinning before his eyes. Sobs rose in his throat- and he didn't try to contain them. He was so tired of the pain that consumed him, the darkness that separated him from his friends, the unrelenting fear that hounded them day and night, and the feeling of being hunted constantly by the fell creatures seeking to destroy him and reclaim what he carried. Tears streamed down his cheeks as Glorfindel spoke quietly to him- words of hope and encouragement. Frodo could understand little of the language, but the words calmed him and the mists before his eyes thinned a little as the elf spoke.
"I believe," Aragorn stated "That perhaps a short rest will do us all more good than continuing to hurry along the road in our current state of weariness." The hobbits agreed heartily. They had been ready for sleep hours ago, and were pleased that the opportunity had finally presented itself. They all spread out their bedrolls, and Sam curled up next to his Master. They were all asleep within minutes, forgetting their hunger and thirst. Frodo lay unconscious, drained of all energy from his most recent battle with the Shadows and the Wraith world.
Aragorn and Glorfindel talked quietly, long into the night, deciding what should be done the next day. There was no doubt that they must to reach Rivendell hastily; they just hoped with all their hearts that Frodo would last long enough.
--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
The sun was well up into the morning sky when an insistent Aragorn roused the company from sleep.
"Easy now, Mister Frodo," Frodo heard Sam's voice speaking softly to him; smoothing back his dark curls. Frodo groaned as he was lifted swiftly from the ground, and onto the back of Asfaloth, Glorfindel's white stallion.
Upon inspection of the ailing hobbit Glorfindel spoke in hushed tones, *Come Aragorn, we must hurry. There is nothing I can do for him now. We must reach Elrond's house as soon as is possible. I fear that the hobbit has very little time left. *
None of the others needed any further urging, though their legs and feet ached and their stomachs were demanding food. Glorfindel passed them a small flask, and instructed each to take a sip of the clear liquid inside. It had no taste, but filled their stomachs remarkably well, much to Pippin's surprise.
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A/N: I hope to have the next chapter up in a few more days; it will be the last one before they reach Rivendell. I may post two at the same time, if the next one is too short. :) Thanks for reading!