I don't remember what day it is anymore. It's always the same, always
toiling up the mountains and across the plains, trying to pretend that I'm
not fatigued to the point of collapse. The others seem to be fine, and I
will not drag them down with my weakness.
I know without a shadow of a doubt that it's the Ring. It weighs in my mind far more heavily than it does around my neck. I'm physically and mentally exhausted from fighting its pull, day after day and night after night. For even as we're resting around the fire we've lit, and the others are falling asleep, I am not allowed even that small measure of peace. The Ring is always calling to me, goading and taunting me, and to rest and let down my guard would be to give in to it. And if that happens, all is lost.
Aragorn is behind me. I can feel his eyes on my back. We haven't spoken more than necessary after that night. But sometimes I wake from my nightmares to find him staring at me. As soon as our eyes meet, though, he turns away. I wish he wouldn't. The knowledge that he is watching over me helps to soothe the nightmares of nameless dark shapes clawing at my neck for the Ring.
I stumble a bit, too lost in my own thoughts to pay attention to where I'm going. As soon as my footing is lost, Aragorn's hands appear around my waist, as if by magic, steadying me, protecting me.
I turn to thank him for preventing my fall, and I immediately drawn in by the piercing eyes. My breath catches in my throat, and for a moment, I forget what I am going to say. I forget everything except those eyes. Clear blue with darker veins of color flecks in them. So rich with feeling.
His hands have still not moved from my waist. I know that much. And it seems as if there is to be another kiss like the one shared a few nights ago. I want it, with my whole body, but some part of me says no. I don't know which part. I don't even know if it's the Ring or not. But Aragorn is temptation, and if I've learned anything, temptation is what the Ring uses above all to deceive.
But I am saved from the agony of having to turn away by Boromir, of all people. "Aragorn, Frodo. We must keep going. " He is stopped above us, and Aragorn quickly straightens. I understand. If I were him, I would not want to be seen in such a position with the likes of me.
I back away as quietly as possible, and turn to be on my way. I don't give him the chance to get a hold of me again until we make camp for lunch.
***
Boromir is giving Merry and Pippin sword lessons. I can see how much my cousins like the Gondorian. I can also see Aragorn, smoking his pipe on the sidelines and giving advice. I make sure to place myself within his perception. This ignoring each other is getting old fast.
Sam comes to sit beside me, and I almost wish he had not. Sam's so sweet and gentle. And I know that he has a crush on me, which makes it hard to face him without cringing. Because I am becoming more and more certain that my heart belongs to another. Whether it is the Ring's doing or not, I cannot tell.
Legolas has spotted something in the east. Everyone halts in their motions to look at this 'cloud'. Even Boromir, Pippin and Merry stop their antics to peer up at the strange dark shape that is moving towards us.
Almost before I can hear the words, Aragorn is calling to us to hide. The fire is stamped out quickly with tough hobbit feet, and packs are gathered. I dive under a rock, and a moment later, Aragorn's back is pressed to my front. Even now he is protecting me in any way he can.
My breath catches in my throat as certain portions of me are pressed up against certain portions of him. His eyes are trained on the sky above, watching the spies of Saruman as they pass around us.
I'm ashamed that at such a perilous moment, all I can think about is the lean strength of the ranger body protecting me. I want to be protected almost as much as I loathe it. Because to need protecting must mean that one is helpless.
Soon enough, they pass, and the others ease out of their hiding spots. Aragorn stays pressed against me for a minute more, before getting up without saying a word.
I want to kick something in frustration. That is the longest he has been close to me in days. Something must soon give, or I will. Give, that is. The Ring's temptation is always there, and when I feel anything strongly, its power seems to increase.
"We will go over Caradhras," Gandalf proclaims. My gaze is drawn towards the high, snowy peaks piercing the cold blue sky.
***
That night, the meal is tense. Everyone is waiting for an attack of some sort. Some sign that we were spotted. I sigh heavily, but not, I like to think, over-dramatically.
Aragorn looks my way, and for a moment I think that maybe our tense standoff has ended. But he looks away, and I fight the urge to sigh again, this time in frustration.
After dinner, most of the fellowship take to their bedrolls. Aragorn takes first watch. After debating with myself for a moment, I follow him to the edge of the clearing where we're camped.
He's seated with his back to the tree, gazing outwards into the thick blackness that spans the distance between the shadowy trees.
Without a word, I sit beside him and look at him pointedly. Letting him know that I will not be ignored any longer. For the first time, it occurs to me that I might have hurt him with my brusque dismissal the other night. Not likely, but it bears some consideration.
Finally, he takes notice of me. "Yes, Frodo?" He asks innocently, his voice tinted with a slight concern. It merely stokes the fires of indignation that are rapidly growing in my belly. I know not why.
He's looking straight at me now, his pretty eyes once again casting a spell. But he doesn't lean in to kiss me like he did before. He merely watches me, waiting for my answer.
Enough is enough. "Stop it, Aragorn." I snap. He blinks and pulls back slightly in surprise.
"I'm sorry, but stop what, Frodo?" Perfectly polite, and he is driving me to the brink of madness. If the Ring hasn't brought me there already.
"Stop pretending that nothing has happened. Stop pretending that I'm not even here." I bite my tongue to halt the torent of words before I get into dangerous territory. Whatever Aragorn feels for me-lust, caring, friendship- it is not what I think I feel for him, and for him to know that would destroy everything.
He doesn't speak. I don't think he knows what to say. I wouldn't, were I in his position. Then, surprisingly, he cups my face in his hand, reminiscent of the way he had before. He leans close, so that our noses almost touch. I fight the urge to pull back, because he is almost frightening in his intensity.
"Is that what you really want, Frodo?" He hisses dangerously. "Consider it carefully. Do you really want to know what I feel for you? Because if you do, know that it will change everything."
His words cast a shadow of doubt over feelings that I had thought were clear. I'm tempted to return to my bedroll and shut my eyes against these changes. I won't, though, because that is just another form of temptation. I've become very good at recognizing it in its many shapes and packages.
I hold firm. "Everything has already changed," I say, and am proud that my voice does not shake or quiver with uncertainty like it did in my head.
His answer is a bruising kiss. A sharp intake of breath, and then I'm responding. My hands come to rest on his back. And slowly, I relax into the kiss, letting him take complete control. It feels good to let go, even just that little bit. The kiss softens, his lips caressing now, instead of crushing. My eyes slip close and a soft moan escapes me.
There is a soft, wet sound as his lips disengage from mine, and he looks at me again. "There, Frodo. Now you know the truth. You can return to your bedroll now." And he turns away.
"So that's it?" I say softly, mostly to myself, touching my lips.
But he hears, and speaks again. "Frodo, I care about you. Very much. And that is why this cannot proceed." He turns away, as if he expects me to just leave now.
"That is no answer." I say bitterly, accusingly. I know that I shouldn't be so rude, but frankly, I'm disappointed. I had hoped that things would be revealed at long last. But instead I got a repeat of the other night which, while pleasant, merely evoked a sense of deja vu.
"Frodo," he says, shaking his head as if speaking to a child. This angers me to an infinite degree. I *hate* being treated as a child because of my size. I realize that I am not as tall as him. I realize that he thinks that because he can look down on me, I am less than his equal. Well, I am tired of it. I will drop this thing. I will swallow this feeling, as hard as it may be, and I will leave Aragorn to his misconceptions and ignorance.
"Goodnight, Aragorn," I say, not waiting for him to finish his sentence. "I will see you tomorrow morning." I stand and walk away, refusing to look back.
I know without a shadow of a doubt that it's the Ring. It weighs in my mind far more heavily than it does around my neck. I'm physically and mentally exhausted from fighting its pull, day after day and night after night. For even as we're resting around the fire we've lit, and the others are falling asleep, I am not allowed even that small measure of peace. The Ring is always calling to me, goading and taunting me, and to rest and let down my guard would be to give in to it. And if that happens, all is lost.
Aragorn is behind me. I can feel his eyes on my back. We haven't spoken more than necessary after that night. But sometimes I wake from my nightmares to find him staring at me. As soon as our eyes meet, though, he turns away. I wish he wouldn't. The knowledge that he is watching over me helps to soothe the nightmares of nameless dark shapes clawing at my neck for the Ring.
I stumble a bit, too lost in my own thoughts to pay attention to where I'm going. As soon as my footing is lost, Aragorn's hands appear around my waist, as if by magic, steadying me, protecting me.
I turn to thank him for preventing my fall, and I immediately drawn in by the piercing eyes. My breath catches in my throat, and for a moment, I forget what I am going to say. I forget everything except those eyes. Clear blue with darker veins of color flecks in them. So rich with feeling.
His hands have still not moved from my waist. I know that much. And it seems as if there is to be another kiss like the one shared a few nights ago. I want it, with my whole body, but some part of me says no. I don't know which part. I don't even know if it's the Ring or not. But Aragorn is temptation, and if I've learned anything, temptation is what the Ring uses above all to deceive.
But I am saved from the agony of having to turn away by Boromir, of all people. "Aragorn, Frodo. We must keep going. " He is stopped above us, and Aragorn quickly straightens. I understand. If I were him, I would not want to be seen in such a position with the likes of me.
I back away as quietly as possible, and turn to be on my way. I don't give him the chance to get a hold of me again until we make camp for lunch.
***
Boromir is giving Merry and Pippin sword lessons. I can see how much my cousins like the Gondorian. I can also see Aragorn, smoking his pipe on the sidelines and giving advice. I make sure to place myself within his perception. This ignoring each other is getting old fast.
Sam comes to sit beside me, and I almost wish he had not. Sam's so sweet and gentle. And I know that he has a crush on me, which makes it hard to face him without cringing. Because I am becoming more and more certain that my heart belongs to another. Whether it is the Ring's doing or not, I cannot tell.
Legolas has spotted something in the east. Everyone halts in their motions to look at this 'cloud'. Even Boromir, Pippin and Merry stop their antics to peer up at the strange dark shape that is moving towards us.
Almost before I can hear the words, Aragorn is calling to us to hide. The fire is stamped out quickly with tough hobbit feet, and packs are gathered. I dive under a rock, and a moment later, Aragorn's back is pressed to my front. Even now he is protecting me in any way he can.
My breath catches in my throat as certain portions of me are pressed up against certain portions of him. His eyes are trained on the sky above, watching the spies of Saruman as they pass around us.
I'm ashamed that at such a perilous moment, all I can think about is the lean strength of the ranger body protecting me. I want to be protected almost as much as I loathe it. Because to need protecting must mean that one is helpless.
Soon enough, they pass, and the others ease out of their hiding spots. Aragorn stays pressed against me for a minute more, before getting up without saying a word.
I want to kick something in frustration. That is the longest he has been close to me in days. Something must soon give, or I will. Give, that is. The Ring's temptation is always there, and when I feel anything strongly, its power seems to increase.
"We will go over Caradhras," Gandalf proclaims. My gaze is drawn towards the high, snowy peaks piercing the cold blue sky.
***
That night, the meal is tense. Everyone is waiting for an attack of some sort. Some sign that we were spotted. I sigh heavily, but not, I like to think, over-dramatically.
Aragorn looks my way, and for a moment I think that maybe our tense standoff has ended. But he looks away, and I fight the urge to sigh again, this time in frustration.
After dinner, most of the fellowship take to their bedrolls. Aragorn takes first watch. After debating with myself for a moment, I follow him to the edge of the clearing where we're camped.
He's seated with his back to the tree, gazing outwards into the thick blackness that spans the distance between the shadowy trees.
Without a word, I sit beside him and look at him pointedly. Letting him know that I will not be ignored any longer. For the first time, it occurs to me that I might have hurt him with my brusque dismissal the other night. Not likely, but it bears some consideration.
Finally, he takes notice of me. "Yes, Frodo?" He asks innocently, his voice tinted with a slight concern. It merely stokes the fires of indignation that are rapidly growing in my belly. I know not why.
He's looking straight at me now, his pretty eyes once again casting a spell. But he doesn't lean in to kiss me like he did before. He merely watches me, waiting for my answer.
Enough is enough. "Stop it, Aragorn." I snap. He blinks and pulls back slightly in surprise.
"I'm sorry, but stop what, Frodo?" Perfectly polite, and he is driving me to the brink of madness. If the Ring hasn't brought me there already.
"Stop pretending that nothing has happened. Stop pretending that I'm not even here." I bite my tongue to halt the torent of words before I get into dangerous territory. Whatever Aragorn feels for me-lust, caring, friendship- it is not what I think I feel for him, and for him to know that would destroy everything.
He doesn't speak. I don't think he knows what to say. I wouldn't, were I in his position. Then, surprisingly, he cups my face in his hand, reminiscent of the way he had before. He leans close, so that our noses almost touch. I fight the urge to pull back, because he is almost frightening in his intensity.
"Is that what you really want, Frodo?" He hisses dangerously. "Consider it carefully. Do you really want to know what I feel for you? Because if you do, know that it will change everything."
His words cast a shadow of doubt over feelings that I had thought were clear. I'm tempted to return to my bedroll and shut my eyes against these changes. I won't, though, because that is just another form of temptation. I've become very good at recognizing it in its many shapes and packages.
I hold firm. "Everything has already changed," I say, and am proud that my voice does not shake or quiver with uncertainty like it did in my head.
His answer is a bruising kiss. A sharp intake of breath, and then I'm responding. My hands come to rest on his back. And slowly, I relax into the kiss, letting him take complete control. It feels good to let go, even just that little bit. The kiss softens, his lips caressing now, instead of crushing. My eyes slip close and a soft moan escapes me.
There is a soft, wet sound as his lips disengage from mine, and he looks at me again. "There, Frodo. Now you know the truth. You can return to your bedroll now." And he turns away.
"So that's it?" I say softly, mostly to myself, touching my lips.
But he hears, and speaks again. "Frodo, I care about you. Very much. And that is why this cannot proceed." He turns away, as if he expects me to just leave now.
"That is no answer." I say bitterly, accusingly. I know that I shouldn't be so rude, but frankly, I'm disappointed. I had hoped that things would be revealed at long last. But instead I got a repeat of the other night which, while pleasant, merely evoked a sense of deja vu.
"Frodo," he says, shaking his head as if speaking to a child. This angers me to an infinite degree. I *hate* being treated as a child because of my size. I realize that I am not as tall as him. I realize that he thinks that because he can look down on me, I am less than his equal. Well, I am tired of it. I will drop this thing. I will swallow this feeling, as hard as it may be, and I will leave Aragorn to his misconceptions and ignorance.
"Goodnight, Aragorn," I say, not waiting for him to finish his sentence. "I will see you tomorrow morning." I stand and walk away, refusing to look back.