Title: Temptation (5/?)
By: RavenWolf
Rated: R for now.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Pairing: A/F, implied S/F and in later parts B/L. You wanted interspecies, you got it.
Summary: The weight of the Ring is heavy, and Frodo yearns to give in to temptation.
A/N: Frodo's POV again.
~~~~
I am sure that I am dreaming. Aragorn is kissing me. He is kissing me and stroking my face. The pain I feel seems trivial and far away, and I am ashamed that I am still thinking about it with his lips on mine. Pain has no place at a time like this.
I take in a breath, but when I let it out, Aragorn isn't kissing me anymore. And we're not in a meadow in the Shire. We're here, in the forest. It's night, and the pain isn't trivial at all anymore. It's a thousand fiery needles consuming me from within. It's a burning and blackening death that is spreading through my veins and destroying them slowly. I want to scream, but it hurts too much.
But then, I am aware of Aragorn again. His hands are gentle on my skin, though their physical presence causes pain. But the knowledge that he is touching me and meaning to comfort soothes me somewhat.
He's speaking. I can't hear him, of course, but he's speaking all the same. I think somewhere, in the back of my mind, I know I should be listening to him, that what he says is important, but maybe it's not what he says but that he is saying it.
And then he pulls away my cloak, and undoes my vest. I still wear the mithril coat, though I don't understand how the arrow could have pierced it.
But then I see. The last layer of clothing peels away and exposes my wound to the wind. Despite my previous lack of energy, I find it in me now to arch myself off of the ground and give a long scream of pain. It hurts so *much*.
I want to bite his hand when he puts it over my mouth. Though in my head I know that there is a logical reason for remaining quiet, my body does not see it that way. I struggle, squirming as if to escape him. The pain is so intense that I feel that the only way to ease it would be to crawl out of my skin. And in these moments I pray to whatever deity will listen to make it stop. I pray for death. I pray for life. I pray for many things, until I am no longer praying but merely babbling whatever comes to mind to occupy my body.
I know that I will regret it, but I twist my head in such a way that the wound is visible. And then I am glad that Aragorn's hand is still over my mouth, because if it wasn't, I surely would have given a shriek to rival that of the Nazgul.
The wound is an ugly, unnatural reddish purple. The arrow has pierced me just below my breastbone; above the mithril. I know instinctively that the arrow was poisoned. No mere arrow wound could hurt this much.
I wish I had not looked. Now, coupled with the agonizing pain, there is a rising nausea in my stomach. Bile fills my throat, and I choke it back, if only to avoid the pain of rolling over and the torture of wasting that energy on vomiting.
Strangely, I am now overcome with a desire to sleep. I shiver compulsively, some irrational part of my brain telling me that I will never get to sleep with so much pain hounding me. I welcome the sleep with open arms, only dimly remembering the flower that Aragorn had fed me earlier.
And it is only just before my eyes close that I realize that Aragorn wasn't the only one tending to me. That Sam is there, and Merry and Pippin. And that Legolas has been holding my head in his lap. Where Boromir is, I know not, but it does not matter as the pain fades with my awareness and I fall to sleep.
***
When I awake, everything is in a haze. Pain is tangled up with fear and the startling freezing heat that accompanies a fever. I don't even know what whether to classify what I am feeling as pain. But it is definitely uncomfortable, and I know that as my mind comes into focus, it will all twist together into the solid entity of agony.
I realize that my eyes aren't open. Slowly I open them, hoping the grey will fade and take the confusion with it.
But it doesn't. Instead, I am assaulted on a whole new front. Colors and shapes and textures and light that's far too bright for me to comprehend. Reflexively, I close my eyes again. The grey was confusing, but at least it was safe.
I hear what I assume is a voice. It sounds to me only as a low bass sound, rising and falling smoothly. It gives me something solid to cling to. Something real to use as a barricade against the hurt.
The voice is telling me to do something. I'm pretty sure it is, anyways. Dimly, I realize that I recognize this voice. It's...Strider. My Aragorn. The memory of my near-death by the morgul blade flares sharply in my memory. His voice drew me back then, too.
Timidly, I open my eyes again. The stunning brightness and confusion that comes with adding a new sense fades quickly this time. I am able to make out a concerned face over me. It's Aragorn.
Nearby I sense Sam. Steady and dependable. I reach my hand out instinctively. But it's a mistake. As soon as I do, a silent scream is ripped from me. My vocal chords are straining, but no sound is made. My wound stabs at me viciously, reminding me that I am prisoner of the pain.
A large, warm palm rests on the side of my face. I lean into it, grateful to have something else to focus on.
"Wha--" I try to say something, but lose my train of thought. Somehow, despite the pain, I'm falling asleep again. "What happened?" I remember in time.
"It doesn't matter. Sleep, my love." I am about to comply, eager to be rid of the pain, but something doesn't add up. What is....Aragorn. He called me his love. As soon as I figure it out, my brain relaxes, and I drift back to sleep.
***
When I wake up, it's early dawn. I am immediately reminded of the pain, but then realize, after the first sharp stab, that it has lessened. I am able to focus on things now.
There is a fire that glows coldly in the frozen grey morning. No warmth comes from it, or at least none that I can feel. Sam is cooking something over the fire. The rest of the fellowship is sitting around, talking, or else helping.
As soon as I think of it, my eyes snap shut. I do not want to be fussed over. Not just yet. It takes too much energy out of me. I don't want to have to answer questions about how I am, or pretend to listen and be polite while they tell me that everything will be fine soon. If I pretend that I am asleep, then maybe they won't harass me just yet.
I know it won't work indefinitely. Soon I'll have to be conscious and aware and comforting to Sam and Merry and Pippin, even when I myself am the one who needs comforting. But I had hoped to hold on to my peace for a while yet.
Unfortunately, it is not to be. Pippin must have seen me open my eyes, because he gives a squeak. "Frodo's awake!"
I moan silently and long to pull the blanket over my head. Merry and Pippin are soon followed by Sam. They crowd around me, and I almost feel as though I can't breathe. "How are you, Frodo?" "Are you okay, Frodo?"
Exactly as I predicted. "Yes, yes, I'll be alright." Their concern is overwhelming.
"Move back, Merry, Pippin. Frodo needs some space. You too, Sam." Legolas smiles kindly as he ushers my eager cousins and best friend away. It strikes me that I have not spent much time with the elf, despite our long journey together. For the first time, I feel as though I might like to get to know him better. He doesn't seem so far away now.
"Legolas is right." Aragorn places his hand gently on Sam's shoulder, and I bristle slightly at the touch. Fighting the jealousy down is too hard and seems mostly pointless, so I just let it go.
While Aragorn is ushering the three hobbits away, Legolas kneels by my side. "Do you think you can travel today, little one?" I know instinctively that I don't have much choice in the matter.
I nod my head, though the motion reminds me that I am not completely better. Not even very close.
"Alright. I will carry you. Unless you had someone else in mind?" He must have seen me looking. When he said he would carry me, I felt my heart sink just that tiniest bit. I had hoped Aragorn would carry me. Apparently, I had been gazing at him, because Legolas had a glint of mirth in his eyes. I don't see how he thinks it's humorous.
"No. It's fine." I give a lasting look at Aragorn, who is speaking quietly to Sam, Merry, and Pippin, and then back at Legolas. Well, I wanted a chance to get to know him. Looks like I'm finally going to get it.
***
The elf's gait is smooth most of the time. He moves with a grace that makes me ashamed of my own clumsy, blundering way of walking. I spend as much time falling as I do walking.
Imagine that. He's managed to make me ashamed of my own *walking*. See, this is what I mean when I say he makes me feel so incompetent. Legolas *never* stumbles.
I'm cradled in his arms, and I can almost fall asleep. I catch Aragorn staring at me out of the corner of my eye, and then I remember what I thought was a dream. He called me his 'love'.
A part of me is elated at the memory. And the other part of me, the part that's grown wary and paranoid is ready to fall apart. Because now, I can't have that extra security. If Aragorn doesn't want me, then I *can't* fall to the Ring. But he does, and I don't have that excuse anymore. I don't have anything but my own lust and fear turned against myself. And it's driving me insane.
Somehow, falling asleep seems like it would be giving up. Letting go, leaving my problems to themselves. But as much as I try to stay awake, it's really not up to me, and eventually my eyelids grow too heavy to keep open. As I give in, residual guilt blankets me.
***
We make camp early. I'm sure that it's my fault. And I should be guilty, but I really am tired, despite my protests to the contrary. How can that be when I've spent so much time sleeping?
And for that matter, how is it that they all seem to see through me? It's not as if I'm a habitual liar. I stick to the truth most of the time, but every time I don't, Aragorn, Boromir, or Legolas will smile tolerantly down at me. Like a child. I don't really want to offend them, so I resist the urge to roll my eyes and slump my shoulders. Especially since that would probably only make them look at me like more of a child.
Just because I am the Ringbearer does not mean that I need to be coddled.
Apparently, though, Aragorn does not see it that way. "Here, little one. Have some tea, it will help you to feel better." He ruffles my hair with his hand. I stiffen. I'm not his dog. Nor am I a child.
"Thank you, Aragorn." I say coldly, politely. The look on his face is confused; I don't think he even understands what he did wrong. Well, that's not my problem, really.
He nods once, and then leaves me.
I am sitting on the ground, surrounded by blankets. Legolas and Boromir are sitting on some large boulders that are strewn about our camp, and Merry and Pippin are talking quietly over the fire, where they're cooking what appears to be dinner. Sam and Gimli are nowhere to be found.
I sigh. I wish I hadn't been so rude to Aragorn. I am rather lonely, here, with no one to talk to. I'm still too sick to move around much, but the fever has abated enough that I'm rapidly becoming bored.
I stare down into the cup of soup he's given me. It looks distinctly unappetizing. I wrinkle my nose a bit, and then down it in a single gulp.
Which really wasn't a very smart thing to do, because it leaves my coughing a bit and gasping for air. The foul-looking brew actually tasted worse than it looked.
As soon as I can breathe again, Sam is sitting at my side. "Are you alright, Mr. Frodo?" He asks. Loyal Sam, full of sympathy. He thinks me so wonderful. I wonder what he'd say if he knew the things the Ring whispers to me in the dark of the deepest parts of the night. He probably wouldn't even be able to understand it. Which is, of course, one of the reasons that I love him so dearly.
"Yes, yes, I'm fine." I say, smiling forcedly for him. If I'm going to pretend to be fine, I might as well be convincing.
Soon the others are eating as well, and I watch jealously. I got a disgusting soup, and they're eating bread and fruit and some sort of animal Legolas shot. Unfair. But, then again, everything about my life is unfair at the moment, and I'm not given to complaining, so I'm not going to start now.
"Mr. Strider says that you're on the mend. But if you don't mind me sayin', sir, you don't look it. You're so pale..." Sam reaches his hand out to stroke my cheek. I can't tell if it's supposed to be brotherly affection or meant as something more, but I flinch away all the same. I can't stand the thought of someone touching me right now.
Sam looks stricken. He pulls back a ways, and then stands. "I'm sorry Mr. Frodo. I didn't mean no offense."
"No, Sam. It's not you. It's just, I'd rather not have anyone at all touch me right now." I give him what I hope is a kindly smile, and he chews his lip before moving on. I know I've hurt his feelings, and I'm sorry, I really am, but I can't let it be my problem right now. Sam's strong, and he'll understand once he thinks about it a little bit. I hope.
After everyone has gone to sleep or moved away, I decide that the only plausible course of action is sleep. I roll over, but a few seconds later, Legolas comes up to me. "How are you feeling, little one?" he asks, and brushes an invisible curl away from my cheek. For a moment, I wonder if he's attracted to me, but then I remember seeing him with Boromir recently, and fight the urge to smile knowingly. I'm not the one he has his eye on.
I bite my lip. My almost-smile turns into somewhat of a frown. It hardly seems fair that they should be able to find happiness. I don't want to begrudge them their love, or lust, if that's the case. It's just...I'm the Ring-Bearer. Every moment of every day I have to ignore the seductive and malicious whisperings of the One Ring. Not to be self-absorbed, but...If anyone deserves happiness, it should be me.
As soon as I think that, I jump a bit in surprise. It's getting harder and harder now to tell which are my thoughts and which are the Ring's callings.
Legolas is looking at me attentively. "Frodo?" he asks.
"Yes, I'm alright, Legolas. Thank you for asking." I wince. I sound so polite, it's almost impolite. His eyes do not change, but he nods anyway, and moves away, presumably to let me sleep.
I turn to watch him go. But instead of the elf's back, it is my ranger that I'm watching. Not on purpose, but his grey eyes have captivated me. My breath catches in my throat, and for a moment, I forget all the reasons why I'm angry with him, and just remember his tenderness when caring for me, the ferocity with which he defended me. He is truly worthy of someone better than me. Me, who will probably not even survive this horrible journey.
I look away. I need to come to terms with it, and move on. Accept my fate, and stop griping about how unfair this whole ordeal is.