A/N: Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry! A thousand apologies! I know I
have been really slack in getting these next few chapters up, but I have
valid excuses! The word program on my computer is not very compatible with
the one I have to use to post my stories on the website. I would have
updated sooner, but the internet computer was very evil and decided to
stuff up my stories with one easy clean sweep.
Really, it was a huge mess. That said, please read and review.
Cheers!
Thorn Dew'Pearled
_________________________________
'It is cold, and we cannot light a fire. What other pleasantries has this mountain to bestow upon us?' Boromir said bitterly, as they gathered as close to the cliff as possible, although it provided only frugile protection against the storm and they felt their blood must surely be freezing.
The hobbits were growing drowsy, unaccustomed to such cruel chillness. With every minute that passed their drooping eyelids sank lower, until Frodo, Merry and Pippin had sunk into a fitful slumber. 'Mr. Frodo? Mr. Frodo, this isn't a good place to go to sleep in,' whispered Sam, shaking his master. Frodo mumbled and stirred, weakly opening his eyes. 'So tired ... ,' he said softly.
Gimli threw down the flints in frustration. It had surpassed both Elvish and Dwarvish skill to light a fire, and as yet they had not roused more than a spark from the stones. 'So it comes to the choice between fire and death,' he said gruffly, glaring hatefully at the kindling; 'but it is impossible to raise even a spark. Curse this ill night!'
Gandalf leaned in silence against the cliff, the brim of his hat once again hiding his face.
Unable to secure Aragorn to sturdy tree or steady boulder, they had bound his legs and arms to prevent him from doing much more than writhing, for his sake and theirs. As an extra safety precaution Boromir had gagged him, afraid of hidden enemies being alerted of their presence by his shouts and curses.
'I can't wake them,' came Sam's dismal voice. 'They've gone all death- like; all cold.' All eyes turned in his direction, and they understood what he was talking about. Frodo, Merry and Pippin were sleeping peacefully on a mattress of snow; Sam had done everything to rouse them but had not succeeded.
'We need a fire,' said Boromir, and then his eyes fell upon the idle wizard. 'Why do you just stand there Gandalf? Cannot you do something?'
Gandalf seemed to wake, and peered thoughtfully at Boromir, then took up his staff. 'I did say that it would be right to light a fire when the choice between flame and death came upon us,' he said. 'Very well, stand back and I shall see what I may do.'
Obligingly his companions stepped away. Gandalf pointed the end of his staff at the bed of dry fuel and uttered inaudible words. A jet of white light shot from the end, momentarily rendering them sightless, and then a warm wreath of flickering gold cloaked them all, and a fire was crackling merrily on its bed. The hobbits were woken at last and moved to sit beside the fire and share in its life-giving warmth.
'Aragorn, would you like to move closer?' Legolas asked the Ranger, who was lying on his side with his eyes half-closed. Afraid he was near dead, Legolas shook him worriedly. Aragorn gave a violent start and stared at him, then nodded wearily, his eyes sinking closed once again. The Elf helped him closer to the blaze, noticing the blue hue his lips had taken on.
'We will have to be wary of the true Aragorn in future,' he said softly as he moved to sit beside Boromir. 'I fear for greatly for his own safety with that - thing abiding within him.'
'How can you tell the difference?' muttered Boromir. 'How can we be sure that Aragorn is still there, and this being has not killed him and taken his body for itself? Or is this Aragorn as he really is?'
'I know,' said Legolas knowledgably. 'Trust me. Long have I been a friend to him; since he was a child. I am quite capable of knowing one from the other, rest assured.'
Boromir grumbled without words, shifted uneasily and cast concerned eyes towards the Little Folk. The ever faithful Sam was tending to Frodo, who stubbornly refused his administrations, and eventually rebuked the gardener for his perserverance when his help had been declined. Sam bowed his head and retreated sulkily a safe distance from his Master, who seemed suddenly to come to his senses and sent a reproachful gaze in his sorry friend's direction, but said nothing.
_________________________________
Night had closed in, and the storm had died down and faded to a crisp, pleasant breeze that ruffled hair and clothing with a gentle coolness. A light coverlet of sleep lay over them, while lingering death crept upon the fire. Every now and then one would stir, and care to stoke the fire back into flaring life, keeping winter at bay for the moment.
They knew that their presence had been noted, for within the hour several large boulders had rolled past, no doubt meant for them. It was Sam who first woke to the grey light of dawn. Aragorn, he saw, was curled up against the cliff wall, hugging his knees to his chest and rocking steadily. Brow furrowed in bemusement, he ventured to wander quietly over, keeping a safe distance. Aragorn barely glanced at him, and once again he was murmuring strangely to himself.
'St-Strider?' he stuttered, reaching tentively out to touch the Ranger's shoulder.
'Sam, I've lost it, haven't I?' came the low voice, and a smile twitched at his lips as he looked up to meet the hobbit's eyes. 'I am sorry - for all of this, I mean.'
'It's not your fault,' Sam consoled in relief, with a comforting smile. 'I don't know what has gotten into me,' said Aragorn softly, his eyes suddenly teary. 'It has taken my will wholly - I think it sleeps at the moment. I am allowed my freedom for a short time. Sam, I need you to do something for me.'
'What?' asked Sam, crouching down beside him. 'You must keep Frodo as far from me as you can,' said Aragorn, grasping his wrist. 'This creature wants the Ring, but it must not have it, do you understand?'
Frightened, Sam nodded and swallowed hard. 'I promise,' he said, patting the Ranger's hand. 'I also need you to do something else for me,' said Aragorn. 'Pray tell Boromir and Legolas what I have said to you. I know these past two days have not been easy on any of you, and I deeply regret this misfortune - '
'It's not your fault, Strider,' Sam interrupted.
'Yes, be that as it may ... ,' said Aragorn, but abruptly changed the subject. 'Sam - if ever I get too far out of hand, I want you to kill me.'
Sam gasped loudly, and clapped a hand over his mouth. Aragorn's watery eyes gazed at him imploringly. 'Please,' he whispered.
Knowing Aragorn would have no peace unless he promised something, Sam reluctantly nodded. 'I will tell the others,' he said, but his promise was empty. Aragorn smiled wearily and clasped the hobbit's hands warmly. 'Thank you Sam, you are a true friend,' he said gratefully. 'Now go.'
Sam obediently crawled away, his mind in turmoil and his heart hammering in his tight chest.
_________________________________
'Sam? You seem a little downcast today.' Frodo glanced worriedly at his friend, who was walking with bowed head and bent back, staring at the road with wide eyes.
'Hmm? Oh, er, 'tis nothing Mr. Frodo,' he stuttered uneasily.
Frodo nodded slowly, disbelieving, but pressed the matter no further.
The air was once again pierced by Aragorn's screaming. Sam flinched, and a tear fell from one eye and plummeted to earth. Frodo did not notice, fortunately for Sam.
They had left the snows of Caradhras, admitting final defeat. It had been an arduous struggle, but they had made it, and noon was upon them.
'Aragorn, hush,' came Legolas' exasperated voice, trying to calm their insane companion. Boromir was ready to strike Aragorn over the head, but Legolas' pleading stayed his hasty hand. Aragorn shook his head violently, his tangled mane of dark hair flying about his face. 'N-no ... stop,' he whispered weakly, then suddenly he expelled the contents of his stomach and his legs buckled beneath him as he fell again into a dead faint.
Boromir eyed with distaste the mess that had splashed over his shirt, dropping Aragorn in his disgust. Legolas caught the Ranger in both arms as he slumped to the ground. 'Gandalf!' he called. 'Gandalf, we must stop! We shall have to clean him up before we can go any further.'
'I knew we should have kept him gagged,' said Gimli, but he found the sight of Legolas covered in horrid mess quite beguiling.
_________________________________
Legolas was given the task of cleaning the Ranger, although Pippin volunteered his services to the Elf, sympathetic towards the Prince of Mirkwood; who was indeed suffering the most from Aragorn's madness.
Pippin tugged the ragged tunic over the sleeping Ranger's head. 'Oh dear,' he sighed. 'It's certainly done well this time, whatever it is.'
Legolas, rubbing at his own soiled clothing with the hem of his cloak, nodded. 'He is trying to fight it,' he said, his usually strong, clear voice subtled by an aching weariness. 'That is why this happened. He is not strong enough. Oh, Aragorn, can you not leave it be for the time being?' he cried, touching light fingers to the Ranger's fevered brow. 'Can he not see? The more he fights, the stronger it becomes.'
'Don't fret yourself, Legolas,' said Pippin gently, as Legolas rested his brow in the palm of one hand and shook his head despairingly. 'I ... I just cannot see it,' he murmured, averting his gaze. 'I cannot believe it - I would never have thought ... '
'Legolas, getting yourself all emotional and worked up is not going to help Aragorn or you,' said Pippin. 'We can only look after him, he has to do the rest for himself.'
'Yes - yes, you are right,' said Legolas haltingly, and hurriedly dabbed at his eyes with a sleeve. Pippin stared incredulously at him: he had never before seen the Elf cry - he hadn't known Elves even could cry!
'I'm sorry,' the Elven Prince murmured, drying shamedly his tear-welled eyes with a long sleeve. At last the dam he had built and maintained for so long had broken free of its bonds, and now flooded him with a drowning wave.
Pippin shook his head. 'Don't be,' he said, his tone laced with bewilderment. 'What have you to apologise for? You haven't done anything wrong as far as I know - you weren't going to steal my blankets this morning, were you?'
Legolas smiled weakly and laughed, clapping the hobbit gratefully on the shoulder. 'Let us be thankful there is at least one among us whose good humour can never be slain.'
Pippin grinned sheepishly, bowing his head. 'Right, now, where's that scrubbing thing so I can remove Aragorn's shirt of this filth?' he said cheerfully.
_________________________________
The day meandered towards noon, the sun ascending slowly to its zenith. Aragorn's temporary fits of madness had passed swiftly, leaving the Ranger bereft of his strength; sprawled upon the ground he lay, sometimes wakening momentarily to murmur wordlessly in a daze. Other than that he displayed no sign of life, lying deathly pale and still when he slept, his chest barely moving with his inhalations, worrying his companions. As Legolas had already succumbed to grief and could no longer bear witness to Aragorn's slow, agonising demise; it fell to those whose hearts were made of sterner stuff to watch over him.
The Elven Prince had left without word, taking his leave to walk alone in the thriving gardens of the wilderness.
Aragorn groaned, one hand falling limply to the dust and writhing as a snake in the throes of death. Sweat dewed his forehead, his fever had increased rapidly, without warning. No longer could hand be set upon his brow with being hastily drawn away, the flesh scalded. The Ranger was beset by some inner conflagration, and his precarious situation seemed to grow dire.
'He fights it,' murmured Gandalf, unwarily repeating Legolas' words, though speaking to no one in particular. 'He will die if he continues to battle; why can he not leave it be until we can rid him of this parasitic being, whomever it be?' His voice grew angered, and he rose, silhouetted menacingly against the rich cobolt of the sky.
Sam cowered within his faint shadow, fearful beyond words. Silently he wept, for Aragorn, for Legolas, for Frodo - for all of them, whose fate was undeterminable but seemed iminently to veer steadily and inevitably towards one course.
Death.
_________________________________
Don't worry, this will begin to progress a little further, and wade a little deeper into the intended story . I'm just not sure when (
Thank you to all previous reviewers, it is much (as aforementioned) appreciated - I enjoy writing this story and so it doesn't look like becoming another abandoned project.
Really, it was a huge mess. That said, please read and review.
Cheers!
Thorn Dew'Pearled
_________________________________
'It is cold, and we cannot light a fire. What other pleasantries has this mountain to bestow upon us?' Boromir said bitterly, as they gathered as close to the cliff as possible, although it provided only frugile protection against the storm and they felt their blood must surely be freezing.
The hobbits were growing drowsy, unaccustomed to such cruel chillness. With every minute that passed their drooping eyelids sank lower, until Frodo, Merry and Pippin had sunk into a fitful slumber. 'Mr. Frodo? Mr. Frodo, this isn't a good place to go to sleep in,' whispered Sam, shaking his master. Frodo mumbled and stirred, weakly opening his eyes. 'So tired ... ,' he said softly.
Gimli threw down the flints in frustration. It had surpassed both Elvish and Dwarvish skill to light a fire, and as yet they had not roused more than a spark from the stones. 'So it comes to the choice between fire and death,' he said gruffly, glaring hatefully at the kindling; 'but it is impossible to raise even a spark. Curse this ill night!'
Gandalf leaned in silence against the cliff, the brim of his hat once again hiding his face.
Unable to secure Aragorn to sturdy tree or steady boulder, they had bound his legs and arms to prevent him from doing much more than writhing, for his sake and theirs. As an extra safety precaution Boromir had gagged him, afraid of hidden enemies being alerted of their presence by his shouts and curses.
'I can't wake them,' came Sam's dismal voice. 'They've gone all death- like; all cold.' All eyes turned in his direction, and they understood what he was talking about. Frodo, Merry and Pippin were sleeping peacefully on a mattress of snow; Sam had done everything to rouse them but had not succeeded.
'We need a fire,' said Boromir, and then his eyes fell upon the idle wizard. 'Why do you just stand there Gandalf? Cannot you do something?'
Gandalf seemed to wake, and peered thoughtfully at Boromir, then took up his staff. 'I did say that it would be right to light a fire when the choice between flame and death came upon us,' he said. 'Very well, stand back and I shall see what I may do.'
Obligingly his companions stepped away. Gandalf pointed the end of his staff at the bed of dry fuel and uttered inaudible words. A jet of white light shot from the end, momentarily rendering them sightless, and then a warm wreath of flickering gold cloaked them all, and a fire was crackling merrily on its bed. The hobbits were woken at last and moved to sit beside the fire and share in its life-giving warmth.
'Aragorn, would you like to move closer?' Legolas asked the Ranger, who was lying on his side with his eyes half-closed. Afraid he was near dead, Legolas shook him worriedly. Aragorn gave a violent start and stared at him, then nodded wearily, his eyes sinking closed once again. The Elf helped him closer to the blaze, noticing the blue hue his lips had taken on.
'We will have to be wary of the true Aragorn in future,' he said softly as he moved to sit beside Boromir. 'I fear for greatly for his own safety with that - thing abiding within him.'
'How can you tell the difference?' muttered Boromir. 'How can we be sure that Aragorn is still there, and this being has not killed him and taken his body for itself? Or is this Aragorn as he really is?'
'I know,' said Legolas knowledgably. 'Trust me. Long have I been a friend to him; since he was a child. I am quite capable of knowing one from the other, rest assured.'
Boromir grumbled without words, shifted uneasily and cast concerned eyes towards the Little Folk. The ever faithful Sam was tending to Frodo, who stubbornly refused his administrations, and eventually rebuked the gardener for his perserverance when his help had been declined. Sam bowed his head and retreated sulkily a safe distance from his Master, who seemed suddenly to come to his senses and sent a reproachful gaze in his sorry friend's direction, but said nothing.
_________________________________
Night had closed in, and the storm had died down and faded to a crisp, pleasant breeze that ruffled hair and clothing with a gentle coolness. A light coverlet of sleep lay over them, while lingering death crept upon the fire. Every now and then one would stir, and care to stoke the fire back into flaring life, keeping winter at bay for the moment.
They knew that their presence had been noted, for within the hour several large boulders had rolled past, no doubt meant for them. It was Sam who first woke to the grey light of dawn. Aragorn, he saw, was curled up against the cliff wall, hugging his knees to his chest and rocking steadily. Brow furrowed in bemusement, he ventured to wander quietly over, keeping a safe distance. Aragorn barely glanced at him, and once again he was murmuring strangely to himself.
'St-Strider?' he stuttered, reaching tentively out to touch the Ranger's shoulder.
'Sam, I've lost it, haven't I?' came the low voice, and a smile twitched at his lips as he looked up to meet the hobbit's eyes. 'I am sorry - for all of this, I mean.'
'It's not your fault,' Sam consoled in relief, with a comforting smile. 'I don't know what has gotten into me,' said Aragorn softly, his eyes suddenly teary. 'It has taken my will wholly - I think it sleeps at the moment. I am allowed my freedom for a short time. Sam, I need you to do something for me.'
'What?' asked Sam, crouching down beside him. 'You must keep Frodo as far from me as you can,' said Aragorn, grasping his wrist. 'This creature wants the Ring, but it must not have it, do you understand?'
Frightened, Sam nodded and swallowed hard. 'I promise,' he said, patting the Ranger's hand. 'I also need you to do something else for me,' said Aragorn. 'Pray tell Boromir and Legolas what I have said to you. I know these past two days have not been easy on any of you, and I deeply regret this misfortune - '
'It's not your fault, Strider,' Sam interrupted.
'Yes, be that as it may ... ,' said Aragorn, but abruptly changed the subject. 'Sam - if ever I get too far out of hand, I want you to kill me.'
Sam gasped loudly, and clapped a hand over his mouth. Aragorn's watery eyes gazed at him imploringly. 'Please,' he whispered.
Knowing Aragorn would have no peace unless he promised something, Sam reluctantly nodded. 'I will tell the others,' he said, but his promise was empty. Aragorn smiled wearily and clasped the hobbit's hands warmly. 'Thank you Sam, you are a true friend,' he said gratefully. 'Now go.'
Sam obediently crawled away, his mind in turmoil and his heart hammering in his tight chest.
_________________________________
'Sam? You seem a little downcast today.' Frodo glanced worriedly at his friend, who was walking with bowed head and bent back, staring at the road with wide eyes.
'Hmm? Oh, er, 'tis nothing Mr. Frodo,' he stuttered uneasily.
Frodo nodded slowly, disbelieving, but pressed the matter no further.
The air was once again pierced by Aragorn's screaming. Sam flinched, and a tear fell from one eye and plummeted to earth. Frodo did not notice, fortunately for Sam.
They had left the snows of Caradhras, admitting final defeat. It had been an arduous struggle, but they had made it, and noon was upon them.
'Aragorn, hush,' came Legolas' exasperated voice, trying to calm their insane companion. Boromir was ready to strike Aragorn over the head, but Legolas' pleading stayed his hasty hand. Aragorn shook his head violently, his tangled mane of dark hair flying about his face. 'N-no ... stop,' he whispered weakly, then suddenly he expelled the contents of his stomach and his legs buckled beneath him as he fell again into a dead faint.
Boromir eyed with distaste the mess that had splashed over his shirt, dropping Aragorn in his disgust. Legolas caught the Ranger in both arms as he slumped to the ground. 'Gandalf!' he called. 'Gandalf, we must stop! We shall have to clean him up before we can go any further.'
'I knew we should have kept him gagged,' said Gimli, but he found the sight of Legolas covered in horrid mess quite beguiling.
_________________________________
Legolas was given the task of cleaning the Ranger, although Pippin volunteered his services to the Elf, sympathetic towards the Prince of Mirkwood; who was indeed suffering the most from Aragorn's madness.
Pippin tugged the ragged tunic over the sleeping Ranger's head. 'Oh dear,' he sighed. 'It's certainly done well this time, whatever it is.'
Legolas, rubbing at his own soiled clothing with the hem of his cloak, nodded. 'He is trying to fight it,' he said, his usually strong, clear voice subtled by an aching weariness. 'That is why this happened. He is not strong enough. Oh, Aragorn, can you not leave it be for the time being?' he cried, touching light fingers to the Ranger's fevered brow. 'Can he not see? The more he fights, the stronger it becomes.'
'Don't fret yourself, Legolas,' said Pippin gently, as Legolas rested his brow in the palm of one hand and shook his head despairingly. 'I ... I just cannot see it,' he murmured, averting his gaze. 'I cannot believe it - I would never have thought ... '
'Legolas, getting yourself all emotional and worked up is not going to help Aragorn or you,' said Pippin. 'We can only look after him, he has to do the rest for himself.'
'Yes - yes, you are right,' said Legolas haltingly, and hurriedly dabbed at his eyes with a sleeve. Pippin stared incredulously at him: he had never before seen the Elf cry - he hadn't known Elves even could cry!
'I'm sorry,' the Elven Prince murmured, drying shamedly his tear-welled eyes with a long sleeve. At last the dam he had built and maintained for so long had broken free of its bonds, and now flooded him with a drowning wave.
Pippin shook his head. 'Don't be,' he said, his tone laced with bewilderment. 'What have you to apologise for? You haven't done anything wrong as far as I know - you weren't going to steal my blankets this morning, were you?'
Legolas smiled weakly and laughed, clapping the hobbit gratefully on the shoulder. 'Let us be thankful there is at least one among us whose good humour can never be slain.'
Pippin grinned sheepishly, bowing his head. 'Right, now, where's that scrubbing thing so I can remove Aragorn's shirt of this filth?' he said cheerfully.
_________________________________
The day meandered towards noon, the sun ascending slowly to its zenith. Aragorn's temporary fits of madness had passed swiftly, leaving the Ranger bereft of his strength; sprawled upon the ground he lay, sometimes wakening momentarily to murmur wordlessly in a daze. Other than that he displayed no sign of life, lying deathly pale and still when he slept, his chest barely moving with his inhalations, worrying his companions. As Legolas had already succumbed to grief and could no longer bear witness to Aragorn's slow, agonising demise; it fell to those whose hearts were made of sterner stuff to watch over him.
The Elven Prince had left without word, taking his leave to walk alone in the thriving gardens of the wilderness.
Aragorn groaned, one hand falling limply to the dust and writhing as a snake in the throes of death. Sweat dewed his forehead, his fever had increased rapidly, without warning. No longer could hand be set upon his brow with being hastily drawn away, the flesh scalded. The Ranger was beset by some inner conflagration, and his precarious situation seemed to grow dire.
'He fights it,' murmured Gandalf, unwarily repeating Legolas' words, though speaking to no one in particular. 'He will die if he continues to battle; why can he not leave it be until we can rid him of this parasitic being, whomever it be?' His voice grew angered, and he rose, silhouetted menacingly against the rich cobolt of the sky.
Sam cowered within his faint shadow, fearful beyond words. Silently he wept, for Aragorn, for Legolas, for Frodo - for all of them, whose fate was undeterminable but seemed iminently to veer steadily and inevitably towards one course.
Death.
_________________________________
Don't worry, this will begin to progress a little further, and wade a little deeper into the intended story . I'm just not sure when (
Thank you to all previous reviewers, it is much (as aforementioned) appreciated - I enjoy writing this story and so it doesn't look like becoming another abandoned project.
