Author's notes: Oh, dear *sighs* Ihaven't been a very good person, have I? I didn't mean to put off this chapter for so long...but I guess my other project(my HP fic) got the better of me. I'm SOOOOOOOOO sorry for putting this off! I hope there are still some of my old fansout there *looks nervous* Oh, in case I never told you guys before I changed my name from Keeper of Dreams to Jeva sometime in the past year(can't remember when) so I'm sorry for that tad inconvience as well...erm...*scratches head* Jeez...I guess I had better get going then.

Disclaimer: I own nothing! Do you hear me!....well, I own Uncle Eric. All right, people? I own him! ^.^

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Chapter Nine: Aragorn and Samwise



"Ara-Aragorn?" Frank stuttered in mild disbelief. Andrew Thomson gained an amused smile as he chuckled and nodded.

"Yes, that was what--or shall I who?--I once was. Quite a shocker, that was, when I ran into Gary years back," he replied, now looking as if he was busy in a humorous memory. Frank gave him a small smile, not at all finding it strange to talk to someone who he had never actually met--at leat, not in this time.

"...how does Mr. White know where you were? Where any of us were?" the boy asked curiously.

Andrew gained a thoughtful look that made the British man look much older than he most likely was. "You know," he began dryly. "I have never wondered exactly how he did it, but now my curiosity is piqued and I'm going to ask him."

"And I shall reply that I did not look for any of you," answered an amused Mr. White. Andrew stood and, smiling crookedly, walked up to the older man.

"And I should retort to that statement that you have usually had 'nothing to with' anything, when you usually did have quite something to do with everything" The British man's eyes shone with mirth as he spoke, making it clear that he meant no insult.

Mr. White chuckled. "No truer words have ever been spoken," he agreed before quickly shaking hands with Andrew and looking to Frank. "So I see you two have become aquainted. Good, good." He looked back to the second man in the room with a bit of seriousness. "Andrew, I need to speak with Mr. Johnson for a moment, if you don't mind."

"Not at all," Andrew said, giving Frank a smile before leaving.

"Mr. White?" Frank asked as soon as the door to the room closed. The old man seemed to be studying him, as if he were putting a last piece to a puzzle together and was now tryign to find out what the picture was.

"I am very relieved that you have woken up...as is your uncle, your friends, and of course Lena," he said after a moment of silence. Frank attempted to smile at the English teacher, but the look turned out to be more of a grimace.

"How long was I asleep?" he asked, curiously.

"A week, as I believe Mr. Thomson has told you," Mr. White answered with a slight grin. Frank blinked for a moment before feeling his cheeks burn with embarrassment.

"Oh," he muttered. "I guess I forgot."

"Quite all right, my boy," Mr. White said with a bit of humor. "You have, indeed, had a lot of shock in a short amount of time and forgetfulness is nothing to be ashamed of."

"Right," Frank replied hesitantly before studying the older man, who seemed to be focusing on something that the boy could not see. "Um...did you want something, Mr. White?"

Seeming to snap back to the present, Mr. White grimly locked eyes with the teenager, who mentally shuddered at the look of seriousness on the elder man's face. "I am afraid I did, Frank," he said quite calmly, making Frank swallow, uneasily.

"Oh...uh...what is it then?" he asked, particularly afraid that it had to do with the Nazgûl.

Mr. White sat wearily down in a chair next to the bed, which Andrew must have not seen or had ignored while he had been in the room. "I believe I have found just why the Nazgûl have been after you so specifically, Frank."

Frank's mouth went dry and his body went unnaturally rigid. He hadn't just said that, had he?

"Open you left hand, Mr. Johnson," the old man told the boy, who dumbly stared at him for a moment before doing as told. When he did, he was shocked by what he was seeing. A small, quite stone--no bigger than a dime in size--was settled on his palm, which had once been burning hot with fever.

Brows furrowing in confusion, he looked to Mr. White for an explanation.

"That stone," the man said with an air of weariness and age. "was given to Frodo Baggins by the Elven Lady of the Wood Galadriel to help him overcome--"

"The Ring's lingering hold..." Frank finished in a murmur, his eyes widening considerably. "But...why--?"

"Why would the Nazgûl--who number seven now--be after this small stone?" Mr. White supplied before sighing, "I do not know that answer, I am afraid."

Frank looked from the stone to Mr. White to the stone and then back before shaking his head. "I don't nderstand. I don't understand any of this?"

"Nor do I," spoke up Andrew's voice from the doorway. Frank jumped in surprise while Mr. White shook his head in a woe-be-gone manner.

"I see that your Ranger instinct is still intact," he commented with no real purpose. Andrew pushed away from the part of the doorway he had been leaning against and walked into the room, his eyes narrowed in concern and worry.

"That instinct will possibly never leave. Just as this awful and horrid darkness will possibly follow young Frank here for a long time," he replied quietly, gaining a fearful look from the aforementioned teenager.

"Will it--?" he began to ask, his voice shaking unsurely as he thought of being followed by darkness for yet another lifetime. Mr. White snorted, however, and interrupted his question.

"Of course not, dear boy, and I'll have Mr. Thomson know that he knows that that is untrue and most rude to say," the eldest man said sharply with a look over to the British man.

"My apologies, but you must admit, Gary, that --"

"I must admit nothing of the sort, Andrew," Mr. White interrupted shortly.

Andrew sighed. "All right, Gary, have it your way then."

"If things were to go my way," Mr. White countered darkly. "Then none of us would know of our past and the Nazgûl would still be dispersed shadows."

Andrew didn't reply and Frank looked to Mr. White with a slightly timid look. The English teacher took no notice of either of them at that moment and muttered to himself, "And whoever commands them would have never returned to life."



"How're you feeling, Frank?" Frank smiled slightly as he sat up in bed again, happy to have some company. Sean had his head poking out from around the doorway, as if afraid to come in and catch something, which made Frank laugh.

"Come on, Sean," he said, chuckling at his friend's timidness. "I'm not contagious."

Sean shuffled into the room, looking nervous about being there. "It's not that...I just never liked hospitals too well, is all." Frank nodded in understanding.

"Well, if it were up to me, I would be out of here," he said with a sigh before glaring at his new paper gown. "Why can't I at least wear something that doesn't rip?"

"Or show your behind off," a voice added from behind Sean, making both boys to look over and see Peter with arms full of nice treats his mother must have made. "Brought these for you, Frank."

Frank stared at the food. "Peter, your mother is a Saint--no, wait--more than that: she's an Angel--no--"

Peter laughed at his friend while Sean allowed him entrance, looking very sullen. "I'll be sure to tell her that she has the beauty of a baked cake when I get home."

"Oh, don't say that," Frank said goodnaturely.

"Ah, well. It doesn't really matter, she wouldn't care," Peter replied, putting all of the treats on the desk near the bed. "Now..." He turned around and grinned when he saw Sean. "Hello there, Sean!"

"You're just noticing me, Peter?" Sean asked dryly and with a bit of hurt.

"Just now? No," Peter answered, his grin faultering. "I just decided top say 'hello' now."

Sean shifted uncomfortably. "Oh," he mumbled, looking at the floor. Peter frowned at this.

"Sean--" Frank started to say, but the other boy shook his head, mostly at himself, before looking up.

"I'll come back later, Frank," he said, avoiding the others' eyes as he spoke. "I got chores to do at home sicne Dad's still...under the weather."

Neither Peter or Frank said anything as their friend shuffled out of the room, but both felt concerned and vaguely confused.

"Does he know anything?" Peter asked in a whisper, not wanting anyone to overhear. Frank shook his head, still watching the door.

"I haven't told him anything," he answered softly. "Have you?"

Peter shook his head.

Frank sighed. "Poor Sean. Nobody will tell him anything."

Peter looked to his friend with raised eyebrows. "And you secretly want to keep it that way, don't you?"

Frank blushed, having been caught.

"I don't blame you, really," Peter continued. "But it can't be helped, you know?"

"I know, I know," Frank replied dully. "But that doesn't mean I still can't wish it."

"I don't know much about wishes, Frank," Peter said seriously. "But maybe that's just what we need. Who knows what kind of danger we all are in?"

"And," added Frank darkly. "Who knows how long this adventure will take to finish."



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Eh...it's short, but it's better than nothing. Now for a few comments to the readers, who I have supremely disappointed *looks sad*

CoolMistaria1: 'Aragorn Telcontar becomes...hahahahaaa...Andrew Thomson!' Erm...*sweatdrops* I just added the last name, not thinking. And I'm SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SOOOOOOOOOOOOO SORRY for not updating sooner! I hope you still remember this fic and I hope you'll still love it! I'm sorry!

Fool of a Took: *bristles* Ah, sod off. If you don't get the idea of the fic, then don't read it and don't leave a nasty review.

Gimli der Zwerg: Hit the nail on the head. I'm American, so they shall all be American! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA! *pauses* Nah. Boromir is gonna be Canadian, I think. And Gimli...well, I'm not too sure about him. What do you think? *curious look*