When There Is Little Hope: Chapter 2 (Settling Down)
Author's Note: Hiya, folks. Hope you're all well. Firstly, I have to thank you all for your reviews! They certainly made me decide to continue updating this… I only expected one or two people to read it (presuming you are all people, of course… I have known a few elves to sneak in amongst mankind). So yes, I will be carrying on with this. I actually re-posted Chapter 1, after adding a few bits to certain paragraphs – they're not too important, but if you would like to double back and read, then please feel free to do so. It's just that I wasn't entirely happy with it: it seemed too short – the chapter itself and the structure of the sentences… not that it's changed a lot now, but not to worry.
Corbin Slate: Thanks for being the first reviewer! I was dithering and fretting over Chapter 1 actually, and whether I'd put enough description of the character's emotions into it or not, but if you're content with the detailing of their feelings then that's what the important thing is :).
goldie: Yes, yes – in that case you will not need your eyes testing for a while 'cause you're seeing perfectly… another poorly Frodo is being summoned to the pen and paper. That poor little hobbit: I pity him. Yes, I realized Chapter 1 was a tiny bit short (I hope you will forgive me), and this one isn't much longer, although it's a bit slower-going so it might seem it. And aww – you think it's sweet?
Trust No One: Thank you… I am trying to get better. I know there's always room for improvement in every piece of writing but in mine it is very spacey. But I will keep practicing!
phoenixqueen: Yes, I'm aware that the idea of Frodo becoming sick (or injured) on Caradhras isn't exactly new. Far better and more talented author's have attempted it before me, and made excellent jobs of it, too (the fics belonging to Frodo Baggins of Bag End and shirebound, especially, are fantastic)! But I promise I will try to keep it as fresh and original as possible. And thanks… personally, I think I have made the Aragorn (one of my favorites, too!) in my story too friendly, but it seems he is preferred that way. Anyhow, I hope I haven't changed him and Frodo in any way in this next chapter…
Lady Jaina: Well, Aragorn is the concerned-for-his-dear-friends kind of man, really, isn't he? I don't know whether that is what Tolkien intended for him to appear as, but it's certainly what seems to shine through him at times… to me, anyway, but I am positive many others completely agree. I assure you: the hurt/comfort and angst will be plentiful, and, I'm afraid, later to come ;).
Camellia Gamgee-Took: Aww, thank you for your lovely review!! And it's so nice to see another English lover of Lord of the Rings reading and writing on this site – I was under the impression that I was the only one. And you're a Southerner, I see… I'm from up North!
shirebound: I know – poor, poor hobbit. Gosh, I can't believe you reviewed this! You're my favourite of most favourite authors here on FF.net; your work has my total love and admiration and is wonderful! I think I mentioned you somewhere up there actually. So flattering… heehee…
LilyBaggins: Another of my favourite writers! Thank you for reading. I assure you, if I ever discovered the heart to kill off any of the Lord of the Rings characters, it would most definitely not be one of the hobbits, and certainly not Frodo. Why, I couldn't even think such a thing… He will remain living, I promise!
Boromir: What's wrong with Frodo? Well, you will just have to wait and see… ;)
crazytook: Yes, they always do seem to take fun twists and angsty turns, don't they? Hopefully mine will be 'fun' enough for you :).
padfoot_black: I believe you reviewed my Harry Potter fic, too. Glad to see you're also a Lord of the Rings fan! What a sweet review! Thank you.
And also much appreciation to the other reviewers as well! I actually chose a very stupid time to post up chapter 1 of a fresh story, for I returned to school a couple of days ago following my huge 7 week summer holiday, and have tons of work to complete already. Of course, I'd much rather spend time watching Lord of the Rings, reading Lord of the Rings, and writing about Lord of the Rings, but unfortunately real life butts in and takes control. In other words: updates are going to be extremely slow.
Anyway, here's Chapter 2…
***
Following what seemed an Age to Frodo, relieved cries finally reached his throbbing ears and he caught snatches of a debating conversation which was rapidly taking place – but all that sunk in was: shelter, fire and cave. Once these words eventually registered with his absent mind, they sounded extremely welcoming to Frodo… comfortable, even. Of course, he would give anything to be back at Bag End, snugly tucked up in his soft, hobbit-sized bed with his own fluffy pillows and sleek, cotton nightshirts – or to still be in Rivendell, perhaps. Either way, all he wanted now was warmth and rest. If his desire was granted in the near-future, he would be thanking the Valar forever.
Soon enough, Frodo felt himself being gently removed from Aragorn's back by Legolas, and laid down on a blanket, spread out on the ground. He wasn't warm, or dry, or comfortable… but he was still, and he had longed for no movement for many hours. Acquiring one of his needs was an improvement to having none of them at all. He closed his heavy eyelids and almost instantly fell asleep, not having the ability to do anything besides, but no sooner had he thought this, he was interrupted by Sam who was shaking him vigorously.
"Don't fall asleep yet, Mr. Frodo!"
"Sam?" murmured Frodo, now feeling dizzy and sick, the form of Sam a clouded swirl of colour. "What is it?"
"Mr. Strider says you can't spend the night like this, begging your pardon, Sir. You need to get warmed up." Sam helped him to sit up, leaning him against the rocky wall of the cave, which kicked off a pounding ache in Frodo's head.
"Bless me – you're as cold as ice!" Sam exclaimed, and he turned in time to see Aragorn coming towards them. "Strider, feel how cold he is…"
Aragorn smiled wryly and kneeling down, he closed his hand around Frodo's wrist, his expression unchanging.
"All right, Sam, I will see to Frodo here," Aragorn told Sam softly, "you just go and get yourself sorted." The stockier of the hobbits obeyed and carefully handed him the dry clothes from Frodo's pack, before scurrying off to the other side of the cave.
"Aragorn," Frodo mumbled weakly, "do not pay any attention to Sam… he gets too paranoid at the best of times."
"Come on, Frodo," came the mild reply, "let's get you out of those wet things before your chest becomes worse."
Frodo wanted to object, but he couldn't summon the effort, and so he allowed his larger friend to continue with what he was doing without any kind of fuss. Aragorn was gentle as he removed his sodden garments one-by-one, piling them into a drenched heap besides his pack. As he unbuttoned Frodo's shirt, however, he gasped and drew away his hands…
"Mithril!" he exclaimed in wonder. "You are full of the most peculiar surprises, Master Baggins! Is this truly set before my eyes, or is it an illusion?"
"Yes, it is real Mithril," replied Frodo carelessly.
"You four delightful hobbits never cease to amaze me at times. But tell me, how did you come to own such a fine coat as this? Surely this is not the one Gandalf spoke of. If it is, he sincerely underestimated it."
"This is the one," confirmed Frodo heavily, and he sighed. At times, the thought of Bilbo encouraged him and filled him with love and happy thoughts, but then at others it brought him sadness and reluctance to continue with this forsaken challenge. As contented and utterly pleased as he was with his current companions, he wished his old uncle were present.
"Bilbo passed it on to me in Rivendell, along with Sting, of course, and a few wise words to go with them. He told me I had a much greater need for it now than he did, starting out on this journey and all. He said that no hobbit from the Shire – besides, perhaps, himself – had ever ventured out on a quest such as the one I was about to undergo, and nor would they ever do so..." Frodo's frail voice cracked and became slightly hoarse from the strain of using his vocal chords, but at least it helped him to stay upright and awake. "Bless dear Bilbo! How I miss him on this awful, freezing mountain… I am positively certain he would keep my spirits high and hopeful."
Aragorn smiled warmly after listening to the past-words of Bilbo, and he said fondly, "Bless the old hobbit, indeed! I do not doubt that he would raise everybody's spirits immensely… but seriously, he certainly has a sharp eye for dangers ahead, does Bilbo. I am glad he gave this to you, Frodo."
"Don't mention it to the others," pleaded Frodo seriously, "…not yet. It is sort of like a secret between the two of us, a connection: a piece of Bilbo I have brought along with me, I suppose," he added, a little embarrassed, for he knew it sounded childish.
Aragorn simply nodded and eased off Frodo's shirt.
"I will not say anything, I promise you, Frodo. Would you prefer to keep it on then, for it will not be wet on the inside, will it?"
"I'll take it off," Frodo answered, "only because of this dreadful cough I have. My chest feels tight enough as it is."
Sluggishly, he wriggled out of the mail coat and Aragorn placed it in the bottom of his pack with extreme care, resisting the urge to slide his fingers over the small, smooth rings and gems of the fine, silver corselet, which shimmered dully from the unnatural, short-distanced light of Gandalf's staff.
"Where are the others?" Frodo asked curiously, pulling on a pair of dry breeches. It was quite dark in the large cave, despite the helping source of the Wizard. Combined with the worsening dizziness he was suffering, he could not seem to view things all that efficiently.
Pointing further back into the hole in the rocks they had chosen for sufficient shelter, Aragorn answered, "Gandalf, Merry, Pippin and Samwise are over there; the rest have disappeared to gather some firewood from the evergreen trees, near to here."
"I think I shall be asleep before we get a fire going," said Frodo drowsily, rubbing his stinging eyes with a squashing amount of pressure and causing stars to appear before them. It did not aid his dizziness.
"No, you will not. I am making sure you have some hot food tonight," Aragorn stated firmly as he helped him with his fresh shirt. Frodo's stomach suddenly twisted itself into a tight, unpleasant knot at the mental image of food.
"I don't think I can eat anything tonight," he said quietly.
"I know you don't feel like it, Frodo," said Aragorn gently, "but you really do need to keep up your strength."
Frodo sighed in defeat. "I will try, but… I'm worried about it coming back up…"
"Maybe a mild soup then, but you definitely need something. Do you feel sick?" questioned the Ranger, frowning a little. He placed a rough hand on the hobbit's forehead to find he was still freezing cold.
"Yes, slightly," Frodo replied, and he shivered as a strong draught blew forcefully through from the cave's entrance. Aragorn wrapped a blanket around his small form tightly, just as Merry strolled over to them then, hands in pockets, smiling brightly.
"There was a clump of wood at the back of the cave, Strider, which Sam found. Should we rustle up a fire now?" asked the younger hobbit cheerfully, winking at his cousin. "We could at least make a start in warming ourselves up before the others return!"
Aragorn cast an inspecting glance at Frodo and nodded to Merry as another shudder passed through him, chattering his teeth. As he sat there, huddled up, Frodo appeared gaunter and less coloured than ever: apart from the red rawness of his nose and ears, the dark, purplish rings of exhaustion underneath his eyes, and his normally-rosy, chapped lips, tinged with blue – the small features of his thin face were chalk white, deathly pale.
"Come on," said Aragorn decisively, "let's take you over to join the rest of the scallywags over there in the corner."
Ignoring the blank absence of a hobbit's chuckle, he lifted him easily in his arms – marvelling at how light Frodo had become – and carried him towards the half of the Fellowship whom had not exited to find fuel for the flames, sitting him next to Gandalf. Fetching another blanket – one of his own large ones – he draped it over the Ring-bearer's shoulders and set to assisting Merry with the fire.
Once Aragorn offered his help they soon had it ablaze, and Frodo began to warm up somewhat, although his headache was becoming worse. Lingering between sleep and consciousness, he did not hear or see what the others were doing, as Sam boiled some soup in a pan. Several times his name was repeated to be certain he was still awake and each time he murmured back sleepily.
"Frodo… Frodo, eat this and then you can sleep. Wake up now, come on – you can't escape my demands as easily as that, you rascal..." Aragorn roused him again with a fresh bowl of steaming mushroom soup in his hand, shaking his shoulder.
Frodo stirred but forced his eyes shut even more tightly; he groaned and rolled onto his front, trying in vain to escape the sickening smell of mushroom, which usually he would do anything for. Why couldn't they just leave him in peace to rest? That was all he wanted to do, not eat or drink – sleep. He was aware that Aragorn was only doing what was best for him because he was his friend and he cared for him, but he was ill with weariness.
"Frodo, please, you need to eat… just a bit of it at least. You must." Putting down the soup, Aragorn squeezed his small hand encouragingly, but Frodo remained with his face buried deeply inside his nest of blankets.
Gandalf exchanged a concerned look with Aragorn, his large, bushy grey eyebrows knitting together in the middle as he frowned. Bending down, he murmured soft words into Frodo's ear so that the others – straining their hearing – could not tell what he was saying, and after a moment the Wizard helped him to twist around and sit up.
Frodo did look very indisposed and peaky as he blinked in the flickering light, raising his arm to rub the sore itchiness away form his red, puffy eyes, deprived of their usual bright spark. Aragorn caught him as he swayed and shifted closer so the hobbit could lean on his body to stay upright.
"Here, my boy, try to swallow as much of this as you can," Gandalf told him kindly, as he handed over the bowl to non-awaiting palms.
Reluctantly, Frodo accepted and took the soup. He hesitated before raising his hand and putting a spoonful of thick, creamy broth into his mouth, fighting to keep the existing contents of his stomach at bay as he swallowed. Gradually he managed to push the rest of it down, followed by a reasonable amount of water under the watchful eye of Aragorn. Though it had not done any justice to the soreness of his throat, he had to admit, the nauseas dizziness had subsided a little.
"There's a good lad," said Gandalf, taking the empty bowl off him and leaning over to pick up the spoon which had clattered clumsily to the ground.
"Well, that's a relief, Frodo," the cheeky voice of Pippin piped up.
"What is?" mumbled Frodo, his eyelids drooping again. He barely felt the comforting squeeze around his shoulders which came from the Ranger next to him…
"Pip's right," said Merry amusingly, licking his own spoon, "you've thankfully spared us the task of informing Bilbo, Frodo, that his heir and favourite nephew refused a whole bowl of soup, leaving it to go to waste! How shocked would he have been to hear that?"
"Mushroom soup, too!" squeaked Pippin, drawing his envious attention away from Sam, who was sipping his own soup delicately as if savouring every precious moment of delicious taste.
Everyone laughed at their remarks, especially Gandalf who knew and loved the hobbit-ways well, and even Frodo managed a weak smile. He was glad those two were here: they made everything friendly… in a way, almost replacing Bilbo's absence. Remembering his place, he muttered a barely-audible, 'goodnight', before Aragorn lowered him carefully down, tucking the blankets around him snugly, and he finally drifted off, sinking down into blessed slumber…
***