When There Is Little Hope: Chapter 3 (Waves of Weakness)

Author's Note: Well, I suppose I'm somewhat of a stranger when it comes to this story. I'm so terribly sorry that it's taken this long for me to update! When I said, "updates are going to be extremely slow", I certainly didn't intend to wait a month (and many days afterwards!) to post chapter three. I've just been so busy… so, so busy :(.

shirebound: Your stories are always inspiration to me -- and I think, in a way, they are huge inspirations to every reader/writer who has been given the delightful pleasure in reading them! 

Shire Baggins: Thank you! I'm hoping to place in a lot more of Merry, Pippin and Sam in future chapters. (And who doesn't like sick-Frodo fics? :))

3-5th ling: Your review made me laugh so much! And don't worry, you're not the only one who doesn't like mushrooms. I feel like I'm betraying hobbits when I say this, but they're horrid things! (Yep, this is a hurt/comfort story…)

Aragornrocks: I don't think the teachers realize that we actually have lives, and lives in which fics are in desperate need of an update.

Sorrow Reminisce: I'm afraid that Frodo's going to be in terrible danger soon, in more ways than one! … Aww. In that case, I'm sure your mum was very caring! I don't  recall being sick myself for a long time, so perhaps I press down too hard on Frodo's health, but there again, *technically* I'm still a kid so maybe I still have time to go for an illness to drift my way. '*coughs* Oh, my throat…'

Thank you everybody who reviewed! And if you have any critiques at all, please state them. I really want to know how I can improve my writing, and the only way I'll find that out is if you tell me. I will be happy to receive a positive comment of advice! … I'm a little nervous about posting this chapter: I don't think it has many strong points to it. But anyway, it's finally here…

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When Frodo stirred, the first thing that sunk in was the coldness: bleak, numbing coldness. He did not understand why the temperature seemed so unfriendly to his body, for he had three thick blankets wrapped around him, leaving only the features of his face exposed to the cave-air. And yet he shivered uncontrollably as if he were clad in absolutely nothing.

Exhausted, he wanted desperately to fall back to sleep, but he began to toss and turn where he lay, unable to get warm or comfortable. It was due to the unpleasant fact that breathing was immensely difficult and to his dismay, he could feel a dreaded cough forming in the back of his throat, where it was waiting warily to set itself free from the confinement of his irritated windpipe.

Struggling to sit up, Frodo pulled the blankets off himself and sharply drew air into his tight and aching lungs; then noticed that the fire was low, almost to the point of burning out. He scrambled to his feet, and much too quickly because the sickly dizziness returned in strong waves – washing over his coordination entirely – and it felt like he had been dangling upside down for the last hour. He swooned and staggered, but thankfully the cave returned to an un-blurred focus just as he managed to regain his balance and prevent himself from falling atop of Sam's softly snoring form.

Panting slightly and rubbing his brow, Frodo glanced around and viewed eight sleeping forms, all motionless; the others must have returned after he had fallen asleep. He spotted the huge pile of chopped firewood and moved to throw more logs onto the fire for the weak, dying flames to lick up and swallow, just as the cough crept up unexpectedly, catching him off his guard.

Silently he panicked. If he took so much as half a breath now, his chest would explode into a spasm of unstoppable coughing. He could not disturb his companions with the noise. Forcing his throat to obscure for as long as he possibly could, Frodo hurried out of the shelter of the cave to meet the painfully chilling nip of the air's temperature, and there he relieved his pressured lungs, allowing them to gain an angry, vicious control.

***

It was deep into the night when Aragorn awakened to discover no fire and nobody on watch in the small cave, and everything was relatively quiet. The only noise to be heard came from one of the heavily breathing hobbits nearby… or he supposed it could be Gimli. The Dwarf had acquired an annoying habit for snoring over the past few weeks, and had been smacked out of his noisy slumber by another more than once. But no, there was something else; something in the atmosphere was missing and it disturbed him greatly.

Sitting up, the Ranger looked around. The light – radiating dimly from the Wizard's staff propped up against the rocks – was scarce. Now that he was awake, he would remain up and keep guard of the Company himself. Gandalf certainly would not be very impressed if, in the morning, he discovered that somebody had passed by their watch with a casual wave of the hand. The Wizard had made it specifically clear that at least one member of the Fellowship must stay conscious and alert to any kind of danger at all times, especially when it was still dark. And in any case, the fire needed to carry on burning brightly throughout the night, or they risked severe heat loss, when heat was precious little to each body as it was. Frodo, for one, had to...  

Frodo! Aragorn's grey eyes instantly stopped scanning the other dark figures and wavered alarmingly over the abandoned pool of numerous blankets next to him. The hobbit was gone. At once the Ranger jumped to his feet, his mind racing with all sorts of possibilities, and he quickly checked to see if Frodo was snuggled in with Merry, Pippin or Sam in search for sources of warmth. The Ring-bearer was not there.

Then Aragorn could have sworn he heard something outside, and he strained his ears to listen...  Yes, there it was again – the unmistakable sound of a bad cough. Silently cursing, he rushed outside, hoping, praying, that Frodo had had the sense not to stay out there for too long, especially in his condition.

He stared wildly about, trying to make out shapes in the dark. At least the wind and the snow had stopped whipping and blasting in all directions, but the climate had lost none of its icy feel; in fact, it was worse: it was freezing cold, even though he could put up with such aspects of weather.

There! Frodo was standing a short way away by a clump of jagged rocks, bent double and grasping at his chest and throat, choking and suffering terribly each time he drew a desperate breath. After running towards him, Aragorn crouched down by the hobbit's side.

"Oh, Frodo..." The concerned Ranger shook his head gravely. "You should not be out here..."

Even if he had wanted to, Frodo could make no answer as his chest shook. He hardly had half a second to breathe with the repetitive, violent tremors of the exhausted cough, tearing harshly at his lungs and throat. Close to tears, he gazed helplessly, almost pleadingly, into Aragorn's observing eyes and realised how anxious they were.

The Ranger understood that it was hurting him badly, and without another word he straightened Frodo up with strong, insistent hands and firmly rubbed his back until the coughing subsided, and the hobbit could eventually breathe. Frodo gasped for air, his lungs rattling painfully.

"Come," said Aragorn quietly, "you had better get back to the cave."

He clasped Frodo's tiny, cold wrist and carefully and swiftly guided him through the bitter, moist snow to their shelter. There he sat the little Ring-bearer down, and after wrapping his own blankets around him with concentrated attention to warming Frodo up, he threw some wood onto the small fire and set to making a pot of tea, purposely giving the hobbit some time to recover.

Swaddled in blankets yet again, Frodo sat huddled up to his knees and shivering. He guessed that he was being closely viewed by the corner of an eye, but he could not help it – he was extremely cold. A few moments later, Aragorn crawled over, handing him a mug of steaming tea which he accepted gratefully, the warmth soothing his numb hands.

"Thank you."

Hot tea. Good. He sipped it tentatively, half-expecting it to have some sort of foul-tasting herb mixed in amongst the liquid, but he found it to be sweet and refreshing, and it heated his insides comfortably.

Aragorn watched him quietly, noticing how the tired, blue eyes avoided his own. Taking his own mug of tea, he shifted to sit beside him, a little surprised when Frodo was the first to speak...

"I went outside... how did you know that?"

Aragorn smiled down at him, inclining his head.

"You were not in here."

"Yes, but...  did I wake you?" the hobbit asked anxiously.

"I am not sure," replied Aragorn. "I woke when you were already gone and felt something missing. And it's a good job I did awaken, too; I doubt you would have......  Are you still cold?" he questioned, noticing his shivers with concern. Frodo was quavering like a leaf.

Frodo nodded, but at once regretted it, for he only just realised how heavy and achy his head felt. Frowning deeply, Aragorn lightly touched his cheek and forehead, before slipping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him close. The action was a gentle one, but that did not prevent Frodo from wincing slightly – at the moment he was extremely stiff and sore, and any light touch to his tender muscle tissues was painful torment. Although thankfully, Aragorn had not noticed.

"Why did you go outside, Frodo?" he asked softly.

"Aragorn, is that...  not obvious? I couldn't stop coughing."

"Better to cough in here than outside in the cold," said Aragorn suggestively, raising his dark eyebrows, "isn't it?"

"No...  well, yes..." Frodo answered wearily, "but I did not wish to wake everyone... "

"Frodo, they would not have minded; we would rather be disturbed from sleep than see you frozen to death the next morning..."

Making no answer to this, the hobbit gulped down the remaining cooled tea in his mug and put it down on the ground next to him, refusing to meet the Ranger's gaze.

"Promise me you will not do that again," said Aragorn sternly. "You have an extremely bad chill already; I do not wish to see you grow any worse. If your cough arises again during the night, do not hesitate to wake me and I will give you something to ease it. There is no need to suffer in silence. All right?"

"Yes, all right..." Frodo confirmed as he sniffed a little, a chilling shudder crawling up his spine.

All of a sudden his head began to swim and he felt terribly dizzy, and his vision whirled like he was drowning in his own, dark surroundings, with prickling stars appearing all over the place. He was going to pass out – the feeling was all too familiar, though this time it washed over him thoroughly.

"Ara----" The Ranger's name was left unfinished as Frodo gasped and clenched his eyes tightly shut, his head feeling extremely heavy; and it strained on his aching neck. The whirling seemed to merge together in his stomach and getting faster and faster, it swirled up inside of him until he could not bear it in silence any longer. "Oh…"

"Frodo?" The small Ring-bearer had gone limp in the man's hold – as if his bones were made of rubber – and glancing down, Aragorn saw his wide eyes come in and out of hazy focus. "Frodo!" he pressed more urgently, supporting the swooning hobbit in his arms entirely, for Frodo's muscles and skeleton seemed to have slackened and temporarily forgotten their main purpose.

"Oh, my head," groaned Frodo, slumping weakly against the Ranger. "I need... need to lie down... my... my head hurts...  terribly. Aragorn... please..."

Frodo's head lolled and he moaned with sickness as he was lowered down onto his make-shift bed. Aragorn pulled the blankets up to the hobbit's chin, ensuring that they were tucked around him warmly and snugly, and then sat by his side inspecting the chalk white face.

"Is that better?" he asked softly, brushing back dark curls from his forehead reassuringly.

"Mmph, a little. Still dizzy," Frodo muttered in reply.

"I know. Lie still, now. Sleep will help so get some rest whilst you can – you do need it. I will be here if you wake and require me, don't worry..."

Gladly, Frodo willingly obeyed, feeling drained of all energy and exhausted. Distantly he began to suspect that there had been something in the tea after all – some sort of refreshment herb, for both his mind and body were more relaxed and at ease as he drifted off for a second time, the fire now alive and crackling once again.

***