To Everyone: Thank you so much for the wonderful reviews for Chapter 8. That was a tough chapter to write, and I'm so happy it "worked". Viewing the same thing through multiple POVs was an experiment for me, as was trying to see through the eyes and mind of the Witch-king (shudder). There was just no way to downplay the horror of this event, and your supportive comments are truly appreciated. In addition, I'm so gratified to discover that my "logic" for some of the motivations and actions at Weathertop seems to make sense.
The heartfelt "thank you" above goes for all of you, repeated over and over and over.
Aiko-chan: Oh, Aiko-chan! As you reviewed each chapter in succession, I was just cringing for you as you approached Chapter 8! I'm glad you're still with me.
Ailsa Joy and Firnsarnien: Your reviews had me in tears of laughter!
Aneko Kohana: What a compliment! Thank you.
AutumnHeart: I love that phrase you use… "the hunter/hunted perspectives" -- I hadn't actually thought of it in that way.
Bill the Pony: You have the Witch-king's sword on your wall and your doggie is named Frodo? I'm scared.
Bookworm2000 and Hai and reginabean: It's all book-canon, from here on -- as it serves the story, of course. (It's hard to answer questions too specifically, since future chapters aren't written yet.)
eiluj: Oh my, you went through so much in order to find my stories! I'm ever so glad you did, and that you're glad you did!
Insane Pineapple from Naboo: Welcome back! And yes, "Elbereth" is from the book.
Lady of Ithilien: The upcoming chapters may not be exactly 'happy', but you know they'll regain some of the hobbity resilience and lightness that I just cannot keep out of my fics, no matter how angsty they are!
Little Mouse: Hope you got my e-mail about the italics, and good luck!
Master Elora Dannan: That's just what my mother said! She was angry at Aragorn for not giving the hobbits more information about the wraiths and how to fight them. (But then, I suppose there wouldn't have been much of a story if they fought them off.)
Midgette: Whether the Nazgûl "think" or not is probably open to interpretation. The King of the Nazgûl, at least, seems to be able to think and act independently. In ROTK, when he speaks to Dernhelm/Éowyn, he refers to himself as "me", which speaks of an identity (even partially) separate from his Dark Lord and Master.
Nilmandra: I don't know why Prof. Tolkien had the Nazgûl stab Frodo's shoulder, and not the heart -- I assume it was to show us the resilience of hobbits over the ghastly fortnight to come (and so there would be a story!).
Pearl Took: "Cold arrogance" is precisely how I imagine the Nazgûl -- I wish I'd thought to use that phrase.
Rosa Cotton: You scamp, Rosa! The only thing that "takes so long" to update is (1) a lack of time and (2) a need to write, re-write, and re-write! Some stories, like this one, are more intricate and painstaking than others. And as for the number of reviews, I still can hardly believe that such a thing is actually possible. I'm so grateful that this story is being enjoyed by so many people.
ScifiRogue: I feel like I'm becoming part of your family! Give them all a hug for me.
shantastic: I'm so glad to hear from you. Sorry there's hardly any Pippin in this chapter, but there's much more to come…
shireling: Two weeks without Internet access… that's as scary as a Nazgûl!
Smego Baggins: Our stories are really the only way we can ever "go to Middle-earth", and I'm so gratified that you're enjoying my vision of it. If you see me as "a person who will always deliver without giving less than she has to," I can't imagine a lovelier compliment.
This is a sequel to my story "Quarantined", in which Aragorn and Gandalf first met Frodo and Samwise when Frodo was 22 and Sam was 11. Frodo and Aragorn strongly bonded and became fast friends in a very short period of time, during a serious illness and subsequent adventure. As this story begins, it has been 15 years since they last saw each other (when Frodo was 35). This new story assumes familiarity with "Quarantined" and will contain many references to it, but I am hopeful that it can also stand on its own.
Please remember that this is AU. The path of the journey (Bree, the Marshes, Weathertop, the Ford, and Rivendell) is true to canon, but the actions, interactions, relationships, motivations, and dialogue will be that which best serve this story.
PLEASE NOTE: I am not a medical professional and do not claim to be. This is a work of fiction. No medical treatment or description of illness or injury in this story should be taken as anything more than the author's own opinions and plot devices.
DISCLAIMER: Of course. The characters don't belong to me, I just get to think about them day and night.
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Notes for Chapter 9: Several lines in this chapter are from "The Fellowship of the Ring" by J.R.R. Tolkien. For those who haven't read "Quarantined", there are quite a few references to it in this chapter (from chapters 4, 6, and 19).
This chapter is mostly Frodo-Aragorn, as I didn't want to skip over the immediate aftermath of the stabbing. Chapter 10 will bring us back to the whole group, for more of everyone's reactions to this event (including Aragorn's), and the departure from Weathertop. (And Aragorn will have a heart-to-heart talk with Pippin.)
BY CHANCE OR PURPOSE
Chapter 9 --- The Hands of the King
October 6
The wraiths were gone. Aragorn fell to his knees next to Sam. Frodo lay before them, face down, his right hand clenched in a tight fist.
"He's alive," Sam whispered. He was pale and shaking.
A quick glance around had told Aragorn that all the hobbits were in some measure of shock, Pippin the worst off -- but Frodo needed his full attention now. He rolled the unconscious hobbit onto his back, revealing his small sword on the ground beneath him. The motion loosened Frodo's fist, and something lay revealed in his palm, gleaming brightly in the firelight. Aragorn caught his breath, and found himself staring, for a long moment, at the One Ring -- the first of his line to see it since Isildur himself.
"Sam…" Aragorn hardly dared trust himself to move or speak. "Sam, put that back into his pocket. But you must not touch it."
"He's still got it," Sam marveled. He thought for a moment, then used his pocket handkerchief to gather up the Ring and push it into one of Frodo's vest pockets. "Strider!" The parts of Frodo's coat and vest covering his left shoulder were torn and bloody.
"I see it." Aragorn gently lifted the limp body of his dear friend and laid him down closer to the fire, into which Sam proceeded to throw more wood. Frodo had been stabbed… but how badly? Working together, he and Sam removed Frodo's cloak and coat, and unbuttoned his vest and shirt. The Ranger closed his eyes for a moment, and, with an effort, pushed his emotions down deep and forced himself to view this hobbit as a healer must. Very pale, but breathing deep and regular… pulse steady… the wound was… This was no ordinary wound. Frodo's shoulder revealed a deep incision, but blood loss was not excessive. The area around the wound seemed grey, and felt cold to the touch. No ordinary wound… no. Not Frodo. No.
"Sam," Aragorn tried to keep his voice steady. "Heat water, quickly. As much as you can." As Sam raced to obey, the Ranger left Frodo's side only long enough to unlace his pack and draw out, from the very bottom, a flat box. He broke a seal on it, and unfolded a cloth to reveal a half dozen long, slender leaves. He took out three of them.
"Merry," Aragorn called urgently, "bring Pippin over here."
Merry brought Pippin to his feet and came to join the others. Pippin was ashen, his fists clenched so tightly in Merry's cloak that the knuckles were white. He kept twisting around to stare into the darkness, wondering if the creatures were returning. Tears came to both his and Merry's eyes when they saw Frodo, and Merry sat down next to Aragorn, bringing Pippin down with him.
"This one's boiled," said Sam, bringing over a pot of water, "and more's heating."
The hobbits watched, puzzled, as Aragorn bowed his head over the leaves lying across his palms, then closed his eyes and breathed upon them.
"Are you part Elf, Strider?"
Aragorn looked up, startled. "A very small part, Sam -- from so long ago, I can barely conceive of it." He frowned. "Why do you ask that?"
Sam gestured at the leaves cupped in the Ranger's hands. "You're talkin' to the plants in some way, like you said the Elves can do."
"Just this plant," Aragorn murmured. "It is athelas; it somehow recognizes me."
Only Merry seemed to pay heed to Aragorn's soft words, but before he could say anything, the Ranger had crushed the leaves in his hands, and dropped them into the water.
The fresh, living scent that was released was unlike anything the hobbits had ever imagined. Pippin sighed and relaxed, his grip on Merry loosening. With each breath of the steaming water, the black terror and despair seemed to dissipate further, until, after a few minutes, it was more memory than living reality. Merry felt his courage and determination, temporarily crushed under the weight of Shadow, return once again, strong and sure. And Sam, his eyes never leaving Frodo's face, knew there was hope for his master, and for all of them.
Frodo's eyelids fluttered, and he stiffened and moaned as returning consciousness brought pain. He opened his eyes and looked about in terror.
"What has happened? Where is the pale king?" he asked wildly.
"He is gone," Aragorn said gently. It tore at his heart to see the hobbit's pale face drawn in pain. "Be still now, and let me see to you."
Aragorn soaked a cloth in the hot water in which the athelas was releasing its essence, then wrung it out. When it had cooled slightly, he slid a hand behind Frodo's back and, with the other, he gently pressed the cloth to the wound. Frodo gasped and cried out as the pain flared even more sharply for a moment, as if something within the wound was fighting back against any attempt at healing, but then the pain eased, and he sighed in relief. As Aragorn applied each fresh, warm poultice, the pain diminished and the frozen cold in his shoulder and arm receded to a bearable level.
Aragorn was relieved beyond measure to note that the athelas was easing Frodo's pain, but he was concerned that the skin around the wounded shoulder, and Frodo's left arm, did not regain their normal color, but remained strangely pale and very cold. Frodo lay quietly under his care, his rapid breaths slowing.
"Thank you," Frodo murmured. "That's so much better. What…" He took a deep breath. "What smells so nice?"
Aragorn smiled and handed the cloth to Sam, motioning that the gardener should continue bathing the wound. "I don't know if you remember this, Frodo, but on the day you fell ill of the swamp malaise, all those years ago, Gandalf was gone most of that day and evening."
"I do remember that," Frodo said after a moment. "I remember asking Bilbo where he had gone."
"He had gone to look for athelas," Aragorn continued. "That is the plant you are smelling. It has great virtue, and I asked him to go in search of it -- but there was none to be found in or around the Westfarthing." He turned to Sam. "He even consulted with your father, Sam."
"Did he?" Sam asked, amazed.
"From that time to this, Frodo," Aragorn continued, "I have carried it with me whenever I could locate some. Because of you, I have had it in times of great need."
"Like now," whispered Pippin. It was the first time he had spoken.
"Pip, are you all right?" asked Merry.
"I…" Pippin had finally stopped shaking, and he nodded. "I will be. Strider, are they coming back?"
'Let us hear what Frodo has to tell," Aragorn said. "Can you remember what happened, little one?"
"He said that!" Frodo gasped, and tears sprang to his eyes. "He called me that! How did he know?"
"Tell us what happened." Aragorn took Frodo's right hand and held it. "You put on the Ring, did you not?"
"Yes," Frodo whispered. "I shouldn't have, I know. I remembered what you said, and I knew it was wrong, but I just… put it on. They… they were dreadful, Estel, like withered, dead people, cold and evil. Four of them surrounded you…" Frodo grew wide eyed. "Did you know they had knives, and swords?"
"I am not surprised, but I did not see them as you did."
"The other one, the… the king saw me, and… called me 'little one'.
"You were partly in their world, Frodo, when the Ring was upon your finger," Aragorn said thoughtfully. "It is possible that the wraith lord could sense something of you, through the Ring. Perhaps he called you by a name that was dear to you either to frighten you, or simply as cruelty."
"I couldn't bear it," Frodo said, his eyes blazing. "I was so angry, I attacked him!"
"You did?" Aragorn stared at the hobbit, shocked. "Tell me."
Merry moved to take the cloth from Sam, and took a turn bathing Frodo's wound with the warm athelas water.
"I found myself calling out to Elbereth, like you told us about," Frodo continued, "and then I stabbed at him. But I must have missed. He picked me up, and…" The hobbit's breathing started to grow fast and shallow. "I couldn't fight anymore. He… he stabbed me, and it was the worst pain, so cold, and…"
"Shhh," Aragorn murmured, "that's enough. I was able to drive them off. We are thankful you were able to remove the Ring so we could locate you, and begin to treat you."
Frodo nodded, calming a bit.
"Can you move your arm?" Aragorn asked. "Your fingers?"
Frodo bit his lip and frowned, then stared at the Ranger in fright. "I can't move my arm at all." He tried to look down at the wound, but Sam put a restraining hand on his unwounded shoulder.
"Just rest, sir, and let us tend to you."
"Sam," Frodo gasped, "where is it? Did they get it?"
"No sir," Sam answered. "It's here, in your pocket. They didn't take it, Mr. Frodo." He sighed. "I doubt you'd a let 'em have it even if they'd killed you."
"Why didn't they?" Frodo asked Aragorn. "Where are they?"
"They are gone for now," Aragorn answered evasively. "I'm going to take a look around, and your friends will stay with you. You've been through a great shock, Frodo, and if you are able to sleep, do so. We're going to leave at first light."
"Aragorn," Frodo whispered, "am I going to be all right?"
Aragorn. The Ranger struggled to keep his composure. Frodo had asked him those exact words, with that same look in his eyes, nearly 30 years before, when he had been so terribly ill. The other hobbits had gone perfectly still, and he knew they were listening closely.
"Frodo," Aragorn said softly, "you know I have never lied to you, and will never do so. You are badly hurt, and we must reach Rivendell. We have a long way to travel, and it will be difficult."
"I'm so sorry," Frodo said bitterly. "I was so foolish, and now I hope… what if I can't…"
"Frodo, if anyone can do this, it is you. I believe you to be the most extraordinary hobbit I have ever known. And I don't know if you're aware of this, but Gandalf once said…" The Ranger paused.
"What did he say?"
Aragorn smiled. "I believe his exact words were, 'He's the best hobbit in the Shire, Aragorn. That lad will surprise us all someday.'"
"Gandalf said that?" Frodo was staring at him, wide eyed. "About me?"
"Yes."
Pippin suddenly took the cloth from Merry, and took his turn applying the warm, potent water to Frodo's wound.
"Frodo," Aragorn said, looking deeply into the hobbit's eyes, "those wraiths know nothing of the determination of hobbits, or the love that surrounds you this night. I remember…" He smiled. "Long ago, a very wise hobbit told me that love gives us strength and courage when we need it most."
"I told you that -- after Bilbo told me that. Will…" Frodo was suddenly feeling very drowsy. "Will you keep… telling me that?"
Aragorn bent to kiss Frodo's brow.
"As often as you need to hear it… little one."
Frodo smiled and closed his eyes, falling into a restless sleep.
** TBC **