Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters portrayed below. They belong to J.R.R. Tolkien.
Calenor: thanks for reviewing, more coming up. Iorheal: no Frodo is not dying. I would not do that. It was meant as a metaphor. Breon Briarwood: Frodo will get the comfort he needs. A little in this chapter. LilyBaggins: More story coming as well. Strega: I am glad I got your attention. I have had lots of help with characterizations: I owe my thanks to Budgielover. FrodoBaggins87: Okay, the silver creature as I have most of the reviewers stumped. He will help Frodo, that is all I will say. ShireBaggins: Yes, the farmers left the traps for the silver people, and captured a Hobbit instead. The most important one, but they do not find out YET. As for cauterizing his wound, that seemed to be the only thing I could think of. My computer is very slow and would have taken a looooooooooooooooooooooong time to find out other Medici nary applications in the middle ages. So, I improvised. What were the other stories with cauterized wounds? Shirebound: I am glad you like the story so far. I hope I keep intriguing you.
Sorry for the long delay in between chapters, so without further adieu, let's continue the tale.
Blood and burnt skin was scraped off to reveal a well maintained blade as Legolas cleaned his pearl-handled knife by the campfire. It had just been used to cauterize Frodo's leg wound. The Elf observed the hobbits, seeming to always care for their own in times of great peril. The Ringbearer was lying on the ground underneath a pile of blankets. Pippin was absentmindedly stroking Frodo's unruly locks; all that could be seen of him was the top of his dark curly head peeking out and one of his hands being held firmly by Merry. Frodo's leg had been stabilized with two makeshift splints from branches that Gimli had chopped with his ax, tied to his leg with cloth that Sam had provided by ripping the seams out of one his shirts. Then Sam set to making somewhat of a meager meal by hobbit standards of potatoes and meat in some broth. Legolas had noticed that Merry had not wandered far from Frodo's side since the Ringbearer had succumbed to Aragorn's herbal tea. He could not forget the urgent look he had had on his face as he told what occurred leading up to Frodo's accident. Merry kept explaining to the Elf that he did not know he had set off another trap until it was too late. That he had cursed his height that he could not reach a branch to climb up after his cousin to render aide. The undeniable angered glances towards the farmers as they revealed they were the ones who set the trap, feeling the little one's frustration as he was being restrained by Aragorn. He respected Merry for sticking up for his kinsman, not letting size get in his way. Legolas' eyes then traveled towards Gandalf leaving Boromir to guard the farmers.
Gandalf approached Aragorn after he had finished binding Frodo's leg. Speaking softly to Aragorn he asked, "How is he?"
"He managed to drink the tea. It will help him sleep and with the pain," he frowned as he spoke to his confidant.
Gandalf took in the information, realizing there was something else worrying Aragorn. At this, he prodded the Ranger, "What else, Aragorn?"
With a deep sigh, looking around muttering under his breath not to alarm the other hobbits, he revealed a troubling thought, "Frodo's wound was deep. I had a hard time stopping the bleeding the first time I had tried to cauterize it. That is why I had to attempt a second time. I am still not satisfied that it has stopped. He will need to keep the leg immobilized. He has a slight fever, which is to be expected."
Gandalf sensed a but coming and raised his eyebrows for the Ranger to continue.
"I heard him say the strangest thing. I think it is due to delirium, but when I asked him how he had felt, he seemed to be talking plainly to me."
"What is it that has you concerned, Aragorn?" Gandalf asked with reservation.
"Frodo was talking about Silver glass. I would not be bothered by it, but I seemed to remember that phrase in a poem from a long time ago. Sam had been concerned by it as well. He brought it to my attention that Frodo was staring intently at the bushes over there," Aragorn explained gesturing with his now cleaned hands at the bushes outlining the camp. He then continued thinking hard as his eyebrows knitted together, "Merry had said Frodo was releasing someone or something from the net. When the creature fell, Merry noticed that the it had silver colored hair, with a shiny face. That was all he saw before the creature ran into the forest."
"Hmm, interesting," Gandalf whispered leaning on his staff for support, closing his eyes searching his memory as to what Frodo was talking about as well as to the identity of this creature. After a moment, Gandalf spoke, "Let us talk to these farmers," and whirled about, the folds of his robe causing dust to rise as smoke billows from a fire.
Legolas observed Gandalf, and without invitation stood by the campfire offering protection, though Gimli jumped up from his position, his shoes clunking loudly as he followed the trail of the dissipating dust. All the hobbits except for one, noticed the processional towards the farmers. Pippin reframed from stroking Frodo's hair, all attention on the small gathering taking place. Sam stood quietly by Bill, who was within hearing distance, pretending to check the fastenings on the packs that the pony was carrying, being extra quiet to overhear any conversations.
Larson and Bartholomew were sitting cross legged, but rose from the forest floor as Gandalf and Aragorn pounded the ground towards them. Larson, tight lipped, crossed his huge arms in front of his chest as if he was thwarting an arrow from piercing him. He recognized the attire of the Rangers. He wondered what he was doing way out here associated with these other characters. He had also seen the crest upon the warrior to be Gondorian. It was no concern of his, he figured they would be on their way, seeing as how they treated their friend's injury.
Aragorn stopped just short of rubbing noses with Larson. Eyes seemingly piercing the other like daggers. The Ranger of the North had taken over what once was the healer, secondary to even the future heir of Gondor. The tension that was building between these two parties was conveniently broken by Gandalf. He did not have time to deal with this situation, they needed to tend to Frodo and continue their journey.
"I hope the sport of capturing and inflicting pain on an innocent lad was satisfied today. You nearly killed him!" Gandalf bellowed out tightening his grip on his staff, not at all meaning to lose his temper. That is what he was trying to prevent Aragorn from doing when he had intervened. He felt a gentle touch on his shoulder as his anger only just started to subside. He did not know the Istari could feel this way towards another life force. His peripheral vision caught Gimli in battle stance, ax in hand. Boromir also had hold of his hilt, ready for any altercation. Gandalf the Grey managed a nod towards Aragorn relaxing his grip on his staff, backing away as he did.
Aragorn then spoke to the farmers responsible for Frodo's injuries, glancing back at the hobbits, whom he noticed had taken up interesting positions. "The one you had cornered this afternoon," he said pointing to Merry who raised his head at the mention of the attack, glaring at them wearily, "he said that there was something else in those traps you set. You had also mentioned something about Orcs?" he raised his eyebrows peering at both of the farmers expecting some sort of rebuttal. After a moment had passed, Aragorn opened his mouth, but was interrupted by the smaller man.
"I am Bartho…" he began to say, but caught an elbow in his chest. Larson turned on him hoping he would take the hint to shut his mouth. Bartholomew, though, wanted to clear his conscious. He glowered at Larson as he continued. "Like I was saying, I am Bartholomew. This here is Larson," he said.
"I can speak for meself!" Larson exclaimed, making his opinion known he did want his business being told to strangers.
"Well, then, speak! I for one would like to hear what you have to say about the traps and these rag tagged band of Orcs," Aragorn huffed, becoming quite impatient.
"We are just poor farmers. Rumors of the lands turning dark again are spreading like wildfires. People take advantage of scared folk, like us," Bart spat out quickly, not wanting to anger the Ranger further. "These Orcs came from no where, demanding we give them more than half our crops or they would burn our homes to the ground. Some of us men have families to feed. We were a breakin' our backs. We told the leader that half the men were sick, starving. He laughed at us, then made us a deal," Bart sputtered, looking from the wizard to the ranger with hopes that they would have pity on them for what they had done out of necessity.
"Please, continue sir," Gandalf spoke more softly this time, with a slight crook to his mouth.
"Um, well, the leader came to us with this deal. He said he had heard of these creatures that could heal anyone. He wanted us to capture one and bring it to him. If we did, then he would go away and leave us alone. Larson and I agreed and built the traps," he said guiltily. Even Larson was embarrassed at his misdeeds looking down at his boots than staring into the Rangers eyes or even the little people. "We are truly sorry. We were desperate. We did not mean… We were only trying to save our families, just got out of hand," Bart finished, the last part barely heard as he slowly lowered his head in shame.
Legolas had been keeping an eye on the camp as well as his sharp hearing in tune to the conversations, when his keen smell picked up on something in the distance. It was barely there, but making its way towards the campsite, probably within the hour. A small gust of wind blew his braids away from his face as he followed the scent to the edge of the campsite, gracefully climbing the rocks forming the small waterfall. When he finally reached the top, he spied the dark clouds off in the distance, just passing the first crest of mountains. Leaping off his perch, Legolas made his way back to the center of the campsite to inform Aragorn they needed to move on.
Frodo approached the top of Mt. Doom. It knew the journey was over. All the Ringbearer had to do was cast it into the fire. The hobbit kept ignoring its whispers of promises, closing in around him as the Eye searched it out and the one who carried it. It had never known a will as strong as this one. It had this one trick yet to play out. If the Ringbearer would not succumb to its song, then it would choke the one who carried it. The chain grew shorter around Frodo's throat, slowly constricting the airflow. The weary hobbit grasped at the shrinking chain, looking for Sam. As he turned on his heel, he plunged down into a pit of up righted spikes, piercing his leg.
Gasping for air, Frodo's eyes snapped open, the pain in his leg doubling. Pippin's eyes grew wide, trying to calm his cousin. "It's all right, Frodo. You are safe," convincing himself that it was.
"Frodo?" Merry questioned as he observed his cousin's pained face. "What is it?"
Trying to regain his breath, he licked his dry lips and breathed out, "Leg."
Merry bent over his cousin's leg, "Is it stiff?" he asked as he slid his hand under the cover. He retrieved his hand quickly when he felt something wet, recognizing it he called out. "Strider!" came the shrill voice of Merry breaking the silence that had engulfed the Fellowship as they heard the farmer's confession.
Both Aragorn and Gandalf quickly turned to the hobbit screaming out. Of what they could make out in the short distance, Merry still had hold of Frodo's hand, but he seemed to be trying to hold his cousin still more than consoling him. Even Pippin was leaning closer to him, stroking the dark curls. Sam burst onto the scene, landing hard on his knees next to Frodo taking a hand into his, trying to figure out what was going on. In three long strides, Strider was at Merry's side, kneeling down by Frodo's injured leg.
"What happened?" Aragorn asked as he observed a pale Ringbearer sweating profusely, guiding his fingers to the pulse point, watching Frodo's chest rise and fall rapidly.
"I heard him moaning a little. I asked him if he wanted anything. He told me that his leg hurt. So, I put my hand under the covers to see if I could reposition his leg and I found this," Merry said holding up his right hand smeared with a little blood.
A weak moan escaped Frodo's lips as Aragorn gently folded the covers back revealing the immobilized leg. Bright red blood had stained the outer most layer of bandages on the inside of the leg. What was most alarming was that the injured limb had swelled so much that the makeshift splint was too tight around the leg, squeezing the wound. The same area that he was afraid of reopening. Frodo looked up at Strider with those big cornflower blue eyes, brows knitting together; afraid to ask what was wrong. Aragorn crooked a smile, "'Tis all right, Frodo," he replied laying a calming hand upon the Ringbearer's chest.
Frodo nodded and took a deep breath, blowing it out between pursed lips. "My leg, it does not feel right," he finally spoke looking at the people he loved surrounding him. How could he tell them the terrible pain he felt. The wheel of fire building up in his mind until it seemed as if it were going to explode. Closing his eyes tightly, he tried not to succumb to the continued throbbing or the promise if he would just put on the Ring the pain would go away.
"What can I do, Strider?" Sam asked as he mopped the sweat off Frodo's brow, handing the soaked cloth to Pippin to continue the task.
"His leg has swollen quite considerably and the wood is constricting his leg causing him pain. We can relieve the pressure by loosening the strips of cloth. Sam, you can start on the one by his ankle while I work the one in the middle and top," Aragorn asked him starting to untie the knots holding the splints in place. As each piece of cloth was untied, the Ranger did not notice Frodo's hand wringing inside of Merry's palm. Merry was trying to hold onto the squirming appendage, reassuring Frodo they were almost done. Pippin was also trying to make himself useful, whispering into his cousin's ear and wiping his sweaty forehead.
The pain was getting unbearable, and Frodo was finding it hard to block out the Eye until it just about consumed him. Breaking free of Merry's grip, Frodo subconsciously brought his hand into his shirt fishing for the piece of gold hung about his neck. He was going to make the pain go away on his terms, not by Aragorn unraveling a bit of cloth. He felt the cold metal, outlining it with the tip of his index finger. Put me on. It whispered in his mind. The pain, oh the pain. You can feel it. I can take it away. You can go back home. His finger trembled, something was holding it back. His head shook from side to side as a small argument was taking place inside his mind. All is not lost, Ringbearer. Another voice. Not the Ring's. Look for the Silver…
"Frodo! No!" Sam tore at his master's shirt, ripping off a few buttons, as he extrapolated the hand from around the Ring. The Ring lay in plain site, upon the silky white chest of the hobbit. Sam covered Frodo's chest and the Ring quickly before anyone of the Big People saw, especially Boromir.
Frodo snapped open his eyes as he was brought back to reality. Now, both his hands had been captured and held out above his head. Aragorn leaned over him, wiping stray curls from his forehead, a look of concern etched on his face. "Frodo, what were you doing?" Aragorn asked a little too harsh.
"What do you mean?" he managed a choking whisper.
"Do you not know?" Aragorn asked. The Ringbearer shook his head in confusion, which made him slightly dizzy. The Ranger bent in a little closer, "you almost put the Ring on. If it were not for Sam…I would hate to think what would have happened."
A frightened look came over Frodo as he realized that the voices in his head were real. But the other one. It sounded like it wanted to help him. To stop him. He could not think anymore. "Water, please?"
Aragorn released Frodo's hands and nodded at Merry to bring him the water skin.
Sam poured the water into a cup and put it to Frodo's lips, lifting him up slightly so that he could drink. A few drops trickled down his chin, as he gulped the refreshing liquid. After a minute Frodo pulled away, signaling that he had enough and was gently guided back down to the ground.
From where the farmers stood, Larson could see what had taken place. The little injured fellow was in pain, and while his friends restrained him, a little piece of gold fell into view, seeming to wink at the man. The wind had picked up a little, rustling leaves just enough that their veins scratched along the dusty ground. Ghostly words traveled with the breeze, Take Me.
Larson stood transfixed and only the constant prodding by his friend brought him out of his reverie. "LARSON!" Bart yelled into the tall man's ear. He had yelled so loud that all eyes were looking in their direction.
Annoyed, Larson responded, "What?"
"Well, what took you so long to answer?" Bart asked innocently.
"Never you mind," he scolded as if Bart was his son rather than his friend. "We need to get going. Them crops will not bring themselves in. We're already in trouble with them Orcs. They'll be headed back here by the next evening'. Hey! You with the pointy hat!" Larson hollered out to Gandalf.
Gandalf was halfway to Frodo when the farmer called out. He turned around, staff in his left hand, with his right hand sitting on his hip. "Yes?"
"Will you be needing us? We need to get back to our crops!"
At the same moment, Aragorn had been approached by Legolas. The Elf told him what he had seen from afar and that it would be in their best interest to find more substantial shelter, especially for the Ringbearer.
"We will be needing your help Master Larson," Aragorn informed him.
"How's that?" the brute of a man asked.
"I have just been informed that there is a storm approaching and we need to be sure our injured friend is kept warm and dry. You do have such accommodations?" Aragorn insisted, rather than asked.
Larson did not want these people here, but something tugged at the back of his mind. He thought quickly. If he could not produce one of these Silver creatures for the Orcs, maybe the injured one's gold around his neck would be worth negotiating for. The halfling, he remembered the Elf calling the little people that, maybe he would not survive his ordeal. He would die and then he could remove the gold from around his neck when his friends were not looking.
"Yes, I think we could put you and your friends up for the night. It is the least we could do for our misdeeds." Larson said surprising the Fellowship and Bart at his change of heart.
Tbc.