Every Man for Himself

Disclaimer: If Lord of the Rings belonged to me, I would not be sitting at my laptop writing this fic. So until the people who DO own it come to their senses and realise that it should belong to me, I don't own anything (except for Seregon, Desmond, Reynard and the deceased Arlyn)... Go me.

Chapter 15: The Stars Shall Weep

7 May 3019 – Late Morning

The only thing he knew for certain was that he was trapped within some prison of horror, and that he could not break out.

He had been told that everything happening was real. But then if this was real, then that meant that the events leading up to 'now' had also been real. And if one dared to think about it, the events leading up to this simply seemed far too terrible to believe.

For instance, was it really possible for there to be creatures that were neither living nor dead? And, for that matter, could someone's spirit really live on only in the physical form of a lidless Eye wreathed in flame? Could the said person's spirit really be able to survive, all because a small Ring also happened to survive as well? Could this Ring, which is supposed to be an inanimate object, really have the ability to bend others to Its will? How could such a small band of gold expand one's life to over five times its normal span? How could It summon all things evil to It? How was it that It stained black the hearts of the Great and Noble, so that even the most powerful and wise feared even to lay a single finger on It?

Were all of these questions really answerable? Had reality played the world such a cruel hand as to make all of this viable? If this was true, then it seemed almost expected that this Evil should spread to the hands of Fate and whisper its manipulative songs into Lady Vair's ear as she ever spins the threads to weave the tapestry of Time. For it had been, is now, and will always be she that ultimately weaves together the story of each life, including his. And it had been she that interlaced the dark threads of hardship, trials and obstacles into his life's path. Therefore, he felt quite content to blame her for his terrible misfortunes so far, including this latest tribulation...

He was not aware of how long he had slept. He could not even be completely certain that he had actually done so. He remembered his eyelids dragging closed, and for one blissful moment he had been floating in a nameless realm of dark oblivion. But that moment had evaporated into the past, and his vision had been plagued by jarringly sharp images of a cold and deep-set horror, too terrible to be set into even the blackest of words. He had not been able to determine whether this had all been part of some scarring nightmare, or if these were all part of reality.

He was not aware of how long he had slept.

But whether his eyes were being heaved open by the tugs of Awakening, or whether he had simply blinked, he was once more unveiling the gift of sight, and was looking about him at the world. And it seemed to him that this world stood towering around him, surrounding him on all sides so that he was left alone and friendless in the middle of a mocking ring. The walls about him laughed harshly in his ears, the sound echoing so each resonance struck against his cracked soul. He tried to move, tried to break free, but even his own bed was working against him. Or was it a grave that his body lay on?

His blankets – or perhaps they were the linens lining his coffin – were slithering around him like a great snake, squeezing his body ruthlessly. He could not breathe. He was burning. All around him, and within him too, everything burned. A choked whimper fought past the ash that was suddenly in his mouth, escaping him like some pitiful worm that escapes a close encounter with a bird, and burrows back deep into the cold ground only to be forgotten and lost. The laughter of the walls boomed louder, building up to a crescendo that spelt out his doom, until he felt they should be toppling over from their efforts, crushing him beneath their unforgiving weights. But they remained standing and strong; keeping him forever locked within a prison of scorn and torment.

He wanted to escape. More than anything, he wanted to escape. But he knew that he could not and this knowledge beat at him, tormenting his soul and making him want to scream out in unbridled despair. He even felt the cry welling up in his raw throat – felt it as both a physical presence and an emotional dagger to his flesh. He choked on it, and as he did he saw the shadows that had been lurking about him move in. He clenched his eyes shut, not wanting to see or know what new anguish they would bring to his suffering. He wanted to return to that single moment of precious oblivion that he had cradled before – so long ago. He wanted to cling to that moment with all the strength left to him and never let go. But even with his eyes so tightly lidded, the nothingness refused to come, and the despondency that resulted caught in his throat and pounded against him, screaming in his head its demands to be freed.

Yet somehow he knew that the results would not be to his liking if he parted his lips now and let loose this swelling mass of emotion. But he could not keep it inside of him forever. He cracked his eyes open to look about him for something he could hurl it at, but his eyes were not co-operating and he could not see properly past the looming shadows and deceiving mists above him. He tried to sit up, thinking that perhaps the gained height would help him some. But the blankets had incarcerated him too tightly, and the attempt of movement only pounded back on his aching body, bearing down on him with such force that tears clouded his sight even more. His head pounded, his muscles throbbed and his lungs ripped with fire. He had forgotten to breathe.

He could hold nothing in any longer. As a tear escaped his eye, slicing down his face, one of the shadows reached out to him with a long cold hand. He wanted to and tried to pull away from it. But he was rendered immobile. The hand landed on his shoulder with brutal force and flipped him onto his side. He released a choked sob from the pain, and that was enough. The scream that had caught in his throat finally spilled out of his mouth. But the sound he had expected and imagined was mutated and warped. He was not screaming. He was retching. He was throwing up a stench and a putrid liquid. Not the pain and fear and despair. No... that still remained deep within him, hammering against his spirit and turning the cracks into long, deep gashes of fire.

As Frodo sagged back weakly on the soiled bed linens, Aragorn worriedly felt the hobbit's brow. His temperature had spiked again, yet still the pale skin remained dry. Belladonna was working quickly – more so than it should be. Aragorn frowned. They needed to find out what the other poisons were soon. He looked across at the guard that had been stationed by the doorway to the bedroom.

"Targon," he said. "Could you please ask for a bath to be sent to this room? Ensure that the water is only warm." The guard bowed and quickly disappeared on his errand. When Aragorn returned his attention to the bed, he found that Frodo seemed to have fallen into some strange trance. Sea-blue eyes were fixed on some distant vision that the King could not see. Aragorn wondered at what lonely place his friend had disappeared to, and if he would ever come back. As Sam faithfully cleaned his master's face and hands with a cool cloth, Aragorn sighed to himself. He did not think Frodo had much longer before his condition would reach the point of no return.

The King's gaze shifted from his ailing friend to the tray of herbs resting innocently on the bedside table. Aragorn had rearranged them so they were separated into five groups. The first group was a remedy to common animal poisons. The second group targeted belladonna poisoning, while the third counteracted the effects of wolfsbane. The fourth was a rather nasty mixture that would cause one to bring up anything and everything in their stomach. The fifth group consisted of the plants and herbs that were not required in any of the other groups. But it was the fourth pile that Aragorn concentrated his gaze on most. While in some cases this particular concoction of plants was very useful, if given in too strong a concentration, it would kill, burning its victim from the inside outwards.

It was in this moment that the apprentice of Lord Elrond missed his teacher most. The art of healing was well learned and practised among Men and Elves, but for them, treating Halflings was still an incomplete science. Due to his small size, Frodo had been given medicines in such strength as would be administered to a child of Men while he had been in Rivendell, and while he had healed after the completion of his Quest. However, these modified concentrations had not always been enough to overcome whatever ailment was afflicting the hobbit. On one occasion it had even been too much. And that was the problem.

Aragorn knew that by some way or another, Frodo would have to receive some external help in bringing up the poison. And there were several ways that this could be done. However, while Frodo had been entombed in slumber, Aragorn had decided that giving him this fourth group of mixed herbs would be the most effective course of action. It was simply a matter of finding a safe dosage to give to the hobbit, and of waiting for the opportune moment. For they had no room for errors.

Yet for the moment they had to delay. With this particular concoction of plants, Frodo was not able to receive continuous doses until Aragorn was satisfied that enough of the poison had been brought up. At the most, Frodo could receive two administrations. Any more, and the acid already naturally in his stomach would become strong enough to burn holes straight through it. No... Aragorn would have to wait until enough of the poison had entered Frodo's stomach so that as much as possible could be brought up in one go. Just as long as he didn't bring up too much...

"My Lord?" Aragorn looked up at the guard standing in the doorway of the room. "The bath is here, my Lord."

Aragorn nodded to the guard and watched as two servants brought in the tub. He did not miss the curious glances they surreptitiously threw towards the bed. He frowned slightly to himself. It had been too much to hope that rumours of this condemned ordeal would not leak out. Though he admitted that he had hoped to be granted more time before they did. However, it was not to be helped. As the servants stepped out of the room, he turned his full attention back to Frodo. Sam had already begun to undress him. He waved off Aragorn's silent offer of assistance, and the Man rose to his feet to go and check that the temperature of the water was safe.

He had barely taken two steps before Sam's sharp call gave him cause to whirl back around to the bed. Gandalf, who had been standing like a statue as he stared out of the window, suddenly snapped to attention and his piercing gaze honed in on the two hobbits.

"His bruises are getting worse!" cried Sam just as Aragorn was about to question him. Both Healer and Wizard were instantly by the bedside, looking down on the subject of their worry. Aragorn's trained eyes swept over the abused skin, noting grimly that indeed the gardener was right. But not only had Frodo's previous bruises worsened – but new ones seemed to have blossomed into crushed roses of blues and purples as well. These new markings were strange enough on their own. However – it was where they were situated that really snagged Aragorn's wonder. The left ankle, left shoulder and upper left arm were all vividly discoloured.

From what he had been able to guess and gather so far, it seemed that Frodo had somehow awkwardly twisted his now-blackened ankle approximately four days ago – around the time when he had been kidnapped by Desmond and Reynard. While Aragorn would have been able to explain a bruise in that area that was obviously a few days old, he could not explain bruising that had come up a few days late. When he had conducted his initial check of Frodo, the ankle had been swollen and inflamed – but not bruised.

So what, then, of the other new bruises? Could they all be in any way connected? Well... the left shoulder had been rather tender ever since Weathertop, and probably would remain so for the rest of Frodo's life. The event of bruising did not startle Aragorn so much as the time when the bruising had shown – it had definitely come up around the same time as these other new specimens. The left arm also seemed to be fairly easily explained, for that was where Seregon had gripped the limb in crushing force as he twisted it cruelly as far around Frodo's back as was possible without having to sever the bonds tying his hands together. But again the bruising was surfacing later than it should. Was this, then, a new sign of some sort?

Aragorn's frown deepened as he seemed to be creating more questions than he was formulating answers. He turned his direction from the shoulder and arm for the time being and examined the battered ribcage.

Here the injury had definitely worsened. The skin – which had been a violent shade of purple – had now blackened. The area had also become swollen, and here and there was a scattering of shining scarlet beads. Once more did Aragorn's frown deepen. When he had first studied this abrasion, he had noted how the bruising had been covered with a light graze of scabbed blood. Now, it seemed that these scabs had somehow broken. Even as he watched, the ruby droplets distended as if they were globules of opaque red glass being heated and blown to make a shape that could not yet be identified.

And identify the mystery behind these wounds was what Aragorn had to do – and quickly. But at this point in time, the answer eluded him completely. He shook his head in a vain attempt to clear it a little, and decided that he would think more on this matter once Frodo had been bathed and was settled back into a clean bed.

Carefully he lifted the comatose hobbit into his arms and bore him to the already cooling tub. When Frodo was lowered into the water, only then did he show signs of awareness. His eyelids fluttered, though they did not open, and a deep shudder stole through his body. For a moment his face contorted as though he wanted to cry out in discomfort or protest, yet his lips remained silent and no sound escaped him. Then suddenly he was lax once more, becoming startlingly like a caught fish that flounders on the dock where a fisherman has left it, only to quickly give up and fall still. Aragorn sorrowed for the sudden lack of movement.

With the help of Samwise, the two deftly washed the sweat and sick from Frodo. On a whim, Aragorn added a few peppermint leaves, hoping to thin out the congestion in the Ringbearer's lungs. While Frodo had been sleeping, his breathing had become increasingly laboured and a hacking cough had prevented him from obtaining true rest. Though with the dark visions that seemed to be invading the Ringbearer's mind, Aragorn did not think there was much hope of him resting well anyway. Nor did he think that the peppermint leaves would help much at this point, but until Merry and Pippin returned and he knew more, there was little else he could do for the time being.

Speaking of the two youngest hobbits – it was as though they had been reading his mind. Almost as soon as the thought had gone through Aragorn's head of how he hoped they would be returning soon, the bedroom door was bursting open and in entered the two, both wearing identical looks of barely contained triumph. Aragorn noticed that Merry's hands tightly clutched his balled-up cloak to him. As they entered further into the room, a servant bearing a stack of clean linen followed them in. She moved to the soiled bed and began to change the sheets, working quickly and silently.

"So you have decided to return," said Aragorn to the hobbits. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd gone back to the Shire after all."

"Not yet," said Merry, the slight edge to the King's voice not succeeding in dampening his mood.

"What's that smell?" said Pippin suddenly, his face scrunching up in distaste.

"Mr Frodo was sick again," said Sam miserably. Good moods now forgotten, the two newcomers were by the bath in an instant, looking worriedly at their beloved cousin.

"He looks worse," said Pippin dejectedly.

"I'm afraid he is," sighed Aragorn heavily. "But it is to be ex-"

"What's that bruise there?"

Aragorn stopped at Merry's question and looked to where the hobbit was indicating. The King found his eyes widening in grim surprise. On Frodo's right shoulder was a fairly large bruise, perhaps as big as his hand. Aragorn's wide expression suddenly contorted into a frown. That bruise was his hand! That was the exact place where he had held Frodo as he turned the hobbit onto his side just as he started throwing up again. Aragorn's frown deepened. Alright – so he may have used a little bit more force than he should have when he had moved Frodo. But he had certainly not applied enough strength in his grip for it to cause bruising.

Very suddenly his body tensed. Abruptly Aragorn rose to his feet and began pacing quickly. "What is it, Aragorn?" asked Gandalf. But Aragorn did not answer at once. His mind had flown back to the time – so many years ago – when Elrond had taught him about illnesses that some Men were born with. If he could remember correctly, there was one where the blood was affected...

"Anaemia," he muttered at length.

"A what?" said Merry, his brow contorting into a confused frown.

"Anaemia," repeated Aragorn, more to himself than the others. "Where there is a lack of red blood cells, causing paleness, weakness, and easy bruising and bleeding. A disease in which Men are either born with it or not, although there is one known plant that will also give symptoms of the same effects."

"Aragorn," said Gandalf slowly. "What is this plant?" For a moment Aragorn clenched his eyes shut as he ran through the extensive list of poisonous plants stored in his long memory. Then suddenly his eyes snapped open and he turned to the wizard.

"Meadow Saffron," he said. He turned back to Merry and Pippin who were both looking quite bewildered. "Did you find the jar?"

"We found a lot more than the jar," said Pippin, the jubilant grin he had been wearing before returning in full force. As he spoke, Merry hastily moved over to a small empty table and laid his previously forgotten bundle on it. He carefully unfolded it to reveal a jar made from thick glass. Upon first glance it appeared to be empty, but if one looked closer, they could see that the bottom was coated with a thin layer of a most unappealing glutinous ooze.

Sunlight streamed through the windows, rays catching on the thick glass. Tiny shots of dazzling light winked around at the room, making the jar look almost friendly. Sam eyed the thing with revulsion.

"Thank you," said Aragorn. He moved to inspect the jar for himself. Gingerly he lifted it up with his finger and thumb, holding it at eye level. He tipped the lip of the jar towards him, watching as the small remnants of poison fell lazily where gravity pulled them. The ooze was thick, yet somewhat runny like honey, and when more was held in a smaller area, it was almost opaque. Yet light still filtered through it, bringing out the small flecks of poorly mashed particles into sharper contrast. It was these particles which Aragorn examined closely, for hopefully they would provide him with some much-desired answers. For long moments did he stare hard at the poison, taking careful note of the flecks of solid differentiable matter.

The smallest of the specks were coloured a dark purple hue. That would be from the berries of the belladonna plant. Then there were the long, thin segments of a root system, and the small mustard-yellow seeds – both belonging to wolfsbane. But what of the small black seeds? Were they from the meadow saffron plant? Or were they from another?

"Sam," said Aragorn at last. "Would you be able to identify meadow saffron?"

"What – from what's in that jar, sir?" said Sam, a hint of doubt lacing his tone. Aragorn nodded, his eyes diverting to the gardener's round face. "I could give it a try, sir," said Sam as his own gaze flicked to Frodo and back. "Though I'm not sure as I'd be able to tell for certain." Aragorn nodded again, this time more in encouragement. Sam hesitantly moved from the bath-side to the small table where the King now stood. He tentatively took the jar in his own grasp and held it up to eye-level, his sight narrowed down to mere slits of concentrated vision. It was like playing a matching game. He tried to match up what he saw to the image of the plant he had formulated in his mind. It was certainly no easy task, but after some minutes he nodded.

"Aye, sir," he said. "There's meadow saffron in here alright. And I can see the belladonna and wolfsbane. But I think there might be another..." His voice trailed off as he peered closer into the jar. His entire body was tense in concentration and for long moments he remained frozen, almost forgetting to breathe. Everything in the room was silent save for Frodo's ragged breathing. But then suddenly Sam moved, lowering the jar and taking a deep sniff of it. His face screwed up in distaste.

"What is it?" asked Pippin, not being able to contain himself any longer.

"Poison hemlock," said Sam darkly. "This stuff stinks like mice and no mistake."

"Are you sure you're not smelling rat poison?" said Gandalf.

"I think I'm smelling both, sir," said Sam. "But I would bet anything I own that there's poison hemlock in this. The plant's got a white flower, and you can just see signs of crushed petals in here. And when you bruise it, it gives off a smell like mice."

"Poison hemlock can often be found on the banks of the Brandywine," said Merry suddenly. "My da's told me about it. Its primal effects are stimulatory. I'm not sure about the rest of you, but when Frodo first woke up he seemed to me to be unusually aware for someone who had been poisoned."

"You're right, Merry," said Aragorn. "I had wondered about it myself. And now that I think more on it, Frodo seems to be suffering from most of the other effects of hemlock poisoning."

"So that's four plants we have," said Merry. "Sam, can you find anything else?"

"I'm not sure, Mr Merry," said Sam, returning his gaze to the jar. "I would've thought that there'd be more plants in here than what we've found. But if there are, I couldn't tell you what they were."

"But we know someone else who could," said Pippin. Everyone turned sharply to him.

"What do you know?" said Gandalf almost urgently.

"When we were on our way back here," said Merry. "We bumpws into Pip's captain who asked him why he had not reported for duty yesterday. When we told him that we had been running a special errand for the King, he asked us if that was where we were going now. When we told him we were returning from another important errand of the like, he asked if we could pass on a message."

"Indeed?" said Aragorn. "What did he say?"

"He said," Pippin continued. "That in the early hours of this morning some of his men searched an inn of the lower circles – one owned by a man called Mavril. Turns out he had a group of Haradrim hiding out at the bottom of his inn. When Mavril was questioned, he eventually let out that they had been doing some business – selling special herbs and mixtures and such to some friends of his. The guards demanded the names of these friends, and one of those names was Desmond."

"He had come in a few hours before dawn on the fourth of May," said Merry. "He came out about fifteen minutes later with a carefully sealed jar. Mavril didn't know what it was. But the Southron who sold it certainly did."

"But according to the captain," said Pippin quickly, seeing the looks of blissful hope surfacing on the others' expressions. "The man refuses to tell them more about it."

Aragorn let out an explosive breath as he ran his hands through his hair. At last they were being given a bit of luck. "Did the captain say anything else to you?" he asked.

"Yes," said Pippin. "He said that two of the escaped prisoners were also found hiding out in the bottom of the inn – Moragar and Valmir. They haven't spoken either, but the captain thinks they know where the other escaped prisoners might be – including Seregon."

"Where are they being held now?"

"They're all in the jailhouse in the third circle under constant surveillance," answered Merry. "The captain says you're welcome to question them for yourself if you like."

Aragorn nodded, his glance returning to Frodo. The hobbit was beginning to shiver again. Berating himself for being so easily distracted, Aragorn snatched up a large towel and moved back to the bath, lifting out Frodo and drying him quickly yet carefully. He lay him back down on his newly re-dressed bed and pulled a clean nightshirt over the heavy head which Sam handed him. When Frodo was settled, Aragorn felt his forehead, his eyes darkening and his heart falling to feel how hot the skin still was. Frodo weakly recoiled at the touch and a frail groan passed his lips. "Ah, Frodo," murmured Aragorn. "What are we going to do now?" Frodo did not respond, other to crease his forehead into a frown. Behind his closed lids, his eyes were darting about. He was caught in yet another nightmare.

"Gandalf," said Aragorn softly, not wanting to disturb his small friend any more for the time being. "I have a mind to go and question these men for myself with Legolas when he returns. Would you mind watching Frodo while I am gone?"

"Not at all," said Gandalf, already settling himself in a chair by the bedside.

"Thank you," said Aragorn. His gaze strayed to the window and he looked onto the view it offered of the city. "It is time that we got some answers," he added, and a note of finality was in his voice.

TBC

A/N – I can't tell you all how sorry I am for not updating sooner. But I've had a tonne of schoolwork to do (read my bio for more elaboration) and I've had the worst writer's block ever. I know, pretty lame and old excuse, right? But it's true and it has been absolutely horrible. But... better late than never I guess. So I hope you enjoy this chapter. It is dedicated to Lexi as an early birthday present. Happy Birthday Lexi! :D

Astron-Meares – I think there's still a bit of drama to come, so hopefully you won't get too bored. But please hang in there! After all, I don't want to be sued for murder by writing. :P

Breon Briarwood – Goodness, I hope your fingers grow back or you may end up losing the rest of your hands and your arms too! I'll try as best as I can to update as quickly as possible. But it is proving rather difficult... stupid school.

FrodoBaggins87 – I'm so happy beyond reckoning to hear that you're going to keep reading this fic. And you're absolutely right – school is the most evil horrible abomination of a creation to have come to this planet. And I hope the villains will be caught too. ;)

Iorhael – I agree. Poison is proving to be rather difficult. I say kudos to Aragorn and Elrond for having to deal with it in some of their patients. Let's hope that Aragorn can deal with this poison though. But I think that he is certainly well on his way to finding the full remedies now...

josh11025 – Thank you for the lovely compliment! :) I'm glad to know that you're enjoying this story so much. I'll update as soon as I can. I hope you can wait though... ;)

Kaewi – I hope this chapter has given you some answers. But I thank you (and Kellie too for that matter) for providing the questions and pointing these things out. Lol, I may yet hold you to your agreement to go over my chapters before posting. ;) So keep a sharp eye... :D

Kellie – Again, I am immeasurably sorry about the long wait for this update. But I hope that I've answered some of your questions okay and that I've raised not too many more. And thank you muchly for the licence to be as evil as possible. But don't worry, there's still a bit more drama to come before Frodo's on the definite road to recovery.

lindahoyland – Good to know that I'm not the only one giving poor Frodo a horrible time. But let's hope that no more major complications arise! But we shall have to just wait and see I suppose... :P

lovethosehobbits – Glad to hear you're still enjoying it. :D I only hope the delay in updating hasn't put you off!

Midgette – Don't worry, I've been terrible at reviewing stories too lately. But I am glad to know that you're still enjoying this fic. I hope you continue to enjoy it too. ;)