I don't own any of the rights to The Lord of the Rings.

This is a bit of an AU. The way the books/movies end does not happen in the universe of this story, and other details are altered or added, such as young, healthy hobbits having the ability to regrow lost appendages. The sindarin within the story is a loose translation. Not perfect, but fun! Ryndil is my original character, and I imagine him as being portrayed by Alex Pettyfer.

If you enjoy this story, please leave a review or message. I'd love to hear your thoughts!

I struggled to retain consciousness as I was carried into a room brightly lit by an enormous fireplace and many candles, and I was gently placed in a large bed. My throat was bruised and swollen from where I had been strangled, and the skin along the back of my neck was blistered, burnt, and cut from where the accursed chain had torn at it. Something was wrong with my lungs, I could tell, and I had assumed it was from the heavy smoke and dust I had inhaled at the mountain.

The healers took no care to salvage my tattered clothes, cutting quickly through the ashy, bloodstained fabrics and peeling them back from where they clung to my raw skin; scorched and burnt red with a dizzying pain. My body was quickly but meticulously examined and my most obvious injuries treated topically before I was dressed in a long silken nightshirt.

As what was left of the forefinger on my left hand was treated and bandaged, sweat formed on my brow. The muscles in my abdomen tightened impossibly. I arched my back off the bed against the pain that radiated from the bloody stub until I was eased back by a healer undoubtedly worried I was injuring myself further. I shut my eyes, and just moments later I felt a hand gripping my right and instantly recognised who it belonged to;

Sam.

My dear, dear Sam.

Of course he would never leave me. Not even though he himself was badly injured and in need of care and rest. Last I knew he had been taken into the next room for treatment, yet here he was, now, at my side. I wondered how he had managed to slip away, but it did not surprise me that his unyielding loyalty would find him a way here. The healers buzzed around me, prodding and poking, cleansing and bandaging wounds, and trying to help Sam too, though he remained insistent that they not bother with him and instead turn their efforts toward me. I had not the strength to protest, though it filled me with anxiety to see his unfocused eyes watching over me, his face cut and bloodied, and to feel the hands wrapped around mine shaking with exhaustion and shock and pain.

Each time I closed my eyes or held my breath in an attempt to quell the pain, or weakened or paused in my struggling, the healers scrambled to feel my pulse and listen to my breathing. They seemed to fear that I might die at any moment, and I noticed how Sam watched their movements and faces so intensely, undoubtedly fearing the same thing. Everything faded to black for what seemed like a lifetime, but couldn't have been longer than a minute or two.

My eyes blinked open and settled on Sam's face.

I could see the worry in his eyes, and perhaps he was right to worry over me, but I couldn't bear to see it.

I made the decision to stifle my groans and hide my pain for his sake. I knew he would not leave my side and get treated until I showed some sign of improvement. The perfect opportunity came when a healer slipped a spoonful of ill tasting medicine between my lips.

"This will ease your pain." He said, as I struggled to swallow, what with the swelling in my throat.

After a moment, I expressed relief and forced the frown from my brow; but truly, there was no relief. I closed my eyes and tried to stop shivering. Once I felt I could convince him, I looked to Sam and spoke.

"You should rest, Sam."

My voice didn't sound my own- it cracked and faded to a whisper as I spoke. I forced a small smile across my face and it was clear he was put at ease by my gesture.

"Are you sure you'll be alright?" He asked.

"I'm sure. Go on."

I gave his hand a quick squeeze, then released it, turning my head away and shutting my eyes. I felt the bed shift as he left his post, and heard him being helped back into the next room by one of my healers. I looked back just in time to watch him disappear around the corner, and then inhaled sharply, which incidentally brought on a bout of coughing and a pain across my chest as my frown returned. I grit my teeth and prayed a desperate prayer for just a moment of peace. My healer noticed my discomfort and came close to me.

"What do you need?" The slender, dark haired man asked.

"I- I'm in a lot of pain..." Was all I could muster in response.

"Didn't that medicine help at all?"

"No... It- No..."

"I can't give you any more. You are much too small for another dose." He explained.

"Give him another. He will be able to handle it, I assure you."

The other voice came from the doorway, and in an instant I knew who it was. Aragorn walked to me as the healer hesitantly yielded to him. Aragorn knelt beside me and smiled as I pulled myself up off of the bed and curled my arms around his neck. He held me in a strong grip and rubbed my back, then eased me back onto the lofty pillows as the healer lifted another dose to my mouth. After a few seconds of struggling, I managed to get the second spoonful down my aching throat.

Neither of us knew what to say; the entire situation had been so unfortunate and strange, but we were glad to see each other alive and we both knew that without saying a word. Finally, I thought of something to say, but when I tried to speak I had another sudden onset of coughing. It continued and Aragorn pulled me up into a sitting position and patted my back. I coughed until my chest burned inside and I nearly gagged. When the attack passed, I leaned back into the pillows, taking extra care not to breathe heavily and aggravate my lungs again. The healer unbuttoned my nightshirt and ran his fingers over the right side of my chest, pressing into the skin. I had many bruises which made this a dreadful process, and he was by no means gentle, but I tried my best to be brave about it. When he moved his hand along the left side and pressed into a particular spot I jerked and recoiled at his touch as a terrible, sharp pain spread. He adjusted me so that I lay flat on my back. "Whatever I do to you, lie completely still." The physician told me.

"What are you going to do?" I asked, frowning and sinking back in trepidation.

"I believe you have some fractured ribs. I need to know the severity of the injury."

I glanced at Aragorn worriedly, but he blinked slowly and gave a nod, as to comfort me, then, sitting down beside me on the edge of the bed, he placed his hand on my shoulder. The healer ran his cold fingers over my skin again to find the same location. When he found it, he began to press into it. It hurt intensely. I tried to keep from fidgeting under his prodding touch, stiffening my muscles as he pressed deeper into my chest. It was all I could do to keep from crying out. Aragorn took notice of my pain and offered me his hand. As the healer moved to the most painful spot, I took hold of Aragorn's hand and squeezed it until my knuckles turned white. Finally, it was over. The healer moved his hands away and pulled the covers up around me, but another fit of coughing took me. An audible popping noise came from within my chest and it made me feel sick to hear. The coughing eventually subsided and left me even more exhausted. The healer took up my wrist and felt the pulse, then put his ear to my chest and instructed me to breathe as deeply as I felt I could. Once he finished, he stood up, and Aragorn studied his face, trying to gather all information he could from it. I noticed an odd expression on the healer's face myself, and wondered what it was he had learned from his probing.

"Try to avoid breathing deeply for now." The man told me, frowning.

I did not question his suggestion. It hurt to breathe deeply anyway, and I wasn't sure I wanted to know why.

"What is it?" Aragorn asked, his blue eyes fixed on the man.

The healer looked to him and tilted his head, turning away, as to direct Aragorn to step away from me. Aragorn glanced at me, then patted my hand and I released his. They walked a good distance away and spoke in hushed tones, but I was able to decipher some of their words. Every word that met my ears seemed to be the one I dreaded hearing the most. My ribs were indeed broken, and as I heard this news, a memory flashed in my eyes.

Mordor…

Fire and ash and rock.

A sudden, sharp, terrible pain racing through my ribs as lighting through a stormy sky.

Despair.

Darkness...

The vision left as quickly as it came. I could not remember what had actually caused the injury and didn't want to. I took it as a blessing.

The healer informed Aragorn that at least one of the bones had shifted at the break and become misaligned, putting me at great risk of a punctured lung.

"He must stay in bed and breathe shallowly until he heals some." The healer suggested, "We can't risk his lung being punctured."

"If he does that, he will develop pneumonia." Aragorn interjected.

"He is weak and fragile. A punctured or collapsed lung could kill him, or cause him to suffer from impaired breathing for the rest of his life."

A flush of heat raced through my body as I considered my fate.

"But just as you say- He is weak and fragile. He is more susceptible to illness, and it is less likely he would be able to recover from pneumonia than from a collapsed lung. Surely there is another way." Aragorn insisted.

"There is... But I will not pursue it unless there is no other option."

"What is it?" Aragorn asked.

I strained to hear what the healer said, but I couldn't.

"That seems to be the obvious option." Aragorn responded, matter-of-factly, if not irritatedly.

"It is not a simple decision to make! There are many things to consider- You clearly don't understand."

"I understand perfectly. If you fear he is too weak, then wait until his health is at least stable, then proceed!" Aragorn said, firmly.

"You are not a healer. You do not have authority over the matter."

The man raised his voice and the tension between them escalated. Aragorn set his jaw and slowly blinked in annoyance. The healer left the room, and I was unsure if he would return. Aragorn, I could tell, was also confused as to where he had gone. He walked to me.

"Merry and Pippin… Are they dead?"

The tone of my own voice surprised me. I was exhausted and emotionally numb, my voice still so very strained.

"They are alive, and I'm sure they will be up to see you as soon as they can." Aragorn said, calmly.

I turned my face from him and stared up at the ceiling. I felt relief at hearing they had survived, but it faded as I thought it over. He was lying to me. He must have been. I was ill and injured and he was lying for the sake of my health. I slowly moved my eyes to his face.

"Is that the truth?" I asked, with an animosity in my voice than I had never intended.

He assured me that it was. I searched his face and looked into his eyes for any sign of a lie, but I found nothing but sincerity. In the coming moments I had begun to drift to sleep, but found myself constantly jolted awake by my own violent flinching.

Just as I was nearly asleep, I heard the approach of footsteps and opened my eyes, extremely fearful for some reason. The healer had returned. He carried a bowl to my bedside and lifted me to lean against the pillows. He sat in a chair beside me, lifting a spoonful of the liquid to my mouth.

"What is it?" I asked, my voice giving out again.

"Broth. Open your mouth."

I did as I was told, though it still hurt horribly to force anything down my throat. I winced and drew up the covers in my fist as I strained to swallow. I had been starving for so long that I no longer had any appetite for food; only the painful, nauseating empty feeling in my stomach. A second and third spoonful was lifted to my mouth and I took these too, but after the third, I suddenly felt I might get sick. He made another attempt to feed me and I moved away from it.

"Open your mouth." He ordered, "You must eat."

I grew less and less fond of my healer over time. He was very stern and became less kind. He insisted I take the broth, and as I continued to refuse it, he eventually squeezed my cheeks between the jaws until they hurt, forcing my mouth open and pouring the broth into it. Aragorn's expression grew serious and alarmed as his glance flashed between me and the healer in shock of his behaviour. I was forced to swallow and tears began to well up in my eyes. This time I was almost certain I would be sick at any moment; but again, he grabbed my face in his hand and attempted to feed me another spoonful. Aragorn grasped his wrist and pulled it away from my face before the man could do any more harm. He darted a shocked and indignant look at Aragorn.

"What do you think you're doing?! This is no way to treat a patient!" Aragorn said.

"You have been nothing but trouble. If you do not leave the room now, I will have you removed." The healer retorted with a glare.

"This is abuse. I will not leave him in your care!"

I rolled my eyes back and shut them tightly, trying my hardest to block out the sounds of their arguing and keep the broth down. Their argument continued until it nearly became violent and eventually Aragorn was forced to have the healer escorted from the room.

I lay on my side, drawing my knees up, keeping my eyes shut. I felt Aragorn's hand on my head as he whispered what sounded like elvish blessings. I breathed as shallowly as was possible, knowing that if I had another fit of coughing now, it would end with being ill. At last, sleep took me and I welcomed it. For a long time I slept undisturbed. I only woke for a few seconds when I was turned over onto my back by someone. I was blessed with a peaceful sleep, and for the first time in months it was not plagued by nightmares.