When Hope is Lost

A/N: A disclaimer is at the beginning, but again, I only wrote this for fun and make no profit from it. Everything belongs to the master, Tolkein.

Chapter Six-Urgent Matters

Hearing Sam's sudden outburst, Pippin turned away from the others, struggling to compose himself. Yes, Sam was pessimistic, but he had never seen the stout hobbit give up all hope. Gimli observed all with sad eyes. Like everyone else, he felt helpless. Merry dimly watched the scene through an herbal-induced haze, noting that even Gandalf was affected. The wizard looked old and frail. The Brandybuck shivered and unwittingly drew attention to himself, even as Aragorn relayed their next move to the others.

Boromir worriedly offered Merry his coat and gingerly placed the hobbit on Bill the pony. Pippin eagerly joined his cousin. The Steward's son noted proudly that the youngest of the halflings was behaving in a mature manner very much unlike himself. However, this worried Aragorn, who, though he said nothing, feared that Pippin was in shock. With a nod, the ranger motioned that it was time to go. Gimli doused the fire as Aragorn gathered up his pack. Everyone was eager to set out.

Legolas gently took Frodo into his arms, mindful of his grave injury and set off at a brisk pace, with a determined Sam struggling to keep up behind him. The gardener barely noticed when his dwarf friend offered to carry his pack. He was too preoccupied with Frodo. He even refused to ride Bill, despite his great fondness for the pony, who was being led by Boromir. Seeing this, Strider managed a grim smile. If Sam had given up on Frodo entirely, his spirit would be broken. Sam's was still fighting. He and Gandalf brought up the rear, quietly discussing things they did not wish the others to hear.

The pace kept up for hours, before it finally slowed, then abruptly stopped when the elf turned and scanned their surroundings. Sam sensed it as well and at last found his voice to speak, "Mr. Legolas sir, what is that you're seein'?"

The elf turned, "I am not sure Sam, something hunts us. It's though a shadow has been cast over all other thoughts."

"The enemy is upon us! Run!" Gandalf's gruff voice shouted from the rear. Pippin looked back from atop Bill as Aragorn drew his sword. He saw a shadows emerging from the forest. The piercing shrieks were unmistakable, and he felt all the warmth drain from his body. The Nazgul had found them.

Merry, seeing them also, broke out in a sweat as he vividly remembered his last encounter with hosts of Mordor. His foot began to throb when he thought of the pain Frodo had experienced, and he found himself clinging to the pony, straining to remain awake and upright as the ice blackness threatened to overtake him.

Though Legolas was the fastest sprinter in the fellowship, even he could not spare Frodo from the effects the Nazgul had on him. As the shrill screams pierced the air, the hobbit woke. Pain lanced through his chest, even worse than before. It was as if his shoulder had been shoved into an icy furnace. Trembling, he took huge gulps of air in, straining against the agony.

Gimli urged Sam on, vowing that the ring wraiths would not have the wee hobbits without taking him first. Boromir gave the frightened pony a hard slap even as he instructed the hobbits to hold on tightly, trying to put Pippin and Merry as far from harm as possible.

"Aragorn, go with the others, I will hold them!" Gandalf shouted, but the ranger would not leave his long-time friend.

"You cannot stand alone!"

"Frodo and Merry will need you! I have lived my life and perhaps my whole existence has been for the purpose of aiding you now. Many will need you before the end. Do not put me before them."

Yet Strider would not give way. Fire lit up the evening sky as Gandalf tried to halt the wraiths' advance. Suddenly the wizard's white-hot anger flared and Pippin looked back in surprise and awe. The old man was there no longer. Gandalf was aged, yes, but he had changed. Bright light lit up the forest and several shrill screams pierced the air. They knew they could not pass, not yet, not with the wizard's watchful staff.

"Go back to Mordor, foul beasts!"

The fellowship continued to flee until Gandalf was sure they were safe, then they slowed and made camp as the wizard kept watch. Legolas lowered the trembling hobbit to the ground and turned to Aragorn, "The hosts of Mordor afflicted much pain on our ring bearer. I could do nothing to stop them. I fear the jostling run aggravated his wounds as well."

The ranger's eyes rested on Legolas' bloodstained tunic, then he quickly turned to tend to Frodo. It seemed as though the ring bearer's blood was everywhere, and the hobbit's skin was cold. For a moment Aragorn wondered if he was still alive. A whimper from Frodo answered him, and he brushed thoughts of his small friend's death from his mind, praying that he would never be forced to think such things again.

"Frodo. Frodo Baggins. Come on, open your eyes." The halfing continued to lie still.

"If you'll excuse me, Mr. Strider, sir," Sam piped up unexpectedly, pushing his way past the ranger so fast that no one had time to stop him. "Mr. Frodo's a hard hobbit to wake, he is," Sam's voice softened, "At least he once was. After Bilbo left, the only way I could wake him was to cook his breakfast. We could all do with some food now anyhow."

Aragorn chuckled and Legolas hid a smile. They were much relieved that Sam was willing to try something to help his master. The light moment darkened quickly when Boromir approached them, a limp Merry in his arms.

"The ride proved too much for him, and Pippin too, I'm afraid. Though I'm sure our Took friend would never admit it." The steward's son included this last part with a much lower voice.

The ranger sighed and motioned for his countryman to lay Merry beside Frodo. The hobbit's foot was purple from lack of circulation, but this painful treatment had done nothing to slow the effects of the poison. The herbs Aragorn had given the hobbit to slow the poison's spread had taken effect, but would not fully heal such a potent venom. In these parts, no herbs strong enough were to be found, perhaps not even at Rivendell. Strider wrapped a blanket snugly around Merry and cocked his head, signaling to Legolas that they were in need of a conference. Boromir and Gimli joined them as a weary Gandalf checked Pippin over.

Aragorn gazed for a long time at the two injured hobbits before he at last spoke. "I can do little more for either of them. I know and have been told of certain procedures, but I am not at liberty to try them until there is nothing else to be done. Frodo's wound is not closing as well as it needs to, and it bleeds steadily. The jarring he received did not help matters, and even Legolas could not prevent that. Frankly, I did not expect the wound to heal completely, but now, the ring bearer's condition only worsens. I don't have the proper supplies to sew his chest closed."

"How about a hair from Bill?" Gimli suggested. He'd often seen horse hair used to suture wounds from battle.

The ranger shook his head, "Aye, Gimli, that would close his chest. Were this a flesh wound, I would try, but Bill's hair isn't clean enough to seal such a grave wound. The infection would certainly kill Frodo. He needs elvish thread, and I have none."

Legolas actually agreed with Gimli, "Perhaps you should try, Estel, we could cleanse it over the fire. I know an infection is risky, but he cannot afford to lose more blood."

The ranger was careful to make sure that the hobbits heard nothing that was said. He knew that Sam was barely clinging to what little hope remained, and he didn't want to be the cause of further pain. Pippin, on the other hand, had had quite a shock and was on the verge of worrying himself sick. Aragorn had to concede that he worried rightly, for the situation truly held little hope, for neither Frodo nor Merry. He proceeded to update them on Merry's condition.

"Meriadoc was bitten by a soft mouth. I had hoped the herbs I gave him will prevent the venom's spread, but their potency was not strong enough to counter it. I can keep giving him the herb, but after the first dose, it usually succeeds only in making the victim cold. After that happens, there is only one more thing I can do for Merry, and that is to take his leg."

"Aragorn, are you insane?" A look from the latter caused Boromir to lower his voice, "I have seen this done in Gondor. Grown men have died!"

The ranger closed his eyes in misery as he murmured, "I know, but really the argument is pointless. It is probably too late for even that radical treatment."

"How long does he have?" Legolas asked quietly, a strange look in his eyes.

"I have often said that hobbits are made of stouter stuff than you or I. We would probably be near death now. I give him two more days-at the most." Everyone accepted this news with grief-stricken faces. They all knew what that meant for Merry. Rivendell was at least three days away, and they had no means to bear them there any faster.

Aragorn returned to Frodo's side, where a distraught Sam was trying unsuccessfully to spoon feed his master. "He won't eat, Mr. Strider." The gardener choked tearfully.

Strider squeezed the hobbit's shoulder in comfort, "He may be unable to, Sam. Lord Elrond will patch him up." He silently wondered if the hobbit would make it that far. The ranger's hope was fading as quickly as Sam's. He knew he'd been able to keep his despair concealed, save from Legolas, who knew him too well and had always managed to sense such things in him.

The night was cold and gusty, and Aragorn was partly grateful for it because it made Frodo more alert. Merry, however, shivered under several thick blankets and Boromir's cloak. The ranger refused to let himself sleep, knowing that he would never forgive himself if either hobbit were to pass from this world while he slept. He was startled to find two blue orbs watching his every movement closely.

"Frodo! How are you feeling?" He asked quietly.

The hobbit managed a small smile, "Tired…chest still hurts…thirsty."

"Would you like to try some of the soup Sam made for you? He was quite disappointed when you did not wake it try it."

"Where is Sam?"

"Sleeping by your feet," Aragorn replied with a chuckle, motioning his Sam's direction with his head.

"Good old Sam…yes, soup sounds…okay."

Frodo took small spoonfuls, but Strider was pleased to find the tin cup almost empty when the ring bearer finally refused to eat any more. With a contented smile, Frodo closed his eyes. Soon, Aragorn could tell by his ragged breathing that he was asleep. Checking Frodo's bandages and making sure Merry's fever wasn't too high, the ranger finally surrendered to sleep.

Cries of pain and a strange gurgling sound woke him. He bolted upright to find a worried Legolas bending over Frodo. The hobbit seemed to be convulsing as Aragorn joined the elf. "What happened?" He asked breathlessly, not bothering to lower his voice, as the entire fellowship, with the exception of Merry, were quickly waking.

Seeing this, Legolas began speaking the Gray Tongue, mainly so the hobbits wouldn't understand and panic. They could be angry with him later.

"He's been doing this for a while now, but it only just now got louder. I couldn't leave him to wake you, nin mellon*. It appears he's trying to vomit, but nothing comes up. I turned him on his side so he wouldn't breathe it into his lungs, but quite frankly, I don't have the faintest idea what is wrong. It seems as if there is a problem with his digestive tract, but I don't know what or how to treat it. Has he eaten?"

Aragorn sighed, "Yes, he had almost an entire cup of soup. Surely it would have affected him sooner than this. He was fine before he fell asleep. You said nothing has come up?"

"Nothing at all Estel. Could his injury have torn his throat?"**

"It sounds conceivable. It is possible that happened and prevented the soup from going down."

"But why won't it come back up? I'm no healer, but it seems to me that it is draining into his chest."

Frodo thrashed suddenly, and the two friends reached out to steady him. When Aragorn moved his hands away, they were coated in blood-tinted vomit.

* My friend

** Here I am referring to the esophagus