Chapter XI: The Healing Hand

Frodo and Merida looked around at the cave where they had tentatively planned on spending the night in. The place looked old and abandoned - and a good part of both of them expected some foul creature to dwell in here.

Despite the size of the cave, the remaining daylight still managed to light their way... only to reveal that there was no sign of life to be seen.

Another pang of icy pain struck Frodo's shoulder. He grasped it as Merida took his other hand and led him deeper into the cave, still scanning for any other signs of danger.

The place was eerily quiet - and even when they reached the end of the cave, there were still no signs of any orcs or monsters. Nor was there a foul smell or anything else that signified any peril- a rare phenomenon for a place so close to Mordor.

Merida figured that they were so deep in the cave that a campfire could barely be seen from the outside. The only contents she could find were a few pieces of broken, dead-looking branches. She gathered them and placed them in the middle of the ground, quickly grabbing the flint stones from her pouch in order to start a campfire.

"Merida...!" Frodo gasped quietly.

"It's all right, Frodo. No one's going to see us- or this," she responded, gesturing to the campfire she was creating. "Right now your shoulder's more important."

"My shoulder?"

"Don't think I haven't noticed. I've seen you grasping it for dear life ever since we got over our wee tumble."

She drew out a stone water bowl from her sack and fashioned a crude rack from the remaining branches to hold it over the fire before mixing some kingsfoil with the water from her canteen in it. She then placed it on the rack and turned her gaze back to Frodo.

"It's time we took care of it - at least so we can make it to Mordor. You definitely need all the strength you can get. Besides, it's about time that we got you out of those rags," she continued, gesturing to his now ragged shirt, vest, and coat.

He pursed his lips and began to undo the clasp of that emerald brooch that marked him as a member of the Fellowship, reverently setting it on the ground as though it were a sacred relic. In a way, it was. The green of that leaf glimmered in the firelight as Frodo carefully undid the clasp of the grey elven cloak, lowering it off his shoulders and folding it neatly on the ground. Fortunately, it hadn't suffered too much damage from the fall - only a few minor scuffs and tears.

The garments that he peeled off next told an entirely different story. Gaping threadbare holes riddled the once fine coat, especially at the seams where the sleeves met its shoulders. Frodo slipped it off and left it puddled on the ground, no longer of interest to either of them. He did the same to the vest, which now had quite a few missing buttons. His shirt was in one of the worst conditions Merida had seen for any garment, save for perhaps that dress her mother had forced her to wear on the day the lairds had competed for her hand after she'd taken a ride on Angus in it. It was riddled with tears, including one on its side, rendering the glittering mithril shirt he wore underneath strikingly visible as it winked in the firelight. He cast the torn, travel stained one aside along with his ruined outer garments before proceeding to remove the other. He carefully untucked it before grasping its hem and slowly pulling it over his head.

Merida swallowed as she watched him remove it, revealing inch by inch the same lean alabaster torso she'd seen when she'd caught him bathing in the river. When he finally finished pulling it over, he pushed the sleeves off his arms and neatly folded it before tucking it under his cloak. She needed something to divert her attention for the moment and eyed the tattered coat.

"Is it all right if I use this?"

"It's fine. Go ahead."

She was quick to remove the bowl from the heat and set it on the dry earth, using pieces of the coat as makeshift rags.

"Lie down, Frodo."

He hesitantly turned his back to her and began to lower himself to the ground. He stopped midway and looked up at her.

"Here?"

"Sure. That's fine."

He finally laid back, his head resting on her lap. His deep brown curls formed a halo against the blue green of her dress. He closed his eyes, his long dark lashes contrasting sharply with his skin.

Merida dipped one of the rags in the kingsfoil infused water and placed it over the wound on Frodo's shoulder. Initially, he winced and tensed in her lap. She gently squeezed his other shoulder, trying to soothe his muscles. She sighed. She didn't have the hands of a healer. Despite being a princess, her hands were calloused from her extensive hours of archery.

However, he seemed to relax after several moments as she continued her ministrations, moving past his shoulders and kneading the muscles in his bare back.

"You're as knotted as an old tree."

She worked up along his spine, kneading his shoulders again before doing the same to his neck, eventually working her way into his hair. His silky curls wound themselves around her fingers - especially when Frodo softly leaned into her hands. A quiet sigh escaped his lips as her fingers danced down his back again to his lower spine. Her hands skimmed his sides and were going up to his shoulders again when she suddenly noticed the Ring around his neck, its perfectly round golden form perched on his bare chest. It gleamed and winked in the firelight. The next thing she knew, she could hear a velvety, androgynous voice in her head, though its evil was thinly veiled.

"Merida..."

Her eyes widened. She gasped as she jerked her hand back. It seemed to have moved of its own volition towards the baleful thing.

Without warning, Frodo grasped them both and planted them firmly over his now heaving chest. She could feel his heart beating like a bird frantically trying to break out of its cage.

The Ring had been knocked over to the side. The only thing that kept it from falling to the ground was the chain around his neck.