Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they belong to J.R.R. Tolkien.

Surrounded by the Darkness

Summary: Aragorn asks the Ring-bearer to accompany him to the section that Gimli was currently supervising for repair in one of the lower levels as a ploy to get him out into fresh air and to discuss Frodo's recent solitude. A cave-in ensues trapping the Ring-bearer, his phobia taking over as an injured Aragorn is counting on him to help.

The grey eyes spied the Lothlorien cloaked halfling from the top of his horse, peering carefully over the bannister that revealed an amazing scene of vast land as far as the blue eyes could see. The King was quiet as he did not want to disturb Frodo's serene view from the top of Minas Tirith overlooking Pelennor Fields. Of course the remnants that had indicated a war had ever taken place had been removed as well as the decaying bodies of Men, Orc, and Beasts weeks before. Only burned grass where funeral pyres had been set dotted the land sporatically from the front gate of the stone city to the ruined outpost of Osgiliath. The Corsairs that had brought the hidden King accompanied by the Prince of Mirkwood and one faithful Dwarf tugged against their tethers as the sun's rays energized glistening waters.

Aragorn noticed the slumped shoulders of the former Ring-bearer, being told from every member of the Fellowship that their comrade meticulously avoided gatherings, eluding even his gardener, Samwise. Observing the hobbit's increasing solitude, the King had decided to invite Frodo on a trip through the city, his intent on invading the halfling's feelings.

"Excuse me, but have you seen Frodo of the nine fingers?" the King asked surprising the unsuspecting hobbit.

Frodo turned around quickly to see who was inquiring, staring straight into the black wet nose of Brego, the horse that had rescued Aragorn from the river bank where the future King of Gondor ended up after being carried off a cliff by a wild Warg. The hobbit found himself backed into the rough stone bannister, his head hitting the overhang. "Ow!" Frodo exclaimed, automatically using his left hand to rub the back of his head, only to find that the healing finger was still sore, instinctively placing the bandaged hand under his right elbow.

"Are you all right, Frodo? I did not mean to cause you harm," Aragorn apologized, after jumping from the saddle, coming to his friends aide.

"Too late for that now," the former Ring-bearer said biting his tongue when the statement came out a little harsher than he meant. Either Aragorn disregarded the tone or did not entirely hear it for the Man's large hand carefully checked the dark curly head for bleeding then trailed down to the white cloth that began at the halfling's wrist, ending in an overlapping pattern covering the amputated finger.

Finding that there was no obvious bleeding, Aragorn sighed, ensconcing the bandaged hand between his Man sized ones, "I am truly sorry to have startled you, Tithen Min. Please accept my apology."

Frodo did not want the King bowing before him. That was the most uncomfortable feeling, knowing that he had failed the Fellowship, succumbing to the Ring's calling. He looked up from the entwining of hands, to find passerbys slowing their stride, staring back at the odd sight. Swallowing hard against the lump that had formed in his throat he squeaked, "T...Thank you. Please," he continued at a whisper looking into steel grey, "Do not kneel before me, My Lord."

Looking into the wide blue eyes, the King mulled over in his mind that he did not want to frighten the hobbit into further solitude, just the opposite, he wanted him to open up to him. So, Aragorn got off his knees, letting his friend's hand drop. Nodding, he cleared his throat before speaking, "I wanted to know if you would like to accompany me down to the lower levels. Gimli said that progress was being made, but wanted my approval before continuing. I thought it a nice ride for Brego and a different view for you beside the four walls of your bed chambers."

"You have been talking to Sam, haven't you?" the hobbit accused.

Appalled at the little one's hindsight, he blew out a breath knowing there was no need to tap dance around his intuition. "He is concerned, just as we all are. I thought it more comfortable out in the open as friends instead of in a court as your King. Besides, I hear that there is a tavern opening up in the lower levels that have received some of the dwarvish ale Gimli talks so highly of. Even though we have some in the kitchens here, do you really think with your cousins on the loose you would ever see any, in that case me?"

"You are bribing me, My Lord, but," he continued with mirth in his voice, mischief in his eyes, "who am I to turn down an invitation to travel with the King personally when he promises such a treasure at the end; to see you on your arse if you think you can out drink a Baggins!" Frodo smiled so wide, he thought his unused facial muscles would ache after displaying such sadness for such a long time.

The King returned the smile, holding out his hand, calling for Brego to come into range of the riders. Gently grasping the hobbit at the waist, he hoisted Frodo up onto the fine crafted leather saddle. When he made sure that the hobbit was secured, Aragorn swung long legs up and over mounting Brego, settling himself into the seat. With a soft clicking sound and delicate prodding of well muscled flanks, the pair were carried off at a smooth trott through the recovering city's bustling streets.

"You are nothing but a nuisance, you little brat!" the middle aged man said pushing a teenaged boy out onto the streets, landing with a thump, the dust scattering with the wind. "If I have told you once, I have told you a thousand times, I ain't puttin' up with your nonsense. Fanciful stories doesn't get the coins we need to buy the food or keep the shelter over our head! If'n you return here without something jingling in those pockets, then don't come back!" he finished yelling out, veins popping out on the reddened neck and face, fist shaking.

The sandy blond headed boy ducked, putting his arm up in defense to ward off a blow he knew was to come, but the man turned on his heel, slamming the home's door behind him. Sure that his guardian was not to return, he slowly got to his feet wiping his tear streaked face of dirt, exposing faded bruises he had acquired a couple days before when he came home empty handed. Looking quickly around for any spectators, more tears overflowed his pale rims as he set his foot to the dirt kicking at fallen rubble that once belonged to someone's home. Probably his home he reckoned.

He never had to worry where his next meal was coming from, or for that matter ever being abused. Jared was happy, before the war. Everything was simple then. His momma made their home grand when there was nothing much to look at from the outside, but from the inside it shone all the love that his brothers shared. Now, he was all alone. He was the youngest and the only boy left. His brothers had gone off with the former Steward's son to recapture Osgiliath. A suicide mission and everyone knew it. Only the Captain made it back alive, barely. When the Orcs broke into the city, his momma threw him into the home's secret shelter, closing the lid. He heard the furniture scraping against the wooden floor as she hurriedly pulled them over the hiding place. Hearing his mother yelling out as she ran from the kitchen followed closely by heavier footsteps, he placed his hands over his ears and his mouth to muffle his own cries. Then all was silent. No screams, no more footsteps, no nothing.

It was two days later that he had dared to venture from his hiding place, half starved and thirsty. He had heard a man's voice followed by furniture being overturned, pans banging onto the floor, something heavy being dragged along the floor. Blond curls peeked out from beneathe his formidable shelter to see who was in his home.

"Hoi! What are you doin' there!" the middle aged man hollered out as he spied the boy. When he received no reply, the burley man made two large strides before big hands yanked the weak boy from the floor. "I asked ya a question, boy!"

"Where's my...momma?" he shakily voiced, looking frantically around the disheveled room with pale green eyes that once was an inviting kitchen with smells of pie baking, and oven fresh bread. When he did not see anyone else in the house but the man holding him by his torn shirt, Jared had no where else to look but up.

Stammering for the proper words, Nyland had seen the woman the boy inquired about. Not realizing that there was anyone else living, he had wrapped the bloodied body in burlap, dragging it to the street. There had been an announcement earlier that morning that the dead would be collected by the healers to be burned. "I am sorry, boy, but ya ma did not survive. I didn't think noone else was livin' here, as the King proclaimed that all sound structures will be reassigned. I lost my home and this one is still standin'. Is there anyone else here?" the middle aged man asked, hoping that his claim was still valid. No minor would be allowed to live alone, or own anything.

Jared shook his head, the news of his momma finally hitting him. He knew deep down that she was dead, but it was not until someone told him that he let loose tears he had bottled up.

Nyland also knew of another law that the King handed down. If any minor was found to be without parents, but a guardian assigned, said guardian would be given extra coin to take proper care of the child. "There, there," Nyland bluffed sympathy for the teenager, squeezing the slight shoulders to him, "everythin' will be fine. You just let old Nyland here take care of ya. We can live together since you have no family to speak of. Now, what say ya to that?"

Numb from head to toe, Jared figured he agreed to the idea because the next thing he remembered was waking up a week later in his own room. His stomach was growling, but he seemed a bit better. The dwelling that he used to call home had been transformed from the upturned disheveled establishment to formidable living space. That was soon changed when he found out the only reason was that one of the healers had been coming to look in on the boy, to pass on word to the King that the man would make a very good guardian for him. When all the paperwork had been signed, life changed drastically from tolerable to worse. Jared had been treated badly, made to go out into the city, picketing pockets of people who was just as bad off as he was. He was ashamed of what had become of the sweet caring boy with his head in the clouds before the war changed his life.

Embarressment pounded into his head, his heart thumping hard against his chest. Then he felt it in his ears, beating to a rhythm of ka clop, ka clop, ka clop. The beat never changed, but seemed to be getting louder. Turning his blond head, Jared saw the horse coming up behind him, stepping out of its way. The riders steadily rode by without so much as a glance below them, but the boy happened to recognize them. He just could not believe the King and the Ring-bearer were both traveling the poorest and the most damaged part of Minas Tirith. Of course he heard that the Dwarf was in charge of rebuilding the lower levels and one of the work sites just happened to be in the direction the horse was heading toward. Jared crossed the pebble strewn street, setting out to take a shortcut to intercept the riders. If the rumors he heard were true, he might be able to lay his head on a pillow that night with the coins he could extract from the nephew of the great Bilbo Baggins. The hobbit that slayed the dragon, Smaug and left with a fortune in gold.

Reigns brought up short halted Brego in front of collapsed pillars of stone torn down by the enemy's catapaults. Frodo's eyes grew wide at the enormity of the battle that had been fought here while he and Sam were trying to infiltrate the land of the Orcs. The stories Pippin told him of how the great city was being bombarded hit too close to home. He let out a breath he did not realize he had been holding, as an overwhelming feeling of helplessness shuddered through his very being.

"Frodo?" Aragorn asked, placing comforting hands upon the little one's shoulders.

"I am all right," the hobbit sighed. "I just...I mean..." he tried to continue but was cut off by the gentleness of the former Ranger's voice.

"I understand, Tithen Min. We all do," he said as he dismounted the horse, but not before giving a last reassuring squeeze. "Ready?"

The halfling nodded looking into his friend's eyes. Holding out his arms, he allowed the King of Gondor to lift him off the saddle, setting him carefully onto the dirt ground. He noticed immediately that off to the right of the fallen wall was Gimli's work in progress; neatly stacked stones of all shapes held together with a hardening mixture of pebbles and mud.

"Amazing what Gimli can do is it not?" Aragorn asked his companion, securing Brego's reigns to a damaged sapling. "He had this rebuilt in a week," he bragged about the Dwarf's ability working with rock and stone admiring the fine intricate carvings in the new pillars. Placing his hands on the closest one, it felt cold to his touch and wet. Bringing his hand away, a few small mud covered pebbles had clung to his palm. Upon closer inspection, the silt had not thoroughly dried. "Be careful, Frodo, it seems that our Master Dwarf's masterpiece is still a bit wet," the former Ranger warned walking further under the formed archway, acknowledging that the ceiling had been reinforced with wooden beams.

"They remind me of the stone carvings of Moria," the halfling whispered to himself, shuddering at the thought of not wanting to enter a dark cave for a long time. Frodo hesitated for just a moment before following Aragorn when he heard the horse's shoes clank nervously onto the broken stone pavement. Turning toward the restless beast, he saw a small blond headed boy trying to mount the steed. "Oi!" Frodo yelled out, startling the boy who in turn spurred Brego hard.

The horses strength ripped the broken sapling, its exposed roots just at the surface, but what lay hiddened tightened until Brego broke them free causing a domino effect. The semi dry pillars began to sway unsteadily, the vibrations from the frantic horse whipping the sapling around, breaking off bits of mortar in strategic locations started the avalanche of rocks.

When the first rock fell, Frodo dove under the archway, but landed hard onto his stomach with the broach pressing firmly into his neck as the cloak lay beneathe the fallen stone. Pebbles were showering down quickly as he grasped at the fastening, unaware that Aragorn was heading back for the trapped hobbit. Man sized fingers worked frantically at releasing the clasp, Frodo gasping for air when it finally snapped opened. Hands grabbed his torso, tossing him out of harm's way as if he was a rag doll. Hitting the wall hard, Frodo cringed at the stabbing pain in his side and upper arm as the darkness of the corridor enveloped him, the last clear image was that of the King running toward him before being knocked to the ground face down.

tbc...

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They belong to J.R.R. Tolkien.

Surrounded by the Darkness: Chapter 2

"If'n I catch you taking coins from my patrons again, I'll have the King's guards come drag you away. Do you know what they do with thievin' little boys?" the tavern manager threatened as he was holding onto the boys ripped shirt collar, his burley face just inches from Jared's.

Biting the man's hand, Jared was dropped. Turning tail, he ran as fast as and as far as he could, until he ended up at the front gates of the city. Knowing that he couldn't return without some sort of coin for his guardian, that night he curled up under a stone step, staying out of the damp elements.

"Gimli! Gimli!" Pippin called out to the dwarf whom was working on one of the walls in the upper level of the city.

"Heads up young hobbit, look out where you are going before something drops on that curly head of yours!" the dwarf yelled out, climbing down the wooden scaffold. "Now, what is the hurry?" Gimli puffed as he made his descent.

"There's been some kind of cave-in at the site you were working at yesterday," Pippin explained, pointing to a cloud of dust hanging over the lower level of the city.

"Oh, my. Was anyone hurt?" Gimli asked, knowing that Aragorn was supposed to be going to look at the work in progress.

"Do not know. Bergil just came and told me and I sought you out first on my way to see the King," the tweenager said.

"But Aragorn went to the site himself just this very afternoon. Is he back yet?" a worried Dwarf asked, stroking his beard with one of his gloved hands.

"I do not know, I just got on duty. I just assumed he was in counsel all day," Pippin pondered, having been out with Merry all morning, stopping in real quick to change into uniform at the house he shared with Gandalf and the other hobbits. He never even took notice if Frodo was still in bed, since that was where he was spending most of his day lately. "I will go and see if Aragorn is here, do not go anywhere," he said, running as fast as his little legs could carry him toward the King's chambers.

Cloppity, cloppity, cloppity, clop, clop...clop. The rider pulled up the reigns hard, his heart pounding against his chest. What have I done? I have to go get help, but noone will believe me it was just an accident.

"Hey, you there! Where'd you find that horse?" a citadel guard questioned Jared, pulling his horse up with the white steed.

"I...I...he was wandering, I..." he stammered caught unawares.

"This is the King's Stallion, boy. What are you doing on it? Have you run off with his horse and left him abandoned? Answer me!" the guard demanded.

Jared lost his voice, scared of what might happen to him as the threat of the tavern owner coming back to him. He quickly leapt off the horse, running in the opposite direction of where he had left the King and the halfling helplessly trapped in the cave-in.

The air choked the waking Ranger as he pulled his face up from the dirt floor, hands scraping across irregular edged rocks. He blinked his eyes several times to adjust to the darkness, but after a few moments of disoriention, he decided it was better if he just kept them closed as it did not seem to matter if they were opened or not. The scenery had not changed. Mentally checking for any injuries, he found that he could move both arms, supporting the upper part of his body with elbows. Taking slow deep breaths, Aragorn concentrated on moving his legs. First the right as he wiggled his booted toes, bringing the leg up at the knee, but when he tried to move his left leg, pain assailed the King as if hot pokers were being thrust through. "Ahhhh!" he grunted, his breath hitching several times. Bending his body at the waist, he felt along the flooring until his knuckles bumped into a rock. Fingers probed the rock, a large one by the feel of it, identifying as the one sitting on his injured calf. A sticky wetness coated his appendages, recognizing the copper odor after bringing it up to his nose. Panting heavily, Aragorn lowered himself back onto his stomach, the cold earth chilling his overly warmed skin coming to the conclusion that he was trapped.

His mind whirling on his predicament, it stopped, wondering what happened to Frodo; If the Ring-bearer was unconcious, or worse...He shook his head to clear the cobwebs not wanting to think of Frodo's untimely demise. The tomb was dark and dead quiet. But not too quiet for an Elven raised Ranger. A squeek. No, more like a whimper. Aragorn turned his head one way for a moment, then the other. The sound was definetly coming from farther back, probably against the wall as the sound waves were bouncing off of rock, not being absorbed.

The King coughed, clearing his throat, "Fro...Frodo?" he called out. After a few moments with no response, he put a little more authority into his voice, "Frodo!"

"H...h...here. Over...here," the Hobbiton hobbit barely whispered.

Aragorn could tell from Frodo's voice he was either scared, injured, or perhaps both, but greatful that the Ring-bearer was still alive. He quietly blew out a reserved sigh, "Are you hurt, Tithen Min?"

Frodo could not answer the question. It took all his strength to just whisper his whereabouts when Aragorn changed his tone. The darkness was heavy around him, taking his very breath as his chest rose and fell rapidly, his small heart thumping so hard against his tender ribs, adding to the pain. He could feel sweat forming on his forehead as his thoughts roamed, bringing up the frightening memory of Shelob chasing him throughout her dark lair. Caught unaware as the spider stung her prey, he watched helplessly as his body was being turned, encased within her webbing.

Aragorn heard Frodo's breathing quicken, almost to the point he would pass out from hyperventilating. He needed to break through whatever the Ring-bearer was thinking about. Feeling around for an appropriate size, large fingers grasped a small pebble and aiming high into the air, Aragorn threw the rock. Crack! It hit the wall as he called out, "Frodo!"

"Sam, help me!" the Ring-bearer yelled out frighteningly as he tried to make his wounded body curl tightly inwards, invisible to the darkness. "No, not again," a whimpered cry.

"Tithen Min?" Aragorn called out into the darkness.

"She's here!," whispering so that She would not find him as he squeezed his eyes shut against the rising pain caused by his injured chest and arm.

Shelob,Aragorn thought to himself. Frodo thinks she is here. The Ranger quickly regretted his actions of throwing the rock, but he had no other choice. "Frodo, I threw that rock. There is no one else here. Trust me," he added hoping to refocus the Ring-bearer's attention on their present situation. "My leg is caught within some of the gravel, I am trapped." 

The master of Bag End heard the words, but it took time to process them. When he realized what a fool he must have acted like, Frodo inhaled loudly and deeply; focusing on calming his breathing. "Are... are you hurt?" he asked from a distance with reserve to his voice.

"Never mind me, Frodo," he did not need to add any further stress upon the Ring-bearer, "Did you get hurt?"

Silence.

"Frodo!"

"You keep yelling at me and I will leave you there for the next King to find," Frodo told Aragorn in no uncertain terms. Manipulating with one hand, he undid a button and made a makeshift sling for his injured arm, sliding it through the opening of his shirt. Next, he pulled himself up onto his knees, raking the ground with his good hand, sweeping away any large rocks in his way. He kept telling himself he could do it, that there was nothing to be frightened of. He was going to find his way to Aragorn because he needed him. Clearing his throat, he gained control of his voice, "Keep talking to me Aragorn. I do not want to go in the wrong direction," he said trying to keep humor in their situation.

"You know, you are the most stubborn Hobbit I have met and mind you I have only had the pleasure of knowing the four of you including Bilbo. You still did not answer my question, are you hurt?"

Still no reply, just a scraping sound echoing from the other side of the cave.

"Oh, all right, you win for the time being, Frodo. Let's see, how about the tale of Luthien and Beren. You seemed to be interested in the song on our way to Rivendell. That surprised me, you know. I did not realize you knew Quenya. Did Bilbo teach you?" Aragorn asked politely. He had always wondered, but missed the opportunity to ask.

Stopping his motion for just a moment, Frodo took a deep breath, regretting it immediately, "Ohh, mmm," he panted.

The healer in him heard the pained breaths, berating himself for becoming trapped. Whatever was wrong with Frodo, he was making it worse by crawling to his rescue.

"Ye...s. B-Bilbo taught me. Please, Aragorn, continue?"

"Sorry..." Aragorn said and kept talking.

Frodo concentrated hard on the King's voice and continued to close the distance between Aragorn and himself. He crawled painstakingly slow wincing as he felt little sharp pieces of clay and pulverized rock imbed themselves into the knees of the fair skinned Ringbearer, little droplets of blood marking his trail from where he had started.

Soon, the sound of the former Ranger's voice seemed very close as if right next to him. Stopping for just a moment, the Ring-bearer lifted his upper body and Wham, Crack!

"Ye ow!" Aragorn and Frodo both exclaimed in unison. The top of Frodo's head had hit Aragorn's jaw, hard, both rubbing their prospective hurts.

Tears came to the hobbit's eyes as brillant bright lights flashed before them. The pain was so intense that it rendered Frodo useless as he fell over onto his side, dazed.

"Frodo?" the King asked concernedly when he felt a gust of wind next to him and dirt fly up into his nose. He felt around for the hobbit, finding the small hand holding the top of the curly head. Aragorn snaked his larger one within it, a sense of relief coming over him.

"That...will be two ale's you owe me, My Lord," the Ring-bearer voiced slowly, but shakily, "When we get out of here."

An unnoticed smile crossed the King's face, as his hot forehead touched cool earth once more. "It will be my pleasure, but for now I will be fine, unlike you having a difficult time breathing over there...And do not tell me it is because you just crawled to my rescue," he said tightening his hold on Frodo's trembling hand.

There was no verbal response, just the continued labored breathing. He suspected that when he threw Frodo out of danger he might have injured him, but not to the point he should be panting for every breath. The Ranger forced his body onto his elbows, feeling along the Ring-bearer's arm he let the hobbit hold onto firmly as if a life line. As he patted down his friend's body, he could tell that Frodo was lying face up, horizontal to his own. With a small grunt, Aragorn grabbed hold of the loose velvety weskit, pulling the clothing and its owner closer to him.

Frodo's breath hitched in pain as he tried to wring his good hand free of the Ranger's hold, but Aragorn held fast until the Ring-bearer gave up his fight. "I am sorry to hurt you. Just trust me," he breathed out into the darkness, hiccups echoing in the cave, knowing all too well that they were from the Ring-bearer. Resuming his sightless search for any injuries, his hands came to a lump within the folds of the weskit. Fumbling, his huge fingers barely fit into the hidden pocket, extracting a cold teardrop shaped object securely held in his palm. "What is this?" he whispered.

"What is...what?" the Ring-bearer's voice skipped.

"It feels like glass, but cold."

"Oh, Sam," Frodo praised his gardener, evident that he had tucked the Elves most beloved star safely away in the folds of his clothes.

"What?"

"Put it in my hand, Aragorn and I...will show you," Frodo asked as he raised his right hand feeling for the King's arm.

Aragorn felt the tiny fingers, steadying the little one's hand as he placed the object into the palm. Then he silently waited as he heard Frodo whisper something in Elvish.

A very faint light eminated from the hobbit's hand, becoming brighter by the second as it illuminated the space enough for them to survey their surroundings. Those enormous blue eyes focusing on the glass as he spoke, "Lady Galadriel gifted this to me when we were in Lothlorien. She said it would be a light for me in dark places. The last time I used it was in Shelob's cave," Frodo tried to swallow hard passed the lump forming in his throat, trying to fight back tears beholding the beauty of the Star-glass.

"It is a wonderful gift, Tithen Min," Aragorn said admiring the light, at the same time praising Sam's common sense; making sure Frodo was well taken care of especially when out of his sight. Those steele grey eyes twinkled, but when they shifted from the glass to the little one's body to continue his examination, he frowned realizing what had been causing the hobbit's distress. Frodo's left arm was being held within his shirt for support, the shoulder noticeably out of its socket. "Oh, Frodo, I am sorry to have hurt you so."

Frodo knew what the King was staring at and he tried to school his fear for his shoulder would have to be put back in its place, "I...know," he said his blue orbs staring intently back at his friend.

Aragorn started unbuttoning the linen shirt, carefully extracting the swollen limb from its resting place. Frodo turned his head away, gritting his teeth against the painful movement a small moan escaping pursed lips. The King knew he was causing more pain to the little one, but it needed to be done now before the limb swelled anymore making it more difficult to manipulate it back into the socket. Stopping to let Frodo have a rest, he removed one of his riding gloves doubling it over. "Frodo, take this," he suggested. Turning his head to look up at the Ranger, eyes grew wide at the implication of having something to bite down on. "Please."

The Ring-bearer nodded, opening his mouth to comply, Aragorn placed the folded leather gently between widened lips.

Baring the injured shoulder, Strider stopped for a moment as he saw for the first time since Rivendell how the Ring-bearer's scar had become translucent. His thumb barely graced the area before registering that the scar was very cold, not warm like the rest of his body. His mind whirled back to the day when he overheard his foster father saying that Frodo's wound would never heal. Sighing, Aragorn continued as he manuevered the little one's body in such a manner that he was able to drape his chest over the Ring-bearer's; his elbows placed between the little one's rib-cage and the arm. Grasping the upper limb with both hands, he quickly rotated it outward, thrusting it upwards back into its socket.

As brave as he hoped he was, it was not enough to suppress the screams that had been ripped from his throat, leaving impressions of his teeth in Aragorn's fine leather glove. Tears of pain sprung to his eyes, their tracks cleansing a path down dirty cheeks.

Aragorn's heart went out, sorry that he had caused the little one such pain. Gathering the shaking body into his arms he realized that Frodo was not breathing. "Do not hold your breath, Frodo. You need to breath through the pain," he comforted stroking back the dark unruly curls.

Spasms of pain waved through Frodo's body, tensing within the Ranger's hold. "I should not be...acting...such...a...child," he managed.

At that moment a great rumble vibrated beneath their bodies, small rocks and dust dislodging from their previous resting place. The last image the King saw as he instinctively covered Frodo's shaking body with his own, was the frightened wide eyes staring back before the light was doused with the continuation of falling debris. Elbereth, help us, he silently prayed.

tbc...

Disclaimer:  I do not own these characters, they belong to J.R.R. Tolkien.

Surrounded by the Darkness:  Chapter 3

Even though there were but a half dozen or so horses, the men of Gondor rode in as if they were a herd of Oliphants ready for battle, causing small avalanches of rocks to tumble from their resting places.

Gimli sat atop one of these mounts, behind the Prince of Mirkwood when he shouted for the Elf to stop.  "Legolas, stop this beast! Stop them all!" he cried out as he fearfully watched more rock plummeted down to the loose dirt floor.

Reining in his horse, Legolas turned to look at the agitated dwarf.  They had been through battles, friendly arguments which one of them killed the most Orcs, but Legolas had never seen fear expressed on his comrade's face as it was now.  With ease, the Elf Prince caught the dwarf's mail, lifting him up and over the steed, dropping him onto the ground.

Tugging his tunic back into place, the hob-nobbed boots found their way to one of the large rocks where Gimli raised his mighty ax as a walking stick, hefting his body up onto the top.  He then put his fingers into his mouth and whistled loudly.  Horses whinnied and riders held onto reins, turning the frightened beasts around to the one who caused the commotion.  "Good!  Now that I have your attention, stop right where you are and dismount your beasts!"

"What is wrong, Master Dwarf?" one of the guards asked. 

"Don't you see the pebbles raining down into this gully, young soldier?  There has been quite a commotion here, and I do not need another avalanche caused by you all riding in like you were the last cavalry.  So, get off of them horses and walk them out of here before I box someone's ears!" he roared.

"You know what you are doing?" Legolas asked his comrade, the dwarf ‘s added height making him stand eye level with the Elf.

“You and Aragorn can stick with tracking, but my specialty is rock, young Prince ling, and this rock here has taken a beating," Gimli declared, stamping the formation with the butt of his ax handle.  "This here was set in mortar yesterday.  Not enough time to dry right, but would have if something had not knocked into it.  It tumbled over onto that archway collapsing it.  I had the men set heavy beams inside the structure for added support, but it looks like it was just a waste of time.  I thought as much, but Aragorn wanted to save as much of these outlying buildings as possible."

Legolas followed Gimli's explanation as he pointed out each incident causing each support to topple over until the great finale.  As he scanned the fallen debris, his sharp eyes spotted a hoof print. Gracefully walking toward the spot, he knelt and reached out with one of his long fingers, tracing the print and suddenly stopped.  Legolas inhaled sharply as he remembered the events from the outing he and Aragorn had gone on the day before. 

The hunt had been good that day; Legolas thought as he had shot a five-point buck with the bow he was gifted by the Lothlórien Elves. Aragorn had managed to bag a few rabbit, which Legolas knew he would skin, saving the fur to line a baby's crib someday.  He had encouraged the King to shirk his duties for that day and come with him on a hunting expedition.  Something they both had enjoyed, but missed ever since Aragorn took on his destined role as King of Gondor.

"Will not Arwen be surprised that her husband has lost his touch?" Legolas teased as they rode on horses through the narrow valley. 

"She will love me just the same if I were to come home with a thousand deer or a handful of rabbits, so long as I enjoyed myself," Aragorn spoke, a smile crossing his face. "I do not have to compete as you and Gimli do." 

"Hah!" Legolas' voice rang out.  Plodding along, the Elf noticed something odd about Brego's impressions in the dirt.  Taking a closer look at the horse's gait, he did not notice any limping.  "Aragorn, stop for a moment.  I believe there is something wrong with one of Brego's shoes," he informed the King.

Halting at his friend's request, Aragorn pulled in his Stallion bringing it to a standstill.  Dismounting, he met the Elf at the animal's left flank.  "What is it?"

"Whoa there, my friend," Legolas comforted, patting the horse's flank as Aragorn still held tight upon the rein.  "See, there, his print," he pointed out with one hand as the long fingers on his other hand smoothed down the hair on the leg, bringing the limb up to reveal the shoe.  Right in the center was a crack, not debilitating to the horse now, but the shoe would eventually work itself loose and cause the animal to hobble.

"I'll take Brego to the Smithy's tomorrow,” Aragorn said.  “Well, tomorrow night," he added more softly

"Why the delay?  More pressing kingly duties?" Legolas teased.

A serious expression crept over the smiling face, "I am worried about Frodo, Legolas.  He has changed much since the destruction of the Ring and has kept much to himself these past weeks.  I promised Sam that I would have a talk with him, probably have him ride with me to one of Gimli's sights…”

&*&*&*

Darkness crept in ... No, I am not afraid...What was it that Bilbo used to say ... Do not get angry at the Darkness, light a candle ... A candle.  Light ... Galadriel's light ... Most beloved star ... Let it be a light in Dark places ... Star Glass

Frodo eyes fluttered opened, shaking the poem from his mind.  Trying to move, he realized that his arms were still pinned beneath the Ranger, but he managed to rotate his right hand, fingers searching the last place he remembered before the Light went out. Then his fingers brushed up against something cold and with a quick move of his wrist, he grasped hold of the Star Glass.  "Aragorn?" he whispered, struggling to inhale enough air.

The Ranger's head was lying on his chest and stomach, making it difficult for Frodo to move, much less breathe properly.  With the Star Glass still in his hand, Frodo wrenched his right arm free and spoke the words he had twice before bringing the Lady's gift to light.  Illuminating the darkened structure, the hobbit found that the King's large body blocked most of his view; he was only able to view the broken beams hanging like limp appendages from the collapsing stone ceiling. Angling the light down in front of him, he found long wavy brown hair hanging in the King's face.  Bending his arm at the elbow, Frodo released the Star Glass, placing it on the floor above his right shoulder. "Aragorn?" he whispered again, brushing the fringe away from his friend's face, trying to tuck it behind an ear.  That was when he felt something wet. Bringing his fingers back to the light, he rubbed them together, coating them in the Ranger's blood.  Fear seized the hobbit, thinking the worse, that Aragorn was dead.  Taking his good hand, he patted the King's face, inhaling deeply before calling out hoarsely, "Aragorn! Aragorn!"

Dream sequence

The beast was upon the little hobbit, seizing Frodo’s ankle, dragging him across the ground like a rag doll. Strider snatched a long spear, plunging it into the cave troll's side.  Nothing seemed to phase it.  The Ranger, caught off his guard, was batted away by the troll like an annoying insect.  Aragorn slammed into the rock wall before landing hard on the cave floor, unconscious.  Then Aragorn heard a small voice at first, increasing in volume.  He recognized it as Frodo’s voice, trying to rouse him.  However, in Strider’s confused mind, Frodo had been stabbed, his body lying lifeless on the ground next to him. "Oh, no ... Frodo?"

End of dream sequence.

Frodo had almost given up until he had heard his name muttered by the Ranger.  Sniffling loudly, he patted Aragorn's bearded face a little harder, tears clouding his eyesight.  "Aragorn, please, wake up!"

"Frodo!" the King cried out deliriously, re-enacting his crawl to the motionless body on the cave floor, pulling his leg free of the fallen debris. 

Dust started to rise from the floor going up Frodo's nose as he was being rolled beneath the big body.  "Aragorn ... stop!" Frodo cried out as waves of fiery pain assailed his newly set shoulder, tears of anguish overpowering his moment of fear. 

Grey eyes popped opened, staring at the curled up shadow beneath him. “Wha …?  Frodo?” he asked wearily, his temples throbbing as he groped for words trying to remember what happened.

The moment Frodo heard the King’s shaken voice, he pulled himself together the best he could, shakily getting to his knees to crawl out from under Aragorn’s body.  Slowly, he turned to face the former Ranger, registering that the firm voice sounded strained.  "Aragorn,” the hobbit breathed out clutching his left arm close to his body trying to ride out the pain. "Lie back down, you are bleeding," he continued, sitting on the backs of his legs.

"It seems..." the Ranger said, supporting himself again on both elbows this time, "that we are both in need of assistance," he coughed, shaking his head hoping it would clear the cobwebs, but all it did was make him more dizzy.  Opening his eyes, he found himself face to face with a blearied-eyed hobbit.  Taking a trembling finger, he brushed away a single tear that had escaped blue eyes.  "You've been crying, Tithen Min. Why?"

"I have not, its just all this dust," Frodo stammered out, wiping his dirty face with his shirtsleeve, "it is bothering my eyes."

"Uh-huh," Aragorn teased, not believing a word the hobbit said. 

With the Star Glass in his possession, Frodo lifted it high enough to see that their fate had been fully sealed as not a single ray of light penetrated through the rocks, hope abandoning itself to certain death if they did not find a way out soon.  The air would not last long and both already knew what did not need to be said. With an exasperated sigh, Frodo lowered his arm, the light illuminating the Ranger's body.

The hobbit noticed the exposed injured leg.  Rivulets of dried blood ran down the muscular calf, but the blood in the wound itself was very shiny resembling the gel his Uncle Bilbo used to make for strawberry pies.

Aragorn laid his head down on folded arms, closing his eyes while trying to detach his mind from the throbbing pain in his leg.  He heard a faint ripping of cloth and then felt small fingers probing the very area he was trying to forget.  Jerking his head up hard, the King looked over his shoulder to find the shireling's back to him, hovering over his legs.  “Frodo! What in Middle-Earth are you doing?" he asked through clenched teeth as the throbbing in the leg persisted to sheer agony. 

"Wrapping your wound, and if you can be still long enough I might be able to tie it off with one hand," the hobbit grunted. Taking the sleeve he ripped at the shirt's stitching to cover the King's leg, he laid his injured arm upon the fabric, his fingers grasping an end as his other hand pulled the material taught.  

"Easy!" Aragorn grimaced as he felt the skin pinch together, "I would like something left to stitch together."

"I have never seen anyone complain as much as you do, Strider, Ranger of the North, defender of us little folk," Frodo teased back.  "My finger bled more than this," the hobbit continued, breathing heavily as he scooted back up to the Ranger's head and sat.  He then ripped the hem of his shirt, balling it up and applied it to Aragorn's bleeding head.  

"Sam is going to be furious with me for letting you get all dirty, Tithen Min,” The Ranger said softly, covering the halfling’s hand with his own.  Frodo’s hand was trembling, the quivering deep inside even as the hobbit struggled to master his limb. Aragorn was immediately on guard; the healer in him alerted and alarmed. He took a closer look, noting the little one’s pale face.  Frodo’s whole body seemed to be vibrating – shadows danced on the wall as the Star Glass quivered in the halfling’s hand.

Remembering the halfling’s injuries, Aragorn pressed him gently.  “How is your arm?  Does the bandage on your finger need changing?”  He should have kept better track of the last time the Ring-bearer had gone to the Houses of Healing to have the wound properly soaked and dressed.     

Avoiding those piercing gray eyes, Frodo peered closely at the bandage, recalling that Sam had reminded him to have the dressing changed that very afternoon.  His aunt would have called him scattered brained, but he knew in his heart that he meant to avoid going to the healing house.  He could not take one more day of those questioning stares he received every time he traveled the road to the healing house.  He had put it off as long as he could, catching grief from his gardener after luncheon.  That was when Aragorn had come along and asked to accompany him.

Frodo reasoned in his mind that he would just go the next day, telling Sam that he was on his way, but the King’s request came before anything else.  Who would question differently?  Sam would, that is who.  He imagined his gardener padding his way to the King’s chambers; giving him one of the gaffer’s speeches on the etiquette of rights and wrongs, that Frodo’s health came first.  He could hear it all right, every word.  Looking back at the very eyes he was trying to avoid Frodo finally spoke, “Well, the bandage looks well enough, but as for pain, I do not rightly know seeming as how my whole arm hurts."

"I am sorry about that, Frodo,” the King said releasing the little one’s hand, “but I had not expected the ceiling to fall on us.”  After a moment, the King spoke again, "By the way, why had you shouted?  What happened outside?"

Those mesmerizing blue eyes looked straight into dimmed gray and began explaining what he saw as the boy took off with Brego.  "I do not know why he was by the horse in the first place," Frodo contemplated, "though, he did look strangely familiar; maybe one the guard's children?  I am not sure, this old memory of mine is starting to fail, just like..." Frodo stopped mid sentence, his eyes cast to the floor.

"Just like what, Frodo?"  Aragorn prodded, his voice soft.  This was what he wanted, to get Frodo to open up, tell him what has been bothering him as of late, and if it took being trapped in a cave-in, then so be it.

"Just like..." Frodo said quietly then stopped again. Frodo sat for the longest time in silence.  He knew what Aragorn was up to and he just did not feel like revealing his inner most feelings to anyone right now.  Not after his failed attempt at destroying the Ring.  Why should anyone care of how he felt or what he did anyhow. Sighing, the hobbit raised his eyes finishing the sentence, but not what he truly wanted to say, "Just like you now owe me three ale's for tending to you, my liege."

Aragorn schooled his disappointment, smiling fondly at the tired hobbit in front of him.  Dragging his own body to lie against one of the smooth boulders, "Come Frodo, sit down, and take a break," he waved to Frodo to come next to him. "We need to conserve our strength," the King of Gondor said, lifting one end of his cloak, closing his arm, and covering the trembling hobbit with it.

Since his own cloak was last seen being ripped from his throat, Frodo welcomed the warmth that Aragorn's provided.  Who was he to defy an order from the King himself, he surmised.  The wearied hobbit laid his head upon the man's chest, as he was being covered, trying hard not to close heavy eyes. 

Aragorn had just made a few adjustments to his cloak making sure he covered the hobbit's huge furry feet when he heard a familiar burring noise.  Lifting up a corner of his cloak, Aragorn listened to Frodo's breathing.  Many a night on their journey, he had made it a point to learn each of the Fellowship's sleeping habits.  He could tell by the way each breathed if they were asleep, especially the Ring-bearer.

During his watches, Aragorn could tell when Frodo was plagued by nightmares as he listened to the hobbit's occasional whimpers and mumblings.  That was not the case this time as the Ranger tried not to jar the small body lying next to him, smiling to himself as Frodo had finally fell into a deep untroubled sleep. 

Tbc. 

Chapter 4

“Where are they?” Pippin asked Jared, grabbing him by the shoulders encouragingly.

The boy knew he needed to tell the Ring-bearer’s kin what he knew and he did not have to struggle with his conscious. “The Ring-bearer and the King are trapped in one the damaged homes down on the 4^th living level. It was one of the ones the dwarf man was working on yesterday,” he said. “I scared the horse and the building fell with them inside. I’m sorry. My caregiver threw me out and told not to come back unless I found some money to give him. I tried to steal a horse and when it was the King’s horse, it spooked and then the whole building collapsed,” the boy confessed.

Merry was already tugging on Pippin’s cloak, heading back to get Gandalf when he had seen one of Aragorn’s guards. “Hoi!”

“Master Merry, you look upset. How may I help you?” the guard asked.

“Aragorn and Frodo were seen on the 4^th level when a building collapsed on them. We have to get them out!”

“I just came from there. Master Gimli and the Elf are down there now assessing the damage, but we did not find any evidence that they were there,” he sadly stated.

“But, the child told us he had seen them. He said he accidentally caused the building to fall,” Pippin said, tugging Jared with him.

The guard looked upon the curly blond headed child and immediately recognized him. “You were the one on the King’s horse. Why didn’t you tell me what happened then?” the gurard’s voice rising in anger.

The boy cringed behind Pippin, not an impossible task since the Perinnath had grown inches by drinking the Ent water. “You are scaring him. It took great courage to tell us what happened. His caregiver had threatened him not to come home if he did not have any coin when he returned,” Pippin said in the boy’s defense.

“I stand corrected. Please, let us hurry. The King and the Ring-bearer are in much need of help, if help is still needed,” the guard said lowly hoping that they were not too late. Air runs out quickly in a building collapse, depending on how big the space was.

*********************************************************************************************************

Frodo slowly woke in the dark and forgetting where he was, panic set in. He couldn’t breathe and there was a heaviness on his chest. Trying to force himself up out of the pit of darkness he was drowning in, the pressure suddenly disappeared and a faint light appeared.

“Frodo,” Aragorn breathed heavily, “Easy, you fell asleep…beneath my…cloak,” he finished, laying his hand upon the Hobbit’s chest.

Shaking the last of the cobwebs from his head, Frodo reprimanded himself for being such a scared fool in front of the King. He started to get up when dizziness assailed him and Frodo had to sit for just a minute longer.

“The air is running out…my friend. Conserve your energy…for…as long…,” Aragorn was not able to complete his sentence, the stale heavy air escaping his lungs and no fresh air to replace it.

The King closed his eyes, then reopened them. His vision was becoming blurry, the feeling of light headedness increasing. He did not know how much time he had left on this mortal plane, but he was sure Frodo had a little bit more than himself because of his size. A feeling of remorse came over him as his thoughts focused on Frodo dying alone. He then felt a hand upon his shoulder and for just a moment his vision cleared to see the Ring-bearer smile.

“Do not fear for me, Aragorn. I have been prepared for this day since I was given the task to destroy the Ring, but it will not be today ! Only when I decide there is no hope left. If there was one lesson Queen Galadriel taught me, it was that one small person could change the world and I did that, Aragorn. I did! So, you do not give up on me, Strider! That is the one lesson Sam taught me as well,” Frodo declared, getting up to his knees, then slowly to his feet. He felt in his pocket for the Star Glass and raising it into the air spoke the chosen words, lighting the darkened space.

That was the last light Aragorn saw before his lids closed and darkness surrounded him.

**********************************************************************************************

Legolas still stood by that Aragorn and the Ring-bearer where buried underneath the collapsed building and he had decided to take up residence on a nearby rock when his keen elven sight caught a flash of something from the edge of the rubble. He quickly gained his feet and found the object of a Mallorean leaf broach reflecting the sun’s intense rays. As he picked it up, another bright flash caught his attention, but more from the center of the collapsed building. He closed his eyes and focused his hearing. Gimli’s metal boots walking the perimeter of the collapsed stones. Some of the men’s voices speaking of who would lead them if the King had perished. Then a scratching noise of some sort. It was inconsistent at first, then it started to take on a rhythm of its own. Scratch, scratch, scratch. Scratch, scratch, scratch. Then Gimli’s boots stopped beside him.

“What is it?” the dwarf asked.

“A noise…from within the walls,” Legolas said, opening his eyes. Flipping over the broach in his hands he added, “I also found this. I believe it belongs to Frodo.”

“Probably a rodent of some sort,” Gimli said, not so sure himself. “Do you still hear it?”

Legolas closed his eyes, cleared his mind of all else except for the one noise he did want to concentrate on, but he faltered as new sounds entered the area.

Master Dwarf!” a guard yelled as he came upon horseback carrying not only himself but what seemed like three children.

“Gimli, Gimli! Frodo and Aragorn are trapped in there!” Pippin and Merry yelled in unison.

“Please, get the horse back before more of these unstable rocks cause a landslide!” the Dwarf warned, then he added “What?”

Legolas quickly helped the three small riders dismount so that the guard could back the horse out of the danger zone, then the guard dismounted himself to help with the search.

“Aragorn and Frodo are here!” Pippin repeated.

“But, we cannot find no signs of them here, young masters, except for this,” Gimli stated handing the Mallorean broach to Pippin’s outstretched hand.

The boy came from behind Merry, looking at the piece of jewelry and admitted what he had done. “I am sorry,” he said hanging his head low, only looking at his feet.

“Legolas, where did you hear that noise?” the dwarf hurriedly asked.

The Elf quickly ran to the exact place he had heard the scratching, waiting to hear it once again.

Silence hung in the air as many breaths were held waiting for anything that would let them, or the Elf, know that their friends were indeed trapped under all that rubble.

Scr…atch.

“Here!” Legolas said, bending down closer to where the noise came from. “Aragorn?“ the Elf called out.

Within the cave, Frodo thought he had heard some muffled voices and had stopped his digging. He waited for a few moments, then some dust started falling on him when he had felt vibrations beneath him. When the voices did not continue, Frodo felt discouraged, but he promised Aragorn that he would not give up so he continued digging for as long as he was able. Then the Ring-bearer heard a more distinct voice calling for Aragorn. Taking a deep breath, Frodo returned the call.

“HE…LP!” he cried out weakly.

**********************************************************************************************

Legolas had his ear to the rock and smiled.

“What is it lad? Gimli asked.

“Aragorn?” Merry asked.

“No,” he answered, “Frodo. He sounds far away, weak, but I can hear him digging. We must

hurry!”

“No offense, Master Elf, but let me get in there and assess the wall. We do not want another collapse. At least I might be able to make a hole for some air to pass through,” Gimli said as he sized up the wall of rock.

With a small branch he used for leverage, Gimli knocked out a few of the rocks to create a way for air to get in. When the dust settled, the dwarf was able to see a bright light emanating from the cavern, illuminating the still bodies of their trapped friends. “Oh, no!” the dwarf said.

“Gimli?” Pippin asked.

With some calculations, leverages, properly placed supports and lots of man labor, Gimli gave the signal to release the first leverage to propel the rocks forward which in turn worked on a pulley system and brought the wooden beams in place to prevent the ceiling from crashing down.

When the dust cleared. Gimli looked in the intended small hole.

“What do you see? Are they there?” an anxious Merry asked.

Gimli sighed, shaking his head. “Aye, they are there, but…”

“What?” Pippin interjected.

“They are not moving, lads,” he finished, trying not to think the worse, but it entered his mind a few minutes back.

A piercing scream woke Aragorn, his body reacting quickly to a friend in need only to find that he did not have the strength to sit up. “Frodo?” he cried out weakly around a thick tongue.

“He will be fine, my son, as you will be,” a familiar voice spoke.

“He’s hurt. Let me go to him,” Aragorn said opening his eyes to see Lord Elrond, his foster father, bending over him. “Where?” he asked confused.

“You and Frodo were rescued this afternoon and are now recuperating in your living quarters,” Lord Elrond said, his hand resting on the King’s forehead, then on the pulse point at the neck.

“I am fine, father,” Aragorn murmured finding it a little humorous that he knew now how Frodo must have felt when subjected to Lord Elrond’s examination.

“I will be the judge of that,” Elrond said taking a cup to his son’s lips for him to drink.

Aragorn complied, nodding his head in thanks. As the King tried to change position, he winced in pain. “My leg is hurting,” he said looking at his father for an explanation.

“I stitched your leg wound to stop the bleeding. You will be sore and swollen for the next couple of days and wise to stay off of it. Lucky that you had bound it, or you would have bled to death,” Elrond explained.

“I didn’t do it,” the King stated.

“What?” Elrond asked.

“Frodo bound my leg. Again, I owe him my life,” the King replied, settling back into his comfortable bed.

The half-elven Lord pushed himself up off the mattress, completely satisfied with his assessment. “Rest, my son. You will have time to repay him later,” he added as his long fingers closed the fluttering eyelids, muttering under his breath to place his foster son in a light induced sleep.

*******************************************************************************************************************

“That’s it, Mr. Frodo. Just relax. It is all over now,” Samwise said trying to comfort his master, laying him gently onto the overstuffed, overly large feather pillows.

The healer had just finished manipulating the hobbit’s shoulder back into place, his cry echoing throughout the living quarters. Sam had been with Gandalf earlier that day after leaving Frodo in Aragorn’s care. When he returned, he knew something had happened when most of the King’s men were gathered at the lower levels. He did not even make it out of the hobbit’s quarters when Lord Elrond had returned with Aragorn and Frodo.

“How are you doing, Master Baggins?” Lord Elrond said as he entered from behind the partition that separated the King‘s quarters from Frodo’s.

“I was just about ready to give him something for the pain, my Lord,” the healer said.

“I will make sure he receives it. Go and be with your family,” Elrond said, relieving the healer of his services.

“Thank you, my lord. I will be back in the morning if you should need me,” he said and departed from the room.

Lord Elrond bowed and turned to address the Ring-bearer. He noticed immediately that Frodo’s face was contorted, staring blankly at nothing in particular. “Master Baggins, do not hold your breath,” he said sitting next to the hobbit. He then placed his hand beneath the woven cloth that was holding the injured arm in place. Frodo shuddered at the touch, trying to take a few breaths like he was asked. After a few moments, warmth tingled from those long fingers transferring healing energy to the injured shoulder and Frodo began to relax.

In the meantime, Sam had placed himself on the other side of his master, holding Frodo’s good hand within his own. “Mr. Frodo?” he queried.

“Is that better, Frodo?” the half elf lord asked again, peering into dull blue eyes.

Frodo nodded tiredly. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“You need your rest, and this,” Lord Elrond said as he held up the earthenware bottle, popping the cork. He then came upon Frodo and with one swift move of his hands had opened the Hobbit’s mouth, emptying the bottle’s content.

Frodo’s lip turned up, his eyes tightly closed as the concoction settled on his tongue leaving a bitter taste. Sam thrust a cup of water into Frodo’s hand which he accepted gratefully, emptying the contents. The medication had its desired affect and the hobbit found that he was very lightheaded.

Lord Elrond purposely stayed at Frodo’s side, peering into unfocused blue eyes. “Now, just lay back and rest, my young friend,” he softly spoke, gently pushing the hobbit’s shoulders back down onto the bed.

“Sir, did you mean to give him something so powerful,” Sam asked as he too noted the effects of the medicine working quickly.

“Yes. He needs his rest and I know how he fights sleep. Do not worry, Samwise. He will wake without any undesirable side effects,” the half elf stated as he checked the sleeping hobbit’s pulse. Satisfied, he rose off the mattress to his full height. “I shall return to check upon both Aragorn and Frodo. He is sleeping deeply and I expect he will not wake until morning. I shall have the kitchens prepare a tray for you.”

“Thank you, sir,” Sam said and watched the Elf Lord turn and leave the room.

************************************************************************************************************************

Thump, drag. Thump, drag. Thump, drag.

Frodo’s drug induced sleep had been disturbed, though he could manage to bring himself out of it when he wanted. He figured it was the residual of the Ring. The foul thing would never let him sleep for long, thinking if the hobbit was deprived, It was that much closer to possessing Its bearer. The noise had stopped, and right by Frodo’s bed. Frodo’s eyes flew open to find none other than a bedraggled King leaning on a chair staring down at him. The hobbit finally released the breath he had been holding.

Thump, drag. Thump, drag.

“May I sit? My leg seems to be a little heavy tonight,” Aragorn said wryly as he sat in the chair he had dragged with him across the floor, then propped his bandaged leg upon the hobbit’s bed.

“Does it hurt much?” Frodo asked as he propped himself up on his pillows being careful of his shoulder. It was definitely better, but still a little tender.

“I should be asking you the same thing, Frodo. I thought I had manipulated your arm back in place. You should have told me that it wasn’t. The longer it was out of socket, the more your muscles stretched. It will much easier for you to dislocate that shoulder again until your muscles contract to normal size,” Aragorn said sympathetically.

“I heard Lord Elrond say that you are not supposed to be on that leg, but here you are. I guess we are both too stubborn for our own good,” Frodo said, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“I am here to redeem myself. I promised you some ale, and you will have some,” the King said and clapped his hands. At the sound, a servant had come in bearing a tray. Once he had sat it down between the King and the Ringbearer, he left as quickly and quietly as he had come. “Frodo Baggins,” Aragorn said handing the smaller mug to the hobbit, then retrieved the other one for himself, “To whom I owe my life to once again,” he toasted before tipping his tankard.

Frodo followed suit because it was the gentle hobbit thing to do. A moment passed before Frodo broke the silence. “What is to happen to Jared? Pippin tells me he finally had courage to tell what he had done.”

“Prince Faramir is acting in my stead with my approval of course, and has made him a Paige in my court. His caregiver, however, I was not as forgiving as he has been sentenced to work in the laundry room for taking advantage of Minas Tirith’s gracious funding for the orphaned children. He will learn that criminal actions for deception will be dealt with accordingly. Since his incarceration, Prince Faramir has come up with a task force to benefit the orphaned children,” Aragorn said proudly, setting his empty mug upon the tray. He noticed Frodo still held his. “Is the ale not to your liking?”

Frodo was nursing his mug, because he had wanted it to last. He did not want to offend the King by asking for more when the servant had only brought in the two. “It is just fine, my lord liege, but if my mind is not failing me as surely my body seems to be, did we not agree that you owed me two drinks?” the hobbit teased.

“ I do think you are right my friend, and I do apologize. Here, let me set things right,” Aragorn replied and again he clapped his hands, but the door did not open by the servant, instead Gimli led the way bearing a small barrell containing Dwarf ale followed by the rest of the remaining Fellowship.

“Now, we can’t be letting you drink all the ale without testing it out for ourselves, cousin,” Pippin exclaimed as he parked himself on one side of Frodo’s bed. Merry sat in a chair that Sam usually occupied, so as not to jostle Aragorn’s leg.

“Is that better, Frodo?” the King asked as he handed Frodo a fresh mug of ale.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Being among friends seems to help heal all wounds.”