This story is dedicated to Claudia and Lilybaggins, who inspired me with enticing plot bunnies.

DISCLAIMER: Professor Tolkien’s wonderful characters don’t belong to me; I just get to think about them day and night.
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Keep Him Secret, Keep Him Safe

Chapter One: Without Warning

And indeed the love that the horses of the Rangers bore for their riders was so great that they were willing to face even the terror of the Door, if their masters’ hearts were steady as they walked beside them. ‘The Passing of the Grey Company’, The Return of the King

Mixed companies of Northern and Southern Rangers guarded the field of Cormallen, and patrolled a wide area covering many miles. Several Men assigned north of the encampment that morning were delighted to catch a glimpse of Lord Aragorn on his great horse, one arm securely about the waist of the Ring-bearer seated in front of him. They counted themselves lucky indeed to be treated to such a sight, and kept a discreet distance. They would ensure that nothing -- not even their own presence -- would disturb these two.

*~*~*~*~*~*

It was late afternoon when Frodo recognized the distinctive boulder-strewn meadow they had passed earlier in the day. Just as they reached it, Roheryn stopped. Aragorn dismounted, then lifted Frodo down to the ground.

“Does he read your mind?” Frodo asked, only half joking. “I never hear you telling him when to stop, and with no bridle, you have no reins to guide him.”

With great fondness, Aragorn stroked the mighty steed’s nose. “Over many years, he and I have learned one another’s ways, and he responds to the slightest touch of knee or hand... or heart.” He murmured softly in Elvish, and the horse wandered a short distance to drink from the stream and crop the sweet, flower-studded grasses.

Frodo wriggled his toes in the soft, cool ground and and took a deep breath of the springtime fragrance of Ithilien, which he loved. He was wearing comfortable clothes of Gondorian style, brought by Merry to Cormallen when summoned from the City. The cream-colored shirt and brown trousers were not a perfect fit, and had doubtless belonged to a child, but they were well made, and both he and Sam were grateful to finally have something soft and clean to wear.

Aragorn, too, was dressed in simple garments. He was armed, but wore no encumbering mail.

“We rode many miles today,” Aragorn said. “Are you feeling sore? I know you would have ridden easier with saddle and stirrups, but Roheryn has been forced to wear too much gear of war recently.”

“Of course I’m sore!” Frodo laughed. “Bouncing up and down on a horse isn’t easy. But I asked to do this, remember? This has been wonderful. Besides, his gait is very smooth… for an oliphaunt!”

Chuckling, Aragorn reached into his pack and removed a wrapped parcel containing what remained of cold meats, fruit, and bread, which he handed to the hobbit.

“There are so many people at camp,” Frodo said, “it’s difficult to find a quiet place to think – except for the grove where our tent sits. And you and I hadn’t time to really talk together since... well, before that last day on the River.” He settled himself comfortably beside the stream, and Aragorn joined him.

How long had it been, Frodo wondered, since he could truly relax and enjoy his surroundings, without fear of being hunted, suffering hunger or thirst, weariness or pain? Without the Ring clouding his decisions and darkening his thoughts, with no other future than death at the end of a long road? He could still scarcely believe it was over. And the news that his friend would be King had filled him with delight.

There wasn’t a doubt in Frodo’s mind that he would have trusted 'Strider' even without Gandalf's letter, and felt only joy when he saw the respect with which Aragorn was treated in camp. The esteem he felt for this Man, who could have taken the Ring from him at any time and forced all of Middle-earth to accept his lordship, was difficult to express; but Aragorn seemed to understand that hobbits oftentimes spoke lightly when their hearts were full.

“But I’ve been doing almost all the talking today,” Frodo observed. “You’ll have to learn to chatter a bit more now that you’re King.” He frowned slightly. “You’re still not eating anything?”

Aragorn shook his head. He hadn’t had much of an appetite for several days, not even during the feast at which the Ring-bearers were honored. He hadn't thought that anyone had noticed.

Frodo put down a piece of bread and looked closely at his friend. “You don’t look well,” he announced. “Maybe we shouldn’t have come out here.”

“Neither of us are fond of crowds, Frodo. Perhaps, like you, I just needed a day away from camp.” Aragorn stretched his arms and back. He was feeling “off his feed”, as the Bree hobbits said.

“The weather is turning,” Frodo remarked, distracted by the sky.

“I know,” Aragorn replied. “We shouldn’t linger; as soon as you have rested, we must continue back to camp. It isn’t far now.”

Frodo nodded and ate, enjoying the splashing sound of the stream and the joyous singing of birds.

“How did you sneak away from your guards?” Frodo teased. “I rarely see you without Rangers at your side.”

“That is why we set out so early this morning,” Aragorn said with a smile. “However, I did leave word of our plans with Legolas, Éomer, Imrahil, and Gandalf; it was only prudent.”

“I told Sam. I couldn’t just disappear and leave him wondering where I had gone.”

“Of course not.” Aragorn looked up again, watching the sky with concern. Dark clouds were massing, and the gentle breeze was picking up. “Come. We have only five or six miles yet to ride, but we should have arrived back an hour ago instead of exploring that last valley. The storm is approaching faster than I anticipated. Sam will not thank me when you return drenched with rain.”

Frodo looked around, reluctant to leave such a beautiful place. The stream ran clear and fresh from the north, from the very waterfall to which Faramir had taken him and Sam. Large trees and boulders of interesting shapes studded the ground, and the new grasses were green and soft.

“Sam would love this,” Frodo sighed contentedly. “If there’s no longer a danger from Orcs or anything else, I’ll bring him here.”

“I agree, he would be glad of this sight. Just let someone know if you choose to wander about.” Aragorn stood up and rubbed his temples against a dull, throbbing ache. “Are you up to walking this far?”

“Yes,” Frodo said firmly. “That lovely sleep Gandalf said you put us into -- and whatever else you did -- seems to have healed much of our hurts. There are just a few things that...” He looked up in alarm. “What’s wrong?”

Suddenly overcome with dizziness, Aragorn had staggered slightly. He collapsed to his knees next to Frodo, his breathing coming fast and hard as he fought back the urge to be sick. However, the nausea washed over him in waves until he couldn’t fight it any longer, and succumbed to convulsive vomiting. Finally spent, he knelt panting, feeling incredibly weak.

Frodo was frightened. Surely Aragorn couldn’t be sick? “See if this helps,” he urged, tilting his own water bottle to his friend’s lips.

Aragorn took some of the water in his mouth and rinsed it out, his eyes tightly closed. He had never been this dizzy in all his life.

“Aragorn,” Frodo said urgently, “You need to see a healer; that is, if there are any healers in camp besides yourself; I’ve hardly had time yet to find out.”

“There are,” Aragorn said. He felt as if Frodo’s voice was coming to him over a great distance. His limbs felt like water, and his head pounded. He lowered himself fully onto the grass. “Frodo, I don’t know what’s wrong, but I can’t ride. Not... not just yet...”

Frodo looked in all directions, but saw no one. If only he had Uncle Saradoc’s horn to summon aid! He had to get back to camp and bring help, and there was only one way to do it quickly.

“Will Roheryn bear me without you?”

“He will leave me, if he senses the need to do so.” Aragorn whispered a few words of Elvish that sounded vaguely familiar to Frodo. “Say… say that. But you shouldn't--”

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Frodo said firmly, trying to calm his frantically-pounding heart. Unfastening his Elvish cloak, he shivered in the suddenly cooling air. He draped it over Aragorn’s chest. “Pull this over your head if the rains start.”

Frodo leaped to his feet, thinking hard. He ran to the pack and pulled it close to Aragorn, then put his water bottle within easy reach. To his relief, he saw that Roheryn was standing right next to one of the large boulders. He ran over to it and climbed up. Very carefully, and somewhat fearfully, he slid onto the horse’s back.

“Noro lim!” Frodo cried out the words Aragorn had told him. Roheryn’s head came up, and Frodo felt muscles tense beneath him, but the horse didn’t move. The loyal animal looked over at Aragorn, obviously torn between staying, or obeying a command he knew well.

“Noro lim, Roheryn!” his master’s voice suddenly rang out.

Frodo grabbed handfuls of mane just in time as Roheryn took off, galloping quickly south along the stream towards the encampment of Men. Frodo struggled with all his strength to stay on the horse’s back, only three thoughts in his head – the hope that Roheryn would somehow know to stop running when they reached camp; berating himself for dawdling along the trail that day, keeping them from returning more quickly; and fear for Aragorn, alone and ill, somewhere behind him.

** TBC **

Keep Him Secret, Keep Him Safe

Chapter Two: Safeguarded

[The Hobbits] stepped out of the beech-grove in which they had lain, and passed on to a long green lawn, glowing in sunshine, bordered by stately dark-leaved trees laden with scarlet blossom. ‘The Field of Cormallen’, The Return of the King

Frodo had only ridden a few miles when the skies opened up and a cold, hard rain began to fall.  Roheryn’s gait was smooth but relentless, and he held fiercely to the thick mane. Finally, the dark line of trees that gave the field of Cormallen its name came into view.  Frodo heard a shout from up ahead, and saw three riders galloping towards him.  One of them called out something in Sindarin, and to his relief Roheryn slowed, then halted.

“What has happened, Frodo?” Éomer asked urgently as he, Elladan, and Elrohir came abreast of him. All three wore cloaks, and were heavily armed. “It is past the time Aragorn said he would return; we were just setting out to find you.”

“I had to come get help,” Frodo said, wiping rain from his face.  “He grew terribly ill all of a sudden.”

“Where is he?” Elladan asked.

“I left him beside a stream about six miles north,” Frodo said.  “It’s near a field with many boulders.”

“We know the place,” Elladan said. “What has befallen him?  Did he eat something spoiled?”

“That can’t be it,” Frodo fretted.  “He didn’t eat anything all day.”

“We will bring him back,” Elrohir said, and his brother nodded.  “Éomer King, would you see Frodo to his tent?”  He gently untangled the small, cold hands from Roheryn’s mane, then lifted Frodo onto Firefoot, in front of Éomer.

“Aragorn can’t ride,” Frodo said urgently.  “He was weak and dizzy, and couldn’t even stand.  You’ll need a cart.”

“We will bring him, Frodo,” Elrohir repeated firmly.  “Once he in his own tent, we can--”

“Nay, you must not take him through camp,” Éomer said suddenly.  “Were it known that Aragorn is ill, the men might lose confidence.  It is too soon for their king to show weakness, or be thought vulnerable.”  He looked grim.  “When word spread that Théoden King was overcome by Gríma Wormtongue’s influence, his court dissolved into confusion and mistrust.”

“We’re wasting time,” Frodo said in frustration.  “Bring him to our tent.”  He referred to the enclosed shelter that the four hobbits now shared, near the spot where he and Sam had awakened.  “It’s secluded there, and no one will see him.  Just please... go!”

Without another word, the two brothers rode north into the storm.

“Finally,” Frodo sighed. 

Éomer watched them go, wishing he was at their side. But that morning Aragorn had charged him with the safety of this camp, and everyone in it... most specifically, the hobbits.

“We need to get a fire going, and find the best healers,” Frodo said, bringing Éomer back to the matter at hand. “Who can be trusted?”

“As for fire, I suspect that Samwise has all in readiness, in anticipation of your return,” Éomer said.  He turned Firefoot towards the hobbits’ tent, and Roheryn followed.  “The best and most trusted healers in camp, Frodo, besides Aragorn, just left to find him.  The sons of Elrond are quite skilled; after the attack on Minas Tirith, they toiled beside Aragorn for many days tending the wounded.”

Frodo twisted around to peer back anxiously in the direction the two elves had gone.

“I hated to leave him alone, but he said the area is safe now.  Maybe I should have just sent Roheryn back here on his own.”

“You had to make a quick decision in a difficult situation,” Éomer reassured him.

“This rain is so cold,” Frodo fretted.  “I hope he’s all right.” He was grateful for the sudden warmth of Éomer’s cloak being wrapped about him.

“His brothers will see him back safely.” Éomer tried to sound confident, but he, too, was deeply concerned. Just then, Frodo shifted uncomfortably, and Éomer smiled knowingly. “Have you been riding all day? I am certain it was not easy to stay a-horse with no saddle.”

“It wasn’t,” Frodo admitted.

“Once we return to Minas Tirith, I will have ponies brought for you and your folk.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Just Éomer, please,” the young man said gently.  “I am not your king, Frodo.  I scarcely feel as if I am anyone’s king; but I will do my best, as will Aragorn.”

“Uh oh,” Frodo murmured. They were approaching the large tent shared by the four hobbits, aglow with light from a large fire burning in the hearth-circle at its center. Through the fabric they could see several forms within, and one who paced back and forth in front of the fire.

“Samwise will soon be too busy to chide you for worrying him.” Éomer assured him. “Come, we have much to do.”

*~*~*~*~*

Aragorn found himself actually clutching the grass in an effort to assure himself that his head was what was spinning, not the very earth on which he lay.  He heard Roheryn gallop away, and immediately began berating himself for not thinking of simply sending the horse back to camp alone.  If Frodo fell from such a height, at such a speed...

What is wrong with me?  Aragorn found he had barely the strength to lift his head.  I have not felt this drained since challenging Sauron in the Seeing Stone.  But even then I was able to stand, with Halbarad's help.  His heart ached for his fallen cousin, for the family that did not yet know of the battle, or their loss.

The rain fell in torrents, the small cloak tucked about him flapping wildly in the wind.  He couldn't tell if a short or long time had passed, but suddenly felt a vibration in the ground that spoke to him of horses approaching.  Even had the guard on southern Ithilien been less vigilant, he knew that an enemy would be more stealthy, would not gallop through such a storm.

“Estel.”  A familiar voice spoke close to Aragorn's ear, and he felt himself being lifted from the sodden ground.  He heard soft voices, alike in tone and concern, and he was placed on the back of a horse that was kneeling low to the ground.  The horse suddenly got to its feet, and Aragorn swayed dizzily.  But before he could fall someone mounted behind him, two arms wrapping about his chest, holding him as securely as he had held Frodo earlier in the day.

“Elladan?” he whispered.

“Yes, Estel,” came a soft voice.  “Do not fear.  You will be warm and dry soon.”  Aragorn felt a gentle hand on his brow.  “I do not sense that you are in pain.  What ails you, my brother?”

Aragorn just shook his head, without even energy to speak.  He leaned back with a sigh as he felt Elladan's horse begin to move forward, and his thoughts drifted until they spun into nothingness.

*~*~*~*~*

When Frodo and Aragorn were late returning, Éomer had asked Legolas and Gimli to safeguard the hobbits while he and the sons of Elrond prepared to search for them. Under the guise of bringing supper, the elf and dwarf lingered with Sam, Merry, and Pippin in their tent, lending tales and songs to distract the hobbits from their growing concern. Finally Legolas heard the soft sound of horses, and cautioned Gimli and the hobbits to remain inside the tent until advised that all was well. Slipping through the entrance, his strung bow in one hand and several arrows in the other, Legolas was relieved to see that the rider was Éomer himself, with Frodo seated in front of him.

Éomer halted Firefoot and handed Frodo down to the elf, who set him on the ground.

“Where is Aragorn?” Legolas frowned, seeing that Roheryn’s back was empty.

“Out there,” Frodo said, freeing one hand from Éomer's cloak to point north. “He got very sick, and I had to come back for help. Elladan and Elrohir have gone to get him.”

“Legolas,” Éomer said quietly, “they are bringing him here, to the beech-grove. I do not wish the camp to learn of his illness.  I need to think of something that will explain his absence, but not alarm anyone.”

“That will not be difficult,” Legolas said. He knelt down to face Frodo. “Are you all right? Your companions have a fire waiting, and… I believe they saved you some supper,” he ended with a smile.

“I’m fine,” Frodo said. “Are you going to make up a story about where Aragorn is?” he asked curiously. “What will you tell everyone?”

“I always prefer truth over falsehood,” Legolas said.  “And it is the truth that the Ring-bearer returned chilled and in need of care, and that the King will be spending some days with the brave Halfling.”

“But that isn’t--”

“Are you not cold and hungry? Will not Aragorn be quartered here?”

“Yes.”

Éomer smiled. “Between the two of us, this ‘story’ should spread quickly.”

Legolas clasped Frodo’s shoulder gently.

“Go inside and get warm.  But tell me, what is wrong with Aragorn?”

“I wish I knew.”

Legolas nodded, then got to his feet and leaped lightly onto Roheryn’s back.

“Frodo, we will tell Gandalf what is happening, and return with supplies,” Éomer said.

“Wait a moment.” Frodo reached up his hand, and Roheryn dipped his nose down to nuzzle it.

“Thank you,” Frodo whispered.

** TBC **

Pippin’s injuries at the Black Gate are consistent with those in my short story “Shelter”.

Keep Him Secret, Keep Him Safe

Chapter Three: Sanctuary

In the darkness of Arda already the Dwarves wrought great works, for even from the first days of their Fathers they had marvellous skill with metals and with stone. ‘Of the Sindar’, The Silmarillion

Elladan and Elrohir galloped back along the trail as quickly as they dared.

“How did he endure this long?” Elrohir asked his brother.

Elladan just shook his head. It didn’t take a wizard, or even their father, to tell them what was wrong with their young brother; they could feel it. He thought back to what he and Elrohir had witnessed over the past weeks, and those things they had only been told…

Prompted by Gandalf and his own instincts, and concentrating a healing power that had never been so sorely tested, Aragorn had called back Frodo and Sam from the brink of death. As he tended their battered bodies, at the appropriate time he eased them both from unconsciousness into a healing sleep that needed to be renewed at intervals through song and sheer force of will. Therefore, although exhausted in body and mind, for nearly two weeks he rarely left their side for any reason -- save for urgent demands of the camp that he felt could not be left to Imrahil or Éomer, or for walks amongst the Men who needed to look upon their new king and be encouraged by speech with him.

Elladan and Elrohir had wished to help, but Aragorn asked that they devote their time to the wounded Men. They toiled alone for many days, after which healers who could be spared from the City arrived to work alongside them.

Gandalf felt that after enduring the barren and poisonous land of Mordor, Frodo and Sam would benefit greatly from constant sunshine (or starshine), green smells, and fresh, gentle breezes; therefore, their beds were kept out-of-doors during their recovery. Each evening, when the air cooled and the stars shone one by one, with his own hands Aragorn wrapped the two hobbits in soft coverings that would not abrade their healing cuts and burns. Touching the brow of each, he sang soft, ancient rhythms to ensure that their dreams were gentle, their spirits soothed.

And at last, the glad day came when Frodo awoke beneath the beech trees, as did Sam a few hours later, and the whole encampment celebrated their deeds and feasted their recovery. The Ring-bearers’ beds were moved next to those of Pippin and Merry, in a large tent, and thereafter, much laughter and earnest talk could be heard from the enclosure.

A glorious spring, full of hope and triumph, had arrived at last, but Aragorn grew pale and weary. His brothers had rejoiced when he and Frodo left the clamor of camp that morning for a few hours of leisure, but a day that had begun fine and warm grew dark and ominous as the afternoon wore on.  The hobbits worried about Frodo, especially when the cold rain began to fall; but Elladan had felt a strange foreboding concerning Aragorn, which he discovered that Elrohir shared.

He is spent, Elladan thought grimly, holding Aragorn’s unconscious form upright in front of him.  All that he did for Frodo and Samwise – however he did it – was only the final drain on his energies.  It is fortunate that he was not alone, and that Frodo was able to come for aid; the tides turn indeed.  It is now he who must accept help in healing... or those things for which he has worked and waited his whole life may never come to pass.

*~*~*~*~*

As Éomer and Legolas rode back to the main encampment, Frodo dashed up the gentle rise upon which the tent sat and wriggled through the flap, closed tightly against the driving rain. There was indeed a fire, and several large, steaming pots hanging above the hearth Gimli had built of river stones. On the tables thick candles were lit, and the whole place was so bright and full of hobbits, so warm and dry, that for a moment Frodo nearly forgot the urgency of what he needed to tell everyone.

“Mr. Frodo!” Sam said with relief. “Strider got you back all right?”

Pippin, sitting on one of the beds next to Merry, eyed Frodo curiously.

“You can’t seem to hang onto your own cloak, can you?” the young hobbit said teasingly. “Just how many times have you misplaced it now?”

“He hardly misplaced it, Mr. Pippin!” Sam burst out. “Those Orcs grabbed it. T’weren’t none of Mr. Frodo’s doing.”

“Frodo,” Merry frowned, “why are you wearing Éomer’s cloak?”

“He’s not exactly wearing it,” Pippin pointed out. “Frodo, we thought you were out exploring with Strider. Did Éomer go with you?”

Frodo opened his mouth, unsure whose question to answer first, but was distracted by Gimli rising from one of the sturdy chairs.

“We are relieved you have returned, Frodo,” Gimli said, relief sparkling in his eyes. “Your companions have been quite concerned.”

“And so have you,” Pippin said. “You and Legolas didn’t fool us for a second. The two of you have never come to “visit” so heavily armed before. Did you think we believed that story about simply stopping by to chat?”

“We do appreciate it, though,” Sam said, unwrapping a long loaf of bread from a cloth.

“We didn’t need you to guard us, Gimli,” Merry added, “although it was awfully nice of you. Pippin and I are knights, you know.”

“Hmmph.” Gimli came up to Frodo, shaking his head in amusement, and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll be on my way. Where has the Elf gone? And just what was that irresponsible Ranger thinking? I thought he had a better sense of the weather.”

“He does. It’s my fault that…” Frodo took a deep breath. “Wait, don’t leave yet, Gimli. I have to tell all of you what’s happened.” He let the heavy cloak drop to the ground, shook the water out of his curls, then moved closer to the fire. “Aragorn’s sick, and they’re bringing him here. It’s a secret. We have to get things ready.”

“He’s what?” Pippin asked. “Are you joking?”

“I wish I were.”

“Why is it a secret?” Merry asked quickly.

“Éomer doesn’t want anyone to know. He thinks the Men will panic or something.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Merry said firmly, his faith in his shield-sister's brother unshakeable. He strode to where Éomer’s cloak lay crumpled on the ground, and spread it out to dry over one of the chairs.

Sam, who had been rummaging through one of the chests, pulled out some garments and handed them to Frodo.

“Put these on before you catch your death, sir,” he insisted, "and I’ve some blankets warming for you.  Gimli brought in lots of dry wood before the rain started.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Frodo said. “But save the blankets for Aragorn. He’ll need them more than I do.”

“What’s wrong with him, Mr. Frodo?”

“I don’t know,” Frodo said worriedly. “It came on really suddenly. He got very weak and dizzy.” He stepped behind one of the tall, empty crates at the back of the tent, behind which a gentlehobbit could change clothes in private. “Elladan and Elrohir are healers,” he called out. “They’re going to take care of him here, away from the rest of the camp. Legolas went to tell Gandalf.”

He emerged from behind the crate dressed in dry clothes. Even though he was shivering, he shook his head when Sam approached him with a blanket taken from those laid out on the table closest to the fire.

“There are more, sir,” Sam assured him. He ignored Frodo’s protests and wrapped the thick, warmed blanket around him. “Strider won’t go without.”

“Thank you,” Frodo smiled. “Whatever would I do without you, Sam?”

“Frodo,” Merry said, “Even if Strider being sick is kept secret, he can’t just disappear from camp for no reason.”

“Éomer is going to tell folks that he’s... well, tending to me for a few days, because I came back in need of some kind of care.”

“You do need care,” Pippin grinned, “or at least some liniment. We can see how stiffly you’re walking. You should have seen me when Gandalf and I reached Minas Tirith. We were on Shadowfax for so many days I felt like--”

“I can imagine,” Frodo smiled wryly, carefully sitting down at one of the tables.

“Sir,” Sam said slowly, “does that mean you can’t go anywhere while Strider is here? I mean, if folks think you’re sick or injured or something so bad that he has to stay with you...”

Frodo frowned. He hadn’t thought of that.

“Help me, Gimli,” Merry said, trying to push one of the heavy beds next to another. “If we put them all together, Strider should fit on them.”

“An excellent idea,” Gimli agreed, going quickly to Merry’s side. “And you four will need new beds. I will see to it.”

“We can sleep in bedrolls on the ground,” Frodo said.

“You will not sleep on the ground, Master Baggins, while I have anything to say about it,” Gimli declared. “At least, not after tonight.” He easily pushed the last bed into place, then left the tent -- rain or no rain – to inspect the pieces of lumber that remained piled at the dock.

“He likes to stay busy.” Pippin said.  “You should have seen him building all this stuff.”

Aragorn had chosen to delay his official entry into Minas Tirith until the wounded were tended and the Ring-bearers recovered, and to give Faramir a chance to make preparations as Steward. Therefore, an encampment was prepared in the fair fields of South Ithilien, where timber and fresh water were plentiful and there was easy proximity to the River. The injured were sheltered; various duties and patrols assigned; hunting parties sent out; and paddocks, privies, and kitchens set up. Within a matter of days, a well-run camp emerged. While Legolas led hunting parties to help feed the camp, Gimli bustled about with the exuberant energy of a Dwarf intent on creating great beauty and functionality out of raw materials. Assisted by some of the Dúnedain, he built shelters, dug pits for cooking, and crafted spits and tent poles from spears taken from the enemy.

When all that was most needful had been done, Gimli directed his attention to a wide, flat mound of earth near where Frodo and Sam slept. With Aragorn’s approval, here he raised the tent which would shelter the hobbits.  He then threw himself into the building of hobbit-sized beds, a stone hearth, tables, and even a few crude chairs. He tirelessly hauled in tubs which would be filled with water for cooking or bathing, and shamelessly appropriated for ‘his hobbits’ armloads of bedding, chests for storage, potters’ ware and cutlery, and even a few precious rugs and books from the mountains of supplies being unloaded from boats now sailing back and forth daily from Osgiliath.

This tent stood alone, its seclusion from the rest of the camp carefully planned to allow the Ring-bearers freedom to come and go without being constantly observed and whispered about. They could choose to visit with the Men, and roam about as they wished, but the beech-grove was off limits to all save the King’s Companions, and those to whom he gave special permission to enter.

After a worrisome few days, Pippin’s injuries were revealed to be not as dire as they first appeared, and to everyone’s delight, the young hobbit began to mend from his cracked ribs, dislocated shoulder, and concussion. When Pippin finally awoke, in pain but astonished and exhilarated to be alive, he was surprised to find himself lying in a fairly comfortable bed in a most sumptuously-appointed tent, a beaming Dwarf at his side.

“This is rather like a hobbit hole, isn’t it?" Pippin said, gazing around the tent.  He smiled suddenly at Frodo, then Sam.  "Merry and I couldn't wait for you two to wake up.  What took you so long?"

"Sorry Pip," Frodo chuckled.  "It was rather out of our hands."

“Here, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said, ladling out stew into a bowl. “This’ll warm you up.”

"Thank you," Frodo said gratefully.

“Tell us everything,” Merry urged, sitting next to him. Soon all three hobbits were seated, tearing off hunks of bread and enjoying second portions of Sam’s stew. Frodo told them everything that had happened at the river, and his arrival back at camp.

“Why is it that every time I’m on a horse, it’s a wild, scary ride?” Frodo shook his head. “First Asfaloth, and now...” His eyes grew wide. “That’s where I heard those Elvish words before, the ones Aragorn said to me.” He swallowed hard. “I barely remember that ride on Glorfindel’s horse. That was --”

“That was an awful day,” Sam said quietly, “but it’s all over and done, Mr. Frodo. All over and done.”

“Thanks to you, Sam,” Frodo said quietly. “Thanks to you, and Aragorn, and everyone else.” He sneezed suddenly, then glared at Merry. “Get that look off your face, Meriadoc, I’m fine. People don’t get sick from being a little cold and wet; that’s just one of those old gammers’ tales.”

“Hobbits,” came a chuckle from outside the tent. “As stubborn as mules.”

“Come in, Gandalf,” Pippin called out. The tent flap parted, and the wizard entered, wringing water out of his beard.

“You’re wet,” Merry pointed out. Gandalf sighed in a long-suffering manner.

“Thank you, Merry, I hadn’t noticed.”

“You need another hat,” Pippin observed. “Maybe Gimli can make you one.”

“Gandalf, are they back yet?” Frodo asked the wizard anxiously.

The wizard nodded. “Aragorn’s brothers are bringing him; they should be here any moment. Legolas is gathering up spare clothing, extra food, and what medical supplies can be spared.” He noted with satisfaction the blazing fire, and large bed. “I fear your quiet sanctuary is no more, my friends, at least for awhile.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Pippin said firmly. He had taken off his livery hours before, but now determinedly opened the chest containing his sword and began to strap it on. Merry and Frodo watched him proudly. Their young cousin might be Gondor’s smallest knight, but he would do his duty and stand by his king, no matter the circumstance.

** TBC **

Gandalf’s quote is taken from The Return of the King.

Keep Him Secret, Keep Him Safe

Chapter Four: By the Fire

“I am Aragorn son of Arathorn; and if by life or death I can save you, I will.”  ‘Strider’, The Fellowship of the Ring

The tent flap was flung open, and Elrohir held it aside while Elladan entered -- Aragorn’s limp form over his shoulder.  Elladan carefully laid his young brother on one of the large rugs, and unclasped Frodo’s cloak from about his chest and shoulders.  Elrohir knelt beside him, and the two brothers removed Aragorn’s sword, belt, and boots, followed by his sodden tunic and trousers down to his linens.  They worked together so quickly and efficiently, it was obvious this was not the first ill or wounded person they had jointly tended.  Merry handed Elladan a towel, and the Elf nodded his thanks and dried Aragorn’s hair somewhat.  Only then did he and Elrohir lift him, and settle him on the waiting bed.

“I’ll take that, if you like, Elladan,” Pippin said, stepping forward and motioning to Andúril.  “If I prop it up over there, next to the bed, Strider can see it and know that it’s safe.”

Elladan hesitated a moment before handing the young hobbit the legendary weapon that he knew Aragorn never let out of his sight... and allowed very few people to touch.  But he was aware of the regard his young brother held for his small knight.  Pippin, doing his best not to drop the heavy sword, leaned it against the wall of the tent.

Taking his cue from Gandalf, Frodo stood quietly, one small hand unconsciously winding itself in the wizard’s robe.  Aragorn lay pale and shivering, and Sam was bringing warmed blankets over to the bed.  Elrohir sat in silence, his eyes closed, one hand on Aragorn’s brow and the other on his chest.  Pippin exchanged a puzzled glance with Merry, both wondering when Gandalf or one of the Elves would start doing something to help Strider, but Frodo wondered if this was the way Elves healed people.  Had Aragorn sat with him and Sam this way when the eagle brought them from the Mountain?  Was this what Lord Elrond had done for him when he was unconscious in Rivendell?

Elladan shed his own cloak, and took a moment to look around.  Neither he nor Elrohir had had time, as yet, to visit the hobbits’ tent which, to his surprise, was larger than anyone else’s – even Aragorn’s.  He had vaguely heard about the Dwarf’s comings and goings from the supply tents to this one.  If Gimli’s folk undertake the same care and dedication in rebuilding Minas Tirith as he has with outfitting this temporary dwelling, he thought with a smile, Aragorn’s city will regain its place as the wonder of the South.

His attention was drawn back to the entrance as Legolas entered with a pack on his back and dragging a heavy chest.

“I have brought some things that should remain in Aragorn’s keeping,” Legolas said, laying down the pack.  He did not feel that the diamond coronet, and the emerald brooch gifted to Aragorn by the Lady Galadriel, should be left in Aragorn’s now-empty tent.

“The healers sent what supplies they could; however, without knowing what ails the Ring-bearer...” Legolas smiled at Frodo, “...they were uncertain what to include.  I was not able to give them much information.”  He gazed at the bed in concern.  “Elrohir, do you know what is wrong with him?”

“Yes,” Elrohir said, opening his eyes and speaking for the first time.  “He is exhausted.  He has been growing increasingly weary for many days, but has not let anyone know.”

“I  knew,” Frodo declared.  “He hasn’t been eating.”

“He is stubborn,” Elladan sighed, sitting in one of the chairs.  “But even the strongest can push themselves too far.  He neglected his own welfare until his body and mind had not the strength to go on.”

“Did you put him into some kind of sleep?” Sam asked curiously.  “Like he did with us?”

“No, Samwise,” Elrohir said gently.  He shook out several of the blankets and lay them over Aragorn.  “However, there may be something to what you ask; Elladan and I were discussing this on the way back.  We think that, as strange as this might sound, Aragorn may be in a healing sleep -- of his own making.”

“Without his conscious effort,” Elladan added.

“You mean he put himself into a sleep?  Without even knowing it?” Merry questioned.  He looked intrigued.  “Can a person do that?”

“I believe it must be possible,” Gandalf spoke, “at least for Aragorn.”

“Strider won’t sleep for two weeks like we did, will he?” Sam asked, horrified.  “Mr. Frodo would have to stay in this tent all that time!”

“Sam,” Frodo said, “that’s not the important thing here.”

“You’re right, sir,” Sam murmured apologetically.

“Why do you need to stay in the tent, Frodo?” Elrohir asked.

“Legolas had an idea to explain why Aragorn is here,” Frodo replied.

“It’s because Frodo’s sick,” Merry explained, “even if he isn’t.  Although he was sneezing.”

“I sneezed one time, Merry,” Frodo chuckled.

“I see,” Elrohir nodded.  “Fear not, Samwise, I do not believe your master will be confined for more than a day or two.  Aragorn’s sleep is not as deep as the one into which he led you.”  He looked down at Aragorn and shook his head, unwilling to reveal to the hobbits the part that tending to them had played in depleting him.  “Yours was... different.”

“But... he’ll be all right, won’t he?”  Frodo eyed Aragorn’s sleeping form anxiously.

“In this calm place, surrounded by friends, he will be forced to at last take the rest he needs.” Elladan smiled at Frodo.  “I suspect that his resilience – not unlike that of a hobbit – will restore him to full strength very soon.”

*~*~*~*~*

At sunset the rain finally stopped, and the western sky blazed with red and orange.  As the evening drew on, the twins were very touched by the concern the hobbits showed Aragorn.  Although assured that their friend’s sleep was restful and he was in no danger, Frodo and Sam were tireless in trying to think of ways to help.  They sat next to the bed and spoke or read softly to him, washed his face, and even tried to coax a bit of broth down his throat.  Merry ran errands and messages back and forth between Éomer, Imrahil, and the beech-grove, and Pippin divided his time between standing guard outside the tent next to the King’s standard, which Legolas had brought; patrolling the perimeter of the grove; or visiting the encampment to spend time with the wounded or members of the King’s Guard with whom he had grown quite friendly.

Finally, Elrohir insisted that Frodo and Sam rest, and they rolled up in bedrolls by the fire.  When Merry and Pippin returned they did the same, and were soon as deeply asleep as Sam.  Frodo lay with his eyes closed, but couldn’t seem to fall asleep.  He heard Gandalf leave, after which there was no sound but the crackling of the fire.  But after awhile, Elladan and Elrohir began talking quietly by Aragorn’s bedside.

“This is possibly the first true rest he has had since Lórien,” Elladan said.  “From what I have been able to gather, I doubt he let down his guard much as the Companions came down the Anduin, due to the threat of Orcs.  He possibly even guessed that Boromir might endanger Frodo, and stayed watchful.”

“He also needed to assume the leadership of the Company, when Gandalf fell,” Elrohir agreed.

“He, Gimli, and Legolas ran for days without rest, in pursuit of Merry and Pippin,” Elladan continued, “and we saw at Helm’s Deep the price he paid for challenging the Dark Lord in the palantír.  He held Men – and the shades of Men – to his side by force of will alone, and battled nearly beyond his strength before the gates of Minas Tirith.”

“He had not even time to grieve his fallen kinsman when Gandalf brought him into the City to heal Merry, Faramir, and Éomer’s own sister,” Elrohir recalled, “and still he would not take a few hours’ rest until many of the wounded and sick had been cared for.  And then at the Black Gate, the battle was fierce; we were victorious only because the Ring-bearers endured to see the Ring to the Fire.”

If only I had seen the Ring into the Fire, Frodo thought mournfully to himself.  But Gandalf was right... Sméagol had a part to play before the end.

Elrohir was silent for a long moment.

“When I saw how hard he fought for Frodo and Sam’s lives, and tended them so ceaselessly, I was ashamed to admit my own weariness,” he admitted.  “Never did I dream that our brother would show such abilities, which surely come to him from the mingled bloodlines of Ages past.”

“Our own abilities have never known such a test as he has endured, and passed,” Elladan said thoughtfully.  He looked to where Andúril rested.  “Our young brother is truly the blade re-forged, stronger than before, in all the ways needed for the ruler of the Age of Men.”

“Come,” Elrohir said, getting to his feet.  “Let us greet the stars, then meet with Éomer.  I doubt he will expect Merry to attend him tomorrow, and Peregrin wishes to remain at Aragorn’s side once he wakes.  Frodo will not go far, lest he be seen, and Samwise no doubt will not leave Frodo, so perhaps meals should be...”  There was a rustling at the tent flap as they departed, then all was silent.

Frodo lay stunned, his thoughts whirling.  In the few days since he and Sam had been awake, there had been time for only a small number of tales to be told.  Had Aragorn been going without rest since Lórien?  A cold horror suddenly washed over him.  What had Gandalf said a few days ago?

“You went to the very brink of death ere he recalled you, putting forth all his power...”

All his power.  And exhausted it?  Had Aragorn finally spent all his reserves and been unable to go on, because he had to help him and Sam?

When Gandalf re-entered the tent a few minutes later, he saw Frodo standing by Aragorn’s bed, tears streaking his cheeks.  He knelt quickly.

“Everything’s all right,” Frodo said hastily, wiping his face.  “I was just thinking about some things.”

“Stubborn hobbit,” Gandalf smiled gently.

“Nonsense,” Frodo murmured.  He looked around to make sure the other hobbits were still asleep, then leaned against Gandalf with a sigh.  “I’m so tired, but please don’t tell anyone.  How can I be tired after weeks of sleep?”

“I was tired, too,” Gandalf said softly.  “When I came back after Moria, the Lord of Eagles had to take me to Lórien to heal and regain my energy.”

Frodo frowned.  “You mean I’m still recovering from... nearly dying?  But what about Sam?”

“You were in much worse shape,” Gandalf said.  “You stood at the very Crack of Doom, where the air was poison.  The Ring was gone.  You were losing a great deal of blood.  And... you never expected to live, did you?”

“No,” Frodo whispered.

“Your body, emotions, and mind are still adjusting to being alive. Perhaps this short confinement here will be good for you.”

“Perhaps,” Frodo smiled.  “Pip was right; this tent is rather like a hobbit hole -- bustling with friends and food and visitors at all hours.”  He bit his lip and looked up at Gandalf.  “Do you think it would disturb Aragorn if I was next to him?  I don’t want him to feel alone.  I had Sam out there in the dark, but he doesn’t have anyone.”

“Go on,” Gandalf urged, motioning to the big bed.  “I suspect you will rest easier there, as well.  I know you’re feeling sore; sleeping on the ground would not be comfortable.”

“It isn’t,” Frodo admitted.  “But Gimli said he’d have more beds in here by tomorrow evening.  I can’t imagine where he’ll fit them in.”  He eased himself onto the bed and lay down, and Gandalf went to build up the fire.

Frodo touched Aragorn’s face and was relieved that it felt neither chilled nor fevered. Aragorn didn’t stir, but Frodo felt that he might know, somehow, that a friend was near.  Setting aside troubling thoughts for a time, he took one of the large hands in his own and finally drifted towards sleep.

** TBC **

My thanks to SurgicalSteel for advice about suitable drinks in Middle-earth that would help with dehydration.

Keep Him Secret, Keep Him Safe

Chapter Five: In the Keeping of the Hobbits

“In that hour I looked on Aragorn and thought how great and terrible a Lord he might have become in the strength of his will, had he taken the Ring to himself.  Not for naught does Mordor fear him.  But nobler is his spirit than the understanding of Sauron; for is he not of the children of Lúthien?”  ‘The Last Debate’, The Return of the King

Aragorn opened his eyes to see Gandalf smiling down at him.

“There you are,” the wizard said.  He slid a hand behind Aragorn’s head and lifted it slightly, then tipped a mug to the man’s lips. “Your brothers said you might wake periodically.  You must drink, my friend, unless your stomach will not yet permit it.  Frodo mentioned that you hadn’t been eating, and were nauseated.  You haven’t been drinking much either, have you?  That’s right, good lad.”  He nodded encouragingly.

Lulled by the wizard’s soft words, Aragorn cautiously sipped the warm beverage, noting the tastes of beef, herbs, and salt -- one of the drinks that healers gave dehydrated patients.  His stomach was still unsettled, but he found himself to be desperately thirsty.  Gazing past the wizard’s beard into the semi-darkness, he could make out several hobbits sleeping on the ground next to a fire.  Perhaps he was still asleep?  Gandalf set down the mug and lowered his head gently back onto the pillow.

“I was dreaming about Weathertop,” Aragorn said, “but it was I who was wounded and cold.  Frodo was speaking to me... holding my hand...”

“He hoped you might know he was nearby, lending comfort,” Gandalf smiled.  “How do you feel?”

“My head hurts... dizzy.”  Aragorn realized that he was in a tent, lit only by a hearth and candles.  He peered into the semi-darkness.  “Where is Andúril?”

Gandalf chuckled.  “Sir Peregrin has appointed himself its temporary guardian.  You should be very proud of him.”

“Of course I am.”  Aragorn tried to raise his head, but could not.  He felt completely confused and disoriented.  “I cannot think clearly.  Did someone give me poppy?”

“Your sleep has been deep enough without it... and will be again in a few minutes, I suspect.”

Aragorn frowned; nothing was making any sense.

“This is the hobbits’ tent, is it not?  What am I doing here?”

“So many questions,” Gandalf chuckled.  “You have been spending far too much time with hobbits.”

“Why are they not in their beds?”

“One of them is,” Gandalf said, pointing.  Aragorn looked down, and suddenly realized that the warm weight pressing against him was Frodo.  The hobbit was curled tightly at his side, deeply asleep, one hand clinging to his own.  There wasn’t enough light to see more.

“Is he hurt?” Aragorn asked anxiously, fighting to stay awake.  His arm curled protectively around Frodo.  “Did he fall from Roheryn?  I never should have let him go.”

“No, he was not hurt,” Gandalf said gently.  “However, the Men in camp believe that he is ill.  It is good of you to tend him so devotedly.”

“You speak in riddles,” Aragorn murmured.  The effort to decipher what the wizard was talking about was too much for him. His eyes fluttered closed as he was slowly pulled back downwards into sleep.  “I... I must...”

“You must only rest,” Gandalf said softly.  His hand lingered a moment on the Ring-bearer’s dark curls.  He glanced over at the other hobbits, wrapped in their blankets, and smiled.

“Those who care for you will see to it.”

*~*~*~*~*

Frodo was having a lovely dream.  He was nestled tightly within one of the barrels floating down the river to Long Lake, but instead of being cramped and hungry, as Bilbo had told him the Dwarves were, it was well-padded and perfectly comfortable.  Better yet, it was filled with the delicious smells of bacon, scrambled eggs, and toasted bread.  But just as he was reaching for his fork, the barrel flooded with light and broke apart.  He gasped and thrashed, expecting to be dumped into cold water at any moment.

“Mr. Frodo, wake up!”  Sam’s voice was hushed, but insistent.

Frodo opened his eyes to find Sam’s anxious face peering at him.

“Sam, what are you doing here?” Frodo asked frantically.  “Where’s Bilbo?”

“He is safely in my father’s House,” said a gentle voice from somewhere behind him.

Frodo relaxed.  He was perfectly comfortable, and delicious smells did permeate the air.  One side of the tent had been rolled up, letting in sunlight and a warm breeze.  The sounds of birdsong filled the air, and he was relieved to realize that the storm was over.

“I’m all right, Sam; it was just a dream,” Frodo said reassuringly.  He spoke softly, so as not to disturb Aragorn.  “Did everyone sleep all right?”  he felt a sudden pang of guilt that he had spent the night in a soft bed while his fellow hobbits slept on the ground.

“We slept like logs, Mr. Frodo.  Don't you worry about that one more moment.”  Sam took a good look at his master, insisted on feeling his forehead, then smiled and moved back to the hearth.

Frodo turned his head to look at Aragorn.  The Man’s long hair was tangled, and he was slightly pale, but his sleep seemed deep and peaceful.  Frodo started to sit up, his muscles aching from the day on horseback.

“Ohhh,” he groaned.  “I’ll never volunteer to ride on one of those enormous beasts again.”

Elrohir came to sit on the bed next to Frodo.  “If you might lie on your stomach, perhaps I can--”

Frodo smiled and instantly rolled over, and soon was groaning again – with pleasure, as long, skilled fingers massaged his neck, shoulders, and back.  He felt warmth permeating his sore muscles.

“That feels wonderful,” Frodo sighed.  He was nearly asleep again when a clatter of plates brought him back to the present.  His stomach growled, and Elrohir laughed.

“You need your breakfast,” the Elf said, helping Frodo to sit up.

“How is Aragorn?” Frodo asked, gazing at his sleeping friend.

“He should be well in a few days, as long as he is wise enough to rest and regain his strength,” Elrohir replied.

“Come sit down, Frodo,” Pippin said, coming out from behind the crates where he had been changing into his livery.  “Sam made us wait for you to wake up before we could eat.”  He placed a well-padded cushion on one of the chairs with a flourish, and grinned.  “Nothing but the best for a creaky elderly relation.”

“A creaky elder relation, you disrespectful youngster,” Frodo waggled a finger at him.  He slid down from the bed and looked up at Elrohir.  “Thank you, I feel much better.  Have you eaten?”

“Not as yet.  I was planning to--”

“But you must!” Frodo took his hand and pulled him over to the table.  He went outside to the privy, then washed his hands and face before easing himself down on the cushioned seat Pippin had prepared.  “Where’s Merry?”

“Right here,” Merry said, coming inside the tent.  “Wait until you see what Gimli’s building.  He’s hammering away up near the dock so he doesn’t disturb anyone.”  He sniffed the air and smiled.  “Is that bacon?”

“It sure is, sir,” Sam said.  He brought heaping platters over to the table before sitting down next to Frodo.

The hobbits ate as only hobbits – especially those deprived of proper meals for so long – could eat, and Elrohir smiled at the sight.  Frodo looked up at him.

“I was so surprised to see you and Elladan here, in the South,” he said frankly.  “Is anyone else here from Rivendell?”

“Not yet,” Elrohir said cryptically.

“How is Bilbo?” Frodo asked.  “I miss him dreadfully.”

“Did you pass through Lórien on your way here?” Sam ventured.

“What’s it like being a twin?” Pippin asked.  “I think it would be quite jolly.”

It was a long and merry meal, with Elrohir endeavouring to answer questions that flew at him from all directions.  Finally, he pushed back his plate.

“Thank you for allowing me to break my fast with you.  I need to see if Elladan requires any assistance in the healing tents.”

“What should we do when Aragorn wakes?” Frodo asked.

“Encourage him to drink,” Elrohir said.  “Samwise is keeping beef broth warm, and there is lemon-water there.”  He motioned to a pitcher sitting on one of the chests.  “Both are very efficacious for dehydration.”

“No food?” Pippin asked in dismay.

“Soon,” Elrohir said, getting to his feet.

“What’s lemon-water?” Sam asked.

“Oh Sam, you'll love it,” Pippin said enthusiastically.  “It's made from little yellow fruits that make your face squinch up when you eat them.  The drink is very sour, yet very refreshing.”

Sam and Frodo exchanged a look; it was obvious that they had their doubts about how ‘wonderful’ this strange beverage might be.

“My brother or I will return as soon as we can, or we will send Gandalf or Éomer,” Elrohir said.

“We can handle things,” Frodo insisted.

“I have no doubt that you can handle nearly anything, Ring-bearer,” Elrohir said gravely.  “However, should Aragorn need to be assisted to the privy, or bathed...”

Frodo colored slightly.  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

Elrohir suddenly looked around the tent, frowning.

“What’s wrong, sir?” Sam asked.

Elrohir sighed.  “It grieves me to see hobbits confined in any way... even in a tent.”

“I’m the only one ‘confined’,” Frodo reminded him, “and I don’t mind a bit.  I’ve done more walking and wandering to last me for quite awhile.  Besides, I can see the sun and feel the breeze, and there are books, and you said it would only be a few days.”

“Very well,” Elrohir smiled.  Indeed, Frodo looked content and well rested, his eyes bright and alert.  The sunlight streaming into the tent made his dark curls, still rumpled from sleep, seem to sparkle.  It was still difficult to comprehend what he and Samwise... indeed, all four of the hobbits... had endured.

“My friends,” Elrohir said softly, “events have moved very swiftly of late, and I have not yet acknowledged your deeds during this War, which saved many lives from certain death or slavery under the Dark Lord’s dominion.”   His eyes were drawn to Aragorn.  What might have happened to him, had these small folk faltered?  A captive of Sauron... he would have been a prize like no other.  He closed his eyes for a moment, as if in pain.  The last heir of Elendil, my sister’s betrothed and our beloved kinsman, enslaved by the Dark Lord, his noble spirit utterly crushed...

“He’s safe, Elrohir,” Frodo said softly.

“We’ll not leave him alone,” Pippin declared.

“I know.” Elrohir shook off the dreadful images that had plagued his thoughts for months.  He opened his eyes and smiled.  “My heart rejoices that my young brother finds himself a captive only of hobbits.  He may not enjoy this brief confinement as much as you, Frodo, but I suspect he will be much the better for it.”  He bowed deeply, and left.

** TBC **

Keep Him Secret, Keep Him Safe

Chapter Six: When Life Gives You Lemons…

Hobbits do not like heights, and do not sleep upstairs, even when they have any stairs. ‘Lothlórien’, The Fellowship of the Ring

Aragorn took a deep breath of two equally enticing smells competing for his attention: freshly-cut timber, and fragrant stew.  He vaguely recalled waking in the darkness, and Gandalf talking to him about things that made no sense.  It was now full daylight, perhaps even afternoon; and hushed voices swirled around him.  He remembered falling ill on the trail, and Frodo riding off, clinging to Roheryn.

“Frodo,” he murmured, opening his eyes.  He looked down at the small form lying next to him, but was startled to see that the curls tickling his bare chest were light brown, not dark.

“Aragorn, if you don’t know the difference between a Took and a Baggins by now...” Frodo said, coming over to the bed, “you’ll need a lot more rest than Elrohir told us.”

“Of course I know the difference,” Aragorn said hastily.  His mouth and throat were parched, and his voice sounded hoarse.  Pippin appeared to be asleep, and he hoped the youngster wasn’t ill as well.  Looking around, Aragorn saw that one portion of the tent was rolled up, letting in sunlight and air.  Outside, Elladan was kneeling in the back of a wagon, handing down armloads of bedding to Merry.  Various items of clothing, including his own, were draped over bushes or spread out on the grass, drying in the sun.

Gimli was a few feet away from him, inspecting an unusual wooden structure.  Two mattresses were supported on horizontal frames, one suspended above the other.  The entire structure, which reached nearly to the top of the tent, was secured with strong pegs and intricate lashings of rope.  As he watched, Gimli peered closely at a carved ladder leading to the top frame.  The Dwarf frowned, then plucked a tiny implement from his belt and began smoothing something only he could see.

“Are those beds?” Aragorn asked.

“We think so,” Pippin said, his eyes still closed.

“I thought you were asleep, Master Took.”

“How could I guard you if I was asleep?”

“Guard me?”

“That’s right.”  Pippin grinned.  He opened his eyes and sat up.  “I was taking a break because you don’t require that much guarding.  Yet.”

“You keep an eye on him anyway, laddie,” Gimli called out without turning his head.  He continued his meticulous inspection.  “Some people don’t know when they’ve reached their limits.”

“Frodo, are you all right?” Aragorn asked, trying to get his bearings.  “I feared that riding Roheryn in such a storm would be difficult for you.”

“It was,” Frodo said, “but he got me here safely.  I would prefer not to ride another horse for some time, however.”

“Practice makes perfect.  It is a long way back to the Shire.”

“So you’ll allow us to ride home?” Frodo teased.  “I’m not sure my bottom would appreciate the favor, if all the horses in the south are as tall as yours.”

“Éomer has told me that ponies will be made available for you.”

Frodo smiled with relief.  “I accept, on behalf of my companions.”

“You’re awake, Strider?” Sam asked.  He was stirring a pot on the hearth with one hand, and holding a mug in the other.  “Are you feeling better?”  He took a sip, the sight of which made Frodo shudder.

“What is he drinking?” Aragorn asked curiously.

“Lemon-water,” Frodo said.  “It’s supposed to be for you.”

“It is very popular here in the South.”

“It’s become very popular in this tent, as well,” Frodo said grimly.  “Sam, leave some of that for Aragorn.”

“There’s plenty,” Sam said, setting the mug down on the table.  “You haven’t given it a chance, sir; the taste grows on you.”

“Most of the fruits Prince Imrahil’s folk are sending up the river are delightful, but those ‘lemons’...” Frodo just shook his head, then gave Aragorn his full attention.  “Are you feeling better?” he asked anxiously.  “I was so worried.”

“And I was worried about you,” Aragorn said softly.

“I'm fine,” Frodo said, “just a bit tired.  Do you still feel sick?”

“My stomach has settled, but I am quite dizzy.  What did my brothers say is wrong with me?” Aragorn started to sit up, but Pippin gasped in alarm and held him down with surprising strength.

“You’re not to try that yet,” Pippin said intently.  His voice was firm, but his green eyes mirrored the anxiety in Frodo’s.

The slight exertion had started Aragorn’s head pounding again, and although he desperately needed to use the privy, he decided to wait a few moments before making another attempt at rising.

“Sir Peregrin, I understand you undertook the safeguarding of Andúril,” he said softly, trying to distract the youngster.  “I am grateful to you.”

“No one will touch it,” Pippin insisted.  “Some of your other things are here, as well.  Legolas brought them along with spare clothing.”

“In that case, I must ask for a pair of trousers so I may attend to some personal needs,” Aragorn said, discovering that he wore only his linens.

“What sense does that make?” Pippin asked.  He regarded Aragorn seriously.  “You’ll just have to take them off again.”

“Pippin,” Frodo remonstrated, “mind your manners.”

“That’s right, Mr. Pippin,” Sam agreed.  “Besides, if a person is more comfortable in trousers, he should be able to wear them.”

Shaking his head at such foolishness, Pippin hopped off the bed and rummaged through the chest containing Aragorn's neatly-folded garments.

“Elladan?” Frodo called out.  “Aragorn needs you.”

“Really, Frodo, I do not require assistance,” Aragorn protested, wriggling on his back to struggle into his trousers.

“Not for dressing,” Frodo said calmly, as Elladan and Merry entered the tent.  “But we can hardly carry you to the privy ourselves, can we?”

“Carry me?” Aragorn glowered at Elladan.  “I do not need to be carried. What I need are answers to my questions, something to drink, and...” He started to sit up again, but fell back, his head spinning.  “What is wrong with me?” he demanded.

“You put yourself to sleep, is all,” Sam piped up.

“What?”

“He is correct,” Elladan said.  “Pippin, you have my permission to sit upon him if he tries that again without assistance.”  He poured some of the lemon-water from the pitcher into a fresh mug, and supported Aragorn’s shoulders so he could drink.  Aragorn sighed with relief as his thirst was quenched.

“Thank you.  I had forgotten how wonderful that tastes.”

“See?” Sam said.  “Strider thinks it’s wonderful.”

“Strider is ill,” Frodo said firmly.

“That is what I wish to know about,” Aragorn said.  “Please tell me exactly--”

“Finished!” Gimli proclaimed triumphantly.  “You may add the bedding, Merry.  I hope the four of you find this arrangement comfortable.”

“We don’t mind sharing,” Frodo assured the Dwarf.  “Each mattress is certainly wide enough for two.”

“You sure built that fast,” Sam said admiringly.

“It’s very clever,” Merry agreed.  “I’ve never seen beds stacked on top of one another before.”

“It is the most practical use of this space,” Gimli said.

“I demand to know what is happening,” Aragorn tried again.  “Why am I not in my own tent?  What is the nature of my ailment?”

“You collapsed from exhaustion,” Elladan told him, “and must regain your strength.  You need to drink and eat, lightly at first, and perhaps enjoy a hot bath before you sleep again.”

“A bath?” Aragorn croaked.

“You still have mud in your hair from lying on the wet ground; hardly the deportment of a king.”

“But you have not explained why—”

Elladan smiled.  “Come, I will answer all of your questions outside.”  The Elf gently but firmly slid one arm behind Aragorn’s shoulders and the other beneath his knees.   He started to lift, but frowned in concern as Aragorn clutched at his tunic.

“I know you are dizzy, Estel,” Elladan murmured softly in Elvish, “and unused to feeling so weak.  Just relax.”  He lifted Aragorn smoothly, and carried him out of the tent.

“It’s not my place to say, but Strider should be resting more and talking less,” Sam said, shaking his head in disapproval.  He held out the spoon so Frodo could taste the stew.  “I’ve not heard so many questions from one person in all my life.”

“You’re right, Sam,” Pippin agreed.  He scrambled off Aragorn’s bed and gave the wooden structure an experimental shake.

“I assure you, young hobbit, it is quite sturdy,” Gimli said, beaming at the new piece of furniture.  “Try it.”

Pippin climbed slowly up the ladder, and hesitantly crawled onto the top mattress to test it out.  He couldn’t put his finger on what was bothering him, aside from the unnatural idea of hobbits sleeping so far off the ground.

“Hmmm.  Merry, come up and see what you think.”

“I trust you, Gimli,” Merry said confidently.  Seconds later, he was up the ladder and settling next to Pippin.  “This is rather like the platform we slept on in Lórien, isn’t it, Pip?”

Lórien, Pippin suddenly thought. 

“Does that mean you two are taking the top bed?” Frodo asked.  He nodded his thanks as Sam handed him a cup of steaming tea.

“The platform we slept on in Lórien,” Pippin whispered to Merry.  “Frodo shouldn’t… I mean he might…”

Merry slowly nodded.  There was no way they were letting Frodo sleep up here.  Their cousin might dream he was back on that Elvish flet, with Gollum climbing up after him...

“We certainly are,” Pippin called down to Frodo.  He looked over the edge and grinned cheekily.  “Certain elder relations might have trouble climbing up and down that ladder.”

“I would ask Aragorn to order you to walk all the way home, Peregrin Took,” Frodo said, “if I didn’t agree with you.  No ladders for me for awhile.”  He rubbed his lower back ruefully, and looked around.  “Where did we put that cushion?”

“This was very nice of you, Gimli,” Sam said, admiring the stacked beds.

“It really was,” Frodo agreed.  “Thank you.  As spacious as this tent is, I couldn’t imagine how you were going to fit four more beds in here.”

“Hah!  And Legolas said it was a foolish idea,” Gimli said, rubbing his hands together in satisfaction.  “Now then, I believe I will use that wagon to haul Aragorn’s bathing tub down here.  And then there is wood to chop for the cook-fires.”  He left the tent, humming a song in his own tongue.

“Doesn’t he ever stop?” Frodo asked, marvelling.  He suddenly peered into his cup, and sniffed it suspiciously.

“What’s wrong, Mr. Frodo?” Sam asked.

“Nothing,” Frodo smiled.  “Sorry, Sam.  I know you wouldn’t put any lemon in here.”

“In tea!” Sam said with delight.  “Sir, what a wonderful idea!”

** TBC **

Keep Him Secret, Keep Him Safe

Chapter Seven: Kings of Men

“It is fortunate that I could find it, for it is a healing plant that the Men of the West brought to Middle-earth.  Athelas they named it, and it grows now sparsely and only near places where they dwelt or camped of old.” ‘Flight to the Ford’, The Fellowship of the Ring

“...as for why you are quartered with the hobbits, that idea originated with Frodo.  Éomer seemed uneasy about the Men discovering that their new king was ill or in any way weakened, and was quite adamant that they not see you again until you are well.  Frodo grew impatient with all the discussion, and insisted we find you immediately, then bring you to their tent and sort things out afterwards.  Legolas thought of spreading the word that the Ring-bearer needed tending, and that you would remain here until he was well.  As this grove is quite secluded, the Men will not suspect that it is you in need of healing.”

“I see,” Aragorn said.  “I might have made the same decision, had I the chance.  Frodo continues to prove himself very quick thinking and resourceful.”  He closed his eyes briefly, and sighed.  “My head is aching dreadfully.  Why did I not recognize the symptoms of dehydration and exhaustion?”

“You scarcely left the hobbits’ side for two weeks,” Elladan reminded him.  “Your focus was on them, not on yourself.  However, your collapse was due to more than a physical cause; your inner reserves were depleted to a dangerously low level.  Had you been alone and far from aid when you finally exceeded your limits...”  Elladan held a water bottle to Aragorn’s lips, then insisted he eat small amounts of the bread and cheese he had brought.  “My brother, you fought many battles, on many levels, and are fortunate to see your hopes coming to fulfillment.  Allow yourself to gain strength and recover.  Rest, drink frequently, and eat light meals.  While you are with the hobbits, you would do well to dine whenever they do.”

Aragorn chuckled softly.  “No mere Man could eat as often as a healthy hobbit, and continue to fit into his garments.”

He sat propped against the sheltering tree where Elladan had settled him.  From where they sat, they could see the hobbits' tent, with the King’s standard planted before it, and several small figures walking about on the grass.  A hobbit dressed in the green and white livery of Rohan waved to them, then walked off quickly in the direction of the encampment.  At the sight, Aragorn grew restive.

“I am out of touch with what is happening.  What of the wounded?  Are there any shortages of which I should be aware?”

“None,” Elladan assured him.  “The camp continues to be well provisioned by the hunting and fishing parties, as well as by stores sent from further south.  Éomer and Imrahil oversee the Men, and all goes smoothly.  Merry has been a tireless messenger, and information with which he is entrusted is quickly and discreetly relayed to those who require it.  Pippin has been visiting the wounded, and they delight in his presence.  Gimli is everywhere, lending a hand to anything that needs doing.  The healers...” Elladan sighed.  “They are skilled enough for what is required of them, although they could use further training.  Elrohir and I have spoken together, and we would like to dwell for some years in your city.  Now that we have worked alongside the healers, we realize that there is much they could learn from us.”

“You would be most welcome,” Aragorn said fervently, “and I agree with your assessment; they are skilled, for their part, but there are plants of great potency about which they know little.”  He was struck by a sudden thought.  “Would you search the area, Elladan, and see if there is any athelas growing nearby?  There should be; these are ancient lands where Men once lived in great numbers.”

“I will ask Elrohir to join me in searching for some at first light tomorrow.”

“Thank you.  There are those whose spirits may be refreshed by its virtue.”

Yours not least of all, Elladan agreed silently.  But he said only, “You are thinking of Frodo?”

“Yes,” Aragorn said.  “Do you sense it, as well?  His manner is jovial and he says only that he is tired, but something is troubling him deeply.  I did all I could to lead him back from the abyss whole and well, but...”

“You did all you could, and nearly lost yourself doing so,” Elladan said quietly.  “You must promise me you will take this time to rest, Estel.  Your people will be ill-served by a king who does not stand before them strong and fit.  You are their Hope.  Your service to them has only just begun.  Allow us to care for you.”

“I only need a few hours’ sleep,” Aragorn insisted.  “This coddling is unnecessary.”

“Can you stand unaided?”

Aragorn was silent for a moment.  “No,” he admitted at last.  “I agree, the Men should not see me like this.  I hope the hobbits do not mind having me about.”

Elladan smiled.  “It is very clear that it gives them great purpose and joy to be of service to you.  They are not fully aware of the source of your weakness, but they are not frightened by it as the Men might be.”

Aragorn yawned hugely.  “I did not realize that I could put myself into a healing sleep without my knowledge.  How odd.  I wish to have control over myself.”

“I believe you are completely in control,” Elladan said.  “However, this ability comes from a part of you that knows better than you do, if you comprehend my meaning.”  He eyed Aragorn shrewdly.  “The worst is over, I deem, and you will feel more refreshed each time you awaken.  Do not fight sleep, my brother... your body and mind need to recover from all you have demanded of them.”

Aragorn found his eyes closing again, and felt himself being lowered to the grass. At least now he knew he could stay awake if he concentrated on doing so, but in Elladan's words he recognized the wisdom of their father and teacher, Lord Elrond.  He relaxed, succumbing to the swirling mist which gently carried him into oblivion.

Elladan was still sitting quietly, stroking Aragorn’s brow and enjoying the music of the birds and the nearby stream, when Éomer came striding towards them.  He was bareheaded, and dressed not unlike that of the other Rohirrim: in simple green tunic and brown trousers.  But at his side was the mighty sword Gúthwinë, and he walked tall and proud, a leader of Men.

“Good day, Elladan.  How does he fare?”

“He recovers quickly.”

Éomer breathed a sigh of relief.  What might have happened to Gondor, had their new king been seen as weak or vulnerable?

“He has ever done so, when faced with illness or injury,” Elladan continued softly, almost to himself. “I have observed the same strength in many of his lineage whom my family has safeguarded for an Age and more.”

Éomer was silent, wondering about these strange beings called Elves.  The millenia of experiences through which they lived was beyond his comprehension.

“It is time I returned Aragorn to his bed,” Elladan said.  “I have been lost in my thoughts, and did not notice that the afternoon is waning.”

“I will accompany you, as I have been summoned to dine with the hobbits.” Éomer motioned to the tent, outside of which there was now a great deal of activity.  “My uncle’s sword-thain informs me that a supper is offered in exchange for an evening of songs and tales.”

“If the stews Samwise has been preparing are any indication, you will enjoy a feast.”

“As will you,” Éomer smiled broadly.  “You and your brother are invited, as are Gandalf, Gimli, and Legolas.  I believe Merry wishes to cheer his cousins, and help Aragorn endure his confinement.  I have heard much of the hobbits’ love of storytelling and song, and of their love of ale, as well; Gimli is delivering a cask to their tent, along with a basket of fresh produce and a bathing tub for Aragorn.”

“I anticipate an enjoyable evening,” Elladan said, his eyes twinkling, “save for the bathing; Aragorn may need assistance he does not wish to receive.”

“I will leave that challenge to you,” Éomer chuckled.

“Merry is very wise to arrange entertainment,” Elladan said approvingly.  “I suspect that Aragorn will need all the distraction we can devise.”

“It may be unnecessary, if he sleeps through it!”

“I do not believe he will.”  Elladan’s long fingers ghosted once more across Aragorn’s brow.  “Each sleep is lighter than the last.  In fact, we may be hard-put to keep him abed through another day; his stubbornness can rival that of any warg.”

“Had he been less stubborn, he would have faltered long before this,” Éomer said gravely.

“I agree,” said Elladan.  “He endured beyond the point even my father believed would be possible.  Many things can now unfold that will bring the race of Men to a destiny nearly despaired of.  I offer my compliments to you, Éomer.”  He gazed thoughtfully at the young king.  “It is a difficult thing to stand forth as leader when this role had not been envisioned.  Aragorn is fortunate that you stand so firmly at his side, and that your Men see you accept his claim to the kingship without hesitation.”

Éomer met his gaze, and Elladan saw that no offense had been taken at his frank words.

“Perhaps he and I are brethren long-sundered, both descendants of the ancient Fathers of Men,” Éomer said softly.  “Perhaps some among my people see us as equals, and wonder at my fealty.  But the son of Arathorn is the High King of this land, and my heart knew it the day we met.”

Elladan bowed his head, content.  There was nothing but love and respect in the voice and eyes of Éomer, and he knew without a doubt that his young brother had allies of which any king could be proud.  Perhaps the time had come when the sons of Elrond no longer needed to safeguard the sons of Elros; this was something to be pondered another day, or even over the long span of years yet to come.

** TBC **

Thank you to the folks at the Stories of Arda Yahoo group and to Fiondil for Elvish advice.

Keep Him Secret, Keep Him Safe

Chapter Eight: Making Progress

“And after all, sir,” added Sam, “you did ought to take the Elves’ advice.  Gildor said you should take them as was willing, and you can’t deny it.”

“I don’t deny it,” said Frodo, looking at Sam, who was now grinning.  “I don’t deny it, but I’ll never believe you are sleeping again, whether you snore or not.”  ‘A Conspiracy Unmasked’, The Fellowship of the Ring

Aragorn had been back in bed and peacefully asleep for about an hour when Gimli and Legolas arrived at the beech grove.  The horse-drawn wagon contained several full baskets, a number of buckets, and a sealed keg, all packed within a large structure that took up most of the space: the bathing tub crafted for Aragorn’s use when the encampment had been set up.  Éomer unhitched the horses while Legolas and Gimli passed the baskets, buckets, and keg down to Elladan and Elrohir.

Sam, Merry, and Pippin paused in the preparations for their guests to watch the unloading, but Frodo remained inside the tent, loathe to leave lest Aragorn wake and need anything.  He sat at the table slicing carrots, humming a soft tune.

Last to arrive was Gandalf, and Pippin quickly ran back inside the tent to grab a carrot for Shadowfax.  The wizard drew from his robe a leather pouch containing a sheaf of written messages from many of the wounded Men, all wishing the Ring-bearer a swift recovery and bearing respectful greetings for the King.  He handed the packet to Sam, who solemnly took it to Frodo.

Legolas murmured soft words to the horses, and guided them in pulling the tub down from the wagon and across the grass.  At the very place where Frodo and Sam had awakened, beneath the sheltering beech trees, it was slid atop four thick posts which Gimli had earlier hammered into the ground.  The tub came to rest securely atop the low supports, which encircled a deep hole into which firewood had already been piled.

As the sun set, three Elves, one Dwarf, Éomer, Merry, and even Gandalf formed a line from the nearby stream and passed buckets along until the tub was more than half full of water.  The sight of such unlikely companions, doing such unlikely labor, would have made anyone pause in amazement had the grove not been off-limits to any casual visitors.  When all was ready, Legolas lit a fire in the pit.

“Well done, everyone,” Merry declared, wiping his brow.  The coolness of the evening air felt wonderful.

As Pippin was not yet fully recovered from his injuries, he had been excused from 'tub duty', as he called it; but when the number of peas Sam had declared he needed had been shelled, he stood up, brushed off his hands, and joined the others.

The arrival of fresh produce (and the keg) had been greeted with delight, but it was the bathing tub that truly caused Pippin's eyes to sparkle.  He walked all around it twice, munching thoughtfully on a ripe plum.  The tub was large and square, built of sturdy lumber, and the bottom was bound with thin sheets of iron so the fire would not set it ablaze.

“Well, Pip?” Merry asked in amusement.  “Does everything meet with your approval?”

“Aye,” the young hobbit replied.  “However, one can never be too certain. Strider should be protected from anything dangerous, you know; perhaps someone should test it first?”

“Such as his courageous esquire?” Éomer asked with a straight face.

“Indeed, my lord, such hazardous duty should not be asked of anyone else,” Pippin agreed, bowing low.

“Don’t you think Strider’s already tested this thing several times by now?” Merry chuckled.

“As a matter of fact, he has not,” Elrohir said, gathering up the empty buckets.

“He hasn’t?” Merry asked, aghast.

“He has bathed, of course,” Elladan said hastily, “in the stream, as have we all.”

“This wonderful tub has gone unused all these weeks?” Pippin frowned.  “What a waste.”

“It is about to be used,” Elrohir said, catching Elladan’s eye.  “The water is growing warm enough.  Shall we wake him?”

“No need,” Elladan said, motioning towards the tent.  Frodo was standing in the entrance, waving at them.  “That is the signal.  Let us prepare for battle, my brother.”

*~*~*~*~*

Sam had been pulling nicely-browned loaves from the hearth, rooting out from their supply crates enough platters, bowls, and cups for eleven people, and talking quietly with Frodo. As their conversation turned to the need for good Shire ’taters in the South, and how they might be shipped, Aragorn’s eyes slowly opened.  Frodo was instantly at his side, grasping his hand in relief.

“Frodo?” Aragorn asked with a confused frown.  “What time is it?”

“Nearly suppertime,” Frodo replied.

Frodo's face looked pale and drawn, and Aragorn's heart pained him to see it.

“I am sorry you are confined here, my friend,” he said.  “I would that you were out in the sunshine.”

“I don't mind,” Frodo assured him. “I'm enjoying the quiet, truly.  You look so much better; are you ready to eat something yet?”

“If supper tastes as good as it smells, I am more than ready,” Aragorn said, causing Sam to beam with delight. “When is the last time I had a full meal?” he mused.

“I don't know,” Frodo said, squeezing his hand anxiously. “But you'll make up for it tonight, if your brothers will let you.  We're having a feast!  There's a bath ready for you first, though.”

Aragorn stared at him.  “Gimli hasn’t built another tub, has he?”

“No, sir,” Sam smiled.  “They brought yours down from camp.  Mr. Frodo, wait until you see it.  Such a lovely large thing.”

“Is it?” Frodo asked wistfully.  “Oh Sam, when did we last have a long, hot soak?”

“Please forgive me, Frodo,” Aragorn said contritely.  “I have been meaning to tell all of you about that tub, and extend an invitation to use it anytime you wish.”

“May we really?” Sam asked eagerly. 

“Of course.  It would hold four hobbits comfortably.  In fact, I think we should leave it here in the grove.”

“That would be splendid,” Frodo said.  “Now don’t try to go anywhere; I need to let Elladan and Elrohir know you’re awake.”

“I don’t need anyone to--” Aragorn started to speak, but to his surprise, and Frodo’s, Sam stepped forward.

“There’s no shame in being carried, Strider,” Sam said firmly.  “Mr. Frodo let me carry him for a bit out there, and sometimes you need your friends to get where you’re going, if you take my meaning.”  Worried that he might be overstepping his bounds, he turned away abruptly.

“He's absolutely right,” Frodo said with a gentle smile.  He walked over to Sam and put a hand on his arm.  “We all need help from time to time, don’t we?  Without you, dear Sam, it all would have been for nothing.”

“You carried that foul thing all the way from the Shire, sir,” Sam protested.  “It was just there at the end, that...” His voice broke, and Frodo embraced him in silence before stepping to the front of the tent and waving to someone.

Aragorn lay quietly, realizing that he had been acting like a petulant child.  When had he become too proud to accept help?

When Éomer and the twins entered the tent, Elrohir announcing jovially that it was bath time, Aragorn simply nodded in agreement, causing the Elf to cry out in alarm.

“What is this?  Such compliance can only mean delirium or fever!”

Elladan, too, looked puzzled, but only for a moment.  He had suspected that the hobbits would be a good influence, and apparently something had occurred to prove him correct.  He gave Aragorn a drink, then straightened, his eyes twinkling.

“I advise you to remove your trousers here.”

“He's right, Strider,” Sam agreed, setting a pile of towels on the bed.  “It's more practical.”

“There is not a shred of dignity to be found in this tent,” Aragorn sighed resignedly, winking at the hobbits. He tried to look put-out, but failed miserably, causing Frodo to giggle. 

“I fear your life is about to consist of nothing but dignity,” Éomer remarked.  “Enjoy this respite while you may.”  He looked more closely at his friend’s smiling face.  “You are enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Nonsense,” Aragorn insisted.  “Still... there is nothing quite like the company of hobbits.  They teach me a great deal.”  His voice grew soft.  “There were many times during these past weeks when I feared I would never again hear such sweet laughter.”

Sam blushed, but Frodo’s reaction was unexpected.  Reminded again of his and Sam's long sleep, and what it had cost Aragorn to ensure their healing, he felt tears welling up and hastily turned away.

“Frodo, did I say something to upset you?” Aragorn asked.

“It’s nothing,” Frodo said.  When he turned back, he was smiling once more, and eager to change the subject.  He looked up at Elladan.  “My friend, I am glad that you are so free with helpful suggestions.  I thought most Elves were like Gildor, believing that advice is a dangerous gift to share.”

“It is,” Elladan said.  “However, among friends and relations one can be a bit less cautious.”

“You met Gildor, Frodo?” Elrohir asked curiously.  “I had not heard that story.  I have not seen him for many a year.”

“Aye, on our way out of the Shire,” Sam said.  “He’s the one who told Mr. Frodo to take them as was willing on his road.”

“When we all thought you were asleep,” Frodo teased.  “I’ve never trusted you since.”

“Now, sir, I’ve caught you awake many a time when you shouldn’t ought to be,” Sam defended himself.

“That’s true,” Frodo admitted.  “It’s difficult for me to fall asleep as quickly as before.”

“Wait a moment,” Aragorn said to Elladan, who was stooping to gather him into his arms.  “I think I can manage to at least sit up on my own.”  The dizziness was subsiding, but not quickly enough to suit him.  He slowly sat up in bed, swaying just a bit.

“Well done,” Elrohir said.  “Perhaps we will allow you to walk, if you will allow us to assist.”

“Agreed,” Aragorn said with relief.

“You’re recovering so fast, Strider,” Sam said with admiration.

“As are you and Frodo,” Aragorn smiled at him.

“Thanks to you,” Frodo whispered, so quietly only an Elf could have heard it.

“Si henion,” Elladan murmured.  He stared at Frodo for a moment, comprehension dawning in his mind.

While Aragorn wriggled out of his clothing, then secured the largest towel about his waist, the hobbits discreetly busied themselves talking with Éomer.

“Come, Elrohir,” Elladan said heartily, “let us escort our brother outside, and see that he does not dawdle.  The hobbits wish to feast and hear songs, and then enjoy the King’s Bath for themselves.”

Elrohir found fresh clothing, gathered up the towels, then helped support Aragorn as he rose shakily to his feet.

“I do not see why that would not work, Samwise,” Éomer was saying as the trio left the tent.  “I will consult with a master farmer when I return to Rohan about the hardiest varieties of trees.”

Frodo sighed.  Somehow, Sam had steered the conversation toward whether or not lemon trees would grow in Shire hothouses.

“Is something amiss, my friend?” Éomer asked.

Frodo was suddenly unable to keep a reluctant smile from his lips. He shook his head, and clasped Sam on the shoulder.

“Not at all, Éomer.  If I have learned one thing on my travels, it is that when Samwise Gamgee gets his heart set on something, it would take a more courageous hobbit than myself to get in his way.”

*~*~*~*~*

Once outside the tent, Elladan made sure they were well beyond the range of any hobbit's hearing before he stopped walking.

“I believe I know what is bothering Frodo.  He said he's having difficulty falling asleep, and appears so distressed whenever he looks at you...”

“What is it?” Aragorn demanded.

“He must have heard us,” Elladan replied, his eyes troubled.  “Estel, yesterday evening after the hobbits went to their rest, Elrohir and I sat talking about all you had endured over the past months.  I fear Frodo was not asleep, as we assumed.”

“But why are you concerned?  He could not have understood you,” Aragorn said.  “His knowledge of Sindarin is limited at best.”

“We were not speaking in Sindarin... or Quenya,” Elrohir said apologetically.  “We have become accustomed, while amongst Men, to speak in Westron.  Our voices were low, but if I am correct about this... not low enough.”

“What did he hear?” Aragorn asked in alarm, quickly glancing back towards the tent.

“Everything,” Elladan sighed.  “We spoke of your trials and how exhausted you had become... and how you further depleted yourself ensuring that he and Sam might return to us.”

“That explains it,” Aragorn said grimly.  “He is feeling responsible for what happened to me.  That, added to the guilt he has already admitted in knowing that his cousins and best friend were injured and nearly killed...”  He gazed fervently at Elladan.  “It is very important that you locate athelas... the sooner the better.”

Elladan nodded.  “Elrohir, will you search with me this night, after we leave the hobbits?  The scent of the plants will be stronger in the darkness.”

“Of course,” Elrohir replied.  He looked stricken.  The thought that he might have played a part in causing Frodo distress lay heavily on his heart.

** TBC **

“Si henion” -- “I understand now.”

Keep Him Secret, Keep Him Safe

Chapter Nine: Knights of the City

Arwen said, “Dark is the Shadow, and yet my heart rejoices; for you, Estel, shall be among the great whose valour will destroy it.”

But Aragorn answered, “Alas!  I cannot foresee it, and how it may come to pass is hidden from me.  Yet with your hope I will hope.  And the Shadow I utterly reject.”  ‘Appendix A’, The Return of the King

Gandalf, Legolas, Gimli, Merry, and Pippin were still chatting under the trees when the sons of Elrond approached, supporting Aragorn between them.

“Be careful Strider,” Pippin warned.  “I offered to inspect this tub for you, but was voted down.”

“Inspect?” Merry teased.  “Your thorough investigation of this innocent tub would have included an hour-long bath, a dozen songs, and no water left at the end of it.”

“Pippin,” Aragorn said to his young knight, “I vow to hold you entirely blameless for any perils that lurk within the waters.”

“All right, then,” Pippin said.  “Did you hear that, Merry Brandybuck?  Some people take me seriously around here.”

Legolas lit several lamps that had been left suspended in the trees from when Frodo and Sam lay there.

“All that you will need is in readiness,” he said, motioning to a nearby chair -- the one Aragorn had occupied during his long vigil beneath these trees, battling for the hobbits’ lives.  Beside it, on the grass, lay a basin, several clean cloths, and one of the camp’s precious cakes of soap. 

“Come, my friends,” Gimli said.  He began to escort Merry and Pippin back to the tent, followed by a chuckling Gandalf.   “I will tell you a short tale before our feast.  You have heard of Smaug, of course, but my grandsires passed down a legend of ancient days and nearly forgotten valor when a fearsome dragon was seen over a mountain...”

 “Do not linger,” Legolas said to Aragorn.  “I do not know how long we can keep that Dwarf – or Pippin – away from the ale keg.”

“I heard that!” Pippin called from up ahead.

Legolas grinned, then followed the others.

“Can you manage, or shall we assist you?” Elrohir asked Aragorn.

“I most humbly request your help,” Aragorn replied with a smile.  “I wish to clean up before I bathe, as I promised the hobbits they could use the tub later.”

“That is wise,” Elladan said.

“What is wise?  Cleaning off out here, or offering a bath to the hobbits?” Aragorn asked.

“Both,” the twins said in unison.

Aragorn let his towel drop, and his brothers settled him onto the chair.  Filling the basin with water, and adding to it small chunks of the soap, the twins each took up a cloth and washed their young brother from head to toe.  Elladan lathered Aragorn’s muddy, matted hair.  Finally, they rinsed him off with clean water and helped him climb into the tub.

“Beware of monsters,” Elrohir said lightly.

“Mmm,” was all Aragorn could manage.  He closed his eyes, leaning back against the smooth wooden side with a sigh.  The air smelled of mint that grew wild beneath the trees, but as he sat quietly, letting the heat ease his mind and limbs, smells from Sam’s bubbling pots and kettles wafted through the air, making him realize anew how hungry he was.  He ducked his head beneath the water, and used his fingers to loosen any remaining soap from his long hair.  When it felt clean, he came to the surface.

“Where has Elladan gone?” he asked, looking about.

“We neglected to bring a water bottle,” Elrohir replied.  “You are still somewhat dehydrated, and this heat and steam, while refreshing, will intensify your thirst.”

Aragorn nodded, letting himself sink more deeply into the gently-steaming water.

As Elladan approached the tent, he was surprised to find Pippin walking away from it, wearing his sword.

“Have you tired of Gimli’s tale so soon?”

“Not at all,” Pippin said, looking at the Elf solemnly.  “I really want to hear it.  It’s just that...”

“Yes?” Elladan asked gently.  He knelt so Pippin did not have to peer up at him.

“I know Strider’s safe with you,” Pippin said earnestly, “but still… none of you are armed.  I was joking about the tub, but who knows what might still be lurking about?  I need to check around the area one more time.  I won’t bother Strider, I promise.  I’ll be back soon.  Don’t let them open that keg until I get back!”

Elladan watched Pippin hurry away.  The entire field of Cormallen was heavily patrolled, as was the perimeter of the beech grove – as Pippin well knew; and he and Elrohir were always armed, although their knives were hidden – which none of the hobbits knew.  Nonetheless, he realized that Pippin needed to check for himself that his king and friend was safe.  Elladan had learned many years before that good intentions and loyalty should not be checked or discouraged.  And he recognized anew the quality of Aragorn's friends and allies.

When he entered the tent and picked up an empty water bottle, the table was now piled high with bowls, cups, platters, and utensils. Éomer, Gandalf, and Legolas were seated on chairs, while Merry lay on his stomach on Aragorn’s bed.  All four were listening intently to Gimli, who was striding back and forth in front of the hearth, illustrating his story with hisses and snarls that Elladan assumed must be dragon sounds.  The tale must have been exciting, judging by Merry’s sparkling eyes and intent expression.  Frodo and Sam were obviously listening, but also bustling about, tasting morsels from the pots and kettles from which issued most delightful smells.  The tent was warm, but enough cool evening air flowed in through the entrance, which was propped open, to make it very comfortable.  Elladan looked around at the peaceful scene and smiled.  He could almost imagine himself, as an Elfling, back in the Hall of Fire with Erestor or Glorfindel weaving an exciting tale for two young boys.

“Don’t let Aragorn fall asleep in that bath,” Frodo said, breaking into his thoughts.  “Everything’s nearly ready.”

Elladan promised to bring Aragorn back as quickly as possible, then took the bottle to the clear stream to fill it before returning to the beech trees.

“Are you ready, brother?” Elrohir was asking Aragorn, still sitting in the water.  “Do you emerge unscathed?”

“I do,” Aragorn chuckled.  “However, I appreciate Pippin’s concern.”

“He takes his duties to you quite seriously,” Elladan said, coming to stand next to the tub.  “I doubt you will ever have a more diligent knight.”

Aragorn nodded in agreement, but with a tinge of sorrow.  “I am overjoyed that his bright spirit returned to us undimmed, but grieve that another, just as dear to me, was lost.  The Dúnedain who travelled south will be known as the King’s knights, alongside Peregrin son of Paladin.  But... I would that Halbarad was still here, to stand among them in honor.”

“Your kinsman will not be forgotten,” Elrohir said.  “His family will be told of his deeds, and they will be provided for.”

“I know,” Aragorn sighed.

“Now stand very slowly,” Elrohir said, and together he and Elladan helped Aragorn out of the tub.

“This confounded dizziness grows bothersome,” Aragorn muttered, suddenly feeling somewhat faint.  He sank heavily to the chair and closed his eyes, his head whirling.  When he felt the bottle held to his lips, he grasped it and took several long swallows of cold, fresh water.

“It is the heat, as I warned.  Rest for a moment,” Elladan said, taking up the towel.  He dried Aragorn’s hair, then his body, noting with his healer’s eye the scars of recent wounds.  When he finished, they helped him dress in the fresh clothing Elrohir had brought with them – trousers and a light tunic.

“Faramir sent word that he will send suitable raiment for you to wear when you enter the City,” Elladan said.  He took in Aragorn’s bare feet and simple garments.  “Before we break camp, you must remember to dress as a king about to be crowned.”

“Crowned,” Aragorn murmured.  “All my life I have wondered what events must unfold for such a thing to ever come to pass.”

“We have wondered, as well,” Elrohir said.  “But there is someone who never had any doubt.”

Aragorn looked into his eyes, and saw there the mingled joy and grief that the brothers of Arwen Undómiel would carry with them all their lives.

“We will bring her to your side,” Elrohir said, reading his thoughts.  “We have spoken with Éomer; when he returns to his land we will accompany him, and continue north.”

“Thank you,” Aragorn whispered, feeling his spirit soar.  His heart, so full of grief a moment before, sang now with love and anticipation.  Together, he and his beloved would build a united kingdom of which Halbarad, and all of their forebears, would be proud.

Aragorn started to get to his feet.  He waved off Elrohir, who tried to help, and stood unaided for a few moments before his knees began to buckle slightly.  As his brother grasped his arm and supported him, Aragorn felt a surge of satisfaction.  His strength was returning; perhaps by tomorrow he would be able to walk about, and prove to Frodo that he had come to no permanent harm.

“I need to have a long talk with Frodo,” Aragorn said firmly.  “He was burdened with the Enemy’s Ring for nearly 20 years, and over 1000 miles, and is hopefully free of it at last; he should not now be burdened with distress over the decisions others made of their free will.” He took a deep breath.  “I will find a way to ease his heart and mind.  I must.”

“We know you will, Estel,” Elladan said.  “And we will find athelas to aid you, if we need travel many leagues to do so.”

“Come,” Elrohir said softly.  “This night the hobbits wish to feast, and sing, and enjoy the company of friends.  We should not keep them waiting any longer.”

Elladan set the soap in the emptied basin, then banked the fire so the water would stay warm, but not too hot.  They left the lamps burning.

** TBC **

Keep Him Secret, Keep Him Safe

Chapter Ten: A Merry Evening

Wide wonder came into Éomer’s eyes.  “Strider is too poor a name, son of Arathorn,” he said.  “Wingfoot I name you.  This deed of the three friends should be sung in many a hall.  Forty leagues and five you have measured ere the fourth day is ended!  Hardy is the race of Elendil!”  ‘The Riders of Rohan’, The Two Towers

Although still dizzy, Aragorn shook off his brothers’ supporting arms as they neared the tent.  He walked inside under his own power, and was rewarded by Frodo’s brilliant smile.

“Oh, you look so much better,” Frodo cried out, causing everyone to look up in surprise.  He and Pippin ran up and took Aragorn’s hands, guiding him to his bed.  Aragorn sat down heavily, hoping his shaking legs hadn’t betrayed the effort it had cost him to walk so few steps unaided.  The hobbits appeared not to notice, but he saw Legolas and Gimli frowning at him before turning back to their conversation.

“You’ll need this,” Pippin said, holding up the comb the hobbits had been sharing.  “Do you want any help?”

“I will attend him,” Elladan smiled at Pippin.  He noticed that the youngster had put away his sword and livery, and was dressed, as were the others, in simple garb.  He took the comb and sat beside Aragorn, giving his young brother time to recover his strength.  After combing through Aragorn’s damp hair until it was smooth, he then deftly braided a thick strand on either side of his face and looped them together in the back.  Frodo watched with interest.  He had never seen Aragorn’s hair arranged in this style – or in any style, now that he thought about it – although most of the Elves seemed to favor it.

“Find places, everyone,” Sam said, bustling about.

There were only six chairs in the tent – four hobbit-sized and two quite a bit larger – but Elladan, Elrohir, and Legolas declared that the ground was quite welcoming, and found places on the scattered rugs.  With Éomer and Gandalf seated, Gimli perched on the bottom level of the stacked beds, and Aragorn propped up in his own bed, everyone was quite comfortable.

“Sit down, Frodo,” Merry said, knocking the plug out of the keg with a flourish.  “You and Sam did most of the cooking, so Pippin and I will serve.”

“Someone should test that ale,” Pippin said.  “There are two kings and a prince here, and you never know.”

“Here we go again,” Merry sighed.

“Two princes,” Frodo reminded Pippin, settling into the chair with the cushion on it.  “I’ve heard what the soldiers call you.”

“Fear not, Pippin,” Éomer chuckled.  “That is well-brewed Rohirric ale, and should neither poison nor disappoint.  I hope you find it to your liking.”

“It is excellent,” Gimli said appreciatively, with a gleam in his eyes.

“Here you go, Prince Peregrin.” With a grin, Merry handed his cousin a brimming mugful of ale.  “I’m amazed this keg was still sealed; you’ve shown considerable restraint and patience.”  He started to pass around filled mugs to the guests, then looked over at Aragorn and frowned.  “Strider, should you have any of this?”

“He should not,” Elladan spoke up emphatically, hard-put not to smile at Aragorn’s mournful expression.  “Water and broth only, until tomorrow, and plenty of both.  And small portions of food at first.”

“Here you go, Strider,” Sam said brightly, bringing a mug, a pitcher of clear water, and a bowl of lemon slices to the table next to Aragorn’s bed.  “Be sure to let me know if you need more.”

Legolas opened a bottle of wine, which he shared with Elladan and Elrohir.

“Who’s watching the camp?” Frodo asked, looking around.

“Imrahil can handle things for one evening,” Éomer said, and Gandalf nodded in agreement.

“Everything is running so smoothly, no one will even remember me when I return to camp,” Aragorn sighed, winking at Frodo.

“Nonsense, laddie,” Gimli declared quite seriously.  “A king is remembered all of his life, and for all the generations thereafter.”  He raised his mug.  “To the King under the Mountain, and all worthy rulers!”

“To the King!” the group chorused.  And with that, the feast began.

For quite awhile there was no talking, save for appreciative murmurs.  The fresh loaves were broken into chunks and served with Sam’s delicious stew, which was thick with chicken and vegetables, and plentiful enough for everyone to have several helpings.  There were also large platters of succulent fish, caught fresh that morning and baked in the hearth, as well as wedges of cheese and side dishes of fresh greens.

To Frodo’s delight, Aragorn ate everything that was brought to him.  His portions were small, as Elladan had advised, but the hobbits refilled his plate so frequently, his stomach soon felt full and satisfied.  How long had it been since he had a decent meal, eaten without haste or weariness?  By the way Frodo and Sam were eating, he surmised that they felt the same, although added to their privations had been the lack of any food at all, save the Elvish waybread.  That they had survived even to reach the Mountain was almost beyond belief.  His thoughts flew back to the dark precipice on which he had found Frodo and Sam as they were about to release their hold on life.  It had taken everything he had – in song, energy, and sheer power of will – to catch their attention and coax them back.  He barely remembered the first few days afterwards, during which he had labored in an exhausted haze, drained of strength, barely comprehending what he was doing, or how.  He hadn’t realized how much he had risked until yesterday, when his mind and body had finally given in to all that he had demanded of them... and he had teetered on a precipice of his own making that might have turned equally perilous, were it not for the care and concern of those in this tent.

He smiled at the sound of Frodo laughing at something Gandalf was saying.  Sensing his regard, Frodo looked over at him, his eyes still lit with mirth.  It was good to see.  Tomorrow they would talk, and he would try to persuade Frodo that he was not responsible for the decisions of any save himself.

When even the hobbits pushed back their plates, and Sam’s cooking had been praised so many times the tips of his ears were bright red with embarrassment, Pippin brought out the ‘afters’ -- bowls of cut-up fruit, set out for anyone to munch on as they liked.

During a rare lull in the conversation, Sam felt bold enough to ask Merry and Pippin to explain again, if they could, how they had grown so tall.

“And from the beginning, this time,” Frodo begged.  “How will I ever explain it all to Bilbo, otherwise?”

“If this story is to be from the beginning,” Gimli spoke up, “then we must pay homage to a chase like no other in history.”  With great animation, and with a few interjections from Legolas and Aragorn, the Dwarf told of a deed that still filled him with great pride – the pursuit of Merry and Pippin over nearly 150 miles of grassland with few clues, save for an Elvish brooch and the tracking skills of his companions.  At the mention of his brooch, Pippin was pulled to his feet to continue the tale, which he did, starting with his and Merry’s escape from the orcs and what occurred in Fangorn Forest.  Sam asked for details about the Ent draught, curious as to how it tasted and smelled, and his expression grew more perplexed as he listened.

“Thinking of trying to brew some yourself, Sam?” Merry asked.

“It just seems awful odd to me, Mr. Merry,” Sam said.  “People feed plants certain things to make ’em more healthy and grow taller, and it seems like those Ents feed people the same type of thing.  It don’t seem natural for plants to be treating people like... well, like...”

“Like plants,” Frodo nodded.  “I agree, Sam, it seems quite a strange notion indeed.”

“I don’t mind,” Pippin declared.  He shook his unruly curls, without a doubt thicker and healthier than they had been just a few months before.  “Merry, our mums will be brandishing the scissors the moment we step through the door.”

The story went on, with Frodo and Sam trying to follow the sequence of events that brought Legolas, Aragorn, and Gimli into contact with Éomer and his men, then Gandalf.  As everyone tried to add their part of the tale, it all got rather muddled, what with Helm’s Deep, Entmoot, Orthanc, and all that came after.  Frodo listened carefully, nonetheless, although Sam became rather lost after awhile.  One thing Frodo realized was that both Gimli and Pippin had begun their tales after the death of Boromir.  Someday he would ask for that story in full, but not tonight.  Not yet.

Frodo turned to Gandalf and touched the wizard’s gleaming white robe.

“Wherever did you get this?” he asked.

“I was garbed by Galadriel, as were all of you,” Gandalf replied.  His robe, gleaming in the lamp-light, matched the white and silver of his hair.  “However, whereas the cloaks were woven such as to shield the wearer from the eyes of the Enemy, my garment was meant to attract his Eye.”

“Away from us,” Frodo whispered.  Sam took his hand, and pressed it.

“That was clever,” Pippin said approvingly.  “I hope we see her again.”  

Merry passed around another round of ale, and called for a song.  To everyone’s surprise, it was Gimli who volunteered, offering a short (to him) song in his own tongue.  He was followed by Éomer standing tall, and singing a tale in Rohirric – a rich language that rolled and swayed like the grasslands his people loved.  The hobbits didn’t understand the words, but watched Éomer’s face, marvelling at the depths of emotion that played across it.  His people’s story was told in song, and the hobbits found themselves imagining the many campfires of warriors, over hundreds of years, at which histories were sung and lists of kings and their deeds memorized.

Sam, Merry, and Pippin went next, each trying to outdo the other in the ridiculousness of their lyrics.  As Pippin bowed, Frodo found himself stifling a yawn.

Gandalf, who had been watching the hobbits closely for signs of weariness, caught Elladan’s eye, who in turn clasped Elrohir on the shoulder and murmured something in Elvish.

“Esteemed hosts,” Elladan said, “this has been delightful.  However, my brother and I must depart.  We have plants to find for the healers ’ere daybreak, and must begin our search.”

“Indeed,” Elrohir agreed.  “Such an evening I have not enjoyed in many a year.”  He nodded at the hobbits.  “Your bath awaits, my friends, and we hope you will find it to your liking.  We will empty the water in the morning.”

“What about this?” Frodo asked worriedly.  He held up his right hand with its missing finger.  “Is there any danger in soaking it?”

Elladan got to his feet, and bowed slightly.  “I tended your hand myself, Frodo.  I assure you, it is healing well, and will take no hurt from a warm bath.”

“You three go on,” Sam said to the other hobbits, starting to stack the dishes.  “I’ll head to the stream and start the washing up.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Gimli growled.  He motioned to Legolas and himself.  “We’ve been lounging around while others did all the work.  Go to your bath, my hobbits, and everything will be put away by the time you return.”

“Thank you!” Pippin cried out.  He dashed over to one of the chests, grabbed a towel, and was out of the tent before Gimli could change his mind. 

Merry stood up and pulled Sam after him.

“Come on, Sam, you heard him.”

“But--”

“No ‘buts’,” Merry insisted.  He gathered up several more towels and pushed Sam outside.

Before following the others, Frodo stood for a few minutes by Aragorn’s bed, looking into his face.  Gandalf came to his side.

“He fell fast asleep during Éomer’s song,” Gandalf said.

“I know,” Frodo replied.  “I’ve been watching him.”  He looked up at the wizard.  “He really is looking better.  Will he be all right?”

“Yes, he will.  Do not fear for him, Frodo.”

“But I do,” Frodo admitted.  “Gandalf, how did he heal Sam and me?  What did he do?”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“I will,” Frodo decided.  “Would you stay for awhile?  I don't want him to be alone.”

“Of course,” Gandalf nodded, getting out his pipe.  “You go on, now.”

“Thank you,” Frodo smiled gratefully.  “I'd better go now.  If Pippin splashes all the water out of that tub before I get there, he’ll be the one doing dishes… every single day until we get home.”

** TBC **

Note:  There is a folk remedy about adding lemon juice to a weak solution of black tea to ease hangovers.

Keep Him Secret, Keep Him Safe

Chapter Eleven:  The Hands of the King

Then Aragorn laid his hand on Merry’s head, and passing his hand gently through the brown curls, he touched the eyelids, and called him by name.  And when the fragrance of athelas stole through the room, like the scent of orchards, and of heather in the sunshine full of bees, suddenly Merry awoke.  ‘The Houses of Healing’, The Return of the King

Before Éomer returned to camp, he thought to gather up the hobbits’ cloaks and bring them out to the lamp-lit glade where they were bathing.  There was a great deal of splashing and singing coming from the tub, and he set the cloaks out of reach of the water, next to the towels and heaps of clothing.

“I have brought your cloaks,” Éomer called out.  Four curly heads turned to look at him.  “The air is chill, and you will be glad of them.”

“Thank you!” Frodo called out.

“That was very--”  The rest of Pippin’s words were lost in a yelp, as the soap bar slipped out of his hands and Merry lunged for it.  There was another tremendous splash, and Éomer stepped even further back.

“Got it!” Merry’s voice was triumphant.  “Thank you, sir!  See you tomorrow.”

Éomer smiled and left.

“Nothing like a hot soak for what ails you,” Sam said, holding one foot up out of the water to scrub between his toes with a cloth.  “Are you feeling less sore, Mr. Frodo?”

“Much less, Sam.  This is just what I needed,” Frodo replied.  His hair, after many dunkings, splashings, and a good wash, hung damply about his face.  “I might just stay in this tub for a week or so.”

“You’ll be all squinched like a prune if you do,” Pippin said.

“Mmmm,” Frodo murmured.  He felt dizzied from the heat (not to mention many mugs of ale), and his thoughts began drifting from one thing to another. He remembered the hot pools of Lórien and Rivendell, and wondered what Bilbo might be up to, and if Aragorn was all right...

He was startled by a gentle nudge, and opened his eyes to find his head resting on Sam’s shoulder.

“You’re nearly asleep,” Merry said.  “Time for bed.”

“I’m still not sure I trust those stacked beds,” Pippin announced.  He shook water out of his curls, then climbed carefully out of the tub and down to the ground.

“Gimli trusts the beds, and I trust Gimli,” Frodo said firmly.  He was so relaxed, Sam and Merry had to help him onto solid ground.  The four hobbits, shivering in the cool evening air, quickly dried off and rubbed the towels through their hair.  After pulling on their clothing and gratefully wrapping the cloaks about themselves, they used the basin to pour water on what was left of the fire.  At the last moment, Pippin remembered to retrieve the precious cake of soap from the tub, and he put it inside the emptied basin.  Once the lamps had been extinguished, they all made their way, stumbling and laughing, back to the tent.  As Gimli had promised, all the dishes and pots had been cleaned and stacked, and the hearth-fire was gently glowing.  The tent was empty now save for Gandalf, puffing on his pipe, and Aragorn.

“I see you enjoyed your bath,” the wizard chuckled.  Tipsy hobbits were a sight not unknown to him.  “There’s hot water for tea, and I suggest you have some.”

“Did Aragorn wake up?” Frodo asked.

“No,” Gandalf said.  “He’s been sleeping soundly, as I hope the four of you soon will be.”  He got to his feet. “Good night, one and all, and if you need anything, you know where to find us.”

“Don’t worry, Gandalf,” Pippin said.  “We can handle things; that is, unless these beds collapse, or Frodo’s drunken snores wake up Strider.”

“I do not snore, Peregrin,” Frodo declared, weaving slightly, “and I’m certainly not drunk.  You must be confusing me with a certain Brandybuck cousin.”

“You had more ale than any of us, Frodo,” Merry said, and Sam nodded.  “Pip, Sam, and I were too busy singing and talking to get our share.”

“I couldn’t have been that far ahead of you.”

“Yes, you were.”

“No, I--”

“Here, sir.”  Sam handed a steaming mug to Frodo.  He guided his master to a chair before squeezing one of the leftover lemon slices into his own mug.  He took an experimental sip and smiled broadly.

“You were right, Mr. Frodo!  This tastes just fine in tea.”

“I never said it would taste fine!” Frodo protested.  “You should see your face when you eat those vile things, Sam.  It gets all squinched up, like Pippin says.”

The hot tea helped clear his head slightly, and Frodo remembered to check that there was fresh water on the table next to Aragorn’s bed before changing into one of the nightshirts Merry had brought from the City.  At last, he sank gratefully into the bed he and Sam would share. Merry and Pippin took a last look around outside, while Sam added a few small logs to the fire and checked through their supplies. Finally, when the lamps and candles were extinguished, and the only light came from the softly-glowing hearth and the jewelled sheath of Andúril that reflected it, Merry and Pippin climbed up to the top bed and Sam lay down next to Frodo.

As groggy as he was, Frodo found that he couldn’t stop thinking about Aragorn.

“Sam,” he asked, “what’s the last thing you remember before you woke up?”

“This morning, sir?”

“No, I mean here, at the beech grove.”

Sam took a deep breath.  “I remember holding your hand tight, trying to... to stop your finger from bleeding,” he said, unconsciously reaching out for Frodo’s right hand.  “I heard you coughing a lot, and it was so hot... there was a big shadow, and something grabbed me.  I don’t remember anything else until I woke up, and Gandalf was there, and you woke up after that.”

“Do you remember... seeing Aragorn?  Or hearing him?”

Sam frowned.  “Now that you mention it, I might’ve dreamed about him, but I’m not sure.  He... someone was calling out to me.  It sounded like Strider, but didn’t look like him.  Or maybe he did, at that...”

“I dreamed about him, too.  At least, I thought it was a dream.”

“Wasn’t it?”

“I’m not sure anymore.”  Frodo yawned, and closed his eyes.

Pippin waited until the quiet breathing from the bed beneath him told that Frodo and Sam had fallen asleep before turning to Merry, whom he knew was also awake.

“Did you hear what they said?” Pippin whispered insistently.  “I think Strider called them back the same way he did for you and Faramir, and Lady Éowyn.”  He tried to make out his cousin’s face in the darkness.  “Did you dream about him?  When you were hurt?”

“Not that I remember,” Merry whispered back.  “There was just a cold nothingness until...”

“Until what?” Pippin asked curiously.

“I smelled fresh grass, and spring flowers, and wasn’t cold anymore.  I thought I was back in the Shire.”

“We soon will be.  Can you believe the war is over, and we’re all right?” Pippin lay quietly for several seconds.  “Do you think Strider will have a crown to wear?  Whatever was Gimli singing about?  Did you notice if there was any ale left?  Maybe we should pass through Rohan on the way home, if everyone--”

“Go to sleep, Pip,” Merry sighed, turning over.

Pippin breathed a sigh of relief.  He’d rather Merry fall asleep thinking about his silly questions than the cold and dark of his wounding.  He shifted slightly so he could peer down at Frodo and Sam sleeping peacefully below him, their hands still clasped together.  Then he stayed absolutely still, listening carefully, until his sharp ears picked up Aragorn’s deep and even breathing along with the only other sounds -- a symphony of crickets, and the gentle splash of water from the nearby stream.  Finally he relaxed, burrowing tightly against Merry.  He didn’t like sleeping up this high, but the only other choice was curling up in a bedroll on the ground, and he’d had quite enough of that for awhile.  His thoughts drifted to the flets of Lórien, and before he knew it, his dreams were filled with a gentle light, and the Lady... smiling at him.

*~*~*~*~*

Frodo awoke to a pounding headache.

“... an awful lot to drink last night.  It was a grand party, though, sir, sorry you missed some of it.”  Sam’s voice.  I didn’t have that much to drink, Frodo thought crossly.  Eyes tightly closed, he groped around for something to block out the insistent sunlight and enthusiastic birds, and his hand fell on Sam’s pillow.  He pulled it over his head.

“So am I.  Ah, I believe Frodo might be awake.”  Is that Aragorn?  Why is he out of bed?

“I’ve got tea ready.  Too bad he won't try lemon in it; my head feels a lot better.  It might be just the thing for what ails him.”

“Don’t you mean what ‘ales’ him?  Get it?”  Pippin.  That’s such an old joke.  Frodo started to giggle, but it ended as a moan.  He felt the bed sag as someone much heavier than a hobbit sat upon it.  Cautiously lowering the pillow, he opened his eyes and was startled to see Aragorn smiling at him.

“Good morning.”  Aragorn touched his brow with a large, warm hand, and pressed gently.

“No!” Frodo cried out in a sudden panic.  He pulled away, and tried to scramble to the other edge of the bed.   “Don’t… I mean, you don’t have to… I’m all right.”  Frodo grasped his head in both hands.  “Just a headache.  You should be in bed.  I need to… excuse me.”  He scrambled off the bed and ran outside to the privy.  When he returned, pale and a bit shaky, Aragorn was still on his bed, and motioned the hobbit to his side.

“Sit beside me, Frodo,” Aragorn said softly but insistently, and Frodo hesitantly joined him.  “It is time you told me what is troubling you… besides your headache.”

Frodo’s eyes filled with tears.  “I don’t want you to get sick again,” he whispered.

“Easing a headache, if I can, will not harm me,” Aragorn said.  “We need to talk about this, as soon as you’ve had your breakfast.”

“No food,” Frodo groaned.

“Tea, sir?” Sam ventured.

“I’ll try.  Where’s Merry?”

“He’s gone with King Éomer,” Pippin told him, straightening his sable and silver tunic.  “Look after him, Sam; his hair looks like a bird's nest.  I’ll be just outside.”  He bowed to Aragorn, cast a worried look at Frodo, then left the tent.

“He likes guarding you, Strider,” Sam said, bringing Frodo a cup of tea.

“It is taking some getting used to,” Aragorn admitted.  “For many years, I have been the one doing the guarding.”

“Do you mean the Shire, sir?”

“I do.”

"Thank you, Sam," Frodo said.  He looked up at Aragorn.  “Should you be up?”

“I am not overdoing it,” Aragorn assured him.  “The dizziness is nearly gone, and I have been walking about on my own.  Not too far, yet, or my brothers will skin me alive.”

“I’m so glad you’re better,” Frodo said.  “I was frightened for you.”

“I know,” Aragorn said gently.

“Will you be leaving soon?”

“Tomorrow,” Aragorn said.  “My brothers insist that I rest for one more day, away from the clamor of camp, and I sense they are correct.  There is much you and I need to discuss first, and something I wish to share with you.”  He motioned to the table, and a plate covered with a damp cloth.  “Elladan was here earlier, with a plant I asked him and Elrohir to locate.”

“What is it?”

“Athelas.  Do you remember it?”

“Of course I do; I don’t need it now, though.” Frodo frowned.  “Do I?”

“It could very well be what we both need,” Aragorn chuckled.  He raised his hand again.  “Now, do you trust me?”

“I've always trusted you, from the first day we met,” Frodo said earnestly.  “It's just that... I know you nearly died, healing Sam and me.”

“He did?” Sam asked, eyes widening with shock.  Frodo nodded.

“That very subject is what we need to talk about,” Aragorn said.  “But that was a unique situation, Frodo.”

Frodo’s eyes suddenly sparkled with curiosity.  “I’d really love to know how you did it.”

“I do not completely understand it myself,” Aragorn smiled, “but I will explain what I can.”

“Can you ease a headache?” Frodo asked hopefully.

“Perhaps.”

Frodo looked wary.  “Are you certain this won’t harm you?  Promise?”

“I promise.”  Again Aragorn touched Frodo’s brow, and his eyes lost their focus.  He sang softly, a chant that seemed to flow through Frodo like water, leaving him relaxed and calm.

“Mmmm,” Frodo murmured.  “It’s eased a bit, thank you.  Perhaps I could manage a bite of breakfast.”

** TBC **

Keep Him Secret, Keep Him Safe

Chapter Twelve: Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost

Now Aragorn knelt beside Faramir, and held a hand upon his brow.  And those that watched felt that some great struggle was going on.  For Aragorn’s face grew grey with weariness; and ever and anon he called the name of Faramir, but each time more faintly to their hearing, as if Aragorn himself was removed from them, and walked afar in some dark vale, calling for one that was lost.  ‘The Houses of Healing’, The Return of the King

Frodo was sitting at the table with Aragorn and Sam, struggling to get down some tea and plain, toasted bread, when a wagon pulled up outside with a clatter.  They heard Pippin call out a happy greeting to someone, and after a few minutes, Gimli came into the tent.

“Good morning,” Gimli said jovially.  “How are you feeling today, Aragorn?”

“Much better, thank you, Master Dwarf,” Aragorn smiled at him.

“And how are you, my hobbits?” Gimli asked Frodo and Sam.  “Did you sleep well?”

“Very well,” Frodo said.  “We are in your debt, Gimli.  Your bathing tub is a pure delight, and the stacked beds are wonderful.  We slept like logs, didn’t we, Sam?”

“We surely did,” Sam agreed.

“Well now, isn’t that fine,” Gimli said, beaming.  “But there is no debt between friends.”  He examined Frodo’s pale face, mussed hair, and scanty breakfast.  “Perhaps less ale next time, eh, laddie?  Or at least wait until you’re back to full strength.”

“Why does everyone think I had too much to drink?” Frodo grumbled.  “No, thank you,” he said hastily, as Sam offered some jam.  “Perhaps later.”

“Sam,” Gimli said, “I’ve come to collect you, if you’re ready.”

“Ready?” Frodo asked.

“I want to see about more eggs and milk, and what grains and herbs are available, if that’s all right with you, sir,” Sam explained, getting to his feet.  “Gimli said we could use the wagon to bring back what’s needed.”

“Of course it’s all right,” Frodo said with a smile.  “You don’t need my leave to come and go, Sam.  Perhaps Pippin would like to go with you, and visit with the wounded Men.”

“I already asked him,” Gimli said.  “He won’t leave ‘his post’ unless you give permission, Aragorn.”

Aragorn shook his head in amusement.  “Please tell my young knight that I encourage him to visit with the Men as long as he wishes, any time he wishes.  And perhaps he would be kind enough to give my regards to Roheryn, and let him know I will be seeing him tomorrow.”

“Excellent.”

“Here, Strider,” Sam said.  He had located the comb, and put it on the table.  “Would you mind helping Mr. Frodo while I’m gone?  I’ll be back in a few hours.  I left some water heating like you asked.”  He left with Gimli while Frodo was still spluttering that he could certainly comb his own hair.

“Have you finished eating?” Aragorn asked Frodo.  “Perhaps we can have our talk before any other visitors arrive.”

“Just let me get dressed.” Frodo grabbed the comb, and some clothes, and stepped behind the crates to change.  Aragorn went over to the pot Sam had left on the hearth, poured a quantity of steaming water into a deep bowl, then picked up the covered plate and took it and the bowl outside.  He walked slowly over to one of the large trees, where he sat down, putting the plate and bowl carefully on the ground.  When Frodo joined him, he was dressed, combed, and squinting in the bright sunlight.

“Here, come into the shade,” Aragorn chuckled, patting the grass next to him.  “I apologize for dragging you out here with a headache, but I find myself growing quite weary of being inside a tent.”  As Frodo watched, he uncovered the plate to reveal a single leaf of athelas.

“Didn’t you tell us that was awfully rare?” Frodo asked worriedly.  “You should save it.”

“It is rare no longer,” Aragorn said, and his relief was evident.  “Elladan and Elrohir rode far last night, and discovered a field where ancient beds of athelas grow near the remains of an old settlement.  I have asked that many of the plants be dug up and placed in tubs and basins filled with soil; it will be done in such a way that they take the least hurt, and my brothers and Legolas will be there to sing to them.  By the time we return to the City, many gardens, including those of the Healing Houses, will be bursting with them.”

“Well, that’s good,” Frodo said.  “But aren’t you the only one who can use it?”

“No,” Aragorn said thoughtfully, “although I seem to be the one for whom it fully responds.”

“It knows you’re the king, doesn't it?” Frodo asked, touching the leaf gently.  “It knew you even before you were the king.”

Aragorn picked up the leaf and closed his eyes.  Frodo watched him breathe upon it before closing his hand.  A sweet fragrance filled the air.  When Aragorn dropped the bruised leaf into the steaming water, the air about them seemed to sparkle with life, as pure and clean as a new snowfall.

“Why do you breathe on it?” Frodo asked.

“Lord Elrond taught me to do so.  He has a saying that took me years to understand: ‘The breath of the heir to counter the Black Breath of despair’.  As you know, Elves have a unique ability to communicate with plants and trees.”

“Yes,” Frodo said, “but you’re not an Elf.”

“I am not, but I have Elves -- and others -- in my ancestry, from very, very long ago.”  Aragorn explained.  “It is part of the reason the sons of Elrond do me the honor of calling me ‘brother’.  While I have a unique bloodline, my voice and song cannot awaken trees and teach them to speak.  However, certain of the plants brought to Middle-earth by the Sea Kings recognize the breath and intention of the direct descendants of those Men.”

Aragorn felt his mind clear fully for the first time in many days.  When he used athelas in healing, it was to refresh and comfort, and he had discovered that it allowed him to more easily guide a distressed or wandering spirit back to consciousness.  Frodo was breathing deeply of the crystalline air, and Aragorn hoped his friend was now relaxed enough to let down his guard and speak about his concerns.

“Frodo,” he said softly, “hear my voice and try to understand.  All who accompanied you from Rivendell did so of their own free will.  The path you and Sam took was your choice to make.  The path I took to guide the two of you back to us, from near death, was my choice to make.  You should not feel any guilt about the choices of others over which you had no control.”

Frodo sighed.  “I try not to, but... when you called us back, did you go too far?  I need to know.”

“I was weary, and had little strength left to spare, although it mattered not in my determination to reach you and Sam if I could.  What does matter is that I was able to return, and bring you with me.” 

“But did you exhaust yourself, and nearly die?” Frodo asked anxiously, unable to let it go.

“That is what you did, Frodo.  And I honor you for it.”

“I had Sam,” Frodo whispered.  “You’re all alone.”

“Is that what troubles you most?” Aragorn asked gently.  “Then I tell you now that I am no longer alone.  Elladan and Elrohir assisted me in healing the wounded in Minas Tirith, and here as well, and they wish to dwell in the South for a time... I suspect it will be for quite a long time.  They will look to my welfare, as I look to the welfare of the people.”

“Oh, I’m so glad,” Frodo beamed.

Aragorn smiled fondly at his friend.  “Did you have more to ask me?”

“Yes.” Frodo grew serious again.  “You can heal people, even without athelas, in ways that are beyond my understanding.  You helped the wounded after both battles, and you called back Faramir and Lady Éowyn, and Merry, too.  And then Sam and me.”

“I did.”

“Can you explain it?”

“There is much I am still learning about this myself,” Aragorn said, “but at need, I am able to hold my thoughts very still, and concentrate very hard, and... it is as if I find myself upon a high cliff, able to see and hear things very far away.  I often wonder if this is what it is like for Elves when they peer with their physical eyes across great distances.  But it is not a physical seeing for me, such as I discovered the palantír will allow, but a journey of the spirit, towards other spirits who are wandering and lost.  I call, and listen, and try to bring them back, if they are willing.  It is a difficult thing to do, and to explain in words.”

“I heard you calling me,” Frodo said.  “I asked Sam, and he remembers you, as well.  I thought I was dreaming.”

“How interesting,” Aragorn said.  “Perhaps you were aware of my presence because of how much energy I was expending to bring you back, and then ease you into sleep.”  He grew thoughtful.  “Faramir, Éowyn, and Merry had the fragrance of athelas on which to focus, and each returned swiftly to consciousness… you and Sam did not have this clear pathway, and I needed to work much harder.  It was difficult for me, as weary as I already was from the battle, but oftimes we can exceed our limits… as you discovered for yourself, many times.  My mistake was not then listening to my body’s need for rest.  That was my fault, not yours.  You should not feel any responsibility for my lack of judgment.”

Frodo sighed.  “I’ll try.  It helps to know that you’re better, and will have help now.”  He looked around.  “In so many ways, all of this still seems a dream.”

“I know.”

Frodo looked up at him.  “We're really going to have a king again, after all this time,” he said wonderingly. 

“The place is mine to take,” Aragorn nodded.  “When we return to Minas Tirith, the Steward -- Faramir -- will allow me to enter the City as its sovereign.”

“I thought his father was Steward.”

“There is much you have not yet heard,” Aragorn said quietly.  “Denethor's mind fell into darkness, and he took his own life during the siege.  But there is time for many tales, Frodo; we will remain encamped here for some days.  There is much Faramir wishes to prepare before we return, and many of the wounded cannot yet travel.”

“I’m not in any hurry to leave this place.  It’s… safe here.”  Frodo leaned against Aragorn.  “You’re safe here,” he whispered.

“Be not distressed, my dear friend,” Aragorn said softly, putting an arm around him.  “I choose my path with every step I take, as do we all.  I look ahead, and see much good yet to come.”

“I am happy for you, truly,” Frodo said.  “But even as king, you’ll go around healing people, won’t you?  And now everyone knows you can do that.  Will you then get no rest, no peace? Ever in your life?”

“I am pledged to my people,” Aragorn said honestly.

Frodo remembered something Gandalf had told him shortly after he and Sam awoke.  ‘The King is the renewer, Frodo, the standard by which generations yet unborn will judge themselves.’ His heart ached a bit for his friend.  This life seemed a strange reward for all that Aragorn had accomplished.

“There will be many joys to balance out my duties,” Aragorn assured him.  “All of us -- myself, your cousins, Sam, everyone -- made our own decisions, and are at peace with them.  I hope you can believe me.”

Aragorn's eyes were lit with an inner joy.  Whatever price he had paid, it was obvious to Frodo that he felt it had been worth it. 

“Frodo?”

“I believe you,” Frodo promised.

“I am glad,” Aragorn said.  “Let your burdens drop away, my friend.”

Frodo took another deep breath, and the weariness that had plagued him for days seemed to dissipate.  His heart felt lighter; whether due to the athelas, or perhaps just Aragorn's confident words and manner, he would never know.

“This has all turned out strangely, hasn’t it?” Frodo mused.  “Your men were told you were here tending me, and that turned out to be true after all.”

“We tended one another,” Aragorn reminded him.

It suddenly struck Frodo that if Aragorn was returning to camp the next day, there wasn't much time left to see that he ate regular meals, and got as much rest as possible.

“My goodness, what is the time?” he exclaimed.  “I feel hungry enough now for a real breakfast.  Care to join me?”

“Second breakfast it is,” Aragorn grinned.  “Oh, and I have been doing some thinking.  As Sam apparently plans to cover the Shire in lemon trees, I wish to introduce you to several other ways the folk of Minas Tirith enjoy using the fruits.  Perhaps you will find one to your liking.”

“I doubt it,” Frodo said darkly, causing Aragorn to laugh.

** TBC **

A special "thank you" you to Cookiefleck, Grumpy, Lily Baggins, Lynda, and Tigger for inspiring ideas for this chapter.  And my thanks to all of you for taking another fun journey with me.

Keep Him Secret, Keep Him Safe

Chapter Thirteen: A Hobbit Walking Party

And in the morning they rose again in hope and peace; and they spent many days in Ithilien.  For the Field of Cormallen, where the host was now encamped, was near to Henneth Annûn, and the stream that flowed from its falls could be heard in the night as it rushed down through its rocky gate, and passed through the flowery meads into the tides of Anduin by the Isle of Cair Andros.  The hobbits wandered here and there visiting again the places that they had passed before.  ‘The Field of Cormallen’, The Return of the King

Aragorn awoke the next morning from an unusually deep and restful sleep.  His brothers had both assured him he would be well enough to return to camp today, and that the Men would see no signs of his illness, and he knew they had spoken truly.  He lay quietly, eavesdropping amusedly on the hushed conversation going on around the breakfast table.

“But sir,” Sam was protesting, “that takes all the sourness out!”

“Exactly,” Frodo said firmly.  He took another sip of the drink Aragorn had shown him how to make.  Cold, fresh spring water to which a squeeze of lemon had been added had turned out to be quite refreshing -- when the juice of fresh raspberries and a bit of honey were part of the mix.

“And taste this,” Frodo continued.  Without waiting for a response, he squeezed a bit of lemon over the piece of grilled fish on Sam’s fork and waited expectantly, his eyes shining with confidence.  Sam tasted the fish, and nodded enthusiastically.  It was delicious, with a tang that usually needed herbs for which he had not yet had time to search.

“You’re both daft,” Merry sighed, shaking his head.

“They’re both geniuses,” Pippin proclaimed, squeezing lemon onto his own fish.

“You can thank Aragorn,” Frodo said, helping himself to another piece.  “Apparently he lived here in the South years ago, and knows all about the ways lemons can be used.  Some of them are quite palatable, are they not?”  He fixed Sam with a look.  “Still, I shouldn't like to discover that they've wandered into my tea by mistake.”

Sam grinned.  “I'll remember that, sir.”  He looked over at Aragorn.  “Should we wake him?  They’ll be arriving any minute, and he’s not eaten a thing.  Who knows whether he’ll get any breakfast up at camp, with all that King business he’ll need to be about.”

“I am awake,” Aragorn said, opening his eyes.  The sight before him would remain in his memory for the rest of his days: four hobbits smiling, eating, and gazing at him with fondness in their eyes.

“So, Samwise,” Aragorn said, sitting up, “I see that your Master has had a change of heart about the lemons.”

“That he has, sir, thanks to you,” Sam said with delight.

Aragorn dressed quickly, donning garments more formal than those he had been wearing over the past days, then joined the hobbits at their breakfast. 

“You are free to leave the grove now, Frodo, and roam wherever you wish,” Aragorn said.  “My thanks to you for thinking to house me here, and for allowing yourself to be confined for my benefit.”

“I’ve enjoyed it,” Frodo assured him. “It’s been delightful being all together, and seeing so much of everyone.  I've been wondering if perhaps we can be housed together in the City?  I suppose you will have to live in a special place, but if they wish it, Gimli, Legolas, and Gandalf can--”

“An excellent idea,” Pippin agreed.  “Perhaps the King can arrange it.”

“I will consult with him,” Aragorn said with a smile.  He pushed his empty plate aside and stood up.  “Thank you, my friends, for your hospitality, your company, and your care.  Sir Peregrin, it is time; would you please bring me my sword?”

Pippin proudly retrieved Andúril, and half-carried, half-dragged it to him.  While Aragorn strapped it on, Pippin also went to the pack Legolas had brought, and drew forth the ancient, ornate box containing the silver circlet bearing a single diamond that Aragorn had worn when they rode to the Black Gate.  He solemnly handed it up to Aragorn, who settled it about his brow.  The four hobbits stared in awe.  Their friend Strider was the king, and no one who ever saw him could doubt it.

Aragorn was sitting on the bed, pulling on his boots, when there was a call from outside.  Pippin, Sam, and Merry dashed out to greet their visitors, but Frodo hung back.

“Thank you, Aragorn,” he said.

“This has been a healing time for both of us,” Aragorn said.  “I hope you feel more at peace.”

“I do,” Frodo smiled. “I will never forget what you taught me; and I thank you for something else, as well.  As much as Sam loves those yellow fruits, and no matter how much he spoke of covering the Shire in lemon trees, I know he wouldn’t have planted even the smallest sapling if he didn’t believe I’d enjoy having them there.  I am most grateful that you taught me their merits.  A gardener should always have new challenges and delights, and Sam deserves both.  He deserves... everything.”

“As do you, my friend,” Aragorn said quietly.  He knelt to embrace Frodo, overjoyed that his friend seemed so well.  “Shall we join the others?”

They walked out of the tent, and were greeted by cheerful voices. Elrohir was pulling the King’s standard out of the ground from where it had been set.  Éomer sat astride Firefoot, and Elladan stood next to his own horse. They had also brought Roheryn for the King to ride back to camp, and Aragorn went to greet his mount warmly.

Frodo took Elrohir’s hand, and drew him aside for a moment.

“Please take care of him,” he implored.

“I swear to you, Frodo, that we will,” Elrohir replied. “In the coming days, Elladan and I will need to take one more journey together, for a most important reason. Once we return to Aragorn’s side, we will not leave it again while he lives.”

“Thank you,” Frodo said gratefully.  He joined the other hobbits, who were standing near Aragorn.

“Come back anytime, Your Majesty.”

“I will do so, Ring-bearer,” Aragorn replied, his eyes twinkling.  “After all, I will need to visit my bathing tub on occasion.”

Aragorn mounted Roheryn, and Éomer took his place beside him.  The sons of Elrond would ride on either side of them for the short distance back to camp.  When the Men saw their kings and the sons of Elrond arrive together, it would be an impressive and memorable sight.

*~*~*~*~*~*

“Bedrolls? Fishing line? Water bottles?”

“All set,” Frodo said.

“Food?”

“Lots of it,” Pippin said happily.

“Pans?  Forks?”

“Enough of everything,” Sam said.

“What about--”

“Good heavens, Merry, we’re only going six miles, not sixty,” Frodo teased.

“I like to be prepared,” Merry replied.

“I know,” Frodo smiled, “and we do appreciate it.”

Frodo was taking them to the meadow he and Aragorn had visited; he had wanted Sam to enjoy its beauty since he first saw it.  Merry and Pippin asked to come along, and Aragorn and Éomer had willingly given them leave.  They were all looking forward to spending a few days on their own.

“The stream is full of fish,” Frodo reminded Sam.  “Are we prepared?”

“We are, sir,” Sam grinned, patting his pack.  Several lemons were safely stowed away.

“I’ve been doing some thinking,” Pippin piped up.

Merry eyed his cousin in mock alarm.  “That can be quite dangerous... although you did have a wonderful idea about the beds.”

At Pippin’s suggestion, their four original beds had been taken up to the camp.  When the small beds were pushed together, as had been done for Aragorn, several of the wounded Men could rest on them comfortably.  The hobbits would continue to use Gimli’s stacked beds, and with all the extra space, the tent felt even bigger than before.

“The possibilities are endless, you know,” Pippin continued earnestly.

“For what?” Frodo asked.

“Recipes!  Lemon pie, lemon pudding, lemon tarts...”

“Don’t get too attached to those things,” Merry warned.  “We still don’t know if the trees can be grown in the Shire.”

“Sure they can, Mr. Merry,” Sam said confidently. “We just need to build special houses to keep ’em warm, and make sure they get lots of care.”

“That’s good enough for me!” Frodo said with a laugh, clapping Sam on the shoulder.  He turned to the others.  “Shall we go?” 

“Do you think we'll see oliphaunts today?” Sam asked eagerly.

“I don't know, Sam,” Frodo replied.  “But even if all we find are fish, I'll be content.”

The hobbits left the tent, and Frodo took deep breaths of the fresh, green air.  They would be in Minas Tirith soon enough – a city of stone, with curious crowds and strange ways.  Boromir’s city, and Faramir’s... and now it would be Aragorn’s, as well.  Everything was about to change, yet again.  But for a little while yet, there would be peace, and calm, and time to think.  It was so much more than he'd thought to ever have again. 

“Here we go, off on another hobbit walking party,” Merry said cheerfully.

“So much has changed since we started out,” Pippin marveled.  “Strider is now the king, you and I are as tall as trees, Sam is the most famousest gardener in Middle-earth, and Frodo--”

“...is still Frodo, I hope,” Frodo said with a smile.

“Bilbo will be so proud of you,” Merry said.  “But then, he always was.”

“Thank you, Merry,” Frodo said softly.  He lifted his new pack and strapped it on.  “Come, then; those fish won't catch themselves.”

Pippin's clear, sweet voice raised in song as the four hobbits walked across the grass and through the trees that separated Cormallen from the rest of Ithilien.  And the patrols, alerted that the hobbits would be wandering about, welcomed the sound with glad smiles, and light hearts.

** END **