Disclaimer: All the characters and settings belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. This story is my way of working out or interpreting ideas and concepts already present in The Lord of the Rings. This is done for enjoyment, and for sharing, but not for profit. 

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Author's note: This dream is by far the darkest that I have written (and will write.) While for some it may not seem too dark, for me it is very dark. I imagine that some readers might be like me, so I do wish to give warning that there is no happy ending. Please heed this warning and do not read if you have any doubt about your tolerance levels.

~ * ~ * ~

Touched by Evil, Part II

Frodo woke with a start. He saw a shadow looming over him and scrabbled vainly to back away.

"Hush, Frodo. It is only me." And there was Aragorn bending over him. "How does the shoulder feel now?"

"How does...?" Frodo gave a high laugh, choked off by a sob. "Gandalf once asked me that very question in Rivendell."

"I would like to look at it."

Frodo scrabbled to back away from the King only to fetch up against the headboard. "No. No, I couldn't bear it. Please just leave me alone."

"Just for a moment. I won't touch it."

"The bandages. You would have to move the bandages. I can't bear that."

"I would be as gentle as possible."

"No!" He started to shiver. "Forgive me," he whispered, "but I know, I can feel -- the skin is gone. My neck, my shoulder -- the cloths lie on... on what, I don't know. But every time I move, I feel it. The cloths are stuck. If you were to pull them away..."

Aragorn sat on the edge of the bed. "All right," he said. "I won't look. Not now. Later, when you are ready."

Frodo laughed again, a laugh with a thin edge of hysteria. His shivering increased. He breathed deeply, trying to calm himself.

"What happened, after... after..."

"After you fainted?" said Aragorn gently.

Frodo nodded, but no sooner than he did so, he winced. He did not nod again. "Yes."

"The healers finished cutting it from you. It did not take long, for you were awake for most of it. It was very difficult. It... did not want to leave."

Frodo shut his eyes for a moment. "I know. I could feel it."

"Gandalf flung it in the fire, but..." and here Aragorn shuddered. "He had to pin it down with a knife. It would have escaped, otherwise."

"Escaped?" Frodo said, startled, and then gave a short, awkward laugh. "Where would it have gone?"

Aragorn looked at him steadily. "It would have returned to you."

~ * ~ * ~ 

In the end, they had to soak the bandages to remove them from his shoulder. He was permitted to keep himself still this time and, as the healers worked, he watched the wet bloody cloths as they were dropped into a basin.

How did they carry the... thing to the fire?

If there had been any skin left on his shoulder, Frodo was quite sure that the remainder was being taken off now. He gritted his teeth.

Why did it want to return to him?

His blood stained the healers' hands.

What had he offered the creature for it to want to return to him?

Gandalf was there now, looking searchingly at Frodo's face. Sam had not come. This grieved Frodo more than the pain of the bandages being slowly, ever so slowly, torn from his shoulder. Somehow it had seemed to him as if Sam had been remote -- untroubled by Frodo's plight.

No-one spoke as the last cloth was peeled back and then taken away. The shock of cold air burned the raw flesh. His neck stung as the ends of his hair brushed it.

He closed his eyes in relief. The very worst was over. The creature was gone and the first, worst stripping of bandages done. He had made it through and all he needed to do was to let himself heal in both body and mind. The creature was gone. He smiled.

The room was silent.

How could he heal? he thought. For he could see clearly now that it was up to him. His worst fears had been faced: the idea that the Ring had led him irrevocably into evil had been excised from him as surely as had been the creature.

I began this journey with resolve and with my own thoughts to guide me. I can now end it under the same command of will. No longer shall I let fate rule me and leave others to care for a helpless victim.

He took a deep breath, smiled again, and opened his eyes.

The room was silent.

"What is wrong," he asked, puzzled. His stomach suddenly clenched.

As one, the Warden and the healers rose to their feet and left the room. After a long look, Gandalf too left.

"Aragorn?" Frodo whispered, his voice catching.

The King knelt before him and laid his hands upon Frodo's knees.

"Can you not feel it?" His voice was low and rough.

"Feel what?" cried Frodo. "How can you ask me this after what all of you did to me last night! I can feel a great many things -- which one are you asking me about?"

Aragorn stood. "Frodo, you are to remain here. Do you understand? We will return in a short while."

Frodo scrambled off the bed. His breath came in short gasps. "What is happening?"

Aragorn opened the door and then paused. He looked back. "Gandalf said that this might happen. Frodo... the creature has returned."

~ * ~ * ~

There were a great many of them sitting about him in a circle. It seemed as if all the great folk had been summoned, and representatives from the different peoples. The healers, Gandalf and Aragorn sat on one side, while Legolas of the Elves, Gimli of the Dwarves, Captain Faramir, Prince Imrahil, and others whose names were unknown to him closed the rest of the circle. Sitting beyond were Sam, Merry and Pippin.

Frodo sat on a stool in the centre. His hair had been cut close to his head so as not to irritate the wound... or the creature. It was small yet, but the tendrils were long and they coiled lovingly about his shoulder.

Imrahil stood and looked searchingly at Frodo. "We have discussed this at great length, Ring-bearer, and now we come to tell you of our decision. You have choices to make and consequences to bear. May you choose rightly!

"You have been touched by evil, great evil. I think that all present agree that you cannot be blamed for this. Yet evil is in you now. For why is the creature a part of you? The healers cut it away, yet it returned, growing out of your very body.

"Indeed, Mithrandir has said that in the ancient times the seed of Ungoliant would choose worthy hosts and become one with them. However, the pure and the good were shunned. But one who has carried the Ring, and who even now lusts after it, seems no longer to possess such purity. Indeed such a one must be a worthy host."

The prince's voice sharpened. "It has been decided that this evil cannot be allowed to roam freely. While you are one with this creature, you cannot be allowed amongst the people of this land lest the taint of evil spread among them and new hosts be created. Therefore, you may choose from one of three choices.

"You may suffer the healers to cut the creature from you once again and after that as many times as need be. Perhaps each and every night if it so returns. If you refuse to endure this, you may choose to be kept from all eyes in a guarded and locked room. You will be fed and cared for, but will never be allowed to talk to the people of this City. This doom would be yours for the rest of your life."

Frodo pushed himself off the chair and stood. A roaring was in his ears. "And the third choice?"

"You may choose to be put to death and your body burned. The death would be quick and merciful and done before the fire is set to your flesh."

Faintly, Frodo said, "But what of my home? Could I not return to my home?"

"What skill or strength would the Shire-folk have against such a creature, against such evil?" Gandalf said gravely. "You would be shunned. Cast out."

"I'd rather be shunned in the Shire than locked away here!" said Frodo with some heat. He tried to go beyond the edge of the circle to where the three hobbits stood, but none would let him pass through. "Sam, Merry, Pippin... Tell them. Tell them how Crickhollow is away from all other farms and houses. I would keep to myself there. No one need see me!"

But the three hobbits shifted uneasily on their feet and made no reply.

"Merry?" Frodo faltered.

Merry looked down at the ground. "No, Frodo," he mumbled. "I don't think we can take you back."

"I'm sorry," added Pippin. Sam said nothing, but refused to look Frodo in the eye.

Frodo backed away, breathing heavily, until he was brought up short by the stool. "I couldn't bear to be locked up alone in a room for the rest of my life!"

"Then you must choose to be cut each night, or be put to death." Imrahil sat back down in his chair and was silent.

"I... I could not go through last night again," Frodo whispered. "To endure such pain again and again, to know that that was all I had to look forward to each day -- I would go mad!"

"Frodo," said Faramir slowly, "the most merciful sentence, I believe, would be death. Indeed, this is what I would choose for you if I felt that I could make the choice. But you have done too much for all of us for us to not honour your deeds in some way. This choice is yours only to make."

Frodo laughed wildly then. "A great honour you have given me -- to choose one of three evil dooms! How could I choose? I don't want to die -- I want to live! I was given a chance not one month ago, yet now you say it was false. To be offered hope and then to have it snatched away again? I don't want to die!"

He sat back down limply and covered his face in his hands. "I can't choose. Each choice is as evil as the others."

The King stood. "Then, Frodo, son of Drogo, you will be given time to decide. As long as you need. However, until such time as you make your choice, you will spend your days and nights alone in that room.

"Take him thither."

"No!" Frodo cried, but, heedless of his screams, two healers took him by his arms and carried him out of the room.

Once thrust inside the cell, he turned around only to see the heavy door slam shut, and to hear the iron bolts clang as they were drawn fast. Footsteps receded down the hall.

Alone in the dark, Frodo fell to his knees and wept. And as tears wetted his cheeks, a slim black tentacle wound itself caressingly about his neck.

~ * ~ * ~

Rain drummed steadily on the roof of the house that the hobbits and Gandalf shared. There was no wind. It was dark, for the only candle in the small room had gone out.

A pillow muffled the strangled shriek, but almost before it ended Frodo was awake and on his feet. He looked wildly around the room, confused and panting, until slowly his legs crumpled and he sank to the floor.

Shivering, he leaned back against the side of the bed and closed his eyes, only to open them wide again. His hand shot to the back of his neck, but a small rough patch of skin was all that met his trembling fingers. Quickly, he searched his entire neck and shoulder, but all he felt was smooth, cool skin.

Why, then, could he still feel the caress of the creature upon his neck?

With a strangled sob, he climbed onto the bed and wrenched open the shutters. He looked out into the night for a long moment and then just as abruptly climbed back down and quitted the room.

Taking no cloak against the weather, he ran outside, little heeding the door left open behind him. And there he stood, in the small stone courtyard in front of the house. There he stood with rain running through his hair, soaking through his night-clothes, and glistening on his bared shoulder.

And over and over again, he rubbed and scraped his neck raw. But he could not become clean, so there under the rain he stayed.

And he knew. He could never be healed.

The End