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

Surrounded by the Darkness: Chapter 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence.

"Frodo!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It feels like glass, but cold."

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

tbc...