Chapter 7: Light and Darkness

Aragorn reached out to take Frodo from Sam, but the young hobbit held onto his master protectively. “I can carry him,” he said.

The king looked at Sam and marveled, certainly not for the first time, at the little one’s devotion. “I know you can, Sam. Frodo is very lucky to such a loyal friend as you, but I can carry him faster.”

Sam released Frodo to Aragorn’s open arms. Very gently, the king put the stricken hobbit over his shoulder and started off at as fast and steady a run as he could manage. Sam’s heart broke each time Frodo groaned at the jostling. He found himself praying that his master would lose consciousness from the pain and find some relief that way. The young gardener was amazed he didn’t trip over his own feet as first tears, then exhaustion made it hard to keep going, but he got the energy from somewhere, then when he had no more, he pushed himself still further, finding more strength out of desperation and love. Merry and Pippin followed as closely as they could.

When they finally stopped as dawn as breaking, Sam collapsed, heaving on the ground. Aragorn lay Frodo down gently next to him. Barely conscious, Frodo looked wearily at his beloved friend. “I’m glad you are with me, Sam,” he breathed then fell into sleep.

Sam regained control over his breathing and leaned over to kiss his master’s forehead. “I’m glad you are with me, too, dear,” he said, then took Frodo’s hand and fell into an exhausted sleep.

A half hour later, Merry and Pippin came in and collapsed without even greeting Aragorn who sat with his back against a tree, staring thoughtfully into the dawn. The king was almost sorry to rouse the hobbits only a hour later, but he had delayed long enough and he was anxious to continue.

Pippin groaned and rolled over when Aragorn woke him. He opened his eyes and found himself staring into Frodo’s who was already awake.

“I’m so sorry, Frodo,” Pippin apologized again, still wracked with guilt over his cousin’s wounding.

Frodo reached out to touch his cheek. “Naught you could say, dear, naught you could do,” he softly sang from a beloved childhood lullaby, “could break the love binding our hearts together; for I will forever love you.”

Pippin smiled, relieved. Frodo looked over at Merry’s anxious face. “That goes for you, too, Merry,” he murmured.

Merry smiled. They both leaned over to brush his head with a kiss. “Thank you.”

“Just don’t let it happen again,” Frodo teased wearily and took his friend’s wider smiles back into unconsciousness with him. He didn’t see the smiles fade into worry once more.

After a much abbreviated breakfast, Aragorn took Frodo back over his shoulder and they set off again. The days blurred into each other in a haze of exhaustion. The hobbits could only long for the next rest stop, kiss their cousin and friend goodnight, then collapse utterly with a groan, and another when they had to get up all too soon, but they never hesitated or complained beyond those simple, heartfelt groans. Worry and love for their friend spurred them on. They also felt an undeniable exhilaration at pushing themselves beyond their limits and finding themselves equal to the task as they found energy when they swore they had none left. They neither saw or heard any sign of Black Riders except the occasional call and answer of fell voices on the wind, sounding far away. Frodo heard, even when asleep, and murmured as if in response in a language that should have never passed such fair lips. It made Aragorn push himself ever faster. It reminded they were in great peril and that it could still overtake them.

Each time they stopped two of the hobbits would hold Frodo’s hands to give him an anchor to the real world, to hold him there instead of slipping away into the shadow world, to remind him that he wasn’t alone, to remind themselves that he was still with him, though every day he seemed to slip further away. The first night they argued over who would do it. Aragorn smiled, moved by their devotion. “My dear gentlehobbits, he does have two hands,” he reminded.

The three hobbits stopped their arguing for a moment and looked at him. “But there are three of us.”

“Take turns, then,” the king suggested.

The hobbits went back to their arguing and Aragorn smiled wider.

“I’m not leaving Mr. Frodo,” Sam said, staking out his place at his master’s side.

“Aragorn, tell Sam that it isn’t fair that he’s always there ahead of us and will get a turn every night and Merry and I won’t,” Pippin appealed.

“That’s for you three to sort out,” Aragorn said. “If Sam won’t give up his place and he shouldn’t have to, then you and Merry will have take to alternate times.”

“You can go first, Pip,” Merry said gallantly.

Aragorn smiled again, then turned away, marveling at the three and at Frodo’s strength and resistance, but he feared for him also as they all did. One night it rained and Sam held his master close to him to keep him as dry and warm as possible. Even then, Frodo trembled with the cold spreading inside his body. He whimpered sometimes in his sleep, though Sam wasn’t sure whether it was from pain or nightmares or both.

“Does it hurt very much, dear?” he asked and Frodo replied, very weakly, “Yes, Sam, very much,” but other than that he didn’t complain.

“I wish I could do something for you,” Sam said.

“Just stay with me, please,” Frodo asked and closed his eyes.

Sam squeezed his hand. “I will always be with you.”

“Thank you. Will you sing to me, please, Sam?”

Aragorn sat against a tree with his eyes closed. Merry and Pippin were not far behind, but hadn’t arrived yet. Sam began to sing a soft lullaby, stroking his master’s cheek as he did so. Frodo relaxed as he listened.

“Sleep now
And know that I love you
Let aside your cares
I will protect you

Sleep now
And know that I love you
Let no darkness touch you
I will guard you

Sleep now
And know that I love you
Let your worries fade away
I will not leave you

Sleep now
And know that I love you
Let no pain plague you
I will defend you

Sleep now
And know that I love you
Let no terror frighten you
I will always be with you

Sleep now
And know that I love you.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Frodo breathed when the song finished, tears silently streaming down his cheeks.

Sam kissed his master’s head and wiped at his tears. “You’re welcome, dear. Sleep well.”

Frodo slid into sleep as Sam watched.

“That was beautiful,” came a soft voice and the younger hobbit colored to see Aragorn watching him.

“I thought you were asleep!” he exclaimed.

The king smiled. “I had my eyes closed. There’s a difference. Don’t be embarrassed, Sam. It was indeed a beautiful testament to your love for your master.”

Sam continued looking at his master lovingly. “His parents used to sing it to him when he was a child. And he’s sung it to me and his cousins.”

“They must have been very special.”

“They were. I never knew them. They died the year I was born, but I know you are right.”

Sam looked back down at Frodo. “I’ve never known anyone like him. It’s like he’s made of nothing but light and love and goodness. So pale, almost translucent, like he isn’t even flesh and blood at all, but some sort of higher, more beautiful being than can stand being here on this earth for long.” He paused for a moment as Frodo moaned in his sleep. The younger hobbit stroked his master’s curls and murmured comforts until he settled back into true sleep, then the gardener continued, “I hate to see him like this. It’s tearing me apart. I’ve wished a thousand million times I could take his place. But you can see his light even now.” He looked up the king briefly. “And you must have noticed how light he is to carry.”

Aragorn nodded. “Yes, I was surprised the first time, too, and he’s even lighter now. I don’t like how thin he’s become.”

Sam looked back at Frodo. “I don’t either. But he’s always been thin. I remember one time years ago, I carried him back home after he sprained his ankle badly. He tried walking on it, but it just got more swollen and he could only barely manage to hobble on it. He never wanted to show how much pain he was in, but he could never hide anything from me. I just picked him up and carried him the mile we had left.” He looked up at Aragorn and laughed softly. “You should have heard how he protested that!” The king smiled. “Then Mr. Bilbo took him from me and he protested that also, but Mr. Bilbo would have none of it anymore than me. He saw how swollen Frodo’s ankle was and immediately placed him in bed and forbade him from moving from there for two days.” Sam smiled again, looked around him and leaned forward as though about to impart a great secret. “I think he was secretly glad since it gave him more time to read.”

Aragorn laughed softly, marveling that the young gardener could keep his cheer even now. It lightened the burdens his own heart held. “Thank you for telling me that, my friend. I know how stubborn those Baggins folk can be.”

“Stubborn as all get out,” Sam agreed. He looked back at his beloved master and continued his gentle stroking as Frodo began to grow restless again. “And thank the Powers for that.”

“Indeed.”

Every evening, Aragorn looked at Frodo’s wound and the three hobbits gathered around anxiously, hopes flaring for better news, then fading as the king frowned deeper each time. They sometimes held each other as one or the other or all three of them cried, but their hopes never died completely.

“While there’s life, there’s hope,” Merry took to saying each time they stopped and Sam would echo it each time they rose to go on. It comforted them to say it, to know that their friend hadn’t slipped away from them.

Aragorn’s energy seemed indefatigable. None of the hobbits ever saw him sleep, but he was always fresh and ready to go when the others would have much preferred to sleep longer if their mission hadn’t been so urgent. They began to wonder if he only stopped for them and apologized for holding him and Frodo back.

“Not at all, my friends,” the king assured them. “Do not trouble yourselves. I need these periods of rest also. I know Frodo is very glad to have you all with him and I am very proud of you as well that you are so devoted to him and have held to him so faithfully.”

The hobbits glowed with happiness, almost forgetting their fatigue and worry.

By the fifth day, Frodo slipped in and out of delirium, moaning, even crying out at times. Sam did not understand much of what he said, but Frodo seemed to be addressing the Black Riders, fighting imaginary or perhaps real battles in his mind with the servants of the Enemy. Either way, Sam grieved that were places his master went that he could not follow and could only watch helplessly as Frodo suffered. Sometimes he thrashed around in his ravings and Aragorn would hold him closer and murmur to him in Elvish which would calm Frodo for a while. After those episodes started, the three hobbits added, “Hold on, Frodo,” to their sayings to him as they kissed his brow at each stop. They would plead for him to do that each time they stopped and each time they started. They didn’t know whether he heard them or not, but they continued to say it, hoping that he did.

Frodo’s breathing became increasingly loud and labored as though his lungs had greater and greater trouble drawing enough breath. His eyes were almost always open, but never seemed to focus on anything, staring out in terror for what was happening to him. His friends looked worriedly at Aragorn who looked increasingly grim. “His body is changing,” he told them. “He’ll turn into a wraith if we can’t get him to Rivendell in time.”

This frightened the hobbits greatly. Sam leaned down and said quietly directly into Frodo’s ear, “Hold on, dear, just hold on.”

“Please,” said Merry and Pippin together as they brushed their lips against their cousin’s brow.

They all slept as close to Frodo as they could, falling asleep mouthing, “While there’s life, there’s hope.”

* * *

Aragorn looked out into the night. He almost wished Arwen would come to them again, but he knew she would be much safer in Rivendell. Still he hoped someone would come to their rescue, to Frodo’s rescue. Even Rivendell would not be a refuge if Frodo fell into darkness. He closed his eyes for a moment, then felt a gentle brush against his cheek. He opened his eyes and his wife smiled into them.

“Arwen! I was just wish....” He switched to Sindarin. “You should not have come. Riders surround us!”

Arwen smiled wider at her husband. “Why else do you think I have come?” she replied in the same. “Do I not have the same right to protect our son as you do?” She looked at Frodo asleep in Sam’s arms. “And isn’t the best way to protect our son is to protect the Ring-bearer? If I fall, only I and our child will. If Frodo falls, we all do.”

The elven princess and queen of Gondor knelt and placed a hand on the stricken hobbit’s shoulder. Frodo’s eyes flew open. For days, he had been barely aware of the world around him, all ghostly pale it had become, like him, like what he was becoming, a world of nothing but pain, but Arwen’s light pierced the veil around him. She smiled at him lovingly and raised his chin to her. He felt so cold. As his eyes slowly focused on her, she fervently sent the same mental prayer she had the first time. Let what grace that has been given to me pass to him. Let him live.

“Hello, Frodo,” she said warmly in Sindarin.

The Ring-bearer’s breath came loud and ragged as though each one was almost too much of an effort for him. He barely had the strength to lift his eyes to her, but he still tried to bow his head to her. “My queen,” he rasped in a wisp of a whisper.

Arwen looked at his bound wounds and up at her husband.

“I prepared a poultice of athelas beforehand and applied it to where he had been wounded before,” Aragorn said. “When the blade pierced him, some of the mix was pushed into the wound. It’s helped, but I did not count on him also being wounded in the leg.”

Arwen nodded and watched as her husband gently released Frodo from Sam’s arms.

Sam came awake then and sprang to his feet. “Oh, my queen, I am that glad to see you!” the gardener said with a deep bow.

“Hello, Sam,” Arwen greeted him in Westorn as warmly as she had greeted Frodo. “I’m sorry to have woke you, but I’ve come to take Frodo to my father.”

“Oh, thank the Powers!”

Merry and Pippin woke as well, adding their heartfelt cheers and reverent bows. Arwen smiled and greeted them, then mounted her horse and pulled Frodo close to her. The hobbit looked down at his friends. His eyes were slightly more clear and he seemed more aware. He stared at Sam who looked back with tears in his eyes. Merry and Pippin looked at him, blinking back their own tears.

“I wish you were coming with me,” Frodo whispered.

“You’ll be all right, me dear,” Sam said as bravely and confidently as he could, hoping his master could not see his tears or hear the fear in his voice.

Arwen looked up at her husband and they shared a long look. “Ride hard,” he said. “Im meleth le.”

“As I love you,” she replied in kind, then turned her horse sharply and galloped away.

“Sam!” Frodo cried.

Sam took a few steps forward, but Aragorn placed an iron grip on his shoulder, almost hard enough to hurt. Sam thought it was not only to keep him from following, but to keep Aragorn himself from doing so. Merry held Pippin back the same way and for the same reasons.

“Let them go,” Aragorn said softly and Sam didn’t think the king was talking just to him. “She’s already carrying two.”

The four of them stared at the rapidly dwindling forms of queen and hobbit as four Riders gave swift pursuit. They continued to stare for a long moment after they had disappeared.

“You’ll be all right,” Sam murmured to himself and Aragorn repeated the same in the Elven tongue.

* * *

One of the Riders swung close to Arwen’s horse and grabbed Frodo’s ankle and began to pull him away.

“No!” Arwen cried. “You shall not claim him!”

With one hand she clutched her charge tighter against her, while in the other, she jerked the reins and steered Asfaloth away, nearly swerving into another approaching Rider. She angled away and coaxed her horse to even greater speed, but the Rider kept pace and his hold on Frodo.

Frodo felt the pull of the Ring to the wraiths and himself weaken. “It’s no use,” he murmured. “We can’t escape them.”

He would have surrendered had Arwen not kept such a tight hold on him. “We can and we will,” she said. “Hold on, dearest friend, just hold on.”

Asfaloth put on a final burst of speed before plunging into the water. The Riders swiftly followed, but the water was already rising as Arwen spoke rapidly. “Nin o Chithaeglir, lasto beth daer. Rimmo nin Bruinen, dan in Ulair! Nin o Chithaeglir, lasto beth daer. Rimmo nin Bruinen, dan in Ulair!”

Three of the pursing Nazgul realized their danger and began to move back to the shore. Only the lead one held on longer.

“You will be mine,” he hissed.

“Go back!” Frodo cried to him and to the other Riders in a burst of strength. “Go back to Mordor and follow me no more!”

“Come back!” the Riders cried. “Come back! To Mordor we will take you!”

“Go back,” Frodo whispered.

“The Ring! The Ring!”

“You shall have neither the Ring nor me!” Frodo called, then leaned limp against Arwen, utterly spent.

The river came then and washed away the Riders. The grip on Frodo’s ankle was no more and he felt the horrible pull of the Ring ease as it was again frustrated in its attempts to return to its maker. But Frodo felt himself nearly drowning as well in its black depths, though Arwen kept them well enough from the torrent.

She looked at her beleaguered charge and made her way the rest of the way across the river. “Stay with me, Frodo,” she said as they galloped to Rivendell. Frodo had no strength to respond. He lost consciousness long before they reached there. Arwen looked down at him often, softly speaking, sending him strength.

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A/N: Frodo’s verbal joust with the Nazgul is, of course, from the master himself.  "Naught you could do..." is from Queen Galadriel.