Chapter 5 - All You Need Do is Listen

At Ferdinand’s cry, Aragorn grasped his side and pushed himself to his knees to try to move to a place where he could see the valley. "What do you see?" he gasped. The pain was barely tolerable, but as long as he held his hand against his wound, he could move. But getting to his feet was quite beyond him.

"Oh dear," Ferdinand cried again, his eyes never leaving the scene below. "Three men, foreign-looking, if you take my meaning. Not dressed at all like Northern Big Folk. Oh! Oh, yes, yes, very good! That will do nicely!"

Aragorn struggled to pull his feet underneath him and stand, but it was hopeless; he was simply too weak. "What? What happened?"

Ferdinand jumped up, waving his arms about as though brandishing an invisible sword. "Oh very good! That’s the way! There’s one down, at any rate. That black-haired Ranger is a fierce fighter, isn’t he? Look at that sword flash! Hair streaming, fire in his eyes even from here... he quite looks like some sort of Elven warrior! Maybe he is an elf! And the blonde chap as well... oh, capital! Very good! Oh but... oh dear! Oh no! Look out behind you! Oh no!"

"What? What has happened? Tell me what you see!"

"The blonde... oh no, he has him by the neck... Oh! Oh, you poor man! Oh, he can’t breathe! Oh, surely he can’t breathe ... oh dear ... oh my, oh my .... wait! Oh, I don’t think I can look..."

"Ferdinand Took, you will open your eyes and tell me what is happening!" Aragorn growled, but when the hobbit merely continued breathlessly muttering oh no’s and oh dears, Aragorn gave up and tried again to stand. He pulled one foot under him and then the other and shuffled forward but a scant two paces before spots broke out before his eyes and his legs gave out. He fell back to his knees, bracing one arm on the ground to keep from falling on his face as he clutched his side with the other. Ferdinand still hopped from foot to foot, uttering cries of dismay and telling Aragorn absolutely nothing of help. If the situation had not been so dire, Aragorn might have laughed at the absurdity of it all. "Ferdinand, please!" he begged.

Ferdinand suddenly leapt straight into the air. "Oh! Oh! He stabbed him in the stomach!"

"Who stabbed who in the stomach?"

"Your blonde friend! Oh my! Oh dear!"

"Denlad was stabbed?"

"No, no, no," Ferdinand cried impatiently. "Denlad did the stabbing." He stared hard, suddenly silent, then finally nodded as if in satisfaction. "Yes, yes. That appears to have done it for him. Very good. All appears well in hand now, thank goodness. Two brigands look to be dead and the one Denlad stabbed is on the ground, close to it from all appearances. It looks as though they are questioning him. Oh, that cheeky rascal! I believe he just spat at your Denlad. After he was the one who attacked. I ask you! It’s just too much." He turned to glance briefly at Aragorn. "Here now! Get you back to bed! Or at least to your bedroll, seeing as we hardly have proper furniture out here in the wilds. But back to it, proper or not, young man! Could you not satisfy yourself with what I told you? No, I suppose not. Have to see for yourself, don’t you, like all stubborn Men, Elves, Hobbits and Dwarves. Can’t be satisfied with being told the facts, no. Have to leap to your feet and injure yourself further in the name of satisfying your curiousity when all you had to do was listen to what I told you."

Aragorn opened his mouth to protest, then shut it without saying anything. There was little point. He meekly submitted to Ferdinand’s fussing and, hauling himself shakily back to his feet, let the small hobbit help him back to his spot by the rock. He waved off Ferdinand’s demand that he lay flat, however. Seeing how hard it was to get to a seated position, he preferred to stay that way for the time being. It seemed to hurt the same, either way, and he would as soon be sitting upright when Denlad and Halbarad arrived; otherwise he was sure to raise such alarm in the two that he would never be able to convince them that his death was hardly at hand.

"Let me see that wound now." Like earlier, he peeled back the bandage just enough to check. This time Aragorn noticed that Ferdinand had somehow applied the bandage so that the entire thing need not be unwound to expose the wound, but only a few layers in front. He made a note to have Ferdinand show him how he managed such a clever arrangement. Ferdinand peered closely at the stitches, clucking a bit like a hen fussing over her chicks. "Good, the stitches are still intact. Does it hurt, much?"

Aragorn nodded. "But nothing I cannot bear."

"Hmm, I am not sure whether to believe you. I can all but hear your teeth grinding against one another."

Aragorn breathed a laugh. He supposed he did have his jaw clenched rather tightly. He forced himself to relax. "Your ears are too sharp."

"And my eyes still sharper, and they see a face white and drawn with pain, so best you stop all this playacting at being brave."

"You would rather have me screaming and writhing, then?"

"The screaming I can do without. Up to you whether you want to writhe or not. It seems to me that would be quite painful, though, so best you be still, I think."

"I think, too," Aragorn agreed, and did his best to do just that. Simply breathing was bad enough. Writhing was out of the question.

Ferdinand replaced the bandage, then gave him a fatherly pat on the shoulder, an incongruous gesture coming from such a small person and one so much younger than himself. Then Ferdinand laid a hand on his forehead. "Still no fever. Very good, that, but are you sure you do not want to lie down? You look so pale, and there are great dark smudges under your eyes." He chuckled. "Your friends will think I punched you."

Aragorn laughed, then winced. "Pray do not make me laugh, Master Took."

"Then be a good patient and lay down, if you’re not interested in eating."

"I might try a bit of that bacon," Aragorn offered.

"Ah, there’s the spirit!" Ferdinand cried, then bustled to the fire and stirred it up. He poked at the contents of the skillet and fished out a strip of bacon and put it on a plate. He eyed it dubiously. "It does not seem enough. Are you sure you don’t want some sausage as well?"

"Just the bacon, thank you."

Ferdinand shrugged and handed him the plate, putting it on his lap as he had the one last night. "There you are. Perhaps it will whet your appetite for more. You need to eat."

Aragorn bit off a small bite and chewed. It did taste good, but he knew it was best to wait to see how it settled on his stomach before trying more.

Ferdinand came back with a cup. "Water. You’ll need it, eating all that salty bacon. And I don’t think you should drink any more of that ginger tea. I sipped it and it’s horrid. I don’t know how you stood it."

"I don’t normally make it quite so strong," Aragorn said as he took the cup of water with a grateful nod. He was terribly thirsty, now that he thought on it. Blood loss, he supposed.

"Well, your friends will no doubt soon be here. They will surely be hungry after such a fight." Aragorn thought he seemed quite calm, considering he had just watched several men kill and be killed. Hobbits do seem resilient, he thought as he watched Ferdinand pull food–more sausage and more potatoes and an onion–from his seemingly bottomless pack. He quickly peeled and sliced the vegetables with small but capable hands. Was there nothing this hobbit was not skilled at, Aragorn wondered as he worked at his bacon.

"Do your friends like sausages and potatoes?" Ferdinand suddenly asked.

"In general, we eat anything that doesn’t eat us first."

Ferdinand let out a merry laugh. "Oh, I do like you, young man. Such a wit you possess!"

"’Tis not wit so much as the truth," Aragorn smiled, then leaned his head back against the rock and closed his eyes. The sun’s touch warmed his face. It felt good.

"What do Rangers like you eat?" Ferdinand asked.

"Whatever we can hunt up, usually. Deer, if there’s several of us together, or if I’m alone, sometimes a brace of coneys. A pheasant. Whatever I catch in a snare. Handful of mushrooms and maybe some wild onions. Whatever berries might be ripe. I have been desperate enough at times to try snake."

"Snake! Horrid!"

"It is not as bad as you might think. But it’s poor pickings... not much meat on a snake."

"Well, if I never have to eat snake, I’ll consider my life very well blessed indeed."

"I have had worse."

"Such as?"

He opened his eyes and took a sip of water. "One time, in my travels, I was invited to a nobleman’s banquet. He served me breaded eyeballs. Sheep, I believe, but I was never quite certain."*

"Oh, now, surely not! Who would eat that?"

"People in the lands east of Khand, apparently."

"East of... you’ve been that far?"

"Hmm," Aragorn said, setting aside the cup and closing his eyes again. "They call me Strider for good reason."

"I should say so," Ferdinand said rather faintly. Aragorn opened one eye a slit and chuckled at the dumbfounded expression on the hobbit’s face. You are not the only one full of surprises, Master Took. The things I could tell you...

But of course, he could not. It would hardly do to start bragging about his royal lineage, not with the chances of his ever becoming king seeming to hover somewhere below his chances of taking flight by flapping his arms and cawing like a crow. Although sometimes it would be nice, not to have secrets. Not to have to play at subterfuge and evasion. To actually have people look at him and not scurry away in fear and suspicion. He started to sigh, but remembered his wound just in time and instead let the sun’s warmth entice his mind away from such dark paths. Within moments, most conscious thought dribbled away as sleep crept over his mind. He listened to the small sounds Ferdinand made, and his mind, even half asleep, categorized the myriad insect and bird noises... that was a wren... and there was a cricket... and that little rustling is likely a field mouse....

A louder rustle roused him a bit.

"I expect that must be your friends drawing nigh," Ferdinand said.

Aragorn nodded but was too tired to open his eyes. Halbarad would just have to find him asleep... sorry to let Halbarad think him dead... waking was just too much bother...

But then Ferdinand let out a loud squawk. Aragorn’s eyes flew open and he was lunging for his sword even before fully realizing a Southron was emerging from the bushes. His fist closed around the hilt, but before he could grasp it, a heavy boot smashed down on his hand.

_________

*Full tale told in "An Unexpected Feast"