Title: Echo of the Gladden Fields

Author: Lily Baggins

Category: Romance, Hurt/Comfort, First-Time, Interspecies, Angst

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Aragorn/Frodo

Warning: None, Graphic Sex

Disclaimer: Disclaimers. The usual. I make no money off of this and do not own these characters, much to my chagrin. They belong to Tolkien Enterprises and New Line Productions and I only give them interesting---and usually unpleasant---ways to spend their time.

Story Notes: Archived at lilybaggins.sinfree.net

Summary: While traveling the Anduin, Frodo comes face to face with Gollum's devious ways.

The eyes were back again, shining at the hobbit from the banks of the Great River, Anduin. Frodo could see them---indeed he could not help but seek them out---as he sat between Aragorn and Sam in the graceful Elven canoe. Behind Frodo, the ranger rowed, his keen eyes also watching on all sides. Above, the sky was pitch black, studded with a few twinkling stars. The darkness had just settled, and the ranger had insisted the Fellowship journey until well past nightfall. In the bow of the boat Sam lay curled on his side deep in sleep, oblivious to the night birds and chirping insects.

As for himself, Frodo found it nearly impossible to sleep. The Ring felt suddenly heavy, and the pale, luminous eyes that occasionally fixed on him from the darkness caused him to shudder. He knew what creature those eyes belonged to---they had been following him for days. Gollum. For more than the hundredth time Frodo wished Bilbo had taken the wretched creature's life, despite Gandalf's chastisement in the mines of Moria regarding such thoughts.

Gandalf. Thinking of him, Frodo sighed. How he missed the old wizard. And Bilbo. And scrambled eggs, and a soft bed, and pound cake with strawberries and fresh cream . . . better not to think such thoughts, he told himself, bowing his head down. A chill wind passed overhead and Frodo shuddered.

At once, the rowing momentarily paused, and Frodo felt strong arms gently fasten another cloak about his shoulders. No words were spoken, but the large hands rubbed the hobbit's back briskly for a moment before taking up the oars again.

The touch did make Frodo feel better, he conceded. Nothing could make the loss of Gandalf easier to bear, but Frodo felt the same level of safety and trust with Aragorn. And given the way his heart seemed to speed up at the man's touch lately, the hobbit admitted to himself that he might indeed feel something else as well. Probably something more than he ought to feel for the tall ranger, Frodo thought ruefully.

Behind him, as if he could read the hobbit's thoughts, Aragorn spoke softly in Frodo's ear.

"Why don't you take some rest, little one?" the ranger asked him. "Lie down and sleep if you can. We'll not make camp for two or three hours yet."

"I will try in a bit, Aragorn," Frodo told him, although he figured the attempt would be futile. He was uneasy, and a cold wind was coming down off the river's edge. Lifting his head, he narrowed his wide blue eyes and scanned the bank for the pale globes he knew were watching from afar.

After seeing no sign of the eyes for at least a half-hour, Frodo felt himself growing weary and his head started to droop a bit. He yawned and sighed, wrapping the cloaks more tightly about himself.

"Frodo," Aragorn whispered, "why don't you lie down? I doubt you will find any sleep sitting up that way. And you do need sleep, little one, while you can get it. You've looked rather weary of late."

"You are right, Aragorn," the hobbit replied, feeling suddenly very sleepy. He carefully eased himself down to curl up in the bottom of the boat, his body just lightly touching Sam on one side and Aragorn on the other. After feeling his chest to make certain the Ring was still secure, Frodo tucked his hands up under his chin and sighed. He shivered a bit and was not surprised when he felt Aragorn's hands tucking the cloaks more tightly about him for warmth.

"Rest easy, little one," came the ranger's voice. And Frodo, lulled by the buoyancy of the water and the gentle lapping of the waves, soon drifted off to sleep.

Aragorn looked at the two hobbits curled up in the boat and smiled. He could see Sam's crop of sandy curls and one side of Frodo's pale face in the moonlight. A delicate pointed ear peeked through the Ring-bearer's mass of hair. Aragorn's glance lingered on Frodo and the smile was replaced by a look of longing. When Frodo sighed and wiggled a bit in his sleep, Aragorn tore his glance away before his thoughts turned to more than the rowing at hand.

About two hours later, Aragorn finally spotted an easily accessible area of river bank ideal for setting up camp. "Boromir, Legolas!" he called as loudly as he dared over the water as he pointed to the site. Acknowledging him, the others rowed swiftly for the shore.

In Aragorn's boat, Frodo and Sam were still dead to the world. Reaching the riverbank, the ranger climbed out and dragged the bow of the canoe partly onto the shore, then gathered his and the hobbits' gear. He hated to wake Frodo and Sam: they had suffered so much lately and needed the sleep. With a thoughtful look at Sam and the smallest pat to Frodo's thigh, Aragorn decided to give them a few more minutes rest. He got the packs and strode off to help Boromir and Legolas, who had just beached their boats as well.

Frodo, for once, was having pleasant dreams that he was snugly ensconced back in the huge bed in Rivendell. He sighed in his sleep, curling his body up closer for warmth. Almost in response, a hand tucked his cloaks more tightly about him, and the hobbit relaxed, giving back in to sleep. Beside him, Sam was softly snoring.

The hand that had tucked the cloak around Frodo now grasped the side of the boat, and two luminous eyes peered down at the small beings within. Gollum hissed under his breath as he looked at them, peacefully asleep, and then the evil creature slid back into the water.

Unnoticed by the other members of the company in the darkness of the riverbank, the canoe began to slide ever-so-slowly back down into the water. And if Aragorn or the others had seen it,

they would still have failed to notice, hidden on the other side, the ropy black arm guiding it.

Merry and Pippin stepped out of their canoe, stretching their legs gingerly from the long journey. "Might we have a fire tonight?" the youngest hobbit asked hopefully.

"Nay, it's too dangerous," Boromir answered. "I doubt we'll be able to have a fire anytime soon, as much as I'd like to feel the heat and have a nice cooked meal. Which is why I imagine you

asked?" he said with a chuckle.

They nodded, and Pippin's face looked very disappointed. He sighed, looking around the camp for the others. "Where are Frodo and Sam?"

"Asleep in the boat," Aragorn answered. "Why don't you go wake them up? It's probably not safe for them to be there long, and it's time we all had something to eat and discussed our plans for tomorrow."

Pippin nodded, looking around for the canoe. But he only saw two nearby---the third was not beside them. "Aragorn?" the hobbit began slowly, his voice soft. Turning his gaze, he looked out at the open water---and his heart leaped in fear as he spotted a long gray shape slowly making its way from the edge of the riverbank.

"Aragorn!" the young hobbit shouted, heedless of the dangers of any enemies about hearing him. His friends might be in trouble, and that was all he gave thought to. "Aragorn, their canoe has floated off!"

Immediately the ranger's head snapped up from unloading a bedroll and he stared in open-faced shock at the Elven boat moving toward the center of the river. Moving too rapidly to be carried by the water alone.

And then, with one smooth movement, the boat capsized.

Frodo woke with a start as Anduin's icy water enveloped his entire body. Still in that twilight land between sleep and wakefulness, he tried to scream but only succeeded in pulling in a lungful of water. His eyes snapped open as he gasped and all he could see was murky darkness. Nearby, he heard splashing in the water, but in his panicked state could not register what it was.

As he became aware of the fact that he was sinking in the Anduin, Frodo began thrashing and managed to make it to the surface to gulp a mouthful of air. A wildly flying hand struck the Elven boat and he clutched at it madly, choking as he came fully awake and aware of his surroundings.

Then he realized who must have gone with him into the water. "SAM!" Frodo yelled as loudly as he could, but there was no answer. Frodo was about to call again when something snatched at his legs. He kicked madly, trying to draw Sting, when he felt the intense pain of teeth sinking into the fleshy part of his hand. He gasped, losing his grip, and was pulled down into the cold water.

Suddenly two lamplike eyes came into Frodo's line of vision. Gollum. Cold skinny hands began clawing at the hobbit, grasping at his body. The Ring. Yes, that was what Gollum was after. Frodo fought the prying hands off as best he could, managing once or twice to get his head above water and take in a mouthful of air.

As if from a great distance he heard voices, but when he tried to scream, Gollum's hands went around his throat and began shaking, then forced Frodo back down under the water.

"Where issss it?" the creature hissed, his eyes bulging. "Give the Precious to Smeagol or die like other hobbitses. Other Bagginsses on boats. Smeagol's a sneak. He drownded them, yes he did. We hates Bagginses. Hates them forever!"

Hearing this, Frodo's eyes widened and he started flailing more wildly, trying to hit Gollum with his fists. He choked and tried to rise, but Frodo was not a strong swimmer, especially wearing several layers of clothing, and Sting and his mithril coat weighed him down.

"Give it to us! Where iss it?" the creature screamed, digging through one of Frodo's pockets. Suddenly a glow permeated the water and Gollum wailed hideously, tearing his hands away from

the hobbit. Even as he did so, Frodo managed to grasp the Ring and slip it on, vanishing from sight.

Suddenly the water turned even darker and murkier . . . a product of the Ring and Frodo's own fading consciousness. He tried to rise, arms flailing, and at that moment felt something sharp go through his forearm. The pain caught him off guard and he breathed in deeply, sinking to the river bottom as water filled his lungs. Above, Gollum shrieked, and then all was quiet.

Just before blackness claimed him, Frodo saw a glowing object falling gently with him in the water. Not recognizing it in his jumbled thoughts, but realizing he needed it, the hobbit grabbed

at it and clutched it tightly. His last conscious thought came unbidden: the realization that he was going to die just as his parents had. And then he knew no more.

Aragorn wasted no time calling to the others. "Legolas! Boromir!" he called even as he ran to the water's edge. The other two swiftly followed, Legolas with his bow, leaving a stunned Merry, Pippin, and Gimli on the shore. They could hear the sounds of splashing near the boat and a hobbit's faint cry.

Luckily the boat had not gone out terribly far and the water, although well over a man's head, was not exceedingly deep. The men immediately took off swimming, but Legolas approached cautiously, knocking an arrow on his bow. Suddenly, two luminous eyes turned toward them from the darkness. Legolas let an arrow fly and the eyes disappeared into the blackness of the night,

although the elf could see no sign that his arrow had hit its target.

Aragorn and Boromir ignored the icy water as they dived under the boat. There was a slight unexplainable glow under the water, and the ranger could just make out the shape of a small person at the bottom of the river, moving gently with the current. Heading toward it, he tucked the body under one arm and rose to the surface.

It was Sam. Aragorn couldn't see what sort of shape the hobbit was in, but he was relieved to find a thready pulse. Boromir came up to the surface to take a breath and Aragorn passed the unconscious and deathly cold hobbit off to him.

"Boromir, take Sam!" the ranger shouted. "Take him to the shore, quickly!" With that Aragorn, joined by Legolas, dived back under to search for Frodo. The ranger knew only one thing: He would not stop searching until he found Frodo. And it had nothing to do with the Ring.

Meanwhile, Legolas skirted along the river bottom looking for the source of the light. His keen Elven eyes finally found it: the Phial of Galadriel. It looked to be resting on the sand, but was not moving very quickly with the current. Of Frodo there was no sign. Knowing he was running out of air and would soon have to resurface, the elf grabbed for the Phial---and encountered something he could not see wrapped around it. Puzzled, Legolas felt around a bit more and realized small invisible fingers clutched the star-glass. Realizing it was Frodo wearing the Ring, the elf wasted no time grabbing him and floating up.

"I've got Frodo and the Ring!" he called loudly as he surfaced, feeling for Frodo's head to make sure he kept it above water. Aragorn soon resurfaced, his face a momentary mask of relief. It

was replaced quickly with concern.

"Here, I will take him, Legolas---you bring the boat in," the ranger said, strangely reluctant to entrust Frodo to anyone else. He grabbed for the hobbit and stopped suddenly, realizing he did not see Frodo in the elf's arms.

"He is wearing the Ring," the elf explained hastily, seeing the ranger's apprehensive look. "I would not have found him but for this." He held up Galadriel's star-glass.

Aragorn nodded and feeling for Frodo's chest, tucked him under one arm and made his way to the shore as fast as he could go.

As he neared the riverbank, the ranger could hear Boromir yelling for Merry and Pippin to start a fire and boil some water. The man was pressing on Sam's back to expel water from the hobbit's lungs. Sam's face was gray, and his lips and the tips of his ears were tinged with blue, but he was alive.

Legolas caught up to them and Aragorn motioned for him to help Boromir with Sam. Suddenly, Sam brought up some of the water from his lungs and coughed, his breathing becoming raspy.

"Keep working on him, Boromir," the ranger told him. "We need to make sure we get every bit of water we can out of them." He knew the complications that could set in from near-drowning: shock, lung damage, brain damage, and possibly pneumonia even days later.

Aragorn deposited the invisible Frodo on the grassy bank next to Sam, a bit rougher than he had intended to in his panic. Feeling his way down Frodo's face, he rested his fingers against the cold neck and was relieved beyond comprehension to find a weak pulse. Frantically, the ranger felt around and finally managed to find Frodo's right hand, which was minus the Ring. Grasping for the left hand, Aragorn located the thick gold band around one of the small cold fingers. With a yank, he tugged the Ring off and instantly Frodo became visible. Aragorn's breath caught at the sight.

Long dark lashes lay on deathly pale waxen cheeks, and like Sam, Frodo's lips, eyelids, and the points of his ears had a slightly bluish tinge that did not bode well. The hobbit's coat sleeve was stained with blood, and his hand appeared to be bleeding slightly as well. Frodo's dark mass of curly hair was wet and stringy and dotted here and there with mud from the river bottom. For a split second, the ranger longed to lean down and kiss the cold rosebud mouth, making it come warm and alive under his. But he knew that was not possible. For the hobbit was not breathing.

Trying to control his emotions, Aragorn slipped the Ring in Frodo's pocket as he flipped the hobbit none-too-gently onto his stomach. Leaning forward, the ranger placed his hands on Frodo's back and pressed down many times, pumping the water from his lungs. The ranger was seriously afraid he would injure the hobbit or crack a rib with his strength.

"Come, little one," Aragorn urged, "stay with me. Let it go. " Suddenly frothy water poured out of Frodo's mouth and the hobbit coughed, taking in irregular gasps of air.

Legolas's voice cut through the silence.

"Boromir, Sam has stopped breathing," the elf said frantically. "Turn him over, quickly!" Together, Legolas and Boromir flipped Sam over onto his back. Tilting the hobbit's chin back, Legolas cleared an airway and lowered his mouth to Sam's, breathing air into his lungs. After two tries, a ragged intake of breath could be heard and all three rescuers sighed in relief. Behind the small group huddled over the stricken hobbits, Gimli, Merry, and Pippin watched silently, their eyes afraid. Small tears flowed down Pippin's cheeks.

Aragorn kept pressing on the back of his own small charge, willing Frodo to expel all the water from his lungs and start breathing properly. Frodo began to wheeze painfully and the ranger felt like a torturer, but continued his treatment. "Easy, Frodo," he murmured to the listless hobbit. "It will be over soon."

A minute later, Frodo choked and then vomited a large amount of water onto the riverbank. He moaned softly as his eyelids fluttered and his breathing resumed a normal rhythm, although it was still much too labored for Aragorn's liking.

The ranger sighed and carefully rolled Frodo onto his side in case he vomited again. He ran his hands down the hobbit's body as he checked for other injuries, relieved to see that other than the wounds he'd noted earlier, there seemed to be none.

Rapidly he yanked Frodo's coat off---not the easiest task since it was saturated with water---and rolled Frodo's shirt sleeve up to bare his arm, grimacing. Legolas's arrow had apparently pierced it all the way through. Given the small size of Frodo's forearm, the wound was rather large, but not life-threatening provided no infection set in. Aragorn looked at Merry and Pippin as he applied pressure to stop the bleeding.

"Merry, put some hot water on to boil and bring me my pack," Aragorn called to him, then turned to Boromir and Legolas, who had just finished pumping the last of the water from Sam's lungs. "How is Sam? Any injuries?"

Boromir shook his head. "Nay, none that we can find. He seems to be in one piece, but is still very cold. I'm going to get these wet things off of him." He looked over at Frodo's forearm, his eyes narrowing. "What happened, Aragorn? It looks as if he took an arrow."

Legolas looked grim. "Aye, he did. I was aiming for Gollum and Frodo was in front of him, invisible. I did not see him," he finished sadly.

"Don't blame yourself, Legolas," Aragorn told him. "You could not see Frodo, and probably saved his life from Gollum. He's very lucky he only got shot in the arm and not worse." The ranger shook his head. "If this is anybody's fault, it is mine. I should have known better than to leave them . . ."

"No, Aragorn," Legolas said gently, "you were watching out for their best interests at all times. You could not have foreseen this."

The ranger nodded grimly, but the pain in the gray-blue eyes told Legolas that he didn't take it to heart.

Merry returned with the hot water and Aragorn's pack, and the ranger found his athelas and steeped it. With a gentle cloth he cleaned Frodo's arm, pouring warm athelas water into the wound and binding it up as tightly as he dared. It would be extremely painful for the hobbit for a long while, of that Aragorn was certain. That done, he cleaned the bite wound Frodo had sustained on his hand, praying that Gollum's teeth didn't cause an infection. Elbereth only knew where those teeth had been, the ranger thought as he gently wrapped the hand in cloth, marveling

at its small size next to his own.

Merry's voice cut through his concentration. "Aragorn," the hobbit asked, looking at his two friends lying on the rocky ground, "when do you think they'll wake up?"

Aragorn shook his head. "I don't know, Merry. Soon, we shall hope." He could not give voice to his fear that one or both of them might not wake up at all.

Aragorn turned to Boromir and Legolas. "The fire is going well now. Let's move them closer to it while we finish getting their wet clothing off. And let us make sure they do not have any injuries we have missed." He gently lifted Frodo while Boromir took Sam, and both of them laid the hobbits down close to the campfire Merry and Pippin had built. Frodo and Sam were still

breathing raggedly and shivering, although their faces did not look quite so blue as they had earlier.

Aragorn began to quickly undo Frodo's sodden clothes, shaking his head at the umpteen layers of garments the hobbit seemed to possess. Frodo's coat had already been removed, but that still left two cloaks he had been bundled up in, followed by his brown vest containing the Ring, suspenders, and his white shirt. Taking the Ring out of Frodo's vest, Aragorn restrung it on its

silver chain about the hobbit's neck.

Once the ranger had removed these items, he still had the shimmering mithril coat to contend with---and a light leather shirt under that. Aragorn had a bit of trouble getting the mithril coat off of Frodo and had to lift the hobbit partly off the ground to get it over his head. Once done, Gimli happily took charge of looking after it. Nearby, Boromir had nearly finished with Sam's clothing.

Aragorn then unfastened Sting from Frodo's hip and began to unbutton the hobbit's breeches, which were secured by four buttons in front. Strange clothing the hobbits wore, Aragorn thought to himself.

Listening to Frodo's labored breathing, Aragorn stopped for a moment to turn Frodo onto his side. He patted the hobbit's back several times to facilitate further clearing of Frodo's lungs and airway, but nothing came up. Aragorn sighed and caressed the pale cheek gently, rolling Frodo back over.

Aragorn slid Frodo's breeches off and paused a moment before removing his underpants---curious linen-like shorts which were actually very soft to the touch. Like the rest of the hobbit's clothing, they were wet, so Aragorn went ahead and slipped them off, averting his eyes as best he could from Frodo's flaccid member resting softly in a nest of dark curly hair. It would not do at all, Aragorn thought, to ogle his small patient when he was vulnerable and unconscious. He had seen Frodo unclothed before---privacy on a long journey such as this was a rare thing---but that didn't make resisting lustful urges any easier.

Taking soft cloths from his pack, he handed one to Boromir and the two men proceeded to rub the hobbits briskly from head to toe to warm them up and improve circulation. Aragorn first began

drying Frodo's hair, knowing that it would chill the hobbit as long as it was wet, then gently dabbed at the delicate pointed ears and face. He quickly moved down the whole of Frodo's body, rubbing briskly, businesslike and stern, making sure he had not overlooked any injuries.

And Aragorn ruefully considered it a good sign---and managed to keep his face perfectly straight---when Frodo's penis rose a bit in response to the ranger's rubbing motions.

He quickly moved down to Frodo's legs and feet. As he finished and grabbed for cloaks and a bedroll to wrap the shivering hobbit in, Frodo whimpered and his eyelids fluttered, then he

coughed slightly. Aragorn turned Frodo toward him on his side as the coughing spasms grew worse. The ranger lightly thumped Frodo's back with one hand as he spoke soothing words to the

hobbit in Elvish.

After a few minutes, the coughing subsided a bit and Frodo moaned, his breathing still ragged.

"Frodo, wake up," the ranger implored, cupping the hobbit's face with his hands and willing him to consciousness. "Come, little one," Aragorn said in a sterner voice. "Wake up now . . . open your eyes. Can you hear me, Frodo?"

Slowly the eyelids lifted to reveal the bright blue eyes, which stared straight ahead, seemingly unseeing.

"Frodo?" Aragorn called again, concerned. He patted Frodo's cheek briskly and the hobbit sighed.

"Strider?" Frodo asked in a raspy voice. "Where . . . am I? What . . . happened?" He coughed a bit with the effort of speaking and shivered with the cold.

"Yes, it's me, Frodo," the ranger told him, draping a bedroll over the hobbit for warmth. He laid a large hand on Frodo's cheek and brushed the still-damp hair back from a pointed ear. Aragorn's mouth was slightly turned up in what was for him extreme joy at seeing the hobbit awake. "You nearly drowned, Frodo . . . Gollum attacked you."

Suddenly the hobbit's eyes grew hugely wide and a look of panic came over his face. He tried to reach up, wincing at the pain in his injured arm. Aragorn knew what he was seeking and lightly

jostled the chain around Frodo's neck.

"You still have the Ring," the ranger told him. "It's there about your neck." The blue eyes simply stared at him and then relaxed, half closing, before they opened up again.

"How do you feel?" the ranger asked him as Merry and Pippin came over to stand by the two, tears in their eyes at seeing Frodo awake.

"Hurts," Frodo whispered wearily, coughing.

"What hurts?" the ranger asked. "Your arm? You were wounded by an arrow, Frodo. It will heal, but will be painful for a time, I'm afraid."

"Mmm..." the hobbit murmured. "Chest and . . . ears . . . hurt."

Aragorn understood. Frodo probably still had river water running around in his inner ears that would take awhile to come out. He was dismayed to hear that Frodo's chest hurt, although it was probably to be expected given the circumstances.

"I'm sorry, little one . . . I'll see what I can do about easing your pain," Aragorn said as he rubbed Frodo's shoulder briskly through the bedroll to ease his shivering. Although with his limited stock of supplies, the ranger wasn't certain what more he could do.

Next to them, Boromir was wrapping Sam up in his bedroll, and seeing Sam's curly golden hair, Frodo's eyes widened and he started breathing more quickly. "S . . sam?" he asked, his voice

wavering, his eyes moving back to Aragorn. "Aragorn, is Sam . . . ?" he trailed off, his lower lip quivering with fear, tears welling up in his eyes.

"No, little one, Sam is alive. He's still unconscious, but he doesn't seem to have any permanent injuries. We're watching him carefully and I'm sure he will wake up soon. Now, you rest."

Frodo nodded, opening his mouth to speak, but he was still weak from his near-drowning and blood loss form his arrow wound. He sighed and closed his eyes in exhaustion, giving back in to

sleep. Aragorn turned to Merry and Pippin, handing them Frodo's and Sam's wet clothes to lay out by the fire to dry. Boromir looked at the ranger.

"Maybe we should wrap them up together, so they may share body heat and warm up faster?" Boromir asked him.

Aragorn shook his head. "For now, neither has enough body heat to help the other. It would be better if we held them for awhile near the fire and shared a bedroll with them later." The man of

Gondor nodded, wrapping his charge warmly.

Aragorn gently bundled Frodo tightly in two dry cloaks and two bedrolls, covering his head so that only his face peeked out. The ranger caressed the soft cheek gently, lingering a moment over the lips, then looked to see how Boromir was faring with Sam. As he glanced up, Aragorn saw Legolas watching him, a kind but knowing expression on his fair face. The ranger quickly looked away as he prepared to lift Frodo onto his lap.

"Aragorn?" Legolas's voice called to him. "Aragorn, you should eat something. The other hobbits have already begun to cook a meal."

"I will in a while, Legolas."

"Aragorn, I know how stubborn you can be, and you also, Boromir," the elf went on. "Gimli and I can look after Frodo and Sam while you two go have something to eat. If only for a few minutes."

Boromir nodded, but Aragorn was extremely reluctant to give Frodo up to someone else. Looking at Legolas's concerned face, however, and not wanting to appear ungrateful, he gave in.

"Very well," the ranger told him, "but you two shall need to hold them so they do not lay on the cold ground." Picking his well-wrapped burden up, Aragorn carried Frodo over to Legolas and set him in the elf's arms. Legolas took the hobbit and held him snugly, resting Frodo's cloak-covered head against his shoulder. Gimli did the same with Sam.

Merry and Pippin had just finished preparing sausage and other sundries from their supplies, and the food smelled good to those who had not had a hot meal in many long days. Aragorn found it

slightly tasteless, however. He could not really concentrate on eating---his eyes kept straying to the wrapped figure in Legolas's arms. The elf and Gimli sat near one another, holding their charges and engaging in light conversation. Aragorn had finished his meal and was about to reclaim Frodo when Gimli called out.

"I think Sam is waking up!" he called gruffly as he felt the hobbit shift slightly in his arms. Setting their tins of food down, Aragorn and the others ran to Gimli's side. Sure enough, Sam's eyelids fluttered and he opened them slightly. The ranger spoke softly to him.

"Sam, you're all right. Sam, wake up," he called gently.

"Aye, Sam, we want you to open your eyes now," Gimli told him.

Sam coughed slightly and moved his lips a bit. "Smells . . . good," was all he said, then closed his eyes and went back to sleep. The rest of the company looked at each other, smiling.

"I'd say that's a good sign," the ranger told them. "Hopefully when he wakes we can persuade him to drink a bit. He and Frodo need to take some water and food, but we can ill afford to have them choke on it." He sighed, then straightened and looked at the others. "I'd say it's high time we all got some rest. We must rise early and figure out our travel plans. We shall have to see how Frodo and Sam are faring in the morning before we can decide when to move on."

"Aye," said Boromir, "I can't see taking these two sick things on the boats---that seems folly to me."

The ranger nodded. They needed to move on---it was dangerous to stay in any one place for too long---but he was not willing to risk the hobbits' health to do so if they were still feeble come the morrow.

Going to Legolas, Aragorn peered down at Frodo's face. "Go and have a rest, Legolas," Aragorn told him as he felt Frodo's forehead to check his temperature. "I'll take Frodo. Gimli is taking the first watch, and Merry and Pippin have already volunteered to look after Sam."

Legolas nodded and gave up his charge to Aragorn's waiting arms. Deciding he should try to get some sleep, the ranger spread a bedroll on the ground and lay Frodo down on it. He unwrapped Frodo from his wad of coverings so the hobbit lay wrapped in only a dry human-sized cloak.

Although Frodo's skin was warmer to the touch than it had been earlier, Aragorn was taking no chances of the hobbit becoming chilled. Lying down on his side next to Frodo, Aragorn turned

Frodo to face him and drew him close so the hobbit's head rested against the man's warm chest. The ranger knew it was important to keep a person's head warm to prevent heat from escaping, so he wrapped the bedrolls snugly about the two of them up to his own neck, so that Frodo's head was completely covered. An observer would not have been able to see the hobbit wrapped up

with Aragorn.

A few feet away by the fire, Merry and Pippin had curled up with Sam tucked tightly between them, sharing their body heat.

The ranger sighed as he felt Frodo's curly hair---still a tiny bit damp---tickling his chest where his shirt lay open. Pulling the hobbit into an even closer embrace, Aragorn closed his eyes and simply enjoyed the feel of the smaller body pressed against his own. And he admitted to himself, as he felt his member become slightly aroused, that his protective instincts toward Frodo did not stem solely from his duty as the leader of the Company.

Two hours later, Frodo slowly opened his eyes and blinked several times. He was nestled against something warm and breathing---a person. A person who smelled like Aragorn. Squirming a bit, he drew his head back and saw that it was Aragorn. Frodo was lying on his side under a bedroll, pressed up against the ranger with Aragorn's arms about him. For a moment, the hobbit was a bit nervous and embarrassed, but he still felt rather sick and he was so warm, he wasn't about to move.

He started to drift back to sleep, but a coughing fit took him instead. As if in response, Aragorn rubbed his back and then moved the covers aside. Frodo shivered as the cool wind hit his skin. With a concerned look in his blue-gray eyes, the ranger gently disentangled himself from the hobbit, feeling Frodo's forehead and cheeks. He was gratified to see that Frodo's skin no longer felt so chilled.

"I'll be right back, little one," the ranger told him and slid out of the bedroll. Getting up, the ranger stopped to check on Sam, who was still sleeping quietly between Merry and Pippin, and found that Sam's skin was returning to normal, also.

After checking to make sure Gimli was still on watch and Legolas after that, Aragorn grabbed a water flask and took it back to his bedroll. Boromir had volunteered to take the last watch so that Aragorn might continue to look after Frodo and Sam. Slipping back inside the bedroll next to Frodo, he raised the hobbit's head and pressed the flask to his lips. Frodo drank thirstily.

"Thank you," Frodo whispered, his voice still raspy. He found that breathing was a bit painful and his wounded arm and hand stung abominably. Aragorn seemed to notice and brushed the hobbit's hair back as he looked down on him, noting the still-pale face and the weary blue eyes.

"Aragorn, how is . . . Sam?" Frodo whispered.

"He woke up while you were sleeping, little one. I just checked on him and he's doing much better---sound asleep right now, as you should be."

So saying, he pulled the hobbit back in close to him so they lay nestled together once more. "Lay your head against me . . . that's it." Aragorn once again tucked the bedroll over Frodo's head to keep out the chill wind. Lying in the ranger's arms seemed to lessen Frodo's pain, and he soon fell back to sleep.

Aragorn dozed off and on throughout the night. Frodo was not a very quiet sleeper, the ranger realized, as he felt the hobbit squirming against him periodically, breathing much more raggedly than normal. He also coughed a bit in his sleep, which concerned Aragorn, but he had no medicine for it without searching the woods for herbs, which the ranger planned to do at daybreak. One time the ranger had definitely felt their groins grinding together as Frodo shifted, and he prayed Frodo didn't wake up and feel the ranger's erection pushing firmly into his stomach.

Uneasily, Aragorn tried to sleep for a while, but his side was aching from lying on it for so long. Still clasping Frodo, Aragorn turned onto his back so that the hobbit lay on top of him. The ranger had begun to doze lightly when Frodo whimpered and moaned in his sleep. Worried that Frodo might be in pain, Aragorn lifted the bedroll to see the hobbit's face. Frodo's eyes were squeezed shut, then suddenly, his face relaxed and became peaceful, the rosebud lips parting slightly in a sigh.

At the same moment Aragorn felt a small trickle of warm wetness against his stomach, and his eyes opened wide in surprise. Hoping Frodo didn't wake up, the ranger slowly reached his hand between both of their bodies. Frodo's cloak had fallen open and the hobbit was lying atop him naked. Trying not to brush Frodo's penis with his hand, Aragorn felt the sticky substance and

realized exactly what had happened---Frodo had come in his sleep.

His heart beating quickly, Aragorn grabbed a cloth from his pack within arm's length and surreptitiously wiped his stomach clean. He had a feeling such a thing would embarrass the hobbit

terribly, even though it likely had nothing to do with their current situation. Frodo could have been dreaming about any number of things, Aragorn knew. But the ranger was still caught with an unexplainable urge to slip his hands under Frodo's cloak and slide them over the nude body beneath it.

As if in response, his erection sprung full-force again and Aragorn decided he needed to get up before this got too painful. He had definite plans to go off into the woods and take care of it at the first opportunity---he did, after all, need to wander and look for a plant bark to ease the hobbits' chest pain.

Above, Aragorn could see the moon slowly disappearing as the sky lightened a bit. Carefully, the ranger turned over and eased Frodo onto his back, his hands briefly rubbing the hobbit's chest for a moment as Frodo coughed. Raising the edge of the covers a bit for privacy, the ranger did allow himself to lean down and plant just the tiniest kiss on the hobbit's forehead.

With that, the ranger patted Frodo's cheek and rose, tucking the hobbit back warmly in his bedrolls. Going to check on Sam, Aragorn saw that Merry and Pippin were just waking up and Sam was still sound asleep between them. Happily, Sam's body temperature felt normal, if a bit on the warm side. Aragorn prayed the hobbit was not developing a fever or worse. Leaning down, he brushed the hair away from Sam's sun-bronzed face and the hobbit's eyes snapped open.

"Strider?" he asked in a weak voice.

"Yes, Sam, how do you feel?" Aragorn asked him. "Are you hungry?"

At the mention of food, Sam's face blanched. "No . . . chest feels . . . achy." The hobbit's eyes widened. "Strider . . . Mr. . . . Frodo?" he asked, working to get the words out, his voice worried as he realized he hadn't seen his friend.

"He's okay, Sam," the ranger answered quickly. "He woke before you did. He'll be fine, really."

Reaching for a water flask, Aragorn held it to the hobbit's mouth and made him drink. As soon as he was finished, Sam fell back into a fitful sleep.

The other members of the Company were all stirring, except for Boromir, who had taken the last watch and was already wide awake, and Legolas, who seemed to never sleep. Aragorn walked up to Boromir and knelt beside him. "Any trouble? Any sign of Gollum?" he asked in a low voice.

Boromir shook his head. "Nothing. He's apparently decided to skulk off and lie low for a bit."

The ranger nodded, throwing a glance at Frodo, who was still unmoving in the bedroll. "Gollum will be back, of that you can be sure," he said grimly.

"Well, Aragorn," the man of Gondor asked him, "what are our plans? Do we move on or stay?"

Aragorn looked thoughtful for a moment. "I do not want to move on until Frodo and Sam are more recovered from their ordeal," he said, "but my heart tells me it is not wise to linger here. They have both awoken, so I say we journey as far as we can today and stop if we must. But first, I want to tend to the hobbits and make them as comfortable as we can before we set out."

Boromir nodded, agreeing with the plan. Aragorn directed Merry and Pippin to boil some water, and then, saying he would be back soon, the ranger strode off into the woods.

Meanwhile Frodo lay half-awake in his bedroll, willing himself to rise, but feeling like he just wanted to sink back into sleep. He had stayed warm throughout the night, thanks to Aragorn's kindness, but had not slept soundly, disturbed by dreams and the ranger's closeness. And he was a bit surprised to find he was only wearing a man-sized cloak wrapped about him and nothing else but the Ring---it had not occurred to him to check when he woke earlier. He hoped Aragorn had not been offended, and that he had not said anything in his sleep to embarrass himself.

He coughed, turning over on his side and rubbing his eyes, grimacing as he brushed his injured arm against the hard ground. Nearby, he could see Merry and Pippin cooking breakfast and Sam still asleep.

Lifting his wrapped hand where Gollum had bitten it the night before, Frodo stared at it, remembering Gollum's words during the attack: "Give the Precious to Smeagol or die like other

hobbitses. Other Bagginsses on boats. Smeagol's a sneak. He drownded them, yes he did. We hates Bagginses. Hates them forever!"

It was too far-fetched, Frodo thought, to imagine that the wretched creature, no matter how evil, had traveled to the Shire and killed Drogo and Primula Baggins. Surely he was making it up. But Frodo also couldn't help remembering the intense fear he had felt at Gandalf's words when the old wizard had discovered the truth behind the One Ring.

"Baggins would pay for it. He hated Bilbo and cursed his name. What is more, he knew where he came from."

"Why didn't he come to the Shire?" asked Frodo.

"Ah," said Gandalf, "now we come to it. I think Gollum tried to."

So it could be true, Frodo thought to himself, and likely was. Gollum had murdered Frodo's parents. After all, Gollum had spent years looking for the Shire, and the creature was cunning. He

had probably skulked to the Brandywine River and saw them boating---perhaps had heard the name of "Baggins" spoken. Or stalked every Baggins he could and just happened to start with Frodo's parents. There was no way to know exactly what had happened. Frodo imagined that if Gollum had been able to make it further inside the Shire before turning aside, he would probably have murdered him as well---and anyone else Bilbo cared about.

Although he had lost his parents many years earlier, the pain would never totally leave Frodo, and he found his eyes welling up with tears. Sniffing, he wiped his eyes and hoped that he would get a chance to extract revenge on the wretched creature. If Gandalf had known of these events, would he not have agreed that Bilbo should have killed Gollum when he had the chance? Frodo thought so. Nestling back down in the bedroll, he closed his eyes, trying to forget how the small gold band around his neck had changed his life before he even knew it existed.

A half-hour later, Aragorn returned with a type of cherry bark that he said would make a healing tea for Frodo and Sam.

Merry looked skeptical. "Are you sure, Strider? This stuff won't poison them, will it?"

Aragorn smiled at the hobbit and raised his eyebrows. "Merry, I have been a ranger for many, many years and have treated hundreds of illnesses and battle injuries. I actually have not killed anyone yet with my remedies."

Merry grumbled and took the bark, steeping it in the hot water.

While it was boiling, Aragorn walked back to check on Frodo, who was lying curled up in his bedroll with his eyes closed, breathing loudly. Aragorn knelt down next to him and felt the hobbit's forehead, and Frodo slowly opened his eyes.

"Did you sleep well, little one? Pleasant dreams?" the ranger asked him, feeling just a bit wicked.

"I suppose so," Frodo answered around a yawn that turned into a cough. "I cannot remember them, actually." Which was a bit of a lie---Frodo recalled one particular dream involving Aragorn only too well. But he was not about to speak of it. "But I thank you, Aragorn, for your . . . kindness . . . last night. I hope I did not prove to be too much of an . . . inconvenience."

"Not at all, Frodo," the ranger told him. I would gladly hold you every night came the thought unbidden. "Now let me see that arm."

Gingerly, Frodo held his wounded arm out and the ranger unwrapped it, removing the poultice. Frodo bit his lip tightly as Aragorn washed it. Luckily, the wound showed no signs of infection, the ranger thought as he looked at it, his blue-gray eyes concerned, but it was still a ways from healing. Aragorn applied a new poultice to it and wrapped it up again. He could tell by Frodo's face how sore the arm must be, but the hobbit bore it stoically.

"Now the hand," the ranger ordered, unwrapping the small hand and examining the bite on it. Gollum had bitten Frodo quite deeply, and to Aragorn's dismay, the injury did not look good. The edges were bright red and the middle was a bit puffy. He pressed on it slightly and Frodo hissed in pain.

"I'm sorry, Frodo. I think I'd better put athelas on the hand, too---it's looking rather inflamed."

When he had finished with Frodo's injuries, the ranger called to Merry for the cherry bark healing tea. Holding it to Sam's lips, he made the hobbit drink it, even though Sam sputtered from the taste. Frodo watched from the same spot in his bedroll, grimacing at Sam's reaction. When Aragorn came toward Frodo with it, the hobbit shook his head, ignoring the pain in his chest and his ears.

"Really, Aragorn, my chest is feeling much . . ." he said weakly, but he could not finish as he began to cough. The ranger merely looked at him, raising an eyebrow, and handed him the cup

as he helped Frodo sit up.

"You will drink it, Master Baggins," the ranger told him with a tone of voice that brooked no nonsense. Drink it down now."

Wincing at the bitter taste, Frodo gulped it. It was indeed horrible, and he choked as he tried to get it down.

"Couldn't you have found a potion that tastes better, Aragorn?" Frodo asked him, coughing. "I believe this is worse than the aching chest."

"Most likely, little one, but it will do you good. At least you now admit that your chest does, indeed, hurt. And other parts of you, I'll warrant. How do your ears feel?"

"They've felt better." Frodo intentionally changed the subject. "What about our clothes---are they dry? If we are leaving soon, I for one have no wish to travel in the altogether."

Aragorn shook his head, trying not to picture Frodo traveling in the altogether. "They are still damp. But fear not---you won't need them lying in the boat, Frodo. You won't be exerting yourself today. Just wrap that cloak around you well and that will do." He tried to not to laugh at the hobbit's blushing face.

"I think I will put my clothes back on and wear them damp," Frodo said resolutely. He certainly had no wish to go about clad in only a cloak flapping in the breeze---among other things---in front of Aragorn.

"No, you won't, little one," the ranger told him, staring him down. "You'll catch your death of cold. If necessary, I will hide your clothes from you. Wear the cloak and you'll be amply covered." He patted Frodo's shoulder affectionately before moving off to consult with Boromir.

Frodo sighed, realizing the ranger was in no mood for an argument.

Frodo lay on his back in his bedroll, knowing he needed to rise but putting it off until the last possible moment. He closed his eyes and sighed, then opened them slowly as footsteps

approached. Merry with a plate of food.

"Here, Frodo," his cousin said, "you need to eat. Crispy bacon---one of your favorites. And a nice piece of lembas to go with it." Merry tried to sound cheerful and failed miserably.

Frodo frowned and sighed. "Really, Merry, I'm not hungry at all. Aragorn's brew has left a bad taste in my mouth. Just let me lie here like a dead thing until I have to get up." He yawned.

"Sorry, Frodo," the other hobbit began, sitting down next to the bedroll. "I can't do that---Aragorn will have my hide. He said you lost a good bit of blood with your arrow wound and the only way to get your strength back is to eat. `Get some food in him, Merry, I don't care if you have to tie him down,' were the exact words, I believe."

Frodo grimaced, not entirely certain Merry wouldn't carry out his threat, if childhood antics were any reminder. As if on cue, Aragorn's voice came from a few feet away where he was tending

to Sam.

"Merry is correct, little one," Aragorn told Frodo, smiling slightly. "I've been known to resort to desperate measures with stubborn hobbits, and some of my techniques of persuasion can be

most unpleasant."

"And what techniques do you employ that are pleasant?" Frodo asked him lightly, leaning up on his elbows in his bedroll. Frodo had meant it as a bit of sarcasm, but as soon as he said it, the hobbit realized it had come out all wrong. "Uh, I mean . . . well . . . you don't seem to have an array of pleasant, er, pleasant-tasting remedies, Aragorn." That had sounded very wrong, too, Frodo thought. Blushing furiously, he grabbed a lembas wafer and nibbled on it, looking at his lap and seriously thinking about slipping on the Ring and disappearing.

Merry laughed, but Frodo couldn't hear any sound coming from Aragorn. If he had looked, he would have seen an expression of extreme amusement on the ranger's face. Aragorn knew Frodo had asked the question innocently enough, but the hobbit's red cheeks were priceless. Aragorn thought of any number of responses to Frodo's question, but decided none of them were appropriate enough to give voice to. He opted for the safe route.

"Well, Frodo, not all of my remedies are painful or taste terrible. If I recall, you quite like the smell of athelas."

Frodo nodded, then began coughing as the dry lembas wafer stuck in his throat. He reached for the water from Merry and was grateful when Aragorn finished with Sam and walked across to the opposite side of the camp. In a moment Merry left also, leaving Frodo alone.

Leaning down, the hobbit examined his bandaged hand and arm. The bandages felt rather tight, even though Aragorn had only changed them that morning. Although he knew the ranger would

chastise him if he was watching, Frodo unwrapped his arm, hoping it wasn't more swollen than it had been earlier. He unwrapped the bite wound too, gingerly removing the athelas poultices. The

hand looked the same---perhaps a bit worse. Frodo grimaced---there was nothing to be done for it. Replacing the poultices, he rewrapped the arm and hand a bit more loosely. He couldn't remember which wrapping had gone on which wound, however, and hoped it didn't really matter.

Tucking the remaining portion of his lembas wafer into his pack nearby, Frodo decided to attempt standing. He felt weak and a bit dizzy, his arm and hand burned like fire, his throat was raw, and his head and chest still ached badly, but he made it onto his hands and knees and barely managed to make it up on his feet.

He was better off than Sam, however, Frodo reminded himself---his friend appeared to be getting sicker. Sam was a bit feverish and his cough was growing worse, and Aragorn feared an infection was starting in his lungs. The ranger didn't say much about it, but when Frodo had questioned him again that morning, the ranger looked grim. And the thought of something happening to Sam caused Frodo great anguish.

Frodo coughed and crawled over to Sam's side, laying his good hand across the other hobbit's forehead.

"Mr. Frodo?" came the weak voice. Sam's eyes were closed and his face was slightly flushed.

"I'm here, Sam." Frodo picked up a water canteen and held it to Sam's lips, but the other hobbit shook his head. "Are you . . . well . . . Mr. Frodo? I promised naught would . . ."

"Sshh, don't talk," Frodo soothed. "We'll be leaving in a few minutes, and you need your strength for the boat ride ahead. I'm fine. I'll be all right. Just concentrate on getting well, Sam."

Sam tried to protest, but gave in to his tiredness and closed his eyes with a sigh. Frodo looked at him with a sad smile, gently brushing the hair back from Sam's forehead.

Struggling back to his feet, Frodo walked shakily toward the edge of camp to answer a call of nature. On the way back, he washed his uninjured hand at the river's edge. As he knelt and felt the cool water flowing over his flesh, the hobbit was reminded again of the ordeal of the day before and Gollum's black words.

"Time to depart, everyone," Aragorn called, breaking through Frodo's reverie. "Back to the boats." Coming to get Sam and with a glance at Frodo, he lifted Sam and carried him off. Aragorn

hoped he was not making a dire mistake by journeying on. Settling Sam, he packed him in the middle of the boat---so that he could keep an eye on him as they rowed---among plenty of warm

covers.

Frodo got up and followed slowly, trying to stifle his coughs. He was still rather irritated that his clothing was damp and he was forced to wear naught but a cloak. It was a man-sized cloak, so it wrapped around him well and dragged the ground, but still, he had nothing on underneath and the cool breeze made him feel rather vulnerable. Although he could have worn his mithril mail underneath, he couldn't bear the feel of it next to his skin without the soft leather shirt for cushioning. And the shirt was still damp.

As Frodo neared the boat, Aragorn turned from loading the bedrolls, Frodo's pack and clothing, and Sting.

"Frodo! You should not have walked so far---I was coming to get you. Here, let me help you in."

He bent to lift the hobbit into the boat, but shook his head, laughing, as he realized there was nothing on Frodo to get hold of. The hobbit had wrapped his cloak tightly about him and no hands were even visible. The ranger didn't think hobbits possessed such modesty---they seemed rather open about nudity among themselves. Perhaps Frodo was only modest around others not of hobbit-kind. Or perhaps, Aragorn thought ruefully as his groin swelled in response to thinking about Frodo's pale nude body under the cloak, Frodo had seen Aragorn's hungry eyes and was only trying to protect himself.

Trying to think of other things, the ranger bent lower and picked Frodo up around his waist, sitting him down in the boat's bow. As he did, he unintentionally jarred Frodo's wounded arm and the hobbit gasped with the pain, bowing his head and grimacing with his eyes squeezed shut.

"I'm sorry, little one," the ranger told him, kneeling down to stare at Frodo's pale face, longing to brush the rosebud lips with his fingers. Instead, Aragorn brushed the hobbit's rather matted hair back from his face and caressed a smooth cheek until Frodo's face relaxed.

"It's all right," Frodo whispered, coughing slightly. "No harm done---it feels better now. Just . . . sore."

"It will be sore for a time," the ranger agreed. "But let me know if the pain gets worse. If it does, I'll want to look at it again and change the athelas poultice."

Frodo nodded. He didn't mention that the pain had steadily grown worse since the injury had occurred.

With a last lingering touch on Frodo's shoulder, Aragorn moved to the back of the boat, giving it a shove and jumping in the stern. The ranger grabbed for his paddles and started off. Legolas and Boromir manned the other two boats with Merry, Pippin, and Gimli.

The day was gray and overcast, and the companions were silent as they went along. Since it was daylight, Frodo had no fear of Gollum's luminous eyes watching him, and that gave him some

sense of relief. Behind him, he could feel and hear Sam snoring in his sleep and squirming a bit. Although Frodo realized it was extremely illogical, he wished he was sitting in the middle of

the boat close to Aragorn so that he might feel the ranger's comforting nearness.

As if he'd read Frodo's thoughts, the hobbit heard Aragorn's voice from behind him.

"Frodo, you should lie down and rest for a bit," the ranger told him. Truth be told, the ranger was praying Frodo didn't fall prey to the same sickness Sam seemed to be enduring. "Trust me, if we stop at all, I shall carry you out of the boat."

Frodo nodded, coughing. "I believe I will, Aragorn," he answered, "but only for a little while. Wake me if you need any help."

So saying, Frodo clutched his cloak about his arms and lay down on his side, curling up with his back to Sam and the ranger. He thought about grabbing a blanket near Sam to ward off the chill,

but decided he was too tired to move. Trying to ignore the aching in his limbs, he sighed, and in a few minutes was lulled into a restless sleep.

Aragorn looked down at the two curled up figures in the boat, cursing himself once again for his carelessness of the day before. The day before, both hobbits had been healthy---as least as healthy as any of them on this arduous journey. But now, both were ailing---and it was his fault. And Gollum's. He wished he could get his hands on the miserable creature and put an end to his treachery.

Sam stirred in his sleep, and Aragorn reached down to feel the hobbit's skin. It was about the same---rather warm. Grimacing, the ranger sat up straight and resumed his paddling. Meanwhile,

Sam shivered, snuggling closer to the sleeping Frodo next to him, and his small hands reached out to grasp Frodo's cloak for comfort. In response to the pulling, the front edge of the cloak slipped back and then slid off of Frodo's hip, unnoticed, to lie in soft folds behind him.

Aragorn was watching the sky and the riverbanks as he rowed, his keen eyes searching for possible enemies. Out of habit, he glanced down at his hobbit charges---and swallowed hard at the sight of Frodo. The ranger couldn't see the hobbit's face, but below his waist, the cloak had slipped back and now one perfectly proportioned, pale creamy bare buttock peeked out.

Aragorn felt his cock harden uncomfortably in his breeches. He rowed harder and averted his eyes, but they kept straying to the tender flesh, imagining what it would be like to squeeze . . . what it would feel like to lose himself in the hobbit's snug, moist depths. In his sleep, Frodo coughed and squirmed, drawing his knees up tighter and wiggling his lower half.

Elbereth, Aragorn thought, this was too distracting. Perhaps, the ranger calculated, since he could not reach Frodo without upsetting the boat, he could use his paddle to cover Frodo back up.

Resolved, Aragorn lifted his paddle out of the water and shook it dry, then aimed it at the folds of the cloak, hoping this worked and he didn't drop the paddle on Sam, or worse, poke Frodo with it and wake him up.

He had the paddle aimed perfectly when he looked around at the canoe drawing up near and saw Legolas watching him, his eyebrows raised and an amused expression on his face.

"I am not even going to ask you what you are doing, Aragorn," the elf said. "You human- and hobbit- folk and your strange ways."

"Frodo is shivering, Legolas. I was merely trying to cover him up, but did not want to upset the boat."

"Of course, Aragorn," the elf replied, humoring the ranger. Behind him, Gimli was asleep and snoring loudly, oblivious to their conversation. "We have a spare blanket here in our canoe. Let me draw near and cover both of them."

Bringing his boat up alongside, Legolas noticed the peek of bare hobbit flesh tempting the ranger.

"Ah, Aragorn, I see why you were so flustered a moment ago," the elf remarked. Shaking a blanket out, Legolas quickly covered Frodo and Sam, then looked at the ranger with kind eyes. "You should tell him, you know. Humans and hobbits are not like elves, with thousands of years to waste . . . not even the Dunedain. Life is fleeting for you and no moment should be wasted."

The ranger shook his head, not even trying to pretend he didn't understand what Legolas was referring to. He had known the elf far too long for that.

"It's not right, Legolas. I swore to protect him," the ranger said. "He already has a heavy enough burden to bear---the Ring. And I have my duties, and Arwen . . . I do love her, Legolas."

"Mortal and immortal beings alike can love many, Aragorn, and there is no shame in it. Arwen would want you to find comfort where you could. Elves are not subject to the same petty

jealousies as humans."

"You don't know that."

"Actually, I do, Aragorn. Arwen told me."

"When? She knows about my feelings for Frodo? How . . . how could she?"

"In Rivendell. It was quite obvious to both of us, Aragorn, that you and Frodo had formed quite a bond between you. Arwen did not fault you for it. If anything, I think it makes the years without seeing you go by much more quickly for her, knowing you are finding some form of comfort on your harsh journeys. She knows the cares that weigh heavily upon you."

Aragorn merely looked at Legolas, quite shocked, and yet, knowing and loving Arwen, it made perfect sense.

Legolas cast one last glance at Frodo sleeping in the boat before picking his oars back up. "He is quite an irresistible creature, isn't he?" Legolas elf mused, then looked up to meet Aragorn's eyes.

"Make sure you let Frodo know of your desires, Aragorn," the elf advised. "He is a treasure perhaps too easily lost."

The ranger nodded, taking Legolas's words into consideration, before he resumed his paddling.

Two hours later, the hobbits in Aragorn's boat were still sleeping. Frodo was in a fitful state, moaning softly in what appeared to be bad dreams, and once or twice the ranger considered waking him up. Sam was sleeping silently, his breathing rough and ragged. Every so often he would cough in his sleep---a deep, wet-sounding cough that did not bode well. Aragorn was worried for Sam---very worried---and he decided to make camp at the next available opportunity.

A cry from Legolas split the silence.

"Spies!" the elf shouted, pointing toward the sky.

Aragorn quickly looked up and saw a dark cloud of birds heading their way. "Everybody down!" he shouted, covering himself with his Elven cloak for camouflage. The members of the company who were not asleep hunched in their boats as the birds swept by in a flurry of cawking and black wings.

The shouts and flutter of wings had woken Frodo, who sat up groggily, rubbing his eyes with his uninjured arm. He felt quite abominable and hoped they would plan to make camp soon.

"Aragorn, what was it?" he asked wearily, looking up at the now-clear sky. "What were they?"

"Spies of the Enemy," the ranger replied, noting with concern the hobbit's pale face and the dark circles under his eyes. "Gollum's ill work, I suspect. Several nights before he attacked you I tried to track and capture him, but to no avail. He would be useful, but he is too quick and knows these waters much too well, and I cannot even get near him."

Frodo thought for a moment. "That is because he only wants what I possess," the hobbit said. "He yearns for the Ring---there is no way he can resist its power. He's too cunning to let you near. But he would come to me."

"What are you proposing, Frodo? That we use you to draw the creature to us? No, that is out of the question."

"It makes perfect sense, Aragorn," Frodo insisted, coughing a bit. "I can go off alone, with the Ring, and lure him to me. I will have Sting. I can hold him until you come." Truth to tell, Frodo wanted to see Gollum captured and deprived of his freedom. He wished they could end Gollum's life---and Frodo couldn't help but wonder at himself for thinking such thoughts. It seemed, he

thought ruefully, that Gandalf's advice had been little heeded.

"No, little one," the ranger answered. "Have you seen yourself lately? You might could fend him off in good health, but not in the state you are in now. You look terrible---as soon as we make

camp I want to have a look at you."

"I'm fine. Really, Aragorn, I think it's a perfectly good . . "

"The answer is no, Frodo," the ranger said roughly, wondering at the hobbit's stubbornness. "It is too dangerous."

"He could be useful to us."

"Indeed he might. But it's too risky." Aragorn shook his head, not even able to contemplate the possibility of exposing Frodo to such danger---or to think of Gollum getting his hands on the

Ring.

Frodo sighed. "Very well." He slumped back down in the boat's bow, cradling his arm, and watched the scenery go by. He felt miserable.

As a spot of suitable riverbank appeared, Aragorn called to the others to make camp. They moored the boats, and immediately Boromir helped Frodo out and Aragorn carried Sam to the shore. The men were taking no chances, even in daylight.

Merry and Pippin gathered firewood to start a fire, for it was decided that the benefits of a fire would far outweigh the current risks. Aragorn, to Frodo's dismay, heated up more boiling water for his cherry bark tea, and the smell it gave off was quite pungent.

Once on dry land, Frodo felt a great tiredness settle over him and he sat down on the ground without even bothering to roll out his bedroll, his head drooping. His chest still ached, but no

worse than before, so he wasn't certain why he felt so bad. Perhaps his arm? His arm and hand were aching and burning worse than ever, and groping them, he was quite certain the swelling had gotten worse.

Nearby, Aragorn, with Boromir's help, was checking on Sam before he took on the difficult task of corralling Frodo. Sam felt hot and dry, and he seemed to be breathing more raggedly than before. Frodo watched the two of them, weary, then looked around at the rest of the camp. Merry and Pippin were cooking up dinner, often casting scared glances at Sam, while Gimli unloaded more gear from the boats. Legolas, as usual, was nowhere to be seen---probably up in a tree scouting the area. For an instant, Frodo wished he were a tall elf who could easily climb trees and escape from this heart-wrenching scene.

"His breathing is worse," Aragorn said grimly to Boromir. The ranger shook his head. "I was afraid of this---it appears an infection has settled in his lungs. We must keep him warm and keep his fever down, and make certain we give him doses of tea at regular intervals."

Frodo swallowed hard. "Will he . . . die?" he asked in a small whisper.

The ranger looked up at Frodo's pale face, noting the cheeks just slightly flushed as with fever, and his eyes softened. "I don't think so, little one. I will do the best I can for him. Now why don't you rest for a bit until we're through here?" He turned back to the sick hobbit, picking up the cherry bark tea and raising Sam's shoulders as the hobbit sipped it.

The sight of it all was almost too much for Frodo to bear and he bowed his head, looking at the ground. Sam sick . . . possibly dying . . . the quest before them still, and the miserable Gollum tracking them. How many more would die before it was over? Coughing, Frodo realized he could fall as sick as Sam and die also---leaving someone else in the company to carry the burden of the Ring. To have their loved ones taken away from them one by one . . . it would probably be Aragorn, he thought. But Aragorn would then become corrupted by the Ring, as Boromir would. Suddenly it was too much, to think about it all, and the hobbit's eyes welled up with unshed tears. He felt achy and feverish and knew he was thinking in circles.

All at once, Frodo felt a sudden, horrible feeling of dread wash over him. Turning around, he looked in the distance and spied a great black shape on the horizon . . . what looked like a great winged creature coming from the South.

"Aragorn!" Frodo called, feeling his breath come in gasps with fear as he clutched at the Ring. Something propelled Frodo, some great fear he could not name, and without thinking, he grabbed

Sting and stumbled to his feet, making for a thick copse of trees.

The ranger looked to see Frodo swaying as he closed the gap to the trees and rose to stop the hobbit. But as he did, Aragorn too saw the winged shape in the distance. Wasting no time, he called to the others and picked Sam up, running as fast as he could to the area where Frodo had disappeared. Gently laying Sam in the grass, Aragorn ran back out to help Legolas, praying that

Frodo was safe and had not put on the Ring.

Outside the camp, Legolas stood with his bow knocked, watching the approaching winged shape calmly. Aragorn and Boromir drew their swords and stood ready. As the black thing neared, the elf let an arrow fly and the creature shrieked, dropping from the sky.

Sheathing his sword, Aragorn ran back for Sam and shouted for Frodo, but there was no answer. The ranger settled Sam back among his bedrolls and called to Legolas, his face grim.

"Aragorn, where is Frodo?" the elf asked, looking around.

"He ran into the trees when the black creature came. I'm going to find him," the ranger answered. "Get Boromir to stay with Sam, then search on the other side of camp, in case he circled around." With that, Aragorn set off on foot into the area where Frodo had disappeared.

The ranger didn't have to look far. He had walked only a short while when he saw a small still figure sitting huddled against a tree, its head bowed on its knees. If he hadn't been a ranger, Aragorn would have passed him right by, so well Frodo blended into the scenery.

"Little one, what are you doing still out here?" the ranger asked in a gentle voice. "The creature is gone now---Legolas has slain it."

"Just thinking." The voice was weary with despair.

"Indeed," Aragorn said knowingly, walking around to face the hobbit. "Frodo, come back with me. It is cold and it's not safe for you to be about by yourself when you are hardly recovered from your ordeal. Gollum still prowls, I am certain." He eyed the Ring-bearer with concern as Frodo lifted his head from his knees and sighed.

Frodo's face was grimy with a pale sheen of sweat and tear-tracks marked his cheeks. The downcast blue eyes were glazed-looking and the face was still flushed---too flushed. Concerned, Aragorn knelt next to the hobbit and felt Frodo's forehead and neck. Frodo whimpered slightly at his touch.

"You have a fever, Frodo . . . but your coughing hasn't gotten any worse," the ranger said, puzzled. Gently, he reached under Frodo's cloak and pulled the hobbit's injured arm out, noticing

Frodo's hiss of pain as he did so. As Aragorn had suspected, the arm was quite swollen---and the palm of his hand seemed to be double its normal size. It was hard to ascertain with the bandages, but Aragorn feared infection had set in. Sucking in his breath, the ranger sighed and gently put the limb back down. He reached up and brushed Frodo's matted hair back from his brow.

"Come with me back to camp now, Frodo," Aragorn insisted firmly. "Your arm needs taking care of. It is foolish to wander around like this when you're obviously ill."

Frodo didn't answer right away. He sniffed, blinking, then met Aragorn's eyes for the first time.

"Gollum," the hobbit stated, his voice rough with weariness. "You . . . said you were certain he was lurking about. Have you seen him?"

"No, but it is a given he is pursuing us. He cannot resist." Looking down, Aragorn saw that Frodo's good hand was tightly gripping Sting. The ranger's mouth set into a firm line.

"Frodo, I hope you are not entertaining carrying out the plan we discussed earlier. I know you want to capture Gollum---put an end to his evil---but right now, tonight, is not the time or the

place. You cannot take such a creature on alone in your condition, nor should you try to. We'll keep an eye out for him, and he will not bother you again as long as I am here."

The hobbit shook his head, coughing. "You don't understand, Aragorn. As long as I have the Ring, I will draw him to me. And I can't bear to look on him anymore. I have tried to have pity

on him, as Gandalf advised, but when I think of him now, I only wish that . . . I could slay him. And yet, is he so unlike me?"

"I understand, Frodo, but . . ."

"No, you don't," the hobbit cut him off, stumbling to his feet. His arm throbbed and his vision seemed slighly hazy, as if he was in a waking dream. "You do not understand at all . . . " He

knew he should tell Aragorn what Gollum had said during the attack, but he was too tired to go into the long explanation of it.

"Little, one, tell me---what concerns you so?" asked the ranger. "Perhaps I can be of help."

"Please, just leave me alone, Aragorn," Frodo insisted. "I can't bear to go back and see Sam . . . dying. Just like everyone else." His breath came out in a choked sob. The ranger didn't move, afraid the hobbit would flee. Instead, he reached his arms out.

"Frodo, be sensible and come here. You're sick and Sam needs you. Or must I drag you off as I did at The Prancing Pony?"

But Frodo wasn't listening. "No, I'm leaving . . . I don't need . . ." Wearily, he stood, backing away from Aragorn, his breath catching. "I don't . . . need . . . anyone, least of all you." Frodo wasn't sure what he was trying to say, but he didn't want to be around the ranger. To be around him was to feel too vulnerable----to care too much. Frodo stumbled backward, dropping Sting by accident. His eyes round with worry, the hobbit reached for the Ring around his neck to put it on and disappear.

But Aragorn was having none of it. Frodo felt two strong arms grab him around the waist, stopping him dead in his tracks. Before he knew what was happening, Frodo found himself lying

flat on his back, pinned to the ground by Aragorn's large hands on his upper arms. Frodo arched his back in an attempt to rise, and his cloak fell open, revealing the nude body beneath. The hobbit coughed and continued to struggle weakly, his good hand trying to push Aragorn away.

In response, the ranger lowered his body weight to lie atop Frodo, effectively stilling the hobbit. Through his foggy thinking, Frodo could feel the ranger's soft suede shirt rub against his bare stomach; could see the ranger's unshaven face only inches from his own as the man's eyes bore down into his own blue ones.

"Just what did you think you were trying to do, putting the Ring on?" the ranger demanded. "Have you learned nothing?"

"Let me go, Aragorn," Frodo begged, his voice breaking. He looked away, tears wetting his cheeks. "I don't need a nursemaid---I can take care of myself. Please, just leave me here." The last came out as a choked sob as the hobbit struggled once again.

Aragorn tried not to think about the quivering rosebud lips or the squirming nude body beneath his, but he could feel his member growing aroused at the contact. "No. Frodo, you're not well and you're not thinking clearly. Until then, you're coming back with me. Do you understand?"

"No, I mustn't go back," the hobbit insisted. "I have to take the Ring. I have to get rid of it---it has taken everything, don't you see? Everyone dear to me---my parents, Gandalf, nearly Bilbo, probably Sam . . . if I stay, it will take you, also."

Aragorn was surprised at Frodo's concern for him. Could Frodo possibly think him dear? He pondered it for a moment, but decided it was not the time to pursue the subject. And how could

the Ring have affected Frodo's parents? He meant to find out---but first he had to calm the feverish hobbit down. The ranger stared at the flushed face so close to his own---so close he could smell the sweet breath coming from Frodo and see the small drops of moisture on his lips. Aragorn's own hair fell into the hobbit's face, lightly brushing his cheek.

"Little one," the ranger began, "I think you underestimate me. I am not so easily corrupted, nor will I leave you. But I promise---if you continue to fight me, I will be forced to take those unpleasant measures we discussed this morning, even if it means tying you to a tree while I treat your wound. Do you understand me?"

Seeing he had no choice, Frodo conceded. "Y . . . yes," he stammered, a bit afraid, his chest heaving. His blue eyes wide, he stared at the lips so close to his own. The ranger gazed down

at him, his gray eyes intent, then leaned up a bit to take his weight off Frodo. The hobbit shifted his legs as he did, and a knee gently brushed the ranger's groin, causing him to nearly groan. Steeling himself, Aragorn put those thoughts out of his mind.

"So you will cooperate with me?" the ranger asked, moving one hand from Frodo's upper arm to cup his chin. At the hobbit's slight nod, Aragorn removed his other hand from Frodo's arm. As

he moved to sit up, the ranger placed his hand on Frodo's chest to pat it and unconsciously stroked downward in a gesture of comfort, moving down to the pale abdomen. Frodo whimpered and his eyes grew wide. Realizing what he was doing, Aragorn caught himself.

Looking down, Aragorn's eyes slowly swept the length of Frodo's body, lingering a bit too long in one certain spot, as if suddenly noticing the hobbit's state of undress. With a bitter expression that Frodo had rarely seen before, Aragorn roughly grabbed the edges of Frodo's cloak and drew them together to cover the hobbit.

"Come then, little one," Aragorn said, his voice strained. "Let's get back to camp."

Lifting Frodo to rest against his shoulder, his injured arm dangling free, Aragorn bent to retrieve Sting and then made his way back to the others.

Frodo lay curled up on his side on his bedroll, cradling his injured arm to his chest. The whole length of it ached terribly and he felt chilled and hot at the same time. He opened his eyes and groggily surveyed the scene before him. Aragorn was gathering something out of his pack and talking quietly with Legolas. Nearby, Sam was bundled up sleeping while Pippin gently wiped his brow with cool water. Too tired to watch any more, Frodo closed his eyes and shivered.

He opened them slowly when he felt hands tucking a blanket about his shoulders. Aragorn. Brushing Frodo's hair back from his ear, the ranger sat down next to him.

"Your clothes are finally dry, Frodo," Aragorn told him. "We'll get you dressed again soon and that will lessen your chill. But before we do that, I'd like to check your arm and hand."

Reaching out, the ranger gently opened Frodo's cloak and pried the injured limb out of the hobbit's grasp. Frodo whimpered as the ranger extended it, cradling the small hand between his own.

Looking at Frodo's pale face, Aragorn carefully unwrapped the hand, afraid of what he would see. When he hit a particularly tender spot, Frodo flinched and pulled away, his tiny fingers

curling up tight, and the ranger had to pry them open again to get the bandages off.

"I'm sorry, little one," the ranger said, gazing at the tired blue eyes. He looked at Frodo, concerned, and touched the hobbit's cheek. The fever seemed to be a bit higher than it had been earlier.

"I know you . . . have to do it, Aragorn. It just . . . hurts . . . I'll try to be more quiet," Frodo whispered as Aragorn pulled the last of the bandages away. The hobbit flinched as they stuck a bit to the wound. Aragorn frowned---he should have soaked the dressings off, but they were rather loose, anyway---Frodo must have unwrapped them at some point earlier that day. Wasting no time, Aragorn unwrapped the hobbit's arm as well, noting the slightly stained bandage.

Aragorn was dismayed at what he saw. It did not look good---not good at all. The entire palm of Frodo's hand was puffed up to double its normal size, and the area around the deep laceration

caused by Gollum's teeth was purplish. The arm didn't look much better. The skin around the arrow wound was swollen quite alarmingly and the puncture hole itself was seeping. Both were

streaked with red and hot to the touch---quite obviously infected.

He looked up and saw Frodo watching him, his rosebud lips trembling with pain and anxiety. Feeling a moment of intense longing to crush the hobbit to him, Aragorn did his best to hide his worry. He carefully schooled his features into a neutral expression.

"Your hand and arm are infected, little one," the ranger told him, "but I have remedies for that. You are not to worry." He shook his head. "I cannot understand how the arrow wound got to

be this way---it looked quite all right this morning. Did you unwrap these bandages?"

Frodo nodded slightly. "Yes, they were too tight."

The ranger sighed. Frodo had likely contaminated the arrow wound with poison from the hand. But the hobbit couldn't be blamed---he probably had little experience with battle medicine. Aragorn had learned throughout the years that touching a wound or re-using soiled bandages seemed to invariably lead to infection.

Legolas!" he called, and the elf appeared swiftly, followed by Boromir. A few feet away, Merry and Pippin tended to Sam.

"What is it, Aragorn?" Legolas asked, kneeling next to Frodo. Seeing the hobbit's hand and arm, Boromir's and Legolas's eyes grew concerned. Aragorn looked at both of them.

"I'm going to lance Frodo's wounds and soak the poison out," the ranger told the elf. "I thought perhaps you could help to ease his pain while I do so."

"Lance the wound?" Boromir asked. "Are you certain it is not too late for that, Aragorn? The entire hand looks quite grievous and he is obviously in a bad state---in Gondor, we would usually

just take the hand at this point and be assured of saving the patient's life."

At this statement, Frodo snapped out of his feverish daze. "Take the hand?" he asked, his voice tremulous. He looked to the ranger, his eyes pleading. "Aragorn, what is he talking about?"

Boromir answered instead. "To keep the poison from spreading, Frodo, 'tis customary to . . . amputate the affected limb."

"Boromir!" the ranger said loudly, his eyes flashing with anger.

"No," Frodo gasped, trying to pull his hand away. "No, no . . . you can't do that. I'd rather die first." Trembling, the hobbit's shoulders started shaking and a sob escaped him. To the others, it was apparent that Frodo's fever was getting the better of him. Feeling Frodo's face, Aragorn found that his temperature had risen substantially in just a short while.

"Fear not, Frodo," Aragorn told him firmly as he took the hobbit's shoulders in his hands and leaned down close. "Little one, please, calm down. I am not about to do such a thing to you, I promise." Glancing up, Aragorn cast another displeased look at Boromir.

The man of Gondor looked apologetic. "I am sorry, Aragorn. Honestly, I did not think . . ."

"You are right, Boromir. You did not think."

Still leaning in close to Frodo's face, Aragorn whispered something softly to him and then kissed the pale forehead before standing and facing the man of Gondor.

"Boromir . . . I understand you were speaking only out of concern. But I must do this my way."

The man nodded. "He appears to be getting worse, Aragorn. The poison of the wound is spreading. And the other hobbit is no better off---my heart pains me to look upon them."

The ranger met the man's eyes as he walked close to the campfire where Merry and Pippin were.

"Truthfully, I also am very worried about Frodo and Sam," Aragorn said. "Sam's breathing is getting worse and his fever is rising. The infection that has set in Frodo's injuries is worse

than I had anticipated. Were I back in Rivendell, I would have much more than my meager supply of athelas and cherry bark to rely on."

Boromor looked thoughtful. "In Gondor, the old folks use an infusion of athelas to cure headache. Perhaps that would at least lessen their pain?"

"I had thought of that," the ranger answered. "Athelas is indeed a powerful curative when ingested. But I have kept it as a last resort. Athelas is unpredictable if not given in the proper dosage. I have used it on men---but these are hobbits! How am I to know what the correct dosage is for a hobbit?" Aragorn sounded angry with himself.

"Unpredictable?" asked Boromir. "Is it that dangerous? I thought . . ."

"The men of Gondor drink it extremely diluted and mixed with other herbs. For it to have powerful healing properties, it must be full-strength." He looked at Boromir. "If I give them too much, it could kill them. And, at any rate, it always works as a powerful ale---it may make them quite delusional, or merely lightheaded. I suspect," he added with a wry smile, "that is why the old folks of Gondor drink it so."

"Yes," said Boromir, "I have been aware for many years of the interesting calming properties, if you will, of kingsfoil tea. But I do not see that you have a choice, Aragorn, if you are to save the hobbits."

Aragorn sighed. "I believe you are correct."

He walked to Merry and reaching into his clothing, withdrew his smallest dagger and handed it to the hobbit.

"Wash this knife---well," Aragorn ordered, "and then boil it for me." Taking his pouch of athelas, the ranger prepared to make the brew for the hobbits, crumbling the herb and carefully measuring it into a pan of water to boil.

Going back to Frodo, Aragorn knelt and placed a cool cloth on the hobbit's forehead. Frodo's pale face was highlighted by a flush of red across his high cheeks, and although his eyes were closed, the firm set of his mouth testified to the fact that he was not asleep. He had curled up as tightly as he could for warmth and was trembling slightly. Unable to bear it any longer, Aragorn gently pulled Frodo to him so that the hobbit's head lay on his shoulder.

"Hold on, Frodo," he whispered, stroking the soft dark hair. "Frodo, I'm going to have to make an incision in your arm and hand to allow the poison to drain. It's bound to hurt, but won't take but just a minute. Understand?"

Frodo nodded. "Y. . y . . yes. Aragorn, please don't . . . cut my hand off."

"I will not, little one, I promise."

At that moment, Merry showed up with the ranger's short knife on a hot cloth and the athelas brew. Still holding Frodo, Aragorn directed Merry on how much brew to pour for Frodo and Sam.

"I hope I'm giving them the right amount," he remarked to Merry and Legolas. "I'm giving them each about half what I would give a man. Here, Merry, go make Sam drink this right now."

Leaning Frodo back, Aragorn held the cup to Frodo's lips. "Drink it down," he ordered.

Even through his fog of fever, the hobbit sputtered as he swallowed. "Tastes terrible . . . worse than the . . . other," he managed.

"Mmm-hmmm," Aragorn said, looking at Frodo knowingly. "But it will help clear the infection out. You may feel a bit woozy after drinking it, though, Frodo, and may try to say or do unusual things. Don't let it frighten you---it's just an effect of the athelas."

Frodo felt weak, and the throbbing in his arm and hand had intensified two-fold. Whimpering, he tried to push the cup away with his good hand.

"Keep drinking it, Frodo," Aragorn insisted when the hobbit stopped after a few swallows. "It will ease the pain. You promised to cooperate, remember?" Wasting no time, the ranger tipped the cup up. When he had drained it, rivulets of the brew were running down Frodo's mouth and chin. Aragorn took his fingers and gently wiped the hobbit's soft wet mouth, which parted slightly under his hand. At that moment, Aragorn had a sudden vision of that mouth doing unspeakable things to him. A whimper from Frodo brought him back to the present.

Night was beginning to settle, and Aragorn realized he would have a difficult time seeing well. Beckoning to Merry, he asked for the Phial of Galadriel. The hobbit retrieved it from Frodo's things and held it aloft close by.

Laying Frodo back down on his back, Aragorn smoothed the hot forehead and beckoned to Legolas, who came and gently maneuvered Frodo's head into his lap, hoping to use his Elven touch to lessen the pain. Boromir sat next to him, holding Frodo's injured arm. Gimli knelt beside Frodo, trying to distract him and ready to still the hobbit should he begin to struggle.

When Frodo would have turned his head to watch, Boromir gently turned it away. "It will be easier if you don't look," he said.

"Ready?" Aragorn asked Boromir and Legolas as he picked up his knife, its cold steel glistening under the light of Galadriel's Phial. They nodded in assent, and the ranger bent down, purposely not looking at the hobbit's blue eyes pooling with unshed tears.

Hesitating no longer, Aragorn set to his grim task, the knife blade flashing. He would rather do anything than inflict pain on Frodo. The hobbit lay trembling, his eyes half-open, as he breathed raggedly. Beside him, Merry stood holding the star-glass, his face gray as he watched.

Taking Frodo's tiny hand in his, Aragorn gently spread the fingers out, carefully positioning the knife and cutting across the swollen flesh. Frodo cried out for a moment, and Aragorn wasted no time in lancing the hobbit's forearm as well, forcing himself to ignore Frodo's low moan of pain---like that of a wounded animal. Sweat beaded the ranger's brow, but his hands remained steady and in a few seconds it was done.

Frodo lay panting on Legolas's lap, his feverish brow damp with sweat, as blood and other substances ran down his arm. Aragorn quickly immersed it in a pan of athelas water to soak. As it

made contact with the water, Frodo whimpered and coughed, trying to pull away.

"No, Frodo, you must lie still," Aragorn ordered, holding the hobbit's arm down. He wiped the hobbit's dewy forehead and pushed Frodo's sweat-soaked hair back with a gentle hand. Motioning to Merry to take his place, the ranger left Frodo with Legolas for a moment to check on Sam.

The ranger was pleased to note that Sam's breathing seemed easier, although the hobbit still had a high fever. Aragorn directed Boromir to sponge him down with cool cloths and then walked back to Legolas, who was soothing Frodo with an Elvish poem

"Can I . . ." the ranger trailed off, looking at the hobbit lying on the elf's lap. Aragorn's face was solemn as he gazed at Frodo---solemn and filled with pity and longing.

Legolas smiled at Aragorn's protectiveness of the Ring-bearer. "Most certainly, Aragorn. In fact, I believe it would be very prudent for you to take him. Your touch will undoubtedly soothe him much more adequately than mine can."

"I don't know about that, Legolas. Elves have great powers of healing."

"Nay, Aragorn. For this particular hobbit, I believe the fact that I am an elf is of little consequence. With you holding him, he shall surely feel less pain."

The ranger said nothing, but as soon as Legolas had eased Frodo off his lap, Aragorn took his place, tucking the blanket in around the hobbit. He wanted to hold Frodo in his arms, but as the injured arm had to stay submerged, Aragorn settled for placing Frodo's head in his lap. The hobbit's eyes were half-open, and he was still shaking with chills as Aragorn caressed his face.

"Aragorn?" Frodo asked him, his voice cracking with the pain.

"I am right here."

"So . . . thirsty."

"We'll get you some water." Aragorn called to Pippin to bring a cup over. Raising Frodo's head, Aragorn held the cup to Frodo's lips as he drank. "Slowly now," the ranger directed.

Pippin looked at his cousin. "Aragorn, Frodo will be all right, won't he?"

Aragorn smiled at the youngest hobbit. "We're soaking his injuries to flush out the infection," the ranger replied, "and have given him an infusion of athelas, which is quite powerful. Hopefully, his fever will break tonight."

Pippin made no comment and left, noticing that Aragorn had not really answered his question.

On Aragorn's lap, Frodo groaned, and Aragorn laid a hand on the warm forehead. Frodo was feeling increasingly strange. In his feverish state, he couldn't pinpoint what it was from, but he

felt dizzy and lightheaded---and was feeling warmer. He gazed at the ranger's face above his.

"Strider," the hobbit said, coughing, as he fell back into using the ranger's old nickname.

"Yes, little one?" the ranger asked, leaning down close.

"N. . . n . . . nothing." Frodo didn't say a word more---just continued to stare at the ranger with glazed blue eyes. "Strider, did you know that the cow jumped over the moon? And the . . . cows and horses stood on their heads?" Reaching up with his good hand, Frodo touched the unshaven face, his words coming out slowly and slurred.

The ranger's lips curved up a bit in amusement as he stared down at the fever-flushed face.

"You, my dear hobbit, have had a little too much athelas brew, I think. It's making you tipsy."

"I'm . . . hot," Frodo moaned softly. The hobbit had been chilled earlier, but now Aragorn suspected the athelas brew was spreading through his system, making him feel flushed.

Taking a cool cloth, Aragorn dabbed at Frodo's face with it, still keeping his hand on the hobbit's brow. Gently easing the top of Frodo's cloak open, making certain the blanket kept his lower half covered, Aragorn bared the hobbit's chest and midsection and gently wiped him down.

Watching him, Frodo weakly extended his good arm and grasped Aragorn's hand, stilling it. Lifting the hand, Frodo examined it, marveling at the feel of it against his own. "You have large hands," he stated in a wondrous tone of voice.

The ranger laughed. "Compared to yours, Frodo."

"Large hands . . . long sensitive fingers . . . they feel cool against my skin," the hobbit mumbled. Wordlessly, Frodo placed the ranger's hand on his chest. Aragorn jumped a bit at the feel of his hand flat against the soft bare skin. He hobbit's eyes were closed, and he appeared to be sleeping. Gently, the ranger pulled his hand back and the blue eyes slowly opened.

Frodo shifted, staring at the ranger, and then his face crinkled up in a frown. "Need to . . ."

"What is it, Frodo?" the ranger asked, concerned.

"Need to . . . get up," the hobbit slurred, his words running together. "N . . . now," he gasped, reaching his good hand down to his groin.

"You need to urinate?"

Frodo nodded.

"You can't get up, Frodo. Here, I'll help you." Reaching for an old cup they had specifically designated for the purpose, Aragorn quickly pulled Frodo's blanket back and moved his cloak

aside. Taking Frodo's penis in one hand, he inserted it into the cup.

"Go ahead, little one."

The hobbit, too feverish and full of athelas brew to even be embarrassed, went, his face relaxing. When he had finished, Aragorn removed the cup and bent to cover Frodo back up. The hobbit shook his head.

"No," he groaned restlessly, squirming. "Strider . . . no covers. I'm so hot, all over."

"I know," the ranger told him gently. "This water should help cool you off."

The ranger picked the wet cloth back up and gently moved it in circles over Frodo's chest and down over his abdomen, studiously avoiding the hobbit's lower regions.

"All over," Frodo breathed. "Please? Everywhere . . . I feel like . . . I'm burning up." Drawing his legs up, Frodo reached out and pushed Aragorn's hand up to his chest and then lower, until the ranger could feel the soft fur above the hobbit's member. "Like . . . that," the hobbit gasped, his eyes staring foggily up at the now-dark sky; his lower lip trembling.

Aragorn's breath was coming faster, and the tightness in his breeches gave testament to his hardening arousal. Biting his lip, he swirled the cloth up and down Frodo's chest and abdomen,

over the rosy nipples and down past the hobbit's navel. He hesitated when he came to the hobbit's penis, then decided he was being prudish. With Frodo so ill, surely Aragorn's first concern should be to make the hobbit more comfortable. Moving the cloth lower, the ranger lightly sponged Frodo's lower abdomen, starting at the dark thicket of curly hair and running the soft cloth over the hobbit's member.

Frodo whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut, as his penis rose in response, and the ranger realized he had better stop before something happened. Especially before another member of the company noticed something happening. Using all of his willpower, Aragorn moved away from the hobbit's privates, sponging down Frodo's thighs.

"Don't . . . stop," Frodo whispered, opening his eyes halfway. Reaching his free hand up, he traced the line of Aragorn's lips, his eyes boring into the ranger's face. "Strider . . . Aragorn," he whispered, "I never . . . meant it, you know, when I implied you . . . looked foul and . . . weren't fair."

"Frodo, go to sleep."

"You're very . . . fair," the hobbit continued, coughing. Frodo restlessly turned his head to the side, staring at the ranger's midsection. A tiny hand fell from Aragorn's face to his chest and slowly slid down the man's black shirt, pausing at the ranger's waist. Aragorn tried to ignore it, continuing to sponge the hobbit down.

But unfortunately for Aragorn, Frodo was very much in a disoriented state. The hobbit's hand continued to make its way down, past Aragorn's waist, and burrowed up under his tunic to gently settle on the ranger's crotch, curiously rubbing.

"It's . . . so big," the hobbit croaked, his eyes wide as they stared at the growing bulge.

Aragorn couldn't ignore that, try as he might. He groaned, looking down at the hand cupping his erection and Frodo's flushed face only inches away, gazing at it. The hobbit coughed suddenly, and Aragorn could feel Frodo's breath on his penis. The ranger cursed under his breath, throwing his cloth down and gently removing Frodo's hand.

"I do believe it's high time you went to sleep, little one," the ranger told him, his voice gruffer than he had intended. Aragorn felt awful---but he suddenly had to take a break from the hobbit's closeness. The ache in his groin was proof of that.

Carefully, he eased Frodo's head off his lap and pulled away. The hobbit whimpered and reached out for him---jarring his injured arm. With a sob, Frodo's face paled and he curled up on his side away from the ranger, clutching the Ring with his good hand.

Rubbing Frodo's shoulders until the fit of pain passed, the ranger rose and examined Frodo's arm. The wounds looked better in even so short a time---the swelling had improved and the poison was draining, as it should be. Going to fetch fresh athelas water, the ranger stopped to check on Sam, who was still being tended to by Boromir and was a bit lightheaded himself from the athelas brew. Fortunately, Sam, too, seemed to be making progress.

Aragorn, his member still painfully aroused, returned to Frodo and re-submerged his arm in the fresh water, glancing at the curled-up hobbit as he did so. Frodo's earlier flush was disappearing and now he was shivering again, his eyes closed, the rosebud mouth partly open. Taking a deep breath, the ranger tucked Frodo's blanket around him, gently running a finger down a soft cheek and tracing the line of one delicate ear.

Calling Legolas over, Aragorn directed him to stay with Frodo in case the hobbit woke up disoriented. Then the ranger walked across the camp and sat down against a tree, trying to clear his mind by taking over the watch. His keen eyes looked for movement in the darkness of the trees, but his thoughts kept straying to the memory of the hobbit's touch.

For the next two or three hours Aragorn kept watch by the tree, rising periodically to check on Frodo's and Sam's conditions. Sam was still quite feverish but his congestion seemed to be better; Frodo drifted in and out of a fitful sleep. At that time, the ranger decided, he would give the hobbits another dose of the athelas brew.

Suddenly Boromir appeared at Aragorn's side.

"Boromir, it's not your turn to take the watch," Aragorn told him, looking up at the man.

"Aye, I know, Aragorn. Frodo has been calling for you in his sleep. Legolas seems to think you might want to go see to the little one. I can finish what remains of your watch."

Aragorn sighed. It was tempting . . . he wanted nothing more than to offer Frodo such comfort as he could. But perhaps, he reflected, it was better if he kept their relationship on strictly as casual a level as possible---which definitely meant no comforting in the middle of the night.

"No, Boromir . . . you've earned the right to a rest, too. I'll see to Frodo when my watch is ended. I only have a little while yet."

"Very well, Aragorn, if you are certain." The man of Gondor moved off.

A bit later, after Gimli had relieved him, Aragorn brewed more athelas potion. Handing it to Merry to administer to Sam, Aragorn made his way to Frodo. Frodo was still curled up on his side on his bedroll, his face slightly flushed, his eyes partly open. He was breathing rapidly, as if he had just run a race, and although he did not look to be asleep, he uttered no words, nor glanced at the ranger, as Aragorn approached.

Legolas sat next to the hobbit, gently rubbing his back and talking to him in Elvish. He looked up as Aragorn neared.

The ranger knelt down and touched Frodo's face---only to check his temperature, Aragorn told himself. He was gratified to see that Frodo's skin felt a bit cooler than it had a few hours earlier. Taking hold of the hobbit's tiny arm, Aragorn examined the wounds and found that they seemed to be doing nicely. The cuts he had made, however, were rather long and deep, and the ranger feared they would need suturing.

"Has he slept much at all?" Aragorn asked.

"Not very deeply, I am afraid," the elf replied, with a note of sadness in his fair voice. "He has been asking for you, Aragorn, and seems to find no respite of peace in sleep. I sent Boromir to tell you. Could you not have come to him earlier, to soothe him and offer him words of comfort?"

The ranger didn't reply for a moment, continuing to merely stare at Frodo's face. "I . . . would have, Legolas. But whenever I look at him . . . the temptation to take him in my arms is too great. And I cannot give in---I have sworn to protect him."

"And why, dear Aragorn, do you not think you can love him and protect him at the same time?" Legolas shook his head. "They say a plague on elves and their stiff necks, but I would say,

Aragorn, that you are the most stubborn person I have ever known."

For that, the ranger had no answer. He looked down at the ground, deep in thought. "Here, I will sit with him---my watch is over. Get some rest."

"Ah," said the elf, his eyes sparkling, "already you are unable to stay away. I do not think you will be struggling with this issue for long, my friend." He rose gracefully, surrendering his place to the ranger.

Aragorn ranger planted himself down beside Frodo's head, next to the pan of water holding the hobbit's arm. He gently turned Frodo onto his back and lifted his head, calling his name softly as he did so. When Frodo's eyes had opened more fully, Aragorn put the cup to his lips and tipped it up, holding it until Frodo had drunk it down.

When Frodo had finished, Aragorn sat back and clasped his hands about his knees, merely watching the hobbit, who moaned and softly called Aragorn's name in sleep. The ranger winced as he heard it, and only by the slimmest of margins was he was able to resist the intense urge to caress the hobbit's mane of soft hair.

Feeling himself growing drowsy, the ranger moved to Frodo's other side and lay down, far enough away so that he and Frodo were not within arm's length of each other. In a few minutes, Aragorn drifted off into his own fitful sleep, plagued by intense dreams he felt guilty for having.

He came awake with a start, his keen ranger's senses signaling to him that danger was near. And indeed, he knew it was near when he opened his eyes and saw two large blue ones staring down at him from only inches away, surrounded by a halo of curly hair.

"Frodo," the ranger whispered, "you should not be up. Let me help you back to your bedroll." The hobbit was on his knees next to the ranger, one hand on the ground; his injured hand folded up against his chest.

"But I'm not . . . tired, Strider, and I don't want to die in my sleep," the hobbit murmured, and the ranger knew the athelas brew was still affecting his mind. Frodo's breathing was coming in gasps and his pupils were enormous. Without further ado, Frodo sank down on top of Aragorn's chest, staring at the ranger from a very scant few inches away. "I cannot . . . sleep for the dreams," Frodo went on, breathlessly. "May I not . . . lay with you?"

Images went through Aragorn's mind at the use of that phrase, and he felt himself becoming aroused at the warm weight on top of him---not to mention the fact that the hobbit's cloak had

fallen to the side, leaving his behind rather---visible. Frodo's mind was so beset by the brew that his modesty was nonexistent. The ranger carefully sat up, grasping Frodo's shoulders and easing him to sit on the ground, folding his cloak to cover him.

"Let's get you back to bed, little one."

The hobbit shook his head with a sob. "No, the eyes . . . they are watching me. So many of them, watching. Please," he said, his brows knitting together, "help me." He raised his eyes to meet Aragorn's, his lips trembling in fear.

Aragorn resisted the urge to pull the hobbit to him. It would just be too easy, much too easy to give in. "I'm sorry, Frodo, but you need to lie quietly and let your arm get better. The dreams will go away just as soon as the athelas is out of your system.." He reached up to feel the hobbit's face---it was still feverish, but not dangerously so. "Come, Frodo, you are not yourself---let's get you back to bed."

"Please, Strider . . . don't let them take me," Frodo began again, his voice rising a bit with each word. But Aragorn was ignoring Frodo's words. Rising, the ranger bent and grabbed the hobbit under his arms, dragging him to his bedroll. As soon as he did, Frodo began to squirm madly, kicking with all of his hobbit-strength, which was still no match for the man.

"Noooooo!" the Ring-bearer cried. "They're watching me . . . make them go away . . . he'll kill you . . . please . . ."

Aragorn finally got the hobbit back down on his blankets and called to Merry and Pippin to come hold Frodo down while he tended to the hobbit's arm and hand. Merry pinned Frodo's uninjured arm to the ground and Pippin sat on his legs. Frodo arched his back, groaning, as his face twisted up in torment.

"They're dead, and he killed them," Frodo wailed. "Dead . . . all of them. And I shall die, too . . ."

"Will he be all right, Aragorn?" Pippin asked.

The ranger nodded, his face grim. "He ought to be fine, Pippin. His wounds are looking much better and his fever is lower than it was earlier this evening. The delusions he is suffering from

are merely a reaction to the athelas brew."

Indeed, the wounds were much improved. The infection looked to have been halted---the redness had all but disappeared and the wounds were no longer festering. Cleaning the arm and hand and

washing them out thoroughly with clean water, Aragorn set them to soak a bit longer. He looked up at the other hobbits, ignoring Frodo's continued rants, some of which were gibberish and not understandable.

"Frodo's injuries will need suturing, I'm afraid," Aragorn told Merry and Pippin, "and it's bound to hurt. I would do it now, while the athelas is in his system, but he has already been through much tonight. I hesitate to add to his pain in his weakened condition."

Suddenly, Frodo arched his back and opened his mouth widely, letting loose a blood-curdling scream.

At the sound of Frodo's scream, the hairs rose on the back of Aragorn's neck. Quickly he clamped one hand over the hobbit's mouth to quiet him---if any enemies were about, the ranger

preferred they not be drawn in to the camp.

Wide-eyed, Frodo struggled for a few moments, low moans issuing from his throat, before his arms and legs slowly relaxed. Then the hobbit squeezed his eyes shut as his chest began to heave

and sobs started to wrack his small frame.

Cautiously Aragorn removed his hand and nodded to Merry and Pippin. "It's okay---you can let him go now," the ranger instructed. Merry and Pippin drew back, looking at each other and sighing.

"Go check on Sam," Aragorn told them. "If Frodo is in this sort of shape, Sam may be thrashing about soon enough. Boromir may need some help with them." The two nodded and moved off, and Aragorn looked at the hobbit lying on his bedroll before him.

Bending down, Aragorn cupped Frodo's chin with a hand as the hobbit continued to cry. "Frodo," the ranger called to him, "Frodo, it is all right. Snap out of it. You're safe, little one."

But the hobbit didn't seem to hear---he just lay there gasping for breath as tears rolled down his cheeks. What visions Frodo was seeing in his delirium, the ranger could not guess, but he surmised that it had something to do with Gollum, or the Ring, or their Quest.

After a few minutes, Aragorn couldn't stand looking at the hobbit in this condition anymore. Gently lifting Frodo by the shoulders, the ranger pulled the hobbit tightly to him, resting Frodo's head against his chest as one hand stroked the soft hair. After a few minutes the sobs subsided, and Aragorn could tell by the limp weight against him that Frodo had fallen asleep. Reluctantly the ranger lowered Frodo back to his bedroll and covered him warmly with blankets. Then he cleansed and bandaged the hobbit's injuries, for they seemed to have soaked long enough.

It was rather late---probably only two or three hours until dawn, Aragorn surmised, as he rose to check on Sam and found the hobbit much improved. Sam had suffered through his own bit of

delirium earlier, watched by Boromir and Legolas, but it had been very short-lived before he had settled back into an uneasy rest.

Stifling a yawn, Aragorn realized he needed to get a bit of sleep before they set off come the morning. And he had plans to set off---now that the hobbits seemed to be mending, it was imperative, in Aragorn's eyes, to at least travel for a bit by boat and camp out in another area. They had already stayed in one place too long for the ranger's comfort.

Walking back to Frodo, Aragorn saw that he had turned over and curled up on his side, and the ranger made certain he was still covered by his bedrolls. With a light brush of the hobbit's

hair, Aragorn lay down next to Frodo without actually touching him, drifting once more into a light sleep for a time.

The ranger opened his eyes at the first light of the sun's rays, feeling a bit more refreshed just from his short sleep. He had not heard a peep out of Frodo during what had remained of

the night except for a few whimpers and rustling noises as the hobbit tried to get comfortable under his blankets. When he heard those noises, Aragorn had curled his hands into fists and

resisted the urge to take Frodo into his arms. "Leave the hobbit be," a little voice inside of him had insisted. But it was hard.

Turning, Aragorn now studied the back of the bundled-up figure next to him. In fact, he could see nothing of the hobbit except for a bit of dark hair sticking out of the top of the blankets. Leaning on his elbows, the ranger bent over Frodo and moved the corner of the hobbit's blanket back so that he could see the tiny face underneath.

Frodo's pale forehead was dripping with sweat, and the hobbit's hair was practically soaked. Raising his hand to touch a soft cheek, the ranger realized with a smile that the fever had finally broken. Tucking the hobbit's blankets back around him, Aragorn rose to tell the others.

Merry and Pippin looked weary---they had been helping to take care of Frodo or Sam nearly the whole night through. Legolas, as usual, showed no signs of being tired, and Boromir and Gimli seemed none the worse for wear. They were all pleased to hear the news about Frodo, and Aragorn was just as pleased that Sam seemed to be making progress as well, although he was still

extremely weak and unconscious most of the time.

"Well, Aragorn," Boromir called as the ranger bent to look through his pack, "do we set off today, or do we stay here for another night to let the little ones mend?"

Aragorn looked up at the sky. "We should move on. We have lingered here already longer than is good for us." He frowned. "However, I do not think we should push our luck now that Frodo and Sam seem to be recovering by traveling long. A few hours, at most, until our next available camp site. And," he added, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to suture Frodo's wounds before we move on. They're rather deep, and it will greatly reduce further chances of infection while traveling if they are closed."

Merry and Pippin, cooking breakfast by the fire, turned and frowned. "But Aragorn, won't that hurt him badly?" Merry asked.

The ranger smiled at the note of concern in the hobbit's voice. He nodded. "It likely will, Merry, but there is no help for it---it must be done. It will hurt a good deal less, I am sure, than having the wounds become infected again."

Merry looked doubtful, but knew better than to question Aragorn's healing knowledge.

Aragorn, meanwhile, had gone back to kneel by Frodo and was wiping the hobbit's sweaty face with a soft cloth when Frodo let loose a great sigh and slowly opened his eyes.

"A . . . Aragorn?" he said in a weary voice, clearly himself once again. His head ached a bit and his throat felt packed with cotton.

"I see you decided to rejoin the land of the living, little one," the ranger teased, feeling lighthearted at Frodo's return to awareness. Picking up a cup of fresh water, he lifted the hobbit's wet head and held it as Frodo took a few sips.

"Easy now, not too much at once," the ranger cautioned.

Frodo groaned softly and blinked, focusing on Aragorn's face as he turned further onto his side.

"How long have I been . . . asleep?"

"Well, Frodo, I wouldn't call most of what you've been doing lately . . . sleeping, exactly," Aragorn told him as he moved the blanket back to grasp the hobbit's injured arm.

The hobbit looked at him with puzzled eyes.

"You've been delirious, Frodo. An unpleasant side effect of the athelas tea I gave you. I'm sorry. Truly. But it was necessary to help clear up the infection."

Frodo's eyes closed tiredly for a moment. "Such . . . horrible dreams. That's all I remember . . . horrible, horrible dreams."

The ranger smiled in sympathy and began to unwrap the dressings from the arm. "Frodo, your injuries are looking much better and your fever has broken. But the wounds need suturing to heal and prevent further infection. It's going to hurt, little one. But I think it's best if I do it now and get it over with. And I think we should give you a bit more athelas tea to numb the senses. Don't worry," he said at the look of alarm on the hobbit's face, "only a bit. Not enough to make you delirious again, though you may feel a bit tipsy."

Frodo grimaced at the ranger's words. "Could the wounds not be bandaged up instead?" he asked in a small voice.

The ranger shook his head. "I'm sorry, Frodo. I would do everything to spare you pain if I could."

"Very well," Frodo said resignedly. He shuddered at the thought of the athelas brew---he did not want to experience those gruesome dreams again. "Do . . . what you must do. Aragorn . . . how is Sam?"

The ranger's expression lightened. "He is much improved. He should be just fine, although he is still very weak."

The hobbit nodded, closing his eyes tiredly before he spoke up in an embarrassed voice. "Aragorn . . . may I . . . have the cup again?"

"You would like more water? Of course."

"No," said Frodo, his cheeks turning red. "The . . . other one. I find I must have drunk rather a lot of that athelas brew and it's finally catching up with me."

The ranger nearly laughed at Frodo's modesty---wouldn't the hobbit be surprised, Aragorn thought, if he remembered the things he'd said and done the night before?

But Aragorn would never mention such to Frodo. Handing him the cup, the ranger watched him for a moment. "Do you need help with that, Frodo?" he asked in a gentle voice.

"Uh, I think I can do it," the hobbit said wearily, trying to move his injured arm without grimacing. He had a difficult time maneuvering the cup with only one hand.

"Don't be so modest, Frodo," the ranger chastised, taking the cup from Frodo's hand and lifting the hobbit's blankets back. "I had to help you last night with this---it is nothing I haven't done before. I promise not to look," he said with a smile.

Frodo initially protested, but soon became quiet as the ranger very efficiently set the cup on the ground before him and grasped the hobbit's member, inserting it into the cup. When Frodo had finished, Aragorn patted him on the shoulder and rose to dispose of the contents.

Alone, Frodo curled up deeper into his blankets, trying to forget the nightmares of the night before. Dreams of Gollum killing his parents. . . . dreams of the Black Rider coming for the Ring . . . visions of the great black winged creature that had come toward the camp only . . . what was it . . . a day ago?

He opened his eyes again as the grass rustled next to him and saw Pippin kneeling in front of him. "Frodo, here's the athelas brew Aragorn asked me to give you. Here, drink up," he said, holding the cup to his cousin's lips as Frodo drank. Frodo felt the warmth of the flow through his veins, making him feel slightly flushed.

"How about some breakfast, cousin?" Pippin asked him, peering down into Frodo's face with concerned eyes.

Frodo groaned. "Maybe later," he choked out, grimacing as his stomach seemed to recoil at the prospect of eating.

A few minutes later, Aragorn returned with his things to suture the hobbit's wounds. Sitting down next to Frodo, the ranger gently turned him to lie flat on his back, so the hobbit wouldn't be able to see the needle.

Frodo gulped as Aragorn completely unwrapped his arm before washing it thoroughly with athelas water. The arm was sore, and the hobbit didn't want to think about how painful what was coming would be. He'd had stitches before as a young tweenager---he had the scar on his leg to prove it---and he remembered that it had hurt.

Frodo looked at the ranger with a grimace. "Aragorn . . . what are you using for the stitches? I didn't know you carried anything with you."

"A ranger is always prepared," Aragorn replied. "I have stores of many things in my pack that come in handy. As for the thread . . . well, let's just say that Bill most willingly gave up some of his tail hairs before being set free upon entering the mines. I was afraid I might need them for this purpose sooner or later. Merry boiled them for me this morning."

Feeling the effects of the athelas brew going through his system, Frodo smiled slightly. "Then I suppose I am glad to have a part of Bill still with me. Won't Sam be jealous."

The ranger laughed softly and gazed into the hobbit's face. Reaching out, he gently caressed the soft lips with a finger. "It does my heart good to see you smile again, Frodo," Aragorn told him, "even if if is only a small smile and due to your being a bit . . . drunk."

"I'm not . . . drunk," Frodo replied, his speech slightly slurred. He looked at the ranger seriously, his eyes narrowing.

"Aragorn, how old are you?"

"Old enough, little one. Old enough to have seen and done many things."

"You don't look very old."

"The Dunedain are long-lived. We age more slowly than most men."

"Mmmm . . . are all of the D . . . Dunedain so . . . comely?"

Now the ranger really laughed. "Comely? Frodo, I have heard many adjectives used to describe me, but "comely" has not been among them."

The hobbit continued to regard the ranger with steady eyes. "Strider, how come you are so loyal to me?"

"You are the Ring-bearer, Frodo. I swore to protect you when we first met, if you remember." He reached out, grasping the hobbit's chin, and gently turned Frodo's face away. "Now, turn your head and don't look. It's going to hurt, Frodo, but I am quick at this . . . it won't take too long, I promise, and if it gets too bad, we can take a short break."

Frodo nodded, feeling woozy, as he felt the ranger grasp his hand. Aragorn motioned Legolas over, and the elf came and sat on Frodo's other side, laying a gentle hand on the hobbit's forehead. From several feet away, the other members of the company watched discreetly.

Aragorn threaded his needle with the clean horse hair and prepared to begin work on Frodo's small hand. Unfortunately, sewing skin was a bit different from a garment---for strength and to avoid puckering, the ranger had to make each stitch and then tie it off before starting on the next one, making the entire procedure last longer.

"Here we go, Frodo," the ranger said softly, placing the hand on his lap and holding it firmly.

At the first bite of the needle, Frodo jerked and sucked his breath in, then a low wail issued from his throat. The athelas brew dulled the senses quite a lot----but not nearly enough.

"Strider . . ." the hobbit whimpered, "please, it hurts . . ." He turned his head to the side as a tear slid down his cheek.

"I know, little one, I'm so sorry," Aragorn told him, feeling like a torturer. "Try to stay still, now. I know it's not easy." The first stitch made, the ranger tied it off---now he only had umpteen more to go. He sighed, wishing he were anywhere else, doing anything else, than where he was.

"Tell me, Frodo," Aragorn began as he made the next stitch, trying to keep the hobbit's mind occupied, "about the Shire. Bilbo used to rant on and on about the Shire-hobbits' ways . . . said they never went on adventures and looked down upon him for doing so."

"Y-y-yes, that's true," Frodo replied, jerking and shuddering again with the pain. "We . . . we're considered rather . . . cracked . . . for hobbits, Bilbo and I."

"Cracked?"

"C-c-crazy. Because Bilbo went on . . . adventures and we . . . we had dealings with the Fair Folk . . . uh, that, that really . . . hurts . . . ." Frodo moaned, sweat breaking out on his face.

"Ah, I well remember Bilbo's antics," put in Legolas, wiping the hobbit's wet face. "It seems, dear Frodo, that you come by your sense of adventure honestly."

The hobbit didn't answer; he screwed his face up with the pain of Aragorn's stitching, his breathing rapid. The ranger stopped for a minute, looking at him with sad eyes.

"Only a few more to go on the hand," Aragorn told him as he tied off another stitch.

Frodo nodded, lying there motionless for a few minutes to catch his breath as Aragorn continued his painful work. He was feeling quite flushed now---and more than a bit lightheaded.

During a brief respite from the severe pain as Aragorn knotted a stitch, Frodo turned his head to look at the ranger. The hobbit's eyes were slightly glazed from the effects of the athelas brew. "Strider . . . you have such long legs. Is that why they call you Strider?"

Aragorn looked up for a moment, amused, but didn't answer. He was aware of Legolas on Frodo's other side, his eyes dancing with mirth. Aragorn hoped---really hoped---that Frodo didn't

start in on the line of talk he had the night before---at least not in front of the elf.

"I really don't know, Frodo," Aragorn answered. "Perhaps it has something to do with my wild and untamed look. I'm considered quite the ruffian in Bree, I'll have you know."

The hobbit considered this. "You do look . . . rather wild. Like you could be a servant of the Enemy, all dressed in black--" His voice was cut short in a gasp as Aragorn made another stitch.

When that was completed, Frodo turned back to the ranger. "I . . . I wish I was as . . . frightening looking as you, Strider. I mean . . . not frightening, but . . . well . . . not so . . . innocent. More threatening."

"You don't want to look like Strider, Frodo . . . I'm just a weather-beaten ranger, no matter how threatening I may appear to be," Aragorn said lightly.

Frodo groaned and whimpered as another stitch was made, and Legolas had to hold him tightly. Aragorn eyed the hobbit with concern.

Frodo went on, gasping, when he could speak again. "Arwen is . . . very beautiful," he droned.

"Yes, she is," Aragorn agreed.

"I wonder . . . I wonder what it is like to possess . . . such beauty," Frodo mumbled.

The ranger nearly stopped a moment. He longed to tell Frodo that he found the hobbit equally appealing . . . . that the first time he had set eyes on Frodo, he had been warring with himself. Sighing, he remained silent and continued his work.

"Your hand is finished, little one," Aragorn told him a minute later. "Now, we just have the arm to go---and that shouldn't take as long." He reached up and smoothed the hobbit's hair back.

Frodo nodded. "T-thank you," he began, then his brows knitted together. "Strider, I have to . . . go again."

"Again?" asked the ranger, knowing exactly what Frodo meant.

The hobbit nodded. Taking the cup, Aragorn again pushed Frodo's blankets back to help him urinate. Under the spell of the athelas brew, Frodo was no longer embarrassed to have Aragorn assist him in the matter---nor did he even seem to care that Legolas was next to him, either. When Frodo had finished, the ranger rose to wash his hands thoroughly before settling back down to work on the arm.

The hobbit stared at him. "Th--thank you, Strider," he said in a low voice. "I'm a bit . . . embarrassed, you know, to need such help, after noticing you. You're so large, compared to me."

If the others in the Company could hear Frodo's words, they did not show it.

Legolas did, however. He looked down at the ground and coughed, avoiding eye contact with the ranger.

"But I am a man, Frodo, not a hobbit," Aragorn told him, pointedly ignoring the elf. "All of me is big, compared to you," he said, positioning Frodo's arm across his leg to begin the suturing.

"I should very much like to . . . touch it," said the hobbit dreamily. "I bet I could not get one of my hands completely around it, could I?"

The ranger sucked his breath in, trying to ignore the prospect of that and grimacing as his breeches became too tight. He studiously avoided looking at Legolas and hoped---no, prayed---that the others had not heard. Steadying his hands, the ranger bent to stitch.

"Easy, Frodo," Aragorn said as he inserted the needle. Again, the hobbit flinched and whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut as the needle went through.

"Doesn't hurt . . . so bad," Frodo gasped. "Not . . . so bad." He relaxed a moment, opening his eyes before going on as the pain receded for a moment. "Can I touch it sometime, Strider?" he asked, looking at the ranger with big blue eyes. "I'm very curious. I wish . . . I wish I was that big."

"I'm sure you're quite fine as you are, Frodo," the ranger remarked dryly. "Tell me more about the Shire," he said as he made another stitch.

The hobbit nodded as he moaned softly, trying to pull away. Legolas was forced to hold him steady.

"The Shire . . . hobbits are smaller than the Big Folk, Strider," Frodo gasped. "Not so . . . large . . . everywhere." His small face screwed up again. "I bet I could not get my hand around it, could I?"

Aragorn ignored him. "Tell me about Sam's family, Frodo. What are they like?"

"The Gaffer?" Frodo asked, his voice rising in pain as Aragorn's needle found its mark again. "He . . . he strapped us good once, when we raided Farmer Maggot's mushrooms . . . couldn't . . . sit down . . . for a while."

"He punished you?" Aragorn asked as he made another stitch and tied it off, trying to ignore Frodo's rapid breathing and groans of pain.

Frodo nodded. "Y . . . yes . . . it . . . it was my fault. I . . . took Sam with me. I deserved it. Didn't stop me . . . from doing it again."

Aragorn chuckled. "Seems like you were quite an incorrigible lad, Master Baggins," he commented as he kept working.

"Have you . . . had many lovers, Strider?" Frodo asked out of the blue, his voice catching from the pain.

The ranger was caught quite off guard and nearly dropped his needle. He frowned at Legolas across from him, who was trying not to chuckle.

"I have had my fair share, yes, little one," the ranger replied, making another stitch and trying to avoid looking at Frodo's pitiful face, which was now very pale. The hobbit's blue eyes were full of pooled-up tears, making them seem even brighter than normal.

When he could speak again, Frodo resumed his previous line of questioning. "I can believe that. Have you ever taken a hobbit for a lover?"

Aragorn choked slightly. "No, indeed, I have not."

Legolas cleared his throat. "It is said, among us elves, that there is always a first time for everything to come to pass, Aragorn."

The ranger shot Legolas a look, then bent to make another stitch, saying nothing. When he had finished, he patted Frodo's arm gently. "All done, little one," the ranger told him. "Now I just have to tie it off and rebandage it."

Frodo sighed, his eyes closing with relief. Unable to stop himself, Aragorn brushed the hobbit's dark hair back from a delicate ear.

"You've been an . . . almost . . . model patient," the ranger told him, clearing his throat, as he began to bandage the wounds. "Now I want you to lie here and rest while I finish this. I'm afraid your arm is going to hurt quite badly and be sore for a good while." He looked at Legolas. "Thank you, Legolas, for your help---it was much needed."

The elf smiled slightly. "My pleasure, Aragorn. I will always do whatever I can to protect our small friend here," he said, brushing the hobbit's soft cheek. "And the conversation was, I must say, quite . . . stimulating." With a musical laugh, the elf walked off to pack up the camp, Aragorn scowling at him all the while.

A small voice broke into Aragorn's thoughts. "Strider," Frodo began wearily, grimacing as a throb of pain pulsed down his arm, "I just realized I'm quite naked. Did you take my clothes off?"

The ranger glanced at Frodo as he bandaged the hobbit's forearm, realizing he was still wearing only his cloak and had been for some time. "Yes, you are quite . . . naked," he mused, then realized he needed to stop musing. "Yes, I did . . . remove them. Er . . . your clothes were wet, remember? Don't fret---we'll get you dressed again in a bit."

The hobbit nodded, grimacing as Aragorn finished wrapping his wounds. "Do I have to put my clothes back on? I rather like it this way . . . very comfortable."

The ranger eyed him. "I think it would probably be best now, Frodo---I don't like the thought of you without your mithril coat."

"My what?"

Aragorn shook his head. "Never mind, little one."

Frodo sighed. "Very well, Strider. If you will put my garments on for me, I'll gladly wear them . . . " He trailed off, whimpering a bit with pain and arching his neck slightly as the ranger tied a bandage off. Stopping for a moment, Aragorn reached out and caressed Frodo's soft throat, sliding his hand down to the hobbit's chest, before laying the now-bandaged limb on top of said chest. Frodo moaned softly and fell silent, his eyelids becoming heavy.

Leaving Frodo to lie quietly on his bedroll, Aragorn went to retrieve the hobbit's clothing. Locating Merry, he handed him the bundle and sent the young hobbit off to get Frodo dressed. There was no reason, the ranger thought to himself, to tempt fate.

Aragorn sat in the back of the Elven canoe musing on the day as he paddled down the Anduin. In front of him, Frodo---now fully dressed, thanks to Merry---lay curled up sleeping---a position the hobbit seemed to favor. This time, however, he lay facing Aragorn, and the ranger could see part of his face. Indeed, Aragorn had lain the hobbit in the boat, deliberately placing him to face the ranger so that Aragorn could see the tiniest bit of distress cross that pale face.

At least, that's what he told himself. It had nothing to do with wanting to see Frodo's chest rising and falling in sleep, or wanting to watch the soft rosebud mouth as it parted slightly while sighing.

Sam lay in front of Frodo, also facing Aragorn, his breathing easier than it had been in days. Both were covered by a warm blanket, and looking at them, Aragorn couldn't help but smile. The hobbits were more resilient than he had ever given them credit for.

He raised his eyes to the cliffs on either side of the Great River, trying to take his mind off the hobbit legs that every so often brushed against him. However, Frodo did not wake up, and the ranger found himself wishing he would. If Frodo woke, he could eat a bit of lembas--and he needed the nourishment to gain his strength back. Although he had greedily drunk water, there

had been no convincing the hobbit earlier that morning to eat anything at all.

The ranger had approached Frodo on his bedroll and had gently shaken him awake, trying to coax him to enjoy just a bite of lembas and dried meat. But the hobbit had been feeling the after-effects of the athelas brew, which made him quite dizzy and nauseated, and he shook his head groggily at Aragorn as he turned over and went back to sleep. In the end, the ranger had given up.

When it had come time to load the boats, Frodo was still out, and Aragorn had simply lifted the haggard hobbit into his arms, being extra-careful of his bandaged arm, and placed him in the canoe. Frodo had not woken up since. Additionally, he was still plagued by a lingering cough---the after-effects of drowning---but it did seem to be getting better.

Aragorn was worried about Sam as well, although Pippin had managed to get some lembas-water down him that morning, so he had taken in a bit of nourishment.

The ranger looked down when he heard Frodo cry out softly as he jostled his injured arm in sleep. Slowly opening his eyes, Frodo lay there a moment, looking around as if trying to figure out

where he was.

"Frodo?" Aragorn said softly. Frodo blinked and fixed his gaze on Aragorn for a second, wincing. Without answering the ranger, he sat up quickly and hung his head over the side of the canoe, vomiting into the water.

"Frodo!" Aragorn called again, laying his paddle down and reaching out to steady the hobbit. "Easy, little one . . ." he soothed as Frodo retched what little was in his stomach---followed by dry heaves. When Frodo was finished, he hung on to the side of the canoe for a moment, gasping, and the ranger had to pry him off and sit him back down in the boat.

Leaning forward, he touched the hobbit's face for fever, but Frodo's skin felt normal.

"I'm all right," Frodo told him, frowning. "The athelas brew just caught me a bit . . . off guard, is all." He leaned against the side of the boat, breathing heavily.

Aragorn raised his eyebrows as he took his paddle back up. "I should say it did catch you off guard," he told the hobbit. "Do you feel better now?"

Frodo nodded as he pressed a hand to his stomach. "A bit. The motion of the boat, however . . . is not helping." In truth, his face looked slightly gray as he closed his eyes and grimaced.

Since they had been traveling down the Anduin for about four hours already, Aragorn decided to make camp and take a short break at the first opportunity. It would give Frodo some time to catch his breath, and Aragorn did need to make certain Sam got another dose of athelas brew and cherry bark tea. Usually, the ranger was the first to press the Company to travel as swiftly as possible, but after the incidents of the previous days, he was not about to risk the hobbits' health.

"Boromir! Legolas!" Aragorn called as he spied a suitable chunk of shore. "Let's make camp here---for a short while only."

"Aye, Aragorn," came the reply from both man and elf.

Mooring the boats, Boromir took Sam to the land while Aragorn lifted Frodo. For once, the hobbit didn't protest at being carried---but he did groan slightly as the ranger shifted him to rest against his shoulder. As soon as Aragorn sat him down on the ground, Frodo's eyes opened all the way and he blinked.

"Aragorn, why did we stop?" he asked wearily as he reached his good hand up and rubbed his eyes.

"We need to make camp just long enough to eat quickly and tend to you and Sam," the ranger answered.

Frodo shook his head and coughed. "You should not have stopped for me. I could have borne it in the boat."

Aragorn smiled. "I know, but it was my decision. Besides, I need to dose our dear Sam with more of that athelas brew . . ."

At the mention of the brew, Frodo's eyes grew wide with alarm. The ranger patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry . . . I think you've had enough of the brew for a time. But Sam is still quite ill. However, you do have a bit of a cough still . . . I think that some of my cherry bark tea . . ."

"No, please," Frodo said, making a face and holding one hand up, "don't make me drink that . . . poison . . . anymore. I don't think I could get it down."

"Poison?" The ranger chuckled. "Only on one condition, little one---that you eat something. At least a quarter wafer of lembas. But if I see your cough grow worse---it's the poison again."

Frodo sighed. Aragorn was bargaining again. "Very well . . . I believe I can do that. And my cough will not grow worse."

The ranger nodded and handed him the lembas and a cup of water. "Here, then---eat up. Merry and Pippin will bring you some dried meat in a moment if you want it---but the lembas is all you need to gain your strength back. I shall return in a moment---I must go prepare Sam's medicine."

Frodo nodded, turning around and realizing that his friend slept only a few feet away. On his one good hand and his knees, Frodo crawled to Sam's side, peering at the younger hobbit's face.

"Sam?" he called gently, laying a hand on the feverish forehead. Sam's eyelids fluttered a bit but he did not open his eyes. Frodo tried again. "Sam, wake up . . . Sam, Farmer Maggot's dogs are after you!" He thought that might spur the ill hobbit to wakefulness, but it was to no avail---Sam only sighed and squirmed in his sleep.

"Don't fear for him, Frodo," said Aragorn as he approached the two. "He is still very ill, but he is steadily improving. I believe he will recover fully." The ranger sat next to Sam and lifted his head, pouring a tiny amount of the athelas potion down his throat at a time and waiting for him to swallow.

"I am not going to give him but a few swallows," Aragorn remarked. "The last thing we need is for him to become tipsy in the canoe."

Frodo nodded in agreement and looked down shyly. "Thank you . . . Aragorn . . . for taking care of both of us." The ranger only smiled slightly, continuing to feed Sam the brew while Frodo sat and watched, smoothing Sam's hair back with his uninjured hand.

When Sam had drunk enough, Aragorn set the cup down and looked at Frodo. "Well, did you keep your end of the bargain?" Then his eyes dropped to a few feet away---to Frodo's lembas wafer with one bite taken out of it. The ranger pinned Frodo with a blue-gray gaze, his brow knitting together. "Ah, I see an abandoned piece of lembas yonder. That should have been eaten."

"I will eat it, Aragorn. I just . . . forgot."

"Mmm-hmmm . . . you didn't think I'd notice that wafer, there, did you, little one? But I'm going to pick it up now and make certain you eat it. Otherwise, the poisonous brew will likely be imbibed again. Understand?"

"Yes." Frodo's mouth was frowning, but his eyes were smiling.

Aragorn did indeed pick the wafer up and hand it to the hobbit, making sure Frodo began to eat it. Then, calling Merry over to feed Sam some lembas-water, Aragorn reached out for Frodo's bandaged hand and arm. The Ring-bearer was his usual stubborn self when it came to having his injuries tended.

"Really, Aragorn, it is fine, I'm sure . . ." the hobbit protested as he nibbled on one corner of his Elven cake.

"Does it hurt?"

"Not as badly as it did yesterday."

"Frodo, yesterday at this time your entire hand and arm were festering with infection. Now, hold still."

Frodo coughed a bit while the ranger unwrapped his hand, trying not to wince. Even the lightest touch was very painful. The ranger tried to be very careful with the small hand in his lap, but it was inevitable that he should cause some pain unwittingly.

When Aragorn had unwrapped the limb, Frodo made the mistake of looking at it and regretted that fact. The hand and arm were multi-colored with bruising and such and the gashes in it were not in the least bit pleasant-looking. Frodo had not realized how long they were. But the worst things were the stitches---the hobbit had not seen them until now and they looked even worse than they felt.

Aragorn looked up from examining the small hand and noted the hobbit's ashen complexion. "Frodo?" he asked. "Are you all right?"

"Y . . . yes, it's just that . . . well . . . somehow seeing it makes it hurt even more, if that makes any sense at all."

"Of course," the ranger said gently. "How badly does it hurt? Are you certain you would not like some more athelas brew?"

Frodo shook his head weakly as he munched on his lembas wafer. "No, I would rather have the pain than to have my mind so muddled again." He paused as Aragorn washed the limb with clean athelas water. "Aragorn . . . I only vaguely recall last night. I didn't . . . do or say anything embarrassing by any chance, did I?"

The ranger looked up at him. "No, of course not, little one . . . we just talked about things such as . . . the Shire, Sam's family . . . it was all quite . . . illuminating."

"Good. I . . . uh . . . I got rather tipsy as a tweenager at The Green Dragon and well . . . rather made a fool of myself one time."

"You don't say?" Aragorn asked him, trying not to smile as he applied another athelas poultice to the limb, binding it again.

The hobbit nodded, gritting his teeth as Aragorn touched a particularly tender spot. The ranger stopped a moment and gently rubbed the back of Frodo's hand to comfort. It gave the hobbit rather a . . . tingly sensation.

"Now, Frodo, I want you to leave the arm wrapped---do not take these bandages off." He touched the hobbit's cheek lightly. "How do you feel? Feverish? Tired? Does your head or chest still pain you?"

Frodo shook his head, brushing crumbs off his mouth with his free hand. "I feel weak. My chest no longer aches. The arm and hand ache quite a bit, but I can manage."

"Are you sure? What about your belly? It was bothering you just a little while ago."

"It's better, since I ate."

"Good," the ranger said. "Well, then I guess we'd best be off as soon as possible. This is not a suitable place to camp out the night. And you can go back to sleep once we're in the boat."

Frodo nodded, his shoulders slumping, the black lashes lowering for a moment in weariness. Aragorn longed to pull the hobbit to him in an embrace. Instead, he settled for rubbing Frodo's knee, calling to the others to board the boats.

"Take Sam," the ranger called to Legolas as he bent and gently lifted Frodo under the arms.

"Aragorn, really, I can walk . . ."

"Yes, I saw you walking a few minutes ago, little one, on your hands and knees. But if you insist." He let Frodo go and watched as the hobbit attempted to stand on wobbly legs.

"Aragorn," Frodo asked him when he'd sunk back down to the ground, "would you please carry me to the boat?"

"Of course. You know I will," the ranger said gently. Again Aragorn lifted him, settling Frodo on his hip with his head resting on the ranger's shoulder. As Aragorn walked, Frodo's groin rubbed lightly against him---a rather pleasant sensation, especially when he was almost certain he felt the hobbit's arousal.

Sitting a now very sleepy Frodo in the canoe, the ranger tucked a blanket about both hobbits. Pushing the boat off, he jumped in behind Frodo and the Company continued to make its way swiftly down the Anduin.

The Company paddled down the river for several more hours, until night began to fall. Throughout the afternoon, they had seen several flocks of black birds high in the air, and Aragorn could not help but wonder if Gollum was stirring up mischief. Whatever the reason, the ranger was glad for the cover of darkness when it came, for it made them less visible to spies.

In Aragorn's canoe, Frodo and Sam slept. Sam, of course, had been sleeping fitfully all afternoon, but his breathing was becoming easier and it was clear he was improving slowly. Frodo had woken up several times, sitting up drowsily and watching the scenery for a time before succumbing to pain and weariness and curling up again.

The entire day, Aragorn had watched the hobbits, concerned. If he could have, the ranger would gladly have taken Frodo's suffering upon himself---and Sam's, too. The least he could do, he thought, was to draw Frodo to him and offer what comfort he could. But, Aragorn reminded himself, it was not seemly, and was impossible anyway, while he was paddling.

"Aragorn," Legolas's fair voice called softly as he pulled his canoe alongside, "the hobbit suffers. Perhaps his suffering could be lessened by a bit of . . . attention from yourself?" The elf's eyes were smiling.

"Sam is asleep, and I cannot reach him, anyway," Aragorn replied dryly.

Legolas laughed. "Ah, but you know that is not the hobbit I speak of. I see it in your eyes, Aragorn---and his. Soon, it will be impossible for you to resist any longer."

The ranger scowled, saying nothing, but looking intently at the dark-haired hobbit at his feet.

Night was deepening, and the riverbanks became filled with the chirping of crickets. The entire Company was a bit weary, and it would do no good to tax Frodo's and Sam's strength while they

were still recovering. Finding a nice clearing with just enough trees for privacy, the companions moored the boats and disembarked, Boromir coming to get Sam.

Frodo had woken up when he felt the bottom of the boat scraping ground, and he sat up wearily, blinking his eyes and clutching at his arm. Aragorn went to lift him out of the boat, but Frodo stopped him.

"Thank you, Aragorn, but I think I can manage now," the hobbit told him as he slowly pulled himself up. "At least, I want to try."

The ranger nodded, watching Frodo wobble on unsteady legs and barely restraining himself from grabbing the hobbit. Frodo nearly slipped and fell and reached his good hand out to Aragorn. The ranger took the small warm hand in his, steadying Frodo as he climbed out of the boat. Keeping his arm about the hobbit, Aragorn led him to the camp and sat him down.

Merry and Pippin got a fire going while Aragorn again fed Sam the athelas brew. Frodo sat on the ground several feet away as he stared into the campfire. As he sat, he became very sleepy . . . and felt himself sinking onto his side on the ground, his eyes closing as he sighed.

Finishing up with Sam, Aragorn made his way toward Frodo, who was huddled on the bare ground without even so much as a blanket. Kneeling down, the ranger gently brushed the hobbit's curly hair back from his face, smiling as Frodo slowly opened his eyes.

"We must get you to bed soon," Aragorn told him, "but only after you eat a bit." As he had expected, Frodo's face blanched a bit at the mention of food.

Covering Frodo with a light blanket, the ranger carefully unwrapped his arm and hand as the hobbit hissed in pain. Although still very angry-looking, the limb looked better than it had yet and seemed to be slowly improving.

"Later," Aragorn said, "when your arm is a bit more healed, I will put some linseed oil on it to help reduce the scarring and itching. It is very helpful for use with such injuries, but for now, the athelas poultices are more beneficial."

Frodo nodded. He lifted his eyes wearily to meet the ranger's. "Aragorn . . . do you think Gollum is still following us?"

"I imagine so, little one," Aragorn replied as he applied the poultices to Frodo's arm. "I don't believe he'll ever stop following us so long as he is capable . . . and he is more than capable of navigating this river. But he will not come near you---not so long as I am near."

"Are you planning on tracking him again?" Frodo asked.

Aragorn looked thoughtful. "I don't believe, even with my years of tracking, that I can catch him. He's a slippery one." He paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing. "Frodo, I hope you are not still planning on trying to catch him yourself."

The hobbit shook his head. "No, I will not go alone. But if you should go, I want to go with you," he said sleepily.

"No. We've already discussed this once . . ."

"We discussed it when I was ill," Frodo countered. "You did not say anything about my not going when I was mended."

"And you are still not mended, and won't be for many days," the ranger replied, finishing his task of dressing Frodo's injuries. "The answer is no, at least for now. Now lie quietly and get some rest until supper's ready---the sooner you recover, the sooner I will reconsider it."

Merry and Pippin, despite their limited supplies, had outdone themselves with supper. The company sat around the fire for a bit after eating, discussing their plans for the morrow and feeling a bit more lighthearted since Frodo and Sam were improving. Frodo had sat up to eat, then had lain back down in his blanket, clutching his arm and dozing lightly. He had eaten very little and was very quiet, and Aragorn knew that his wounds still hurt badly. The ranger considered giving him another dose of athelas brew, but decided Frodo would protest too loudly.

After sitting and staring at Frodo's long eyelashes as they lay upon his cheeks for far too long, Aragorn decided to take first watch. Going to Sam, the ranger made sure he was amply covered

and settled in for the night.

"You get some sleep, too, little one," the ranger said as he glanced at Frodo, who had opened his eyes slightly. Grabbing Frodo's bedroll, Aragorn shook it out for him.

Frodo nodded, slowly climbing into the bedroll and curling up, cradling his aching arm. Aragorn paused, then bent to tuck the covers around the hobbit's small form before walking off and sitting down against a tree on the other side of the camp. He sighed; no matter how he tried, he could not get the image of Frodo out of his mind. The hobbit's lips . . . eyes . . . chest. . .

Aragorn had been on watch for two hours or so, musing as he looked into the darkness, when he saw a small figure stumbling toward him.

"Frodo," Aragorn said gently, "you are supposed to be sleeping."

"I know," the hobbit replied, sitting down beside the ranger, "but suddenly I can't relax enough to get to sleep. My mind keeps running in circles."

"Please, tell me what it is that troubles you," the ranger told him. "Who knows---maybe I can help you in ways you had not suspected. I promise, anything you tell me will never be spoken to another."

Frodo thought for a moment, sighing. If nothing else, telling Aragorn the entire truth would help him to understand Frodo's desire to see Gollum captured.

The hobbit sighed. "Aragorn . . . did Gandalf ever tell you about my . . . past? My parents drowning in the Brandywine River?"

The ranger nodded, wondering where Frodo was going with this. "I know what happened, yes, since I guarded the Shire for many years and kept an especially watchful eye on Bilbo."

"We always thought it was an accident. Nobody ever knew what really happened." Frodo fixed the ranger with a look. "Gollum told me . . . as he was attacking me the other night . . . that he killed them." His voice caught for a moment.

Aragorn was shocked. "Frodo, are you certain? Perhaps you misunderstood?"

The hobbit shook his head. "No, he said he hated the name `Baggins' and set out to kill them all. I have no idea how he knew they were Baggineses . . . probably saw them with Bilbo. I was just a child."

The ranger looked troubled. "I had . . . no idea he came to the Shire, Frodo. I knew he tried . . ."

"Yes, that is what Gandalf said." Frodo wiped his face with a hand. "I have wanted him dead for so long, before I even knew he was responsible for this. I wanted the miserable wretch out of my hair. I said as much to Gandalf in the Shire, and in Moria, and he chastised me well for saying it."

"Did he now?"

The hobbit nodded. "He told me that pity stayed Bilbo's hand. He thought Gollum had a role to play yet and advised me against `dealing out death and judgment.'"

Aragorn sighed heavily. "I cannot believe it. And yet, it is likely true." He turned to look at Frodo. "Gandalf was the wisest in Middle-earth, little one. It would do us well to listen to his advice."

"I miss Gandalf. The Ring has taken so many I hold dear to me."

Aragorn looked at the hobbit's delicate profile, softly illuminated by the moonlight, and longed to reach out and touch the pale cheek. He cleared his throat.

"Come here, Frodo," Aragorn said softly, spreading his legs and patting the ground between those long legs. The hobbit turned and looked at him, his blue eyes wide. Hesitating just a moment, he crawled toward the ranger.

Slowly Aragorn pulled the hobbit to sit in front of him, between his legs. Frodo sagged back against the ranger's chest, and Aragorn wrapped his arms about Frodo's middle, pulling him close and sighing as he felt the hobbit's warm backside pushing against his groin.

Aragorn lay his chin on top of the hobbit's head, inhaling the scent of his hair. After many minutes had passed, the ranger could hear Frodo's steady breathing as he drifted off to sleep. Legolas was right, Aragorn reflected---the ranger seemed to be fighting a losing battle.

Aragorn held Frodo in his arms well into his watch as the hobbit slept deeply, having finally given in to his exhaustion. The ranger sat perfectly still, gazing about for movements in the darkness, listening to Frodo's even breathing. Even after his watch had ended, Aragorn still did not move, hating to wake Frodo---and enjoying---too much, he told himself---the warmth in his arms.

At last, the ranger decided it would be best to stop indulging himself and return the hobbit to his bedroll. He shifted, sitting Frodo up and preparing to scoop him into his arms. Frodo moaned softly and whimpered in his sleep, slowly opening his eyes.

"Aragorn?" he whispered sleepily, blinking as he came more fully to wakefulness. "What is it?"

"Nothing, Frodo," the ranger answered. "Go back to sleep. I'm just going to take you back to your bedroll. You'll be more comfortable there."

The hobbit yawned. "But I'm very comfortable here. May I not stay with you?" He shook his head as soon as he said it. "I'm sorry, Aragorn---I realize you have better things to do than simply watching me sleep all the time."

The ranger gazed at the hobbit. If he knew how much I treasure watching him sleep he thought to himself. "No, little one, it is not that . . . I just think it would be . . best . . . for you to sleep in your bedroll."

"I see." Frodo's voice was a bit downcast. "Very well." He stood up slowly, clutching his injured arm, Aragorn steadying him as he did so.

"Frodo, let me carry you back . . ."

"No. I can do it. There's no need, really. I'll be fine."

Suddenly a rustling sound erupted from the cluster of trees behind them. His hand going to the hilt of his sword, Aragorn stood abruptly, turning to gaze into the darkness with keen eyes. He stood in front of Frodo, blocking the hobbit from any dangers that might be lurking in the woods.

Turning back to Frodo, Aragorn glanced down at Sting on the hobbit's hip---the blade was dull. "Not Orcs," Aragorn remarked. "Gollum, maybe. I'm going to find out. Tell the others I'll be back within the hour."

Frodo's eyes widened as he looked up at the ranger. "Aragorn, I want to come with you."

"No."

"Aragorn, this is just as much my fight as yours. Please---I promise I will not do anything . . . stupid. If you don't let me go, I shall certainly follow you." He raised his eyebrows, staring at the man.

Aragorn looked down at him, considering, and felt his heartstrings tug. Chances were, the ranger mused, he would never catch Gollum anyway---and truth be told, he felt that Frodo would be safer with him than anywhere else.

His mouth grim, Aragorn gripped Frodo's shoulder. "Do you have the star-glass?" he asked, and Frodo pulled it out of his waistcoat. "Come along then," Aragorn told him, after motioning to Legolas that they were leaving, "but be very quiet."

Frodo nodded, and together they padded into the deep thicket of trees and low-lying shrubs. It was rough going, and Frodo, still a bit unsteady on his feet, was hard-put to keep up, but he was not about to ask Aragorn to carry him. The ranger went very slowly, however, glancing often at Frodo to make certain he was not being overtaxed.

About them, the trees were dense, and Frodo could hear the sound of owls and chittering rodents. The ground below them was soft with leaves. A bit later, Frodo heard the rustling noise again and felt Aragorn's large hand come down on his chest, holding him back. "Stay here for a moment," the ranger cautioned. "Give me the star-glass."

Taking Galadriel's phial, Aragorn held it up a bit---and smiled. "Well, Frodo, I think we've found our `Gollum,'" he said.

Frodo followed his gaze: There in the brambles lay a small doe---her hind leg badly entwined in a creeping vine. The frightened beast kicked mightily, trying to set herself free.

Slowly, Aragorn advanced toward her, staying clear of her kicking legs, and gently laid his hands on her back. Taking his long dagger out, he swiftly grabbed the animal's hind leg before she could try to bolt again and cut through the vine. Finally free, the doe scrambled to her feet and ran down the grassy slope.

"Well," said Aragorn, "I suppose we'd best be getting back. It appears that was the source of the noise I heard."

Frodo nodded. "How did you calm her so easily, Aragorn?" he asked. "You do seem to have a way with animals." He looked up, blue eyes boring into the ranger's. "And hobbits."

Aragorn looked down at him, catching his breath for a moment under the intensity of Frodo's gaze. Suddenly, Frodo felt a wave of dizziness assail him and he stumbled, swaying.

"Frodo!" the ranger breathed as he knelt on the grass and grabbed the hobbit's shoulders so that their faces were only inches apart. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, yes, I'm . . . fine," Frodo answered, barely keeping his feet. "Just a moment of weakness. I must have overdone it with the walking. I'm sorry, Aragorn. I suppose it was rather silly of me to want to come with you."

The ranger reached up and caressed one of Frodo's delicately pointed ears. "No, little one, not silly . . . at all." He looked at the face so close now to his own---the eyes wide and staring at him, the mouth soft and trembling. Before Aragorn knew what was happening, that rosebud mouth gently brushed his own for just a moment . . . a taste so wet and sweet the ranger groaned.

Aragorn knew he should pull away---but instead, he grasped Frodo's shoulders more tightly and pressed the hobbit to him, his own mouth roughly closing down over Frodo's, his tongue thrusting out and hungrily parting the tiny lips. Whimpering, the hobbit opened his mouth wider to allow Aragorn's entry, his uninjured hand clasping the back of the ranger's neck. Aragorn could feel Frodo's own rough pink tongue as it slipped past his teeth, exploring

Frodo moaned loudly as Aragorn's hand cupped his buttock, gently squeezing and drawing the hobbit's hips closer. Hearing the moan, the ranger pulled his mouth free of the kiss and sat Frodo down. Being careful of the hobbit's injured limb, Aragorn gently pushed Frodo to lie flat on his back. The hobbit was practically panting before him.

"Aragorn," Frodo breathed as he looked at the man leaning over him, "what is happening?"

The ranger shook his head, his cock painfully aroused. "I don't know, Frodo . . . but do you want it to stop?"

"Elbereth, no," Frodo replied, reaching up and pulling Aragorn down on top of him. The ranger had to suppress a low growl as he felt Frodo's erection poking him in the middle.

"No, Frodo, I'm too heavy . . . I'll crush you . . ."

"No, you won't. I want to feel that heaviness . . . want to feel you lying on top of me."

Hearing this, Aragorn once more crushed his mouth to the hobbit's, one hand running through Frodo's mane of curly hair. The ranger then lowered his mouth, despite Frodo's pained protests, to plant wet sucking kisses on the hobbit's dewy neck and ears. In response, Frodo arched his back, groaning, his eyes glazed with desire.

The hobbit could feel the man's penis between them and he squirmed just thinking about it. Aragorn lifted his head for moment and regarded him with amused eyes, wondering why Frodo

was wiggling so.

"Your member . . . it's . . . rather large," the hobbit gulped. "I should very much like to . . . touch it."

Aragorn smirked. "You already have, little one."

The hobbit looked puzzled. "I have?"

The ranger cleared his throat and looked down. "Uh, while you were under the spell of the athelas brew, Frodo. You were really quite . . . curious for a hobbit."

Suddenly a deep pink infused Frodo's cheeks, making him look especially endearing to the ranger. Putting his hand to his mouth, Frodo gasped. "I . . . probably made quite an ass out of myself, didn't I?"

Aragorn laughed. "No, of course not. But it was rather . . . trying for me, for a time. But to answer your question . . . yes, you may touch it as much as . . . you'd like."

Slowly Frodo reached his small hand down and gently caressed the ranger's penis through the cloth as Aragorn closed his eyes and drew in great gulps of air. In a moment the ranger regained control and wasted no time unbuttoning the top of Frodo's weskit and shirt, kissing the hobbit's chest. With his knees, Aragorn thrust Frodo's legs apart and moved a hand down to grasp the

hobbit's straining penis through his velveteen breeches, softly squeezing.

"Aragorn," Frodo gasped. "If you continue to do that . . . I shall . . ." he stopped, his eyes wide, as he realized the ranger had stilled and had lifted his head up, looking around.

"Be quiet," the ranger ordered, putting a finger to the hobbit's lips. "I hear something."

A moment later, that something became apparent. There was a slight cough, then the slim form of Legolas emerged from around a tree. The elf was clutching his bow in one hand, but his eyes

were full of amusement at the image of the mussed-up ranger lying on top of an even more bedraggled hobbit, their bodies pressed closely together and Frodo's legs splayed wide. On top

of that, Legolas could not see exactly where one of Aragorn's hands was, but he felt sure it was in a very interesting spot.

"Forgive me for interrupting, Aragorn, Frodo," he said, as if he were apologizing for crashing a tea party. "I heard noises out here and thought it might be . . . Gollum. But I can see that I was wrong." He laughed softly. "I am leaving now, and I will not be back. Carry on." If elves had it in them to wink, Aragorn was sure Legolas would have.

Both of them lay there, panting, as Legolas turned and left. Above, it seemed that the sun's first rays were appearing in the sky. Looking down at the sweat-soaked, trembling hobbit beneath

him, Aragorn sighed. He was about to open his mouth when Frodo covered it with his hand, knowing what the ranger was about to say from the look of solemnity in Aragorn's eyes.

"I suppose," Frodo said first, beating him to it, "we should be getting back to camp. The others will wonder where we have gone."

"I . . . imagine you are right," the ranger agreed reluctantly, willing his penis to go down. It wasn't happening. Abruptly, he cursed and pushed himself off of Frodo, then righted the hobbit's clothing and helped him to his feet. Frodo was still very much aroused himself, Aragorn noted.

"Come," the ranger said, his voice rough. "You are probably exhausted, and we need to get some food in you." His entire groin ached with need and he wanted nothing more than to satisfy his desires right then and there. But he had responsibilities as the leader of the Company, and Frodo was still not completely recovered.

Closing his waistcoat to hide his own still-straining erection, Frodo followed him, Aragorn keeping a steadying hand around his shoulders and catching him when he stumbled. Together, the two of them regretfully made their way back to camp, each lost in his own thoughts.

Legolas's eyes widened as Frodo and Aragorn entered the camp. He had not expected to see them return so soon, and he wished fervently that he had not inadvertently walked up on their

tryst. Otherwise, the elf was quite sure it would have been some time before the hobbit and the ranger ventured back.

Boromir gave the two a strange look as they returned. Frodo was looking rather flushed and was holding his coat around him as if he were chilled, and Boromir wondered if his fever had returned.

Aragorn was looking extremely irked, but that was nothing quite new---the ranger often appeared that way. The stress of trying to locate Gollum must have gotten to him, Boromir decided.

"Well, Aragorn, what did you encounter in the woods? Any luck?" he asked Aragorn. Legolas was forced to hide a chuckle at the look on the ranger's face.

Aragorn scowled. "No, Boromir. No . . . luck. Just a doe with her leg caught in a vine. I cut her free. Come, Frodo, have some breakfast while I tend to Sam."

Frodo actually felt a bit hungry for the first time in days and sat with Merry and Pippin while he ate. While his arm still ached terribly and he felt tired and weak, his over-all sick feeling had diminished substantially, and he knew he was over the worst of it. As he sat there, watching the others pack their belongings and Aragorn feeding Sam lembas-water and athelas brew, he started to feel drowsy and closed his eyes for a moment.

He was thinking naughty thoughts he knew he shouldn't be thinking when he felt someone gently grasp his injured arm. Aragorn, of course. The ranger was always looking out for him, and it seemed that after what had happened---nearly happened---in the woods, Aragorn might feel more than mere concern. Frodo smiled and opened his eyes---and was shocked to see that it was Boromir who knelt before him. The hobbit gulped; ever since Lothlorien the man had made him uneasy.

"Did I scare you, Frodo?" Boromir asked him softly. "I am sorry---but you look rather flushed and I thought you might be feeling ill. I thought perhaps I could help to. . ."

"N . . . no, Boromir," Frodo told him, "really, I'm fine. Please don't worry for me." Gingerly he pulled his injured arm back.

"Are you certain? I have some experience with these things, and seeing that Aragorn is busy with Sam . . ."

Aragorn's voice cut through Boromir's as the ranger approached. "I have finished tending to Sam, Boromir. I have been taking care of Frodo and will continue to do so."

"Very well, Aragorn. Have it your way." The man of Gondor shrugged and stalked off, wondering at the ranger's protectiveness.

Frodo looked up as Aragorn approached. "Truly, Aragorn . . . there is no reason for either of you to worry over me."

"You are the Ring-bearer, Frodo. Of course I worry over you," Aragorn said, avoiding looking into the hobbit's eyes. "Now, let me see that arm." Gentle as always, the ranger unwrapped Frodo's arm and hand and began to bathe them with athelas water, keeping his face expressionless. Even holding the injured hand---bruised and cut up as it was---gave Aragorn an uncomfortable feeling in his groin.

Frodo flinched as Aragorn touched the limb and the ranger looked up, trying to ignore the hobbit's mouth as he bit his lip. "I'm sorry if it hurts, little one. But it is healing nicely. And I am glad to see that you are no longer quite so pale. How do you feel?"

"Better than I have in a while," Frodo answered. He looked back at Aragorn with troubled eyes. "So . . . that is the reason, then."

"The reason for what?" the ranger asked as he applied a new poultice and began to rewrap the injuries.

"For your concern. Because I am the Ring-bearer." He sighed. "Aragorn, I . . . don't know what to say about . . . what happened earlier. Truly, I never intended . . ."

Aragorn cut him off. "Nothing happened, Frodo. Please . . . let's just forget about it."

"Very well."

Finishing the wrapping of Frodo's hand and arm, the ranger patted the hobbit on the shoulder and grabbed their packs to load them into the boat. Frodo sat on the ground, idly twisting a piece of grass and wishing he had never insisted on accompanying Aragorn into the woods to look for Gollum.

And Aragorn, as he loaded the packs, unsuccessfully tried to quell the memory of Frodo's warm and pliant body beneath him. Going back to help the hobbit into the boat, it was all the ranger could do to keep himself from literally sweeping Frodo up and crushing the hobbit's soft mouth to his own.

The weather did not look good, Frodo thought to himself as he sat in front of Aragorn in the canoe. They had been traveling down the Anduin for a couple of hours when the sky had darkened considerably with thunderclouds and a cool wind had started to blow.

Frodo sighed and lowered his head. His arm ached and throbbed and he was having a difficult time getting comfortable.

Behind him, Aragorn noticed his restlessness. "Is something troubling you, Frodo?" the ranger asked softly. "Do your arm and hand pain you badly? Perhaps you should lie down and get some

rest."

"My arm and hand hurts, but no more so than they have," the hobbit replied in a low voice---he was in something less than a talkative mood. "I'm getting used to the pain by now." He smiled slightly, although the ranger could not see it. "And no, Aragorn, I do not want any athelas brew or more of that terrible bark infusion you dole out so willingly."

The ranger chuckled. "Then you shall have none of it, as long as you continue to improve." Then his voice became more serious. "Frodo . . . about what you told me last night regarding Gollum.

I just want you to know . . . I wish I had captured Gollum when I had the chance and could have spared you the . . pain . . . of losing your parents."

"Aragorn," Frodo said gently, "it is certainly no one's fault, least of all yours. You had no way of knowing that Gollum would travel to the Shire." He shivered as a cool gust of wind blew through.

"Yes, but I should have counted on it---assumed that he would have tried to sneak into the Shire and create mischief---or murder. But no, I let him elude me too many times." Aragorn sighed. "I failed you, Frodo, before I even knew you. It was given to me to keep the Shire safe."

The hobbit turned around, his wide eyes full of sympathy and remembered pain. "Please, Aragorn, how could you have known? And we still do not know, nor will we ever know, if Gollum was speaking the truth. I do wonder."

The ranger nodded. "True. At any rate, I needed to tell you my feelings on the matter. As for the other, do not waste your mental energy attempting to figure it out, little one," the ranger commented. "Gollum has always had many, many spies working for him, keeping track of us---and of the Ring. He could easily have found out whatever he wanted to know---or whomever

he wanted to find."

Frodo sighed and lowered his head. "Yes. Aragorn . . . I still find myself wanting him dead, and it is very troubling. I try to have pity on him---I do, as Gandalf advised. But honestly . . . deep in my heart I want him dead---and some small part of me hopes he suffers when his time comes. If I could be the one to catch him and be the cause of that suffering, I am not certain I could keep from giving in to the temptation."

"I understand, Frodo," Aragorn said softly. "But Gandalf was correct, as I think you truly do know. Give yourself some credit. If we get the chance, I would surely like to catch him---but we cannot lose sight of our mission. Gollum is rather insignificant in comparison. You cannot let your head and heart be eaten away by a desire for revenge. And remember---if we destroy the Ring, we surely destroy Gollum as well. Take that to heart."

Strangely enough, Frodo thought to himself, that thought comforted him, and he felt his mood lighten a bit.

At that moment, a crack of thunder in the sky above made him jump. Looking up, Frodo could see streaks of lightning. The next thing the Company knew, there was a steady downpour of rain.

Aragorn cast about for the skin covers for the boat that would keep the rainwater out, but could not find them.

"Frodo!" he shouted. "The waterproof boat covers! Are they up there?"

The hobbit leaned over Sam to look through their belongings and shook his head. "No, they're not here . . . Aragorn . . . I bet they got tossed over when Gollum turned the boat over."

The ranger swore. He was relatively certain one of the other boats was equipped with extras, but still . . . his and Frodo's boat would quickly fill with water, and Sam could ill afford to get wet.

Shaking extra blankets out, Frodo covered Sam as best he could and held onto him, trying to protect him as much as he was able to from the rain. The water was getting choppy as well, and

Aragorn could see that the others were having difficulty keeping the water out even with their boat covers in place. And the lightning was a real danger.

"Boromir, Legolas! We must take our boats over and wait out the storm!"Aragorn called. The others nodded. Paddling into a small shallow cove partially sheltered by trees, they moored their

boats and prepared to wait.

The bottom of Aragorn and Frodo's boat was full of water, which poor sleeping Sam was lying in. Calling to Legolas, Aragorn bade him to take Sam into his boat and get him dried off and warmed

up while he and Frodo tended to the business of scooping the water out of their craft.

As it turned out, Boromir's boat was packed with extra covers, and Aragorn grabbed a few. He held them up to keep the rain out while he and Frodo scooped with cups---Frodo with only his good hand. Soon, the boat was relatively dry, but Aragorn and Frodo were both soaked. Additionally, the driving rain kept blowing water into everyone's boat, and all of them were obliged to lift the leather covers over their heads and sit at the bottom of the boats, huddled underneath.

Frodo felt chilled to the bone, and Aragorn eyed the wet bandages on the hobbit's arm and hand. They would need to be replaced soon, but Aragorn was loathe to do it until they were on dry land or the rain had stopped. Their supply of clean bandages was not limitless, and chances were, Frodo's arm would only get wet again if the weather kept up.

The ranger looked at the hobbit sitting with his arms wrapped about himself as he shivered. With a sigh, Frodo lay down on his side in the bow of the boat, clutching his injured arm and closing his eyes.

Aragorn could barely stand to look at the hobbit, he looked so cold and miserable lying there. And utterly desirable, the ranger ruefully thought to himself, even soaking wet. Especially soaking wet. Turning and rummaging through his things, Aragorn brought out his old cloak---the one he had worn before entering Lothlorien. Scooting close to the hobbit, he grasped both of Frodo's feet and put them in his lap, wrapping the cloak about them and rubbing them briskly for warmth.

Frodo opened his eyes for a moment at the sensation, surprised to find the ranger touching him after their encounter in the woods earlier. But the rubbing was extremely pleasant and a bit . . . arousing as well. Calmed by the gentle sway of the boat, Frodo yawned and made a long sighing noise.

"Thank you, Aragorn . . ." he began. "But really, you don't have to bother with me . . . I shall cover myself with a blanket and be fine."

The ranger gazed at him. "You're many things, little one, but a bother is not one of them." He paused, then drew a deep breath. "Frodo . . what I said earlier, about forgetting what nearly

happened this morning . . . well, the fact is, I cannot seem to get it out of my head. In fact, as I'm sure you are painfully aware," he said, shaking his head in irritation, "I can't even seem to keep my hands off of you." Aragorn was angry with himself, and his voice betrayed that.

Frodo didn't answer for a moment. He raised his head slightly and looked at Aragorn. "Well, then we appear to be in the same boat." He laughed softly at the pun and lowered his eyes again. "For I can't seem to . . . forget it either. In fact, I . . . most enjoyed it."

Suddenly the rubbing movement on his feet and legs stopped and he opened his eyes to see the ranger looking at him.

"You look rather chilled all over, Frodo, and in need of warming up. And you know . . . a man could lie full-length in this canoe," Aragorn remarked.

"Most certainly, Aragorn . . . and the boat is definitely wide enough to accommodate a man and a hobbit."

Aragorn smiled a bit, then, grabbing a blanket from their belongings, gently lowered himself to lie on his side in front of Frodo, so that they faced each other. The boat tipped ominously for a split second, and Aragorn quickly settled himself down, covering them both with the blanket.

The conditions were quite cramped, and given the angled sides of the boat, the man and the hobbit found themselves pressed up against one another. Of course, it didn't matter, as Aragorn put both of his arms about Frodo, mindful of the hobbit's injured limb, and closed any distance between them that might have been there. Above them lay the boat cover, hiding them from anyone else's eyes, and outside, they could hear the wind and rain. Suddenly, Aragorn found himself hoping the bad weather lasted quite a while.

"There," Aragorn said, enjoying the feel of the small body snugly ensconced within his arms. "Are you warmer now?"

"Much more comfortable, yes, thank you," Frodo murmured, "but I find I'm still a bit chilled, having gotten wet from the rain and all."

Concerned, Aragorn gently opened Frodo's waistcoat, unbuttoning the hobbit's weskit and loosening his suspenders. Untucking Frodo's shirt, the ranger unbuttoned it also and slipped his hands inside to rub the soft bare flesh and warm it up--only to be met with a nice cold coat of mithril mail. He sighed.

"You do wear too many layers of clothing, little one. It is frustrating, I must confess."

Frodo smirked but said nothing.

Lifting his hands up inside the mithril mail, Aragorn remembered that Frodo also wore a thin leather shirt under that to protect his skin from the hard metal. He shook his head, loosening the leather shirt and slipping his hands under it, rubbing Frodo's back briskly and ignoring the blue eyes gazing at him from only inches away.

Sighing, Frodo closed his eyes and relaxed, simply enjoying the feel of the large warm hands. He had been growing drowsy but now found himself becoming quite aroused. To his chagrin, his sleepiness was disappearing.

Aragorn noticed immediately, feeling the hobbit's erection pressing against his stomach. "I think maybe I'd better stop this," the ranger told him gently. "Or we're both going to regret it."

"I'm sorry, Aragorn, I didn't mean to . . ." His face worried, Frodo tried to pull away from the ranger.

"No, Frodo . . . that's not what I meant. I mean that I hate to start something we won't be able to finish . . . we cannot, uh, accomplish much in this boat. Remember what Haldir and the others told us: `They are wayward if mishandled,'" he smiled slightly, "much like hobbits."

"Hobbits?" Frodo asked in mock indignation.

"Yes." Aragorn raised a hand and brushed back Frodo's still rain-soaked curls, his eyes roaming the hobbit's moist face and lips. "You hobbits are quite incorrigible. That is why I plan to . . . handle you well, the boat be damned." Gently he arched Frodo's head back and pressed his lips to the hobbit's wet neck.

In Legolas's boat, the elf was drying Sam off and covering him in a nest of warm blankets while Gimli sat half-dozing in the bow. The dwarf was startled to alertness, however, at the distinct emanations coming from Aragorn and Frodo's boat nearby. Namely, what surely sounded like a hobbit giggle. Most assuredly, Gimli thought to himself, a hobbit giggle. Suddenly, the noise came again.

"What are those two up to?" the dwarf growled, irritated. "They're certainly making enough noise. If an Enemy should come upon us, I doubt they would have a difficult time locating the Ring-bearer."

Legolas coughed. "Likely, Aragorn is telling his story to Frodo about the riders of the Rohirrim again."

"Aye," Gimli agreed, "that must indeed be it."

Meanwhile Aragorn had moved his lips from Frodo's neck to his delicately pointed ears, then pulled the hobbit close to him and tasted the sweetness of Frodo's mouth. The dewy lips parted

slightly and the ranger grew bolder, slipping his tongue between the hobbit's teeth and exploring the moistness within.

Frodo moaned slightly at the sensation and pressed harder against the ranger, his knee curving to grind into Aragorn's groin.

At this, Aragorn pulled away abruptly, his breathing heavy, his member throbbing almost painfully.

"Aragorn . . . what's wrong? What did I do?" the hobbit asked, puzzled once again. It seemed he was constantly causing the ranger to pull away from him.

"Nothing, Frodo . . . but we must . . . we must stop. Before this gets to be more . . . painful."

Frodo understood and nodded slightly. "Perhaps someday . . ." he said, trailing off, his eyes full of disappointment.

"Yes . . . someday." Aragorn's voice betrayed exactly how he felt at waiting for . . . someday. He gazed into the blue eyes so close to his own, and before either of them could stop it, their lips had found one another's once again, and caution was thrown to the wind.

Aragorn pulled his hands from under Frodo's leather shirt and focused on the hobbit's trouser buttons, unfastening them one by one as Frodo wriggled from the sensation.

Stopping, the ranger looked at him, concerned. "Frodo . . . am I moving too fast?"

"No, Aragorn . . . not at all. I'm simply . . . overwhelmed at the sensation, if you will." As if to prove it, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"I know," the ranger whispered. Finishing with Frodo's breeches, Aragorn slipped both hands into them, avoiding Frodo's penis but instead cupping his hands around the hobbit's bare backside and hips, kneading.

"Aragorn . . ." Frodo moaned softly, thrusting his hips a bit at the sensation.

"Easy, Frodo . . . let us take it slowly."

Closing his eyes and temporarily unable to speak, Frodo simply nodded, trying not to move too much and upset the boat.

Moving his attention from Frodo's face and looking down, Aragorn eased Frodo's erect member out, smiling as the hobbit groaned, biting his lips, at the feel of Aragorn's large bare hand wrapped around his length.

Aragorn found that although Frodo was well-endowed for his size, the ranger's hand fit nicely around the hobbit's small penis, leaving the rosy tip just peeking out. With a firm stroke, Aragorn moved his hand up and down the shaft, just once, before stopping, moving his eyes back to Frodo's face and enjoying the look he saw there. Frodo's eyes were closed, his lips parted, as he breathed rapidly, obviously lost in the sensation.

With another stroke, Aragorn watched as Frodo's hips came forward in response and the hobbit groaned, a bit of wetness glistening at the tip of his arousal. The ranger paused, prolonging Frodo's feeling of pleasure.

"Don't . . . stop . . ." the hobbit begged. "Please."

Aragorn chuckled. Wetting his hand with the dew on Frodo's penis, he moved his hand down to gently cup the small sac under the hobbit's member, gently massaging the area there and in the

creases of Frodo's thighs. Frodo groaned and, snuggling up closer to Aragorn, buried his face in the ranger's shoulder to keep himself from crying out as Aragorn's hand continued to work its magic.

The man's hand moved back down for another stroke, listening to the hobbit's ragged intake of breath as he did. He did this several times, then, just when Frodo was close to the edge, stopped and gently circled the head of Frodo's penis with his thumb---just a feather touch.

"Aragorn . . . Elbereth . . . finish it . . . I can't stand anymore . . ."

Much amused, Aragorn firmly enclosed Frodo's member again and pumped with long, firm strokes. Frodo had both his arms around the ranger's neck, grunting with each movement as his hips bucked in response.

"Frodo . . . I would use my mouth if I could do that here in this tightly cramped space," the ranger said softly.

The thought of it sent Frodo careening over the edge, and he moaned as he climaxed with a violent shudder, small fingers digging into Aragorn's neck. Aragorn felt the jerk and the hobbit's seed as it spilled out onto his tunic and over his hand.

A moment passed, and still Frodo's head was buried in Aragorn's shoulder, his breathing rapid. Slowly, he pulled away to look at the ranger with shining blue eyes. Not speaking a word, Frodo

leaned forward and captured the ranger's lips with his own before pulling away.

"Now, Aragorn, it is your turn."

The ranger's lips curved up in a smile. "I am waiting, Frodo .. . very impatiently, I might add."

"I think I may need to move down some, to reach . . ." the hobbit said.

"Yes," Aragorn replied, his voice gruff. He moved on his elbow a bit, shifting, to allow Frodo more access.

Frodo scooted down a bit and rubbed the ranger's erection through the cloth before working to unfasten the lacings to Aragorn's breeches. While Frodo was trying to concentrate on this task, Aragorn bent over to kiss the hobbit's face . . . his hair . . . whatever part he could reach.

The hands finally had the laces undone, and Aragorn thought for a moment he might come at the first feel of Frodo's fingers on his bared member. He groaned softly, reaching out for Frodo, but

as he did, the hobbit scooted down further out of his immediate reach and was gazing raptly at the ranger's member. Frodo admitted to himself that he was, quite frankly, a bit obsessed with the size of it. It was just very fascinating---much wider and longer than Frodo might have imagined and soft to the touch.

Frodo wondered how best to pleasure Aragorn, since one of his hands was injured and the other---as he had known it would be---too small to wrap around the ranger's erection. He needed

two hands to do this properly, and so the hobbit lay thinking for a minute about the most logical course of action to take.

So it was, then, that to Aragorn's extreme surprise and near undoing, he felt Frodo's warm mouth enclose the head of his penis.

Caught off guard at the sheer unbelievable pleasure of it, Aragorn arched his back and moved to allow Frodo easier access. But as he did, he rolled a bit too far---upsetting the wayward Elven boat. The canoe dipped too far to one side and dumped Aragorn unceremoniously into the river.

The boat immediately righted itself, and Frodo jumped up as quickly as he could, trying to set his clothing to rights and lifting the hide cover to peer about. "Aragorn? Aragorn!" he shouted.

But the ranger was in no danger---the water was extremely shallow, and Aragorn, after staying in the water long enough to put his now shriveled-from-the-cold penis back in his breeches, was wading back to the boat, dripping with water, an irate expression on his face and cursing under his breath.

He turned and saw the others peeping out of their boats, their eyes wide, and ignored them.

"Aragorn, remember what the elves told us," Boromir reminded. "These boats are crafty and wayward if mishandled. I would not advise attempting to sleep in one again."

"Yes, Boromir, you are quite right." The ranger's voice was short, and he avoided looking at Legolas's eyes, which were full of amusement, as he climbed back in the boat with Frodo, giving

the hobbit a mock glare.

"It is dry out now, Aragorn," Boromir observed. "I say we pick up the pace again and resume our traveling. Soon, it will be nightfall, and navigating this area of the river after dark is not safe."

Aragorn sighed. "Yes, we must be off again, I agree. Come, let us continue." And so they untied their boats and set off back down the river---four hobbits, an elf, a man of Gondor, a dwarf, and one very frustrated ranger.

Frodo was looking down at his feet as he sat in the middle of the boat, trying to keep a straight face, but finally he turned back to Aragorn behind him.

"I'm sorry, Aragorn, truly . . . I never meant for that to happen. Else I would not have . . . well, you know."

"Yes, I know---you had good intentions. I told you you were incorrigible." He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment at the brief memory of Frodo's mouth on his member. It was unfortunate---he felt himself growing aroused again. "Please, let us not speak of it again---just the memory of it is . . . painful."

"If it makes you feel any better, Aragorn, I find myself quite relaxed at the moment, thanks to you." Frodo yawned. "And a bit drowsy. That was quite an illuminating experience."

"I'm glad, little one. It is fortunate one of us is . . . relaxed."

Frodo was about to say something more, but his eyes widened in concern when he saw the ranger was shivering as if chilled.

"Aragorn, you must dry off somewhere---you're soaking wet."

The ranger looked down at himself. "It is of no consequence, Frodo---my clothes will dry soon enough. Unfortunately, we are not in a position for me to take them off. Nor are we likely to be soon."

"A shame."

"Yes. Perhaps . . . that someday we were talking about."

"Yes."

Both were silent, and Frodo felt himself growing quite sleepy. Soon, he curled up in the canoe and dozed, memories of lying there with Aragorn foremost in his mind.

"We will rest here," declared Aragorn two hours later as they spied a suitable spot of riverbank. The sky was rapidly growing darker, and the ranger was eager to tend to Sam and remove the

bandages from Frodo's arm and hand---as well as dry his own clothes out a bit more by the fire. He was still rather damp from falling in the river.

Sam was improving more each day, Aragorn was pleased to note. He was fully conscious for longer periods of time now, although he was usually quite drowsy from Aragorn's continued doses of medicinal brew. At any rate, he was out of danger as long as he was allowed to rest, the ranger pronounced, which considerably lightened everyone's spirits.

A fire was a bit risky, but since Frodo and Sam had gotten ill, they had lit one every night and had become accustomed to it, and Aragorn had not the heart to stop the practice until Sam was healthy again. He needed to be kept warm at all times to avoid a possible relapse.

While Merry and Pippin started supper, with some help from Boromir, Aragorn turned his attention to Frodo's hand and arm, sitting next to the hobbit while he unwrapped the soggy bandages and trying to avoid dwelling on what had happened---and almost happened---earlier in the canoe. Just one look at the hobbit's rosebud lips made the ranger's groin tighten, and he shifted

uncomfortably as he examined Frodo's injuries.

The wounds looked much better than the ranger had anticipated, although it was obvious from the way Frodo grimaced at his touch that they were still quite painful. Indeed, the hobbit rarely used that arm for anything, usually holding it close and favoring it.

"As soon as it is healed more, we need to make sure we exercise your arm and hand to avoid the muscle becoming too weak and stiff," Aragorn told him.

Frodo nodded, watching as the ranger grabbed a flask of oil from his pack and opened it.

"What is that for?" Frodo asked, certain it was something bad-smelling or foul-tasting.

"It is linseed oil. It will help the wound heal faster, with less of a scar. I would have applied it earlier, but the wound was not closed enough and I feared it would make it more painful."

"I see." The hobbit paused for a moment. "I am sorry for what happened earlier today. And your clothes are still damp---I think you have tended me enough. Please, sit by the fire and dry out a bit."

"I will in a moment. But first I need to finish wrapping your arm up well. And as for earlier today . . . well, I quite enjoyed what time we did have together, little one." The ranger's blue-gray eyes grew wistful as they rose to gaze into the hobbit's. "And as for the rest of it . . . well . . . as I

said, someday."

Frodo looked down and bit his lip, wondering whether to ask the next question. "Aragorn . . . do you think the others know . . . uh, what we were doing in the boat?"

"If they do, I do believe I'm beyond caring. If your cousins can engage in such activities, I don't see why we must hide."

Frodo gulped. "My . . . cousins? As in . . . my cousins Merry and Pippin? With each other?"

Aragorn laughed. "How could you have failed to notice? Ahhh . . . I believe it started after you and Sam had your accident. You were in no shape to notice. They think they're being discreet,

but it is obvious."

Frodo coughed, his eyes wide, trying to take it all in.

"Of course . . . they are two hobbits," Aragorn reminded. "Some might frown upon a man and a hobbit."

"Let them," Frodo answered. "I do not care---what difference does size make, anyway? We're not so different, Aragorn."

"No, indeed we're not. But there are some areas in which size differences, Frodo, could cause . . . certain difficulties. It is only practical to think about such things."

The hobbit just looked at him, his blue eyes wide. "I'm not worried, Aragorn. If the time ever comes, I will do whatever it takes to give you pleasure, as you gave me today."

Aragorn grimaced as he felt himself becoming aroused. "Well, I think we'd best change the direction of this conversation before----" his words were cut short by Pippin exclaiming that

"supper was now ready, and all who didn't come eat immediately were going to find no food left."

Sighing, both Frodo and Aragorn walked over to the fire and served themselves. During their meal, Frodo kept glancing at his cousins, watching them to see if the ranger was correct. After

viewing their secret glances and simple touches, and feeling quite like a voyeur, Frodo concluded that Merry and Pippin had indeed discovered the pleasures of a relationship with each other. Looking at Legolas and Gimli and remembering the exorbitant amount of time the two had spent alone with each other in Lothlorien, Frodo began to wonder if there was something between them as well. *Stop that, Frodo Baggins,* he told himself, you are becoming fixated.

When supper was over, the Company sat passing a sleeping Sam around to hold and comfort while discussing the next day's plans. The stars were out and the weather had cleared up

considerably, leaving the air a tad muggy and comfortably cool without being chilly. Boromir again tried to give Merry and Pippin sword-fighting lessons, until Aragorn kindly asked them to stop as he wasn't in the mood to stitch another hobbit up this century. Legolas, as usual, was not to be found---he was off exploring, or communing with nature, as elves were wont to do.

A good while later, they found themselves growing drowsy and decided to retire for the night. Frodo lay curled on his side in his bedroll facing the fire, gazing at the night sky and thinking about Aragorn. He found he was not sleepy at all---likely due to his having taken quite a long nap in the boat. And, he was recovering his strength, finally, from his near-drowning and nasty infection. Nearby, Merry and Pippin lay with Sam between them, sharing their body heat.

As usual, Aragorn had first watch---but he found himself wishing it were over so that he could go off into the woods and release the pressure, so to speak, from the day's events---or lack thereof. As it was, he had to fight to keep his glance from straying to Frodo in his bedroll and noticing how the reflection of the campfire flames bathed the hobbit's dark hair and delicate features.

Suddenly, the ranger became aware of a presence next to him. He looked up at the tall form of Legolas.

"It is my watch, Aragorn," the elf stated simply.

"Legolas, we agreed I would take the first watch. It has barely been a half-hour. . ."

"Nay, I would rather watch than stand about . . . I find myself full of too much energy at present to rest. And after me, Boromir and Gimli shall take the watch." Legolas raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. "I do believe you are free to go spend your time as you wish."

He stood and looked at the ranger as Aragorn eyed him with puzzlement and a bit of suspicion. Seeing he was getting nowhere, Legolas continued.

"Aragorn, I have been out scouting the area, and there is a natural hot spring that way"---and here Legolas pointed with his slender arm---"quite shallow, but extremely warm and soothing. Your clothes are still quite damp from the river---it would certainly not do for you to catch a chill as the hobbits did, and a long soak in the spring's warmth would refresh you. As an elf, I am immune to such, therefore it is only logical that I take the watch while you go avail yourself of this good fortune."

Aragorn nodded but remained seated. He was a bit chilly with his damp clothes on. "Very well, Legolas, if you are certain . . ."

"Yes, my friend," Legolas answered, "quite certain---with one condition." He paused. "I believe I did see Frodo shivering just a bit in his bedroll only a moment ago. It would greatly benefit him to go with you and share the warm water."

The ranger raised his eyebrows slightly, a look of amusement coming to his face, but said nothing.

"Go, Aragorn," the elf urged again, his eyes merry. "Trust me, no one will bother you for a long time---I will see to it."

This time, the ranger rose, clasping Legolas briefly on the shoulder, and slowly walked to Frodo's bedroll with a nervousness he was surprised to feel.

As Aragorn approached, he saw that Frodo was indeed shivering in his bedroll, although he had the blankets pulled up to his chin. The hobbit's brows knitted together in a frown. "Aragorn, is everything all right? I thought you were supposed to be on watch."

"Legolas relieved me. Are you cold, little one?"

The hobbit frowned. "Only a bit, as my clothes are still a bit damp feeling from the rain earlier today. But it is a pleasant evening---I don't feel a chill wind in the air."

The ranger knelt by Frodo's bedroll, rubbing the hobbit's shoulders through the blanket and reaching out to tenderly stroke the soft hair. He was warring with himself---a few words and Frodo would likely accompany him to the hot spring. And Aragorn knew something would happen between them if he did. Perhaps, the ranger reflected, it was best to simply go by himself and forget what he and Frodo had shared earlier---what he had yearned for many times over the course of the last weeks. It would probably be best in the long run, Aragorn ruefully conceded, to avoid complicating things.

Frodo was gazing up at him with wide trusting eyes, and the ranger suddenly knew what his decision would be.

"Frodo," he said gently, "Legolas has spotted a natural hot spring nearby---just within the privacy of the woods. I am going to soak a bit in its warmth. The water would probably do you good, as well. You are welcome to accompany me, if you wish it."

"Do you wish it?"

"Yes, Frodo. I do indeed. Very much."

"Then I shall go with you." The hobbit's words were matter-of-fact and spoken without hesitation.

Aragorn's lips curved upward in a slight smile. Grabbing the Phial of Galadriel, his pack, and some things nearby, he helped Frodo rise and together, they set off toward the waiting water.

From his place by the tree, Legolas watched them leave with a grateful sigh, muttering something about "a plague on men and hobbits and their stiff necks."

It was fully dark outside when Aragorn and Frodo left the camp. Reaching the woods, Aragorn carried the Phial of Galadriel in front of them so that he and Frodo would have some light to see

by. Carefully, they picked a path through the thick trees and undergrowth, in the direction Legolas had indicated. After ten minutes or so they were rewarded with the sound of running water.

"Ah, it appears we have finally found the hot spring," Aragorn said softly with a glance at his hobbit companion. Frodo had been unusually quiet on the way, and now he turned and looked at

the ranger with a face filled with part fear and part longing, his eyes shining in the light of the star-glass.

"Come," the ranger urged him, lightly taking the hobbit's arm as he stepped forward and held the Phial aloft.

Both he and Frodo raised their eyebrows at the sight. The hot spring was small but quite beautiful --- a crystal-clear pool deeply set within walls of rocks, to afford privacy, and bordered by thick trees and clumps of bushes. On its far side rose a shelf of higher rocks through which a tiny waterfall trickled, and here and there the spring was dotted with large flat rocks jutting out of the water. Suddenly thoughts ran through Aragorn's mind that he figured he oughtn't to be pondering, and he shook his head to clear it. He didn't want Frodo to think his sole purpose in bringing him to the spring was to bed the hobbit---better to go slowly than to frighten Frodo with his intentions.

Clearing his throat, the ranger walked up to the edge of the water and gently set the star-glass down so that it subtly illuminated the entire area. Bending, he trailed a hand in the water, finding it extremely warm, but very pleasantly so. He turned to Frodo with a smile.

"The water feels very good. I don't know when I've been last enjoyed a soak such as this."

The Ring-bearer smiled back. "It does indeed look very inviting." He stared at the ranger, feeling a bit nervous. Frodo had never been with a man before, and he wasn't sure he'd be altogether pleasing to Aragorn.

Aragorn, seeing his look, mistook it for hesitancy, and his eyes turned troubled. "Look, little one, we are simply availing ourselves of the warm water. Nothing more. There does not have to be anything more."

Frodo's eyes widened and he smirked, deciding to play with the ranger. "Very well. Then you must stay on your side of the pool, and I will stay on mine." So saying, he removed his waistcoat

and began to unbutton his weskit, looking up at Aragorn with a curve of his lips. "And you must promise not to look."

"I told you earlier that you were incorrigible," the ranger said in a mock huff. "All right then, I shall not look---but keep in mind---I have seen it all before. And more, if I recall correctly our time in the canoe."

At these words the hobbit blushed, casting his eyes down while he realized his bandaged arm and hand would give him some difficulty in removing the rest of his clothing. He sighed. And what was he to do with the bandages? Leave them on or take them off?

Seeing Frodo's dilemma, Aragorn knelt before him, taking the small arm and hand and gently unwrapping the dressings.

"It will be good healing therapy for your injuries to soak in the warm water," he told Frodo, "and will help with the soreness. When we get out of the water, I will wash it well with athelas and rebandage it for you."

Frodo nodded and grimaced as the bandages came away. The arm was healing, but still looked ugly, and he hated the sight of it. Looking at the stitches just seemed to make the arm begin aching, so he looked away.

A gentle hand trailed down his cheek, turning his face back to Aragorn's. "All right, Frodo, let's get you out of these clothes so that you may partake of the water." *Among other things, hopefully,* a small voice in Aragorn's head said.

Wth nimble fingers the ranger finished unfastening the hobbit's weskit, then slowly unbuttoned his shirt, ruefully recalling how many layers of clothing the hobbit always seemed to be wearing. Removing Frodo's shirt, he managed to wrangle the mithril coat off and then the soft leather shirt under that, revealing at last the pale expanse of the hobbit's chest and shoulders.

Still kneeling in front of Frodo, the ranger swallowed hard and egan to unbutton Frodo's breeches, looking up every few seconds at the blue eyes gazing so seriously at him. If he looked close

enough, he could just see the faint dewy sheen of sweat on Frodo's brow and lips. And it was fairly evident, even before the ranger pulled the breeches off, that the hobbit harbored a full erection.

Finally the breeches were unfastened, and in one smooth movement Aragorn pulled them down with Frodo's underbreeches until they were in a pool at his feet. Then the hobbit stepped out of them and Aragorn cast them aside, leaving Frodo entirely unclothed, wearing only the Ring on its silver chain around his neck.

Quickly Aragorn stood away from the hobbit before he lost control and pulled Frodo to him. He had seen Frodo unclad, of course, but never standing like a marble statue in the moonlight--and it was almost maddening. The hobbit was the most perfect thing Aragorn had ever seen---small yes, but masculine and ideally proportioned---except for the feet, of course. But that was part of being a hobbit, and even those, the ranger found rather endearing.

"You'd better get into the water before you catch a chill, Frodo," the ranger advised, even though he was the one shivering.

The hobbit nodded slowly, then turned and made his way to the pool, Aragorn's eyes following the outline of his rounded backside, as he dipped a toe into the water.

Instantly, Frodo looked back at the ranger with a huge grin on his face, his eyes crinkling. "You were right, Aragorn. It is delightfully warm!" With that, Frodo took a few more cautious steps and sunk down up to his chest in the water, closing his eyes and arching his head back against a rock with a low moan of pleasure.

Tearing his eyes away, Aragorn began divesting himself of his own clothing. He first removed his weapons---laying down his sword, his dagger, and his smaller knife on the rocks near the far edge of the spring, well within his reach if some unexpected Enemy came up. Although, the ranger admitted to himself, Sauron could turn up at the pool and Aragorn would likely not budge if Frodo were in his arms.

Pulling his boots off, Aragorn began to unlace his tunic, stopping for a moment when he caught site of two blue eyes gazing at him from the edge of the spring. The ranger laughed softly as he removed the last of his upper clothing, revealing his bare chest, and watched the huge eyes grow even larger.

Frodo finally spoke. "Aragorn . . . I would help you unlace your breeches, were it not for my injured hand."

"Ah . . . I would have enjoyed that, Frodo. If I ever see Gollum again, he will be lucky if he escapes with his soul intact, much less his life." Aragorn continued to work at his leggings, finally pulling them off and throwing them aside, now totally nude.

Frodo gasped slightly. Aragorn's body was beautiful---toned and sleek, his broad chest, covered with a smattering of hair, tapering into narrow hips and long legs. And in the middle of it all, his erect member---glistening and huge, as Frodo had known it would be.

Seeing the hobbit's eyes turned into saucers, Aragorn laughed. "Well Frodo, what do you think now? Does my foulness still outweigh my fairness, or do you think you can stand me?" he teased.

Frodo blushed again. "Hmmmph. You will never let me forget that, will you? Well . . . . let me say that I take back anything I ever said regarding your . . . foulness. On the contrary, I find that I . . . might have a difficult time staying on my side of the pool." The last was said in a rather breathless voice as Frodo's eyes followed the ranger as he walked toward the water.

"And I did not keep my earlier promise not to look, either, so we are even," Aragorn said. Gingerly, the ranger stepped into the pool, sighing as he felt the warm water envelop his body. It

was indeed pleasant, and the bottom of the spring was thick sand---neither grossly muddy nor painful to his feet.

Once immersed waist-deep, Aragorn turned to the hobbit soaking at the edge. Frodo's eyes were closed and he looked utterly relaxed. For a moment, Aragorn cursed the water that held the hobbit's nude body hidden from him. Then he realized he must not pressure, and strode out further into the pool, immersing himself deeper, until the water was up to his chest.

They sat just that way for a few minutes, simply taking in the warmth and comfort and trying not to stare at each other across the pool. After a while, Aragorn grew restless and decided to wade about and explore the hot spring a bit more.

Hearing slight splashing noises, Frodo opened his eyes and spotted the ranger standing under the cascade of the tiny waterfall, letting it soak his face and hair. Watching him, Frodo gulped and tentatively began to work his way toward the waterfall, but stopped with dismay when he realized the water would be over his head. And as the hobbit had not had good experiences with water lately, he decided to stay put.

"Little one," Aragorn called, seeing Frodo hesitating at the edge of the spring. "Will you come with me and enjoy the deeper water, where it is even warmer? It is very pleasant to stand under the cascade and let it soak your face and hair."

The hobbit's face fell and the rosebud lips trembled slightly. "But I cannot, Aragorn . . . it is too deep, and I do not think I should like to go in water over my head."

The ranger laughed softly. "That is why I said `come with me.' Never fear, I will hold onto you."

Aragorn made his way over to the hobbit, standing in front of him for a moment in the water, as they gazed at each other silently. Then Aragorn broke the silence, "Frodo," he urged, holding his arms out, "put your arms about my neck."

"Aragorn, somehow I do not think we're staying on our own sides of the pool anymore."

"No, we are certainly not, are we? Damn our earlier decision to do so."

Frodo clasped his arms about the ranger's neck, clinging to his broad chest, as Aragorn waded backward into the deeper water. And Aragorn did not think he imagined that, despite the serenity

of the hot spring, both he and Frodo were breathing quite a bit faster than normal.

From around the little hot spring, its waters subtly glowing from the light of Galadriel's star-glass, both Frodo and Aragorn could hear crickets chirping and the occasional call of a night bird. Around them the tall trees pressed in, and the moon above was full.

Supported by the ranger's strong arms, Frodo could not feel the bottom of the spring at all, and his feet gently swayed back and forth as Aragorn drew him closer to the cascading water. The hobbit sighed as the pool got deeper and warmer, as Aragorn had said it would. It was pleasant indeed---but not so pleasant as the broad chest pressed up against his own.

Aragorn tried not to think too much about the nude hobbit in his arms, lest he crush the small body to him and lose his senses. But it was nearly impossible, and he felt himself breathing in Frodo's scent as they traveled. Frodo's hair and face were still relatively dry, but the ranger figured that

would be remedied soon. It had been so long since they had enjoyed warm water---since Lothlorien---that Aragorn expected to have to pry Frodo out from under the water shower.

The hobbit clinging to him seemed to read his mind. "How long has it been since I have had a hot bath, I wonder?" he asked, his eyes shining as he looked up at Aragorn's face just inches away.

"Too long," Aragorn replied, then laughed at the look in the hobbit's eyes.

"Aragorn, I do believe you've just insulted me. Perhaps I should return to my side of the pool?" Frodo asked, his face impish.

"Ah, little one, you would have to contend with my wrath should you try to do so." As if to emphasize his words, Aragorn moved a hand down to cup one of the hobbit's smooth buttocks, watching the hobbit gulp as he did so.

"Very well, you have convinced me, Aragorn . . . you are indeed quite persuasive."

Soon they reached the warm cascade, and the ranger leaned Frodo up against the rock under it, hesitantly pressing closely against him to hold him upright and above the water, his eyes questioning.

"Does this also persuade you, Frodo?" he asked, hoping the hobbit would not be put off by the bodily contact.

"Most assuredly so."

At that answer Aragorn pressed closer still, shuddering at the feel of the naked wet body under the water practically glued to his, Frodo's erection prodding him in the stomach. Once under

the waterfall, Frodo arched his head back into it and sighed, closing his eyes as very warm rivulets trickled over his head and down his face. "Ah . . . it is nice," he murmured.

Aragorn reached up and gently ran a hand through the mass of Frodo's curly hair, untangling it as it got wet, and Frodo fairly purred at the sensation, wriggling a bit and moving against the ranger's own aroused penis. Aragorn bit his lip and exhaled loudly at the touch.

Frodo whimpered in pleasure, pursing his lips as Aragorn moved his hand down to rub the back of the hobbit's neck and massage the taught muscles there. "You know," the hobbit said, "Bilbo always had a favorite song he enjoyed singing at bath time. `O! Water hot is a noble thing,' it goes. Until now, I think I had no idea how correct the dear old hobbit was."

"Ah, Bilbo and his songs---he did have many of them, but I admit, that is not one I ever heard sung in the Hall of Fire. Perhaps you will sing that one to me someday."

Frodo's face sobered as he raised dark lashes to gaze unblinkingly at the ranger. "Speaking of someday----Aragorn, is this the someday we've been waiting for?"

"It is if you want it to be," Aragorn replied, moving his hand from Frodo's neck to gently caress the hobbit's full pink lips---now slightly parted and covered with droplets of spring water---with one finger.

Frodo didn't reply. Hesitating only for a moment, he gently flicked his tongue out to lick the finger before leaning forward and lightly pressing those lips to the ranger's. Then he pulled back, uncertain, staring at Aragorn with wide blue eyes filled with desire, the water still lightly running over his pale face.

That look was all Aragorn needed. Hungrily he cupped the hobbit's head with his hand and crushed his mouth to Frodo's, parting the hobbit's lips with his tongue as he thrust deeply, tasting the sweetness within. Frodo groaned at the firmness of the ranger's larger mouth on his own and the pleasant scratchiness of the ranger's beard. He opened his lips wider, allowing Aragorn more entry as their tongues curled around each other in what was sheer delight for both.

Abruptly Aragorn pulled away, leaving Frodo shaky and gasping for breath. Barely missing a beat, the ranger lowered his head to suck the water from the hobbit's wet neck and collarbone. "Little one . . . we need to move out of this deep water . . . where I can see you . . . touch all of you." Hefting Frodo to sit on the rock, the ranger gently brushed the hobbit's cheek. "Hold on a moment---I shall return shortly."

Clamping down on all of his self-control, Aragorn stepped lightly to retrieve his pack and a blanket before returning to the flat rocks just around the waterfall. The ranger covered them with armfuls of fluffy moss and laid the blanket on top. It would be wet, but would stay warm that way and provide plenty of comfortable cushioning.

"Come," Aragorn said softly, going back to the hobbit. In answer Frodo tightened his arms about Aragorn's neck and clasped his legs about the ranger's waist.

Bearing Frodo over to his makeshift bed, the ranger gently lay the hobbit down on his back and leaned over him, his face only inches away and his hair lightly tickling Frodo's cheek. Aragorn nearly groaned as his eyes took in the creamy expanse of hobbit skin that again lay revealed to him.

Taking a deep breath, he spoke. "This is not so comfortable as a bed, I'm afraid," the ranger whispered. "We could use the ground, but this way, we will stay nicely warm. You might get chilled out of the water."

I feel as if I'm burning up," Frodo teased, his eyes trailingover Aragorn's body appreciatively. The glow from all around them made Aragorn look like what he was---a king---all hard bronzed flesh. "I do not think it is possible for me to get chilled. Not with you."

Aragorn returned the hobbit's appreciative gaze. Above them, the moon shone bright, and it and the star-glass gently illuminated Frodo's skin and hair, making them seem almost ethereal.

"Elbereth, you are beautiful, Frodo," Aragorn breathed heavily. "So perfect. As perfect as any elf could ever be."

The hobbit blushed and looked down for a moment---then realized he was staring at Aragorn's erect penis---and blushed even more.

"I'm sorry, Aragorn," he said in a small voice. "I seemed to have no trouble at all with being embarrassed about this when I drinking the athelas brew, I'm afraid . . . if I recall what you

told me. Now, however, I must admit I am not certain I will get everything right."

"You don't have to, Frodo---I will teach you. Just being here . . . makes it right. And yes . . . it was torturous . . . for me to watch you . . . wanting you all that time." Suddenly the ranger's face grew very serious and his voice became a bit rough. "And I do want you---as much as I have ever wanted any living thing."

"And I you."

Their lips met again, moving in cadence, and Aragorn sighed as Frodo's small wet hands circled lightly down his chest, lingering over the dark nipples to trail down his stomach and rest just at his navel without going further. Then Frodo leaned up and kissed the ranger's shoulder, his small lips gently nipping the hard flesh there. The ranger's arousal ached with desire.

"Aragorn," the hobbit whispered without pausing in his ministrations, "you want to be inside of me, do you not?"

The ranger's breath caught at those words and for a moment he thought he might come right there. "I cannot, Frodo. No . . . it might be too uncomfortable for you. I would not ask you to do

that."

"Nonsense. In the boat you gave me such pleasure as I have never known . . . and you have been patient with me---even when I was tipsy on athelas brew you never attempted to take advantage. I want to give you this."

"Oh, little one . . I cannot think of anything I want more." Reaching down, the ranger cupped the hobbit's face between his hands and tenderly kissed the full mouth, the cheeks, the fragile eyelids, before entangling his hands in Frodo's curly locks and nuzzling the delicate pointed ears and jaw.

He then pressed the full length of his body to the hobbit's, moving his hands down to squeeze the satiny smooth globes of Frodo's buttocks as he bent and sucked on a rosy nipple. He paused only to glance up at Frodo's head---the hobbit's neck arched in pleasure---before trailing his lips down the hobbit's midsection, lavishing sucking kisses on his belly and following the fine hair there.

Aragorn was just about to turn attention to the hobbit's rosy-tipped penis when Frodo went very still. Stopping a moment, the ranger looked up to see wide blue eyes regarding him.

"Aragorn, what if Gollum is about, watching us?"

The ranger raised an eyebrow. "Then I suppose, little one, that he will get quite an eyeful, won't he?"

The hobbit giggled, his laughter interrupted suddenly by his own loud gasp as Aragorn slid off him and spread Frodo's legs apart. The ranger stroked the inside of a pale thigh, planting kisses on Frodo's knee and working his way closer to the tender area of the hobbit's groin.

When Aragorn reached the middle he bent to lick the head of the hobbit's pink shaft, dewy with spring water and need. Frodo grunted, arching upward as he clasped Aragorn's ears and neck, clenching and unclenching his fingers. Still the ranger went on, circling Frodo's arousal with his tongue while his thumb and forefinger gently stroked.

Just when the gasps were coming very close, Aragorn moved away and continued his "treatment" on Frodo's other leg, starting at the knee, as the hobbit made small noises, his lips quivering and his face beaded with sweat.

Unfortunately, Aragorn soon hit a rather ticklish spot just inside Frodo's thigh and the hobbit squealed.

"Aragorn, no . . . stop . . ." he gasped, laughing and squirming. But this seemed to spur Aragorn to continue with renewed vigor. Wriggling even more, Frodo reached out with his good hand and splashed water into the ranger's face.

"You . . ." Feigning irritation, Aragorn scooped up handfuls of water and doused the hobbit's head. Chuckling, Frodo turned over to avoid water in his eyes and Aragorn grabbed him in a light tackle. Together they rolled over on the blanket until Frodo was on top, lying on Aragorn's chest and staring at the ranger with mischievous wide blue eyes.

Aragorn reached up to stroke the hobbit's face and reached for his injured arm, making sure he hadn't caused any damage. "I'm sorry, little one . . . I hope I didn't hurt you . . ."

"No, on the contrary . . . I'm not that fragile---you should have seen some of the terrible stunts Merry pulled on me when we were tweenagers . . . there was that time he tied me to an apple

tree . . . we're rather flexible, we hobbits."

"I intend to find out," Aragorn murmured as he reached up to kiss Frodo again. But the hobbit pulled away and scooted down to trail wet kisses along the ranger's chest, sucking one nipple

lightly, his small uninjured hand reaching around to knead the taut flesh of Aragorn's buttocks. At this the ranger grunted, grimacing as his member became even harder, if such a thing was indeed possible.

Paying no heed to the sound effects Frodo sucked the other nipple, this time rather firmly, as the ranger clutched Frodo's shoulders. Ignoring him, the hobbit continued downward, licking water off Aragorn's belly and continuing to lavish kisses down to the dark crop of hair at the apex of the man's legs.

He moved off Aragorn then, trailing his hands slowly along the man's thighs to part them. Settling down between the ranger's legs, Frodo stared with wide-eyed wonder at Aragorn's large, fully erect glistening penis. Tentatively he grasped the member with one hand---indeed, as he had feared, his small hand would not fully go around it. Aragorn, trembling, heard the hobbit's voice carry to him.

"If I use my mouth, Aragorn, you will not dive into the water again, will you?"

The ranger, too far gone to even scowl at the hobbit, simply closed his eyes and took a deep breath, shaking his head swiftly. "No . . ." were the only words he could manage as he felt a wet mouth settle on the tip of his erection. He groaned---quite loudly enough, he was certain, for the others back at camp to hear.

The rosebud lips continued their ministrations as Frodo's tongue teased Aragorn's member, taking more of the head in and sucking gently. The next thing Aragorn knew, Frodo's fingers had moved off his thigh to gently cup his scrotum, squeezing, and the ranger fairly bucked.

"Frodo . . . no more. I . . . can't take any more---my control is gone. I need to . . . "

"Yes, Aragorn . . . I am ready," Frodo whispered. "I want you inside of me."

Breathing heavily, Aragorn grunted assent, his head spinning at the thought of what they were about to do. He grasped Frodo by the shoulders, pulling him up and squeezing him tightly before

rolling them over so that the hobbit lay beneath him.

Gently Aragorn pushed Frodo's knees up and apart, spreading his legs widely, his eyes staring at the hobbit's pale marble backside before him. Before him, Frodo lay panting, his eyes shining with need and anticipation.

The ranger was nothing if not prepared---he reached into his pack nearby and deftly removed the small vial of linseed oil. He coated his hands well with it before gently separating Frodo's buttocks with his fingers and applying the oil to the small puckered opening in the hobbit's cleft.

The hobbit writhed in pleasure as Aragorn carefully inserted a finger. Certain that he was causing no pain, the ranger added a second finger, going as far as he could until he hit the tiny hard gland deep inside the hobbit. He was rewarded with a tiny gasp of pleasure.

"Elbereth, Aragorn . . . I want to feel you inside of me," Frodo begged. "Now, please."

Aragorn, barely able now to keep himself from plunging into the hobbit and taking him fiercely, added a third finger to the others, stretching carefully. Frodo grimaced in pain and Aragorn

paused, then resumed until he heard Frodo groan and felt the tight muscles relax.

Supporting himself on his knees over the hobbit, Aragorn liberally applied the oil to his aching member and touched it to Frodo's opening.

*Too late to turn back now,* Aragorn's mind whispered. Control yourself. He was a bit afraid he would lose himself in the moment---having desired this for so long---and go too fast, hurting Frodo. And he wanted this to be a tender experience for the hobbit.

"Ready, Frodo?" he asked softly.

The hobbit merely nodded an assent.

Gently Aragorn inserted the tip of his penis and pushed in just a bit as Frodo jerked with a grunt and rose to meet him. "Aragorn . . . ," Frodo began as he arched his neck and threw his head back, eyes closed.

Pushing in a bit more and sighing at the sensation, Aragorn covered Frodo's trembling body with his own. The hobbit's face was coated with sweat---even his eyelashes seemed to be

dewy---and the ranger smoothed the dark wet hair back from Frodo's forehead as the hobbit continued to arch his neck and clench his teeth, moaning softly with the pain of it. His small

hands---even his injured one---were white-knuckled where they tightly gripped Aragorn's back.

"Frodo, I don't want to hurt you," the ranger told him as he inched in a bit more, wondering that he still had any self-control left. The heat and tightness of the hobbit's body was nearly unbearable, the muscles clenching Aragorn's thick penis firmly.

"No," Frodo whimpered. "No . . . just . . . hold me as you go." He laughed softly, then gasped as Aragorn slipped in further. "Or I'll go back to my side of the pool."

The ranger smiled, his own body soaked with perspiration as he covered Frodo's quivering lips with his own and reached between them to firmly enclose the hobbit's erection in his hand. Frodo's lips stopped moving beneath his to moan at the touch, and inching his penis in further, Aragorn could feel he was almost there.

"Easy, little one . . . relax and take a deep breath."

Frodo lowered his eyes to gaze at the ranger.

"Do it, Frodo. One deep breath."

Frodo obeyed, drawing in a deep breath. At the same moment Aragorn slid himself in fully and the hobbit released the breath, crying out briefly as he felt himself fully stretched and filled. But just as soon, the ranger's member hit Frodo's sensitive area deep inside, and the hobbit's eyes flew open in surprise even as his mouth formed an "O."

"Aragorn . . . that feels . . . unbelievable. I didn't know it could . . . feel this good. Move, Aragorn . . . inside me."

Sunk as far as he could go into Frodo's slick heat, the ranger gladly obeyed, tentatively at first, gently withdrawing and then thrusting, biting his lip at the unendurable ecstasy he was

experiencing. Beneath him Frodo's head was thrown back on the ground, his breath coming in quick gasps as he moaned and thrust his hips up to meet the ranger. When it was obvious Frodo was experiencing only pleasure, Aragorn let himself go a bit more, pumping vigorously as his oiled hand steadily stroked Frodo's penis.

"Aragorn . . ." Frodo's voice was high with sexual delirium as he felt the ranger's hot length hitting him hard inside and the large hand pleasuring his member. Trembling, he clutched Aragorn more tightly and buried his small face in the man's warm chest to muffle his moans.

Soon, their gasps came in cadence with one another and Frodo felt himself going over the edge. Aragorn's fingers firmly grasped Frodo's member one more time before the hobbit opened his mouth wide and cried out Aragorn's name loudly against the ranger's chest. The cry turned into a deep groan as Frodo shook violently and climaxed, throwing his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. Between them, Aragorn felt the hobbit's warm seed spill out over his hand.

Aragorn was not far behind. Still pumping, he leaned down to kiss Frodo's vulnerable neck as he felt himself heading toward the sweet bliss of release. Then, as he felt a groan forming in his throat and the sensations became almost too much to bear, he crushed Frodo to him and buried his face in the hobbit's hair.

The waves of pleasure rolled one upon the other until at last, Aragorn felt himself reaching the crescendo. He clenched his teeth to hold back a growl as he pumped one last time---and it was enough. Unable to stop himself, Aragorn let loose a gutteral cry and came, shuddering, his seed filling the hobbit with an intensity Aragorn had only previously felt once or twice in his lifetime.

Taking in large lungfuls of air, the ranger collapsed atop Frodo, and hobbit and man lay clutching each other for long minutes with tears of joy in their eyes, their bodies wet with sweat and spring water.

"Aragorn?"

The ranger stirred at the sound of the soft voice emanating from beneath him. "Mmmm?"

"Was that . . . to your satisfaction?"

Still breathing heavily, the ranger rose on his elbows to regard the hobbit face looking up at him, drinking in Frodo's pale smooth skin contrasting with the dark brows and lashes. The hobbit's body was warm under his, his legs still splayed around Aragorn even as his blue eyes gazed at the ranger with uncertainty.

Gently Aragorn smoothed the curly hair back from Frodo's brow. "You have to ask, little one? It was . . . quite incredible."

"For me as well," Frodo whispered. "I have never felt anything like it."

Smiling, the ranger leaned down to kiss the dewy-soft lips as he eased his now-flaccid penis out of Frodo, noting the hobbit's grunt as he did so.

"I hope I did not hurt you too much, Frodo," Aragorn told him, his eyes troubled. "Best let me check you for injuries before we clean up and make our way back. As much as I would enjoy staying here, it is not safe for us to sleep here all night. And I want to hold you---to feel you in my arms tonight as I sleep." He chuckled. "And if we stay here, I have a feeling neither one of us will get any sleep and will be worthless ere the morning."

The corners of Frodo's mouth curved upward and Aragorn disentangled himself from the hobbit. Frodo didn't even bother to protest as the ranger pushed the hobbit's knees up further and spread the creamy buttocks to ascertain the damage. The ranger grimaced, glancing at Frodo.

"You are quite abraded, Frodo . . . no thanks to me. And will probably be bruised as well---and so will I. We were rather . . . vigorous. I will prepare athelas for this when I fix your arm and hand up. I am sorry, Frodo."

"Aragorn . . . a bit of soreness is nothing. I have fared far worse from riding Bill, trust me."

At that, the ranger laughed and pulled the hobbit to him in a tight embrace, kissing his face before carefully picking Frodo up and stepping back out into the deeper warm water.

Sitting on a large rock just below the water's surface, he settled the hobbit on his lap and reached for his pack, pulling a misshapen block of something out.

"What is that, Aragorn?"

"This, little one, is soap."

"You brought soap? Why have we not used it before?"

"Quite frankly, I had forgotten it was in there. Now, let us wash."

Taking a soapy cloth, Aragorn ran it over Frodo's sweat-soaked body and lathered up his curly hair. Growing drowsy, the hobbit leaned back against the man's shoulder and closed his eyes. Then Aragorn washed himself before easing the two of them back down into the deeper water to soak for a few minutes. That done, they made their way to solid ground and hastily redressed in the slightly cool night air.

Regretfully bidding farewell to the hot spring, Aragorn gathered their supplies and bore a rather sleepy hobbit back to camp cradled in his arms.

The camp was quiet when they returned; the Company all asleep save one keeping watch some yards away. Wasting no time, Aragorn arranged a warm nest of bedrolls and blankets and lay Frodo down amidst them, tucking him in, before rising to boil some athelas.

Frodo was still awake when he returned, staring up at the clear sky and the stars, and he smiled when the ranger sat next to him.

"Now, I must rebandage your arm and hand," Aragorn told him as he examined the limb and applied a poultice. "I do believe the warm water was therapeutic . . . at least, while we were

actually in the deep water. Now, let us see to your other . . . sore areas."

"All right, if you insist . . ."

"I do. You know me too well."

Pulling the blankets back so he had access to Frodo but no one else in the camp could see them, Aragorn gently unfastened Frodo's breeches and pulled them down, gently spreading his legs and applying another athelas poultice to his backside, making sure he didn't think about what he was doing too much. It seemed he only had to look at the hobbit for his member to harden again. Especially as Frodo made small whimpering noises when Aragorn fingers touched him in that most intimate of areas.

"There," the ranger told Frodo when he'd completed the task and refastened the hobbit's breeches. "That should help take the pain away."

Frodo nodded. "Thank you." Then he smiled. "At least, it will help with the soreness until the next time we do this, correct?"

The ranger's eyes twinkled. "Yes, Frodo---in about an hour."

At this the hobbit stifled his laughter so as not to wake the others. "An hour? Aragorn, are you planning on returning to the hot spring?"

"No, indeed not . . . but there are many things one can do under a bedroll without others hearing. Trust me, Frodo . . . I have had some experience with this. A ranger must learn to get by in the wild."

"Ah . . . so you make it a habit of seducing others on important quests then," Frodo said, smirking.

Aragorn leaned down close to the hobbit's face so that his hair gently tickled Frodo's cheek. "As I said before, Frodo . . . you are incorrigible. No, I do not make it a habit . . . I am speaking of pleasuring myself. Trust me, it does become necessary sometimes."

"Whatever you say, Aragorn . . . in one hour, you will certainly find me willing."

The ranger raised an eyebrow. "Very good." With that, the he moved the covers back and settled himself next to the hobbit, pulling the blankets back over them both. Turning Frodo onto his side, Aragorn gathered him close so that their bodies were molded together and the hobbit's head rested on his chest. Frodo sighed in contentment as one of the man's large hands rubbed his back. One hand strayed a bit low and the hobbit grunted as it brushed a slightly bruised area of his backside.

Aragorn was immediately attentive. "Did I hurt you , Frodo? I did not realize . . . I am afraid that you will be very sore tomorrow, and for that I am sorry."

"I matters not to me, Aragorn. I am sure you are bruised as well. When I feel the pain, I will remember this night---at least, the beginning of this night. Who knows what may come in an hour."

"Yes," the ranger replied, "although I will be gentle until you have sufficiently recovered."

At that, the hobbit's lips curved up. "I feel recovered already. . . in fact my whole body feels quite tingly now, to tell you the truth. I feel refreshed---refreshed as I have not felt since . . . since losing Gandalf."

"I am glad, Frodo." The ranger gazed at the curly head lying on his chest, still drinking in the hobbit's beauty.

"Frodo . . ."

Frodo smiled and closed his eyes drowsily. "Yes?"

"I do not know if I should speak of this. But I feel I must, since the danger of our quest means that at any moment our paths could cease to cross."

At this the hobbit raised his head and stared at the ranger, his blue eyes wide and his small brows crinkling. "What is it, Aragorn? What is troubling you?"

The ranger's blue-gray eyes stared back as he caressed Frodo's lips with an index finger. "Nothing is troubling me. But I must tell you," and here he took a deep breath, "I am in love with you, little one. I have tried to deny it, but there it is all the same. I wanted you to know. Wherever our paths should take us, know that I love you and let it give you strength."

Frodo's eyes opened even wider in surprise. Without saying a word, he leaned down and kissed the man's chest and throat where his shirt lay open. "I love you as well, Aragorn," he whispered.

"But I was afraid to speak of it. I only . . . I only hope we can stay together, until the end of this terrible journey."

"That is my hope also. At any rate, we will make good use of the time we have. But for now," Aragorn said as he stroked the dark hair back from one pointed ear, "get some sleep. And know

that you are safe, my love."

From his vantage point by the tree, Legolas's keen Elven eyes watched the ranger and the hobbit surreptitiously. It indeed looked as if his efforts to goad Aragorn into acting upon his impulses had paid off. The two lovers had returned fairly glowing and even now were nestled together in Aragorn's bedroll so tightly it was impossible to determine where one body began and one ended.

Then his sharp hearing caught the ranger's last word to Frodo drifting in the air, and the elf smiled.

NAMARIE . . . THE END