October 6
The wraiths were gone. Aragorn fell to his knees next to Sam. Frodo lay before them, face down, his right hand clenched in a tight fist.
“He’s alive,” Sam whispered. He was pale and shaking.
A quick glance around had told Aragorn that all the hobbits were in some measure of shock, Pippin the worst off -- but Frodo needed his full attention now. He rolled the unconscious hobbit onto his back, revealing his small sword on the ground beneath him. The motion loosened Frodo’s fist, and something lay revealed in his palm, gleaming brightly in the firelight. Aragorn caught his breath, and found himself staring, for a long moment, at the One Ring -- the first of his line to see it since Isildur himself.
“Sam…” Aragorn hardly dared trust himself to move or speak. “Sam, put that back into his pocket. But you must not touch it.”
“He’s still got it,” Sam marveled. He thought for a moment, then used his pocket handkerchief to gather up the Ring and push it into one of Frodo’s vest pockets. “Strider!” The parts of Frodo’s coat and vest covering his left shoulder were torn and bloody.
“I see it.” Aragorn gently lifted the limp body of his dear friend and laid him down closer to the fire, into which Sam proceeded to throw more wood. Frodo had been stabbed… but how badly? Working together, he and Sam removed Frodo’s cloak and coat, and unbuttoned his vest and shirt. The Ranger closed his eyes for a moment, and, with an effort, pushed his emotions down deep and forced himself to view this hobbit as a healer must. Very pale, but breathing deep and regular… pulse steady… the wound was… This was no ordinary wound. Frodo’s shoulder revealed a deep incision, but blood loss was not excessive. The area around the wound seemed grey, and felt cold to the touch. No ordinary wound… no. Not Frodo. No.
“Sam,” Aragorn tried to keep his voice steady. “Heat water, quickly. As much as you can.” As Sam raced to obey, the Ranger left Frodo’s side only long enough to unlace his pack and draw out, from the very bottom, a flat box. He broke a seal on it, and unfolded a cloth to reveal a half dozen long, slender leaves. He took out three of them.
“Merry,” Aragorn called urgently, “bring Pippin over here.”
Merry brought Pippin to his feet and came to join the others. Pippin was ashen, his fists clenched so tightly in Merry’s cloak that the knuckles were white. He kept twisting around to stare into the darkness, wondering if the creatures were returning. Tears came to both his and Merry’s eyes when they saw Frodo, and Merry sat down next to Aragorn, bringing Pippin down with him.
“This one’s boiled,” said Sam, bringing over a pot of water, “and more’s heating.”
The hobbits watched, puzzled, as Aragorn bowed his head over the leaves lying across his palms, then closed his eyes and breathed upon them.
“Are you part Elf, Strider?”
Aragorn looked up, startled. “A very small part, Sam -- from so long ago, I can barely conceive of it.” He frowned. “Why do you ask that?”
Sam gestured at the leaves cupped in the Ranger’s hands. “You’re talkin’ to the plants in some way, like you said the Elves can do.”
“Just this plant,” Aragorn murmured. “It is athelas; it somehow recognizes me.”
Only Merry seemed to pay heed to Aragorn’s soft words, but before he could say anything, the Ranger had crushed the leaves in his hands, and dropped them into the water.
The fresh, living scent that was released was unlike anything the hobbits had ever imagined. Pippin sighed and relaxed, his grip on Merry loosening. With each breath of the steaming water, the black terror and despair seemed to dissipate further, until, after a few minutes, it was more memory than living reality. Merry felt his courage and determination, temporarily crushed under the weight of Shadow, return once again, strong and sure. And Sam, his eyes never leaving Frodo’s face, knew there was hope for his master, and for all of them.
Frodo’s eyelids fluttered, and he stiffened and moaned as returning consciousness brought pain. He opened his eyes and looked about in terror.
“What has happened? Where is the pale king?” he asked wildly.
“He is gone,” Aragorn said gently. It tore at his heart to see the hobbit’s pale face drawn in pain. “Be still now, and let me see to you.”
Aragorn soaked a cloth in the hot water in which the athelas was releasing its essence, then wrung it out. When it had cooled slightly, he slid a hand behind Frodo’s back and, with the other, he gently pressed the cloth to the wound. Frodo gasped and cried out as the pain flared even more sharply for a moment, as if something within the wound was fighting back against any attempt at healing, but then the pain eased, and he sighed in relief. As Aragorn applied each fresh, warm poultice, the pain diminished and the frozen cold in his shoulder and arm receded to a bearable level.
Aragorn was relieved beyond measure to note that the athelas was easing Frodo’s pain, but he was concerned that the skin around the wounded shoulder, and Frodo’s left arm, did not regain their normal color, but remained strangely pale and very cold. Frodo lay quietly under his care, his rapid breaths slowing.
“Thank you,” Frodo murmured. “That’s so much better. What…” He took a deep breath. “What smells so nice?”
Aragorn smiled and handed the cloth to Sam, motioning that the gardener should continue bathing the wound. “I don’t know if you remember this, Frodo, but on the day you fell ill of the swamp malaise, all those years ago, Gandalf was gone most of that day and evening.”
“I do remember that,” Frodo said after a moment. “I remember asking Bilbo where he had gone.”
“He had gone to look for athelas,” Aragorn continued. “That is the plant you are smelling. It has great virtue, and I asked him to go in search of it -- but there was none to be found in or around the Westfarthing.” He turned to Sam. “He even consulted with your father, Sam.”
“Did he?” Sam asked, amazed.
“From that time to this, Frodo,” Aragorn continued, “I have carried it with me whenever I could locate some. Because of you, I have had it in times of great need.”
“Like now,” whispered Pippin. It was the first time he had spoken.
“Pip, are you all right?” asked Merry.
“I…” Pippin had finally stopped shaking, and he nodded. “I will be. Strider, are they coming back?”
‘Let us hear what Frodo has to tell,” Aragorn said. “Can you remember what happened, little one?”
“He said that!” Frodo gasped, and tears sprang to his eyes. “He called me that! How did he know?”
“Tell us what happened.” Aragorn took Frodo’s right hand and held it. “You put on the Ring, did you not?”
“Yes,” Frodo whispered. “I shouldn’t have, I know. I remembered what you said, and I knew it was wrong, but I just… put it on. They… they were dreadful, Estel, like withered, dead people, cold and evil. Four of them surrounded you…” Frodo grew wide eyed. “Did you know they had knives, and swords?”
“I am not surprised, but I did not see them as you did.”
“The other one, the… the king saw me, and… called me ‘little one’.
“You were partly in their world, Frodo, when the Ring was upon your finger,” Aragorn said thoughtfully. “It is possible that the wraith lord could sense something of you, through the Ring. Perhaps he called you by a name that was dear to you either to frighten you, or simply as cruelty.”
“I couldn’t bear it,” Frodo said, his eyes blazing. “I was so angry, I attacked him!”
“You did?” Aragorn stared at the hobbit, shocked. “Tell me.”
Merry moved to take the cloth from Sam, and took a turn bathing Frodo’s wound with the warm athelas water.
“I found myself calling out to Elbereth, like you told us about,” Frodo continued, “and then I stabbed at him. But I must have missed. He picked me up, and…” The hobbit’s breathing started to grow fast and shallow. “I couldn’t fight anymore. He… he stabbed me, and it was the worst pain, so cold, and…”
“Shhh,” Aragorn murmured, “that’s enough. I was able to drive them off. We are thankful you were able to remove the Ring so we could locate you, and begin to treat you.”
Frodo nodded, calming a bit.
“Can you move your arm?” Aragorn asked. “Your fingers?”
Frodo bit his lip and frowned, then stared at the Ranger in fright. “I can’t move my arm at all.” He tried to look down at the wound, but Sam put a restraining hand on his unwounded shoulder.
“Just rest, sir, and let us tend to you.”
“Sam,” Frodo gasped, “where is it? Did they get it?”
“No sir,” Sam answered. “It’s here, in your pocket. They didn’t take it, Mr. Frodo.” He sighed. “I doubt you’d a let ‘em have it even if they’d killed you.”
“Why didn’t they?” Frodo asked Aragorn. “Where are they?”
“They are gone for now,” Aragorn answered evasively. “I’m going to take a look around, and your friends will stay with you. You’ve been through a great shock, Frodo, and if you are able to sleep, do so. We’re going to leave at first light.”
“Aragorn,” Frodo whispered, “am I going to be all right?”
Aragorn. The Ranger struggled to keep his composure. Frodo had asked him those exact words, with that same look in his eyes, nearly thirty years before, when he had been so terribly ill. The other hobbits had gone perfectly still, and he knew they were listening closely.
“Frodo,” Aragorn said softly, “you know I have never lied to you, and will never do so. You are badly hurt, and we must reach Rivendell. We have a long way to travel, and it will be difficult.”
“I’m so sorry,” Frodo said bitterly. “I was so foolish, and now I hope… what if I can’t…”
“Frodo, if anyone can do this, it is you. I believe you to be the most extraordinary hobbit I have ever known. And I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but Gandalf once said…” The Ranger paused.
“What did he say?”
Aragorn smiled. “I believe his exact words were, ‘He’s the best hobbit in the Shire, Aragorn. That lad will surprise us all someday.’”
“Gandalf said that?” Frodo was staring at him, wide eyed. “About me?”
“Yes.”
Pippin suddenly took the cloth from Merry, and took his turn applying the warm, potent water to Frodo’s wound.
“Frodo,” Aragorn said, looking deeply into the hobbit’s eyes, “those wraiths know nothing of the determination of hobbits, or the love that surrounds you this night. I remember…” He smiled. “Long ago, a very wise hobbit told me that love gives us strength and courage when we need it most.”
“I told you that -- after Bilbo told me that. Will…” Frodo was suddenly feeling very drowsy. “Will you keep… telling me that?”
Aragorn bent to kiss Frodo’s brow.
“As often as you need to hear it… little one.”
Frodo smiled and closed his eyes, falling into a restless sleep.
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