Boromir’s face paled as Aragorn manipulated the dislocated shoulder back into position, but he made no sound.
“You bear pain with great courage,” Aragorn said.
“I am a warrior,” Boromir said, his eyes blazing with pride. “I fear neither pain nor death.” He motioned to the makeshift shelter. “So those are the halflings out of legend,” he remarked. “They are very small and weak, and show their emotions all too readily. They would not last long in battle.”
“Perhaps not,” Aragorn said, strapping the Man’s arm to his chest, “but who can say? Until each person faces their test, their strengths cannot be fully determined. They seem quite resourceful.” He smiled. “Besides, it is good to hear laughter, is it not? And Merry and Sam have shown great initiative in salvaging what they could, working without complaint.” He remembered the cloth Boromir had given Pippin. “The young one, Pippin, is hurt, but not badly,” Aragorn said casually. “I believe he looks up to you.”
“He talks too much,” Boromir grumbled, but a slow smile spread across his face. “He reminds me of my young brother,” he admitted. “Faramir was supposed to be on that plane, but I took the journey upon myself. He thinks with his heart, and my father did not wish this mission to fail.”
“Mission?”
“I was sent to search for something, which my father had heard was to be found in the North,” Boromir said cryptically.
“If your brother thinks with his heart,” Aragorn said with a smile, “then I can see why Pippin would remind you of him. I doubt that this youngster has ever been away from home before.”
“I will visit with the little ones,” Boromir said. “Perhaps they would enjoy a tale or two.”
“I must speak with Gandalf,” Aragorn said, getting to his feet. “Then we must explore the area, and find game. A signal fire should be---”
“To what end?” Boromir asked, puzzled. “My father will soon come for us. He sees far, Aragorn, and nothing escapes his notice. Rescue is already on the way.”
“I hope you are correct,” Aragorn said, “but preparations must be made, in case your father is... delayed.” He motioned to Gimli, and they walked over to where Gandalf was standing.
“How are the hobbits?” Gandalf asked.
“Pippin has a slight concussion, but should recover quickly,” Aragorn replied. “Frodo’s right leg is badly cut. He is lightheaded from blood loss, and should be watched carefully.”
“More carefully than you know,” the wizard murmured. “Any other injuries?”
“Boromir had a dislocated shoulder, which has been tended; I do not believe that anyone else is hurt.” He grew thoughtful. “Legolas seems to have some healing ability. He was able to ease Frodo’s pain somewhat.”
“I am not surprised,” Gandalf said. “He is of royal blood; his father is King Thranduil.”
“What?” Gimli roared. “The swine who imprisoned my father and cousins? That Elf is his son?”
“Peace, Gimli,” Aragorn said quietly. “The son is not the father. Give Legolas a chance.”
“Gandalf,” Gimli said after a short, fuming silence, “do you know what happened? My memory of the crash is vague.”
“As is mine,” Aragorn said thoughtfully. “It is as if it happened in a dream.”
“Yes, it would seem that way to all of you,” Gandalf replied. “This was no accident.”
“What do you mean?” Aragorn asked in amazement.
“I felt it,” the wizard murmured. “We were brought down... by Dark Magic.”
“Someone brought us here? Who would do such a thing? And how?” Gimli demanded.
“A wizard of my order turned to evil long ago,” Gandalf replied. “His crimes bordered on the unspeakable; he used magic to control, manipulate, create life... none of which are permitted us. I suspect that he is here, on this island. His arm has grown long indeed, to call down a plane from the skies above.”
“But why? Is it because you are with us?” Aragorn asked.
“I do not think it is me he seeks,” Gandalf said grimly, “but another. I can say no more at this time.” He grew silent.
“What of rescue?” Aragorn asked. “We cannot be too far from the western shores of Middle-earth; if we had passed beyond the Bent Seas, the Valar would have stopped us.”
“I agree,” Gandalf nodded. “I believe that we are some distance beyond the Havens. The long-ago drowning of the lands west of Middle-earth left islands, remote and uncharted. This is one of them.” The wizard’s eyes grew remote as he once again peered out to Sea. “I have sent my thoughts out to those who might hear them,” he continued. “Cirdan will send a ship, but it may take a week or more to reach us.”
“More Elves,” Gimli growled. “We will soon be hip deep in them.” He stomped away, muttering to himself.
“Gandalf,” Aragorn ventured, “you say that Saruman used magic to ‘create life’. Do you think he has continued his experiments here, on this island?”
“It is possible,” the wizard agreed. “We must be alert to anything unusual. I will say only that the hobbits must be closely guarded, Aragorn. One of them holds a secret that would give Saruman power beyond imagining. We cannot let anything happen to them. I cannot say what beasts or forces Saruman will send to retrieve his prize, but I have no doubt...” The wizard’s countenance grew grim. “They are coming.”
~*~
As the sun grew low in the sky, the Company sat around the campfire. Dark clouds spoke of possible storms to come. The most perishable foods from the plane were to be eaten first, and Sam had surprised everyone (except for Frodo) at his ability to prepare the dull airline fare into a tasty supper. Frodo had little appetite, and although Aragorn did not see that the injured leg had grown worse, the hobbit had developed a fever and was restless.
After supper, Gandalf found a chance to speak with Frodo alone.
“Gandalf,” Frodo whispered at once, “what are we going to do?”
The wizard took the hobbit’s hand and gazed into the frightened blue eyes. “You must keep it secret and safe, as always,” he said quietly. “Very few know that the Ring has been found, or kept in your family for all these years.”
“I’m glad I told Sam about it,” Frodo said. “It’s a dreadful secret to keep alone.”
“I have no fear that Sam will ever betray you, Frodo,” the wizard smiled.
“Nor will Merry and Pippin,” Frodo said tentatively.
“They know as well?” Gandalf asked in amazement.
“They... found out. But I’d trust them with my life, Gandalf. They don’t know what the Ring is, or can do, but they know it’s a secret.”
“Very well,” the wizard sighed. “See that they do not speak of it, especially to Boromir.”
“They won’t,” Frodo assured him. “Don’t you like Boromir? He sat with us earlier and told us stories of his home. His manner is rough, but I believe him to be a kind and good Man.”
“He is a Man,” the wizard said gravely. “That is danger enough.”
“So is Aragorn.”
“Aragorn is... very special,” Gandalf said with a secret smile. “If there is anyone with whom I would trust with your welfare, besides your fellow hobbits, it would be he.”
Frodo moved his leg experimentally, and winced. “I want to walk around and explore,” he complained. “I’m sure I’ll feel better tomorrow.”
Gandalf smiled at him. “Do not be hasty, my friend. Let the healing process take its course.” He felt the warmth in the small hand he held, and knew that the hobbit’s fever had risen further. He gazed into the jungle with concern; could something --or someone -- on this island be already at work, sapping Frodo’s strength?
~*~
The storm that night was unlike anything they had seen before. In a single moment, it seemed, the skies opened up and rain fell in solid sheets. The shelter Gimli had seemingly pulled together haphazardly turned out to be watertight, and guarded the companions against the worst of the wind. Everyone congratulated the Dwarf on a job well done; even Legolas nodded his head, although Elf and Dwarf had not yet exchanged a single word.
Merry’s foresight in bringing the salvaged goods under the shelter was also praised, as was Sam’s cooking under such conditions as they now found themselves. This might be a disparate group, Gandalf thought to himself, but each has his own gift, and is willing to share it.
Despite his fever, or perhaps because of it, Frodo slept deeply for most of the night, waking only once. Toward dawn, he cried out and sat straight up, looking about wildly.
“What is it?” Gandalf asked, kneeling next to him. Frodo, gasping for breath, paled as the pain in his leg shot through him. He leaned heavily against Gandalf.
“Something... something’s coming,” Frodo whispered, his eyes huge with fear. He stared into the storm, trying to pierce the dark rain curtain.
“Tell me,” Gandalf encouraged him. He was aware that Sam and Boromir, at least, had been awakened by the cry, and lay listening.
“I couldn’t see it,” Frodo said, “but I knew it was big... so big, Gandalf. And it... it saw me. It wanted...”
“That’s enough,” the wizard said softly. He gave Frodo a drink of water and settled the distraught hobbit comfortably against his chest. “Try to go back to sleep, if you can.” He talked quietly and calmly until Frodo’s eyes closed, and he slid back into sleep.
“A nightmare,” Boromir said. “And why not, after what we have been through?”
“It’s more than that, sir,” Sam told him. “Frodo’s had strange dreams for most of his life. He... he knows things before they happen.”
“A seer?” Boromir frowned. “Are there such among the Shirefolk? There are few among my people; my brother has dreams and visions, although our father has discouraged him from speaking of what he sees.”
“Frodo is uniquely gifted,” Gandalf said quietly, and Sam nodded in agreement. “We would do well to be alert.” He wondered if he should tell Aragorn, at least, about the Ring, and the danger Frodo was in -- and that might be drawn to the Company before rescue could arrive.
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