FIC: ECHO OF THE GLADDEN FIELDS 4/? 
 
Author: Lily Baggins 
 
PAIRINGS: Frodo/Aragorn 
 
RATING: NC-17 violence, Angst, h/c, sex 
 
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, or whoever has the rights now, and I only give them  
interesting---and usually unpleasant---ways to spend their time.  
 
As usual, I'm messing with canon and taking some mighty creative  
license. Things happen here that definitely did NOT happen in the  
book or the movie--- I'm sure Tolkien would lock me up in Barad-dur  
and throw away the key if he read this. 
 
* Lifted from FOTR 
 
Feedback: Sure. Archiving: Iffin you wanna.  
 
*** 
 
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.  
 
To be continued