FIC: ECHO OF THE GLADDEN FIELDS 10/? 
 
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. 
 
Feedback: Sure. Archiving: Iffin you wanna.  
 
*** 
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.  
 
To be continued