FIC: TROUBLEMAKERS Part 5/? 
 
Author: Lily Baggins 
 
PAIRINGS: Frodo/Aragorn 
 
RATINGS: NC-17 sex, angst, bad language 
 
WARNINGS: NON-CONSENSUAL SEXUAL SITUATION IN AN EARLIER PART.  
Angst. h/c 
 
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. So  
here I am, getting Frodo into all sorts of precarious  
situations . . .  
 
Setting: The Prancing Pony. This is almost an AU --- boy, am I taking  
liberties here.  
 
*** 
 
As Aragorn reached the back door of the Prancing Pony, it swung open  
and a practically frantic Sam ran out, looking. "They're here!" he  
yelled back into the inn. The hobbit's eyes turned to saucers as they  
took in the unconscious Frodo cradled in Aragorn's arms. Merry and  
Pippin soon came running out the door as well, their mouths gaping in  
shock.  
 
 
"Mr. Frodo!!" Sam exclaimed, running to the ranger and rising on his  
tip-toes to stroke the top of Frodo's head. "Oh my dear Frodo! Is he  
okay? He's alive isn't he?" he asked, his voice tremulous.  
 
 
"Be at ease, Master Samwise," Aragorn replied. "He'll be okay. Just a  
bad knock on the head, an injured ankle, and exhaustion. I'm going to  
take him up to my room and tend to him. He hasn't been out long, and  
I'm hopeful he'll wake up very soon."  
 
 
Sam looked at the ranger doubtfully and held the door open. 
 
 
Inside The Prancing Pony, the bar patrons' eyes widened at the sight  
of the man carrying the limp, haggard-looking hobbit, but Aragorn  
paid them no heed. Walking swiftly, he climbed the stairs to his own  
room, kicked the door open with his foot, and strode in. The other  
three hobbits, hard put to keep up with the ranger's long strides,  
followed him, their eyes wide with fear.  
 
 
Once inside the room, Aragorn carried Frodo over to his own very  
large bed.  
 
 
"Sam, turn the blanket down for me if you would, please," Aragorn  
directed. Once Sam had complied, uncovering a soft pillow, the ranger  
bent and gently deposited Frodo on the bed. As he eased Frodo's head  
back, the hobbit groaned with returning  
consciousness. "Strider . . ." he murmured, before sinking back down  
into sleep. 
 
 
Sam peered down at his master's face before settling down on the bed  
next to Frodo's head. Reaching a grubby hand out, he smoothed the  
dark hair back from Frodo's forehead, avoiding the nasty-looking  
swelling on the hobbit's temple.  
 
 
"Easy, Mr. Frodo; you'll be all right," Sam reassured. "It's Sam.  
Strider here is going to fix you right up, and you'll be good as  
new."  
 
 
Aragorn smiled at Sam's sweet words and sat down on the edge of the  
bed. He turned to the other two hobbits standing nearby.  
 
 
"Merry, Pippin, I need you two to get some things for me," Aragorn  
told them. "I'll need hot water, towels . . ." Aragorn gave them a  
detailed list and the two hobbits rushed downstairs to procure the  
items.  
 
 
Turning to Frodo, Aragorn sighed. The hobbit lay peacefully, head  
turned slightly to the side, his dark curly hair spread out on the  
pillow beneath him, long lashes resting on pale---if filthy---cheeks.  
The sight of his delicate face stirred something within Aragorn, and  
looking at Frodo's slightly parted lips, the ranger felt his groin  
tighten. He cursed himself for it. Aragorn had treated an  
unfathomable number of injuries---on the battlefield and off---over  
the years and knew himself to be a skilled healer. He was relatively  
certain he could touch Frodo without giving himself away, but it  
still made him feel slightly uneasy. What would Frodo think if he  
knew? Of course, Sam watching him like a hawk from the head of the  
bed didn't help matters.  
 
 
Sam's voice broke through his thoughts. 
 
 
"Strider?" Sam asked in a small voice when he had the ranger's  
attention. "Did they . . . hurt him in any other ways? You know what  
I mean."  
 
 
The ranger didn't play dumb --- he knew exactly what Sam meant and  
was surprised at Sam's worldliness.  
 
 
"No, Sam, they didn't have time," the ranger told him. "They had  
already stripped him of his clothing and were about to . . . . They  
would have raped him if I had gotten there a minute later. He's  
probably going to have a tough time dealing with this for a while."  
 
 
Sam gulped, a tear rolling down his plump cheek. "I don't know why  
something like this had to happen to gentle Mr. Frodo," Sam  
murmured. "Thank you for saving him, Mr. Strider. And the . . .  
Ring . . . does he still have it?"  
 
 
"Yes, Sam, the Ring is here, and we'll need to put it somewhere while  
we get his clothes off. There's not much else I can do for him until  
Merry and Pippin return." The ranger looked up at Sam and wiped his  
tear away. "We're lucky, Sam, that those men didn't hurt him worse--- 
or kill him. For that we can be thankful. And you're welcome. As I  
have said, I will protect him, even if it means my own death." He  
turned back to his small patient on the bed.  
 
 
The first task was to get Frodo's clothes off. The ranger gently  
pulled each limp arm out of Frodo's coat sleeves. While Aragorn  
lifted the hobbit up off the bed slightly, Sam pulled the coat out  
from under him. Frodo's vest followed. Taking the Ring out of the  
vest pocket, Aragorn and Sam decided to tie it around Frodo's neck  
for the time being with some extra-sturdy twine. 
 
 
As Aragorn bent and began unbuttoning the hobbit's shirt, Frodo  
groaned again and opened his eyes halfway. The ranger, relieved at  
the return to consciousness, reached up and rubbed Frodo's cheek.  
 
 
"Frodo," Aragorn reassured. "Frodo, wake up. You're back here at the  
inn. Sam is here. We're taking care of you. Open your eyes."  
 
 
The hobbit sighed and slowly opened his eyes all the way. "Strider?"  
he whispered in a weary voice. "Did you . . . carry me here?"  
Noticing his vest was gone, Frodo started, but Aragorn patted the  
Ring around the hobbit's neck and Frodo relaxed.  
 
 
The ranger then answered his question. "Yes, I brought you in. You're  
in my room. You weren't in any shape to make it on your own, I'm  
afraid." Frodo's very blue eyes bore into the ranger's for a second.  
Aragorn thought to himself that he had rarely seen such beautiful  
eyes, even among elves. He felt he could get lost in them.  
Thankfully, Frodo soon looked away to Sam, who was leaning over him. 
 
 
"Sam, is that you? Sam, I'm so glad you're here. I was so worried you  
or Merry or Pippin would come after me and get in trouble . . ."  
 
 
"There now, Mr. Frodo," Sam soothed, patting his master's  
head. "Don't you worry about us --- we're all fine." 
 
 
At that moment Merry and Pippin burst back into the room with armfuls  
of supplies. They were overjoyed to see Frodo awake and aware, and  
their cousin was just as glad to see them. They chatted a minute  
while Aragorn wrung out a cold wet cloth and laid it across Frodo's  
forehead.  
 
 
Finally Aragorn put a finger on top of Frodo's lips to shush  
him. "That's enough talk for now. Rest," he ordered. "Do you feel  
sick?" 
 
 
"A . . . bit," Frodo lied, squirming slightly. Truth to tell, his  
stomach was churning. Probably from the head injury, he guessed.  
 
 
"Well, we'll try to get that taken care of soon enough," the ranger  
replied. "I hope you can eat something later---you need it for  
strength." 
 
 
At the mention of food, Pippin sighed. Looking at the other three  
hobbits, Aragorn saw the worry and exhaustion written in their faces.  
And, he decided, Frodo would probably prefer not to have an audience  
while his wounds were tended. Aragorn knew HE would prefer not to  
have an audience---it made him uneasy. 
 
 
"Sam, Merry, Pippin," Aragorn began, "why don't you three go  
downstairs and rest for a bit? Frodo's in capable hands, and you've  
had enough worry for one evening, I think. Have you had any supper,  
any of you?"  
 
 
They shook their heads. In their extreme worry over Frodo, the  
hobbits had actually neglected to eat, if such a thing was possible.  
 
 
"Then you have orders to go downstairs and get yourself some supper,"  
the ranger replied. "Frodo is in good hands. I will finish treating  
his wounds and make him eat something, and then he'll go to sleep.  
You can come back and check on him later." The hobbits looked at him  
doubtfully, but Aragorn shooed them away. "Go on now. You too, Sam.  
No buts. Frodo will be just fine here, won't you, Frodo?" 
 
 
The dark-haired hobbit nodded. "Really, Sam," he said in a tired  
voice, "I'd prefer it. You need to eat and rest---we have a long  
journey ahead of us. And I shall fall asleep very soon, anyway."  
 
 
Sam nodded. "If that would make you feel better, Mr. Frodo, that's  
what I'll do. I'll come back up and check on you in a bit."  
 
 
With the other hobbits gone, the ranger felt a bit more at ease. He  
looked down at the hobbit lying before him, who looked back up at him  
with wide, trusting eyes. Aragorn reached up and gently brushed a  
dark lock of hair off the pale forehead. Frodo closed his eyes and  
smiled ever so slightly, giving in to the comfort of the man's touch. 
 
 
"Now, Master Baggins," the ranger said. "We'll finish taking care of  
you." 
 
 
"I really am all right," Frodo protested, and tried to sit  
up. "Please, all I need is some rest . . . you have already done too  
much, Strider. I am fine . . ." But when he lifted his head, a fresh  
wave of dizziness and nausea overtook him. It wasn't as bad as  
before, but unpleasant just the same. He groaned and raised a hand to  
his head, hoping he wouldn't be sick again. 
 
 
Deep-set eyes met large blue ones as the ranger fixed Frodo with a  
look that brooked no nonsense. The ranger wasn't about to go for the  
stoic act again. 
 
 
"Let that be a lesson to you," Aragorn told him, then said firmly but  
not unkindly, "You WILL lie back and be still, you WILL allow me to  
treat your wounds, and you WILL rest and recover as I order. Is that  
clear?"  
 
 
Looking at Aragorn and seeing he meant business, Frodo gave in. He  
studied the man leaning over him. Scruffy, unshaven, but handsome,  
and with a wild look about him. Frodo wasn't experienced in the  
matters of love or sex, but he definitely felt a twinge of  
butterflies-in-the-stomach when he looked at the ranger. And the  
gentle touch of those large nimble hands . . . the hobbit fervently  
wished Sam was tending to him. He was very afraid he would give in to  
those gentle hands touching his body and give himself away  
somehow . . . as if in response, he felt his penis swell slightly,  
and he was thankful he still had his pants on.  
 
 
"Well," the ranger continued. "Let's finish getting you out of these  
clothes so we can clean you up with the soap and water and  
treat your bruises and ankle. I'm afraid there's not too much I can  
do for a head injury, though, Frodo," the ranger commented. "You will  
recover with no ill effects, but you be dizzy and have the nausea and  
headaches for a while. That's to be expected."  
 
 
Frodo wasn't really listening. His mind had stopped at "getting you  
out of these clothes." He imagined the touch of the ranger's hands  
undressing him . . . the slide of those hands over his skin. 
 
 
"Clothes?" the hobbit practically squeaked. "Really, Strider, I'm  
fine as I am . . . I'm perfectly comfortable . . . no need to clean  
me up---I'll just use the washbasin in the corner . . ." 
 
 
"Frodo, don't argue with me," the ranger said, leaning down so that  
his face was only inches from the hobbit's. "You're a mess. And you  
are NOT sleeping here in this bed with me tonight in such a state."  
 
 
The hobbit gulped. Sleep with Strider? In the same bed?  
 
 
"Sleep . . . here?" he asked the ranger in a small voice. "We  
have . . . a room . . . already."  
 
 
"Yes, you do," Aragorn replied. "But it is not safe for you to sleep  
in the hobbit quarters, not with the Black Riders about. This is my  
room, and you'll stay here tonight with me so I can keep an eye on  
that head injury. Merry and Pippin have already booked the room next  
door for themselves and Sam. If there's any danger during the night,  
we'll be close by." 
 
 
Frodo just looked at the ranger. It made sense. It made perfect  
sense. He groaned in resignation.  
 
 
To be continued