Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. They belong to J.R.R. Tolkien

True Friends

The gentle hobbit of the Shire awoke to nearly every muscle in his body aching. He had not remembered such a terrible ache in his back as the pain drained every ounce of strength from him. It seemed to the Ring-bearer, that his life these days were full of horrible dreams and the scars left on his pale skeleton reminded him everyday. Aragorn told him it might take time to recover from his trials, but soon everything would fall in place and that Frodo would start to live a normal life.

Blinking sleep away, he attempted to turn his body from its fetal position onto his back when a sharp pain claimed his right knee as he tried to straighten it out. Tears of anguish erupted immediately as he cried silently, gripping the bed covers until his knuckles turned white.

A door opened silently, admitting Sam and Aragorn into the Ring-bearer's room. Sam, as always, had gotten up early to wash then retrieve breakfast for his master. He had met the King in the hallway and was only too happy to help with the burden of opening the heavy wooden door for the gardener as he was holding a heavy tray laden with his and Frodo's breakfast.

Upon entering, the stout hobbit unloaded his burden upon a low table that was once a coffee table, but now served as a dining table for the halflings. Making his way into the bed chambers, his sensitive hearing picked up a muffled cry coming from the tall bed. Fear in his eyes that someone had hurt his master, Sam quickly hopped up on the three step stool as he called for the King, "Strider!"

Aragorn, who had been eying the breakfast tray since some other halfling in his court helped himself to the sausages from his abandoned plate, was picking up a link off of Sam's tray sticking it in his mouth as he heard him being summoned. Choking down the meat, he ran to the Ring-bearer's room appalled at the scene before him.

Frodo was unusually pale, a death grip upon the coverlet, tears streaming uncontrollably from the sky blue eyes, staring blankly into the King's face.

Brushing back damp curls, the King's hands felt the little forehead for any fever. When he found the skin cool beneath his touch, he questioned the hobbit,"Frodo, where do you hurt?" he asked knowing that he was obviously in pain. After a moment with no answer, he gently pried small fingers from the quilt then lifted stiff arms, pulling it slowly away from Frodo's body. Aragorn watched the Ring-bearer's face grimace with pain, his breathing becoming rapid.

"What is wrong with him, Strider?" Sam asked as he had taken the stool and placed it on the other side of the bed and climbed up.

"I do not know. He has complained of many body aches the last couple of days. He..." Aragorn stopped as a small voice entered the conversation.

"Do not talk as if I am not here," Frodo whispered, lips tight as his gaze finally focused on Strider.

"Where are you hurting, Tithen Min?" Aragorn asked concerned, stroking the curls back from the sweaty brow.

Taking a deep breath, Frodo groaned as he exhaled, "You use that as a term of endearment, my lord," he said and immediately wanted to take it back.

Strider's hand ceased its movement over the Ring-bearer's head, stunned as the words cut through him.

"Please, I am sorry," the Ring-bearer apologized placing a hand on his exposed knee. "The leg is just stiff. The pain is abating as we speak," Frodo said with a forced smile upon his face.

"You're hurtin', Mr. Frodo and no mistake. Strider jus' wants to help," Sam said, biting his lower lip, understanding that he may have just gone beyond his station. He was only thinking of his master.

"No, Sam. If Frodo says the pain is leaving, then I believe him. So, if you both will excuse me, I leave you two to break your fast," the King stood from the bed, bowing. The tall man then turned on his booted heel and left the chambers without looking back.

"Mr. Frodo? What has gotten into you? Strider has always cared for your well being as well as your cousins," Sam chastised.

Rolling his eyes at the obvious, Frodo sat up as the pain really had subsided. He was already thinking of ways to apologize to Aragorn before the King decided to throw him in the dungeon for being sarcastic. He started with Sam, "I did not mean to snap, Sam. I have just been so tired as of late of just being tired and sore. Especially my back."

"Well, maybe you should use that on Strider. He seemed awfully put out," the gardener stated the obvious in his no nonsense way. He set the table with the meal he brought and called, "Come on. Breakfast is waiting. Might as well repentant on a full stomach."

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. They belong to J.R.R. Tolkien

True Friends

Part 2

Summary: After being rude to Aragorn, Frodo decides to set things right, but meets up with a bow he just cannot get up from.

this is a frodo hurt/comfort, and Aragorn gets to take care of his friend, what he was meant to do as having hands of a healer.

After the magnificent breakfast Sam had obtained from the kitchens, Frodo bathed and dressed to the best of his ability. His back was aching abdominably, making it difficult bending over and then trying to straighten back up. The gentle hobbit went to his knees, crawling like a babe to reach a piece of furniture to lever himself from the floor grunting all the way. He was glad for the fact he had sent Sam along on an errand, so that he would not see him in such an undignified manner.

The Ring-bearer was really sorry for the things that he had said to Aragorn. The King held a special place in his heart, looking after his kin for him when he thought he would never come back from the dark lands of Mordor. Being there as he recovered from his hurts, then happy for the Ranger of the North fulfilling his destiny as the rightful heir to the throne of Gondor.

A door closed silently, but not quiet enough for hobbit ears alerting Frodo that Sam had returned. The gardener came walking into the furthest room of the chambers as his master turned, sighing as his left hand lacked the dexterity to fasten the brooch to his Lothlorien cloak.

Putting down the brown papered package on the side table, Sam strode to where Frodo was standing before a looking glass, taking up the place where the leaf pin had been dangling. "Here, let me help you. It would do you good to look proper before the King this morning of all mornings. I still hope he is holdin' court, you take my meaning, sir," Sam rambled on as he ignored Frodo's rolling eyes , patiently waiting until the task was done.

"Did the shop have one?" the gentle hobbit asked.

"Yes, sir. The shop keeper was mighty happy to know whom it was going to," Sam said as he unwrapped the purchase.

"You had enough coin then, no problems? Oh, Sam, this is beautiful," the blue eyes gazed at the wondrous intricate carvings of stars emblazoned with silver, holding it delicately in his hands, turning the gift over in his hands admiring it.

"It is a thing of beauty, I agree. The shop keeper did not take any coin for it," the gardener said placing the ones given to him into Frodo's hand.

"We will definitely have to patronage his establishment, then," the Ring-bearer declared as he carefully put the gift back down, re-wrapping it with the brown parchment. "And Merry, did he still have any..."

His question was answered as Sam extricated an overstuffed suede pouch from his tunic, holding it in front of his master's eyes.

"You are a marvel, Sam. What would I do without..." once bright blue eyes, suddenly turned dark as his lower back started to throb. Grabbing at an invisible foe, Frodo reached around to rub the aching muscle.

"Can I get you anything, Mr. Frodo. Let's sit down. You have been up on your feet all morning, sir, if you don't mind me saying," his most faithful friend in the world fussed over him, leading him to the divan to relax.

"I am not an invalid, Sam. Please do not treat me as such!" the Ring-bearer snapped. Frodo deeply regretted his actions as his gardener jumped back in reaction to his outburst. "Oh, Sam. I am sorry. I do not know what has come over me," he apologized reaching out, capturing Sam's hand in his maimed one.

"Don't worry, you can't get rid of me that easily. It did not work in Ithilien, the Black Gate, Morgul Vale, nor Mount Doom and it will not work here in Minas Tirith," Sam smiled, squeezing the hand in return naming every place his master had snapped unexpectedly, but the cause was the Ring. He could not figure what was plaguing Frodo now.

Frodo breathed a sigh of relief as Sam accepted his apology at the same time schooling the pain that had begun to ease. "Now, I think we should be going. King Elessar will be holding court shortly, and I want to be there to be heard."

Frodo had never been in the main hall of the court to address the King. He had always had private counsel as Aragorn insisted that he would not have his friend waiting in the wings with the residents of Minas Tirith to talk to him.

The polished floors reflected his image as he kept his eyes downcast, looking at his fur covered feet, pacing outside of the King's court. He was quite impressed that Pippin had found brushing implements that the teeth were not too close together so that the perinnath would not be screaming in pain when trying to comb the thick foot hair. He also had a chance to straighten his clothing, so that at least he was presentable even if the former Ranger denied him an audience.

His heart pounded in his chest, nervous about apologizing publicly instead of privately. Pippin's voice echoed in his mind, roles reversed as he was the one being chastised for his actions. Looking at the package he turned over in his hands, he had hoped it to be a peace offering. He knew that Strider lost his piece on the ride somewhere between Minas Tirith and the Black Gate. Merry had told him that Strider often asked for his extra one as he tended to Sam and himself the fortnight before they awoke. He smiled at the thought as Estel, heir to the Throne of Gondor, had to ask a halfling for a smoke.

The Ring-bearer's eyes dulled as pain pulsated once again across his lower back, gulping in air as he frantically looked around for a place to sit down, thinking that would relieve some of the pressure. He saw none, settling himself along a wall. Sweat broke out on his face as he tried to calm his breathing by inhaling deeply while exhaling slowly. He did a couple of these exercises before he was interrupted with the opening of a heavy door.

Sam emerged from the white barrier, spying Frodo at the end of the hall sagging against its stone surface. Striding quickly to retrieve his master, "We're next Mr. Frodo," the gardener hurriedly spoke, not taking notice at first the pained face Frodo was trying to hide as they positioned themselves in front of the doors where they would be announced.

Straightening his back, wiping the sweat from his face with the cloak covered sleeve, Frodo took one more cleansing breath as he waited for the doors to swing open.

"Mr. Frodo Baggins of the Shire, Hobbiton and Mr. Samwise Gamgee, Gardener, Hobbiton," the guard announced loudly from the doorway to be carried to the end of the hall where the court had assembled. The guard then bowed, allowing the hobbits to enter.

Frodo took one look at the people gathered. The King sat front and center dressed in plum colored velvet, his head adorned with the high profile crown of gold and silver rings. The Queen wore a red plunged neckline gown, her soft black hair caressing her shoulders, long fingers of her right hand entwined with her husbands. Gandalf, of course, was sitting to the right of King Elessar acting as adviser. Pippin, dressed in the uniform of the Guard of the Citadel, stood rigid at his post just behind and to the right of Gandalf. Frodo was so proud of his cousin taking on the responsibility he did when the Steward had questioned Mithrandir's loyalty that he should have informed him earlier to the cause of Boromir's death. That same pride exploded on cue when Pippin threw himself over the burning embers to rescue Faramir, Boromir's brother, from certain death.

Off to his right, Merry sat in the audience, dressed in his hobbit clothes, being relieved of his duties that day. Sitting beside him was Faramir and Eowyn. Oh great, almost the whole Fellowship, he thought to himself as he remembered Gimli and Legolas were out scouting for Orcs rumored to be about Osgiliath.

The walk was long and tiring to the Ring-bearer as he made the final approach to the throne. He dared to look into the aged face of King Elessar as he bowed low, keeping eye contact. Sam followed suit.

"Master Baggins, what can I do for you today?" Aragorn asked, keeping his tone smooth and cold.

Frodo flinched at the roughness he heard in the otherwise soft voice as his eyes swept from Aragorn to the Queen noticing that she had turned her head in response to the harshness from her husband.

Arwen had encountered her husband as he was walking back from the hobbit's chambers, shortly after dismissing himself. She was overwhelmed with the anger that flared from his fea. She stopped in front of him, slowing his advance taking his hands into hers. "What upsets you so, my love?"

Taking a deep breath, he looked into his wife's eyes and felt a feeling of calm taking over as her fingers stroked the back of his hands.

"Most stubborn," he muttered.

"Say no more. I completely understand. Frodo is all right though?" she inquired, knowing something was going on with the Ring-bearer.

"He actually accused me of belittling him by calling him 'Tithen Min'," he whined as if he had just lost his best friend.

It was hard for Arwen not to giggle at the obvious comparison. Rosy red highlighting her cheek bones, she regained her composure in short order to answer the distraught Ranger, "But, Estel, he is little. He must sometimes feel offended by that remark even if used as you say an 'endearment'. For the sake of the Valar, it was his little size and big heart that defeated the dark Lord," she added smiling wide, seeing his face contort in confusion.

His features finally relaxed as he realized to what she was saying, but he was still upset that Frodo would not let him help him. "He was in pain, Arwen, and he declined my help. Even Sam had no effect on him. Come to think of it, he was very rude to me."

"Husband, I feel that his kind soul will prevail, seeking you out," the Queen advised, sensing that Frodo would need his help again and soon. She resumed stroking Aragorn's hand, continuing her stride as they both traversed together to their chambers.

"I...I requested this audience, my Lord, to present you with this gift. A token of appreciation for everything you had done during the trials of the Fellowship," he said holding out the brown wrapped parcel in front of him then concluded his speech,"and my sincerest apology for my actions that occurred in my chambers this morning," his voice cracked at the last part as pain assaulted him again from his strained position.

Aragorn had not heard the pain in Frodo's voice, but the apology as his eyes softened on the creature bowing before him on one knee holding the gift out to him.

A guard, not Pippin, retrieved the parcel from the Ring-bearer's hand and delivered it to the King. Elessar accepted it, slowly revealing the contents. He discovered that the brown wrapping contained a long, dark stained pipe with silver stars, the white tree in full bloom carved into the side of the bowl. A tear fell from the King's face as he fingered the delicate carvings. Then he opened the suede pouch smelling its contents. It was undoubtedly long bottom leaf from the Shire.

"How very thoughtful of him, my liege," Gandalf said observing the gifts that had been bestowed upon him. Merry had told him earlier on that he had given a little of his stash to Frodo to go with the new pipe.

Pippin moved in when he caught the scent, staring in disbelief, "Oi, how'd you get Long Bottom Leaf? Merry?"

"Shh, Peregrin Took. You are in the presence of court still in counsel," Gandalf warned.

Pippin took a step backward toward his post, bowing his head, silently berating Merry.

Sam had noticed his master's body shaking beside him. He assumed it was nerves as he knew Frodo hated making public speeches, his voice always cracking before he finished. Something was not right as he heard Frodo sucking in air. Dark curly locks obscured Sam's sight to peer into the gentle hobbit's face. What he did notice was a tear falling from a cheek splashing onto the brown colored breeches. "Mr. Frodo?" he whispered.

Frodo stopped his breathing, hearing Sam speak his name. Frodo just shook his head, which made the pain worse. He just wanted to get up off his knees, rub his back and stretch out on his feather mattress. Yes, that would be lovely. Very lovely. 'Frodo'. Not ready to get up yet, Sam. 'Frodo'. Please, it hurts so, can I go now, Bilbo?

"Frodo, you can get up now. I would like to thank you, looking into your eyes and not the floor," Aragorn said standing before the halfling.

The hobbit stayed in his place, but Sam scooted closer to him, wrapping his arms around the slender shoulders. Taking his calloused hand, he brushed the hanging hair out of his master's face.

Concerned that there was still no answer, Aragorn knelt in front of Frodo, placing his hand under the hobbit's chin, raising it up slowly. What he saw appalled him. The halfling's eyes were squeezed shut, cheeks glistened with tears, his body shaking uncontrollably. "Tith...Frodo, answer me, what is wrong? You can get up off your knees."

A small voice, "I...can...not," hands clenching together as he tried to control the pain seizing his back.

By this time, an audience had gathered around the trio, all worried faces glancing between the Ring-bearer and Aragorn.

Estel grabbed Frodo up under his arms, attempting to pick him up. As the weight transferred from his legs, stretching his spine, the halfling let out a yowl sending chills up everyone's spine.

Gasping for breath, the Ring-bearer's reddened eyes snapped open, looking straight into steele gray. "So sorry," he mumbled. He inhaled deeply, nails digging into the velvet robe as the pain did not want to let up. "Down...Lay...down...down," requesting through clenched teeth, his voice getting weaker.

Faramir unfastened his cloak, laying it under Frodo as Sam undid his, folding it into a pillow. Aragorn cradled the stiffened form, gently lowering him to the ground.

When the halfling felt that he was being laid on his back, he yelled out, "No...s...side," clutching at the man-sized arms. As he felt he was being lain on his left side, Frodo nodded in appreciation releasing his grip upon the man.

"Sam, has he said anything to you?" Gandalf questioned the gardener for information worrying that maybe the hobbit-lad had fallen and did not want to bother anyone with something he considered insurmountable.

Thinking quickly, for the sake of his master, he went back in his mind the last couple of days. Then he remembered what had happed that mid morning. "I know he was complaining his back had been troubling him again, Gandalf, sir."

"Again? He has not mentioned it to me," King Elessar said feeling wounded that he had not been informed. He let the anger go as soon as it started to build up. It was just the way Frodo was. Not wanting to bother anyone.

The healer had been sent for and appeared immediately, rushing to the fallen Ring-bearer. "What has happened?"

Frodo heard voices above him, seeing only the outline of knees through Aragorn's plum colored robe. He fingered the material, trying to concentrate on the texture of the soft velvet and not on the excruciating back pain. Stubbly fingers brushed hair away from his face and ears, as assurances were whispered to him.

"We do not know, except that he is definitely in pain. I tried to pick him up and he hollered out," Estel told the healer, moving the knee that Frodo had been focusing on.

"Has he said anything about anymore back pain?" the healer questioned, his hands pushing Frodo's cloak out of the way, seeking the Ring-bearer's lower back.

"He came to you?" Sam asked, thinking he had known all of his master's whereabouts. Strider's eyes had also looked from the healer down to Frodo, a look of concern growing on his face.

"Yes, about a week ago. Said to me that he could not sleep, that he was having increasingly painful backaches. He did let me take a look at him, finding a slightly swollen area. I could not do anything for him at that time. Now, I think I may be able to help him," the middle aged healer explained.

The halfling tried to move from the searching hands, but as pain flared up again, all he could do was endure the examination. A hand appeared in front of his face, grabbing one of his. Somehow, Merry had managed to wiggle in between Aragorn and Sam. Frodo returned the gesture, squeezing his cousin's hand tightly.

The healer had managed to pull the shirt tail free of the breeches, his warm soft hands exploring the lower back. He monitored the Ring-bearer's face for increased pain on the areas as he applied extra pressure. The most sensitive area found was the space just above his tailbone, just at the curve of his spine.

"Oww, Stop! Please," Frodo had cried out, tensing his body at the same time crushed Merry's hand to the point that the honarary Rohirrim shed a tear himself.

Sam pried the deathgrip fingers from Merry's hand, taking it into his own. The cousin sat on his backside, cradling his bruised hand. Pippin appeared at his Merry's side, wrapping his scarf around the colorful appendage.

Aragorn felt helpless until the healer had asked for him to gently hold Frodo's body still so that he may apply some needles to the affected area.

"Needles?" Estel and Sam sang in unison, eyes popping out of their sockets.

"It will relieve his pain long enough to move him. Just listen to me carefully," the healer controlled the situation with efficiency and authority. The former Ranger nodded as if he was assisting his father once again in Rivendell. "Good, now hold him at his knees and at his shoulders, keeping him still. He will flinch when the needles go in. It is a must that he remains still."

Sam cooed the words into his master's ear, explaining to him the importance to remain still and that soon the pain will be gone. Tears clouded Frodo's sight, but a reassuring squeeze to his hand had been received.

The healer removed a couple of short silver colored sticks from his pouch, being careful not to lay them on the polished stone surface. Instead he took a flask with his other hand from the pouch, shoving it into anyone's free hand.

Faramir had been the lucky receipient of the thin flask, unsure what to do with it. His question was put into action when the healer addressed him.

"My Lord, if you would be so kind as to pour a little of the liquid, here," the healer instructed pointing with one finger at the slightly reddened area on the Ring-bearer's back. "Then pour some in my hand and on the needles here," he concluded.

Faramir placed a gentle hand along Frodo's exposed ribcage, feeling the rapid rise and fall of the distressed hobbit. "Hold on, Frodo, this will be cool."

Muscles tensed at the sudden cold being poured onto his skin, but the Ring-bearer's body had only flinched, man-sized arms restricting his movements. "Almost done, sir," Sam told him, brushing back the sweat soaked hair to the side.

Seeing the steady hands of the healer aiming for its target, Aragorn tightened his grip just a little, anticipating a struggle from the Ring-bearer. He saw the first short sharp pointed needle puncture the red tender skin, a drop of blood escaping as half its shaft hid itself in the Ring-bearer's back. Frodo's body bucked at the intrusion, but Strider remained in control of how much he moved. The second and third needles went in the same way, each time the hobbit struggled less.

"That's it, Mr. Frodo. He's done," the gardener whispered, the Ring-bearer's grip going lax in his hand. He looked up to the King worried eyes asking if that was supposed to happen.

The healer's attention, kept on Frodo the whole time caught Sam's glance and answered, "Master Gamgee, it is all right. His body is relaxing. His reaction to the treatment is to be expected. My liege, you can let go of him now. I will leave these in for a few moments. Do you mind checking his life's beat. I can already tell his breathing has slowed," the healer asked.

Only happy to oblige and feel that he was helping his friend, Aragorn placed a fore finger and thumb along the inside of the small wrist, counting to himself silently. He bent down stretching his formal clad body next to the inert form laying on the King's stone floor and spoke with him, "I am sorry, my friend, that I had not listened when you first came to me," he whispered taking over brushing the curly hair from the sweaty brow.

Half lidden eyes opened fully and stared into Aragorn's eyes. He inhaled deeply, taking his left hand, placing it on the man's wrist, "Tithen Min," he whispered through unclenched teeth.

"What?"

"I...do not mind it. It is not you, when you do not use it. I know that you...care," he sighed as his body released the tension, his mind floating.

King Elessar smiled wide, "My pleasure, Tithen Min."

A voice interrupted the intimate conversation, "I am going to pull the needles quickly causing him to lapse into a peaceful sleep, he may yet feel it. I just wanted you to know my lord," the healer warned.

The crowned man nodded and once again faced Frodo, holding onto his wrist. The hobbit's face serene, observing a slight furrowing of the brow as a hiss was heard escaping parted lips as the first needle was twisted then removed from the muscle. Small fingers gripped upon the man's wrist, then quickly loosened as whites of his blue eyes rolled back into his head, dark lashes fluttering to a close. He was already asleep before the last two were removed. "Good sleep, Tithen Min," he whispered and placed a kiss on Frodo's forehead before rising to carry the unconscious Ring-bearer back to his feather bed, not the healing house.

tbc

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they belong to J.R.R. Tolkien

True Friends Chapter 3

The healer had come and tried a new technique on our burdened Ring-bearer. It worked and he was able to fall asleep with the King carrying him back to his and Sam's room for much recuperation.

The sun had disappeared behind the mountains hours before, and even though the fire had died down, the room was still bathed in an orange glow.

Soft snores were heard from the hobbit laying in the bed next to his master's. Sam had been up all day, and after what had happened in the King's chambers, he had never felt so exhausted in all his life. He had a feeling that Strider put a sedative in his tea, but he could not be sure as he struggled to keep his eyes opened.

Strider sat vigil over both hobbits, poking at the coals from time to time, keeping the room warm. Sitting with his feet upon an ottoman, he lit his new pipe that Frodo had thoughtfully given him filled with the Shire's best leaf. He felt guilty that Frodo had to go to the healer for treatment, but he did remember disregarding the hobbit's complaints of pain, dismissing it as residual effects from his arduous journey. The King of Gondor and Arnor sat despondent, muddling over in his mind about the days events until footsteps fell softly as the chamber door opened, admitting the middle-aged healer.

Closing the wooden portal softly, the healer approached the bed enveloping the Ring-bearer. With a lit candle in hand he bent closely, pulling back an eyelid exposing blue saucers. He peered into those orbs before letting the lid slowly close on its own.

Aragorn watched the healer carefully, assessing Frodo's facial features, as Mallos' hand lifted the hobbit's nightshirt probing the site of Frodo's pain. It seemed that the green cloaked figure did not seem to mind the King's presence as he continued the examination.

"He is very fortunate that he made it through his ordeal, My Lord," Mallos observed as his hand glided over the scars that marred the shireling's body. A small sigh escaped the Ring-bearer's lips as the healer's warmed fingers pushed in on the hobbit's lower back.

Aragorn tensed upon hearing Frodo come around, observing tiny hands clenching the blanket closer to him. "Did you find anything, Mallos?" he questioned laying his pipe on the side table, leaning closer toward the little one.

Not being annoyed by the former Ranger's question, the healer answered without so much as looking into the King's eyes. "The same place as before, the tissue is still swollen. I suspect that it is his body's way of telling him to take it easy. Many things can factor in to why he is having these pains, but the swelling tells me not a properly healed injury."

"He was on a continuous march. Injuries did not heal, you lived with them," Strider remembered the many crushed fingers, hurt toes, and the fall he took off a cliff during his trek. "I could only imagine what he went through after he left the protection of the Fellowship."

"I see scars on his back. They look like whip whelts. What else happened?" the puzzled healer inquired, massaging the hurts.

"I am sure you have heard the lays sung about him? Well, let me tell you personally what I have witnessed. First, he was stabbed by the Witch-King at Weathertop, a creature suspended him above a lake by his ankles, a Troll's spear was deflected by his mithril shirt, but only to end up with broken ribs. After that, you would have to ask Samwise," Aragorn surmised looking thoughtfully at both sleeping hobbits.

"The same place I learned about the needles, also told how to look for parts of the back that could have been knocked out of place. Sort of like a dislocated shoulder, a dislocated disc in the back. You see here," the healer pointed, the King standing to peer at the little one's reddened area,"the tissue is swollen and I can feel a part of the disc," again the healer demonstrated by taking Aragorn's hand, gliding it over the lump.

Amazed that the healer had the nerve to touch the King without permission, but more so that the healer showed confidence, as he felt the anomaly on Frodo's back. "What can be done to help him?"

"Push it back in. Massages. Heated towels to the affected area, and above all plenty of rest," the healer listed.

Aragorn nodded, understanding everything that the healer wanted to do to Frodo, except, "Push it in?"

"Yes, my lord. The disc must be slipped back into place, or his pain will only continue to escalate, making it difficult to walk, or worse paralyzed," Mallos said with such conviction, that it made the King shudder.

Another sigh came from the Ring-bearer, but this time, his eyes fluttered open as Mallos probed one last time at the site. "Aragorn...?" Frodo moaned quietly as his eyes adjusted to the low lit room. "Uhh, make it stop...Aragorn!" his voice a little more clear and louder that time as the little body tried to slide out of the range of the hands, almost falling out of bed.

The King quickly moved to the edge of the bed, catching Frodo about the shoulders before he could hit the floor. "Hold on there, Tithen Min," Aragorn frowned as the halfling shook in his arms, sweat starting to bead on his brow. "Mallos, I think that is enough for now. Please, let him rest," Aragorn requested, settling the halfling back onto his bed, pillows at his back.

"Sorry, my Lord. I will come back in the morning. If the master should need anything, give him a brew made of this. It will ease him back to sleep," the healer said providing the King with the medicinal herb.

"Thank you. I shall be here by his side," Aragorn nodded, watching the healer leave the room, taking his place once again in the chair beside the bed. Silently, he picked up the pipe from the bedside table and lit it, purposely blowing the smoke toward the resting Ring-bearer.

Deeply inhaling the aroma of Longbottom Leaf, Frodo opened his eyes and just for a moment, his body relaxed. "Do you like it?" the hobbit asked quietly,imagining he was smoking his own pipe.

Taking the pipe stem from his mouth, the ruler of Gondor answered with great sincerity,"It is a very thoughtful gift. Magnificiently carved. You did not have to do it, my friend."

Frodo's eyes met Aragorn's from his side lying position, tears glistening,"Yes, I did. I was very cruel to say the things that I did. It is not like me to do so. If Bilbo had been here, he...he would have boxed my ears," his voice hitched, longing to be with his beloved Bilbo and back home at Bag End.

"Nay, Frodo, if I had not dismissed your pains and aches as just a result from the journey..." the Ranger trailed off. Then something the healer said made him curious himself as to how the hobbit could have obtained such an injury. "Frodo, what did happen after you and Sam left the Fellowship?"

The hobbit was quiet for a moment. He wanted to forget everything, and up to a point he really had no idea what had happened. Sam had to fill him in on details for his book, but he knew his gardener was keeping some events from him. "I remember descending a rope and lost my hold. Thank the Valar it was but a couple of feet to the bottom. In Ithilien, Faramir's men were a little rough. I landed quite roughly on my arse when I had been tossed to the ground."

"Pardon?" Aragorn slid to the edge of his seat, listening intently, questioning why would Faramir be so unkind.

"Please, you do not understand. He thought us spies and handled us as if we were, until he was convinced that he needed to let us go," the halfling said, placing a hand upon the Ranger's knee. He continued after taking a breath, as the throbbing had built up once again. "Sam and I fought. I remember vaguely that the Black Rider was above me. The Ring sang loudly. Then, Sam tackled me, both of us falling down a flight of stone steps. That is all I can really recall."

Aragorn felt the hobbit's hand tighten upon his knee, recalling the events when Sam and he tussled. It must have been quite an ordeal to upset Frodo so, but when the pressure continued to the point of hurting him, he immediately looked into the pale pain filled face. "Frodo?"

The throbbing in the little one's back became a spasm as beads of perspiration formed on his upper lip, eyes tightly closed as if shutting out the pain. It seemed relentless until it finally subsided. Spent, Frodo released his breath and his hold upon the King's knee, slumping back against the soft cool bedding.

"Frodo?" Aragorn called again, applying a cool cloth to the sweaty brow, the hobbit responding by reveling in it's comfort.

"Now, I know why the lasses always said the back pain was worse than the birthing of their babes," Frodo smiled recalling his Aunt Esmie complaining to his uncle about the babe must be kicking her back. Turning back onto his side, a small whimper escaped his lips.

The King's heart went out to the exhausted hobbit, an idea came to him, "Here, turn onto your stomach," he said as hands helped guide the hobbit over, then placed some pillows under the small hips, pulling the covers up leaving the back exposed to the warm air.

"What are you doing?" Frodo's voice a little high, feeling it indecent to be situated in such a manner.

"Trust me, Frodo," the King said, pouring some of the lavender oil he found into his palms, vigorously rubbing them together to warm the fluid. His large hands made contact to the affected area of the back, astounded how just one of his palms covered the width of the little body. Methodically, the healing hands of the King circled Frodo's back, fanning out as they made their way up to the shoulders.

Grunts soon turned into sighs as the little ones hands unclenched the fabric beneathe him, the long fingers relaxed to either side of his head. His eyes had also closed, the panting of breath slowed to an easy rythym. The massaging went on for a few minutes before Aragorn spoke, "How does that feel?"

Too relaxed to answer, Frodo just nodded, his curls bouncing.

"Good. Arwen used this method on me as many a nights my back ached. It relaxed the muscles so much that I do not even remember..." he heard a soft sigh coming from under the curls, stopping the motion. "I guess you will not need the sleeping draught after all, my friend. Good night," Aragorn wished, setting himself into his chair thinking to himself 'I hope Arwen will give me a massage this evening' as he placed a small pillow at his lower back.

tbc...

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They belong to J.R.R. Tolkien.

True Friends: Chapter 4

The sun was it's most brilliant at first light as the vibrant warmth kissed each dew ladened leaf, seemingly taking a life of their own as the vein imbedded foliage opened up to a new day. Also basking in Middle-Earth's brightened days since the fall of Sauron was the Master Healer, Mallos. He found the morning to be the most beautiful and rejuvenating time of the day. It was when life started anew, and the people of Minas Tirith could appreciate what the dark days brought. Their salvation as well as their new King of Gondor, the hands of a true healer.

Mallos was hard pressed to find any Athelas in his stores and when approached by King Elessar if he had any when tending to the Halfling's, he found it difficult to deny the ruler of Gondor anything. He feared he had let his Lord down, but when the former Ranger of the North brought forth a woolen cloth containing a few carefully rolled Athelas leaves, Mallos was given the precious healing herb to cultivate. "I give these to you, Master Mallos, as I am sure you will be able to make them multiply," he remembered the King saying to him, now, on this morning, the man swept aside his cloak, bending down to look at each growth, admiring his and the young Ring-bearer's gardener's work. He had to admit that Samwise Gamgee had the magical touch with all things that grew.

This was just where Aragorn found the healer, amongst the abundance of Athelas leaves sprouting to life, delighted to see the few leaves he gave had been well taken care of. The King's purpose for this visit was to find out what exactly this new "technique" with needles helped the Ring-bearer through his pain, and how he may participate in the future.

"Master Healer?" Aragorn asked, approaching on soft feet.

Mallos did not flinch when approached; he had felt the Earth tremble beneath his feet, observed the leaves shake off the remaining dew from the vibrations. "My Lord?" he said, rising from his kneeling position, bowing his head to his King. "How may I help you this fine morning?" he asked noticing an awkward tilt to the man's neck, favoring his left side. "Do you need a healer?"

Not ready for the question, Aragorn's eyebrows furrowed. "Pardon?"

"Your neck. You seem rather stiff this morning?"

"Oh, that," Aragorn said absentmindedly rubbing at his sore neck muscle. He had slept in the straingt back chair all night long, waking up to the light shake Samwise applied to his shoulder, his chin resting on his chest. "I stayed with Frodo. I must see that there are more comfortable chairs at his bedside," the former Ranger said, a smile broadening his facial features. Mallos lifted his eyebrows in confusion and amusement. Aragorn noticed that this healer was no non-sense, very serious about his work. Such that it reminded him of his foster father, Lord Elrond of Rivendell.

"Speaking of the Holbtya, how is he faring this morning? Did he find need of the sleeping herb?" the older man spoke, taking his attention back to the garden, clipping a few leaves and placing them in his satchel.

"He managed well enough without it, thank you. He fell asleep on his own accord after I gave him a massage. The reason I am here, is I wanted you to teach me about this new needle technique. It was very effective in controlling his pain, but does it have other virtues?"

"Oh, that is does, my Lord. Here, come with me and I will explain it," Mallos invited Aragorn into his personal chamber behind the Houses of Healing. Walking into the room, one would never know that a man lived there. It was spacious, well kept and everything had a place. The healer approached a waist high wooden table and reached across it to retrieve the pouch that Aragorn recognized as the one Mallos had pulled out the needles from the day Frodo lay on his cold stone floor, helpless as he watched his friend suffer.

"Please, have a seat, my Lord and let me tend to that sore muscle. You should have really let Master Baggins stay here if you felt he needed looking after," Mallos continued, gesturing toward a chair for Aragorn to sit in.

The King did not hesitate to sit, but was not silent about the welfare of his comrade. "Ever since the first day I traveled with the Hobbits, I have found myself as protector and friend. I will not have Frodo spend another lonely night in a healing house when he has family to help take care of him. In my experiences, the Halflings are a most hardy folk, but they need touch, reassurances, and above all else the love of their family for them to recover quickly," Aragorn spoke passionately remembering how Bilbo stayed at his nephew's side after Frodo's encounter with the Witch-King at Weathertop.

"Forgive me, my Lord, I did not mean to offend," Mallos bowed his head apologetically before taking calloused fingers to Aragorn's tender neck, massaging the affected muscle.

The King flinched at such strong hands, wondering if the healer even had a gentle touch. After a few moments, the hands disappeared, the slightest sting gracing his neck, then amazingly the pain was gone.

"Well, now, how is that my Lord?" the healer asked, replacing the silver needles back into their pouch.

"The pain is gone, and I can move my neck freely. How did you manage?" the King asked astoundedly.

"Puncturing the nerves in the right place, as I gather from my studies. It is a temporary fix until the muscle begins to heal on its own. You are wondering if at all possible to avoid anymore "temporary fixes" on Master Baggins?" Mallos interjected before Aragorn could ask. With a nod, the healer continued, "I had told you before, the injuries he sustained on his quest need to heal. That can take time and if he should further injure the area, I am afraid he may incur damage that is irrepairable; the Ring-bearer may never walk again," he said bluntly.

Aragorn stared absently.

The morning sun's rays filtered through the endless columns of Minas Tirith, letting in light, hope and a new day. The fire had long diminished to glowing embers in the room where one hobbit lay sleeping, face down where he stayed unmoving during the night. A band of light that peeked between the space of drawn curtains creeped inch by inch, until it's warmth caressed the hand of the Ring-bearer. Fingers twitched one by one until the appendage clenched itself into a small fist before stretching flat against the soft cool sheets. One blue eye, then the next opened as a small moan escaped parched lips, the curly head turning from one side then back. His vision slowly focusing, Frodo noticed the chair that had once been occupied by the King the night before now sat empty. His heart pattered as he recalled the events from the previous day; his actions those of a child endangering his friendship with Aragorn because of a simple back ache. He blinked back an approaching tear casting those blue wells to the bed that had cradled his servant, only crumpled covers remained that gave any indication Sam had ever slept there. The halfling closed his eyes to go back to sleep, but then his stomach told him otherwise as it growled. Taking a couple of deep breaths and swallowing, he tried to numb the feeling of queasiness trying to remember the last time he had eaten. He hated rising early, but it seemed that the only thing that would make the nausea go away was to quell his hunger.

"All right," he muttered to himself, placing sturdy hands down upon the mattress, pushing his upper body up. Instantly, sharp, pulsing pain lanced through his lower back, causing the little hobbit to pant heavily. He found bringing his knees to his chest most difficult and the slick bedding made it hard for his soles to dig in; his legs quickly sliding out from under him. Squeezing his eyes tight, he gained some purchase on the coverlet, but the blanket could not hold his weight and before he knew it, Frodo found himself falling off the bed landing hard on top of his left arm onto the unforgiving stone floor. A loud "pop" sounded in his ears before flashes of bright light filled his vision as pain crossed from his back to his shoulder. "Sam!" Frodo cried out, hoping his friend was on his way back soon.

The King rounded a corner mulling over what the healer had said. Frodo needed time to heal, just relaxation, no taxing himself and he would get it even if he had to secretly have a guard following his every move. Of course, there would be no fooling the Hobbit for long, or trying to reason with the stubborn Baggins. Yes, that would be his plan of action. Heading in the direction of the same said Halfling, the King almost ran into Sam carrying a tray laden with Minas Tirith's fines breakfast foods, including the coffee that Frodo had grown to love.

"Good morning, Samwise. How is Frodo this morning?" the former Ranger asked the gardener, making sure to announce himself before causing the stout hobbit to jump, losing control of the tray.

"Mornin' Strider," he stopped to look up into Grey eyes, a smile across his face, "He was still sleepin' when I awoke, so I just cleaned meself up and hopped right to gettin him some food before his cousins ate it all," he teasingly said of Merry and Pippin.

"I know just what you mean. I..." Aragorn stopped talking suddenly as he thought he heard commotion coming from the room down the hall. Frodo's room.

Picking up his pace, Strider was just about in front of the door when he heard the little one hollering out, "Sam! Help m...me!"

Sam's stomach fell. He knew his master was in trouble and followed the King toward their room.

Throwing the door open, both Strider and Sam ran into the room. Sam quickly put aside his burden running to the back of the chamber where he knew Frodo was lying hurt. His eyes grew to size of saucers when he observed his master tangled within the covers on the floor, his left arm sticking out at an odd angle. He could hear Frodo panting heavily, obviously in pain.

"Frodo!" Aragorn called out after taking in the scene before him, reaching for the hobbit, letting him know help was indeed there.

Hearing his name, Frodo's eyes reverted from the ceiling toward the sound. After taking a few moments to focus on the bearded man, he instantly recognized the King, tears streaming down his face. "Ara...gorn, Sam," he whispered.

"We're here, Mr. Frodo, we're here," Sam patted his master's curly hair, being mindful of the dislocated arm.

Aragorn carefully slid Frodo from his resting place, gently lifting the mangled body to transfer to the waiting bed. He noticed Frodo holding his breath, clenching teeth, "Breathe, Frodo, breathe," he whispered onto the halfling's temple, talking him through the pain. "Sam, come and hold his legs. The arm needs to be reset," the King said, knowing that this would be the most painful part and he would give Frodo a draught to help him rest.

Nodding, knowing he had to be strong for his master, Samwise padded up to the bedside where Aragorn lifted the hobbit under his arms, releasing him upon the mattress. Before placing strong calloused hands on Frodo's thighs, he whispered, "I am sorry." Frodo was half aware, but seemed to have heard his gardener and smiled slightly before closing his eyes.

The King grabbed hold of the left arm, thrusting up and rotating outward where he felt the ball of the bone fitting back into the socket like a puzzle. The little hobbit hollered out and Sam held fast to his master, waiting to use force if need be, but he noticed that Frodo had not even flexed a toe during the ordeal; the only movement observed was his free hand coiling itself within Aragorn's tunic.

"Frodo, its over, all right Tithen Min," Aragorn soothed, brushing back damp curls from furrowed eyebrows. "Breathe through the pain, that's it, just breathe," he continued to coax smoothing the crinkled forehead with his thumb.

"Strider?" Sam whispered.

Aragorn turned his attention for just a moment to the gardener, glimpsing a look of concern upon Samwise's face. "What is the matter?"

"Mr. Frodo's legs, they didn't move," he fidgeted, face flushing.

"You were holding them, they were not suppose to, Sam," Aragorn reasoned, his stomach feeling a little uneasy, the conversation of the healer ringing in his ears 'Irrepairable damage...never walk again'.

"He didn't even flinch beneath my hands, if you take my meaning, sir," he tried to reason with the King.

Aragorn turned back to Frodo, who seemed to have his breathing under control, listening intently to the conversation. "How are you feeling, Tithen Min?" Aragorn asked quietly as his large hands framed Frodo's delicate face, tangling into the curls as his eyes pierced into the depths of blue.

Clearing his throat, he answered with a question of his own, "How do you mean, feel?"

"Your legs, can you move them?" Sam blurted out.

"What?" Frodo managed to get out before pain assailed his temple where Aragorn's thumb grazed it, gasping against the spinning room trying to swipe away at sheets he thought tangled around his heavy legs; not responding on his command, but when he reached down he found no cloth hindering his movement. Panic rose within the Ring-bearer as his mighty heart increased its rhythm, breathing becoming more difficult by the moment. "I...can...not move my legs! Aragorn!" the hobbit cried out in hysteria, pounding his fist into the King as he was wrapped tightly within the man's arms.

Sam could not hold his emotions in check any longer. He broke down, tears coating dry cheeks as he looked upon his master with such devotion, such anger as to why Frodo had been diminished to an invalid.

Rocking the frustrated hobbit, Aragorn knew Frodo needed him now more than ever. He bereated himself the very first time he told the master of Bag End to "live" with his pains and soon life would fall into place. Small hiccups echoed from beneath his chin as he felt the Ring-bearer's grasp weakening upon his tunic. Strong arms slowly loosened, gently lying the adult hobbit back onto soft fluffy pillows. As he had hoped, the face had slackened as wet cheeks left a stain upon his sleeve, the Ring-bearer's strength spent. Taking a deep breath, Aragorn gently brushed stray curls from closed eyes and was about to speak when a familiar voice interrupted his thoughts.

"I thought I would drop in and see how the lad was doing?" Gandalf spoke most fondly of his Hobbiton friend.

Frodo's heavy eyelids lifted off of blue orbs when he heard the Wizard speak. "Gandalf!" he cried.

Gandalf's heart went out to the lad, navigating around the bedpost to the opposite side of Aragorn, setting down upon the bedding gracefully. Big robed arms gathered the small creature to his chest, loving kisses planted on top of the curly head. "Now, now, my dear boy, it cannot be all that bad?" the White Wizard cooed.

Frodo just nodded, his face rubbing against familiar pipeweed smelling robes. Feelings of lonliness and despair began to overwhelm him, once again finding himself breaking down into a wall of tears. "I am sor...sorry. I am acting such the tweenager," he sniffled, rubbing his sleeve across his face, but was stopped by a certain gardener, blue eyes shifting up to peer into green.

"Here, Mr. Frodo, no use ruinin' Mr. Gandalf's robes," Sam spoke confidently passing a hankerchief over his master's reddened eyes. Sam had regained his senses quickly, not wanting to make the situation seem hopeless, as he somehow thought Frodo would never walk again.

tbc