Mysterious Jedi: Oh thank you! I’m so glad you like it. Heh, sorry about the confusion with ff.net and everything.

JULES6: Thanks! That’s so cool you’re writing a story in this time period too! Let me know when you publish it!

Lossenchristal: Thanks! No one’s ever really commented on my style before. I appreciate it!! And I’m afraid I kind of skipped over that part, though I love it too!

Pebbles: Oh! What a compliment! All the chapters are already written up to a point, so I can’t change that. They will get a little longer, though.

I realize I can reply individually, but this is more fun. *grin*

Chapter Two

~The Hands of a King~

Note: I am not a healer or anything so forgive me if my medical terms and such are not accurate.

They had stopped to rest by the stream. They had been walking for hours and they still had several more to go before they reached Lothlorien. The hobbits had plopped down in a heap upon arrival, all but Frodo. He sat a little way off from the rest, staring thoughtfully into the swift-moving stream. Aragorn approached him and was amused to notice Samwise watching his every move. He sat down cross-legged on the grass in front of Frodo, who raised his head to meet Aragorn’s gaze. Aragorn felt a twinge inside him; there was so much pain in those eyes. He put on a smile.

“Hello there, Frodo. How are you holding up?” he asked him. A wry look came over Frodo’s face.

“I am well, no matter what Sam told you back there.” He responded dryly. Aragorn raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, really? Well, I seem to recall you being in the wrong spot when a very large troll through his javelin.” He said just as dryly. He saw Frodo give a barely perceptible sigh.

“It just knocked the air out of me, Aragorn, that--”

“While it didn’t kill you,” Aragorn continued, undaunted. “It most likely injured you. May I look at it?” Frodo nodded resignedly. “Has it been hurting you?” Aragorn asked as he began to remove Frodo’s cloak and shirt.

“It… it has been uncomfortable and sometimes it is difficult to breath.” Frodo answered. Aragorn gently lifted the coat of mithril and the soft jerkin underneath to examine Frodo’s chest and stomach. He hissed sharply when he saw the large blue-black bruise that had formed and the many cuts and scratches made by sharp mithril-rings that had torn through the jerkin. It was amazing that Frodo had been able to walk at all, much less for hours on end! He gently felt Frodo’s ribs and stopped when Frodo winced.

“It is not as bad as it could have been,” Aragorn stated. “There is bruising and several scratches, and you have a bruised rib, that is why it is difficult to draw breath. It may be cracked, I cannot tell yet for sure.” He began to dig around in his pack and pulled out a roll of bandages that he had hoped would not be needed.

“Sam?” He called to the pile of hobbits. A red-brown head popped up. “Could you come here for a moment?” Sam was at their side in an instant and looked at Strider expectantly. Aragorn showed him a dried-out herb. “Could you see if there is any more of this around here? I believe it grows in this area.” With a nod at Frodo, Sam was off to find the soothing plant.

“Frodo, there is more bothering you than this wound.” Aragorn said softly. Frodo hesitated.

“No, no, I’m alright.” Aragorn groaned inwardly at the hobbit’s stubbornness.

“Frodo, the Council gave you companions so that they could help you in any and every way. Will you not tell me what is wrong?”

Frodo’s eyes flashed. “Nothing is wrong, Aragorn! Don’t ask me again!” Aragorn flinched, shocked by this fierce response. The other members of the Fellowship looked at them curiously and there was concern in Merry and Pippin’s eyes. Anything Aragorn could have said was cut off by Sam, who had returned with the herb.

“Is this the one you wanted, Mister Strider?” He asked.

“Yes, Sam,” Aragorn said, taking it. “This is fine. Thank you. Go rest now, we must start again in a little while.” Sam nodded at him, glanced at Frodo worriedly, and walked back to the hobbit heap. Aragorn crushed the herb into a salve and put it on Frodo’s cuts and bruises. He began to wrap Frodo’s chest with the bandages and Frodo relaxed visibly as the salve began to work.

“Aragorn… I’m sorry I lost my temper. I… please don’t ask me again.” Aragorn rose and looked down at Frodo with understanding.

“Be at peace, Ringbearer, I will not ask of it further.” He said and walked over to talk to Legolas. ‘Gandalf…’

SEND REVIEWS! (they make me write faster) Let me know if there is anything I need to change. Give me suggestions and comments… compliments… Just review it and say *something* because it’s the only way I know you’ve read the story. Thanks, oh you luverly peoples!