Warning: AU

At the Prancing Pony

Sam could not stand it any more. He desperately wanted to bring Frodo into his arms to lessen whatever torment was at work in his master’s body now, not that Sam actually knew that Frodo was indeed tormented. It was just the scream – Sam had never heard a scream of such pure agony

But he could not do as he wished. He could not just get up and embrace Frodo. He found himself unable to even look at his master as Frodo convulsed violently, his body arching upward, then slamming down again. The blood freezing shrill cry still rang in his ears and Sam shrank back with his teeth chattering, plopped down and hugged his knees tightly to his chest.

Strider looked over his shoulder at Sam’s miserable form. He wanted to give consolation to the hobbit, yet he failed to find any words. His own heart seemed to shatter in pieces.

Frodo was about to tell him something when his words were suddenly drowned in an ocean of pains and cries. What on Middle Earth was happening? First the hobbit had not been able to breathe, and now this, all without any obvious cause at all.

Determined that he had to do something about it, Strider scooped up Frodo’s shaking body up into the cradle of his arms and brought him to the bed. At least, Strider could spare Frodo the chill of the cold floor. Thank the Valar, Frodo’s screams gradually subsided.

The ranger lowered Frodo down onto one of the small hobbit – sized beds, and tucked him in gently. The other three hobbits, including a now calmer Sam, followed Strider’s motions with hopeful eyes flickering in the dimly-lit room, and soundlessly gathered themselves around Frodo’s bed.

“Is he all right, Strider?”

“Why does he keep trembling?”

“He is bleeding, Strider!”

The ranger started at the last of those tiny figures’ remarks. He quickly moved the crimson-stained blanket aside and found Frodo’s shirt in the same condition, covered with a thick coat of sticky crimson.

Where did the blood come from? Strider opened the blanket wider. No, there was no knife or sharp object that could unintentionally have hurt Frodo.

“Merry!” Pippin, the youngest of all, surprised the others with his loud cry. He then wept so hard that the man and his fellow hobbits felt like crying, too. Pippin was still very young – he had not yet come of age – and Frodo was his favorite cousin. All that had happened was just too much for him. Frodo might even die. “He’s not going to leave us, is he, Merry? Please tell me he won’t. It can’t be!”

Merry could not do anything more than pull his cousin closer and turn him away from the sight of Frodo’s sad condition. Gently Merry took Pippin and brought him to his shoulder.

But no, Frodo might not die. He might be too strong to just fade away. Even so, he had not returned to normal, although the shaking had very much lessened and now and he was breathing freely again. The blood remained on his shirt.

Strider experienced a feeling of déjà vu as there was a loud bang on the door and a group of people came rushing into the room as the hobbits had earlier. They were big folk with long swords in their grips, and they glared wildly around the room, spotting a group of hobbits and one man gathered around a bed. Sam, Merry and Pippin scurried behind Strider for protection.

“Strider!” roared one of the men. The ranger quickly but casually covered Frodo’s body with two blankets, concealing the already blooded one and praying that the men did not pay attention to what he was doing. The ranger raised his chin up.

“Any problem, Butterbur?” he asked coldly.

The Prancing Pony’s owner eyed the ranger suspiciously.

“What have you done this time?” asked Butterbur.

“What do you mean?”

The owner and bartender glanced over Frodo’s prone form.

“Why is he lying down? The others are not.” He nodded to Frodo. “I told you not to disturb these halflings, Ranger. They are gentlehobbits from the Shire and they are highly respected around here.”

Strider sighed deeply, definitely not wanting to tell the men what was happening, especially when he was not sure himself.

“I know who they are, Butterbur,” the scruffy-looking ranger tried to convince them with his soft and composed voice. “I guard the borders of their lands, if you recall.”

Still looking doubtful, Butterbur finally lowered down his weapon, and glancing to the men beside him, he signaled for them to do the same. They complied silently.

Slowly, Strider walked toward the door, herding the men out without their even realizing it.

“You must believe me,” persuaded the ranger. “Although I am little more than a stranger to you, have you ever known me to harm your people?” The men shook their heads silently. Strider nodded slowly. “You know I work hand in hand with the Shiriffs in the Shire and the authorities here. Just go to them should you have any reservations.”

Butterbur nodded repeatedly as if he were under a spell. He was not sure about this but subconsciously he believed the ranger. It was strange, but this man seemed to have an almost magical charm. It was possible to be upset with him when not in his presence, but when eye to eye with the Ranger, Butterbur felt compelled to agree with him.

When the last man had quit the room, Strider closed the battered door and made a barricade with a sturdy-looking chest to bar the way to any more unwanted visitors. He took a relieved breath. He was not really in the mood to face another problem. One was enough to make this already long night even longer.

Strider turned around to face the hobbits around Frodo. Frodo had managed to sit up and had joined the other three as they sat looking at him. Strider dashed to the group and almost shoved Merry away when he placed himself at the side of the bed abruptly. Merry grumbled a little but stopped when he saw how urgently Strider grasped Frodo’s shoulders and gently turned the hobbit to meet his gaze.

“Frodo, are you all right?” asked Strider almost in a whisper. The chalk-faced hobbit with nodded slowly, his eyes half closed. No sound came out of his purplish lips.

Then Strider could see that Sam was rather upset.

“Now, Mr. Frodo, you shouldn’t be up!” Sam scolded, realizing that everyone in the room knew he was only trying to hide his fear by sounding harsh. “Please sir, just lie down again.” He was about to set Frodo back down again when Frodo himself caught both of Sam’s wrists and eased them away gently.

“I – am – fine – Sam,” Frodo seemed to ground the words out. “I have to be. This quest--“

“Don’t talk about any quest right now, Mr. Frodo,” cut Sam quickly. “You’re bleeding.” Sam’s voice broke as he looked at the crimson stain on Frodo’s shirt.

Bleeding? Frodo looked down. Oh!

All of a sudden everything seemed to come back. The pain, the nausea, even the disgust, all the sensations Frodo had suddenly experienced when he was about to tell Strider---

Frodo gazed up, his eyes searching for Strider and staring. His expression was difficult to read. Frodo had been trying to tell this man what was happening, but Sauron must have reads his intentions, though Frodo did not understand how. Sauron must have punished Frodo through his other self in the tower in Mordor. Mordor – the name of the place sent shivers down the hobbit’s spine.

Strider snatched himself away from Frodo’s sharp gaze and reached out at the torn and bloody shirt. Frodo followed the ranger’s movement silently, too stricken to say anything. He watched as Strider pulled the shirttail out if his breeches and lifted the stained part for him to examine.

“Do you remember anything, Frodo?” Strider urged him gently. Frodo stared blankly at him and at the shirt, alternately. He then moved his head so slightly Strider had to interpret it as a nod.

“Yes? What is it?”

“I ---“ Frodo started with great difficulty, mouth parched from having cried out loud. “I remember who you are, Strider,” he said after some time. Then Frodo turned his head to each of his cousins, and to Sam.

“I remember them, too, Merry, Pippin, and Sam.”

Strider exhaled loudly. Was Frodo jesting? This was not what he had expected. He also caught confusion dancing in the faces of the other hobbits.

“That is very good, little one. But why did you scream? Was it a dream or a vision?” The ranger prodded Frodo gently.

For a second, Frodo’s clear blue eyes clouded, whether with fear or misery, Strider could not tell. He only knew he must wait for the hobbit to answer. Frodo answered sooner than expected, realizing that doubts would only lead to misunderstanding, and that could lead to something fatal. Sauron might very well do something that would kill Frodo.

“There is nothing wrong. I – I’m completely fine. I was just – feeling unwell.” Frodo’s voice weakened. What a lame thing to say. But he was resolute. Frodo decided that he would never divulge any of the dark secrets that troubled him.

TBC AN: Not much of an action this time. What do you think? Pretty thanks with cherry on top if you’re willing to leave me a sentence or two! – Iorhael