Disclaimer - I am not a medical professional (but I play one on tv!…no, not even that! But I did love my ‘doctor’ kit when I was a kid!)…so, of course…none of this is to be taken as medical advise or should be tried at home, or work, or church, or the grocery story or the mall or on the subway…or ANYWHERE. This is FICTION people! Come on! Though, on second thought…if you every find yourself in the situation of rescuing a couple of buddies who just destroyed an evil ring of power from the fiery chasm of “MOUNT DOOM”, via “Eagle Air Lift Emergency Rescue Squad”…then (and only then)…go ahead…chances are, they will prolly appreciate anything and everything you might do for them.

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Disclaimer 2 - Oh…and by the way…these darling hobbits are not mine (dang!) and I’m not Tolkien (as if you couldn’t guess!) and I’m not making any money off of this story (unless someone is actually WILLING to pay me some money for this!) and all that other disclaimer stuff.

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“Between There - And Back Again”

Chapter Two -

“At the Brink”

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Far below, Gandalf could now see the field that was their destination. Small and white from his vantage point, he could see the tents that had been erected. In an impossibly short amount of time, the eagles' feet were once again securely upon the firm ground flowing with soft, tall grass that swayed in the afternoon breeze. Aragorn who had seen the company as they flew in was standing ready to meet them, a mixture of emotions evident upon his handsome, kingly face. What was he about to learn, he wondered. Would he hear good news or bad? With the eagles now landed before him, he began to walk forward, taking long strides. Closer to the company now, he could see that Gandalf was not alone and his heart soared at that. Upon the back of one eagle was strapped a small bundle that Aragorn quickly recognized as Samwise Gamgee, though he looked much thinner than when he had last beheld him. At the eagle's side now, Aragorn could see that the face of Sam was drowned deep in what appeared to be a restful, peaceful slumber. He noted that, in spite of the bandaged head, he appeared to be all in one piece. As Aragorn appraised Sam’s condition, the hobbit suddenly turned his head slightly and began coughing weakly, his whole body tensing with each wrack.

“That’s it, Samwise.” Aragorn soothed. “Rid your lungs of that foul place. The sooner the better.” Aragorn patted the hobbit’s chest gently as he continued to cough.

The ranger continued to watch Sam to see if he would be awakened by his coughing, but he was not. Sam was unaware of Aragorn lifting him slightly to turn him onto his side in an effort to aid the process and to ensure he didn’t become choked on anything he might bring up. After several moments, Sam’s cough quieted a bit and he seemed to be resting a bit more peacefully for his efforts. Aragorn reached to stroke Sam’s cheek, which was much leaner than he would like to have seen. Sam relaxed even a bit more under the King’s gentle touch, nestling his head once again into the soft warmth of eagle feathers.

“Rest gently, Samwise. You have earned it.” Aragorn smiled proudly.

Next he turned to the other eagle, from whose back Gandalf was dismounting. Aragorn's heart broke anew as he took in the sight of the tiny, broken form nestled in Gandalf's embrace. Still wrapped in the blanket, Frodo was mostly hidden from Aragorn's eyes. All he could really see was the dark curls of his head and one edge of his white brow which were fallen limply back where they rested in the crook of Gandlalf's elbow.

“Gandalf…?” Aragorn breathed only the name, but the question in his heart had reflected in his eyes and had not been lost on the wizard.

“Frodo is still with us, Aragorn - though in a grave condition I fear.” Gandalf answered, pride mingled with despair evident in his ancient eyes. “But let us not give up hope while hope remains. Hobbits, I have found, fade very reluctantly. And if I know a Baggins hobbit, I believe there is still some fight left in this one.”

Hope and doubt warred across Aragorn’s face. At last, the hope won out and gave Aragorn the courage to move forward. Walking closer, Aragorn was now struck with the full horror of Frodo's condition. The face he took in was painted in vast and sundry hues. Dirt, ash and smears of blood made up the hideous palette. Where the skin could actually be seen, the hue was not just pale, but white. The slightly parted lips were blue over his teeth which chattered uncontrollably. The eyes of the hobbit in Gandalf's arm, which Aragorn remembered to be a striking, impossible blue were tightly closed - the dark lashes firmly pressed into the blue smudges that had formed beneath them. None of those horrible things prepared him, however for the ghastliness of Frodo's hand, laying clutched to his small, heaving chest. Even through it's wrapping, Aragorn could see that he was missing a finger.

"Oh, Frodo!" He groaned softly, his heart deeply grieved for all he was sure the hobbit had endured. But there was no time for grief just now. There was work to do if they were to keep this hobbit alive to tell, in his own words and his own voice, just how he had come to be parted with his finger.

Aragorn now stood directly in front of Gandalf who still held Frodo tenderly in his arms. With great care not to cause further pain to the wounded hobbit, Aragorn lifted Frodo's bandaged hand from his chest and laying his ear upon it waited, listening for what would be revealed. The heartbeat he heard was very weak and too fast. The breathing he heard was very shallow - almost like a pant. Frodo's back still arched, though only slightly now, as he drew in each breath, grown weaker from his terrible, determined efforts to live. His whole body trembled as he tried so hard to keep air flowing.

"He's lost a lot of blood, Aragorn." Gandalf's voice suddenly broke through his thoughts.

"Yes, I can tell. He seems to be slipping into shock." Aragorn answered him as he pulled back Frodo's eyelid to see the dilated pupil beneath.

“How long has he been panting like this?” Letting go of the eyelid, which slide immediately shut, Aragorn gently caressed Frodo's brow - noting the coolness of his skin as he did so.

“Since I found him, I’m afraid.” Gandalf answered, then continued, “But it’s weaker now. He stopped breathing while we were in the air - thankfully, I was able to rouse him again. Since then, his breath has been growing gradually fainter.” The wizard finished sadly.

“We saw the smoke from the erupting mountain from here…were Sam and Frodo very near the flow and flame?” Aragorn inquired.

“Completely surrounded when I found them. The rock they were on was no more than an island in a fiery sea when I reached them. I doubt it’s even visible now. I fear both hobbits took in quite a bit of the poisonous fumes. It‘s amazing they are even still…” Gandalf‘s voice trailed off at this last, not wanting to finish the thought.

Aragorn‘s voice broke in. “Let us hope no permanent damage has been done to their lungs. Sam was coughing just a few moments ago. That is a good thing.”

“But Frodo…Aragorn, will he…will he be…?”Gandalf’s question was cut off mid stream by Aragorn’s answer.

“I do not know, Gandalf. But rest assured, I shall do everything in my power to preserve this hobbit. He deserves more than this end for all that he’s done. Give him to me, Gandalf. You take care of Sam. I'll tend Frodo."

Aragorn, king that he was, now took charge of the situation. Reaching to take him from Gandalf's arms, Aragorn pulled Frodo into his own embrace and wondered at the lightness of what could hardly be called a burden. How long had it been since he had eaten an actual meal? Cradled gently in his arms, Frodo seemed so fragile to him now, that he was afraid to hug him close as he longed to do for fear he would break.

Looking down into Frodo’s face as he began to carry him toward the sanctuary of the tents, Aragorn whispered, “Hold on, Frodo. Give me a chance to at least try to repay you for all you’ve done - though, I know I never could…no one could. But please just hold on and give me a chance to try…please, Frodo.”

As Aragorn spoke, Frodo seemed to relax - that is, he went even more impossibly limp and lifeless in Aragorn’s arms. The little body which had been trembling violently when Aragorn first received it into his arms was now still. With alarm, Aragorn noted that not only had Frodo ceased trembling, but was also no longer rhythmically arching his back as he drew breath. Leaning his head forward slightly, Aragorn turned his ear to the hobbit’s mouth to listen for the faint breath. As pitiful as it was to be so, Aragorn was relieved to hear a very faint, wheezing, shallow breath issuing from the blue lips. As he continued forward, Aragorn counted the seconds between each shallow breath - about eight at a slow count. Aragorn resisted the urge to shake the hobbit back to fighting - instead, he took off at a fast run with the yet unconscious hobbit securely held in his embrace. Frodo's head, draped across the man’s elbow, bobbed as Aragorn ran, causing the wild, dark mane of his hair to bounce and sway.

“Aragorn?” Gandalf called. But to no avail…Aragorn had no time to answer.

Having reached the first tent in just a few strides, Aragorn entered and took a second to adjust his eyes to the dimness within. Quickly, he laid Frodo upon the bed which had been set up in anticipation of his arrival. With gentle hands, he began to unwrap Frodo from his blanket so that he could fully assess what was wrong with him. He was struck anew at the smallness of him as he viewed Frodo for the first time without the bulk of the wrapping to make him seem bigger. Also shocking to Aragorn's eyes were the clothing Frodo was dressed in. Though it hung limply on the body, which was too small for it, the garments were unmistakably orc! What kind of state had he had to be in, Aragorn wondered, to force him to put on such foul garments?

"No time for foolish questions now, Aragorn”, the king admonished himself. "You've more important things to do."

Aragorn’s hands worked quickly at unfastening the crude laths that formed the closures for the foul garment Frodo wore on his upper body. The last one was twisted into a knot and Aragorn was just about to reach for his knife as the stubborn fastener finally released. Aragorn opened the garment and peeled it away from Frodo’s chest. The fabric (if it could be called that) was effectively glued to Frodo’s chest from all the blood that had seeped through and dried there. As he pulled it away, the skin was pulled up with it in places and Aragorn watched as the peaks that formed did not immediately spring back to place, but slowly collapsed - evidence of severe dehydration. Quickly but gently, Aragorn removed Frodo’s arms from the sleeves and laid the filthy garment aside. With Frodo’s chest now exposed, alabaster white save the splotches of blood left from the discarded garment, was as cold as a stone and almost as still as Aragorn watched it for it’s rise and fall. A tiny hitch was barely perceptible as the hobbit drew the ineffective, shallow breaths. Frodo was fading.

Suddenly, the King grasped Frodo’s face in both hands and lowering his head, pressed his warm forehead to Frodo’s cold one. Aragorn’s eyes slid shut and he trembled with the effort as he sought to reach Frodo’s mind, soul and spirit.

“Frodo?” Aragorn’s spirit called out. No answer.

“Frodo, please…please answer me. Can you hear me, Frodo?” Aragorn waited.

“Strider?” the voice that answered was very small and weak.

“Frodo! Where are you? Come to me, Frodo.” The ranger pleaded.

Far ahead of him, Aragorn saw Frodo - or rather, his spirit. As he watched, Frodo had entered the mouth of a tunnel, dark inside, but with a brilliant light emanating from the other side. Aragorn followed, stopping only a few steps beyond the mouth of the tunnel. Frodo turned to look at Aragorn, the expression on his face a mixture of surprise and tired delight at seeing his old friend.

“Aragorn!” the hobbit exclaimed. “How good to see you again! Oh, but if you’re here, that must mean…you must be…Aragorn, are you…dead, too?” Frodo’s brows worked with emotion as he spoke in the manner Aragorn remembered (and loved) so well.

“No, Frodo - indeed! I am not dead - and neither are you…though, you are very close, on the brink, so to speak. But all hope is not lost for you, Frodo. Please come back with me.” Aragorn spoke to the weary hobbit and gestured toward the direction from which he had come.

“But, I’m so…so very tired, Strider. More tired than I’ve ever been. And it’s so cold back there.” Frodo nodded his head in the direction behind Aragorn’s back.

Turning slightly to look back, Aragorn was surprised to see a light also shining from the end of the tunnel he had entered, though it was not as brilliant or pure as the light at Frodo’s back - the light toward which the hobbit had been headed.

Frodo turned his head to gaze toward the brilliant light, then spoke softly again. “I know it will be so warm there. I’m so cold, Aragorn.”

As the ranger watched, he noticed something that he had been vaguely aware of in Frodo before…a gentle, clear light seemed to be coming from him, glowing faintly from the inside out. The light in Frodo seemed to be growing fainter and fainter and as he continued to look, Aragorn could see why. Slowly, as dew being evaporated by the warm rays of the mid-morning sun is reclaimed by the sky that provides it, Frodo’s light was being evaporated. Drop by precious drop, the hobbit’s light was being reclaimed. The tiny particles of light shimmered as they left Frodo and floated as on a gentle breeze toward the tunnel opening.

“Please, Frodo…come away with me. You are dearly loved and wanted and would be sorely missed were you to go. Please give us a chance to try to repay you for what you have done. Please, Frodo.” The ranger’s voice was gentle but pleading.

“I have done nothing that requires payment. I do not deserve anything. I failed, Stider. At the most important moment…I gave in. I let everyone down. If not for Gollum’s lust for the ring, it would not have been destroyed. Please do not make me out to be a hero, for I am not.” Frodo answered, self shame clear in his tone of voice as well as in the the huge, shadowed, downcast eyes.

“No, Frodo! You have NOT failed. Frodo, you did what no other could have done - you got that cursed ring to Mordor - and it IS destroyed. It would not be, were it not for you.” Aragorn was adament.

Frodo had no answer for Aragorn’s statement, but said instead, “Sam must be wondering about me…he must be waiting for me there. I must go to him. He was so faithful and kind to me - all the way. He was my strength when I had none of my own, Strider. I can not keep him waiting…you know how Sam worries about me.” Frodo managed to say this last with a tiny smile and a hint of a laugh. Frodo once again began to walk toward the brilliance of the pure light.

“Yes, indeed I do know how Sam worries about you, Frodo. That is why you must come back with me. Sam is not out There.” Aragorn said, pointing toward the light to which Frodo was headed.

Stopping in his tracks, Frodo turned back to the ranger. “What? What do you mean? Sam is not…then Sam didn’t - Sam’s…alive?” Frodo’s voice was full of surprise.

“Yes, Frodo…Samwise is very much alive and will be asking for you first thing, I suspect, as soon as he awakens. That gardener would be very much grieved if he should wake find his master has gone on to where he cannot follow. I don’t know if he would ever recover from it. Please come back with me, Frodo. Please.” Aragorn’s voice plead with the hobbit before him.

Aragorn’s words struck an odd cord of familiarity somewhere in the deepest part of Frodo’s memory…but he couldn’t quite place where or when he had heard the words before. But there was no time to think of it now. Sam was waiting. Waiting for him. Frodo’s will was set. He spoke then.

“Sam is back there. He’s waiting for me. He needs me.”

“Yes, Frodo…and Merry and Pippen as well - for they two have survived. Won‘t you come back with me?” Aragorn begged once more and stretched forth his hand toward Frodo.

“Yes.” Was Frodo’s simple answer as he stepped toward Aragorn and closing his eyes, slid his small hand into the ranger’s large one.

A blinding white light flashed in Aragorn’s eyes and jolted him like a lightening bolt. Instantly, he was no longer in the tunnel, but back in the tent in the field, Frodo’s cold face still in his hands. To anyone looking on, it would seem that Aragorn stopped to press his forehead to the hobbits for only a few seconds. Coming out of his reverie, Aragorn was vaguely aware that Gandalf had entered the tent with Sam in his arms and had laid him upon the second bed. Aragorn hoped that Sam would not awaken to see what he was about to do to his master, for he would surely be most alarmed.

“Keep Samwise asleep and resting as long as you can, Gandalf. I’m going to have to assist Frodo with his breathing for a bit.” Aragorn instructed.

“Very wise.” Gandalf understood immediately Aragorn’s concern and turned back to Sam and placed a large hand across the hobbit’s brow. Gandalf closed his eyes as he concentrated on sending Sam into a deep, peaceful, restful slumber.

A quick nod in the wizard’s direction was Aragorn’s only reply as he deftly slid his hand under Frodo’s head, supporting it while removing the pillow beneath it. Gently he lowed it back to the bed. Aragorn folded the pillow in half lengthwise, then slid it beneath Frodo’s neck, causing the neck to arch and the hobbit’s airway to be more effectively opened. Aragorn once again leaned his ear over the hobbit’s mouth and was glad to note that the effort of opening the airway had seemed to help…but as he had feared, not enough. Frodo’s breath was still alarmingly shallow and faint. The hobbit’s lips, now a dark blue, was testimony to the fact that he was simply not getting enough air. Frodo’s body was completely lifeless as Aragorn slid two fingers down the center of the hobbit’s chest to the base of his sternum.

“Don’t be frightened, Frodo.” Aragorn spoke as though Frodo could hear. “I’m just going to breath for you for a bit. Elrond taught me this - you remember Elrond, don’t you? Just relax.”

With those words spoken to the unconscious hobbit, Aragorn parted Frodo’s mouth and pinched his nostrils closed. Taking a breath, Aragorn leaned over Frodo and breathed into his mouth - though he stopped at what would have been about a half a breath for him. Aragorn was careful of this as he didn’t want to overfill and burst the small hobbit’s lungs. Feeling the cold chest rise beneath his fingers, and satisfied that the air had reached Frodo’s starving lungs, Aragorn pressed gently but firmly to release the breath. Again he pressed his mouth over Frodo’s and gave him more lifegiving air, then released it again. After repeating this process several times, Aragorn stopped to see if Frodo was breathing any better on his own. Noting minimal improvement, he continued.

Aragorn worked over Frodo in this way for almost half an hour before the hobbit finally began to make an effort that was similar to a cough. Actually, a cough is what it would have been if Frodo had had the strength to fully execute it. As it was, the sound that emitted from the hobbit was more akin to a loud, raspy exhale rather than a true cough. Still, Aragorn was pleased, for even this was progress. Aragorn also noted with pitiful joy that Frodo’s lips were no longer blue - at least not completely - they were still tinged blue at the edges to be sure, but they were mostly white now - not at all a healthy hue but an improvement all the same.

Stretching his back up strait for the first time in many minutes, Aragorn caressed Frodo’s brow with the thumb of one hand while the other slid behind the hobbit’s back, lifting him gently.

“That’s it, Frodo. Fight for me. Keep breathing. Now let’s see if we can get a proper cough out of you.” Aragorn panted, out of breath himself from his long effort.

Aragorn perched on the edge of the bed and lifted Frodo and placed him face down across his lap, the dark curly head dangling over the ends of the rangers knees. Aragorn raised his hand over the hobbit’s back with the heal of his palm pressed down in preparation to begin the blows that would hopefully coax Frodo to cough and rid his lungs of the poison they had taken in in Mordor. Just as he was about to strike the first blow, Aragorn looked down to aim and was halted mid air as he took in the gore of whip weals that laddered down Frodo’s back. Anger, surged through Aragorn and he vowed that if he ever found out who had done this to Frodo, they would pay.

With much compassion in his voice, Aragorn apologized for what he was about to do. “Frodo, this may hurt a bit…but I’m afraid I must do this. Your lungs must be cleared. I will try to get it over with quickly.”

Aragorn closed his eyes as he struck the first blow - but he needn’t have. Frodo was completely unresponsive. Again the hobbit’s back was struck, high between his shoulder blades. Rhythmically, the blows continued to fall until at last, Frodo began to cough…weakly, but a real cough. Aragorn stopped striking him and pulled Frodo slightly back onto the bed, laying him on his side with his cheek resting on Aragorn’s knees. The tiny cough gradually grew a bit stronger and Aragorn stoked back the curly hair from Frodo’s face, which now bore a cold sweat and gently patted the small chest.

Aragorn breathed a slight sigh of relief. “There we go. That’s it. The more poison you get rid of, the more good, clean air you’ll be able to take in.”

As if to reward him for his efforts, Frodo suddenly gagged slightly as he brought up some foul fluid from the depths of his lungs. He wretched weakly as Aragorn shifted him slightly, placing a cloth beneath his mouth as he rid himself of the poison. The small, battered body shuddered miserably, but then seemed to still and relax a bit as the coughing ceased. Once again, Aragorn lifted the hobbit in his arms and listened to his breathing as he watched the small chest rise and fall. The breath was still more shallow and much weaker than it needed to be, but there as a definite and decided improvement. There was less space between the breaths now and they seemed to be coming in a more regular pattern. Perhaps it was safe now, Aragorn thought, to pay attention to other matters which would not have mattered if Frodo had stopped breathing. Calling to his servant, Aragorn ordered two warm baths to be drawn and quickly. Aragorn was happy to hear that the forward thinking servant had already ordered water to be boiled and baths to be drawn. The tubs would be filled momentarily. Frodo and Sam were both so dirty, it was impossible to fully assess their conditions without bathing them.

While he waited, the King began to examine Frodo for other injuries. Applying gentle but firm pressure, Aragorn began feeling, one by one, each of Frodo's ribs. Several were found to indeed be broken. Examining Frodo's collarbones and neck next, Aragorn was relieved to find them also unharmed and unbroken. Frodo moaned softly as Aragorn continued his examination by pressing around his stomach and lower abdomen.

"The water is ready, Your Highness." The servant who had been sent to task said upon his return.

"Thank you." Aragorn answered. "And just in time, too." He thought to himself as he watched Frodo's body began to shake with the cold. Quickly but gently, Aragorn continued unclothing the hobbit before him, down to his skin, and then wrapping him about the hips in a towel to preserve his dignity, Aragorn lifted him once again in his embrace and carried him to one of the bathtubs which had been prepared with warm water. Gandalf had done the same with Sam.

Aragorn tested the water and found it to be warm, but not too hot. He certainly didn't want to send the cold hobbit in his arms into further shock. With great care, Aragorn slowly lowered Frodo's body into the water, inch by inch so as not to shock him with its warmth. With Frodo in now, up to his chest, his head resting against a towel draped over the interior wall of the tub, Aragorn still held aloft the bandaged, wounded hand. He ordered a small basin of warm water be brought over and his request was immediately fulfilled. Aragorn began unwrapping the wounded hand and was, as he expected to be, horrified at the full enormity of the wound. Through the tears in his eyes, Aragorn watched the water in the basin quickly turn red as he washed the blood from the hand. Gently he had to pull at Frodo's closed fingers as they had been in effect, glued to his palm by the sticky blood. The wound began to seep again as it was washed free of the blood. Taking the needle and tread that had been prepared, Aragorn began to suture up the wound, closing it so that it could leak no more of the precious blood. With the wound now closed and the hand made clean with soap and water, Aragorn again wrapped it in a clean bandage. Then, to keep it out of the water of the bathtub, he gently wrapped another bandage about Frodo's wrist and tied the other end to the back of the chair beside the bathtub. With the maimed hand now taken care of, Aragorn set about completing the rest of Frodo's bath.

Deciding to start with his poor, singed hair, he took Frodo's head in his hand and tilted it back over the water. With a quick dip into the bath water, Aragorn filled a cup to the brim and slowly began pouring it over the hobbit's hair. Then, with his hair thoroughly saturated, he applied soap and lathered gently, being mindful that further wounds could be hidden in his mass of dark curls. Satisfied that the hobbit's head was now clean, Aragorn began to rinse in the same way he had wet his head, running his fingers through the hair occasionally to work the lather out. With the weight of the water pulling it out strait, Aragorn was amused to note that Frodo’s hair was halfway between his shoulder blades in the back and nearly to his chin in the front. Apparently, there had been no time for haircuts on the way to Mordor. With Frodo's dark hair dripping in the tub, Aragorn still held his head in his hands as he took a cloth, dipped it in the water and began gently scrubbing away the grime on his face. As he had just finished applying the wet cloth to them, Aragorn saw Frodo's eyes flutter suddenly open, though only halfway. Through the half opened blue eyes, Frodo gazed at him confusedly. He looked at Aragorn with vague recollection...as though he thought he knew him, but was not sure.

"Hello, Mr. Baggins." Aragorn spoke to him cheerfully. "Surprised to see me?" He asked chuckling. "Well I suppose I look a bit different that I did at our parting. But I could say the same about you. But don't you worry...we are going to see you well. I'm just cleaning you up a bit now. Gandalf's doing the same for Samwise. You two will be up and about more adventures before you know it." A tiny, weak flicker of a smile between his labored breaths was the only response Frodo could manage before his eyes fluttered closed once again. Aragorn noted that the warm water seemed to have done the trick of warming the hobbit's body as he was no longer shaking nor had chattering teeth. Feeling a bit more hopeful now, Aragorn went back to work to finish the task before him. As he washed Frodo free of the dirt and grime, he realized that many places he had thought to be spots of dark ash were truly bruises, some even still forming. Both of Frodo’s knees and shins were practically one big bruise and abrasion. Bruises of varying shades colored the hobbit’s upper legs and hips. Once he was clean, Aragorn could also see that Frodo had suffered many burns, some of them blistered and very angry looking. He knew they had to hurt. Aragorn sighed as he realized that the area’s of Frodo’s body that did NOT have an injury would be a much shorter list than if he listed the parts that WERE injured. In fact, Aragorn thought, he would be very hard pressed to find one area that was truly injury free. Cuts, bruises, burns and punctures marred him from his head to his feet. Much of Frodo’s body, particularly his jointed areas, were beginning to swell. Aragorn wondered what he had so recently endured to cause these new injuries. Then he remembered. Gollum. Gandalf reported that Sam’s body was covered in cuts, bruises and burns as well.

With the bathing completed, Aragorn called to his servant to bring him the thickest towels and blankets he could find. The efficient servant had them in a matter of moments...one of each for Frodo and Sam. With the towels now at hand, he began untying Frodo's wrist where it was bound, being careful to continue keeping it from the water. The towel, he spread upon the small cot that had been placed directly next to the tub. Reaching down into the water once again, he lifted Frodo’s wet, slippery body gently from its warm depths into the comparatively chilly air. He was delighted to see chills raise on Frodo as that indicated to him that at least some of his body systems were still functioning. Laying his charge upon the towel draped across the cot, Aragorn quickly wrapped Frodo in it's softness, rubbing away the water as he did. With Frodo wrapped warmly in the towel, Aragorn took a second towel and began drying his still damp hair. The dark hair sprang to ringlets as Aragorn wielded the towel, ridding the hair of its wetness. His hair mostly dry now, Frodo was removed of the wet towel about his hips as Aragorn took care to keep his nakedness shielded by the outer towel and wrapped him in the blanket. Lifting the hobbit easily in his arms he carried him to the bed and began pulling a clean, white nightshirt, of the softest material over Frodo's head, removing the remaining towel inch by inch as he did. Finally the clean garment was covering the hobbit down to his ankles. Gandalf, Aragorn saw from across the room, had done the same for Sam.

The hobbits, now clean and clad in soft, warm, comfortable cloths were put quickly to bed. Quilts and blankets were heaped upon them as their heads rested against the soft pillows. Aragorn sat down in a chair beside the bed Frodo occupied and gently ran the back of his hand down Frodo's now clean, but bruised cheek.

"Thank you, Frodo. Thank you for coming back with me. Rest well, little one. Worry for nothing. We shall see you and Samwise well." As Aragorn set about administering the herbal concoctions and performing the medicine of the elves upon his patient, he hoped that his last words would indeed come true.

TBC