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

Surrounded by the Darkness:  Chapter 3

Even though there were but a half dozen or so horses, the men of Gondor rode in as if they were a herd of Oliphants ready for battle, causing small avalanches of rocks to tumble from their resting places.

Gimli sat atop one of these mounts, behind the Prince of Mirkwood when he shouted for the Elf to stop.  "Legolas, stop this beast! Stop them all!" he cried out as he fearfully watched more rock plummeted down to the loose dirt floor.

Reining in his horse, Legolas turned to look at the agitated dwarf.  They had been through battles, friendly arguments which one of them killed the most Orcs, but Legolas had never seen fear expressed on his comrade's face as it was now.  With ease, the Elf Prince caught the dwarf's mail, lifting him up and over the steed, dropping him onto the ground.

Tugging his tunic back into place, the hob-nobbed boots found their way to one of the large rocks where Gimli raised his mighty ax as a walking stick, hefting his body up onto the top.  He then put his fingers into his mouth and whistled loudly.  Horses whinnied and riders held onto reins, turning the frightened beasts around to the one who caused the commotion.  "Good!  Now that I have your attention, stop right where you are and dismount your beasts!"

"What is wrong, Master Dwarf?" one of the guards asked. 

"Don't you see the pebbles raining down into this gully, young soldier?  There has been quite a commotion here, and I do not need another avalanche caused by you all riding in like you were the last cavalry.  So, get off of them horses and walk them out of here before I box someone's ears!" he roared.

"You know what you are doing?" Legolas asked his comrade, the dwarf ‘s added height making him stand eye level with the Elf.

“You and Aragorn can stick with tracking, but my specialty is rock, young Prince ling, and this rock here has taken a beating," Gimli declared, stamping the formation with the butt of his ax handle.  "This here was set in mortar yesterday.  Not enough time to dry right, but would have if something had not knocked into it.  It tumbled over onto that archway collapsing it.  I had the men set heavy beams inside the structure for added support, but it looks like it was just a waste of time.  I thought as much, but Aragorn wanted to save as much of these outlying buildings as possible."

Legolas followed Gimli's explanation as he pointed out each incident causing each support to topple over until the great finale.  As he scanned the fallen debris, his sharp eyes spotted a hoof print. Gracefully walking toward the spot, he knelt and reached out with one of his long fingers, tracing the print and suddenly stopped.  Legolas inhaled sharply as he remembered the events from the outing he and Aragorn had gone on the day before. 

The hunt had been good that day; Legolas thought as he had shot a five-point buck with the bow he was gifted by the Lothlórien Elves. Aragorn had managed to bag a few rabbit, which Legolas knew he would skin, saving the fur to line a baby's crib someday.  He had encouraged the King to shirk his duties for that day and come with him on a hunting expedition.  Something they both had enjoyed, but missed ever since Aragorn took on his destined role as King of Gondor.

"Will not Arwen be surprised that her husband has lost his touch?" Legolas teased as they rode on horses through the narrow valley. 

"She will love me just the same if I were to come home with a thousand deer or a handful of rabbits, so long as I enjoyed myself," Aragorn spoke, a smile crossing his face. "I do not have to compete as you and Gimli do." 

"Hah!" Legolas' voice rang out.  Plodding along, the Elf noticed something odd about Brego's impressions in the dirt.  Taking a closer look at the horse's gait, he did not notice any limping.  "Aragorn, stop for a moment.  I believe there is something wrong with one of Brego's shoes," he informed the King.

Halting at his friend's request, Aragorn pulled in his Stallion bringing it to a standstill.  Dismounting, he met the Elf at the animal's left flank.  "What is it?"

"Whoa there, my friend," Legolas comforted, patting the horse's flank as Aragorn still held tight upon the rein.  "See, there, his print," he pointed out with one hand as the long fingers on his other hand smoothed down the hair on the leg, bringing the limb up to reveal the shoe.  Right in the center was a crack, not debilitating to the horse now, but the shoe would eventually work itself loose and cause the animal to hobble.

"I'll take Brego to the Smithy's tomorrow,” Aragorn said.  “Well, tomorrow night," he added more softly

"Why the delay?  More pressing kingly duties?" Legolas teased.

A serious expression crept over the smiling face, "I am worried about Frodo, Legolas.  He has changed much since the destruction of the Ring and has kept much to himself these past weeks.  I promised Sam that I would have a talk with him, probably have him ride with me to one of Gimli's sights…”

&*&*&*

Darkness crept in ... No, I am not afraid...What was it that Bilbo used to say ... Do not get angry at the Darkness, light a candle ... A candle.  Light ... Galadriel's light ... Most beloved star ... Let it be a light in Dark places ... Star Glass

Frodo eyes fluttered opened, shaking the poem from his mind.  Trying to move, he realized that his arms were still pinned beneath the Ranger, but he managed to rotate his right hand, fingers searching the last place he remembered before the Light went out. Then his fingers brushed up against something cold and with a quick move of his wrist, he grasped hold of the Star Glass.  "Aragorn?" he whispered, struggling to inhale enough air.

The Ranger's head was lying on his chest and stomach, making it difficult for Frodo to move, much less breathe properly.  With the Star Glass still in his hand, Frodo wrenched his right arm free and spoke the words he had twice before bringing the Lady's gift to light.  Illuminating the darkened structure, the hobbit found that the King's large body blocked most of his view; he was only able to view the broken beams hanging like limp appendages from the collapsing stone ceiling. Angling the light down in front of him, he found long wavy brown hair hanging in the King's face.  Bending his arm at the elbow, Frodo released the Star Glass, placing it on the floor above his right shoulder. "Aragorn?" he whispered again, brushing the fringe away from his friend's face, trying to tuck it behind an ear.  That was when he felt something wet. Bringing his fingers back to the light, he rubbed them together, coating them in the Ranger's blood.  Fear seized the hobbit, thinking the worse, that Aragorn was dead.  Taking his good hand, he patted the King's face, inhaling deeply before calling out hoarsely, "Aragorn! Aragorn!"

Dream sequence

The beast was upon the little hobbit, seizing Frodo’s ankle, dragging him across the ground like a rag doll. Strider snatched a long spear, plunging it into the cave troll's side.  Nothing seemed to phase it.  The Ranger, caught off his guard, was batted away by the troll like an annoying insect.  Aragorn slammed into the rock wall before landing hard on the cave floor, unconscious.  Then Aragorn heard a small voice at first, increasing in volume.  He recognized it as Frodo’s voice, trying to rouse him.  However, in Strider’s confused mind, Frodo had been stabbed, his body lying lifeless on the ground next to him. "Oh, no ... Frodo?"

End of dream sequence.

Frodo had almost given up until he had heard his name muttered by the Ranger.  Sniffling loudly, he patted Aragorn's bearded face a little harder, tears clouding his eyesight.  "Aragorn, please, wake up!"

"Frodo!" the King cried out deliriously, re-enacting his crawl to the motionless body on the cave floor, pulling his leg free of the fallen debris. 

Dust started to rise from the floor going up Frodo's nose as he was being rolled beneath the big body.  "Aragorn ... stop!" Frodo cried out as waves of fiery pain assailed his newly set shoulder, tears of anguish overpowering his moment of fear. 

Grey eyes popped opened, staring at the curled up shadow beneath him. “Wha …?  Frodo?” he asked wearily, his temples throbbing as he groped for words trying to remember what happened.

The moment Frodo heard the King’s shaken voice, he pulled himself together the best he could, shakily getting to his knees to crawl out from under Aragorn’s body.  Slowly, he turned to face the former Ranger, registering that the firm voice sounded strained.  "Aragorn,” the hobbit breathed out clutching his left arm close to his body trying to ride out the pain. "Lie back down, you are bleeding," he continued, sitting on the backs of his legs.

"It seems..." the Ranger said, supporting himself again on both elbows this time, "that we are both in need of assistance," he coughed, shaking his head hoping it would clear the cobwebs, but all it did was make him more dizzy.  Opening his eyes, he found himself face to face with a blearied-eyed hobbit.  Taking a trembling finger, he brushed away a single tear that had escaped blue eyes.  "You've been crying, Tithen Min. Why?"

"I have not, its just all this dust," Frodo stammered out, wiping his dirty face with his shirtsleeve, "it is bothering my eyes."

"Uh-huh," Aragorn teased, not believing a word the hobbit said. 

With the Star Glass in his possession, Frodo lifted it high enough to see that their fate had been fully sealed as not a single ray of light penetrated through the rocks, hope abandoning itself to certain death if they did not find a way out soon.  The air would not last long and both already knew what did not need to be said. With an exasperated sigh, Frodo lowered his arm, the light illuminating the Ranger's body.

The hobbit noticed the exposed injured leg.  Rivulets of dried blood ran down the muscular calf, but the blood in the wound itself was very shiny resembling the gel his Uncle Bilbo used to make for strawberry pies.

Aragorn laid his head down on folded arms, closing his eyes while trying to detach his mind from the throbbing pain in his leg.  He heard a faint ripping of cloth and then felt small fingers probing the very area he was trying to forget.  Jerking his head up hard, the King looked over his shoulder to find the shireling's back to him, hovering over his legs.  “Frodo! What in Middle-Earth are you doing?" he asked through clenched teeth as the throbbing in the leg persisted to sheer agony. 

"Wrapping your wound, and if you can be still long enough I might be able to tie it off with one hand," the hobbit grunted. Taking the sleeve he ripped at the shirt's stitching to cover the King's leg, he laid his injured arm upon the fabric, his fingers grasping an end as his other hand pulled the material taught.  

"Easy!" Aragorn grimaced as he felt the skin pinch together, "I would like something left to stitch together."

"I have never seen anyone complain as much as you do, Strider, Ranger of the North, defender of us little folk," Frodo teased back.  "My finger bled more than this," the hobbit continued, breathing heavily as he scooted back up to the Ranger's head and sat.  He then ripped the hem of his shirt, balling it up and applied it to Aragorn's bleeding head.  

"Sam is going to be furious with me for letting you get all dirty, Tithen Min,” The Ranger said softly, covering the halfling’s hand with his own.  Frodo’s hand was trembling, the quivering deep inside even as the hobbit struggled to master his limb. Aragorn was immediately on guard; the healer in him alerted and alarmed. He took a closer look, noting the little one’s pale face.  Frodo’s whole body seemed to be vibrating – shadows danced on the wall as the Star Glass quivered in the halfling’s hand.

Remembering the halfling’s injuries, Aragorn pressed him gently.  “How is your arm?  Does the bandage on your finger need changing?”  He should have kept better track of the last time the Ring-bearer had gone to the Houses of Healing to have the wound properly soaked and dressed.     

Avoiding those piercing gray eyes, Frodo peered closely at the bandage, recalling that Sam had reminded him to have the dressing changed that very afternoon.  His aunt would have called him scattered brained, but he knew in his heart that he meant to avoid going to the healing house.  He could not take one more day of those questioning stares he received every time he traveled the road to the healing house.  He had put it off as long as he could, catching grief from his gardener after luncheon.  That was when Aragorn had come along and asked to accompany him.

Frodo reasoned in his mind that he would just go the next day, telling Sam that he was on his way, but the King’s request came before anything else.  Who would question differently?  Sam would, that is who.  He imagined his gardener padding his way to the King’s chambers; giving him one of the gaffer’s speeches on the etiquette of rights and wrongs, that Frodo’s health came first.  He could hear it all right, every word.  Looking back at the very eyes he was trying to avoid Frodo finally spoke, “Well, the bandage looks well enough, but as for pain, I do not rightly know seeming as how my whole arm hurts."

"I am sorry about that, Frodo,” the King said releasing the little one’s hand, “but I had not expected the ceiling to fall on us.”  After a moment, the King spoke again, "By the way, why had you shouted?  What happened outside?"

Those mesmerizing blue eyes looked straight into dimmed gray and began explaining what he saw as the boy took off with Brego.  "I do not know why he was by the horse in the first place," Frodo contemplated, "though, he did look strangely familiar; maybe one the guard's children?  I am not sure, this old memory of mine is starting to fail, just like..." Frodo stopped mid sentence, his eyes cast to the floor.

"Just like what, Frodo?"  Aragorn prodded, his voice soft.  This was what he wanted, to get Frodo to open up, tell him what has been bothering him as of late, and if it took being trapped in a cave-in, then so be it.

"Just like..." Frodo said quietly then stopped again. Frodo sat for the longest time in silence.  He knew what Aragorn was up to and he just did not feel like revealing his inner most feelings to anyone right now.  Not after his failed attempt at destroying the Ring.  Why should anyone care of how he felt or what he did anyhow. Sighing, the hobbit raised his eyes finishing the sentence, but not what he truly wanted to say, "Just like you now owe me three ale's for tending to you, my liege."

Aragorn schooled his disappointment, smiling fondly at the tired hobbit in front of him.  Dragging his own body to lie against one of the smooth boulders, "Come Frodo, sit down, and take a break," he waved to Frodo to come next to him. "We need to conserve our strength," the King of Gondor said, lifting one end of his cloak, closing his arm, and covering the trembling hobbit with it.

Since his own cloak was last seen being ripped from his throat, Frodo welcomed the warmth that Aragorn's provided.  Who was he to defy an order from the King himself, he surmised.  The wearied hobbit laid his head upon the man's chest, as he was being covered, trying hard not to close heavy eyes. 

Aragorn had just made a few adjustments to his cloak making sure he covered the hobbit's huge furry feet when he heard a familiar burring noise.  Lifting up a corner of his cloak, Aragorn listened to Frodo's breathing.  Many a night on their journey, he had made it a point to learn each of the Fellowship's sleeping habits.  He could tell by the way each breathed if they were asleep, especially the Ring-bearer.

During his watches, Aragorn could tell when Frodo was plagued by nightmares as he listened to the hobbit's occasional whimpers and mumblings.  That was not the case this time as the Ranger tried not to jar the small body lying next to him, smiling to himself as Frodo had finally fell into a deep untroubled sleep. 

Tbc.