THE MISTY MARSHES CHAPTER V “No Future”

Frodo woke sometime later, shivering with cold. He gazed up at the starless sky as the mist billowed downwards. His mouth was dry and his lips felt parched. His breathing was coming in strained gasps and he had a feeling he’d woken up because he was having trouble breathing at -all-. Why wasn’t he dead yet? Did the fates conspire to make him suffer? What had he done to deserve this pain? He had born the most evil thing in all of middle earth to its destruction and it had nearly killed him. Truth be told, it -had- killed his spirit. He was a shadow of what he once was.

In all honestly, he reflected, he never had been a bright and cheery lad. His parents death had sealed that for him. He had never even really had a chance to get to know them. He’d been too young. All he could remember of his mother was the way she smelt of jasmine and her laugh…and her long thick brown hair he had loved to bury his face in when he was sick, or shy or upset at something. He remembered how much they had loved each other. He wanted a love like that. He’d wanted it all his life, but had never found it.

He had been living a dream with Arwen and Aragorn…an interloper in their beautiful relationship. Their love had kept him going. It reminded him of his parents. How Drogo was a Baggins who should never have married a Brandybuck. But they had anyway. Arwen was an elf…yet she gave up everything to be with Aragorn. Arwen’s hair…reminded him of his mother’s…though it was far silkier and not quite as thick and chocolaty brown. He liked to be with them because he felt love when they looked at each other…and sometimes when they looked at him.

He often thought they were rather tolerant of him…a simple hobbit from the Shire. Not much to look at any more, and queerer than the fairies now. People avoided him in the Shire. Not that he could blame them, he hadn’t really been a barrel of laughs since he had come home…and since his shoulder had begun to ache again. Arwen had sent some medicine to him for it, but she hadn’t said they missed him and loved him.

He should have died here then…when the Witch King had stabbed him. It may even have been kinder to have left him here. But Strider had carried him to safety. He coughed several times…his body wracked by it and his lungs deep and dry. He shivered while sweat matted his curls to his forehead. His clothing was damp and clung to his frame. He wished he had the strength to make a small fire. He wished he had the strength to do more than open his eyes. There were the strange flickering lights again. At least he wasn’t alone.

He felt something touch him, but he didn’t see anything as though whomever it was was invisible…or not even there. Perhaps just his imagination. “Help me…” he begged in a soft whisper. But he didn’t really want to be helped. He just wanted to die. “Kill me…please….” He just wanted everything to be over. He was tired of living his life in the shadows. He was tired of waking up every day to the same hollow expression…and the same hurt in his shoulder and pain in his heart. He was just…so tired.

*Soon* a voice whispered back to him…it had no form…nor face…nor gender. It was simply a voice in the lights. Was it his imagination? Or had the shadows come to claim him at last?

“Thank-you.” He smiled and closed his eyes. Maybe soon it would all be over. His body would waste into dust here and there would be no more pain. He would be free. There had been another time that he had tried to kill himself. In Mordor…he had tried to drown himself…but Sam and Gollum…he pushed the thought away, trembling. He did not want to think about Mordor.

His shoulder burned…and he cried out from the pain.


* * *



Aragorn looked over his shoulder at Arwen who was studying something that she had found. “What is it?”

“Blood.” Arwen frowned softly, “Dried…a couple of days old.”

“Frodo’s?” Aragorn knelt beside her and studied the patch that had fallen on a small leaf at the foot of a tree.

“No.” she sniffed it closely and shook her head. “No…some kind of animal.” she rose. “We’re losing his trail.”

Aragorn reached over to touch her cheek to wipe away a silver tear that had fallen just then. “I think I have an idea of where he might be.” He drew Arwen into his arms and held her there gently while she wept for a time.

“I’m so afraid for him…he’s hurt, Estel…I know he is…I can feel it.”

“Shhh…” the King stroked her head softly. “We’re very close to Weathertop…did you know that?”

“I had forgotten…” Arwen admitted seeing the ruins of the watchtower in the distance that Strider had indicated.

“If he was lost, I think he might have gone there. It is very familiar to him. Though I wish with all my heart it wasn’t.”

“Estel…if we don’t find him in time…”

“We will have to hurry.”

Arwen looked up at the sky and made a prayer to the goddess of the elves who had so protected the Ring bearer in the past. “Please…keep him safe.”

As they moved on, faster now…in his heart Aragorn held little hope that they would find Frodo alive. With no supplies…(they had found his pony) and seeming to be lost and hurt besides it was unlikely that they would be in time. He did not want to tell Arwen that though, for the grief might be too much for her to bear. She already blamed herself for not sending for him sooner. She had been torn with the life that had been growing inside of her. She had been so upset over the last year and not sure what to do. He had assured her, no matter what happened, the child he would always consider his own. He loved her and he loved Frodo. He was not a jealous man. She had begged him -not- to tell Frodo for she did not even know the words in which to do so. How do you tell someone who has been through what Frodo has that you are going to have his child? Especially when you are married to the King of Gondor…and Frodo lives in the Shire…so far away.

He also knew that she believed he would choose to travel west and it was tearing her up inside. He knew how she felt. He did not like the idea of never seeing Frodo again…of him suffering until the end of his days. Surely there had to be someway to help him. He’d spent a great deal of time researching the healing arts over the last months of Arwen’s pregnancy. He had vowed that he would find some way to help Frodo. Now it seemed it was all for naught. Frodo may already be lost to them. The King gave a reassuring smile to his wife though he did not feel so himself.

TBC.
HEHE. Soon soon precious...soon they will find him. But what will they find? (No he's not going to die)

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