Estel's Shire Friend, 3/4
Hmm...nearly forgot about this one :-D
Title: Estel’s Shire Friend 3/4
Author: Claudia
Rating: PG to possibly PG13
Summary: Frodo and Aragorn (Estel) meet and become unlikely friends. Pre-LOTR. Um…probably AU.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and make no money from them.
Story Notes: No slash, sexual situations, or profanity.
Estel’s Shire Friend 3
“I’m sorry…I’m too heavy,” Estel gasped. He could no longer walk on his own, and he had slipped one arm around Frodo’s shoulders as he stumbled alongside him. Frodo clung to Estel’s hand, doing his best to bear the weight of both the pack and Estel, though it seemed it was only pure will that kept him going. He had ceased to feel the muscles in his legs and back. One step at a time. One foot in front of the other.
“We…we don’t have far.” Frodo could not talk and bear this strain to his body at the same time.
“Lay me down here.” Estel stopped, struggling to adjust his weight so that not so much of it pressed down on the hobbit. “Fetch some help. This is too much for you alone.”
“No.” Frodo shook his head firmly, though his vision swam. “I’ll not leave…you alone…less than…mile…up road.”
The cottage may have been less than a mile but it seemed much longer. Part of it was uphill, and several times Frodo nearly gave up, nearly collapsing to his knees. But he knew if he did that, he’d never get up. He would not be able to rouse himself, much less the two of them. And he would never let Estel lie alone on the side of the road, bleeding and hurt. He squared his chin and continued, trying to bite back desperate gasps and groans.
Finally, the little cottage near Crickhollow that Fatty Bolger was looking after came into view. The modest hole was nearly invisible, built into the side of a hill with a door painted nearly the same color as the grass. “We’re here,” he said in a weak gasp. Estel did not answer. It was all he could do to force his feet to move.
Frodo let Estel sink to the ground in front of the cottage and knocked on the door. “Fatty!” What he would do if Fatty Bolger were not home, he was not sure. He certainly could not lift Estel. He would have to drag him, and at this point, he was not sure he had the strength to do that.
“Yes?” His old friend peered out, and Frodo’s knees weakened with relief. It was dark, and Fatty could not see the unconscious ranger. “Frodo! You came back early! They said you were not to be back for a few more days.”
“Yes, I’m back,” Frodo said. “And I need your help. I’ve got one of the Big Folk with me, and he’s hurt.”
“Big Folk?” Fatty asked in alarm. “Is he dangerous?”
Frodo laughed wearily. “Do not fear. He’s very kind, but he’s badly injured, but I owe him much. If not for him, I might be dead now.”
“What?” Fatty looked incredulous as he opened the door, peering out into the front garden.
“No time to explain now.” He sighed deeply, his sore muscles trembling. “I suppose we don’t have a bed long enough for a Big Person.”
“We could scoot two together.”
Frodo nodded. Of course that was the logical solution, and he should have thought if it himself, but for the fogginess of his brain. His head felt light, and he hoped he would not faint before they got Estel settled. “I will leave Estel out there until we have a place ready for him to sleep.”
“You look a fright, Frodo - your clothes wrinkled and filthy. It seems you’ve had adventures beyond our imaginings! Will you not tell me more?”
Frodo managed a tired smile. “It’s a long tale which I’ll tell you when we have Estel in bed.”
“Estel,” Fatty said, his tongue stumbling over the delicate sound. “Big Folk certainly have odd names.”
The two hobbits scooted the two beds in the guest room together.
“Do you suppose it’s big enough?” Frodo asked.
“Should be,” Fatty said. “Can’t imagine a creature bigger than this.” He looked wary. “Are you sure he’s not dangerous? My ma said the Big Folk sometimes hunt hobbits for sport.”
Frodo raised his eyebrows at Fatty. “Come, let us fetch Estel. I guarantee he is far too injured to hunt hobbits right now.”
When Fatty and Frodo stepped outside, they found Estel struggling to his feet, groaning miserably.
“Estel,” Frodo said, pulling at his arm. “Do you think you can stand for just a few moments?” He simply could not heave him up, even with Fatty’s help.
Estel groaned again, clutching his wound, and Frodo’s stomach sank as blood seeped between his fingers. He didn’t want to think about how much blood the Ranger had already lost. He didn’t know what he could do for him, even if they were able to get him to bed. He would have to send for the local healer, and Frodo knew he would have much to say about Frodo caring for one of the Big Folk so close to Brandy Hall.
With Fatty and Frodo’s help, Estel staggered to his feet, his mouth in a tight grimace. It was obvious he was using the last remnants of his strength, and he sagged much of his weight on the two hobbits.
Supporting Estel’s weight was much easier with Fatty’s help, but Frodo grunted in relief, his strength utterly gone, when they at last let Estel fall on the bed. Estel was still conscious enough to center himself.
Now that Estel lay bathed in the soft gold light of the lantern, seeing the blood pooled around his wound was like a blow to Frodo’s stomach.
“Fatty,” Frodo said, unable to take his eyes from the wound. “You must send for the healer. He’s still bleeding.”
“The healer?” Fatty still looked shocked, his first close view of one of the Big Folk evident on his round face.
“Do not look at me as if you’ve never heard of a healer. Go now!”
“No!” Estel’s gray eyes were suddenly bright and focused, and he grabbed Frodo’s arm. Fatty yelped and jumped back against the wall.
“What is wrong with the healer?” Frodo asked. “You are hurt!”
“I cannot have any more of your kind know I am here.”
“But we have no healing skills, Estel. And you can surely see you need care.”
“Frodo, I will only bring danger to your Shire. It is very important that nobody else should know I am here. Do you understand? I will talk you through what you must do for me.”
Frodo nodded, his eyes wide with terror. He could not do it, but he had to look as though he could. He had to be brave for Estel.
“Do not fear,” Estel said in a softer tone. “I know you can do it. I only regret I cannot allow you some rest first.”
Frodo nodded. “All right,” he said quietly. “What must I do?”
“First you must clean the wound. The knives used by the ruffians were no doubt filthy. Take off the dirty cloth you gave me. Do not be alarmed if I start to bleed again right away.”
Frodo nodded quickly. “Fatty, please boil some water.”
Fatty nodded and rushed out of the room.
Frodo gingerly reached for his crumpled bloody vest that he had helped tie around Estel’s waist.
“Do not fear,” Estel said softly. “You will not hurt me worse than I am already hurt.”
Frodo nodded and pulled at the vest. He cringed when he heard what sounded like a wet smacking sound.
“Now,” Estel said through gritted teeth. “I’ll need you to clean the wound when Fatty brings the water. It’s not so bad, is it? I’m not bleeding much anymore.”
Frodo pulled back the cloth of Estel’s tunic and bit back a cry of dismay. The knife wound looked ugly indeed-clotted and bloody. Of course, he would not say anything to alarm Estel. “No, not so bad,” he said faintly.
Fatty brought the hot water back into the room, gasping a bit when he saw the wound. Frodo dipped a clean cloth into the pan, wrung the water from it, and rubbed it over the wound. He was not prepared for Estel to grab the sides of the bed, arch his back, and cry out in pain.
“I am sorry!” Frodo cried, stumbling back. He was no healer. He could not do this. “I’ve hurt you…oh, dear! Tell me how to do it correctly!”
“No, no, you’re doing it right,” Estel said with a forced smile. “I’m afraid I am a coward about pain. You must continue as you are doing.”
“A coward?” Frodo managed a nervous laugh. He dabbed the wound again, cringing each time his friend groaned and pulled at the sheets.
Again and again, he dipped the cloth in the hot water, wrung it out, and dabbed it over the wound. At last the wound was clean. Frodo met Estel’s gaze, and the Ranger smiled.
“Now you must pad up my wound.”
“Fatty, get some clean towels,” Frodo said numbly. The room swam before his eyes, but he could not rest.
“You’ve done wonderfully so far,” Estel said with a smile. “I do not know what I’d do if not for your bravery.”
“I’m not brave,” Frodo said, blushing. “What would you have me do, watch you bleed to death?”
Estel laughed. “Brave all the same. I know you must be exhausted. I will survive the night. Go on and wash yourself, Frodo -- and get some rest!”
“But you may need me.”
“If I need you, I will call for you.”
“Are you certain?”
Frodo’s muscles ached terribly, and it was a wonder that he could remain standing. He knew he would be sore beyond reckoning the next day, lucky if he would be able to force himself from bed. He put his hand over Estel’s brow.
“Sleep well then, Estel. You must call if you have any need at all for me.”
Fatty brought in a pitcher of water and fresh biscuits, leaving them on the nightstand within reach of Estel’s hand. “For you, sir, if you decide in the middle of the night that you are hungry.”
“Thank you, both of you,” Estel said. He closed his eyes, and his face looked restful. Only after seeing that he did not seem to be in great pain, Frodo finally felt he could leave the Ranger to sleep and get some rest of his own.
“Will you need more help from me?” Fatty asked. His eyes were aglow, as he had likely never faced so much excitement in his life. Frodo embraced him.
“Dear Fatty, no. You’ve been wonderful.”
“Go right ahead. I think I’ll go home and see how ma is doing. It’ll be nice to have a break from staying in this lonely cottage alone.”
After Fatty left, Frodo walked through every room, blowing out lanterns. He collapsed into bed without washing himself or taking off his clothes. He knew he would sleep like the dead.
Go on to next chapter
TBC
Title: Estel’s Shire Friend 3/4
Author: Claudia
Rating: PG to possibly PG13
Summary: Frodo and Aragorn (Estel) meet and become unlikely friends. Pre-LOTR. Um…probably AU.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and make no money from them.
Story Notes: No slash, sexual situations, or profanity.
Estel’s Shire Friend 3
“I’m sorry…I’m too heavy,” Estel gasped. He could no longer walk on his own, and he had slipped one arm around Frodo’s shoulders as he stumbled alongside him. Frodo clung to Estel’s hand, doing his best to bear the weight of both the pack and Estel, though it seemed it was only pure will that kept him going. He had ceased to feel the muscles in his legs and back. One step at a time. One foot in front of the other.
“We…we don’t have far.” Frodo could not talk and bear this strain to his body at the same time.
“Lay me down here.” Estel stopped, struggling to adjust his weight so that not so much of it pressed down on the hobbit. “Fetch some help. This is too much for you alone.”
“No.” Frodo shook his head firmly, though his vision swam. “I’ll not leave…you alone…less than…mile…up road.”
The cottage may have been less than a mile but it seemed much longer. Part of it was uphill, and several times Frodo nearly gave up, nearly collapsing to his knees. But he knew if he did that, he’d never get up. He would not be able to rouse himself, much less the two of them. And he would never let Estel lie alone on the side of the road, bleeding and hurt. He squared his chin and continued, trying to bite back desperate gasps and groans.
Finally, the little cottage near Crickhollow that Fatty Bolger was looking after came into view. The modest hole was nearly invisible, built into the side of a hill with a door painted nearly the same color as the grass. “We’re here,” he said in a weak gasp. Estel did not answer. It was all he could do to force his feet to move.
Frodo let Estel sink to the ground in front of the cottage and knocked on the door. “Fatty!” What he would do if Fatty Bolger were not home, he was not sure. He certainly could not lift Estel. He would have to drag him, and at this point, he was not sure he had the strength to do that.
“Yes?” His old friend peered out, and Frodo’s knees weakened with relief. It was dark, and Fatty could not see the unconscious ranger. “Frodo! You came back early! They said you were not to be back for a few more days.”
“Yes, I’m back,” Frodo said. “And I need your help. I’ve got one of the Big Folk with me, and he’s hurt.”
“Big Folk?” Fatty asked in alarm. “Is he dangerous?”
Frodo laughed wearily. “Do not fear. He’s very kind, but he’s badly injured, but I owe him much. If not for him, I might be dead now.”
“What?” Fatty looked incredulous as he opened the door, peering out into the front garden.
“No time to explain now.” He sighed deeply, his sore muscles trembling. “I suppose we don’t have a bed long enough for a Big Person.”
“We could scoot two together.”
Frodo nodded. Of course that was the logical solution, and he should have thought if it himself, but for the fogginess of his brain. His head felt light, and he hoped he would not faint before they got Estel settled. “I will leave Estel out there until we have a place ready for him to sleep.”
“You look a fright, Frodo - your clothes wrinkled and filthy. It seems you’ve had adventures beyond our imaginings! Will you not tell me more?”
Frodo managed a tired smile. “It’s a long tale which I’ll tell you when we have Estel in bed.”
“Estel,” Fatty said, his tongue stumbling over the delicate sound. “Big Folk certainly have odd names.”
The two hobbits scooted the two beds in the guest room together.
“Do you suppose it’s big enough?” Frodo asked.
“Should be,” Fatty said. “Can’t imagine a creature bigger than this.” He looked wary. “Are you sure he’s not dangerous? My ma said the Big Folk sometimes hunt hobbits for sport.”
Frodo raised his eyebrows at Fatty. “Come, let us fetch Estel. I guarantee he is far too injured to hunt hobbits right now.”
When Fatty and Frodo stepped outside, they found Estel struggling to his feet, groaning miserably.
“Estel,” Frodo said, pulling at his arm. “Do you think you can stand for just a few moments?” He simply could not heave him up, even with Fatty’s help.
Estel groaned again, clutching his wound, and Frodo’s stomach sank as blood seeped between his fingers. He didn’t want to think about how much blood the Ranger had already lost. He didn’t know what he could do for him, even if they were able to get him to bed. He would have to send for the local healer, and Frodo knew he would have much to say about Frodo caring for one of the Big Folk so close to Brandy Hall.
With Fatty and Frodo’s help, Estel staggered to his feet, his mouth in a tight grimace. It was obvious he was using the last remnants of his strength, and he sagged much of his weight on the two hobbits.
Supporting Estel’s weight was much easier with Fatty’s help, but Frodo grunted in relief, his strength utterly gone, when they at last let Estel fall on the bed. Estel was still conscious enough to center himself.
Now that Estel lay bathed in the soft gold light of the lantern, seeing the blood pooled around his wound was like a blow to Frodo’s stomach.
“Fatty,” Frodo said, unable to take his eyes from the wound. “You must send for the healer. He’s still bleeding.”
“The healer?” Fatty still looked shocked, his first close view of one of the Big Folk evident on his round face.
“Do not look at me as if you’ve never heard of a healer. Go now!”
“No!” Estel’s gray eyes were suddenly bright and focused, and he grabbed Frodo’s arm. Fatty yelped and jumped back against the wall.
“What is wrong with the healer?” Frodo asked. “You are hurt!”
“I cannot have any more of your kind know I am here.”
“But we have no healing skills, Estel. And you can surely see you need care.”
“Frodo, I will only bring danger to your Shire. It is very important that nobody else should know I am here. Do you understand? I will talk you through what you must do for me.”
Frodo nodded, his eyes wide with terror. He could not do it, but he had to look as though he could. He had to be brave for Estel.
“Do not fear,” Estel said in a softer tone. “I know you can do it. I only regret I cannot allow you some rest first.”
Frodo nodded. “All right,” he said quietly. “What must I do?”
“First you must clean the wound. The knives used by the ruffians were no doubt filthy. Take off the dirty cloth you gave me. Do not be alarmed if I start to bleed again right away.”
Frodo nodded quickly. “Fatty, please boil some water.”
Fatty nodded and rushed out of the room.
Frodo gingerly reached for his crumpled bloody vest that he had helped tie around Estel’s waist.
“Do not fear,” Estel said softly. “You will not hurt me worse than I am already hurt.”
Frodo nodded and pulled at the vest. He cringed when he heard what sounded like a wet smacking sound.
“Now,” Estel said through gritted teeth. “I’ll need you to clean the wound when Fatty brings the water. It’s not so bad, is it? I’m not bleeding much anymore.”
Frodo pulled back the cloth of Estel’s tunic and bit back a cry of dismay. The knife wound looked ugly indeed-clotted and bloody. Of course, he would not say anything to alarm Estel. “No, not so bad,” he said faintly.
Fatty brought the hot water back into the room, gasping a bit when he saw the wound. Frodo dipped a clean cloth into the pan, wrung the water from it, and rubbed it over the wound. He was not prepared for Estel to grab the sides of the bed, arch his back, and cry out in pain.
“I am sorry!” Frodo cried, stumbling back. He was no healer. He could not do this. “I’ve hurt you…oh, dear! Tell me how to do it correctly!”
“No, no, you’re doing it right,” Estel said with a forced smile. “I’m afraid I am a coward about pain. You must continue as you are doing.”
“A coward?” Frodo managed a nervous laugh. He dabbed the wound again, cringing each time his friend groaned and pulled at the sheets.
Again and again, he dipped the cloth in the hot water, wrung it out, and dabbed it over the wound. At last the wound was clean. Frodo met Estel’s gaze, and the Ranger smiled.
“Now you must pad up my wound.”
“Fatty, get some clean towels,” Frodo said numbly. The room swam before his eyes, but he could not rest.
“You’ve done wonderfully so far,” Estel said with a smile. “I do not know what I’d do if not for your bravery.”
“I’m not brave,” Frodo said, blushing. “What would you have me do, watch you bleed to death?”
Estel laughed. “Brave all the same. I know you must be exhausted. I will survive the night. Go on and wash yourself, Frodo -- and get some rest!”
“But you may need me.”
“If I need you, I will call for you.”
“Are you certain?”
Frodo’s muscles ached terribly, and it was a wonder that he could remain standing. He knew he would be sore beyond reckoning the next day, lucky if he would be able to force himself from bed. He put his hand over Estel’s brow.
“Sleep well then, Estel. You must call if you have any need at all for me.”
Fatty brought in a pitcher of water and fresh biscuits, leaving them on the nightstand within reach of Estel’s hand. “For you, sir, if you decide in the middle of the night that you are hungry.”
“Thank you, both of you,” Estel said. He closed his eyes, and his face looked restful. Only after seeing that he did not seem to be in great pain, Frodo finally felt he could leave the Ranger to sleep and get some rest of his own.
“Will you need more help from me?” Fatty asked. His eyes were aglow, as he had likely never faced so much excitement in his life. Frodo embraced him.
“Dear Fatty, no. You’ve been wonderful.”
“Go right ahead. I think I’ll go home and see how ma is doing. It’ll be nice to have a break from staying in this lonely cottage alone.”
After Fatty left, Frodo walked through every room, blowing out lanterns. He collapsed into bed without washing himself or taking off his clothes. He knew he would sleep like the dead.
Go on to next chapter
TBC