Heart's Journey 2
Title: Heart’s Journey 2
Author: Claudia
Pairing: Frodo/Aragorn
Rating: varies, this chapter rated PG13
Summary: Frodo and Aragorn romance on the quest. For alchemilla_;-), who said she enjoyed a lot of UST with her F/A…:-) Thank you, sweetie, "fro" everything and I hope your day has been beauteous!
Thank you to trianne for the beta!!
Later, Frodo would tell his companions that it had been Gandalf’s letter -- that Butterbur had nearly forgotten to give him -- that had opened his heart to Strider. Yes, the letter had put his mind at ease and sent the last of his doubts crumbling. But even before he read it, he had sensed comfort and solid strength, something of an Elvish air in him.
Sitting now in front of the hearth beside Strider while his companions slept, he felt short of breath and far from the sleep that he knew he should get. Strider said nothing. His eyes darted with keen watchfulness at every sound and shadow, and he occasionally poked at the fire with the very poker Frodo had wielded against him earlier. Casting shy glances at Strider’s grim countenance, the tense muscles in his thick forearm, his eyes of gray, he derived new strength and hope. If this Ranger was truly willing to help, then there was a chance that they might make it to Rivendell even without Gandalf.
Sam was still grumpy with suspicion, and even more so when Strider suggested they not return to their hobbit room that night.
“Now wait just a moment,” Sam had broke in. “Mr. Frodo, this just doesn’t sit right with me.”
Frodo hushed him and asked Strider in a quiet voice, “Why should we not return to our room?”
“Because the hobbit rooms are close to the ground and it will be the first place they will seek you. Do you wish them to find you, Master Samwise? As brave as you are, you will be no match against them in the night.”
“We will stay,” Frodo had said, glancing at Sam to end the matter.
The fire crackled, and outside the sky grew ever darker. Frodo took a breath, intending to ask Strider where he came from, how he had come to know Gandalf, but Strider met his eyes then and said, “Get some sleep, Frodo. Our journey here on out will not be kind. You must take advantage of a real bed.”
Frodo nodded and rose to his feet, stretching. He still felt too nervous to sleep, but Strider was right. This bed may be the last his tired bones would lie on for a long time. He peeled off his vest and braces before crawling under the cover beside Pippin. Pippin murmured in his sleep and threw his arm over him.
Strider left the fire burning all night. The hobbits crowded together in the bed while Strider sat propped against the door, as if guarding it, smoking his pipe with quiet watchfulness. Frodo thought that he might never fall asleep, but he fell into a rapid and thick sleep nearly immediately.
Screeching, the thudding of hooves, and an eerie chill up his spine woke Frodo up with a gasp. Outside it was still dark. The other hobbits still slept, thankfully unaware.
“Hush.” Strider was still awake, but now he stood beside the window, peering out into the street, and his finger was at his mouth. The other hobbits were still asleep. Frodo trembled wildly.
“What is it?” he whispered.
“They’re here,” Strider said. “Do you not feel it?”
“I am chilled to my bone.”
“Come back to the fire. Fear not. The servants of the Enemy do not bear any love for the dwellings of people. They are far more dangerous in the wild where there is no help.”
Which was, of course, exactly where they would be while making their way to Rivendell. Frodo swallowed and asked, “What do you know of them?”
He slipped out of bed and padded over to the rug before the hearth again, but this time he trembled so hard that Strider put his own cloak around him before settling on the floor beside him. Frodo nodded gratefully.
When they got the dark news the next morning that their ponies had been stolen, Frodo felt crushed, so much so that he could scarcely utter a word. His friends were none too happy either, especially Merry, and they glowered over breakfast. Strider studied them, his eyes muddy with thoughtfulness. Frodo noted a slight curl to his lip, scarcely hidden and perhaps not even conscious, and he knew that Strider saw soft creatures who had never known hardship.
“How much are you four prepared to carry on your backs?” Strider finally asked. “We are unlikely to get a pony at this hour. And we must make haste to leave Bree as soon as we can.”
“As much as we must,” Frodo said.
“My back’s sturdy,” Sam said. “I can carry as much as need be.” He cast Strider a dark look, clearly unhappy with Frodo’s decision to accept him as their guide.
Up in the room, Frodo dumped the contents from his backpack onto the bed. The other hobbits had gone off on various errands and were expected back at any moment. Frodo sorted through his belongings, trying to decide if there was anything he might leave behind. After all, if they could find no pony, the burden on their backs would be extreme. Even walking through the Shire had been a bit of a toil, and they had added more to their supplies in Crickhollow.
“There will be little to hunt from here until Rivendell,” Strider said harshly, making Frodo jump. Frodo had not heard his approach, which spoiled his perception that Big People walked about like Oliphaunts. “I would not take up any room with such frivolities.”
He lifted Frodo’s pipe, the sack of pipe-weed, a notebook, quill and bottle of ink.
Frodo flushed, incensed by Strider’s tactlessness. Frodo had led his small group from Buckland, and while that had nearly taken several disastrous paths, he found it somewhat difficult to swallow that another guide had taken over the decision-making.
“I will take this,” Frodo said, holding Strider’s gaze and putting the pipe and pipe-weed deliberately inside his pack. “And I imagine you’re not leaving your pipe behind, Strider.”
“It is your back,” Strider said. “Do not expect anyone else to cover your load if you grow weary.”
“Hobbits are more resilient than you may think,” Frodo said. “I can take much more.”
“I am counting on that. I shall certainly be filling it with more.”
Frodo let out a sharp laugh, meant to show his utter disdain at Strider’s attitude toward him. He did not know what to make of him. He was grim, frightening at times, quite unlike his preconceived notions of Big People as being loud, stupid, and bumbling. “Besides, I should think we should all be as worn from travel as you, after a time in the wild.”
“It would take more than a few weeks,” Strider said with a harsh laugh. “And you would die first, unless you be made of sterner stuff than you appear.”
Frodo closed his mouth and turned away. No, he could not understand this Strider at all. There was something in him that reminded him a little of Gandalf, only more caustic. Last night there had been pale concern for their safety, he had spoken to them in a kind, low voice. But now his harsh and imperious mask made Frodo flustered and clumsy. He dropped several items as he tried to stuff them back into his pack.
He did not know how to speak to Strider. His hobbity light-heartedness only seemed to irk him, and his sometimes dreamy, drawn-out way of speaking that he had learned from Bilbo seemed only to make him impatient.
And this stranger, Gandalf’s friend or not, had forced himself upon them, had taken over as “guide” on their quest. If Frodo did not show him now that he would not be ordered about like a scullery maid, then he had no right to later complain.
“Perhaps there is much you do not know about me,” Frodo said in a cool voice. But Strider did not look to be paying attention. He sat on the other side of the bed, bent over his own pack, a mask of concentration on his face. Frodo dared to study this countenance. Even with the grim clenching of his jaw, Frodo had to admit that it was a handsome face with its keen gray eyes and smooth jaw line. Strider turned back suddenly to meet his gaze, and Frodo strode to him, taking advantage of his seated position to speak straight into his eyes. “Perhaps there is much you do not know about me.”
“I heard you the first time,” Strider said. Frodo stood so close to him that Strider’s hot breaths hit his neck, and this sent a shiver down his arms. Strider’s heavy hands fell on Frodo’s shoulders, making him gasp, but Strider said, “Hush” in a surprisingly tender voice, and he rubbed Frodo’s arms in a vigorous manner. “You were chilled. No good starting a journey already chilled.”
They stared at each other, and Strider’s hands paused, gripping Frodo’s upper arms, his breaths still warming his skin of his neck, and now Frodo was no longer chilled at all, but warm from his belly down to his…oh. His cheeks heated as he crossed his legs, hoping that Strider would not look down. He had never had something like that happen, er…not since few years back when he and Merry had crawled under the covers in his bed in Bag End and touched each other, just to see how they felt about it.
The other hobbits entered, chattering and laughing, as if they were not about to walk into danger. Their packs, filled with extra supplies from Nob in compensation for their stolen ponies, were already on their backs. Strider released Frodo’s arms and stood, gathering up his belongings.
“Are we ready?” he asked.
“Yes,” Frodo said with a decisive nod, stuffing his hands in his pocket to hide the unseemly bulge that someone was apt to notice soon. How he would ever explain that to the other hobbits, he had no idea, so best that they never got an eyeful.
Strider raised his brows, and Frodo flinched and flushed, thinking that maybe Strider had guessed his secret, but then he saw that the ranger was staring at Frodo’s belongings still scattered on the bed.
“Er..no,” Frodo finished, flushing, and scrambling to stuff the last of them inside his pack.
Strider turned away. “I want us on the road within the hour.”
At last they were on the road outside of Bree. The hobbits struggled to keep up with Strider’s pace. Strider seemed to want to keep ahead of them for the most part, but he did not get so far ahead as to lose them.
“I don’t think much of this Strider,” Merry said. “He seems rather to not respect hobbits at all.”
“I do not know what to think of him,” Frodo said, and his cheeks heated, remembering Strider’s hands on his arms, stroking, rubbing warmth back into them. “He spoke one way when we first met him and then his tone changed. I do not know what he wants or his purpose. I suppose he thinks he’s doing Gandalf a great favor.”
“I’m not so sure he’s really Gandalf’s friend, Mr. Frodo, so keep an eye on him.” Sam glowered after Strider, and Frodo knew that he would not sleep a wink while Strider was on watch.
“We have no choice but to trust him,” Frodo said. “Even if we were to divert off the path and set off on our own, away from him, he could certainly track us. Besides, I should think that an enemy would seem more fair than foul.“
“He’s foul enough,” Merry said, and Frodo noticed far ahead that Strider’s shoulders flinched.
“We must watch our tongues,” Frodo said under his breath.
That night, Strider built a fire, and after they shared a scanty meal of dried fruit and meat, Frodo shielded his face with his hood, glancing surreptitiously at Strider, at the prickly hair on his jaw line and his broad shoulders tense with feral watchfulness. He could not see in the heavy darkness, but he wondered if Strider’s eyes were dark and gleaming or murky, like the gray sea on a rainy day. Again, his mind turned to strong hands clasping his arms, hot breath on his neck, and his tender concern that Frodo should not be chilled. His groin warmed again.
“How about a song?” Pippin asked. “We could all use something to cheer our hearts.”
Frodo smiled weakly. “A song would be pleasant.”
“You’ve got the best voice of us here, Frodo.” Merry said. “I should very much like to hear something from home. This place is cheerless.”
“Oh…I don’t think so,” Frodo said, flushing, glancing at Strider. He felt suddenly shy about singing in front of him. “I’m not much in the mood for singing myself.”
“But Bilbo taught you all those songs,” Pippin said. “Come on, cousin. What about the bath song?”
“Peregrin Took, you know just as many songs as I do.”
Strider broke in. “Perhaps song would not be the best idea tonight. There is a foul feel to the air.”
Frodo shivered, immediately sobered. “What do you mean?”
“The Enemy is near.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t have come so far off the road then,” Sam said, leaping to his feet with an indignant scowl. “Just whose idea was that?”
“They are on the road,” Strider said tersely, lighting a torch from the fire. He handed it to Sam. “Now stay close to the fire and stay still. They do not love fire. Frodo, I want you to come with me.” Sam stepped toward them. “Do not leave this campsite. You will be safe.”
“Don’t worry, Sam.” He imagined that Sam would follow anyway, keeping a safe distance behind.
Frodo followed Strider deep into the woods, until they could barely see the flicker of the campfire. Once when Frodo stumbled, Strider caught his arm, but he did not say anything at all. At last he stopped.
“I wanted you away from your friends before I asked you this, but you must be truthful. Was this Gandalf’s notion, that you should bear such a burden alone?”
Frodo looked at him, puzzled, for a moment before slowly answering. “Yes…well, no.” He shook his head, remembering that long ago spring day when he and Gandalf had talked long about the Ring. “I knew I had to leave the Shire, and Gandalf suggested I make for Rivendell.”
“Gandalf sent you alone, unaided?”
“It is not his fault,” Frodo said. “I delayed. I should have gone at once, but I did not realize the danger. He planned to come back. He should have come back, but he didn’t and we had to leave. I did not mean to take my friends with me into danger, but they will not have it any other way.”
Strider gestured toward him. “Gandalf…I cannot imagine what he must have been thinking to send a soft gentlehobbit with the Enemy’s Ring to Rivendell with the Nine abroad.”
Frodo felt the sting of his words as if Strider had slapped him hard on the cheek. A soft gentlehobbit who had never faced danger, that was how Strider saw him. Someone who had to be watched and protected constantly.
“Perhaps I’m not as soft as you seem to think,” Frodo said, and he turned around and marched toward the campfire.
Go on to next part
TBC
Author: Claudia
Pairing: Frodo/Aragorn
Rating: varies, this chapter rated PG13
Summary: Frodo and Aragorn romance on the quest. For alchemilla_;-), who said she enjoyed a lot of UST with her F/A…:-) Thank you, sweetie, "fro" everything and I hope your day has been beauteous!
Thank you to trianne for the beta!!
Later, Frodo would tell his companions that it had been Gandalf’s letter -- that Butterbur had nearly forgotten to give him -- that had opened his heart to Strider. Yes, the letter had put his mind at ease and sent the last of his doubts crumbling. But even before he read it, he had sensed comfort and solid strength, something of an Elvish air in him.
Sitting now in front of the hearth beside Strider while his companions slept, he felt short of breath and far from the sleep that he knew he should get. Strider said nothing. His eyes darted with keen watchfulness at every sound and shadow, and he occasionally poked at the fire with the very poker Frodo had wielded against him earlier. Casting shy glances at Strider’s grim countenance, the tense muscles in his thick forearm, his eyes of gray, he derived new strength and hope. If this Ranger was truly willing to help, then there was a chance that they might make it to Rivendell even without Gandalf.
Sam was still grumpy with suspicion, and even more so when Strider suggested they not return to their hobbit room that night.
“Now wait just a moment,” Sam had broke in. “Mr. Frodo, this just doesn’t sit right with me.”
Frodo hushed him and asked Strider in a quiet voice, “Why should we not return to our room?”
“Because the hobbit rooms are close to the ground and it will be the first place they will seek you. Do you wish them to find you, Master Samwise? As brave as you are, you will be no match against them in the night.”
“We will stay,” Frodo had said, glancing at Sam to end the matter.
The fire crackled, and outside the sky grew ever darker. Frodo took a breath, intending to ask Strider where he came from, how he had come to know Gandalf, but Strider met his eyes then and said, “Get some sleep, Frodo. Our journey here on out will not be kind. You must take advantage of a real bed.”
Frodo nodded and rose to his feet, stretching. He still felt too nervous to sleep, but Strider was right. This bed may be the last his tired bones would lie on for a long time. He peeled off his vest and braces before crawling under the cover beside Pippin. Pippin murmured in his sleep and threw his arm over him.
Strider left the fire burning all night. The hobbits crowded together in the bed while Strider sat propped against the door, as if guarding it, smoking his pipe with quiet watchfulness. Frodo thought that he might never fall asleep, but he fell into a rapid and thick sleep nearly immediately.
Screeching, the thudding of hooves, and an eerie chill up his spine woke Frodo up with a gasp. Outside it was still dark. The other hobbits still slept, thankfully unaware.
“Hush.” Strider was still awake, but now he stood beside the window, peering out into the street, and his finger was at his mouth. The other hobbits were still asleep. Frodo trembled wildly.
“What is it?” he whispered.
“They’re here,” Strider said. “Do you not feel it?”
“I am chilled to my bone.”
“Come back to the fire. Fear not. The servants of the Enemy do not bear any love for the dwellings of people. They are far more dangerous in the wild where there is no help.”
Which was, of course, exactly where they would be while making their way to Rivendell. Frodo swallowed and asked, “What do you know of them?”
He slipped out of bed and padded over to the rug before the hearth again, but this time he trembled so hard that Strider put his own cloak around him before settling on the floor beside him. Frodo nodded gratefully.
When they got the dark news the next morning that their ponies had been stolen, Frodo felt crushed, so much so that he could scarcely utter a word. His friends were none too happy either, especially Merry, and they glowered over breakfast. Strider studied them, his eyes muddy with thoughtfulness. Frodo noted a slight curl to his lip, scarcely hidden and perhaps not even conscious, and he knew that Strider saw soft creatures who had never known hardship.
“How much are you four prepared to carry on your backs?” Strider finally asked. “We are unlikely to get a pony at this hour. And we must make haste to leave Bree as soon as we can.”
“As much as we must,” Frodo said.
“My back’s sturdy,” Sam said. “I can carry as much as need be.” He cast Strider a dark look, clearly unhappy with Frodo’s decision to accept him as their guide.
Up in the room, Frodo dumped the contents from his backpack onto the bed. The other hobbits had gone off on various errands and were expected back at any moment. Frodo sorted through his belongings, trying to decide if there was anything he might leave behind. After all, if they could find no pony, the burden on their backs would be extreme. Even walking through the Shire had been a bit of a toil, and they had added more to their supplies in Crickhollow.
“There will be little to hunt from here until Rivendell,” Strider said harshly, making Frodo jump. Frodo had not heard his approach, which spoiled his perception that Big People walked about like Oliphaunts. “I would not take up any room with such frivolities.”
He lifted Frodo’s pipe, the sack of pipe-weed, a notebook, quill and bottle of ink.
Frodo flushed, incensed by Strider’s tactlessness. Frodo had led his small group from Buckland, and while that had nearly taken several disastrous paths, he found it somewhat difficult to swallow that another guide had taken over the decision-making.
“I will take this,” Frodo said, holding Strider’s gaze and putting the pipe and pipe-weed deliberately inside his pack. “And I imagine you’re not leaving your pipe behind, Strider.”
“It is your back,” Strider said. “Do not expect anyone else to cover your load if you grow weary.”
“Hobbits are more resilient than you may think,” Frodo said. “I can take much more.”
“I am counting on that. I shall certainly be filling it with more.”
Frodo let out a sharp laugh, meant to show his utter disdain at Strider’s attitude toward him. He did not know what to make of him. He was grim, frightening at times, quite unlike his preconceived notions of Big People as being loud, stupid, and bumbling. “Besides, I should think we should all be as worn from travel as you, after a time in the wild.”
“It would take more than a few weeks,” Strider said with a harsh laugh. “And you would die first, unless you be made of sterner stuff than you appear.”
Frodo closed his mouth and turned away. No, he could not understand this Strider at all. There was something in him that reminded him a little of Gandalf, only more caustic. Last night there had been pale concern for their safety, he had spoken to them in a kind, low voice. But now his harsh and imperious mask made Frodo flustered and clumsy. He dropped several items as he tried to stuff them back into his pack.
He did not know how to speak to Strider. His hobbity light-heartedness only seemed to irk him, and his sometimes dreamy, drawn-out way of speaking that he had learned from Bilbo seemed only to make him impatient.
And this stranger, Gandalf’s friend or not, had forced himself upon them, had taken over as “guide” on their quest. If Frodo did not show him now that he would not be ordered about like a scullery maid, then he had no right to later complain.
“Perhaps there is much you do not know about me,” Frodo said in a cool voice. But Strider did not look to be paying attention. He sat on the other side of the bed, bent over his own pack, a mask of concentration on his face. Frodo dared to study this countenance. Even with the grim clenching of his jaw, Frodo had to admit that it was a handsome face with its keen gray eyes and smooth jaw line. Strider turned back suddenly to meet his gaze, and Frodo strode to him, taking advantage of his seated position to speak straight into his eyes. “Perhaps there is much you do not know about me.”
“I heard you the first time,” Strider said. Frodo stood so close to him that Strider’s hot breaths hit his neck, and this sent a shiver down his arms. Strider’s heavy hands fell on Frodo’s shoulders, making him gasp, but Strider said, “Hush” in a surprisingly tender voice, and he rubbed Frodo’s arms in a vigorous manner. “You were chilled. No good starting a journey already chilled.”
They stared at each other, and Strider’s hands paused, gripping Frodo’s upper arms, his breaths still warming his skin of his neck, and now Frodo was no longer chilled at all, but warm from his belly down to his…oh. His cheeks heated as he crossed his legs, hoping that Strider would not look down. He had never had something like that happen, er…not since few years back when he and Merry had crawled under the covers in his bed in Bag End and touched each other, just to see how they felt about it.
The other hobbits entered, chattering and laughing, as if they were not about to walk into danger. Their packs, filled with extra supplies from Nob in compensation for their stolen ponies, were already on their backs. Strider released Frodo’s arms and stood, gathering up his belongings.
“Are we ready?” he asked.
“Yes,” Frodo said with a decisive nod, stuffing his hands in his pocket to hide the unseemly bulge that someone was apt to notice soon. How he would ever explain that to the other hobbits, he had no idea, so best that they never got an eyeful.
Strider raised his brows, and Frodo flinched and flushed, thinking that maybe Strider had guessed his secret, but then he saw that the ranger was staring at Frodo’s belongings still scattered on the bed.
“Er..no,” Frodo finished, flushing, and scrambling to stuff the last of them inside his pack.
Strider turned away. “I want us on the road within the hour.”
At last they were on the road outside of Bree. The hobbits struggled to keep up with Strider’s pace. Strider seemed to want to keep ahead of them for the most part, but he did not get so far ahead as to lose them.
“I don’t think much of this Strider,” Merry said. “He seems rather to not respect hobbits at all.”
“I do not know what to think of him,” Frodo said, and his cheeks heated, remembering Strider’s hands on his arms, stroking, rubbing warmth back into them. “He spoke one way when we first met him and then his tone changed. I do not know what he wants or his purpose. I suppose he thinks he’s doing Gandalf a great favor.”
“I’m not so sure he’s really Gandalf’s friend, Mr. Frodo, so keep an eye on him.” Sam glowered after Strider, and Frodo knew that he would not sleep a wink while Strider was on watch.
“We have no choice but to trust him,” Frodo said. “Even if we were to divert off the path and set off on our own, away from him, he could certainly track us. Besides, I should think that an enemy would seem more fair than foul.“
“He’s foul enough,” Merry said, and Frodo noticed far ahead that Strider’s shoulders flinched.
“We must watch our tongues,” Frodo said under his breath.
That night, Strider built a fire, and after they shared a scanty meal of dried fruit and meat, Frodo shielded his face with his hood, glancing surreptitiously at Strider, at the prickly hair on his jaw line and his broad shoulders tense with feral watchfulness. He could not see in the heavy darkness, but he wondered if Strider’s eyes were dark and gleaming or murky, like the gray sea on a rainy day. Again, his mind turned to strong hands clasping his arms, hot breath on his neck, and his tender concern that Frodo should not be chilled. His groin warmed again.
“How about a song?” Pippin asked. “We could all use something to cheer our hearts.”
Frodo smiled weakly. “A song would be pleasant.”
“You’ve got the best voice of us here, Frodo.” Merry said. “I should very much like to hear something from home. This place is cheerless.”
“Oh…I don’t think so,” Frodo said, flushing, glancing at Strider. He felt suddenly shy about singing in front of him. “I’m not much in the mood for singing myself.”
“But Bilbo taught you all those songs,” Pippin said. “Come on, cousin. What about the bath song?”
“Peregrin Took, you know just as many songs as I do.”
Strider broke in. “Perhaps song would not be the best idea tonight. There is a foul feel to the air.”
Frodo shivered, immediately sobered. “What do you mean?”
“The Enemy is near.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t have come so far off the road then,” Sam said, leaping to his feet with an indignant scowl. “Just whose idea was that?”
“They are on the road,” Strider said tersely, lighting a torch from the fire. He handed it to Sam. “Now stay close to the fire and stay still. They do not love fire. Frodo, I want you to come with me.” Sam stepped toward them. “Do not leave this campsite. You will be safe.”
“Don’t worry, Sam.” He imagined that Sam would follow anyway, keeping a safe distance behind.
Frodo followed Strider deep into the woods, until they could barely see the flicker of the campfire. Once when Frodo stumbled, Strider caught his arm, but he did not say anything at all. At last he stopped.
“I wanted you away from your friends before I asked you this, but you must be truthful. Was this Gandalf’s notion, that you should bear such a burden alone?”
Frodo looked at him, puzzled, for a moment before slowly answering. “Yes…well, no.” He shook his head, remembering that long ago spring day when he and Gandalf had talked long about the Ring. “I knew I had to leave the Shire, and Gandalf suggested I make for Rivendell.”
“Gandalf sent you alone, unaided?”
“It is not his fault,” Frodo said. “I delayed. I should have gone at once, but I did not realize the danger. He planned to come back. He should have come back, but he didn’t and we had to leave. I did not mean to take my friends with me into danger, but they will not have it any other way.”
Strider gestured toward him. “Gandalf…I cannot imagine what he must have been thinking to send a soft gentlehobbit with the Enemy’s Ring to Rivendell with the Nine abroad.”
Frodo felt the sting of his words as if Strider had slapped him hard on the cheek. A soft gentlehobbit who had never faced danger, that was how Strider saw him. Someone who had to be watched and protected constantly.
“Perhaps I’m not as soft as you seem to think,” Frodo said, and he turned around and marched toward the campfire.
Go on to next part
TBC