Of Opinions and late-night Conversations By Leianora
(NOTE FROM DREAMFLOWER: Because leianora is having difficulty with internet access, and with LiveJournal access in particular, she asked me to post the story for her. It was temporarily lost in transit, but I am glad to be able to post it for her now. My apologies to radcliffepotter for the lateness; I am glad we were able to fix the problem. Since the author is still having problems accessing LJ, I will be glad to pass along to her any comments to her story.)
Author name:leianora
Recipient's name:radcliffepotter
Title:Of Opinions and late-night Conversations
Rating:G
Request:"I'd love a Frodo hurt/comfort fic, preferably with Aragorn giving the comfort. I don't care whether it's during or after the quest."
Summary: Strider tends to Frodo after Weathertop, and they have a quiet conversation...
Word Count: 4,368
Of Opinions and late-night Conversations
Images of terror filled his mind as he restlessly tossed and turned. He felt himself shudder and awoke with a violent start. Frodo felt the hand rubbing his back and stifled the urge to whimper aloud. He didn’t want to worry Sam or his cousins, but the throbbing in his shoulder and the sudden numbness of his arm scared him. What if he never got to use that arm again? Why was he unable to see clearly? Why had he been so stupid? He shivered again as his pain increased.
“Shh, Frodo, you are not alone. We are here to help in any way we can.”
The voice was Strider’s, no, Aragorn’s, he realized, but Frodo had never thought the man could speak so gently. His voice was soft usually, but Frodo had always noted a tone of firm command in his words, even if the words themselves were words of reassurance or encouragement.
He was uncertain if the man even knew how commanding he sounded at times. Frodo supposed that the attitude was unconscious; and since it wasn’t abrasive or cruel, Frodo could not fault him. The man was not arrogant, so Frodo wasn’t at all offended by his tone. Now, though, his voice held a gentle tenderness that eased some of Frodo’s darker fears and slowed the dizzying spin of questions that kept battering at his exhausted, pain-filled mind.
“There now, let me help you sit up,” he soothed.
“Is Sam,” Frodo began, but Aragorn smiled.
“Sam is sleeping quite soundly, I assure you,” he said.
Frodo breathed a sigh of relief. He was glad his nightmare noises had not awakened the others.
“Drink this, Frodo,” Aragorn said; and again, Frodo noted the commanding tone of his voice.
Obediently, he sipped the warm liquid, and then blinked in surprise when he tasted it. He had expected a bitter draft, but there was something that muted the bitterness and made him want more of the juice. He drank down the entire concoction without protest.
“What was in that?” he asked softly. The note of honest curiosity in his voice made Aragorn smile again.
“Ah,” he teased gently, “I cannot tell you. Some things deserve to keep their mystery, don’t you think?”
Frodo laughed in spite of himself. “Yes, I suppose they do,” he agreed.
He gradually became of a feeling of warmth in his arm as Aragorn gently bathed his wound in Athelas once more. There was something undeniably comforting in this ritual. For some reason, they both remained silent as the task was carried out. Frodo closed his eyes and drifted in and out of a light sleep. He felt a hand gently stroke his cheek and opened his eyes.
“I am sorry if I woke you,” Aragorn said; sounding abashed.
Frodo smiled. “That’s all right,” he said quietly. “The fact that you can do that makes you seem more… kindly. I think my cousins are still a bit frightened of you,” he added with a wry twist to his lips.
Aragorn’s expression changed to one of dismay, but Frodo reached out and laid a hand on his arm. “It is good for them to be so,” he said; surprising the man. “They are less inclined to levity and more apt to take things seriously as long as they keep thinking that your good opinion is difficult to obtain.”
Aragorn blinked several times, and then laughed. “That is a very astute observation,” he said seriously. “I should have known that you would think that way, though. From what little Gandalf has told me about you, I shouldn’t be as surprised as I am.”
“As long as we’re talking about obtaining good opinions, I should let you know that Sam isn’t really trying to be hostile,” Frodo said earnestly. “He’s just…”
“I know, Frodo,” Aragorn said gently. “He has every right to act the way he is acting. I take no offense. He does what he does for love of you; and that cannot be faulted or discouraged.”
Frodo closed his eyes in relief. “Thank you for being so understanding,” he said in a barely audible whisper. “Aragorn, what if I… Will my arm ever return to normal?”
Now it was Aragorn’s turn to lay a comforting hand on him. “I will not lie to you, my friend,” he said. “I know not, but if we get to Elrond in time, be assured that he will do everything he can to make sure it does. He has a great deal of experience healing such wounds.”
With that, Frodo knew he had to be content. He sighed. “I was such an idiot!” he berated himself harshly. “I have no idea why I didn’t listen to Gandalf.”
“The Black Riders can have a very powerful influence over anyone, Frodo,” Aragorn said honestly. “Your connection with them is even stronger than usual because you are carrying the ring. Do not chastise yourself so severely, my friend. Your strength is amazing to me.”
Frodo blushed and murmured a soft ‘thank you’ before covering a yawn. He heard Aragorn’s quiet chuckle and smiled ruefully in return as he closed his eyes once more.
“Get as much sleep as you can, Frodo,” Aragorn said. “We still have quite a long way to go and you will need all your commendable strength to help you reach the end of our journey.”
Frodo nodded and yawned again. “I… I heard you singing the other night,” he confessed. “Would you sing to me?” Even as he asked the question, he felt another blush rise to his cheeks. Aragorn, however, merely smiled and nodded. As he started to sing a song about King Finrod finding his ancestors, Frodo smiled and fell into a deeper sleep; the notes of Aragorn’s song following him into dreams.
Author name:leianora
Recipient's name:radcliffepotter
Title:Of Opinions and late-night Conversations
Rating:G
Request:"I'd love a Frodo hurt/comfort fic, preferably with Aragorn giving the comfort. I don't care whether it's during or after the quest."
Summary: Strider tends to Frodo after Weathertop, and they have a quiet conversation...
Word Count: 4,368
Of Opinions and late-night Conversations
Images of terror filled his mind as he restlessly tossed and turned. He felt himself shudder and awoke with a violent start. Frodo felt the hand rubbing his back and stifled the urge to whimper aloud. He didn’t want to worry Sam or his cousins, but the throbbing in his shoulder and the sudden numbness of his arm scared him. What if he never got to use that arm again? Why was he unable to see clearly? Why had he been so stupid? He shivered again as his pain increased.
“Shh, Frodo, you are not alone. We are here to help in any way we can.”
The voice was Strider’s, no, Aragorn’s, he realized, but Frodo had never thought the man could speak so gently. His voice was soft usually, but Frodo had always noted a tone of firm command in his words, even if the words themselves were words of reassurance or encouragement.
He was uncertain if the man even knew how commanding he sounded at times. Frodo supposed that the attitude was unconscious; and since it wasn’t abrasive or cruel, Frodo could not fault him. The man was not arrogant, so Frodo wasn’t at all offended by his tone. Now, though, his voice held a gentle tenderness that eased some of Frodo’s darker fears and slowed the dizzying spin of questions that kept battering at his exhausted, pain-filled mind.
“There now, let me help you sit up,” he soothed.
“Is Sam,” Frodo began, but Aragorn smiled.
“Sam is sleeping quite soundly, I assure you,” he said.
Frodo breathed a sigh of relief. He was glad his nightmare noises had not awakened the others.
“Drink this, Frodo,” Aragorn said; and again, Frodo noted the commanding tone of his voice.
Obediently, he sipped the warm liquid, and then blinked in surprise when he tasted it. He had expected a bitter draft, but there was something that muted the bitterness and made him want more of the juice. He drank down the entire concoction without protest.
“What was in that?” he asked softly. The note of honest curiosity in his voice made Aragorn smile again.
“Ah,” he teased gently, “I cannot tell you. Some things deserve to keep their mystery, don’t you think?”
Frodo laughed in spite of himself. “Yes, I suppose they do,” he agreed.
He gradually became of a feeling of warmth in his arm as Aragorn gently bathed his wound in Athelas once more. There was something undeniably comforting in this ritual. For some reason, they both remained silent as the task was carried out. Frodo closed his eyes and drifted in and out of a light sleep. He felt a hand gently stroke his cheek and opened his eyes.
“I am sorry if I woke you,” Aragorn said; sounding abashed.
Frodo smiled. “That’s all right,” he said quietly. “The fact that you can do that makes you seem more… kindly. I think my cousins are still a bit frightened of you,” he added with a wry twist to his lips.
Aragorn’s expression changed to one of dismay, but Frodo reached out and laid a hand on his arm. “It is good for them to be so,” he said; surprising the man. “They are less inclined to levity and more apt to take things seriously as long as they keep thinking that your good opinion is difficult to obtain.”
Aragorn blinked several times, and then laughed. “That is a very astute observation,” he said seriously. “I should have known that you would think that way, though. From what little Gandalf has told me about you, I shouldn’t be as surprised as I am.”
“As long as we’re talking about obtaining good opinions, I should let you know that Sam isn’t really trying to be hostile,” Frodo said earnestly. “He’s just…”
“I know, Frodo,” Aragorn said gently. “He has every right to act the way he is acting. I take no offense. He does what he does for love of you; and that cannot be faulted or discouraged.”
Frodo closed his eyes in relief. “Thank you for being so understanding,” he said in a barely audible whisper. “Aragorn, what if I… Will my arm ever return to normal?”
Now it was Aragorn’s turn to lay a comforting hand on him. “I will not lie to you, my friend,” he said. “I know not, but if we get to Elrond in time, be assured that he will do everything he can to make sure it does. He has a great deal of experience healing such wounds.”
With that, Frodo knew he had to be content. He sighed. “I was such an idiot!” he berated himself harshly. “I have no idea why I didn’t listen to Gandalf.”
“The Black Riders can have a very powerful influence over anyone, Frodo,” Aragorn said honestly. “Your connection with them is even stronger than usual because you are carrying the ring. Do not chastise yourself so severely, my friend. Your strength is amazing to me.”
Frodo blushed and murmured a soft ‘thank you’ before covering a yawn. He heard Aragorn’s quiet chuckle and smiled ruefully in return as he closed his eyes once more.
“Get as much sleep as you can, Frodo,” Aragorn said. “We still have quite a long way to go and you will need all your commendable strength to help you reach the end of our journey.”
Frodo nodded and yawned again. “I… I heard you singing the other night,” he confessed. “Would you sing to me?” Even as he asked the question, he felt another blush rise to his cheeks. Aragorn, however, merely smiled and nodded. As he started to sing a song about King Finrod finding his ancestors, Frodo smiled and fell into a deeper sleep; the notes of Aragorn’s song following him into dreams.