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Mar. 25th, 2003 08:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
claudia603I rilly hope this doesn't completely suck.
Title: Trapped in Bree 19/? PG13
Author: Claudia
Pairing: Frodo/Aragorn
Rating: R
Summary: Frodo arrives in Bree alone. Trouble escalates when a warrior lures Frodo into an abusive relationship, preventing him from continuing on his quest.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and make no money from them.
Story notes: It’s possible there are some movie quotes in here.
Trapped in Bree 19
“Mr. Frodo, you must stop being so stubborn. You’re apt to collapse and then what?”
“Let me be, Sam.” Frodo broke some twigs and threw them on the fire. Though dusk had not yet fallen, Strider had allowed them to build a fire, his thought being that it would likely keep the Enemy away. Or draw them to it like a moth, Frodo thought with a shudder. He stared into the distance. He did not like this place so high up that he could see for miles. He fancied if he strained his eyes hard enough he might be able to see curls of smoke from Bree. He felt exposed. Even the name -– Weathertop -– had an ominous resonance to it.
“You walked most of the day and now when Mr. Strider finds us a nice place to rest…Come, Mr. Frodo, let Pippin finish the fire.” When Frodo continued to break twigs, Sam put his hands on his hips, an irritated frown clouding his face.
Frodo was unable to resist a faint smile, but his voice was stern. “Sam, I’m tired of being fussed over. Let me be of some use.”
“You should know better, Sam,” Pippin said, rifling through his back for an apple. “Once Cousin Frodo gets something in his head, he makes the Sacksville-Bagginses look accommodating.”
Frodo frowned at him but said nothing. His nimble fingers continued to break apart twigs.
“Sam’s right,” Aragorn broke in. “One of the chief reasons we are camping before sundown is that we all need some rest, especially you, Frodo. You are not fully recovered, and being in the wilderness has not helped.” Aragorn gazed into the distance. “It makes me uneasy. I have seen no sign of the Enemy.” Aragorn shook his head and turned back to Frodo. “I insist that you rest now. We still have a fortnight of travel before us.”
Sam led Frodo by the arm to a nearby stone and helped him sit. He watched Aragorn walk away and the ache in his chest, which had never completely gone away since Aragorn had told him he was betrothed, expanded until he could barely breathe.
There was no hope left for him, even after he rid himself of the cursed Ring.
He pictured Bilbo sitting quietly reading, sipping tea. Frodo could not bear the prospect of watching his dear uncle’s face shatter when he found out what had happened to Frodo in Bree. He could not bear to tell Bilbo about how easily he had been tricked, how Oron had defiled him. He was too soiled for Bilbo, and he was certainly too soiled to return to the Shire. It hardly mattered that his friends had fiercely denied it. He knew it was true.
Through Aragorn, he had thought he had found solace, the hope that he could have a contented life outside the Shire with one who understood what had happened to him and would treat him with tender love. When he saw how much Aragorn cared for him, his heart had swelled with joy and possessiveness.
But Aragorn had crushed that hope with three words, and all had fallen into darkness.
*I am betrothed.*
Frodo released a harsh sigh, trying to hold back the tears. Bilbo had once told him that it was never wise to have too many expectations.
“All of life’s disappointments come because something expected did not come to be, lad. Always remember that. Expect nothing and you’ll live a happier life than most.”
At that long ago time, Frodo’s heart had been light, he had cupped his chin in his hands, and he had smelled bacon and eggs on the stove. “But isn’t that a rather grim way to live, Uncle?”
“Not always.” Bilbo had squeezed Frodo’s shoulder. “I never expected you…And yet here you are.”
Frodo’s throat closed. He had been so certain that Aragorn had wanted him. He clearly remembered Aragorn saying that the only way he would take Frodo is if he were willing in spirit and body…and under different circumstances. Now, like a cold splash of water over his chest, Frodo understood what he had meant by different circumstances. Frodo had been right to think that Aragorn had wanted him –- Aragorn’s comment and the long kiss they had enjoyed weeks ago proved that -- but nothing could ever come of it.
“Frodo.” Aragorn placed his hand on Frodo’s brow and sat beside him. His hand was warm and strong, and Frodo leaned into it. “How do you feel?”
Frodo forced himself to pull away from Aragorn’s touch, unable to meet the ranger’s gaze. “All right.”
“Your recovery has far exceeded my expectations, but I am concerned about what is happening here.” Aragorn placed a gentle hand on Frodo’s chest, causing the hobbit to shudder. How he longed for that hand to slip under his shirt again! “What happened to you in Bree will haunt you always--“
“Leave me in peace.” Frodo squeezed his eyes shut. He would not allow Aragorn to crush him again. Aragorn’s eyes were kind, but they were not filled with love.
“I wish to help,” Aragorn said.
Frodo turned to him fiercely. “You have done enough,” he hissed. “You should have let me die in Bree, for there my heart will be trapped.”
Aragorn took Frodo’s tense hand and squeezed it. “Why do you speak with such despair? It breaks my heart to hear it.”
Frodo laughed bitterly. “You need not make a pretense of caring. You were sent to protect the Ringbearer and you’ve done your job. I am well enough to carry the Ring to Rivendell. You need not worry about anything else.”
Aragorn’s jaw tightened, and Frodo was satisfied to see a flash of genuine hurt in his eyes. “I make no pretense. You are far more than the Ringbearer to me. You are Frodo Baggins…strong, brave, enduring…beautiful--”
Frodo let out a cynical laugh.
“There was more I wished to say that night,” Aragorn said in a hoarse voice, putting a gentle finger under Frodo’s chin, tilting the hobbit’s face toward his. “But you would not allow me to continue.”
“Why do you make it worse?” Frodo asked. “I am hurting enough. Will you not leave me in peace?”
Aragorn stared at him in troubled silence for several moments before nodding slightly and climbing to his feet. Frodo nearly called to him to come back, but his throat was too full.
***
The screech of the last Ringwraith resonated in Aragorn’s ears as he flung down his last torch and stamped the fire out. He tore across the dell to Frodo, cold fear weakening his muscles. He fell to his knees, and he could immediately see that the wound was bad. Frodo squeezed his eyes shut and let loose a chilling cry. Blood had spread over his shirt and vest, and his breath came out fast and shallow. Tears slipped down Sam’s cheeks as he clutched Frodo’s limp hand, and Frodo shuddered with a yelp that faded into a low moan. Sweat had drenched his brow, and his eyes looked glazed and unfocused.
“Oh, no,” Aragorn whispered, his throat closing.
“Strider…help him, please.” Sam gazed at him in naked terror. The hobbits looked more frightened than they had when Frodo had been near to death in Bree. Aragorn picked up the offending blade, and it disintegrated into black dust, burning his hand. He dropped it like a hot brand and turned back to Frodo. Frodo could not possibly endure this, not after all he had already gone through. No mortal could.
“He tried to fight them, Strider,” Merry said, his eyes wide and fearful.
“I should have saved him,” Pippin said, squeezing his eyes shut, still trembling. “I…I felt a cold breath over me and I felt I couldn’t move, not for anything.”
“Can’t you do something?” Sam pleaded.
“I can do very little here in the wilderness, Sam,” Aragorn said, trying to keep his voice steady. “He needs Elvish medicine as can only be given to him in Rivendell.”
“He’s going to die?” Pippin asked, tears filling his eyes.
“How can he make it?” Sam cried out. “You said Rivendell was a fortnight away. He’ll never make it!”
“No,” Merry said, shaking his head firmly. “He won’t die. He survived what happened to him in Bree and he’ll pull through this as well.” He squeezed Frodo’s cold hand. “He must.”
“Gandalf told me he was made of stern stuff,” Aragorn said. “He has so far more than proven that. He will fight this.”
But Aragorn was no longer certain that was true. He had heard the weak despair in Frodo’s voice earlier. Aragorn longed to go back in time, just a few hours, so that he could have insisted on telling Frodo about his last conversation with Arwen.
“Sam, boil some water. I must search for an herb to ease his pain. After that, we must move. The Enemy will be back. Keep guard over Frodo and do not move him.”
Aragorn drew his cloak close to his body and strode out of the dell without a backward glance. He could not afford to be rendered weak by the sight of Frodo shuddering in pain.
TBC
Title: Trapped in Bree 19/? PG13
Author: Claudia
Pairing: Frodo/Aragorn
Rating: R
Summary: Frodo arrives in Bree alone. Trouble escalates when a warrior lures Frodo into an abusive relationship, preventing him from continuing on his quest.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and make no money from them.
Story notes: It’s possible there are some movie quotes in here.
Trapped in Bree 19
“Mr. Frodo, you must stop being so stubborn. You’re apt to collapse and then what?”
“Let me be, Sam.” Frodo broke some twigs and threw them on the fire. Though dusk had not yet fallen, Strider had allowed them to build a fire, his thought being that it would likely keep the Enemy away. Or draw them to it like a moth, Frodo thought with a shudder. He stared into the distance. He did not like this place so high up that he could see for miles. He fancied if he strained his eyes hard enough he might be able to see curls of smoke from Bree. He felt exposed. Even the name -– Weathertop -– had an ominous resonance to it.
“You walked most of the day and now when Mr. Strider finds us a nice place to rest…Come, Mr. Frodo, let Pippin finish the fire.” When Frodo continued to break twigs, Sam put his hands on his hips, an irritated frown clouding his face.
Frodo was unable to resist a faint smile, but his voice was stern. “Sam, I’m tired of being fussed over. Let me be of some use.”
“You should know better, Sam,” Pippin said, rifling through his back for an apple. “Once Cousin Frodo gets something in his head, he makes the Sacksville-Bagginses look accommodating.”
Frodo frowned at him but said nothing. His nimble fingers continued to break apart twigs.
“Sam’s right,” Aragorn broke in. “One of the chief reasons we are camping before sundown is that we all need some rest, especially you, Frodo. You are not fully recovered, and being in the wilderness has not helped.” Aragorn gazed into the distance. “It makes me uneasy. I have seen no sign of the Enemy.” Aragorn shook his head and turned back to Frodo. “I insist that you rest now. We still have a fortnight of travel before us.”
Sam led Frodo by the arm to a nearby stone and helped him sit. He watched Aragorn walk away and the ache in his chest, which had never completely gone away since Aragorn had told him he was betrothed, expanded until he could barely breathe.
There was no hope left for him, even after he rid himself of the cursed Ring.
He pictured Bilbo sitting quietly reading, sipping tea. Frodo could not bear the prospect of watching his dear uncle’s face shatter when he found out what had happened to Frodo in Bree. He could not bear to tell Bilbo about how easily he had been tricked, how Oron had defiled him. He was too soiled for Bilbo, and he was certainly too soiled to return to the Shire. It hardly mattered that his friends had fiercely denied it. He knew it was true.
Through Aragorn, he had thought he had found solace, the hope that he could have a contented life outside the Shire with one who understood what had happened to him and would treat him with tender love. When he saw how much Aragorn cared for him, his heart had swelled with joy and possessiveness.
But Aragorn had crushed that hope with three words, and all had fallen into darkness.
*I am betrothed.*
Frodo released a harsh sigh, trying to hold back the tears. Bilbo had once told him that it was never wise to have too many expectations.
“All of life’s disappointments come because something expected did not come to be, lad. Always remember that. Expect nothing and you’ll live a happier life than most.”
At that long ago time, Frodo’s heart had been light, he had cupped his chin in his hands, and he had smelled bacon and eggs on the stove. “But isn’t that a rather grim way to live, Uncle?”
“Not always.” Bilbo had squeezed Frodo’s shoulder. “I never expected you…And yet here you are.”
Frodo’s throat closed. He had been so certain that Aragorn had wanted him. He clearly remembered Aragorn saying that the only way he would take Frodo is if he were willing in spirit and body…and under different circumstances. Now, like a cold splash of water over his chest, Frodo understood what he had meant by different circumstances. Frodo had been right to think that Aragorn had wanted him –- Aragorn’s comment and the long kiss they had enjoyed weeks ago proved that -- but nothing could ever come of it.
“Frodo.” Aragorn placed his hand on Frodo’s brow and sat beside him. His hand was warm and strong, and Frodo leaned into it. “How do you feel?”
Frodo forced himself to pull away from Aragorn’s touch, unable to meet the ranger’s gaze. “All right.”
“Your recovery has far exceeded my expectations, but I am concerned about what is happening here.” Aragorn placed a gentle hand on Frodo’s chest, causing the hobbit to shudder. How he longed for that hand to slip under his shirt again! “What happened to you in Bree will haunt you always--“
“Leave me in peace.” Frodo squeezed his eyes shut. He would not allow Aragorn to crush him again. Aragorn’s eyes were kind, but they were not filled with love.
“I wish to help,” Aragorn said.
Frodo turned to him fiercely. “You have done enough,” he hissed. “You should have let me die in Bree, for there my heart will be trapped.”
Aragorn took Frodo’s tense hand and squeezed it. “Why do you speak with such despair? It breaks my heart to hear it.”
Frodo laughed bitterly. “You need not make a pretense of caring. You were sent to protect the Ringbearer and you’ve done your job. I am well enough to carry the Ring to Rivendell. You need not worry about anything else.”
Aragorn’s jaw tightened, and Frodo was satisfied to see a flash of genuine hurt in his eyes. “I make no pretense. You are far more than the Ringbearer to me. You are Frodo Baggins…strong, brave, enduring…beautiful--”
Frodo let out a cynical laugh.
“There was more I wished to say that night,” Aragorn said in a hoarse voice, putting a gentle finger under Frodo’s chin, tilting the hobbit’s face toward his. “But you would not allow me to continue.”
“Why do you make it worse?” Frodo asked. “I am hurting enough. Will you not leave me in peace?”
Aragorn stared at him in troubled silence for several moments before nodding slightly and climbing to his feet. Frodo nearly called to him to come back, but his throat was too full.
***
The screech of the last Ringwraith resonated in Aragorn’s ears as he flung down his last torch and stamped the fire out. He tore across the dell to Frodo, cold fear weakening his muscles. He fell to his knees, and he could immediately see that the wound was bad. Frodo squeezed his eyes shut and let loose a chilling cry. Blood had spread over his shirt and vest, and his breath came out fast and shallow. Tears slipped down Sam’s cheeks as he clutched Frodo’s limp hand, and Frodo shuddered with a yelp that faded into a low moan. Sweat had drenched his brow, and his eyes looked glazed and unfocused.
“Oh, no,” Aragorn whispered, his throat closing.
“Strider…help him, please.” Sam gazed at him in naked terror. The hobbits looked more frightened than they had when Frodo had been near to death in Bree. Aragorn picked up the offending blade, and it disintegrated into black dust, burning his hand. He dropped it like a hot brand and turned back to Frodo. Frodo could not possibly endure this, not after all he had already gone through. No mortal could.
“He tried to fight them, Strider,” Merry said, his eyes wide and fearful.
“I should have saved him,” Pippin said, squeezing his eyes shut, still trembling. “I…I felt a cold breath over me and I felt I couldn’t move, not for anything.”
“Can’t you do something?” Sam pleaded.
“I can do very little here in the wilderness, Sam,” Aragorn said, trying to keep his voice steady. “He needs Elvish medicine as can only be given to him in Rivendell.”
“He’s going to die?” Pippin asked, tears filling his eyes.
“How can he make it?” Sam cried out. “You said Rivendell was a fortnight away. He’ll never make it!”
“No,” Merry said, shaking his head firmly. “He won’t die. He survived what happened to him in Bree and he’ll pull through this as well.” He squeezed Frodo’s cold hand. “He must.”
“Gandalf told me he was made of stern stuff,” Aragorn said. “He has so far more than proven that. He will fight this.”
But Aragorn was no longer certain that was true. He had heard the weak despair in Frodo’s voice earlier. Aragorn longed to go back in time, just a few hours, so that he could have insisted on telling Frodo about his last conversation with Arwen.
“Sam, boil some water. I must search for an herb to ease his pain. After that, we must move. The Enemy will be back. Keep guard over Frodo and do not move him.”
Aragorn drew his cloak close to his body and strode out of the dell without a backward glance. He could not afford to be rendered weak by the sight of Frodo shuddering in pain.
TBC