For claudia603:


Whispers


Frodo shakes abominably in the darkness, silent but for the slight susurration of panicked breath. Aragorn covers his shoulders with an arm and whispers, "What is it, Frodo? Are you ill?"

The hobbit stutters, lightly, "It sees me, it sees me, Strider." Now instinctively he pulls Frodo in close. He curls up against Aragorn like a child, alarming the Ranger. Fragile or not? I don't know anymore. Lips grazing the soft neck, he whispers, "It sees, but it does not know. Be at peace, Frodo. You will yet be safe." Far into the night, he holds the shaking body in his arms.

Later, lying out in the grey just before dawn, he dreams warm, fitful glimpses. Of touching skin, of light, the movement of limbs. Pale, dark, the glitter of sapphire eyes, and his own name on a whispered breath. He wakes hot to the cold air and thinks, Arwen.

But then he rolls onto his side, and looks up to see the Ringbearer gazing at him, lips parted, eyes full of shadows.