Deprived of Hope

by Henrika

Chapter Four

Chapter 4

Aragorn did not have an extra bedroll, and since Gandalf was lying on his, he had to manage through the night without one. He spread out his cloak on the cave floor next to Gandalf and decided to use some of his spare clothing for a pillow.

The wizard had not woken up once during the evening, and Aragorn began to fear that he might have given Gandalf too much of the sleeping herb. Well, there was nothing to be done about it now. Hopefully there would be some change for the better in the morning.

The Hobbits had obediently stayed far from Gandalf, only shooting furtive glances in his direction at times. Frodo had clearly been waiting for Gandalf to wake up and was disappointed when that did not happen. Now the Ringbearer was asleep on his own bedroll amongst his Hobbit friends. Gimli had the first watch this evening and was sitting near the cave entrance. The others were clearly asleep.

Aragorn tried to find a comfortable position on the hard stone ground, but so far he had not succeeded. Gandalf lay utterly still beside him, curled in a foetal position underneath the blanket. If he concentrated hard, he could hear the wizard’s calm, even breaths. He was still deeply asleep. Aragorn wished he could sleep too. His body demanded it, but his mind was wide-awake. The Orcs, Gandalf’s assault, the quest…

What would become of the quest now? With Gandalf injured like this, they would not be able to continue for weeks.

Questions to which he had no answers gnawed at Aragorn’s restless mind. He was just about to slip into an uneasy sleep, when he suddenly heard a choked sniffle originating from Gandalf. The wizard’s breaths revealed that he was no longer asleep. After hearing a second, stifled sniffle, Aragorn began to suspect that Gandalf was trying to hold back tears. Now that the effect of the drug was fading away, he had to be in terrible pain.

The Ranger was suddenly unsure of what to do. He wanted to offer his friend comfort, take him in his arms, and let him know that he wasn’t alone. He wanted it badly. Still, he hesitated. What if Gandalf did not want his comfort? Perhaps he was trying to choke his sobs because he didn’t want anyone to know that he was awake and conscious. That could be the case, but it could also be incorrect. Aragorn decided to act on his feelings.

“Gandalf?” he whispered softly, lightly touching the small lump beside him, hidden underneath the blanket. If Gandalf showed any signs of not wanting him close, he would comply and back off. But if his dear friend needed him, he had to show him that he was there.

“Gandalf, how are you, my dear? Do you want me to hold you?”

The lump trembled and another sniffle, now more like a sob, sounded in the dark. Aragorn passed his hand over soft, puffy hair and a slim shoulder. He moved closer to Gandalf until he was lying on the bedroll with half his body, his abdomen pressed lightly against the wizard’s back.

“Don’t worry, Gandalf…” he breathed into the wizard’s hair. “You’re safe now… Nobody will hurt you.”

Gandalf fought hard not to cry. He didn’t want to disturb the others, and he also didn’t want anyone to know he was crying. He didn’t want to attract attention at all. All he wanted was to disappear from the face of the earth. Aragorn already knew, though, and he could feel the Man’s hard body moving against his. The feeling was nice. He had always loved Aragorn’s body and his touch. Although after this Aragorn would probably not want to touch him as a lover again. Not after what happened. No one who knew would want that.

Aragorn felt reassured when Gandalf did not recoil from his touch. He kept his embrace as light as possible, afraid of brushing a sore spot. Gandalf shivered occasionally, and Aragorn could feel goose pimples forming on his skin. Then he remembered that the wizard was actually naked under the blanket. The nights were chilly, and Gandalf must be freezing. Aragorn gently lifted the blanket, giving Gandalf time to protest in case he didn’t want it. No objection came, however, and the Man moved to lie even closer to the wizard, wrapping his arm securely around his waist.

“Let me know if I hurt you,” he whispered in Gandalf’s ear. “But you are apparently cold, and I want to warm you.”

Gandalf managed a weak “thank you” and silently welcomed the Man’s closeness. His body ached, no doubt, but he was also suffering from the cold, and Aragorn was a source of heat. Darkness lay like a comforting blanket over them, and Gandalf was grateful that the others couldn’t see him clearly. He dreaded the morrow. Everybody would want to look at him, and there would be pity in their eyes.

Aragorn tried to go back to sleep. He had lain with Gandalf in his arms many times, but never for this reason. The wizard wasn’t beautiful by classic definitions, but he had always intrigued the Man in a way he could not define. Gandalf’s kind, old face, soulful blue eyes, the soft lines and wrinkles around his eyes and mouth… Traits that Aragorn had come to love over the years. He knew that Gandalf was an immortal, even though he was no Elf or even related to Elfkind. The wizard’s ears were rounded, as his own were, but he was clearly not related to Men either. Really, what was a “wizard”? He had thought about it many times and wanted to ask Gandalf about his heritage, but somehow he had never found the courage to do so.

Now it didn’t matter, though. Gandalf was hurt and needed him more than ever. Once again Aragorn wished that he had done more damage to the monsters that did this to his lover. Gandalf was a special being, and everyone who hurt him deserved to be punished.

Gandalf lay still, relieved when no more tears seeped from his eyes. Basically every part of his body throbbed vehemently with relentless pain, but he had no choice but to try and ignore it. Aragorn’s hand rested on his hip. He would have liked to place his own atop it and squeeze to show his gratitude, but his right hand ached too much for that. A simple gesture like moving his fingers made it feel as if someone were still twisting the dagger in the wound.

It took many hours, but finally Gandalf was able to fall asleep without the help of Aragorn’s sleeping herbs.

*~*~*

When Frodo woke up in the morning, most members of the Fellowship were already on their feet, either outside the cave to get some fresh air or inside, poking in their packs. Except one. Gandalf.

The Hobbit could see his wizard friend’s still body lying in a prone position near the dying fire. Really, how was he? Was he even alive? With growing fear, Frodo began to remember the grim look on Strider’s face when he had talked to them yesterday. Strider had said that it was serious, and Frodo had no reason to doubt him.

He had to see Gandalf. Now he didn’t care what the Ranger had said. Gandalf was his friend, and he had the right to see how he was doing.

Frodo was relieved to see Aragorn nowhere around. Quietly he rose and started to pad in Gandalf’s direction. The wizard didn’t move when he got close, which made him believe that Gandalf was still asleep. If he was, Frodo wouldn’t disturb him. He only needed to see his friend and make sure that he was alive.

Gandalf had a blanket over him, pulled up to his shoulder, leaving only his head visible. What Frodo saw made him cringe inwardly. Gandalf had a nasty, swollen black eye, and his skin was discoloured by large bruises and scrapes in many places. Still, he looked peaceful while sleeping, as if he wasn’t even aware of his own condition.

Frodo fell to his knees beside the sleeping wizard. He let his hand hover above Gandalf’s head, not touching but close enough to feel the warmth from his skin.

Oh, how badly he wished for Gandalf to get well! Why did this have to happen? Didn’t they have enough difficulties already, carrying the Ring to Mount Doom? How were they supposed to do that with Gandalf barely alive?

Frodo suddenly hated the smooth, golden object hanging around his neck with new fervour. If it wasn’t for the Ring, none of this had happened. Why did Bilbo have to find it in that wretched Gollum’s cave? Why? Why had he offered to take the Ring to Mordor? Why, why? It all sounded too much like a bad dream.

Gandalf slowly drifted out of his sleep to feel a small hand lightly stroking his hair. He opened his good left eye and saw Frodo, crouching beside him. The Hobbit was passing his hand over the wizard’s soft, silver hair.

“Good morning, Gandalf,” Frodo said softly. “Sorry if I woke you up, but I wanted to see how you were.”

Gandalf didn’t answer. He didn’t want to see the Hobbit at all. What could he say to Frodo? That he was in a miserable state and now a liability, a burden to the Fellowship? He didn’t want Frodo to know what had happened to him. But perhaps Aragorn had already told Frodo? Of course he had.

The wizard’s face began to twitch and wetness started to gather in the corners of his eyes. Frodo desperately tried to think of something to say to comfort Gandalf.

“Don’t cry, Gandalf…” he tried, caressing the wizard’s head. “Strider said that you will be alright. Do you… do you not want to see me?”

The look on Frodo’s face was miserable, to say the least. Gandalf felt a silent tear trickling down his cheek. “Frodo…” he whispered. “My dear Frodo… I just didn’t want you to see me like this…”

“Why not? I do not think any less of you now, Gandalf. You shouldn’t be ashamed. Strider told me about the Orcs. I am glad that they are dead.”

Gandalf wanted to say that he was glad too, but somehow the knowledge that his violators were dead brought him no joy.

“Can I bring you anything, Gandalf?” Frodo asked. “Anything?”

The ghost of a smile appeared on the old wizard’s lips. At least Frodo still loved him, and knowing that made him happy. “No, my dear Frodo. But thank you for asking.”

Frodo smiled faintly and leaned in to press a careful kiss against the wizard’s pale brow before getting up and withdrawing from Gandalf, slowly and quietly, as only a Hobbit could do. Aragorn would probably scold at him if he found out about this.

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