Deprived of Hope

by Henrika

Chapter Five

Chapter 5

Gandalf pretended to be asleep while he heard the others moving in and out of the cave, mostly because he didn’t want anyone to shoot curious looks in his direction. Obviously heeding Aragorn’s advice, everyone actually tried to give him peace. Gandalf’s body was hurting terribly, and he would have liked to ask Aragorn to give him more of the sedative herb.

The other members of the Fellowship were talking in hushed voices, and Gandalf suspected that he was the topic of their discussion. Of course, it was only natural. They didn’t mean any harm by doing it. They were all just afraid, shaken, and worried.

When the sun was setting behind the treetops, Aragorn approached the wizard to have another look at his injuries. Even if Gandalf was asleep, he would have to wake up now.

Gandalf opened his eyes when he recognized Aragorn’s steps and saw the Man crouching beside him. Aragorn managed to give him a faint smile.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

“Not well at all…” Gandalf sighed, thinking that he had to grimace from pain every time he tried to move. He was now able to open both his eyes as the swelling in his right eye had gone down somewhat. The skin around it still remained sore and discoloured, though.

“I would like to have another look at your injuries,” Aragorn stated. “Change your bandages, and…”

“What? Now?”

Aragorn’s gaze hardened slightly. He would not tolerate any objections. “Yes, now,” he insisted. “I must make sure you haven’t caught an infection.”

Gandalf realized that further objections were useless, so he allowed Aragorn to pull the blanket down and expose his body. He was still naked underneath and shivered when his skin came in contact with the chilly air inside the cave.

Aragorn slowly helped him into a sitting position, which made Gandalf clench his teeth. His bandages were loosened, and the Ranger slowly and carefully passed his rough, calloused fingers over the wizard’s healing wounds. He saw no signs of an infection anywhere, but it was still too early to tell.

“Are you hurting very much?” Aragorn asked compassionately when he saw Gandalf biting down on his lower lip and clenching his eyes shut when he examined the wound in the wizard’s right hand.

Gandalf managed to nod.

“I will give you something for it when we’re done here,” Aragorn promised. “Now I only need to check your backside as well.”

The wizard wanted to protest, but somehow he couldn’t find the strength it required. The ache in his rectum was unquestionably the worst of them all, and the mere thought of someone prodding him down there now… He would scream. He was certain of that. This time he would not be able to hold it back.

“Gandalf…” Aragorn placed a reassuring hand on the wizard’s shoulder when he noticed Gandalf’s dread. “I will try to be gentle. I know that you are hurting down there, but I really have to.”

Gandalf nodded. Aragorn slowly helped him turn onto his stomach and having made sure the wizard was lying still, he started to spread his buttocks. Gandalf whimpered softly. It already hurt terribly. Aragorn wasn’t sure what to think when he saw the result. Gandalf was no longer bleeding, which was a good thing, but his opening was still swollen, especially around the area of the stitches.

The Ranger used the kingsfoil water from the day before to dab the wound. Gandalf whimpered again but managed to stay still. Aragorn noticed his friend’s agony and started stroking him over the back to soothe him.

Poor Gandalf. Would he ever be able to make love again without thinking about this heinous rape? Aragorn wanted to be hopeful, but he somehow doubted it. Elves usually did not survive this particular humiliation but died of grief and shame only a short time later. Gandalf was not an Elf, but he might also have trouble getting over it.

“Alright, I am done now,” Aragorn said with a sigh. Gandalf emitted something that might have been a moan of relief and rolled onto his side, panting heavily.

“H—how did it look…?” the wizard asked worriedly.

“You are healing, but it will take some time,” the Man replied truthfully. “Tell me, Gandalf… Did they… all five of them…?”

Gandalf sniffled and looked down. “At least one used my mouth… The rest… I… I cannot remember. All I remember is that they hurt me. I tried to fight them, I really tried. I was reaching for Glamdring when they stabbed me in the hand…”

“Shhh, Gandalf, I know you did…” Aragorn said and enveloped the sobbing wizard in his arms. Gandalf leaned against him, breathing warmly down his neck. Under normal circumstances Aragorn always found that sensation highly arousing, but all he felt now was sympathy.

“I know that you tried to fight them,” Aragorn repeated, stroking his friend’s beautiful silver hair. “You needn’t tell me that. None of this was your fault. It could have happened to anyone of us. You were simply unlucky.”

“What will become of the quest?” Gandalf asked in a strangled voice. “I can’t… I am nothing but a burden to you now…”

“Don’t worry about it. We are not going anywhere until you have recovered.”

Gandalf shook his head. “No, Aragorn, you don’t understand. Sauron will not wait for me to get well. You have to keep moving. There is no time to lose. Aragorn… I cannot follow you in this state.”

“I will carry you, then,” the Man replied.

“No, Aragorn, you can’t,” Gandalf stated with a sigh. “Not all the time. You would exhaust yourself. We cannot let that happen. You have to lead them now. Nobody but Sauron would benefit from your collapsing from exhaustion.”

“Perhaps you underestimate me. I am strong, Gandalf. I can carry you.”

“If I were a Hobbit, maybe… And even if you could, would you really want to? Do you think the others would? No, Aragorn… You have no choice but to continue without me.”

“Gandalf, are you mad?!” Aragorn exclaimed. “Do you really believe that we would leave you here?”

“Let’s not discuss it now,” Gandalf said wearily. “I am tired. Also, could I please have some clothes? It is cold being naked in this weather.”

“Of course,” Aragorn replied and pulled Gandalf’s pack to him to search through it. “As you may know, your old clothes were torn, so…”

Oh, Gandalf had no trouble remembering *that*. The beasts had not even been patient enough to take his clothes off – they had torn them from his body.

Aragorn soon found out that Gandalf had not taken much spare clothing with him. All he could find in the wizard’s pack was a long nightshirt, given to him in Rivendell, and an extra pair of leggings.

“Give me the shirt,” Gandalf said. “I… I think I am too sore to wear leggings for some time ahead.”

Aragorn remembered Gandalf’s bruised testicles and concluded that it made sense. He handed the shirt to the wizard, but Gandalf, with his injured right hand, could not unbutton it. Gandalf simply let the garment fall onto his lap with an exasperated sigh. He wanted to ask Aragorn for help, but the words stuck in his throat. He was so utterly helpless. He couldn’t even get dressed on his own. What had happened to his staff? And Glamdring?

Without saying anything, Aragorn lifted the shirt and unbuttoned the first three buttons so that Gandalf would be able to get his head through. The wizard slid the garment on, murmuring a muffled “thank you” to Aragorn. To Gandalf it was a good feeling to be dressed again, although even the soft, light fabric of the shirt made his battered body hurt.

“Don’t be ashamed to ask for help, Gandalf,” Aragorn said seriously. “I know that you would do the same for me, if I were in your state.”

Gandalf sighed ruefully. “Yes,” he agreed. “I would, of course. But would you *like* it?”

Aragorn snorted softly, shaking his head. “Certainly not,” he said with a small smile. “I would hate it, I think. But you should know, Gandalf, that no one thinks any less of you because you are hurt.”

The wizard smiled weakly at the choice of words. “That is what Frodo told me,” he said.

Aragorn’s eyes widened, and his voice was suddenly sharp. “Frodo? You have talked to Frodo?”

“Yes. This morning. Don’t be angry with him, Aragorn. He was only concerned and wanted to see how I was. We talked for a few minutes. I suppose… I suppose that I didn’t want him to see me in this dreadful condition, but on the other hand I am happy that he came. It shows how deeply he cares for me.”

Aragorn’s expression softened, and he couldn’t help feeling sorry for the little Hobbit, always so spirited and kind. Frodo only cared for his wizard friend. He hadn’t meant any harm by defying Aragorn’s order not to get near Gandalf. Scolding Frodo wouldn’t help anyone.

“Frodo loves you and respects you,” the Ranger said. “This will not change that.”

“I know,” Gandalf admitted. “The only one who thinks less of me is I.”

“Why, Gandalf?”

“I guess I am not used to being tended to, being the patient… I know that you all saw me as your leader and guide on this journey, and now… I just don’t know what to do.”

Aragorn reached out, cupping the wizard’s cheek in his hand. “Gandalf, I will stand by you,” he said. “We will get through this. Alright?”

“I hope so,” Gandalf said with a rueful glance at the Man. He leaned into the touch, closing his eyes and letting his breath caress Aragorn’s wrist. He really yearned for the touch of his lover, despite his current infirmity. Although he was not sure Aragorn would ever be his lover again. Perhaps the wretched creatures had defiled him for all time. He would have liked to ask Aragorn if the Man would ever be able to feel desire for him again, but this was clearly not the time for that. The mere thought of sex made Gandalf cringe inside.

“Did you want something for the pain?” Aragorn suddenly asked, interrupting the wizard’s musings.

“Yes, please,” Gandalf said. “But no more sleeping herbs. I have slept enough.”

“Then let us see what we have here…” Aragorn started searching through his herbs used for medicine and drew out a small, leather pouch filled with a kind of dry, soft, chestnut-coloured powder. “This ought to do it,” he said, handing the pouch to Gandalf.

The wizard sniffed the contents suspiciously. “What is this?” he asked.

“Resin from an opium poppy,” Aragorn replied. “Trust me, it will ease your pain and help you sleep.”

Gandalf frowned. He knew of the powder derived from the opium poppy, and what he’d heard was not pleasant. Small amounts could indeed be used to ease a person’s pain, but too much was very dangerous. The herb was poisonous. Gandalf knew of Men who had been given too much opium and died of it. Besides, the drug was known to create addiction problems, many times worse than those caused by pipeweed.

“I don’t think I want any,” he finally said. “Too much is very dangerous and the limit is very thin. Why are you carrying that around, Aragorn?”

“I take it myself occasionally, when I am in pain and unable to sleep. It is like pipeweed, but many times more potent,” the Ranger replied. “Why do you not…”

“It is highly addictive,” Gandalf said. “If you take too much of it, and too often, you will soon need it to survive. I have never tried it myself, although I have heard stories. I don’t think you should take it either.”

Aragorn smiled reassuringly but respected Gandalf’s choice and put the pouch with the opium resin away. “Be calm, Gandalf; Elrond taught me to be a skilled healer. I would never abuse any of my healing herbs. I know about opium as well, and I never give it without a strong cause. But since I care for you, and since you are in obvious pain, I thought…”

“I appreciate your concern, Aragorn. Truly. You know, perhaps if I smoked some pipeweed, I might start feeling better.” The wizard was about to ask Aragorn to hand him his pipe, but then he recalled that he had been smoking when he was ambushed by the Orcs in the forest. Probably they had wrecked his pipe along with everything else.

“Do you know where my pipe is, Aragorn?” he asked, clinging to a vain hope. It was shattered as soon as Aragorn answered.

“No, alas. I wasn’t exactly looking for it when I found you there.”

Gandalf gave a saddening sigh. “No, I quite understand,” he said. “But it can’t hurt to ask, right?”

His old friend looked so grief-stricken that Aragorn got an ache in his heart. Really, was there nothing he could do to make Gandalf feel better, at least spiritually?

“I still have my pipe,” he then said. “You can borrow it, if you like.”

Gandalf looked up with a somewhat less grief-stricken expression. “You are too kind, Aragorn.”

The Ranger smiled. “Just until we can get you a new one.”

*~*~*

From a distance, the Hobbits watched the slow, quiet dance of smoke rings through the air. Turning their heads to see the origin of the rings, they were surprised to discover that Gandalf was responsible for creating them. With Aragorn next to him, the wizard was sitting deep inside the cave, blowing smoke rings.

“Look, Frodo,” Pippin said eagerly. “Gandalf is smoking again. That has to mean he’s feeling better, right?”

Frodo couldn’t help smiling at his younger cousin’s enthusiastic countenance. “Yes,” he said slowly. “It does.”

~ send feedback to henrika ~  on to part Six ~ return to fics page ~