What Blooms in Ithilien

Title: What Blooms in Ithilien 10/11
Author: Claudia
Pairing: Frodo/Faramir
Rating: PG13
Summary: An ill Frodo is captured by Faramir. Love blooms.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and make no money from them.
Story Notes:

I know it’s been a super long time since I’ve updated this story, but at last this story is coming to an end! Just one more chapter after this! If you’ve forgotten the beginning part of this story, it can be found at:

www.rosiesamfrodo.com/~claudia

or on the frodo_slash archive at

www.rosiesamfrodo.com/~frodo_slash/

Thanks again, to the best beta-ers in the world, Trianne and Baranduin!!

What Blooms in Ithilien 10

“Frodo.” Faramir’s insistent voice broke into Frodo’s warm, dreamless sleep. “Frodo, you must wake up now.”

Frodo forced his eyes open. He had been so snug in Faramir’s arms that he had slipped into a deep sleep, not noticing when the Man had left the bed. Now Faramir was fully dressed and leaning over him, his eyes alert, darting back for forth.

“Is something wrong?” Frodo asked, propping himself on one elbow. He was happy to see Faramir, but he could tell by the tension in Faramir’s shoulders that there was no way that the Man was coming back to bed.

“You must come now,” Faramir said in a low voice. “There is a small matter on which I need your counsel.”

Frodo’s heart sped as he pulled himself out from under the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He had to stop and catch his breath for a moment, as he still felt weak and sluggish from his recent violent illness. He wished more than ever that he was finished with his journey, that he could rest under the cozy covers of Faramir’s bed until he felt refrd and and well. “All right. What is the matter? Where is Sam?”

“I would rather not say…not yet. You must follow me. And do not worry about Sam. He is safe.”

“You are very mysterious,” Frodo said with a nervous smile, but Faramir remained silent, causing Frodo’s stomach to turn in trepidation.

Frodo climbed to his feet and wrapped his cloak tightly around him. He followed Faramir through the dark cave, where men slept on mattresses, covered only by their cloaks. Frodo and Faramir walked out the cave mouth until they reached a narrow ledge. Faramir took Frodo’s hand. “Careful,” he said, his voice barely audible. “The rocks can be slick.”

“Why have you brought me here?” Frodo asked. The fine mist from the waterfall sprayed his face, and he shivered, longing again for the warmth of the bed. In the moonlight, the waterfall glimmered silver, like Elven veils.

Faramir pointed down to the pool. “Look.”

Anborn strode out of the shadows, and Frodo jumped, letting out a sharp gasp. The Man’s eyes were ruthless as he looked down on the hobbit. “We wait only for your command to shoot, Captain.”

“Wait,” Faramir said quietly.

“Shoot?” Frodo looked up in alarm. “What is this a?”
?”

Staring down at the dark pool, he saw why Faramir had brought him here. There, diving and fishing in the misty dark pool, was Gollum, who had skulkeay tay the day Frodo had fallen ill. The dark, slinking figure dove in and out of the water, muttering to himself, his wretched voice echoing eerily up the cliff. Frodo gasped when he caught the gleam of arrows poised in bent bows.

“No,” he said to Faramir, clutching his arm. “I beg you, do not shoot!”

“Why?” Faramir said. “Why should I spare him?”

Frodo’s legs began to tremble. He had not yet told Faramir anything about Gollum, and he did not wish to now, in front of Anborn and his other Men. “He is bound to me. And I to him. He is our guide.”

“Your guide,” Faramir repeated, his brow creasing with puzzled worry. “You said nothing of this in all our talks.”

“Shall we not shoot?” Anborn asked again. “To look upon this pool bears the penalty of death.”

Frodo’s grip on Faramir’s arm tightened. “Let me go down to him. Please.”

Anborn did not take pains to hide his sneer, but Frodo kept his eyes on Faramir.

“Damrod,” Faramir called. “Lead Frodo to the pool.”


***

Fir wir watched Frodo balance precariously on the slick rocks as he whispered gently to the gangrel creature. What could Frodo have meant by saying that he was bound to this wretched thing? Surely this creature was treacherous and dangerous. Frodo would be better off should a stray arrow happen to hit it. Faramir felt immediate shame, feeling as devious as the creature itself, which was definitely wretched, unaware of its danger. Could it be that this creature was tied up with the Ring somehow?

Frodo’s foot slipped, causing him to stumble a little.

Faramir started, his face turning cold with fear, and he thrust his arm out as if he could steady Frodo, though the hobbit was far out of his reach. “Have a care, have a care,” he hissed under his breath. If Frodo fell, it would be nearly impossible to save him. That creature would be his only hope.

Frodo had just begun to back up, and the creature was following him with a raw fish in his mouth, when the twang of an arrow being released broke the silence.

“Hold!” Faramir shouted, no longer concerned with stealth. It was too late, and his chest filled with icy terror as the arrow struck Frodo in the center of his back, knocking him forward onto the rock. Gollum hissed and slipped into the pool, slithering to the far shore like an eel. More arrows flew in the direction of Gollum, but the creature was too quick. He darted amongst the rocks and disappeared.

Faramir descended the sharp, rocky path, barely caring where his feet fell, his heart beating cold in his chest. When he reached the pool, Frodo was still slumped forward on the rock, but there was no arrow sticking out of his back.

Of course, Faramir remembered with near debilitating reli His His mithril shirt! Faramir’s legs threatened to give out, and he stumbled, ruefully noting that he was not following his own advice about having a care on the slick rocks. He curled his hands into fists to stop the trembling and tried to still the pounding in his heart. If not for the mithril shirt, then…he could not bear to complete the thought.

Faramir ran to Frodo, and he found him conscious but dazed. Hespedsped Frodo’s shoulders, turning the halfling around to face him. “Are you hurt? Were you hit?”

“I don’t know what happened,” Frodo said in a slurred voice. Then his eyes widened in alarm. “Where is Gollum? He wasn’t shot, was he?”

“One of my men accidentally shot you, but your maiirt irt seems to have saved you. And the creature…Gollum…he seems to have fled.”

Frodo smiled wearily. “I am sorry, Faramir.”

Faramir leaned heavily against Frodo, embracing him tightly. “You cannot imagine…” He wiped his forehead. “The fear that filled my heart…” He kissed Frodo, not caring that all his men could see.

“It is unfortunate,” Frodo said, moving his mouth away from Faramir’s, distracted by Gollum’s disappearance. “The poor wretched creature does not think highly of Men. But I do not think he is a danger to you. He has but one thing on his mind, and once I am on my way, he will bend all his thought on following me.”

“Are you able to walk?” Faramir asked, helping Frodo to his feet. Frodo nodded, holding his chest, trying to catch his breath.

Back at the top of the cliff, Faramir met Anborn, and when he looked into the warrior’s eyes, he saw livid loathing. That arrow had not been an accident.

Faramir strove to keep his voice even. “What did you mean, firing that shot and ruining ouealtealth?”

“What do you mean, Captain?”

“Allow me to count your arrows,” Faramir said.

“I apologize,” Anborn said, bowing stiffly to Frodo. “It was indeed my arrow, but it was a careless mistake on my behalf. I am relieved you are unhurt, Halfling.”

Faramir stared hard at Anborn, knowing that the man had intended to kill Frodo, not because he truly felt the halfling was a threat, but because he had caused this rift between him and his captain. Anborn bowed awkwardly again and left.

“Friend of Boromir or not, I will rid my company of him,” Faramir said, his lips in a grim line.

“He has a strong hatred toward me,” Frodo said. “Once I am gone, your problem with him will also cease.”

“That may be so, but I cannot trust a soldier who would turn on his captain for whatever reason,” Faramir said. “Come, Frodo, I must prepare you and Sam to leave, much as it pains my heart. It is no longer safe for you here.”

“Sam must be so worried,” Frodo said, and he looked up at Faramir, his eyes wide and pleading. “Please do not tell him about what happened at the pool.”

“I will not,” Faramir said, and he felt something is cis chest hitch. How he wished he could keep the halfling with him always, out of danger, a sweet haven to come to when the fighting was rough. He knelt before Frodo, grasping his shoulders. “You must promise to survive this, Frodo. You must come back to me.”

“I can make no promises…neither can you,” Frodo said, his blue eyes dull and bleary. “Our paths will lead us into darkness, and I can foresee nothing beyond that.”

“I take no comfort from such talk,” Faramir said. “But I will cling to the hope that one day soon we shall sit together under a new sun and laugh about these dark times. Come, let us find Sam.”


***

Faramir pulled Frodo to him, unmindful of Sam’s nearness, and slid his arms tightly around the hobbit’s waist. He captured Frodo’s lips in his, hungrily pressing his lover against his chest, unable to release him. This was the time of farewell, but he knew the moment he let go, his love would slip away, perhaps forever.

Frodo had survived Anborn’s arrow, and Faramir tucked that away in his heart as a sign. This hobbit was tougher than he appeared. He had borne the Ring this far through many dangers, and he had survived. He had recovered from a poisoning that should have killed him. Faramir locked eyes with Frodo, lost in the sweet trust, and his heart sank. He prayed that nothing in Mordor would have the power to strike down that purity. That would be the biggest stroke of evil.

“We must go,” Frodo murmured, and he nuzzled against Faramir. Faramir’s arms felt like weights. He could not unlock them from behind Frodo’s waist, he could not step back.

Finally he sighed and released Frodo. They stood gazing into each other’s eyes for many long moments.

In the end, he could think of nothing more to say than, “Go, Frodo, with the good will of all Men.”

***

“So that’s that,” Sam said. “The whole thing seems like a dream already, and I can’t say I’m disappointed it’s over, seeing how sick you were and all.”

Frodo could not answer. Standing under the boughs of the woods, his throat and chest ached with the misery of parting. If he spoke, he knew he would burst into tears. To him, it was not a dream, but an oasis of bliss that had been suddenly ripped away, flinging him into the brutal desert.

“Mr. Frodo? Are you all right? Is your stomach all right? It seems you didn’t have nearly enough time to rest.”

Finally Frodo was able to speak. “My stomach is fine. Let us go on, Sam. We have a long dark path ahead.”


TBC