What Blooms in Ithilien

Title: What Blooms in Ithilien 2/?
Author: Claudia
Pairing: Frodo/Faramir
Rating: PG13 up to NC-17 in later chapters
Summary: An ill Frodo is captured by Faramir. Love blooms.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and make no money from them. ANY reference to herbs or treatment is purely made up. I haven't a clue, so don't try it at home :).
Story notes: Many libertwillwill be taken with characters and dialogue, etc.-that’s why it’s called fan fiction ;-)

What Blooms in Ithilien 2


The voices grew louder. Frodo cringed as the crunch of leaves and twigs under heavy feet grew closer. In seconds, they were surrounded by four tall men carrying swords and bows.

Sam scrambled to his feet, bravely drawing his sword. Frodo gasped for breath. His stomach churned, and his mouth filled with saliva. He swallowed several times. A wave of dizziness overwhelmed him and he leaned his head back, groaning. He did not want to get sick in front of all these men.

The men stopped in amazement when they saw the two halflings.

"What is this?" one of them asked. He kept his arrow pointed at Sam and Frodo. "Faramir, should I shoot?"

"Hold your arrows a moment," the tall, graceful man who had been called Faramir said. He kneeled in front of Sam. He glanced down at Frodo, puzzled. He clutched Sam's arm, causing him to drop his sword.

"Who are you and what leave do you have to walk through Ithilien?"

Frodo tried to drag himself to a sitting position, but he felt too weak. He slumped down again. Sam looked at him, uncertain of what to say. Frodo swallowed again before speaking.

"We are hobbits from the Shire," he managed softly. "I am Frodo and this is Samwise. But our business is not to be revealed."

Faramir released Sam and turned his attention to Frodo, recognizing him as the leader. Frodo's vision was blurry. Despite the danger, he found it difficult to focus. He was going to vomit again.

Faramir's voice belied the gentleness of his intelligent gray eyes. "I'm afraid that your answer is not good enough. I have direct orders from the Steward of Gondor to slay anyone who does not have his leave to travel in these lands. My heart tells me you are not from Mordor. But I suggest thf yof you value your lives that you speak quickly and to our satisfaction. Now on your feet, I wish to question you, but not here."

Frodo hoped he was right, in that Faramir acted much sterner than he felt in his heart. What an ill fate, if he was to be defeated at the gates of Mordor by people who were supposedly on the side of good! He groaned and closed his eyes again.

"Can't you see he is very ill?" Sam broke in. "He cannot walk. Please just let us be, Mr. Faramir. I promise you we don't come from Mordor."

"And I promise you that I am being as merciful as I can. I am already disobeying orders by allowing you to live. Now on your feet."

Frodo groaned as Sam hauled him to his feet. Frodo staggered and leaned heavily against Sam. He collapsed to his knees. A dull but persistent cramping had started in his belly. His face was clammy. He shivered, and Sam wrapped his cloak tightly around him. Sam gathered both his pack and Frodo's. As heavily burdened as Sam was, he still managed to keep up with the men. Frodo felt morbidly indifferent as he sagged against Sam. His stomach hurt with new wretchedness, and he found himself almost wishing the men would slay them.

"Come, Mr. Frodo," Sam said. "We'll rest soon. They can't go on all day."

They staggered for only about twenty or thirty minutes. Several times Faramir looked back. He tried to look stern, but Frodo saw a glimmer of pity in his gray eyes. Finally they pushed into a grassy clearing.

"We will stop here." Faramir sat on the log of a dead tree. "Frodo, stand in front of me please. No, wait. We will sit on the ground face to face. You are obviously not well and I will not force you to stand."

Frodo obeyed, sinking to his knees into the grass, holding one arm over his belly. The pain had escalated into wretched cramping. He knew he must look terrible. His stomach rolled insistently and he knew he had to empty his stomach again. He would not throw up in front of this grave young man. He managed to jump to his feet and stumble away from him, toward the edge of the clearing.

Something solid slammed into his side, taking his breath away, and he was knocked to the ground with brutal force. His arms were wrenched behind him and a knee dug into his back. Sam cried out in the background.

"Easy," he heard Faramir say from a distance. "Don't hurt him!"

"Shall I bind him?" the man who had wrestled him to the ground asked.

Frodo threw up then, emptying his stomach onto the ground. He looked up, gasping for breath. He didn't care how undignified he looked. He wished for death. He closed his eyes, praying that the man would just cut his throat. Then everything would be over--the pain, nausea, the weariness.

***

Faramir looked down at the obviously ill halfling. His blue eyes were bloodshot and full of desperate misery. He cringed at the sight of the vomit just outside his half open mouth. Faramir felt like the worst kind of bully. He had always wanted to be kind to those in need, those weaker than himself. These halflings were no threat. The least he could do was to nurse this lovely dark-haired one back to health, and give the other some food and rest. Later he could question them. There was something poignant and sweet in the huge blue eyes of the sick halfling lying in the grass.

"No, Anborn, don't bind him. He is very ill. Let us take him back to the camp. I will treat him to the best of my abilities. I will question them later."

Faramir lifted Frodo from the ground and slung him over his shoulder. He weighed next to nothing. Sam looked up at him in a beseeching manner.

"Please don't hurt him, Mr. Faramir. He's been through too much."

"I'm not going to hurt him, Samwise. I'm going to try to help him. Just follow me. Has he been vomiting long?"

Faramir saw in Sam's eyes deep fear, though it was not of him. It was fear for Frodo's health. Faramir was struck by how deep this friendship must be. The halflings obviously allowed themselves to be more openly affectionate with each other. It was something men could learn.

"No, just since right before you found us."

"What has he eaten?"

"Why, almost nothing, sir. He's not been too hungry lately. He's had a really tough time lately. He just had a bunch of water right...before--Faramir, do you suppose he could have been poisoned by the water?"


TBC