What Blooms in Ithilien

Title: What Blooms in Ithilien 3/?
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 liberties willtaketaken with characters and dialogue, etc.-that’s why it’s called fan fiction ;-)

What Blooms in Ithilien 3


"Where did he drink the water, Sam?" Faramir asked as they walked swiftly through the woods. "You didn't drink out of any of the streams, did you?"

Sam looked up, his face paling. "Is there something wrong with the streams, sir? Have I done something wrong by making him drink?"

Faramir looked down at the hobbit in pithat hat were these innocent creatures doing so close to the border of Mordor? He longed to ask but he had promised himself not to until Frodo was well. He knew what his father would say to that. He would say he was soft and inadequate to the job, that war was not the time to be merciful. If his father was here, he would have ordered the halflings bound and trussed back to Minis Tirith and possibly slain--and what an unjust waste of life! Faramir would not be able to look at himself in a mirror if he had acted so hastily, more like the Enemy than the captain of a noble army.

"Sam, these streams come directly from Mordor. The Enemy has been poisoning them for thousands of years. There is no safe water, save some pools. How much did he drink, and did you have any?"

"I wasn't very thirsty," Sam said, tears streaming down his face. "I just had a sip or so, but Frodo drank about five large cups full. He was so thirsty and I just kept making him swallow more. I've killed him then!"

"Sam," Faramir said softly, putting his hand on Sam's shoulder. "I will do everything in my skill to help him. We have fresh water at our camp. Consider it good fortune that you have met me."

"I do," Sam said, wiping his eyes. "If you can save him, then I'll be forever at your service, Captain Faramir."

Frodo writhed in Faramir's arms. Faramir looked down in concern. Frodo's face was a ghastly shade of gray, and his eyes were pinched.

"Please...pain...sick," Frodo gasped. Faramir kneeled on the ground and flipped Frodo over so that he could expel the contents of his stomach. Faramir rubbed his back in a soothing manner, remembering that when he was a small child, his mother had done the same for him when he was ill. Frodo heaved again and again. It seemed impossible that the small hobbit had enough inside him that he could expel alat lat liquid. It was going to be critical to replace the fluid in his body. Rapid dehydration would be the chief concern, especially in one so small.

When Frodo was finished, he gasped, clutching Faramir in exhaustion. Faramir lifted him again and continued at a faster pace. Sam had to trot to catch up. They were still nearly five miles away from the camp, and Frodo appeared to be getting sicker.

By the time they reached the hidden campsite, Frodo was unconscious. Scores of men stared in open curiosity at the two halflings, especially the very ill one unconscious in Faramir's arms. Faramir ignored their questions. He knew that he had to get liquids into Frodo and fast. He felt another jab of guilt. He had been much too harsh with him. He had forced the halfling to walk over a mile when he was severely ill. Logically he knew that it would have been worse for Frodo if Faramir had not found him. He would have died in the wild, no question. Sam wouldn't have had the resources to save him. As it was, Faramir was uncertain whether he had the healing skills to counter the noxious poisons the Enemy dumped into the streams.

Faramir carried Frodo to the back of the cave, which was divided from the rest of the camp with a tent-like cloth. Faramir placed Frodo gently in the middle of a large bed. He lit candles and started a fire. Under the flickering light, Frodo's face looked sickly and pained. His long lashes brushed clammy skin just under his eyes. Faramir's breath caught in his throat. Despite his ghastly appearance, he was beautiful. A purity of soul seemed to glow from his translucent skin. Faramir would pay any amount to know why such a beautiful, innocent soul was wandering around in such rough country.

Frodo's eyes opened, such a stunning, gorgeous blue, the color of summer skies, a contrast to the sickly hue of his face.

"Where...what happened?" he muttered.

"I'm going to take care of you. You're very ill." Faramir brushed his hand over Frodo's forehead. Frodo looked around in confusion. Frodo patted his vest pocket as if he were worried about losing something. He seemed to have found what he was looking for, and his face relaxed.

"Where's Sam?"

"He's washing up. He'll be with you soon."

Frodo swallowed several times. His eyes shut again, clearly fighting off dizziness or more nausea.

"I'm going to be sick again," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

Faramir moved quickly. He had found a large tin pan. He climbed on the bed beside Frodo and held the halfling's head over the tin. Despite the unpleasantness of the scene, he found himself in wonder of the silky texture of Frodo's curls. Again, he rubbed Frodo's back in a soothing manner while Frodo vomited again and again. The skin at the back of his neck felt hot to the touch. A high fever was developing rapidly. When Frodo was done throwing up, Faramir helped set him back down against the pillow. ipediped a wet cloth over Frodo's mouth.

He held a glass of water toward Frodo's parched lips.

"All right, Frodo. I need you to drink this cup."

Frodo shook his head. "No. I can't."

"If you don't, you will die," Faramir said gruffly. He had never been able to mince words, and he was too desperate to try now.

Frodo's eyes closed. "Good. Then I won't suffer any longer."

Faramir tried a different approach. "Are you willing to put me at the mercy of Sam if I let you die?"

***

Frodo knew he was going to die. He was detached and weak and no longer knew how to fight the pain that battered his abdomen. He wanted to let go. His eyes burned. At least now he was in a soft bed. If he died, the Ring would be safe. Sam would take it and finish the quest. The man who had initially threatened to slay them now spoke in a kind voice. There was something familiar about him, something that reminded him of another, though he simply couldn't think clearly enough to make a connection. He only knew that he did not want the man to leave him. He wanted to hear his soothing voice, to feel his large but gentle hands on his body, rubbing his back and helping him through the worst pain.

He opened his eyes and tried desperately to smile at the man. He didn't really want to die. He wanted to get better so that he could talk with this man with the voice that could penetrate the pain in his body.

"All right," he muttered. "I'll try to drink the water."

Faramir helped Frodo up enough so that he could drink the water without choking. Frodo leaned against the hard muscles of Faramir's chest and allowed himself to sink back into him. Faramir gently tilted the halfling's chin back so that he could easily swallow the water. Frodo drank the whole cup and lay back on the pillow.

"Thank you," he whispered. Faramir was staring down at him with a kind expression. Frodo's stomach rolled again, and he shut his eyes. "Don't...don't leave me."

"I won't," Faramir said. "I'm going to be here when you wake. Try to sleep, Frodo. You are safe here, as safe as you can possibly be in this land."

TBC