What Blooms in Ithilien

Title: What Blooms in Ithilien 4/?
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 will be taken with characters and dialogue, etc.-that’s why it’s called fan fiction ;-)

What Blooms in Ithilien 4


Faramirnedrned back to the bed to find Frodo smiling at him. His luminous blue eyes looked alert. Faramir's heart lifted at the sweet sight of the hobbit's smile. He hoped that meant the fresh water had eased Frodo's stomach. He had learned some about halflings from Gandalf, who had indulged him with tales when he was an impressionable boy. He remembered that hobbits were supposed to be far more resiliant than they appeared.

"Why are you smiling?"

"I'm just thinking about the stereotypes we have about men in the Shire. You seemed to fit them at first, but now you don't at all. Most puzzling."

Faramir sat at the edge of the bed. "So, what impressions do you have about men in the Shire?"

Frodo blushed. His lips were still white and dark circles marred the creamy skin under his eyes. His hands trembled. His light dialogue was clearly a ruse to distract himself from the pain he must be in. Faramir's heart swelled. He could use more men with Frodo's endurance among his own band of fighters.

"Are you sure you want to know?" Frodo asked. Faramir saw in his blue eyes a glimmer of the sweet charm he imagined that Frodo must exude under normal circumstances. Faramir reached over and brushed Frodo's curls back from his forehead. He let his fingers slide down Frodo's cheek. Only reluctantly did he pull away. It had been a natural act, something he might have done to a child. Frodo did not take offense. He merely smiled again.

"Yes," Faramir said. "I want to know."

"We think they're big and clumsy and loud. And that they lose their tempers and kill each other over the silliest reasons. We believe they're not...well...very learned."

"And I don't fit this?"

Frodo shook his head. "No. You're very much like a large hobbit, only you carry weapons and wear shoes."

Faramir could not hide a chuckle. "I'll take that as the biggest compliment I could receive from you. Do you wish to know what we in Gondor think of halflings?"

"Only good things, I know."

"They eat too much, they are defenseless, they're like children both in stature and attitude, they can do magic." Frodo's lips curved in a new smile at that last. "But I won't insult you be saying that you are like a small man, only without shoes."

His hand brushed over Frodo's hairy foot, which he had stuck out from under the covers.

He expected Frodo to laugh at that last, but Frodo had paled. He clutched the coverlet. His face had turned ashen.

"Frodo?" Faramir said in concern. He leaned over Frodo, putting his hand on his brow.

"It hurts," Frodo gasped, grabbing his abdomen and curling into an agonized ball. Faramir barely had time to help him lean over the pan before he vomited so violently that he cried out in the pain it caused his ribs. Faramir held him, one muscular arm wrapped around Frodo's slim chest, the other hand smoothing back the hobbit's curls from his sweaty brow. When Frodo was finished throwing up, he collapsed in Faramir's arms, unable to control the wretched spasms that wracked his small body.

"Shhh, shh," Faramir said, holding him tightly, rubbing his arms to try to soothe his poor body. His lips brushed over Frodo's head and he kissed him several times. His heart swelled in pity. He would do anything to have the power to take this pain away from Frodo.

"Thank you," Frodo whispered, thoroughly weakened. He closed his eyes and slipped into a feverish doze. Faramir knew that Frodo's life was in serious danger. The halfling couldn't even hold simple water down. Faramir watched Frodo's chest rise and fall in quick, shallow breaths. His skin was translucent, so delicate. Faramir's heart ached fiercely as he wondered once again what mission had sent him so far into the dark land. What would become of him in the end? Faramir longed to know what his burden was so that he could relieve him of it. He wished to send him back to his peaceful land. Then even if he never saw him again, he would know that at least he was safe in the Shire. He simply could not bear to watch him die from the noxious poisons of the enemy.

He stepped outside, deciding to make certain Sam was all right and to make sure he found his way back to Frodo. He ran into Anborn just outside the cave.

"What is going on with the prisoners?"

"Call them guests."

Anborn's eyes hardened. "Whatever you call them, they cannot come and go of their free will."

Faramir's face hardened. Anborn had been one of Boromir's closest friends. He had been more the boy that his father would have wanted as a second son. He was no wizard's pupil. He thrived on hard battle strategy and the taking of no prisoners. Faramir hated to admit it to himself, but lately Anborn had been more and more in the Steward's favor.

Faramir's voice was gruff as he addressed him. "Frodo is very ill and Sam will not leave him. We have no security issues to worry about."

"You could not quickly assess why these halflings are so far from home, wandering around near the border of Mordor? At least question the one who is not ill!"

"I will not. From what I gather, Samwise is merely following the other because he is loyal. Frodo will need to be questioned, and I will not do so until he is fit for it. We are not orcs and we can afford some compassion."

"You are taken by him," Anborn said with a cold smile. Faramir looked up guiltily. Had he been so obvious? But it could not be. He had only realized how complicated his feelings for Frodo were while they were alone inside the tent.

"I am not sure what you mean."

"The Lord Denethor will not be happy with this arrangement. He would decree that at the very least you send these halflings back to Minis Tirith for questioning. I personally do not trust them. They may do magic. I've heard that they can disappear to avoid the sight of men. If they slip out of our keeping, the entire camp could be in danger."

"Anborn, who is the captain of this army?" Faramir disliked throwing the weight of his power in front of his brother's friend, but he was developing a pounding headache, and he could no longer bear Anborn's attitude.

"Very well, my captain," Anborn said with a cold bow. He walked away. Faramir felt a stab of childish guilt. This would get back to his father. His father would not be pleased with how he had handled this. If Boromir were here--tears filled his eyes at the thought of his headstrong brother. His brother would know how to handle the situation to his father's liking. He would not have slain or forced the halflings into a cruel march to Minis Tirith while the one was ill. But somehow he would have chosen the correct action. His eyes blurred as he allowed himself a moment to indulge the grief he felt when he realized once again that he would never again see his brother's open, kind face.

Sam trotted in his direction. Faramir smiled at the sight of the small hobbit trotting fearlessly through the throngs of so many warriors.

"Mr. Frodo! Mr. Frodo, I'm coming!"

"Wait!" Faramir stopped him. "Frodo is having a rough time and has just slipped into a doze. Let us allow him a moment of peace from his agony."

"Faramir, is he going to be all right?"

"I'll be honest with you. I was on my way to get some herbs that are supposed to curb nausea. We must replace the liquids in his body or he's not going to make it."

Sam's lips quivered. He looked at Faramir, pleading in his eyes. "What can I do to help? I'll do anything."

"Very well," Faramir said. "I'm going to need you to help me concoct a tea that Frodo will be able to keep down."

Faramir hated to leave Frodo alone in the cave, lying in an exhausted stupor, but he had no choice. He looked back in longing. Sam looked up at him in full trust. Faramir flushed in shame. If Sam had any idea of the impure thoughts he was having about his dearest friend, the trust--so precarious at best--would be gone.

TBC