What Blooms in Ithilien
folder
-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
2,331
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Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
2,331
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 6
Title: What Blooms in Ithilien 6/?
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 6
Frodo shuddered and opened his eyes. The pain barraged his abdomen as if giant hands had squeezed all his insides together. And under the burgeoning pain, he felt saliva building in his mouth. He was going to be sick and he didn't think he had the strength to pull himself up. He struggled on his elbows. mir mir was beside him in an instant, helping him to bend over the pan. Frodo threw up nine times in a row. He knew the exact number because in order to divert his mind from the pain, he counted. There was almost nothing in his stomach, and the last four times had been dry heaves. From the corner of his eye, he saw Sam watching with tears streaming down his face. A wave of dizziness overwhelmed Frodo, and he sagged against Faramir, who held him in a tight embrace. Frodo clutched Faramir's hands, struggling for equilibrium. His heart sank. When last he had looked into Faramir's eyes he had seen cold detachment. Faramir would never forgive him if he thought Frodo had anything to do with Boromir's death.
Boromir's death. Tears sprang to Frodo's eyes as he groaned again, preparing for another round of vomiting. He recalled his last vision of Boromir--the rabid hatred on his face, the low animal-like growl in his throat as he had flung himself at Frodo. Just before Boromir had attacked, Frodo had looked into his golden hazel eyes and what he had seen hade hde his heart go cold. Boromir had had the look of a predator who had come upon easy prey. For the first time since he had known the noble Gondorian, Frodo had realized that Boromir was capable of and willing to do great violence to him. His friendship with Frodo and his vow to protect the Ringbearer was not going to supercede the evil call of the Ring. Frodo had believed--no, he had known--that his life was in danger as the powerful man had rushed at him, cursing, his arms outstretched in greed. When Boromir's hands had clasped Frodo's ankle and dragged him, Frodo had not had time to think. He had put the Ring on and fled. That had been his last vision of a man that he had believed was great and noble.
And now he was in the gentle, protective arms of Boromir's brother, who seemed so unlike Boromir--and yet so alike.
Boromir's death. The thought kept returning to him, forcing him to face the implications. Frodo thought about Merry and Pippin, his dear cousins who never should have left home. If they, too, had perished, he would never forgive himself. Frodo should have been firm with them, more strong-willed. He should have demanded that they stay in Rivendell. He had already lost one dear friend. The memory of Gandalf's bushy eyebrows and the glint in his eyes made new tears spring to his eyes.
"Frodo," Far whi whispered in sympathy, thinking his tears to be of pain. He rubFrodFrodo's arms and back, trying to sooth him.
Frodo's stomach contracted again. A hideous cramping swelled in his abdomen, much worse than the pain from before. The pain moved up to his solar plexus region and into his chest. He gasped, unable even to cry out. He collapsed limply in Faramir's arms, helpless to do anything. He could not imagine that he could survive such swelliain.ain. The pain moved upward and filled his throat. Frodo gagged and retched as he realized the cramping had transformed iliquliquid and it was choking him. He leaned over the pan again just as foul-smelling black and green chunks surged out of his mouth, burning his throat and lips.
Frodo convulsed in revulsion. Faramir held him tight, wiping his face and mouth of the foul liquid that had spewed from his mouth.
"Do something!" Sam cried in the background. "Please do something, Mr. Faramir! He's dying! Please!"
"Sam, Sam, this is actually good," Faramir muttered, holding the shaking hobbit. "It is very hopeful. He is ejecting the poison."
Three more times Frodo endured the creeping pain that built from a dull nausea in the pit of his abdomen into the unbearable hideous cramping that traveled up his chest and throat and spewed out his mouth. The smell was unbearably putrid. It reminded Frodo of the Dead Marshes. He could not believe this foulness had been in sto stomach. Sam sank into the corner, covering his face, unable to bear the smell or to watch Frodo suffer.
Faramir held him firmly, guiding his head to the pan when he needed, wiping his mouth when he was done, rubbing him in a soothing manner between rounds of vomiting.
Finally the cramping did not come back. Even the nausea seemed faint and unobtrusive. Frodo collapsed again in Faramir's arms, completely spent. He was so weak he could not move his limbs.
Faramir tenderly smoothed Frodo's soaked curls back from his forehead. Perhaps Frodo had not really seen cold detachment in Faramir's eyes. If Faramir had believed what Anborn had said about Frodo being possibly responsible for Boromir's death, surely he would not be so kind now. Anborn seemed a bitter man who was suspicious of anything that he did not understand. Frodo knew many men were prejudiced against hobbits because of their small size and apparent helplessness. Even in his limited experience with men, Frodo had realized that his appearance brought out a variety of responses in men. Most were kind but condescending. Boromir had fit that type most of the time Frodo had known him. The men in Bree had been like that, Butterbur in particular. Even Gandalf was much more gentle with the hobbits than he was with the others in compcompany and treated them like wayward children--especially Pippin. Other men, and Anborn seemed to fit this category, were scornful and suspicious. Perhaps they believed, like Faramir said, that hobbits were magic.
But Faramir was different. He was more like Aragorn, who was the only man who had treated Frodo as if he were an equal.
"Yes, Sam, this is good news," Faramir repeated, putting his hand on Frodo's brow. "The poisons of the enemy are noxious and deadly, but Frodo's body has fought this one. His body has ejected it. With some rest and replacement of liquids, he will be as good as new."
Sam ran to the bed and collapsed on it next to Frodo. Tears came out of his eyes again, this time in relief. Faramir lay Frodo back on the bed and tucked the covers over him. Frodo was conscious, but he could not move or speak. His limbs felt like heavy, water-soaked cloth. He knew he would look to be unconscious.
"Sam," Faramir said. "Why wouldn't Frodo have mentioned Boromir to me? Was he that mistrustful?"
Frodo heard the hurt in his voice. Sam, still rubbing Frodo's hand in a desperate attempt to warm it, answered slowly.
"How would we know that you were his brother? I'm right sorry he died. He was a good man, but--it seems to me that you're taking it personal and all. It seemsr fer feelings are hurt that Mr. Frodo didn't know."
"Oh, no," Faramir said, flushing. "Well, I just meant that such dear friends of my brother--" He paused. "Samwise, I simply wasn't thinking clearly. Please forgive me."
"I guess none of us are. He's so sick, Faramir. I haven't seen him so sick since Rivendell."
"Rivendell? You've been to that fair refuge?" Faramir sighed as if caught up in a mem memory. "Would that I had gone in my brother's place."
"Rivendell is a wonderful place," Sam said dreamily. "Elves, elves, and more elves."
Frodo knew how dearly Sam liked to talk about elves, but he hoped that Sam understood that he should be careful about any mention of the quest and their part in it. Frodo meant to discuss it with Faramir himsel
"
"Sam," Faramir said. "Let us allow Frodo to rest. We can discuss elves and Rivendell in much more detail tomorrow. I have your room prepared for you. Let me lead you there."
"I thought," Sam said haltingly. "I thought maybe I would stay with him."
"No, it's better that you don't. He might thrash violently in the night. You might get hurt. I will stay here with him and make certain he is all right."
Faramir's voice sounded odd, as if he weren't comfortable with what he was saying. Frodo smiled slightly. Could it be that Faramir was lying to make sure that Sam wasn't in the same room? Could Frodo dare to hope that Faramir wanted to sleep with him? If only his body wasn't so exhausted and weak!
Frodo was left alone as Sam was shown to his bed. Frodo tried to keep his eyes open. He was frightened of Anborn and did not want to have another confrontation with him. More than that, he wanted to be awake when Faramir came back. He imagined Faramir's strong arms wrapped around him all night. larglarge hand would creep down his belly and over his hardening member. Frodo squeezed his eyes shut. He mustn't think of such things! He was on the border of Mordor! He had to be cautio
F
Frodo felt a heavy figure crawl in bed beside him. He dared not open his eyes.
"Faramir," he whispered.
"I'm sorry I woke you. Is it all right that I am here?"
Frodo could not resist a mischievous smile. "I may thrash in the night--and hurt you."
"You are feeling much better, aren't you?" Faramir asked. Just as Frodo had imagined, Faramir wrapped his arms around Frodo. Frodo lay spooned against him. His eyelids closed against his will.
***
Faramir nestled his chin in Frodo's hair. So sweet. Despite his violent illness, the halfling's hair smelled fragrant. His small body fit perfectly in his embrace. He felt a tightening in the front of his leggings and he shifted so that Frodo would not feel his arousal. Frodo trusted him enough to allow him to crawl into bed with him. If Faramir gave into the barrage of sensations that attacked him, then--then what? Frodo would not resist because he would feel he had no choice. The idea of forcing Frodo to submit to him made Faramir sick. He was in a position of authority. Frodo and Sam were essentially prisoners in their camp. He could sugar-coat it and call them guests, but Anborn was right. He could not allow them to walk free from the camp. And Frodo would know this. He would feel he had no choice but to submit to anything Faramir wanted.
When Faramir made love to Frodo, he wanted Frodo's eyes to be open and sparkling with life. He wd thd the halfling's cheeks to be rosy with wanting. He wanted to see beads of sweat on Frodo's forehead--not from illness or fear but from desire and heavy love-making. He wanted Frodo to whisper-scream-moan his name with love.
Faramir sighed. None of that could happen until he understood why Frodo was in the land of Ithilien or why he had traveled out of Rivendell with his brother.
TBC
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 6
Frodo shuddered and opened his eyes. The pain barraged his abdomen as if giant hands had squeezed all his insides together. And under the burgeoning pain, he felt saliva building in his mouth. He was going to be sick and he didn't think he had the strength to pull himself up. He struggled on his elbows. mir mir was beside him in an instant, helping him to bend over the pan. Frodo threw up nine times in a row. He knew the exact number because in order to divert his mind from the pain, he counted. There was almost nothing in his stomach, and the last four times had been dry heaves. From the corner of his eye, he saw Sam watching with tears streaming down his face. A wave of dizziness overwhelmed Frodo, and he sagged against Faramir, who held him in a tight embrace. Frodo clutched Faramir's hands, struggling for equilibrium. His heart sank. When last he had looked into Faramir's eyes he had seen cold detachment. Faramir would never forgive him if he thought Frodo had anything to do with Boromir's death.
Boromir's death. Tears sprang to Frodo's eyes as he groaned again, preparing for another round of vomiting. He recalled his last vision of Boromir--the rabid hatred on his face, the low animal-like growl in his throat as he had flung himself at Frodo. Just before Boromir had attacked, Frodo had looked into his golden hazel eyes and what he had seen hade hde his heart go cold. Boromir had had the look of a predator who had come upon easy prey. For the first time since he had known the noble Gondorian, Frodo had realized that Boromir was capable of and willing to do great violence to him. His friendship with Frodo and his vow to protect the Ringbearer was not going to supercede the evil call of the Ring. Frodo had believed--no, he had known--that his life was in danger as the powerful man had rushed at him, cursing, his arms outstretched in greed. When Boromir's hands had clasped Frodo's ankle and dragged him, Frodo had not had time to think. He had put the Ring on and fled. That had been his last vision of a man that he had believed was great and noble.
And now he was in the gentle, protective arms of Boromir's brother, who seemed so unlike Boromir--and yet so alike.
Boromir's death. The thought kept returning to him, forcing him to face the implications. Frodo thought about Merry and Pippin, his dear cousins who never should have left home. If they, too, had perished, he would never forgive himself. Frodo should have been firm with them, more strong-willed. He should have demanded that they stay in Rivendell. He had already lost one dear friend. The memory of Gandalf's bushy eyebrows and the glint in his eyes made new tears spring to his eyes.
"Frodo," Far whi whispered in sympathy, thinking his tears to be of pain. He rubFrodFrodo's arms and back, trying to sooth him.
Frodo's stomach contracted again. A hideous cramping swelled in his abdomen, much worse than the pain from before. The pain moved up to his solar plexus region and into his chest. He gasped, unable even to cry out. He collapsed limply in Faramir's arms, helpless to do anything. He could not imagine that he could survive such swelliain.ain. The pain moved upward and filled his throat. Frodo gagged and retched as he realized the cramping had transformed iliquliquid and it was choking him. He leaned over the pan again just as foul-smelling black and green chunks surged out of his mouth, burning his throat and lips.
Frodo convulsed in revulsion. Faramir held him tight, wiping his face and mouth of the foul liquid that had spewed from his mouth.
"Do something!" Sam cried in the background. "Please do something, Mr. Faramir! He's dying! Please!"
"Sam, Sam, this is actually good," Faramir muttered, holding the shaking hobbit. "It is very hopeful. He is ejecting the poison."
Three more times Frodo endured the creeping pain that built from a dull nausea in the pit of his abdomen into the unbearable hideous cramping that traveled up his chest and throat and spewed out his mouth. The smell was unbearably putrid. It reminded Frodo of the Dead Marshes. He could not believe this foulness had been in sto stomach. Sam sank into the corner, covering his face, unable to bear the smell or to watch Frodo suffer.
Faramir held him firmly, guiding his head to the pan when he needed, wiping his mouth when he was done, rubbing him in a soothing manner between rounds of vomiting.
Finally the cramping did not come back. Even the nausea seemed faint and unobtrusive. Frodo collapsed again in Faramir's arms, completely spent. He was so weak he could not move his limbs.
Faramir tenderly smoothed Frodo's soaked curls back from his forehead. Perhaps Frodo had not really seen cold detachment in Faramir's eyes. If Faramir had believed what Anborn had said about Frodo being possibly responsible for Boromir's death, surely he would not be so kind now. Anborn seemed a bitter man who was suspicious of anything that he did not understand. Frodo knew many men were prejudiced against hobbits because of their small size and apparent helplessness. Even in his limited experience with men, Frodo had realized that his appearance brought out a variety of responses in men. Most were kind but condescending. Boromir had fit that type most of the time Frodo had known him. The men in Bree had been like that, Butterbur in particular. Even Gandalf was much more gentle with the hobbits than he was with the others in compcompany and treated them like wayward children--especially Pippin. Other men, and Anborn seemed to fit this category, were scornful and suspicious. Perhaps they believed, like Faramir said, that hobbits were magic.
But Faramir was different. He was more like Aragorn, who was the only man who had treated Frodo as if he were an equal.
"Yes, Sam, this is good news," Faramir repeated, putting his hand on Frodo's brow. "The poisons of the enemy are noxious and deadly, but Frodo's body has fought this one. His body has ejected it. With some rest and replacement of liquids, he will be as good as new."
Sam ran to the bed and collapsed on it next to Frodo. Tears came out of his eyes again, this time in relief. Faramir lay Frodo back on the bed and tucked the covers over him. Frodo was conscious, but he could not move or speak. His limbs felt like heavy, water-soaked cloth. He knew he would look to be unconscious.
"Sam," Faramir said. "Why wouldn't Frodo have mentioned Boromir to me? Was he that mistrustful?"
Frodo heard the hurt in his voice. Sam, still rubbing Frodo's hand in a desperate attempt to warm it, answered slowly.
"How would we know that you were his brother? I'm right sorry he died. He was a good man, but--it seems to me that you're taking it personal and all. It seemsr fer feelings are hurt that Mr. Frodo didn't know."
"Oh, no," Faramir said, flushing. "Well, I just meant that such dear friends of my brother--" He paused. "Samwise, I simply wasn't thinking clearly. Please forgive me."
"I guess none of us are. He's so sick, Faramir. I haven't seen him so sick since Rivendell."
"Rivendell? You've been to that fair refuge?" Faramir sighed as if caught up in a mem memory. "Would that I had gone in my brother's place."
"Rivendell is a wonderful place," Sam said dreamily. "Elves, elves, and more elves."
Frodo knew how dearly Sam liked to talk about elves, but he hoped that Sam understood that he should be careful about any mention of the quest and their part in it. Frodo meant to discuss it with Faramir himsel
"
"Sam," Faramir said. "Let us allow Frodo to rest. We can discuss elves and Rivendell in much more detail tomorrow. I have your room prepared for you. Let me lead you there."
"I thought," Sam said haltingly. "I thought maybe I would stay with him."
"No, it's better that you don't. He might thrash violently in the night. You might get hurt. I will stay here with him and make certain he is all right."
Faramir's voice sounded odd, as if he weren't comfortable with what he was saying. Frodo smiled slightly. Could it be that Faramir was lying to make sure that Sam wasn't in the same room? Could Frodo dare to hope that Faramir wanted to sleep with him? If only his body wasn't so exhausted and weak!
Frodo was left alone as Sam was shown to his bed. Frodo tried to keep his eyes open. He was frightened of Anborn and did not want to have another confrontation with him. More than that, he wanted to be awake when Faramir came back. He imagined Faramir's strong arms wrapped around him all night. larglarge hand would creep down his belly and over his hardening member. Frodo squeezed his eyes shut. He mustn't think of such things! He was on the border of Mordor! He had to be cautio
F
Frodo felt a heavy figure crawl in bed beside him. He dared not open his eyes.
"Faramir," he whispered.
"I'm sorry I woke you. Is it all right that I am here?"
Frodo could not resist a mischievous smile. "I may thrash in the night--and hurt you."
"You are feeling much better, aren't you?" Faramir asked. Just as Frodo had imagined, Faramir wrapped his arms around Frodo. Frodo lay spooned against him. His eyelids closed against his will.
***
Faramir nestled his chin in Frodo's hair. So sweet. Despite his violent illness, the halfling's hair smelled fragrant. His small body fit perfectly in his embrace. He felt a tightening in the front of his leggings and he shifted so that Frodo would not feel his arousal. Frodo trusted him enough to allow him to crawl into bed with him. If Faramir gave into the barrage of sensations that attacked him, then--then what? Frodo would not resist because he would feel he had no choice. The idea of forcing Frodo to submit to him made Faramir sick. He was in a position of authority. Frodo and Sam were essentially prisoners in their camp. He could sugar-coat it and call them guests, but Anborn was right. He could not allow them to walk free from the camp. And Frodo would know this. He would feel he had no choice but to submit to anything Faramir wanted.
When Faramir made love to Frodo, he wanted Frodo's eyes to be open and sparkling with life. He wd thd the halfling's cheeks to be rosy with wanting. He wanted to see beads of sweat on Frodo's forehead--not from illness or fear but from desire and heavy love-making. He wanted Frodo to whisper-scream-moan his name with love.
Faramir sighed. None of that could happen until he understood why Frodo was in the land of Ithilien or why he had traveled out of Rivendell with his brother.
TBC