What Blooms in Ithilien

Title: What Blooms in Ithilien 8/?
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 chtersters and make no money from them.



What Blooms in Ithilien 8


Faramir’s heart thudded in his chest so hard that he could barely breathe. As if from a great distance, he watched Frodo stumble out of his chair, knocking his tea cup and the plate of cakes to the floor. He barely heard the crash as the cup broke. Frodo backed against the wall and struggled to grab his little sword. His hand shook so much that it bumped against the hilt and slid past it.

The Enemy’s Ring—Isildur’s Bane, that which was thought to be lost--was in the hands of this halfling whose life he had spared and whom he had taken a liking to. He carried the fate of the world. He carried that which Faramir’s beloved brother had traveled to Imladris to seek. Because of Frodo, because of what he bore, Boromir had died by common orc arrows. A heavy, aching grief filled Faramir’s chest as he remembered Boromir’s easy, confident smile and his golden eyes.

“Faramir…”

He heard his name as a beckoning whisper, though he was not sure where it came from. Not from Frodo’s trembling lips. A surge of foggy rage clutched him as he watched Frodo’s hand twitch near his sword hilt. The stark fear in Frodo’s huge blue eyes pierced through him.

Frodo’s fear gave him satisfaction.

“Faramir…”

Faramir was not going to feel sorry for Frodo. Frodo should suffer for all the grief that had come to Gondor and to his fa and and brother. He had stirred up the Enemy like a child stirs up a nest of angry wasps. He would pay. Faramir drew his sword and advanced on Frodo. His throat felt dry, full of acid hatred.

Faramir couldn’t believe they had shared a kiss that morning. At the time, he had found it sublime. He had longed to take Frodo in his arms and crush him beneath him, to make slow love to him. But that tender moment was dim and unimportant, like a sweet dream barely remembered upon the mundane reality of the day after. Now he only felt vicious glee, watching Frodo cower against the wall. Faramir had adored Boromir, though they had been as different from one another as night and day. As children, Boromir had always been so patient, teaching him the best strategy for winning a sword fight, long after their father had given up making a swordsman of his sensitive son. Boromir’s laughter had been easy. He had often defended him to their humorless father. He was gone forever. Faramir would never see him again. The pain nearly made him buckle forward.

“Faramir…take it…”

Boromir had been right. He had wanted to use the instrument of the Enemy against him. That made sense. He understood why Boromir had grown angry and tried to take it from Frodo. What did Frodo think he was doing, taking it right into the Enemy’s hands? It was folly. Any fool could see that.


“Faramir,” Frodo gasped. Frodo could try to beguile him with those eyes, but he was going to pay for what he had taken.

The whisper filled his ears. “Faramir…it’s yours…”

“What did you do to my brother?” Faramir did not recognize the low, dark growl of his voice. He heard it from a great distance, as if someone else was speaking. He slid the sword up Frodo’s shirt. Frodo let out a harsh gasp, staring up at Faramir. His eyes were so expressive—full of betrayal and raw fear.

“He was alive and well when last I saw him,” Frodo gasped. He was trying to regain his dignity, though he struggled to get in breath. “Faramir, you’re frightening me. Why do you look at me--”

Fir bir brought his hand back and struck Frodo hard across the cheek.

“Silence!” He couldn’t bear Frodo’s whimpering--not while the soothing whispering, which had drowned out the nasty cracking sound his hand made on Frodo’s cheek, sang through his ears. Frodo cried out and held his cheek, tears springing to his eyes. With his sword, Faramir sliced through several buttons of Frodo’s shirt. The silence in the room was so heavy that Faramir heard the light clinking of the buttons hitting the floor.

There the gold band, the source of the whispering, lay against Frodo’s pale chest. Frodo had closed his eyes and turned his head away in resignation, as if he fully expected to be speared. A red welt had materialized on his cheek. Faramir moved the sword under Frodo’s chin.

“Faramir…”

The hissing came from the gold band on Frodo’s chest, the Enemy’s Ring. Faramir stumbled backward, dropping his sword and averting his horrified eyes from the Ring. How could he have ever found it soothing? He felt thoroughly repulsed, as if he had been enjoying sweet fruit, only to realize that it was sweet only because it was rotten.

What had he done?

Frodo had opened his eyes. His gaze looked muddy as if he didn’t quite see Faramir. His knees buckled, and his eyes rolled up into his head. He collapsed in a faint.

The angry buzz in Faramir’s head disappeared, leaving him with deep, gaping shame. He had behaved like an orc. He had betrayed Frodo’s trust. He had hurt and frightened the one to which he had strove to give gentle protection.

Faramir gathered Frodo in his arms. His own limbs felt limp and weak, like overcooked noodles. He bent over Frodo, cringing in shame as he traced his finger over the nasty red welt on Frodo’s face. He began to weep. He wept for Gondor, which lay in the hands of this fragile being in his arms. The Ring could never help his city. The pure evil of it had nearly overtaken him. He wept for his brother, whom he would never see again and who had been overtaken. He wept for his weakness.

The Ring lay serene and malignant against Frodo’s delicate skin. Faramir hastily covered it with a flap of Frodo’s torn shirt.

“Frodo, I’m so sorry,” he said in a trembling voice. He patted Frodo’s cheeks, trying to wake him gently.

Frodo’s eyes opened. He looked at Faramir, puzzled. Then his eyes filled with fear. He shrank back into Faramir’s arms. “No,” he managed. “Please…”

“I’m so sorry. A madness took me.”

Frodo did not speak. He reached to his chest, and feeling that the Ring was still there, he went completely limp with relief.

“You didn’t take it,” Frodo said in wonder.

“No,” Faramir said, shuddering. “I would not touch such an evil instrument. I have learned a harsh lesson.” If the Ring cochanchange him into a monster such as he had been, he would never look upon it again. He could still recall the emotions he had felt while under the spell of the Ring--he had enjoyed being cruel. He had delighted in the sight of Frodo cowering before him. Worst of all, he had relished the hard crack his hand had made on Frodo’s face. Was that how Sauron felt? Had he gotten a glimpse into the Enemy’s mind? He shuddered at the thought. He looked down at Frodo with new admiration and pity. If that was the influence of the Ring, and he hadn’t even touched it, how must it be for this gentle creature who bore it without complaint?

“I am so sorry,” he said again, wiping his hand over his forehead. “So much becomes clear to me. I understand now what happened to Boromir. I am weak, Frodo. Weak. Look what I have done.”

Frodo reached up to touch his cheek where Faramir had hit him. “It does not hurt much.”

Faramir trembled so hard that he could barely hold Frodo. He lay the hobbit on the floor and lay beside him. A surge of strong affection for Frodo and regret at what he had done overwhelmed him.

“It was not you,” Frodo said, touching Faramir’s face with a gentle hand. “I do not blame you. And you fought it—and won.”

Faramir wrapped his arms around Frodo’s waist, curling up against him on the floor. He did not deserve Frodo’s easy forgiveness but he would take it gratefully.

Frodo clutched the back of Faramir’s neck. He kissed him there again and again. Faramir could not have believed anything could feel better than Frodo’s cool, moist kisses. He met Frodo’s eyes. They were full of wanting. A tingling surged through Faramir’s abdomen. He tugged at Frodo’s shirt until it was out of his breeches. He slipped his hands under Frodo’s shirt and rubbed desperately over the soft, silky skin. He clasped Frodo’s lips with his, pouring all his gratitude and sorrow into the kiss. Frodo’s hard shaft dig into his thigh, and he groaned, barely able to contain himself. Frodo wanted him.

Small fingers worked on the lacings of mir’mir’s leggings. His pants felt uncomfortably tight.

“Are you sure?” Faramir asked, gasping for breath. “We’re moving very fast.”

“There is no time,” Frodo said. “No time for courtship.”

“No,” Faramir agreed, burying his head in Frodo’s curls. “There’s only right now.”

Faramir kissed Frodo’s lips. He could not get over how sweet and soft they were. He had never tasted skin so silky as he did when his lips sought Frodo’s pale neck and shoulders. His lips ran along a cold scar on Frodo’s shoulder.

Faramir pulled Frodo’s breeches down. The halfling’s member was warm and fully aroused. Frodo’s eyes were closed, but his lips were parted with wanting.

“Can I have you?” Faramir whispered. “I won’t push you if you don’t wish.”

“Yes, yes,” Frodo said, tugging Faramir’s pants down. “Now!”

Shuddering, Faramir climbed on Frodo, trying not to crush him. “Am I too heavy?” he asked.

“No,” Frodo said. “Just please…now!”

Faramir froze, sick with sudden disappointment. He had nothing to ease his way into Frodo. He couldn’t stop now. He was just going to have to push until he was inside. No, he couldn’t. He couldn’t bear to cause Frodo more pain.

Then he spied a slab of butter on the floor, one of the items that had fallen off the table when Frodo had jumped up in panic. He laughed with relief, grabbing the butter and smearing it onto his hands.

“What’s funny?” Frodo asked, his brows knitted in annoyance at the delay.

“Nothing,” Faramir said. “I am ready.”

He rubbed the butter quickly over his throbbing shaft.

“Ah,” Frodo said, nodding. “I understand. I had not thought about that.”

Faramir positioned his member over Frodo’s opening. He knew he should have prepared Frodo by putting his fingers in one at a time to stretch him out, especially if Frodo had never done this before. Faramir could not be sure whether this was Frodo’rst rst time. He did not seem shy now. And Frodo and Sam seemed very close. They may have comforted each other on the long road. Still, Sam was a lot smaller than himself.

“Let me know if it hurts too much,” Faramir said in a husky voice.

“I don’t care,” Frodo said. He clenched Faramir’s head, pulling him down on top of him.

Faramir’s member twitched as he eased into Frodo. He gave a gentle push. He gasped as he felt Frodo’s sweet, tight heat. Frodo grunted and tensed.

“Are you all right?” Faramir asked.

“Yes, yes,” Frodo said, biting his lip. “Keep going. Please.”

Faramir pushed further in. He arched his back, clutching Frodo’s shoulders. He could not hold back any further. Frodo groaned, but this time it was in frantic pleasure.

“Captain.”

Faramir felt Frodo tense. The voice had not come from Frodo. Faramir looked up, his heart slamming against his chest.

Anborn stood above them, his eyes blazing with contempt.


TBC