What Blooms in Ithilien
folder
-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
2,323
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
2,323
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.
What Blooms in Ithilien
Title: What Blooms in Ithilien
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 1
“Thirsty,” Frodo gasped. He stumbled along the trail, clutching Sam for support. The Ring weighed down on him, leaving abrasions on the soft white of his neck and rendering him breathless.
“Hang on a bit, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said with a concerned glance at Frodo’s wan face. “We’ll stop in this clearing up here. You can rest for a bit.”
Sam was so good to him. He was so grateful Sam had chased him to the boat. If he were alone right now, what would he do? He could barely walk.
“Where is that dratted Gollum?” Sam muttered. “No doubt letting all the orcs in the area in on our location.”
“Don’t fret about him,” Frodo said. “I don’t think he wants to be captured by the Enemy again.”
“Nor do I, Mr. Frodo. Nor do I.”
Frodo smiled tiredly as Sam eased him down under a tree.
“Now you just stay put and I’m going to find you some more water. I thought I heard a stream just down that incline. Give a yell if you have trouble!”
Frodo dozed. He was thirsty, dreadfully thirsty. It seemed his thirst was never fully quenched in this dreadful land. At least in this area there were trees and green grass. It didn’t seem so vile and lifeless. The Ring was heavy, as if it knew about and rebelled against its final destination.
“Here, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said in his ear. “Have a few sips of this.”
“Back already?” Frodo opened his heavy eyelids.
“I can’t leave you for too long, not with that confounded Gollum around somewhere.”
“I see.”
Sam held his head up while Frodo drank gulped the water in the cup until it was empty. Sam poured more from the pan he had filled into the cup. Frodo drank at least five cups before his throat finally felt relieved of the dryness.
“Didn’t you have some, Sam?”
“Just a little. I wasn’t that thirsty.”
Frodo fell back into a heavy sleep. He remembered very little until the end of his sleep. Then he dreamed about sitting inside Bag End, sipping a cup of tea. Bilbo sat across from him, fussing as he looked through notes for his book. Frodo watched him fondly. The tea did not sit well in his stomach.
Bilbo, he said. I don’t want anymore of this tea. It’s making my stomach feel strange.
Then don’t drink it, my boy.
I think I’m going to be—I think I’m going to be sick—
Frodo woke to his real nausea. It was early evening. He had slept at least six hours. He groaned. Saliva filled his mouth and he rolled over, trying to crawl away from Sam’s pack which was right beside him.
“Mr. Frodo?” Sam cried in concern. Frodo could not answer. He expelled everything in his stomach.
“Oh, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said in sympathy, rubbing Frodo’s back. “You’re ill. You just lie back down and your Sam will take care of you. You don’t worry about a thing.”
Frodo groaned. Clammy sweat broke out on his forehead. Sam took off his own cloak and bunched it up like a pillow before putting it under Frodo’s head. He loosened Frodo’s cloak and unbuttoned some of his top buttons of his shirt and vest. He covered him with a blanket.
“Now you just tell your Sam if you’re going to be sick again and I’ll help you.”
“Sam,” Frodo whispered. “What are we going to do?”
He felt miserable. There was no way he could stand, much less walk anywhere. He knew they were not very sheltered. They still did not know where Gollum was, and that was disconcerting.
“Donou wou worry about a thing. You’ve probably just caught a little bug, and no wonder! Your poor, dear body is so weary. I’ll take care of you and you’ll be good as new by tomorrow morn.”
Frodo smiled, feeling blessed by Sam’s loyalty. He closed his eyes again, though the nausea was starting turn urn in his stomach again. He could not sleep. Sam rubbed his hands. He could not imagine being well by the next day.
Suddenly Sam looked up, squeezing his hand.
“Mr. Frodo!” he whispered in alarm, causing Frodo’s eyes to fly open.
“What is it?” Frodo said. Sweat had broken out just above his upper lip. He felt too weak to speak above a whisper. A wave of dizziness overwhelmed him. If there was trouble, he was too weak to do anything.
“Do you hear voices?” Sam whispered.
Frodo’s heart battered his chest. He listened. At first he heard nothing. Then he heard the distinct voices of men—and they were drawing closer.
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 1
“Thirsty,” Frodo gasped. He stumbled along the trail, clutching Sam for support. The Ring weighed down on him, leaving abrasions on the soft white of his neck and rendering him breathless.
“Hang on a bit, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said with a concerned glance at Frodo’s wan face. “We’ll stop in this clearing up here. You can rest for a bit.”
Sam was so good to him. He was so grateful Sam had chased him to the boat. If he were alone right now, what would he do? He could barely walk.
“Where is that dratted Gollum?” Sam muttered. “No doubt letting all the orcs in the area in on our location.”
“Don’t fret about him,” Frodo said. “I don’t think he wants to be captured by the Enemy again.”
“Nor do I, Mr. Frodo. Nor do I.”
Frodo smiled tiredly as Sam eased him down under a tree.
“Now you just stay put and I’m going to find you some more water. I thought I heard a stream just down that incline. Give a yell if you have trouble!”
Frodo dozed. He was thirsty, dreadfully thirsty. It seemed his thirst was never fully quenched in this dreadful land. At least in this area there were trees and green grass. It didn’t seem so vile and lifeless. The Ring was heavy, as if it knew about and rebelled against its final destination.
“Here, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said in his ear. “Have a few sips of this.”
“Back already?” Frodo opened his heavy eyelids.
“I can’t leave you for too long, not with that confounded Gollum around somewhere.”
“I see.”
Sam held his head up while Frodo drank gulped the water in the cup until it was empty. Sam poured more from the pan he had filled into the cup. Frodo drank at least five cups before his throat finally felt relieved of the dryness.
“Didn’t you have some, Sam?”
“Just a little. I wasn’t that thirsty.”
Frodo fell back into a heavy sleep. He remembered very little until the end of his sleep. Then he dreamed about sitting inside Bag End, sipping a cup of tea. Bilbo sat across from him, fussing as he looked through notes for his book. Frodo watched him fondly. The tea did not sit well in his stomach.
Bilbo, he said. I don’t want anymore of this tea. It’s making my stomach feel strange.
Then don’t drink it, my boy.
I think I’m going to be—I think I’m going to be sick—
Frodo woke to his real nausea. It was early evening. He had slept at least six hours. He groaned. Saliva filled his mouth and he rolled over, trying to crawl away from Sam’s pack which was right beside him.
“Mr. Frodo?” Sam cried in concern. Frodo could not answer. He expelled everything in his stomach.
“Oh, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said in sympathy, rubbing Frodo’s back. “You’re ill. You just lie back down and your Sam will take care of you. You don’t worry about a thing.”
Frodo groaned. Clammy sweat broke out on his forehead. Sam took off his own cloak and bunched it up like a pillow before putting it under Frodo’s head. He loosened Frodo’s cloak and unbuttoned some of his top buttons of his shirt and vest. He covered him with a blanket.
“Now you just tell your Sam if you’re going to be sick again and I’ll help you.”
“Sam,” Frodo whispered. “What are we going to do?”
He felt miserable. There was no way he could stand, much less walk anywhere. He knew they were not very sheltered. They still did not know where Gollum was, and that was disconcerting.
“Donou wou worry about a thing. You’ve probably just caught a little bug, and no wonder! Your poor, dear body is so weary. I’ll take care of you and you’ll be good as new by tomorrow morn.”
Frodo smiled, feeling blessed by Sam’s loyalty. He closed his eyes again, though the nausea was starting turn urn in his stomach again. He could not sleep. Sam rubbed his hands. He could not imagine being well by the next day.
Suddenly Sam looked up, squeezing his hand.
“Mr. Frodo!” he whispered in alarm, causing Frodo’s eyes to fly open.
“What is it?” Frodo said. Sweat had broken out just above his upper lip. He felt too weak to speak above a whisper. A wave of dizziness overwhelmed him. If there was trouble, he was too weak to do anything.
“Do you hear voices?” Sam whispered.
Frodo’s heart battered his chest. He listened. At first he heard nothing. Then he heard the distinct voices of men—and they were drawing closer.
TBC