Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they belong to J.R.R. Tolkien.
Man of Quality
Chapter 14
Aragorn had spent all night and into the early morning pounding and grinding herbs to make into pastes to be applied liberally over the hobbit's body. Bringing the supplies with him from the Houses of Healing, he happened upon Faramir whom still sat in the rocker cradling a sleeping Ring-bearer. Looking about the darkened room, he found that Sam had curled up in one of the overstuffed, oversized chairs with eyes closed and breathing even. Quietly, he tapped the former Steward's son on the shoulder.
Faramir startled at the touch, his eyes wide as he looked up into the eyes of his King. Taking a deep breath, he rocked forward a bit, bowing his head, "My Lord."
Aragorn raised his hand in protest at the bow, "He is sleeping, I see. Please assist me with applying the ointment?"
"Yes, of course," Faramir whispered, slowly rising from the chair, gently resituating his arms beneathe the light bundle as he traversed the short distance to the makeshift table.
"No, I think the bed. He will be more comfortable," the King decided at the last minute, taking a bowl of warmed water with him that he had poured from the heated Kettle.
Looking into a relaxed face, the Captain hoped Frodo's stomach would not roll while he was asleep being jarred by all the motion. One more reshifting of weight within his arms, strong legs carried Frodo to the awaiting bed. The down comforter had been pulled back, a double layer of towels layed on top of fine linen. With ease as if laying down a babe for slumber, he relinquished his hold upon the Ring-bearer, the covers falling off revealing goose bumped blistered skin. When he saw Frodo's lower lip trembling, he quickly covered the small body with the down comforter, waiting for Aragorn's next instructions.
"We can keep Frodo covered at all times here while we administer the ointment," Aragorn told the wearied Captain, bringing a medicinal pedastal and morton, something that looked like linen cloth, but had ripped edges, and lastly the water bowl. He set these items on the side table, then sat on the side of the bed.
Faramir did not know what to do, so he stayed a step behind. Aragorn quickly noticed this, "Please, sit in the chair, Captain. It will easier for you to assist me that way."
Did as he was told, Faramir took the seat beside the table, folding his hands, settling them in his lap, just like his mother taught him. His mother, he was glad she was not alive to mourn the loss of her son, Boromir, or their father. She would not have taken the loss well and would have protected Faramir by telling her husband not to send their only son back out on a suicide mission. Even though he did it to impress and get the love he so desperately needed, only in the end, did Denethor express any remorse for Faramir. Just as Mithrandir said. He should have known the Wizard was right, but emotion overruled him thinking logically.
"Faramir?" Aragorn spoke, noticing the Captain was off somewhere else. He had completely disrobed the halfling when he needed the warmed water to cleanse the wounds, feeling the little one tremble with cold. "Faramir! Please hand me the water."
"Oh, sorry, my Lord," he apologized, handing the water to the King.
"What has you in thought? Eowyn?" Aragorn said trying to engage the distanced Captain in conversation.
"My mother," he sighed. "Looking at Frodo, so little, so helpless...I just cannot help to treat him as a child. My mother would have done the same, I think. Rock him, give him tea for an upset stomach. Things she did for me when I was that small," he quietly spoke, bleeding his heart out for the halfling.
Pouring the warmed water over Frodo's abdominal area, letting it trickle down to the cover he had been wrapped in, the former Ranger smiled, bringing his own feelings into the conversation, "I, too, have to confess these little ones, especially this one can have you wrapped around their fingers, but during our journey, they can amaze you of how resilient they actually are. Their size does not matter as it is their hearts that are bigger."
Nodding, Faramir took interest into the skill of the King as a healer, promptly covering up the small body before it chilled, meticulously cleansing irritated skin, avoiding overfilled blisters. He also noticed that Frodo barely stirred under the experienced hands. "He trusts you. You must have tended him before?"
"He almost died on our way to Rivendell," Aragorn said matter of factly, but the memory of almost losing the hobbit to the Ringwraiths made him shiver. Shaking his head to clear it he then asked for the ointment.
Faramir handed the mortor to the King, his green eyes glimpsing a couple of odd scars; the livid one on the left shoulder seemed frightenly familiar. Pointing to the translucent area, he dared to ask, "What happened to him?"
As knowledgable hands spread the paste over reddened inflamed areas of the halfling's body, Aragorn spun the tale of Frodo's encounter with the Witch-King of Angmar. The Captain listened intently, realizing the strength and resilience that lied within the Ring-bearer was more than his brother, Boromir, must have had. He had heard Sam's retort of how Boromir betrayed the Ring-bearer, madness overtaking him, his lust for the Ring winning out. He had never asked anyone about how Boromir died, only what Pippin's account of what happened before he and his cousin were taken prisoner. If anyone might have known, maybe it would have been the Ranger. Taking a chance, not knowing if he was ready for an answer, he asked Boromir's travelling companion for an explanation. "My Lord Aragorn, were you with my brother before he died?" his voice a whisper as his throat seized.
Not expecting their talk to go in that direction, Aragorn was not ready to discuss what was between him and Boromir before he died. The Gondorian confessed to trying to take the Ring from Frodo. He suspected as much when he found the disheveled halfling sitting on the grassy knoll, pleading that the Ring had taken Boromir. They never got into what exactly took place as the halfling retreated from himself as protector, fearing that It would serenade the future heir of Gondor into murder. Knowing that Faramir needed closure, he answered as best he could, "I was. He had been pierced with Orc arrows trying to save Pippin and Merry. He did not want me to remove them. He fought bravely, Faramir, and was a great warrior and friend to us all."
A tear glistened in the Captain's eye, "Did he...," the next question a squeek, cleared his throat and again tried his voice, "Did he try to hurt Frodo?"
Sighing, Aragorn stopped applying the paste, covering the hobbit up before turning around, looking into green eyes. "You have to understand, It would have taken us all, in time. I believe Frodo knew, and tried to leave the company before the Ring could do harm. I just did not heed the warning signs," he said letting the enormity of the Ring's power sink in. "Boromir did confess to me that he tried to take the Ring from Frodo, but had not succeeded. Frodo got away and tried to warn me. That was where the company had been forcibly separated by Saruman's Uri-Kai. They were on a hunt for the halflings, and were ordered to kill the rest of us."
The room became silent for the longest moments, nothing stirred, then Faramir sighed deeply, coming to terms on his own, satisfied that Boromir had not died without honor. He had confessed his sins at the end, to the one he accepted as his King. "You set him in that boat, then?"
Aragorn just nodded, not trusting to voice his reply.
"Thank you for being with him at the end," Faramir gratiously thanked.
"I have it from here, Faramir, why don't you go get some sleep. You need it after staying with this rascal," the King joked.
"I will take you up on that offer, sir. Good night," he bowed his head and turned on his heel to leave when stopped by his Lord once more.
"Thank you for your quick thinking tonight. We all may have lost our loved ones if not for your attentiveness to the activities of the city," Aragorn declared, looking eye level with his fallen comrade's brother.
Nodding again, Faramir exited the room to go find solace in his own bed that night.
The King set back to finishing his task at hand. After coating the little one's body, he applied the warmed fine linen cloth to Frodo's abdomen to keep the paste from rubbing off onto the covers. He gently lifted the weightless figure, removing soaked towels from beneath him, leaving him unclad except for the linen and the comforter he tucked about the small figure. He then sat in the chair, not realizing how tired he actually was, dozing off immediately.
The next morning looked promising as Frodo's facial wounds were responding to the King's ointment, but it was the abdominal wound that had the King worried. Aragorn gently lifted the cooled linen from Frodo's abdominal area, where most of the damage had been done. The redness had spread from the edges to most of the little one's stomach, the exposed second layer of tissue was turning black with some oozing of a reddish fluid. Checking the sleeping hobbit's pulse point, the King blew a sigh of relief as no irregularities were found, but the skin beneath his touch still felt a little warm, fearing fever. He retucked covers, but not before he had glimpsed the translucent scar left by the Witch-King that was not quite healed. And he knew it never would. He just did not know if Frodo realized it yet or not. "You have amazed us all once again, my friend. Especially when you unknowingly saved my unborn child's life. I owe you much, Tithen Min and I do not know how to repay you," Aragorn sniffled, a tear sliding down his cheek knowing all too well that even though he had hands for healing, he could not heal the one person that needed it the most.
"Darling," a soft voice floated over to him from the entryway, "how fares Frodo?" Arwen asked.
Aragorn turned easily, acknowledging her presence. He could hear it now, the pendant quietly humming in his ear, a combination of her and their unborn child's feys. "He sleeps, as should you be. You are in no condition to be wandering about, especially without an escort. By the way, where is Legolas?"
Shyly, Arwen bowed her head and when she lifted it back up, her face was flushed. "I told him that I wanted some of that delicious chocolate ice that could only be found in the lower levels."
"You lied to him?"
"No, I...created a diversion, so that I could find you," she answered truthfully, a slight smile on thin lips.
The King smiled, waving a calloused hand for his wife to come closer. Arwen carefully trapsed the small distant between her and her husband as she still felt a little lightheaded. Huge arms embraced her, encircling her with warmth and security as he planted kisses on top of her raven black hair. She would have fallen apart there, but schooled her emotions. She had been through worse, carrying Frodo across the Ford with nine Ringwraiths trailing behind, but this was different. She had an unborn child to protect, her motherly instincts taking over. She stood on the edge, sorry that Frodo was made to suffer and self preservation winning out. She did not understand, and maybe this was what mortality brought, a new kind of fear that life was precious. A tear slid down her cheek, unnoticed by the one that held her.
They stood there like that until a small hysterical voice interrupted the silence, "No...no...the Eye...NO!" Frodo shouted out, sitting up gasping for air, eyes wide staring into space, a flailing arm shielding his face.
Aragorn was immediately at the bedside, placing hands upon bared shoulders, gently pushing the hobbit back down onto the mattress speakly softly, "Frodo, you are safe, here in Minas Tirith."
Frodo did not hear the familiar voice, just fighting hands that sought to restrain him. He pushed back, but with little advantage as his strength had already been spent. "Sam?" he whimpered when he thought to finally succumb, "so, sorry, SAM!"
As if on cue, the stout servant appeared at the doorjam, padding as quickly as his feet could carry him to his master's bed. With speed on his side, he bounded onto the bed without the assist of the step, immediately taking Frodo's hand into his own, cooing quielty into pointed ears as he brushed back dampened curls with deft fingers.
"I'm here Mr. Frodo. No one to hurt you anymore, no one. Go to sleep," he whispered.
Frodo arched his back, nestling his cheek into the palm of Sam's hand, his body relaxing under familiar touch and voice. "Sam?" he whispered, "I...I do not feel very well. It seems as if I had gotten into Bilbo's old Winyards. Tell him I do not want elevenses. He will understand from you," Sam's master said, his eyes fixated on his servant only.
Playing the scene out as if they were back at Bag End, Sam forced a smile speaking calmly, "You go right ahead and sleep. I'll tell Mr. Bilbo, so don't ya worry," the stout hobbit kept smiling for Frodo's benefit until the blue eyes were hidden behind long dark lashed lids.
"What would I do...without you, Sam?" the new master of Bag End whispered, falling back into a fevered sleep.
"Strider, what's wrong with 'im? Last night he wasn't talkin' out of his head!" Sam voiced angrily, swiping tears from his face with the backs of calloused hands.
Arwen had stepped to the side where Sam was crouching beside his master, placing comforting hands upon his sturdy, but trembling shoulders.
"His wound is not healing like it should. I had hoped that the cleansing the Healer Mallos had done and myself would have warded off any infections," Aragorn apologized because the next thing he had to do was going to be harder on the hobbit than himself. "I just hope he will be strong enough to bear a more aggressive cleansing, or we might still lose him even after all he has been through."
tbc...