Title: What Blooms in Ithilien 
Author: Claudia (claudia603 at gmail dot com)
Website: http://www.rosiesamfrodo.com/~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 
 
 
"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.
 
"Don't you 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 to churn 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.  
 
 
 
***
 
 
 
The voices grew louder. Frodo cringed as the crunch of leaves and twigs under 
heavy feet grew closer.  In seconds, they were surrounded by four tall men 
carrying swords and bows.
 
Sam scrambled to his feet, bravely drawing his sword.  Frodo gasped for breath. 
His stomach churned, and his mouth filled with saliva.  He swallowed several 
times. A wave of dizziness overwhelmed him and he leaned his head back, 
groaning. He did not want to get sick in front of all these men.
 
The men stopped in amazement when they saw the two halflings.
 
"What is this?" one of them asked.  He kept his arrow pointed at Sam and Frodo.  
"Faramir, should I shoot?"
 
"Hold your arrows a moment," the tall, graceful man who had been called Faramir 
said.  He kneeled in front of Sam. He glanced down at Frodo, puzzled. He 
clutched Sam's arm, causing him to drop his sword.
 
"Who are you and what leave do you have to walk through Ithilien?"
 
Frodo tried to drag himself to a sitting position, but he felt too weak. He 
slumped down again.  Sam looked at him, uncertain of what to say.  Frodo 
swallowed again before speaking.
 
"We are hobbits from the Shire," he managed softly.  "I am Frodo and this is 
Samwise.  But our business is not to be revealed."
 
Faramir released Sam and turned his attention to Frodo, recognizing him as the 
leader.  Frodo's vision was blurry.  Despite the danger, he found it difficult 
to focus.  He was going to vomit again. 
 
Faramir's voice belied the gentleness of his intelligent gray eyes.  "I'm 
afraid that your answer is not good enough. I have direct orders from the 
Steward of Gondor to slay anyone who does not have his leave to travel in these 
lands. My heart tells me you are not from Mordor.  But I suggest that if you 
value your lives that you speak quickly and to our satisfaction.  Now on your 
feet, I wish to question you, but not here."
 
Frodo hoped he was right, in that Faramir acted much sterner than he felt in 
his heart.  What an ill fate, if he was to be defeated at the gates of Mordor 
by people who were supposedly on the side of good!  He groaned and closed his 
eyes again.
 
"Can't you see he is very ill?" Sam broke in. "He cannot walk. Please just let 
us be, Mr. Faramir.  I promise you we don't come from Mordor."
 
"And I promise you that I am being as merciful as I can. I am already 
disobeying orders by allowing you to live. Now on your feet."
 
Frodo groaned as Sam hauled him to his feet.  Frodo staggered and leaned 
heavily against Sam. He collapsed to his knees. A dull but persistent cramping 
had started in his belly.  His face was clammy.  He shivered, and Sam wrapped 
his cloak tightly around him. Sam gathered both his pack and Frodo's.  As 
heavily burdened as Sam was, he still managed to keep up with the men.  Frodo 
felt morbidly indifferent as he sagged against Sam.  His stomach hurt with new 
wretchedness, and he found himself almost wishing the men would slay them.
 
"Come, Mr. Frodo," Sam said. "We'll rest soon.  They can't go on all day."
 
They staggered for only about twenty or thirty minutes. Several times Faramir 
looked back. He tried to look stern, but Frodo saw a glimmer of pity in his 
gray eyes. Finally they pushed into a grassy clearing.
 
"We will stop here."  Faramir sat on the log of a dead tree.  "Frodo, stand in 
front of me please. No, wait. We will sit on the ground face to face. You are 
obviously not well and I will not force you to stand."
 
Frodo obeyed, sinking to his knees into the grass, holding one arm over his 
belly. The pain had escalated into wretched cramping. He knew he must look 
terrible.  His stomach rolled insistently and he knew he had to empty his 
stomach again. He would not throw up in front of this grave young man. He 
managed to jump to his feet and stumble away from him, toward the edge of the 
clearing.
 
Something solid slammed into his side, taking his breath away, and he was 
knocked to the ground with brutal force. His arms were wrenched behind him and 
a knee dug into his back.  Sam cried out in the background.
 
"Easy," he heard Faramir say from a distance. "Don't hurt him!"
 
"Shall I bind him?" the man who had wrestled him to the ground asked.
 
Frodo threw up then, emptying his stomach onto the ground. He looked up, 
gasping for breath.  He didn't care how undignified he looked. He wished for 
death.  He closed his eyes, praying that the man would just cut his throat. 
Then everything would be over--the pain, nausea, the weariness.
 
***
 
Faramir looked down at the obviously ill halfling. His blue eyes were bloodshot 
and full of desperate misery. He cringed at the sight of the vomit just outside 
his half open mouth.  Faramir felt like the worst kind of bully. He had always 
wanted to be kind to those in need, those weaker than himself.  These halflings 
were no threat. The least he could do was to nurse this lovely dark-haired one 
back to health, and give the other some food and rest.  Later he could question 
them.  There was something poignant and sweet in the huge blue eyes of the sick 
halfling lying in the grass.
 
"No, Anborn, don't bind him.  He is very ill. Let us take him back to the camp. 
I will treat him to the best of my abilities. I will question them later."
 
Faramir lifted Frodo from the ground and slung him over his shoulder. He 
weighed next to nothing.  Sam looked up at him in a beseeching manner.
 
"Please don't hurt him, Mr. Faramir. He's been through too much."
 
"I'm not going to hurt him, Samwise. I'm going to try to help him. Just follow 
me.  Has he been vomiting long?"
 
Faramir saw in Sam's eyes deep fear, though it was not of him. It was fear for 
Frodo's health. Faramir was struck by how deep this friendship must be.  The 
halflings obviously allowed themselves to be more openly affectionate with each 
other.  It was something men could learn.
 
"No, just since right before you found us."
 
"What has he eaten?"
 
"Why, almost nothing, sir. He's not been too hungry lately.  He's had a really 
tough time lately. He just had a bunch of water right...before--Faramir, do you 
suppose he could have been poisoned by the water?"
 
***
 
 
 
"Where did he drink the water, Sam?" Faramir asked as they walked swiftly 
through the woods. "You didn't drink out of any of the streams, did you?"
 
Sam looked up, his face paling.   "Is there something wrong with the streams, 
sir? Have I done something wrong by making him drink?"
 
Faramir looked down at the hobbit in pity. What were these innocent creatures 
doing so close to the border of Mordor? He longed to ask but he had promised 
himself not to until Frodo was well. He knew what his father would say to that. 
He would say he was soft and inadequate to the job, that war was not the time 
to be merciful. If his father was here, he would have ordered the halflings 
bound and trussed back to Minas Tirith and possibly slain--and what an unjust 
waste of life!  Faramir would not be able to look at himself in a mirror if he 
had acted so hastily, more like the Enemy than the captain of a noble army.
 
"Sam, these streams come directly from Mordor. The Enemy has been poisoning 
them for thousands of years.  There is no safe water, save some pools. How much 
did he drink, and did you have any?"
 
"I wasn't very thirsty," Sam said, tears streaming down his face. "I just had a 
sip or so, but Frodo drank about five large cups full. He was so thirsty and I 
just kept making him swallow more. I've killed him then!"
 
"Sam," Faramir said softly, putting his hand on Sam's shoulder. "I will do 
everything in my skill to help him. We have fresh water at our camp.  Consider 
it good fortune that you have met me."
 
"I do," Sam said, wiping his eyes. "If you can save him, then I'll be forever 
at your service, Captain Faramir."
 
Frodo writhed in Faramir's arms. Faramir looked down in concern.  Frodo's face 
was a ghastly shade of gray, and his eyes were pinched.
 
"Please...pain...sick," Frodo gasped.  Faramir kneeled on the ground and 
flipped Frodo over so that he could expel the contents of his stomach.  Faramir 
rubbed his back in a soothing manner, remembering that when he was a small 
child, his mother had done the same for him when he was ill.  Frodo heaved 
again and again. It seemed impossible that the small hobbit had enough inside 
him that he could expel all that liquid.  It was going to be critical to 
replace the fluid in his body.  Rapid dehydration would be the chief concern, 
especially in one so small.
 
When Frodo was finished, he gasped, clutching Faramir in exhaustion. Faramir 
lifted him again and continued at a faster pace.  Sam had to trot to catch up. 
They were still nearly five miles away from the camp, and Frodo appeared to be 
getting sicker. 
 
By the time they reached the hidden campsite, Frodo was unconscious.  Scores of 
men stared in open curiosity at the two halflings, especially the very ill one 
unconscious in Faramir's arms.  Faramir ignored their questions. He knew that 
he had to get liquids into Frodo and fast.  He felt another jab of guilt. He 
had been much too harsh with him. He had forced the halfling to walk over a 
mile when he was severely ill.  Logically he knew that it would have been worse 
for Frodo if Faramir had not found him. He would have died in the wild, no 
question.  Sam wouldn't have had the resources to save him.  As it was, Faramir 
was uncertain whether he had the healing skills to counter the noxious poisons 
the Enemy dumped into the streams.
 
Faramir carried Frodo to the back of the cave, which was divided from the rest 
of the camp with a tent-like cloth. Faramir placed Frodo gently in the middle 
of a large bed. He lit candles and started a fire.  Under the flickering light, 
Frodo's face looked sickly and pained. His long lashes brushed clammy skin just 
under his eyes. Faramir's breath caught in his throat.  Despite his ghastly 
appearance, he was beautiful.  A purity of soul seemed to glow from his 
translucent skin. Faramir would pay any amount to know why such a beautiful, 
innocent soul was wandering around in such rough country.
 
Frodo's eyes opened, such a stunning, gorgeous blue, the color of summer skies, 
a contrast to the sickly hue of his face.
 
"Where...what happened?" he muttered.
 
"I'm going to take care of you. You're very ill." Faramir brushed his hand over 
Frodo's forehead.  Frodo looked around in confusion.  Frodo patted his vest 
pocket as if he were worried about losing something. He seemed to have found 
what he was looking for, and his face relaxed.
 
"Where's Sam?"
 
"He's washing up. He'll be with you soon."
 
Frodo swallowed several times. His eyes shut again, clearly fighting off 
dizziness or more nausea.
 
"I'm going to be sick again," he whispered.  "I'm sorry."
 
Faramir moved quickly. He had found a large tin pan. He climbed on the bed 
beside Frodo and held the halfling's head over the tin.  Despite the 
unpleasantness of the scene, he found himself in wonder of the silky texture of 
Frodo's curls.  Again, he rubbed Frodo's back in a soothing manner while Frodo 
vomited again and again. The skin at the back of his neck felt hot to the 
touch.  A high fever was developing rapidly. When Frodo was done throwing up, 
Faramir helped set him back down against the pillow. He wiped a wet cloth over 
Frodo's mouth.
 
He held a glass of water toward Frodo's parched lips.
 
"All right, Frodo. I need you to drink this cup."
 
Frodo shook his head. "No. I can't."
 
"If you don't, you will die," Faramir said gruffly. He had never been able to 
mince words, and he was too desperate to try now.
 
Frodo's eyes closed. "Good. Then I won't suffer any longer."
 
Faramir tried a different approach. "Are you willing to put me at the mercy of 
Sam if I let you die?"
 
***
 
Frodo knew he was going to die. He was detached and weak and no longer knew how 
to fight the pain that battered his abdomen.  He wanted to let go.  His eyes 
burned. At least now he was in a soft bed. If he died, the Ring would be safe. 
Sam would take it and finish the quest. The man who had initially threatened to 
slay them now spoke in a kind voice. There was something familiar about him, 
something that reminded him of another, though he simply couldn't think clearly 
enough to make a connection. He only knew that he did not want the man to leave 
him. He wanted to hear his soothing voice, to feel his large but gentle hands 
on his body, rubbing his back and helping him through the worst pain.
 
He opened his eyes and tried desperately to smile at the man.  He didn't really 
want to die. He wanted to get better so that he could talk with this man with 
the voice that could penetrate the pain in his body.
 
"All right," he muttered. "I'll try to drink the water."
 
Faramir helped Frodo up enough so that he could drink the water without 
choking.  Frodo leaned against the hard muscles of Faramir's chest and allowed 
himself to sink back into him.  Faramir gently tilted the halfling's chin back 
so that he could easily swallow the water.  Frodo drank the whole cup and lay 
back on the pillow.
 
"Thank you," he whispered.  Faramir was staring down at him with a kind 
expression.  Frodo's stomach rolled again, and he shut his eyes. "Don't...don't 
leave me."
 
"I won't," Faramir said. "I'm going to be here when you wake. Try to sleep, 
Frodo. You are safe here, as safe as you can possibly be in this land."
 
***
 
 
Faramir turned 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 Minas 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 Minas 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.
 
***
 
 
Frodo gazed at the ceiling in a glaze, panting in exhaustion.  His throat was 
so dry that it hurt to swallow, and he feared to swallow because it would bring 
back the pain in his stomach that felt like hands wringing his insides.  He 
didn't think he could handle much more. He tried to imagine how much worse it 
would have been if Faramir had not found them.  He and Sam would have been 
stuck in the open in hostile land on the border of Mordor, open to any attack.  
But instead Faramir, with his soothing voice and kind eyes, had strolled into 
Frodo's heart and trust. Frodo smiled as he thought about Faramir's strong arms 
wrapped around his body during the awful moments of retching and releasing 
everything from his stomach.  
 
Frodo longed to be with Faramir, far away from their present situation.  He 
imagined them sitting on a peaceful lawn sipping tea and discussing Minas 
Tirith, the Shire, and other matters.  Frodo intuitively felt that despite 
their very different upbringings that they had much in common.
 
Heavy footsteps sounded outside the curtain, and he smiled again, anticipating 
Faramir's handsome face. Instead, a man with blond hair and piercing dark eyes 
came in. Startled, Frodo gasped and shrank against his pillow. He flushed, 
immediately feeling foolish about his reaction.  Surely there was no reason to 
fear any of the men in Faramir's company.
 
"How are you feeling, halfling?" the man asked.  His eyes were cold and 
humorless. Frodo could judge by the tone of the man's voice that he did not 
really care about Frodo's well-being. The way he said "halfling" made the word 
sound dirty.
 
"I am all right," Frodo said stiffly.  He felt instantly awkward under this 
man's harsh gaze. Besides, he did not really feel all right. His stomach had 
begun to churn ominously. His skin felt hot and dry. He closed his eyes, but 
the room tilted and rocked.
 
"Then perhaps you could answer some questions for me," Anborn said.
 
Frodo felt too weak to deal with an interrogation. He had to be so careful 
about what he said. He remembered the faces of the wise--Elrond, Gandalf, 
Galadriel. All of them had turned to him as their last hope. He was only a 
small halfling from the Shire, but somehow, he had to find a way into Mordor to 
destroy the Ring. Frodo would gladly tell Faramir. He felt instinctively that 
he could trust Faramir about the Ring. His stomach rolled, and he swallowed 
several times, trying to hold back the inevitable. He did not think he had 
anything left inside his stomach to eject. He did not want to get sick in front 
of this unpleasant man.
 
"I will try," Frodo said, meeting Anborn's gaze.
 
"Well then," the man said. "My name is Anborn and I was a dear friend of 
Faramir's brother, Boromir."
 
Frodo gasped. His entire frame jolted. Boromir! Faramir's brother? Anborn 
watched his reaction, a knowing smile playing across his lips.
 
"Boromir, son of the Steward Denethor?" Frodo finally managed, barely able to 
catch his breath. He pictured for a moment Boromir's kind face full of 
desperate hatred as he fell to the power of the Ring.
 
"It seems you know of him."
 
"We...I traveled with him for many miles. I didn't know--"
 
"This makes this even more interesting. Can you enlighten me on what two 
halflings from the Shire are doing wandering around in enemy territory?"
 
"Did Faramir ask you to talk to me?" Frodo asked. His lips trembled. He still 
could not believe Faramir was Boromir's brother. No wonder he had sensed a 
familiarity about him!  They were so different. Frodo had always felt 
uncomfortable around Boromir. He had sensed the man's condescension toward him. 
Boromir had never understood why four halflings should be allowed to go on such 
a dangerous mission, much less that one of them should hold the key to saving 
all of Middle Earth.  Boromir had fought bravely, had saved Frodo from harm 
several times, but there had never been the potential for equal companionship. 
In Faramir, Frodo sensed a kindred spirit. He was strong, he could wield a 
sword, but his gray eyes revealed a keen ability to look below the surface.
 
"Does that matter?" Anborn's voice was cold. "Or do you have something to 
hide?"
 
Frodo looked at Anborn. He did not like the man at all, and he had no desire to 
reveal anything to him.  "It is best that nothing is revealed right now. I 
would rather speak with Faramir."
 
"Listen." Anborn said in a hiss. He knelt beside Frodo, grasping the front of 
Frodo's shirt.  Frodo gasped, dizzy from the sudden movement. "You will only 
get away with this for so long. You are illegally in our land. When the Lord 
Denethor gets wind of this, you will be sent for. And when you stand before the 
Steward of Gondor, you will talk or you will be imprisoned until you give a 
satisfactory response.  You should consider it extremely lucky that you are 
still alive as yet.  Denethor does not love spies.  Do you understand?  So you 
can talk now or later."
 
Frodo tried to focus on the man's deep brown eyes, but a black haze formed in 
front of his vision.  He groaned involuntarily and clutched the blankets. The 
room reeled and spun.
 
"Anborn!"
 
Frodo's heart thudded as he heard Faramir's familiar voice, though it seemed to 
come from a great distance.
 
"Mr. Frodo!"  Sam ran to the bed and clutched Frodo's icy hand.
 
Anborn stood and looked Faramir in the eyes. Frodo pulled himself on one elbow, 
straining to see Faramir.
 
"I had a little conversation with the halfling, Faramir. It turns out he knew 
Boromir. I would get more out of him. His murder has not been solved as of 
yet."
 
Frodo's skin turned to ice.  "Murder?" he gasped.  Everything in the room 
wavered. He desperately fought to stay conscious.  Murder? Then that meant 
that--
 
"Has something happened to Boromir?" Sam cried.
 
"I was thinking that Frodo could enlighten us on that matter," Anborn said.
 
"He's dead?" Frodo said, looking at Faramir, his blue eyes dark with agony. 
"I...As far as I know, he is still alive."
 
Faramir looked at Frodo with an expression that Frodo could not read.  He 
stepped across the room and sat on the edge of the bed.
 
"Get out, Anborn." His voice was sad and dull.  Anborn obeyed with no comment.
 
Frodo looked up at Faramir, his eyes beginning to tear. Faramir's gaze was 
hard, though his gray eyes revealed hurt.
 
"Dead, Faramir? How do you know?"
 
"How could you not at least have given me that much?" Faramir asked. "I have 
broken every law because I...because I trusted you."
 
Frodo closed his eyes. The room spun, and he allowed himself to be caught in 
the whirlpool of darkness. If Boromir was dead, what must be the fate of the 
rest of the company? He pictured Merry and Pippin, who had insisted on coming 
along and yet should never have left the Shire; Aragorn, who had been so dear 
to him since Bree; Gimli and Legolas. They couldn't all be dead! If everyone he 
loved was dead, then what was the point of going on?
 
Suddenly his stomach spasmed with sharp cramps, as if a giant hand had reached 
inside him and twisted his ribs. He did not have the strength even to open his 
eyes as he arched his back and screamed.
 
***
 
Faramir looked down at Frodo. Frodo's eyes had filled with tears and he was 
breathing with rapid effort. Faramir felt deeply ashamed. If he wanted this 
halfling to live, he needed to heal him, not interrogate him, regardless of 
whether Boromir was now involved. And he did want Frodo to live. He was 
intrigued by him on so many levels--his beauty, his stoic manner, his bravery, 
his soft, lyrical voice.  And if he died, he would possibly take the events of 
Boromir's last day alive with him.  
 
It hurt that Frodo had not trusted him enough to at least mention that he had 
traveled with his brother. It was understandable that Frodo not be willing to 
reveal his mission, but the simple matter of Boromir?  And Faramir had to admit 
that Frodo's lack of trust would not hurt so much if Faramir hadn't grown so 
attached to him.
 
Then again--
 
Frodo arched his back and yelled, as if in sudden, blinding pain.  Faramir 
immediately took Frodo's soft cheeks in his hands.  In his manic need to find 
out more about his brother's death, he had delayed Frodo's much needed 
treatment. Frodo was desperately ill and in no position to answer anything 
coherently.  
 
"Frodo, where does it hurt?" He rubbed Frodo's cheeks, but the halfling's eyes 
remained squeezed shut. His skin was so hot.
 
"What's wrong with him?" Sam cried out. "Why is he in so much pain?"
 
"Frodo!" Faramir shouted, rubbing Frodo's cheeks vigorously again. "Help us. 
Tell us where it hurts."
 
But Frodo had lost consciousness.
 
 
***
 
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. Faramir 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 had made 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," Faramir whispered in sympathy, thinking his tears to be of pain. He 
rubbed Frodo'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 swelling pain. The pain moved upward and filled his throat. 
Frodo gagged and retched as he realized the cramping had transformed into 
liquid 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 his 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 the company 
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 
seems your 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 fair 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 himself.
 
"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. The large 
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 cautious.
 
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 wanted 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.
 
 
***
 
 
 
Frodo was first aware that he lay on something unyielding that rose and fell in 
slow rhythm. Frodo opened his eyes.  Sunlight streamed through the crack in the 
curtain giving the walls of the cave a golden hue. Frodo's limbs felt weak and 
shaky, but the horrible agony in his stomach had gone. He realized with a start 
that he was lying atop Faramir's warm chest, and that he had slept to the 
rhythm of the man's breaths.  Muscular arms encircled Frodo's slight frame. 
Frodo shifted and turned to look at Faramir's face. Faramir appeared to be 
asleep with a content smile on his face. Frodo let his hand lightly brush the 
silky hair on Faramir's chest. 
 
Faramir's gray eyes opened.  When he saw Frodo directly above him, his mouth 
curved in a drowsy smile. He covered Frodo's small hand with his. Frodo hid an 
amused smile. It was almost as if they were new lovers waking up after a wild 
night.  He only wished that was what they had been doing throughout the night.
 
"How do you feel?" Faramir asked. "You have color in your cheeks."
 
"Much better," Frodo said. "Even a little hungry, if I may be so bold."
 
"You may," Faramir said. "I can send for a breakfast for us."
 
He hesitated, as if reluctant to release the hobbit. Frodo gave Faramir a shy 
smile. Faramir reached up to Frodo's face and pushed a stray curl from his 
forehead. His fingers lingered, and his eyes closed, as if it pained him to 
draw his fingers away. Frodo edged closer to Faramir's mouth. Faramir did not 
pull back. Faramir opened his eyes with a sharp intake of breath.  Frodo 
clasped his hands around the back of Faramir's neck and leaned into Faramir's 
mouth.
 
They were locked in a desperate kiss. Faramir's tongue thrust into Frodo's 
mouth.  Frodo gasped for breath, though he did not want Faramir to release him. 
 
Faramir pushed back. He gripped Frodo by the shoulders and rolled him on his 
back on the bed.  He looked at Frodo's flushed, bewildered face, and he covered 
his mouth in shame.
 
"I am sorry, Frodo!" he cried, jumping off the bed. "I should be deeply shamed 
for what I have done. Please don't be frightened. It won't happen again."
 
Frodo stared at him, his bruised lips parted in surprise.  Then he began to 
laugh. He had not had a good, genuine laugh in so long, and it relaxed the 
muscles in his sore stomach.  Faramir paused, his cheeks flaming. Frodo felt 
sorry to be the cause of Faramir's raw discomfort at that moment, but he 
couldn't help it.  Faramir looked so distressed--and over a kiss that Frodo had 
initiated.
 
"Oh, no, Faramir," Frodo finally gasped.  "Please don't say it won't happen 
again."
 
Faramir closed his eyes in relief and sagged against the wall. "You...you liked 
it?"
 
"Yes."
 
Frodo kept his eyes on Faramir as he fidgeted with the tea kettle. Frodo 
watched his flustered movements with great amusement, and for a moment he 
pictured him as he would have looked as a child--adorable and vulnerable, more 
sensitive than most. How Boromir must have taunted him for always wearing his 
emotions on his sleeve!
 
"I will get you some ginger tea," Faramir said. "And I'll bring us some 
breakfast cakes. It's good after a bout with the stomach as you experienced."
 
"Ginger tea," Frodo said, his mirth replaced with a wistful smile. "Bilbo used 
to make it for me when I was unwell."
 
"Were you often unwell as a child?" Faramir asked. He set a kettle on the fire. 
He was obviously eager to start any conversation other than about what had just 
happened between them. Frodo tried to hide the amused smile from his face.
 
Frodo nodded. "When Bilbo first took me in--my parents died when I was twelve--
I was sick all the time. I got pneumonia, mushroom poisoning, and measles all 
in one year.  Poor Uncle Bilbo hadn't had children of his own and suddenly here 
was this youth who was ill all the time...But he was wonderful--"
 
Frodo broke off. Surely Faramir, a great captain of men who had seen much 
suffering in his life, had no urge to listen to a hobbit prattle about his 
childhood illnesses.
 
Faramir settled on the edge of his bed watching him with a smile. He did not 
seem bored.  When the kettle boiled, Faramir handed Frodo the steaming mug.  
The spicy fragrance of ginger filled the room.
 
"Careful, don't burn your hand," Faramir said, putting his large hand over 
Frodo's. Frodo looked up and their eyes met.  Frodo felt an electric tingle. 
Faramir pulled his hand away, reddening again.  Frodo sipped the tea.  He 
longed to rid Faramir of his shyness.  "I will go now and bring back some 
cakes."
 
When he returned, Frodo had changed out of the clothes he had been ill in. He 
felt much better with the clean cloth against his skin.  He had curled up in a 
huge cushioned chair in the corner of the curtained area.
 
"Frodo," Faramir said, setting the tray of cakes on the table in front of him.  
"I arranged for Samwise to stay in his tented partition for now.  He's not 
happy, but he agreed once I convinced him that you were much better and that 
he'd see you later in the day. I arranged for breakfast to be brought to him. I 
need to talk to you in private--about why you are here in Ithilien and what you 
know about my brother."
 
Faramir's eyes had turned sober. Frodo suddenly had the sickening idea that 
Faramir had not been shy. He had merely been reluctant to become romantically 
involved with Frodo when he was not certain he could trust him.  Frodo shut his 
eyes. His stomach turned again, from nerves this time, and he wondered if he 
would be able to swallow even one of the small cakes. He felt he could trust 
Faramir, but when it came down to it, he was terrified about the burden the 
council had put on him. He alone was responsible for fulfilling the quest. If 
he trusted Faramir because he felt an attraction for him, and Faramir turned 
out to be false, then the responsibility lay fully on Frodo.
 
"Take your time," Faramir said softly. "I know you're not completely well."
 
"What do you know of why your brother traveled to Rivendell?" Frodo finally 
murmured. He tried to nibble on the end of a small cake. There was a slight 
cinnamon flavor that Frodo would have found very pleasant under different 
circumstances.
 
"What do I know of it?" Faramir asked. "I know about the dreams that we both 
had."
 
Faramir described the dreams which echoed with poetry.
 
"Seek for the sword that was broken, in Imladris it dwells," Frodo murmured.
 
"Yes," Faramir said.  A look of pleasant relief swept over his face. Frodo 
could understand from his expression that he had not wanted to interrogate this 
halfling that he had grown fond of. He had been afraid of what he might find 
out. "It is a token of your honesty that you know these words. And the Halfling 
forth shall stand. I take it you are the Halfling that is referred to?"
 
"Yes," Frodo said.
 
"But what of Isildur's Bane? If one reads the words of the poem correctly, it 
was to have awakened at your coming? Do you have this thing?"
 
Frodo's heart grew cold. Faramir started at the fierce expression in his eyes. 
"Or shall we not speak of such matters? We can turn instead to the matter that 
concerns us directly. You came out of Imladris with my brother.  I am assuming 
that you were both on a mission dictated by the House of Elrond. Why would they 
send two halflings into this cruel land? To what purpose?"
 
"The council commanded secrecy," Frodo said. His heart was thudding so hard 
that he could barely breathe. He wished that he could let go and trust this 
man. It would be so pleasant to put the burden on a man who was familiar with 
the ways of the Enemy, who had lived under the shadow for so long.  "Just know 
that it is an errand of great urgency against the shadow in the East."
 
"And what of my brother? This is what burns on my heart the most. You are one 
of the last to have seen him alive."
 
"It is difficult to speak of this," Frodo said. He shuddered, remembering 
Boromir's burning eyes as he assaulted him.
 
Faramir's gray eyes hardened. He was in military mode now.  Frodo could expect 
no mercy.  His heart sank.
 
"You did not part in friendship?" Faramir asked. He paced back and forth, hands 
clasped behind his back.
 
Frodo was silent. He could not imagine how best to describe the distrustful 
relationship he had had with Faramir's brother.  In doing so, he realized that 
he would probably lose whatever respect and tenderness Faramir had felt for 
him. Though there seemed no sign of that tenderness right now. Frodo got the 
frightening impression that if Faramir had discovered that Frodo had somehow 
had something to do with Boromir's death that he would reach over and break his 
neck right then.  Frodo shivered. He let fall his cake. He had no appetite now.
 
"He...," Frodo swallowed.  "He...From the beginning he did not like the 
council's decision regarding Isildur's Bane. He would have taken it to your 
city and used it to fight the Enemy."
 
"Yes," Faramir said thoughtfully.  His eyes softened somewhat. "That sounds 
much like him."
 
"He was a valiant member of the fellowship, Faramir. He fought hard against the 
enemies we faced. Several times he saved my life and I will always be grateful 
to him."
 
Frodo's hands trembled as he held his cup of tea.  Faramir absentmindedly 
poured him more and set the kettle back on the fire.
 
"So where did it go wrong for him?"
 
"In Lorien, I believe. That was when he fully realized that I was in the way of 
what he wanted."
 
Frodo's throat filled. The betrayal still hurt. That the Ring had been able to 
turn the noble, friendly man into a vicious attacker. Tears spilled from his 
eyes. He wiped them away, ashamed by his lack of control next to the rigid 
military captain.
 
"Frodo, take your time," Faramir said softly, kneeling beside him.  Frodo was 
relieved to see Faramir's eyes had fully softened again.  He took a few 
shuddering breaths. 
 
"It's just that...He attacked me, Faramir.  This...Isildur's Bane wrought such 
evil influence that it turned a good and noble man into someone you would not 
have recognized.  But still," Frodo said, bravely grasping Faramir's hand.  
This time he did not pull away.  "Even as he fell to it, I think there was 
still much good in him. He could have come upon me in stealth and killed me 
with one stiff stab. Or broken my neck with his bare hands. He did not. He 
tried to reason with me first. Then...even when he was in the heat of his 
attack on me, he did not do violence to me. He did not strike me. His only aim 
was to get the Ring--"
 
Frodo's heart lurched, and he looked up with a terrified gasp. He had spoken 
before he realized what had happened. He broke out into wild trembling and 
shrank back against the chair.
 
"The Ring!" Faramir slowly rose to his feet. He stared down at Frodo with a 
strange smile. "The Ring. So much falls into place."  
 
***
 
 
 
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 father 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--"
 
Faramir 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 could change 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 Faramir'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's first 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.
 
***
 
Faramir slipped out of Frodo with deliberate calm. His eyes were not on Frodo; 
they were fixed on Anborn.  He still clenched Frodo's arms, and Frodo felt his 
hands trembling with rage. Frodo's heart battered in his ears, blocking out all 
other sound.  He clung to Faramir's shirt, using him as a shield from Anborn's 
piercing eyes.
 
"Hold on, Frodo," Faramir whispered under his breath.  He pulled out of Frodo's 
grasp and climbed to his feet. He stood in front of Anborn.
 
Frodo scooted out of the way and pushed his back against the wall.  He pulled 
his breeches over his bottom and clutched his knees.  His stomach, not yet 
fully recovered from the water poisoning, churned ominously.  
 
"Anborn."  Faramir's voice was steady and commanding.  "What brings you to my 
private quarters unannounced?"
 
Frodo admired his cool dignity. No trembling, no awkwardness.  He was truly a 
man trained for crisis. Frodo's own throat seemed full of glue.  If he tried to 
speak, he knew it would come out in a shameful squeak.
 
Anborn bowed with obvious disdain.  Two more soldiers followed him into the 
room. They looked nervous, their eyes falling everywhere in the room but at 
their Captain. "We have come to take the halflings at once to Minas Tirith."
 
Faramir's lips thinned. His eyes darkened until they were two cold slivers of 
black ice.  Frodo shuddered; Faramir had turned a similar gaze on him not too 
long ago.
 
"Tell me, Anborn, as this is a matter that you have oft forgotten.  Who is your 
Captain?"
 
For the first time, Anborn did not look as sure of himself.  Frodo's body felt 
numb.  He did not dare release his withheld breath.  Faramir had to win this.  
Frodo could not go back to Minas Tirith.  Not among so many men.  He would be 
searched, and the Ring would surely be taken from him.
 
Anborn recovered his dignity and a cold smile went over his lips. "You are.  
But when a man of higher rank, even if he is the Steward's son, forgets his 
duty to his city and begins to think below his belt, then it is my duty as a 
loyal soldier of the White City to make certain that the Steward's commands are 
followed.  Your father has commanded that anyone found in this land not by his 
leave is to be slain. I respect your notion of not killing creatures who do not 
seem harmful. However, if you choose not to slay your prisoners, it is your 
duty to bring them to Minas Tirith for questioning, not to keep them as slaves 
to your…lust…" He turned a scornful gaze on Frodo. "Where they may escape and 
reveal our location."
 
Frodo flushed under Anborn's scorn but he did not dare respond.  The outcome of 
this confrontation would determine the fate of all of Middle Earth.  If Anborn 
and the two soldiers he had convinced to cooperate with him overcame Faramir 
and forced Frodo to Minas Tirith, the quest would fail.  The men of Minas 
Tirith would share Boromir's desire to use the weapon of the Enemy against 
Mordor.  Even if he were allowed to keep the Ring, it would only be a matter of 
time before someone ripped it from him.
 
Faramir was silent for several minutes.  He kept his hard gaze on Anborn.  When 
he spoke again, his voice was low, but there was a hard edge to it.  "I am glad 
to have heard you speak so frankly.  However, you know nothing about why these 
halflings are here on the border of Mordor.  I will not send them to Minas 
Tirith.  And if you are wise, you will remember who your liege lord is and who 
your Captain is, even if you disagree with his judgments."
 
"Then you would disobey your father?"
 
Faramir pursed his lips together until they were white.  His face twisted with 
pain before he smoothed it. He looked old; Frodo could suddenly see how the 
years of guarding the White City had wearied him. 
 
Faramir clenched his fists and released them. "Anborn, you will leave my 
quarters at once. If you cease your treachery now, there is a chance, however 
small, that you will still be allowed to be a soldier of Gondor."
 
Anborn bowed again as if the motion truly pained him.  His smile was bitter.  
"Your father's duty to the city will supercede any loyalty he may have for 
you." He turned to Frodo again. "Whatever the Captain decides for you, 
Halfling, you can mark my words.  If because of your presence our camp is 
exposed to the Enemy, I will find you. And I will personally rip you limb from 
limb."
 
Faramir was in Anborn's face with the speed of a striking snake. His sword was 
at Anborn's throat.  "One more word and it will be you who will be sent to 
Minas Tirith for trial before my father."
 
Frodo's blood chilled at the sight of such a fierce confrontation between two 
men.
 
Anborn left abruptly, not hiding his humiliation.
 
As soon as he was gone, Frodo jumped up and threw his arms around Faramir's 
waist. Faramir knelt and squeezed Frodo to him.
 
"I'm sorry about that, so sorry.  Frodo, you've gone through so much." His gaze 
hardened. "I will do something about him. That you can count on.  Such 
contention cannot be allowed in such dark times."
 
"Thank you," Frodo said, though he found he could still barely speak. "I could 
not go to Minas Tirith. It would be the death of all of Middle Earth." 
Adrenaline shook through him until his limbs felt weak and useless.  He 
collapsed into Faramir's embrace, letting all his weight sag against the man.
 
Faramir lifted him and set him gently onto the bed.  He knelt over him and 
kissed his brow.  "We cannot finish what we started.  You and Samwise will need 
to leave. You cannot stay here, not with such shameful contention in my 
company."  His face looked pained again.  "I do not know how far Anborn would 
go.  We will need him for the heavy battles to come or I would send him away 
immediately."
 
Frodo touched Faramir's face tenderly. "It is no small matter to go against 
your father. I appreciate that you have done that for me."
 
"Frodo," Faramir squeezed him to his chest.  He cradled Frodo's head in his 
arms.  Frodo felt safe, as if he were in a warm cocoon. "What do you intend to 
do with this most powerful of weapons?  It pains me to see you travel through 
this dark land.  It seems folly. I cannot bear the thought of you going to your 
death."
 
Frodo closed his eyes. The mere thought of how much farther he had to travel, 
through so many more perils, made him weary. How he longed to stay in Faramir's 
arms forever!
 
"I was going to find a way into Mordor," Frodo said with a weak sigh.  "I was 
going to Gorgoroth.  I must find the mountain of fire and cast the thing into 
the gulf of Doom. Gandalf said so.  I do not think I ever shall get there." 
Tears of exhaustion and sprang to his eyes.
 
Faramir took Frodo's cheeks in his hands and stared into his face.  His gray 
eyes—always so expressive—now reflected shock and pity.  He wiped Frodo's tears 
away with his thumbs.  
 
"Rest now, sweet Frodo," Faramir said. "Sleep in safety while you can. When you 
wake, I will gear you and Samwise and you will continue on your way." He stared 
beyond Frodo. His eyes looked more distant than Frodo had ever seen them.  "I 
have met someone whom I could love, and now I must release him onto the most 
dangerous path.  How cruel fate is sometimes. Would that I could take your 
place and you could lay down your burden."
 
"Your duty is to Minas Tirith," Frodo said.
 
"When you return…" Faramir said.  He closed his eyes.  "No, I must not think of 
it. There is too much darkness ahead for both of us. But especially for you."
 
Faramir's fingers ran over Frodo's face.  He winced as he came to the bruise he 
had caused on Frodo's face.  "Would that…I know you do not know me well. You 
have not seen me at my best. First I took you prisoner and forced you to march 
when you were deadly ill. Then I allowed that evil instrument you bear to 
poison my mind. I hurt you."
 
"That wasn't you," Frodo said, brushing his lips against Faramir's neck.  "This 
is what I remember. You took pity on two ragged hobbits in your land. You 
nursed me to health. You were nothing but fair and kind. You disobeyed orders 
and did not slay us.  You—"
 
Faramir's mouth clamped on Frodo's with rough intensity.  His hand crept under 
Frodo's shirt.  "I want you so much. But there is no time."
 
"You're right," Frodo said.  "There is no time. Please, Faramir. Let us finish 
what we started.  This I promise you now.  If I return alive, the world will 
have changed. You will no longer be at war. Faramir, if we both survive, we 
will have another chance to…" Frodo smiled. A nearly debilitating surge of 
affection for the man who held him weakened his limbs.  "If you wish, I would 
stay with you."
 
"Would you?" Faramir said, pulling down Frodo's breeches. "I've never met 
anyone, man or woman, like you.  Until you, I'd never met anyone I could give 
my heart to."
 
Frodo's breaths came in jagged gasps of joy at the combination of hearing 
Faramir's words and the fact that his large hand was wrapped around Frodo's 
stiff member.  He pressed into Faramir's hips.  He pulled at Faramir's 
leggings. Faramir ripped them down. In one swift movement, he was on top of 
Frodo.  Frodo let out a gasp as all the air was knocked out of him.
 
"I'm sorry," Faramir said, putting as much of his weight as possible on his 
elbows.  Frodo pushed into Faramir again, overwhelmed by the tingling in his 
belly. He felt as if he had swallowed too much beer too quickly.  Something had 
to be released.  He frantically rubbed his member against Faramir's.  Faramir 
fell into him, pressing his lips over Frodo's again. A huge hot tongue thrust 
inside Frodo's mouth.
 
"Now!" Frodo gasped, grabbing Faramir's warm thick shaft.  He prepared for the 
initial agony of invasion, though he knew it shouldn't hurt quite as much this 
time.
 
Faramir grunted as Frodo guided him into his small bottom.  In he slid.  Frodo 
let out a hiss of pain as Faramir entered him with his thick heat. When Faramir 
hesitated at the look of pain on Frodo's face, Frodo pushed him in further.  He 
clutched Faramir's head and kissed him as Faramir finally hit that spot inside 
him that sent ripples of pleasure through his body.  Frodo clamped his mouth 
together, holding in the screams of pleasure. After he destroyed the Ring, he 
and Faramir could make love whenever they desired. They could cry out as loud 
as they wished.   Faramir bit his lip and grabbed Frodo's arms with bruising 
force, also straining not to cry out.  He bucked violently into Frodo, 
shuddering and gasping.
 
Then Frodo felt it—the final explosion that shattered his senses and left him 
limp and sweaty.  Faramir slumped on top of him.  His breaths came out in 
ragged sobs. Frodo could barely breathe under his full weight, but it felt 
good. For the time, he was safe and loved.  After a few moments, Faramir rolled 
off of Frodo and wrapped his arms around the hobbit.  He had tears in his eyes 
as he kissed Frodo several times on his sweaty brow.
 
"Frodo, I…this may seem premature to you, but I love you."  Faramir took 
Frodo's hands in his and kissed them. Frodo's chest swelled with gladness. "I 
don't want you to go. I would do anything to convince you otherwise. I will 
take you to Minas Tirith. I will keep you safe. Nobody will harm or molest you. 
The Ring will be—"
 
"You know that cannot be." Frodo shook his head. "What good will that do?  Your 
people are strong, but they cannot hold off Sauron indefinitely.  They will 
come for the Ring. I will bring danger and death to your city."
 
"But I would not have you go to death or to torment," Faramir said, squeezing 
Frodo to his chest.  "This is what I cannot bear."
 
Frodo felt tears come to his eyes.  Leaving Faramir would be more painful than 
he had thought possible.  Frodo felt a sudden shame. He had scarcely thought 
about Sam since Faramir had interrogated him.  He hoped he was not terribly 
lonely and that Anborn had done nothing to harm or frighten him.  He was 
probably worried sick.  No. Sam was perceptive.  He had certainly put it 
together what was going on between Captain Faramir and his Mr. Frodo.
 
"There's no other way," Frodo said. 
 
"I must let you sleep," Faramir said, burying his face in Frodo's hair.
 
"Stay with me—at least until I fall asleep."
 
"That I can grant you."  Faramir pressed against Frodo's back, his arms firmly 
around Frodo's waist. He kissed Frodo's ear and neck.  Frodo leaned against his 
chest, soothed by the beating of the man's heart.  A fierce determination swept 
through him that he should survive what was before him.  Like Faramir, he had 
never before found anyone he could love.  He would return to him.
 
 
***
 
 
"Frodo." Faramir's insistent voice broke into Frodo's warm, dreamless sleep.  
"Frodo, you must wake up now."
 
Frodo forced his eyes open.  He had been so snug in Faramir's arms that he had 
slipped into a deep sleep, not noticing when the Man had left the bed. Now 
Faramir was fully dressed and leaning over him, his eyes alert, darting back 
and forth.
 
"Is something wrong?" Frodo asked, propping himself on one elbow.   He was 
happy to see Faramir, but he could tell by the tension in Faramir's shoulders 
that there was no way that the Man was coming back to bed.
 
"You must come now," Faramir said in a low voice. "There is a small matter on 
which I need your counsel."
 
Frodo's heart sped as he pulled himself out from under the covers and swung his 
legs over the side of the bed. He had to stop and catch his breath for a 
moment, as he still felt weak and sluggish from his recent violent illness. He 
wished more than ever that he was finished with his journey, that he could rest 
under the cozy covers of Faramir's bed until he felt refreshed and well.  "All 
right. What is the matter? Where is Sam?"
 
"I would rather not say…not yet. You must follow me. And do not worry about 
Sam. He is safe."
 
"You are very mysterious," Frodo said with a nervous smile, but Faramir 
remained silent, causing Frodo's stomach to turn in trepidation.  
 
Frodo climbed to his feet and wrapped his cloak tightly around him. He followed 
Faramir through the dark cave, where men slept on mattresses, covered only by 
their cloaks.  Frodo and Faramir walked out the cave mouth until they reached a 
narrow ledge.  Faramir took Frodo's hand. "Careful," he said, his voice barely 
audible.  "The rocks can be slick."
 
"Why have you brought me here?" Frodo asked.  The fine mist from the waterfall 
sprayed his face, and he shivered, longing again for the warmth of the bed. In 
the moonlight, the waterfall glimmered silver, like Elven veils.
 
Faramir pointed down to the pool. "Look."
 
Anborn strode out of the shadows, and Frodo jumped, letting out a sharp gasp.  
The Man's eyes were ruthless as he looked down on the hobbit. "We wait only for 
your command to shoot, Captain."
 
"Wait," Faramir said quietly.
 
"Shoot?" Frodo looked up in alarm.  "What is this about?"
 
Staring down at the dark pool, he saw why Faramir had brought him here.   
There, diving and fishing in the misty dark pool, was Gollum, who had skulked 
away the day Frodo had fallen ill.  The dark, slinking figure dove in and out 
of the water, muttering to himself, his wretched voice echoing eerily up the 
cliff.  Frodo gasped when he caught the gleam of arrows poised in bent bows.
 
"No," he said to Faramir, clutching his arm. "I beg you, do not shoot!"
 
"Why?" Faramir said.  "Why should I spare him?"
 
Frodo's legs began to tremble. He had not yet told Faramir anything about 
Gollum, and he did not wish to now, in front of Anborn and his other Men. "He 
is bound to me.  And I to him. He is our guide."
 
"Your guide," Faramir repeated, his brow creasing with puzzled worry.  "You 
said nothing of this in all our talks."
 
"Shall we not shoot?" Anborn asked again.  "To look upon this pool bears the 
penalty of death."
 
Frodo's grip on Faramir's arm tightened.  "Let me go down to him. Please."
 
Anborn did not take pains to hide his sneer, but Frodo kept his eyes on 
Faramir.
 
"Damrod," Faramir called. "Lead Frodo to the pool."
 
 
***
 
Faramir watched Frodo balance precariously on the slick rocks as he whispered 
gently to the gangrel creature.  What could Frodo have meant by saying that he 
was bound to this wretched thing?  Surely this creature was treacherous and 
dangerous. Frodo would be better off should a stray arrow happen to hit it. 
Faramir felt immediate shame, feeling as devious as the creature itself, which 
was definitely wretched, unaware of its danger. Could it be that this creature 
was tied up with the Ring somehow?
 
Frodo's foot slipped, causing him to stumble a little.
 
Faramir started, his face turning cold with fear, and he thrust his arm out as 
if he could steady Frodo, though the hobbit was far out of his reach. "Have a 
care, have a care," he hissed under his breath.  If Frodo fell, it would be 
nearly impossible to save him.  That creature would be his only hope.
 
Frodo had just begun to back up, and the creature was following him with a raw 
fish in his mouth, when the twang of an arrow being released broke the silence.    
 
"Hold!" Faramir shouted, no longer concerned with stealth.  It was too late, 
and his chest filled with icy terror as the arrow struck Frodo in the center of 
his back, knocking him forward onto the rock.  Gollum hissed and slipped into 
the pool, slithering to the far shore like an eel.  More arrows flew in the 
direction of Gollum, but the creature was too quick. He darted amongst the 
rocks and disappeared.
 
Faramir descended the sharp, rocky path, barely caring where his feet fell, his 
heart beating cold in his chest. When he reached the pool, Frodo was still 
slumped forward on the rock, but there was no arrow sticking out of his back.
 
Of course, Faramir remembered with near debilitating relief.  His mithril 
shirt!  Faramir's legs threatened to give out, and he stumbled, ruefully noting 
that he was not following his own advice about having a care on the slick 
rocks. He curled his hands into fists to stop the trembling and tried to still 
the pounding in his heart. If not for the mithril shirt, then…he could not bear 
to complete the thought.
 
Faramir ran to Frodo, and he found him conscious but dazed. He grasped Frodo's 
shoulders, turning the halfling around to face him. "Are you hurt? Were you 
hit?"
 
"I don't know what happened," Frodo said in a slurred voice. Then his eyes 
widened in alarm.  "Where is Gollum? He wasn't shot, was he?"
 
"One of my men accidentally shot you, but your mail shirt seems to have saved 
you. And the creature…Gollum…he seems to have fled."
 
Frodo smiled wearily.  "I am sorry, Faramir."
 
Faramir leaned heavily against Frodo, embracing him tightly.  "You cannot 
imagine…" He wiped his forehead.  "The fear that filled my heart…" He kissed 
Frodo, not caring that all his men could see.
 
"It is unfortunate," Frodo said, moving his mouth away from Faramir's, 
distracted by Gollum's disappearance.  "The poor wretched creature does not 
think highly of Men. But I do not think he is a danger to you. He has but one 
thing on his mind, and once I am on my way, he will bend all his thought on 
following me."
 
"Are you able to walk?" Faramir asked, helping Frodo to his feet.  Frodo 
nodded, holding his chest, trying to catch his breath.
 
Back at the top of the cliff,  Faramir met Anborn, and when he looked into the 
warrior's eyes, he saw livid loathing.  That arrow had not been an accident.
 
Faramir strove to keep his voice even. "What did you mean, firing that shot and 
ruining our stealth?"
 
"What do you mean, Captain?"
 
"Allow me to count your arrows," Faramir said.
 
"I apologize," Anborn said, bowing stiffly to Frodo. "It was indeed my arrow, 
but it was a careless mistake on my behalf.  I am relieved you are unhurt, 
Halfling." 
 
Faramir stared hard at Anborn, knowing that the man had intended to kill Frodo, 
not because he truly felt the halfling was a threat, but because he had caused 
this rift between him and his captain.  Anborn bowed awkwardly again and left.
 
"Friend of Boromir or not, I will rid my company of him," Faramir said, his 
lips in a grim line.
 
"He has a strong hatred toward me," Frodo said.  "Once I am gone, your problem 
with him will also cease."
 
"That may be so, but I cannot trust a soldier who would turn on his captain for 
whatever reason," Faramir said.  "Come, Frodo, I must prepare you and Sam to 
leave, much as it pains my heart. It is no longer safe for you here."
 
"Sam must be so worried," Frodo said, and he looked up at Faramir, his eyes 
wide and pleading.  "Please do not tell him about what happened at the pool."
 
"I will not," Faramir said, and he felt something in his chest hitch.  How he 
wished he could keep the halfling with him always, out of danger, a sweet haven 
to come to when the fighting was rough. He knelt before Frodo, grasping his 
shoulders.  "You must promise to survive this, Frodo.  You must come back to 
me."
 
"I can make no promises…neither can you," Frodo said, his blue eyes dull and 
bleary.  "Our paths will lead us into darkness, and I can foresee nothing 
beyond that."
 
"I take no comfort from such talk," Faramir said. "But I will cling to the hope 
that one day soon we shall sit together under a new sun and laugh about these 
dark times. Come, let us find Sam."
 
 
***
 
Faramir pulled Frodo to him, unmindful of Sam's nearness, and slid his arms 
tightly around the hobbit's waist. He captured Frodo's lips in his, hungrily 
pressing his lover against his chest, unable to release him. This was the time 
of farewell, but he knew the moment he let go, his love would slip away, 
perhaps forever.
 
Frodo had survived Anborn's arrow, and Faramir tucked that away in his heart as 
a sign. This hobbit was tougher than he appeared. He had borne the Ring this 
far through many dangers, and he had survived. He had recovered from a 
poisoning that should have killed him.  Faramir locked eyes with Frodo, lost in 
the sweet trust, and his heart sank.  He prayed that nothing in Mordor would 
have the power to strike down that purity.  That would be the biggest stroke of 
evil.
 
"We must go," Frodo murmured, and he nuzzled against Faramir.  Faramir's arms 
felt like weights.  He could not unlock them from behind Frodo's waist, he 
could not step back.
 
Finally he sighed and released Frodo. They stood gazing into each other's eyes 
for many long moments. 
 
In the end, he could think of nothing more to say than, "Go, Frodo, with the 
good will of all Men."  
 
***
 
"So that's that," Sam said.  "The whole thing seems like a dream already, and I 
can't say I'm disappointed it's over, seeing how sick you were and all."
 
Frodo could not answer. Standing under the boughs of the woods, his throat and 
chest ached with the misery of parting.  If he spoke, he knew he would burst 
into tears.  To him, it was not a dream, but an oasis of bliss that had been 
suddenly ripped away, flinging him into the brutal desert.
 
"Mr. Frodo? Are you all right? Is your stomach all right? It seems you didn't 
have nearly enough time to rest."
 
Finally Frodo was able to speak.  "My stomach is fine.  Let us go on, Sam. We 
have a long dark path ahead."
 
***
 
 
Frodo and Faramir leaned against the curved stone pillars of a balcony that 
jutted from one of the tallest towers in the city.  Faramir's arm touched 
Frodo's just enough to make the hobbit's stomach quiver. They had finally 
broken away from their friends and the strangers with good intentions who 
crowded and clutched at them to express their gratitude to the Ringbearer and 
to the new Prince of Ithilien.  Frodo and Faramir had escaped to the tower and 
had found this terrace where the hot May sun warmed their faces and a thick 
blanket, perhaps left behind from an earlier lover's tryst, cushioned their 
backsides. If they chose to peer between the pillars, they would be offered a 
breathtaking view of the seven levels of the White City, the Anduin, and the 
lands beyond. Though Frodo was not comfortable being so high above ground, he 
was grateful for time alone with Faramir, far from prying eyes.
 
Faramir slid his arm around the hobbit's waist. "Are you happy?"
 
"I do not know what you mean," Frodo murmured, leaning into Faramir's embrace. 
A shadow passed in front of his eyes.  Something that he could not put his 
finger on had been ripped from his heart after the Ring had been destroyed. 
Though he wanted nothing more than to answer Faramir with an enthusiastic 
"Yes!", the wounds were too raw. And Faramir had not yet, in all their 
conversations since Frodo had awakened, spoken of his future and whether he 
intended Frodo to be in it beyond these days of celebration.  It was one matter 
to lie with him far above the city, but quite another to commit to the reality 
of a lifetime with a wounded hobbit by his side. 
 
"To be here in the sun, laughing about dark times with the one I love…this is 
what I dreamed of after you left, when I despaired of seeing you again, when I 
lay in a delirium of evil dreams… You do love me, do you not?" Faramir pushed a 
stray curl from Frodo's brow.  "Do not say otherwise or you will break the 
heart of the Prince. And then our new king will be forced to pass judgment on 
you."
 
"I do love you," Frodo said, and the shadow in front of his eyes scattered, at 
least for the time being.  "If that is what you mean by happy, then I am 
happy."
 
"I want you to be happy with me." Faramir cupped Frodo's face in his hands and 
Frodo closed his eyes, surrendering to moist, insistent warmth on his lips.  He 
was chilled, even in the warm sun, and so weary, yet when Faramir anchored him 
with such fervor, he could for that moment relinquish the fierce effort it took 
to get through each day and he could allow new strength to pour into him.
 
A guard stepped onto the balcony, and he recoiled in embarrassment at the sight 
of Frodo and Faramir in their embrace. "I beg your pardon…I was but on duty."
 
"Wait!" Faramir called, climbing to his feet and walking to the guard. Frodo 
heard him speak in a soft voice as he handed the guard a bag of gold coins.  
The guard bowed and left the terrace.
 
Faramir smiled, snuggling beside Frodo again.  "I bid him to make certain 
nobody else disturbs us this afternoon."
 
"Oh," Frodo breathed, and his heart broke into pleasant pattering. He gave 
Faramir a teasing smile.  "And why might we need the time alone?"
 
Faramir became sober as he unclasped the brooch at Frodo's neck. The cloak slid 
off Frodo's shoulders, and Frodo forced himself not to shiver.  He did not want 
Faramir to fuss over him. 
 
"You wear too many layers for a lovely spring day in Minas Tirith," Faramir 
said.  "Too many buttons."  He laughed softly as his large fingers struggled 
with the hobbit-sized buttons on Frodo's vest.
 
"You should talk," Frodo said, pulling at the knotted leather laces on 
Faramir's tunic. Faramir peeled the vest off the hobbit's shoulders and slid 
his fingers under the braces. "And I dearly love these silly things!"
 
Frodo covered his mouth and burst into laughter. The very idea of Faramir 
dressed hobbit-like in braces made him so weak that he collapsed against the 
pillars.  "I'm certain the king could arrange to have some made for you."
 
Faramir slid the braces off Frodo's shoulders and gently eased him on his back. 
He hovered over the hobbit on hands and knees, planting soft kisses on his 
neck.  Frodo groaned, letting his head loll, exposing more tender skin on his 
neck.  He reached for Faramir, but the Man stayed just out of reach.  As 
Faramir popped open the buttons on Frodo's linen shirt, he kissed each newly 
revealed patch of the hobbit's chest. When both of Frodo's nipples were 
revealed, Faramir's tongue explored both of the taut red knobs, and Frodo 
quivered.  
 
"Faramir…" His arousal thickened.
 
"Shhh, Frodo, we have time." Faramir's shirt was half open since Frodo had been 
unable to finish all the unlacing.  "No shadow haunts us now."
 
"I've waited long enough," Frodo said, tugging at Faramir's arms with shocking 
strength, knocking the Man off balance. He fell on Frodo, knocking the breath 
from him.
 
"Are you all right?" Faramir asked, scrambling to ease most of his weight from 
Frodo.
 
"Only if you stay," Frodo said, pulling again at Faramir's arms.
 
Faramir eased his weight back on Frodo, stroking his cheeks and kissing him. 
"You are insatiable."
 
Frodo forced his tongue inside Faramir's parted lips.
 
The afternoon filled with gasps and grinding warmth, leather lacings tangling 
with tiny buttons, and muscled thighs straddling slim hips. Hairy feet slid 
over muscular calves, velvet breeches were yanked down, and Frodo was filled 
with throbbing heat that emitted gasps of pain that turned quickly to cries of 
delight as calloused hands clutched soft skin in final need. 
 
 
***
 
Frodo lay in a pleasant drowse, his head cushioned by the crook of Faramir's 
arm.  Faramir's hand absentmindedly explored Frodo's bare skin.  He frowned 
when his fingers brushed over the mutilated surface of Frodo's back, where orc 
whips had left their permanent mark.
 
"It burns my heart when I think of all you endured," he whispered.  "You are so 
strong…I remember how valiantly you endured the poison of the streams of 
Mordor…would have killed any one of my men–-"
 
"What of the future?" Frodo could not bear Faramir to sigh over his wounds.
 
"Do you wish to go home, Frodo, back to your Shire?"
 
Frodo looked at him, his blue eyes filling with tears. So Faramir did not want 
him in his future. His chest ached. Somehow he could bear it, as he had 
everything else.  "I have nothing left there," he finally managed.
 
"You have no desire to see your home?"
 
Frodo's jaw trembled, and he could no longer keep his voice steady.  "I do.  
But…I would rather stay with you."
 
Faramir's eyes softened, but he did not answer.
 
Frodo let out a shuddering sigh.  "It was the Shire I labored to save, even at 
the end when I was broken inside." Frodo clutched Faramir's tunic until his 
knuckles were pale.  "Yes, Faramir, I want to see my home. I wish to see it 
safe and in full bloom, but I do not think I shall ever live there in peace."
 
"You should go home," Faramir said softly.  "Go home and set your mind at 
ease…put your affairs in order.  I will come for you at such time you deem 
reasonable." Frodo's heart leaped in joy, and Faramir continued.  "I shall be 
in Emyn Arnen, in Ithilien." He managed a small smile. "With naught but Captain 
Beregond for company."
 
"Not Anborn?" Frodo asked, cocking his head teasingly. His heart felt light, 
and a joyful buzzing filled his ears.  Faramir *did* want him. "If he is there, 
I will be unable to resist coming immediately."
 
Faramir shook his head.  "I would not have him."
 
"He apologized to me, you know," Frodo said. "The day of the coronation. He 
looked as though he would have rather been eaten by wargs. I think perhaps 
Aragorn forced him into it."
 
Faramir laughed a little. "The king has placed him on duty in Osgiliath, where 
he will labor to rebuild that city. We'll have naught to do with him."
 
Frodo blinked, his eyes filling with tears. "You would not miss me while I go 
home? For it would probably be a year, perhaps longer, before I would see you 
again."
 
"I would miss you to distraction." Faramir swallowed again. "But I've always 
been told that if you love something, let it go, and if it comes back, it was 
meant to be." He kissed Frodo.  "You need to go home."
 
"No," Frodo said, clutching Faramir's hand.  "I do not wish to go yet."
 
Faramir tried not to look eager, but he failed, and the lightness in his voice 
filled Frodo's heart with joy. "If you choose not to go home now, I would not 
keep you from your home indefinitely. I would take you there in time. After 
all, I would dearly love to visit this unruly Shire where the one I love grew 
up."
 
"So, it is settled," Frodo said as the pain over his chest fully dissipated.  
"I will stay with you."
 
Faramir clutched Frodo's hands.  "Yes. Together we shall make Ithilien bloom 
again."
 
Frodo rolled onto his stomach and peered out between the pillars. The sun 
danced over the pearly white towers, nearly blinding him with silver sparkles 
that seemed more fit for an Elvish hall of kings than for a city of Men.  "What 
a marvelous view!"
 
Faramir squeezed Frodo's hand.  "If you look carefully beyond the walls of the 
city, you can see in the far distance the hills of Emyn Arnen, where your new 
home will be."
 
"My new home," Frodo repeated happily, and Faramir pulled him into a close 
embrace.
 
Despite his bare skin, the usual chill failed to penetrate the warm 
reverberations of hope and love that danced under his skin.
 
END
 
 
The sort-of, kind-of sequel to this is "Spring in Emyn Arnen," of which there 
are 5 chapters already written…