Man of Quality: Chapter 3

Lady Eowyn neared the chambers that her fiance, Faramir, currently occupied. A Gondorian guard was posted just outside the doorway. “I have permission to see the prisoner,” she told him. When the guard just looked at her she added, “By the King”. The guard then placed his hand on the door handle and opened it for Lady Eowyn to gain entry.

“Eowyn!” Faramir called out to his bride to be, rising from the settee by the fire. He had been thinking about the events that had taken place to lead him being imprisoned in his own home. In the meantime, he had managed to take his formal attire off, now wearing a simple tunic of dark purple with gray leggings and black boots. Standing in place, not knowing what to do he stared at Eowyn’s stunning beauty not knowing why she had chosen him for her husband. “Please forgive me, Eowyn, for I have disgraced you.”

Bewildered by his statement, she walked closer to him, putting out her hand for him to take hold. “Faramir, I…I am not disgraced. I am merely worried for your well being. I do not believe the rumors that you could hurt anyone, be it man or hobbit,” she waited with bated breath.

Faramir looked into Eowyn’s eyes and wondered if she really believed that he had done such a horrible thing. Of course she does not believe it, he mused to himself. But why is she really here? Did Frodo dishonor her. Is that why Frodo was so quick to end the conversation? Again mulling over in his mind the events that played out frame by frame.

Silence speaking louder than words, Eowyn interrupted Faramir’s thoughts. “Can you tell me what happened out on the terrace? Why were you out there?” she asked.

Faramir sighed, poured himself another cordial, and parked himself back on the settee. Eowyn sat down beside him, still holding his hand. Taking a sip, he began to answer her questions. “I never told you what happened in Ithilien…between Frodo, Sam, and I” he started to explain.

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The King walked to the door just a ways down from his when he met up with Gandalf. Aragorn still could not get over the change in his wizard friend, bright white hair, with robes that lit up a darkened hall. No wonder he kept it covered while traveling through Rohan. His mere presence would have alerted the enemy to their whereabouts. With staff in hand, and his infamous one hand on his hip, the wizard approached the new heir of Gondor to see if he had time to question the former Ring-bearer about what had transpired.

“Ah, Aragorn, were you able to get any information?” Gandalf questioned his friend.

“I was about to. I have been speaking with Eowyn. She has gone to see Faramir,” Aragorn replied. “Are you coming in?”

“Yes…” Gandalf said and opened the door to the room containing the hobbits.

The scene unfolded before their eyes. A rotund hobbit sleeping, with his head on his chest in the chair at the bedside. His feet propped up, a hand loosely holding onto his masters. They did not dare to wake Sam. He had hardly gotten any rest since they both woke in Ithilien. Sam had been there to the very end, guiding his master towards their doom, but Middle-Earth’s salvation. Even upon waking, he first inquired to Frodo’s health. Tip toeing around the sleeping Samwise, the wizard and man approached the big bed. They both observed Frodo’s eyes wide open, a blank stare, perspiration glistening, plastering his curly dark hair to his forehead. No movement could be seen except his chest rising and falling rapidly as he gasped for air.

“Frodo? Frodo, my dear lad. Can you hear me?” the wizard asked placing a wrinkled hand upon the hobbits brow looking deeply into his eyes. Frodo responded to the voice as his gaze wondered to the face of the old man staring back at him. His brows furrowed, lips moving, mumbling something inaudible.

Aragorn retrieved some warmed water from the hearth, pouring its contents into a glazed pottery bowl, adding some crushed athelas leaves. Sam awoke at once as the essence of the leaves permeated the air, looking towards the bed at Frodo’s flushed face.

“What has happened?” he asked Aragorn, watching as the King slowly smoothed the compress over every inch of his master’s face, neck and chest.

“Sam, please fetch me the cup from the stand and fill it with some cool water,” Aragorn asked.

Getting up quickly, Sam gladly retrieved the drink, handing it to Aragorn, as he helped Frodo to sit up to take a sip.

Frodo felt the rim of the cold cup hit his lips and instinctively opened his mouth to receive any fluid that would quench his parched throat. Frodo’s tearing fevered eyes looked into Aragorn’s, grateful as he emptied the cup. “That’s it, Frodo,” Aragorn spoke soothingly as he gently laid the former Ring-bearer back onto the pillows, as Sam started to cover him with the warm coverlet tucking it under his chin. Aragorn stayed Sam’s hand. “I need to look him over, Sam. He is feverish,” the former Ranger explained, not wanting to alarm him, both knowing that Frodo was indeed ill.

Just then, the door opened letting in Merry and Pippin. Since they had been released from duty that night, it was hard for them to escape the never ending questions about Faramir and Frodo. Like Did the Captain really duel with Frodo for the Lady’s hand. Or comments going along the line of I heard that the Captain tortured the Ringbearer during the war. But of course, that was before he knew he was the Ringbearer.

Merry and Pippin still had their formal attire on. Each wearing the insignia of Rohan and Gondor respectively. Merry had managed to go to the kitchens before the washers had cleared all the dishes, bringing back meats, cheeses, bread, and some fruit. Pippin, on the other hand, brought a couple bottles of brew. He thought all his cousin needed was a nightcap to forget all about the events that took place a few hours before.

“If you two are going to be in here,” Gandalf started, “you will need to be quiet. And no drinking Peregrin Took. Your cousin does not feel up to being entertained this evening,” he finished saying as Aragorn gently took Frodo’s lolling head into his hands, feeling around the skull for any depressions.

“Pip, I told you Frodo was not feeling well this morning. I am sure Faramir did not really push him down the stairs. He told me his head started to hurt and his neck was sore,” Merry told Pippin as he placed his edibles upon one of the sidebars, stepping off the stool back onto the floor.

“What was that, Merry?” Aragorn asked only hearing part of the conversation.

“Frodo, he said he had a headache when he woke this morning,” Merry replied.

“What else did he say?” Aragorn prodded him.

“Um…He said his neck was sore like he had been stung. He asked me to look to see if there was maybe a stinger. I looked, but it was just red where he had been rubbin’ it,” Merry again answered the King’s question.

Aragorn turned Frodo onto his right side, looking at his neck. Sam caught up Frodo’s hand, all this time wondering why Frodo had not moved much or even cried out. He could tell Frodo was in pain as his face grimaced every time he had been moved.

“Strider, why in’t he talkin’? Or even trying to push you away? You know he hates being fussed over,” Sam observed looking down at Frodo as Aragorn felt around the soft tissue at the base of his neck.

Aragorn’s fingertips glided over a small lump at the base of Frodo’s neck. “Merry, is this where Frodo was talking about feeling a stinger?” he asked pointing at the spot where he found the lump.

Merry climbed up onto the bed, peering closely to where Aragorn’s finger pointed to. His blond curls shook as he acknowledged the spot he looked at that morning. “Yep. But it was smaller,” he added.

Sam felt something wet on his hand and peered into Frodo’s face, noticing small rivulets of tears sliding out of the corners of his eyes and down his cheek where they had splashed unto Sam’s hand. Sam himself started tearing as he saw the anguish look on his master’s pained face. “Strider, he’s hurtin’! Look, he’s crying. Please help him,” Sam begged, not knowing what was wrong with Frodo since he was not talking.

This time Gandalf looked into Frodo’s eyes, trying to get a mental picture of what was wrong with him. Long and hard he looked into his thoughts for answers. After a few minutes had passed, Gandalf righted himself from bending over, taking it slow as his back had become stiff. “Aragorn, are there two holes, bite marks, where that lump has formed?” Gandalf asked.

“Yes. How did you know?”

“Shelob…” Sam breathed.

“Yes, Sam, Shelob,” Gandalf confirmed.

“Who is Shelob?” Aragorn asked, confusion written on his face. He had repositioned Frodo onto his back again, now noticing the reddened eyes. He also seen how flaccid his body was, like a rag doll.

“A giant spider,” Sam responded automatically. He had told this story so many times, but could not remember if he had told Strider.

“A spider? Giant? How giant could this spider be to hobbits?” Aragorn asked, knowing anything to hobbits, size of men were referred to as giants. He just could not fathom a spider as big as himself. It would have killed Frodo and Sam.

“Yes, sir!” Sam declared. “She was as big as this Treebeard Merry and Pippin keep talkin’ about. Maybe even bigger.”

Aragorn turned looking to Gandalf who nodded in agreement with Sam’s interpretation. “Shelob resided in the mountains above Cirith Morgul. There were rumors of a terrible creature. Anyone who went in, most likely were never heard from again. Only Orcs went in and out of there.”

“And Stinker…I mean Gollum,” Sam said his name as if it were a hot spice coating his tongue and needed water to rinse his mouth, “he done Mr. Frodo wrong. Mr. Frodo was nuttin’ but nice to him. He…” Sam took a breath tears welling in his eyes, “He put Mr. Frodo against me. Mr. Frodo told me to go home. Gollum led Mr. Frodo to that cave and left him there to die,” Sam stated looking towards his master, who seemed to hear every word, tears in his eyes. Aragorn sat on the side of the bed, Merry and Pippin had gathered into each other’s arms. They had not heard Sam tell this part of the story. They were all spellbound. Sam continued, “I found the Lembas on my way down those long dark stairs. I made up my mind to go back. To finally throttle that Gollum for making my master go against me. So, I found the cave. I heard the screams, the fighting. The stench was awful. I made my way through. There were skeletons everywhere. Cocoons hanging from the ceiling of the cave. I found the Lady’s Light that she had given Mr. Frodo. I knew he would not drop it on purpose, he had to be in trouble. I followed a tunnel that led to a big cobweb where I found Sting hanging in the middle of it.” Sam sighed.

At the pause, Merry asked, “But where did you finally find Frodo? What happened to him?”

Sam looked fondly at his master who seemed to be listening intently at the tale, his breathing becoming labored as he too remembered how Gollum punished him for his betrayal in Ithilien. “Shh…it will be okay. I won’t tell them the rest if you don’t want me too,” Sam whispered. Frodo slowly closed his eyes, then opened them back up feverishly gazing back at Sam. “I found him wrapped in a cocoon, with that spider, Shelob, standing over him, like he was a prize! I fought her off, stabbing her in the belly and she crawled away.”

“What happened then?” Pippin, wide eyed, now sitting on Merry’s lap.

Sam took another deep breath. This time he could not continue. Gandalf finished for him. “He thought Frodo was dead, Peregrin.”

“Oh, that is terrible,” Pippin murmured. “But, how did you all escape?”

“That is enough for now. I think we know why Frodo is not responding to us. That lump on the back of his neck may still contain some spider venom,” Gandalf concluded.

“But that doesn’t tell us why Faramir pushed him!” Sam exclaimed.

“I do not know everything, Sam, but we will get to the bottom of it. Just as soon as
Frodo…” Aragorn gazed towards Frodo, noticing him shaking violently. “Frodo? Frodo are you in pain?” Aragorn asked hurriedly, concern etched on his face.

Frodo had heard everything from the moment Aragorn and Gandalf walked into the room. He felt numb all over, not being able to lift any part of his body. The last time he had felt like this was when Shelob stung him. Starting at his toes, he could feel the warmth of the fluid being pumped into body. Each limb slowly losing sensation, then he’d seen the world spin by as she wrapped him in her sticky substance. He felt closed in, scared. He could not breathe. Breathe! he yelled at himself. Let Sam know you are ALIVE! he screamed. No one heard his silent cries and Sam left. Voices, Orcs. NO!

Then Gandalf came into view. Look at him, Frodo! Look. He will know you are here! he willed himself. Gandalf did look, he had heard Frodo’s cries. Aragorn was there, too. Giving him water. He was so thirsty, so hot. Where am I? How did I get here? The Ring! Where is it? Sam’s face came into view. He was safe again.

All of a sudden, he felt sick, his head throbbing, shaking violently. He could not control his body.

“Hold him up!” Aragorn ordered just in time as his stomach contents were expelled from his body. His head hanging limply over the King’s arm, Frodo fell into darkness as warm compresses patted his sweaty brow, cheeks and neck.

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“The Ringbearer is not well. It is rumored that the former Steward of Gondor's second born was the one who injured him,” the black cloaked guest said, swallowing the last of his brew.

“Is that so?” the bartender said.

“Might make things a lot easier.”

“We shall see.”

tbc