Man of Quality

Chapter 10

Summary: Aragorn faces certain death, the healing process begins for all. 

Please be advised that this AU and some OC and based on Movie Version.

Toulouse's sword was quite sharp as it's blade sat firmly against King Elessar's throat, a thin red impression growing as the pressure continued. "I asked you if I should just run you through? Kill you unmercifully as your "ghost soldiers" had done to us," the servant of the Black Lord spat.

Aragorn sat on his haunches, using Anduril's pommel as a support and was about to grip it when it was suddenly kicked from beneathe his hand, clattering to the ground.

"Answer me!" the Ruffian yelled out. "Then I shall just kill your Saviour!" he declared removing his blade from the King's neck when he did not get a response, running to the balcony's ledge where the halfling had been tied to.

A feeling of helplessness erupted from the bottom of his soul shouting out, "No!" Aragorn got to his feet, closing the distance between himself and Anduril. Before he even gripped the Elf forged sword from its resting place, he heard the swoosh of an arrow being released.

Keeping his head low to determine where the weapon had been discharged, the arrow had already struck its intended target, the terrorist's body crumpling to the floor along with his sword. His steele grey eyes searched to thank Legolas, but found that the Elf was no where in sight. Aragorn's hearing picked up the shifting of a boot on loose stones behind him. Quickly gaining his feet, the former Ranger turned facing a presence in the darkness. "Come out or bear my wrath!" Aragorn commanded, Anduril's blade gleaming as it reflected moonlight.

Aragorn stood his ground as a cloaked figure, armed with a bow emerged from the shadows. Familiar blue eyes peered from behind a black mask and the Ranger knew he was facing friend instead of foe. "Captain Faramir," the King breathed a sigh of relief. His eyes reverted back to the stilled body on the ground, the arrow imbedded in its forehead. "I owe you my life, as well as..." bile rose to his throat as his eyes searched for the Ringbearer. King Elessar's heart beat fervently, "Where is Frodo?"

"I had to hide him, my Lord. He is still on the railing. I did not have time enough to free him from his bonds before the Ruffian re-entered from the foyer," Faramir explained, stepping toward the railing.

The King still did not see the halfling anywhere, but when the Captain found what he had been searching for along the rail, a cloth was lifted revealing the restrained Ring-bearer.

"Pippin lent me his Lothlorian cloak after telling me the story of how Frodo and Sam escaped enemy eyes," Faramir relayed as he started to cut the cords used to secure the hobbit to the stone surface.

Taking a few steps to close the gap between Frodo and himself, King Elessar espied the shivering form in the moonlight. Frodo's nightshirt was plastered to his torso with dried blood. Beads of perspiration coated the hobbit's forehead as the Ranger's hand brushed back soaked curls. "Oh, Frodo," he sighed.

A small moan escaped thin lips as Frodo's head turned, trying to evade the touch. "N...no," his voice weak, trying to breathe deeply; his abdominal muscles contracting at the effort. He cried out louder as the pain increased, shaking his head.

"Steady, my friend," Faramir whispered into the hobbit's ear, gently laying a hand on the small shoulder. "He is feverish?" the Captain asked his Lord.

Nodding his head, Aragorn knew from experience that infection was setting in and with the hobbit's compromised health he needed to treat Frodo soon. "Hang on, Frodo, we will have you feeling better in no time," he promised, gathering the feather light form into his arms, being careful not to jostle the abdominal wound.

Light headedness assailed Frodo as he felt his body being lifted into the air. He knew those hands all too well, and welcomed the comfort. "Ara...gorn?" he whispered, slowly opening heavy lids.

Surprised at the little one's fast recovery from the paralyzing venom, tears streaked the King's bearded face realizing that Frodo suffered as senses were coming back to life, "Shh...do not talk, Tithen Min."

No one noticed the woman being escorted by Legolas, leaning heavily against her kin. "Let me help him, my love," Arwen breathed, her hands holding on tightly to Legolas's arm, her head on his shoulder.

Aragorn looked up, appalled at the site before him. In one swift move, he transferred his charge into Faramir's arms, running up to Arwen, clutching her to his chest. Stroking her silky hair for just a moment, then cupping her chin forcing her to look up into his eyes. He bestowed a loving kiss to her lips, breaking off reluctantly when he ran out of air. "You are bleeding, my love. Arwen?"

The Queens eyes never left her husband as she was assaulted with questions, but her emotions were high after encountering the halfling's lifeforce, not fully recovered from their premature separation. Her face suddenly flush with heat, her stomach began to churn and had all but collapsed into Aragorn's arms.

"Arwen!" Aragorn and Legolas both cried out, the King brunting most of the Elf's weight when she fell into his arms.

"My love. I am not feeling very well. I am sorry...I" she stammered over her words, her fingers digging into the Man's wrists.

"Legolas, help her to the bed. I will be in. I...I" now Aragorn was at a lost; for two people he truly cared for were injured, each needing his attention. He watched with trepidation as Legolas picked up his wife with ease, treading lightly across the stone floor to their bed chambers.

"I have to see 'im. Let me go, my Lady!" a small but determined voice entered the foyer, traveling to rescuer's ears.

"Sam," Faramir and Aragorn sighed in unison.

Smiling, but keeping his attention on the trembling hobbit, Aragorn spoke, "We need to attend this wound. I dare not take this shirt off without soaking it. Go to the next room..." Aragorn spoke, a squeak in his manly voice.

"My Lord, go check on the Queen, please," Faramir took a deep breath himself and continued, "I know that Eowyn is fine if she holding back a feisty hobbit such as Frodo's gardener. Please, go. I will take care of this little one. We do have other healers we can send for," the Captain reassured the King.

"I will be in shortly, then. Take Frodo and make him comfortable," the Ranger complied, walking back to the bedroom to see to his wife.

Faramir started to follow, cradling Frodo when he suddenly stopped. His eyes first met with his future wife, trying desperately to hold onto Sam. A smile creeped across his face, a tear glistening at the corner of his eye. His body had been running on pure adrenaline, and now that he was finally able to slightly relax, feelings of relief coursed through his entire system when Eowyn graced his sight once more. "Eowyn," he choked.

"Faramir," she mouthed, letting Sam loose.

"Is he...Captain Faramir!" the gardener groped at his master's hand, trying to peek into the still pale face.

"He will be fine, Samwise. I promise," Faramir spoke, not taking his eyes of his bride.

Eowyn blushed, then took the bow from occupied hands, her fingers lingering a little longer than needed, once again finding the comfort she drew from him, realizing she was trembling. "The houses of healing?" she questioned, changing the subject quickly, feeling the Ring-bearer's forehead. "He is burning with fever."

"I know, Aragorn wants Frodo tended to in the next room. We will need a healer. I advised the King to look after his wife; that Frodo will be in capable hands until he made himself available," the former Steward's son nodded to Eowyn, then looked into the face of the pale hobbit he carried, exiting the once hostile environment.

A soft cool compress was brought to the injury, a gasp from the patient as dark eyes rested upon the healer. "You had quite a spell. How are you feeling, my love?" Aragorn spoke quietly to Arwen.

After a moment, the Queen was able to clear some of the cobwebs from her aching mind answering in her softest singing voice, "My head will be fine. My heart would not have survived if something had happened to you, dearest."

"Nor mine," the whispered voice of the former Ranger merely inches above his wife as soft lips brushed hers. He got up to mix some of his herbs into a waiting cup of tea, bringing it back to her lips. "It is to help you sleep, and for the nausea."

"How is Frodo?" she asked taking a sip from the concoction, wrinkling her nose. "Tithen min is right, your potions are awful," Arwen teased, a smile crossing her delicate features.

"I resent that, wife," he teased back, tracing her pointed ear with his fingertip as he replaced the old compress with a fresh one. Seriousness crept back into his face, his eyes faraway, "Frodo has a fever and what I can tell, a stab wound. I do not think deep enough to have damaged anything internally, for the blood was already thickened. It is just enough to worry me," he confessed.

Finishing her cup, she pushed it into her husband's hands, bringing him back from where he was. She took a deep breath, "I have something to tell you, Elessar."

His grey eyes flickered back to her deep wells of trust and love, "Yes?"

"Frodo's fea bonded with mine, unknowingly. I took strength from him to help us," her eyes never leaving his.

"I know. The pendant sang loudly once more. That was how I knew you were all right," he said, stroking her hair, watching her eyes glaze over as the potion started to take effect.

"Oh," she yawned big, "your potions are strong, my love. I took so much from Frodo. We will be fine now," Arwen's head was muddled, talking nonsense to Aragorn's ears.

"We? Us? Arwen, who are you talking about?" the King wanted to know, as he did not understand the whole context of what had transpired between the halfling and her, not believing she had any of her Elf qualities since becoming mortal.

She yawned again, her eyes fluttering to a close, "Frodo...saved...our son," she whispered before falling into the induced sleep.

tbc...