Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. They belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. I just like to put them in dire situations.

Man of Quality

Chapter 11

"Still...out," the voices floated above him as his mind fought to regain consciousness. Fingertips lightly scratching at a surface, the feeling of pins and needles had all but disappeared, but the pain in his abdomen was increasing tenfold.

"I will be gone momentarily, I have sent the gardener out on an errand, Master Mallos. I needed to let Master Baggins' kin know that he has been rescued," the Captain told the healer.

"Master Peregrin is in the care of his cousin at the Houses of Healing. Master Meriadoc brought him in just after the King announced that all was clear."

"How does the Periannath fare?" Faramir's concern heard in his voice.

"The shoulder will heal nicely. He will be there for the night. I have given him a sleeping drought," the healer said and continued, "Is this the only wound Master Baggins has?"

Looking upon the blood crusted nightshirt that had dried to the Ring-bearer's skin, Faramir nodded. "It is. Like I said, I shall return shortly. Lord Aragorn will be here as well. He wanted to see to Frodo's care personally, but is currently taking care of the Queen," the Captain said exiting the bed chambers, but before he did, placed a cool hand upon the hobbit's fevered brow. Frodo moaned, trying to escape the darkness that surrounded him.

Master Mallos nodded keeping his full attention upon the halfling's wound. Bound and determined to cleanse it before the King arrived, hands rifled through a pouch he had brought with him extracting a slim glass container filled with a colorless liquid.

Another soft moan as Frodo finally regained his senses. The healer heard the halfling and began to talk to him as he proceeded to soak the cloth. "Master Baggins, I am going to put this special water on your wound, all right?" the healer voiced, not actually looking into Frodo's face.

The Ring-bearer's eyes were half lidded, whimpering, as his fevered mind wearily focused on a man with a clear fluid filled bottle, hovering over his stomach. At that point, Frodo's eyes grew wide; the thought of being set on fire again terrorized the hobbit . "No!" he screamed. "Please, no more," the second more of a plea.

Mallos looked up from what he was doing, gazing into glazed depths of blue. "It is all right, Master Baggins. I..." he continued to speak calmly to the overwrought halfling, brushing damp curls from the sweaty forehead, but his effort was thwarted as Frodo tried to evade the touch, turning his head.

The room was only lit with sconces, but Frodo could tell he was on some kind of table as he tried to bury his heels into the covered surface trying to propel himself backward, out of reach of the stinging substance. Wide eyes darting about the room his breath caught at the sidewards shape of someone walking toward him.

"What is going on in here?" Faramir voiced in fury, rushing toward the flailing Ring-bearer, grasping Frodo's hands into his.

"Fara...mir. Help...me" the hobbit whispered in fear, deep blue eyes opened wide recognizing the Captain, clutching at the man's tunic.

Ignoring the harsh tone, the healer's main concern was the well being of his patient, "Hold him down, sir. The wound needs to be cleansed before it becomes infected," the middle aged man ordered.

"He is delirious with fever, why cannot we wait for King Elessar? Frodo trusts him," Faramir tried to reason with Mallos, brushing the hobbit's silky dark ringlets as the frail shivering body still clung to him.

"I am sure our Lord would agree with me, knowing how important it is to have a wound clean if a healer does nothing else at all." Taking a deep breath, Mallos continued above the whimpering sounds emanating from Frodo, "I also care for this Periannath and will do what I can for him."

Faramir thought on the words, knowing that Mallos was right. Even though he knew nothing of wounds, common sense told him as much. Frodo's fever was rising; his hot calloused hands stroking the over heated forehead. Nodding in agreement, he carefully entwined his fingers into the halfling's small ones, prying them from his tunic, speaking softly to the Ring-bearer as he pressed the tormented soul back onto the padded wooden press. "Frodo, he will not hurt you, I will be right here," the Captain cooed.

Realizing that Faramir was not taking him away from the mad man, but pinning him back down, the hobbit struggled against the weight holding his wrists above his head. "N...no! Let...go! Faramir...No!" Frodo cried, tears staining his cheeks.

Mallos schooled his features, not wanting to frighten the delusional hobbit further, he again held the bottle inches away from its intended target blocking Frodo's view with his body. The clear liquid pooled onto the abdominal wound, the halfling's body tensed at the new sensation. It did not take long for the liquid to penetrate the crusted blood, loosening the fabrics grip upon the delicate skin as remnants trickled down the sides of retracted muscles.

Anticipating the worse, Frodo held his breath; watery eyes still pleading to Faramir to let him go, familiar that this situation had presented itself before. Frodo squeezed his fingers tightly around the Captain's long ones as a shower of coolness danced on his belly instead of the stinging substance, rivulets of water running down his side.

The Captain did the best he could to assure Frodo that all would be all right, brushing the fever drenched curls from the sweating brow with his free hand. Small whimpers escaped pursed lips when the water was first poured onto the sensitive belly, slowly turning into gasps of relief. The treatment continued for a few more minutes before Faramir felt the little fingers relax within his grasp, observing the halfling's eyelids growing heavy, the hobbit's strength spent.

Fascinated by the waterfall, the hobbit laid on the riverbank lulled to sleep by the continuous barrage of churning water. The mist covered the little one's body, slightly cooling it as he breathed in the aroma of grass, culminating with soft tilled earth. A safe haven. Then the sound of the water changed pitch to a low grumbling. The ground beneath the hobbit's body shaking, smoke filling his lungs as fire erupted from the mountain. The lava flowed without interruption, and the rock protruding that he found refuge on was in its path. Scrambling to the topmost part, he soon realized he was trapped, the fiery hot liquid crashing against the jut, splashing onto the hobbit's clothes, burning through until it singed delicate skin.

Just as the Captain was about to let the relaxed hands go, Frodo's eyes popped back open, a small cry followed as the head lolled from left to right. "B...burn. S...stop!"

Tightening his hold, the Captain glanced back at what the healer was doing. He observed the middle aged man looking intently at the nightshirt still clinging to Frodo's abdomen.

Mallos had finished the soaking process and was beginning to lift the saturated fabric. As he did this, he met resistance, causing fresh blood mixed with a yellow discharge to ooze from the inflicted wound as he tried to gently pull it from its resting place. Quickly taking the liquid filled bottle, he poured more onto the wound until the glue like substance that was once blood let its prize go, leaving most of the skin intact for proper suturing later. Wiping the sweat from his own brow with the sleeve of his tunic, the healer corked his bottle and sighed. "It is done...for now," he added folding the fabric in itself to inspect the discharge in better light.

Faramir nodded, turning his attention back to the injured halfling. Frodo's eyes were closed, his breathing slowed. "Frodo?" asked the Captain, letting loose the little wrists. "Frodo?"

"He's out, Captain. A good thing, too. This wound will have to be stitched," Mallos said peering from the halfling back to the Captain. "I will step aside and apprise the King of the hobbit's situation. I will just dress the wound for now. The Periannath needs his rest."

"Aye."

He sat there like a bump on a log, trying to make sense of what Arwen had just told him. A son? Frodo? Bonding with his Fae. Then back to the original question, he smiled, sighing, "Son."

Legolas had sat in the shadows, being on hand if his friend needed him. He could only suppress the occasional smile as he watched the King of Gondor and Ardor contemplate his next move, Fatherhood.

Aragorn turned around and saw the Prince of Mirkwood smirking. "You knew?"

Unfolding his arms, he pushed himself from the pillar he was leaning on, silently making his way toward the dumbfounded King. "I sensed it," he voiced looking from Lord Elrond's daughter back to the grey steel eyes boring a hole in his head. "Remember we were in the hallway and your pendant Sang?"

A nod, then realization crossed those concentrated features as the King recalled the song being so loud, that he had covered the pendant trying to muffle the sound. He did not know at that time, that the melody was for his ears only. "You knew then?"

"How could I not? There were three. Arwen's, Frodo's, and the unborn child," he softly spoke, gently laying a hand on Aragorn's shoulder.

"Why...why did you not tell me, my friend?" Elessar's voice turned sour.

Taken aback by the tone, Legolas explained, "You could not go in there as the hot headed Ranger, Strider. You were already past the point of making a rational decision when it came to Frodo's well being, much less if you knew the Queen was with child. Your child," the Elf debated.

Reigning in his feelings of betrayal, now worry for his wife, he accepted the logical explanation. Aragorn had been rendered helpless when he heard the scream, frozen in place and time. He had known it was Frodo that was injured and had been stayed not to bust in on the scene. If Legolas had told him then that Arwen was pregnant, he would have jeopardized the other lives as well. "I wonder why your father never had you on committee?"

"I gave him the illusion that I did not pay attention. I like being out in the trees too much to be cooped up inside doing who knows what. My brother is better suited to be at his side than I am," Legolas smiled.

"If I can ask one more favor, to stay with Arwen. I am going to see to Frodo's injuries," Elessar asked, stroking his sleeping's wife hair before laying a kiss upon her brow.

"I thought the Captain was to fetch a healer?" the question came out before Legolas thought, then hurriedly replied, "of course I will. I meant no offense."

"None taken. Yes, Faramir did say a healer would be called in during my absence, but you know me, I have a special place in my heart for that little one. Even more so now as that stubborn Baggins unknowns saved the future heir of Gondor," a half smile crept across bearded face, dimples slightly showing as he thought of a son running around terrorizing the palace.

A knock beckoned at the door and Aragorn got up from the side of the bed. "Enter," he spoke in a normal tone, crossing the room so as not to wake Arwen.

The door swung open, letting in the slightest breeze that wafted the sweet scent of midnight dew as well as the foul stench of infection. Aragorn's heart dropped, knowing only too well that the man entering his abode brought ill news.

tbc...