Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They belong to J.R.R.Tolkien.

Man of Quality: Chapter 12

The fabric was placed into the King's hands from Master Mallos, a small frown outlining his face. With a healer's knowledge, Aragorn's eye caught the yellow tinge that outlined the bloodied nightshirt as he turned it over to expose the drainage. "How is he?"

"He's resting now, my liege. The blood stuck the shirt to the cut, making it difficult to remove. He tolerated it well enough, but the wound will have to be stitched and I thought that ye may want to do that ye self," the old healer said, his gnarled but able hands pointing at the stained fabric.

Sighing, Aragorn nodded his weary head, "Yes. I shall be there when he wakes. Do you have herbs to make a brew to dull his pain as well as thread for the stitching?"

"Yes, my Lord," Mallos said, fingering his pouch pocket. After a few moments of rummaging through it, a small cloth bag filled with herbs was cinched with a string. Then he produced four long black hairs with a silver curved needle which he bound into a piece of fine linen holding the items out for the King to take.

"Thank you, Master Mallos. May I call upon you for further services throughout the night?" he asked.

Taking a bow, "My Lord, I would be honored to watch over the Ring-bearer. First I must ask for assistance to carry the bodies back to the House for proper burial," he asked. The old man was a healer, but also part of the advising committee for the King which included religious commune.

"Master Gimli would be glad to help. How is Pippin doing? Did he arrive at the Houses of Healing as I asked him?" Aragorn continued to inquire of his friends.

"Very much so. He was escorted by his cousin, Meriadoc," the healer sighed. "Master Peregrin has his own agenda, I think. He wanted to have his arm re-wrapped and let go. Well, the shoulder has been re-wrapped, but Meriadoc slipped him a sedative so that he could rest," Mallos chuckled.

"I agree," Legolas chimed in, coming forth from the shadows startling the healer, "he is very protective over his kin. You know he is to be Thain someday," the Elf smiled, remembering the very long lineage the youngster has and recited it every chance he got on the long journey.

Aragorn had to suppress his laugh, but a slight smile emerged crossing his lips. "I am inclined to agree. Thank you. I shall see Frodo soon. I trust that Sam is with him?"

"Captain Faramir is keeping him company," the healer answered noticing the King's demeanor changing slightly. "Is that all right, my Lord? The halfling found comfort in the Captain as I was cleansing the wound," he explained.

"Oh?" eyebrows raising, disappearing beneath long bangs. "No, that was just fine. Please excuse me, it has been a trying day," Aragorn paused hoping Master Mallos would not question him further. Of course he had already believed that Faramir did not intentionally injure Frodo, but if the hobbit trusted Faramir enough during a treatment, then all must be well indeed.

"I have ta see 'im! Strider!" Sam's voice carried over from the foyer into the King's bed chambers.

Rushing out to see what the problem was, and only Aragorn knew that it had only to be something wrong with Frodo for Sam to be in such a rush, the long legged man stepped into the hall and stopped in mid tracks, the healer bumping him forward. Grey eyes took in the sight of two guards of the Citadel restraining the stout hobbit by each arm. The Ranger had noticed the all too familiar pose of attack from the halfling as he was raising an over sized furry foot to impact with a certain male anatomy. "Sam, wait!" Aragorn ordered, halting the gardener from kicking the oblivious guard that certainly would have requested time off for recuperation.

Stunned, Sam lowered his foot at the commanding voice, staring the man in the eye. "Strider! You have ta come...it's..."

"Slow down, Samwise. What is wrong?" the King asked kneeling before the distraught hobbit finally noticing wet eyes along with a reddened face that extended down to the gardener's neck. Strider had not looked everyone over as he was too pressed to see to his wife and now seen that a wound had also been inflicted upon this very soul. The cut was small, but stood out as the angry red marking seemed blistered. He looked at it casually, noting he would inquire about it just as soon as he finished with Frodo.

"Captain Faramir..."

"What? What about the Captain?" Aragorn's face started to harden, but schooled his features as he placed comforting hands on the small shuddering shoulders.

"He told me ta fetch ya. Frodo's hurtin' bad!"

Between each gasp of breath he took, the hobbit cried out trying to put out the fire that crossed his belly. Small hands were held in the Captain's to keep them away from the opened wound, his thrashing legs wrapped together with a bed cloth to prevent them from injuring Faramir further.

"Frodo, Frodo, try to calm down. Help is coming. Do you hear me?" Faramir cooed into the pointed ear as the Captain peered into blue wells.

"Please," Frodo whispered, "it b...burns," tears streaking the sallow cheeks as he looked into the Ranger's face.

"I know, but I do not know what to do. Sam has gone to fetch the King," Boromir's younger brother sympathized as the halfling's grip tightened within his grasp, bound legs bucking.

Frodo nodded his head, closing his eyes against the pain as he swallowed an over flow of saliva that had been building to quell his nausea.

Frodo's face turned very white, his eyes widened as his attempt failed to suppress the bile. All at once he turned his face away from the Captain, vomiting yellow fluid. Faramir let the hands go, lifting Frodo's head so that he would not choke on the expelling liquid. The hobbit turned his whole body to the side, shivering as his stomach stopped rolling, wincing when it contracted. Then he felt a cold cloth pressed to his forehead, slowly working its way down to his mouth wiping off the excess. "Sor...ry," he whispered again after catching his breath.

"Do not be sorry, Frodo," he replied, noticing that the halfling's eyes were screwed tight, his face becoming flush. The Captain grabbed onto snaking hands, keeping them away from the wound. "Frodo, is it still burning?" he asked, the hobbit nodding his head frantically.

"Make it...stop, please?" he begged between clenched teeth. He could see the fiery mountain again. He was at its edge, fighting with Gollum. He fell over the side, but caught the ledge with his good hand. The temperature was rising, the lava bubbling up lapping at the soles of his feet. Not sure whether he could hold out any longer, a small voice came from above, "Hang on. Do not let go," it said and he looked back down at the fire.

"Frodo! You hear me, let go!" the voice yelled out again and he snapped open his eyes. The King was standing above him now, trying to pry his little fingers from Faramir's tunic. Frodo released his grip, looking embarrassed as he reasoned he must have drifted off, reliving his nightmare.

"Ara...Aragorn?" Frodo squeaked.

Aragorn grabbed up one of Frodo's hands, gaging the hobbit's temperature with the other. Frodo leaned into the coolness, sweat soaking his already dark ringlets. The King was appalled that the Ring-bearer was not hot, more concerned what was causing his friend's pain. He moved his hand down to the belly, but ran into interference as the hobbit curled into a tight ball. Finally noticing that the legs were wrapped, he looked toward Faramir for an explanation and spotted a nice purplish blue discoloration along his right jaw. He needed no further information than that, knowing all too well how powerful those legs and feet were especially if this hobbit was injured.

Suddenly, the halfling's breathing became labored, flinching against Aragorn's searching fingers. "It b...burns!" Frodo yelled out, slapping at unseen hands, his face ashen.

"I must see your wound, Tithen Min. I know you have suffered a great deal, please trust me. I have some nice tea that will help with the pain that Sam is brewing," he coaxed as those large hands rubbed small circles on the small of the halfling's back. He used this soothing technique as a way to calm the Ring-bearer, ever since the stabbing at Weathertop. Hobbits, he learned, found comfort in just a simple loving touch as memories came flooding back of when he rocked the little one during his most painful nights.

"Strider?" a quiet voice spoke, a small hand pulling at his hemline. Looking down he spotted a head of blond curls. It was Sam holding a mug full of the brewed tea, steam billowing from the beverage.

"Thank you, Sam," the King said taking the cup from Frodo's gardener, lifting the pale hobbit, pouring the cup's contents between trembling lips. "Come, Frodo, drink this for me. It will help."

The Captain looked on with adoration at the injured hobbit being comforted by the King, recalling the many stories Pippin had told him of Boromir's fondness for the little ones until the unfortunate day the Gondorian tried to take the Ring as well as Frodo's life. He wondered if that act combined with his own inhumane treatment toward the Ring-bearer and his gardener forever sealed his fate to prevent them from becoming friends.

"Faramir?" Aragorn had asked for the third time, wondering where the Captain's thoughts had taken him. Frodo had finished the brew, relaxed enough that his legs were manageable, but the hands had to be kept away and he needed help while examining the stubborn Baggins.

The blond headed Gondorian turned his attention back to the situation at hand when he heard the King speak his name. He did not know how many times his name had been called, but the tone in Aragorn's voice told that it had been more than once. "Sorry, my Lord," he apologized bowing his head.

"It is all right," he nodded in acceptance. "Please, hold his hands...and Sam just talk to him. The herbal tea will make him a little disoriented."

"Aye, that it will. His eyes are already lookin' far off," Samwise observed, scratching at his neck before taking his hand to stroke his master's brow.

Aragorn noticed the irritated neck, but kept focused on his current patient. He would look at the gardener after Frodo, for only Samwise would have it that way. Gently, man sized hands grasped Frodo's covered legs, straightening them as he lowered them to the makeshift examining table. The hobbit had not a shirt on since the healer had removed it earlier, seeing for the first time himself the real damage done. Knowing that all eyes were upon him, he schooled his features as the trained healer. He glanced back at Sam who was keeping Frodo's interest about Merry helping Pippin, small hands comfortably entwining within Faramir's. Aragorn lowered his Grey eyes to fully inspect the sword wound. The blood had stopped signifying that indeed it was shallow, but the skin around it was puckered, red and blistered. Eyebrows drew together to the center of his forehead, a small "hmm" escaping his lips that had been overheard by Sam's keen hearing.

"What is it, Strider?" the stout hobbit asked, taking his hand away from Frodo's brow, scratching his neck again before dropping it at his side.

Neither answering Sam, nor ignoring him, the former Ranger delicately touched a finger to the raised fluid filled bubbles that surrounded the opened wound. A moan escaped Frodo's lips when pressure was applied, the fluid seeping from one of the blisters irritating the surrounding tissue.

Faramir had been gazing at the halfling's wound when the moan brought his eyes back to Frodo's face. It had become reddened as if with fever, but then he peered closer noticing the same blisters that were plaguing the small belly were now appearing on his forehead and lips. "My Lord, you need to have a look at the little one's face."

Aragorn raised his head at the distress in Faramir's voice, glancing to where the Captain indicated. In one swift move, the King was standing up at Frodo's head, cradling the small face between his big hands, gently brushing away stray curls, exposing reddened blistered skin. His man sized thumbs traced down the sides of the face ending at raw lips. Whimpering noises emanated from the Ring-bearer, the small hands tightening its hold within the Captain's grips as Aragorn touched the sensitive skin. "These were not here moments ago. Where did they come from?" King Elessar asked more to himself, but out loud.

Sam had been overlooked until he bumped against the Ranger's legs, trying to be more involved with his master's care. The stubby hand scratched at his neck, irritating the skin further before the gardener snaked his way up to Frodo's head, smoothing back his dark ringlets.

"Sam," Aragorn questioned, "the scratch you have on your neck, how did you obtain it?"

Sam's eyes narrowed in anger as he remembered exactly how he had tried to defend his master and failed. "The Ruffian that hurt Frodo, held his sword to my neck," he spatted.

"I see. How long has the cut been bothering you?" he asked releasing Frodo, examining Sam's wound further.

"I...I can't recall. Just itchin' really. Now, Strider, you needn't be lookin' at me, Mr. Frodo needs ya," the gardener said, trying to squirm out of the King's grasp that angled his neck to more light.

"Samwise," Aragorn's voice scolded and the stout hobbit stopped moving, "you have the same blisters as Frodo does," he declared.

tbc...