Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. I just like to write about them.
Man of Quality
Chapter 13
The burning pain started to subside as the tea consumed was achieving its desired effect. The little one's energy had been spent earlier as wave after wave of pain washed through his entire body caused by bursting blisters, releasing their poisonous fluid. Aragorn and Sam comforted Frodo through the last spasm, placing Athelas cloths over tired sore eyes, whispering words of encouragement. The hobbit's body relaxed as a small sigh escaped puffy lips, his breathing deep and even. Putting his finger to his lips, Aragorn signaled the gardener to be quiet waving his hand to follow him across the room. Taking one more look over his subdued master, Sam stepped off his stool, slowly closing the distance between him and the King. He was beside himself, waiting to be told how he had infected his master and that he could not help him anymore.
Master Mallos and Gimli helped with recovering the Ruffian's bodies to prepare them for burial. They had used a wheeled cart to transport the corpses and their weapons from the King's bedroom, traversing the cobbled streets down to the houses of healing. A back door had been strategically placed when the city was first built; the healers did not want to parade the deceased in front of recovering patients. The cart was wheeled inside a large foyer with an oversized wooden door that led to a cool cellar where blocks of ice were kept to keep fevered patients comfortable, but also doubled as a temporary underground tomb to keep the decaying bodies from spreading germs and smells. Once the door had been opened, the deep cellar had been cleared of any overstock, making room for the four terrorists.
"Be glad to get this over with so that I can check on those two rascals you have stayin' here," Gimli declared, his boots clinking loudly as he treaded on the stone floor; weighted down with his burden.
Master Mallos had to agree with the Dwarf. The sooner the task was completed, the sooner he could help with the Ring-bearer's treatment. "I hope the King did not take you away from anything important, Master Gimli," the healer huffed as he and Gimli finished unloading the cart, arranging the Ruffians on the cool dirt floor.
"Not today. The men have a break as we wait for more stone to be delivered by the river. I am surprised on how well the city walls held up during the attack of those monstrous trolls. The boulders, however, did more structural damage to the roofs of lower level buildings," Gimli declared quite pleased with his progress since Aragorn asked him to oversee the restoration of Minas Tirith.
Wiping the sweat from his brow with a small square cloth, Mallos and Gimli started exiting the room when Captain Faramir almost tripped over the sturdy dwarf. "Whoa there, laddie, where is the fire?" Boromir's companion asked, holding out a hand to steady the hurried Gondorian.
"The King needs the weapons the Ruffians carried, especially the swords," Faramir gasped, catching his breath.
"What in the name of Valar for?" Mallos asked, confused about the odd request.
"He believes that the sword used to inflict Frodo's wound was purposely laced with sap from a poisonous plant," the Captain's racing heart fluttered at the mention of the Ring-bearer's name associated with a poison. What else would the hobbit have to endure before he could be left in peace? "The King needs to identify which one it is so that he might be able to create a counteractant."
"What are his symptoms?" the healer inquired of Faramir.
"Blisters mainly. They are covering his abdomen, lips, forehead. Aragorn believes that Samwise may have been infected as well, accidently transferring the poison from his own opened wound to Frodo's skin when he touched him," a look of apprehension, no lack of concern expressed.
"Yes, they are in here," Gimli pointed down to the cellar, "the swords and knives were collected and each wrapped in cloth within their own sheaths. Let us go and fetch them," the dwarf said, initiating the walk back down to the cool darkened room.
"Stop scratching, Samwise," Aragorn ordered the stout hobbit as he fidgeted while the King administered an ointment to the shallow cut on the gardener's throat caused by one of the Ruffian's swords.
"I can't help it. It itches. What is this stuff you puttin on me? It smells awful," Sam complained, but noticed immediately that the urge to scratch endlessly had lessened.
"A compound of bark and tannis leaves. It may smell, but it has been known to work wonders on skin burns," the former Ranger explained, liberally applying the compound. "I want to try this on you first, since your wound is not as severe as Frodo's," he said. After a few moments of the hobbit switching feet impatiently, the King was able to cover the wound efficiently enough, "Now, do not touch anything else and go wash your hands thoroughly. When you do that, then you may help with tending to Frodo. Understand?" he ordered sternly.
"I hope he will not be too upset with me for the blisters on his face. I really did not mean to cause him anymore discomfort," Samwise begged, wrangling his hands together in frustration, his eyes downcast as he spoke.
"I am sure Frodo is not upset with you. He will quite recover. This is just a minor setback," Aragorn quietly conveyed, placing his hands on the stout hobbit's shoulder. When Sam's face still showed worried frowns, he added smiling, "Trust me, he will pull through. Now, go wash your hands, but do not wash the ointment off."
Aragorn rose to his full height watching the gardener depart slowly toward the room where a wash basin stood waiting to be used. Sighing to himself he turned, walking over to the makeshift examining table to once again look over the injured halfling when he noticed the cloth had fallen off, blue orbs staring back at him. "Are you hurting, Frodo?" he asked, mindful of the blisters already formed on the small forehead.
Frodo shook his head, which made him feel more detached, taking a deep breath, slowly blowing it out. "Sam?"
"He will be just fine," Aragorn admitted, then he delicately asked the question that had started this whole situation with Captain Faramir. "Frodo, do you remember talking with the Captain, before you fell?"
The brows furrowed, a pain assailed him as one of the blisters popped, fluid draining toward his eye. Aragorn soaked up the poison before it could cause further skin irritation to the little one. "I do not remember much, except...my head...it was hurting, then I woke up and I could not move. It was foolish of me to threaten to engage Faramir in a duel," the Ring-bearer admitted.
Aragorn could not help but snicker at Frodo's expense, but it was a funny image indeed.
Frodo opened his eyes, staring into gleaming gray eyes. "My Lord, I do not see what is so humorous. The Captain thought I had offended Lady Eowyn's honor, how else would I defend myself if he wanted to pursue the issue?" he blabbed, the pain no longer a distraction as the medicine Strider had given him had finally taken.
"Well," the King said clearing his throat, looking down at his charge, "I am sure you would have given him quite a workout. He is very good, Frodo."
"I told you it was foolish," he said smiling a little.
"I am glad that you seem to feel a little better, but you know what must be done now?" Aragorn said with all seriousness.
"How bad is it, Aragorn?" the master of Bag End asked getting past a lump knowing that the relief from the burning skin was just temporary and the pain would soon return.
"I cannot stitch the skin together because of the blisters. I do not want to open anymore unnecessarily to cause further damage. I am assuming the Ruffians used some kind of plant's poison on their sword's, Tithen Min, and I have asked Faramir to retrieve them for me," the King of Gondor spoke, smoothing back the dark ringlets.
Frodo nodded, his eyes closing at the simple touch, relaxing him further. Then he popped his eyes open in alarm as he remembered something, "The one...the one that...did this to...me," he finally got out, as a new set of emotions rose within him, tears glistening in the corners of his eyes, "he said..."
Aragorn could see how much duress the hobbit was under and for Frodo to describe his own torture was unbearable for him to hear as he was witnessed to the blood curdling screams. With a steady hand and voice, he quietly encouraged the halfling to continue,"take your time, Tithen Min."
Looking into friendly eyes gave him the strength to endure remembering when all he wanted to do was forget. Lowering his eyelids to dispell a tear, his blue expressive orbs rose to gaze into gray as he continued, "he said he knew how to make the pain and suffering last until I begged him to kill me, but I still could not feel anything, Strider. Just a little as if someone sticking me with dull needles. Then he...he poured something on my stomach that burned!"
"Oh, Mr. Frodo. I tried to keep them away from ya. I told 'em that you were sick. I told 'em," Sam burst out as he had quietly padded in from the hallway, not meaning to overhear the conversation between his master and Strider. He walked quickly to the makeshift table, stepping up on the chair that had been placed just for his use earlier. Grabbing up one of his master's long fingered hands, his stubbly one stroked the back, smoothing the skin.
"Sam, I know. I know," Frodo sighed, closing his eyes against another wave of nausea, swallowing hard.
Sam felt the hand tighten around his, looking into his master's blanched face, "Strider!" the gardener called out.
"I see, Sam," the former Ranger said, gently turning Frodo onto his side, grabbing for a small basin. "Frodo?" he asked, rubbing circles in the small of the halfling's back for measured comfort.
Taking deep breaths did not quell the queasiness and he dry heaved as his stomach was empty. Spent from the lack of oxygen, and the pain in his chest from the volitile coughing, his body shook uncontrollably.
Turning the little body over, Aragorn observed reddened eyes, sweat mixed with the poison beading Frodo's face. He quickly applied another Athelas soaked cloth, leaving off to inspect the abdominal wound. The King's face frowned with concern, his assumptions correct that the blisters burst on their own when Frodo contracted his stomach muscles. The wound was seeping a watery bloody fluid, the healing tissue separating due to the force. The Ring-bearer was infecting himself; the cycle never ceasing. The Ruffian had a very effective way of torturing his prisoners.
"Cold.So, cold," Frodo whispered, shiver bumps erupting all over the pale alabaster skin. Sam was off the stool and back so quick with a coverlet, that Aragorn did not have time to register in his mind that he had ever left. Hefting the large coverlet was proving a chore for Sam, so the King intervened, placing it snugly around the gardener's master.
"There, that seems a might better, sir?" Samwise voiced quietly in Frodo's right ear, brushing the stubborn ringlets around it keeping it tethered there for just a moment.
Frodo nodded, trying to curl up onto his right side. The attempt proved futile, but then he felt cooler air on his left side as large hands untucked the coverlet before being placed under his neck and knees gently rolling him from his back to his desired fetal position. A pillow was then placed under his head as the familiar Athelas soaked cloth found its place once again on his brow, covering sensitive eyes. He was warm and comforted for just a moment, his mind thought before the darkness enveloped him.
His heart aching at the touching scene, Captain Faramir entered with the requested artifacts, hoping that the healing hands of the King would be able to find the right antidote to the suspected poisons lacing the Ruffian's swords. "My Lord," he announced his arrival in the room hoping that he was not intruding.
"Captain," Aragorn acknowledged noticing the cloth covered bundle, "thank you for fetching them so quickly. Are these all of them?"
"Yes, but I do not know which one belonged to whom. Master Gimli and Master Mallos had left them in their sheaths covering them with this cloth. They had laid them in a pile," Faramir relayed.
"I know which one it is, Strider, sir," Sam voiced at the King's side, looking down at his feet his face flush when those Man's eyes stared back at him. "I...I may not have looked good at him in the face because of his mask, but when someone's got a sharp blade at your neck," Sam looked up this time at the Captain remembering the day in Ithilien when his men forcibly captured him and his master, "every inch of metal and handle seems to burn in a picture in your mind that you never forget."
Aragorn agreed with the gardener as he too would not forget the Ruffian that had him at a disadvantage, nodding his head when he noticed something odd in Sam's demeanor; it had changed from servant to protector in a flash. He knew then that this little hobbit still held a grudge against the Captain, and it would have to be dealt with after Frodo recovered. "Good. Faramir, let us examine these weapons more closely over here," Aragorn pointed to the shortened wooden table that had been made for the hobbits use at meal times.
Farmair, too, noticed that there was still some ill will toward him, but chose in his mind to talk with Sam at a later time. Right now was too delicate for the both of them as a friend they held dear to their hearts needed help. Kneeling on the floor to accomodate his size, the Captain unrolled the darkened burlap, revealing four sheathed swords, one that belonged to each of the Ruffians. The Captain then took each blade out of its protected environment exposing the excellent craftmanship of the smithy. There was nothing to indicate that the swords had never been neglected in its care as the candle's light danced over the concave of the blades as they were being inspected. The handles were all constructed differently suspected for the comfort of the hand that held it. Markings of the 'One Eye' were carved in all of them, but certain markings stood out and two of them were the same. The Captain suspected that they were of the same house, relatives. "These two were brothers," he announced after making his conclusions. "The animal markings are the same on these, but are different on the others," he pointed out to the other two pair of eyes looking on.
"This one belonged to the leader," Aragorn said without debate, fingering the animal shape of a large ferocious Warg that took up most of the handle's length. He picked it up, resheathing it before putting it aside leaving three to choose from. The King noticed that Sam had fixed his gaze upon one of the 'brother' swords. He gave him a little time to speak, but after a few more moments he gently prodded the gardener, "Sam?"
Bringing his sleeved arm up to swipe at moist eyes, Sam finally spoke as he pointed to the sword that inflicted his and Frodo's wound, "This one."
"Are you sure?" the former Ranger asked.
Looking up into gray eyes, a tear fell from defiant green eyes, "He didn't completely clean it; I can still see Mr. Frodo's blood, Strider."
He hugged the hobbit closer to him for reassurance before his hands carefully picked up the appointed sword, closely examining the blade. The diffused light barely depicted the place where some sort of clear substance, now hardened, had been purposely placed, a reddish colored residue smeared over it.
"I also brought this up," Faramir interjected pulling a metallic flask from a burlap sack. "When Frodo had gotten so upset earlier when Master Mallos tried cleansing his wound, I figured this flask must have been the cause. He confessed later that the Ruffian poured something on his flesh that burned."
Aragorn gazed at the silvery flask recalling the same conversations not just moments ago. "Yes, he confided in me as well. Let me see it, please," he asked holding out his hand to accept the requested item. Placing the sword back onto the wooden table, nimble fingers uncorked the flask as his nose took a whiff of the liquid inside. The former Ranger's head snapped back from the potent slap he recieved, wrinkling up his nose, blinking his misting eyes several times.
"What is it, My Lord?" Faramir asked rescuing the flask from limp hands, settling the King down onto the floor. Sam was there with an Athelas soaked cloth, holding it to the Man sized forehead.
Regaining his senses as he took several deep breaths to clear his muddled mind, he pulled the Athelas cloth over his mouth to breathe in the healing aroma to soothe cinged lungs. "Thank you, Samwise, I will be fine now," he said, his voice raspy. Taking another deep breath, he added, "That is cleaning fluid. Never diluted. No wonder it burned Frodo, especially when poured over his opened wound," his said with teeth clenched together as echoes of the Ring-bearer's tortured screams reverated in his head. "I believe that," he said pointing to the flask, "com..." a cough, "combined with the poisonous sap are the culprits causing the blisters and burned skin, but the sap alone will cause the vomiting and blistered skin on its own. The cleaning fluid was just for sport. Frodo's temporary paralysis did not give the Ruffians the satisfaction he wanted, but I suspect when he noticed the Ring-bearer's sensitivity returning he added fuel to his burning desire to torture," Aragorn finished, letting the information sink in. He got to his feet, swaying just a bit before he picked up the sword in one hand, carrying the flask in the other glancing at Sam's neck, "I am going to the healing house for some herbs,it seems the tannis leaves are working on Sam's wound. I will return shortly. Captain, will you stay with Frodo and Sam?"
"Yes, it would be my pleasure," Faramir replied in astonishment. "Is there anything special that Frodo needs?"
"Just rest and comfort in knowing that he has friends surrounding him," the King spoke softly before he exited the room with his burdens.
It was only a few moments after Aragorn had departed the room when the injured halfling coughed, inhaling deeply before the familiar gagging sound erupted from Frodo's throat. Faramir and Sam reached him at the same time, the Captain holding the small head over the basin the gardener was holding. Shivering uncontrollably, small moans escaped still swollen lips as the contracted muscles ached. "Sam, do we have anymore ginger tea?" Faramir asked as memories of his mother was brought to the foreground, reminding him of what she did whenever he was sick to his stomach. The stout hobbit nodded and trudged off toward a warming kettle. The Captain wiped the fevered forehead as well as the drool from the little one's mouth before lifting the light bundle, cover and all, carrying him over to his mother's old rocking chair where he sat with Frodo in his lap. Immediately he began rocking as his mother would have done when he was ill, brushing stray curls out of tired eyes. It did not seem right to be cuddling this creature as he was considered an adult in his own world, but here and now, Frodo seemed a child. Sam walked in carrying the warmed ginger tea offering it to the Captain to give to his master. The hobbit drank greedily for his mouth was dry, his stomach empty.
After finishing the cup, Frodo let his body relax against the Man's shoulder, snuggling closer into the coverlet. "Faramir?" he said.
"Yes, Frodo?" the Captain answered, slowing his rocking.
"Thank you," he breathed before heavy lids closed permanently welcoming sleep.
Stunned for just a moment, Faramir was brought back to his senses as he felt a small hand tighten around his arm cradling the hobbit's head. He looked up into smiling green eyes as Sam mouthed a simple 'Thank you' before walking off with the emptied cup. The Captain's heart warmed as he was finally accepted by the two he had done wrong during the war. Smiling, he resumed his rocking watching over the sleeping Ring-bearer.
tbc...