Characters: Frodo/Faramir
Request: “I'd like to see Faramir in the throes of some kind of illness that lays him low, and Frodo taking care of him, maybe with Ioreth's help, and if it's at Yule, that would be even better. Maybe Faramir could recover and they have their celebration in bed?”
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Slash. AU. Unbetaed!
A/N: I owe Mews two apologies – one for taking so long getting this written and the second for writing this while I’m sick myself, so please excuse any disjointedness!
Disclaimer: All characters included herein are the property of Tolkien, and I make nothing from the use of them.
Summary: Post-Quest in Ithilien, as Faramir and Frodo prepare for their first Yule together, Faramir falls ill.
As the last of his troop dismounted and stood waiting in the muddied courtyard for his dismissal, Faramir cleared his throat and said hoarsely, “I thank you for your diligent work on this patrol. We feel sure now that most of the orcs have been cleared from this area of Ithilien. Therefore, I have set some guards on watch and am happy to give you a well-deserved week’s leave.” He smiled at the surprised buzz that arose and continued, “Enjoy your Yule holiday. There will be a feast in your honour tonight at the Great Hall. Everyone in the settlement has been invited. You may fall out.”
A ragged cheer rose from the weary soldiers as they clapped each other on the shoulders and led their bedraggled horses to the stables to be bedded down. “Happy Yuletide, Captain,” some shouted after Faramir as he hastened toward his dwelling.
No sooner had he shoved open the round blue door into his front foyer than he staggered back from the impact of a small hard body catapulting into him with such force as to knock the breath from him. Chuckling, he dropped to his knees and heartily embraced the hobbit clinging to him. Smoothing back the soft curls with one hand, he lifted Frodo’s chin with his other, reveling in the sight of sparkling blue eyes, skin as fair as snow, soft cherry lips…
As those lips fastened to his with great fervor, Faramir once again thanked the gods that he was so blessed as to have this lovely creature in his life. After the turbulent time around Frodo’s last birthday, they had both been so careful, each trying to make sure that the other knew how loved and valued the other was. Following each of Faramir’s enforced absences on patrol to ensure the safety of the new citizens of Ithilien, Frodo greeted Faramir as if he were a long-lost hero returning from the war. And Faramir, cautioned by Ioreth, tried hard not to hover over Frodo too much in his concern for Frodo’s health, but to treat him as his equal in strength and stamina.
In truth, thought Faramir in amusement as Frodo pulled him by the hand down the hall and into their bedroom, Frodo surpassed him in some areas.
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Following his bath, somewhat distracted by Frodo’s loving efforts to assist him, Faramir managed to emerge fully dressed for the evening’s feast. He stopped to admire the sight of Frodo clad in an emerald velvet suit and cloaked in a blue exactly the color of his eyes.
Those eyes lit up at the sight of him. “Faramir! Look at you! That tunic is just perfect!”
Faramir straightened the silk sheathe woven in many colours like a tapestry. “You don’t think it’s a bit – ornate?” The elaborate outfit had arrived, like Frodo’s, as a Yule gift from the King and Queen.
“Not at all! It’s not gaudy. It’s elegant and dazzling, just like you,” protested Frodo.
Faramir coughed, feeling the tickle in his throat blossom into pain. He’d been fighting this off for a while, sleeping rough in the wild. Now that he was home, he could stay warm and at his ease.
“Are you feeling all right?” asked Frodo.
“I’m fine. Just some dust from the trail left, I imagine,” said Faramir. “Let’s hurry down; they can’t start the festivities without us.”
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