Far Beyond, chapter 3
Jun. 21st, 2010 10:01 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
claudia603Title: Far Beyond
Rating: adult eventually, this chapter PG13ish
Pairing: Frodo/Elliot (Vik) Stablor (misspelling is intentional), possibly Frodo/Aragorn
Summary: Frodo travels far to the north of Fornost to a Ranger outpost to visit his friend Aragorn. Naturally he runs into more trouble than he expected when he encounters guards at the gate.
A/N: I'm totally writing this for myself and I'm indulging all my kinks of all kinds! So...you know, I'm not going to gentle it down or try to make it more canon or relevant to Arda-verse or whatever. It's just Frodo and Detective Stabler and Aragorn and Rangers and jail and interrogation and love and domestic and scary hikes maybe and most definitely kittens and adventures and it takes place in Middle-earth and I'm just having fun with it and letting it go and do whatever! There may even be mpreg at some point! Or dolphins! Who knows! :D This is my summer fun project! :)
ALSO...this chapter and many of the others (except for the first) are unbeta-ed. I'm more going after my creative flow than perfection, but please feel free to tell me if I make an obvious mistake!
Previous chapters:
chapter 1
chapter 2
Frodo was grateful that Faramir did not attempt to make conversation with him as they made their way down the maze of corridors. If Frodo had felt better, he might have tried to ask Faramir about the building and when it was built and by whom, but the illness had finally quelled his curiosity.
And surely he won’t think it rude that I’m not speaking. It’s not as if I were sitting with Lobelia-Sackville Baggins in an interminable tea.
It took all of Frodo’s strength to think about putting one foot in front of the other without collapsing. He was determined not to appear weak in front of these men, in particular Captain Stablor.
“I shall make certain that you have something to eat,” Faramir finally said. “I apologize for your treatment at Captain Stablor’s hands. He has a good heart, but he is not always gentle.”
Frodo nodded. He had seen no sign of Stablor’s good heart thus far, but he allowed that if they had met under different circumstances, he might have seen a different side to Stablor.
“We shall also send scouts out to find and question Gaion,” Faramir said. “This could be the key to exonerate you if what you tell us is true.”
Frodo nodded gratefully. “Thank you,” he whispered.
He was barely aware of being shuttled into his cell. He thought perhaps Faramir said more to him, but nothing filtered through the hot haze in his head. He fell onto his cot without a word and fell into a black sleep.
When he next woke, he burned and ached all over. The illness had come on him with a vengeance. He shook violently. The backs of his eyes ached.
Nausea wrenched his abdomen. He was going to empty his stomach, and he did not know where to do so. He fell off his cot onto his knees and crawled miserably to the hole in the ground that served as the toilet. He was aware of the guard stirring. He retched and retched, but nothing but pungent bile came out of him and the pain still gnawed at him. When he was done, he curled on the stone cold floor, still shaking.
“You sick, half thing?” the guard called with some concern. Frodo could not answer. He was too weak to make it back to the cot. Although he was freezing, his brow burned, and stone floor gave relief to his hot cheeks.
“It’s burning me,” Frodo said, clutching his stomach, “eating me from the inside.” He pictured a monstrous ring of fire that devoured everything in his abdomen.
The guard stepped up to the bars of the cell and shone his lantern in. When he saw how ghastly ill Frodo was, he drew in a sharp breath.
“I’ll fetch a healer ready quick,” he said. “Hold on, half thing.”
“Don’t leave me here alone,” Frodo pleaded, but the words left his lips in an incoherent mumble. “Strider,” he said. How he longed for his dear friend Strider, who would know just what to do and who would speak to him with a kind voice. He longed for any friendly face. To be so ill around hostile strangers holding him captive was the worst possible fix to be in.
Frodo heard the sharp voices of the guard and the healer, and he shut his eyes, hoping beyond hope that perhaps Strider had returned. His head drummed with pain and fire, and his stomach heaved so that he dared not move, not even for a moment.
“Frodo. Frodo, can you hear me?”
Frodo recognized the voice as Faramir’s, but he could not answer. He dared not open his mouth for fear he might start retching again.
Faramir spoke urgently to the guard. “I must have light in here or I cannot examine him. I am not familiar enough with his kind.”
“There’s no light to be found in here, save from my lantern,” the guard said. “You should take him to the healing house. I think you need not fret that he will escape or harm anyone right now, and I do not wish for him to perish on my watch.”
Faramir nodded his agreement. “He is gravely ill. I will take him there.”
“What did he do?” the guard asked. “I mean to get in here? He did not say to me.”
“Caught at our gate with shimflower in his bag.” Faramir heaved him up. Frodo groaned and bit the insides of his cheeks to keep from vomiting again. Not that there was anything left in his stomach.
“Did he swallow any of it when he knew he was going to be caught? It would be deadly to a little thing like this, I warrant.”
“I do not know,” Faramir said. “I do not think so, seeing how he seemed just as surprised as Vik to see the shimflower.”
Frodo was hurtling downward into darkness now, falling with dizzy velocity down a dark hole, losing all touch with the world around him, until darkness covered him completely and he knew no more.
***
Elliot--Vik to his friends--Stablor had been unable to stop thinking about the halfling Frodo since he had arrested him – those vivid blue eyes, that lyrical, refined voice, the way his chest had heaved when he was frightened and angry, the way his compact body had felt under Stablor’s when Stablor had tackled him, the fresh, clean scent of him, as if walking for days in the wild had done nothing to sully him. Stablor’s cock stirred at the thought of feeling Frodo struggling in vain under him, fully conquered. He shifted on his feet, glad for his tunic that hid the uncomfortable bulge in his leggings.
Today all was quiet at the same gate at which he had captured Frodo. The sun beat down on him, but the air held the heavy quality of a coming thunderstorm. He hoped it would wait until Halbarad and Simion relieved him of his duty.
Faramir strode toward him. “Hoy, Vik.”
Stablor smiled at him. “How goes it, Faramir?”
Faramir did not smile back. “You recall our Halfling prisoner, do you not?”
“Indeed.” Stablor turned with sudden interest. “Frodo from the Shire. Or Bree. He had many tales, who knows which were truthful.” He shrugged as if he did not care. In truth he could not wait to interview him again.
“Did you use excessive force on him yesterday during your questioning?”
Stablor’s thick brows furrowed with surprise but then he scoffed. “Faramir, you know me better than that.”
Faramir said nothing, but he looked uncomfortable.
“Why, is he claiming that I beat him?” Stablor felt somewhat wounded that Faramir would believe that of him. Stablor had slapped the halfling once, but he had not used any force at all. And yes, Faramir was right in that he had beaten a few prisoners within an inch of their lives before, but they were of the wicked kind, like those who would break into a cottage, rape the women and children, and then murder them, all for a few coins. Stablor especially could not bear crimes on children or animals. It sent his temper spiraling and he had not so accidentally slain more than a few men who had hurt children in the worst possible way. He had beat another man near to death for kicking a kitten in front of him.
Indeed Stablor had a reputation for losing his temper while interrogating those who brought evil on Eriador. But Faramir, a dear friend and comrade in arms for so many years, should know that he was unlikely to beat a soft halfling that he outweighed by over a hundred pounds because he carried shimflower.
“He’s not telling anyone anything right now,” Faramir said. “He fell ill last night, near death, and there is damage in his stomach area, excessive bruising and bleeding inside. Now I will ask you again. Did you beat him?”
“Near death?” Stablor swallowed his dismay. “I assure you, I did not beat him.” Bruising in the stomach meant that someone had beaten him. “Did you question the guard?”
“Nay, Falwod was just as surprised by his sudden illness. I should return to the healing cottage to check on him. I’ve sent scouts out to find this Gaion. He’s likely no longer in Bree. My guess is that he is lurking not too far from here. After all, he must be awaiting payment from whoever was supposed to accept the shimflower. If I find out who…” Faramir clenched his fists.
“Do you believe the halfling’s innocent?” Stablor asked.
“I do not know,” Faramir said. “But my heart says he is.”
“Your heart is too soft, my friend,” Stablor said, “but perhaps in this matter you are right. I will allow that possibility. Will the halfling live?”
“I hope so,” Faramir said.
After Faramir left, Stablor paced, his heart restless and disturbed. Frodo’s illness brought to his mind certain small creatures of prey like birds and how they sometimes hid their illness and injury until they were near death, so as not to appear weak in front of predators. He wondered if Frodo had been suffering terribly during the interrogation. Especially given that now Stablor had a hunch that Faramir was right, that Frodo was likely innocent. And if this Gaion really existed and he had put the shimflower in Frodo’s bag, Stablor could not wait to get his hands on him.
Just as shimflower had made Stablor suffer. Barod had been more than a dear friend to Stablor. Barod had been young and slender, half Elvish Stablor often teased him, and not as physically powerful as many of the other Rangers, but good in matters of stealth and tracking. He had accompanied Stablor on many quests and had fought beside him in battles against orcs and men of ill intent. Sometimes Stablor had had to cover for Barod physically, but Barod had also saved the day on more than one occasion.
Stablor had loved Barod beyond a normal friendship. They had shared a bed and more. In a faraway outpost where many Rangers did not see their families for months at a time, it was not uncommon to find deep alliances between them. But neither Stablor nor Barod had a wife or children elsewhere. They had been fully dedicated to one another.
But Barod had not been content to have Stablor be the more powerful of the two. He had wanted to match his friends in strength. A visiting merchant had offered him a dried mushroom concoction that promised strength and vigor beyond his dreams. The merchant had instructed him to eat one a day, but Barod had concluded that if one was effective, then two would yield faster results. One day soon after his heart stopped and he had dropped dead right in front of Stablor. He could not be revived, even under Estel’s healing hands.
Stablor clenched his fists, lost in a wave of grief. The loss of Barod hurt so much, although it had been three years already since his death. Stablor’s throat ached and he wanted to pound into something. Gaion would pay. But if it turned out that Gaion was a figment of Frodo’s wicked imagination and that Frodo had intentionally brought in the shimflower, Frodo would pay. Stablor bore too much honor to beat a halfling with his raw strength, but he would recommend the penalty of death for him and would make sure that he was the one to execute it.
On the other hand, if Gaion’s existence exonerated Frodo, Stablor should very much like to talk to Frodo under friendly circumstances. He could not deny a growing attraction to him and he could no longer deny that Frodo bore an uncanny resemblance to the long dead Barod.
TBC
Rating: adult eventually, this chapter PG13ish
Pairing: Frodo/Elliot (Vik) Stablor (misspelling is intentional), possibly Frodo/Aragorn
Summary: Frodo travels far to the north of Fornost to a Ranger outpost to visit his friend Aragorn. Naturally he runs into more trouble than he expected when he encounters guards at the gate.
A/N: I'm totally writing this for myself and I'm indulging all my kinks of all kinds! So...you know, I'm not going to gentle it down or try to make it more canon or relevant to Arda-verse or whatever. It's just Frodo and Detective Stabler and Aragorn and Rangers and jail and interrogation and love and domestic and scary hikes maybe and most definitely kittens and adventures and it takes place in Middle-earth and I'm just having fun with it and letting it go and do whatever! There may even be mpreg at some point! Or dolphins! Who knows! :D This is my summer fun project! :)
ALSO...this chapter and many of the others (except for the first) are unbeta-ed. I'm more going after my creative flow than perfection, but please feel free to tell me if I make an obvious mistake!
Previous chapters:
chapter 1
chapter 2
Frodo was grateful that Faramir did not attempt to make conversation with him as they made their way down the maze of corridors. If Frodo had felt better, he might have tried to ask Faramir about the building and when it was built and by whom, but the illness had finally quelled his curiosity.
And surely he won’t think it rude that I’m not speaking. It’s not as if I were sitting with Lobelia-Sackville Baggins in an interminable tea.
It took all of Frodo’s strength to think about putting one foot in front of the other without collapsing. He was determined not to appear weak in front of these men, in particular Captain Stablor.
“I shall make certain that you have something to eat,” Faramir finally said. “I apologize for your treatment at Captain Stablor’s hands. He has a good heart, but he is not always gentle.”
Frodo nodded. He had seen no sign of Stablor’s good heart thus far, but he allowed that if they had met under different circumstances, he might have seen a different side to Stablor.
“We shall also send scouts out to find and question Gaion,” Faramir said. “This could be the key to exonerate you if what you tell us is true.”
Frodo nodded gratefully. “Thank you,” he whispered.
He was barely aware of being shuttled into his cell. He thought perhaps Faramir said more to him, but nothing filtered through the hot haze in his head. He fell onto his cot without a word and fell into a black sleep.
When he next woke, he burned and ached all over. The illness had come on him with a vengeance. He shook violently. The backs of his eyes ached.
Nausea wrenched his abdomen. He was going to empty his stomach, and he did not know where to do so. He fell off his cot onto his knees and crawled miserably to the hole in the ground that served as the toilet. He was aware of the guard stirring. He retched and retched, but nothing but pungent bile came out of him and the pain still gnawed at him. When he was done, he curled on the stone cold floor, still shaking.
“You sick, half thing?” the guard called with some concern. Frodo could not answer. He was too weak to make it back to the cot. Although he was freezing, his brow burned, and stone floor gave relief to his hot cheeks.
“It’s burning me,” Frodo said, clutching his stomach, “eating me from the inside.” He pictured a monstrous ring of fire that devoured everything in his abdomen.
The guard stepped up to the bars of the cell and shone his lantern in. When he saw how ghastly ill Frodo was, he drew in a sharp breath.
“I’ll fetch a healer ready quick,” he said. “Hold on, half thing.”
“Don’t leave me here alone,” Frodo pleaded, but the words left his lips in an incoherent mumble. “Strider,” he said. How he longed for his dear friend Strider, who would know just what to do and who would speak to him with a kind voice. He longed for any friendly face. To be so ill around hostile strangers holding him captive was the worst possible fix to be in.
Frodo heard the sharp voices of the guard and the healer, and he shut his eyes, hoping beyond hope that perhaps Strider had returned. His head drummed with pain and fire, and his stomach heaved so that he dared not move, not even for a moment.
“Frodo. Frodo, can you hear me?”
Frodo recognized the voice as Faramir’s, but he could not answer. He dared not open his mouth for fear he might start retching again.
Faramir spoke urgently to the guard. “I must have light in here or I cannot examine him. I am not familiar enough with his kind.”
“There’s no light to be found in here, save from my lantern,” the guard said. “You should take him to the healing house. I think you need not fret that he will escape or harm anyone right now, and I do not wish for him to perish on my watch.”
Faramir nodded his agreement. “He is gravely ill. I will take him there.”
“What did he do?” the guard asked. “I mean to get in here? He did not say to me.”
“Caught at our gate with shimflower in his bag.” Faramir heaved him up. Frodo groaned and bit the insides of his cheeks to keep from vomiting again. Not that there was anything left in his stomach.
“Did he swallow any of it when he knew he was going to be caught? It would be deadly to a little thing like this, I warrant.”
“I do not know,” Faramir said. “I do not think so, seeing how he seemed just as surprised as Vik to see the shimflower.”
Frodo was hurtling downward into darkness now, falling with dizzy velocity down a dark hole, losing all touch with the world around him, until darkness covered him completely and he knew no more.
***
Elliot--Vik to his friends--Stablor had been unable to stop thinking about the halfling Frodo since he had arrested him – those vivid blue eyes, that lyrical, refined voice, the way his chest had heaved when he was frightened and angry, the way his compact body had felt under Stablor’s when Stablor had tackled him, the fresh, clean scent of him, as if walking for days in the wild had done nothing to sully him. Stablor’s cock stirred at the thought of feeling Frodo struggling in vain under him, fully conquered. He shifted on his feet, glad for his tunic that hid the uncomfortable bulge in his leggings.
Today all was quiet at the same gate at which he had captured Frodo. The sun beat down on him, but the air held the heavy quality of a coming thunderstorm. He hoped it would wait until Halbarad and Simion relieved him of his duty.
Faramir strode toward him. “Hoy, Vik.”
Stablor smiled at him. “How goes it, Faramir?”
Faramir did not smile back. “You recall our Halfling prisoner, do you not?”
“Indeed.” Stablor turned with sudden interest. “Frodo from the Shire. Or Bree. He had many tales, who knows which were truthful.” He shrugged as if he did not care. In truth he could not wait to interview him again.
“Did you use excessive force on him yesterday during your questioning?”
Stablor’s thick brows furrowed with surprise but then he scoffed. “Faramir, you know me better than that.”
Faramir said nothing, but he looked uncomfortable.
“Why, is he claiming that I beat him?” Stablor felt somewhat wounded that Faramir would believe that of him. Stablor had slapped the halfling once, but he had not used any force at all. And yes, Faramir was right in that he had beaten a few prisoners within an inch of their lives before, but they were of the wicked kind, like those who would break into a cottage, rape the women and children, and then murder them, all for a few coins. Stablor especially could not bear crimes on children or animals. It sent his temper spiraling and he had not so accidentally slain more than a few men who had hurt children in the worst possible way. He had beat another man near to death for kicking a kitten in front of him.
Indeed Stablor had a reputation for losing his temper while interrogating those who brought evil on Eriador. But Faramir, a dear friend and comrade in arms for so many years, should know that he was unlikely to beat a soft halfling that he outweighed by over a hundred pounds because he carried shimflower.
“He’s not telling anyone anything right now,” Faramir said. “He fell ill last night, near death, and there is damage in his stomach area, excessive bruising and bleeding inside. Now I will ask you again. Did you beat him?”
“Near death?” Stablor swallowed his dismay. “I assure you, I did not beat him.” Bruising in the stomach meant that someone had beaten him. “Did you question the guard?”
“Nay, Falwod was just as surprised by his sudden illness. I should return to the healing cottage to check on him. I’ve sent scouts out to find this Gaion. He’s likely no longer in Bree. My guess is that he is lurking not too far from here. After all, he must be awaiting payment from whoever was supposed to accept the shimflower. If I find out who…” Faramir clenched his fists.
“Do you believe the halfling’s innocent?” Stablor asked.
“I do not know,” Faramir said. “But my heart says he is.”
“Your heart is too soft, my friend,” Stablor said, “but perhaps in this matter you are right. I will allow that possibility. Will the halfling live?”
“I hope so,” Faramir said.
After Faramir left, Stablor paced, his heart restless and disturbed. Frodo’s illness brought to his mind certain small creatures of prey like birds and how they sometimes hid their illness and injury until they were near death, so as not to appear weak in front of predators. He wondered if Frodo had been suffering terribly during the interrogation. Especially given that now Stablor had a hunch that Faramir was right, that Frodo was likely innocent. And if this Gaion really existed and he had put the shimflower in Frodo’s bag, Stablor could not wait to get his hands on him.
Just as shimflower had made Stablor suffer. Barod had been more than a dear friend to Stablor. Barod had been young and slender, half Elvish Stablor often teased him, and not as physically powerful as many of the other Rangers, but good in matters of stealth and tracking. He had accompanied Stablor on many quests and had fought beside him in battles against orcs and men of ill intent. Sometimes Stablor had had to cover for Barod physically, but Barod had also saved the day on more than one occasion.
Stablor had loved Barod beyond a normal friendship. They had shared a bed and more. In a faraway outpost where many Rangers did not see their families for months at a time, it was not uncommon to find deep alliances between them. But neither Stablor nor Barod had a wife or children elsewhere. They had been fully dedicated to one another.
But Barod had not been content to have Stablor be the more powerful of the two. He had wanted to match his friends in strength. A visiting merchant had offered him a dried mushroom concoction that promised strength and vigor beyond his dreams. The merchant had instructed him to eat one a day, but Barod had concluded that if one was effective, then two would yield faster results. One day soon after his heart stopped and he had dropped dead right in front of Stablor. He could not be revived, even under Estel’s healing hands.
Stablor clenched his fists, lost in a wave of grief. The loss of Barod hurt so much, although it had been three years already since his death. Stablor’s throat ached and he wanted to pound into something. Gaion would pay. But if it turned out that Gaion was a figment of Frodo’s wicked imagination and that Frodo had intentionally brought in the shimflower, Frodo would pay. Stablor bore too much honor to beat a halfling with his raw strength, but he would recommend the penalty of death for him and would make sure that he was the one to execute it.
On the other hand, if Gaion’s existence exonerated Frodo, Stablor should very much like to talk to Frodo under friendly circumstances. He could not deny a growing attraction to him and he could no longer deny that Frodo bore an uncanny resemblance to the long dead Barod.
TBC
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-06-21 03:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-21 03:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-21 03:30 pm (UTC)How about Frodo/everyone? hahah Can't we just slash that little hobbit with everyone all the time?
no subject
Date: 2010-06-21 05:28 pm (UTC)I agree -- Frodo should ALWAYS have many er..buddies! :)
no subject
Date: 2010-06-21 07:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-21 09:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-21 08:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-21 09:03 pm (UTC)And remember what I said about Cragen? Well, I just watched this episode of SVU and Cragen is just such a woobie and so compassionate and basically kind and omg, I'm going to be butchering his character so much, lol!
no subject
Date: 2010-06-22 12:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-22 12:28 pm (UTC)Thank you, sweetie! <3
no subject
Date: 2010-06-22 05:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-22 12:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-22 01:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-22 09:19 pm (UTC)