ONE

It did not matter to Aragorn that Rivendell was a haven, safe, for the time being, from the hand and eye of the Enemy. Having spent the previous weeks gathering paltry tidings of the movements of dark forces, he did not have the luxury of relaxation after the flight to the ford. When he returned from his errand he was, to the hobbits, strangely alert and cautious; they could barely recall having been so themselves. Aragorn did not like it went Frodo went off alone at night, far from watchful guardians. So little stood between Frodo and danger, even here. The ability of the Elves to ward off evil was wavering. They were two days from departure, and Aragorn had not bothered to wind down during his short stay at home in Rivendell.

Before retiring for the night, Aragorn went to check on Frodo in his bedchamber, but did not find him there. But then, why would he be there? The other hobbits, he knew, were enjoying a second (possibly third) supper in the Hall of Fire. No doubt Frodo was with them. It was nigh on impossible to catch Frodo out of the company of Sam, and he kept his silly cousins close-by, whenever possible, as well.

But when Aragorn ventured down to the Hall, he found Merry and Pippin on their way out. They were followed by an Elf they'd made friends with, the only one in Rivendell who was not yet of age, and Legolas, who claimed to have been keeping an eye on these reckless youths, but was himself noticeably less steady on his feet coming out than he had been going in. When he saw Aragorn, he straightened himself up and tried to look dignified.

Aragorn asked Legolas, in Elvish, of Frodo and Sam's whereabouts. Legolas looked around, as if they might have been standing right there and Aragorn had failed to notice them. "They went off somewhere," he said. He seemed to know that this was an insufficient answer, so before Aragorn could reprimand his carelessness he delved deep down in his memory, all the way to the previous hour, and said with certainty, "They are going for a midnight stroll through the gardens. They said it was getting too stuffy in the Hall." He smirked to himself.

"How long ago? I hate to think they might stroll too far and put themselves in danger."

"Aragorn, I don't think they're doing so much strolling." Aragorn did not understand, but attributed it to the state Legolas was in.

"I should check on them, just to make sure they are safe."

"Eh...in all honesty?" Legolas clapped a hand on Aragorn's shoulder. "I'd leave them be if I were you. It's riskier to go looking for them than to allow them to wander, I think."

Aragorn pried the Elf's hand from his shoulder. He was growing angry; it upset him to see Legolas inebriated, and he didn't appreciate being told how he should or should not treat the Ring-bearer. "And if I were YOU, I'd get to bed before I did anything foolish."

Legolas giggled and trotted off after the young ones.

****

If you asked Sam, he would tell you...Well, Sam is far too loyal and discreet to tell, but if, say, Sam had a looser tongue, and you asked him, he would tell you that Frodo had always preferred to make love out of doors. Through the cold of winter, of course, a feather-bed in a cozy room in Bag End would be more than suitable , but in the warm seasons, when the grass was thick beneath their bare skin and soft breezes caressed them with no threat of a chill, Frodo would take Sam's hand and lead him into the forest, into a glade where they could love one another in privacy, under the stars. Sam often found it difficult to relax, feeling exposed, out in the middle of nowhere with no clothes on and all, but he gladly complied with Frodo's wishes. It made Frodo happy, to be able to look down into Sam's eyes, and then up at Elbereth's creations, wheeling across the sky, taking their time each night, just as he and Sam did.

Under less precarious circumstances, Sam might have objected to Frodo's whispered desire that evening. Surely some Elf or other would be wandering about in the woods as well, and cross their paths. If there was one thing Sam didn't want to do, it was embarrass himself in front of an Elf. However, considering how long it had been since he and Frodo had last been alone together, and how long it might be before he'd get another chance, Sam was ready at that point to have his master any way he could get him.

****

Aragorn did not find Frodo and Sam in the gardens, either, but he did see their footprints in the dirt paths, and noticed that the prints stopped abruptly at the north end, in front of a disarranged alfirin . Aragorn examined the ground beyond it and determined the direction they had gone after sneaking through the border of the garden, into the woods. He gently pushed the alfirin aside and followed the tracks. He did not have to travel far before he heard Frodo. The hobbit was making ambiguous noises, and Aragorn crouched behind some shrubbery, peering over to properly assess the situation before springing into whatever action was required. But when he had Frodo and Sam clearly in view, he realized that action, as it were, was not exactly in short supply.

Aragorn could not believe what a fool he'd been. Even after Legolas had dropped so many obvious hints. He knew Frodo and Sam were heavily invested in each other, but they had not given any indication that they were lovers. Then again, hobbits were a mysterious folk. He'd learned a few of their nuances as he'd kept watch over the Shire borders, but their mores in this respect he was not familiar with. Perhaps they had to do a careful job of hiding their love. Such a thing might be frowned upon, or absolutely forbidden, in the Shire. Aragorn did not know.

But from what he could see, Frodo and Sam did not appear secretive or ashamed at all. All signs pointed to their unabashed adoration of each other's bodies. Their garments were strewn and they lay on a blanket, or perhaps a cloak; Sam was on his back, with Frodo straddling him, rocking back and forth in a slow, comfortable rhythm. He would change his position, slightly, every few minutes; first leaning down to kiss Sam or nuzzle his neck, then sitting up and tilting his head back to gaze up at the stars, which shone brighter for Frodo here than they did back home. He would lean far back, resting his weight on his hands, which were planted on either side of Sam's knees. Sam took the opportunities to enjoy the view himself, stroking his master's flat belly and teasing his erection as he stargazed. At other times, Sam would grip Frodo's thighs and Aragorn, as he watched, could not be sure if he was guiding Frodo's movements or following them. The two hobbits had an uncanny synchronization. It may not have been apparent to them, but even a casual observer could see that they were anticipating one another's movements, maintaining a seamless rhythm. They moved in unison; just when Sam tilted his pelvis, Frodo would arch his back just so, in order to get the most pleasure out of the stroke. Their ability to move as one could only have been achieved through years of practice, if you could call such a profound expression of love "practice." If hobbits, as a race, did indeed disapprove of this particular form of love, then Aragorn pitied Sam and Frodo, because it was a shame to be forced to hide something so beautiful.

Beautiful. Frodo in particular, Aragorn thought, possessed an ethereal quality, something beyond his understanding. It was masked by fright and determination when they had first traveled together, but now it was shining through more clearly than he had ever seen. It was not merely the corporeal: the way Frodo's skin glowed bluish in the moonlight, or the graceful movement of his unusually slender limbs as he leaned back to admire the night sky. No, it went beyond those things. Aragorn had seen much physical beauty in his life, and was not tempted by it. It was a form of beauty so unearthly, it might possibly have been that no mortal had ever been able to articulate it, through all the ages of the Sun.

Although Aragorn could not deny that his appreciation of Frodo was a bit in the corporeal realm at the moment. He had begun to be aroused almost as soon as he'd caught sight of the hobbits making love, and now that Frodo was observably approaching orgasm, pumping his hips to meet Sam's thrusts, Aragorn's erection throbbed in sympathy. He longed to stroke it and relieve the pressure, as Frodo was about to do, but he kept his hands firmly on the ground, knowing well enough that, were he to be caught spying, having his hand down his trousers would not improve the situation.

And anyway, he was still more curious than aroused. It had been difficult to overcome his instinct to see the hobbits as being children, not just because of their size but also their naivete. It was surreal indeed to see even the two eldest hobbits rutting madly, like beasts. Above all the sight of the quiet, bookish Frodo writhing and moaning in ecstasy was as puzzling as it was exciting. All else seemed to fade into the mossy loam, and Frodo was all Aragorn could see. The slide and pull of sleek muscles under his pearlescent skin, his head thrown back to expose a long creamy neck. Frodo leaned forward one last time to take his erection in hand, coaxing his seed from himself. He spilled onto Sam's belly and let out a deep groan, waiting for Sam to finish before rolling off him. The two hobbits lay quietly side by side on the cloak, quiet and still, for so long that Aragorn was certain they were asleep. A good time for him to steal away. But just as he rose, Sam spoke.

"Did you hear that?"

Aragorn froze.

"Yes, I heard it," Frodo said. "It was the nightingale. Isn't it wonderful to hear a familiar song in this strange land?"

Aragorn sighed with relief and crept back into the garden, cursing himself. He had come back to his senses now, and the two amorous hobbits were just an afterimage in his mind's eye. What was wrong with him? Not only had it escaped Aragorn that those two were lovers, but once he'd discovered it he couldn't tear his eyes away! Foolish and unseemly!

****

Elladan and Elrohir returned to Rivendell with tidings, but they would share them with no one except Elrond. And so Aragorn kept an ear trained on the less important but no less intriguing talk around Rivendell of Frodo's daily activities. Most of the elves there had never known any hobbits, aside from Bilbo, and the novelty of the sight of them had not yet worn away when Estel arrived with four of them, and one with the Ring of Power around his neck! Understandably, a fair number of the Elves, the ones more given to gossip, couldn't stop talking about this strange, small creature wandering in their valley. Most of the discussion concerned things that Aragorn was already well aware of: "This afternoon Melpomean dined with them in the Hall, and he told me what a marvel it was to watch them eat. They consume large amounts of food with alarming speed. More than the Men, who are nearly twice their size." Aragorn winced at this last overheard comment, but it was what the Elf said next that interested him. "Apparently the Ring-bearer has been going about asking if we have any waterfalls, that is, any small ones."

"Indeed," said the other Elf, "he asked me that today, when I chanced to encounter him. He said he wants to visit a pool or spring of some sort, with a waterfall. Perhaps today holds some significance, in the custom of his kind. He might need the water for a ritual."

"If we find Mithrandir we might ask him. He is versed in their lore."

With this information Aragorn fled, fearing he would be caught eavesdropping if he tarried much longer. A waterfall. He suspected that Frodo's want of it was not ritualistic at all. He suspected that tonight, Frodo and Sam wanted to do something wet.

There were a few places in Rivendell that suited Frodo's specifications, and Aragorn knew where all of them were located. That evening, he went searching. He was surprised, along the way, to find Sam, seated next to Bilbo on a terrace.

"Good evening," he greeted them. "Mister Gamgee, I am surprised to see that you are not at your master's side."

"I assure you, I am no less surprised," Sam confessed. He sounded awfully formal, but Aragorn attributed that to his keeping company with the Elves. "He was here with us earlier, but he excused himself and insisted on being alone." Aragorn could see in Sam's face the reason why he was disappointed that Frodo hadn't invited him along. He was pining already.

"I did not mean to interrupt your conversation," Aragorn replied, nodding politely in Bilbo's direction. "I am certain Frodo meant no slight in wanting to be by himself this evening. He will seek your company again soon enough." He smiled at the hobbits and continued on his way.

Frodo was more enigmatic and less predictable than, say, the average Orc, and as such Aragorn could not presume with certainty whether, of the three smaller waterfalls in the valley, Frodo would choose the one nearest to or farthest from his quarters. But there was no harm in visiting all of them. There was no sign of Frodo at the nearest pool, nor at the next one, which was within sight of the first. He caught up with Frodo just before the furthest (and most beautiful) of the three. He kept many paces behind, easily concealing himself among the dense thicket as Frodo, with comparable stealth, approached the rocky edge of the water. A waterfall eight feet high rolled over a ridge of grey stone and poured into it a pool warmed not by the sun or the earth, but rather by Rivendell's defiance of time itself. Here, in the perpetual early autumn, all flowing waters were suitable for swimming year-round, and they were filled with lily-pads like great flat emeralds, and some had fish, but not this one. To Aragorn's knowledge hobbits were not fond of water, but that Frodo might have a desire to be in it, or near it, was not a surprise to him.

Frodo had taken to Rivendell immediately, and was very comfortable walking amongst its people and its trees, intimidated by the height of neither. In fact, at that moment he was definitely more comfortable than Aragorn, who crouched behind a felled birch, looking like a soldier and feeling like a thief. The ranger's patience was tested as Frodo stood still for many long moments, gazing at the waterfall. But when he finally moved, he was quickly shucking off his clothing. Three or four swift, matter-of-fact steps towards the water and he was stepping into the pool as naked as the day he came into the world. He showed no sign of shame or caution. He paused when he was up to his shins in the pool and stretched luxuriously. He was unafraid of the water, lacking the typical hobbit aversion to it. He needed only to swim a few strokes to cross the deepest part of the pool and make straight for the cascade. He reached out with one hand to test its temperature, and apparently found it suitable, for he immediately placed himself under it's smooth rush. Having thus immersed himself, he let out a gasp of shock; he was overwhelmed by the feeling of the water, however warm, as it engulfed him.

Aragorn was still not certain what the point of Frodo's excursion was. His intention was not to bathe, nor swim, nor engage in any libidinous behavior with his manservant. What, then? So taken was Aragorn, with anticipation, that he found it difficult to simply sit still and watch the reflection of the Moon in the water as it poured over Frodo's pale form, like diamonds. They were, then, perhaps the first gems that did not enhance beauty but were rather made more fair themselves for having adorned such a body.

Frodo wandered out from under the waterfall and along the edge of the pool until he found a large, flat rock, and he laid himself upon it, face up. His whole body seemed to relax into the rock, as if he were getting ready to go into a trance. He lay very still for some time, then slowly reached towards the sky with one hand, palm facing outwards, getting ready to catch something. But he curled his fingers in one by one until only the first pointed out, to the stars. Perhaps he was choosing one for himself. Perhaps he felt the sky was a marketplace, and he needed only to pick out the jewel he treasured most, and it would be handed over to him.

It was at that moment that Aragorn understood what it was about Frodo that was so beautiful. It was not a matter of delicate features or creamy white skin (though those things were a joy to behold). His true beauty was his dualism: Frodo was at once innocent and wise. Aragorn's initial impression of him rang true; Frodo was untested in life and not skilled in battle. He was unwary and had a big mouth. This was not a crime; after all, he was pure of heart, his devotion to his companions was touching, and his love for Sam in particular, even in its base physical form, was untainted by life's trials.

Frodo was all this, but when he reached out his hand to the sky, Aragorn sensed that he bore a sort of anguish that only worldliness can foster. An intensity rarely seen outside of Elfkind. His skin glowed because it could not contain the burdened soul that was threatening to burst from him. Perhaps it was solely due to the Ring, but Aragorn guessed not; there was something unique about Frodo and his wisdom. Even if he'd gone his whole life without ever leaving the Shire, Aragorn was certain that Frodo would still spend every night trying to touch the stars.

****

In the morning Aragorn desired that he and Frodo should break their fast together, so that they might enjoy each other's company in calm and comfort once more before setting out. He approached the door to Frodo's room but was stilled by the sounds he heard coming from within. Long, rich sighs, and rhythmic cooing. Apparently Frodo already had plans as far as enjoying his last morning in Rivendell was concerned. Aragorn's hand froze, still poised to knock, and he lingered there, for just a moment. But choosing courtesy over curiosity, he left the hobbits in peace. With the first step he took from the door, he was overcome with dismay, and he was not sure it was entirely disappointment that Frodo would not accompany him to breakfast. But the further he strode from Frodo's room, the more certain he was that there was nothing to be dismayed about: the hobbits' physical pleasure was indicative of a more profound bond, one that would prove valuable on Frodo's long and uncertain journey, and Aragorn could not begrudge him such a devoted companion.

 

 

TWO

Between the Mirrormere and the fair trees of Cerin Amroth, Frodo had no room to spare in his troubled mind for despair. Danger was still too near, and respite still so far. Only after the Company were welcomed to Lothlorien and allowed to rest, to be at peace, could he confront the true depths of his grief.

Frodo found no peace, despite the encouragement of the Elves. He tried to purposely slow his breathing and relax his taxed muscles, but, heedless of these physical trappings, his mind raced and neither time nor fatigue would slow it. Shutting his brain off to allow sleep to come became more of an effort with each passing night. His fellow hobbits were similarly troubled, but not so bad as he. Every night they fell into slumber in the same order: first Pippin would begin mumbling in his sleep, then Merry's soft snoring could be heard, then Sam would nod off, after much troubled, swirling, half-dreamt worrying for the safety of his master. To see the alert silhouette of Gimli or Boromir was no comfort to Frodo. What truly hunted him, no mere Dwarf, Man, or Elf could ward off.

And tonight, he was even more deeply troubled, not just by fear and grief but by guilt, an emotion which had not been so prominent in his mind in many a year. He felt guilty because tonight, of all nights, when he ought to be in deep mourning for Gandalf, he was being distracted by his own pesky mortal coil. As Frodo lay on his bedroll he fought an inexplicable stirring in his loins, and cursed himself for his beastly, not to mention disrespectful, thoughts. He half wanted to get up, excuse himself, and find some shrubbery to hide behind so he could take care of himself and get back to the business of mourning. Next to him, Sam lay quiet; Frodo hadn't heard a snore from him, and thought that he must still be awake; perhaps they could sneak off together. He desired to be with Sam more than he desired to be with himself. But Sam was fast asleep, and Frodo could not wake him without drawing attention. Out of ideas, Frodo threw off his blanket and got up. Legolas and Aragorn were both up, on opposite sides of the pavilion. There was no need to set a watch here, but fear of Orcs was never the only thing that kept the Company awake, anymore. Frodo approached Legolas, who was nearer. The Elf was very wise; perhaps Frodo could gain some insight from him as to why, at this time of all times, he harbored such lust.

Legolas did not stir when the hobbit plopped down next to him. Frodo thought perhaps he was in his trance, but when he spoke the Elf's name he answered immediately.

"Something troubles you tonight, something beyond grief," Legolas said. Frodo nodded in the darkness. "But," the Elf continued, "I cannot tell what it is."

"I am as confused as you are," Frodo said. "What do you feel when someone dies?"

There was a long pause before Legolas answered. "I feel as if a great lament is writing itself in my heart, but I cannot see the words clearly."

Frodo wasn't sure that what Legolas was talking about corresponded with his own unusual feeling. "What about..." he began, but had to rethink his question. He was too afraid to ask straight out, for fear his ardor was not only anomalous but shameful. "Is there anything you desire right now?" he asked, and cringed when he heard the words come out of his mouth. But Legolas did not twitch.

"My only desire is that Gandalf is seen safely into the next world. To wish for him back would be to defy the path chosen for him. But I believe that to wish him well on his journey is the best respect I can pay him."

Frodo was touched by these sentiments, but the Elf's insistence on being cryptic was certainly not doing anything to relieve his frustration. Frodo stood up without saying good night and made his way around the pavilion to where Aragorn was sitting on a great mallorn-root that thrust out perpendicular to the ground before sinking into the earth. He was tapping the end of his pipe thoughtfully against his bottom lip. Frodo took a seat on the root next to him, and sighed heavily to communicate his discontent. Aragorn turned his head.

"What troubles you, Frodo." It was a statement, not a question.

"As far back as I can remember, Bilbo encouraged me to learn the Elvish languages, and I did my best to become well-versed...but what does it matter? It is maddening to converse with Elves, even when they are speaking clearly in the Common Language!"

Aragorn smiled and turned fully towards Frodo. "You do not speak wrongly, but remember that time weighs heavily on the Fair Folk and twists their tongues in a way we cannot see, not with our eyes. Perhaps the counsel you seek should come from a fellow mortal."

"Perhaps." Frodo was silent for a long while, and Aragorn did not press him to continue. He waited patiently, watching the dark places between the trees, while the hobbit gathered up his words and his courage. "I fear," Frodo finally said, "that of late my body longs for certain base things beyond food and sleep. It does not normally trouble me to feel such things, but certainly now is not an appropriate time. And yet I cannot suppress these urges, try as I might."

Now Aragorn laughed, but softly. "These urges came upon you in the wake of Gandalf's fall?"

"Yes, that's what is worst of all."

"Nay, you need not suffer guilt for the things you are feeling. It is quite natural, at least for mortals." Before Frodo could question him, he explained: "Death has many effects upon those who witness it, not least of which is to remind us of our own mortality. An Elf will grow confused when he sees death, but a Man...or a hobbit...will despair not only for the dead, but for his own heart, though it still beats within him, because he knows that one day, all too soon, it will beat no longer." Aragorn leaned in closer and lowered his voice further to continue. "And though we mortals feel grief above all things, lurking beneath the surface of our minds is a desire to indulge in those things which we only have a short time in this world to enjoy: all the pleasures of the flesh. When we are confronted with death we thirst and we hunger, while we still can. It is nothing shameful. Does that make you feel better?"

Frodo stared up at Aragorn, looking as if he were about to nod, or perhaps shake his head, but he did neither. In a way he felt better, now that he knew why he was so unbearably ardent, but now he sort of felt obligated to do something about it, since it was not shameful. A new embarrassment overcame him: Now that the ranger knew his secret, there was no way he would be able to relieve his need discreetly. The next time Frodo took leave to go off alone, Aragorn would not have to be as perceptive as he was to figure out why.

Aragorn truly did not feel that Frodo should be embarrassed. In fact, he was a little embarrassed himself; he feared that Frodo knew all about his spying, his secret desires, and would perceive his counsel as merely an attempt to plant suggestions in his head, a suggestion that they ought to unburden those perfectly natural desires together. But examining the expression on his face, Aragorn could safely assume that Frodo did not perceive such a suggestion. Which was, in a way, a shame. Aragorn wished that he had someone to tell him that his desires were perfectly acceptable.

Frodo tried to get back to sleep; even if he wasn't physically satiated, he hoped he could at least rest easy knowing he was not feeling anything unnatural. But though Lothlorien was a haven, it could not keep him safe from what was within him. Restless, he got up and again approached Aragorn, who was refilling his pipe. Apparently he wasn't planning on sleeping soon either.

"Do you mind if I sit up with you for a while?" Frodo asked, and climbed up on the root-bench again.

"I always welcome your company," Aragorn said flatly. There was a long silence, during which it suddenly occurred to Frodo what Aragorn had said earlier: "WE mortals? OUR desires?" He only now realized that Aragorn may well be similarly restless and preoccupied. But once he realized this, his attention was not on Aragorn but Sam, snoozing in his bedroll, no doubt dreaming of Elves and elanor blooms. Surely, Frodo thought, Sam is feeling the same way. He wouldn't mind if I woke him...

But no. He wouldn't go and make a spectacle of himself by disturbing Sam and then going off to find a suitable place for privacy. Aside from the knowing smirks of the Company, Frodo feared the eyes of the Elves, who were more watchful and suspicious than their kin in Rivendell. And so, Frodo sat still next to Aragorn and tried to concentrate on the gorgeous scenery.

Concentrating became more difficult when Aragorn put his hand on Frodo's shoulder. Never had that hand seemed so large and strong. It gave his shoulder a firm squeeze, but then fell harmlessly to Aragorn's side, its fingers twitching on his thigh. Frodo slowly turned his head, staring at the restless hand. He thought he saw the muscles of Aragorn's thigh flex, just once. He reached up and put a hand on Aragorn's bicep, drawing back just a little when he felt its intimidating size and hardness. Aragorn sensed this faltering and turned to Frodo with a smile. "Are you alright?"

"You," Frodo said slowly, "are huge. Do you...I mean, you must know that to my eyes you are frighteningly huge."

"I frighten you?"

"Well, no, it's just..." Frodo looked up into Aragorn's eyes. It was a look he had not shared with another person in years. Not, in fact, since the first night he spent with Sam, back in Bag End. The look was a question and an answer. "Yes, I do feel that way. Do you?" A look like that was never exchanged without severe result, whether good or ill.

Aragorn could not figure out if he was seducing or being seduced, but he was a practical man and quickly decided that it didn't matter. "There is a flet nearby," he said, "that is quite high up, but it is unoccupied right now. Perhaps you would like to spend some time with me there? That is, if you are not too frightened to do so."

Frodo looked up into his eyes and it seemed to him that he could feel the heat radiating from that huge body. "Please," he said. "Lead me there."

Aragorn smiled and picked up his bedroll from the pile of packs next to his couch.

When they had climbed up the flet, he pulled the rope ladder up so they would not be interrupted. Frodo looked over the side, paralyzed with terror at the height.

"It would be better not to do that," Aragorn said as he laid down his bedroll. He picked Frodo up and carried him gently from the edge, setting him down on the bedroll in the center of the flet. Frodo balled himself up, his arms around his knees, and Aragorn crouched before him and tugged at his arms and legs to get him to uncurl.

"Are you cold?"

"No."

"Afraid?"

"Should I be?"

"Mark me carefully, Frodo, for this may be the last time for a long while that I say this to you: You need not be afraid."

Frodo tried to curl up again, and Aragorn placed his hands on Frodo's legs to keep them straight out on either side of his own knees. "But what about," Frodo whispered, "I mean, we are very different. Is this...permissible?"

"Do not be troubled by the difference in our size. Such pairings are quite natural. A bee and a flower are very different in size, are they not? And yet their lovemaking is not only natural, it is necessary to the survival of their kind."

"That is a very different matter."

"Do you think so?" said Aragorn, unbuttoning his tunic. "I don't."

Frodo watched with fascination as Aragorn cast the garment on the floor. After so many weeks in his company, Frodo had seen this Man shirtless often enough, but tonight it carried a different implication, and he was stunned. Aragorn seemed much larger now, looming over Frodo with an expression perhaps not of lust, but of very specific intention. His broad chest was covered with dark hair, which tapered into a trail down his belly. Frodo could not see where the trail ended, but he suspected if Aragorn's trousers were unlaced he would find out very quickly. With shaking hands he reached out and put his hands on Aragorn's chest, feeling the odd hairiness and comparing it to the smoothness of his sides, deciding that both textures had their merits. The thin trail over Aragorn's belly was more dense than over his sternum, and Frodo petted it with two fingers as he worked his way down, his effort being not so much to tantalize Aragorn but to ready himself for his ultimate task, which still lay ahead. Or rather, below. His fingers were usually nimble but his nerves made them unsteady, and he had a bit of trouble with the lacings, and wondered why Elves and Men didn't just use buttons like sensible people. Once he got the laces sufficiently loosened he reached into Aragorn's trousers with a tentative hand, and drew back almost immediately.

"Is something wrong?" asked Aragorn.

"It's enormous!" Frodo squeaked, and crab-crawled backwards a bit. Aragorn did not move to retrieve him, but waited for his curiosity to return. And indeed, after a moment Frodo felt compelled to resume his task. He scooted forward again.

"What am I supposed to do with that great beast you've got?"

Aragorn laughed and stayed Frodo's hands. "If you like, I can offer some suggestions. But in due time." With that, he pushed Frodo fully onto his back and worked his clothes off of him with almost suspicious skill. Frodo soon lay naked on the bedroll, not completely sure how he'd ended up that way with such speed. Aragorn sat back for a moment and looked upon Frodo's body, considering it, drinking in the sight of it for a little while. The Ring lay over his breastbone, glittering even in the dim light beneath the trees. Aragorn reached out, and for a moment Frodo's muscles tightened with fear. He was certain now that Aragorn had devised this scenario now only to take the Ring when he was most vulnerable. Frodo tried to crawl away, but he was no match for Aragorn's muscled arms, which gripped him and pinned his shoulders to the flet.

"There is nothing to fear," Aragorn said again. "I ask your forgiveness for my gesture, which was too easily misinterpreted. I wished only to move It so I could look upon you untainted by Its presence." He released Frodo's right shoulder and with that hand pushed the Ring so It lay in the hollow space between the back of Frodo's neck and the bedroll. Frodo's entire body relaxed and he heaved a great sigh, or as great as he could muster considering his size. As if to cleanse it of the touch of Evil, Aragorn moved the hand that touched the Ring up to Frodo's neck and stroked his cheek for a long while, soothing his rattled companion and encouraging him to forget not only the fright of the previous moment but of all the horrific moments that had gone in the months before. Then he reached down, not at all tentative, and placed a hand flatly over Frodo's belly. The flesh was soft and smooth, a texture he rarely had the opportunity to be near during his arduous days and long nights in the field. Frodo was still a little frightened by the way Aragorn savored him, but also thrilled, and his stomach trembled at the touch.

"It was like a waking dream," Aragorn whispered. "I saw so much of it, but could not touch. I felt cheated, even when I'd already taken in more than I ought." Frodo did not understand these words but trusted that Aragorn meant them to be flattery.

"Strider? Which one of us is the flower and which of us is the bee?"

Aragorn had no idea why Frodo would be analyzing his silly metaphor at that point, but he gave it a moment of thought, looking down at Frodo and himself. "I'm not sure," he replied. "We both seem to have a stinger."

Frodo laughed, and Aragorn chose that moment to catch him off guard. With no warning and no preliminaries, he bent down and took Frodo into his mouth. Frodo cried out in surprise and pleasure, and Aragorn had to hush him with one hand. "Quiet," he said as he lifted his head, "or they will think there is an Orc up here." He then returned his attention to Frodo's member. The greatest advantage to this arrangement was, of course, the size of it in comparison to Aragorn's mouth. Aragorn could take Frodo fully in with no difficulty, and his larger tongue provided a ridiculous advantage over someone Frodo's size. Frodo felt overwhelmed, as if Aragorn had taken in not just his member but his entire body. His mouth fell open and he let out a long, quiet moan, hoping by doing so to prevent any short, noisy ones from building up in him. Aragorn worked with deliberate skill, though he did not need to, as the simple sensation of such a large mouth provided such a surplus of pleasure in the first place. Aragorn hardly needed to move, since Frodo was fully engulfed; he just suckled and swirled his tongue. Frodo held Aragorn's head in his hands, trying to push more of himself into that mouth, all the while saying, "Oh, no, Strider you must stop...It's too much...I'm going to..." But Aragorn saw no reason to stop, and didn't, and Frodo came with such a shudder, Aragorn had to hold him down to finish the task properly.

Aragorn sat up, swallowed with ease what Frodo had given him, and crawled forward to lay next to the hobbit and gather up his small, spent body. Frodo was still shivering. He tried to still himself, reaching, fatigued, for Aragorn's erection, which was still pushing against his trousers.

"Do not trouble yourself," Aragorn said, and sat up again. "But I will ask you to roll over."

Frodo's vision, blurred by pleasure and exhaustion, sharpened instantly at this suggestion. "You're not going to try to..."

Aragorn smiled. "No, little one. I have learned these past few months that hobbits are a sturdy race, but I have no intention of testing your resiliency in that manner. I only ask this of you so that I can admire...Ah, yes..." Frodo turned over willingly, revealing a smooth white back, now full of tight muscle, and a round, pliant backside. Aragorn immediately took Frodo's rump in both hands, cursing himself momentarily for his lack of self-control, and Frodo stiffened, unsure if Aragorn would hold true to his word. But he needn't have feared; Aragorn leaned over him and took his own, now painful erection and stroked it while he marveled at the body beneath him. He scooted up a bit until he was straddling Frodo's hips. From where he was, Frodo seemed even smaller, and Aragorn feared he would hurt him, even though at that moment he was barely touching him. He spread his legs to lower himself, so he was able to rub his member over Frodo's soft skin. He let out an involuntary groan, pulling back his foreskin and sliding the head down the rift at the center of Frodo's back, fighting the temptation to press it into the cleft of his rump. Frodo could not see precisely what Aragorn was doing, could only feel his hovering presence as it moved forward and backward over him. He thought maybe he could turn his head to see what was going on behind him, but decided against it, lest the sight frighten him further. He seemed to be safe, lying as still as he could while Aragorn writhed over him.

Aragorn continued this way for as long as he could bear, but he found it would not be sufficient to bring him off properly, so he returned to pleasuring himself with his hand while stroking Frodo up and down his back and over his soft behind and quivering thighs. He fondled Frodo's behind, squeezing and kneading it, spreading him with a thumb to catch a glimpse of the small, delicate opening. He imagined that Frodo was not only able to accommodate him, but that he would beg for more. He imagined Frodo, lying on his back, legs like a vice around Aragorn, crying "Deeper! Deeper!" And he would do his best, but Frodo would still not be satisfied. "Well if you can't do it deeper, then do it harder!" And Aragorn would push hard, as hard as he could, pounding against Frodo as the hobbit's fists pounded against his chest with equal insistence. "Harder!" Until at last Aragorn was giving him as much as he could handle, and his head would tip back, and his eyes would roll white, and his desire, and Aragorn's, could finally be quenched.

Aragorn's orgasm was precipitated by a low growl as he thought of Frodo's imaginary passion, and he grunted softly several times as he spilled, all over Frodo's backside. When he finished, he leaned forward on his knees and elbows, struggling to hold himself up, and pressed his face against the back of Frodo's neck, breathing in the scent of his sweat-dampened curls.

"I am afraid," he whispered, "that you may now consider yourself pollinated."

He rolled off Frodo with a final, satisfied grunt, and fished a handkerchief out of the pocket of Frodo's discarded breeches to clean him up. He immediately felt odd about his desire to use Frodo's body so mercilessly, even if it was only a fantasy. He was frozen still, wanting to gather Frodo in his arms and comfort him, but at the same time feeling it best to push Frodo away so that he could do no harm to him. Frodo made it clear that he did not fear Aragorn, snuggling against his large warm body and pressing an ear to his chest to hear his racing heart, but Aragorn gently untangled himself and looked over the edge of the flet. Seeing no passersby he said, "We should put the firm ground beneath our feet now, while the others are still asleep."

Frodo sat up and wrapped the blanket around him. "Oh, I'd forgotten we were so high up!"

"Well, I should hope your mind was taken with other thoughts this past hour."

They dressed and Aragorn lowered the ladder. They climbed down, padding silently back to their pavilion. Frodo's legs were still a little wobbly, and he was glad of his couch and the opportunity to collapse into slumber at last. Sam, close enough to reach out and touch, was deeply asleep, and did not wake as Frodo put a hand on his head. Frodo ran his fingers through those soft blonde curls, and thought of Aragorn's thick dark hair, and fell asleep.

 

 

THREE

Few of the Elves in Lothlorien spoke the Common Tongue fluently, and so Frodo had had to brush up on his Elvish to be able to converse with most of his hosts. Now he was eager to keep practice, and chattered to Aragorn in the Fair Tongue as they floated down the Anduin. Sam sat in front of them and kept watch, as he'd been instructed, and understood almost nothing Frodo said. A melancholy Frodo was telling Aragorn how he missed the Shire, even more than he missed Lothlorien. He went on about how he pined for the hearty foods and the fresh green pastures, the holidays that he hadn't been there to celebrate. He talked about the differences between Shire-folk and the folk of the many strange lands that he'd recently journeyed through, and his words seemed to take flight and before he knew it he was discussing some of the more intimate customs of his homeland. Aragorn listened patiently, so long as Frodo kept his voice down. "The Elves are like stars," Frodo said, "stars that have fallen from the sky, that you can reach out and touch. But hobbits are an earthy folk. We...I mean, hobbits in general..." Frodo seemed reluctant to include himself in his explanation. "There is a greater respect for tilled earth and the things that grow from it, than for stars, which seem to wax and wane arbitrarily." He explained that in the Shire, one's body was tended as was treated and respected as tilled earth was: great emphasis was placed on keeping oneself clean and well-fed, just as crops must be regularly weeded and watered. And one was expected not to indulge in carnal pleasures overly often, just as one cannot harvest too frequently. Indeed, a hobbit's first harvest was considered very special, because afterwards they would never be so pure and burgeoning with life. "But on the other hand," Frodo said, "neither should a hobbit go too long without reaping, lest their harvest go to waste."

Aragorn waited for Sam to turn around and comment on Frodo's dialogue, if only to scold himfor his indiscretion. But Sam of course had not caught a word of what Frodo was divulging, and was only silent and watchful. Aragorn asked if, back home, Frodo had been as unconventional in these matters as he was in most customary hobbit behavior. Frodo was quiet for a moment, and Aragorn thought he had been presumptuous, but then Frodo said, cautiously, "Sam has long been my gardener, and I have always trusted him to sow and reap wisely."

Frodo and Aragorn continued with their trysts as often as they could. Frodo had spent his days in Lothlorien wandering among the trees with Sam, and had a tumble with him now and then. But he also took advantage of his new lover; Frodo loved Aragorn's mouth, and asked Aragorn to favor him with it whenever they could be alone together, during the rare times when Sam was away from him, whether asleep or wandering amongst the Elves. Sam was unaware that his master was straying, but still managed to hinder his liaisons occasionally. One night, Frodo had wanted to meet up with Aragorn, but when everyone bedded down, Sam wanted to spoon, and Frodo hadn't the heart to refuse him, so they shared a couch, and Frodo ended up trapped under a muscled arm. Against his back he could feel Sam's heart beating, slowly. There was no way for him to wriggle out from under Sam without rousing him, and Frodo did not want to risk Sam being awake when he stole away to visit Aragorn.

Even now that the Company was off again down the Anduin, Frodo and Aragorn had planned to meet again in secret, if they had a quiet night in which to do so. And as a matter of fact, things had been going so quietly, everyone was getting antsy. Especially Sam. He'd had it with sleeping with one eye open, waiting for the next Orc attack, and he'd had it with imposed chastity. He'd gotten used to the safety and leisure in Lothlorien, and on the fourth night out of the Elf-haven his restlessness overcame him. As Frodo was getting ready to bed down, Sam sidled up next to him and whispered in his ear, "Mr. Frodo, do you think tonight after everyone's asleep we could have a tumble?"

"What," Frodo said, "right here in the camp?"

"Well..." Sam hadn't really planned it out. "We could go off a little ways. But, I mean, we can be quiet, here."

"Yes, but quiet enough? I'm not so sure it's such a good idea, Sam."

"Oh. Well, alright." Frodo started to get into his bedroll. "Wait," Sam said. "Um...Mr. Frodo?"

"Yes?"

Sam scooted close to Frodo and said, "Spoons?"

Frodo looked startled for a moment, as though Sam had made a shocking suggestion. But he regained his composure and said calmly, "I'd really rather...kind of...lie by myself for a while. To think." He put his hand on a despondent Sam's shoulder. "It's not that I don't want to..."

"No, I understand." Sam got under his blanket and laid down facing away from Frodo. With a weight in his heart Frodo sat and watched Sam for a while, his stare broken only once, when he looked up at Aragorn, who had first watch and was the only other one in the Company still up. Aragorn had not noticed Frodo and Sam's exchange; he gave Frodo a solemn nod, and Frodo also nodded his head, just once, then returned his gaze to Sam. His faithful servant's breathing had slowed, and Frodo touched one of his blonde curls with a fingertip. Sam did not stir. When he was sure Sam was asleep, Frodo got up and tiptoed through the scatter of bedrolls to where Aragorn sat, thoughtfully fingering the brooch of his Elven cloak.

"Did you find a place?" Frodo whispered.

"There is a little spot, not too far into the wood," Aragorn whispered. "But let us wait a little while. Boromir at least is still awake. Sleep does not come easily to any of us of late, but him least of all; and you."

"Tonight I am kept awake for a different reason."

****

There was no time or privacy for playful preliminaries. In the clearing Aragorn had found, he and Frodo sat near each other but undressed themselves, which was quicker and more efficient. Only when they were both naked did they touch one another. Aragorn pulled Frodo on top of him as he lay down on his back. Frodo felt rather silly, climbing on top of this Man as if he could dominate him. But then, once he saw the humor in it, he sat up with mock arrogance, straddling Aragorn's belly and grinning down at him. Aragorn smiled back and took Frodo's erection in hand. Frodo's grin turned to a gasp. Aragorn's hand was big and rough, rougher even than Sam's calloused gardener's-hands. To be serviced by a hand like Aragorn's made Frodo feel sort of roguish. Yes, that was it. A rogue. Wild. The thought of it sent a thrill down his spine and into his belly. Through the years, Sam had provided him with a sweet, comfortable love, but had never given him a thrill like that.

Frodo thrust madly into that big, rough hand, and made a noise to communicate his delight. But Aragorn shushed him with his other hand and whispered, "If anyone hears you, we will have a lot of explaining to do." Frodo nodded curtly, understanding but frustrated. He kept pushing his hips, silent now and looking up, to the stars, seeking something perhaps. "Very close," he whispered, and looked back down, to watch Aragorn handling him, in order to trigger his climax. His mouth fell open but he made no noise, and his seed came out and landed in three gooey strands on Aragorn's chest.

Aragorn continued to stroke Frodo until he squirmed and pushed the hand away, and then Frodo was reminded of Aragorn's arousal behind him, still fierce and needing attention. Frodo had not yet attempted to use his mouth on Aragorn. Not due to fear or inexperience, for he'd done it to Sam countless times. Rather, he doubted he would be able to satisfy Aragorn properly, as he wasn't able to take him fully into his mouth. But tonight he was done with concern for inadequacy, and did not wait for Aragorn's polite, meaningless formalities ("Oh, I would not ask you to do such a thing..."). He sealed his lips around the head, using both hands to squeeze and stroke the shaft. Aragorn murmured something that might have been an attempt at a formality, but it quickly degenerated into nonsense and low growling. Frodo kept waiting for Aragorn to lose his composure and thrust heedless into his mouth, but Aragorn was a stunning example of self-control, and did not inadvertently threaten him with choking or smothering. As he neared his peak, it suddenly occurred to Frodo that when Aragorn spilled it might be too much for him to take. When he felt that the crest of Aragorn's pleasure was imminent, he took his mouth away and just worked the shaft with both hands. Aragorn's hips twitched just a little, and he uttered the tiniest cry, and then made his mess, not seeming to realize or care that Frodo was no longer using his mouth.

"Oh, Frodo." Aragorn sat up and looked down at himself. "Look what you made me do." At first, Frodo was afraid that Aragorn was upset with him for not using his mouth through to the end. But after cleaning himself up he kissed Frodo's temple and told him how good he was. Even then, Frodo wasn't sure if Aragorn meant that he was a good lover, or just that he was well-behaved and quiet.

Frodo returned to his bedroll floating on a warm, unconcerned cloud. He lay down and grinned a secret grin, already thinking back on Aragorn's uncharacteristic expressions of ecstasy. It was so much more satisfying to give pleasure to someone as grave and stoic as he was.

Frodo was yanked from his reverie by the voice of Sam, who he had forgotten was there.

"Mr. Frodo," Sam whispered, "how could you?"

****

Sam tried to act somber and sterile towards Frodo the next day, but he only came off as being sulky and bitter. It was easier when they were in the boats: Sam could sit right up front and be the watchman and not have to look anybody in the face. But when they stopped for meals and rest, his contempt for his master was more obvious than his affection for him had ever been. How could I have been such a fool, Sam thought. How could I have imagined that I was enough for him. He's so far above me; I could never compete with someone like Strider for his affections. Mr. Frodo only stayed with me so long because he didn't know he could have someone better. Well, thank you, Strider, for showing him otherwise.

That night Sam bedded down in the narrow space between Merry and Boromir's bedrolls, allowing no room for anyone to lay beside him. But Frodo had a few quick words with Merry, who switched places with him, and when Sam was looking the other way, Frodo crouched down next to him and put a hand out to touch him. "Sam," he said. "Tonight? Spoons?" Sam pretended that he didn't hear. But he let Frodo sleep next to him; it wouldn't do to start a fight about it.

Frodo was shocked and anxious when Aragorn came creeping up that night after the Company had bedded down. He brazenly put his hand on Frodo's rump as if he owned it, and brushed a curl behind Frodo's ear to whisper into it. But before he could speak Frodo flung his arm out to push him away. So unprovoked was this gesture, that Aragorn misread it as dream-induced. He moved his hand from Frodo's backside to his shoulder, attempting to rouse him. This time Frodo whispered, "Please leave me in peace."

Aragorn's lustful anticipation wilted. "Will you not have me tonight? I desire only to give you comfort."

"I am afraid that I will find no comfort from anyone for quite some time." Frodo turned to face Aragorn. "I have made a grievous error. I would ask you to forgive me, but there is someone else whose forgiveness I am more desperately concerned with at the moment." Sam twitched for a moment and then was still, and Frodo did not know if he had been listening to this exchange.

****

Frodo stood on the shores of the Anduin, the three Elven boats before him. Here was a chance. Before anyone found out where he'd run off to, before he could be goaded into staying. He knew that he must go now, while he was alone.

But a voice inside assured him that he had always been alone, and always would be. This gardener and this ranger, their companionship was fleeting. A dream. It must have been a dream; it crumbled like one. Often when Frodo figured out that he was having a dream he would try to control it, bend it to his will and have his pleasure as he chose, but just as he clutched at the fantasy it disintegrated and he would awaken. That's all this is, he thought. Being awake.

Frodo pushed the boat from the shore and clambered in, and the muffled clatter he made with his sword and pack was to him as a death knell. He was only thankful that by doing this he was sparing the others the same dark fate that awaited him. Before he began to row, Frodo had a flash of insight: he somehow knew that this was not the first time he would choose the wide deep waters, nor would he by any means be the last to do so.

Would that his boat had been invisible, as he was at the moment. But when he looked back to the shore he saw Sam leaping into the river to catch up with him.

Frodo cursed the commotion Sam made, flailing and splashing as he made a futile attempt to reach the boat. He couldn't very well go on with Sam floundering in the water like that. He put about and reached into the water to pull Sam out, sputtering and panicked not for fear of drowning but for fear of being abandoned. Frodo did not understand why Sam would be willing to do that in the first place, to fling himself into the water to chase after an unfaithful and undeserving master.

"What are you doing?" Frodo said, but wearily. "You cannot come along. I've realized that I must go to the Black Lands alone, and I will not be prevented from doing so at this late stage of my errand."

Sam's glare betrayed his dwindling patience with his master, but was not without affection. "I was hoping, sir, that you'd also realized in the past day or two that you and I were meant to journey together, if you understand my meaning."

A smile sneaked onto Frodo's lips, and he started to row. "There was nothing to realize there, Sam. I've known that all along. Indeed, it would seem that the greatest calamities befall me when you are not at my side. So I suppose that it would be folly now for me to refuse your company."

Sam took the oars from Frodo and resumed the rowing himself. "Glad to see you're finally getting the idea, sir."