The Last Day at Rivendell

Sam woke to find himself in a strange room he didn’t recognise. He ached all over as he groggily opened his eyes, and realized that he did know this room after all. He was lying in a large, human-sized bed, and Frodo was lying next to him, one hand behind his head, and the other, now bandaged, resting on the coverlet. Both hobbits had been washed, and dressed in clean trousers and shirts. It felt so good to be clean again and rested, and as Sam looked around the bright, clean room, he said one word, “Rivendell!”

Frodo’s eyes flickered open. “Samwise!” he said, his voice harsh and croaky. “We’re still alive! I thought….. Oh, Sam, I thought that was it! I thought I lost you!”

“Of course we’re still alive, dear, and in Rivendell!” Sam said, his heart leaping as he, too, had thought that it was all over. Sam could barely contain his joy and excitement about anything to do with the elves. This had always amused Frodo, and soon they were both laughing and embracing, and Sam was planting little kisses on Frodo’s cheeks, his forehead, touching his little injured hand, his dark brown hair, as if reassuring himself that he was still alive.

Sam was about to say how happy he was that Frodo was OK, when suddenly Frodo fell back with such force that Sam was frightened. He seemed to go into a trance, and said things that Sam didn’t understand, and that scared him even more. Sam thought he heard the word ‘Nazgul’, and even something that sounded like ‘yrch’ – the elfish word for orc. Frodo’s hand went to where the ring had been on his chest, and he said something like “it’s all dark, it is over”, and then he went quiet, and Sam was terrified.

“Mr Frodo,” he said, gently touching Frodo’s forehead. “It’s OK, it’s all over now.”

Frodo’s hand gripped his shoulder as a shot of pain stabbed through him. “Oh, Sam,” he said, “My shoulder, it hurts so much.” He was white and trembling, and he looked pinched and drawn.

“Shh, Mr Frodo,” Sam said, thinking that the wound was still raw, or maybe infected, “let me see it.” Sam gently took Frodo’s shirt off over his head, being careful not to bump his shoulder. Frodo was exhausted and could hardly sit up, so Sam was supporting him with one hand and gently lifting the fabric from that delicate shoulder with the other.

He lay Frodo gently down, and he looked at the wound, but there was only a white scar where it had healed.

“But it’s all better, Mr Frodo, it’s all healed,” Sam said, gently touching the white scar. It was hardly even raised, and Sam was more worried now than ever.

“But it still hurts,” Frodo said, trying to make Sam understand, “and I saw things that were like a dream, but I knew I was awake. I thought it was all really happening, little pieces here and there, but it was all real. I’m scared, Sam,” he said, and Sam realized that he was crying

Sam cursed himself for not knowing what to say. He wished he could find the right words to make Frodo feel better, but nothing he thought of saying would be enough somehow, so he comforted him in the only way he knew how, he lay with his head on Frodo’s bare breast, embracing him gently.

Sam’s warm weight seemed to comfort Frodo, and Sam felt his breathing become more slow and regular as the sobs subsided.

Sam was conscious of Frodo’s naked flesh, the sweet smell of his clean skin, and he realised that his hand was resting on Frodo’s nipple, but he didn’t move it.

He stole a glance up at Frodo and saw he was more peaceful now, his face less pinched and tight.

Sam settled his head back down on Frodo’s chest, enjoying the feel of Frodo’s warm body against his own. He remembered the last time he had watched Frodo sleeping, and how it was then that he had realized that he loved him. Then he remembered that moment on the rock, at the end of all things, when, finally, their strength having left them, they both collapsed, still holding hands. Sam thought of that moment, how he thought that that was it, that Death had come to claim them at last. What if he had died without ever telling Frodo that he loved him? He had thought he would never see him again, never touch him again…. And he thought of the thousands of hardships they had gone through, of when he thought he had lost Frodo to Shelob and the orcs, and sweet relief that it was all over rushed over him. He was crying, sobbing onto Frodo’s bar chest, trying to mop his tears with the sleeve of his shirt, but they just kept coming.

Such was the understanding between them that Frodo felt that no words were needed. He knew what Sam was thinking, and he stroked Sam’s hair gently to comfort him.

When Sam’s shoulders had finally stopped shaking, and his sobs had subsided, Frodo felt that the time had now come for words.

“I couldn’t have done it without you, Sam,” he said, his voice still strained and hoarse.

Sam propped himself up one elbow and put his hand gently on the side of Frodo’s throat.

“Shh…. Don’t talk if it hurts,” Sam said, to cover his embarrassment at Frodo’s sudden praise.

Frodo took Sam’s face in his hands, and gently wiped his tears away with his thumbs.

“I love you, Samwise Gamgee,” Frodo said.

Sam felt Frodo’s soft lips against his, and felt his mouth opening, as Frodo’s tongue slipped inside.

Sam heard himself make a noise in his throat, as he ended up fully on top of Frodo. He was fully aroused now, and Frodo felt it on the crease of his thigh, and it frightened him slightly.

He pulled away and Sam propped himself up on his elbows and looked tenderly down at Frodo. “What?” he said quietly, though there was no-one to hear, “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” said Frodo, averting his eyes, “it’s just that I haven’t, I mean I’ve never…..”

Sam stopped him with a little kiss to his lips.

“Shh….” Sam said. Frodo’s innocence was turning him on, and he smiled mischievously, “let Samwise show you.”

Frodo nodded, his eyes still averted, and Sam kissed him. He put his hand around the back of Frodo’s head, feeling the soft curls in his fingers, and lay full length on top of Frodo again, propping himself up slightly on his elbows to take the weight off. He could feel that Frodo was aroused too, now, as his tongue slipped again into Sam’s mouth, and this time Sam grinded hard against Frodo as he felt Frodo’s hips rocking, his hardness pressing alongside Sam’s own.

Sam kissed Frodo’s neck as he made noises in his throat, impatient now, and gasped as Sam took his nipple gently in his mouth and sucked it, and Frodo held Sam’s head tightly against his chest, gripping Sam’s hair with the delicate fingers of his good hand, arching his body further towards Sam’s mouth and tongue.

Frodo let out a little moan as he felt Sam’s tongue over his other nipple, licking and sucking so delicately.

Sam looped his hand under the waistband of Frodo’s trousers, and Frodo gasped and pushed into Sam’s hand, whimpering as he touched the tip, which was wet.

Frodo lifted his hips as Sam gently removed his trousers and gazed at Frodo’s beautiful naked body.

Frodo put his hands up and, as best he could with his damaged hand, removed Sam’s clothes, Sam helping him with the buttons, his hand on Frodo’s, gently stroking it as he did so.

Sam gently turned Frodo on his side, and it was then that he saw the dreadful weal that the orc had left. Sam looked at it closely, and he thought his heart would break as he realized that it must have taken a lot of force to leave a mark like that.

Sam remembered that crack that he had herd, that dreadful cry coming from the tower that he knew at once was Frodo. He remembered his rage as he saw the orc preparing to strike again, how nothing on earth would let him allow it to happen again, as he had leapt to attack and the orc had fallen. Then he remembered holding Frodo gently in his arms, how he had never wanted to let him go.

“I’m so, so sorry, Frodo,” Sam said, as he realized that he was sobbing again. “I should never have left you.”

Frodo didn’t turn around, but still lay facing the wall. “And I should never have believed Gollum over you,” he said. “I couldn’t bear it if you blamed yourself.”

Frodo had not turned around to face him, but looking over his shoulder Sam could see that Frodo was crying. He wasn’t openly sobbing like Sam was, but tears were silently streaming down his face.

Sam gently touched the top of the weal. It had not yet healed completely, a yellow film covered the surface where it had not yet formed a scar, and there was bruising around it.

Frodo flinched, a sharp little intake of breath.

“Does it still hurt?” Sam asked, although he didn’t really want to know the answer.

“A little,” said Frodo, although he didn’t let him know that, like his shoulder, he still felt the pain, and when he felt it he had those sudden flashbacks where he heard that crack, and then everything seemed to go black.

Frodo felt something gentle and soothing. It took him a while to realize that Sam was kissing, ever so gently, along the line of the weal, and where before there had been only pain, there was now this soothing feeling, like balm smoothing away the pain, and he murmured softly at this gentle pleasure.

Occasionally a tear of Sam’s fell onto the weal, and it stung, but Frodo was determined not to wince and not to let Sam know, as this was a different sort of pain, a nice pain, like Sam was healing him, and he had never felt so alive.

The weal stopped just above the cleft of his buttocks, but Sam carried on kissing, and Frodo giggled as Sam kissed his little buttocks, biting gently now, playing.

Frodo gasped as Sam pulled his buttocks apart. Sam could see Frodo’s little entrance, and he wanted to thrust inside of him right there and then, but he was mindful of hurting Frodo and knew that he was unprepared, so instead he kissed over the little entrance, gently using his mouth and tongue, and Frodo moaned at this unexpected pleasure.

Frodo turned his head around and watched curiously as Sam searched the tables on each side of the bed, until he found a small bottle of oil, which he rubbed between his hands.

Sam took one of his oiled hands and placed it around Frodo’s cock. Frodo pushed into his hand, moaning, and Sam touched and caressed his enlarged member, the oil making his hand slip and slide. He touched the very tip, and it was dripping wet. Sam touched the slit at the end, almost as if he was trying to get inside it. Frodo thrashed and moaned, his hips bucking constantly, pushing further into Sam’s hand.

Sam loved watching him like this, he eyes closed, his head thrown back, totally lost in pleasure.

He slipped the other oiled hand between Frodo’s buttocks, spread some of the oil onto the little pad of his entrance, and Frodo moaned softly as Sam gently slipped one, and then two fingers into his warm little passage.

Frodo was so relaxed as Sam gently stretched him outwards. There was no fear or tension in the little hobbit as Sam gently pushed his oiled fingers down further, right to the hilt, stretching outwards all the while.

Frodo felt all soft and warm inside as Sam carried on this double stimulation, touching him with one hand on the outside, feeling deeper inside with the other.

Frodo was making little high pitched moans, lost in pleasure, and seeing him like this, Sam’s arousal grew more urgent. Frodo was pushing one way into Sam’s hand, then the other way back onto his fingers, moaning every time Sam’s fingers pushed deep inside.

Sam continued stimulating Frodo with both hands, until the little hobbit felt he could take it no longer. He loved the feeling of Sam’s fingers deep inside him, loved the feeling of being stretched and opened, and wanted desperately for Sam to be inside him, filling all of him.

“Sam,” he said, his breath coming short and fast. He indicated that he wanted the bottle of oil, and Sam got it for him, and took the lid off, then gasped as Frodo poured a trickle of it right over the end of his cock. Sam thought he would lose it just then as he saw Frodo pouring the oil onto him, felt it nestle into the slit at the end, drip down onto his balls.

Frodo took his good hand and gently rubbed the oil all along Sam’s cock, mixing it with his semen that was dripping off the tip. He rubbed it over his balls, feeling how heavy and full they were.

He touched and slid the oil all over, using the same motions Sam had done, watching Sam’s reactions to see what he liked. Sam was fighting to control himself, to delay the pleasure until he was inside Frodo, and his breath came deep and fast as Frodo’s delicate little hands, so unlike his own, worked over his cock, oiling all the way from the base to the tip.

Frodo turned himself around on his side again, and put his one good hand on his hip, and he drew his knees up slightly, and lifted one buttock, offering himself to Sam in a way that Sam found irresistible.

Sam could see his little passage glistening with oil, still slightly open from his previous attentions. He nestled in behind Frodo, and gasped as he felt the touch of Frodo’s own hand guiding him.

Frodo placed Sam’s cock over his entrance, and relaxed as Sam pushed gently. He slid with all the oil and Frodo let out a deep moan as he felt Sam’s hardness push deep inside of him.

Sam’s breath was coming hard and fast, but he was concerned about the little hobbit. Sam was quite well endowed and he could feel Frodo’s muscles so tight around him. He must be stretching him further, he thought, even though he had tried to prepare him as much as possible.

“You alright? Not hurting?” Sam managed to whisper in Frodo’s ear between short breaths.

“No,” said Frodo. He had expected it to hurt, at least a little, but it just felt so deep and so pleasurable. He loved the feeling of Sam inside him, filling him, and he nestled himself further onto Sam’s little body, so that Sam’s chest was pressing against his back, Sam’s legs against his legs, and pushed down so that his bum was nestling in Sam’s crotch.

He took Sam’s hand in his good one, intertwining his little fingers with Sam’s.

“Sam,” he said, lost for words. He kissed Sam’s hand, rubbed it against his cheek, his love and affection for Sam spilling over, and then he pressed Sam’s little hand onto his chest, so that he could feel his heart beating.

Sam stayed where he was for the moment, giving Frodo time to adjust, and just enjoying the feeling of being inside Frodo, his little muscles gripping him, his body pressed against him, the sweet smell of his hair.

Sam began to thrust, gently at first, until Frodo was urging him to go deeper and harder. Frodo’s little hand was gripping Sam’s, grasping and scratching slightly in his pleasure. With every thrust Frodo pushed himself backwards onto Sam, so that Sam was penetrating him deeper.

Frodo cried out with each thrust, and moaned and whimpered as Sam ran his hands over his body, touching his smooth chest, the little nipples, and caressing his smooth little belly. He ran his hands over Frodo’s thighs and took Frodo’s balls in his hand. They were getting closer to his body, and Sam knew that he wouldn’t last much longer.

Sam watched Frodo, lost in ecstasy, as he thrust deeper and deeper inside him. He put his hand on Frodo’s dripping cock, but Frodo moaned and took it off, he wanted to come from pleasure of Sam’s thrusts alone.

Feeling that he wouldn’t last much longer, Sam reached down and pulled Frodo’s buttocks apart, and he took Frodo’s hip in his hand and pulled Frodo towards him as he thrust, hard, once, twice, three times, Frodo crying out with each stroke, until his little body became rigid with the force of his orgasm, and he cried out as Sam, too, released and added to his pleasure as he throbbed deep inside him.

Frodo relaxed and settled back into Sam’s arms as Sam’s throbs subsided.

Sam lay with Frodo resting in his arms, watching his little chest rise and fall, and as he gently smoothed back his damp, sweaty hair and saw him lying there looking so peaceful, he finally found the words he had been unable to say.

“I love you, Frodo,” he said.

Frodo smiled. “I love you too, Sam,” he murmured, before drifting into a peaceful sleep.

Sam didn’t withdraw, but reached out and pulled the coverlet over them, and, careful not to wake Frodo, wrapped his arm gently around him and nuzzled his face into Frodo’s hair as he enjoyed these last few moments inside him, their bodies pressed close together and Frodo breathing gently in his arms.

Sam heard from the next room what sounded like Merry and Pippin making love. Pippin’s high pitched little moans sounded so much like Frodo’s that Sam found himself getting hard again. Frodo moaned and stirred softly as Sam stiffened and grew inside him, but he was fast asleep, and as he nestled his face into Frodo’s soft hair, Sam took Frodo’s hand in his own, and he softened and fell out of Frodo as the motion of Frodo’s chest rising and falling lulled him into a peaceful sleep.

Sam was awakened by a knock on the door. He realized he still had Frodo’s hand in his and his arm wrapped around him.

Sam sat up in bed and pulled the covers around his lap as Pippin raced into the room, followed by a more sedate Merry.

“Frodo!” Pippin shouted, putting his arms out to him. Sam was about to shush him, but Frodo had already woken and he reached his arms out and briefly hugged Pippin, and then Merry, and then collapsed back onto the pillows, exhausted.

Before Merry could stop him, Pippin had jumped into the bed next to Frodo, and had pulled the covers up under his arms and fell asleep.

Merry was looking at Frodo, concerned. He had seen how drawn and how tired he had looked when he had briefly woken, and now he was asleep again. There was a short silence when Merry gathered his thoughts. “How’s Frodo?”, he asked, the concern showing in his voice.

“Oh, he’s not right, Merry,” Sam said, unable to keep it in any longer. “I thought after he destroyed the ring, and now we’re back at Rivendell, that he’d be alright, but he hasn’t got any better.” Sam found he was crying, and he felt Merry’s hand on his bare shoulder, comforting him.

Sam touched Merry’s hand. He didn’t know what to say, and for once it didn’t matter.

They stayed like that for a while, Merry’s hand gently rubbing Sam’s shoulder, Sam’s fingers touching Merry’s.

Merry’s other hand was gently stroking Pippin’s hair as he slept, and Merry looked away from Sam and down at Pippin. Sam could see the hurt and concern in his eyes.

Sam wrapped his hand around Merry’s fingers and gently squeezed them, stroking the back of Merry’s hand with his thumb, trying to give him what comfort he could.

He remembered Pippin bounding into the room to greet Frodo, and he had seemed so bright and alive and cheerful. But now Merry looked so concerned, and so hurt and worried.

Sam remembered that he hadn’t even had a chance to greet Pippin, and he had even tried to shush him before he woke Frodo, and he felt guilty. He watched Pippin sleeping peacefully, and Merry, totally wrapped up in him, with an expression of such love and concern. He didn’t want to ask, but he had to.

“How’s Pippin?” Sam asked, quietly.

“He’s cried a lot,” Merry said, “you know, since the orcs.”

“Orcs?” Sam said, remembering Frodo in the tower.

“We got captured by the orcs,” Merry said. “Pippin helped us escape.”

Merry stroked Pippin’s hair, smoothing it away from his face. He smiled, and blushed slightly as he remembered that that was how it had all happened.

One minute Pippin was crying in his arms with relief, and all of his fears of what might have happened, and the next, in the safety of the forest, his soft lips, still wet with tears, kissing him, his hands urgent, touching him, as they made love right there and then in the soft grass of the forest, the trees watching protectively over them……

Pippin woke, and Merry’s feelings of lust changed to a more deeper, protective kind of love as he took Pippin’s hand, intertwining his fingers. “Are you alright, my darling?”, Merry asked softly.

Sam felt slightly embarrassed. He had never seen Merry like this before, so tender, and so loving, but he watched Pippin as he nodded and smiled, and he looked exhausted and sad.

“It’s so great to see you, Pippin,” Sam said to the little hobbit, still worried about him.

Pippin smiled. “Sometimes I thought I’d never see you and Frodo again. And the orcs, they were taking us…..”

“Shh….,” said Merry, comforting him, as he looked like he was going to cry. “Let’s not talk about it now.”

Merry looked pale and shaken, too, Sam noticed. He had guessed what Pippin was going to say, that they were taking them to the torture chambers, and he knew why, too. He knew that they would never betray him and Frodo, and it just made him feel worse. And although he had promised Frodo that he wouldn’t blame himself, guilt at leaving Frodo stabbed him like a knife as he thought of him, bound and helpless, his back bleeding, at the hands of the orcs.

“We’ve got so much to tell each other,” Sam said to the other two hobbits. “When Frodo’s better,” he said, tears pricking his eyes.

There was a knock on the door and Aragorn walked in, dressed not in the scruffy clothes of a ranger, but in the clothes of a king. Sam was immediately conscious of his nakedness under the covers. It hadn’t mattered with Merry and Pippin, but this was different.

Aragorn smiled to himself as he surveyed the four hobbits, Merry with his fingers intertwined with Pippin’s, and Sam and Frodo so obviously naked beneath the covers.

Aragorn wasted no time, and went straight to Frodo. He checked the wound on his shoulder, looking attentively, and murmuring to himself. Sam watched him intently, trying to work out what he was thinking.

Then Aragorn gently lifted Frodo’ shoulder to check the other side of the wound. Frodo was woken by this, and he groaned slightly. Aragorn checked Frodo’s hand under the bandage and seemed satisfied.

Sam watched Aragorn’s deft hands working over Frodo’s body, checking and sensing as only a skilled healer could do. He was surprised to feel a stab of jealousy at seeing another touch Frodo. Aragorn told Frodo that he was healing well, and stepped back, satisfied.

Frodo looked anxious and fretful, and Sam gently stroked his hair until he fell asleep again.

“Mr Aragorn, sir,” Sam said, as soon as Frodo was asleep, unable to hold it in any longer, “what’s wrong with Frodo? He keeps saying that his shoulder’s hurting, but there’s nothing there, and he says it’s gone dark, and says things about orcs and it’s like it’s all happening, but it’s not.” Sam paused for breath. He was crying, frustrated that he couldn’t get the words out, or find the right words to describe it. Sam paused and took a single, shuddering breath. “He’s just not right, Aragorn,” he said. “He’s not better.”

Aragorn paused, choosing his words carefully.

“He’s been damaged, Sam,” he said. “Some of the scars you can see,” he paused, and Sam gulped as he thought of that dreadful weal on Frodo’s back, how Aragorn must have seen it, “but some you can’t.”

“But,” began Sam, his lips trembling, “he will get better?” he asked. “Won’t he?” he said, fearing the answer.

“With a lot of love and attention, he will get better,” Aragorn said, “but he may never be totally cured. His mind has been damaged. It won’t be easy, Sam. There may be times when he doesn’t even recognize you.”

Tears were streaming down Sam’s face. He remembered Frodo’s fingers intertwining with his, grasping and scratching. He had said a single word then. “Sam,” he had said. He had known him.

Aragorn was watching Sam closely. “If you think you can’t do it, it would be better if you left now.”

Sam was crying so much he could hardly see. He remembered Frodo taking his face in his hands and kissing him, remembered him saying, “I love you, Samwise Gamgee,” and wiping away his tears, before he had known, and he realized it didn’t matter.

“I can’t go,” Sam said. “I love him too much.”

Sam was blushing. He wasn’t used to declaring his love for Frodo so openly, he wasn’t as openly demonstrative as Merry, but he refused to lower his gaze, and looked Aragorn in the eye, even as he felt his cheeks turn red, fierce and defiant.

Aragorn smiled. “It is as I thought,” he said. “I prepared a lot of herbs while you were both sleeping, but in the healing gardens they told me that only one who loved him with all his heart could heal Frodo.” Sam looked up, hopeful. “Remember, I said heal, not cure,” Aragorn said gently. “I had a feeling it might be you, Sam.”

This time Sam did avert his gaze, but his tears had stopped and he felt peaceful.

Sam saw Aragorn turn to Merry. Although Sam had been too blinded by tears to notice, Aragorn had seen Merry grip Pippin’s hand tightly, his face set and pale.

Aragorn went over to Pippin. “How are you feeling, young Pippin?” he asked.

“I’m hungry,” Pippin said, “Is there any breakfast?”

Aragorn laughed. “He doesn’t look too bad,” he said to Merry, who relaxed and smiled slightly.

“It’s downstairs,” Aragorn answered Pippin. “Frodo, can you eat?” Frodo tried to prop himself up on his elbows, but he collapsed back on the pillows. He shook his head.

“Then I will feed him,” Sam said, defiant.

Aragorn propped Frodo up on some cushions, helping him to sit up, his strong hands lifting Frodo’s shoulders so easily.

“Breakfast is downstairs for you,” Aragorn said to Merry and Pippin.

“But….,” said Pippin in protest. Merry whispered something in Pippin’s ear that Sam didn’t catch, but he guessed what it was. Sam smiled at Merry, grateful for the chance to be alone with Frodo.

“And I’ll bring some up for you,” Aragorn said to Frodo and Sam.

Sam saw Aragorn reach behind the chair he had been sitting on.

“Oh, and Sam,” Aragorn said, a mischievous smile in his bright blue eyes, “you might need these,” and he threw Sam’s shirt and breeches at him, bundled up into a ball.

They hit him, hard in the stomach, and Pippin giggled.

Aragorn looked at him, and he hastily turned the giggle into a coughing fit, and Merry leaned down to silence him with kisses as Aragorn slipped quietly from the room, still the ranger at heart.