Not Quite End of All Things 3: The Parlour Game

Not Quite the End of All Things: 3/3: 3: The Parlour Game

Author: Squigglesquared

Pairings etc.: Frodo/Aragorn, Frodo/Sam (minor), Merry/Pippin, Merry/Frodo (implied) Aragorn/Frodo/Merry/Pippin (Oh Yes!!!)

Rating: Strictly NC-17

Warnings: Graphic Sex, Foursome, Intoxicant Abuse. (Hurrah!!)

Archive: If ya like ‘em, ya c’n ‘ave ‘em, jus’ let me know where!!

Summary: Aragorn pays an unexpected visit to the Shire. Old passions re-awaken, and the Hobbits give their King a Royal Welcome!!!

Disclaimer: Sorry Mods: I own nothing at all in the LOTR universe, not story, not characters. I don’t own them, they own me!!! – I’ll give ‘em back, more or less in one piece. No money made. These tales are for fun, not money

Big-Ups Due: To Jonathan and Justin for beta-reading and an eye-opening education!. Matt and Michael secondary readers, Steffers for bein’ a worse pervert than me. And Tony, just ‘cos…


3: The Parlour Game.

It was late, very late. There had been a party at the Green Dragon tonight. As was usual, most of the neighbourhood had been invited, and those that weren’t turned up anyway.

Frodo was bored.

He sat, somewhat apart from the party. He could not be roused to a dance, even after several pints of ale. He watched Pippin dancing with Diamond.

Sam had married first. To his Rosie. They had baby Elanor now. Pippin was to be next, he could have laid odds to it, Merry was due to begin taking on his new duties in Buckland soon. Everyone’s life seemed to have purpose….save for his own.

He stood up, , caught hold of Merry, slurring, “I’m off home now, I think I had a little too much”, he giggled and swayed slightly, “I think I need my bed”. “Will you be alright getting home. You look a little in your cups, perhaps I could see you to your door”. Merry’s voice had a slight leer hidden within. Frodo laughed, understanding the hidden tone, with some effort laid his fingers over Merry’s mouth. “Sssshhh, not tonight my Merry, I need sleep”. With that, he lurched from the pub.

Arriving home, he staggered into the study. The fire in here hadn’t yet burnt down. He lit a pipe, slumping in an old armchair, contemplating the flames. It was just over two years….two years….since he had been rescued from Mount Doom. Two years since the Ring had gone into the Fire. Two years since….his face crumpled.

He wept awhile… he was thinking … thinking of……

The night he had been rescued. A healer woman bent over him. Then a man, murmuring in a low voice, a kiss on the brow. A moment later, a kiss full on the mouth. Ah, the next days and nights. Frodo’s senses clouded, the memories were so intense. His hand reached into his breeches. As he came, he shouted …,”Strider”. He fell asleep before the fire.

A knock at the door. Commanding, powerful, not the knock of a hobbit. Frodo’s eyes flicked open. He was still in the chair before the study fire. The fire was almost out. Should he ignore the knock?. He looked down, breeches still open, stickiness on his belly. He waited in silence. The knock again. Louder, this time. Heavens!. Likely to wake up all of Hobbiton. Oh well he had better answer!. Fastening himself up, he went to the door and threw it open. “Whoever calls at this time of night, better have a good account of himself, or…”. “Or what, master hobbit…”. A low voice out of the darkness. Frodo in his fuzzy state took a moment to recognise it. Then, a huge smile, “Strider!”.

Frodo was suddenly flustered, his thoughts of not two hours ago, rising once more to mind. Moreover, he could feel himself flushing. He lowered his head into his hand, the sheer weight of the feeling hitting him hard. “Frodo, am I intruding?. I apologise. This trip is quite unexpected. I know it is late…. I just thought….”. Frodo seemed to come back, “Strider, where are my manners, please come in”, he stammered. As Aragorn crossed the threshold, dipping his head to do so, Frodo dared to look up. Deep blue met blue-grey, held, shining with memory.

Aragorn closed the door, his gaze not leaving Frodo’s . He took two steps forward. Sank to his knees. Gathered Frodo to him. The gaze from closer quarters. Frodo held Aragorn’s face. A slow languorous blink. “Oh….. Strider”, he breathed, “I cannot believe it is really you”, into Aragorn’s mouth, as it opened over his, tongues meshing, low moans, Frodo, his hand entwined in Aragorn’s hair, pulling him closer…closer.

They emerged, blinking, gasping, laughing, unable to take their eyes from each other, their hands. “Dare I ask, how long we have?”, Frodo’s voice a little hoarse.
“Maybe a day, or with luck, two”.

“I am part of an outrider party. We are making for North of here, to the ancient home of my forebears. I need to assess the damage. The land has not seen settlement these many years. Bandits and other unsavoury characters still roam there. Wights. Shadows. Remnants of….”, his voice faltered. “I have sent the men on, to establish a camp by Lake Evendim. I managed to slip away”. He grinned.

Frodo, his voice soft, “You cannot believe …. I am so glad to see you, Strider”. He leaned in, and ravished Aragorn’s mouth, with tongue and teeth, biting and sucking, He could taste travel and pipe-weed. Aragorn could taste ale and smoke on Frodo. Their kisses became more intense. It seemed as if each wanted to swallow the other whole. Which indeed they did.

Hands reached urgently beneath layers of clothing. Aragorn’s cloak, waistcoat, shirt. Frodo’s too, were soon off. Long, deep kisses accompanying each move. Mouths too close, no room for words. Boots off, breech-laces loosened, hands reaching in. A warm rough hand sliding over half-dried stickiness. Frodo withdrew as if stung. Hand flying to his mouth, eyes wide.

A wise voice, with more than a little smile, “Frodo, I find you as I find you. You were not expecting me. You thought you were alone for the night”.
“Strider”, a coy look from under the lashes, a hint of cerulean, just enough to bewitch.
“You were the reason for…..”, he swept a hand downward. “you were, shall we say, in my thoughts. I escaped from the party at the Green Dragon, if I am honest, to come home and think of you. What do you make of that”.
“I think…I think…”, he laughed aloud, “maybe we could both be needing a bath!! ”His voice hoarsened, “Before… “.
“What?…before what”, desire poured from Frodo’s eyes.
His small smile made Aragorn’s gut convulse. “Before… I eat you alive”, he growled.

Frodo took Aragorn’s hand, tugging gently. Aragorn rose and followed. He led him along the hall, pausing to collect a candle, bumping the bathroom door open with a hip, drawing them both inside. He placed the candle at the head end of the bath, putting the plug in, drawing hot water. “I do not have sophisticated bathing equipment, I fear, I would particularly love one of those overhead water devices that we…enjoyed so much”. His voice faltered around a memory. ”We can probably not even fit…..the two of us in here”.
Aragorn sat on the edge of the bath, spread his knees and pulled Frodo between them, toward him. “Frodo, it is you I wish to see, not your plumbing. I know you Shire folk are proud of your homes, and rightly so, this is a lovely home, but right now”, he grinned, “I need a bath, you, and sleep, in no particular order”.

Frodo laughed, reluctantly moving away to a small side cupboard, reaching inside, a bottle of oil, removing the stopper, pouring a generous measure into the water. A smell of almonds, lavender, amber, something deeper, a little out of reach. Aragorn breathed deep, “Another of Sam’s concoctions, I’d wager”, “Yes, indeed. This one has stimulant properties. Well, is supposed to have”. Frodo’s grin held mischief.

The bath was filled. “Get in”, Frodo gently commanded. “I am going to leave you, and try and find us some supper. I will be back in two shakes”. He left the room, his heart hammering in his chest, face alight with joy. He bunched his fists, “Yesss”, he whispered into the dim corridor, almost skipping to the kitchen.

He quickly assembled bread, cheese, wine, plates, glasses. Laid the table , humming a tune. He was still a little shocked. He had to catch himself. Strider was lying naked in his bath, and afterwards…. A wave of desire washed over him. He had to lean on the kitchen table a moment, his legs threatening to give way. Biting a knuckle, he composed himself and went in search of his guest.

He listened at the door. Not a sound. Tapped quietly. “Strider, I have some supper ready”. Silence. He ventured in. Aragorn was slumped low in the water, his long legs stretched out, ankles crossed, resting on the edge of the bath. His arms were folded across his chest. He was fast asleep.

Frodo perched, regarding the man. There were a couple of new lines on his brow. He had gained a little weight. His scars were now white.
He leaned toward Aragorn, brushing the hair from his cheek, tucking it behind his ear. Leaned in a little further, “Strider… my love”, in the lowest whisper. Aragorn’s eyes shot open. Before Frodo could blink, Aragorn snaked a wet arm around Frodo’s waist, and pulled him into the water.
Shrieking, “Strider, what are you…?”, his cries were silenced by a kiss, wet, hungry, consuming, his very breath sucked away.

Coming up for air, “I am still half dressed”. “I think we can take care of that”. Aragorn lifted Frodo upright, rising up himself, sitting Frodo on the edge, he undid the breech-laces. “Stand a moment”, and slid them down over Frodo’s hips, peeling them off his legs. Frodo was naked. Aragorn turned slightly. Frodo’s semi-erect cock was but inches away from his mouth, a pearl of come on the tip. He leaned, his tongue just a little way out of his mouth, and licked it away. Frodo whimpered, his cock stiffened, his head rolled back. Aragorn took him into his mouth. He mumbled, “I said I would eat you alive, and I intend to make good on that!”. And he did.
Until Frodo came, nearly falling off the bath’s edge, Aragorn’s strong arms steadying him, holding him til his ragged breaths subsided.

“Ohhh…Strider…I wanted to….I wanted to……”. “Hush, little one, there will be time for everything , but it is late, the dawn will break soon, and I think we are both tired”. After a brief scrub, Frodo climbed out of the bath on wobbly legs, finding them both a towel. They dried themselves in a comfortable silence. Frodo held his hand out to Aragorn. Grasping it, Aragorn pulled Frodo toward him, and in a single deft move, swung him up into his arms.
Giggling as a recollection hit him, Frodo murmured, ”I have the use of my legs”.
“I know, but I want to carry you to bed”.
“But I have supper laid in the kitchen”, Frodo exclaimed.
“You are all the supper I needed”, Aragorn said through a smile.

They settled into the big bed. Aragorn could not stifle a yawn.
“Before we sleep, there is just one small thing I need to do”, Frodo said, as he scuttled downward pushing the covers aside, running fluttering palms over Aragorn’s belly and thighs. “Oh, Frodo, my eyelids are drooping, I think I may be too tired…..”.
At the touch of Frodo’s tongue on his cock, he thought differently!.
His hand wound itself into Frodo’s damp hair, as Frodo’s mouth and hands worked their magic. He felt his thighs parted, a small finger working it’s way around. His back arched, his face contorted. He felt the finger enter him. He was on fire, every nerve burning, one big thrust, and he came in waves into Frodo’s throat.

Frodo licked up every last drop, savouring every one, then crawled back up the bed, covering them as he went. Aragorn’s arms folded around him, pulling them tight together. They kissed. Aragorn could taste himself on Frodo’s tongue. He laid Frodo’s head on his shoulder. “I can still not believe you are really here, Strider”, Frodo mumbled sleepily. “I am here, little one, and I will still be here when you wake, but right now I need sleep”. “Goo’night, Strider”. Aragorn kissed the damp curls, tired joy suffusing him, contentment creeping like a warm summer night into his heart, “Goodnight”, he whispered, then barely audible, “My love”. They slept, Aragorn curled about his Hobbit lover.

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Arwen had seen it, with her gift of the Sight, Frodo leaving the shores of Middle Earth. Had seen it in a dream. Had awoken happy, knowing that the Ringbearer’s troubles would soon end. Murmured her dream to her husband sleepily.

Panic rose in Aragorn’s heart, he had to see him again, just the once….. He had invented this mission out of a sleepless night’s guilt-ridden thought. How to see Frodo one last time…. He knew he shouldn’t.

Anguish washed through him. He was a married man, a father, he loved his small family.

He could not leave now, in any case. Affairs of state were pressing in, everybody wanting everything done yesterday. His head in his hands. Warring feelings raged inside him.

Until, Arwen, laying a warm hand to his brow, and kissing him, said, “Go to him. Estel. You know, and I know, that your heart will never rest content. You need to say goodbye”. Her gaze was cool and steady.

“My love.. My love….”. His cries were silenced. Loving hands held his face. Beautiful dark blue eyes staring into his own. “My Estel, dearest of my heart. I know what you two have shared. You forget I have the Sight…..”. Aragorn cast his eyes down. She kissed him again, “I know what you must do, and I know why you must do it. Frodo’s bond with you is strong….but the bond with his Samwise is stronger…. You know that Sam will eventually go to him…?”.

Aragorn gradually dared to meet her gaze. “No, I had no knowledge…”, his voice faded to a whisper. “Hush, now, go with my blessing, and give that brave hobbit my best and most heartfelt of good wishes. You know, do you not, that Frodo has…”, she hesitated, “……my place….?”Aragorn started, “You mean?”. “Yes, my love. My place on that ship. With my father and Grandmother and Mithrandir”. Her voice was soft, just the faintest hint of longing. “I gave it to him myself”, her voice catching in her throat,

“So you see, I too, have a bond with Frodo. There is no ship now that can bear me hence”.

Soft tears fell then. Aragorn kissed his wife, then her swelling belly. She stroked his hair. “Also, you know how I am just now”, she smiled, her eyes wet, “All I ask is that you return before…”, she patted her stomach.

“I will. love… I will…., and I thank you for your large heart. I am not sure if I…”, he faltered…”if I could be so….generous. You know what will ….occur?” She laughed, softly, through drying tears, “Go. I know you will return to me”. They kissed and slept, twined together. At sunrise, when she awoke, her husband was gone.

Aragorn’s spirit warmed as he thought of Arwen. She was right, of course, he would return to her. He thought of his infant daughter, the baby yet to be born, they brought a glow to his heart that nothing could displace, nothing could come close to… and yet… and yet

Aragorn awoke first, gazing in amazement at the hobbit in his arms. He planted silent kisses about Frodo’s shoulders and back, getting nought but a grunt in reply. He looked…. and looked, revelling in alabaster skin, long lashes curved to the cheek, the bones in his shoulders a little too apparent. Frodo had lost even more weight. He felt as fragile as a small bird in Aragorn’s arms.

All was not well here.

Aragorn knew though….. Frodo had received his Call. It would not be long now, Frodo would meet with elves for that final journey…the journey from which he would never return…..the Straight Road over the Sundering Sea.

One he could never travel. A lump rose in Aragorn’s throat, tears threatening. He gazed some more, swallowing hard. He murmured, “Gods, Frodo, would that I had known you before…before….the Ring…….”.

He watched the fluttering lashes, a bluish vein pulsing at Frodo’s throat. Aragorn’s lips moved of their own volition, grazing that pulse, licking, kissing, a slow ardour building. Turning Frodo’s sleeping form toward him. Kissing cheeks, brow, and then, softly, lips, just a graze at first, a murmur from Frodo, a sigh escaped Aragorn. Kiss deepening, sleepy lips parting, Aragorn’s tongue..dancing lightly over Frodo’s lips, entering, slowly exploring, a sleep-drenched tongue meeting his, then relaxing, a soft moan into his mouth. Aragorn broke the kiss, his Frodo still sweetly asleep.

A hand, Aragorn’s, creeping a searing path along Frodo’s body, stroking soft skin, feeling ribs, a jutting hip-bone. Too thin….Too thin. Making it’s leisurely way over back, shoulders, chest. Pinching a nipple for pure mischief, then lowering his mouth, sucking, licking. Still his love slept.

Growing bolder, “Wake up my love, wake up”, Aragorn’s senses in a tangle, he whispered into Frodo’s chest. His mouth moved over stark ribs, nibbling, murmuring, down to soft belly, tongue darting into belly button, nipping, swirling licks. “I want you so much, I have to… I have to …..have you”. Lower still, his cheek barely brushing Frodo’s cock, half-erect. A little trail of wetness on his face. A pearl on the tip. Aragorn gently licked it away. No response. Bolder still, Aragorn gently peeled back the foreskin. Frodo’s cock hardened. Aragorn grinned, biting his lower lip. Another tentative lick. Nothing. Then Aragorn took Frodo’s cock slowly into his mouth, sucking gently. A moan, a toss of dark brown curls. The bluest of blue eyes slowly opened, an instant flush to the face, two hands grabbed Aragorn’s hair, twisting a little, senses surfacing, a sleepy smile spreading over a thrown back face. A strangled cry.

Aragorn paused, slid his mouth from his love, his voice hoarse, “Good morning, lover”, then continued, taking a barely conscious Frodo into his throat, sucking hard, insistent. Before Frodo was fully aware, he came, gushing into Aragorn’s mouth.

He crawled up the bed taking Frodo into his arms and kissing him deeply. Frodo was in the most delicious drowse, he could vaguely taste himself on Aragorn’s tongue, responding lazily with his own. “Why did you not wake me fully….now I feel sleep may yet claim me again”…he yawned. Aragorn kissed him, “I woke first,…and I simply could not resist. I looked down upon you in sleep….”. Aragorn’s voice trailed away. “When I look at you Frodo, I feel my very soul unravel”. Sleepy blue met serious blue-grey. “Oh, my Strider”, he yawned again, “I am no good to you now”, a small smile, “wake me again in a short while, only this time, make sure I am really awake”, his smile became another yawn. His head sunk to the pillows, he slept once again.

Aragorn felt a little frustrated, this was not how he planned the encounter, nonetheless he grinned pulling Frodo to him. It was his own fault. Hobbits simply needed their sleep more than Men, and this Hobbit more than others.
He pressed his lips to Frodo’s hair, drinking the hobbit’s scent in. Gods, he was intoxicating. Aragorn forced his own desires down, clasping Frodo as if he never wanted to let him go, eventually dozing himself..

When Frodo awoke, the sun was climbing over the rooftops. He was alone in the big bed. “Aragorn… Strider”. He hadn’t dreamed last night, had he?. A quiet whinny outside brought Frodo to the window. He peered out. Of course. Aragorn hadn’t flown through the air, had he?!!.

The man had tied short twigs together, and was gently brushing the animal’s coat, with long sweeping strokes, murmuring soft words. The horse responded, nuzzling into the man’s face, and whinnying, making skittery small steps, tossing his magnificent head. Laying the makeshift brush down, Frodo watched Aragorn untangle the horse’s mane with long fingers. Frodo felt a delicious shiver run down his spine as he watched, imagining those fingers in his own hair, those strong hands running over his body. He leaned hard on the sill, legs a little shaky, ‘You will have to pull yourself together, Baggins’, he remonstrated with himself, smiling around a chewed knuckle.

Aragorn looked up, seeing a naked Frodo watching him, perfectly framed in the window. He smiled, slowly. Frodo leaned forward slightly, unlatched the casement, and threw the windows wide open. “Good morning. I trust you slept well?”, Frodo’s voice was low, throaty. “As a matter of fact, since you ask, I did not…..there were, shall we say…..distractions”. His own voice gravelly.

Frodo’s eyes widened and he pouted. “Distractions, is it?”. He backed slowly from the window, until he knew Aragorn could see most of him. “I’ll give you distractions!”. He ran sensuous hands across bare skin, tweaking a nipple, sliding a finger in and out of his mouth. His hands moved down. One cupped his sac and squeezed, the other grasped his cock, arousing himself, giggling at the expression on Aragorn’s face.

“Right!. That’s it, Baggins”. Aragorn ran across the grass, a strong grip on the sill, long legs swung up, and over, and he dropped neatly into the room. Frodo squealed in surprise, taking a step back. Aragorn lunged, catching hold of a wriggling Frodo, pulling him up into his arms. Frodo’s legs wrapped around the man’s waist, his bare arms around Aragorn’s neck. He leaned in, nipping an ear, “All right, you have me where you want me, and I’m fully awake. What now, lover?”.

Aragorn growled, deep in his chest, drawing Frodo still closer, he mumbled, “Just you wait, Baggins, just you wait…”. Their mouths locked together, rough, demanding, fire on their tongues, and in their bellies. Frodo twisted fingers into Aragorn’s hair, tugging hard. Aragorn’s grip on Frodo’s arse tightened. Frodo moaned around Aragorn’s tongue, “Take me back to bed, Strider, make love to me”.

Trembling slightly at the force of his desire, he laid Frodo gently down, kicking off his boots, and lying alongside. Frodo leaned up, flipping a leg across Aragorn, he levered himself up til he straddled the man’s stomach. His hands fluttered at Aragorn’s throat, untying shirt laces. Aragorn raised his own hands to assist, smiling as he recalled…, and desisted. Frodo lowered his mouth, kissing every inch of slowly revealed skin, trailing his tongue through downy hair til it found a nipple, circling it lazily, nipping it hard. Aragorn winced, “Ow”. “Sorry, I got a little carried away”, whispered between white teeth. Frodo pushed the shirt open, sitting up and simply gazing at this beauty before him. He shuffled down a little, feeling Aragorn’s stiff cock under his backside, straining through fabric. He rocked a moment, enjoying the sweet torment on the face of his lover, and applied nimble fingers to breech lacings. Rolling to one side, with a whispered, “Lift up for me, love”, he hauled the leggings off in one fluid move.

His mouth dry, he looked up and down. “You plain take my breath away, Strider”. Aragorn rose slightly, reaching out, pulling Frodo on top of him. Little bites along a parchment pale throat, ”I certainly intend to”. Hungry mouths finding each other again. Hands moving over back, shoulders…

They missed the first knock. A second, louder. A call. “Frodo”.

Samwise.

They froze. Aragorn groaned loudly. Frodo hushed him, giggling as he remembered another time…. “Sam. I’d forgotten he was coming to lunch today. How we have let time get away from us”. He slipped into a gown. “I’m sorry, my love, but you”, he kissed him on the nose, another light kiss on his rapidly shrinking member, ”and you, will have to wait a while longer”. Laughing, he went to open the door.

Sam came barrelling in. “Frodo, sleepin’ late are we?”, noticing the gown, “And did you know you’ve got an ‘orse in your garden?”. Frodo hugged his friend, “Oh, Sam, it gets better”. It was then Sam noticed the sparkle in Frodo’s eyes, the flushed cheeks, the dishevelled curls. “I suppose this might ‘ave somethin’ to do wi’ that ‘orse out there”.

“You could say that, Master Gamgee”, a deep voice down the hall. “Strider… I mean My Lord….erm Your ‘Ighness, sir”, Sam was suddenly flustered. “You should ‘ave sent word. The king visitin’ an’ all, we should be givin’ you a proper welcome”. “Please Sam, just plain Strider or Aragorn. I am not here on an official visit, just taking a little time to see old friends . Sam’s glance passed from Frodo to Aragorn. Understanding dawned. He blushed a deep pink. “Frodo”, he stammered, “I could call at another time…I mean…”. “Sam, it’s all right. Come on, let me dress, and we’ll take a picnic into the garden, eat with the breeze in our hair”

They gathered the necessary items, staggering outside. Frodo laid out a clean cloth, and soon all were tucking into cold meats, cheese, bread, and fresh salad. Sam took a bowl, to a patch of early raspberry canes, picking enough for the three of them. As they ate, they talked.

Aragorn told of repairing Minas Tirith, the gates that the dwarves were creating, from pure Mithril, so it was said. Faramir in Ithilien was rebuilding fast, with Legolas’ help. Sam asked after Faramir, a distant look in his eye. Aragorn took a moment to ponder this.

Gimli was making a home in Aglarond’s Glittering Caves, revealing it’s wonders, making a new home for kin whose homes had been destroyed.

Sam spoke of the journey home, the funeral of King Theoden in Rohan. The painful discovery of Saruman’s mischief, the Battle of Bywater and the Scouring. The rebuilding of Bagshot Row. Aragorn had heard no details, although he suspected that when they left Isengard, that Saruman had some evil yet to do.

Frodo told of his short time as Mayor. His hated Aunt Lobelia’s death, and her unexpected legacy to the Shire, of writing his book, visits to Crickhollow where Merry and Pippin still dwelt. He briefly touched on his times of illness and the feeling of dislocation that came with it. Aragorn shot him a look, “Surely, though soon, you will be made whole again..”, Frodo’s glare came suddenly, a quick glance, finger to lips. Aragorn flicked a glance at Sam. No reaction. Frodo hadn’t told him yet.

Frodo now knew, Aragorn was aware of the Call. He also knew, that this was probably the reason for Aragorn’s unexpected visit. He was saying goodbye. The thought brought a lump to Frodo’s throat, a weight of sadness fell on his chest. He fought back tears. A need to be held surfacing. He felt bereft, sitting in his own sunny garden, the shadows starting to lengthen, Brego munching the soft grass. He had his two favourite people right next to him, and he was desolate, a shadow of Spring’s illness still weaving about him.

It was Sam who spotted Frodo’s crestfallen look first, scuttling over to him, throwing his arms about him. “Frodo, you’re gettin’ that faraway look again”. He held Frodo tight. Aragorn could tell from the heaving shoulders that Frodo wept, his face buried in Sam’s shirt. Sam crooned softly into Frodo’s ears. Words of comfort and reassurance.

Aragorn felt a mist around his own heart. He had never realised that Frodo still carried this desolation within him. He also understood his wife’s words concerning Frodo’s bond to Sam. He regarded them. The late sun catching the gold of Sam’s hair, as his cheek rubbed Frodo’s dark curls, Sam’s hand making lazy circles on his back. Frodo’s sobs eased. He moved a little, extending one hand outward, “Strider”, a small tremulous voice. Aragorn and Sam exchanged a glance. Sam nodded. Aragorn took the proffered hand, enclosing it in his own, raising it to his cheek, grazing it with his lips, “Oh Frodo, I truly had no idea, none whatsoever, that you still carry this burden”, he whispered.

A cool wind started to pick up. “Time we got you indoors Frodo, the night is startin’ to chill, the sun will set soon”, he lifted Frodo against him. “Thank you, Sam”. Frodo’s voice a little stronger. Aragorn gathered up the pots and plates, trailing behind. They all went into the house. Sam led Frodo to his room, while Aragorn busied himself putting food away, even washing up.

Sam reappeared shortly afterward in the kitchen. “’e always gets real tired after one o’ these”. He sank wearily into a chair. Aragorn lifted Sam’s face, looking into his eyes. “How ….. often do these…episodes occur?” “Little ones ’bout once a fortnight or so, the longer ones twice a year”, said hesitantly. “Sam, I…I really had no idea”. “We do what we can, Strider, not just myself, but Merry and Pippin too, but I reckon Frodo needs healin’ of a greater sort, somehow, somethin’ the Shire just can’t give ’im”, he sighed deeply, rubbing a tired face with one hand. Aragorn was tempted to tell right then and there, but he sensed that the words would only bring distress, not comfort.

Sam stood, “I ‘as to get back to Rosie an’ the baby now”, he laid a hand on Aragorn’s, “Just hold ‘im tonight, Strider, he needs arms about him. ‘E’ll like as not need a bit o’ breakfast in ‘im come mornin’”. Aragorn nodded slowly. Grasping Sam’s hand in his, he raised it to his lips. “Thank you Sam, I feel better knowing that you love Frodo like you do, all of you, and that one day…I know…. Frodo will receive the healing he needs. I will take care of him tonight”, he smiled, “you need to go to your wife and child”.

“But before you do, may I have the temerity to ask you a personal question?”. Sam looked surprised, “And what may a king wish to know personally of an ‘obbit, beggin’ your pardon?” Aragorn smiled, “While we talked earlier, you mentioned Faramir, a distinctly dream-like look on your face. I could not help but notice, that is all…..”.

Sam blushed to his roots. He made for the door, turning, as he opened it. ”That tin o’ salve I left for you and Frodo?. In Minas Tirith, after the feast?. There was a big scoop missin’ “He turned away for a moment, finally looking back over one shoulder, “That was for me an’ Faramir”.

Aragorn laughed aloud at this. Hobbits!!!. What were they like!!

Aragorn made his way to Frodo’s room, tapped gently on the door. “Frodo, Frodo, may I enter”. He pushed the door open gingerly and went in. Frodo was lying on his back, staring unseeing at the ceiling. Aragorn strode over to the bed, sitting, taking Frodo into his arms. The hobbit sighed against him. “I’m sorry, Strider, I feel as if I spoiled a beautiful day”. A few tears fell. “Frodo, you could never do that, you are special to me. I was not aware that you still carry…”.

“It’s not that, my ill times come on the anniversaries. We are just passed one, and it’s shadow lingers still. Weathertop and Shelob. Both put poison into me, both poisons are still within me. I fade sometimes Strider, like the feeling I got before we reached Rivendell. It is not the Ring. My choices are hard…to drift away on Middle-Earth,…or to be whole and healed on the Blessed Isle, but to be alone. I did not realise that to take the Ring would mean losing everything and everybody that I love….”.His words dissolved into wracking sobs.

Aragorn could do no more than Sam. Hold him close. Whisper soft words. Stroke his hair. Then an idea. He was uncertain as to the outcome of this, but……”You will not be alone on the Blessed Isle”. Frodo stirred in his arms, “Not…not alone?”. “No, Bilbo will be with you. Although he has only his final few years…in a while….probably a long while…but then..”. “Then what”, Frodo whispered. “Then, Gods I am not sure it should be me telling you this,….. then Sam will join you…it has been Seen”. He fell silent.

“Sam”. Frodo cried out, “to think that one day my Sam…”, then tremulously, “Strider, how came you to know of this”. “My blessed Arwen. She may have lost her eternal life”, Aragorn sighed deeply, Frodo tightened his hold around Aragorn’s waist, “but now and again she still has the Sight of the First-Born. She has seen this thing, and I know it to be true. Remember, that for a short while, Sam also bore the Ring”. Aragorn could feel hot tears brimming, falling.

Frodo looked up to Aragorn, seeing the tear tracks, hearing the slight catch in his voice, raising a trembling small hand, wiping the tears away, “Oh, Strider, this has cost so dear all around us, yet we still live out our destinies. You came to say goodbye, didn’t you?”. Aragorn could only nod. A lump in his throat preventing speech. “Arwen saw me leave, didn’t she, in her Seeing?”. Another nod.

Aragorn swallowed hard, he had to say this last thing. “Arwen gave you her…place…on the ship?” “Yes”, Frodo whispered. “Frodo, she also gave her blessing to us…being here now, she knows…she knows, that I had to come here, before… before you go”, he collapsed against the bedhead, letting the tears flow freely at last.

They held each other tightly, a certain desperation creeping into their hearts. No secrets between them, cleansing tears, like a letting go, a release from the soul, a form of healing, they wept together, each holding the other, night’s wings folded over the land.

Eventually they slept, fully clothed, curled tight around each other.

A whickering awoke Aragorn sometime just after dawn. Poor Brego, he had had no supper. The bedroom window was still open. The horse standing just beneath it on his long rein. Aragorn gently untangled himself from Frodo, slipping from the warmth of the bed into the cool early summer day. On the front doorstep were a bag of oats, some carrots and apples. Sam.

Aragorn remembered with some amusement their conversation of the previous evening; particularly the last bit. Faramir, eh? Aragorn could not repress a smile, and went to feed his horse.

His thoughts soon turned to Frodo. He hoped he’d done the right thing, telling him about Sam. Only time would tell. He patted Brego, leaving him with a nose-bag of feed, he went back indoors.

He meant to go straight into the bedroom, but, needing liquid refreshment, turned aside to the kitchen. He lit a fire in the range, placing a kettle on top. He found doing these things somehow soothing. Now, in his life, there were servants to do all manner of his bidding, he still chafed at this occasionally, wishing to brew his own tea, care for his own clothes, weapons, horse. He reflected a moment, there was absolutely no-one just here who would do his bidding. He smiled at that. Here, he could just be…well….Strider. A thought formed, he would make the Shire a free land, unable to be entered by anyone else without permissions. The hobbits way of life, their pure naturalness, Aragorn realised, was something he wanted to protect, by edict and law, if necessary.

He remembered Sam’s words. Hobbits and their food. Frodo was obviously not eating enough. He turned to the larder, producing eggs, bacon, sausages, and hadn’t he noticed a few young, just ripened tomatoes in the greenhouse?.

Humming old tunes, he set to work. Soon bacon and sausages were sizzling, sending out their aroma into the hall. Aragorn gathered a few tomatoes, and had found a few precious field mushrooms in his sortie into the out of doors, respectively grilling and frying. A couple of eggs, careful now, he hadn’t cracked eggs in many a long year, whew, yolks intact…

“Strider, what are you doing?, a sleepy voice from the doorway. “Why, Frodo, I am cooking some breakfast for us both”. He glanced at Frodo, leaning in the doorframe, he was laughing. “Strider, I cannot believe this, the King of Gondor, and most of the free Middle Earth is standing in my kitchen cooking breakfast for me. I shall have to make a song or at least a poem from this, Frodo and the nine fingers, and the King who made breakfast”. He looked up to meet Aragorn’s eyes, “Although I thank you, all the same. Amongst the many skills Bilbo taught me, cooking was not one of them”. It was just ready, “Sit and eat, little one”. Frodo smiled, “D’you know, I love the way you call me that”. Aragorn could not help but smile, as he dished the food onto plates. He looked up, square into Frodo’s eyes. “And you must call me Strider….forever. You called me that the first time….after the first time we made love…”, “Then thank you Strider for this wonderful repast”. Casting his eyes down, Frodo proceeded to eat every morsel, stopping short only of being uncouth and licking his plate.

Aragorn smiled to see Frodo eat so heartily. He suddenly fully understood Sam’s plight, the daily toil, trying to tempt Frodo with food, with love, trying to sustain, to heal, sometimes meeting an immovable wall, sometimes a small victory.
And slowly your beloved wasting away before you.

His breath caught. Now he knew why Frodo had to go over the Sea.
He would otherwise fade and die. .

Aragorn swallowed the tears that involuntarily rose, he could not, however, prevent a slight wetness to the eyes. Frodo saw this, “Oh Strider, it seems many things ail us. But…yet..but yet, my heart still feels I should follow Gandalf’s advice, to make the best use of the time we have allotted us”. Aragorn could do no more than stare at this amazing, no, resilient, no, heroic creature. Never, never in all his born days, had he ever known one such as this. Now, with a not inconsiderable degree of pain, he knew, he more than loved Frodo Baggins. He was in love with him.

His whispered. “My love”s, and “Lover”s, had a new meaning in his mind. Sitting next to Frodo on that wooden bench, pulling the hobbit to him, tipping the head, grasping the curls, opening his mouth over Frodo’s, feeling soft lips parting under his own, he wanted to heal….no,…he wanted to devour.

A repeated entreaty. Aragorn was nearly undone. “Take me to bed, Strider, make love to me”. “Frodo, you have been through so much yesterday…”,Aragorns voice trailed away. A sharp, deep cerulean stare. “That was then, this is now”, a rasp in Frodo’s tone.

Then a softer one, “Please…Strider”. Nearly a whimper.

“Shall I take you there, or have you the use of your legs”, a kindly demand, a cheeky trace of memory.
“I think not, my love, I would like you to take me to bed, carried in your own arms”. Aragorn could not help but smile, lifting Frodo into his arms, crushing his mouth with a kiss. ”I will bear you gladly”, he could just about mumble.

Jolting the bedroom door open with a hip, Aragorn bore his willing bundle, laying him on rumpled sheets, leaning down for a long, intense kiss. “Frodo, we are going to need some of Sam’s special salve. Where is it?”. “In the cabinet in the bathroom”. Aragorn went, leaving Frodo temporarily empty armed. He fretted inside, chewed on a well-bitten fingernail til Aragorn returned. Aragorn noted the agitation, “Does the thought of this…bother you…if so, there are many different things to try, many paths to pleasure. We could walk down any one you choose”.

Frodo held Aragorn’s face, tenderly between both hands, “No, Strider, I want you, all of you. I….want to feel you….inside…..inside me…filling me, taking me….”his voice was small. Aragorn felt his insides start to dissolve. Carefully placing the tin of salve down. His movements seemed to slow, as if his very veins had been filled with sweet mead. He gathered Frodo to him, “, …Are you certain, my lover, we could…I mean I am more than willing to do things the way we did…… the way you taught me…in Minas Tirith”. Huge blue eyes opened, pools of pure desire overflowing into blue-grey. “No. I want you. Strider, make me your own, make me yours….again.”

Aragorn began unbuttoning, and unlacing. Frodo gently swatted his hands away. “You know how much I like this bit, indulge me”. This time he did not waste precious moments, Aragorn was naked in minutes, breathing hard, his erection, his urgency, plain to see. He pulled Frodo toward him. A gentle pulling away. “No, no, not yet”, in soft tones.

Frodo moved off the bed into the middle of the room. He remembered yesterday morning, the teasing, the temptation. Aragorn had leapt through his very window. With a small smile, he backed away, standing on his own. Licking his lips, more in feeling nervous than anything, he locked eyes with Aragorn, slowly unlacing his shirt, peeling it from his body. Aragorn was transfixed. He could no more turn his gaze away, than water burn.

Frodo slowly undid his breech-laces, allowing the garment to fall to the floor. Finally revealing himself, he could not resist running his hands wickedly over pale smooth skin, a teasing smile playing with his lips. “Come and get me, if you want me “, lit a fire in Aragorn. “Look at me, long and hard”. Aragorn looked, “Frodo, come to me. I want you….I want you so much, but, I will own to some trepidation, I am so afraid of….of hurting….of causing you pain, I need you to come to me. I need to know that what we do is…”. Frodo advanced, “Can you not see it already, can you not feel the fire”. His tongue played over his top lip. He moved into Aragorn’s waiting arms. Deep kisses followed.

“I have come to you. Do what you will with me”.

Aragorn kissed Frodo again, wilder, less gentle, great hunger apparent in his touch. He could feel himself getting lost in that small hard body, deep brown curls, and those eyes…. Pulling apart slightly, each gazed into the other’s face. Frodo’s fingertips tracing the outline of his lover’s lips. Aragorn sucked a finger into his mouth, drawing it further in, his eyes not leaving Frodo’s. His hand grasped Frodo’s, turning it palm up, planting tiny kisses and licks. He splayed the fingers, licking the delicate skin between. Frodo gasped. Aragorn smiled.

Small soft palms ran over naked need. Stroking chest, nipples, warm pulsing belly. Hot mouth licking after the hand’s path, warm lips sucking, little teeth, a tiny arching bite about nipple. A feathery swooping tongue, all dreams and desires running before it. A promise, a kiss, light as summer breeze on the tip.…just for a moment…a moment. Taking, filling his mouth with pulsating want, teasing the slit, feeling the Man’s moan on the back of his neck. A big hand, heavy in his hair, moving to gently lift Frodo’s face.
“Not like this, love. I want you to lie back for me”.

Aragorn ran warm, hard palms along Frodo’s legs, kissing as he went, nibbling along soft inner thighs, feeling them part beneath him. He nibbled gently at the firm little sac, then took Frodo’s length into his mouth. He felt rather than heard the deep moan. He looked up. Frodo’s eyes were half-closed, looking into his, lips parted, a moan from the base of his soul. “Make love to me now, Strider ”.

“I will need to prepare you”. He knelt between Frodo’s spread legs, arching over him, stretching to reach the salve. A warm, wet mouth on his nipple, an eager hand on his cock. As he settled back, more soft kisses. He opened the little tin, that wonderful smell, dipped two fingers in, allowing the warmth of his hands to melt the cream into oil. He stroked Frodo’s cock and balls, an oily finger working around to the little pucker, oiling around it, slipping in. Frodo tensed, just a moment, then relaxed. A little more, a little more, then it was all the way in. Frodo was still for a second, then started to move, his hips rising. “Another one, lover…please. Open me”. The first finger slid almost all the way out. Another joined it. Slowly, slowly, it pushed past the ring of muscle. Frodo clenched, crying out. “Relax Frodo”. “Yes, my love”, he gasped, chest rising and falling quickly. Aragorn felt him relax after a moment or two. He worked both fingers , a little at a time, til they were fully in. He felt a little hard nub deep inside, he touched it. Frodo shouted out, his body arching and falling back.

Aragorn slowly and carefully withdrew both fingers, another dip into the pot of salve, began to slick his cock. He placed the tip at Frodo’s entrance, pushing slightly, the tip just going in. A white-hot pain shot up Frodo’s spine into the top of his head. His body bucked. His breath coming in ragged gasps, belly fluttering. “My love, if this is too much…”. “No! Strider…Please…”. “If you are sure, love”. Aragorn held on til he felt Frodo relax a little, pushed some more. A clenching, pain, then slow relaxation.
Aragorn was burning, he wanted to plunge, take, but he knew that patience was needed, although sorely tried!.
A little more, relax, a little further, await a nod… more…. then he was all the way in.
They both panted. Aragorn lay still. A little push, and he felt the hard gland with the head of his cock. Stillness, slowness, even as passion raged in Aragorn’s soul. He rocked them both gently, feeling his lover relax around him, heard a moan, a whispered, “I am yours now…take me”.
Aragorn nearly became unhinged, a soft “Yes”.

He started to move, rising excitement driving him, slowly in and out of Frodo’s wet oiled heat, touching that hardness with each stroke. His warm hand slid between them. A firm hold on Frodo’s cock with oily fingers. A sliding rhythm in time with the thrusts. He felt Frodo’s hands on his hips pulling him further in.
Frodo felt so full, so wide open, so loved. His gasps were louder, body writhing, hips rising, grinding, fuller, deeper,…,more.
His head thrown back, a guttural cry, sweat sheening his chest, “Don’t stop!…I cannot hold on...I’m coming..I’m…. Aaaahhh Strider”. A hot stickiness gushed over his belly. Aragorn could resist the fire no longer, he was unravelling with every thrust, every moan, his eyes closed, teeth clenched, he clutched Frodo’s hips, thrusting hard, … aflame from deep within …. reason slipping away… pleasure burning.. white heat….consuming him
”Frodo…”, a white light behind his eyes…blinding him…. … as waves of ecstasy took him over the edge.

Aragorn’s strength left him. He slowly collapsed onto his Frodo…his Frodo. Silence, but for two ragged breathings. They lay quiet, Aragorn gently crushing Frodo beneath him, both utterly spent.

Frodo recovered first, slowly stroking Aragorn’s back, as the man’s breaths subsided a little. He could feel Aragorn’s cock soften inside him, and gradually slip out. He winced slightly. Aragorn felt this, his head turned, “Have I hurt you, my love?”. “Only the sweetest pain imaginable, and nothing that won’t mend”. Truth to tell, he was somewhat sore, but also glad, delighted….and in just that moment…. happy. He felt a big, daft grin spreading across his face, “Oh, my Strider, kiss me, you wonderful, amazing…”, the rest was lost to a languorous kiss.

Aragorn rolled to the side, Frodo still in his arms. He regarded his loved one, “I’m amazing?. Ha! You, my love, astound me, you unhinge me, take me beyond all reason…I…”. Small fingers covered his mouth. “Hush, my love. We both know, we cannot be more to each other than we are right now. I love you, Strider, and whatever happens to either of us, I will always know this, and carry you in my heart”. In his relaxed state, Aragorn could not conceal the tears in his eyes at Frodo’s words. “I love you too, my little one. What more can I say”.

They twined around each other, kisses and tired sighs, holding tight, and slept for a while.

Hooves clip-clopping on the road outside Bag End awoke Aragorn, He heard Brego whicker a greeting. He kissed Frodo’s hair. “My love, wake up, I think you have guests”. “Mmmm, whassat, say again”, Frodo’s eyes slowly opened, a hazy disoriented look. “I can hear ponies. You have visitors”.

A knock on the door. Frodo was not awake fully. Aragorn pulled on breeches and shirt, and slipped from the room. “Frodo, are you in?”, a voice Aragorn recognised. He opened the big round door. “Merry and Pippin, come in. Frodo is a little indisposed right now, but I will let him know that you are here”.

With one voice, “Aragorn. What are you doing here?”. Pippin, “My lord”, sinking to one knee. Merry, “Your Majesty”.

“Oh please, you two. For now, I am just plain old Strider or Aragorn. I am not on a state visit. For a short time, I am just a ranger again, seeing some well-loved friends”. Merry noted the bright eyes, the flushed cheeks. “Strider, I do hope that we are not intruding”. Aragorn let a smile play with his mouth. “Your timing, Master Meriadoc, is perfect. Though if you had arrived but a half hour ago…”, he let his voice fade to a chuckle.
“Merry, Pippin”, behind him deep in the hall. Aragorn turned. Frodo had emerged. He was wearing nothing but a gown pulled about him, his face blurred with sweet sleep, his curls a mess. Both hobbits rushed in, gathering Frodo to them in hugs. Pippin detected the scent of love about his cousin.

“We were going to drag you back with us for supper, perhaps some ale, some talk, but we can see you are otherwise occupied”. Aragorn said, “So stay a little, we shall eat, drink, smoke, and exchange tales here. I would love to hear of your recent exploits”. They all went into the kitchen. Frodo still felt a little dazed and wobbly.

“I shall make us some lunch”, said Merry, a decisive tone, “You just sit there, and I will prepare such a feast. I know Sam keeps this larder stocked”.

Aragorn sank to the bench, his legs not quite in full working order yet, if truth be told. Frodo sank down beside him, leaning his head on Aragorn’s shoulder, . Merry glanced at Pippin, smiling, eyebrows raising. Pip’s raised in answer. Neither had seen Frodo look so…utterly spent… since Minas Tirith. They shared a brief grin, as Merry busied himself at the range, producing a luncheon of steak and mushrooms.

Frodo ate every mouthful with gusto. Secretly, all three were pleased. Merry and Pippin agreed, wordlessly, that Aragorn was doing their friend no end of good, although they ached for Sam. They knew how Sam felt about his Frodo.
But… they had both been there in Minas Tirith.
While Sam had been occupied with the future Prince of Ithilien, and Frodo was sequestered in his rooms with the future King of Gondor….

As they finished, Sam knocked, calling out, then bustling in, loaded down with food, into the kitchen, meeting four pairs of eyes, a delicious smell, and lunch ….over.

“You’ve eaten. And ‘ere was I with a lunch fit fer a King”.

“So was that one”, retorted Merry, picking at his teeth, “but if you sit, I’ll make you one too”. Sam smiled, “Thanks, but I’ll just have some o’ this”, cutting generous slices of bread and cheese.

Pippin peered through the window, saw clouds gathering on the horizon. “Merry, we may have trouble getting home tonight, if those clouds are anything to go by”. “Well”, said Merry decisively, rubbing his hands together, “that means usually one thing. We’re all right to stay tonight, then Frodo?”. Frodo smiled, the tiniest gleam in his eye. Merry caught it, a suggestion of creased brow in return. Surely, he couldn’t be thinking…..no…surely not, but he knew that look on Frodo’s face…..

“Yes, Merry that’s fine, you two are always welcome”, the formality of speech belied by the dancing lights in his eyes, “In fact, if we can avoid the rain, I was going to suggest that we take a stroll to the Green Dragon for an ale or two, a walk is always good for the digestion”.

“In that case, I need to stable the ponies”, said Pippin. “I need to feed Brego”, Aragorn rose, patting a full stomach, “And I need to dress”, Frodo scuttled away, trying not to laugh at the look on Merry’s face.

Frodo re-entered the kitchen, eyes darting around. Only Merry and Sam. Good.

Merry saw his expression, “I can’t believe that you are thinking…”, his eyes round with shock.

“Oh, but I am”, in a low voice, “I think we should extend a true Shire welcome”.

Sam, “But ‘es a King, ‘e’s…’e’s…a Man. I mean, we don’t know, do we…oh I dunno”

Frodo walked toward Sam, taking him into his arms, brushing away a stray lock of hair. Sam’s arms slid around Frodo’s waist, looking deep into the other’s eyes. “I’m goin’ to miss this one, if it’s all the same, Frodo, as much as anythin’ me an’ Rose is tryin’ for another to go along wi’ our Elanor, an’ I’m a little low on spare energy, if you take my meanin’”, he paused, “’Specially for one o’ these…afternoons, though….I may be thinkin’ about you all”, his grin wide.

“My Sam”, Frodo chuckled, “Oh, did you remember…?”.
Sam glanced down at the table, “In the little green bag”.
“Both?”. Sam nodded. “Thank you, Sam”, in a low voice. The embrace tightened, became a kiss, became passionate, tongues meshing. They drew apart a little, “You give that to your beautiful Rose, from me”. Sam blushed, “An’ you give that to our ‘andsome King, from me”. They were chuckling, foreheads together, when the others returned.

Aragorn took in the scene, Merry looking at the other two, dreamily, Sam and Frodo, holding each other, quickened breath. It didn’t look like one of Frodo’s bad moments, quite the opposite.

“Are we off to the pub then”, Pippin beamed. Merry came back to reality, “Yes, Pip, when these two are done cavorting”, he rolled his eyes, grinning

Cavorting, eh?. An image flashed behind Aragorn’s eyes; the scene before him a few moments before he returned. Shaking his head, he swiftly gathered pipe and cloak.

They left Bag End. The air was cool, but a song or two down the road, and you were quite warm. Sam left them at New Row, to go home, and they swung off to Bywater, a spring in their step.

The door of the inn was low, but Aragorn did not have to stoop too far to enter. Fairly quiet, certainly not crowded, and beyond a few curious stares, they were largely ignored. They found a quiet corner and Merry and Pippin went to the bar, staggering back under the weight of four pints of ale, followed by the barman’s son.

‘Scuse me intrudin, Master Baggins, I was to bring this to Bag End. I was goin’ to bring it when we close this afternoon, sir, but bein’ as ‘ow you’re ‘ere like”, he thrust an envelope at Frodo, who took it, puzzled. He opened it, started to remove the sheet within. When he spotted the seal, he passed it wordlessly to Aragorn. “I did ask that any mail arrive in your name”, he quickly scanned the page, “I’m sorry, Frodo, but I must leave at first light tomorrow”.

They drank in silence. Merry peeped surreptitiously at Frodo to gauge his mood. Frodo caught his eye and smiled, followed by a lightning fast wink.

“Well, I for one think we should make the best of the rest of your time here, my love”, murmured Frodo.

Merry stood, “And I think we need more of these. Come on Pip”, they went back to the bar with the empty mugs.

“I really did hope we would have a while longer, little one”

“I am only too grateful for the time we have already had”, he glanced up, “and the time we have left…”, he risked a slightly naughty smile.

They chuckled softly, Aragorn being glad of the dimness of their corner, to disguise the slow flush he felt rising. Merry and Pippin returning, glanced sideways at each other, Pippin nodded slightly, as they set the foaming mugs down. The mood had lightened considerably, the second mugs disappeared faster than the first .

Frodo was thoughtful as he stood in the latrine. He wondered if Aragorn would enjoy the afternoon’s activities. He smiled to himself. There were so many things he would have liked to have done with Strider, had they the time, but really Aragorn belonged with his family, with Arwen, who had given so much…so much for love of him.
Who had also given Frodo, he had realised some time ago, his only real chance at a long fulfilled life.

Ah, and now he knew his Sam would be there one day, they would end their days together. That thought warmed him at the centre of his being, lit a gentle blaze. Going over the Sea might not be so daunting after all.

He came to, realised where he was, fastened his leggings, and went back in the warm pub.

Aragorn left as Frodo returned. He listened to his stream, thinking. What were those Hobbits plotting. He had sensed a heightened atmosphere since lunch. Lots of furtive glances, odd looks. He shook his head laughing, he did know this, he had not felt this relaxed in many moons.

Their third pints stood before them. “Well, Frodo?”, asked Merry, eyebrow raised.

Frodo nodded, “Pip, are you up for a parlour game this afternoon?”. “What, you mean with..?”, his green eyes round. “Of course, silly, who else”, Frodo’s eyes alight. Pippin pondered, a long moment, his eyes half closing, the tip of his tongue moistening a lip, “I take it that our absent friend is today’s nominee? ”The others nodded, Pippin sighed, “Oh yes, I’ll play”, he nodded slowly, “I’ll play alright…”
“Pippin!. I never realised that you felt like…”. “Are you jesting?”, Pippin interrupted, aiming a mock jealous growl in Frodo’s direction, “he’s..he’s ..”, he fumbled for the right words, “ utterly edible…”, his voice trailed.
“Well”, Frodo murmured, “I never would have guessed, you kept that one quiet”. and they all began to laugh.

Aragorn noted the darkening clouds as he re-entered the inn. He spied the hobbits, heads together giggling. They are definitely up to something. He could feel a grin forming, as he sat down, taking a long swallow of ale. “So, is anyone going to let me in on it?. I feel, truth to tell, a little conspired against”
“Oh, just a silly game we play on wet afternoons”. Aragorn wasn’t satisfied, but he let it go for now. “Well, by the look of that sky, this afternoon will be wet, and if your game causes such amusement, then maybe you could teach me”
Frodo gained possession of himself first, “We have to go home first, it’s a parlour game”. He tried and failed to bite back a laugh, Merry joined in. Aragorn caught Pippin’s gaze, and was slightly taken aback. The look was one of frank desire. As if he suddenly remembered what he was doing, Pippin started, blinked and hid his reddening face in his beer mug.

This is interesting, thought Aragorn, as they drained their mugs, what’s going on here then, and just what, exactly, was the nature of this game?
Fastening cloaks and calling a cheerio to the barman, they went out into the gathering gloom.
“We’d better get a step on, if we don’t want a soaking”. They set off at a brisk stagger, for all of them were a little inebriated.
About half way home, a warning flash of lightning, a roll of thunder, and the rain came lashing down. They ran as fast as they could, but it was hopeless, they were completely drenched. They laughed, larking about, as they climbed toward Bag End, Frodo turning his face into the torrent, running his hands through his hair, Merry grabbing Pippin for an impromptu kiss under the downpour. Aragorn again amazed by Hobbit sensuousness. Frodo laughed, “Let’s all get indoors and dry”, and they all tumbled into the hall.

Frodo poked the hall fire, getting a blaze going. “Everything off, can’t have water all over the house, I will be back presently”. He disappeared along the hall, returning momentarily with a heap of towels and robes, he handed one to Aragorn. “This is Gandalf’s, it’s always been here, it should fit”. They quickly divested themselves of wet clothes, drying themselves, and slipping into the gowns. As Aragorn fastened his about him, Pippin caught the most fleeting glimpse of the Man’s cock. He felt his mouth go dry, he swallowed hard.
Aragorn noticed. Serves you right for peeking, Master Peregrin, he thought, grinning.

“Merry, could you stoke the parlour fire, Pippin, come with me, bring the wet clothes. We need the ingredients for the game”. Merry’s head whipped round, “Did I hear a plural there?”. Frodo grinned, “You certainly did”. “Oh! Goody”, said Pippin. Aragorn was completely baffled. He followed Merry, busying himself with lighting candles.

Frodo came in, bearing a large tray with jugs and goblets. Aragorn recognised two of the pitchers, from his own cellars.
He laid the tray down carefully. As well as these on the tray, there was an ornate pipe, and the little green cloth bag. Merry spotted these, and rubbed his hands together with glee.

Pippin came in laden with blankets and pillows. Merry and he wordlessly began to spread them before the fire, scattering the pillows. They sat, Frodo looking at Aragorn and patting the spot beside him. Aragorn sat.

“First we drink, then we smoke”, Frodo hesitated, “then we play”.

He thought a moment, the idea occurred to him. “Aragorn, we will be getting fairly intoxicated, does this bother you?” Merry chimed in, “Aye, and we may use your beautiful wine in inappropriate ways”. Frodo silenced him with a look
“The pipe-weed is not..erm..ordinary pipe-weed. It’s not grown to be sold, it’s just a private crop of Sam’s. It does no harm, but it is a little strong”.
Aragorn regarded the three faces around him. Frodo’s and Merry’s alive with expectation and fun. He turned to Pippin, and was intrigued by his look of undisguised want.
“I will trust you, let us play”.

Merry ceremoniously poured four large goblets of the Minas Tirith wine, passing them around. “Now for this to be the most fun, it is best drunk quite quickly. Sorry Strider”. In four large gulps, it was gone. Aragorn was a little chagrined. This was very rare wine, and it hurt a little to see it thrown back like cheap grog.
Pippin said, “We do usually drink it properly, Strider”, seeing the man’s crestfallen look, “but just for today, trust us”, he giggled as he felt the first flush in his cheeks
In a low voice, Frodo said, “You see, drunk like that, it really heats the blood. Now, Merry, the next if you will”.
Merry poured a thick red liquid into four much smaller cups, again handing them round. “This is a bit fiery, so all at once does the trick”. They all raised their cups to each other, and swallowed. Aragorn coughed and spluttered. “Gods!!. What is that?”. “Oh, just a little experiment of mine and Merry’s. It hasn’t killed anyone yet”, said Pippin. They all laughed.
A moment later, a river of heat to every cell. Aragorn gasped.
“This heats the body”, Frodo’s throaty purr.

Frodo pulled toward him, the bag and pipe. “This is not smoked in the usual way. It is lit, inhaled once, and passed on. Hold the smoke a bit in your chest, then breath out. It may make you cough”
“May I look”. Frodo passed the bag to Aragorn, who opened it and sniffed. It was quite unlike anything he had smelled before. Certainly not Longbottom Leaf, or Old Toby.
Frodo filled the pipe, passing it to Merry, lit a spill from a candle, holding it over the pipe bowl, as Merry drew the smoke deep, handing it on to Pippin, then Frodo, who held it out to Aragorn,
“And this, my love, heats the senses”.

Aragorn drew deep. A small hand checked him. “Not too much now”, he chided gently. Aragorn handed the pipe back to Frodo, who had his own smoke.
Nothing at first, at least distinguishable from the wine and spirit, coursing through him, then quickly up the spine, like a firework in your head, dizzy, falling, a cold place deep inside, sweat beading on his brow. Frodo glanced at him, slipped an arm around Aragorn’s shoulders, turning him to rest his head on the sofa, noticing the sudden pallor. “Lean your head back, Strider, this feeling will pass in a moment”. Aragorn nodded.

Slowly he became aware of Frodo’s arm about him, the warmth of the fire, a feeling of honey in his veins, wanting to melt into the pillows, the softness of the blanket beneath him, he felt himself smile, blood returning to his face. He opened his eyes, turned slowly to look at Frodo smiling down at him. “Despite feeling the opposite, you have full use of mind and body. It just takes a little adjustment”. Frodo turned, “Merry, could I have some more wine, please?”. Merry poured, reaching over with the goblet. Frodo held it out. Aragorn moved as if he did not quite believe himself capable, grasping the cup, drinking, a slight clink as it hit teeth, passing it back.
He was beginning to feel wonderful, a deep lassitude creeping into every corner of body and mind. A huge smile, spreading across his face. Frodo leaned down and grazed Aragorn’s lips with his own. Felt the man’s mouth rise to meet him, pulled away

“Not yet, my love”. He turned to Merry and Pippin, just about to kiss, cleared his throat, giggled, and said, “I think we are quite ready to begin”.
Frodo turned back, “Sit up a bit”, and placed a pillow at Aragorn’s back, pushing him gently against it. Then with one deft move, Frodo straddled Aragorn’s lap, sitting on his thighs. Aragorn reached for him, only to have his hand gently swatted away.
“No, first we have to explain the rules”. Merry and Pippin moved closer, one either side of Frodo.
“As you no doubt realise, this is not the first time we have played”. Pippin giggled. Frodo dug him in the ribs.
“We nominate one person each time, in this case, your good self, and for our part, it is up to us to …give you pleasure, above all”, said Merry.
“Before we begin, though”, Frodo leaned forward, and kissed Aragorn hard, biting his lower lip, sucking gently at his tongue, feeling the moan rather than hearing it, then drawing away.
“That was from Sam”, he giggled, “He asked me to deliver it in person”. They all laughed.
Frodo’s voice was husky, “But for now, watch”. Frodo moved closer to Aragorn, his legs opened wide around him, putting his hands on Aragorn’s chest making lazy circles, gentle fingertips massaging now extremely sensitive nipples, making them stand erect. His head rolled back, he closed his eyes.
“Open your eyes, lover, do not break the rules”, reminded Frodo.

Merry had moved behind Frodo, kneeling up astride Aragorn’s legs. Aragorn opened his eyes to see Merry peeling the gown from Frodo’s shoulder, kissing as he went, making sure Aragorn saw every one. Then back, and a trail of kisses along Frodo’s neck, causing his head to tilt. Using his other hand, he pushed the gown down over Frodo’s arms, it pooled about his waist. Frodo reached his arms up and back, pulling Merry down for a long kiss. Merry’s brown arms snaked around Frodo’s creaminess, playing over chest and nipples, travelling lower. With a swift move Merry undid Frodo’s sash, Frodo raised slightly, and the garment was thrown to one side. Aragorn was almost overcome. To see his lover kiss another, displayed mere inches away nearly unhinged him, not with jealousy, but unexpected desire.

Aragorn felt a tug on his arm. Pippin pulled the arm around himself, snuggling in to Aragorn’s side. He smiled up at Aragorn, “We can watch together”.
Pippin let a hand wander tentatively over Aragorn’s chest, his fingers curling through a light scattering of hair to the nipple furthest from him. Unable to resist temptation any longer, he pulled the side of the gown nearest to him away and sank his mouth to the nearest nipple, sucking gently, with rapid licks. Aragorn’s hand twisted into Pippin’s curls. Frodo could feel Aragorn’s hardness, with his own through the thin silk, rocking slightly to increase pressure, their eyes locked together.

Merry shrugged off his gown, and rose to his feet. Frodo took Merry’s hand and brought him to his side. Frodo’s hands started to roam along Merry,s thighs, travelling round, and giving his backside a gentle squeeze. His lips grazed Merry’s cock, which jumped at Frodo’s touch. Merry moaned, a hand in Frodo’s hair tilting his head. Frodo looked up into Merry,s wanton smile, and opened his mouth around Merry’s cock, sucking him deeply in.

Pippin watched Aragorn’s face. Saw the eyes narrow, heard the sharp inhale, as he watched Merry and Frodo.
For his part, Pippin could have died right at that moment, Aragorn’s arm about him, of sheer happiness! His hand made it’s way shyly along Aragorns stomach, and tugged gently at the sash, he just had to see, to look. He worked the knot undone, spreading the gown apart, and sinking his mouth to the exposed belly, with a sigh. He drank Aragorn’s scent with each kiss, his hands stroking Aragorn’s hip, his chest, wherever he could reach, letting the waves of want wash over him. He felt Aragorn’s arm tug him around his middle. He looked up.
He let the tug pull him up til he was kneeling. Looking straight into Aragorn’s eyes.

To the end of his days, he would never forget that look, never in all his life did he think this would ever happen, (although he had dreamed of it often!).

Willing himself not to tremble, he returned the gaze, holding nothing back. As his
He felt long fingers undo his gown, strong hands slide it from his shoulders, an arm pulling him closer…

A sound of laughter behind him.
“Oi, Peregrin”, Merry.
“What?”, Pippin’s head snapped round, concentration shattered.
Frodo laughed, “You’re breaking the rules”.
“Stuff the rules, I’ve been wanting to do this all day”.
Merry was now kneeling next to Frodo. “Make that three years”, he murmured, smiling.
Pippin blushed deep red
Aragorn’s voice was low, a hint of tease, “Is this true, Pippin?”

Pippin turned back slowly, dared himself to look again into those eyes. Swallowed hard. Nodded.
“Well then, we had better make this worth the wait”. Aragorn pulled Pippin closer, tangling the other hand in his hair, and drew their mouths together. As their lips touched, Pippin groaned, his body started to tremble. He threw his arms around Aragorn’s neck, lips parting, his tongue finding Aragorn’s. The kiss deeper and harder than any he had known before, his body pressed hard into Aragorn’s side.
Pippin’s passion threatened to consume him, he drew away, gasping, any more and he would explode.

Merry had moved to Aragorn’s other side. “Come on, Pip, leave some for the rest of us”, in a low voice.
Pippin stretched across Aragorn’s chest kissing his cousin. “Sorry, Merry, but I just had to do that”. Their kiss inches from Aragorn’s face.
“I know”, Merry replied.

They pulled apart. Aragorn was surrounded by the Hobbits. One straddling his lap. One either side. As one they turned to look at him.
Frodo said. “I think we need to remove that gown, Strider, we would like you to lie down”.
Merry leaned in close, nipping Aragorn’s earlobe, “I want to take you”.
Pippin nibbled the other, “And I want to suck you”, his voice hoarse with want.
Frodo leaned forward, kissing Aragorn’s mouth, “And I’m going to watch”.

Merry and Pippin slipped Aragorn’s gown down, kissing a shoulder each. One soft, one demanding, hard. Aragorn’s neck arched. He was vaguely aware of Frodo’s weight lifting from his legs. Merry pulled Aragorn’s face to his, looking deep into heavy lidded grey-blue eyes. “Mmmm, my turn, I think”, and kissed the man softly, nibbling at his lips, tracing a delicate tongue around them, slowly exploring, entering, feeling an answering moan against his mouth.

Pippin unpeeled the rest of the gown, revealing Aragorn’s erect cock. “Oh!, My”, he breathed, pressing his hands together. Merry broke the kiss, and between the three, divested Aragorn of his gown, and laid him full length on the ground, Frodo tucking a pillow under the man’s head. They all sat back on their heels, they glanced at each other, then regarded the beauty of Aragorn stretched beneath them.
Aragorn felt himself flush at such close scrutiny

Pippin was the first to cave in. “I’m sorry, but I just cannae wait. I’ve just got to…..”. His mouth took Strider’s. What Pippin lacked in finesse, he more than made up for in passion. Aragorn moaned, his mouth opening wider, in spite of himself. He glanced at Frodo, whose eyes were alight, particularly at the attentions Pippin sought to bestow. It was new to the other two, just exactly what Pippin thought of his King, but they glanced at each other, realising that Pippin’s desires ran deep.

As Pip pulled reluctantly away, he murmured something into Aragorn’s ear. As Aragorn straightened slightly, his flush was plain to see. Aragorn’s gaze rested on Pippin for a second longer than it should. Felt Frodo’s gaze. Looked up. Saw Frodo smile into his eyes. ‘Take him, if you want him’, the thought wrapped around them. ‘He will be here when I am not’.
Aragorn felt a stab of guilt. The flame of remorse lit in his belly.
Doused, extinguished by a touch.
A finger exploring behind his balls. Prying, insistent. Not taking no for an answer. Pushing in. Making every nerve jump. Aragorn’s eyes flicked downward.

Merry

Parting his thighs. Kneeling between them. Who meant to make good on his promise.
Aragorn felt a loud moan escape him, when he realised what was to come. Merry reached for the pot of magic salve, his eyes meeting, holding, Aragorn’s.

He oiled them both. He parted Aragorn’s thighs, a little roughly, his need plain. And entered him. . Aragorn cried out, clutching at Merry’s hips. As Merry started to grind into him…..

And then..

A fluttering hand along his chest, followed by burning kisses. A hand pushing Merry more upright so he could get… there. He looked and looked, slowly lowering to his task. Hot hands, an even hotter mouth. Aragorn felt the burning lips along his length, about the tip, slowly easing back the skin, tongue skittering about the sensitive head, licking and sucking, teasing the weeping slit. His mind melting, senses reeling, he ventured another look.

Pippin.

His hands clutched wildly into Pippin’s hair. “Yess, yes,…oh please”.

A fevered kiss, searing his soul, heated lips upon his , a familiar tongue playing with his. A pause. A gaze into those beautiful eyes, heard a low murmur, “Let us watch them together”, felt his head lifted onto another pillow, watched him rise to his knees beside his head, bringing an erect cock to within a breath away. Felt the damp tip on his lower lip. Felt his mouth opened wider, a hot slim length scorching over his tongue

Frodo.

One hand gripped Frodo’s arse, pulling him into his mouth. The other in Pippin’s hair. Merry pounding into him. His body arcing into the pleasure, watching the whole scene. Caught Pippin’s eye, made a ‘turn around’ gesture with his hand.

Turning, Pippin kissed Merry, lay down again, and resumed. Aragorn’s hand reached into the cleft between belly and thigh. Finding Pippin’s erection. Pumping in time to the mouth on his cock. Feeling a swelling in his own mouth, Frodo finding the rhythm. Merry’s face glazed, eyelids lowering, gasps loud, so close. Pippin making small mews around Aragorn’s shaft. Frodo’s hands tangled in Aragorn’s hair, “Cannot hold on…coming…don’t stop”, his hot salt come in Aragorn’s throat.
Aragorn bucking and arching. A wild feral cry, as Merry climaxed deep in Aragorn, riding him on a long agonised thrust. Frodo sank down, taking Aragorn’s mouth with his own, “Come for me lover, let Pip take you”, he murmured around their twining tongues. Closing his eyes, a wave of delirious heat, feeling his balls tighten, pushing Pippin’s head. A long cry, a final thrust, and a flood of delicious cream in Pippin’s mouth. Aragorn broke their kiss, smiling raggedly, and winked up at Frodo. He pulled a straining Pippin towards him, and took the trembling Hobbit’s cock into his mouth.
Frodo caught Merry’s eye, both grinned to see young Pippin so undone, as Aragorn, in a few swift strokes sent Pippin laughing and moaning careening over the edge of ecstasy


Silence. At first.

Slowly hearing adjusted.

Breath short.

All four of them.

First the Hobbits, then the Man, began to laugh, breath still catching, hearts slowing, a gradual lassitude creeping over all. They withdrew, or relinquished, or unkissed, til all became separate, whole, individual.

Curled or uncurled. Each around who really mattered.

Merry around Pippin. Aragorn around Frodo.

Pippin could not resist. A last kiss. Aragorn’s hip. Merry moved, his arms tight around his Pippin, he kissed his cousin Frodo, deep and long.

“Well, if they’re goin’ to do that”. Pippin’s mouth moved to Aragorn’s, “that is…. If you are not too spent?”

Aragorn’s lips opened under the eager Hobbit’s, they drank each other in. The man could just murmur, “If you are in Minas Tirith in the future…..” Pippin could just about mutter “Ssshhhh”, as his mouth, sweet as anything, was claimed by his slightly stunned King.

Frodo turned luminous blue eyes on his lover. “Did you enjoy our little game?. You see, it is a perfectly harmless way to spend a wet afternoon”.

“Harmless!”, Aragorn laughed. “Though I do find myself wishing that I had crossed your borders many years ago. And, yes,”, he paused, looking down, “I enjoyed the game hugely”. He risked a glance at Pippin, whose ardour was most noticeable..

“Strider!”, a tone of warning, Frodo’s. Aragorn flushed to the roots of his hair.

Merry poured more wine, it was sipped, savoured this time. Little strokes, touches, kisses passed between them, the murmuring aftermath of love.

After a short while, Pippin declared himself hungry, and dragging Merry to his feet, they tottered off toward the kitchen, hand in hand.

Aragorn pulled Frodo to his side, kissing him deeply. "You have very entertaining friends, my love”, he murmured. “I had no notions of your sensual ways”. Frodo looked solemn for a moment. “We’re not all like this”, he smiled, “but since…. when I get my….sadnesses, the best thing for it…..is …loving, being held, contact. It helps me feel alive again, after the creeping deadness clutches at my heart. All my dearest friends help, either alone or, er, collectively”. Frodo felt his face redden. “ Sam and his Rose do a fine job of looking after me, too. They all try to heal me as much as they can, bless them, but I know I need more than can be done here. Although..” his voice faded, “I am going to miss you all, so very much”, faded to a sigh.

Aragorn pulled Frodo into his lap, wrapping his lover tight in warm arms. Felt the slender form shake a little, looked down with concern. “Frodo”.
Frodo lifted his head, he was laughing. He prodded Aragorn in the chest, “Well, at least you won’t want for company on your next visit to the Shire”. Frodo smiled as he recalled Pippin in the pub earlier. “He called you edible, and he certainly enjoyed making a meal of you”. Aragorn nuzzled Frodo’s face, tickling him with his stubble, his voice a low growl, “Having you for supper the other night, is one of the sweetest meals I ever ate”. Frodo giggled. “Give over”, he said, blushing, raising his face for a kiss.

Merry and Pippin reappeared carrying loaded platters. They set everything down before the fire, and all four set about an indoor picnic of ham and egg pie, tomatoes and pickles, washing it down with more wine.
Aragorn was surprised how hungry he felt, and attacked his supper ravenously. Merry chuckled, “An after-effect of the pipe-weed”, and set about his own meal.

By the time food and drink had been removed and tidied away, a blustery wet evening was drawing on. A mellow feeling spread around the room, as they smoked after supper. A few racy tales were told amid much laughter. Aragorn expressed amusement and surprise at Sam and Faramir’s dalliance in Minas Tirith. “Yes, bless him, he thought I would disapprove, so he didn’t tell me until we were on our last leg of the journey home”, Frodo chuckled.
“Aye, and you should have seen what Merry and I had to do to that Elf, to get him to spill the beans on you and Aragorn, Frodo”, Pippin chuckled.
“Yes, while you consorted with a kingling, Sam cavorted with his princeling, and we got the prince of Mirkwood between us. That was one fine party Strider!”. They all laughed.

Pippin yawned, Merry ruffled his hair. “Come on sleepyhead, let’s leave these two to themselves”. Dragging their gowns about them, they each said their individual goodbyes to Aragorn. Pippin’s kiss clinging just a moment past propriety. Merry tugged at Pippin’s hand. They kissed Frodo and left, hand in hand.

Frodo rose, holding his hand out, “Take me back to bed, Strider, hold me tight, and we’ll wait for sunup together”. He slid his arms about Aragorn’s neck. Aragorn lifted him with ease, carrying him down the hall, setting him down on the big bed. Frodo pulled the covers around them, moving into Aragorn’s arms.

They talked as night enfolded them, soft words, kisses, muffled laughter, affection, love.

Sometime in the cool pre-dawn, they made love, murmuring sweetness into each other’s mouths, gentle releases rocking them together. Frodo’s lashes could no longer stay open, his head fell to Aragorn’s chest. He looked up, sleep almost claiming him, “Hold me, my love. I always want to remember us just like this. Try not to wake me……goodnight”. They kissed once more, and Frodo slept.

Sleep would elude Aragorn this night. He did not want to miss a single moment. He murmured his love into Frodo’s hair, his mind turning over in the dark. He was glad he had told Frodo about Sam going to the Blessed Realm. He pictured the two Hobbits living out their autumn years together, devoted, caring. That would be the love of Frodo’s life.
What Frodo and he had shared, both knew couldn’t last, a weary but not grudging acceptance. Their paths lay before them, their ways were to part now. Aragorn smiled in the dark when he knew that Frodo had approved of a strong feeling between himself and Pippin. Such a giving, unselfish gesture.

As he lay there, it hit him hard. That was the reason only a Hobbit could have carried the Ring. It was not their relative innocence of the outside world, these Hobbits were truly far from innocent. Nor even fortitude and strength. It was..their generosity, the largeness of heart in such a small frame. The way in which their lives constantly twined. Sharing everything, shelter, food, love…..his mind turned back a few hours….each other. He flushed slightly, smiling into the pre-dawn gloom.

His mind ran on. Even Merry may have been capable. Sam even had possession of the damned thing, and had given it back!! Bilbo had had the wretched thing sixty odd years, and only used it as a party trick!. He had seriously underestimated Hobbits. And for that he felt some shame. A new determination rose. These folk did not need protection, they had fended for themselves quite admirably under good leaders. They needed letting alone, self-government, self-rule. He could not heal Frodo, but this he could do, and would, for his people, his beloved kin. And knowing that, he realised, that though he would miss Frodo sorely, there was a feeling of letting go…he could say good-bye at last.

He sighed, he had to go. One long, last enraptured gaze, a stolen sleepy kiss, he allowed himself, before quietly slipping out of bed and into his clothes. He stood at the foot of the bed, “Goodbye Frodo”, he whispered, and turned. An answering whisper from behind him, “Farewell Strider”. He meant to go, meant to open the door…but he spun, saw the open arms, ran back grinning, and slid into them. “Frodo, you know I must go”. “Yes, but not without one last kiss, you woke me blundering about”, Frodo laughed softly. The last kiss, warm, slow, loving. “Goodbye my love”, Frodo murmured. “Goodbye my little one, I will always love you”. Aragorn stood, walked to the door, turned, bunched his right fist, laying it over his heart, bowed slightly. Hobbits had no such formal gesture. One corner of his mouth turning up, Frodo blew Aragorn a kiss. They both laughed aloud. Then Aragorn turned again and left.

Saddling Brego in the pre-dawn, he stowed his gear, and led the horse into the lane, not mounting til he was beyond the village. Man and horse walked past fields and hobbit-holes, not a soul in sight, nor sound to be heard, save Brego’s hooves, and a few night hunting birds. Early mist wreathed about Brego’s legs, thinning as the sun rose. Aragorn mounted, turning them from the road now into open country, a little breeze picking up.

“Come on, Brego, let us run”, and, tapping the horse’s sides with his heels, he shouted, “North, my friend”. Brego tossed his head, and beginning to gather speed, was soon galloping at full stretch,through the tall dewy grasses. Aragorn licking his lips tasting the breeze, laying low over his steed’s back, hair flying and whipping around his face, laughing into the wind.

The End


Here endeth this short series. Please review. Thank you

Written Sept 2005