HAPPY BITHDAY BEATRICE!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY beatriceorme! Thank you so much for your wonderful stories! I'm looking forward to reading the mathom ... ;)

Hourglass - Chapter Ten - A Divine Magic

Here is this week's chapter - in which we (finally!) get to share in some F/S *hotness* - thank you for your patience. All those avoiding the dreaded OC can open their eyes now. :)Thanks to mechtild for validating certain anatomical pet names. :D The odd little rhymes in this chapter are stolen from my ancient well thumbed copy of Mrs Grieve's "A Modern Herbal"TITLE: Hourglass - Chapter Ten - A Divine MagicAUTHOR: IgrainePAIRING: F/S F/OCRATING: NC-17 - This chapter is rated NC-17TIMELINE: Pre-questSUMMARY: Frodo is drawn onto a dangerous path.DISCLAIMER: These characters belong to JRR Tolkien. I promise to return them unharmed. I make no money.WARNING: This chapter contains hotness of an explicit nature - please don't read if you're likely to be squicked or offended. CHAPTER TEN – A Divine MagicSam turned the hourglass, starting time once again; hope draining and then renewing with each slow turn. He watched for a moment, the silver slipstream beginning – building the garden within – grain by grain, then replaced it once more, being careful to position it within the very centre of the mantelpiece, as he had been shown. Yarroway, Yarroway,Pretty herb of eastern tree,Bear a white bloom,If I bleed, my love love’s me… The yarrow is a pretty herb – but its roots are invasive, they travel in the darkness, bursting into borders where they have no place. The yarrow has a sharp leaf, capable of harm. It can divine the nature of true love, if the rhyme is spoken with the cutting edge against the skin. Like pulling petals off daisies, only crueller. The sky had grown dark. Sam walked over to the window and looked out, anxiously noting the red rimmed clouds gathering over the trees, threatening snow. Frodo had been gone for hours; Sam had counted each and every one as they passed, looking out over the empty fields and beyond, where the trees stood black against the pale sky, growing ever darker as the sun sank low in the sky. After every dark spell of plummeting hope, there came another hour of waiting as the glass was turned and again Sam would take up his watch by the window. If only there was a way he could divine the outcome of this day, he would gladly throw himself upon the fates, for the time weighed heavily upon his shoulders and the hope in his heart seemed tremulous and thin. The study was dark and cold, as it always was when his master wasn’t present. It slept without him, empty as a hearth without a fire, nothing within it making sense, even the mathoms on the shelf seeming formless and empty, purposeless without Frodo. If he didn’t return – what would happen to them? He noted them one by one. The hourglass, the urn, the blue glass, the little dwarfish carving – the silver candlestick…The silver candlestick…Getting up and walking over to the mantle piece, he put his hand on the empty space between the carving and the wall. There was a faint ring in the wood where it had once stood. Gone. Sam’s heart missed a beat as the truth settled on him, bursting out with the first heavy flake of snow tumbling against the window.What else had he stolen? A hard knot of ice forming within his heart, he saw the small spaces he had overlooked, a slight distortion of the familiar arrangement of heirlooms and books. Here and there, his hands brushed over the ghosts of missing things, wondering how he had failed to notice so many vacancies. What else had he stolen? Yarroway, Yarroway,Bear my love away…Sam pressed his fingers against the cold glass, watching the snowflakes hurrying from the dark sky, frantically trying to cover the garden in a blanket of ice. Begging them to cease, he looked out, through the glass, wishing he were with his love, keeping him from harm. Aimless, he stood, angry and fearful, his breath a warm cloud melting. Why was it he was always standing on the wrong side of the door?Feeling the frustration rising, he groped around in his mind for a task to occupy his hands, for he felt he would cease breathing should he sit here any longer. Looking back into the cold, cheerless smial, he shivered and thought of Frodo and the snow and how chilled he would be when he returned. Making his mind up swiftly, he determined to draw Frodo home with a divination of his own. ~~~Returning from the woodshed, laden down with applewood, still bearing marks of the green summer, Sam strode across the garden. Snowflakes dazzling his eyes, he lowered his head and felt wet ice slipping cold down the back of his neck, trying not to think further than the green back door. When he entered the smial a flurry of snow gained the room with him. Shivering and wet, he bent over the small bed of embers sitting low in the hearth. Throwing on a handful of sticks, he caught the flames, sending them dancing, bringing life back into the room. He sat back on his heels and watched the prisms of light scattering over the hearthstone, enjoying the sheer pleasure in the bursting heat and the dance. Careful to keep the fire alive, he placed three logs upon it, watching as the flames licked about the moss – catching and kindling sparks – releasing the sweet apple fragrance into the room. There was power in the old wood, a charm against all the evils of the world. Sam clung to its warmth and ferocity. They were nearly at the turn of the year and soon it would be time to bring in the green. It wasn’t too early to begin. Sunk deep in a purposeful calm, Sam methodically worked his way through the smial. When every hearth was ablaze, he began to light the lamps and when all the lamps were alive, every candle he could find was illuminated, dissipating every last shard of darkness. Sweating with the heat, Sam unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt, his skin burnished to gold in the candlelight.After making up a fire in Frodo’s bedroom hearth, he lingered a while in the intimate quiet, smoothing and straightening rumpled bed linen, pausing to lay his cheek against the pillow and breathe in the scent of desire upon the creased white pillowcase, his heart racing with the danger and the thrill of such an act. Then he rose and tidied away the clothes that lay strewn upon the floor. Amongst them he found the deep blue shirt and breeches that Asher had worn. Holding them lightly in his hands, he stood before the snapping flames, watching the light penetrating the thin fabric. It still smelt of the stranger – sandalwood and weed, overlaid with a sweetness that was almost cloying. Holding the shirt taut against the light, Sam was almost driven to cast it into the flames, the urge throwing rational thought from his mind, but he managed to still his hasty hand and, with his stomach lurching sickeningly, he took it from the room instead and threw it into a dark corner of the laundry, where he hoped it might be forgotten. Closing the door, he whispered a warning to his heart never to set a finger on it again.The snow was slowing to a gentle pattering of lace, soft as fleece against Sam’s hot cheek as he cut down the holly and the evergreen. When he had a good pile at his feet, he heaved them up into his arms and carried them into the smial. His nostrils full of the dark magic of the old trees, he stood upon a chair and fixed them up above the kitchen hearth in a heavy swathe, hung from two large hooks that had once been for the drying of herbs, but had been utilised for this purpose for as long as Sam could recall. Sharp needle stings cut his hands as he twisted and secured the branches of holly and yew and tiny jewelled berries fell pattering to the floor. Stepping down from the chair, Sam stood and stared at the shadowing green, trembling a little from exertion and excitement, feeling the charm stirring in his blood as he smelt the dark fragrance mingling with the scent of orchard apples, crisp and sweet and mellow. The smial had been transformed, now all he needed was to prepare dinner and find a good bottle of wine, preferably a rich, sultry red, the kind that would stain lips and tongue. Sam trembled, recalling the gliding touch of those sweet lips upon the curve of his neck – like a butterfly shivering against his hand. Sweet captured kisses. There must be more, there was so much more still left unsaid, so much unexplored. Sam had so much to give.He mustn’t be afraid. There was no reason to be afraid.Dragging a trembling hand down his face, Sam plunged into the crisp darkness of the cellar. ~~~ When Frodo gained sight of the hill, he stopped for a moment and stood looking – the last of the snow drifting down over the dappled fields. A night of bright stars swam overhead and an impossible purity lay under his feet. Taking deep breaths, Frodo’s heart stilled when he saw the bright lights in the windows of Bag End, dazzling on the snow – piercing the darkness of the early dusk. It was home, but it had changed unutterably. It was as dangerous now as the distant mountains, full of unfamiliar territory and unsteady foundations, tricks and traps and hopeless, empty expanses. Sam would be waiting – dear, beautiful, loyal Sam – eager to please, hungry for love. Motherless and needy as he once was. Sam – with the smile that made his body quiver, and broad, strong hands that could hold him whilst he trembled with desires he hadn’t the strength to suppress. He covered the last short distance on unsteady feet, both hopeful and uncertain of what awaited him there – his heart torn and pricking with guilt. Leaping the fence at the bottom of the garden, his cold feet landing in the old rhubarb patch, Frodo walked slowly up to his own back door, feeling like an intruder. The kitchen was ablaze, the light spilled from beneath the door. Putting his hand against the icy wood, he turned the latch and pushed into the warm room. Heat and wood smoke and the forest rushed into his swimming senses as he stood in his own kitchen, his cloak dripping wet onto the floor, his heavy pack slung at his feet. Casting a quick look around at the altered room, his eyes were drawn to the great arc of dark yew. Walking forwards, he stood beneath the shadow of it, feeling as if he were being observed by an ancient spirit. But there was no malevolence there, only a deep understanding that rippled under his skin. Turning back into the room, he froze. Sam was standing in the cellar doorway, his arms full of apples. His hair was rumpled and disarrayed and his clothes looked as if they’d been thrown on – the buttons open and the tails hanging out behind, soft lips were parted on a breath and his eyes were flickering amber amidst the green. A little pointed ear poked from the cloud of golden curls and Frodo’s eyes fixed upon it with an urgency that surprised him. Fascinated, he walked silently up to Sam and reached out his arms to his bewildered gardener, offering assistance, even as his mouth moved inches from the beautiful golden tip, his warm breath covering it and causing Sam to tremble and drop several apples onto the floor, three heavy thuds resounding in the silence. Neither moved, their breathing quickening in the weighted stillness, the apples sliding in their arms, eager to fall. Sam spoke softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You came home…”Frodo heard at once, the pain in Sam’s voice and he let his apples tumble as he raised Sam’s face to the light. “You thought that I was leaving?”Sam’s eyes filled with tears. “Aye. He told me so. That you would go and never come back.”“But you were expecting me?” Frodo replied, his eyes flickering around the decorated smial. “You made me a fine welcome.”“It was hope – that’s all. Hopes and dreams…”Frodo watched a heavy tear sliding down Sam’s cheek and he knew without doubt that Sam loved him and the wonder of it nearly took the breath from his body. “Sam…” Sam looked up and Frodo saw gold within the green. He held Sam’s face like a precious jewel and looked into it, wanting to read every little sign to be certain that he was right. “Sam – do you love me?” Frodo asked, his voice unsteady and thick with emotion.Tears raced down Sam’s cheeks and trickled between Frodo’s fingers where they cupped and stroked. “Aye, I love you,” he whispered, his voice a hoarse whisper. “I don’t recall a time when I didn’t love you.”“As a master and a friend?” Frodo said, desperately attempting to conceal his fear.Sam stared straight into Frodo’s eyes and ran a hesitant finger across Frodo’s cheek, the lightest of touches, a look of wonder on his face so piercing, Frodo closed his eyes against the beauty of it. “I love you in every way that can be named and some that can’t. I don’t know if there is a name for it – only that I can’t be without you and when I thought you gone I near forgot my own name.”Frodo bit back tears as he pulled Sam against him and held him tight, their bodies pressed so close that he could feel Sam’s heart racing against his own. He stroked Sam’s hair, the golden waves rippling under his fingers as he carded through it, brushing the little eartip as they passed, making Sam gasp against his shoulder, where his face was buried, sobbing, his hands clutching Frodo’s damp sleeves. “Sshhh…” Frodo whispered, stroking and caressing, swallowing deep the dark thoughts that rose with the memory of the one he had left behind. “It’s all right, love…”Eventually they drew apart and Sam stood, blinking and wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “I’m sorry.”Frodo held out a hand. “Don’t let’s waste this good fire – come and sit with me.”Sam looked down at the apples that had rolled into the corner of the room. “I was going to bake you a pie.”“Never mind, we still have apples.” Bending down, he picked up a few, tossing one to Sam and biting into one himself. “Sweet,” he mumbled, stripping off his wet cloak and sitting himself down upon the fireside settle, curling his feet up beneath him, his eyes dancing in the firelight. Sam settled beside him, his cheeks flushed and rosy and his lips wet with running juice. He watched Frodo intently as he ate his apple, taking long slow bites. Hating the distance between them, Frodo reached out and laid his hand on Sam’s shoulder, pulling him gently in. Sam went eagerly, settling himself against Frodo’s chest, his legs splayed along the dark wood, alongside Frodo’s, their feet brushing together. Frodo listened to the soft noises Sam made as he finished his apple, diligently eating every last piece of sweet white fruit and sucking the juice so as not to waste a drop. Tenderly, Frodo toyed with Sam’s curls, the spreading golden crown just beneath his chin and as he did so he felt Sam’s feet curling around his own. Laughing lightly, dizzy with exhilaration, Frodo bent and soft as a breath, kissed the golden ear tip. Sam jerked back against him and gasped audibly. A log snapped in the fire and Frodo leaned back, his fingers continuing their gentle play, pulling and twirling each tiny curl. Frodo heard Sam groan low in this throat and toes twined around his own. Frodo closed his eyes and tried to still his quickened breaths.Oh, be slow. Slowly…He warned himself even as the fire spread out from the very core of his being, now hardened and pulsing with delight. Surely Sam must feel it, sitting so close between his legs? Sam wriggled back against him and the burning pleasure of it nearly made Frodo swoon, so he stilled his body and fought for air, like one who is drowning. “Frodo,” Sam whispered. “Frodo…”Frodo held back, biting his lips, his fingers twisting in Sam’s hair, holding him steady, afraid of his own passion. “Sam, is this – is this what you truly want?” he said, his body tense and hard, taut as a bowstring. Sam twisted against him, so that their faces were just inches apart, Frodo could feel the heat of desire radiating through Sam’s skin as he breathed upon his lips the taste of apples. “Aye – I want it,” he ground out, shakily. “I want you.”Before Frodo could think of another word, Sam was kissing him. Kissing him strong and firm, his hands sliding down Frodo’s cheeks, stroking and re-forming, cupping the kiss between his hands. Frodo clutched at Sam’s shoulders for support as he found his head hitting the high side of the settle, his lips opening to Sam’s searching tongue. Fire leaped in his belly and his legs bent to pull Sam closer against his throbbing core. Sam ground himself against him as he plunged into the heat of Frodo’s mouth, their tongues twining together, Sam luring Frodo deeper into his mouth and trapping him there, his fingers making circles upon Frodo’s jaw as his own moved slowly and rhythmically up and down. When at last the kiss eased to little nips and sucks, they pulled themselves apart, still clutching and staring at one another, bewildered and enflamed. “Sam…”Sam hushed him with a gentle kiss. “Will you take me to bed?” he said, getting up and looking down at Frodo where he lay, breathless and flushed, his dark curls falling into his eyes.Frodo eased himself upright on trembling legs that had no more substance than air. “Yes, love,” he said, shaking. Sam turned to lead the way but Frodo lingered for a moment, insecurities straining to be heard beneath the pounding of his blood. “Sam…” he said and Sam turned in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe, his body outlined in a ring of gold. “Yes, Frodo, me dear?”Frodo would have spoken then but the words jarred in his throat. “Nothing, Sam,” he said, “it’s nothing…”Sam reached out a hand and, still smiling, led Frodo out into the flickering passage where they passed as soft as shadows, holding their breath.~~~ The bedroom was hot, stifling even as Frodo sat down upon the edge of the bed watching as Sam moved about the room lighting candles and setting the fire to rights, piling on more logs and brushing up the cinders. Sam moved to draw the curtain across the window but Frodo stopped him.“No – leave it, Sam. The night is beautiful.” Sam looked out and admired the stars. “They are beautiful, aren’t they? They look like they’re dancing!”Frodo smiled and climbed up onto the bed where the quilt was spread clean and soft, not a trace of the previous night remained. Frodo wished he could wipe it out altogether, but there was no hope of that. Lying back on the pillows, he watched Sam looking out in innocent bliss, his eyes full of wonder. “Come to me, Sam,” he said, feeling a terrible emptiness wash over him, aching to be filled, holding out his arms to his love, vulnerable and afraid without the heat of wine in his head. Sam climbed onto the bed, gazing down on Frodo’s face, ethereal in the half-light. He smiled sweetly as he lay down beside Frodo, his head propped up to better observe the rich beauty below. “I feel like dancing,” he said, softly. Frodo smiled and raised a hand to Sam’s face, gently caressing. “Dance with me,” he said and closed his eyes, pulling Sam’s head down so that their lips met once again and moved in hungry rhythm, Frodo urging Sam on with quick bites and darts of his tongue, feeling the blissful relief of love surging through him as he raked his fingers through Sam’s hair.Breaking apart, Sam sat shaking, his lips swollen with kisses and his eyes half -drowsy with lust. “I want to touch you,” he said. “Can I touch you?”Frodo murmured his assent, closing his eyes as Sam started to unbutton his shirt and pull it from his shoulders. The heat in the room made the fabric cling to his skin and Sam had to wrench it from his arms forcibly before casting it aside and sitting back to look down on what he had revealed. Breathing hard, Sam began to undress himself, pulling his shirt off over his head, not wanting to waste time with buttons. Frodo’s heart raced and his head span with excitement, the heat prickling his skin, making him sweat, his body glistening in the candlelight, courted by shadow and starlight – the image of perfection. Sam quickly kicked off his breeches and lay down over Frodo, covering him as the fresh snow covered the fields. Frodo raised his head from the pillows and gently suckled upon Sam’s neck, wanting to taste. Sam groaned and tossed back his head, their arousals brushing together expectantly, kindling flame. Sam tasted of the snow – fresh and clean – as if he were truly a spirit of the earth. Frodo suckled harder, hungry and fierce, and Sam moaned again and pulled Frodo against him, moving his hips restlessly – seeking. Frodo let go, shocked by the mark he had made on Sam’s flawless skin. Soothing it with long, slow laps of his tongue, he felt the slow exploration of Sam’s hands over his chest and down to his navel. He felt Sam’s fingers on the buttons of his breeches.Lifting his hips, he let Sam slide them down his legs and off his feet. He heard them falling to the floor with a soft sound. “Frodo…” Sam moaned, stroking his fingers down the length of Frodo’s body, sitting on his heels, with the firelight flickering behind, his strong, clenched thighs and full, swaying cock illuminated by the light. Sam looked powerful, confident – stronger than Frodo’s wildest imaginings. “I want to taste you,” Sam said, his eyes devouring Frodo’s skin. “You’re so beautiful, Frodo. I love you so much.” “Please, Sam…” Frodo whispered, his head aching with the effort of watching. It slammed back down as Sam took him deep into his mouth, adoring his hot flesh with his eager curling tongue, dragging cries from Frodo’s tight throat, making his hands clench in the sheets as he felt waves of sticky heat flowing through his skin. Sucking and stroking as Frodo writhed on the damp sheets, all conscious thought was driven from Frodo’s mind – only sensation remained and the awareness that this was the purest pleasure that he had ever felt and he never wanted it to end. Groaning with the effort, he felt dimly in his mind that he wanted to stop Sam before it was too late and he clutched feebly at Sam’s hair as the blinding waves of orgasm started to claim him. Sam tried to pull up Frodo’s hips, holding him captive, but Frodo cried out Sam’s name with such vehemence that Sam was shocked into submission and let him go, relinquishing the trembling, shining cock with reluctance, kissing it softly where it rested against Frodo’s hitching belly. “Sam, come here,” Frodo gasped and Sam crawled up the bed and lay down beside him, looking into Frodo’s face with love struck eyes, his lips moist and glistening, his fingers caressing, pushing back Frodo’s hair. “I love you, Sam, you know that don’t you? You know that I love you?” Frodo urged, his eyes flashing dark and wild. “I know now,” Sam said, smiling, “I think I always knew…”Frodo laid a finger against Sam’s lips. “I never told you – I was so afraid…”“Of what?” Sam asked, laughing, kissing Frodo lightly again and again, draping his thigh over Frodo’s hip. “Of this,” Frodo said. “This?” Sam sounded surprised and looked at Frodo with amusement in his eyes. “Why would you be scared of me loving you, making you happy?”Frodo shook his head, the sting of his own folly making it hard to meet Sam’s gaze. “Let’s not talk anymore, not now,” Frodo said. “Love me, Sam, just love me.” Sam’s smile broadened and spread to his eyes, bathing them with warmth. “Yes…” he whispered, pulling them together, feeling Frodo gasp as he held his slender hips and guided them against him. “Turn around,” Sam whispered, shifting Frodo so that he lay with his back to Sam’s chest. Sam stroked Frodo gently as he moulded his body against the soft curve of Frodo’s behind. “Sshhh, love, you’re trembling…”“Sam….”“Shhhh….it’s all right, me dear – I won’t hurt you.” Sam moved gently, rubbing himself against Frodo, pushing between his legs, reaching with his hand, their cocks brushing together with each gentle thrust. Frodo gasped and arched back to pull Sam closer, his head twisting to reach Sam’s mouth. Kissing clumsily, they moved together, quickening as Frodo began to moan and push back against Sam’s chest. Sam’s thrusts were slick and fast, sweat and stickiness easing each thrust, so the next was smoother, hotter, bringing Frodo to the edge and then pulling him back, his climax tightening and heaving inside as he cried Sam’s name and fought to hold them both together, his stomach muscles clenched and quivering. Love you, Love you, Love you, Love you…“Oh, love…” Sam groaned and gripped Frodo’s shoulders as he shuddered and spurted warm between Frodo’s thighs. Frodo twisted in Sam’s arms and held him as he came, feeling the wings of his climax lifting him as he fell onto the pillows, pulling Frodo down on top of him. “Ohhhh…” Sam groaned and looked blearily into Frodo’s face. “Ohhh…what have I done?” Frodo smiled, kissing Sam with infinite tenderness, tasting himself on Sam’s lips. “I took for meself and left you wantin’” he panted. “Let me…”“No, Sam,” Frodo said, curling into Sam’s broad chest, his face nuzzling the soft golden skin, breathing in the loving warmth. “But you haven’t…”“No,” said Frodo and smiled, listening to the slowing of Sam’s steady heart. “It would be no matter, Frodo, honest…”Frodo laughed and wriggled against Sam, pulling Sam’s hand over and curling it around his cock. “If you insist,” he said, sighing as Sam began to slowly stroke and pull. It wasn’t long before Frodo was crying out and spilling over Sam’s hand and Sam held him until the shudders had subsided and his cock had softened and shrank away, and even then he held it in his palm, like the most delicate of flowers.Frodo blinked and the room stopped spinning. He raised his head and his Sam was there, smiling and watching over him, stroking his damp hair back from his forehead. “Thank you, my love,” he said, looking up into Sam’s gentle eyes.“For what?” Sam pulled the quilt up over them both where they still lay entwined. “For waiting for me.”“I would have waited here forever, Frodo. I would never have given up hope.” Sam bent and kissed the top of Frodo’s head. “What would you have me do? Should I leave you to rest?”Frodo raised a hand and clutched at Sam’s curls. “Sleep here, please Sam love, don’t leave me…” “I’ll not leave you, Frodo.” Sam held him tight, breathing in the dark yew - the stars glimmering on the snow and the fires slowly dying. To be continued…

Festivals and Fro-lics

Finally plucked up the courage to take my two tearaways to their first festival today - I haven't been to any since having the kids and as it was smoulderingly hot today and a few friends were going - I took them both to a nearby one at Stainsby. N was (without a doubt) the wildest child there - running around with her clothes half off, no shoes, a rather smudged butterfly painted on her face. She did escape me (several times) but thankfully, there were enough of us there to keep an eye on her and it was small enough that we couldn't easily lose her. T turned a nasty shade of pink in the heat and spent the day trying to drink our beer - but still let his mum have a lovely time lying in the sun listening to beautiful acoustic music. Kathryn Williams was wonderful. I saw Asher (sure it was him) helping make a willow structure. Strange when you see characters from your own fanfic wondering about the place. I hope I didn't stare too much! Yes, the sun has probably gone to my head... :)The next step ... camping! :O

FIC: Hourglass - Chapter Nine - The Ring of Yew

Having decided to really try and make headway with this fic - I have finished chapter nine and I'm posting it up tonight so I can move on with the rest. I'm sorry if I'm overloading people with too much to read, but this chapter is a little shorter than the rest. I'm writing this quick - while I feel inspired. I wrote this chapter in a very excited state, I hope it makes sense. Frodo learns a few secrets and makes his choice. :)I know I promised *smut* but that seems to be holding out for chapter ten - I think that's why I'm rushing on too - got to get there quick! Too much angst - need some loving... :DTITLE: Hourglass - Chapter Nine - The Ring of YewAUTHOR: IgrainePAIRING: F/S F/OCRATING: NC-17 - This part is PG-13TIMELINE: Pre-questSUMMARY: Frodo is drawn onto a dangerous path. How can Sam protect what isn't his?DISCLAIMER: These characters belong to JRR Tolkien. I promise to return them unharmed. I make no money. :(CHAPTER NINE – The Ring of YewI am a spirit of no common rate:The summer still doth tend upon my state;And I do love thee. Therefore go with me.William Shakespeare – A Midsummer Night’s DreamDeep in the heart of the forest the light grew dim. The pale red winter’s sky was captured and restrained by a web of dark branches and what sunlight there was left, was soon extinguished. Old oak trees that shimmered emerald in the summer, now stood patient through the dead months, holding their breath and underfoot lay a soft carpet of decay. There was a path through the trees, but it was a secret way and little known. Asher swore the elves showed him and he had followed, hastening to catch a handful of their silver lights. They lured him and baffled him with their songs, dragging him under bushes and through thickets, until he was tattered and torn. When he felt himself close upon their tail, they fled into the dark trees and left him breathless and panting, laughing in a clearing of yew trees, powerful with an old magic – a black ring in the middle of the white oaks. Frodo fought to keep up with Asher’s quick footsteps as the younger hobbit leapt nimbly over fallen logs and climbed up steep banks, his hands clutching at roots and branches as his feet scrambled behind, quick as a fox. Every now and then Asher would sit down and wait as Frodo struggled to catch up. His heart pounding, Frodo clambered up a vertical bank, struggling for breath and cursing his months of inactivity. Hauling himself upwards, hand over hand, whenever he raised his head he saw the mighty oaks lining the summit like formidable men, their faces stern and appraising. Asher had climbed the lower branches of one of the trees and sat watching Frodo, his feet dangling and dancing, his face split with a smile. When at last he reached the trees, Frodo slumped down on the ground exhausted. Asher jumped down with a soft thud and lay on the forest floor, golden leaves and vermilion moss creeping through his hair, like a crown. His eyes sparkled as he looked up at Frodo, who was loosening his collar and trying to catch his breath.“Do you happen to have a pipe?” Asher asked. “I fancy a smoke.”Frodo sighed and rootled in the pack he had thrown down on the ground beside him. His hand soon located the smooth curving wood and the soft green pouch and these he threw to Asher, who grinned his thanks and began to light up, the flash of flame fierce in the still, dark air. “Was that story true – about the elves?” Frodo asked, turning to Asher, who was lying on his back blowing little interconnecting smoke rings.“Of course!” Asher replied, smiling.“I never know whether to believe a word you say.” Frodo lay back beside him, watching the rings drifting up into the imprisoned sky.“Then you are a hobbit of good sense,” Asher replied, avoiding Frodo’s eye.“Who are you, anyway?” “Who am I? I’m anything you want me to be, Frodo.” “No, truthfully, I want to know. No more moonshine, please,” Frodo urged, turning his face towards Asher’s. As their eyes interlocked, Frodo saw the fauntling emerge, soft eyed and needy inside the changeling face. “What do you want to know?” Asher’s voice was light, but Frodo could sense the unease beneath, a tremor of nervous energy caught up in his fingers turning over the scattered leaves.“Why have you run away from your family?” Asher flinched at the direct question and tossed handfuls of leaves into the air as he felt about for an answer. “You met my brothers,” he said. “I did,” Frodo replied. “They seemed to love you dearly.”Asher snorted and laughed aloud, a brutal, cold sound that rang through the air. “Love!” he cried. “Love?”“Tell me,” Frodo said, softly.Without warning, Asher clambered to his feet, shaking out and stamping on the contents of the pipe. Then he walked away, his body a silhouette against the red sky on the summit of the rise. Frodo rose to follow, angry with himself for upsetting the lad, but eager to hear more, his feet sliding in his haste. Catching up with Asher, they walked one behind the other, tracking the path from memory, Asher striding determinedly ahead, Frodo padding behind. The trees slept, the animals hid for fear of snow. Not a living thing stirred and the air promised sleep. “They don’t know the meaning of the word, Frodo…” Asher continued, speaking in short bursts, in rhythm with his long loping strides, his booted feet leaving deep imprints in the moss, the only evidence of their passage. “Oh they keep me close…I’m the youngest, you see...and the cleverest…and the prettiest…” he added, turning to wink at Frodo. “They want to keep me but they won’t …not anymore…they won’t have me under their hands again.”Half running, they came upon the glade suddenly and even Asher seemed surprised to see the dark yew trees looming up ahead. He stopped dead in his tracks, allowing Frodo to slip over to his side. “Is this the place?” Frodo asked, relieved that they had last reached their destination, for he was weary and longing to rest.Asher nodded. “It is – I didn’t expect to see it so soon, it’s as if it’s moved to a different spot of it’s own accord. Do you think that’s possible, Frodo?”“I don’t know!” Frodo smiled. “I’d like to think so.”“So would I!” Asher pushed forwards, breaking through the wet, prickly branches and disappearing from view.Frodo soon followed, curious to know what lay beyond. Putting his shoulder against the dark canopy, the heady pinewood scent filled his senses as he plunged into the dense curtain. Blinking, he found himself standing on the other side. The grass was green and soft and here and there white star flowers bloomed eerily, their light vivid and uncanny. Asher sat in the midst of them and at his feet lay a ring of rocks inside which he quickly arranged a fire, gathering sticks from the clearing. Spinning around, Frodo noticed a rough shelter built of branches and covered with sodden blankets. “Have you slept here at night?” Frodo asked, thrilled at the magic that hummed in the secret place. Asher nodded, feeding the fire with sticks. “Once only. They soon found me – they always do.”“They were worried about you?” Asher laughed mirthlessly. “You really don’t see do you Frodo? They don’t care about me they just want to control me. They won’t let me be free – they won’t let me make my own choices – they won’t even let me love…”Frodo crouched down beside Asher, passing him some larger logs, the heat of the leaping flames prickling his skin. “You have loved?”“I have – once. But they soon put an end to that.”“I’m sorry…” Frodo replied.“It’s all right.” Asher turned to Frodo and looked at him with blinding gentleness. “I have you now.”Frodo’s heart plummeted within him like a stone and his body froze. “Asher…”Asher got to his feet and walked over to the shelter that stood nearby. Laying his cloak on the ground, he sat down and beckoned Frodo to join him. “Don’t worry, the grass is dry.” Sitting down, Frodo sank into the soft ground and watched the fire dancing in the heart of the circle. “He loves you, doesn’t he?” Frodo drew a silent breath and held it ragged in his throat. “I don’t know…”“Then you must be a fool and you’re no fool,” Asher stroked a fingertip over Frodo’s full mouth.“I don’t think he knows what he wants, he’s young…”“I’m young – I know what I want.”“I know that!” Frodo turned to Asher and put an arm around his jutting shoulders as he sat, taut, hugging his own knees, looking for all the world like a sulking tween despite his words. “I tried to put him off, you know. I did my best. I wanted you for myself, I still do. I wanted to lure you away with me and ravish you on the green grass.” Asher rocked slowly forwards and backwards on his heels.Frodo tightened his grip on Asher’s shoulder, pulling him against him and resting his chin on the black crown. “Where is your mother, Asher?”“She’s gone, many years gone…”Frodo bent his head and gently kissed Asher’s forehead, the skin cool and moist against his lips. Asher looked up, in his eyes a world of sorrow. “I thought you were the answer!”“And you were mine.” “But you belong to him, to the gardener.”“To Sam.”Asher nodded, a tear trickling down his cheek, which he swiftly swiped away. “Look at me – idiot lad, good for nowt!”“Shhhh, don’t say hard things, don’t…” Frodo soothed Asher gently and caressed his hair. Asher jumped back, crouching and staring at Frodo as if he had burned him. “And don’t you go feeling sorry for me and stroking me without no promise of anything better. I don’t want it.”“Sorry, I’m sorry…” Frodo reached out a hand but Asher drew away and stalked over to the fire, kicking at it with his boots.“You were nowt next to him anyway – precious, he was.”“What happened?” Asher shook his head, his cheeks flushed with agitation. “They took him away, didn’t they? They saw us together, him and me, here in the circle. I was taking him - I had him up against that tree and it was the best thing I ever had and ever likely will…”“You loved him.”“Yes, I loved him, Frodo. I would have torn up that tree and pulled down the moon for him. I would have sunk myself in the water…”Frodo looked at Asher startled, his eyes widening. “Was that why you were there that day – on the ice? Did you mean to do it?”Asher laughed, his face turning evasive once again. “Now that would be telling.”Frodo shook his head. “Telling tales?”“Shall we?” ~~~A long while they lay together, side by side on the fragrant grass, the yew trees keeping out the cold and the snow clouds rolling in. “So, Frodo, will you come with me?” Asher said, twining their fingers together. “Free yourself?”“Leave Sam?”“Leave it all – find the other side of the sea, lie with me – learn to deceive. I think you’d be good.”Frodo turned his face into the flowers. “I can’t.” “Not for me?”“Not even for you.”“My heart will break, but it is your choice, friend,” Asher sighed, staring up as the first flakes fell silent as stars. “Don’t say that – you’re stronger than me.” Frodo felt a tiny wet kiss melting upon his nose. “I’m a liar and a thief.”“So am I.”Asher turned on his elbow and leaned over Frodo. “May I have a last kiss before I go?”“Where are you going, Asher?” “I’m going to find what lies beyond.”Frodo raised a hand and drew Asher down, their lips pressing warm as the cold ice fell around them beautiful and sear. When it was over, Asher sat up and began to pull out packages from inside his long, heavy coat. “What are you doing?” Frodo asked, staring as more and more bags were produced, like rabbits from a hat.“Restoration,” Asher replied, opening up a leather pouch and tipping the contents into Frodo’s lap. “They told me what to do. I was only obeying orders, sir.”Frodo’s gaze widened as he saw what it was that lay in a heavy heap in his lap. Trinkets and mathoms, mainly, small, fine things - old timepieces, quills, candlesticks, spoons, trinkets and jewellery – a ring. Frodo started, grabbing the small circle of gold and thrusting it safely into his pocket. Asher watched him enviously; assessing with his eyes as if weighing up how easy Frodo would be to pin defenceless to the ground. “I didn’t want it, anyway,” Asher said, dragging his eyes away. “They wanted it. They asked for it.”Frodo piled the objects into his pack and drew it tight securely. “Thank you for returning them,” Frodo said. “They are Bilbo’s things and they are in my safekeeping.”Asher smiled. “My pleasure. But it comes with a price.”Frodo hefted the pack onto his back and looked up. “And what is that?”“If I need help, you will give it. I know what that is, Frodo. A magic ring would come in very useful if I need to disappear.” “Granted.” Frodo turned away and searched about for the way through the trees. “You will need my help, you won’t find your way alone.”“I must get back – Sam will be waiting. I have a good memory and I trust the fair ones to help me should I fall onto a false track.”Asher walked up to him and laid a hand on Frodo’s shoulder. “Love him – if you must.”“I think I must.”“So be it, then. But I fear for you, Frodo.”“Take care, Asher. Come back and tell me about the sea.”“I will, friend.” Asher leaned forwards and kissed Frodo softly on the brow. “See you in the spring, if not before and I’ll be ready to take you if you are willing.”“You won’t give up?” Frodo said, his eyebrow quirking. “Not when I’ve set my sights on something.”“Farewell, for now,” Frodo said, eager to leave before the snow began in earnest. Before Frodo could disappear from sight, Asher called to him. “Don’t tell them, Frodo. Don’t tell them anything!”Frodo turned, the snow lashing his pale face, his blue eyes glimmering with resolve. “I won’t let them find you.” Asher waved his farewell and then moved back into the shelter, curling up in his blankets, watchful and tearless, his dark eyes assessing the sky. Frodo watched for a moment then walked away, pushing through the trees and hitting the cold, sharp open space of the forest, a puzzle of branches and snow dazzling and bemusing. Steeling himself, his thoughts focused on one single bright point of light; Frodo plunged onto the remembered path, feeling his way with a second sight he hardly knew he had, treading so swift and quiet, the rabbits loped across his path without a second glance and the fox trotted alongside, his nose to the ground. I’m coming home, Sam. I’m coming home…To be continued…

FIC: Hourglass - Chapter Eight - The Vanishing Trick

Here's this week's new chapter. No smut here (sorry - I'm saving that for the next chapter!) but rather a lot of angsting. I have redeemed myself a bit by giving Sam a few little chinks of happiness here and there and I decided not to end it too miserably. I'm estimating this fic will probably run to twelve chapters - so we are definitely on the homeword road and now I have decided exactly (well, pretty much!) where I'm heading - I'll try and complete it soon-ish! In this chapter - Sam attempts to tell Frodo how he feels (but bumbles it up a bit) groan... and Asher stakes his claim.I hope you enjoy! :)FIC: Hourglass - Chapter Eight - The Vanishing TrickAUTHOR: IgrainePAIRING: F/S F/OCRATING: NC-17 - This part is PG-13TIMELINE: Pre-QuestSUMMARY: Frodo is drawn onto a dangerous path, but how can Sam protect what isn't his?DISCLAIMER: These characters (well, most of them) belong to JRR Tolkien. I promise to return them unharmed. I make no money.CHAPTER EIGHT – The Vanishing TrickFrodo led Sam into the darkened study, pausing as he entered to light the lamp that stood upon the desk. As the oil flared and brightened within the glass globe, it illuminated the disorder that surrounded it, moth white papers fluttering in ghostly piles and dark mountains of leather bound account books locked with brass. Taking the lamp and drawing away the light, he moved over to empty hearth and placed it on the mantle piece, where it cast a softer glow over the patterned carpet and the easy chair, leaving the rest in darkness. “Sit down, Sam,” Frodo said, ushering Sam into the chair. Sam opened his mouth to argue, but then thought better of it and perched down on the edge, his eyes following Frodo as he dragged his desk chair across the room, bumping into furniture and tearing up threads in the fine carpet. He rested it opposite Sam’s chair and then sat down on it and waited. Sam’s heart thudded in his ears and his mouth was dry as he tried to wrestle from his mind exactly what it was that he had come to say. Whatever it was seemed senseless now as he sat here in the middle of the night, having drawn Mr Frodo from his bed. Time ticked slowly in the quiet room, the wild, beautiful music still trembling on the air. Sam knew that there were words that must be spoken, but when he reached into his mind to retrieve them, he could find only a tangled dark, hidden behind clouds, irretrievable and receding further, vaporising under his master’s stare. Frodo waited and when it seemed that the ringing silence would deafen them both, he spoke. “Sam, what is it that you wanted to say?” he said wearily, lowering his head into his hands and rubbing his temples with long elegant fingers. Sam took a deep breath, watching the slow motions of Frodo’s fingers, massaging circles over his shadowed brow. “I…” Frodo looked up, his eyes flashing brilliance and fire, Sam took another breath and then closed his mouth, his breast rising and falling. Then he shook his head and looked down at his feet. “I wanted to see you were safe, Mr Frodo, I was worried about you being alone here – with him…”Frodo sank back into his chair. “With Asher?” he said. “Their name is Yarrow, Sam, they are travellers from Bree.”“You can’t trust him, sir,” Sam said, vehemently, his voice betraying his fear.“There’s no reason for you to be concerned about me, Sam,” Frodo said shortly, his eyes darting to the vacant hearth. “Ain’t there?” Sam said, a savage twist of jealously taking the breath from his body, leaving him trembling. Frodo’s eyes looked wild, seemingly disconnected from the calm formality of his words, they roved about the ashes and the dust, as if seeking a diversion. Sam looked down at the rug, chasing the patterns as once he had done as a child, playing with the colours as if they were flowers in a garden, conforming to his designs. “I don’t want anything to happen to you, sir,” he said. Then, feeling a flush of fear creeping up his neck, he added. “I care for you, more than I can rightly say.”Frodo shifted in his chair, his pale hands tracing the carved wooden arms of the wide chair they rested on, his fingers sinking into the deep hollows, burying themselves. “I care for you, sir,” Sam repeated, quietly, closing his eyes.“I know, Sam,” Frodo said, his voice a soft whisper. “I know how much you do for me.”Sam trembled; sensing the imbalance between their thoughts, fearing the moment was slipping through his fingers. “No, sir, I don’t think you…”He was interrupted by a noise from somewhere in the smial that sounded like glass shattering. Frodo flinched and Sam raised his head, begging that his eyes might convey the love that could find no release. “It’s late, Sam,” Frodo said quickly, rising from his chair, his eyes darting nervously across to the door.Sam stood up and closed the distance between them. “Mr Frodo, are you afraid of him?” he said, boldly looking Frodo in the face, even as his legs were buckling beneath him. Frodo’s eyes locked with Sam’s and for a moment they stood dazzled, enthralled, a shock of alarm paralysing Frodo into silence. “Just say the word and I will throw him out of the smial, guest or no,” Sam continued, leaning to press the words, soft and close against pale skin. “I ain’t never seen you look this way, sir, it’s as if you’ve taken fright.” And as he spoke, his mouth moved closer to the snow white skin of his beloved’s neck, halting, speaking softly, he longed to comfort him with all the power in his possession. “ Please, just say the word…” Darkness and silence and the pale glowing skin under his mouth, trembling, Sam closed his eyes. “Tell me to stop, if you want to…” he whispered, running a line of hesitant kisses along Frodo’s throat. He felt the breath withheld, shuddering under his mouth; he felt the hands clutching at his shirt, digging into his skin. From somewhere deep inside the smial, the music resumed, slower this time, but utterly beguiling. Sam’s tongue darted out and drew cool, long notes across his lover’s skin. Unthinking, he pulled Frodo tighter against him. “Oh…I’ve missed you,” he moaned low in his throat as Frodo bent backwards like a reed. Cool air washed over him, long sweet notes penetrated the silence, dragging his senses into thoughtless bliss, closing his mind and opening his desires. Telling him what to do. “Sam...” Sam heard Frodo’s voice as if from the other side of sleep, a far distant shore, separated by sea. “Sam!” It was harder now, louder and it jumped into his conscious mind like the fall of an anvil. It hurt. Opening his eyes with a start, he drew away, his head whirling, as if he had just fallen through infinity and touched the cold, bright stars. He opened his fists and released Frodo, stepping back in blind amazement, wiping his mouth nervously, his eyes startled. What have you done now, Samwise? You took without askin’ – you pressed him for what you had no right to…The music had stopped and the door was open, a cold draught blew in from the passage. A dark figure stood on the threshold, watching, still and unblinking, a pipe dangling from his right hand. Frodo stumbled backwards, breathing hard and fast. He turned to Asher, a hectic flush upon his cheeks, his eyes glistening and bright. “Is he troubling you?” Asher asked Frodo, his eyes piercing Sam’s and holding him, breathless and shamed, running his hands through his tousled hair.“Frodo,” he gasped. “Please don’t send me away!”“Shall I throw him out?” Asher said, turning to Frodo, with a strange amusement in his eyes.“You’ve been eavesdropping!” Sam cried, a sudden defiant rage surging up in him, overriding his guilt. Frodo closed his eyes and leaned heavily against the desk. Asher pressed forwards into the room; his glimmering eyes fixed on Sam. “No more!” Frodo cried, suddenly, causing both hobbits to stop dead and listen. Sam’s heart pounded as he watched Asher’s eyes soften and grow vulnerable under Frodo’s anger, his strength and power abating, replaced by something utterly defenceless. “I’ll not have any more…of this,” Frodo continued, pausing for breath, his head bowed and defeated. “I am going to sleep in the parlour. Where you both sleep is your concern. I trust you will not kill one another in my absence.” As Frodo left the room he looked at Sam and the sorrow in his eyes was so marked that Sam felt it like a shaft shot through his heart and knew all of a sudden that he had made a grievous error. He stood for a moment, disbelieving, his body shaking with reaction. Then he made a swift resolution and headed for the door.“Crawling back to your hole?” Asher said, from behind.Sam swung back to face him. “Why don’t you just go – you ain’t wanted here!” he cursed, wildly careless of any danger. “Is that what your master says?” Asher replied, his soft voice slipping slowly through Sam’s mind like dark threads. “Is that his request?”Sam shook his head, “Nay, he’s too much a gentlehobbit to fling you out on your ear, but I ain’t – I see through you!”Asher shook his head. “No, Gardener, you see nothing. I’ve seen it all…”A cold fear stole through Sam’s body. “Leave us be,” he said, protecting the greatest glory of his life, his only concern now.Asher paused for a moment and then stepped closer, his voice trailing to a whisper. “You like tales, don’t you?” he said. “Well, I could tell some fine tales…” Sam shook his head, “No,” he said, stepping away. “What good would that do you?” “Little,” he agreed. “It would only cause pain.”“And why would you want to do us harm? We saved your life!” “Let him go.”“I’ll never let him go,” Sam said and his heart rang with the truth of it.“Let him go and you will free him from pain, you will save his life,” Asher said, pulling Sam against him firmly, Sam’s body was hard and protesting, twisting under his hands, angry tears welling in his eyes.“I love him – I don’t care who knows it!” Sam said, struggling to free himself, his face slipping against midnight blue silk, tears leaving marks of black, his quick breaths drawing in the warm intimate scent of the stranger’s skin. “But your master will be shunned. It will destroy him and you will have to leave your post in shame. Is that what you want? Surely it is better he leaves now and then none of this shall come to pass. For I’ve seen it and I know the harm it brings…” his voice rumbled through the rippling silk, burning Sam’s ears as he fought to free himself.“You wouldn’t do it!” Sam cried. “You’re a coward!” Asher let him go and watched as Sam struggled to catch his breath. “You don’t know me,” he said. “I won’t let him go no-where with you!” Sam cried vehemently. “Tomorrow I am taking him with me and we shall not return,” Asher stated. “It is what he wants.”“He’s said that?” Sam gasped, a cavern opening within his heart. “He is restless, don’t you see that?” Asher said. “This place is destroying him and you are trying to chain him to it – burying him alive.” Sam shook his head. “This is his home.”“This is a prison cell,” Asher replied. “He’s unhappy here, you know that.”“He’s lonely. I can make him happy,” Sam said, his voice thick with tears, his mind beginning to feel the deadening truth covering his hope with a blanket thick as the ice on the Water.“You see the truth at last,” Asher said. “You’re no fool – gardener. You want the best for Frodo.” Sam still shook his head, even as his heart came slowly to a painful resolution. “I don’t trust you,” he said. “If Frodo were with you I’d never sleep easy again.”“I would take good care of him – we’re like kin.”“You ain’t nothin’ like him! He’s good and fine and honourable and you’re … you’re nowt but a common trickster!” Sam shouted, his hands clenching into fists of rage. “Let him make his choice,” Asher replied coolly, walking slowly to the door. “He didn’t send me away – remember that.” Sam watched Asher leave, a blank despair settling in his heart as he watched the light flickering and guttering out, leaving him in darkness. ~~~Soft white sand sucks his toes deep deep down where the pearled shells lie buried. He can uncover them if he sinks a little further, pulls a little harder. They emerge, glimmering in the sunlight, radiant with soft colour, palest pink, orange and blue, all held within a cup of gold – the brilliance of which the sun can not diminish. He picks up the shell and runs his hands over the smoothness, the delicate tracery intriguing his fingers, giving his body a gentle pleasure. The sea breeze stirs him, his skin tingles under its whispering caress. The sea; it is ever present. Sometimes before, sometimes behind, sometimes within. It is his lover and his friend – it is his maker, his mother. It sings to him – eases his pains, makes him sigh and nestle into the sand, furled and complete. It makes him complete. When the veil falls, as it inevitably will, pulling him back, up and out of the water, gasping for air – he feels the vacancy – the emptiness that longs to be filled. The water rushes past his ears, roaring, spinning in a vortex, casting him up to where the cushions lie hard under his head, pressed against a damp, cold cheek. He raises his hand, touches his own face, realises, remembers…Here. The parlour. Asher and Sam sleeping in chairs, their faces soft in dreams, all anger and pain erased. All gone. Asher is leaving today. Sam is staying. I am staying. We will be alone once more, together. I have deceived Sam. Sam deserves better. I have betrayed Asher. I have deceived them both…“You’re awake?” Frodo raised his head and looked at Asher who lay half covered by a blue blanket, his eyes still bleary with sleep as he shook himself awake, glancing towards the peacefully sleeping gardener – who slept curled around himself, his head buried under his arm. “Sleep well?” Asher stretched and ran his hands through tangled braids. “I had dreams,” Frodo replied, sitting upright, his mind clearing and drawing back into focus. “Tell me.” Asher rose and sat down beside Frodo on the sofa.“I think I’d rather have some tea,” Frodo replied honestly.“Samwise is still asleep.”“I think I can manage,” Frodo replied, looking at Sam briefly, a stab of pure joy running through his veins at the sight of him.“I’ll help,” Asher replied. “I’ll find us some food.”“I don’t think you know what you’ve let yourself in for. The pantry’s bare.”“Don’t you worry, Frodo. I can make a meal from thin air.”“It will be most welcome, Asher,” Frodo said, following him out of the room and down the passage to the kitchen, leaving Sam to sleep. ~~~ When Frodo and Asher had breakfasted and consumed two large pots of tea between them, they sat back in their chairs and regarded one another curiously.“Why didn’t you send him away, Frodo?” Asher said suddenly, breaking the silence that hung heavy between them.“I don’t want to hurt him,” Frodo replied, trying to evade any deeper questioning.“You should dismiss him for that,” Asher observed, crossing his legs at the ankle. Frodo stood and moved over to the sink, tipping in water from the kettle and swirling it with his hand, hoping that his face betrayed nothing of the torment of his heart. “When are you going?” he asked lightly, piling plates into the water.“Soon, before the sun rises over the hill,” Asher replied. Then, after a short pause, he added. “Will you walk with me as far as the woods?”Frodo’s hands stilled and he looked down at the submerged cup under his hands, tealeaves dancing in the water, like tiny ants. “You want me to come?”“Just to the woods. I want to show you the secret path. I have a camp there, it’s a lonely place but I think you will like it.”Frodo paused for a moment, assessing. The lure of the open hills and the cold, clear air seemed to offer a few hours of release before he must face his future and the hurt in Sam’s eyes. “Yes, all right. I’ll walk with you to the woods,” Frodo replied, feeling he had some duty towards Asher, at least a gesture of friendship, for all that they had shared.“Good,” Asher said, leaping to his feet with a smile and bounding over to Frodo and hugging him from behind. “Thank you,” he whispered in Frodo’s ear. “You’re beautiful.”Frodo didn’t respond, but finished the washing up calmly as Asher disappeared to change back into his travelling clothes and boots. When he had finished, he made sure that there was enough breakfast left for Sam and then disappeared down the smial to gather his walking cloak and staff and attend to a few other small matters. Passing the parlour, he slipped in quietly and walked up to where Sam was still softly dreaming, heedless of time, a beautiful peace in his face where it rested, curved around his outstretched hand. Carefully, Frodo slipped a piece of parchment under his hand and then, being careful not to disturb him, trod silently out of the room, joining Asher in the hall, where he waited now fully dressed and booted and eager at the door.“Ready?” Asher said, raising a brow. “Yes,” Frodo replied. “Let us hurry, I want to be back before sundown.”Asher smiled as Frodo unlatched the door and stepped out into the sweet, cold air. There was a pale blue mist hanging over the garden, secretive and ghostly and the fields beyond were almost obscured from view. No one would see them; they would slip away quiet as elves in a silver twilight. At the end of the garden Frodo stopped at the gate and waited for a moment, not knowing why, only that he wanted to look at his home and see it clearly once more before he turned onto the road.“Coming, Frodo?” Hearing the call, Frodo moved to follow but as he turned away, he felt the smial calling to him, dragging him back like an irresistible tide. “Coming!” he shouted, pulling himself away and hurriedly following the trail of darkness in the grass, up over the hill and out into the mist. ~~~The first thing Sam noticed upon waking was the smell of the room. It smelt of old oak and soft well used leather, overlaid with ash and embers and damp. Remembering where he was, he sat up slowly, feeling his muscles lock and spasm as he uncurled himself from the chair. The second thing he became aware of was the silence. Although common enough for an early morning in Bag End, upon this occasion it filled Sam with foreboding, for there was not one sound in the smial, not even the creaking of the timbers or the ticking of a clock – nothing. Sam had sat up for most of the night, keeping watch over his master and a cautious eye on Asher – who had curled up in the hearthside seat opposite Frodo, sinking down into the warm folds as if staking his claim. Sam was indignant to find himself pushed to the shadows but was glad to be close at hand. Comforted that Frodo could come to no harm under the safekeeping of his silent vigil, he had relaxed into the soft leather chair and let his guard down for a moment to relax. He hadn’t meant to sleep at all, but somehow, in the darkness, listening to the soft breaths of the dreamers and watching the soothing trance of the flames, his pain had gradually abated and a quiet peace settled within him – a garden of sleep he could not resist and slowly he had entered and was lost. He slept heavily and nothing had woken until now, his hungry belly protesting that it was past dawn. Sam looked around. The room was empty. Blankets lay in a heap on the floor and cushions were scattered. There was a soft hollow in the sofa where Frodo had lain. Filled with a blind panic Sam raced hurtling down the smial.“Mr Frodo? Mr Frodo!” Calling until he was hoarse he stumbled into the kitchen and stopped and stared at the remains of breakfast that lay upon the wide table, a plate and a cup set for one. Slumping down in a chair, Sam’s head fell down onto the smooth, honey scented wood with a soft thud. He’s made his choice. He’s gone and there’s nowt you can do for him now.Sorrow made him translucent, a cold vessel that could never be filled. There was a damp warmth beneath his cheek; he smelt the beeswax, tasted salt in his mouth and something else, something soft and creased clenched in his fist. Slowly raising his wet face he looked down at what he held in his hand. Smoothing it out on the table, uncreasing, pressing down with his hands meticulously, he stared at the slanting script with vacant eyes.Please wait for me Sam. I’ll be back before sunset or else I am lost!He read the brief message fifty times before he was convinced. It was Frodo’s hand that much was certain and contained within it was the promise of hope. The last line, though ominous, did sound like the kind of thing written in jest and Sam could sense Frodo’s dark humour underlying the hastily scribbled words. Getting up and clasping the parchment against his face as if to inhale the good news, he made a solemn vow. Stay strong, Mr Frodo. Stay strong for me and I’ll be waiting here with a candle burning, ready to welcome you home. To be continued…

London

Thanks to all those who have left messages to say they're safe. I've been worrying about my London friends all afternoon. So relieved to hear that those I love are well. This is horrific, but horribly inevitable. I'm terrified that it will only serve to breed more hatred in the world and give those people who carry the power, more strength to wield. How can this ever be resolved? I don't blame those that are feeling angry at this moment in time, but I am frightened by the thought of where that anger will take us. Love to all. We need it.

FIC: Hourglass - Chapter Seven - Staring at the Sun

Here we go again. Chapter seven has given me some headaches this week - so it's no wonder poor Frodo's feeling a bit under the weather. Much as I would have liked for Sam to come in with all guns blazing - putting things to rights - I fear there is a little way to go before this situation can be neatly resolved. BTW - I thought I ought to add that I'm not putting this fic through beta before posting - so there are most likely many grammar mistakes in there. These are entirely my own. I will require a beta at some point, but I'd like to get it all written first. I like to write quick, without too much rewriting and then hone it down. I hope all the errors aren't too distracting! Edited to add - this fic has now betaed by the lovely blackbird_song and I have edit-posted up the new version. Thanks for reading! :)TITLE: Hourglass - Chapter Seven - Staring at the SunAUTHOR: IgrainePAIRING: F/S F/OCRATING: NC-17 - This chapter is rated PG-13TIMELINE: Pre-questSUMMARY: Frodo is drawn onto dangerous paths. But how can Sam protect what isn't his?DISCLAIMER: These characters belong to JRR Tolkien. I promise to return them unharmed. I make no money.CHAPTER SEVEN – Staring at the SunOn the outside once again, hammering to be heard, Sam held blindly to his resolution, even as his heart grieved to be once more seeking admittance to the place that held his heart in thrall. Looking for signs of life, he peered in at the darkened windows, but all he could see was the curve of the wall at the mouth of the passage, flickering in and out of fitful shadow, beckoning and seducing him in turn. Sam gritted his teeth in frustration, biting down waves of jealousy. He may as well have been looking into the hourglass once again, full of yearning, watching the silver garden forming grain by grain until it was complete. It left him lonely and aching to enter that forbidden world where time stood still and hours had no meaning. Within the glass there was a remote, timeless beauty that seemed eternal as it sparkled in his hand, but with the brief pressure of Frodo’s hand on his shoulder, he had known that his time had run out and he must put the precious thing down on the mantle piece and take his leave. Dutiful and silent, he put down everything that meant anything to him. But not anymore, even if he had to sit down on the doorstep and be soaked to the skin, he would not put these feelings back and leave them to gather dust.Rain pouring off his curls into his eyes, mingling with bitter tears, Sam pounded until his fists were sore, hearing the echoes resounding off the walls, carrying shock waves down the hall and along the passage. After what seemed like hours, Sam sat down in defeat, the rain running through his fingers as they lay splayed on the cold stone, he watched as little rivulets formed and dispersed, seeking other paths. Half slumped with his back against the door, he was totally unprepared when the door was suddenly pulled open from within and he found himself tumbling face down upon the polished hall floor, his torso tangled over the threshold, whilst his feet were still soles upwards in the rain. Taking a breath, he slowly raised his head, blinking the water from his eyes and what he saw made his heart grind to a standstill. Asher held the lamp high in his hand, casting half his face in darkness and lengthening his shadow so that it slid off to the right like the tail of a cloak. His eyes were dark with mistrust as they looked down at Sam spread-eagled on the floor in a pool of rain. “What are you doing here?” he said, his eyes piercing something in Sam that shrank away from their touch. Sam slowly got to his feet, something setting hard within him, strong and impenetrable. “I want to see Mr Frodo,” Sam replied.“Don’t you know what time it is?” Asher replied, a twist of irritation in his voice. “Aye,” Sam said, striding forwards.Asher stepped into his path and thrust out the blazing lamp, making Sam step backwards to avoid the hot glass. “Your master is sleeping,” Asher said, his voice soft but unyielding. “You shouldn’t disturb him when he is sleeping – it would be an unpardonable offence, wouldn’t it?”Sam shook his head. “I wouldn’t disturb him if it weren’t needful.” “And what’s so important that it won’t last the night?” Asher continued, “The garden won’t wither in eight hours nor the smial crumble into the hill.” Asher stepped forwards, towering over Sam. “Go back and look after your own.”“Mr Frodo is my own.” The words passed his lips before he was even aware he had conjured them and the shock of them was evident on both their faces. Asher’s skin washed pale and a bright spark was ignited in his eyes. Sam saw it and it filled him with foreboding. “Go home, now,” Asher said and his voice was firmer now and held within it an unnamed threat. But Sam was determined that he would not go without seeing that Frodo was well. “Let me pass,” Sam persisted, pushing against Asher’s hip, forcing his shorter frame through the gap between the stranger and the wall. Asher pushed against him more insistently and span Sam round so that he was pressed with his back tight to the panelling, which dug uncomfortably into his skin. Holding his breath, Sam felt his courage waver for a moment as the young hobbit took hold of his collar and forced his head back against the wall, holding the fabric tight in a trembling fist. “Go home, Samwise,” he whispered, causing a jolt of fear to ripple through Sam’s body. Black eyes bored into his. “What were you doing,” Sam said, his voice quavering and choked, “wandering about the smial at night?”“That’s none of your concern,” Asher replied, “don’t go getting yourself into trouble, gardener.”“Loose your hold – you ain’t going to harm me,” Sam said, clutching his throat and feeling the hand there relaxing and slipping down his chest. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?” Asher said, looking at his hand in horror as if he could hardly believe what it was capable of. “No – I ain’t,” Sam replied and pushed his body free, causing Asher to stumble back across the hall, the lamp set on the floor behind sending his shadow dancing across the beams, as if fleeing for its life. Both catching their breath, they faced one another across a pool of light, turning as one to the sound of a door latch clicking open. Frodo stepped out into the passage, a candle in one hand, his nightshirt glowing moon white in the aureole of light. He stood for a moment and stared into the hall, silent and grave. “Sam?” Frodo said, “You’re here.”“I am, Mr Frodo,” Sam replied, his voice thick with emotion. “I thought that I would look in and see that all was well, as I hadn’t been up today. I’m sorry it should be so late…”“What time is it?” Frodo asked, looking for all the world as if had just returned from another realm and forgotten his own name. “It’s just after twelve. Well, that would be my reckoning,” Sam stated confidently.“Been studying the stars?” Asher said, an amused smile playing across his face as he looked down at his own long and slender feet, turning them this way and that. Frodo yawned and rubbed his eyes. “Well, if we are all to be up at this hour, at least let’s sit down comfortably in the warm.” Glancing towards Sam, Frodo started. “Sam! What’s happened to you? You’re wet through!”Sam glanced down at his wet coat and dripping feet. “Sorry, Mr Frodo, I’ve made a mess of the floor, an’ all.”“Come on through into the kitchen and get yourself warm, never mind the floor.” Frodo insisted, turning down the passage. “Been in the river too, Sam?” Asher whispered, his eyes darting up to scorch Sam.“I ain’t no fool,” Sam said quietly.Asher looked aslant. “Nor am I, Gardener,” he said and turned down the passage, pacing in and out of shadow until he disappeared out of sight.He thinks he owns the place – he thinks he owns my Frodo…Sam stooped to pick up the lamp. The glass was now blackened with soot and he turned down the wildly blazing wick carefully before following after, his heart resigned to wait. ~ ~ ~ Frodo rested his back against the kitchen wall, his head swimming. He came – he came to me…if only it had been five o’clock – all would have been different. But it is too late – too late. Oh, Sam, why didn’t you come before?There wasn’t much time to still the racing of his heart and gather his wits as the guilt and confusion crept over his skin. Biting his nails anxiously, he wandered over to the hearth and sat down, the horrifying awkwardness of the situation caving in around him. Oh, Sam, how I longed for you…But now – now he had done what he had done, surely he had given up all rights to Sam’s heart. Not that he had ever had any in the first place; no, Sam’s heart belonged to the innocent earth. “Why?” Frodo looked up as Asher looked down at him, his eyes searching and needful as they raked Frodo’s own, his hands covering his, pulling them away from his mouth. “Why, Frodo?”Frodo shook his head and sat down on one of the chairs, profoundly shocked and trembling in every limb. “Are you cold?” Asher asked and looked about him for something. Spying a cloak hanging on a peg by the back door, he walked over and grabbed it, throwing it over Frodo’s shoulders just as Sam walked into the room, flooding the darkened room with light. Frodo saw it. The look of hurt that washed over Sam’s soft, open face, a face that hid nothing. Frodo had to close his eyes, a headache thundering beneath. “Come and get warm, Sam,” he said softly. But Sam didn’t move, only stared at Frodo. He could feel Sam’s gaze even as he chased the little dancing lights. “Have you eaten?” Sam said. Frodo slowly opened his eyes once more, the shock of light making his pupils shrink to nothing. “You always get headaches when you don’t eat, Mr Frodo.” Sam said, a solemn vulnerability in his voice. Frodo smiled softly through the pain. “You always know when I have a headache.” “You can’t bear the light,” Sam said, tears thick in his throat.“No, you’re right, I can’t…” Frodo said, dropping his head into his hands.“Neither can you take your drink,” Asher said, dropping down in the chair opposite Frodo and looking straight at Sam. Frodo saw Sam flinch, even as he moved over to the pantry, intent on his purpose, pretending not to hear, but the words went in, Frodo could feel them flying like arrows through the air – hitting their mark. “You don’t need to do that, Sam,” Frodo protested, as he craned his neck to see Sam returning from the pantry with an armful of eggs and bacon.“Why not, it’s my job?” Sam said stubbornly, “And the best thing for a hangover.”Frodo fell back into his chair, closing his eyes against the thudding pain, the very idea of food causing his stomach to lurch violently. He wouldn’t stop him, it seemed Sam needed to do this and he didn’t want to have to send him away, not with the hurt still swimming in his eyes. “How is your Gaffer, Sam?” Frodo asked, determined to break the uncomfortable silence.Sam turned from breaking eggs into the pan. “Better – he’ll be on his feet soon enough. I should be back at work tomorrow, sir.”Frodo felt Asher watching him, assessing his reaction. “It will be good to have you back,” he said, honestly, even as his stomach tied itself in knots and his heart thundered. He raised his eyes to Sam’s gentle smile and felt Asher’s foot curling possessively around his ankle.He remembered how he had seduced Sam with the same caress and shivered at the memory of their touches, the meaning of which still eluded him. Only the assertion of his own love and his failure to express it, ran clear in his mind, like a cold, dark river. A hopeless journey, for Sam could not return such a love. It belonged to this other hobbit now, this stranger, who could possess every inch of his body and even lay claim to his soul, but left his heart cold. “There you are, Mr Frodo. Try and eat something,” Sam handed Frodo a plate of fried bacon and eggs piled on a thick wedge of crisp golden bread. Frodo looked down at it in dismay.“I’m sorry, Sam. I can’t eat this,” Frodo said, closing his eyes to block out the sight of Sam’s tenderly prepared meal. “Then can I have it? It looks good,” Asher said, leaning forwards to take the plate from Frodo’s lap.Sam frowned and stepped between them. “That’s for Mr Frodo,” he said.“Sorry, Sam. I’m sorry you’ve gone to such a lot of trouble, I just don’t think I can. It’s better Asher has it – I wouldn’t want it to go to waste. Anyway, I owe him a meal.”Asher smiled, accepting the plate and fork from Frodo’s hands. “Well, I didn’t like to say anything, but I could eat a horse, well, several horses, actually.” Asher took a large mouthful, his eyes on Sam. “And maybe a few cows.”Sam walked back to the corner and rustled about with the teapot, warming and measuring, trying not to watch his warm gesture of faithfulness being devoured by a cocksure hobbit with his feet on the fender. Frodo curled up in his chair and despite his anxiety, began to feel once more the warm waves of sleep washing over him, recollecting the strange and powerful dreams that had woken him earlier, bathed in a cold sweat. They had seemed to come from a part of his consciousness so deep and intimate it felt like looking directly at the sun - somehow capable of doing him great and immeasurable harm. He fell asleep so easily tonight, as if he had taken a sleeping draught – staying awake was an unbearable strain and yet he was frightened to leave these two together and knew he must not allow himself to relax completely. Asher used his last piece of bread to mop his plate clean, finished it up and then put the plate down on the floor beside his chair. “So, you’re well enough, then?” Sam said, picking it up with a frown. Asher smiled. “Well enough...”“Then you will be moving on soon?” Sam asked lightly, his voice betraying his doubt.Asher’s smile broadened and he stretched out in his chair. “Yes, tomorrow, as it happens. I won’t be outstaying my welcome.” A flicker of relief passed over Sam’s face and his shoulders relaxed over the pot sink. “Your family coming back for you?” Sam asked, trying not to sound interested.“No,” Asher said and Frodo’s eyes flashed open.“You’re meeting with your brothers on the road?” Sam asked, wiping the plate clean.“No,” Asher smiled, closing his eyes. Frodo sat forwards in his chair. “But they will want to know where you are!” he cried, Kern’s dark words still ringing in his ears… He’s in your charge. I’m trusting you, Mr Baggins. Remember that? Aye – I’m trusting you.“Probably,” Asher replied.“They’ve been at the Ivy Bush, causing some trouble, so I’ve heard,” Sam said, scrupulously scrubbing the frying pan.“And what have you heard?” Asher said. “You convince your master here that I’m a thief – he’s already insinuated it near enough!”Frodo shook his head, longing for Asher to keep quiet, wanting Sam to go home, desperate to keep him safe. “Well, all I can say is there are some that would say they were made a fool of,” Sam said, carefully, stacking plates.“Fools are born, not made,” Asher replied.Sam dried his hands and walked over to the hearth carrying three mugs of tea. “Sit down, Sam, you’ve done quite enough,” Frodo replied, longing for Sam to make his excuses, despite the comfort of his presence.“Thank you, sir,” Sam replied and settled himself at Frodo’s feet. Asher looked down at Sam, his eyes glittering in the firelight, his toes tapping to an invisible tune. “Do you have any music in this place?” he said. Sam looked up at Frodo, wondering how he could live with such a mannerless creature. “You play?” Frodo asked, interest sparking in his eyes.“I do, we all do,” Asher replied. “We’re blessed in that way.” “I’ve often thought it would be a wonderful thing to make music,” Frodo said. “I’ve tried a pipe, but could only make a sound like the wind.”Asher laughed. “That’s common enough.” “We have a pipe somewhere,” Frodo said. “Bilbo used to play on it from time to time.”“In the top cupboard on the left of the fireplace in the study,” Sam said, unable to resist, even though his eyes betrayed his discomfort.“Sam! You know this smial better than me,” Frodo said, amazed.Sam shrugged and walked out the room to retrieve the well concealed treasure. “Been here long enough, sir,” he shouted, “Ought to know it all by now.”“He doesn’t miss a trick, does he?” Asher whispered to Frodo when they were once again alone.“You’re really going tomorrow?” Frodo said leaning across and putting a hand on Asher’s knee. “You have to go so soon?”“I would rather go before they come for me,” Asher said. “I don’t want them to follow.”“But what shall I say – should they come?” Frodo said, fear lurching in his heart and desperate need curling his hand on Asher’s knee, clutching at safety.Asher laid his hand over Frodo’s and stroked it lightly with his fingers. “I told you I was going away and that you would have to wait. But I won’t forget you Frodo, I never forget a promise.”Asher leaned forwards and laid his lips lightly over Frodo’s, tracing them with his tongue then pulling away; sitting back heavily as Sam re-entered the room. Frodo trembled, unable to resist, even though his heart was torn in two and sick with the need to be close to his Sam. Sam gave Asher the pipe and Asher took it in his fingers, dancing them up and down the silken wood, admiringly. “A good piece - what would you have me play?” he asked.Sam looked at Frodo and Frodo collapsed back on his cushions sighing. “Anything you please,” he said. “Surprise us.”Sam settled himself once more at Frodo’s feet, his hair crinkling up by the warmth of the fire, golden where the curls had dried, darker underneath. Frodo looked down and had to restrain his fingers from resting where they desired, soft on the nape of Sam’s neck. Frodo watched Sam’s eyes closing as Asher put the pipe to his lips and breathed a soft note into the air. The room seemed to embrace it and hold it steady as it grew wings and took flight, followed by another and another. Beautiful and sad, it was, and full of inexpressible longing. Frodo watched Sam shivering and Frodo’s eyes welled with tears. Notes hung in the air like butterflies, hovering and drifting, fluttering out into the darkness, where they faded to echoes. When the last note died - circles of diminishing sound spreading like rings in dark water, Sam seemed to fall back into himself, just as once he had done in Frodo’s arms, sobbing his climax. “That was the finest music I ever heard,” Sam said, his voice small in the air that was still reverberating with the beating of wings.“That was beautiful, Asher, thank you,” Frodo said, watching as the dark hobbit gently laid the pipe across his knee, stroking it softly as though it were alive. Sam looked up at his master. “Mr Frodo, may I speak with you alone?” he said, breathless and quiet. Frodo felt a jolt of fear and looked across at Asher. “Frodo’s tired, he needs to go to bed,” Asher said, looking at Sam with hard possessiveness in his eyes. “It won’t take long, sir,” Sam continued, ignoring Asher, his eyes wide with supplication. Why now, Sam? I don’t know if I can bear it. Both your leaving or your love would break me to pieces…But it seemed Sam would not be denied and despite Asher’s dark looks, Frodo rose to his feet. “The study?” he said, determined not to set one foot in the parlour. Sam nodded and followed Frodo to the door. “Why don’t you go to bed, Asher?” Frodo said, looking back at the other hobbit, who was pouring himself a drink from the wine bottles on the shelf. “I will wait, Frodo,” he said and raised the glass to his lips. To be continued…