AFTER ALL - Chapter Two

“Merry, what’s happening?” “They’re trying to move him. He doesn’t want to go, but the elves are restless, they want to leave before nightfall, the sea is making them mournful.”“How can you tell?” said Pippin, strapping his pack onto the mare’s broad black back, gasping a little with the effort. “They look frozen and their eyes are dull. They don’t glow quite so brightly.”“Just like Frodo…”“What was that?” Merry looked up from his pile of blankets and provisions, frowning at his friend.“Didn’t you notice, the last time we saw him, he seemed a little…faded?”“He looked worried and afraid, but I suppose that’s what you would expect, facing such a choice. I’m not surprised he ran, I don’t think I could spend an eternity with the elves, good folk that they are. I’d miss the Shire too much.”“And your friends?”“Well, yes, of course, Pip.” Merry paused and sat on his haunches toying with the long straps of his pack. “Do you think he knew what he was doing?”Pippin shook his head. “I don’t know Merry. He always seemed to know his own mind, I don’t think anyone could make it for him.”“Not even someone who was so close to him, his thoughts seemed almost to be his own?” Merry spoke quietly, looking up with narrow eyes full of suspicion.“I can’t believe that of Sam, he wouldn’t influence him, not when he was so fragile.”“But what if Frodo couldn’t help himself, what if some kind of unexpected circumstance turned his heart and his head so that he couldn’t see sense from foolishness?”Pippin said nothing, but carried on attending to the horse, tightening bridle straps and adjusting the position of the packs, speaking to the mare in whispers. Merry walked over to him and laid his hand upon his shoulder, bending close against his ear as he spoke, “Pippin, it doesn’t feel right. I think we should go after them and speak with Frodo alone. Shhh! They’re readying their horses, I think they must be making to leave.”“And we’re going with them?”“I think we must. We must make sure Bilbo reaches Rivendell in one piece. He looks so old, Pip.”As they waited in the approaching dark, they watched the elves kindling their lamps until the way ahead was glowing with the light of a hundred stars. At last, a tall elf approached and looked down at them with bewilderment in his searing eyes. He had made the choice to stay behind with some of his kin, pledged to carry the old hobbit back to Rivendell and remain there as guardians of the fading house. But the choice had been hard and his soul still craved the solace of the west. “Little ones, we are leaving now, will you accompany your kinsman to his rest?”Merry looked Pippin in the eye and they both nodded in agreement. “Yes, we will leave tonight,” Merry replied. “You will look after him on the journey, won’t you? You will make him comfortable? I think he must be in some pain; he doesn’t look well.” “Your friend is aged before his time. He should have lived on, now he seeks his rest. We shall carry him to Rivendell, he might find some peace there.”“I hope so,” Pippin said. “He will accept, in the end. We must follow where our hearts lead us, and his will find its way home.”“I hope the same can be said of Frodo.”The elf frowned and his eyes grew distant. “Frodo has followed his own path. You must let him go.”“But he needs care, he needs us!” Pippin burst out, Merry nudging him into silence a little too late. The elf shook his head and sang a song that was at once hauntingly beautiful and desperately sad. “I don’t know if I’m right, Pip, but I think that song is about love,” Merry said, watching the elf slipping away into the shadows, his long hair flowing like a sea of mithril.“Are we leaving?”“Yes, I’m sorry, Frodo, we have no choice. I’ve Bill all ready and waiting. You just take my arm and I’ll lift you up.” Sam hoisted Frodo up onto the saddle and then took the reins once more in trembling hands. “We can’t spend another night in the open, we’ve got to look for a shelter, at least until the bad weather passes, then we’ll make some plans.” Sam leaned down to look into Frodo’s face, but there was only the ghost of a smile and the reach of far distant dreams glazing his eyes. Sam smiled bravely and urged Bill on, up over the gorge and out onto the grassy eastern road back to the Shire. Sam rode close against the woods and hills, following the road cautiously. All day the rain fell heavily and soaked the ground, making progress slow and dismal. The sky was grey with rain clouds and the bitter wind stripped the leaves from the trees. Tears started in Sam’s eyes as he remembered how Elanor had clung to him the night he left, burdened with such anxious anticipation. He had stroked her sleeping face and her hands had opened and closed twice, in response. Rosie stepped up behind him, put her arms around his waist and laid her cheek softly against his. She had whispered something to him. What was it? He wasn’t sure that he’d even been listening. He had been so full of Frodo. Of travelling once more together, perhaps see elves again and Rivendell! He had been so enamoured by the promise of the journey, that he hadn’t really heard a word, nor felt the trickle of a tear upon his neck. Now he recalled a little, and a small flicker of disquiet moved within his heart. Bending forwards, he buried his face in Frodo’s damp curls, and felt it instantly ease and shiver into dust. It was nearly nightfall when they entered the Far Downs. The dark trees had thinned and a softly undulating landscape rolled away before them in purple waves. Beyond, in the far distance lay the market town of Michel Delving and habitation. Sam’s heart leaped and he leaned forwards, whispering encouraging words to Bill and tenderly kissing the top of Frodo’s sleeping head. “Won’t be long now, not long now,” he said, blinking in the stinging rain. The town was quiet when they entered, splashing through the puddled streets. Most of the smials were shut up for the night, their shutters closed, thin trickles of light pooling in the muddy road from between the wooden slats. Sam’s belly rumbled. Inside were hobbits content beside a hearty plate of dinner and a good fire, no doubt. Now and again there was a soft rumble of laughter, which carried out onto the street. Sam was wet and cold but he refused to heed it; he would find shelter this night, one way or another. The market place was empty with the disorder of the bustling day now cleared and stowed away until morning and, as they clopped across the cobbles, Bill’s hooves rang clear and loud. Sam made for the grand, towering inn, which stood at the heart of the town, many windowed and large for a Hobbit dwelling, ‘The Rising Sun’ shone in the gloom like a beacon of hope, glimmering through the sheeting rain. Sam took Bill around the side of the building, where a couple of young stable hands waited in the shadows, leaning together and pulling on a single pipe. “Here,” said Sam, “look sharp!”The lads looked up in alarm, nearly dropping the pipe in their haste to cover up the evidence. “Take this horse and stable him well He’s used to the best, mind and he’s journeyed hard.”The lads parted and the slighter of the two nodded his head and reached out for the reins, muttering an apology.Sam leaned down and spoke quietly to his master. “Wake up, we’re back in the Shire.”Frodo murmured and lifted his head, turning to Sam sleepily. “The Shire?”“Well, Michel Delving, anyway. We’re at the Rising Sun. Will you stand? Can you, Frodo, me dear?”Frodo smiled at Sam and gently stroked his face. He looked as though he was still dreaming. “Yes, Sam, I’m not tired anymore.”Sam dismounted and reached up his hand for Frodo. The stable hands stood one on either side, staring with loosened mouths, amazed and intrigued by these two strangers, wrapped in weather-stained, filthy cloaks and looking at each other as if what they saw delighted them more than the sight of kings. Touching each other! One of the lad’s frowned and wiped his nose on his sleeve, the other shivered as a strange longing stirred inside him. Frodo slid down to the ground and Sam held him up for a brief moment as he swayed on unsteady feet. “There. There you are,” he whispered against his wet hair. It looked like a kiss. One lad slid out of the shadows and pulled Bill down along the alleyway and away into the courtyard beyond, shaking his head. The other waited, watching Sam’s hands moving across Frodo’s back, soothing and supporting, as Frodo gathered his strength. Sensing the lad’s scrutiny, Sam turned sharply and spoke to him curtly, “Fetch your good master and tell him we require rooms and have coin enough to pay for them,” he threw the youth a small bag of gold.The lad blinked at it in surprise. “What are your names, Sirs, so’s I might tell him?” said the young hobbit, squinting into the rain. “Tell him we’ve travelled from the west and have no strength left for no questions.” The lad nodded eagerly but made no move, twisting his hands as he stared at Frodo with open interest.“Go on, then!” Sam shouted, exasperated and the lad shot away like a rabbit out of a trap.Soon after, he returned, flushed and excited. “Sirs,” he said, breathlessly. “My master says he has no room in the Sun but there’s a place empty along the Dray Road, furnished and fit, it is, a nice place and the rent is low. Would you take it?”Sam agreed at once, following the lad along the narrow streets, one arm supporting Frodo, who walked slowly and tripped over his steps, his head cradled within the shadow of his overhanging hood. It wasn’t far, the Dray Road curved through the centre of town and then descended low into the hills where it joined with the main east road, back to the Shire. They came to a quiet backwater where the smials sat behind private, fenced off gardens and enjoyed some measure of privacy. Beyond them were the great, rolling hills that could be seen from home on a good day. This gave Sam a new surge of courage and he squeezed Frodo’s shoulders happily. They were nearly home. The stable hand ran on ahead, kicking at a little wooden gate that had swollen with rain and was sticking on the path. He led them up an overgrown path to a door half strangled with ivy. This he unlocked with a large, rusty key and then disappeared into the darkness beyond, shivering and chattering to them as he went. Sam could hardly hear him. All he heard was Frodo talking softly in his ear, his voice sweet and sad, like a memory of something precious yet utterly lost. They entered the smial and damp rose up to greet them, a lonely scent of decay. Sam paid it little heed, he was grateful to have a roof over their heads once more, however lowly. He quickly located a chair and urged Frodo to sit. He did so at once and laid his head upon the arm. Sam couldn’t be certain but he believed that he was smiling. “You just stay there, Frodo, I’ll make it all right, don’t you worry,” he said, bustling about the room.“I know you will, Sam,” Frodo said, softly.There was a light cough at the doorway and Sam turned. “I’m to light a fire for you, sirs,” said the lad, striking a light. “No. I can do that. Your services aren’t required, thank you,” said Sam, “you get off now.”“I was to see you comfortable, sir,” he said, hesitantly.“We are. Quite comfortable, if you would just bring me that light.”The lad walked over, his face golden in the flickering light. Frodo looked up at him and smiled and the lad looked down, their eyes catching and lingering. “Here lad!” said Sam, crouching at the hearth where he was piling sticks and logs. Frodo smiled encouragingly and the young hobbit nodded, moving away and taking the light with him. Sam soon had a good fire lit and he dismissed the stable hand back to his station, slipping some coins into his palm. The lad smiled and wished them a good night, pausing in the doorway, to consider once more, the meaning of this strange companionship. “I wish you well,” he said and Frodo twisted in his chair to look at him. Softly, he blessed him in elvish. The lad’s eyes shone to hear such strange and beautiful words spoken and he beamed as he bobbed out of the door. Sam poked at the fire, making it flare and leap high in the chimney. “There, that’s better,” he said, rising and brushing the dust off his breeches. Frodo curled into his chair and watched him. “What now?” Frodo said.“Sorry, me dear?” “I was just asking, what now? I like to watch you working.”Sam smiled and stood at a loss. “Well, I think I ought to take a look around, light a fire in the bedchamber and search out some food.”“Would you like me to help?” said Frodo, softly, raising his eyebrows.“No, me dear, you stay there and rest. I don’t mind doing for you, it’s what I live for, you know that.” Frodo held out a hand and Sam took it shyly, stroking it with his thumb. “There,” he said, “Alright, now?”Frodo nodded and laid his head down once more upon the chair.Sam found the bedchamber. It was surprisingly large for the size of the smial, which had appeared mean in the darkness. The air was chill and the bed sheets felt icy and damp. Sam laid a fire and kindled it into life. The chimney smoked a little and blew grey clouds of dust into the room, but with gentle encouragement, it soon blazed quite cheerfully and softened the austerity of the chamber, lending a honey glow to the oak chest of drawers and the wardrobe, which were richly carved. The bed was capacious and quite grand. Sam stopped to stroke his hand over the mouldings of fruit and flowers, which decorated foot and head. It was fine, although nothing like the magical creations of the elves; the heavy carving was dense and dark, a rustic piece. As he ran his fingers over the wood, he thought about the bed and how it was the first that they would ever share. This made it sacred and he was glad that it was beautiful and well crafted. He pulled back the coverlet and quilt and laid them over the foot of the bed to warm. Then he left the room. There was little to eat in the smial, the kitchen had many cupboards and shelves, but most stored empty canisters and jars containing little more than dust. But after a long and determined search, Sam did manage to find a few bottles of preserved fruit. With some of the dry provisions from their packs, he forged a poor meal of bread and dry cheese with some of the bitter fruit. Frodo rose from his chair quite eagerly when Sam entered with a tray.“I’m sorry it’s not much, but I couldn’t find nothing worth eating, unless you’re partial to weevil,” said Sam, trying to make light of his embarrassment.Frodo wrinkled his nose and sat down on the hearthrug in front of the fire. “Let’s eat here,” he said and there was a brightness in his eyes that Sam had not seen for many days.Putting the tray down upon the rug, Sam settled himself beside it and poured two mugs of tea. “At least I found some leaves, that’s one thing we can be grateful for. I’m sorry, Frodo, this place is rotten.” Sam looked down at the swirling tealeaves.“It’s fine, Sam,” said Frodo, taking his mug gladly and cradling it between his hands. “We’re warm, we are together, that is enough,” he said, smiling over the brim.Sam looked up, feeling ashamed. “You’re right, me dear, I just want to keep you well. You don’t deserve this … this damp hole! I can see why the landlord was so keen to get shot of it!”“Sam, it’s fine, drink your tea.”They shared the meal in companionable quiet, so used to the soft sound of each other that they didn’t feel the weight of silence, but rather enjoyed the restful hissing of the logs and the rattling of the rain. Even the food didn’t taste too bad, but seemed nourishing and the dried cherries, soaked with brandy, were rather delicious and went down well. Sam and Frodo shared the jar between them, their fingers stained red and sticky with the rich syrup, and felt the warmth seeping into their bellies and exhausted minds. Sam began to relax and lay down on his back, sticking his feet out towards the warmth of the fire. Frodo sat crossed legged and chewed on a piece of fruit, staring into the flames. Sighing heavily, Sam closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation of heat searing the tender skin of his travel worn feet, and the knowledge that his master was comfortable and safe.After a time, listening to the rhythmic pattering of the rain against the windowpane, Sam heard the soft padding of feet across the rug and felt his head lifted and then settled into a soft lap. He tensed at once and then eased back into restfulness as he felt fingertips at his brow moving in gentle, slow circles, stroking away any remnant of anxiety that lingered there. “Frodo…” he sighed and smiled, giving in to the sweet ministrations of his beloved.“Let me, my love, let me tend you,” Frodo whispered and ran his fingers lightly across Sam’s lips. Sam kissed them instinctively as they passed and persuaded his body to relax even though every nerve was cleaving to the touch, reverberating in his body like shattering, jingling glass. Frodo leaned down and kissed Sam’s forehead very softly and joy leaped through Sam like a streak of lightning. It was so fierce, he nearly cried aloud.“I think I should tell you why I made my choice,” said Frodo, his words falling as breaths upon Sam’s face. Frodo was so close; almost close enough for Sam to feel the soft brush of his dark curls upon his brow. Close enough for Sam to push up and taste the rich beauty of his kiss. “I don’t want you to feel any guilt, my love,” Frodo said, leaning down and pressing his lips against Sam’s eyelids. Sam gasped and twisted his head to one side, listening silently as Frodo spoke.“As soon as I heard the sea I knew that it would take my soul. As we rounded the tower hills and saw the Havens below, my heart caved in with grief and I saw with certainty that the great gift that I was offered would not heal my wounds. The sure and certain knowledge that I might never see you once more in this life was like death to me and I walked into my tent that night, certain that I must prepare myself for the worst. I felt the call of it, Sam and yet, my heart wrestled all that night, as the hours wailed with the winds and the torches burned low. I sat up and talked with myself in the darkness, arguing that I must not refuse such blessings, but I could not believe that the death of love might be better than the pain and sting of mortality. I could take the choice of Tinuviel and die content that I had been true to myself and faced my love. I couldn’t have let it rest, curled in my heart for an eternity in the uncertain bliss of the West where it could never thrive, only wither and grow cold. I had to speak, I had to know, that’s why I came to you and woke you in the night. I did need comfort, but I needed also…confirmation. I felt it, at once, in your tears and your lips as they called me by my name, the first time you ever…” he paused and took a breath. “Perhaps we made a bad choice, in our secretiveness, but I needed time alone with you and I couldn’t answer for the actions of my heart. I know it was cowardly and I’m ashamed of it, I only hope Bilbo is alright…”Frodo paused and for a moment there was no sound, but the wind whistling across the chimney pot. “Do you think he sailed, Sam?”Sam’s eyes flickered open; they were swimming with tears. “I don’t know,” he whispered, brokenly. “Oh, Sam, what have we done?” Frodo said, in a strange, distant voice, which shocked Sam into full wakefulness. He raised his hand and laid it against Frodo’s cheek, watching as, once more, Frodo drew away into his thought, walking where Sam could not follow. Eventually, Frodo’s eyes cleared and he sensed Sam’s touch and leaned into the caress. “I just hope you haven’t given up all for me,” said Sam, “I don’t feel worthy of such a sacrifice.”“You are more than worthy of it,” Frodo replied, bending down and grasping Sam’s face within his hands. Sam’s eyes flickered shut and Frodo sealed the distance between them with a kiss. But when Frodo pulled away, leaving with Sam the taste of his wine soaked lips, he seemed troubled. Sam stared, mesmerised and blinking, unable to think of ought but how his body sang whenever Frodo drew close and grieved to be distanced from him. “You speak of sacrifices,” Frodo said quietly. “You have made a greater sacrifice than any I could have borne.”Sam sat up, trembling and held Frodo in his arms. They didn’t speak again for a time. “You must be cold,” Sam, said at last, “I think I should run you a bath.”Frodo opened his mouth to speak and then lost all desire to resist and with some difficulty, put away his troubled thoughts of loss and responsibility. He was cold and his body ached with the hours he had lain slumped across Bill’s back, lifeless with fatigue. The food and the warmth had done a little to revive him and yet a bath would be more than welcome. “Yes, Sam, I’d like that,” he replied, smiling. Sam set to work on the old, rusty pump in the yard. It complained noisily as he yanked it into life, drawing a small pail of muddy water, filmed with algae. Muttering, he threw the first away and drew a second, in hope that it might come clearer. He had no success; the second pail looked muddier than the first and vanquished all hope of a bath. Turning around helplessly in the dark, rain soaked yard, he squinted at the rubbish and piles of tin articles lying in heaps. Amongst them were an upturned tub and also, several watering cans and buckets, near to overflowing with rain. Sam approached and peered; the water looked clearer and could easily fill a tub. He made a quick decision and lifted two heavy buckets, grimacing as he carried them back into the smial. The hearth in the parlour doubled as a cooking range, so he brought the swinging pails into the warm room and hooked them up to heat, then he hurried back out into the yard, to fetch the tub, praying that it wouldn’t be cursed with a hole. There was none that he could feel in the confusion of the dark, rainy night, so he dragged it back with him, rubbing off the dirt with his sleeve, hoping that it might just suffice. It scraped across the tiled floor and he deposited it upon the hearthrug with a grunt, for it was much larger and heavier than he had anticipated, big enough for two hobbits to sit end to end. It had probably been a family bath, in former times full of wriggling hobbitlings. That thought at once cheered and pained him, reminding him both of his own happy childhood in the snug disorder of number three, and the home and babe he had left behind. He felt a lurch of homesickness and thought for the first time in years of his mother and how he’d like to crawl up onto her lap right now and be re-assured that he was only doing his duty. Sam shivered and shook the wet hair from his eyes. Turning, he saw that Frodo was curled up in the armchair, his head on the arm, fast asleep. Sam knelt down beside him and longed for him to wake and hold his head up and speak to him, speak words of love he would never tire of hearing. He wanted to kiss him blindly, hold him so that their bodies merged and swelled with passion. Tears trickled down his cheeks as he looked as the pale, fragile beauty, which slept breathless as a babe. “How did I think I could hold on to this?” he asked himself.By the time Frodo woke, the water was bubbling in the pails and Sam poured it into the old, dinted bathtub. He tested the temperature and hurried out for more, bringing in several large watering cans, which spilled their contents in a winding spout, hitting the water and breaking through the steam. Pieces of black leaf and a few insects were floating on the surface and Sam spent some time fishing them out, even as Frodo protested that that was quite enough and he should stop before he tired himself out. Sam would never stop. When he was happy enough with the clarity of the water, he started fishing around in his pack for some soap. He knew he had a piece, safe in an inside pocket where it was protectively wrapped in cloth. After some careful fumbling, he retrieved it and cleaned it off on his sleeve, for it looked a little grimed. Holding it to his nose, he breathed in the sweet fragrance of lavender and tried not to remember the garden at Bag End. But images of Rosie, bent over the border, cutting the purple flowers ground against his eyes and he nearly swooned with pain. Frodo hurried to his side and put an arm about him as he swayed on his haunches, gripping the edge of the bath. “Sam?” he said, “What is it?”But Sam could not reply. “This is not forever, Sam, you do understand that, don’t you?” whispered Frodo, his warm breath against the back of his neck. But Sam could not reply.Frodo undressed in the firelight, and as he shed his clothes one by one and dropped them in pools upon the floor, his pale, thin body was slowly revealed. His skin looked nearly translucent and glowed, as though he was a vessel filled with light. The bright gem hanging loosely about his neck throbbed and sung quietly, songs that Sam tried not to hear. It was as if, by taking off his clothes, Frodo had bared his soul and Sam felt that he should look away, but could not, because Frodo was holding him within his gaze, dilated and dark in the shadowed room. Sam’s eyes wandered the angular planes of the body that he had once known so well. The scars had healed a little better now; all that could be seen were silvered lines rippling along the perfection of his skin like tiny rivers. He had filled out a little too, his hips didn’t jut out quite so gauntly, and yet he was still painfully thin for a hobbit. But so fine, his limbs long and elegant, his breast rising and falling as he drew each measured breath. Blushes of pink upon his chest and nestled amongst the dark curls gathered beneath his belly drew forth shivers. Sam watched as he climbed into the bath, lowering himself slowly down. The smoothness of his skin in the roving firelight seemed as delicate as a soft covering of snow upon a hard landscape. Sam looked upon his love as one who looks at the stars in puzzlement and awe. Watching in reverence, he saw how young and firm Frodo’s buttocks were as he leaned down in the water, and the sweetly curving flesh, which hung beneath, unconsciously beautiful. Frodo leaned back against the side of the bath and let the water take him, drawing his legs up to the surface, where they floated, weightless. He laid back his head and black hair swam around his pale face like clouds. Sam gazed, struck by sadness as he watched Frodo suspended, still and lifeless in the water, his face disappearing and reappearing from beneath a veil of drifting darkness. But when Frodo rose, spluttering a little and shaking his head, he laughed lightly and held out his hand. “Won’t you come in, Sam?” he said.Sam undressed slowly; suddenly strangely shy, as though they were strangers, despite the love that flared in the quiet room. Frodo watched from the water and didn’t hide the wonder in his eyes. Sam moved as if in a dream, his hands trembling so much his fingers struggled to unbutton his shirt. But when he climbed in, the sweet, warm steam enveloped him and he sighed as he sank his aching body into the lulling water, wriggling his toes, making small ripples, feeling every knotted muscle ease and relax. He sighed and closed his eyes, leaning back as Frodo had done, letting the water hold him. The tub was, indeed, family sized and the edge was curved so as to allow two heads to rest comfortably at either end. “Good?” Frodo asked, feeling Sam’s toes wriggling against his leg.“Mmmm…” Sam murmured, sinking his head back and wetting his hair As he did so, his legs pushed up against Frodo’s and he gasped with the surprise of feeling Frodo’s bare flesh against his own, warm and slippery. He struggled back upright and pushed his hair back off his face, wiping water from his eyes and mouth with the back of his hand. “Sam,” said Frodo softly, watching as Sam panted and stared at him, as though he had been burned. “It’s alright…come here, over here.”Sam inched forwards slowly and, after a little persuasion, settled himself between Frodo’s thighs, leaning his back against his chest. “There, that’s better.” Frodo smiled into Sam’s wet curls and stroked them gently with soap sticky fingers, rubbing the lavender scent into his hair. “Relax, love,” he said, massaging Sam’s temples until his eyelids fell softly closed. “Frodo…I should be doin’ this for you,” Sam complained, twisting a little under Frodo’s hands. “Sam, please. I want to. It would make me happy to do it.” Sam tried to relax but it was almost painful to feel Frodo’s body so close against his own, their arms and legs brushing and sometimes, when Frodo leaned forwards, his soft sex brushing against Sam’s buttocks, warm and exciting. He drew a deep breath and rested his cheek against Frodo’s cool, damp skin, allowing him to rub soap around his neck and ears, tenderly. It tickled a little and Sam flinched, but Frodo persisted, moving down each of Sam’s arms, rubbing and stroking and then washing off with handfuls of water cupped and then poured down his prickling skin. He could hear each quickened breath and frantic beat of Frodo’s heart as he moved his mouth against the soft skin in a silent agony of love. Every stroke of Frodo’s hands drew short gasps from Sam and with each low and lingering caress, his desire hardened and rose, making Sam writhe in the water and try to turn as if to hide his shame. “Shhhh…” Frodo said, and bathed his chest and belly and the soft fur below, tenderly soaping and rinsing and singing beneath his breath. “Sam?” said Frodo and, as it was a query, Sam raised his eyes and his answer was written large in his love struck gaze. Frodo leaned forwards a little as he dipped the soap once more into the water and lathered his hands. As he did so, Sam could feel a hard pressure against his back, miraculous and potent, sending hot shivers of want racing over his skin, spiralling into giddiness as Frodo’s hands gently washed and stroked along his own length, which urged itself instinctively against his hand, aching to be held. But Frodo didn’t linger, he soaped and rinsed efficiently and then tended to Sam’s legs and feet, rubbing against him as he moved, skilful and precise. When he had finished he bent his head and kissed Sam tenderly on the brow. “There, my love, I am done,” he said and folded him within his legs, cradled and safe. They rested for a time, stretched out, Sam aching within the arch of Frodo’s body, nothing between them but the lapping water, trickling in and out in tiny undulating waves, speaking of a treacherous peace.Eventually, Sam blinked his eyes open and shivered. “This water’s cold!” he cried and, twisting round in the water, felt with alarm how frozen Frodo’s skin had become. Frodo released him as he struggled out of the tub, reaching for a rough, warmly woven blanket that he had laid close beside the fire, ready for a towel. “Here, Frodo, take this,” Sam opened the blanket and held it out for him to step into. “It’s all right, Sam, you take it, I can…” but Frodo’s feet slipped as he rose from the water and he grabbed for the edge to steady himself. Sam leaped forwards and lifted him swiftly into his arms and the enveloping warmth, wrapping him securely against his body. He could feel small tremors running through Frodo’s body. “Frodo, are you all right?” he said, in fear and doubt.“Take me to bed, Sam,” Frodo whispered, trembling against the curve of his neck. The bedchamber was warm, and the fire was still crackling with life, a nice low bed of orange embers fuelling the flames and illuminating the room with a kindly light. Sam carried Frodo in his arms, not caring for his own nakedness, dripping with water and prickling chill along his arms and legs. He took Frodo over to the bed and laid him down upon it. Although Frodo was still swaddled in the blanket, Sam threw the warm quilt over him as well, tucking it tightly around Frodo’s body so that he could barely move his limbs. Frodo didn’t seem inclined to struggle upright, he lay immobile, his head upon the long, hard pillow. Sam prayed that it wasn’t damp, yet he feared it must be. He walked over to the fire and busied himself sorting and piling logs in the hearth, throwing a few of the likely ones on, frowning at the green and the moss which fizzed and crackled as it burned. When there was no more that could be done, he walked across and sat down upon the bed, looking down at his master in concern. Frodo lay wakeful, his eyes half closed, his face pressed awkwardly into the pillow, as if it knew not where or how it might find rest. “Oh, me dear, how long have you been in pain?” Sam whispered, laying his hand upon Frodo’s cold brow.Frodo shivered and Sam’s heart cried. “You must tell me if you’re bad, how can I help you if I don’t know? I should never have let you do those things for me.”“No, Sam, it’s not your fault, you always blame yourself,” Frodo said weakly, struggling to open his eyes. The blue depths were shadowed and heavy as if night was drawing in.“I took this on. I promised to take care of you, always. That promise is forever, Frodo, never let me fail you.”“You’ll never fail me.”“I can’t seem to help it…” Sam felt hot tears pouring down his cheeks. “I’m sorry, for marryin’ her, I’m so sorry…”“Rosie,” Frodo whispered, “Rosie, Sam, don’t forget her name, you’ll need to remember it when you return.”“Return?” Sam sobbed, wiping his nose against the back of his hand.“To Bag End.”“Frodo, stop it, there’s enough of that, now you know I ain’t goin’ nowhere, so there’s no good talkin’ like that, no good…” he stammered, holding Frodo’s frail shoulders, pushing them down a little forcefully, his tears dripping onto Frodo’s skin. “But I shall be, Sam,” Frodo said, with difficulty. Sam drew in a breath and caught the horror of Frodo’s words in his open mouth, gasping for air. “What?”“This can’t last, Sam, you must know that. The choice I made, it was a final one. I knew that and so did you. I think this is something we must face together. Please Sam, don’t cry.”Sam could do little more than move his mouth open and closed, as if gulping for air, unable to accept the truth that had been crouching darkly in the corner of his sight ever since he guided Frodo away from the sea. But this was too much, to be asked to look at it now, hideous and howling in the warm room with his love so sweetly open and trusting in its blind, ravenous face.“Don’t cry?” Sam repeated, his voice barely recognisable, even to him. “You speak of leaving me again and you tell me not to cry!” He climbed onto the bed and took Frodo’s wild face between his hands, staring in disbelief. “You won’t leave me again,” he said and straddling Frodo lifted Frodo’s head off the pillow and kissed him possessively.Hard and hungry he ground his lips against Frodo’s pliant mouth, feeling Frodo weaken as his tongue thrust between soft lips and curled deep into Frodo’s mouth. It searched restlessly, stroking and delving as if it sought to find the answers there, in that warm, intimate place. As Frodo closed his eyes and fell back against the pillows, Sam took his body and crushed it tightly against his own, pressing his hardness and his heat against Frodo’s muffled form, grasping and claiming him with greedy lunges of his tongue and raking fingers that tangled and twined within Frodo’s hair. Frodo gasped for breath and pulled back a little, turning his head and covering Sam’s hands with his own, shaking and surprised. Sam stilled and let his fingers fall free and his body collapse back upon the bed. He lay in shock, staring at the shadows on the ceiling, listening to the steaming, and crackling fire. “Sam?” Frodo reached out and touched his shoulder, laying a warm hand there, where once his flesh had been so cold. Sam said nothing, but stared upwards, unable to react.“Sam, please, it’s alright.”Sam blinked, “No it ain’t. It ain’t…”“Now you’re cold. Please, come to bed, we’ll be no use to each other if we’re both taken ill.” Sam turned his head at last, wrenching his eyes from the dancing, coupling flames, dark and interwoven. “I’m sorry, Frodo, I didn’t mean to do that.”“It’s alright, Sam, it’s quite alright. Please, here…” Frodo unwound himself from the quilt and the blanket, revealing his glowing, slender form. “Don’t let us waste time with apologies and formal words. It seems faintly ridiculous now, doesn’t it?”Sam nodded. It was true, he was cold and desperately wanted to hold Frodo within his arms and touch him so that his body came back to life slowly, inch by inch, the way he had always wanted. But the doing of it, now it came to it, seemed a fearful thing. “Don’t be scared, I won’t bite, I promise,” Frodo smiled, and he looked so much like the young Brandybuck newly arrived at Bag End, full of the spirit and tease of the Buckland folk, that Sam couldn’t help but smile and roll into the covers that Frodo held open.“There, that’s better, isn’t it?” said Frodo, snuggling up against him so that they lay close. Sam shivered against Frodo’s warm, lithe frame, feeling how light and agile Frodo was as he moved gently against him, lightly brushing Sam with his hardness as he reached up and trailed a finger along his jaw. “I love you,” Frodo said, and this time looked Sam boldly in the eye, as though he was offering up a challenge. Sam was frozen, staring down into the dark wells of Frodo’s eyes, defeated by the opposing demands of his body and his heart. One sought to cradle and protect, the other, to possess. “Frodo, don’t love. We don’t have to, not if you don’t care to. I wouldn’t mind,” he stammered, as Frodo touched a light finger pad against his mouth, exploring delicately along the inside of his lower lip, pinching softly and laughing beneath his breath. “Why do you think I don’t care to, dear Sam?” Frodo turned his head, gazing with open interest at Sam’s bewildered face, and then reaching out and touching the lip tentatively with a flickering tongue. “Hmmm?” he murmured, smiling.“Well, maybe I don’t care to, not in the state you’re in. I wouldn’t want to hurt you, or take advantage, like,” Sam blurted out, between unsteady breaths. “I must take care of you Frodo, me dear.”“Isn’t that exactly what I’m imploring you to do?” said Frodo, lowering darkly fanned eyelashes and looking up at Sam through them with unmistakable desire and mischief lurking within his half concealed gaze.“Mr. Frodo…” Sam began once more, but faltered as Frodo began earnestly tracing his lips with the very tip of his tongue until Sam felt mad with the overwhelming urges of his body, which were yelling at him to yield. “Stop!” he gasped. Frodo drew back, looking at once hurt and subdued. Sam panted and looked him in the eye. “Make no mistake, Frodo. If you take bad you tell me, at once, yes?”“Yes, Sam.” Frodo replied and turned his tongue into Sam’s ear. Sam groaned and sank back into the pillows with relief, giving himself up to the aching heat that was consuming him slowly. Frodo nibbled Sam’s ear tip lightly and felt Sam jolt and wriggle up against him, thrusting out his hips. Frodo trembled and lapped lightly, ticklish and foolish, it felt to Sam, but wonderful and joyful. He laughed aloud and the unbelievable lightness of the thing sent his troubles fleeing for the shadows. He grabbed his love and pulled him down, as this was clearly the reaction that Frodo was trying to provoke. Lying over Frodo, being careful always to support his weight on his hands and elbows, he pinned him down with his legs, so that they tangled together from the waist down, heat against heat. They were both breathing hard and trembling with shy anticipation. “Sam? What are you waiting for?” Frodo said, hoarsely, shaking the curls from his eyes.“I’m just taking my time,” Sam replied. “Surveying the ground, so to speak.” He bent his mouth to Frodo’s throat and suckled there awhile and, when he lifted his head once more, Frodo’s cheeks were blushing pink and his eyes were shining and alive. “Before making preparatory explorations…” Sam drew a steady tongue down Frodo’s neck and circled Frodo’s nipples, awaiting the response. Frodo cried softly, a sound that nearly broke Sam’s heart, but he continued, blinking back tears as he nuzzled and licked, feeling Frodo’s breathless delight as his own.“Sam!” Frodo gasped eventually, when he could take no more, and Sam stopped at once and raised his head. Frodo was staring down at him, a wild, heedless love blazing in his beautiful face. “Shall I stop?” Sam asked, remembering his promise, even though his body groaned, despairing at the thought.“No Sam, please, never stop…” Frodo whispered and arched his back, drawing Sam down to where his unquenched desire rose long and warm with rushing heat. Soft and silken and so lovely….Sam traced him lightly with fingers and unblinking gaze, throwing the covers away and casting them to the ground, and then bent his head and brushed him with quivering lips. Frodo drew in an audible breath and touched Sam’s hair with blind fingers. “Shhh, there, Frodo, let me…” Sam took him into his mouth and stilled Frodo’s unsteady lurching with his hands, holding him down tenderly as he gentled suckled and licked with soothing strokes of his tongue, desiring only to taste and draw ever closer to the centre of his love. He wanted to draw him open, explore his soul, run his body through his hands until every part of him grew strong once more. He could do it if anyone could. He pulled back and felt Frodo rise in protest, eagerly sensing every new burst of energy that rippled through his master’s frame, taking pleasure in every little cry. “Sam!” Frodo whimpered, turning his head into the pillow, but Sam could see that Frodo was not in pain, only enduring the agony of waiting. But that would do him good, Sam decided, look already, there was colour in his cheeks and his whole body had warmed and softened under his hands. Sam licked slowly around the head of Frodo’s erection and then plunged back in, taking him deep and closing his eyes rapturously as he heard Frodo’s half muffled wail which preceded his desperate climax, hands clawing and thighs trembling under Sam’s hands as he spilled again and again until his body could stand no more and fell back in exhaustion. Sam waited until Frodo softened and then withdrew, swallowing nervously and clambering back up the bed to take him once more in his arms. They lay for some time, wrapped in a tight embrace, Sam cradling Frodo from behind, stroking along Frodo’s body with gentle hands, waiting for his trembling to ease. He pressed kisses into Frodo’s hair and into the warm nape of his neck, exposed, pale and vulnerable through his hair. Whenever he whispered words of love, Frodo would try to turn in his arms, but Sam held him fast and quieted him with his embrace, muffling his protests with searching fingers, which Frodo gripped within his teeth. Sometimes they would move together in the semblance of lovemaking, and Frodo would grow hot once more and desire Sam’s touch, but then, after some twining and rubbing, they would still, sweating and sliding in one another’s arms, laughing and happy just to kiss and discover how many varieties of pleasure could be drawn from two searching lips and tongues. Sometimes the kisses were hard and adventurous; but others were light as butterfly’s wings brushing together a thousand times in a blur of love. “Sam, my Sam…” Frodo whispered, between caresses and Sam just smiled, his eyes crinkling with happiness. They fell asleep. Even though Sam had not reached climax, he was content just to feel the echoes of Frodo’s pleasure shuddering through his skin. Just to have brought his love to ecstasy was enough, the memory of it alone nearly brought him to his own resolution. He closed his eyes and hummed softly against Frodo’s damp hair, rocking them both in a lazy rhythm while the night closed unseen around the quiet room. To be continued ...