FIC: Hourglass - Chapter Five - Conjuring

No, I can't believe it either, two chapters in one week! I managed to get tons of writing done today - so I am feeling very chuffed and slightly giddy because this chapter is *HOT!!!* So there's also a warning there to those of a sensitive disposition regarding rampant passion involving OC's. :DI'm a bit concerned that I'm losing my readers. If you are enjoying this story, please let me know, sometimes it's hard to know if I'm doing ok.Thanks! :) TITLE: Hourglass - Chapter Five - ConjuringAUTHOR: IgrainePAIRING: F/S F/OCRATING: NC-17. This chapter is NC-17 (strong adult) :DTIMELINE: 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 borrow them with love and promise to return them unharmed. I make no money. :( WARNING: Scenes of Hotness involving an OC and "Sam's treasure!!!" :0 Chapter Five - ConjuringFrodo knew he was dreaming even as he lay, supported by a wave of ecstasy that tore a sound from his throat. His body tense and quivering, he rode out the tearing pleasure until he could not hold himself any longer and fell down, plummeting to his starched white sheets, his hands still clutching, grasping at fragments of sweetness, already fading to dull throbbing heartbeats. He tried to wake, to pull himself out of the cavern of wanting that had opened up before him – the hunger that had brought him to the edge of weeping. He felt the coldness of the pillow, the emptiness of the wide oak bed and the bedroom half full of his own belongings, which couldn’t fill the spaces between. He would never fill it – he wasn’t meant to – it wasn’t his inheritance, couldn’t be – Bilbo had made a mistake. Frodo shivered and burrowed into the covers, already forgetting the bliss of his dreams as he wrapped himself in his own cold arms. Soon Sam would come. Sam would see that he was well - ask if there was anything he needed. Sam would come and fill the room with his warmth and his kindness. But no – not today. Sam would not come today. Sam would be at Number Three, with the Gaffer. Frodo would have to manage alone. He would have to get up and get on with the day, stepping out into the cold hall where no fires had been lit – go to the kitchen, light up the stove, make breakfast for his guests…The smial was filled with a deep silence, deeper than usual, one that signified that there were those that were still dreaming in their beds. Frodo padded down the hall and lit the lanterns along the way, for the morning had not yet brought the light, only the first bright chirpings of the blackbird in the apple tree. The kitchen was cold and empty and Frodo’s heart lurched to see it looking so sad. He fumbled with the stove and lit it three times, blowing on the smoke to catch the sticks alight. When at last the flames were snapping and leaping high into the chimney, he closed the door tightly and filled the kettle for tea. Each sound of water or metal resonating in the early quiet. When the water was hissing in the kettle, he took a cloth and lifted it from the hook, filling the large brown teapot with water, watching the dance of the spinning leaves as the warm steam bathed his cold cheeks. Laying the table with what he could find in the pantry, he ate without enthusiasm, chewing slowly, and swallowing with difficulty around the great knot in his belly. Soon he must go and look, soon…“Good morning, Mr Baggins.” Frodo looked up from his half-chewed toast as the old hobbit shuffled into the room, rubbing her hands together and huffing on them. “Good morning, sister,” he said, getting up. “You keep a cold hole here, if you don’t mind me saying so,” she said as she moved over to the warm stove and stood for a moment with her back towards him.“Would you like some breakfast?” Frodo asked, polite despite the sting of her words. She turned round and looked at the cold provisions that lay scattered about the cloth. “No, thank you kindly – I’ll just take tea – then I’ll be on my way.”Frodo poured her a cup of tea and she looked approvingly at the delicate thing as she drank the hot liquid down in two gulps. “Thank you,” she said and put the cup down on the table, settling it carefully on its saucer. “Won’t you sit down?” Frodo urged, feeling strangely as if he wanted to keep her here. “No thank you, I’ll be going now,” she replied, throwing on the thick woollen cloak that had been spread across the back of a kitchen chair to dry. “Would you like me to…? ” Frodo began, his heart leaping and racing. “No thank you, Mr Baggins, the snow’s all melted away in the night and I’m well enough on my feet. You stay in the warm and keep him out of that river.” She grinned fleetingly, looking for a moment like an old wolf, her grey hair hanging about her face like a grizzled coat. “Have you seen him this morning – is he well?” Frodo asked quickly, in a slightly breathless rush. “Aye – he’s better. The fever’s gone and he’s sleeping sound. Let him rest, don’t you go troubling yourself, Mr Baggins,” she said, looking at him keenly with her needle sharp gaze. Frodo rose to his feet and unlatched the back door. The morning sun was just creeping over the side of the hill and the garden was illuminated with a soft, shadowy haze - patches of white snow still lying on the ground glowed ethereally in the half-light. The Healer nodded her farewells and walked out into the cold, wet garden. Frodo watched her following the stone path down to the orchard gate, her hunched figure startling the blackbird from its tree, sending it shrieking and flapping over the hill. When she had disappeared from sight, he was still standing, breathing in the cool, sweet air, thinking how early mornings always sang to him of the possibility of new beginnings – of departures and arrivals and the lure of the new day, full of possibilities. ~~~ It wasn’t what he had expected. Stealing softly into the bedroom, with his heart thudding in his ears, Frodo had discovered his guest sitting upright on the bed staring out of the open window, his face as still and expressionless as stone. Still wearing Frodo’s night-shirt, his long legs were curled beneath him and the outline of his body was stark against the pale linen. Watching, Frodo was as absorbed by the sight of Asher as the stranger was by the view from Bag End’s windows and they both remained silent for a moment, listening to the cries of the milk herders and low complaints of the cattle as they were ushered in from the fields. A soft, cold breeze wandering through the room filled the empty corners with pockets of icy air and drowsily wove its fingers through Frodo’s hair.“Can you see the White Downs from here on a good day?” Asher turned and looked at Frodo where he stood silently waiting. Frodo jumped in surprise, it seemed the young hobbit could sense him even when he was careful not to make a sound. Frodo nodded, “On a good day, yes. Sometimes I imagine I can hear the sea.”Asher looked at him with interest in his dark, slanting eyes. “I hear it always, Frodo. I carry it with me.”Frodo shivered and looked at the dead hearth. “Shall I light a fire?”Asher shrugged and took a deep breath as if he were trying to inhale the distant landscape. “I want to get up,” he said. “Can I bathe?”“Of course, there’s plenty of water,” Frodo replied.Stretching, lifting his arms high as he stood upright Asher looked down at the fine embroidered nightshirt he wore and ran his hands along the stitching down the front, “This is a beautiful thing,” he said. “It belonged to my father. I don’t remember him ever wearing it,” Frodo said, “but then I don’t remember much about him at all, really, so that’s not surprising,” he added, looking at his feet. “He’s been gone a long time?” Asher asked, walking up to Frodo, seeking his eyes. “Many years – my parents died when I was a child,” Frodo said, softly. As he spoke, Frodo felt the other hobbit’s physical presence deep under his skin. His daring, his youth and beauty, he sensed as keenly as he might the presence of a fox in the woods, and he trembled to find him standing so close. Frodo turned. “I will fill the bath,” he said hurriedly and strode from the room and down the passage before another word could be spilled. ~~~ Looking in his linen chest, Frodo pulled out the largest shirt he could find, a deep indigo blue silk with ivory buttons. He couldn’t think whom it had belonged to, but it was a quality piece and hardly worn. He laid it out upon the bed and straightened it. Then he found a pair of breeches that Merry sometimes borrowed, since he had grown to be such a willowy creature, and he laid them down beside the shirt. He wondered how Asher would look in the deep, rich colours – his hair stark against the brilliant blue. Dreaming again, ridiculous things. Such fevered things… Frodo stood back and stared at himself in the mirror. He looked pale and tired, his eyes standing out from his face, wide and luminous – moonstruck. ~~~The clock on the mantelpiece ticked slowly with its deep, throbbing beat, weighted drops of time falling and passing, again and again until they faded out of conscious thought. Frodo sat at his desk and rifled through papers, a cup of tea and a stale cake beside his elbow, a frown furrowing his brow. In a comfortable chair, set close against the study fire, sat Asher, his legs sprawled across the hearthrug, engrossed in a huge volume of second age poetry that he had slipped off the bookshelf, fascinated by the bright gilt patterns on the binding. There were many illustrations within and he pondered them with deep interest, drawing his fingers across the soft wash of the ink and watercolour paint. Frodo was alarmed at first to see him touch the forbidden pages that he had once been warned from marking, but being curious, he had let it go and surrendered the precious thing into Asher’s long, slender hands. Asher held it carefully and reverently, delighting in it like a child.Asher had insisted on joining him in the study and promised to remain quiet whilst Frodo got on with his work, spending his day as he usually would, with no interruptions. But Frodo had soon grown restless and, with the constant presence of muffled bouts of coughing and half choked exclamations from the other hobbit, the temptation to talk was so great that the silence in the room swiftly grew oppressive. Too often this had happened of late, Frodo had been careless with his work and his responsibilities, hoping for a chance to escape them. Letters lay unopened; others were piled up unanswered. Maps heaped up on top of deeds, money books on top of transcripts. Frodo put down his pen. Usually, he would be awaiting Sam at this time of day, longing for his company and his conversation – breaking open the tedium of the afternoon and making the evening bearable. But he would not come today - perhaps he might never come again. Asher closed the book with a heavy thump and Frodo looked up. Standing and stretching, Asher began to walk about the room. His clothes fitted him well, although the breeches were a little short. Frodo had been right about the colour – his skin shone the colour of hazelnuts in the autumn and his hair was deep black but held within it a sheen of blue and green, like a peacock’s feathers, as it glimmered in the firelight. “Is there anything you’d like?” Frodo asked, watching him take a curling translucent shell from the mantelpiece and hold it against his ear. Asher turned to him and smiled, “I’d like a drink,” he said, “not tea – something else.” Frodo rose from his seat. “And I’d like to talk – with you,” he continued. “I’d like to talk with you and drink with you.”~~~Frodo poured the wine into crystal glasses – damson dark – sweet and bitter, he carried them over to the sofa where Asher was sitting, his knees drawn up beneath his chin. He took the glass and thanked him. “I’ve never sat in such a beautiful room surrounded by so many beautiful things,” Asher said, taking a sip of wine. “You’ve never seen Brandy Hall,” Frodo said, laughing under his breath, as he sat down beside him at the furthest end of the sofa, curled up against the arm, feeling strangely relaxed. “I’ve seen it – never been inside – always wanted to take a look and see. I was in the stable yard once and I walked all the way round the outside, peering over windowsills, but I was too short to see much at the time and my brothers called me away – they didn’t want me to get caught looking at things I had no right to. I’ve always looked where I shouldn’t…” Asher looked at Frodo openly, wantonly, straight in the eye. “I’m drawn to beautiful things, I can’t help myself.”“They worry about you,” Frodo stated, remembering how possessive they had been, closing in around their youngest kin, shielding and threatening. Asher sighed and tossed back his head, revealing the sculptured column of his long throat. “They suffocate me – I’m glad to lose them for a while.”“You’re lucky to have family who care about you,” Frodo replied. Asher sat up a little, “Forgive me, Frodo, I wasn’t thinking. I never think.”“I’m just a bit tired, I’m sorry.” Frodo took a drink and then another, drowning the shame of his loneliness.“You’re not tired, you just need some company, you’ve been shut up here too long,” Asher said, moving closer to Frodo. “I saw it the first time I looked into your eyes. You’re like me, Frodo.”“How am I like you?” Frodo said, his heart skipping a beat.“You’re different from other people – you see deeper – you feel harder…you’re an outsider – just like me.” Asher touched Frodo’s shoulder gently and Frodo looked up into an earnest face that seemed to reflect his own. “You don’t belong.”“Why do you think that?” Frodo said, laughing it off, throwing Asher’s hand off his shoulder as he rose and tended to the fire. Asher laughed too – louder and clearer – a sound like music. “Would you like to see a trick?”“A trick?” Frodo threw another log onto the fire in a shower of sparks. “I’m not sure I trust you,” he said. “Haven’t I always told you the truth?” Asher said, teasing, his eyes wide and innocent. Frodo wondered once more exactly how old he was, for he suddenly looked ridiculously young, biting his lip and playing with his feet. “Very well, then,” Frodo agreed, sitting down cross-legged on the rug.“Do you have playing cards? You must – a gentlehobbit like you always keeps a pack,” Asher stated, gazing around the room. “I’m not sure I like the sound of this,” Frodo sighed getting up and rifling through the drawers of the bureau. “Here we are!” he cried triumphantly, putting his hand on a pack and bringing it back to the fireside. “May I?” Asher reached out his hand; palm outwards and Frodo passed him the pack. “Do you trust me, Frodo?” he asked, raising a thin black brow. Frodo wasn’t sure, but he nodded his head, feeling that he had little to lose and would know if he was being robbed blind and put a stop to it sharpish. He imagined what Sam would think of him sitting here, being tricked by a stranger in his own home. He would see the trick before it was dealt, no doubt and deal his own clever hand – Sam was canny like that and not easy to fool. But he wouldn’t approve; he didn’t like underhand things, being honest and open himself. Frodo smiled as he thought about his love and watched Asher shuffling the cards, the pack fluttering and flexing before his eyes in a mystifying dance, from one clever hand into the other. When he had done, he smiled and moved to the floor, kneeling in front of Frodo with the pack fanned out in his hands, pictures facing outwards, inviting Frodo to choose. “Pick a card,” Asher said, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “I don’t trust you,” Frodo said, laughing, “Not one bit.” Asher said nothing but waited whilst Frodo flickered his eyes over the pack and drew one card out slowly, holding it close. “Don’t show me,” Asher instructed. “Look at it – memorise it.”Frodo nodded and held the card tightly in his hand, bending it slightly inwards. “Now throw it in the fire!” Asher tested Frodo with his eyes, his mouth curving in a delicious smile. “Go on.”Frodo smiled back and got to his feet, challenging and meeting him by throwing the card deep into the flames, shielding it from Asher’s sight as he did so. “Done!” Frodo cried, as the card blackened and a burst of sudden flame consumed it whole. “Good – now sit down,” Asher instructed, still smiling and looking at Frodo with dangerous intent. Frodo sat down and waited for a revelation. “What are we waiting for?” Frodo asked, puzzled, “Where’s the trick?” Asher laughed. “You really don’t trust me do you?”Frodo felt the truth of it in his heart even as he laughed and relaxed his body against the chair behind him. “You’ll have to come here – come closer…” Asher said, his eyes deepening to the colour of the wine, rich and alluring, the dark irises gilded with gold.Frodo’s legs trembled as he crawled forwards on his knees, feeling like a tweener again, playing risk games – putting his hand through flame – blocking out the pain. “Come closer…” Asher whispered, looking Frodo deeply in the eyes with unmasked desire. “You’ll have to trust me.”Frodo was an inch in front of Asher, their faces a breath apart and Frodo felt a sick lurch of fear as he looked his fears in the face and named them. Asher ran a fingertip delicately along Frodo’s jaw, a whisper of a touch that sent a tremor through his skin. “Shhh…” he said, “Don’t be afraid, Frodo,” he said, leaning in, their brows touching, their breaths mingling hot and sweet with wine. Sam… oh, Sam…Frodo found himself pressing his mouth against full, soft lips that fitted his own perfectly, as if they were made of the same cast. Warm and moist, moving open slowly, inviting him in, Frodo’s tongue darted out to taste the soft indent of the upper lip that pressed lingeringly against his own and as he did so, he felt something hard and sharp against the tip of it. “Take it,” Asher whispered under his breath. “Take it in your teeth,” and Frodo did so, biting down and withdrawing slowly. “Is that the one?” Asher said, their bodies still poised on their knees, one in front of the other. Frodo took the card from between his teeth and looked at it. “That’s impossible,” he cried, “I burned it! I watched it burn!”Asher smiled and pulled his curling hair back from his head, twining it into a knot at the nape of his neck, where it stayed fixed, seemingly of its own accord, revealing pretty ears and a swan like neck. “How did you do that?” Frodo said. “It’s mirrors, isn’t it, it’s all done with mirrors?” He looked up at the hourglass sitting upon the mantelpiece glittering secretively, bearing within it the reflection of the two of them crawling on the rug with the room and its contents swelling around them. Standing up, he took it down and held it out to Asher. “Was it something to do with this?”“A magician never reveals his secrets, Frodo,” Asher laughed.“Oh no?” Frodo said, bouncing down on the rug and laying his hands on Asher’s knees. “Would nothing persuade you to it?” Asher’s face stilled and grew suddenly grave. He placed his hands on Frodo’s face, cupping it gently. Then he shook his head. “Nothing?” Frodo persisted, recklessness filling his head with fire, wanting only to feel again the uncomplicated pleasure in the young hobbits mouth. He tipped the hourglass and watched the sand trickling slowly like a silver thread. “Shall I show you another trick, Frodo?” Asher said, sighing and stroking Frodo’s cheek slowly with his thumbs. Frodo closed his eyes feeling a sharp burning deep inside where his pulse throbbed and thickened, pulling him down. He blanked out all thought, all pain, all responsibility and opened his mouth, alive only to sensation and risk, distanced from his own actions. “You’re so beautiful…” Asher whispered into Frodo’s mouth as he settled his mouth upon it and drew his bottom lip deep inside, stroking it with his tongue. Frodo felt a flame leap within and groaned with pleasure.“Shhh…” Asher pulled back a little, taking Frodo’s mouth in short sipping kisses, slowing his passion, easing them down onto the rug. “There’s no rush,” he said. “Slowly…” Bending his head, his black hair tumbled from its knot and spilled over Frodo’s face as Asher bent to taste the soft skin of Frodo’s throat, where his pulse raced hard and fast. He suckled deeply and Frodo clutched wildly at Asher’s arms, his hips pushing up against him, searching instinctively.“Mmmm, you taste delicious,” Asher said, between gasps, slow kisses and lingering sweeps of a cool and delicate tongue. Frodo threw back his head and watched from the corner of his eye, as Asher’s quick fingers settled on his shirt buttons, his legs straddling Frodo’s thighs, so that Frodo could clearly feel the hard bulge that pressed against his own. “Shall I?” Asher asked, pausing for a moment and looking into Frodo’s face. “Do you want me to stop?” Frodo shook his head, biting his bottom lip and closing his eyes, waiting for Asher to make the next move, riding the waves of sweetness carried straight from his dreams into reality. Feeling the sensations abating a little, he looked up to see Asher looking down into his face, caressing him with his eyes, his elbows propped on either side of Frodo’s shoulders. Then he lowered his head and slowly drew his tongue along Frodo’s lips, making him gasp. “It’s easy, Frodo.” Frodo raised his hands and pulled Asher’s face down against his own, heat flaring at the press of their bodies, grinding against each other as they opened their mouths, their tongues stroking and curving, each attempting to possess the other, absorbing the life and the beauty they sought. Asher caught Frodo’s tongue and sucked it softly as he insinuated his hand between them and unbuttoned Frodo’s shirt with a skilful hand. Baring the soft, white skin, he sat back on his heels and just stroked him lightly with admiring fingertips. “Frodo – you’re unspoilt,” he said, looking down at flawless moonlit skin, warmed only by the amber light of the flickering flames. “I hardly dare touch you.” “Please!” Frodo moaned, desire suffocating all else, the thrill of danger filling his head as he opened himself for the first time to the lips of a stranger. Asher ran cool lips over his heated skin and then Frodo felt the curved tip of a questing tongue circling his nipples and trailing down his chest to his navel, where it lingered quivering around the waistband of his breeches. He jolted as warm breath travelled over his erection. He took a ragged breath and lifted his head briefly off the floor, his head spinning. Asher raised his eyes to him as he slowly unbuttoned Frodo’s breeches and released his warm cock, kissing it lightly and tenderly from root to tip. “Let go, Frodo, let go…”“Ohhhh…” Frodo exhaled and then gasped, his hands dragging through thick black hair, tangling and pressing as a hot mouth engulfed him. A little too eager, it seemed, for Asher pulled back and settled Frodo’s hips firmly down against the carpet as he swirled his tongue and pressed back the wild orgasm that surged against him, gentling Frodo with little kisses and soft caresses. “What do you want, Frodo?” Asher said between kisses, “What can I give you?”“Everything – I want to - feel it all – I need to know all of it!” Frodo gasped out between gritted teeth, trying not to climax too soon, holding his body down.Frodo felt Asher draw away, shivering at the loss of contact, his erection throbbing and warm against his belly, waiting, trying not to feel afraid. Trying not to connect these sensations with love, with devotion, with his Sam. The warmth returned and with it the gentle press of Asher’s body, hard and silken against his own as he covered him, rocking their pelvises together in a slow, firm rhythm that made him shout aloud. Asher was silent, his eyes closed, his mouth, swollen with kisses, whispering to itself. Frodo raised his hand and touched Asher’s face in a gentle caress. Asher smiled and turned his face into Frodo’s hand – Frodo felt a lurch of alarm that settled into something deeper as Asher moved once more down Frodo’s body, kissing and grazing the skin beneath his lips, adoring and awakening Frodo to thrills he had never experienced before. “Everything?” Asher questioned, lying with his face pressed against the warm hollow of Frodo’s hip. Frodo felt no doubt, only desire and a need to feel more than he had ever thought possible. Once opened, it seemed that he could never close himself again and an intense feeling of desperate elation raged through his body like fire. “Yes, please, show me...” he whispered hoarsely.And then there was no time for regrets, as Frodo felt Asher pushing between his legs, raising Frodo’s thighs as he took Frodo once more into his mouth, his fingers rippling and searching as his lips sucked and drew loud incoherent sounds of pleasure from Frodo’s mouth. Frodo’s hips bucked and his hands grasped at the long fringe of the rug as fingers pushed deep inside, shocking him into stillness, making his body roll like a wave. Asher released him from his mouth, with a regretful sound, sitting back and stroking the quivering softness of Frodo’s open thighs, assessing and desiring. “One more trick?” he whispered. Frodo couldn’t speak, but moved his head and raked his fingers along his own body, feeling how wonderful the resulting ripples made his head feel, swimming in and out of consciousness, burning up into a curling ember, clever fingers finding the fire within him, breaking down his isolation, breaking him into pieces. Sensing that Asher was waiting, seeking permission, he forced his head off the floor and looked the other hobbit in the eyes. “You can’t be real…” Asher said, gazing into his face, “You must be a figment of my imagination – you’re a trick – I’ve conjured you up.” Asher penetrated Frodo’s deep iris blue gaze as his fingers stroked and opened him to his invading touch. “Ahhh! You’re too beautiful…you’ll do me in…” he whispered, lowering his head, as Frodo’s own fell back with a soft thud. Pausing once more, holding back, Asher readied himself and then pressed firmly against Frodo, his eyes closed, the unbearable beauty overcoming him as he pushed slowly forwards, taking his time, watching Frodo’s face for any small tremor of pain. Frodo’s eyes remained closed as he concentrated on his breathing whilst the great pressure built in him, sparking fear and alarm, causing his head to burst with the control he mastered over his recoiling body. “Breathe, Frodo, breathe…” Asher spoke softly, stroking Frodo’s thighs, soothing and calming as he waited for Frodo to calm. “That’s it, breathe, slowly now, slowly, I’m going to … oh…” Frodo opened his mouth, but no sound would come out, only a slow breath, forced from his body as a new wave of pleasure washed over him with each slow plunge. This was more than he had been hoping for, so much sensation, too much, too many conflicting desires waging war inside him, too much – he reached out and clutched Asher’s hand. It was gripped in return. “It’s all right, Frodo, it’s good, you’re wonderful … you’re …oh!” Frodo felt it first, the bursting shout that roared, a rolling wave of fire clenching inside and shooting without, it took him in its frenzied grasp and threw him down onto his back, holding Asher within him with his heels pressed against the small of his back, rocking and wailing. Asher groaned Frodo’s name and thrust three times, quickly, thrilled and coming, shouting as he did so, jubilant and exalting, his head thrown back in ecstasy. Released.Frodo lay on the rug shivering, close to weeping. Wanting comfort, wanting Sam. Asher dressed quickly and threw a blanket over Frodo where he lay, still naked and unable to move. He looked concerned and hurriedly poured Frodo a second glass of the dark red wine. Offering it to him, he sat down beside him on the floor, stroking his shoulder in slow circles. Frodo didn’t drink the wine, but stared into the flames. “It took me that way the first time,” he said.“Who was your first?” Frodo asked, his voice soft and drowsy.“He worked the fairs, running the shies. He had fine golden hair and eyes the colour of cornflowers. I think I loved him.”A tear slid unnoticed from the corner of Frodo’s eye. “Thank you,” he whispered.“Don’t mention it,” Asher replied, “It was my pleasure. Look!”Frodo looked across to where Asher was pointing. The hourglass was draining the last of its sand into the other prison of glass. “Well timed!” Asher laughed lightly, kissing Frodo on the cheek. Frodo smiled and felt his body settling back into its normal rhythms, breathing quiet and slow, a peacefulness absorbing the clamour of his emotions and sending him to sleep.Asher rose to his feet and, pushing a cushion under Frodo’s head, walked out into the hall, draining his glass and reaching into the pocket of his breeches for Frodo’s best pipe.“Goodnight, sir,” he said, lighting up with a flick of his wrist. To be continued …