FIC: Hourglass - Chapter Six - What Lies Beyond

Here's this week's chapter. There is a little more OC smut in there - so I will issue a warning to those who wish to avoid it. In this chapter Sam finallycomes to a decision but is it just a little too late? (eek!:O)Hourglass - Chapter Six - What Lies BeyondAuthor - IgrainePairing - F/S F/OCRating - NC-17 - This chapter is rated RTimeline - 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 will return them unharmed. I make no money.Chapter Six – What Lies BeyondAll duties done, an exhausted quiet hung over the Gamgee smial. The two sisters sat at the kitchen table, mending by candlelight and talking in low whispers, trying to keep their secrets from the ears of their brother, glancing in his direction from time to time, to make sure that he was paying no heed. Sam sat, slumped and sombre in the hearthside seat their dad favoured, sinking his gaze deep into the flames – looking for all the world as if he had been asked to answer the riddle of life. Although reassured that they need fear no meddling in that quarter, both Daisy and Mari were troubled to see their brother so sunk in his thoughts.When the gossiping had at last run dry and the sewing candle guttered in its dish, both sisters rose and, after two swift nods of agreement, moved over to the warm hearth and settled themselves, snugly at their brother’s feet. But Sam didn’t appear to notice their presence, only continued his attentions to the flames, staring with dreaming eyes, even when a log burst and showered sparks onto the hearthrug. After looking to Sam for a response, Daisy reached out and grabbed a small shovel - quickly beating them out and then, after pointedly brushing the black ash from her red skirt, settled back on the floor with a loud and exaggerated sigh. Sam didn’t stir. Daisy eyed Mari with exasperation – silence on a winter’s night being cold and unwelcome company and the secrets of a brother, hard on curious souls. “Sam – what is it?” Daisy asked at last. “If your face grows any longer we’ll have to start feeding you on hay and carrots!”Mari stifled a burst of laughter and looked up at Sam – seeking even a glimmer of light, a chink of laughter, at least. But Sam looked impassive, unreachable. “Are you worriting about dad?” Daisy continued, “For he seems strong enough in himself and you know he’s had lots of bad chests over the years and always got over them. It’s nowt that a good sleep won’t heal – you heard the sister.” As Daisy talked, Mari watched Sam’s face carefully, seeking signs of acknowledgement or fear. She shook her head slowly, watching the flames burnishing her brother’s soft face, dancing in his thoughtful, gentle eyes. “It ain’t dad, is it Sammy?” she said softly, interrupting her sister’s fast talk. “It’s them strange folk that came with the snow. It’s them, ain’t it?”On hearing his sister’s pet name for him, Sam’s heart pattered a little with love, a soft feeling like snow dropping from a branch. Sam sighed and rummaged in his waistcoat pocket for his pipe. Pulling it out, he made a slow play of filling it, pushing the weed in firm and full.“You’ve a soft heart, Sam and you worry too much about your duties,” Mari said. “It’s up to Mr Frodo to find help – he has plenty to call on. He relies on you too much these days, Sam. You’re up there from dawn ‘til dusk and stayin’ on to cook – it’s more than’s needed. Mr Bilbo never made such requests!” Sam lit a taper from the fire and put it to his pipe, inhaling deeply as the weed curled and glowed umber and dark. Daisy nodded her head enthusiastically. “He takes you for granted, Sam,” she said.Sam exhaled and regarded the wings of smoke impassively. “He don’t take me for granted,” he replied, after a long pause.Both sisters fell silent once more.“So did you find out nothing about those strange folk?” Mari asked, changing direction. Sam shook his head. “I told you I didn’t,” he said. Daisy turned to her sister. “I think most of them have gone now, Mari. It was quiet when I went up.”“They’ve left the lad up at the top of the hill with Mr Frodo?” Mari gasped. “So that’s why you’re fretting – you think himself won’t like being all on his lonesome with the stranger and will come calling in the dead of night askin’ for you?”Sam shifted uncomfortably in his chair and ran his fingers up and down the smooth long stem of his pipe, listening and absorbing all that his sisters said, even in his distraction. “He’s been up there too long, if you ask me,” Daisy said. “It’ll drag him away from his books – liven him up a bit, give him something else to do…”“I don’t know how he stands being cooped up there all on his own,” Mari said, disregarding her brother now, being focused entirely on the face of her sister, who was nodding spiritedly.Daisy shook her head, “I know – it would give me the creeps, all those empty rooms, and not a soul breathing – only him.”Sam shivered. Not a soul, but him and the other. The two of them to fill so much emptiness.Sam rose from his chair, knocking his pipe out on the edge of the hearth. He strode purposefully across the room and reached for his winter coat and hat. “You’ll manage for an hour or two?” he asked, shrugging on the heavy, rain soaked wool. “Two spoons of the syrup if the cough gets worse – yes?”Daisy and Mari rose as one, both pairs of eyes asking the same question. “Now, you promised, Sam.” Mari said, agitated, “You said you’d stay here and be close in case you was needed.”“Mari – dad’s sleeping,” Sam replied, doing up buttons. “The jobs are all done – there’s no need for me to be wasting time, sitting on my backside.” “You’re not going up there are you, Sam?” Mari asked, rolling her eyes up towards the hill.“Oh, no, Sammy!” Daisy urged. “He won’t be needing you now!”Sam turned, holding in a terrible floundering breath. “If you want to know so very bad I’ll tell you – I’m off to take dad’s place at the Ivy Bush.”“You’re going drinking?” Daisy gasped, appalled.“There are some folk I have to have a few words with and yes, I might have an ale or two while I’m there, if that’s all right with you? I’ve suffered enough for it, I think.” Pulling on his hat, he glared at his sisters and hunching his shoulders, set off into the wild and rainy night. ~~~ Frodo woke, sore and aching, his head reeling. Sitting up slowly, he looked around the darkened room, covering his nakedness with the blanket held close against his knees. For an instant he didn’t know who he was looking for – Sam? Bilbo? His mother? But none of these seemed close to the resolution; all seemed to be vanishing - swift as the snow. He stood, wrapping the blanket around him tightly. Unsteady and confused, he walked out into the hall, wanting water, clothing, something to eat. But before he could turn down the passage, he jolted to a stop, pausing to breathe in a strangely re-assuring fragrance that made him feel giddy with nostalgia. A rush of cold air was blowing down the smial and carried along on the tail of it was the scent of pipe smoke. Could this be it? The moment he had carried in his heart for the past year – hoping against hope – longing for as once he had craved the sound of his mother singing?No one else smoked that particular weed – it was a curious blend, reputedly brought over by a certain troop of south travelling dwarves. A present for a thief – a heady blend that would choke the foolhardy or the inexperienced, as Frodo had once learned, to his detriment. Frodo stumbled forwards to the open door, his heart tight with anticipation, his head warning him to stop – stop now, before it was too late…The figure on the doorstep, sitting under the porch was wrapped in Frodo’s own cloak, green and soft as velvet and Frodo’s heart dived deep, deep into cold water and plummeted. “Asher?” he said, memories flooding him, reality storming his skin with the cold night and the rain. He remembered.Bilbo wasn’t coming back – Bilbo was never coming back.Asher got up and turned to him. The smoking pipe he held in his hand hung half- hidden in the folds of his cloak, dropping ash onto the floor. “You’re awake?” Asher replied, looking at him in surprise, his eyes sparking alarm. “You scared me!” he laughed, easing over his discomfort. “I didn’t hear you coming.”Frodo looked him in the eye, waiting for the younger hobbit’s nervous laughter to subside before he spoke, “You know you can borrow whatever you need – you only have to ask,” he said. Asher looked down, his eyes sweeping across the cloak and the trail of smoke that rose incriminatingly from within it. Then he faced Frodo directly and his eyes were challenging once more and enchanting. “Why so formal now, friend?” he said, raising his free hand to brush Frodo’s cheek lightly with his fingertips. “Aren’t we beyond such things?” Frodo trembled a little beneath the touch but stood his ground determined that he would not be deceived, his disappointment fuelling his courage.“Just be honest with me, please,” Frodo said, softly. “I don’t want to be made a fool of.”Asher grinned lopsidedly and then drew the pipe out of the folds of the cloak. Hissing, he shook his hand, dropping the pipe onto the floor and releasing with it a swift torrent of hard words, some of which were entirely new to Frodo’s ears. “Serves me right?” Asher said, bending to pick up the pipe and pass it over to Frodo.Frodo took it and held it gently in his hands. “I don’t mind you taking mine, but please leave Bilbo’s things alone.”“Was that an invitation?” Asher grinned, raking his tangled hair nervously. “I haven’t much of my own,” Frodo replied. “I don’t think you’d get much for it.” “Is that what you think I am, Frodo? A common thief?” Asher said, his expression changing quick as lightning.“I don’t know…” Frodo whispered. “I don’t know you.”“And I don’t know you!” Asher hissed. “You could be a danger to me,” he continued, eyeing him curiously, his voice lightening once more to its usual lilting melody. “I’m a danger to myself,” Frodo replied. “So, do you make a habit of lying with thieves?” Asher continued, his eyes sparkling.Frodo shook his head, feeling how heavy and light it felt, as though it wasn’t a part of him at all, but belonged to another. As he was pondering this change he suddenly found himself half-fainting on his feet and the shocking force of his sudden weariness sent him clutching at the coat rack for support, as he stumbled against the wall. “Frodo?” Asher clutched at Frodo’s arm and allowed him to settle his weight against him. “I’m supposed to be the ill one, you know?”Putting an arm around him, Asher gently raised Frodo’s pale face to the dim light and looked down into it, considering. “I’m taking you off to bed,” he said, propelling Frodo down the hall. “You look like you’re sleep walking, your eyes are dark. Tell me when we reach your bedroom door.”Frodo mumbled as they drew level with it and Asher pushed it open with his foot. Stumbling together, they crashed into the edge of the bed and Asher bundled Frodo into it, managing to divest him of his blanket as they scrambled to pull back the sheets. “You don’t mind if I join you?” Asher asked, clambering over the bed. “I will try not to talk the night away, I promise. I’ll just lie here – quiet as a mouse.”Frodo was just relieved to be lying on soft pillows once more and shook his head, resigned that they would share this bed as once he had dreamed he might share it with his Sam, tucked safe in his arms, loving and warm and open.Dear Sam, where are you? If you don’t come soon I fear it will be too late…Asher loomed into Frodo’s vision, twisting onto his side and stroking Frodo’s face. “Sleep well, my dark little elf,” he smiled, twirling his fingers in Frodo’s hair affectionately. Then, realising what he had done, he clapped his hands over his mouth.“Sorry!” he whispered and dropped down onto his back. “Sorry Frodo!”Frodo smiled, already falling, dreamless and aching – diving into a beautiful void.~~~The Ivy Bush was quiet, bad weather warnings and the threat of floods having kept most folk close to home, and only the oldest and hardiest retainers filled the settles and hearthside corners, huddling together over clouds of pessimism and pipe smoke. They looked up as Sam entered, nodding their heads and mouthing short greetings before returning to the ale. There was no break in the ebb and flow of the evening, passing one to the next in the same patterns, unbroken from season to season. No one seemed surprised to see Sam and a seat was set aside for the Gaffer, same as it always was. He sat down in his father’s place. The Ivy Bush looked on change as an enemy and had its feet firmly rooted in the past. It amazed Sam how some could be content with this. To see the world from this small vantage and seek to look no further than the bottom of the jug. It seemed inconceivable that a stranger could ever have passed through here – sitting in someone else’s corner, drinking from another’s mug – surely no change had come here, not in a thousand years. Daddy Twofoot sat on Sam’s right with old Odo Proudfoot eyeing him suspiciously from the other side of the table, both of them looking at Sam with poorly disguised interest. “So how’s yer father, Sam?” Daddy Twofoot offered, slapping his wide palms face down on the tabletop. “Any better?”“Improving,” Sam replied. “He’ll be back on his feet soon enough.”“Good, good…” Daddy replied, eyeing Odo from beneath untamed brows. Sam steeled himself, feeling almost afraid to ask the question that burned on his tongue, making him fidget in his seat. He knew he should be making light conversation, but this place was the very last place he wished to be and if he hadn’t these questions to ask he would be running up to Bag End and laying himself down in front of his master, begging for his love.Suddenly, it seemed Odo could hold back no longer and he burst forth in his slow dignified voice, “We all heard about what you did – saving that lad from the ice.”Sam looked up. “It was no more than anyone else would’ve done.”“Hmmm, well I think some might have been in two minds over it,” Daddy muttered. “Any hobbit would help another hobbit in trouble,” Sam replied. “Well, there’s some that say that they ain’t true hobbits,” Daddy continued, darkly. “Did you look at their feet? Boots! Boots, I ask you!”“Yes, I saw them,” Sam said, prickling at such coarse prejudice.“And they didn’t speak like us – they sounded foreign,” Daddy closed his mouth firmly on the subject.“There’s nowt wrong with a few differences,” Sam said, his face flushing pink.“Unnatural, if you ask me,” Daddy continued.Sam shook his head, drawing down the warm ale, not enjoying the taste that he had loved since the day he’d come of age and sat, sipping it in his dad’s place, feeling mature and strong and powerful. Now he felt small again as if he had dwindled in the shadows, never finding his true place, always looking to far-fetched things. But he had found Frodo. He had found a haven in his arms. It seemed so very far away now; it was as if he had dreamed it all just to torture himself.“Unnatural?” Sam asked, fearing the reply.Daddy warmed to his subject. “Aye, they’re a queer sort of folk – Breelanders, some say, or elf struck, one or t’other. Changelings… they use elf magic and all kinds of trickery to take the honest coin from the pockets of innocent folk.”“Now, come on, Daddy – how can that be true?” Sam asked, sitting on the edge of his seat, his fingers pressed white against the mug he still clutched.“It’s true as the nose on my face!” Daddy exclaimed, pointing to the aforementioned ponderous feature with a short finger. Sam’s heart pounded, “What do you know about them?”Daddy was relishing his moment, taking a long, lubricating draught of ale and then drawing a deep breath. “Well, it were t’other night. Freezing it were, but many folks had turned out on account of these fellows and the gossip that had come with them. Your name were mentioned once or twice, Samwise. Some raised a mug to your name, others were wary and wished you might not have encouraged them in, it being better sometimes to leave well alone and keep each to our own, not bringing in the bad fortune. And so it goes, one arguing against t’other – until the door swings open and who should come in but themselves! That took the smug look of a few faces, that’s for sure – right quiet it went. They walked in with their dark clothes and their big boots and they ordered some drinks to be carried to the Bolger’s table. There were two Bolger’s there, and they had to budge up to give them room, looking at them right startled as they shook their hands. Huge hands, like the hands of men. They ordered drinks for everyone and smiled – that warmed a few cold hearts and soon there was talk again and the old place seemed livelier and warmer than it had for many years.”“Well that sounds friendly enough,” Sam said. “Well, I ain’t finished yet!” Daddy said, holding up his hand. “When all were merry as Kings, the cards were brought out. Picture cards, you know, such as the gentry play.” Sam nodded his head. “Well they said it was an easy game and one that anyone with wit can win. You can guess who was first up on his feet? Sandyman always thinks himself sharper than anyone else. He walks up and taps the broad fellow on the back. ‘I’ll have a go!’ he says and they spread three cards on the table and show their pictures, before turning them over and shuffling them about until everyone who’s watching is all dizzy and tangled up as to which is which. ‘Find the lass, now!’ they says. ‘Where’s the Queen?’ Well Sandyman he has a right big smirk on his face and he looks straight at the big one as he lifts one of the cards. ‘Unlucky, sir!’ they says and sure enough, as Sandy’s face cracks, the card is seen to be the three of shovels. Well, I must say, it was right funny and we all laughed as he pulled the coin out of his pocket and gave it to the fellow, who pocketed it, quick as lightning. Three times it happened, four. It seemed such an easy trick and yet it were like catching moonlight in a net, you fished for her but she slipped through every time.”“Everyone had a go - they all lost the same!” Odo said, “No-body won nowt!” Daddy raised an eyebrow at the other hobbit. “They walked out of the Bush with heavy pockets, leaving us feeling like floundering fools and lighter than we’d been in a good long while. So friendly too, many felt that they were taken for moongazers.”“And they call it magic?” Sam asked, “They were robbed blind and they blame it on magic? Those fellows were too clever for them.”“That’s where their magic is, Samwise. It’s in their talk and in their pockets,” Daddy nodded his head decisively and then sat back to sup his ale.“So they left quick before folk realised what had happened to them?” Sam asked, a bleak feeling of hopelessness settling on his shoulders. “Leaving the young one up at Bag End, aye,” Daddy said, looking Sam hard in the eye. “I’d be looking out for your master if I were you, Samwise - I’d be watching his cupboards and drawers.” What have I done? I should have been keeping watch over him, protecting him, keeping him safe, and instead I’ve been working and supping ale as if I hadn’t a mind of my own – but were some kind of beast, yoked to the plough – walking in straight lines, keeping my head down, ignoring my heart.Sam got up and grabbed his coat, nodding to Odo and pushing his way past the benches. “Goodnight to you,” he said.Daddy gaped. “Lad! Lad! I didn’t mean you had to dash up there this minute – stay here Samwise and sit your father’s place!”Sam shook his head, already half way through the room, pushing past bodies in his haste, feeling the sweat cooling on his brow as he broke out into the rain. So they had gone and left the beautiful lad. He would be living with Frodo, talking to him, sharing his food, sleeping under the same quiet roof…Sam walked blindly through the driving rain, sliding through mud and slush, hurrying up the hill in the darkness.I must go to Frodo – tell him I love him. It has to be tonight…~~~Frodo woke suddenly in the dark, gasping at the soft glide of skin, his body awakening to the call, even as the dreams still cradled him – a summer garden, trees moving in the soft breeze, a riot of red flowers and Sam painting his mouth with strawberry kisses. He lifted his hips, pressing into the warmth, pushing wild fingers into long tangled braids and riotous curls. He wanted to cry out, but he found himself biting his lip. Hushed by insistent lips, stifling the sound before it came, burying his cry in the smooth palm of a brown hand pushed flat against his tongue. The pleasure overtook him and he let it come. Quickly, it tore through his body, making him grab and press the soft head tight between his thighs, panting and sobbing. For a moment, it seemed he was still dreaming and Sam’s name jarred in his throat like sweet honey, thick and suffocating. But something stopped him crying it aloud. Darkness overwhelmed him for a moment and he reached out blindly, listening to the soft sounds of pleasure breaking beside him, warm and slipping over his hand as the body beside him bucked against his thigh, pressing his mouth against Frodo’s neck.When it was over, Frodo held him and stroked his hair and Asher closed his eyes, rocking back and forth, not in lust, but in the simple, monotonous rhythms of childhood. It made Frodo want to sing and he tried to remember one of his mother’s cradlesongs that had haunted him all his life. Only fragments remained of it now, but he sang what he could and Asher seemed calmed and nestled more closely against him, kissing Frodo softly over his throat, feeling the deep vibrations moving beneath. Asher knew the song, for he joined in after a time and they ended it together. It seemed very old and very sad and Frodo’s eyes welled with tears. Asher reached up and felt the wet trails that marked Frodo’s flawless cheek then he put his fingers to his lips and tasted them. “You know why it makes you cry don’t you?” Asher whispered.“No.” Frodo murmured. “Only that it brings back memories.”“It is doubly barbed for you, friend, you shouldn’t sing that song.”“Why?” Frodo asked, “Why do you say that?”“It is a song about the sea and it is a song about your mother. Both of these things are perilous to you.”“Perilous?” Frodo asked, his body stiffening with strange shivers.“They draw you home. Eventually they will call you away and all that love you will lose you,” Asher said, marking Frodo with a biting kiss. Frodo closed his eyes. “Don’t say these things,” he said. “You can’t see.”“You don’t know me, Frodo,” he replied. “If you let me, I can keep you safe.”Frodo shivered and opened his eyes to find dark eyes blazing into his. “How can I trust anything you say?”“Your uncle was a thief and you loved him more than your life,” Asher whispered. “We’re all thieves, Frodo, we steal what we have no right to.”Frodo’s thoughts turned to Sam, clicking into place, feeling the sting of Asher’s words. He had taken what he had no right to and now Sam was going to leave him and he would be left alone once more. Desolate, vast emptiness embracing him, stunning his body back to abstinent silence, quieting and deadening.“I can show you the sea and we can find out what lies beyond.” Asher bit gently down Frodo’s chest, smoothing each nip with short strokes of his tongue.“What lies beyond,” Frodo gasped, “Is nothing…”“Nothing? You don’t believe that, do you? Bilbo didn’t believe it – he will be going there one day – he’ll be seeking the way.”“There is nothing there for us – only death.”Eyelashes fluttered against his hip. “I’m leaving, Frodo. I’m leaving tomorrow and there will be many months when we shall be apart. Only when the spring has come will I call again. Then you can decide.”Fear and longing for the sea moved restlessly under Frodo’s sinking consciousness, as he lay listening to the hard pattering of the rain on the window, the shifting covers falling to the floor, the banging on the door. To be continued…