Frodo was already awake when Sam began to stir restlessly, lips moving to shape soundless words that Frodo was not sure he would have wished to hear spoken. Fine sheets and bedding aside, both of them had problems believing at the heart of them that their hard days and terrible nights of journeying were done. In Sam's case, the horrible doubt revealed itself in nightmares that always came in the darkest hours before the dawn. While they were mercifully short, they had awakened Sam until Frodo had learned to anticipate the signs and soothe him back into peaceful slumber.
He cautiously turned in the protective circle of Sam's arms until he was facing him, inching higher so that he could draw Sam's head to his chest. Combing fair curls hair through his fingers, Frodo murmured lovingly, "There, there, my Sam. There, there. It's done with now; destroyed along with Gollum. We'll be on our way back to the Shire as soon as we've seen Strider crowned."
Within a few minutes he had him settled again, reassured that it had taken less time than it had the night before. Hopefully tomorrow's nightmares would be banished even more quickly, though Frodo knew that the true cure for them lay in returning home to familiar holes and proper Hobbit-sized beds. Sam would put away the memory of being gone with the stubborn practicality that had served them both so well and get on with life.
Smiling fondly at the image that brought to mind, Frodo kissed the top of Sam's head and began the slow process of easing away without waking him. His rest was done for the night, and had been for some time now. He had only remained abed because it made Sam's dreams worse if he wasn't beside him when they began, and to be sure that he was near when they did.
Once standing, he dressed quickly in the dark, a skill he had grown adept at as of late. He slipped out the door, closing it silently behind himself, confident that Sam would sleep until the morning cries of the birds woke him. Preferring for the most part to avoid the sight of the dawn they heralded, Frodo wandered into the depths of the royal halls, as had been his wont of late, not really thinking about anything in particular, but too restless to sit. On some level it annoyed him that he could not convince his own body that the time for roving was done, but he thought it a better symptom of past hardships than Sam's nightmares.
Involuntarily Frodo shuddered. He had far too many memories that could be used to fuel night terrors; much better to confront them in the light of wakefulness than during the helpless dark of sleep. At least then he could deal with them with his own manner of practicality - fixing his mind on the beauty of the moment, much as he had once focused on placing one foot in front of the other. At times he wondered if others were aware of just how much splendor could be found in the simplest of things, such as the fragrances carried by fresh, clean air.
Turning a corner into a little-used chamber far within the mountain, Frodo pulled up short at the sight of Aragorn pacing angrily from one side of it to the other. He shrank back, not wanting to disturb him if he had needed privacy so badly that he had to remove himself this far away from others to attain it. Small as that movement was, it attracted Aragorn's eye, and he spun on his heel, hand going to his knife. A split second later he relaxed, though his eyes remained troubled. "Frodo! You're up early."
Eyeing the clear lines of exhaustion on Aragorn's face, Frodo said with mock-severity, "And you're up late! Are you trying to stop Merry and Pippin from sneaking into the pantries again?"
Aragorn started, as if taken aback that anyone would tease him, then plopped onto a nearby bench to laugh long and low. Smiling cheekily, Frodo climbed up to sit beside him, drawing his knees up to cross his forearms over them. When his laughter died, Aragorn leaned back on the wall behind them, stretching his long legs straight out, and took out his pipe and pouch. After offering the pipeweed to Frodo and accepting a polite refusal, Aragorn lit his pipe, taking the proper solemn care to do it, Frodo noted in approval.
The first puff seemed to finish the task that the laughter had begun of granting him serenity, and Aragorn said, "Would that my labors were for something as small as ensuring that those two leave a few morsels for the rest of us."
Enjoying the thought that he might provide a measure of comfort for his friend, much as he had for Sam, Frodo nodded his understanding. "It cannot be an easy thing to take up the reins for an entire people. Just stepping into Bilbo's shoes to manage his affairs had me wishing that I could return to simpler days, as insignificant as that task must be compared to yours."
"I never thought I would long for battle," Aragorn said in agreement. "Problems there are solved by a sword and the removal of some orc's head. Forgive me if it has occurred to me of late that the same method might be used on some of the councilors whom I must work with to bring Gondor back to her glory. For the most part, each one is more concerned with their own fate than with Gondor's."
"Perhaps it would serve them - and you - well to be told of what your preferred method of dealing with obstructions is. Gimli could serve as messenger." Frodo stole a glance at Aragorn from the corner of his eye, expecting to find the quirk of his lips that promised a smile, but instead saw him giving the feeble jest serious consideration.
"Perhaps," Aragorn said slowly, "It *would* benefit them to be reminded of how and why I came to the throne. And the resources I can bring to bear to keep it."
Not wishing to lose the company of his friend to the duties of the King, Frodo said lightly, "Ah, then Legolas is the proper courier."
With a snort of amusement, Aragorn said, "Now there is a pleasant thought to take with me through this long day." Despite his words, he didn't stir, and for a moment continued his smoke, sharing a comfortable silence with Frodo. Adopting a casual air that didn't truly conceal his concern, he finally said, "Will you be seeking your bed again this morning? You are still healing, and should take all the rest you can."
Tempted as he was to pass off the comment with another quip, Frodo hesitated, torn as to whether or not to confide in Aragorn. Ultimately he decided that while the Ringbearer might not wish to speak with Gondor's King on what was surely an insignificant matter, a small Hobbit far from Shire and hole would do well to speak with the Ranger that he had learned to trust on the desperate journey to Rivendell. With relief coloring his voice, he admitted, "I don't seem to need much rest at all, Strider. A few hours a night is more than sufficient."
Aragorn went very still, pipe paused mid-air, but his expression was so very encouraging that Frodo went on. "Indeed, I don't have any *needs* at all. As much as I savor the taste of food, a few mouthfuls is all that it takes to satisfy me, and where I once had no tolerance for ale, I could now drink Merry and Pip under the table without an effort. It no longer has an effect on me." Frodo rested his chin on his crossed arms and sighed. "It is as though my lust for the Ring took all my other hungers and needs to fuel itself, and when it was destroyed with the Ring, the was naught left behind but memory."
"All needs?" Aragorn asked, with gentle emphasis on the first word.
It was enough to bring a faint glow of heat to Frodo's cheeks, but he said steadily enough, "I had thought at first that one in particular was quiescent because of the state I was in when Gandalf found us." He didn't miss the sudden tightening of Aragorn's lips, but didn't let either of them dwell on that. "But Sam was in as sad a shape, if not worse for depriving himself of food and water for my sake, and he has shown signs of the return of the natural appetites of a young male." Frodo turned his face down, forehead on his arms, to hide his growing discomfiture. "It hurts me that I cannot respond to his need for the physical reassurance I know he craves from me. I was cruel to him, Strider. Terribly, terribly cruel. Kind words and tender looks cannot undo it all."
"It was not you," Aragorn said so severely that Frodo was startled out of his hiding. "It was the Ring. Never lose sight of that!" Gentling his tone considerably, he went on. "I am sure that Sam knows that as well, and has long since forgiven you for any trespass to him. I should think the reassurance his craves, no matter how you may chose to express it, is that you are wholly yourself again."
"Am I?" Frodo asked.
For an answer, Aragorn studied him thoughtfully, turning to sit sideways on the bench and setting aside his pipe before stretching out his hand. Just before he touched, he asked, "May I?" At Frodo's nod, he slid roughly calloused fingers to the back of Frodo's neck, gently cupping his throat, eyes closed in concentration. For all the size of the hand on him and the fact that it could crush his windpipe before Frodo could so much as cry out, it was strangely comforting to be handled so, and the warmth emanating from the touch was pleasantly relaxing. His eyelids drifted down as the heat intensified and spread through him, taking away everything but a gentle lassitude that was near to a doze.
Into that bemused state came a single question. "Do you remember the first time you kissed Sam?"
Of course he did, Frodo thought dreamily. Never had he tasted anything so sweet as the innocence and trust on those ripe lips, nor had his heart ever been so deeply moved. Sam had owned all that was good in and true in him from that moment on, and Frodo had no desire for it to ever be otherwise.
"Do you want him?"
"More than anything," Frodo murmured.
Aragorn drew his hand away slowly, trailing his fingertips up to Frodo's temple, brushing the curls away in silent consolation. "There is a damage to you that goes beyond flesh and bone, which is beyond my ken or small skill." Before Frodo's despair could bite too profoundly, Aragorn hastily added, "Which is small indeed compared to Lord Elronds'. When we travel to return you and your kin to the Shire, we can bide in Rivendell a few days. May I have your permission to speak of this to him, and perhaps Gandalf as well? They know Sauron's craft far better than I, and may well have the answers we seek on how to undo the harm that has been done."
The promise of hope was faint, but Frodo had struggled on under less than that, so he nodded his consent, not hiding his hurt. "That is not so long to wait, if it comes to that, though I believe Sam will be sorely disappointed."
"You will tell him why you wait?" Aragorn asked. When Frodo could not meet his gaze, he warned, "If you do not, Sam will claim some fault in himself for your lack of attentions."
"It seems so unjust to ask him to share another burden with me. He has barely had the opportunity to catch his breath from the last!"
"It need not be a great one," Aragorn said persuasively. "There are many ways to share pleasure, and there is much to be gained from simply gifting it upon another."
A faint, ragged memory of doing precisely that under a moon-lit sky, deep in a bog stirred through Frodo's mind, and he smiled up at Aragorn. "A great deal, in fact."
For a moment as Aragorn smiled back at him, there was an understanding between them that went beyond Man and Hobbit, rooted in the common ground they had as males, then Aragorn stood, stretching hugely. "A good breakfast, I believe, is one way to give a Hobbit pleasure, a sharing it doubles that considerably. Will you and Sam join me, Frodo, before I must return to my duties?"
Frodo started to speak, stopped himself, and chuckled. "I was going to ask when it would be served, but as King, that would be whenever you commanded it. A privilege that perhaps should not come to Merry and Pippin's notice!"
Chuckling, Aragorn led the way out of the hall, then after reaching the level where Frodo's room was, left him with the plan to meet in an hour or so. More at peace with himself, and quite satisfied with the thought that perhaps Aragorn was, as well, he clambered up onto the bed and lay beside Sam, sharing the same pillow with him so that they were nearly nose-to-nose. Content, he waited for the first signs of wakefulness, scattering tiny kisses over Sam's face and brow when he began to stir.
Sam's lashes fluttered up, revealing sleepy, happy eyes. "Frodo, me dear," he mumbled, and caught Frodo's mouth with his own as it flitted past on the way to the tip of Sam's nose.
He tasted of warmth and smelled of happiness, and all Frodo wanted to do was kiss him until neither of them had any memory left of dark times - only of the two of them, snug and safe in this private haven. Aragorn was right, Frodo discovered. There was great joy in turning all his efforts toward pleasing Sam, with no thought for himself, and he delighted in cajoling first drowsy murmurs of appreciation, then soft cries of need from him. When Sam rolled Frodo under him, hunger strengthening his claims on Frodo's lips, Frodo went willingly, opening himself to whatever Sam wanted of him.
Sam's rampant maleness dug at Frodo's belly as if seeking entrance there, telling him what that was likely to be, but he had no fear of giving even that much of himself. Pain there might be, especially without passion to blunt the edge of it, but the very idea of holding Sam within him so intimately, was as heady as the desire he called from him. To encourage him to take what was his, Frodo broke their kiss and rocked up, pressing into the ridge of Sam's need and whispering his name with all the longing he could summon
To his chagrin, Sam didn't respond in kind, but instead drew back, shaking his head once as if to clear it. "Wait, wait," he muttered. Lifting himself up and locking his elbows to stay there, he put a controlled pressure on Frodo's hips to hold him still, and stared down at him, panting.
Accepting that Sam had to have noticed the lack of answering hardness on Frodo's part, Frodo smiled tremulously and reached up to caress the side of Sam's face with the back of his fingers. "Strider says that the Ring has done an injury to me that he does not know how to undo, and that Lord Elrond may be able to help. Until then, I'm afraid my mind can only long for what my body cannot provide."
"Frodo!" Sam dropped back down, wrapping him in his arms and turning them both to their sides so that he could hold him tightly with all four limbs.
Not able to deny the need for all that was said with that embrace, Frodo returned it with everything he had, feeling the sting of tears as he had not since mourning the loss of Gandalf at Moria. He would not let them fall, however, and give Sam more cause for distress. Instead he waited patiently until Sam's pain gave way to the desire that had not waned despite it, and nuzzled at his throat, shifting under him subtly to call him back to awareness of that.
To his delighted surprise, Sam cupped his face in both hands and kissed him soundly, leaving them both breathless and sending a spiral of yearning through Frodo that made his heart ache with the need to do more. His body remained unmoved, and just when he could bear that no longer, Sam drew away, making a show of his reluctance to do so. Thumbs scoring along the lines of Frodo's jaw and cheeks, he inched away until that was the only point of contact between them, despite the desire that still darkened his eyes.
"Consider that a promise, like," Sam said, trying to make his tone light but not quite succeeding because of the naked hunger in his voice. "Of what will come after Strider's had a word or two with Lord Elrond."
Trying to close the distance between them, Frodo said, "There's no need for you to be deprived until then, not with all that I can do for you."
"Begging your pardon, but my Gaffer raised me right. I'll not be reaping all the harvest for myself when it was two that tilled the soil," Sam said, tucking his elbows between them to stop Frodo.
"I want to, my Sam."
Tracing over Frodo's lips, watching his thumbs do it as if envious that they were allowed to do what his lips could not, Sam said, "And I'm wanting to do things to you; wanting it all so much that I hurt with it. Taking without giving would just make it that much worse."
That stopped Frodo as nothing else could, and he frowned, looking away to consider how he would feel if their positions had been reversed. Unwillingly he admitted to himself that Sam was right. Seeing that he had made his point, Sam dropped a last brief kiss on Frodo's forehead, and scooted all the way to the other side of the bed, as if uncertain if he could resist temptation if he remained close.
Unhappily, Frodo studied the gap between them, swallowed hard at the emptiness it caused in his middle, and said, "Perhaps we should sleep in separate beds, then."
Instantly catching Frodo's bad hand, Sam brought it up to his lips and kissed the palm. "No need to be hasty. If you're willing to overlook certain parts of me getting ahead of themselves now and again, if you understand my meaning, I can manage just fine."
"If you're sure," Frodo said, hiding his relief so that Sam would give him an honest answer.
"I am. We'll be in Rivendell before you know it, and if it happens that you mend on your own, well then, I'll be right there beside you, won't I?"
Squeezing Sam's hand with the one he still held, Frodo said, "And if you change your mind, I'll be right there, as well."
Sam beamed at him, his happiness warming Frodo through and through, and he would have been content to lie there to soak it up like sunshine if Sam's stomach hadn't gurgled loudly. Laughing, he tugged Sam close for a fast, hard hug, ignoring his embarrassment at his belly's complaints. "That appetite, at least, I can see to. Come, Strider's invited us to breakfast - a proper Hobbit-sized one."
"Well, why didn't you say so!" Sam scrambled out of bed, and Frodo followed more leisurely, feeling that his life at was beginning to return to normal.
* * *
Though Frodo could give no reasonable explanation for it, the moment that they could politely do so, he, his cousins and Sam retreated in unspoken accord from the crowd of Men and Elves that had kneeled to them, almost running into the depths of the mountain. They found themselves in a small chamber that Frodo recognized as one he had shared with Aragorn not that long ago, and clustered together at a small bench in one corner.
"Well, that was unnerving, to say the least," Pippin said, speaking for them all.
"Aye," Merry agreed. "You'd think by now we'd be used to having the attention of so many Men directed toward us."
"You two, maybe," Sam muttered, hands deep in his pockets. "You rode with them, and know more than Strider by name. Last time so many men had their eye on me and Mr. Frodo here, it wasn't a kindly one at all."
"Well, at least they didn't accuse you of being orcs," Pippin said.
"And Ents are a good sight larger than Men, too," Merry put in.
"Besides it all turned out right in the end," Pippin went on. "Men or Ent, we were all on the same side. No use in bearing grudges."
"I'm not bearing a grudge," Sam argued, though he sounded a bit defensive to Frodo's ear. "I'm just saying that they take some getting used to."
Privately Frodo thought that there was more to it than size, number, or even familiarity, but he couldn't formulate words for what lay behind their unease. Caught by his own puzzlement, he quietly moved away from the ongoing discussion, head down in deep thought as he wandered toward the far end of the room. A pair of light suede boots appeared in his field of vision, and he automatically looked up, catching Legolas' gaze as Legolas put his fingers on his lips to signal silence. With a gesture, he asked Frodo to follow him, and paused when they were in the hallway to let Frodo walk beside him.
Once out of earshot of the others, Legolas said softly, "King Elessar would like a private word with you, now, before he is too caught up in formalities and duties to be able to do so."
"Of course. Did he say why?"
"Only that it was a personal matter, and I should bring you without alerting the others to your absence if I could."
Comfortable with Legolas' Elfish quiet, Frodo pondered as they walked what Aragorn could possibly wish to speak of. Today of all days, especially with his lady so recently returned to him, he would have thought what free moments Aragorn had he would prefer to spend alone in her company. Perhaps he wanted to discuss not riding with Frodo during his return to the Shire, now that she was with him? Certainly that could have waited until a more opportune moment.
It wasn't until they entered a small, open-aired antechamber just off the throne room that he realized that the topic for discussion concerned himself and not Aragorn. Lord Elrond, Gandalf, and Lady Arwen were waiting with him, and Frodo hesitated at the threshold, suddenly unwilling to have such an intimate subject bandied about by great folk like these. A moment later, he told himself that it was for Sam's sake as much as his own, and that rank or not, he counted these people as friends, if nothing else. Still, careful of courtesy, he gave as gracious a nod of greeting as he could, mindful that he had been forbidden to kneel to Aragorn.
Radiating amusement despite returning the greeting with a regal incline of his head, Aragorn said, "Forgive me for taking you away from the festivities, but there was a concern that another opportunity to speak undisturbed for any length of time would not come again quickly."
"Surely you all have more pressing matters to tend to than a few questions concerning the well being of a single Hobbit," Frodo said, trying to be cheery through the anxiety that gripped him.
"Frodo Baggins," Gandalf chided gently, sinking down onto a low stool, as did the others, so that they were of a height to him. "I should sincerely hope than none here would ever become so consumed by obligation and position that we would not have time to see to the health of a friend."
He held out a hand, and Frodo crossed the room quickly to take it, "I'm sorry, Gandalf. It's just that I'm a bit afraid to have my answers, either for good or for ill. Waiting, at least, has not been unpleasant, and even a promise of healing may include difficulties."
With something very like a smile, Elrond said, "There is wisdom in that, but more in seeing to an injury quickly, before it has time to worsen. Do not let your courage fail you now."
He held out his hand as well, waiting patiently until Frodo took it, though he did not move from the shelter of Gandalf's side. It made Frodo a link between the two beings of power, and he felt a shimmer of sensation over his skin that lifted the small hairs on his body and whispered through his curls as if struggling to raise their weight, as well. When Aragorn wrapped his fingers loosely around the curve of Frodo's throat, as he had the first time he had tried to gauge the nature of the problem, the sensation became a hum that Frodo could both feel and hear.
To his surprise, Lady Arwen asked softly, hand already out-stretched, "May I? I have not the experience or knowledge that the others bring, but it is possible I may be of use before it is all done."
She had taken on the luminous glow that Frodo remembered from the first time he had laid eyes on her, and reassured by it, he nodded. She laid her palm flat in the center of his chest, and her radiance and the hum merged, filling all his senses with a pure white light that he could almost touch. He had known this light before: in Rivendell when Elrond called him back from the edge of the other side, and here in Gondor, when Aragorn had eased him from endless agony into deep, healing sleep. Yet that was a pale, pale shadow of the brilliance that owned him now, pouring through him to replace blood and bone with light.
It was wonderful - heady, thrilling, and nourishing all at once. Frodo would have content to float within it until more mundane needs, such as thirst, drove him out, but he was there for a purpose and his companions did not allow him to delay fulfilling it. With a nudge that could not be described as physical, his attention was drawn to his spoiled hand to discover that all was not bright beauty. Where his missing finger should be was a wraith of one, composed of rolling blackness threaded with the blood red he had grown to associate with the reflected fires of Mount Doom.
Horrified, he looked himself over completely, and found more of that hideousness uncoiling in thin, trembling lines from his shoulder. There were others, he knew by some means he did not fathom, that were from the sting of Shelob. They were the developing seeds of evil left behind by blade, sting and teeth wielded with the malice and will of the Dark Lord behind them. While many withered and died under the purity filling him, others were born to take their place, frail though they were at first. Worse, they fed on Frodo himself, gnawing like worms on the substance that he was made up of, leaving the filth of their blackness behind in fine traces that tattered his already wounded spirit.
"That is why my shoulder never stopped hurting," Frodo murmured to himself, and the sound of his own voice was the catalyst to bring him back to a small stone chamber filled with companions whose faces were grieved and pained.
Unable to look at them for shame of what lay within him, and because he could not bear their sure knowledge of the bleakness of his fate, he stared down at his feet. The hands on him withdrew slowly, as if to reluctant to admit defeat, and the loss of them called to mind the one he would not be able to easily survive, inevitable as it had just become. "Oh, my Sam, my Sam," he whispered.
In his mind's eye Frodo could see himself, lying in his bed at Bag End, pale and dull as the underbelly of some foul thing, as wasted as Gollum, yet without the manic strength that had invigorated him. Sam was with him, of course, face honestly cheerful despite the pain and exhaustion written on it, sitting on the edge of the bed and trying to feed him a few drops of soup that Frodo hardly had strength to swallow. Frodo gasped, and the image changed, to Sam sitting by the fire, alone and forgotten, with red-rimmed eyes and gray, un-kept hair, staring blankly at nothing at all.
Like the visions he had seen in Galadriel's mirror, Frodo knew what he saw to be a possible truth, a fate that could be avoided if he could but make the right decisions. But he grasped none that could be had that would not lead to worse, and he said bitterly, "This then is my punishment for failure - for succumbing in the end to the Ring's power."
"Punishment?" Gandalf said in surprise. "More likely revenge of the most malicious kind."
"Nor did you fail." Elrond's tone brooked no argument, and Frodo closed his lips tightly over the ones that sprang to his tongue. "Would Samwise have thought to use Gollum as a guide if he had borne the ring? Would Meriadoc or Peregrin understood the necessity of breaking with the Fellowship to travel on alone? The choices you made were hard ones, from the moment you chose to leave the Shire, and no one else could have made them. In the place of its creation, where its strength was the greatest, no one would have been able to withstand the Ring's power. Yet, in the end, it was defeated because of the wisdom you showed during your journey; you created the very circumstances necessary to destroy it when your will was overcome.
"It was only chance! I was only doing what I thought was right!"
"And many small rights can overcome a seemingly overwhelming evil, because they may go unchecked and un-noticed until the time is suitable." Aragorn spoke with such confidence that Frodo could not help but be heartened, and he dared to glance up at him.
Such deep compassion lay on his features that Frodo sighed and leaned into Gandalf, accepting the support so readily offered. "Are there small measures I can take, then, to hold this decay within me completely at bay, at least for a time? So that I may have a few weeks or days of shared joy with Sam?"
Aragorn shared a look with Elrond, then slid to his knees in front of Frodo, long fingers cupping his shoulders tenderly. "We cannot even grant you a few hours. The only consolation we can offer is that you will have many otherwise healthy, bountiful years together before you begin to fail."
"And how many years will I linger, a encumbrance on one who should never have to endure the load of me again?" Frodo asked despairingly, his vision fresh in his mind. "And after all that, I shall die and leave him alone, outcast from our people because of the life he shared with me. I cannot stand being the cause of so much sorrow and hurt to him! It will destroy me as surely than the evil feeding upon me."
Without thinking, he lurched away from Gandalf and Aragorn, daringly catching Elrond's arm by the sleeve, sure he would understand the mercy needed. "A fast end would be better. For Sam's sake! Do it now!"
Locking gazes with him, Elrond drew back in horror, and a shocked, agonized silence gripped them all, the weight of it almost deadly in and of itself.
Into that unnatural hush, Lady Arwen said quietly, coaxingly, "Father."
Elrond jerked his eyes up to hers. "Arwen," he said warningly.
"It is only just," Arwen said, but Frodo had the feeling that more was said beyond his hearing or ken than those few words.
After a long, long pause that did nothing to diminish the weight of foreboding that lingered still, Elrond said grudgingly, "It is your place to give."
"And more than room enough for the Ringbearers. Galadriel would not say me nay on this, even if there was no place to give. You know this." Arwen spoke so winningly, with such sweet tones in her voice that Frodo could not help but think despite his distress that Gondor's new Queen would rule through an honest kindness and openness that only the most callow of Men would be able to resist.
Nor, it seemed, could her father. Softening, he looked back down at Frodo. "Nor will I begrudge it to them."
"Begrudge Bilbo and myself what?" Frodo asked, his bewilderment breaking through his despair and the strangeness of the conversation.
"Arwen's place on a ship bound for Gray Haven," Gandalf said, taking Frodo by the elbow and turning him so that he faced them all again. "No evil can long endure there, and healing can come to even the rigors of great age, so pure and close is it to the very creation of all things. Memory loses its power to wound, and pain cannot stand against the balm provided by the very air there. Your uncle would be spared the weight of his many seasons, and you would be whole again to live many more with him."
"Leave you mean?" Frodo said, understanding at last. "Leave Middle Earth with the Elves?" His voice rose in pained comprehension. "Countless years you promise, but only if I abandon my heart?"
With a hint of a smile, Gandalf said to Elrond, "Two Hobbits are not so many, after all. Surely room can be made for one more. And Sam *did* carry the Ring, if only for safekeeping for a brief time."
"I suppose if I do not agree, you will next make a case that Masters Took and Brandybuck be included as well. And after them, the Dwarf," Elrodn said dryly. "Very well, then." He fixed Frodo with a hard look. "If it is Samwise Gamgee's wish, he too may sail to the West with my people."
Relief mixed with anguish made Frodo giddy, and he sank to his knees, mind awhirl from all that he had learned. Apparently sensing that he needed a moment to compose himself, and in answer to a faint call of summons, Gandalf rose, gathering Elrond and Arwen to him with a gesture. "There is no need to dwell on future partings now. It may be that Bilbo will not wish to leave Middle Earth, or that you and Sam would rather spend what years you have in the Shire, counting the inevitable end worth the joy of being home. The road to Rivendell, and to Bag End is long, with opportunity aplenty to muse over what is best."
"Yes," Frodo said faintly, a terrible surety beginning to take root in his thoughts. "I must do what is best."
Though Gandalf shot him a last lingering look of concern, he took his leave, saying to Elrond as they crossed the threshold, "As to the Dwarf - we will speak of him later."
In another time and place Frodo would have laughed at the dismay that crossed Elrond's face, but as it was, he barely noticed it at all. How long he sat there after they left, numb and blank, unable to think, he had no way of knowing, but by and by he realized that he was not alone. Aragorn had remained behind, offering support with his very presence.
As if he had been waiting for Frodo to rouse from his black study, Aragorn said, "Sam will not abandon you for this. Not now, not after so very much."
"No, he will not," Frodo said, speaking softly so as not to wake the grief lying in wait for him. "I have but to say that I must go to Gray Havens to be well again, and he will be packing for us both, trying to think of what he can bring to make our new home more suitable."
Pain took residence under his breastbone, and Frodo sucked in a sharp breath that did not lessen it at all. "And it would be wrong for him to go. For the most part, we Hobbits prefer a simple life bound by good, tilled soil and growing things, and the creature comforts of hearth and home. We do not do well in the company of Big Folk, be they Men or Elf, for we must constantly be on our guard lest we be over-looked or pushed aside." With a flash of insight he saw that was why he and the others had retreated so precipitously earlier, and why Gandalf, who knew more about Hobbits than Hobbits did themselves, had insisted on Merry and Pippin's inclusion to the fellowship. To give him the strength found in the comfort of numbers of his own kind.
"And Sam more than most," Aragorn said in tones of sorrowed agreement, calling Frodo's notice back to him.
"All during our long journey, he held fast to the memories of the Shire, and his belief that we would return. If he were to go to Gray Havens, wondrous as that place may be, Sam would wither just as surely as I will if I remain in Middle Earth." Frodo tried to take another deep breath, but it caught inside him, refusing to be released fully.
"You mean not to tell him," Aragorn said with certainty.
"Only that I will remain as I am; unable to respond to physical attention." Making up his mind abruptly, Frodo nodded to himself. "I will return to the Shire with him, and see him properly settled. After that... after that..." He trailed off, mind shying away from any of the alternatives available to him.
"Frodo!" Aragorn gasped, catching both his hands in his own and cradling them gently. To Frodo's shock, he could see tears swimming in Aragorn's eyes. "Take the opportunity Lord Elrond has offered! Please. Go to Gray Havens and be healed. If you must leave your heart behind, you can at least take with you the hope that he could be returned to you before the end. Sam bears his own wounds from the black days you shared. It may well be that, when all is said and done, he will need the restoration of the Undying Lands himself. Or simply be unable to bear being parted from you any longer."
Aware that he was trembling from suppressed cries of pain, and unable to stop, Frodo said, "I have lived on lesser hope than that. Ah, but to wait so very, very long for him, perhaps in vain. That would be a far harder task than carrying the Ring."
"Still," Aragorn pressed, "You will for Sam's sake?
Frodo tried give his word to Aragorn that he would, but the air that had been trapped inside him suddenly gave way to a shattering sob. To his astonishment, more followed, as well as a flood of tears, and he could not resist when Aragorn gathered him close to let him hide his face in his shoulder. He wept as he had not since the death of his parents, spending strength that he did not have, and before long he was half-insensible from the force of his anguish. From a great distance, he felt Aragorn stand, lifting him easily in his arms, and for once Frodo could only be grateful that he could carry him like a child. He surrendered to the exhaustion claiming him and knew nothing more.
* * *
It was just dusk when Frodo woke, to go by the feel of the air and faint light filling the room he and Sam shared. Groggy from unaccustomed deep sleep at the wrong time of the day, it took him a moment to realize that he wasn't alone. Sam was sitting by the bed, as it seemed he had so many times now, holding Frodo's hand loosely in his, head bent over their entwined fingers as if to kiss them but not daring to actually do so.
The longing to tell him that he had the right to do that if he wished, to do far more without ever the need for permission, swelled in Frodo's chest 'til he thought he would burst from the need to speak. Before he could betray Sam with selfish words, he used their joined hands to pull him close, touching his lips to Sam's with a murmured, "Please."
If Sam had thought of refusing him, it did not last past the first quick dip of Frodo's tongue in to tag his, done only to tease Sam into taking his turn at tasting. It worked, and sighing into the kiss, he drew Sam down on top of him, cherishing the solid mass of him crushing him into the bedding. Kissing was all either of them seemed to want or need, at first, and Frodo discovered that long, languid explorations of tongue and lips were sweet enough to erase every lonely moment he had known.
He was almost regretful when the hot edge of desire took Sam, despite that being his intent all along. But with Sam increasingly caught up in ardor, Frodo had the advantage of being clear-headed, much as he relished the physical closeness between them. It allowed him to concentrate on learning what caresses aroused as he undressed them both, what special places on Sam's body made him sigh or groan or cry out. In many ways, Sam had never been more beautiful to him than when he gave himself to their love-making, both cutting Frodo to the heart and binding him forever to him.
When Sam was writhing against him in desperate bid for relief, Frodo seized the moment he had worked for and turned them both to their sides, his top leg high on Sam's waist. Sam unthinkingly thrust into the crease between Frodo's thighs, then froze in place, eyes flying open to search Frodo's. "Please, my Sam. Please. I want you so much," Frodo said, reaching for the oil that he had placed in great hope on the stand next to the bed days ago.
"I....I..." Sam fought to regain his wits, but Frodo did not let him.
Taking Sam's length into oil-spilled palms, Frodo stroked along the sturdy column, varying the strength of his grip and wringing a long, low moan from Sam. When Sam was helplessly using his hands to find release, Frodo took more oil and slicked his own opening, ignoring the faintly odd feeling from it. Judging his moment carefully, when Sam was near to mad with need, he guided the crown of Sam's maleness to the readied bud, and let him thrust.
Despite Frodo's care to override caution with passion, Sam stopped himself, shaking with the effort, just before he breached the guardian ring. "Won't hurt you, won't," he ground out, and from somewhere found the will to move slowly, clearly gauging Frodo's reaction to the penetration.
It was odder than his fingers had been, and there was a burning ache as the opening stretched, but the love and determination in Sam's expression made up for it. His hunger was exciting, too, in a way that Frodo couldn't quite explain, and all the visible traces of it were delicately satisfying. The shiver in Sam's skin, the growing eagerness of his movements, and finally, when he could hold back no longer and took Frodo forcefully, the power and command in that taking - all granted Frodo far more pleasure than he had expected when he began this seduction.
With a physical pang of regret, he realized that Sam was near his finish, and he wrapped his arms around him tightly, biting gently at the juncture of his shoulder and neck. Howling, Sam spilled into him, relieving much of the soreness that was beginning to take hold with the hot slipperiness of his seed. Murmuring reassurances and love words that he would never use again, Frodo hid his face so that Sam could not see his sorrow.
He would have been content to stay where he was forever, warm and cozy, with his arms full of drowsy, sated Sam, but in the distance he heard the call of silver horns that Gandalf had told him would signal the beginning of the evening's festivities. All over Minis Tirth, noble gentlemen and their ladies dressed in their finest would begin to wend their way to the King's Hall for a great feast in the new king's honor. Reluctantly he admitted he and Sam should as well. The others in the Fellowship would note their absence and worry, and it could give birth to rumors in Aragorn's court that he should not be troubled with.
As if sensing his thoughts, Sam said, "I could nip down to the kitchens and get a sup or two for us. The cooks won't mind, seeing as they're used to me popping in and out to see to additions to our elevenses or what have you."
"I can't think of anything I'd like better," Frodo said honestly, but bracing himself to begin the gradual withdrawal from Sam's company that had to be done. "But Strider takes no joy in the crown he must wear, and will be gladdened to have old friend, true friends, at hand." He summoned a smile and added, "And I shudder to think what Merry and Pippin may get up to without a sobering influence on hand."
With a snort that said clearly he thought it would take much more than that to get the two of them to behave decorously, Sam scrambled out of bed. "We've enough time to tidy up proper, and Strider sent new clothes over. Nothing too fancy, mind you. Good, simple cut that should last. Fine cloth, though. Best I've ever seen. Baring the Elfs, of course."
Frodo managed to answer him in the same light vein, keeping the conversation going through their preparations, then through dinner. Contrary to expectations, his cousins were self-consciously proper in their livery, hiding the same nervousness that had driven all of them to solitude earlier. That eased after Frodo poured a few measures of wine down them, allowing their true natures to peek through. Interestingly enough, their cheerful appreciation of the proceedings encouraged everyone present, and before long, a great deal of the stiffness and formality that had masked an over-all anxiety in the courtiers melted away.
Everyone managed to have a pleasant time, some more than others, Frodo mused to himself as he subtly guided Sam in the right direction when they returned to their room late that night. He had felt the weight of too many stares, especially on his maimed hand, most filled with honest curiosity, to enjoy himself. Sam, too, had not been able to overlook the constant regard, and had drank more than was his wont, though it would be difficult to discern for anyone who did not know him.
Once in their room, Sam literally toppled into the bed, and Frodo laughingly undressed him and tucked him in before settling down on the windowsill to wait for the night's bad dreams to come. Dawn found him still on his perch without once having to leave it to settle Sam back into sleep. It was a good sign, he reassured himself, over and over. Sam finally believed that it was all over, and life had returned to normal, only needing a homecoming to the Shire to be completely at peace.
"And that," Frodo murmured aloud without meaning to, "Is as it should be."
"What is?" Sam said from the bed, sounding far too cheery and alert for someone who had been in his cups the night before.
"Everything," Frodo said, not allowing himself to turn and see a sleep-tousled Sam, eyes soft and warm with all that he felt for him.
"Can't say as I agree with you, just yet," Sam said with a yawn. "Not with all the work that's left to be done. Still, a fair start's been made." He crawled off the bed and joined Frodo at the window, close enough to touch, but still not daring to. "Like you finally facing the dawn."
Keeping his gaze on the blood red clouds on the horizon, Frodo said, "It reminds me far too much of those last days in Mordor, when there was no true day, nor true night, with the fires of Mt. Doom casting its hideous light on the land. And of the moment when we waited for the fire to take us, sure that we were as lost as the Ring."
Voice rich with guilt, Sam said, "I've been meaning to talk to you about what I said just then."
"It's all right, Sam," Frodo said as lovingly as he could. "I know you were just saying goodbye in your own way. Goodbye to the Shire, to the life you had there, to the children you've always wanted to have in it."
"You have the right of it," Sam said in relief.
"Thing is," Frodo said, almost as if he hadn't heard, "I've never thought of what my life might be. I suppose when it occurred to think of my future, I saw myself living the same as Bilbo - an old bachelor, set and happy in his ways, off traveling all the time to visit Elfs and Dwarfs, then coming home to entertain the local children with tales of my journeys. Perhaps teaching likely boys or girls their letters or how to do simple sums."
"Beggin' your pardon, but it sounds a bit lonely to me." There was a wariness in Sam's tones now, as if he guessed he would not like the turn the conversation was going to take.
Looking at him for the first time that morning, Frodo said, "I expect there would be a dark night or two, but then, aren't there times in a house full of family and chatter that you long desperately for peace and solitude?"
"There is that," Sam muttered, unwillingly it seemed.
"It seems that I was not far off the mark when I saw that future for myself," Frodo went on, not hiding the sorrow his admission caused, lest Sam think him dissembling for his sake and seek for the truth Frodo hid beneath his candor. "Lord Elrond says that there is nothing he can do to mend what has been done to me. My passion and desire are gone; I am not capable of siring children even if I did want a wife and family."
"Frodo...."
Smiling, tremulous though it was, Frodo said, "Gandalf called the damage a last bit of revenge from the Ring, and I will not let it have it. If I may not have children of my own, then I will be uncle to all, generous with my time and my pocket." He reached out to brush away the tear trailing down Sam's cheek. "I would especially like to be uncle to yours. Perhaps even choose my heir from them, if none of my many relations suit, and you do not mind."
"My children?" Sam whispered, both in pain and hope.
"Yours. Many hobbit lads who have shared a tumble or two take wives and started families without ever losing what was in their hearts for one another. I expect that is what will happen with Merry and Pip. If I saw myself puttering about Bag End the same as Bilbo did, I also saw you there still, tending to the gardens and looking after things. I cannot imagine it without you. I do not want to."
Sam hung his head, shaking it, but Frodo thought it was not a denial of what was to be, but of the cause behind it.
"It may not be what I once dared dream of," Frodo said softly. "But it is a good life still, and one worth living."
With more boldness than he had ever shown, Sam leaned forward to bury his face in Frodo's shoulder, warm tight around his waist. "It's just so hard to think of never having you under me again," he whispered. "Never hear you call my name in that way you have - all breathless and aflame."
Choking against the greater loss that lay ahead, Frodo soaked in every second of the loose embrace, moving away only when he heard distant voices calling greetings to each other for a good morn. With a last squeeze to broad shoulders, he swung his feet to the floor. "Come, Sam. I'm of a mind for a good, long ramble through this city of Aragorn's before we leave. Bilbo will be wanting a good description of it and its people."
It seemed for a moment as though Sam would not let him slip away without argument, but acceptance colored his expression, if favored with more than a little understanding and regret. "He will at that. Should I stop by the kitchen, or would you like to try that tavern Pippin's been talking about?"
"I think you should have a say in that, since I'm dragging you out so early."
"Now, Mr. Frodo, I'm up earlier than this most days and you know it."
The return to formality was salt in a raw wound, but Frodo ruthlessly squashed it down. It was the way he had asked for it to be. The way it had to be. Resolutely not thinking on anything more than what was at hand, he turned away from the dawn-filled window and started the day.