The silence hung heavy and oppressive in the night air, broken only by the occasional night-cry of some faraway creature, the soft snap and hiss of the dying fire, and muffled snoring. A faint, cold breeze ruffled Aragorn's hair and caressed his dirt-streaked face like a lover's hand.
The Fellowship was many days gone from Rivendell, had traveled through the mines of Moria, and were headed for the woods of Lothlorien. The long days of marching and being constantly on their guard were beginning to tell on all of them.
Sleep had begun its insistent tug-of-war with his body about an hour previously. Using his innate sense of time, cultivated by his many years as a Ranger, Aragorn reckoned that he had about another 45 minutes until he was relieved by Boromir. With a sigh, he heaved himself off of the small boulder he'd been sitting on. He could not afford to doze off during his watch. To do so could cost all of them their lives.
Aragorn tossed a few small pieces of wood on the glowing coals of the fire. Though he had been rather reluctant, he'd allowed his companions a fire. The icy winds were too cold not to have one, and he'd built it between some rather large boulders, hoping to hide some of the light. He'd used the driest wood he could find to cut down on smoke.
As the small flames cast their weak light over the camp, Aragorn surveyed his sleeping companions. Sam, Merry, and Pippin lay in a small, snoring line shoulder-to-shoulder. Occasionally, one of them would shiver or murmur incoherently in their sleep, but they were far too deep in exhausted slumber to awake. Gimli slept sitting up, his back against a boulder. A loud, grating, growling snore fell from his open mouth. It was really rather irritating, Aragorn decided, half-amused. He found it quite strange that creatures so small as hobbits and dwarves could make so much noise while sleeping.
A few feet from Gimli, Boromir was sleeping soundly under his woolen blanket. Aragorn did not worry that the other man wouldn't wake up in time for his shift. He always woke promptly.
His eyes shifted to Legolas, who slept with his back to the fire. One hand lay on his bow and quiver of arrows, as if he would just sit up and start firing at any threat. Aragorn trusted the Elf's senses as he would his own, if not more. Many would see just a pretty face and form, but Legolas was more capable with a bow than anyone he'd ever known, and formidable on the battlefield. He trusted the Fair One to be at his back on this mission.
His eyes fell at last upon Frodo. The Ringbearer carried the heaviest burden of all of them. The fate of Middle-earth rested on his slender shoulders, on whether or not he survived the journey to throw the One Ring into the fires of Mount Doom. No one else exhibited the hobbit's resistance to the Ring's power.
Aragorn himself had to admit admiration for the Ringbearer's resilience and determination. Even Lord Elrond had been impressed by Frodo's strength, which lay hidden under the fairest of features.
Now that his thoughts had strayed in that direction, he found it impossible to turn away. He stared at the sleeping hobbit, memorizing every detail. The little one was more child-like in sleep than he was in his waking hours. Dark half-circles under his closed, thickly-lashed eyes bespoke many sleepless hours. The paleness of his dirt-smudged skin contrasted starkly against his eyebrows and the tangled, dark brown mop of curls that crowned his head like an angel's halo. His cheeks were pale but for a slight hint of pink. Pointed ears were hidden behind dark curls, but were no less endearing than any other feature. His eyes were so blue that you felt as if you were drowning in them, like twin pools of spring water. Those enchanting eyes gave away any lies he tried to tell, his every emotion could be seen in them.
Aragorn could see new lines in Frodo's face, lines that had not been there previously. The dirt served to make them more prominent.
It was curious, how one could be so young and yet so old, so innocent and naive but so wise. He could see that Frodo's innocence was being slowly chipped away, danger the chisel and the One Ring the cruel hammer. Aragorn knew that the changes had been wrought by the Ring.
He looked at it, hanging on a silver chain around Frodo's neck.
Such a small thing, yet capable of destroying the entire world if Sauron had it back in his possession. The little one most certainly carried the heaviest burden of all. Aragorn intended to lighten that load as much as he could.
Frodo stirred and opened his eyes, as if he were aware of the intense scrutiny he was under. He rubbed his bleary eyes and climbed out of his bedroll, bringing a blanket with him for warmth. Creeping around the rest of the sleeping Fellowship, he came to stand in front of Aragorn. "Is something amiss, Aragorn?" he asked in a soft whisper, looking up at him.
Aragorn felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach, so difficult it was for him to breathe. Staring into Frodo's blue eyes, he hardly remembered the question. How beautiful he was...it was always a shock to look upon Frodo, not unlike being doused with ice-cold spring water in the middle of a scorching summer day. Gandalf had described Frodo to Aragorn once, long ago, but it hadn't done him justice. Even the Elves paled in comparison to Frodo's beauty. Frodo was like a white dove amongst black birds. Aragorn wondered that no one had seen fit to compose songs to the beauty of form and face that Frodo possessed.
When the Ranger simply stared at him, unspeaking, Frodo became a little worried. "Aragorn? Are you ill?"
Reveling in how his name sounded coming from Frodo's lips, he wondered how it would sound when Frodo said it in the midst of passion. That thought caught him by surprise, and stunned him utterly.
Frodo stared up at him, alarm beginning to show in his face. He grabbed the Ranger's hand. "Aragorn? Answer me, please!"
He blinked and looked down into Frodo's beseeching eyes. "I'm fine, Frodo. I was just...thinking." A small smile curved Aragorn's lips. "Why are you not sleeping?"
Frodo looked up into gray eyes, realized he still had hold of Aragorn's hand, and let go. "I woke up--"Of course you did, he thought to himself. Think of something more intelligent to say, you dolt!"--and I saw you staring at me...and I just thought something might be wrong," he stammered. Nice going, Frodo! Now he'll think you've become a simpleton! That the fate of the world was placed in the hands of an idiot! He wanted to slap himself.
Aragorn's smile widened and his eyes were warm. "You need not worry, little one. All has been quiet tonight."
"No sign of the Black Riders?" He could see the fear of them in Frodo's eyes.
"Nothing at all." The tension left his face, and he nodded, trusting Aragorn. Oh, Frodo, you are precious! "Well, if you cannot sleep, would you like to sit by me for a little while?"
Frodo felt like he could roll in that warm, rich, deep voice as if it were a blanket. "That would be nice," he murmured, and sat down, back to the fire. Aragorn sat next to him.
The cold had caused Frodo's shoulder to throb painfully. He rubbed it absent-mindedly. "Does your shoulder ache?" He looked at the Man sitting beside him. "A little." Aragorn could see that it hurt more than a little from the tight lines of pain in the corners of Frodo's mouth. "Lord Elrond told me that your shoulder will never completely heal." He reached over and dug in his pack, and pulled out a small stone jar with fine-lined Elf runes carved into it.
"What is that?"
Aragorn smiled again. Yes, he certainly is curious. It was an endearing trait in him. "It's for your shoulder. Lord Elrond gave it to me before we left Rivendell. He was certain you would have need of it." Frodo made a face. "It's not something I have to drink, is it?"
Aragorn laughed, not a soft chuckle, but an actual belly-laugh. "No, no. You rub it into the skin." Frodo looked relieved.
"Good. I don't want any more of his disgusting brews or potions!"
"His 'brews and potions' saved your life, Frodo. Surely they aren't that bad."
He shrugged, then winced as his shoulder protested. "I suppose."
"Now, if you'll unbutton your shirt, I'll put this on for you." Frodo gulped. The prospect of Aragorn's hands on his body was enticing, but more than a little unnerving as well. He steeled himself, and, nodding, unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off of his left shoulder.
Aragorn struggled not to press his lips to the fluttering pulse in Frodo's bare throat, or to run his hands over the pale, exposed skin of his chest and shoulder. He forced himself to breathe normally and not to caress the pale flesh before him. Rubbing some of the medicinal salve onto his palms to warm it, he leaned forward to massage it into Frodo's skin.
Frodo closed his eyes and tilted his head to the right to give Aragorn more room to work. Between the massage and the fast-working salve, his shoulder's ache began to fade in a matter of minutes. He moaned softly in relief.
Aragorn had massaged all of the medicine into Frodo's shoulder, but kept caressing the soft skin, mesmerized. He had struggled not to plant his lips onto that pale neck when Frodo had tilted his head to the side. Then a faint moan had escaped those perfectly shaped lips. It was the straw that broke the camel's back.
He leaned forward, unthinking of anything but Frodo's nearness. His arms locked around the hobbit's slender waist, callused palms ran over bare skin, and his lips pressed against the tempting throat. Another moan escaped Frodo's mouth.
When Aragorn's mouth pressed onto his throat, Frodo nearly fell over from the shock. He quickly recovered and leaned into that kiss, a moan breaking past his lips. That startled Aragorn into releasing him, as if he hadn't realized what he were doing until that moment.
He struggled with the desire fueling more and more the longer he looked at Frodo's bare skin. Trying to find the words to apologize for his trespass, he froze when he saw the desire burning in Frodo's eyes. Their eyes locked, and something more than desire or passion passed between them. Something sweet and full of infinite promises. It took their breath away.
Frodo reached out tentatively to stroke the dark line of stubble across Aragorn's jaw. His fingers brushed across welcoming lips. He wrapped his arms around Aragorn's neck, his eyes shinning in invitation.
"I don't believe it..."Aragorn whispered.
"Believe it," Frodo murmured, a blush coloring his cheeks. "Take me in your arms and protect me."
Aragorn's reply was scarcely heard. "From what?"
"From my doubts. My fears. Myself."
Aragorn needed no more invitations. He pulled Frodo into his strong embrace, stroking his naked back underneath the unbuttoned shirt. He pressed his lips to the slender neck once more. Small fingers tangled themselves in Aragorn's hair.
After he'd kissed and nibbled on Frodo's throat, he raised his face to claim the Ringbearer's lips for the first time. That first kiss was tentative, a little unsure, the barest brush of lips. Frodo sighed softly. The next kiss was demanding, brimming with hunger. Aragorn's hands roamed Frodo's body, and strong arms crushed him to his chest in passion. He kissed the little hobbit until blue eyes were lazy with desire, his skin flushed, his hair mussed from his hands being buried in it, his face red and burning from Aragorn's unshaven whiskers, and his lips swollen and a little bruised.
Frodo as he was then was something Aragorn would never forget. Small hands reached up to pull him back down. He went willingly.
Frodo, though not nearly as experienced as the Ranger in matters such as these, nevertheless left Aragorn breathless from hungry kisses, his body demanding more, his limbs shaking. Aragorn covered all of Frodo's exposed skin with kisses before removing his shirt completely. He then covered the rest of his torso with caresses and kisses. He felt as if he were drowning in the warmth of Frodo's skin, the sweetness of his lips, and comfort of his encircling arms.
Frodo felt as if Aragorn's kiss were incinerating him. His heart pounded fiercely, drowning out all other sounds. His lips seemed to draw heat from Aragorn's mouth and send it throughout his body. His body trembled, and he held onto Aragorn with all of his strength; he believed that he would fall apart if he didn't.
Their kiss gradually softened, from the harsh demanding of desire to the gentlest brush of lips. Calling up every ounce of self-control and restraint that he'd ever had, Aragorn kissed Frodo once more, and then released him.
Frodo felt a pang of loss and regret when the sweet prison of Aragorn's lips and hands let him go free. He wanted to throw himself into his protector's arms and abandon reason and thought. His cheeks were read and burning from awoken passions and Aragorn's stubbled jaw, and his chest heaved, lungs struggling for air and heart racing.
Aragorn looked into Frodo's somewhat-dazed eyes, already regretting having to release him. Never, in all of his life, had his body or his heart reacted so intensely to anyone. He blinked and looked away from Frodo. He couldn't think a single coherent thought while looking into those beautiful blue eyes. He took a deep, shaky breath and waited for the furious pounding of his heart to subside. When he was sure he could do so without his voice shaking, he spoke.
"You need to sleep, Frodo. We have a long journey ahead of us tomorrow, and you are tired."
Frodo's heart dropped to the pit of his stomach, and doubt replaced the passion in his eyes. Doubt that what had just happened between them had meant anything to Aragorn. He pulled his blanket back over his bare shoulders and shivered. Disappointment hung heavy in the air around him.
Longing to remove that dejected doubt from Frodo's eyes, Aragorn leaned forward and kissed him once more, a hand on each side of Frodo's face, with all the passion and promises pent up in his soul. With a soft sigh he released his treasured love before desire could rule them again. His heart shone in his normally masked eyes.
"As much as I would like to continue this exceedingly pleasant encounter, now is not the time or place, Frodo. We've no privacy," he said, gesturing towards their slumbering companions. "And I cannot afford to be distracted while keeping the watch." He smiled at Frodo, his piercing gaze taking in the hobbit's blushing cheeks and full, inviting lips. "No matter how tempting the distraction may be." His fingers caressed a burning cheek. "Besides," he murmured. "Boromir will be waking shortly to relieve me of my watch. We don't wish any of the others to see us thus. Sam doesn't much like me now, but I daresay he'd despise me as long as he lives if he found out that I desired you. He has been known to be a little...over-protective."
The color in Frodo's cheeks rose a little. Aragorn's eyes still burned with passion, and he looked pleased.
"The wanton blood in your cheeks addles my mind as I look upon you. Please, go back to your bed, and I will sleep in your arms, once Boromir has woken, if your heart so desires."
"It does," he murmured.
"Go on, then," Aragorn said, "before I do not find it in my heart to let you leave my side, even for a moment." Pulling on his shirt, but leaving it unbuttoned, Frodo returned to his pallet, anticipation in his eyes. Once he lay down, though, exhaustion filled his body.
A few minutes later, when Aragorn pulled his bedroll side-by-side with Frodo's, the hobbit was half asleep.
Aragorn pulled his cloak over Frodo and a thick, woolen blanket over himself, then rolled the sleepy hobbit into his arms, and sighed in contentment. The closeness elicited the sweetest feeling in his heart, and his arms slipped around Frodo's bare back underneath the open shirt, strong and sure.
Frodo raised his head to kiss his protector, and the kiss was tender, seeming to promise him something. He drowsily looked into Aragorn's eyes, and realized that the sweetest feeling had lodged itself in his heart. He smiled faintly and pressed his face once more to the triangular bit of neck and chest that showed through Aragorn's unbuttoned collar. "I love you, Aragorn," he murmured before falling headfirst into sleep.
Aragorn's reply fell upon dreaming ears. "I love you, too," he whispered. When he slept, his dreams were of the beautiful halfling who lay dreaming in his arms and in his heart. Neither of them was alone anymore. And so they remained until the morning broke across the sky.
The End (?)
Site Info
We are the home of 1292 authors from among our 2552 members. There have been 2904 reviews written about our 3820 stories consisting of 10734 chapters and 29400445 words. A special welcome to our newest member, Rosamundeb.Categories
Skin Change
Donate
Help us keep one of the oldest running LotR archives available to all. Even the smallest donation helps!
Many thanks to our previous donors!
Many thanks to our previous donors!
The Library, elsewhere
Other projects
The Sweetest Feeling by Bunny
Story notes: This is plain-old fluff. I just hope it's a bit of even remotely WELL-WRITTEN fluff. R&R, please. Let me know if it sucks so I don't poison the message board with more bad fic, ok? I am well aware that I am screwing with the timeline a little, but it's my fic. Just wait until you see the new fic I'm working on...heehee. I reordered the universe for that one.
