elderberrywine (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
elderberrywine) wrote2004-04-02 10:57 pm
elderberrywine) wrote2004-04-02 10:57 pm
Floating Into Light, Part Two
Here is part two of the latest installment of my Shire Morns series...
*and I did promise Tin Wet!Frodo. However, Wet!Angsty!Frodo is still to come...*
Title: Floating Into Light, Part Two
Author: Elderberry Wine
Pairing: F/S
Rating: NC-17
Summary: More than a couple lives are changed this summer in the Shire.
Floating into Light
Part Two
By that evening, in fact, by the time teatime was ending, Pearl Took had moved into Bag End. After all, Frodo was to be back any day, there would be no news one way or the other of Pippin until she was able to talk to him. The rooms at the Green Dragon were perfectly frightful, and, truth be told, Pearl was more than happy to have a few days to herself far from the Great Smials. Daisy had promptly aired out the guest bedroom, thankful that Frodo’s cousin had not seen fit to move into Frodo’s bedroom, with its stack of Sam’s humble homespun shirts next to Frodo’s fine linen ones in the wardrobe.
Daisy had already been invited to Marigold and Tom’s home for dinner that evening, and since Pearl had announced that although she might be capable of a pot of tea, she was no cook, Daisy took the hint and uneasily invited her as well.
But her misgivings were for naught, since Pearl proved herself a gracious and entertaining guest, and immediately set herself to learning all there was to know about these remarkable Gamgee and Cotton families. Rose and Jolly were there as well, and Rose could not help breaking into a blush any time Pearl spoke to her, a fact that entertained Pearl highly.
“So she’ll be stayin’ at Bag End ‘til Mr. Frodo gets back?” Marigold asked Daisy as the two sisters washed dishes together after the meal. Tom had taken the guest into the garden for a stroll after dinner, and his brother and sister had headed back to their parents’ smial, full of news.
“Aye, that’s what she said,” laughed Daisy, “an’ who would I be to say her nay?”
Marigold chuckled at that, giving a vigorous scrub to the stew pot. “Wouldn’t ha’mattered all that much what you said, I’d be thinkin’,” she admitted. “That one seems as though she’d be havin’ her way, like it or no.”
Daisy agreed to that with a smile. “But you can’t help but like her nonetheless, for it all,” she added. “All I’ve ever met of Mr. Frodo’s family is her and Mr. Bilbo. They certainly are an interestin’ lot, to say the least.”
****
The three travelers had walked far through the Green Hill Country that day, despite ambling at a rather leisurely pace. Any body of water deep enough to reach his ankles had fascinated Pippin, and he also found several rather grumpy bullfrogs, well hidden, or so they thought, in the rushes, and not at all pleased by the inquisitive young hobbit’s examination.
The older two hobbits walked together, to the rear, and once they thought Pippin was far enough ahead of them, dared to join hands and exchange a quick kiss under the spreading branches of the great oak that stood to the side of the path. But a distinctly amused voice came floating back toward them, “I can see you, you know,” and Pippin bounded back into view. He had rather struggled with a sense of guilt this morning, for having followed them the night before, and had firmly resolved that that would not happen again. But he really didn’t see the use of the two of them being so secretive about this sort of thing.
With an amused chuckle, Frodo found that he quite agreed. “Well, that‘s it, Sam, we won’t be having a moment to ourselves on this trip, so we may as well make the best of it.”
Sam made a noise that could have indicated agreement, annoyance, or possibly several other sentiments, but, as Pippin noted, he kept a firm hold of Frodo’s hand.
As evening approached, Buckland was a brisk morning’s walk ahead, but brisk was not the pace at which the three had been traveling. It was increasingly obvious to each of them, as their destination approached, that it was essential that some sort of strategy be devised. However, the discovery of a patch of the very best sort of mushrooms had suddenly made dinner a priority. Sam was somewhat surprised by the enthusiasm shown to this dish by Frodo, but Pippin laughed knowingly when he mentioned it.
“Ah, you don’t know the half of it, Sam,” he crowed, carefully guarding his portion from his cousin. Frodo had polished off his share nearly instantly, and had been impatiently eyeing those still on Pippin’s plate. “I suppose he’s never mentioned Farmer Maggot to you, now, has he?”
“Farmer Maggot?” Sam asked curiously, “I’d not be knowin’ that name.”
“Buckland,” Frodo mentioned succinctly, rising to his feet. “I’ll fetch some water to wash up with, then.”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Pippin was delighted to find that Frodo’s infamous dealings with Maggot apparently still embarrassed him. “Now, I wasn’t there, of course,” he confided to Sam, “but Merry has told me all about it.”
“Well, he wasn’t there, either,” Frodo sat back down, realizing the story was going to be told, whether he would have it or no, and it probably would be best not to have it come from Pippin uncorrected. “No doubt he has told you a particularly colorful version. There isn’t that much to it, really.”
“Then go ahead, tell Sam,” Pippin urged with a grin. “I’m sure he has no idea what a unrepentant scamp you used to be.”
Sam cocked an incredulous eyebrow up at that, and eyed Pippin dubiously.
“Oh, yes,” Pippin continued with glee, delighted to have such an attentive audience as Sam. “Why, he’s still known about Brandy Hall, in certain quarters, as That Wild Baggins Lad, you know, for all you may think he’s the staid and respectable Master of Bag End now.”
“Well, I don’t think that’d exactly be what I’d be thinkin’ o’him,” Sam demurred with a quick smile over to Frodo, who had settled quietly back down at his side. “But ‘tis not as a wild lad that I remember seein’ him when he first came to Bag End. ‘Course I was still fair more’n a child meself.”
“That young?” Pippin asked curiously. “How old are you anyway, Sam?”
“Older than Merry,” Frodo interjected hastily, having a curious reluctance to go into this particular subject.
Not dissuaded by Frodo‘s unease, Sam replied with a grin. “Twenty two.”
“Barely a ‘tween,” Pippin breathed, with an owlish stare. “Why, Frodo! And you tell us we’re too young.”
“Well, you are, at that,” Frodo shot back, starting to redden. “You’re a teenager, Pippin, and Merry was still one last year. That’s much too young, well, you know what I mean,” he ended, rather lamely.
Sam took pity on him at that. “You see, Pippin,” he explained, turning to Pippin, but laying a gentle hand on Frodo’s, which was on the ground next to him, “those of us as aren’t gentle-folk have to grow up a bit faster. Me sister’d be younger than me, and she’s already married. An’ the other as is a year older, well, it’s not for the want of tryin’, with her. So you see as I’m plenty old enough to be makin’ up my mind about who I’d be wantin’ t’spend my life with. ‘Tis not just a matter of the years, you know.” He could feel Frodo’s hand close gratefully around his as he spoke.
“Hmm.” Pippin gave some consideration to this argument, but Frodo felt alarmingly certain that he had not heard the last of it. Returning to Sam’s previous remark, Pippin then continued to probe Sam’s early memories of Frodo. “So he was actually civilized around Bag End as a lad?”
“Bilbo had a lot to do with that,” Frodo spoke up, with a wry smile. “He never suffered fools gladly. And he could always pack me off, if he wished. So I became entirely respectable, I’m afraid.”
Pippin gave rather a snort at that. “Or learned to hide it better, I suspect. But anyway, Sam, this fellow Maggot…”
Frodo rolled his eyes up at this return to the initial topic, and Sam smiled at Pippin encouragingly.
At this promising reception, Pippin continued with relish. “Well, my cousin Frodo, here, as you may have noticed, is a positive pushover for mushrooms. And Farmer Maggot was well-known to have an especially luxuriant patch of them. Unfortunately, he was just as well-known for being the owner of a pack of particularly large, rather voracious dogs as well.” And he proceeded to tell Sam the tale with ample detail, and several exasperated corrections from Frodo, that nonetheless entirely failed to hide his pleasure in Pippin’s account and Sam’s delighted response.
The stars had risen high in the sky, and the campfire was merely embers, by the time Pippin began to yawn lustily.
“I have no idea,” he muttered, in a drowsy voice, “how I can manage to get quite so sleepy, when all I have to look forward to is an evening shifting about on roots and pebbles.”
“Looks as if you’ll never notice them tonight,” Frodo smiled at him, rising to his feet from where he had been curled, leaning into Sam. Sam, blinking his eyes, and rousing himself from against the tree trunk that had fit so comfortably against his back, stood up as well.
“I’ll take care of the fire, Frodo,” he offered, “You go along now, and get some rest, too.”
“I’ll help, Sam,” Frodo’s refusal was soft but firm.
Pippin took no more notice of the debate, however, but settling quickly into his blankets, was soon fast asleep. Sam picked up a pot for water from the stream with which to douse the campfire, and he and Frodo walked through the brush to the water’s edge.
There was a nearly full moon still, and the birch trees near the stream shone a bright silver. The small stream glittered as Sam reached the pot down and filled it. But rather than turning back to the campsite, he stopped, the pot of water forgotten in hand, and gazed up into the night sky. “ ‘Tis the same stars here as over Bag End,” he remarked softly to Frodo. “Seems as though we’d just be out on the back hill rather than days out from Hobbiton.”
Frodo murmured agreement, looking up into the starry sky as well. Closing the gap between Sam and himself, he threw an arm around Sam’s shoulders and drew him close. Sam’s response was unconscious and instantaneous, a warm arm wrapped closely around Frodo’s waist. “See the bright one, just above that tall pine with the bare top?” he asked Sam softly, pointing to the star in question. “Bilbo told me that the dwarves call that one the Star of the North, and that it always points northwards into the wild country.”
“Aye,” Sam agreed, following to where Frodo was pointing. “Me gaffer says that as well. All seasons, too.”
Frodo stood silently for a few moments, his embrace still holding Sam closely to him, and the sounds of the night were all about them, the hoots of the owls, the quiet rustling occasionally to be heard in the bushes, and the last song of the whippoorwill as the final light of the midsummer sun slowly faded from the horizon. “I know, Sam,” his voice took on a dreamy quality, “if there’s ever a reason that we’re apart for the night, after all, it could possibly happen in the next fifty years or so…” He paused to chuckle as Sam gave a brief sound of dissent. “Just suppose, Sam” he laughed softly, drawing his companion even closer to him, “then, you look to that star before you go to bed and think of me, and I’ll do the same.”
Then lifting a hand and turning Sam’s face toward his, he added quietly, “And then imagine that I kiss you just like this,” and he paused to give credence to his words. “And that you do the same,” he continued, slowly drawing his mouth reluctantly from Sam’s warm lips. “And we’ll wish each other a good night, and that the time will be short, until we can be together again.”
“Can’t see as how we’d ever need to,” Sam had put the pot of water down long ago, and was slowly running a hand down the side of Frodo’s face. “But should that ever happen, I promise you, me dear, I’ll look to that star, an’ think of you, and tell that star just how much I’d be lovin’ you. But it could never shine as bright as lookin’ into those eyes o’yours, me love.”
“And I hope the occasion never comes,” Frodo said quietly, looking with sudden soberness into Sam’s eyes and covering Sam’s hand with his own. “But if there is one thing that my life has taught me thus far, it is that nothing lasts forever.”
Sam gave a shake of his head at that, but Frodo kept his hand in place. “It‘s not time that I fear, my love,” he continued. “And there could be nothing that I would wish for more, than in fifty years hence, you’d be standing here with me, saying that I never had any cause for fretting.” He stopped at that, looking down and swallowing hard, and when he looked back up at Sam, his eyes were suddenly wet with unshed tears. “It’s just that…” he whispered with difficulty, his hold on Sam’s hand tightening ever so slightly, “that every day I find myself falling more in love with you, Sam. And the thought that I could, for whatever reason, lose you, terrifies me.”
Sam gave no answer to this at first, other than a long and loving kiss. “None of us can ever know what life’d be givin’ us on the morrow,” he said finally, his forefinger gently stroking Frodo’s delicately arched eyebrow, surely and knowingly. “But what we can know is what’d be in our hearts. So if the world’d ever break us apart, rest you easy that your Sam will be workin’ his way back to you, never you fear on that, no matter if it took the rest of my life. If ever you do lose me, Frodo-love, it would not be forever. For I’m not too young not to know that it is you that’d be my only true love. Never doubt me, Frodo.” And there were no more words after that that needed to be said.
****
Daisy had escorted Pearl Took back to Bag End after dinner that night. She had rarely been in the large and meandering smial at night, and the shadows that followed her candle as she led Pearl to the guest room gave her the fleeting thought that this great place must have surely seemed strange to Sam after the overcrowded Gamgee home. But her train of thought was broken, when she handed the candle over to the visitor, by the ugly red mark on Pearl’s palm.
“Well, look at you, then,” Daisy gasped, holding on to the candle and grasping Pearl’s hand instead. “That’ll be blisterin’, surely it will.”
“No matter,” Pearl attempted to withdraw her hand with a light laugh. “I’ve certainly never been considered a beauty; a few marks will hardly mar my perfection.”
Daisy stopped short at that, but did not release the other’s hand, looking straight into her eyes with startled disbelief. “Why, whoever would be fool enough to be sayin’ that?” she asked in a quiet voice, before recollecting herself and giving Pearl the candle in its holder. “Light those other candles,” she said briskly over her shoulder and she left the room. “I’ll be right back.”
Pearl did as she was bid, but then stared at her face reflected in the small looking glass propped on the wooden chest, seeing the face of a stranger beneath the familiar red curls. There was nothing here that she was used to, no family, no friends, no servants, only this lass that was none of any of those.
Daisy reappeared before very long, carrying a strip of clean cloth with a small jar of salve. “I left this here last week,” she announced in tones of crisp efficiency, “seein’ as how my brother’d always let the cookin’ fat bespatter him.” Pearl silently held her hand back out, allowing Daisy to carefully apply the salve and wrap it lightly with the cloth, carefully tucking the loose ends in. “Well, then.” In contrast to Daisy’s hands, her voice was clipped and hurried. “I’ll be stoppin’ by in the morn if you’d be needin’ summat.”
“Thank you,” Pearl called after her, but Daisy was already gone.
****
“The cave.” Frodo stopped the downward course of his mug, the steam of the hot tea visibly rising in the crisp morning air. He turned to Pippin and repeated, with a sudden smile, “You remember it, don’t you, Pippin? The cave by the river.”
“Ah,” Pippin replied, the corners of his mouth curling up in delight. He had already finished off his tea, as well as the rest of his breakfast, and lay next to the morning’s small campfire, propped up on his bony elbows. Excitedly, he sat up. “That would be perfect! I know that only you and I and Merry know of that place. No-one would ever find us there.”
“Exactly,” Frodo replied with satisfaction. “We can stay there until we decide what to do about this mess. Now all we need is a way to get the word to Merry…” and Sam sat up straight, with the uncomfortable surety that this is where he fit in to the master plan.
His fears were quickly confirmed. “You see, Sam,” Frodo explained reasonably enough, drawing close to Sam and wrapping an arm around his shoulders, “no-one about Brandy Hall will recognize you.“ Sam sat quite still, terrified about his new role as conspirator, but at the same time reluctant to say or do anything that might result in that arm being removed from where it was so comfortably resting.
Finally though, he felt that there was something that he ought to point out. “Mistress Brandybuck recognized me this Yuletide,” he observed, but tempered the objection by wriggling slightly closer to Frodo.
Frodo gave him a warm smile at that, and Sam imperceptibly sighed inside, knowing that he would do whatever Frodo asked of him. “That’s because you were with me,” Frodo mentioned matter-of-factly. “By yourself, she’ll never know you. Besides, with any luck at all, you’ll never see her. All you have to do, Sam,” he continued nonchalantly, “is look about for Merry, tell him where to find us, and hurry back. That’s all.”
“Others might be knowin’ me, though,” Sam gave a last feeble protest. “Plenty o’Brandy Hall folks’d have Hobbiton relations, and they’d be knowin’ me a bit better.”
“Well, they wouldn’t be running off to tell the Mistress of Brandy Hall about it, though, would they?” Frodo laughed. “I think we can rely on their discretion, Sam.”
****
Daisy let herself quietly into the kitchen of Bag End the next morning, only to find Pearl already at the table, sipping a cup of tea, and reading from a book.
“Good morn, miss. I’d be bringin’ you a bit o’bread,” Daisy nodded toward the visitor, laying her basket upon the kitchen table. “An’ a couple a’eggs, for your breakfast. There’d be butter in the pantry, I believe, for your toast.”
Pearl put down her book with a warm smile. “Thank you so much,” she greeted Daisy cheerfully. “Toast, I think I can manage, but what does one do about eggs?” she picked one up and stared at it ruefully.
“Well,” Daisy tried to hide her amusement. How could anyone not be knowing that? “Scramblin’ might be easiest, now.”
“Scrambling sounds good,” the gentle-hobbit looked up at that, her eyes dancing with amusement. “So I just toss them in a pan?”
“Stars, no,” Daisy laughed. “Not unless you’d be wantin’ to be scrubbin’ that pan for a while, and with a poor excuse for a breakfast, likewise. Here, I’ll show you, then.”
So she instructed Pearl happily in the mysteries of the construction of breakfast, and Pearl laughed again, and declared that she couldn’t remember when breakfast had been such a entertaining occasion, and the next time Daisy glanced out the window, the sun was already high in the sky.
“Ah, now, would you look at the sun,” she cried, quickly untying Sam’s apron that she had borrowed for the morning and neatly hanging it back on the peg, “and me with the marketin’ still t’be done.”
“Oh, are you going to Hobbiton, then?” Pearl asked, instantly curious. “I need to be getting word back home that I’m waiting here for Frodo.”
“Aye, I could forward a note from you if you’d like,” Daisy threw over her shoulder as she hastily rinsed out the last of the dishes, and grabbed up the kitchen towel.
“I’d rather come, too,” Pearl took the towel from Daisy’s hand and gave the last dish a perfunctory swipe.
“ ‘Tis a bit of a walk, then, especially the sun bein’ high by now,” Daisy replied dubiously.
“Well, I’m not quite as pampered as all that, Daisy dear,” Pearl laughed merrily. “And what would I be doing about here all on my own? Reading Frodo’s stuffy books? Not too likely, I should think.”
And before Daisy knew how it had happened, she and the gentle-hobbit from Tuckborough were easily chatting together and walking the dusty road to Hobbiton.
*****
As the three travelers stepped through a thicket of barberry bushes, they caught their first sight of the Brandywine. It was not the main portion of the river that was glittering in the noonday sun, but rather one of the shallow tributaries, still full of spring runoff. It was no deeper than their waists, but to Sam, it was the greatest body of water he had ever seen, and he felt his heart suddenly drop at the thought of crossing it.
Frodo stopped short and gazed at the glistening stream with an odd lump in his throat. He knew not why, but the sight of it was irresistible, flooding his heart with memories of the long-forgotten days of his childhood. It was by the banks of the Brandywine that he had been born, and he had learned to swim nearly as soon as he could walk. There had been all those days of golden sun, shining water, and those two whose faces he only saw, so very seldom now, in his dreams. Suddenly he felt the years drop from him with welcome release, and he dropped his pack on the shady path where they stood, quickly stripped himself of his clothing, and running into the sunlight, splashed into the water before turning around to face his companions. “Come on, you two,” he laughed. “It’s warm enough, at least in the sun.”
Pippin chuckled fondly at his cousin, not greatly surprised by Frodo’s actions. “He’s a river rat, you know,” he informed a startled Sam. “Even worse than Merry. There’ll be no getting him out for awhile now. Not until lunch, at least.”
Frodo had ducked under the water, and as he stood up again in the waist-deep stream, water running from the wet dark curls now flattened against his face and a broad smile on his face, Sam thought he had rarely seen him look so lovely. His fear of the water was nothing to his instant desire to taste those drops of water running in glistening beads down Frodo’s chest and decide if they could possibly taste as delicious as they appeared. There was no need for Frodo to call to him again, as his warm look to Sam was slyly inviting. His pack was down beside Frodo’s, his clothes were off as well, and he followed into the sunlight and water. Pippin stood on the shore for only a moment more before shrugging the pack off of his shoulders too, and rapidly undressing, joined the other two.
Sam walked sturdily out into the stream, keeping his fears firmly at bay, feeling the cool water about his ankles, his shins, his thighs, and then further up. Upstream, Frodo twisted in the water, and suddenly was lying flat out upon the water in front of him. How he did that, Sam had no idea, lying there as surely as on his great feather bed, back in their bedroom at Bag End. Sam drove himself even more quickly into the water, for seeing Frodo stretched out, eyes closed, dark lashes shadowing his cheeks, dark curls on his forehead and dark curls below, well, Sam was grateful indeed that the water was waist-deep. Clear as it was, though, it wasn’t about to hide much, and it might well be awhile before Sam would be prepared to leave its meager safety.
Back behind him, he could hear Pippin splashing noisily about, causing the small terns hidden in the reeds to rise suddenly from the water, flapping their wings in protest, and seek refuge further down the river. But ahead, Frodo lay, dreamily floating away from him in the light current, and Sam marveled once more at the grace and elegance of the slim form that he had come to know so well. There were those that had always said Frodo Baggins never looked like a proper hobbit, and Sam, in his heart, agreed. Far more wondrous than any hobbit he had ever known, indeed, but he never said as much to Frodo, knowing that it would have been no comfort to him, who would so much rather think of himself as just ordinary.
Sam glanced overhead. The sun was high in the brilliantly blue sky; it was nearly time for lunch. But before that… Taking a quick glimpse upstream, he saw Pippin sitting in the water at the river’s edge, curiously examining something in his hand as mud was slowly dropping from it. Sam gave a quick sigh of relief. At least the teen was occupied for the time being. Just as an added guarantee, though, he called out, with all the nonchalance that he could summon, “We’d be right back, Pippin. We’ll just have a look downriver for a bit.” And not even looking back to see if his words had had the desired effect, he followed Frodo downstream.
Gliding innocently by Sam, Frodo’s eyes were still closed, but a smile appeared again on his lips as he bumped lazily into him. And then with a swirl and flash of water, Frodo dove under, quick as any river otter, and before Sam could see where, he felt a sudden tug to one of his legs and down he was sinking, into the water. With a sudden snort, he leapt back up to his feet to find Frodo standing nearby, laughing mischievously.
“See?” Frodo’s expression had definitely become a smirk. “After all, not that deep, now, is it?” Diving back under again before Sam could respond, he surfaced closer to Sam, and in doing so, brushed against him.
“Ah,” he breathed at that revelation, his eyes widening slightly as well as his smile.
“Aye, right enough,” Sam gave a mock growl at Frodo’s reaction. “An’ could a body be blamin’ me, seein’ as how you…” and here he broke off, casting another quick glance upriver, but Pippin still appeared to be occupied with the muddy discovery in his hand. “I told him we’d be back in a bit,” he nodded his head in the teen’s direction.
“Did you now,” Frodo answered silkily, ducking down in the water again and gliding slightly ahead of Sam. “Well in that case, follow me.” An ancient willow stretched its leaf-draped branches out into the water not far ahead. Frodo headed for the tree with all the assurance of memory, and found what he had recalled behind the screen of green, a clear pool sheltered by the willow from the sight of anyone upstream.
Sam, slowly wading through the clear water as he followed Frodo, brushed aside the graceful branches that dipped into the stream, and then looked around with pleasure. The small pool glistened in the sunlight, but the willow trees on the bank sheltered the occupants from sight. Frodo had sunk chest deep into the water, apparently, as far as Sam could tell, on his knees, and was lazily stroking the water before him as he watched Sam. “This trip is turning out rather well, isn’t it, Sam?” he asked softly, moving closer to him.
“Aye, it’s had its moments,” Sam had to admit as he reached out for Frodo. But before he could make contact, Frodo lightly laughed, ducked down, and swirled away out of Sam’s grasp. But this time, Sam was ready. “Ah, no, me dear, it’d not be that easy.” He ducked behind Frodo, and caught him fast by the waist. “If you’d be goin’ around in naught but your skin, Frodo-love,” he whispered, clasping Frodo tightly in front of him, “then you’d best be expectin’ your Sam to not be takin’ his eyes off of you. Nor his hands, for that matter.”
“And glad I am of that,” Frodo responded, rising to his feet in the water, and tightly wrapping his arms around Sam’s, that were firmly clasped around his waist. “Oh, Sam, dearest,” he murmured, closing his eyes and laying his head back against Sam’s shoulder. Slowly then, he let his hands trail from Sam’s and slowly still, reaching back, follow around Sam’s waist behind him and, reaching back even further, grasp Sam and cup him from behind.
“Frodo,” Sam’s voice was husky, and his arousal was evident, pushing into Frodo’s backside. His hands moved slowly from Frodo’s waist. Lower, across that smooth stomach, under water, and then lower yet.
“Ah,” Frodo sighed at Sam’s touch, pushing upwards, and yet at the same time, still pressing hard back into Sam. But Sam’s hands found what they had been seeking, and closed firmly around Frodo. Frodo let out a moan at that, and tried to pull Sam ever closer to him, arching his head back over Sam’s shoulder.
“Frodo, Frodo,” Sam whispered, twisting his head to nibble the delicate tip of Frodo’s ear, to trail a tongue along his cheek, to taste the crook of his neck. And all the while, his hands knew their mission, stroking and caressing, cajoling and pleading. Frodo grew harder in his capable hands, and began to thrust himself back against Sam with increasing urgency. Vaguely, Sam wished that he had thought of bringing butter with him, but it was too late for that. And now the sound of Frodo, his breath growing heavier, the incoherent pleas to Sam to just, please, oh, just…
And whatever it was, Sam would have given, pressing himself against Frodo harder and harder, but with a rhythm that never forgot its partner, while all the while Frodo moaned with want and need, grabbing at Sam with all his strength, until finally, with a choked cry, Frodo flung himself back, and froze for a hushed moment, throbbing in Sam’s hands, and then let go with a strangled cry. As soon as he felt Frodo’s release, Sam could no longer wait, but grasped Frodo’s hips tightly, desperately, and pressed himself into that delicious cleft once more, and shuddered as well with his own release.
Pippin was glad to see them reappear from behind the willow. He didn’t mind waiting patiently, but after all, it was lunch time, and unthinkably enough, they had managed to miss elevenses.
*****
Hobbiton was bustling with the commotion of market day when Daisy and Pearl reached the Green Dragon on its outskirts. A heavily laden farm cart rumbled past them just as they dexterously threaded their way through the mud puddles by the side of the road, still remaining from last week’s brief showers. Daisy quickly grasped Pearl’s arm, just in time to help her avoid a drover herding a trio of piglets past them, bound for market. Even though it was by now the height of the afternoon, the roads into Hobbiton were still busy, for market went on late into the summer evenings. Farmers from outlaying farms often did not arrive at Hobbiton until later in the day, and frequently, if they were prosperous enough, made an evening of it at the Green Dragon, and found their way home the following day. And if the market had not been as good to them, well, there was the field nearby and the mild night air, and generally, someone willing to stand them a mug at the inn.
With Frodo away, and only she and the gaffer at home, Daisy’s needs were few, so there was time for a quick visit with her sister May, still staying with the Burrows in town. Besides, pen and paper would be available at the Burrows residence, and Pearl Took could prepare her note to her family there, Daisy was sure.
“ ‘Tis probably not what you’d be used to,” Daisy mentioned depreciatingly to the visitor as they entered the market square. “I’m sure that Hobbiton’d never be as fine as Michel Delving.”
“Well, I certainly would never know,” Pearl chuckled, her eyes dancing with the bustle and commotion all about. “Mama never lets me go to town for the marketing, that’d be why we have help, as she would say. Thank you for putting up with me, Daisy,” she added with sudden gratitude, tucking her arm under Daisy’s. “I hope it’s weeks before Frodo gets back, and he can keep that brother of mine with him, for all I care. I’m having far too good a time to want to be going back.”
A quick flush of pleasure on Daisy’s face was the immediate response.
May had been expecting her sister’s knock, but her companion took her aback. It was clear to the more worldly Gamgee that this was a hobbit lass of wealth and importance, and what she was doing with May’s awkward elder sister was baffling indeed. But that was nothing to the shock of the name, when Daisy introduced her, as May escorted them into the front parlor. She had been alone in the smial, awaiting her sister, since the Burrows lasses were out on errands of their own. And now she was bitterly regretting that, as the eldest daughter of the Tooks of the Great Smial itself was standing in front of her. She immediately dropped into an unpracticed bow to find Pearl extending her hand instead in greeting. But there was a bandage wrapped about it, which the visitor seemed to just notice as well, and she withdrew her hand with a laugh.
“Well, that won’t work too well, I’m afraid,” she explained ruefully, “but I’m glad to meet you, anyway.”
“Miss Pearl came to Bag End,” Daisy explained, choosing not to hear the soft mutter from the aforementioned at that appellation, “to look for her brother.”
“Mr. Pippin?” May queried, her eyes widening.
“Do you know him? Have you seen him?” Pearl asked in mild surprise.
“Not to know by sight, surely, but everyone has heard…” and May stopped for a moment and then smoothly continued, “what a fine young gentle-hobbit he’d be.”
“Well, he is a fine one, and no mistake,” Pearl commented dryly. “So you would have heard if he’d been seen about Hobbiton?”
“Oh, aye, indeed,” May hastily responded, unsure as to whether she had offended the visitor or not. “But, no, no word of him.”
“Well, then, I’d best send a message to Mama,” Pearl said decisively. “Your sister has informed me there would be paper and a quill about here?”
“Oh, to be sure, miss,” May quickly answered, racking her head as to exactly where these items might be. Neither she nor the Burrows lasses were much for writing. Fortunately, she was saved the embarrassment of a lengthy search by the return of the rest of the residents of the smial. And amidst the flurry of introductions, and expressions of hurriedly muffled astonishment, and the speedy search for the required implements, May found a moment to draw Daisy aside.
“How have y’met up with her?” May hissed quietly to her sister, pulling her into a corner of the ornately adorned front room. “Seems as you’d be the best of friends when you’d be comin’ in. Are you sure she’s who she’d say she’d be?”
Daisy surveyed her sister with amusement. “She’s Mr. Frodo’s cousin. Can you na see that?”
May snuck another rapid glance at the stranger, whose arms were being suddenly laden with a plentitude of instruments, some of which were actually suitable for writing. “Well, that would certainly seem to be the case,” she reluctantly admitted. “That pointy nose’d be the same, sure enough. But where would Himself be, then?”
“He went on a walkin’ trip, so says our Sam,” Daisy answered. “An’ Miss Pearl, she’s makin’ herself right at home at Bag End ‘til he’d be comin’ back.” Her admiration for Pearl’s bold move couldn’t help but creep into her voice at that. “She’ll be stayin’ right there until he’d be back.”
“And Sam?” May asked instantly, apprehension clearly in her voice.
“With Mr. Frodo, of course,” Daisy answered quickly but soothingly.
Pearl caught only the last exchange out of the corner of her eye, but there was a clear undercurrent of concern between the two sisters that puzzled her. Once again, she considered the unusual employee relationship at Bag End.
*****
It was late in the afternoon when the travelers reached the Brandywine proper. It rolled past the shores at this point, a strong and powerful river, the greatest in the Shire. Sam stared at the water flowing over the rocks near the banks with a foaming intensity, and was sure that there was no possibility of crossing this fearsome tide. But Frodo gave it a calm glance, and Pippin seemed unimpressed as well.
“Well, there’s the ford upstream, along the main road,” Frodo said thoughtfully to Pippin, “but I can’t think of a better way to make an announcement that we’ve arrived than to cross there. The river is narrower further downstream, but that’s getting much too close to Brandy Hall. And then we’d just have to travel all the way back up to the cave. No, I think this would be the right spot.”
Sam stared at Frodo with the terrified sensation that he understood all too well what Frodo meant. And Pippin quickly confirmed it. “Right enough,” he responded to Frodo, with the air of it being all in a day’s work, “this spot would be as likely a spot as any.”
“Sam can’t swim,” Frodo mentioned to his cousin in a matter-of-fact sort of way, “and I’d rather not get the packs all wet, if that can be helped.”
“Hmmm,” Pippin answered meditatively, turning his back to the river and staring at the shore. “A log, then.”
Frodo gave a curt nod, and followed Pippin’s lead.
Both of the cousins spotted it at the same time. It was a short log, lying well off the side of the bank, relatively dry, and also relatively flat. In no time at all, the three hobbits had pushed it to the water’s edge, and both Pippin and Frodo had removed their packs as well as clothing.
“Sit there, Sam,” Frodo instructed him gently as Sam stood by the water’s edge, unsure and far more afraid than he wished them to know. “It’s rather flat there, and you can hold the packs and clothing in front of you. Mind you, should it tip, you’re not to worry about any of that lot. We can retrieve it all later if needs be.”
But try as he might, Sam’s face couldn’t help reveal his feelings about the idea of tipping. Frodo saw that instantly, and quickly pulled Sam aside.
“Don’t you worry, my love,” he said quietly and gently, with a warm smile, cupping Sam‘s face with one hand and drawing Sam‘s troubled gaze to his. “I grew up on this river, and Pippin almost has as well. I’d never let any harm come to you, Sam dear. You’re safe with me. Just trust me.”
“As if I ever wouldn‘t,” Sam whispered, giving Frodo a shaky smile. “Don’t you mind your old Sam now.”
Frodo gazed into his eyes a moment more, and then gave him a quick kiss, not caring if Pippin saw or not.
“Well, let’s be off then,” he walked with Sam’s hand in his back to the log where Pippin was patiently waiting. “Pippin, you swim on that side of the log, and I’ll take this side. Between the two of us, we’ll have no problem keeping it upright, I’m sure. Sam, you just ride on the log with our packs, and we’ll be over this puddle in no time.”
If Pippin had any doubts, he never showed them, but moved smartly to the other side of the log and gave Sam a reassuring smile. “Not to worry, Sam,” he piped up cheerfully. “When it comes to rivers, Frodo is unsinkable. We’ll be all right.” Sam gave him an uncertain, but grateful smile in return, and before he knew it, the other two were shoving the log into the water, and it entered the turbulent water.
Pippin swam steadily on the one side of Sam, but was frequently submerged and out of sight. But just when Sam started to get the panicky feeling that perhaps he had been down rather too long, up he’d pop again, with a cheerful grin and breathless nod to Sam.
Frodo, though, swam steadily and skillfully on the other side of the log, and it was soon clear enough to even a novice such as Sam that Frodo felt no fear of this riotous river. He never disappeared under the water and even kept, at all times, a warm hand on Sam’s ankle, hanging over the edge of the leg. Sam closed his eyes, and felt his heart slow down and steady itself. He was safe. Frodo had him, he felt that warm touch radiate throughout him. Frodo held him, and there was no reason to fear.
He opened his eyes at the unexpected lurch as the log hit the opposite shore. They were over the Brandywine and in Buckland.
To be continued…..
*and I did promise Tin Wet!Frodo. However, Wet!Angsty!Frodo is still to come...*
Title: Floating Into Light, Part Two
Author: Elderberry Wine
Pairing: F/S
Rating: NC-17
Summary: More than a couple lives are changed this summer in the Shire.
Floating into Light
Part Two
By that evening, in fact, by the time teatime was ending, Pearl Took had moved into Bag End. After all, Frodo was to be back any day, there would be no news one way or the other of Pippin until she was able to talk to him. The rooms at the Green Dragon were perfectly frightful, and, truth be told, Pearl was more than happy to have a few days to herself far from the Great Smials. Daisy had promptly aired out the guest bedroom, thankful that Frodo’s cousin had not seen fit to move into Frodo’s bedroom, with its stack of Sam’s humble homespun shirts next to Frodo’s fine linen ones in the wardrobe.
Daisy had already been invited to Marigold and Tom’s home for dinner that evening, and since Pearl had announced that although she might be capable of a pot of tea, she was no cook, Daisy took the hint and uneasily invited her as well.
But her misgivings were for naught, since Pearl proved herself a gracious and entertaining guest, and immediately set herself to learning all there was to know about these remarkable Gamgee and Cotton families. Rose and Jolly were there as well, and Rose could not help breaking into a blush any time Pearl spoke to her, a fact that entertained Pearl highly.
“So she’ll be stayin’ at Bag End ‘til Mr. Frodo gets back?” Marigold asked Daisy as the two sisters washed dishes together after the meal. Tom had taken the guest into the garden for a stroll after dinner, and his brother and sister had headed back to their parents’ smial, full of news.
“Aye, that’s what she said,” laughed Daisy, “an’ who would I be to say her nay?”
Marigold chuckled at that, giving a vigorous scrub to the stew pot. “Wouldn’t ha’mattered all that much what you said, I’d be thinkin’,” she admitted. “That one seems as though she’d be havin’ her way, like it or no.”
Daisy agreed to that with a smile. “But you can’t help but like her nonetheless, for it all,” she added. “All I’ve ever met of Mr. Frodo’s family is her and Mr. Bilbo. They certainly are an interestin’ lot, to say the least.”
****
The three travelers had walked far through the Green Hill Country that day, despite ambling at a rather leisurely pace. Any body of water deep enough to reach his ankles had fascinated Pippin, and he also found several rather grumpy bullfrogs, well hidden, or so they thought, in the rushes, and not at all pleased by the inquisitive young hobbit’s examination.
The older two hobbits walked together, to the rear, and once they thought Pippin was far enough ahead of them, dared to join hands and exchange a quick kiss under the spreading branches of the great oak that stood to the side of the path. But a distinctly amused voice came floating back toward them, “I can see you, you know,” and Pippin bounded back into view. He had rather struggled with a sense of guilt this morning, for having followed them the night before, and had firmly resolved that that would not happen again. But he really didn’t see the use of the two of them being so secretive about this sort of thing.
With an amused chuckle, Frodo found that he quite agreed. “Well, that‘s it, Sam, we won’t be having a moment to ourselves on this trip, so we may as well make the best of it.”
Sam made a noise that could have indicated agreement, annoyance, or possibly several other sentiments, but, as Pippin noted, he kept a firm hold of Frodo’s hand.
As evening approached, Buckland was a brisk morning’s walk ahead, but brisk was not the pace at which the three had been traveling. It was increasingly obvious to each of them, as their destination approached, that it was essential that some sort of strategy be devised. However, the discovery of a patch of the very best sort of mushrooms had suddenly made dinner a priority. Sam was somewhat surprised by the enthusiasm shown to this dish by Frodo, but Pippin laughed knowingly when he mentioned it.
“Ah, you don’t know the half of it, Sam,” he crowed, carefully guarding his portion from his cousin. Frodo had polished off his share nearly instantly, and had been impatiently eyeing those still on Pippin’s plate. “I suppose he’s never mentioned Farmer Maggot to you, now, has he?”
“Farmer Maggot?” Sam asked curiously, “I’d not be knowin’ that name.”
“Buckland,” Frodo mentioned succinctly, rising to his feet. “I’ll fetch some water to wash up with, then.”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Pippin was delighted to find that Frodo’s infamous dealings with Maggot apparently still embarrassed him. “Now, I wasn’t there, of course,” he confided to Sam, “but Merry has told me all about it.”
“Well, he wasn’t there, either,” Frodo sat back down, realizing the story was going to be told, whether he would have it or no, and it probably would be best not to have it come from Pippin uncorrected. “No doubt he has told you a particularly colorful version. There isn’t that much to it, really.”
“Then go ahead, tell Sam,” Pippin urged with a grin. “I’m sure he has no idea what a unrepentant scamp you used to be.”
Sam cocked an incredulous eyebrow up at that, and eyed Pippin dubiously.
“Oh, yes,” Pippin continued with glee, delighted to have such an attentive audience as Sam. “Why, he’s still known about Brandy Hall, in certain quarters, as That Wild Baggins Lad, you know, for all you may think he’s the staid and respectable Master of Bag End now.”
“Well, I don’t think that’d exactly be what I’d be thinkin’ o’him,” Sam demurred with a quick smile over to Frodo, who had settled quietly back down at his side. “But ‘tis not as a wild lad that I remember seein’ him when he first came to Bag End. ‘Course I was still fair more’n a child meself.”
“That young?” Pippin asked curiously. “How old are you anyway, Sam?”
“Older than Merry,” Frodo interjected hastily, having a curious reluctance to go into this particular subject.
Not dissuaded by Frodo‘s unease, Sam replied with a grin. “Twenty two.”
“Barely a ‘tween,” Pippin breathed, with an owlish stare. “Why, Frodo! And you tell us we’re too young.”
“Well, you are, at that,” Frodo shot back, starting to redden. “You’re a teenager, Pippin, and Merry was still one last year. That’s much too young, well, you know what I mean,” he ended, rather lamely.
Sam took pity on him at that. “You see, Pippin,” he explained, turning to Pippin, but laying a gentle hand on Frodo’s, which was on the ground next to him, “those of us as aren’t gentle-folk have to grow up a bit faster. Me sister’d be younger than me, and she’s already married. An’ the other as is a year older, well, it’s not for the want of tryin’, with her. So you see as I’m plenty old enough to be makin’ up my mind about who I’d be wantin’ t’spend my life with. ‘Tis not just a matter of the years, you know.” He could feel Frodo’s hand close gratefully around his as he spoke.
“Hmm.” Pippin gave some consideration to this argument, but Frodo felt alarmingly certain that he had not heard the last of it. Returning to Sam’s previous remark, Pippin then continued to probe Sam’s early memories of Frodo. “So he was actually civilized around Bag End as a lad?”
“Bilbo had a lot to do with that,” Frodo spoke up, with a wry smile. “He never suffered fools gladly. And he could always pack me off, if he wished. So I became entirely respectable, I’m afraid.”
Pippin gave rather a snort at that. “Or learned to hide it better, I suspect. But anyway, Sam, this fellow Maggot…”
Frodo rolled his eyes up at this return to the initial topic, and Sam smiled at Pippin encouragingly.
At this promising reception, Pippin continued with relish. “Well, my cousin Frodo, here, as you may have noticed, is a positive pushover for mushrooms. And Farmer Maggot was well-known to have an especially luxuriant patch of them. Unfortunately, he was just as well-known for being the owner of a pack of particularly large, rather voracious dogs as well.” And he proceeded to tell Sam the tale with ample detail, and several exasperated corrections from Frodo, that nonetheless entirely failed to hide his pleasure in Pippin’s account and Sam’s delighted response.
The stars had risen high in the sky, and the campfire was merely embers, by the time Pippin began to yawn lustily.
“I have no idea,” he muttered, in a drowsy voice, “how I can manage to get quite so sleepy, when all I have to look forward to is an evening shifting about on roots and pebbles.”
“Looks as if you’ll never notice them tonight,” Frodo smiled at him, rising to his feet from where he had been curled, leaning into Sam. Sam, blinking his eyes, and rousing himself from against the tree trunk that had fit so comfortably against his back, stood up as well.
“I’ll take care of the fire, Frodo,” he offered, “You go along now, and get some rest, too.”
“I’ll help, Sam,” Frodo’s refusal was soft but firm.
Pippin took no more notice of the debate, however, but settling quickly into his blankets, was soon fast asleep. Sam picked up a pot for water from the stream with which to douse the campfire, and he and Frodo walked through the brush to the water’s edge.
There was a nearly full moon still, and the birch trees near the stream shone a bright silver. The small stream glittered as Sam reached the pot down and filled it. But rather than turning back to the campsite, he stopped, the pot of water forgotten in hand, and gazed up into the night sky. “ ‘Tis the same stars here as over Bag End,” he remarked softly to Frodo. “Seems as though we’d just be out on the back hill rather than days out from Hobbiton.”
Frodo murmured agreement, looking up into the starry sky as well. Closing the gap between Sam and himself, he threw an arm around Sam’s shoulders and drew him close. Sam’s response was unconscious and instantaneous, a warm arm wrapped closely around Frodo’s waist. “See the bright one, just above that tall pine with the bare top?” he asked Sam softly, pointing to the star in question. “Bilbo told me that the dwarves call that one the Star of the North, and that it always points northwards into the wild country.”
“Aye,” Sam agreed, following to where Frodo was pointing. “Me gaffer says that as well. All seasons, too.”
Frodo stood silently for a few moments, his embrace still holding Sam closely to him, and the sounds of the night were all about them, the hoots of the owls, the quiet rustling occasionally to be heard in the bushes, and the last song of the whippoorwill as the final light of the midsummer sun slowly faded from the horizon. “I know, Sam,” his voice took on a dreamy quality, “if there’s ever a reason that we’re apart for the night, after all, it could possibly happen in the next fifty years or so…” He paused to chuckle as Sam gave a brief sound of dissent. “Just suppose, Sam” he laughed softly, drawing his companion even closer to him, “then, you look to that star before you go to bed and think of me, and I’ll do the same.”
Then lifting a hand and turning Sam’s face toward his, he added quietly, “And then imagine that I kiss you just like this,” and he paused to give credence to his words. “And that you do the same,” he continued, slowly drawing his mouth reluctantly from Sam’s warm lips. “And we’ll wish each other a good night, and that the time will be short, until we can be together again.”
“Can’t see as how we’d ever need to,” Sam had put the pot of water down long ago, and was slowly running a hand down the side of Frodo’s face. “But should that ever happen, I promise you, me dear, I’ll look to that star, an’ think of you, and tell that star just how much I’d be lovin’ you. But it could never shine as bright as lookin’ into those eyes o’yours, me love.”
“And I hope the occasion never comes,” Frodo said quietly, looking with sudden soberness into Sam’s eyes and covering Sam’s hand with his own. “But if there is one thing that my life has taught me thus far, it is that nothing lasts forever.”
Sam gave a shake of his head at that, but Frodo kept his hand in place. “It‘s not time that I fear, my love,” he continued. “And there could be nothing that I would wish for more, than in fifty years hence, you’d be standing here with me, saying that I never had any cause for fretting.” He stopped at that, looking down and swallowing hard, and when he looked back up at Sam, his eyes were suddenly wet with unshed tears. “It’s just that…” he whispered with difficulty, his hold on Sam’s hand tightening ever so slightly, “that every day I find myself falling more in love with you, Sam. And the thought that I could, for whatever reason, lose you, terrifies me.”
Sam gave no answer to this at first, other than a long and loving kiss. “None of us can ever know what life’d be givin’ us on the morrow,” he said finally, his forefinger gently stroking Frodo’s delicately arched eyebrow, surely and knowingly. “But what we can know is what’d be in our hearts. So if the world’d ever break us apart, rest you easy that your Sam will be workin’ his way back to you, never you fear on that, no matter if it took the rest of my life. If ever you do lose me, Frodo-love, it would not be forever. For I’m not too young not to know that it is you that’d be my only true love. Never doubt me, Frodo.” And there were no more words after that that needed to be said.
****
Daisy had escorted Pearl Took back to Bag End after dinner that night. She had rarely been in the large and meandering smial at night, and the shadows that followed her candle as she led Pearl to the guest room gave her the fleeting thought that this great place must have surely seemed strange to Sam after the overcrowded Gamgee home. But her train of thought was broken, when she handed the candle over to the visitor, by the ugly red mark on Pearl’s palm.
“Well, look at you, then,” Daisy gasped, holding on to the candle and grasping Pearl’s hand instead. “That’ll be blisterin’, surely it will.”
“No matter,” Pearl attempted to withdraw her hand with a light laugh. “I’ve certainly never been considered a beauty; a few marks will hardly mar my perfection.”
Daisy stopped short at that, but did not release the other’s hand, looking straight into her eyes with startled disbelief. “Why, whoever would be fool enough to be sayin’ that?” she asked in a quiet voice, before recollecting herself and giving Pearl the candle in its holder. “Light those other candles,” she said briskly over her shoulder and she left the room. “I’ll be right back.”
Pearl did as she was bid, but then stared at her face reflected in the small looking glass propped on the wooden chest, seeing the face of a stranger beneath the familiar red curls. There was nothing here that she was used to, no family, no friends, no servants, only this lass that was none of any of those.
Daisy reappeared before very long, carrying a strip of clean cloth with a small jar of salve. “I left this here last week,” she announced in tones of crisp efficiency, “seein’ as how my brother’d always let the cookin’ fat bespatter him.” Pearl silently held her hand back out, allowing Daisy to carefully apply the salve and wrap it lightly with the cloth, carefully tucking the loose ends in. “Well, then.” In contrast to Daisy’s hands, her voice was clipped and hurried. “I’ll be stoppin’ by in the morn if you’d be needin’ summat.”
“Thank you,” Pearl called after her, but Daisy was already gone.
****
“The cave.” Frodo stopped the downward course of his mug, the steam of the hot tea visibly rising in the crisp morning air. He turned to Pippin and repeated, with a sudden smile, “You remember it, don’t you, Pippin? The cave by the river.”
“Ah,” Pippin replied, the corners of his mouth curling up in delight. He had already finished off his tea, as well as the rest of his breakfast, and lay next to the morning’s small campfire, propped up on his bony elbows. Excitedly, he sat up. “That would be perfect! I know that only you and I and Merry know of that place. No-one would ever find us there.”
“Exactly,” Frodo replied with satisfaction. “We can stay there until we decide what to do about this mess. Now all we need is a way to get the word to Merry…” and Sam sat up straight, with the uncomfortable surety that this is where he fit in to the master plan.
His fears were quickly confirmed. “You see, Sam,” Frodo explained reasonably enough, drawing close to Sam and wrapping an arm around his shoulders, “no-one about Brandy Hall will recognize you.“ Sam sat quite still, terrified about his new role as conspirator, but at the same time reluctant to say or do anything that might result in that arm being removed from where it was so comfortably resting.
Finally though, he felt that there was something that he ought to point out. “Mistress Brandybuck recognized me this Yuletide,” he observed, but tempered the objection by wriggling slightly closer to Frodo.
Frodo gave him a warm smile at that, and Sam imperceptibly sighed inside, knowing that he would do whatever Frodo asked of him. “That’s because you were with me,” Frodo mentioned matter-of-factly. “By yourself, she’ll never know you. Besides, with any luck at all, you’ll never see her. All you have to do, Sam,” he continued nonchalantly, “is look about for Merry, tell him where to find us, and hurry back. That’s all.”
“Others might be knowin’ me, though,” Sam gave a last feeble protest. “Plenty o’Brandy Hall folks’d have Hobbiton relations, and they’d be knowin’ me a bit better.”
“Well, they wouldn’t be running off to tell the Mistress of Brandy Hall about it, though, would they?” Frodo laughed. “I think we can rely on their discretion, Sam.”
****
Daisy let herself quietly into the kitchen of Bag End the next morning, only to find Pearl already at the table, sipping a cup of tea, and reading from a book.
“Good morn, miss. I’d be bringin’ you a bit o’bread,” Daisy nodded toward the visitor, laying her basket upon the kitchen table. “An’ a couple a’eggs, for your breakfast. There’d be butter in the pantry, I believe, for your toast.”
Pearl put down her book with a warm smile. “Thank you so much,” she greeted Daisy cheerfully. “Toast, I think I can manage, but what does one do about eggs?” she picked one up and stared at it ruefully.
“Well,” Daisy tried to hide her amusement. How could anyone not be knowing that? “Scramblin’ might be easiest, now.”
“Scrambling sounds good,” the gentle-hobbit looked up at that, her eyes dancing with amusement. “So I just toss them in a pan?”
“Stars, no,” Daisy laughed. “Not unless you’d be wantin’ to be scrubbin’ that pan for a while, and with a poor excuse for a breakfast, likewise. Here, I’ll show you, then.”
So she instructed Pearl happily in the mysteries of the construction of breakfast, and Pearl laughed again, and declared that she couldn’t remember when breakfast had been such a entertaining occasion, and the next time Daisy glanced out the window, the sun was already high in the sky.
“Ah, now, would you look at the sun,” she cried, quickly untying Sam’s apron that she had borrowed for the morning and neatly hanging it back on the peg, “and me with the marketin’ still t’be done.”
“Oh, are you going to Hobbiton, then?” Pearl asked, instantly curious. “I need to be getting word back home that I’m waiting here for Frodo.”
“Aye, I could forward a note from you if you’d like,” Daisy threw over her shoulder as she hastily rinsed out the last of the dishes, and grabbed up the kitchen towel.
“I’d rather come, too,” Pearl took the towel from Daisy’s hand and gave the last dish a perfunctory swipe.
“ ‘Tis a bit of a walk, then, especially the sun bein’ high by now,” Daisy replied dubiously.
“Well, I’m not quite as pampered as all that, Daisy dear,” Pearl laughed merrily. “And what would I be doing about here all on my own? Reading Frodo’s stuffy books? Not too likely, I should think.”
And before Daisy knew how it had happened, she and the gentle-hobbit from Tuckborough were easily chatting together and walking the dusty road to Hobbiton.
*****
As the three travelers stepped through a thicket of barberry bushes, they caught their first sight of the Brandywine. It was not the main portion of the river that was glittering in the noonday sun, but rather one of the shallow tributaries, still full of spring runoff. It was no deeper than their waists, but to Sam, it was the greatest body of water he had ever seen, and he felt his heart suddenly drop at the thought of crossing it.
Frodo stopped short and gazed at the glistening stream with an odd lump in his throat. He knew not why, but the sight of it was irresistible, flooding his heart with memories of the long-forgotten days of his childhood. It was by the banks of the Brandywine that he had been born, and he had learned to swim nearly as soon as he could walk. There had been all those days of golden sun, shining water, and those two whose faces he only saw, so very seldom now, in his dreams. Suddenly he felt the years drop from him with welcome release, and he dropped his pack on the shady path where they stood, quickly stripped himself of his clothing, and running into the sunlight, splashed into the water before turning around to face his companions. “Come on, you two,” he laughed. “It’s warm enough, at least in the sun.”
Pippin chuckled fondly at his cousin, not greatly surprised by Frodo’s actions. “He’s a river rat, you know,” he informed a startled Sam. “Even worse than Merry. There’ll be no getting him out for awhile now. Not until lunch, at least.”
Frodo had ducked under the water, and as he stood up again in the waist-deep stream, water running from the wet dark curls now flattened against his face and a broad smile on his face, Sam thought he had rarely seen him look so lovely. His fear of the water was nothing to his instant desire to taste those drops of water running in glistening beads down Frodo’s chest and decide if they could possibly taste as delicious as they appeared. There was no need for Frodo to call to him again, as his warm look to Sam was slyly inviting. His pack was down beside Frodo’s, his clothes were off as well, and he followed into the sunlight and water. Pippin stood on the shore for only a moment more before shrugging the pack off of his shoulders too, and rapidly undressing, joined the other two.
Sam walked sturdily out into the stream, keeping his fears firmly at bay, feeling the cool water about his ankles, his shins, his thighs, and then further up. Upstream, Frodo twisted in the water, and suddenly was lying flat out upon the water in front of him. How he did that, Sam had no idea, lying there as surely as on his great feather bed, back in their bedroom at Bag End. Sam drove himself even more quickly into the water, for seeing Frodo stretched out, eyes closed, dark lashes shadowing his cheeks, dark curls on his forehead and dark curls below, well, Sam was grateful indeed that the water was waist-deep. Clear as it was, though, it wasn’t about to hide much, and it might well be awhile before Sam would be prepared to leave its meager safety.
Back behind him, he could hear Pippin splashing noisily about, causing the small terns hidden in the reeds to rise suddenly from the water, flapping their wings in protest, and seek refuge further down the river. But ahead, Frodo lay, dreamily floating away from him in the light current, and Sam marveled once more at the grace and elegance of the slim form that he had come to know so well. There were those that had always said Frodo Baggins never looked like a proper hobbit, and Sam, in his heart, agreed. Far more wondrous than any hobbit he had ever known, indeed, but he never said as much to Frodo, knowing that it would have been no comfort to him, who would so much rather think of himself as just ordinary.
Sam glanced overhead. The sun was high in the brilliantly blue sky; it was nearly time for lunch. But before that… Taking a quick glimpse upstream, he saw Pippin sitting in the water at the river’s edge, curiously examining something in his hand as mud was slowly dropping from it. Sam gave a quick sigh of relief. At least the teen was occupied for the time being. Just as an added guarantee, though, he called out, with all the nonchalance that he could summon, “We’d be right back, Pippin. We’ll just have a look downriver for a bit.” And not even looking back to see if his words had had the desired effect, he followed Frodo downstream.
Gliding innocently by Sam, Frodo’s eyes were still closed, but a smile appeared again on his lips as he bumped lazily into him. And then with a swirl and flash of water, Frodo dove under, quick as any river otter, and before Sam could see where, he felt a sudden tug to one of his legs and down he was sinking, into the water. With a sudden snort, he leapt back up to his feet to find Frodo standing nearby, laughing mischievously.
“See?” Frodo’s expression had definitely become a smirk. “After all, not that deep, now, is it?” Diving back under again before Sam could respond, he surfaced closer to Sam, and in doing so, brushed against him.
“Ah,” he breathed at that revelation, his eyes widening slightly as well as his smile.
“Aye, right enough,” Sam gave a mock growl at Frodo’s reaction. “An’ could a body be blamin’ me, seein’ as how you…” and here he broke off, casting another quick glance upriver, but Pippin still appeared to be occupied with the muddy discovery in his hand. “I told him we’d be back in a bit,” he nodded his head in the teen’s direction.
“Did you now,” Frodo answered silkily, ducking down in the water again and gliding slightly ahead of Sam. “Well in that case, follow me.” An ancient willow stretched its leaf-draped branches out into the water not far ahead. Frodo headed for the tree with all the assurance of memory, and found what he had recalled behind the screen of green, a clear pool sheltered by the willow from the sight of anyone upstream.
Sam, slowly wading through the clear water as he followed Frodo, brushed aside the graceful branches that dipped into the stream, and then looked around with pleasure. The small pool glistened in the sunlight, but the willow trees on the bank sheltered the occupants from sight. Frodo had sunk chest deep into the water, apparently, as far as Sam could tell, on his knees, and was lazily stroking the water before him as he watched Sam. “This trip is turning out rather well, isn’t it, Sam?” he asked softly, moving closer to him.
“Aye, it’s had its moments,” Sam had to admit as he reached out for Frodo. But before he could make contact, Frodo lightly laughed, ducked down, and swirled away out of Sam’s grasp. But this time, Sam was ready. “Ah, no, me dear, it’d not be that easy.” He ducked behind Frodo, and caught him fast by the waist. “If you’d be goin’ around in naught but your skin, Frodo-love,” he whispered, clasping Frodo tightly in front of him, “then you’d best be expectin’ your Sam to not be takin’ his eyes off of you. Nor his hands, for that matter.”
“And glad I am of that,” Frodo responded, rising to his feet in the water, and tightly wrapping his arms around Sam’s, that were firmly clasped around his waist. “Oh, Sam, dearest,” he murmured, closing his eyes and laying his head back against Sam’s shoulder. Slowly then, he let his hands trail from Sam’s and slowly still, reaching back, follow around Sam’s waist behind him and, reaching back even further, grasp Sam and cup him from behind.
“Frodo,” Sam’s voice was husky, and his arousal was evident, pushing into Frodo’s backside. His hands moved slowly from Frodo’s waist. Lower, across that smooth stomach, under water, and then lower yet.
“Ah,” Frodo sighed at Sam’s touch, pushing upwards, and yet at the same time, still pressing hard back into Sam. But Sam’s hands found what they had been seeking, and closed firmly around Frodo. Frodo let out a moan at that, and tried to pull Sam ever closer to him, arching his head back over Sam’s shoulder.
“Frodo, Frodo,” Sam whispered, twisting his head to nibble the delicate tip of Frodo’s ear, to trail a tongue along his cheek, to taste the crook of his neck. And all the while, his hands knew their mission, stroking and caressing, cajoling and pleading. Frodo grew harder in his capable hands, and began to thrust himself back against Sam with increasing urgency. Vaguely, Sam wished that he had thought of bringing butter with him, but it was too late for that. And now the sound of Frodo, his breath growing heavier, the incoherent pleas to Sam to just, please, oh, just…
And whatever it was, Sam would have given, pressing himself against Frodo harder and harder, but with a rhythm that never forgot its partner, while all the while Frodo moaned with want and need, grabbing at Sam with all his strength, until finally, with a choked cry, Frodo flung himself back, and froze for a hushed moment, throbbing in Sam’s hands, and then let go with a strangled cry. As soon as he felt Frodo’s release, Sam could no longer wait, but grasped Frodo’s hips tightly, desperately, and pressed himself into that delicious cleft once more, and shuddered as well with his own release.
Pippin was glad to see them reappear from behind the willow. He didn’t mind waiting patiently, but after all, it was lunch time, and unthinkably enough, they had managed to miss elevenses.
*****
Hobbiton was bustling with the commotion of market day when Daisy and Pearl reached the Green Dragon on its outskirts. A heavily laden farm cart rumbled past them just as they dexterously threaded their way through the mud puddles by the side of the road, still remaining from last week’s brief showers. Daisy quickly grasped Pearl’s arm, just in time to help her avoid a drover herding a trio of piglets past them, bound for market. Even though it was by now the height of the afternoon, the roads into Hobbiton were still busy, for market went on late into the summer evenings. Farmers from outlaying farms often did not arrive at Hobbiton until later in the day, and frequently, if they were prosperous enough, made an evening of it at the Green Dragon, and found their way home the following day. And if the market had not been as good to them, well, there was the field nearby and the mild night air, and generally, someone willing to stand them a mug at the inn.
With Frodo away, and only she and the gaffer at home, Daisy’s needs were few, so there was time for a quick visit with her sister May, still staying with the Burrows in town. Besides, pen and paper would be available at the Burrows residence, and Pearl Took could prepare her note to her family there, Daisy was sure.
“ ‘Tis probably not what you’d be used to,” Daisy mentioned depreciatingly to the visitor as they entered the market square. “I’m sure that Hobbiton’d never be as fine as Michel Delving.”
“Well, I certainly would never know,” Pearl chuckled, her eyes dancing with the bustle and commotion all about. “Mama never lets me go to town for the marketing, that’d be why we have help, as she would say. Thank you for putting up with me, Daisy,” she added with sudden gratitude, tucking her arm under Daisy’s. “I hope it’s weeks before Frodo gets back, and he can keep that brother of mine with him, for all I care. I’m having far too good a time to want to be going back.”
A quick flush of pleasure on Daisy’s face was the immediate response.
May had been expecting her sister’s knock, but her companion took her aback. It was clear to the more worldly Gamgee that this was a hobbit lass of wealth and importance, and what she was doing with May’s awkward elder sister was baffling indeed. But that was nothing to the shock of the name, when Daisy introduced her, as May escorted them into the front parlor. She had been alone in the smial, awaiting her sister, since the Burrows lasses were out on errands of their own. And now she was bitterly regretting that, as the eldest daughter of the Tooks of the Great Smial itself was standing in front of her. She immediately dropped into an unpracticed bow to find Pearl extending her hand instead in greeting. But there was a bandage wrapped about it, which the visitor seemed to just notice as well, and she withdrew her hand with a laugh.
“Well, that won’t work too well, I’m afraid,” she explained ruefully, “but I’m glad to meet you, anyway.”
“Miss Pearl came to Bag End,” Daisy explained, choosing not to hear the soft mutter from the aforementioned at that appellation, “to look for her brother.”
“Mr. Pippin?” May queried, her eyes widening.
“Do you know him? Have you seen him?” Pearl asked in mild surprise.
“Not to know by sight, surely, but everyone has heard…” and May stopped for a moment and then smoothly continued, “what a fine young gentle-hobbit he’d be.”
“Well, he is a fine one, and no mistake,” Pearl commented dryly. “So you would have heard if he’d been seen about Hobbiton?”
“Oh, aye, indeed,” May hastily responded, unsure as to whether she had offended the visitor or not. “But, no, no word of him.”
“Well, then, I’d best send a message to Mama,” Pearl said decisively. “Your sister has informed me there would be paper and a quill about here?”
“Oh, to be sure, miss,” May quickly answered, racking her head as to exactly where these items might be. Neither she nor the Burrows lasses were much for writing. Fortunately, she was saved the embarrassment of a lengthy search by the return of the rest of the residents of the smial. And amidst the flurry of introductions, and expressions of hurriedly muffled astonishment, and the speedy search for the required implements, May found a moment to draw Daisy aside.
“How have y’met up with her?” May hissed quietly to her sister, pulling her into a corner of the ornately adorned front room. “Seems as you’d be the best of friends when you’d be comin’ in. Are you sure she’s who she’d say she’d be?”
Daisy surveyed her sister with amusement. “She’s Mr. Frodo’s cousin. Can you na see that?”
May snuck another rapid glance at the stranger, whose arms were being suddenly laden with a plentitude of instruments, some of which were actually suitable for writing. “Well, that would certainly seem to be the case,” she reluctantly admitted. “That pointy nose’d be the same, sure enough. But where would Himself be, then?”
“He went on a walkin’ trip, so says our Sam,” Daisy answered. “An’ Miss Pearl, she’s makin’ herself right at home at Bag End ‘til he’d be comin’ back.” Her admiration for Pearl’s bold move couldn’t help but creep into her voice at that. “She’ll be stayin’ right there until he’d be back.”
“And Sam?” May asked instantly, apprehension clearly in her voice.
“With Mr. Frodo, of course,” Daisy answered quickly but soothingly.
Pearl caught only the last exchange out of the corner of her eye, but there was a clear undercurrent of concern between the two sisters that puzzled her. Once again, she considered the unusual employee relationship at Bag End.
*****
It was late in the afternoon when the travelers reached the Brandywine proper. It rolled past the shores at this point, a strong and powerful river, the greatest in the Shire. Sam stared at the water flowing over the rocks near the banks with a foaming intensity, and was sure that there was no possibility of crossing this fearsome tide. But Frodo gave it a calm glance, and Pippin seemed unimpressed as well.
“Well, there’s the ford upstream, along the main road,” Frodo said thoughtfully to Pippin, “but I can’t think of a better way to make an announcement that we’ve arrived than to cross there. The river is narrower further downstream, but that’s getting much too close to Brandy Hall. And then we’d just have to travel all the way back up to the cave. No, I think this would be the right spot.”
Sam stared at Frodo with the terrified sensation that he understood all too well what Frodo meant. And Pippin quickly confirmed it. “Right enough,” he responded to Frodo, with the air of it being all in a day’s work, “this spot would be as likely a spot as any.”
“Sam can’t swim,” Frodo mentioned to his cousin in a matter-of-fact sort of way, “and I’d rather not get the packs all wet, if that can be helped.”
“Hmmm,” Pippin answered meditatively, turning his back to the river and staring at the shore. “A log, then.”
Frodo gave a curt nod, and followed Pippin’s lead.
Both of the cousins spotted it at the same time. It was a short log, lying well off the side of the bank, relatively dry, and also relatively flat. In no time at all, the three hobbits had pushed it to the water’s edge, and both Pippin and Frodo had removed their packs as well as clothing.
“Sit there, Sam,” Frodo instructed him gently as Sam stood by the water’s edge, unsure and far more afraid than he wished them to know. “It’s rather flat there, and you can hold the packs and clothing in front of you. Mind you, should it tip, you’re not to worry about any of that lot. We can retrieve it all later if needs be.”
But try as he might, Sam’s face couldn’t help reveal his feelings about the idea of tipping. Frodo saw that instantly, and quickly pulled Sam aside.
“Don’t you worry, my love,” he said quietly and gently, with a warm smile, cupping Sam‘s face with one hand and drawing Sam‘s troubled gaze to his. “I grew up on this river, and Pippin almost has as well. I’d never let any harm come to you, Sam dear. You’re safe with me. Just trust me.”
“As if I ever wouldn‘t,” Sam whispered, giving Frodo a shaky smile. “Don’t you mind your old Sam now.”
Frodo gazed into his eyes a moment more, and then gave him a quick kiss, not caring if Pippin saw or not.
“Well, let’s be off then,” he walked with Sam’s hand in his back to the log where Pippin was patiently waiting. “Pippin, you swim on that side of the log, and I’ll take this side. Between the two of us, we’ll have no problem keeping it upright, I’m sure. Sam, you just ride on the log with our packs, and we’ll be over this puddle in no time.”
If Pippin had any doubts, he never showed them, but moved smartly to the other side of the log and gave Sam a reassuring smile. “Not to worry, Sam,” he piped up cheerfully. “When it comes to rivers, Frodo is unsinkable. We’ll be all right.” Sam gave him an uncertain, but grateful smile in return, and before he knew it, the other two were shoving the log into the water, and it entered the turbulent water.
Pippin swam steadily on the one side of Sam, but was frequently submerged and out of sight. But just when Sam started to get the panicky feeling that perhaps he had been down rather too long, up he’d pop again, with a cheerful grin and breathless nod to Sam.
Frodo, though, swam steadily and skillfully on the other side of the log, and it was soon clear enough to even a novice such as Sam that Frodo felt no fear of this riotous river. He never disappeared under the water and even kept, at all times, a warm hand on Sam’s ankle, hanging over the edge of the leg. Sam closed his eyes, and felt his heart slow down and steady itself. He was safe. Frodo had him, he felt that warm touch radiate throughout him. Frodo held him, and there was no reason to fear.
He opened his eyes at the unexpected lurch as the log hit the opposite shore. They were over the Brandywine and in Buckland.
To be continued…..
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Here's your link! http://www.geocities.com/ebwinelotr/FloatingIntoLight2.html
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Aw, you're just saying that.
But hugs and kisses, once again.
Thankee so much.
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Gutter-crawling? Well, no more so than the author, I guess....
Thanks!
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The episode with the star was very touching -- it's so sad to think of F&S worried about whether they would be parted. I wonder if Sam ever looked up at that star after Frodo went over the Sea.
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And you know Sam is going to think back on this (Oh yes, because I have reeeally big plans and am severely deluded. Heh.).
Oh the lovely things you find when you wander...
I do love a good pre-quest fic, and this such a nice example of what makes a good pre-quest fic. Lots of sunshiney, hobbit-y emotions portrayed with a light hand, familial intrigue, romance that is sweet but sincerely done, and just a shade of foreboding.
And on a final note, I'm not one for femme slash, and never really have been, but Pearl and Daisy? They're such vibrant, unassuming characters, I'm actually enjoying their blossoming romance as much I am Sam and Frodo's or Merry and Pippins.
::sighs:: So in short, I've resigned myself to the fact there's another WIP (the likes of Let Evening Come or Code of the Brandybucks) to dote on. :)
Re: Oh the lovely things you find when you wander...
Thanks again!
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above all I liked your dialogue..
...run to read the third part!
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