elderberrywine (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
elderberrywine) wrote2004-11-06 12:26 am
elderberrywine) wrote2004-11-06 12:26 am
New fic, second chapter of Far From Home series
Well, here's part two already of the series that started with Spectres of the Past. What can I say. RL made me want to live in the Shire for awhile. And, erm, thanks to Hobbitdogs for her ..... assistance. Yeah, that's it, assistance. Not to mention, of course, my wonderful beta, Tinewen. Both you guys rock.
Title: Chapter Two - Flight Through Buckland
Author: Elderberry Wine
Pairings: F/S, M/P
Rating: R
Summary: Decisions are made, and there's no turning back.
Author's Note: AU version of the quest. Follows Shire Morns.
Frodo and Merry stood together on the high slope, hidden by the thick woods near the banks of The Water, and surveyed the road leading to the Brandywine Bridge below. Frodo was not that familiar with this road, since he normally traveled south from Hobbiton when he visited Buckland, but Merry had been this way many times, and Frodo could tell that he was concerned by what he was seeing. “There’s too much traffic for this time of the year,” Merry muttered. “Folk shouldn’t be traveling about for harvest time yet. What’s more, the bridge keeper appears to be keeping track of who’s crossing into Buckland. And normally, he doesn’t pay much mind until night. He’d usually rather sit in the guardroom with his friends and drink beer.” He turned to Frodo with a concerned glance. “I wouldn’t be surprised if those Riders haven’t gotten this part of the Shire all in a fuss. They must be watching who comes and goes from the East Road, at least.”
“So,” he continued, stretching out his arms behind himself, with Frodo still silently watching the scene below. “If it’s not being noticed you’re after, Frodo, I’d say there’s not much chance of it this way.” Sam and Pippin, who had been trailing slightly behind the other two, caught up with them just in time to hear the last.
“Don’t tell me old Toby is actually taking his job seriously,” Pippin said in dismay, peering over Merry’s shoulder. “Well, Merry and I will never get by him unnoticed, and I suspect he’ll even remember you, Frodo. He does have an surprisingly good head for names and faces.”
“I don’t expect, Sam,” Merry turned to him with raised eyebrow, “that you could keep him distracted enough for the rest of us to slip by? Spin some sort of tale? Challenge him to a drinking contest? Anything of that sort?”
“No,” answered Sam shortly, giving Merry a very dubious look.
Frodo couldn’t help a smile at Sam’s expression. “Glib talk is not exactly Sam’s strong suit, Merry,” he came to Sam’s rescue. “We’ll have to leave that to you and Pip.”
“Well, that won’t help us now,” and Merry turned back to surveying the road to the bridge.
“Where else can we cross, then?” Frodo asked, very reluctant to make his entrance into Buckland known.
“There’s the ferry, isn’t there, Merry?” Pippin asked suddenly. “I remember going on it once, but I don’t know where it is from here.”
“Thornbush Ferry?” Merry said thoughtfully, turning toward Frodo. “That is another option, though it means backtracking a bit along the Water. But it might be worth the extra bit of walking, because it is left unguarded at night.”
“As long as it’s been left on the right side of the Water, of course,” added Pippin helpfully.
“That’s a chance I’m willing to take,” Frodo replied decisively. “I’d rather spend a little more time walking, than leave any more evidence behind as to where we’re going.”
“Then we have a couple more hours of traveling ahead of us to get there by nightfall,” Merry squared his shoulders resolutely, as Pippin gave a barely noticeable sigh. “No, Pippin, no time for lunch. We’ll have to combine it with tea, I suppose.”
“You know, Frodo, I had only packed food for the both of us,” Sam spoke softly, as the two of them slipped back behind the younger two hobbits, starting off once again. “I didn’t count on even feeding Merry, and no ways Pippin.”
“Well, we shall have to let them fend for themselves,” Frodo laughed quietly, wrapping an arm around Sam’s waist as they strode together down the faintly worn path. “But it’s only to Crickhollow that I’m worrying about for now, and I can’t imagine turning up short of food in the Shire itself.”
“You do remember Pippin’d still be a tween?” Sam asked, rather darkly, but with an arm answering Frodo’s.
Frodo chuckled. “Not likely to forget that,” he murmured, and then, suddenly sober, “All the more reason he can’t be going with us.”
“And Merry?” Sam said simply, looking ahead at the two hobbits walking nonchalantly ahead of them.
Frodo softly sighed. “I can’t imagine him going without Pippin,” he answered reluctantly. “They must both stay here. But don’t say anything until we reach Crickhollow. That’s not a battle I want to be fighting yet.”
Sam nodded, but in his heart, he knew too well that it would not be as easy as all of that.
******
The sky was beginning to darken by the time they reached the Ferry. Luck was with them, for the small raft had been tied to the small wooden dock on the northern-most side. “No, it’s not dark enough,” Frodo protested as Merry started down the side of the riverbank.
Merry looked up in puzzlement. “There’s nobody about,” he said in surprise, waving a hand at the deserted banks.
“I know,” Frodo murmured, “but I’d just rather wait until it’s completely dark.” Merry might have said something more, but Sam was dropping his pack off under some trees, and clearly appeared ready to settle for a bit. Pippin looked at Merry, and then Frodo, and with a slight shrug, went to follow Sam’s lead, finding a comfortable place near Sam, sitting on top of his cloak, with his back against a smooth boulder. Frodo sat on the other side of Sam, and tucking his hands into the sleeves of his jacket, despite the fact that the early evening air was not terribly chilly, had the look of someone not being at all inclined to continue this, or any other, conversation. Merry gave a shrug, although his expression clearly conveyed the notion that he thought Frodo was being unnecessarily timid, and stretched himself out next to Pippin, using his pack as a pillow.
The evening wore on, as the four hobbits waited silently under the trees on the bank of the Water. Stars began to appear above, and Sam noticed that the moon was a little fuller this night. Better for traveling, he thought to himself, and then wondered when they were going to go about doing just that. Frodo had settled against his shoulder, and was perfectly still, but Sam knew with a certainty that he was completely awake. Merry, on the other hand, had apparently fallen asleep, for a faint snore came up from time to time from Pippin’s side. And Pippin himself give the impression of being remarkable thoughtful, as he sat at Sam’s side. He hadn’t mentioned food for at least the last couple of hours, an infallible sign that he was concerned about their situation. But whether it was merely crossing the river unseen that concerned him, or the idea of a possible departure from the Shire itself, or some other matter altogether, Sam had no idea.
Sam had begun to nearly doze off himself, when he found the thought of high fragrant cedars and pines unexpectedly come to mind. He looked about in the dark, puzzled, for the trees that grew about the banks here were certainly not of that sort. But it seemed to him that he had suddenly caught their fragrance, and now he could also hear the faintest of songs in the distance, beautifully haunting melodies that he had heard only once, long ago, but had never forgotten. Next to him, he felt Frodo suddenly stiffen, and only knew for sure, then, that this was not his imagination.
Now, indistinct silvery light could be seen amongst the trees in the distance, drawing closer to them. Pippin also had seen the light, and quickly shook Merry’s arm, giving him a quiet hush as he did so. Frodo had silently stood up, and Sam immediately rose next to him, his heart beating rapidly in anticipation. There was no doubt at all in his mind as to who the approaching strangers were. They were elves, the fair folk of whom he had only heard tales, but had never seen with waking eyes.
It was many years ago that he and Frodo had felt the presence of elves in the woods of the Shire, but that time they had but heard music, and seen lights, and the elves had, laughing, vanished. This time, however, they showed no sign of minding the presence of the hobbits, and indeed, the silvery light suddenly brightened, and they were before them.
Sam gazed with wonder on the tall, stately beings before them. Beautiful they most certainly were, but with an elegance and presence about them that was unlike anything he had ever imagined, and the expressions on their faces seemed to him both tranquil and haunted. Most were on foot, and some on great pale horses, but even those moved more quietly than ever a hobbit could. One, however, walking somewhat closer to them than the others, suddenly cast a glance their way, and with a laugh, commented to the rest of his folk in an unfamiliar tongue.
Suddenly they were around the four hobbits, and a tall, dark-haired elf gracefully dismounted his horse, and walked up to them. “Greetings, Frodo Baggins, son of Drogo Baggins, and to your companions as well,” he spoke softly to them, in the Common Speech.
Frodo bowed silently, both startled to hear his name, and even more so to hear the name of his father. It had been many long years since he had heard that name spoken aloud. “May you find the ways of your journey smooth before you,” he answered then, giving the traditional greeting of travelers in the high elven speech.
“Ah, Bilbo has reason to speak well of you,” laughed the elf, at this courteous reply. “A scholar, indeed. And I,” he continued, as Frodo gave a sudden hopeful gasp at the sound of Bilbo’s name, “am Gildor Inglorion, of the House of Finrod. And yes,” he smiled, before Frodo could ask the question that burned suddenly up in him, “I have seen your Bilbo, not that long ago. He is well, and speaks often very fondly of you.”
“I thank you, Gildor Inglorian,” and Frodo bent his head now, trying to control his unexpected emotions. “That news is very dear to me.”
“Then glad I am to give it,” Gildor responded graciously.
In the meanwhile, Merry, finding that the presence of elves in the midst of the Shire was only one more of the strange events that had suddenly started occurring in his life, cleared his throat slightly. Surely, these would be folk with information regarding those strangers that had been pursuing them. “O, most Wise Folk,” he began, a trifle self-consciously.
But Gildor turned to him and bowed slightly. “Greetings to you as well, Meriadoc Brandybuck, son of Saradoc Brandybuck.”
“Erm, thank you,” Merry stammered slightly, not realizing that he had been recognized as well. “I would like to ask if you had seen anything of riders as you traveled, tall and cloaked in black, upon great black horses.”
“The Riders?” Gildor asked suddenly, his face instantly showing concern. “They are here in the Shire?”
“”Yes, we saw one just yesterday afternoon, on the road to the north,” Pippin chimed in. “Pippin Took, son of Paladin Took,” he added obligingly as Gildor turned his way.
“Indeed. It certainly is,” Gildor’s mouth quirked up at Pippin’s words despite his obvious apprehension regarding Merry’s news. He stood silently for a moment, and then added, as if coming to a decision, “You shall stay with us for the night. We can discuss these matters, and perhaps more, and it will afford you protection for a time. You can cross tomorrow morning before the ferryman arrives, and be gone without anyone’s notice.”
“We thank you indeed,” Frodo agreed immediately, to Sam’s silent delight.
“Then come, we will camp some little way on,” Gildor nodded, as they retrieved their packs and other belongings. “And there are four of you, are there not?” he added, glancing at Sam.
Sam blushed furiously at the elf’s notice of him, and bowed low. “My pardons, this is Samwise Gamgee, son of Hamfast Gamgee,” Frodo hastened to introduce him, with a quick arm reassuringly around Sam’s shoulders.
“Is it then?” Gildor acknowledged him with a smile. “I have indeed heard of you, Samwise Gamgee, and your father as well, for Bilbo speaks very highly of you both.”
“There’s elves as know my gaffer’s and my name?” Sam shook his head in wonder, muttering to Frodo as the fair company moved ahead, and the hobbits followed behind. “Wouldn’t he fair be amazed a’that!”
“No reason to be.” Frodo smiled warmly at him, his arm still tight around Sam’s shoulder. “When it’s as fine a name as any other here.”
But Sam just shook his head, gazing at the beings ahead of them as one who clearly expected to be awakened from this wonderful dream at any moment. Frodo, too, felt himself enraptured by an awe that he could not have explained. For all the years that he had studied them, their writings, their tales and songs, he still felt from their presence a sense of their power that he could not have anticipated, a sudden realization that this world was so very much more ancient than he had ever imagined, and that the Shire, and the hobbits who dwelled there, must be such a very small part of it. As reassurance, for he had found that he unexpectedly needed it every bit as much as Sam, he let his hand find Sam’s, at his side, and clasped it tightly. The rough, warm feel of Sam’s fingers lacing through his, and wrapping tightly around his narrower hand, was gratifying and reassuring. He knew that Merry and Pippin were following behind them, but what they were thinking, he could not guess.
The procession ahead was only partially visible to them, as elves on foot, and elves on horseback, wove in and out of the trees ahead of them, but the silvery light, from what source Frodo could not tell, lit their way sufficiently for the hobbits to follow them. Although the elves appeared silent, there was still a sense of music, lovely and melancholy, but Frodo did not know if it was from the elves or even just within his own mind. On this night, the boundaries between dreams and the waking world seem to have faded, and all that Frodo could be totally sure of, as being absolutely real, was the heat of Sam’s hand, tightly holding his.
*****
The elves made camp in a glade that Merry had not known was there, well as he thought he knew this portion of the Shire. Although a campfire was lit, there was no fear in any of the hobbits’ minds of discovery by those who searched for them. It was as though they were protected by an authority far more powerful than any evil that pursued them, and they felt themselves relax, and Frodo gratefully felt the burden of leadership lifted from him, at least for the night. They sat together, to the side, and quietly watched as food was prepared, and the elves formed congenial groups about the glade, speaking in their sibilant graceful tongue, interspersed with quick laughs, and the occasional fraction of song. Sam noticed, though, that when they fell silent, a shadow crept across their faces, and he realized that they were traveling westward. But he said nothing, and stored the memories in his heart.
Two elves approached them before long, and offered them food and drink. With grateful bows, the hobbits all stood, and accepted the meal with appreciation. Frodo thanked them in their tongue, and even Sam ventured a quick thanks of his own, both of which delighted their servers. As the hobbits sat back down again, Sam noticed both Merry and Pippin staring at him with a sudden look of respect. “You can speak it, too?” Pippin whispered in obvious surprise.
“Of course he can,” Frodo answered quickly, with a grin, for the embarrassed Sam. “As could have you, as well, Merry, if you’d paid a bit more attention to Bilbo and his books.”
Merry shook his head in quick dissent. “Never could get any of that into my head,” he muttered. “Has to be something I can see, for me. Not much for words, you know.”
“Have you been able to understand anything of what they’re saying?” Pippin asked, curious, glancing toward the elves again.
Frodo shook his head. “No, it goes by too fast for me. I can only understand if they slow down and speak directly to me. It’s a far cry from reading it in a book, I’m afraid.”
“And you, Sam?” Pippin turned to him.
“Only the songs,” Sam said quietly.
“Really, Sam?” Frodo turned to him in surprise. “That’s better than I can do.”
Sam bent his head down over his food, disconcerted by the attention of the other three. “Songs were always my favorite parts,” he mumbled.
Frodo smiled fondly, then, but said nothing more, and soon enough the wonderful food and drink that the elves had provided became the focus of attention for all four, since never had they tasted anything like it.
As they were finishing their meal, Gildor approached them again, and sat down beside them. “You asked for information earlier,” he said softly in the Common Speech. “I thought it wiser to wait until you were refreshed before we spoke of such matters, but perhaps that time is now.”
Instantly, the appetites of all four were gone, and laying down what food remained, they leaned forward, in an unconscious council. “The Riders,” Merry mentioned, in a hushed but urgent voice. “You know of them. Who are they? Or rather, what are they?”
“The Enemy has sent them,” Gildor replied simply. “What they are matters not.” He turned to Frodo then, his expression completely serious, yet somehow Frodo found comfort in his direct gaze. “I do not know much of your task, Frodo Baggins, and I do not wish to know more. These matters are not for us, for we are leaving these lands. Yet the fact that the Enemy hunts you is cause enough for us to do what we can for you, even if it is only to shelter you for the night.”
“We thank you for that,” Frodo acknowledged, “but I must know if you have had word of Gandalf. He was to meet me a few days ago, and we most desperately need his assistance.”
Gildor was silent for a moment, studying the hobbit carefully. “That Gandalf did not meet you as arranged is troubling indeed,” he said at last. “It is unlike a wizard to not do as he would, and keep his promises, when he chooses to make them.” He paused for a moment more, and then added, almost reluctantly. “Then I would give you some advice, since it troubles me to hear this. You would do well to make your way to Rivendell. The Shire will afford you no protection, and you will bring it harm by remaining here. Lord Elrond will be able to guide you.” Then the ghost of a smile appeared as he added, “And I believe Bilbo would be most glad of the company.”
Frodo gave a relieved smile and nodded, for the moment, his doubts calmed. “Thank you, Lord Gildor. You have eased my heart,” he replied gratefully, thankful for the advice.
Gildor returned the nod, and stood up once again. “Before you retire, Frodo, I can give you more news of Bilbo, if you wish. Otherwise, we will be moving on before dawn. It might be well to rest now.” He left, then, and the hobbits stared at each other.
“Not much help on those Riders, but at least we’ve got some direction now,” Merry said slowly. “Frodo, you know where Rivendell is, don’t you?”
Frodo nodded, but did not answer Merry’s question, reluctant to be drawn in to further discussing the journey. He had not changed his mind about leaving Merry and Pippin in the Shire. “Nonetheless, I want to go to Crickhollow first, though,” he said instead. “There’s still the off chance that Gandalf might be waiting for us there.”
“He didn’t seem to like the idea that Gandalf hadn’t turned up much, did he?” Pippin added thoughtfully. “I didn’t know that wizards were generally considered quite so reliable.”
“That hasn’t been my experience, either,” Frodo admitted, but turned to Sam, who had been sitting quietly next to him all the while. “I suppose we should try to get some sleep, then, as he said. I’ll be right back, Sam, I just want to see what he has to say about Bilbo.”
Sam silently nodded, and rising, began to lay out packs, cloaks, and blankets for the night. After a moment’s pause, Merry and Pippin rose and did likewise; close by, but not too close.
Frodo found Gildor standing apart from the others, and approached him almost uncertainly. It had seemed to him that there was more than news of Bilbo, of which Gildor had wished to speak to him, but that he had wished to speak to Frodo alone. He was correct, for Gildor reached out his hand and drew him away from the others, elves and hobbits alike, to the edge of the silvery light.
“You carry a great burden indeed, Frodo of the Shire,” he began, motioning Frodo to sit on the grass beside him, as he himself sat down in one fluid movement. Frodo sank down and sighed nearly imperceptibly, his fears starting to return, but Gildor smiled at him compassionately. “You doubt yourself,” he said softly, and Frodo, drawn almost unwillingly to meet his eyes, looked up into his face.
“I do,” he whispered, admitting it without hesitation.
“Who would not, if they understood what was being asked of them?” Gildor responded simply.
“But,” Frodo hesitated, uncertain of how to express all his fears. “I don’t understand why it has fallen to me to do this. There are many so much braver than I, so much wiser. I know so little, really.”
“That may well be so,” Gildor commented, unperturbed, “but it remains that you have, in truth, been chosen. There are reasons for what happens, though we may never know what they are. Both Bilbo and Gandalf have spoken highly of you, and I would accept their counsel above that of most others. Your task, then, Frodo, is not to wonder if their trust has been misplaced, but rather to do that which you must, to the best of your ability.”
Frodo bowed his head, and some small part of his heart sadly gave up, and finally accepted what had so unexpectedly befallen him.
“There is one, though, who has bound himself to you, is there not?” Gildor added slowly after a moment’s silence.
Frodo looked up quickly, startled at Gildor’s remark. “Yes,” he answered, never considering denial. “And I to him, as well.”
“Then perhaps it was the both of you who were chosen,” Gildor smiled suddenly at him, and Frodo felt his heart lift at his words.
“Perhaps it was,” he said thoughtfully.
“Don’t forget, Frodo,” Gildor said quietly, as he rose up again, Frodo following his example. “Love is always the enemy of those who would do evil. Its power is great, beyond all you can imagine. If you are fortunate enough to have found it, never doubt it. We will wake you ere the dawn. Rest now, Frodo.”
The next morning, the elves awoke the hobbits, whose sleep had been deep, and untroubled by dreams, before the sun rose. As they packed, and prepared to travel on, however, Gildor drew Sam unobtrusively apart from the other hobbits. “You would stay by his side?” he asked, studying him carefully.
But Sam returned his glance boldly, without hesitation. “I go where he would go,” he stated simply. “I’d not be leavin’ him, no ways. No more than he’d ever leave me.”
Gildor considered him a moment more, as a shadow seemed to quickly pass over his face. “May it be so,” he said at last, and turned to leave, and it was many long years before Sam ever saw him again.
*****
The elves left the hobbits where they had been found the previous evening, just as streaks of pink began to appear in the sky to the east. The ferry was still floating peacefully on the Water, and there was no sign of anyone about. The ferryman’s smial was not far away, dug into the higher bank on the other side of the Water, but there was no smoke from the chimney, no sign of the inhabitants stirring about yet. There was generally little call for the ferry until mid-morning, anyway, for there were no villages in this tranquil stretch of the Water.
Frodo and Merry, once again in the lead, walked up to the serviceable large raft, which served as the ferry and stared at it in the still dim light. “No steering pole,” Merry briefly reported to the other two over his shoulder, as they caught up.
Pippin gave a small cry of dismay, but Frodo shrugged his shoulders. “He probably takes it inside at night,” he commented briefly. “Keeps others from using it, I expect.”
Merry had been eying the current as Frodo spoke, and now declared, “The water seems calm enough this morning. I imagine it would drift across on its own if we let it. It might end up downstream a bit, but I’m sure the ferryman would find it.”
But Frodo shook his head at that plan. “That would take too long,” he mentioned tersely, “and it leaves one more piece of evidence someone has passed this way. But he left oars in his boat.” Sure enough, the oars could be seen in the small wooden rowboat tied up in front of the smial.
Without another word, Frodo quickly stripped himself of his clothing, and silently thrust them at a surprised Sam. He was in the water before Merry could protest again, and before long, his dark water-sleeked head appeared next to the boat. Stealthily, he crept onto the bank, unfastening the knot from the simple stake that had been pushed into the ground, and clambered into the boat. Using the oars as little as possible, and with barely a ripple or splash, he brought the boat to the dock where his companions awaited him.
Merry grabbed the rope, and tied it quickly to the dock, as a shivering Frodo stepped out. “We won’t all fit in at once. Take Pippin across,” Frodo directed him, trying to keep his teeth from chattering, as Sam quickly covered him with a blanket. “Then come back for Sam and me.”
Merry nodded quickly, and Pippin grabbed his and Merry’s packs, and got in the boat without argument. As they set off, Sam turned to Frodo with concern, trying to dry him as best he could with the blanket that he had about Frodo. “Frodo-love, you’re chilled to the bone. When we’re over this, we really should make a fire and warm you up proper,” he murmured in a worried tone.
“No time, Sam,” Frodo briefly closed his eyes, leaning into Sam, but then, just as suddenly, threw the blanket off of himself and handed it back to Sam. “Merry’s on his way back.” Dressing quickly, he was ready when Merry neared the dock, and caught the rope Merry threw out.
“We need to hurry,” Merry gave a concerned glance toward the smial where the first curls of smoke were now beginning to rise from the chimney into the chilly early morning air.
“Right,” Frodo agreed briefly, tossing his and Sam’s packs into the boat. “In first, Sam, I’ll hold the boat steady for you,” he added, familiar with Sam’s dislike for traveling over water.
Sam gulped, but said nothing, as he reached out for Merry’s hand and awkwardly clambered into the boat. Frodo sprang in behind him, and let his leg rest reassuringly against Sam, who was clutching fearfully to the side of the boat, as he and Merry rowed the small craft back to the other bank where Pippin waited anxiously beside the packs. No sooner than it had landed than Merry leaped out, and caught the other two packs as Frodo tossed them to him. Then Frodo sprang out himself, and reached his hand out to Sam, who uncertainly jumped out as well. But Pippin, as soon as the boat was emptied, grabbed up the rope and ran towards the smial, pulling the boat down the shore with him.
“What’s he up to?” whispered Frodo with dismay, but Merry watched, a grin slowly appearing on his face.
“Good thinking, Pip,” he murmured to himself as he watched Pippin tie the boat back to the stake, as Frodo had found it. But the smoke from the chimney had begun to increase, and the sounds of the ferryman’s family moving inside could now be clearly heard. With a scrape and a creak, the round wooden door was shoved open just as Pippin sprang up, and ran to the trees where the rest of the travelers anxiously awaited him.
Without a word, but with a grin and a congratulatory tousle of his hair, Merry handed a quietly laughing Pippin’s pack back to him, and the four melted into the woods, heading south toward the East Road.
*****
By midday, they had reached the great East Road. Standing well-hidden in the trees on the ridge overlooking the Road, they watched as a steady stream of travelers on foot and wagons, the drivers generally dozing in the warm sun, and the ponies methodically plodding on towards the closest village, passed slowly by, bound in both directions. “Let’s eat lunch up here,” Merry suggested quietly. “The Road is usually the busiest at noon. How far do you plan on traveling down it, anyway, Frodo?”
“I don’t,” Frodo answered shortly. “I just want to cross it, that’s all.” He pointed to the other side, where the ditch that they had been following from the Water ran under a small bridge and on into the fields on the other side of the Road. “I’d rather keep following this than any road. It will keep us out of the way of all save the occasional farmer, and with luck, we can avoid them as well.”
“Well, continuing in that direction will eventually get us to the Brandywine, and not too far from Crickhollow,” Merry admitted, gazing in the direction Frodo indicated. “Not exactly the fastest route, though.”
“Speed isn’t what I’m worried about now, but rather who might be following us,” Frodo declared bluntly, with a determined glance over at Merry. Pippin, standing at Merry’s side, gave an involuntary shiver at Frodo’s words. He couldn’t help agreeing with his older cousin on that issue. But Merry’s chin was jutting out with characteristic stubbornness.
“I hardly think they’ll pop out on a well-used highway, such as this, in the middle of the day, Frodo,” he argued back with a frown. “If we just went down the Road a couple of miles to the east, there is a small lane that marks the boundary of most of these farms. No one ever uses it, other than the farmers themselves, and it certainly would save us time. It would be faster traveling down that, than cutting through the fields.”
“We need to eat lunch first, at any rate,” Frodo turned abruptly around, cutting off further debate, and made his way back to a sunny grassy clearing, silently followed by Sam, and not too long afterwards, Merry and Pippin.
Lunch was a rapid and taciturn affair, and they soon returned to the ridge overlooking the Road again. But to their surprise, this time there was not a traveler to be seen in either direction. “That’s certainly odd,” Merry frowned, hoisting his pack a little further up on his back. “It’s still midday, and there’s usually any number of folk going about this time of day.”
They all looked cautiously both ways, but there was no movement to be seen in either direction. The warm sun shone steadily down, and Sam, with a sense of relief, noted the ravens flying overhead with their characteristic loud caw, and the occasional small, unseen animal scurrying through the brush at the side of the Road.
“Well, all we need to do is cross it,” Frodo told the others in a quiet voice. “See, that path along the ditch?” he asked them, pointing it out. “It leads into that grove of trees, and from there, we can decide how to cut across the fields.”
The others nodded, and cautiously, they made their way down the steep bank and onto the Road. It was the work of only a moment to cross the Road, but as they did so, Sam happened to glance down toward the east, and gave a sudden fearful gasp. Frodo instantly gave a quick look in the same direction, catching up his breath in fright as well. There seemed to be a shape, far down the Road, but it was dark, and too tall to be that of a wagon. Pippin, whose eyes were perhaps the keenest of them all, turned his head as well, and instantly turned pale. “A Rider,” he breathed, hardly audible, but fear immediately gripped the hearts of the other three.
“Follow me,” came Frodo’s terse command, and he plunged into the reeds that grew alongside the ditch, disturbing them as little as possible, and headed with all speed for the grove of trees that he had pointed out from the other side of the Road. The others followed, and it wasn’t until they were all under the trees that they dared to look back.
The Road could still be seen from where they hid, huddled under a low hanging oak, and on it, there was once again the usual stream of hobbits, coming and going about their daily travels, and no sign of anything out of the way, or in the least unusual.
Merry, the only one who had not seen the figure, gave the others a troubled look. “Are you sure you saw a Rider, Pippin?” he asked quietly, grasping Pippin’s arm. But Pippin, still pale and clearly frightened, nodded silently.
“Well, that does it,” Merry turned to Frodo. “I’m sorry, Frodo, you’re right, then. No more roads.”
Frodo acknowledged him with a brief clasp of his shoulder. And for the rest of the afternoon, they made their way through the verdant Buckland fields, holding to the hedgerows and occasional remaining bits of woods when possible. If not for the fear that was ever at the back of their minds, it would have been the loveliest time of the year for a hiking trip. The sun was warm, but the air was crisp with the coming change of season. The fields were either green or golden, and harvest was but a matter of a week or two off in most cases. The leaves of the trees that sheltered them were only beginning to yellow and redden, but there were some that had fallen already on the dirt paths they traveled, predecessors of the drifts soon to come.
There were other hobbits about from time to time, but always far off in the fields, and they had managed to attract no one’s attention by the time the sun began to lower in the sky. Coming to a halt beside a row of tall larches that lead away from them, dividing a field of wheat from rows of grapevine, lush with fruit, and gnarled and twisted around their wooden supports, Frodo looked about, and sank wearily down on a cleared bit of ground. “Tea time, I think,” he announced, and Pippin and Sam exchanged a thankful look.
Merry drew out his water skin as he sat next to Frodo, taking a long-needed drink. “Without the tea, of course.” .He lay the skin down, and looked around. “But we do have grapes.”
Sam had, in the meantime, produced bread, and even a bit of butter, but Pippin, with an air of triumph, brought his contribution out of his pack in the form of a small tin. Merry’s eyes widened, and he couldn’t help a delighted grin. “You glorious Took!” he exclaimed. “That could never be…”
“But it is,” Pippin assured him with a broad smile. “Cook’s toffees. Seems as good a time as any for them.”
Even Frodo’s face lit up at the sight, and he reached out eagerly for one, as Pippin carefully doled them out. “Oh, Sam,” Frodo exclaimed, turning to a curious Sam with a happy laugh. “These are truly the finest. Here,” and he popped it into Sam’s mouth, laughing again as he watched the blissful expression on Sam’s face.
“One of the fabled Took secrets,” Pippin declared rather smugly, popping one in his own mouth. “Except, of course,” he went on, knitting his brow slightly, “it really isn’t so much a Took secret as a Took’s cook’s secret…”
“You’re confusing us, Pip,” Frodo chuckled. “But just pass us all another, and it’ll be all right. And you may congratulate yourself on having saved this tea from irredeemable dullness.”
“I know Pippin lives to save us from dull lives,” Merry added, giving his younger cousin a quick fond hug. “And a fine job of it he does.”
Pippin packed up the tin again, obviously pleased at the success of his treat, and stretched himself out on the ground with his head on a willing Merry’s lap. “So I deserve a softer pillow than that pack,” he grinned slyly up at Merry. “Hold still, and don’t wiggle so, Merry, or it’s very little nap I’ll be getting.”
“Spoiled, that’s what you are,” Merry grumbled affectionately, but leaning back against a tree trunk, lay a protective arm across Pippin’s chest, and closed his eyes.
Frodo watched them fondly, feeling peace filling his heart for the first time today. As long as they stayed away from the roads, he mused, glancing down in row of trees, glinting in the warm glow of the late afternoon light, they should be all right. After all, it was fertile, familiar Buckland that they were in now, not the little known woods to the north.
Sam had been packing up their tea things, and stacking his and Frodo’s pack neatly together, and standing next to Frodo, gave his arms a lazy stretch in the air. And then stopped, arms falling unconsciously down to his sides. It was the birds. In the distance, he could see flocks of them swooping up, circling around. But it was nearly evening, they should be settling in the trees for the night. Uneasily, he continued watching, as sparrows, larks, wrens, and even the ravens began to fly overhead, heading past them to the west. “Frodo,” he murmured, feeling fright beginning to run cold through him again.
Frodo stood up immediately at the tone in Sam’s voice. “What is it, Sam?” he asked quickly, catching hold of Sam’s hand.
“The birds, Frodo. Look,” and Sam pointed into the darkening sky.
Frodo realized what Sam meant, and instantly, he had no doubt as to the cause of the birds’ uncharacteristic behavior. “We need to leave. Now.” He roused the other two tersely, but there was no argument from Pippin when he saw the expressions on his and Sam’s faces.
Merry, however, looked worried, but turned to Frodo with determination. “We need to find someplace to stay, Frodo. There’s a back lane, not really a road, not far from here, with several small smials along it. Any one of them would be glad to take us in for the night. Staying out in these fields will do us no good.”
“No,” Frodo shook his head stubbornly. “Anyone hereabouts will know you, and mostly likely Pippin and even me. It’s not safe for them; we will only bring them trouble. Not only that, there will be questions that we can’t answer, and your father’s bound to hear of this in no time. We need shelter, but not attention.”
Sam had been watching the birds, however, and suddenly said, in a low, urgent tone, “Frodo, they’re movin’ this way. Wherever we’d be goin’, we’d best be off now.”
“Right,” Frodo agreed abruptly, and snatching up his pack, pointed in the direction opposite from the disturbance, through the vineyards. “That way,” he directed the others tersely. “But stay down in the rows. Don’t stand up straight, if you can help it.” And immediately, they were off, in a crouching run, Frodo leading, and Sam, once again, protectively at the rear.
*****
For the next hour, they ran, weaving their way through the rows of grapevine, running through the midst of the fields of wheat as shelter, and only resting briefly in what hedgerows they could find, with heaving chests. But ever the birds circled noisily overhead, disturbed and taking flight. Still they saw nothing as they looked behind, no sign of any living creature save the birds in the air.
It was Pippin, once again, who saw them first. The hobbits had emerged from a stand of rushes, growing near a small stream that meandered through the fields, and Pippin had instinctively glanced behind before they set off once again through a hay field, the shocks neatly stacked and drying. “Frodo!” he cried, quietly, but his voice thin with fear. “There’s two of them!”
Frodo whirled around at that, and he could see them as well, black shapes high above the crops, cutting heedlessly through the fields. They were still far off, but were noticeably gaining ground on them. Trying not to panic, he scanned the countryside around them, and saw a high stone wall on a hilltop a mile away, with smoke rising behind it indicating the presence of a home beyond. Now was not the time to worry about questions, but rather to seek shelter, and the stone wall appeared reassuringly strong and secure. “There!” he cried, pointing it out to the others.
Merry’s eyes widened at the sight of the farm to which Frodo pointed, but he tightened his mouth, and said nothing. Again they ran, dodging through the shocks of hay, heedless of the stubble and small stones sharp under their feet, Sam still holding to the rear, and Frodo in front. But none of them could help glancing fearfully over their shoulders as they ran, and the sight was not encouraging. The Riders, for it could clearly be seen now that was indeed what they were, were gaining on them, the great horses steadily crossing the fields and hedges at a constant pace. Darkness had begun to fall, as the dusk grew deeper, and the stone wall was dim, difficult to see as they stumbled on, breathing heavily in their haste and fear.
Then Merry happened to glance to his side, and panic ran through him. “Frodo!” he gasped, never stopping, “There’s a third!“ The others looked as well, and they all began to run more wildly now, with no other thought in their minds but sheer terror, for indeed there was a third, much closer, and nearly upon them.
It was then the sound broke out ahead of them, a wild unearthly baying and howling. There appeared to be a gap in the wall, as if a gate had been opened, and at least a dozen swift dark shapes were flying down the hill towards them. Frodo stopped short, caught between the horror behind him and the unknown before him, but Merry grabbed at his sleeve and gasped, “Don’t stop, Frodo! They won’t bother us!”
Only then could Sam see that the shapes were those of dogs, unusually large and ferocious ones, but they passed the hobbits in a swirl of barking, growling teeth-bared ferocity, focusing on the Riders instead. The hobbits ran on to the stone wall, not far off now, without waiting to see the outcome, but as they reached the top of the hill, Sam, the last one up, turned to see, with relief, the horses of the Riders backing off under the vociferous onslaught of the dogs. He turned back again to see Frodo, standing before the hobbit at the gate of the compound and staring at him in disbelief. “Farmer Maggot,” he said in a rather stunned whisper, and with a small shake of his head, Merry stepped up as well.
“Good evening to you, Farmer Maggot,” he said politely, as if they had no more than happened to stop by his farm in the course of an evening stroll, “I wonder if we might impose upon you to put us up for the night.”
“Master Meriadoc!” the gruff hobbit exclaimed at the unexpected sight of the Master of Buckland’s son’s disreputable appearance, and his rather scruffy companions. “This’d indeed be unexpected.” He gave Frodo a careful glance, but said nothing to him, and then gave a short bow to all four of them in a matter-of-fact sort of way. “I don’t doubt but that I’d have some spare rooms. Not all the harvesters are here yet, so there’s still an empty place or two.”
Frodo gave Merry a quick warning look, but there was no need, as Merry smoothly declined the offer, “I thank you kindly, Maggot, but if there’s a bit of room to spare in your barn, perhaps, we’d be just as happy with that.”
He continued on quickly, under the canny gaze of Maggot, “We’d really hate to be disturbing your household, and actually, we’d just as soon that as few folk as possible know that we’re here. Some business, I really can’t get into it right now…” and with that, he let his remarks trail off vaguely.
Maggot gave a noncommittal harrumph, but turned to his head foreman, who had just come up, and said briefly, “I’ll be takin’ care of these strangers, Tom. They’ll be in the barn for the night, but pay’em no mind. You’d best be callin’ in the dogs. Don’t you go out there, though, just give’em a whistle. Strange folk out tonight, an’ it can’t hurt bein’ too careful.”
Tom gave a nod, though not without a curious glance at the newcomers, and Maggot, lantern in hand, led them to the barn to the back of the walled compound. “I don’t remember this wall, Maggot,” Merry mentioned, with an air of casual conversation. “But then, I expect it’s been a couple of years since I was this way.”
“No doubt,” grunted the farmer, as he shoved the barn door open. “Used to be all there’us to worry about’d be the occasional thief or two. But last couple o’years, there’s been some queer goings on, and it pays to be just takin’ a few cautions.”
Taking down another lantern that hung on a peg by the door, he lit it with his own, and handed it to Merry. “Nothing fancy, to be sure,” he said, “but you’re welcome to it for the night.”
“We really are most grateful,” Merry said sincerely. “We’ll be on our way early tomorrow, don’t pay us any mind.”
The farmer nodded, and giving each one another careful look, shut the barn door behind him. It was only then, with a delayed reaction to their terrified run finally setting in, that all four sat heavily on the straw-strewn floor of the barn and sat motionless and silent for several moments. Then Frodo looked up, and glancing toward Sam, said decisively, “I’m not sure about the rest of you, but I certainly could do with some tea. Sam, let’s see if we can manage that.”
Sam, thankful for the opportunity to be busy, stood up along with Frodo and pointed to a second lantern that was also hanging on the wall next to the door. Frodo nodded, and said, “I’ll light that one, too, and then we can leave the other with you two while we take a look about.” Doing just that, and leaving it beside Merry and Pippin, who was now mutely clinging to Merry, Frodo and Sam left, walking through the large well-sheltered barn.
It wasn’t until they were out of sight of the others that they were instantly in a desperate embrace, clinging tightly to each other without a word. Feeling Sam trembling slightly, Frodo tightened his grip even more, and kissed his cheek. “Later, my dear,” he whispered into Sam’s ear. “Later, love. Let’s just try to fix something warm for us to eat, and find a place to settle for tonight.”
“Do you think..” Sam began, in a shaky voice, and couldn’t finish it.
But Frodo understood. “I’m sure we’re safe for the night,” he reassured him, with another quick kiss. “And we should be at Crickhollow by tomorrow.”
Sam nodded, and straightened up. “Well,” he said, gaining control of himself again, “I did notice a small stove at the far end of the stalls.”
“Ah, good,” Frodo replied, in a nearly normal voice. “And I’ve noticed some of the stalls are empty. They seen to be quite clean, and I’m sure Maggot wouldn’t mind if we spread some hay out in a couple of them. They should be quite comfortable, really.”
“I’ll go out to get water at the pump,” Sam offered, as they walked back to the other two. “I saw it as we came in, and they won’t recognize me. A farm this big, there’s always a new lad or two about, I don’t think anyone’d pay me any mind.”
“Good thinking, Sam, thank you,” and Frodo handed him the pot. Returning to Merry and Pippin, he told them about the stalls, and the stove. They rose, also doing their best to hide their previous signs of concern, and by the time Sam returned, had made two of the stalls, one near the stove, and the other at the end near the door, quite comfortable, and had begun to pull out of their packs any ingredients that could be thrown together to produce a tolerable stew.
Somehow, once they had tea and stew, along with some more bread-and-butter in their stomachs, and Pippin had been induced, not too difficult a task, to produce his toffee tin again, the horrors of the day had receded against the prospect of a comfortable night’s sleep. And indeed it was not long at all before Merry and Pippin, offering to clean up, laid claim to the stall nearby, and Frodo and Sam left for the one by the door.
*****
The cattle in the stalls to either side of the one Merry and Pippin were inhabiting for the night rustled sleepily, but soon enough decided that the newcomers were not worth their interest. Sinking into the hay, the hobbits sat huddled together in the corner of the stall, the worn wood comforting against their backs, and the lantern left lit next to them for the sake of its reassuring glow. Sleep seemed a long way at this point, but neither had any inclination to talk for a while, either.
Finally, Pippin, with one of Merry’s arms warm around him, and Merry’s other hand held tightly in both of his own, found his voice. “Frodo still means to leave us behind at Crickhollow,” he said quietly, staring at Merry’s hand, not his face.
“And have we ever listened to Frodo?” Merry commented, with an attempt at normalcy.
Pippin gave a small smile, still staring at Merry’s broad capable hand in his two. “Of course not, but I’m afraid he’s going to be fairly persistent this time.”
Merry gave a soft sound, indicative of his opinion as to Frodo’s tenacity.
“Why have you been arguing with him so, Merry?” Pippin asked then, after a few moments pause, his gaze traveling up to Merry’s face. “It really isn’t like you, you know.”
Merry was silent for several minutes, still not looking at Pippin. “I don’t know,” he said softly, at last. Then he returned Pippin’s gaze, and Pippin could see uncertainty in his eyes, dark in the light of the lantern. “I know it can’t be helping him much, but sometimes it seems to me that he just isn’t thinking things through too well.”
“You’ve never thought that of Frodo before,” Pippin said softly, continuing to watch him.
“I know,” Merry sighed again. “It’s just that, well, I guess I’m just anxious, and not giving Frodo enough credit.”
“I wonder if that’s all it is,” Pippin lifted up his hand, and touching Merry’s face, gently turned it around to face him again. “I do know you’ve always looked up to him. It just seems very odd to be questioning him so. Think, Merry, why do you want to go with Frodo?”
“Because…” and Merry hesitated for a minute with his eyes lowered, before then giving Pippin a direct look and continuing in a stronger tone. “Because I love him. Sam, too, for that matter. And they need our help. Sam, of course, will be at his side no matter what, but this task seems too dangerous just to let the two of them leave on their own. And if they never came back, I could never forgive myself. I’d never know if there was something I could have done to help, and didn’t.”
“Exactly,” Pippin nodded solemnly. “But it’s Frodo who has the task, and Frodo is the reason the rest of us are going. And if he is the one with the burden, then it’s us that need to follow him.”
“You’re right, I suppose,” Merry looked out into the dark barn for a moment, and then glanced sideways to Pippin with the shadow of a wry grin. “How did you get to know me so well, Pip?”
“I’ve studied you, of course,” came Pippin’s immediate reply, an answering smile curling up the corners of his mouth. “For a very long time, at that.”
One of Merry’s brows rose, and he looked slightly doubtful at the thought. “You’ve studied me?” he asked, with a skeptical tone to his voice. “That certainly sounds like a dull proposition.”
“On the contrary,” Pippin shook his head with a grin. “For example, I knew you were going to say that.”
“Oh, really?” Merry’s other eyebrow had now climbed up as well. “And did you know I was going to do this?” And suddenly, Merry was leaning over Pippin, sliding him down into the straw, both of his hands grasping Pippin’s and holding them over Pippin’s head, and his mouth was firmly on Pippin’s quite accommodating one.
“No,” Pippin grinned up at him, once they had broken apart, and Merry had raised himself up slightly. “But I rather hoped you would.”
Merry smiled down at him, his heart caught once more by the elusive and nimble spirit that had always been Pippin. “Talk about Frodo, I’d be the one who’d be stodgy without you, Pip love,” he murmured, still with Pippin’s wrists in his grasp.
But Pippin just smiled back, beginning to recover his normal serenity. “You talk too much, Merry,” he mentioned mildly. “When there’s perfectly good other uses you could be putting that mouth of yours to.”
Merry couldn’t help a deep chuckle. “Pip! At a time like this, too.”
But Pippin just waggled an eyebrow. “What do you think those other two were up to the other night, then?”
“No!” Merry exclaimed in delight. “I never heard them at all.”
“That’s because you are very old, Merry,” Pippin explained, in soothing tones, taking care to move under Merry in just the most provocative way. “I, on the other hand, heard it all quite clearly, but you seemed to need your rest, so…”
“Now I’m thinking that it’s you whose mouth needs to be otherwise occupied,” quietly growled Merry at that remark, and he immediately caused all conversation to come to an abrupt halt by planting his mouth quite firmly on Pippin’s, and allowing his tongue to find that of Pippin’s compelling indeed. Pippin hummed happily at Merry‘s assault, and even though returning Merry’s attack with all due fervor, still managed to wriggle most eloquently under him.
“I still don’t think you quite understand me, Merry,” he whispered, when his mouth was once again released. “That was lovely, to be sure, but I still had another occupation in mind for that clever mouth of yours.”
Merry’s eyes definitely widened at this suggestion, and part of his brain immediately found it a very good idea, indeed. Not only his brain, to be specific, but also a significant portion of his body found that idea the best that had been presented to it all day. Pippin gave a quiet but delighted laugh as Merry began to kiss his way slowly down his throat and then on down his chest, unbuttoning and removing garments from before his mouth just in time. Raising up his hands, Pippin ran them encouragingly through Merry’s curls, and arched his back up to indicate his enthusiastic participation.
Merry stopped at the waistline though, running his tongue quite deliberately in and about Pippin’s navel, knowing all too well that this was one of the Took’s most ticklish zones. This produced the infallible result of Pippin squirming under his attentions in the most delightful manner, and gasping out, “Oh, Merry, oh, Merry, oh!”
Satisfied with that, and not a little eager for some attention himself, Merry unfastened Pippin’s trousers then, and headed further downward. There was a part of the Tookish anatomy here that was indeed demanding of his attention, notably firm and flushed, and Merry proceeded to quite heartily lavish his not inconsiderable skills on it until Pippin was thrusting upwards with abandon and keening in a subdued but uninhibited fashion, kneading his fingers heedlessly through Merry’s dark blonde curls, dedicating himself without reserve to Merry’s ministrations until, with a final stifled gasp, he quivered with rapture and release, falling back with a choked cry.
Pippin had no sooner surfaced through a haze of satiety than he heard Merry’s low groan in his ear, as he lay once again over him, his face tucked in against Pippin’s shoulder, and his hand on himself in his frantic need for relief. “Ah, my Merry, my dearest,” Pippin crooned happily then, rapidly unfastening and pulling Merry’s trousers lower down his legs. Quickly he joined his hand to Merry’s and, nipping at his ear point, nibbling at his throat, and applying his tongue in the cleverest of fashions to the whorls of Merry’s ear, drove him in no time at all to the point where Merry was moaning with want, stroking himself and pushing with an increasing desperate craving into Pippin’s groin. But, sensing Merry was on the brink, Pippin grabbed his face at just the moment of release, and kissed him passionately, taking Merry’s groan of gratification into his mouth even as Merry suddenly collapsed limply on top of him.
Then Merry had to break away, gasping for breath, but showering kisses on Pippin’s face and throat all the while. “Oh, how I love you, my glorious Pip,” his voice was ragged, as he gazed down into Pippin’s shining eyes, gently stroking his face. “Never been anyone to compare to you, my sweetest.”
Pippin said nothing for a moment, but laid his hand tenderly over Merry’s and stared up at him, his eyes full with unshed tears. “My Merry, my own,” he whispered. “Come and hold me tonight.”
*****
Sam lay beside Frodo in their stall. Their hands were clasped as they lay side-by-side, but he was far from sleep, and he knew that Frodo was as well. Their lantern was extinguished, and the only light came through the occasional warp and knot of the wooden slats that made up the barn wall. The barn was warm enough though, due to the cattle and ponies in the stalls about them, and the occasional shuffle and rustle was surprisingly comforting.
He could hear the sporadic quickly stifled cries from the other side of the barn, and realized, with a certain amusement, that Merry and Pippin were distracting themselves from the day’s events in much the same way he and Frodo had a couple of nights ago. It wasn’t that he wished for that again, this night, but there was still something amiss, something he couldn’t quite place, and he felt restive and unsettled. It wasn’t until Frodo rolled restlessly against him that he recognized what it was.
“Frodo,” he whispered softly, turning toward him and running a hand lightly down his arm, under the cloaks and blankets that were covering them. “This ain’t right, no ways.”
“What do you mean, Sam?” immediately came Frodo’s bemused response.
“This,” Sam clarified, plucking at Frodo’s jacket sleeve. “I don’t know how you’d expect me t’be sleepin’ w’out the feel of your skin next to mine.”
With a smile, he heard Frodo’s low laugh, and felt a quick kiss to his cheek before Frodo sat up. “I expect you’re right, Sam. I suppose we’ve both been rather spoiled, haven’t we.” He rose and Sam could see his dark shape quickly stripping off his clothing and returning to the spot where he had been lying.
Sam followed suit but before he returned to join Frodo under the covers, he knelt at his side, and mentioned in a mock severe tone, “And Frodo, you know the left side is mine.”
Frodo laughed again, and reaching out, grabbed Sam’s arm to tug him in, not before, however, rolling to the other side of their makeshift bed. “Come here, you irreplaceable Gamgee,” he whispered fondly, fitting himself snugly to Sam, as they wrapped each other in a tight embrace. “You are absolutely right. This is so much better.”
“Ah, so ‘tis,” Sam murmured happily, and they were both asleep long before Merry and Pippin blew out their lantern.
*****
They left the next morning before dawn, unnoticed by the Maggot household, but not without a small basket of apples and mushrooms that had been carefully laid in front of the gate, an obvious parting gift. Merry and Pippin found this immensely funny, to Sam’s mystification, but in giggled whispers, promised to explain it all to him by second breakfast. Frodo bit back a smile himself, trying his best to look stern, and made no comment.
The four hobbits crept out of the compound and set off toward the Brandywine and Crickhollow before the first streaks of pink lit up the clear sky.
Title: Chapter Two - Flight Through Buckland
Author: Elderberry Wine
Pairings: F/S, M/P
Rating: R
Summary: Decisions are made, and there's no turning back.
Author's Note: AU version of the quest. Follows Shire Morns.
Frodo and Merry stood together on the high slope, hidden by the thick woods near the banks of The Water, and surveyed the road leading to the Brandywine Bridge below. Frodo was not that familiar with this road, since he normally traveled south from Hobbiton when he visited Buckland, but Merry had been this way many times, and Frodo could tell that he was concerned by what he was seeing. “There’s too much traffic for this time of the year,” Merry muttered. “Folk shouldn’t be traveling about for harvest time yet. What’s more, the bridge keeper appears to be keeping track of who’s crossing into Buckland. And normally, he doesn’t pay much mind until night. He’d usually rather sit in the guardroom with his friends and drink beer.” He turned to Frodo with a concerned glance. “I wouldn’t be surprised if those Riders haven’t gotten this part of the Shire all in a fuss. They must be watching who comes and goes from the East Road, at least.”
“So,” he continued, stretching out his arms behind himself, with Frodo still silently watching the scene below. “If it’s not being noticed you’re after, Frodo, I’d say there’s not much chance of it this way.” Sam and Pippin, who had been trailing slightly behind the other two, caught up with them just in time to hear the last.
“Don’t tell me old Toby is actually taking his job seriously,” Pippin said in dismay, peering over Merry’s shoulder. “Well, Merry and I will never get by him unnoticed, and I suspect he’ll even remember you, Frodo. He does have an surprisingly good head for names and faces.”
“I don’t expect, Sam,” Merry turned to him with raised eyebrow, “that you could keep him distracted enough for the rest of us to slip by? Spin some sort of tale? Challenge him to a drinking contest? Anything of that sort?”
“No,” answered Sam shortly, giving Merry a very dubious look.
Frodo couldn’t help a smile at Sam’s expression. “Glib talk is not exactly Sam’s strong suit, Merry,” he came to Sam’s rescue. “We’ll have to leave that to you and Pip.”
“Well, that won’t help us now,” and Merry turned back to surveying the road to the bridge.
“Where else can we cross, then?” Frodo asked, very reluctant to make his entrance into Buckland known.
“There’s the ferry, isn’t there, Merry?” Pippin asked suddenly. “I remember going on it once, but I don’t know where it is from here.”
“Thornbush Ferry?” Merry said thoughtfully, turning toward Frodo. “That is another option, though it means backtracking a bit along the Water. But it might be worth the extra bit of walking, because it is left unguarded at night.”
“As long as it’s been left on the right side of the Water, of course,” added Pippin helpfully.
“That’s a chance I’m willing to take,” Frodo replied decisively. “I’d rather spend a little more time walking, than leave any more evidence behind as to where we’re going.”
“Then we have a couple more hours of traveling ahead of us to get there by nightfall,” Merry squared his shoulders resolutely, as Pippin gave a barely noticeable sigh. “No, Pippin, no time for lunch. We’ll have to combine it with tea, I suppose.”
“You know, Frodo, I had only packed food for the both of us,” Sam spoke softly, as the two of them slipped back behind the younger two hobbits, starting off once again. “I didn’t count on even feeding Merry, and no ways Pippin.”
“Well, we shall have to let them fend for themselves,” Frodo laughed quietly, wrapping an arm around Sam’s waist as they strode together down the faintly worn path. “But it’s only to Crickhollow that I’m worrying about for now, and I can’t imagine turning up short of food in the Shire itself.”
“You do remember Pippin’d still be a tween?” Sam asked, rather darkly, but with an arm answering Frodo’s.
Frodo chuckled. “Not likely to forget that,” he murmured, and then, suddenly sober, “All the more reason he can’t be going with us.”
“And Merry?” Sam said simply, looking ahead at the two hobbits walking nonchalantly ahead of them.
Frodo softly sighed. “I can’t imagine him going without Pippin,” he answered reluctantly. “They must both stay here. But don’t say anything until we reach Crickhollow. That’s not a battle I want to be fighting yet.”
Sam nodded, but in his heart, he knew too well that it would not be as easy as all of that.
******
The sky was beginning to darken by the time they reached the Ferry. Luck was with them, for the small raft had been tied to the small wooden dock on the northern-most side. “No, it’s not dark enough,” Frodo protested as Merry started down the side of the riverbank.
Merry looked up in puzzlement. “There’s nobody about,” he said in surprise, waving a hand at the deserted banks.
“I know,” Frodo murmured, “but I’d just rather wait until it’s completely dark.” Merry might have said something more, but Sam was dropping his pack off under some trees, and clearly appeared ready to settle for a bit. Pippin looked at Merry, and then Frodo, and with a slight shrug, went to follow Sam’s lead, finding a comfortable place near Sam, sitting on top of his cloak, with his back against a smooth boulder. Frodo sat on the other side of Sam, and tucking his hands into the sleeves of his jacket, despite the fact that the early evening air was not terribly chilly, had the look of someone not being at all inclined to continue this, or any other, conversation. Merry gave a shrug, although his expression clearly conveyed the notion that he thought Frodo was being unnecessarily timid, and stretched himself out next to Pippin, using his pack as a pillow.
The evening wore on, as the four hobbits waited silently under the trees on the bank of the Water. Stars began to appear above, and Sam noticed that the moon was a little fuller this night. Better for traveling, he thought to himself, and then wondered when they were going to go about doing just that. Frodo had settled against his shoulder, and was perfectly still, but Sam knew with a certainty that he was completely awake. Merry, on the other hand, had apparently fallen asleep, for a faint snore came up from time to time from Pippin’s side. And Pippin himself give the impression of being remarkable thoughtful, as he sat at Sam’s side. He hadn’t mentioned food for at least the last couple of hours, an infallible sign that he was concerned about their situation. But whether it was merely crossing the river unseen that concerned him, or the idea of a possible departure from the Shire itself, or some other matter altogether, Sam had no idea.
Sam had begun to nearly doze off himself, when he found the thought of high fragrant cedars and pines unexpectedly come to mind. He looked about in the dark, puzzled, for the trees that grew about the banks here were certainly not of that sort. But it seemed to him that he had suddenly caught their fragrance, and now he could also hear the faintest of songs in the distance, beautifully haunting melodies that he had heard only once, long ago, but had never forgotten. Next to him, he felt Frodo suddenly stiffen, and only knew for sure, then, that this was not his imagination.
Now, indistinct silvery light could be seen amongst the trees in the distance, drawing closer to them. Pippin also had seen the light, and quickly shook Merry’s arm, giving him a quiet hush as he did so. Frodo had silently stood up, and Sam immediately rose next to him, his heart beating rapidly in anticipation. There was no doubt at all in his mind as to who the approaching strangers were. They were elves, the fair folk of whom he had only heard tales, but had never seen with waking eyes.
It was many years ago that he and Frodo had felt the presence of elves in the woods of the Shire, but that time they had but heard music, and seen lights, and the elves had, laughing, vanished. This time, however, they showed no sign of minding the presence of the hobbits, and indeed, the silvery light suddenly brightened, and they were before them.
Sam gazed with wonder on the tall, stately beings before them. Beautiful they most certainly were, but with an elegance and presence about them that was unlike anything he had ever imagined, and the expressions on their faces seemed to him both tranquil and haunted. Most were on foot, and some on great pale horses, but even those moved more quietly than ever a hobbit could. One, however, walking somewhat closer to them than the others, suddenly cast a glance their way, and with a laugh, commented to the rest of his folk in an unfamiliar tongue.
Suddenly they were around the four hobbits, and a tall, dark-haired elf gracefully dismounted his horse, and walked up to them. “Greetings, Frodo Baggins, son of Drogo Baggins, and to your companions as well,” he spoke softly to them, in the Common Speech.
Frodo bowed silently, both startled to hear his name, and even more so to hear the name of his father. It had been many long years since he had heard that name spoken aloud. “May you find the ways of your journey smooth before you,” he answered then, giving the traditional greeting of travelers in the high elven speech.
“Ah, Bilbo has reason to speak well of you,” laughed the elf, at this courteous reply. “A scholar, indeed. And I,” he continued, as Frodo gave a sudden hopeful gasp at the sound of Bilbo’s name, “am Gildor Inglorion, of the House of Finrod. And yes,” he smiled, before Frodo could ask the question that burned suddenly up in him, “I have seen your Bilbo, not that long ago. He is well, and speaks often very fondly of you.”
“I thank you, Gildor Inglorian,” and Frodo bent his head now, trying to control his unexpected emotions. “That news is very dear to me.”
“Then glad I am to give it,” Gildor responded graciously.
In the meanwhile, Merry, finding that the presence of elves in the midst of the Shire was only one more of the strange events that had suddenly started occurring in his life, cleared his throat slightly. Surely, these would be folk with information regarding those strangers that had been pursuing them. “O, most Wise Folk,” he began, a trifle self-consciously.
But Gildor turned to him and bowed slightly. “Greetings to you as well, Meriadoc Brandybuck, son of Saradoc Brandybuck.”
“Erm, thank you,” Merry stammered slightly, not realizing that he had been recognized as well. “I would like to ask if you had seen anything of riders as you traveled, tall and cloaked in black, upon great black horses.”
“The Riders?” Gildor asked suddenly, his face instantly showing concern. “They are here in the Shire?”
“”Yes, we saw one just yesterday afternoon, on the road to the north,” Pippin chimed in. “Pippin Took, son of Paladin Took,” he added obligingly as Gildor turned his way.
“Indeed. It certainly is,” Gildor’s mouth quirked up at Pippin’s words despite his obvious apprehension regarding Merry’s news. He stood silently for a moment, and then added, as if coming to a decision, “You shall stay with us for the night. We can discuss these matters, and perhaps more, and it will afford you protection for a time. You can cross tomorrow morning before the ferryman arrives, and be gone without anyone’s notice.”
“We thank you indeed,” Frodo agreed immediately, to Sam’s silent delight.
“Then come, we will camp some little way on,” Gildor nodded, as they retrieved their packs and other belongings. “And there are four of you, are there not?” he added, glancing at Sam.
Sam blushed furiously at the elf’s notice of him, and bowed low. “My pardons, this is Samwise Gamgee, son of Hamfast Gamgee,” Frodo hastened to introduce him, with a quick arm reassuringly around Sam’s shoulders.
“Is it then?” Gildor acknowledged him with a smile. “I have indeed heard of you, Samwise Gamgee, and your father as well, for Bilbo speaks very highly of you both.”
“There’s elves as know my gaffer’s and my name?” Sam shook his head in wonder, muttering to Frodo as the fair company moved ahead, and the hobbits followed behind. “Wouldn’t he fair be amazed a’that!”
“No reason to be.” Frodo smiled warmly at him, his arm still tight around Sam’s shoulder. “When it’s as fine a name as any other here.”
But Sam just shook his head, gazing at the beings ahead of them as one who clearly expected to be awakened from this wonderful dream at any moment. Frodo, too, felt himself enraptured by an awe that he could not have explained. For all the years that he had studied them, their writings, their tales and songs, he still felt from their presence a sense of their power that he could not have anticipated, a sudden realization that this world was so very much more ancient than he had ever imagined, and that the Shire, and the hobbits who dwelled there, must be such a very small part of it. As reassurance, for he had found that he unexpectedly needed it every bit as much as Sam, he let his hand find Sam’s, at his side, and clasped it tightly. The rough, warm feel of Sam’s fingers lacing through his, and wrapping tightly around his narrower hand, was gratifying and reassuring. He knew that Merry and Pippin were following behind them, but what they were thinking, he could not guess.
The procession ahead was only partially visible to them, as elves on foot, and elves on horseback, wove in and out of the trees ahead of them, but the silvery light, from what source Frodo could not tell, lit their way sufficiently for the hobbits to follow them. Although the elves appeared silent, there was still a sense of music, lovely and melancholy, but Frodo did not know if it was from the elves or even just within his own mind. On this night, the boundaries between dreams and the waking world seem to have faded, and all that Frodo could be totally sure of, as being absolutely real, was the heat of Sam’s hand, tightly holding his.
*****
The elves made camp in a glade that Merry had not known was there, well as he thought he knew this portion of the Shire. Although a campfire was lit, there was no fear in any of the hobbits’ minds of discovery by those who searched for them. It was as though they were protected by an authority far more powerful than any evil that pursued them, and they felt themselves relax, and Frodo gratefully felt the burden of leadership lifted from him, at least for the night. They sat together, to the side, and quietly watched as food was prepared, and the elves formed congenial groups about the glade, speaking in their sibilant graceful tongue, interspersed with quick laughs, and the occasional fraction of song. Sam noticed, though, that when they fell silent, a shadow crept across their faces, and he realized that they were traveling westward. But he said nothing, and stored the memories in his heart.
Two elves approached them before long, and offered them food and drink. With grateful bows, the hobbits all stood, and accepted the meal with appreciation. Frodo thanked them in their tongue, and even Sam ventured a quick thanks of his own, both of which delighted their servers. As the hobbits sat back down again, Sam noticed both Merry and Pippin staring at him with a sudden look of respect. “You can speak it, too?” Pippin whispered in obvious surprise.
“Of course he can,” Frodo answered quickly, with a grin, for the embarrassed Sam. “As could have you, as well, Merry, if you’d paid a bit more attention to Bilbo and his books.”
Merry shook his head in quick dissent. “Never could get any of that into my head,” he muttered. “Has to be something I can see, for me. Not much for words, you know.”
“Have you been able to understand anything of what they’re saying?” Pippin asked, curious, glancing toward the elves again.
Frodo shook his head. “No, it goes by too fast for me. I can only understand if they slow down and speak directly to me. It’s a far cry from reading it in a book, I’m afraid.”
“And you, Sam?” Pippin turned to him.
“Only the songs,” Sam said quietly.
“Really, Sam?” Frodo turned to him in surprise. “That’s better than I can do.”
Sam bent his head down over his food, disconcerted by the attention of the other three. “Songs were always my favorite parts,” he mumbled.
Frodo smiled fondly, then, but said nothing more, and soon enough the wonderful food and drink that the elves had provided became the focus of attention for all four, since never had they tasted anything like it.
As they were finishing their meal, Gildor approached them again, and sat down beside them. “You asked for information earlier,” he said softly in the Common Speech. “I thought it wiser to wait until you were refreshed before we spoke of such matters, but perhaps that time is now.”
Instantly, the appetites of all four were gone, and laying down what food remained, they leaned forward, in an unconscious council. “The Riders,” Merry mentioned, in a hushed but urgent voice. “You know of them. Who are they? Or rather, what are they?”
“The Enemy has sent them,” Gildor replied simply. “What they are matters not.” He turned to Frodo then, his expression completely serious, yet somehow Frodo found comfort in his direct gaze. “I do not know much of your task, Frodo Baggins, and I do not wish to know more. These matters are not for us, for we are leaving these lands. Yet the fact that the Enemy hunts you is cause enough for us to do what we can for you, even if it is only to shelter you for the night.”
“We thank you for that,” Frodo acknowledged, “but I must know if you have had word of Gandalf. He was to meet me a few days ago, and we most desperately need his assistance.”
Gildor was silent for a moment, studying the hobbit carefully. “That Gandalf did not meet you as arranged is troubling indeed,” he said at last. “It is unlike a wizard to not do as he would, and keep his promises, when he chooses to make them.” He paused for a moment more, and then added, almost reluctantly. “Then I would give you some advice, since it troubles me to hear this. You would do well to make your way to Rivendell. The Shire will afford you no protection, and you will bring it harm by remaining here. Lord Elrond will be able to guide you.” Then the ghost of a smile appeared as he added, “And I believe Bilbo would be most glad of the company.”
Frodo gave a relieved smile and nodded, for the moment, his doubts calmed. “Thank you, Lord Gildor. You have eased my heart,” he replied gratefully, thankful for the advice.
Gildor returned the nod, and stood up once again. “Before you retire, Frodo, I can give you more news of Bilbo, if you wish. Otherwise, we will be moving on before dawn. It might be well to rest now.” He left, then, and the hobbits stared at each other.
“Not much help on those Riders, but at least we’ve got some direction now,” Merry said slowly. “Frodo, you know where Rivendell is, don’t you?”
Frodo nodded, but did not answer Merry’s question, reluctant to be drawn in to further discussing the journey. He had not changed his mind about leaving Merry and Pippin in the Shire. “Nonetheless, I want to go to Crickhollow first, though,” he said instead. “There’s still the off chance that Gandalf might be waiting for us there.”
“He didn’t seem to like the idea that Gandalf hadn’t turned up much, did he?” Pippin added thoughtfully. “I didn’t know that wizards were generally considered quite so reliable.”
“That hasn’t been my experience, either,” Frodo admitted, but turned to Sam, who had been sitting quietly next to him all the while. “I suppose we should try to get some sleep, then, as he said. I’ll be right back, Sam, I just want to see what he has to say about Bilbo.”
Sam silently nodded, and rising, began to lay out packs, cloaks, and blankets for the night. After a moment’s pause, Merry and Pippin rose and did likewise; close by, but not too close.
Frodo found Gildor standing apart from the others, and approached him almost uncertainly. It had seemed to him that there was more than news of Bilbo, of which Gildor had wished to speak to him, but that he had wished to speak to Frodo alone. He was correct, for Gildor reached out his hand and drew him away from the others, elves and hobbits alike, to the edge of the silvery light.
“You carry a great burden indeed, Frodo of the Shire,” he began, motioning Frodo to sit on the grass beside him, as he himself sat down in one fluid movement. Frodo sank down and sighed nearly imperceptibly, his fears starting to return, but Gildor smiled at him compassionately. “You doubt yourself,” he said softly, and Frodo, drawn almost unwillingly to meet his eyes, looked up into his face.
“I do,” he whispered, admitting it without hesitation.
“Who would not, if they understood what was being asked of them?” Gildor responded simply.
“But,” Frodo hesitated, uncertain of how to express all his fears. “I don’t understand why it has fallen to me to do this. There are many so much braver than I, so much wiser. I know so little, really.”
“That may well be so,” Gildor commented, unperturbed, “but it remains that you have, in truth, been chosen. There are reasons for what happens, though we may never know what they are. Both Bilbo and Gandalf have spoken highly of you, and I would accept their counsel above that of most others. Your task, then, Frodo, is not to wonder if their trust has been misplaced, but rather to do that which you must, to the best of your ability.”
Frodo bowed his head, and some small part of his heart sadly gave up, and finally accepted what had so unexpectedly befallen him.
“There is one, though, who has bound himself to you, is there not?” Gildor added slowly after a moment’s silence.
Frodo looked up quickly, startled at Gildor’s remark. “Yes,” he answered, never considering denial. “And I to him, as well.”
“Then perhaps it was the both of you who were chosen,” Gildor smiled suddenly at him, and Frodo felt his heart lift at his words.
“Perhaps it was,” he said thoughtfully.
“Don’t forget, Frodo,” Gildor said quietly, as he rose up again, Frodo following his example. “Love is always the enemy of those who would do evil. Its power is great, beyond all you can imagine. If you are fortunate enough to have found it, never doubt it. We will wake you ere the dawn. Rest now, Frodo.”
The next morning, the elves awoke the hobbits, whose sleep had been deep, and untroubled by dreams, before the sun rose. As they packed, and prepared to travel on, however, Gildor drew Sam unobtrusively apart from the other hobbits. “You would stay by his side?” he asked, studying him carefully.
But Sam returned his glance boldly, without hesitation. “I go where he would go,” he stated simply. “I’d not be leavin’ him, no ways. No more than he’d ever leave me.”
Gildor considered him a moment more, as a shadow seemed to quickly pass over his face. “May it be so,” he said at last, and turned to leave, and it was many long years before Sam ever saw him again.
*****
The elves left the hobbits where they had been found the previous evening, just as streaks of pink began to appear in the sky to the east. The ferry was still floating peacefully on the Water, and there was no sign of anyone about. The ferryman’s smial was not far away, dug into the higher bank on the other side of the Water, but there was no smoke from the chimney, no sign of the inhabitants stirring about yet. There was generally little call for the ferry until mid-morning, anyway, for there were no villages in this tranquil stretch of the Water.
Frodo and Merry, once again in the lead, walked up to the serviceable large raft, which served as the ferry and stared at it in the still dim light. “No steering pole,” Merry briefly reported to the other two over his shoulder, as they caught up.
Pippin gave a small cry of dismay, but Frodo shrugged his shoulders. “He probably takes it inside at night,” he commented briefly. “Keeps others from using it, I expect.”
Merry had been eying the current as Frodo spoke, and now declared, “The water seems calm enough this morning. I imagine it would drift across on its own if we let it. It might end up downstream a bit, but I’m sure the ferryman would find it.”
But Frodo shook his head at that plan. “That would take too long,” he mentioned tersely, “and it leaves one more piece of evidence someone has passed this way. But he left oars in his boat.” Sure enough, the oars could be seen in the small wooden rowboat tied up in front of the smial.
Without another word, Frodo quickly stripped himself of his clothing, and silently thrust them at a surprised Sam. He was in the water before Merry could protest again, and before long, his dark water-sleeked head appeared next to the boat. Stealthily, he crept onto the bank, unfastening the knot from the simple stake that had been pushed into the ground, and clambered into the boat. Using the oars as little as possible, and with barely a ripple or splash, he brought the boat to the dock where his companions awaited him.
Merry grabbed the rope, and tied it quickly to the dock, as a shivering Frodo stepped out. “We won’t all fit in at once. Take Pippin across,” Frodo directed him, trying to keep his teeth from chattering, as Sam quickly covered him with a blanket. “Then come back for Sam and me.”
Merry nodded quickly, and Pippin grabbed his and Merry’s packs, and got in the boat without argument. As they set off, Sam turned to Frodo with concern, trying to dry him as best he could with the blanket that he had about Frodo. “Frodo-love, you’re chilled to the bone. When we’re over this, we really should make a fire and warm you up proper,” he murmured in a worried tone.
“No time, Sam,” Frodo briefly closed his eyes, leaning into Sam, but then, just as suddenly, threw the blanket off of himself and handed it back to Sam. “Merry’s on his way back.” Dressing quickly, he was ready when Merry neared the dock, and caught the rope Merry threw out.
“We need to hurry,” Merry gave a concerned glance toward the smial where the first curls of smoke were now beginning to rise from the chimney into the chilly early morning air.
“Right,” Frodo agreed briefly, tossing his and Sam’s packs into the boat. “In first, Sam, I’ll hold the boat steady for you,” he added, familiar with Sam’s dislike for traveling over water.
Sam gulped, but said nothing, as he reached out for Merry’s hand and awkwardly clambered into the boat. Frodo sprang in behind him, and let his leg rest reassuringly against Sam, who was clutching fearfully to the side of the boat, as he and Merry rowed the small craft back to the other bank where Pippin waited anxiously beside the packs. No sooner than it had landed than Merry leaped out, and caught the other two packs as Frodo tossed them to him. Then Frodo sprang out himself, and reached his hand out to Sam, who uncertainly jumped out as well. But Pippin, as soon as the boat was emptied, grabbed up the rope and ran towards the smial, pulling the boat down the shore with him.
“What’s he up to?” whispered Frodo with dismay, but Merry watched, a grin slowly appearing on his face.
“Good thinking, Pip,” he murmured to himself as he watched Pippin tie the boat back to the stake, as Frodo had found it. But the smoke from the chimney had begun to increase, and the sounds of the ferryman’s family moving inside could now be clearly heard. With a scrape and a creak, the round wooden door was shoved open just as Pippin sprang up, and ran to the trees where the rest of the travelers anxiously awaited him.
Without a word, but with a grin and a congratulatory tousle of his hair, Merry handed a quietly laughing Pippin’s pack back to him, and the four melted into the woods, heading south toward the East Road.
*****
By midday, they had reached the great East Road. Standing well-hidden in the trees on the ridge overlooking the Road, they watched as a steady stream of travelers on foot and wagons, the drivers generally dozing in the warm sun, and the ponies methodically plodding on towards the closest village, passed slowly by, bound in both directions. “Let’s eat lunch up here,” Merry suggested quietly. “The Road is usually the busiest at noon. How far do you plan on traveling down it, anyway, Frodo?”
“I don’t,” Frodo answered shortly. “I just want to cross it, that’s all.” He pointed to the other side, where the ditch that they had been following from the Water ran under a small bridge and on into the fields on the other side of the Road. “I’d rather keep following this than any road. It will keep us out of the way of all save the occasional farmer, and with luck, we can avoid them as well.”
“Well, continuing in that direction will eventually get us to the Brandywine, and not too far from Crickhollow,” Merry admitted, gazing in the direction Frodo indicated. “Not exactly the fastest route, though.”
“Speed isn’t what I’m worried about now, but rather who might be following us,” Frodo declared bluntly, with a determined glance over at Merry. Pippin, standing at Merry’s side, gave an involuntary shiver at Frodo’s words. He couldn’t help agreeing with his older cousin on that issue. But Merry’s chin was jutting out with characteristic stubbornness.
“I hardly think they’ll pop out on a well-used highway, such as this, in the middle of the day, Frodo,” he argued back with a frown. “If we just went down the Road a couple of miles to the east, there is a small lane that marks the boundary of most of these farms. No one ever uses it, other than the farmers themselves, and it certainly would save us time. It would be faster traveling down that, than cutting through the fields.”
“We need to eat lunch first, at any rate,” Frodo turned abruptly around, cutting off further debate, and made his way back to a sunny grassy clearing, silently followed by Sam, and not too long afterwards, Merry and Pippin.
Lunch was a rapid and taciturn affair, and they soon returned to the ridge overlooking the Road again. But to their surprise, this time there was not a traveler to be seen in either direction. “That’s certainly odd,” Merry frowned, hoisting his pack a little further up on his back. “It’s still midday, and there’s usually any number of folk going about this time of day.”
They all looked cautiously both ways, but there was no movement to be seen in either direction. The warm sun shone steadily down, and Sam, with a sense of relief, noted the ravens flying overhead with their characteristic loud caw, and the occasional small, unseen animal scurrying through the brush at the side of the Road.
“Well, all we need to do is cross it,” Frodo told the others in a quiet voice. “See, that path along the ditch?” he asked them, pointing it out. “It leads into that grove of trees, and from there, we can decide how to cut across the fields.”
The others nodded, and cautiously, they made their way down the steep bank and onto the Road. It was the work of only a moment to cross the Road, but as they did so, Sam happened to glance down toward the east, and gave a sudden fearful gasp. Frodo instantly gave a quick look in the same direction, catching up his breath in fright as well. There seemed to be a shape, far down the Road, but it was dark, and too tall to be that of a wagon. Pippin, whose eyes were perhaps the keenest of them all, turned his head as well, and instantly turned pale. “A Rider,” he breathed, hardly audible, but fear immediately gripped the hearts of the other three.
“Follow me,” came Frodo’s terse command, and he plunged into the reeds that grew alongside the ditch, disturbing them as little as possible, and headed with all speed for the grove of trees that he had pointed out from the other side of the Road. The others followed, and it wasn’t until they were all under the trees that they dared to look back.
The Road could still be seen from where they hid, huddled under a low hanging oak, and on it, there was once again the usual stream of hobbits, coming and going about their daily travels, and no sign of anything out of the way, or in the least unusual.
Merry, the only one who had not seen the figure, gave the others a troubled look. “Are you sure you saw a Rider, Pippin?” he asked quietly, grasping Pippin’s arm. But Pippin, still pale and clearly frightened, nodded silently.
“Well, that does it,” Merry turned to Frodo. “I’m sorry, Frodo, you’re right, then. No more roads.”
Frodo acknowledged him with a brief clasp of his shoulder. And for the rest of the afternoon, they made their way through the verdant Buckland fields, holding to the hedgerows and occasional remaining bits of woods when possible. If not for the fear that was ever at the back of their minds, it would have been the loveliest time of the year for a hiking trip. The sun was warm, but the air was crisp with the coming change of season. The fields were either green or golden, and harvest was but a matter of a week or two off in most cases. The leaves of the trees that sheltered them were only beginning to yellow and redden, but there were some that had fallen already on the dirt paths they traveled, predecessors of the drifts soon to come.
There were other hobbits about from time to time, but always far off in the fields, and they had managed to attract no one’s attention by the time the sun began to lower in the sky. Coming to a halt beside a row of tall larches that lead away from them, dividing a field of wheat from rows of grapevine, lush with fruit, and gnarled and twisted around their wooden supports, Frodo looked about, and sank wearily down on a cleared bit of ground. “Tea time, I think,” he announced, and Pippin and Sam exchanged a thankful look.
Merry drew out his water skin as he sat next to Frodo, taking a long-needed drink. “Without the tea, of course.” .He lay the skin down, and looked around. “But we do have grapes.”
Sam had, in the meantime, produced bread, and even a bit of butter, but Pippin, with an air of triumph, brought his contribution out of his pack in the form of a small tin. Merry’s eyes widened, and he couldn’t help a delighted grin. “You glorious Took!” he exclaimed. “That could never be…”
“But it is,” Pippin assured him with a broad smile. “Cook’s toffees. Seems as good a time as any for them.”
Even Frodo’s face lit up at the sight, and he reached out eagerly for one, as Pippin carefully doled them out. “Oh, Sam,” Frodo exclaimed, turning to a curious Sam with a happy laugh. “These are truly the finest. Here,” and he popped it into Sam’s mouth, laughing again as he watched the blissful expression on Sam’s face.
“One of the fabled Took secrets,” Pippin declared rather smugly, popping one in his own mouth. “Except, of course,” he went on, knitting his brow slightly, “it really isn’t so much a Took secret as a Took’s cook’s secret…”
“You’re confusing us, Pip,” Frodo chuckled. “But just pass us all another, and it’ll be all right. And you may congratulate yourself on having saved this tea from irredeemable dullness.”
“I know Pippin lives to save us from dull lives,” Merry added, giving his younger cousin a quick fond hug. “And a fine job of it he does.”
Pippin packed up the tin again, obviously pleased at the success of his treat, and stretched himself out on the ground with his head on a willing Merry’s lap. “So I deserve a softer pillow than that pack,” he grinned slyly up at Merry. “Hold still, and don’t wiggle so, Merry, or it’s very little nap I’ll be getting.”
“Spoiled, that’s what you are,” Merry grumbled affectionately, but leaning back against a tree trunk, lay a protective arm across Pippin’s chest, and closed his eyes.
Frodo watched them fondly, feeling peace filling his heart for the first time today. As long as they stayed away from the roads, he mused, glancing down in row of trees, glinting in the warm glow of the late afternoon light, they should be all right. After all, it was fertile, familiar Buckland that they were in now, not the little known woods to the north.
Sam had been packing up their tea things, and stacking his and Frodo’s pack neatly together, and standing next to Frodo, gave his arms a lazy stretch in the air. And then stopped, arms falling unconsciously down to his sides. It was the birds. In the distance, he could see flocks of them swooping up, circling around. But it was nearly evening, they should be settling in the trees for the night. Uneasily, he continued watching, as sparrows, larks, wrens, and even the ravens began to fly overhead, heading past them to the west. “Frodo,” he murmured, feeling fright beginning to run cold through him again.
Frodo stood up immediately at the tone in Sam’s voice. “What is it, Sam?” he asked quickly, catching hold of Sam’s hand.
“The birds, Frodo. Look,” and Sam pointed into the darkening sky.
Frodo realized what Sam meant, and instantly, he had no doubt as to the cause of the birds’ uncharacteristic behavior. “We need to leave. Now.” He roused the other two tersely, but there was no argument from Pippin when he saw the expressions on his and Sam’s faces.
Merry, however, looked worried, but turned to Frodo with determination. “We need to find someplace to stay, Frodo. There’s a back lane, not really a road, not far from here, with several small smials along it. Any one of them would be glad to take us in for the night. Staying out in these fields will do us no good.”
“No,” Frodo shook his head stubbornly. “Anyone hereabouts will know you, and mostly likely Pippin and even me. It’s not safe for them; we will only bring them trouble. Not only that, there will be questions that we can’t answer, and your father’s bound to hear of this in no time. We need shelter, but not attention.”
Sam had been watching the birds, however, and suddenly said, in a low, urgent tone, “Frodo, they’re movin’ this way. Wherever we’d be goin’, we’d best be off now.”
“Right,” Frodo agreed abruptly, and snatching up his pack, pointed in the direction opposite from the disturbance, through the vineyards. “That way,” he directed the others tersely. “But stay down in the rows. Don’t stand up straight, if you can help it.” And immediately, they were off, in a crouching run, Frodo leading, and Sam, once again, protectively at the rear.
*****
For the next hour, they ran, weaving their way through the rows of grapevine, running through the midst of the fields of wheat as shelter, and only resting briefly in what hedgerows they could find, with heaving chests. But ever the birds circled noisily overhead, disturbed and taking flight. Still they saw nothing as they looked behind, no sign of any living creature save the birds in the air.
It was Pippin, once again, who saw them first. The hobbits had emerged from a stand of rushes, growing near a small stream that meandered through the fields, and Pippin had instinctively glanced behind before they set off once again through a hay field, the shocks neatly stacked and drying. “Frodo!” he cried, quietly, but his voice thin with fear. “There’s two of them!”
Frodo whirled around at that, and he could see them as well, black shapes high above the crops, cutting heedlessly through the fields. They were still far off, but were noticeably gaining ground on them. Trying not to panic, he scanned the countryside around them, and saw a high stone wall on a hilltop a mile away, with smoke rising behind it indicating the presence of a home beyond. Now was not the time to worry about questions, but rather to seek shelter, and the stone wall appeared reassuringly strong and secure. “There!” he cried, pointing it out to the others.
Merry’s eyes widened at the sight of the farm to which Frodo pointed, but he tightened his mouth, and said nothing. Again they ran, dodging through the shocks of hay, heedless of the stubble and small stones sharp under their feet, Sam still holding to the rear, and Frodo in front. But none of them could help glancing fearfully over their shoulders as they ran, and the sight was not encouraging. The Riders, for it could clearly be seen now that was indeed what they were, were gaining on them, the great horses steadily crossing the fields and hedges at a constant pace. Darkness had begun to fall, as the dusk grew deeper, and the stone wall was dim, difficult to see as they stumbled on, breathing heavily in their haste and fear.
Then Merry happened to glance to his side, and panic ran through him. “Frodo!” he gasped, never stopping, “There’s a third!“ The others looked as well, and they all began to run more wildly now, with no other thought in their minds but sheer terror, for indeed there was a third, much closer, and nearly upon them.
It was then the sound broke out ahead of them, a wild unearthly baying and howling. There appeared to be a gap in the wall, as if a gate had been opened, and at least a dozen swift dark shapes were flying down the hill towards them. Frodo stopped short, caught between the horror behind him and the unknown before him, but Merry grabbed at his sleeve and gasped, “Don’t stop, Frodo! They won’t bother us!”
Only then could Sam see that the shapes were those of dogs, unusually large and ferocious ones, but they passed the hobbits in a swirl of barking, growling teeth-bared ferocity, focusing on the Riders instead. The hobbits ran on to the stone wall, not far off now, without waiting to see the outcome, but as they reached the top of the hill, Sam, the last one up, turned to see, with relief, the horses of the Riders backing off under the vociferous onslaught of the dogs. He turned back again to see Frodo, standing before the hobbit at the gate of the compound and staring at him in disbelief. “Farmer Maggot,” he said in a rather stunned whisper, and with a small shake of his head, Merry stepped up as well.
“Good evening to you, Farmer Maggot,” he said politely, as if they had no more than happened to stop by his farm in the course of an evening stroll, “I wonder if we might impose upon you to put us up for the night.”
“Master Meriadoc!” the gruff hobbit exclaimed at the unexpected sight of the Master of Buckland’s son’s disreputable appearance, and his rather scruffy companions. “This’d indeed be unexpected.” He gave Frodo a careful glance, but said nothing to him, and then gave a short bow to all four of them in a matter-of-fact sort of way. “I don’t doubt but that I’d have some spare rooms. Not all the harvesters are here yet, so there’s still an empty place or two.”
Frodo gave Merry a quick warning look, but there was no need, as Merry smoothly declined the offer, “I thank you kindly, Maggot, but if there’s a bit of room to spare in your barn, perhaps, we’d be just as happy with that.”
He continued on quickly, under the canny gaze of Maggot, “We’d really hate to be disturbing your household, and actually, we’d just as soon that as few folk as possible know that we’re here. Some business, I really can’t get into it right now…” and with that, he let his remarks trail off vaguely.
Maggot gave a noncommittal harrumph, but turned to his head foreman, who had just come up, and said briefly, “I’ll be takin’ care of these strangers, Tom. They’ll be in the barn for the night, but pay’em no mind. You’d best be callin’ in the dogs. Don’t you go out there, though, just give’em a whistle. Strange folk out tonight, an’ it can’t hurt bein’ too careful.”
Tom gave a nod, though not without a curious glance at the newcomers, and Maggot, lantern in hand, led them to the barn to the back of the walled compound. “I don’t remember this wall, Maggot,” Merry mentioned, with an air of casual conversation. “But then, I expect it’s been a couple of years since I was this way.”
“No doubt,” grunted the farmer, as he shoved the barn door open. “Used to be all there’us to worry about’d be the occasional thief or two. But last couple o’years, there’s been some queer goings on, and it pays to be just takin’ a few cautions.”
Taking down another lantern that hung on a peg by the door, he lit it with his own, and handed it to Merry. “Nothing fancy, to be sure,” he said, “but you’re welcome to it for the night.”
“We really are most grateful,” Merry said sincerely. “We’ll be on our way early tomorrow, don’t pay us any mind.”
The farmer nodded, and giving each one another careful look, shut the barn door behind him. It was only then, with a delayed reaction to their terrified run finally setting in, that all four sat heavily on the straw-strewn floor of the barn and sat motionless and silent for several moments. Then Frodo looked up, and glancing toward Sam, said decisively, “I’m not sure about the rest of you, but I certainly could do with some tea. Sam, let’s see if we can manage that.”
Sam, thankful for the opportunity to be busy, stood up along with Frodo and pointed to a second lantern that was also hanging on the wall next to the door. Frodo nodded, and said, “I’ll light that one, too, and then we can leave the other with you two while we take a look about.” Doing just that, and leaving it beside Merry and Pippin, who was now mutely clinging to Merry, Frodo and Sam left, walking through the large well-sheltered barn.
It wasn’t until they were out of sight of the others that they were instantly in a desperate embrace, clinging tightly to each other without a word. Feeling Sam trembling slightly, Frodo tightened his grip even more, and kissed his cheek. “Later, my dear,” he whispered into Sam’s ear. “Later, love. Let’s just try to fix something warm for us to eat, and find a place to settle for tonight.”
“Do you think..” Sam began, in a shaky voice, and couldn’t finish it.
But Frodo understood. “I’m sure we’re safe for the night,” he reassured him, with another quick kiss. “And we should be at Crickhollow by tomorrow.”
Sam nodded, and straightened up. “Well,” he said, gaining control of himself again, “I did notice a small stove at the far end of the stalls.”
“Ah, good,” Frodo replied, in a nearly normal voice. “And I’ve noticed some of the stalls are empty. They seen to be quite clean, and I’m sure Maggot wouldn’t mind if we spread some hay out in a couple of them. They should be quite comfortable, really.”
“I’ll go out to get water at the pump,” Sam offered, as they walked back to the other two. “I saw it as we came in, and they won’t recognize me. A farm this big, there’s always a new lad or two about, I don’t think anyone’d pay me any mind.”
“Good thinking, Sam, thank you,” and Frodo handed him the pot. Returning to Merry and Pippin, he told them about the stalls, and the stove. They rose, also doing their best to hide their previous signs of concern, and by the time Sam returned, had made two of the stalls, one near the stove, and the other at the end near the door, quite comfortable, and had begun to pull out of their packs any ingredients that could be thrown together to produce a tolerable stew.
Somehow, once they had tea and stew, along with some more bread-and-butter in their stomachs, and Pippin had been induced, not too difficult a task, to produce his toffee tin again, the horrors of the day had receded against the prospect of a comfortable night’s sleep. And indeed it was not long at all before Merry and Pippin, offering to clean up, laid claim to the stall nearby, and Frodo and Sam left for the one by the door.
*****
The cattle in the stalls to either side of the one Merry and Pippin were inhabiting for the night rustled sleepily, but soon enough decided that the newcomers were not worth their interest. Sinking into the hay, the hobbits sat huddled together in the corner of the stall, the worn wood comforting against their backs, and the lantern left lit next to them for the sake of its reassuring glow. Sleep seemed a long way at this point, but neither had any inclination to talk for a while, either.
Finally, Pippin, with one of Merry’s arms warm around him, and Merry’s other hand held tightly in both of his own, found his voice. “Frodo still means to leave us behind at Crickhollow,” he said quietly, staring at Merry’s hand, not his face.
“And have we ever listened to Frodo?” Merry commented, with an attempt at normalcy.
Pippin gave a small smile, still staring at Merry’s broad capable hand in his two. “Of course not, but I’m afraid he’s going to be fairly persistent this time.”
Merry gave a soft sound, indicative of his opinion as to Frodo’s tenacity.
“Why have you been arguing with him so, Merry?” Pippin asked then, after a few moments pause, his gaze traveling up to Merry’s face. “It really isn’t like you, you know.”
Merry was silent for several minutes, still not looking at Pippin. “I don’t know,” he said softly, at last. Then he returned Pippin’s gaze, and Pippin could see uncertainty in his eyes, dark in the light of the lantern. “I know it can’t be helping him much, but sometimes it seems to me that he just isn’t thinking things through too well.”
“You’ve never thought that of Frodo before,” Pippin said softly, continuing to watch him.
“I know,” Merry sighed again. “It’s just that, well, I guess I’m just anxious, and not giving Frodo enough credit.”
“I wonder if that’s all it is,” Pippin lifted up his hand, and touching Merry’s face, gently turned it around to face him again. “I do know you’ve always looked up to him. It just seems very odd to be questioning him so. Think, Merry, why do you want to go with Frodo?”
“Because…” and Merry hesitated for a minute with his eyes lowered, before then giving Pippin a direct look and continuing in a stronger tone. “Because I love him. Sam, too, for that matter. And they need our help. Sam, of course, will be at his side no matter what, but this task seems too dangerous just to let the two of them leave on their own. And if they never came back, I could never forgive myself. I’d never know if there was something I could have done to help, and didn’t.”
“Exactly,” Pippin nodded solemnly. “But it’s Frodo who has the task, and Frodo is the reason the rest of us are going. And if he is the one with the burden, then it’s us that need to follow him.”
“You’re right, I suppose,” Merry looked out into the dark barn for a moment, and then glanced sideways to Pippin with the shadow of a wry grin. “How did you get to know me so well, Pip?”
“I’ve studied you, of course,” came Pippin’s immediate reply, an answering smile curling up the corners of his mouth. “For a very long time, at that.”
One of Merry’s brows rose, and he looked slightly doubtful at the thought. “You’ve studied me?” he asked, with a skeptical tone to his voice. “That certainly sounds like a dull proposition.”
“On the contrary,” Pippin shook his head with a grin. “For example, I knew you were going to say that.”
“Oh, really?” Merry’s other eyebrow had now climbed up as well. “And did you know I was going to do this?” And suddenly, Merry was leaning over Pippin, sliding him down into the straw, both of his hands grasping Pippin’s and holding them over Pippin’s head, and his mouth was firmly on Pippin’s quite accommodating one.
“No,” Pippin grinned up at him, once they had broken apart, and Merry had raised himself up slightly. “But I rather hoped you would.”
Merry smiled down at him, his heart caught once more by the elusive and nimble spirit that had always been Pippin. “Talk about Frodo, I’d be the one who’d be stodgy without you, Pip love,” he murmured, still with Pippin’s wrists in his grasp.
But Pippin just smiled back, beginning to recover his normal serenity. “You talk too much, Merry,” he mentioned mildly. “When there’s perfectly good other uses you could be putting that mouth of yours to.”
Merry couldn’t help a deep chuckle. “Pip! At a time like this, too.”
But Pippin just waggled an eyebrow. “What do you think those other two were up to the other night, then?”
“No!” Merry exclaimed in delight. “I never heard them at all.”
“That’s because you are very old, Merry,” Pippin explained, in soothing tones, taking care to move under Merry in just the most provocative way. “I, on the other hand, heard it all quite clearly, but you seemed to need your rest, so…”
“Now I’m thinking that it’s you whose mouth needs to be otherwise occupied,” quietly growled Merry at that remark, and he immediately caused all conversation to come to an abrupt halt by planting his mouth quite firmly on Pippin’s, and allowing his tongue to find that of Pippin’s compelling indeed. Pippin hummed happily at Merry‘s assault, and even though returning Merry’s attack with all due fervor, still managed to wriggle most eloquently under him.
“I still don’t think you quite understand me, Merry,” he whispered, when his mouth was once again released. “That was lovely, to be sure, but I still had another occupation in mind for that clever mouth of yours.”
Merry’s eyes definitely widened at this suggestion, and part of his brain immediately found it a very good idea, indeed. Not only his brain, to be specific, but also a significant portion of his body found that idea the best that had been presented to it all day. Pippin gave a quiet but delighted laugh as Merry began to kiss his way slowly down his throat and then on down his chest, unbuttoning and removing garments from before his mouth just in time. Raising up his hands, Pippin ran them encouragingly through Merry’s curls, and arched his back up to indicate his enthusiastic participation.
Merry stopped at the waistline though, running his tongue quite deliberately in and about Pippin’s navel, knowing all too well that this was one of the Took’s most ticklish zones. This produced the infallible result of Pippin squirming under his attentions in the most delightful manner, and gasping out, “Oh, Merry, oh, Merry, oh!”
Satisfied with that, and not a little eager for some attention himself, Merry unfastened Pippin’s trousers then, and headed further downward. There was a part of the Tookish anatomy here that was indeed demanding of his attention, notably firm and flushed, and Merry proceeded to quite heartily lavish his not inconsiderable skills on it until Pippin was thrusting upwards with abandon and keening in a subdued but uninhibited fashion, kneading his fingers heedlessly through Merry’s dark blonde curls, dedicating himself without reserve to Merry’s ministrations until, with a final stifled gasp, he quivered with rapture and release, falling back with a choked cry.
Pippin had no sooner surfaced through a haze of satiety than he heard Merry’s low groan in his ear, as he lay once again over him, his face tucked in against Pippin’s shoulder, and his hand on himself in his frantic need for relief. “Ah, my Merry, my dearest,” Pippin crooned happily then, rapidly unfastening and pulling Merry’s trousers lower down his legs. Quickly he joined his hand to Merry’s and, nipping at his ear point, nibbling at his throat, and applying his tongue in the cleverest of fashions to the whorls of Merry’s ear, drove him in no time at all to the point where Merry was moaning with want, stroking himself and pushing with an increasing desperate craving into Pippin’s groin. But, sensing Merry was on the brink, Pippin grabbed his face at just the moment of release, and kissed him passionately, taking Merry’s groan of gratification into his mouth even as Merry suddenly collapsed limply on top of him.
Then Merry had to break away, gasping for breath, but showering kisses on Pippin’s face and throat all the while. “Oh, how I love you, my glorious Pip,” his voice was ragged, as he gazed down into Pippin’s shining eyes, gently stroking his face. “Never been anyone to compare to you, my sweetest.”
Pippin said nothing for a moment, but laid his hand tenderly over Merry’s and stared up at him, his eyes full with unshed tears. “My Merry, my own,” he whispered. “Come and hold me tonight.”
*****
Sam lay beside Frodo in their stall. Their hands were clasped as they lay side-by-side, but he was far from sleep, and he knew that Frodo was as well. Their lantern was extinguished, and the only light came through the occasional warp and knot of the wooden slats that made up the barn wall. The barn was warm enough though, due to the cattle and ponies in the stalls about them, and the occasional shuffle and rustle was surprisingly comforting.
He could hear the sporadic quickly stifled cries from the other side of the barn, and realized, with a certain amusement, that Merry and Pippin were distracting themselves from the day’s events in much the same way he and Frodo had a couple of nights ago. It wasn’t that he wished for that again, this night, but there was still something amiss, something he couldn’t quite place, and he felt restive and unsettled. It wasn’t until Frodo rolled restlessly against him that he recognized what it was.
“Frodo,” he whispered softly, turning toward him and running a hand lightly down his arm, under the cloaks and blankets that were covering them. “This ain’t right, no ways.”
“What do you mean, Sam?” immediately came Frodo’s bemused response.
“This,” Sam clarified, plucking at Frodo’s jacket sleeve. “I don’t know how you’d expect me t’be sleepin’ w’out the feel of your skin next to mine.”
With a smile, he heard Frodo’s low laugh, and felt a quick kiss to his cheek before Frodo sat up. “I expect you’re right, Sam. I suppose we’ve both been rather spoiled, haven’t we.” He rose and Sam could see his dark shape quickly stripping off his clothing and returning to the spot where he had been lying.
Sam followed suit but before he returned to join Frodo under the covers, he knelt at his side, and mentioned in a mock severe tone, “And Frodo, you know the left side is mine.”
Frodo laughed again, and reaching out, grabbed Sam’s arm to tug him in, not before, however, rolling to the other side of their makeshift bed. “Come here, you irreplaceable Gamgee,” he whispered fondly, fitting himself snugly to Sam, as they wrapped each other in a tight embrace. “You are absolutely right. This is so much better.”
“Ah, so ‘tis,” Sam murmured happily, and they were both asleep long before Merry and Pippin blew out their lantern.
*****
They left the next morning before dawn, unnoticed by the Maggot household, but not without a small basket of apples and mushrooms that had been carefully laid in front of the gate, an obvious parting gift. Merry and Pippin found this immensely funny, to Sam’s mystification, but in giggled whispers, promised to explain it all to him by second breakfast. Frodo bit back a smile himself, trying his best to look stern, and made no comment.
The four hobbits crept out of the compound and set off toward the Brandywine and Crickhollow before the first streaks of pink lit up the clear sky.
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Lovely :)
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Glad you enjoyed it!
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btw I still think you owe me a scene!
He could hear the sporadic quickly stifled cries from the other side of the barn, and realized, with a certain amusement, that Merry and Pippin were distracting themselves from the day’s events in much the same way he and Frodo had a couple of nights ago. It wasn’t that he wished for that again, this night...... Sam might not be wishing but I was! *pout* Seems I just can't get enough of Frodo and Sam. *grin*
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*contemplates the route from here to Crickhollow for premium snogging sites*
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Glad to be of "assistance"
Any Coco's. Any time. We will spread the joy.
Yeah, I'll look for snogging points too. Hehe.
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*steals Coco's placemats to search out new locations*
Pretty soon they'll catch on, and rescind the drink refill policy.
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Glad you're willing to give it a try!
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Yes, I'm afraid Tolkien was a little amiss in pointing out these locales in his version. It's up to us faithful fanfic writers to remedy this, to be sure.
And poor Frodo and Sam need to get all the snogging in they can before things really start to get nasty, alas.
So, yes, all four will probably go at it next time around. But not at the same time. Neither this Sam or this Pippin is into sharing.
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I thought there was, but I will have to be patient and wait!
If you cannot find an opportunity before Crickhollow, then the baths and the night at Crickhollow should allow for some serious skin to skin I would think.
Thank you for posting another chapter! It went from funny to scary to hot......loved all of it!
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But, yes, there will definitely be baths at Crickhollow. Wet hobbits are too good a thing to miss. Canon should be followed most closely when it presents glorious snogging opportunities such as that.
So glad you're enjoying it though, thank you!
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I'm enjoying this a good deal. Loved that Sam could understand the Elvish songs; he's got hidden depths, does Samwise.
I'm really curious how the story's going to flow, given the differences between this and what Tolkien gave us. One of the things I like most about AUs is thinking about how they're the same as canon, and how they differ--because you can learn something about both by doing so, and find something new in material you've read dozens of times before.
Thank you.
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Heh, I'm sort of curious myself. I've been purposely staying away from the books (although I did had to look up Gildor's last name!) and after this point, there won't be a movie version to consider either until I get to Bree.
Most of hobbit slash seems to be written in the pre-quest Shire, and I've always been curious. All right, take that Frodo and that Sam and now. Let's see how the story would happen, this way. It couldn't possibly be the same. That's what I hope to work out as I go along.
Thanks for wanting to take this ride with me!
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Although I always, always love your Frodo/Sam love scenes, I do agree with you that it is realistic that they would take an occasional night off, given their long-term, live-in relationship. I think it's really nice to see them craving skin contact and cuddling just to be able to sleep. That sets an even sweeter pang in my heart than would an unbroken string of love-making scenes, because it speaks so strongly of the tremendous depth of their love for and attachment to each other.
Thank you for this, and I look forward greatly to more!
*Mmmm... Baths!*
Catherine
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I think that one of the major contrasts between Frodo and Sam, and Merry and Pippin, is that Frodo and Sam expect to be together every night, but the other two don't. Rather, Merry and Pippin look at it as more of a gift when they can be together. Of course, in typical hobbit fashion, they don't let on how much it means to them until they are alone. The two different situations do make a difference, I think.
And yesssss, baths. (Guess two of them will have to wait, though. No Fatty Bolger to have four of them at the ready. Of course, this lot would be more than happy with just two...)
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And yes, I think that lot would, indeed, be quite satisfied with just two baths. ;) BTW (while Im picturing lots of Hobbit *cough* splashing), I'm very happy about what you said in a reply to one of the other comments, i.e. that neither this Sam nor this Pippin would be willing to share. For me, that makes these particular relationships that much more intense; just the way I like 'em!
Catherine
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