Work Text:
February 27, 1418
Mr. Frodo stumbled, as he trudged ahead of
me, and caught himself with one hand on a boulder. He sat
down quick instead of falling. I hurried to him, glad for a
chance to look into his face.
"We could rest, sir. It's nigh on nightfall."
"A little farther, Sam, I think." His eyes
were calm, but I could see the clench in his jaw. I knelt
down close in front of him and reached for his ankle.
"It's fine, Sam."
I didn't answer, knowing how foolish it were
to argue with him. At least the ankle weren't swelling. He'd
think me stubborn, or reckless, maybe, ignoring his intent
to go on, but I kept his foot in my hands and pressed along
it, and sure enough that made him gasp -- that one spot on
the outside, as sore as it had been yesterday. He had turned
his ankle on a rock on the river shore, while we were
pushing the boat to its hiding place. I had wrapped it with
a strip from his shirt. He had tried to refuse, making light
of it, but then he had thanked me and later he said that it
eased him.
"At least let me tighten this wrapping. I can
see it's no worse, and that's a mercy."
He made his lips into a firm line. I knew he
was wanting to go on, and I worked quickly. I glanced up as
I finished the knot. He was looking around, the evening
breeze lifting his curls from his forehead. The breeze was
cool, thank the Lady.
Frodo said, "We should go on, as long as the
light lasts... But you're right. It will be dark very soon.
We have to find a hiding place."
"Surely we'll find a way through tomorrow."
"We must." He gazed again at the horizon.
"Finding a straight path east through these rocks is hard
enough. I begrudge anything that holds us back, and now this
..." He waved a hand at his foot where I still held it,
cupping the round anklebone in my hand, thinking the warmth
would do it good.
He did sigh, then, but he lifted his head and
looked around. "Those rocks, leaning together. It might
almost be a cave."
He heaved himself to his feet and headed for
the shelter he had found for us. He didn't limp as I
followed him, which made the knot in my belly ease just a
bit. There was nothing in the way of brush or undergrowth to
use to build a bit of a fire, even if we had dared, so our
camp was no more than our cloaks spread under the shelter of
the rocks. There was lembas and fresh water to make a dinner
of. When we'd eaten and put away the leaf wraps, not wanting
to leave anything of our own for enemies to find, I sat by
him again.
He surprised me then -- he took my hand. It
had been days since he'd reached for me like that, unless
you counted that desperate, wet hug in the boat. My heart
started pounding. The darkness fell around us in those
strange, lonely hills, not soft and sweet like it did back
at home, but fast and heavy, like a blanket. The moon were
waxing for us, but there weren't much light from him yet. I
could hardly see Frodo's face, but as he squeezed my hand I
scooted closer.
"Thank you, Sam. For everything," he said,
and he leaned in, his breath hot on my cheek, and I wanted
to cry from the happiness of feeling him so close again.
"Frodo." He held me, and I held him just as
tight as I could until I felt his arms loosen. He turned a
bit and I fumbled for his hands, holding them both in mine.
They were warm, and he felt at ease at last. The last few
days on the river, and right at first after we had crossed,
he had been tight as a bowstring with what he thought he had
to do. "You sleep, master. I can watch first."
"All right, Sam," he answered, but he made no
move to lie down, and I wasn't about to push him away. His
touch was food and drink to me, as much as the lembas and
the creek water.
"It's so much closer now," he whispered. "He's
closer."
"Since we crossed the river, d'you mean?" I
tightened my hands around his.
"Yes, but not only that... I told you what
happened, how Boromir tried to take the Ring from me." I
held my breath, listening. "But I didn't tell you about Amon
Hen, the Seat of Seeing." He pressed against me, warming me
right through.
"Up at the top of the hill back there?
Strider told us of it -- a place made by the old kings."
"Yes. And when I ran there to escape from
Boromir, I still had the Ring on, and I could... I could
see, Sam. I could see ... into all the lands around, and see
the armies of Gondor and Mordor, readying for great battles.
I could see the horse lords, riding to war. And I could see
even into the Black Land. I could see his Tower."
"Frodo." He shivered and I let go his hands
and put my arms around him again. He put his head against
mine. His voice dropped to a whisper.
"I could feel the Eye -- like a great stream
of light, pushing at me."
"You took off the Ring, though. He didn't see
you."
"No, I don't think he found me. But it was a near thing,
Sam, such a near thing." He put his face against my neck and
his arm went around my waist. I knew what he were seeking:
comfort, simple comfort, and something real and warm and
homey to take away the memory of his terrible vision. To
have sat there, in this Seat of the kings, and seen...
"It's over now, master. He didn't catch you.
We're safe here, for the moment anyway."
"Safe," he breathed, and then he laughed
bitterly. "I'm so glad you're with me, Sam. It's terrible of
me, that I should be glad to have brought you into such
danger. Weak of me. But I'm so glad you're here." His voice
dropped further and he clutched my shoulders. "I do need
you."
I pressed a kiss into his hair, closing my
eyes. We sat there a while, and when he stirred and I opened
my eyes, the moon was a bit higher and brighter. Frodo was
looking at me, and his eyes glimmered in the silver light.
And then, he kissed me -- a kiss like I hadn't had since the
Elf country, a kiss fit to take my breath. So I kissed him
back, sweet and long, and -- glory -- he opened his mouth to
me. Nothing warmer or more wonderful than his mouth. He
tasted of the lembas, and of himself -- clean and warm and
rich. His hands smoothed against my neck.
I stopped, having to breathe, and I said, "If
we were home in that bed of yours, what I would do to you,"
and his breath caught and he kissed me again.
"Home," he breathed, his lips against mine,
and his hands were moving then, squeezing my shoulders and
running down my arms. "Wherever you are is home to me, Sam."
So I held him tight and leaned, and he let me
lay us both down on our grey cloaks. Everything disappeared
for me then -- thoughts of the night, of the journey ahead,
even our worries about being followed. All that there was in
the world was held in my arms, and I kissed his mouth,
kissed along his jaw, and found myself loosening the buttons
of his weskit and his shirt, wanting more. His hands were
busy in my hair, then touched along my neck, and he let me
push aside the worn velvet and thin linen. The neck of the
mailshirt was wide, wide enough to let his head through it,
but I didn't try to pull it off. I kissed the skin exposed
along its edge. Then he reached for the chain that carried
the Ring, and, so quick, he pushed it over his shoulder,
taking it out from between us. That he thought to do that
made me sigh with relief. I ran my lips along his collar
bone, pulling on the fine mithril, supple as leather, and
when I found his knife scar, I kissed that, too, covering
the cold line of it with my open mouth, willing it healed.
"You're so warm," he said, and he tugged at
my shirt, getting it free of my breeches. His hand crept
under it. I cupped the back of his neck with one hand,
leaning on my elbow, and kept kissing him, hoping and
wishing that all I felt could soak into him somehow and ease
his mind. I ran my other hand along his ribs, and then my
mouth found his at the same time that my hand strayed down
far enough to feel the swell of his flesh through the soft
velvet. I squeezed my eyes shut, just hanging on. That I
could still rouse him like this, comfort him, hold him...
"Sam," he breathed, pushing up into my hand,
one hand tugging my hair, the other smooth on my back under
my shirt.
I could do more, if he would let me. My
memories were very clear on that! He weren't going to be
stubborn here, it seemed. He were going to let me enjoy him
and help him, as I should. As I wanted. I moved my mouth a
bit against his and let him feel my teeth against his lower
lip. He whimpered, low in his throat, and pushed into my
hand again. I found the buttons of his breeches as I
whispered against his lips, "Let me -- oh let me."
His tongue was hot as fire. Days and days, it
had been, and I had almost forgot how he could take me
apart. Everything that kept us separate disappeared. I drank
from his mouth and he from mine. We held each other tightly,
and I knew it all over again, over all my own skin and
inside it: He was mine and I was his. Again, it were only
the need of breathing that made me stop kissing. I looked at
him, falling into his eyes.
"I need you, Sam.... Will you... Make me
forget it. When you touch me, when you hold me -- it all
goes away," he gasped. "When I'm with you like this -- you
take it all away... Please."
After his first few words I was listening
with my eyes shut, loving the yearning I heard, because I
could answer it. I could do this for him. I was moving away
from his mouth, kissing down his neck again, opening his
breeches as I did. His hand brushed through my hair as I
took him in my mouth. I could indeed make him forget
everything bad and wrong with the world, just for this
little time, and there was naught else that I wanted to do.
He was straining again, tight and tense, but
not from worry, not now. I wet my lips and moved along him,
letting him push right back into my throat. It had been too
long. I had missed him so, the taste of him, the warmth of
him.
Back when we were home, on a summer afternoon
by the Water, hidden in the trees, or on a winter night in
that great featherbed, I would play, and tease him -- see
how long I could make this last, see how much I could make
him beg for release. But we weren't home, and we were barely
safe. I moved along him, fast and hard, him wet now from my
mouth and from his own wanting.
We made a rhythm together as he rocked his
hips, filling my mouth over and over. Toward the end he
pressed his hand to his mouth to keep from crying out. My
Frodo -- how I loved his voice. I wanted that again, too,
and maybe I would get it again someday -- hearing him groan
and say my name.
He was trembling then, and it was bliss, how
I lost track of time once more, my mouth around him, feeling
him shake under my hands, and when his seed poured out he
gasped and all the strain just went out of him. I quieted
myself, tasting him, just waiting. Finally he pulled me up,
face to face with him again.
"You make everything go away, Sam. Except
this," and he leaned up and kissed me again. "Mm," he said,
and he pulled me so that I was over him. He undid my
breeches, his fingers sure and quick. He moved us so that I
was pushing against him, the lovely fine skin of his thigh
and groin sliding like silk against me.
"I wish..." I said.
"Shh," he said, putting his fingers on my
lips. I rocked my hips, barely in control of myself now that
I was against his skin. "I know what you wish. If we were
home, if we were somewhere safe ... " He smiled in that lazy
way he had, knowing and sly, and it made me smile, too, and
bury my face in his neck. Nothing would do but that he would
take my weight on him, even on that hard ground -- he loved
it, much as I used to fret over crushing him. I pressed
against him, over and over, slipping myself tight between
his legs, and it was almost as good as what he loved for me
to do, back home, and I knew he was thinking of that, too.
"I didn't bring nothing," I gasped, "Or we
could... I wish..."
"I know, Sam, I know," he whispered, stroking
my backside, making me choke back a groan. I was close, and
he knew it, because of a sudden he pushed me up and away. In
our haste we were tangled in clothes, but then he pulled his
breeches up and mine down, getting one of my legs free, and
he urged me up onto my knees until I was above him, looking
down.
He bent before me and then I felt his mouth,
so hot and soft. I buried my hands in his hair, holding him
gently, as he started to move. It was good, having to try to
stay upright -- it gave me something else I had to attend
to. I didn't want this to end too soon -- and the moment his
lips touched me, I was so close, so close. I closed my eyes,
feeling the warmth of his mouth tightening and sliding
around me. He tasted me and licked me for a while, going
slow. Then I felt one of his hands against my hip, rocking
me gently toward him, in time with the slide of his mouth on
me. He went faster then, faster and deeper, and it was all I
could do not to moan. I clenched my teeth to keep silent.
But finally I had to bite the side of my hand, and claw at
the moss of the rocks with my other, to keep from crying
out. Everything was bright, bright as the Sun, and then
fading, and when I could open my eyes, he was still kneeling
there in the moonlight, finishing me, tasting me as I had
gladly tasted and swallowed him.
"Turnabout," he breathed when I was spent. He
raised himself up and held me, letting me sag against him,
or like as not I would have fallen. I was breathing hard. I
brushed my cheek against his and felt the tears in my eyes.
Here we were in this forsaken place, where we never needed
to be, and not for the last time I wondered how all those
wise Elves and wizards and kingly men had let this world
come to such a pass that the likes of him had to do what all
of them could not.
I put my hand to my eyes, and crushed his
dear face against my cheek with the other, and waited for my
tears to pass. When I could swallow, I caught my breath and
stood to straighten my tangled clothes. It were hard to let
him go. He leaned back on his heels, watching me button my
breeches, wincing a bit as he leaned wrong on his bad ankle.
He said, "I'm always thanking you, over and
over. I hope you know how I --" his breath caught, too,
then, as mine had. I grabbed his shoulder.
"You rest now, me dear. It's all right." He
covered my hand with his.
"I know. As right as it can be. You're here,
Sam. Dear Sam." He looked up at me then, and the tears swam
in his eyes, and I knew he could see mine. But it didn't
matter. He drew a long breath, and steadied himself. He
turned and reached, and he had Sting in his hands. He had
laid aside the sword when we sat down to eat. He pulled the
old blade a little way out of the scabbard, but only the
moon sent twinkles along the carved Elf letters. The steel
was dark and quiet. "We're safe enough, for now, it seems,"
he said softly, and he laid the sword beside him.
"It's like you said to me at the river, me
dear. Like Mr. Gandalf knew. We were meant to go together."
I sat down then, and pulled on my jacket, and
after a minute he lay down. He watched me for a while before
he closed his eyes to sleep, letting me have the first
watch, as I had said. I scooted down so that I could cup my
hand around the wrap on his ankle. I watched the moon,
feeling the last of the sweet pleasure drift along my bones.
"Together," my Frodo breathed, and then he
slept.