Thrice Returned
Author:  Nefertiti    nefertiti_22002@yahoo.com
Rating:  NC-17
Pairing:  Gandalf/Frodo
Disclaimer:  I do not own any rights to these characters; this story is 
offered purely for the enjoyment of fans.
Author's Note:  This story is a sequel to Poncing Ponies' delightful "Twice 
Given" and continues the action without a break.  It does, however, have 
one change of premise.  "Twice Given" follows the film in having Gandalf 
arrive the day before Bilbo's birthday party (though it keeps the book's 
premise that Frodo and Bilbo share the same birthday).  In the book, 
Gandalf arrives about a week earlier.  I have adopted the latter 
chronology.

Many thanks to Poncing Ponies for so cordially welcoming the idea of a 
sequel by another hand, for her many encouraging comments, and for her 
suggestions for changes and additions, several of which—including the 
title--I have incorporated.  I am also very grateful to Elanor for her betaing 
and for reassuring me that there are other wizard/hobbit slash fans out 
there.

For those who have not read "Twice Given," the action concerns Gandalf 
arriving at Bag End, having lunch with Bilbo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin, and 
taking a piece of lamb pie to share with Frodo, who is making up the 
guest room.  After considerable banter suggesting that the two are in love 
but both afraid to admit it, Gandalf gives Frodo a pair of Elf-slippers as a 
birthday present--which is unusual, since hobbit custom is to give rather 
than receive presents on their birthdays—and Frodo in turn gives Gandalf 
a kiss, in the middle of which the original story teasingly ends.  Here is my 
suggestion for how things might have continued.

Feedback is most welcome, especially to let me know whether a further 
sequel would be 
of interest.

***********************************************************************

The kiss went on for quite some time.  At first Gandalf let Frodo take all 
the initiative, running his tongue—which was as wet and warm and 
altogether delectable as he had long imagined it would be--around the 
insides of the wizard's lips and thrusting it against his own tongue until he 
could resist no longer and began to suck eagerly at the delicate tip.  
Frodo moaned into his mouth the moment he responded actively to the 
kiss.  There was a dull thump and a crackle of paper as the slippers hit 
the floor.   Frodo's arms went around Gandalf's neck, and the hobbit 
pulled the wizard's mouth more firmly against his, digging his tongue 
further in and continuing to moan as Gandalf sucked it harder.  At last the 
hobbit pulled away to look into the wizard's flushed face, staring at him 
with a mixture of passion and apprehension.  Trying to keep his tone light, 
he murmured, "Just being polite, or did you enjoy that?" 

In answer, Gandalf slid his hands under Frodo's arms and pulled the 
hobbit up until he was awkwardly draped over the edge of the bed, his 
feet hanging a few inches above the floor.  Gandalf managed to draw a 
deep breath and reply, "It was the best hobbit birthday present I've ever 
received,  and yet I should like to give it back."  He pulled the hobbit 
against him, pressing his lips against Frodo's and thrusting his long 
tongue into his mouth.  Frodo whimpered slightly and in his turn sucked 
hungrily, biting slightly and opening to let the tip delve deeper.

At last their mutual arousal forced them to burst apart and gulp for air.  
They looked at each other warily.  Not turning his head, Frodo reached 
suddenly and brushed his fingers across the front of the wizard's trousers.  
Gandalf jerked and clenched his teeth, turning his head and pressing his 
chin down into his shoulder.   Frodo said joyfully,  "Oh, yes, you obviously 
did enjoy it!  That's one part of you that can't pretend to be indifferent.  
Oh, Gandalf!"  His face wore a delighted, triumphant grin, and Gandalf 
realized that he had seldom seen such joy on a mortal face.  Frodo 
leaned forward to kiss the wizard again, but Gandalf gently pushed him 
away until he was standing on the floor by the bed again.  The wizard sat 
up, hugging his knees and staring at the quilt with a stricken expression.  
Frodo looked at him in blank surprise and after a somewhat lengthy 
silence asked anxiously, "What?  What is it?" 

Gandalf refused to look at him.  "I'm reminding myself of all the reasons I 
should not be doing this."

Frodo looked aghast.  "There are that many reasons?!"

Gandalf sighed and finally looked at Frodo.  "No, I'm still trying to think of 
a single one.  There must be quite a few, but somehow they seem to 
have become quite elusive."  Indeed, he could not force himself to refuse 
what Frodo was so eager to give him.  All he could think about was 
tasting that extraordinary little mouth again and feeling it on his body.

Frodo smiled, a relieved and mischievous little grin, and climbed onto the 
bed, kneeling by the wizard.  Gandalf looked into his eyes.  "Frodo, I . . . 
I'm sorry, I shouldn't . . . but you're right, my dear boy," he added with a 
rueful smile, "obviously I can't hide it any longer.  It's ridiculous, but I want 
you so badly!"  He hugged the hobbit to his chest and began to kiss his 
delicate white throat with an open mouth and hot, eager tongue.

"What's . . . ridiculous . . . about it?" Frodo managed to gasp out, as he 
felt flickers of pleasure everywhere the wizard touched him.

Gandalf pulled back reluctantly to look at him again.  "Well, I'm so old, 
and you're . . ."  Frodo put his fingers on the wizard's lips, then realized 
that he was touching a part of the wizard he had so often stared at and 
fantasized about.  He had always wondered what those thin, smooth lips 
would feel like against his skin, and now he knew!  He smiled and gently 
ran the tips of his fingers around Gandalf's mouth, slowly, over and over.  
Gandalf's lips pursed slightly to kiss them as they moved, and the hobbit 
felt just the tip of the wizard's tongue brushing his fingertips.

"You're ageless, not old," he whispered, then added more loudly, with a 
mischievous smile, "I doubt that once I get your trousers off you'll behave 
like an old dodderer."  Gandalf exhaled a puff of laughter, feeling greatly 
relieved that Frodo felt that way.  As if to confirm the hobbit's words, he 
pulled Frodo to his chest and kissed his neck, moving up to delve his 
tongue into the shell-like whorls of his ear, circling and nipping as Frodo 
writhed in growing arousal, his face slack with desire.  Gandalf gently 
rubbed his fingertips over the hobbit's chest, feeling the nipples stiffen as 
he pinched them gently through the cloth.  "Oh, Gandalf, oh, yes!" Frodo 
begged hoarsely.  As Gandalf pinched harder, Frodo bucked, thrusting 
his hips hard against the wizard's belly, and Gandalf could feel his cock, 
imprisoned in his tight trousers, hard and straining to break free.  He drew 
a shuddering breath, pushed the hobbit's braces off his shoulders and 
down his arms, and began to unbutton his shirt.

Frodo had lost all trace of mockery now, and he clutched at Gandalf's 
shoulders and neck, rubbing his body against the wizard as best he 
could.  Gently Gandalf eased him onto his back and leaned on his elbow 
as he slowly parted the shirt and looked at the smooth, soft skin of 
Frodo's body.  The hobbit was indeed slimmer than the wizard 
remembered him being, but there was no sign of unhealthy wasting.  On 
the contrary, the skin was glowing and the nipples were like rose petals 
that had drifted down onto it.  "You are even more beautiful than I 
imagined," Gandalf breathed, and lowered his face to pull gently at the 
nipples with puckered lips, then to lick them harder as Frodo responded 
by writhing slightly and cried:  "I love that, oh, don't stop!"   Gandalf 
needed no urging, and he kissed and suckled at the little buds until both 
he and Frodo were panting with desire.  As he flicked his tongue sharply 
against them, one hand strayed to the laces that fastened the front of the 
hobbit's trousers.  He quickly undid the knot and began to pull each 
crossed lace, loosening the fly slowly, rubbing the backs of his fingers 
against the swollen, twitching erection within.  Frodo bucked again, 
desperate now to be out of the constraining cloth.

Gandalf slid his hand inside and gently stroked the cock, pulling it up into 
the looser part of the trousers so that it could straighten and lie up along 
the hobbit's lower belly.  It was pink and rock-hard.  So delicate, he 
thought, so unlike his own large—right now, very large--member.  He slid 
down and tugged at the trousers slightly, freeing the cock entirely.  At 
once he was kissing and licking it, delighting in the musky smell of Frodo.  
"How I have longed for this!" he murmured, and felt the hobbit's hand 
stroking his head.  Frodo murmured shakily.  "Oh, please, Gandalf . . . I . . 
. suck all the juices out . . . I can't bear it!"  He groaned loudly as the 
wizard's lips slid over the tip and continued down until the thin lips were 
pressed against his curly hair and soft balls.  He and some of his hobbit 
friends had tried this sort of thing in the fields over the years, but this was 
something else again. He felt dizzy as Gandalf's mouth engulfed him in 
wet heat, and the tongue slithered skillfully around the throbbing shaft, 
teasing and stroking as the wizard sucked hard, his lips very tight around 
the cock.

Frodo trembled as he felt his climax hovering near, and he begged in a 
rush, "Oh, GandalfGandalfGandalf, yesyesyesyesyesyes—Oh!"  He 
uncontrollably thrust upward and flooded the wizard's mouth with gushes 
of hot, pearly liquid.  Gandalf held Frodo's hips against the bed and 
swallowed eagerly, continuing to suck as Frodo's wild thrashing gradually 
quieted, and the hobbit lay panting and limp, staring up at him through 
half-closed eyes, smiling and looking a bit dazed.  He shook his head 
briefly to clear it, then sat up, struggling to rid himself of the shirt and 
trousers that were only halfway off.

Once naked, he put his hands on Gandalf's shoulders with an elated grin.  
"I like the slippers, Gandalf, but I like the gifts we're exchanging now 
much better!  Now you lie down."  He pushed the wizard back 
unceremoniously onto the pillow and straddled his thighs, trying to open 
Gandalf's own trouser laces, which seemed to be closed with an infernally 
intricate knot.  Gandalf lay watching the struggle, gasping with eagerness 
and yet amused at the hobbit's dilemma.  Frodo said, "Drat!  I want so 
much to see what yours looks like."  At last Gandalf reached down and 
undid the knot.  Then Frodo paused, his hand gently stroking Gandalf's 
rampant cock through the cloth.  "You say you have longed for this.  I 
have too, Gandalf.  So many times, for so many years.  I still cannot 
believe that I will not wake up to find this a dream—except that now I feel 
too gloriously drained to be dreaming."   He pulled the trousers down 
slightly and carefully extracted Gandalf's erection.

Gandalf felt tears start to his eyes, and he suddenly sat straight up again 
and wrapped his arms around Frodo, pulling him hard against his own 
body.  "You're right--I cannot believe this has come to pass.  Let me feel 
your body, Frodo, to know this is real."   Frodo's head was beside 
Gandalf's, and he playfully took the wizard's earlobe between his teeth 
and bit down just until he winced slightly.  Frodo pulled back to look at 
Gandalf's face.  "Real enough?"  Gandalf frowned indignantly at him.  
"Very real, you little imp!"  Immediately Frodo drew the earlobe into his 
mouth, sucking and licking it gently until Gandalf's arms tightened around 
him and his panting became quite audible.  Frodo looked in his face 
again, murmured, "Sorry.  Is that better?" and pressed his open mouth 
against Gandalf's.  It was a wet, awkward kiss, but the wizard found it 
enormously arousing.  If he had not already been fully hard, this would 
have done it for him instantly, he thought, and he pulled the naked body 
harder against himself.  The wizard's cock was aching for the touch of 
Frodo's tongue, and yet he was reluctant to lose this moment.  He passed 
his hands over the ivory skin of the back, the chest, the buttocks.

After a few moments Frodo pulled his mouth away and laughed.  He 
wiggled his buttocks slightly against Gandalf's erection, which was 
pressing against them.  "Don't you want me to get to work on that?  It 
seems quite eager."

"Don't worry, it's not going away," Gandalf whispered.  "On the contrary."  
He pulled Frodo's chest against his face, tonguing the hobbit's nipples 
and tasting with delight the thin, salty film of sweat that their lovemaking 
had brought out on his skin.  Finally Frodo slipped out of his arms and 
rose to catch the wizard's erection between his thighs, then released it 
and sat again, just below it.  "Sorry, but I want to get to know this.  I've 
fantasized about it so many times.  How can I wait now that I can put my 
hands on the real thing?  It's beautiful," he added, with an 
uncharacteristically shy smile.

As Frodo began to caress the shaft, Gandalf pressed his head and 
shoulders deep into the pillow, and his fingers dug into the quilt beneath 
them.  He gasped, feeling his head nearly buzzing with delight as he 
settled back into the mattress and watched Frodo slowly stroking the cock 
from base to tip, feeling its bumpy, throbbing veins and smooth skin over 
what seemed to the hobbit a very large shaft.  He bent and licked the tip 
gently.  Gandalf tensed but tried to lie as still as possible as Frodo ran his 
tongue over the entire cock.  It jerked and quivered slightly as Frodo 
explored it, each stroke of his mouth sending jolts of pleasure through 
Gandalf, who panted raggedly as he watched the hobbit.  Frodo glanced 
up and met his gaze, smiling slightly as he ran the underside of his 
tongue back and forth over the little black slit in the tip.  Gandalf tried his 
best to smile in return, and Frodo's eyes remained on his as he began to 
squeeze the cock with his hands and moved them up and down, 
gradually increasing the speed and pressure.  His open mouth pushed 
down to take in the entire tip, and he sucked hard as Gandalf writhed and 
rasped, "Oh, yes, please, Frodo, yes!"  Frodo pumped and sucked as if 
his life depended on it.  After shuddering moments of suspense, Gandalf 
felt a massive climax sear through him, as jets of his hot cum flooded 
Frodo's mouth.  The hobbit choked briefly and let most of it leak out and 
down the shaft, but he quickly resumed sucking and managed to swallow 
some of the later, smaller gushes.  Gandalf remained absorbed in bliss as 
the last spasms lingered and finally slipped away.  Then he suddenly 
relaxed his entire body onto the soft mattress.

Frodo stretched out to grab the napkin that had accompanied the 
luncheon pie, wiping his lips and then gently sponging the moisture from 
Gandalf's cock.  Then he slid upward along the bed to lie beside the 
wizard.  Gandalf looked at him with drowsy, half-open eyes, and as Frodo 
leaned forward to kiss his cheek gently, he drifted off to sleep.  Frodo 
smiled with amusement, since he never felt sleepy after sex, but he lay in 
the wizard's arms, stroking him with a feathery touch around his beard 
and cheeks.

After a couple of minutes, Gandalf opened his eyes again and smiled at 
him.  Frodo laughed.  "Here I've been claiming you're not really an old 
man, and now I find I've worn you out already!  You go to sleep on me—
and after only the first time!"

Gandalf chuckled, "Sorry, I tend to doze briefly afterward—but I assure 
you, I wake quite refreshed and reinvigorated, as you shall see shortly."  
He pulled himself up to sit against the absurdly large, soft, and numerous 
pillows so beloved of hobbits.  He held out his arms, and Frodo moved to 
sit on his lap, his back pressed against the wizard's damp chest.  Gandalf 
wrapped his arms around Frodo, who gently stroked his hands.  The 
wizard rested his chin on Frodo's curls and said, "I have finally realized 
that this hobbit custom of giving presents on their birthdays is highly 
sensible."

They remained silent for a while.  Gandalf began to fondle Frodo's nipples 
delicately, whispering in his ear, "I love playing with these.  I can't keep 
my hands off them."

"Good!" said Frodo, nestling his body against Gandalf's like a particularly 
imperious cat.  Gandalf rubbed his cheek against the hobbit's.  Frodo 
giggled, "Your beard tickles."  The wizard stopped rubbing immediately, 
but the hobbit objected, "I like it, though.  I love your beard."  As if to 
prove it, he turned his head and nuzzled into the thick hair, then settled 
back and enjoyed Gandalf's attentions to his chest.  

Finally Frodo remarked, "Your cock is awfully large.  You are as hairy and 
loaded as a stag."

Gandalf gave a snort of amusement.   "Very vivid!  I suppose I should be 
grateful you haven't made any jokes about my 'long staff.'  I think I've 
heard every possible variant on that."

"No, really.  I'm serious," Frodo persisted, "it's going to be difficult when 
we try to do it, you know, with you going inside me."

Gandalf felt a jolt of intense desire pass through him, but he forced 
himself to ignore it.  He felt enormously protective of this wondrous, slight 
body that had so unexpectedly been offered to him.  "Frodo, surely we 
won't try that.  You don't want so much pain without any certainty that 
pleasure would follow."

Frodo slowly replied, "Well, I do want to try, anyway."  There was another 
brief silence.

"Have you ever done it?  Do you know what you're asking for?" Gandalf 
asked softly.  

Frodo hesitated, then said, "Would you mind if I had done it before?"

Gandalf thought for a moment.  "Perhaps a little.  It's hard to say.  But I 
suppose I can hardly expect a healthy, beautiful young fellow like you to 
have been lacking in either desire or opportunity all these years.  No, I 
think it would be a good thing, on the whole, if you had some experience 
in these matters."

"Well, it has only been with hobbits," Frodo said doubtfully.  "Not with a 
Man like you.  But at least I've—well, to be frank, I've had cocks in my 
mouth and ass, but obviously only regular-sized ones—what I would think 
of as regular size, anyway.  But really, Gandalf, I've never felt about any 
of them the way I've felt about you since . . . since I started having such 
feelings at all."  Gandalf did not reply, and Frodo asked, "What about 
you?  You are—well, I don't know how old, but you must have had many, 
many lovers."

Trying to sound matter-of-fact, Gandalf replied, "Yes, quite a few.  Mostly 
Elves, since I spend what time I can in Rivendell and other Elven 
enclaves.  There are always beautiful and willing partners—both male 
and female--luckily for me."

Gandalf continued to caress Frodo's body.  The hobbit moved languidly 
against Gandalf's chest as the wizard moved one hand down to play 
lightly with his cock.   Frodo murmured contentedly, "Well, I for one am 
not surprised that those beautiful elves would want to share your bed, 
Gandalf.  All right, you look old, as you say, but you're vibrant and 
powerful and, mmm, very good at this, and you're . . . well, you're fun.  
Don't laugh, you are.  I've always thought so.  I suppose that's part of 
what attracted me to you.  When I was little I loved having you come to 
the Shire.  You were so clever and entertaining and funny, with your jokes 
and tales of far-off places and your magic tricks.  I felt proud after I came 
to live at Bag End and found that you always stayed with us when you 
visited the Shire--oh, Gandalf!   Mmmm, not so fast, or I won't get to finish 
telling you!"

Gandalf slowed his stroking, though he was feeling heat creeping into his 
own groin as he listened to Frodo.  The hobbit continued, now panting 
noticeably, "Well, when I came to that point in life when one begins to, 
well, think about . . . things—like what we're doing--of course I tried them 
out with my friends.  They were all as curious as I, and some of us were 
bold enough to experiment after we confessed our urges.  But afterwards, 
I would never feel any of the really strong fondness that I always 
imagined real lovers having.  It was just, do it as fast as possible and 
laugh and go on.  Those fellows are nice enough, and some of them are 
good friends and even cousins.  But I began to think that they all seemed 
terribly young to me, though of course most of them were within a few 
years of me in age.  And eventually I realized why when I found myself 
thinking about you while I was doing it, with them or alone at night.  And I 
quickly realized that I would rather be doing it with you than with any 
hobbit in his tweens.  You had done so many fascinating things, and you 
were my hero.   I could tell you were fond of me, though I never dared 
hope . . . well, I admit I did hope, but really just in a hopeless way . . . if 
that makes any sense.  I mean, I fantasized a lot about you and me, but I 
thought there was no chance in the world we'd ever really be doing this 
together."

"Why not?" Gandalf whispered.  The wizard's eyes were again moist as 
he listened to Frodo's story, thinking back over his visits to the Shire long 
ago.

Frodo replied, "Well, I was always terrified even to hint at it.  I was only 24 
when you were here last, and that's fairly young for a hobbit—though 
apparently not too young to catch your roving eye," he teased, twisting his 
neck to look up at Gandalf, who blushed and felt compelled to answer this 
cheeky remark.

"You were as beautiful then as now, and quite an exceptional lad in other 
ways.  Yes, I was fond of you . . . and beyond that I will admit that the last 
time I was here, I began to have, well, certain feelings when I looked at 
you that I thought were quite preposterous.  I never could have imagined 
that you would look upon me as anything more than a friend—a sort of 
uncle, like Bilbo."

Frodo smiled.  "Well, apparently among my sterling qualities was good 
taste in lovers, wouldn't you say?"  He shifted his buttocks as Gandalf's 
fingers continued to reawaken his desire.  As he did, he broke out 
suddenly in a wide grin.  "Old man, indeed!  Your cock doesn't seem to 
feel its age—it's reviving, and you've come more recently than I!  I think 
that secretly you're as randy as a young hobbit—and that's saying 
something, believe me."

 Gandalf tried not to look smug, realizing that this had to be an 
exaggeration.  He had not mentioned it, but among his non-Elven lovers 
there had been a few hobbits, and he had firsthand experience of just 
how randy they could be.  Aloud he said,  "I'm sure it's entirely inspired by 
your beauty, Frodo."   The hobbit pretended to be exasperated:  "Aha!  So 
you only want me for my beauty."

Gandalf laughed, "Well, it certainly cannot be for your mind!  I've just told 
you that most of my lovers have been Elves, and you should know that 
means that each and every one has been gorgeous.  I'm quite used to 
having beautiful partners in my bed, thank you very much, and I'm hardly 
going to be swept away by a lovely hobbit face after all that."  He paused, 
then added quite seriously, "But I assure you, I have never felt about any 
of them the way I feel about you."  Frodo gazed up into Gandalf's eyes, 
then awkwardly managed to hook one arm behind the wizard's neck, 
pulling his head down for a leisurely kiss.

Finally Frodo rose abruptly.  "I think it's time we got a bit more systematic 
about  this.  First of all . . ."  He turned and knelt again with his knees 
spread on either side of Gandalf's thighs.  He settled back onto those 
thighs and laughed.  Gandalf's trousers were still on, pulled down only 
slightly, and the top of his growing erection was poking up out of the 
trouser-front.   The hobbit struggled until he had them off completely.  He 
leaned forward and reached under Gandalf's beard, quickly undoing his 
buttons.  At once he spread the shirt wide.  The wizard's long beard 
covered his chest, but his belly was muscular and flat, without a bit of the 
padding that hobbits were accustomed to.  "Quite strong for an 'old man,'" 
Frodo said.

"I get a good deal of exercise," Gandalf answered, as if he had to justify 
his thinness.

"Really?" Frodo asked, in mock surprise.  "Well, be prepared for me to 
give you a great deal more exercise, my dear, elderly wizard."  Frodo 
began to move his hands through Gandalf's bushy beard.  "This beard 
does get in the way at times," he muttered.

Gandalf frowned, "I thought you liked it."

"I do.  It's like a game:  'find the nipple.'"  He pretended to search at some 
length, saying, "Now where . . . I can't . . . aah, here's one at last."  He 
leaned in and fastened his open lips over the brown disk, which puckered 
at once.  Frodo flicked the little bead in the center with his tongue tip, 
harder and harder as Gandalf squirmed and gasped with pleasure.  His 
cock was by now standing straight up, and Frodo thrust gently with his 
hips, stropping his own erection across Gandalf's.  Soon Gandalf arched 
his back, pushing his chest harder against Frodo's tongue, and he 
groaned as Frodo pressed his tongue tip hard down onto it.  Frodo 
paused and smiled, "You like having this done to you as much as I do, 
don't you?"

Gandalf managed to nod and gasped out, "Yes, you've concocted a most 
entertaining game."  He glanced toward the other side of his chest.  "Why 
don't you play it again?"

Frodo grinned.  Continuing to pinch the wet nipple with finger and thumb, 
he searched through the beard on the other side with provoking 
slowness, then began to lick and slurp noisily at the second little brown 
nub.   The wizard's hands trembled as they moved over Frodo's back, not 
wanting the hobbit's mouth to move away from his chest and yet longing 
to feel the little tongue on his cock.

At last Gandalf was so aroused that he leaned forward and hugged Frodo 
hard to himself, and soon their mouths were pressed together in a hungry 
combat of tongues as their hands clutched at each other's bodies.  After a 
short interval Gandalf tried to lower Frodo onto his back on the bed, but 
Frodo struggled out of his arms.  "I want . . . I want you to go inside me," 
he said softly.

 Gandalf stared at him, then objected, "But, Frodo, I don't think I could 
bring myself to enter you.  I would be too worried about causing you pain.  
Let me pleasure you as I did before."

"But I want us to do everything.  And I want to feel you really take me, and 
not just with your mouth.  That was wonderful, don't get me wrong, it was 
exquisite.  But the two things are so different.  I want something really 
intense, something unbelievably exciting for our second time.  I know you 
can give that to me."  The wizard frowned and did not reply.  Frodo 
continued, "Don't you want to do it?  I mean, if you didn't think it would 
hurt me, wouldn't you want to take me like that?"

Gandalf hesitated, unable to lie to Frodo.  "Well—yes, but Frodo, I don't 
want you to offer this because you think it would please me.  I'm more 
than happy with what you make me feel with your mouth and hands."

"But, Gandalf, you say you've had Elves as lovers—male and female.  
Don't you ever take them . . . that way?"  Frodo's huge, earnest eyes 
were fixed on the wizard's, and Gandalf felt his resolution melting.  It 
would undoubtedly be unimaginably exciting to penetrate Frodo, but it 
was too much to expect of the hobbit.  Frodo simply did not understand 
what would be involved.

Finally he replied, "Yes, I've often done it, but Elves are, after all, slightly 
bigger than I am, so the process is considerably less difficult than this 
would be."

Frodo looked disappointed, then brightened.  "Couldn't you use magic to 
make it easier?" he asked with hopeful eyes.  Gandalf blinked.  He rarely 
thought about his magic.  Sometimes many days went by without it 
entering his mind, and he had certainly never used it for sexual purposes.   
Would it work?  Almost certainly, but perhaps more important, would it be 
right to use it for such a purpose?  He usually used magic to protect or 
heal others.  In a general sense, what he would be doing with Frodo fell 
into that category.  But he would be using his protective powers to shield 
Frodo from pain he himself would be inflicting, for his own pleasure.  Not 
that he would ever deliberately hurt the hobbit, but did his intentions have 
anything to do with it?  He could see that, although Frodo's eyes were 
shining and eager—and so very beautiful--there was a distinct trace of 
trepidation there as well.  Still, the hobbit was obviously determined to try 
this, however nervous he was.

Suddenly Frodo rose and pivoted, kneeling astride Gandalf again, but 
now facing away.  The wizard's upright cock rested along the center of his 
buttocks and back.  Gandalf reached under Frodo's arms to pinch and 
twist the hobbit's nipples gently, even as he continued to agonize over 
whether he should use magic.  Frodo made thinking clearly very difficult 
indeed, as he moaned and slid his ass backward so that the cleft rested 
over Gandalf's erection, pressing it flat up onto the wizard's belly.  
Gandalf gasped as he felt the ass cheeks settle down onto his cock.  
Slowly Frodo began to move his hips forward and back, making the 
underside of the high-veined shaft rub against the sensitive skin of his 
cleft.  Soon Frodo was again panting hard with excitement.

Giving up any hope of talking such a determined young fellow—and 
himself—out of this,  Gandalf decided that he would go ahead and try to 
prevent Frodo's pain by magical means.  It certainly would not require a 
complex spell, and several simple ones occurred to him immediately.   
Gently he pushed on Frodo's back until the hobbit dropped onto his hands 
and knees.  "If you are certain you want this, Frodo, I shall try a spell, but 
if it does not work well enough and you feel pain, tell me, I beg you."

Frodo nodded and spread his knees wide as Gandalf positioned himself 
behind the hobbit.  "Take me, Gandalf, please, take me!" he gasped.  
With a few small gestures and a muttered incantation, Gandalf prepared 
to enter  the tiny puckered hole.  "That feels so strange," Frodo 
murmured, "but good, very soothing."

Closing his eyes, Gandalf put one hand on Frodo's buttock to steady 
them both, and with the other he positioned the tip of his cock at Frodo's 
anus.  He hesitated, then slipped a finger deep inside to gauge Frodo's 
reaction.  It immediately elicited a low moan of pleasure, and Frodo 
pressed his ass against the wizard's hand.  "More, Gandalf!  That doesn't 
hurt at all."   Vastly aroused but determine to remain cautious, Gandalf 
slipped a second finger inside, eliciting an even more enthusiastic moan 
from Frodo.  Gandalf noted how relaxed the sphincter was.  His spell 
seemed to be working.  Clenching his teeth and holding his breath, he 
removed the fingers and pushed the cock tip fairly hard against the 
opening.  Frodo jerked as it penetrated him, and Gandalf froze.  "It's . . . 
it's not too bad," Frodo managed to say, "It doesn't even hurt as much as 
when I do it with hobbits . . . And it's already going away . . . Now go in 
further . . . slowly."  Gandalf thrust gently, pausing between each stroke in 
case Frodo needed him to stop.  But Frodo was moaning rhythmically, 
clearly excited enormously by the wizard's cock.  At last Gandalf had 
nearly half of it inside Frodo, and he paused and swallowed hard, 
savoring the tight grip of the hot, velvety passage.  He began to pump, 
slowly and gently, passing one hand around Frodo to stroke his swollen 
shaft.  "Oh, yes!" Frodo groaned, and Gandalf increased the pace a trifle.  
Frodo dropped to his elbows, resting his head on his forearms as he 
whimpered with rising ecstasy.

Gandalf tried to focus on the hobbit's reactions, but soon his own bliss 
overpowered all other thoughts and sensations.  He had never felt 
anything as exciting as this, and he closed his eyes and continued to 
pump for long minutes.  "Oh, Frodo," he murmured at one point, but then 
he fell silent, aroused beyond words.

Finally Frodo began to quiver and pant even harder.  "Now, Gandalf, now, 
please, now!  More!  Yes!"  Gandalf thrust harder and was startled out of 
his complete absorption by a series of hoarse, loud groans—nearly 
bellows—from Frodo.  Feeling wet heat splash against his fingers, he 
assumed they were cries of pleasure.  He could not possibly have 
stopped to find out at that point, for he was hovering on the edge, 
desperate for release.  He pushed slightly harder into Frodo until a 
searing climax such as he had never experienced made him grimace and 
tense his body.  Wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over him, and he felt 
dizzy by the time it slowly began to recede.  As the sharp fillips of 
pleasure gradually eased, Gandalf curled forward, panting, to rest his 
body along Frodo's back.

After gasping for a few moments, Gandalf managed to say with concern, 
"My dear Frodo, did I hurt you there at the end?"

Frodo sighed blissfully, "No!  It was just so intense and it hit me so 
suddenly that I couldn't help crying out.  I hope Bilbo didn't hear."

Gandalf smiled and hugged Frodo, murmuring, "Mmm.  Can't we just stay 
this way?  For a few hours, perhaps?"

Frodo responded, "That would be lovely.  No, wait!  Not if you're going to 
fall asleep again.  Don't do that while you're on top of me—in me in fact!" 

Reluctantly Gandalf pulled out of Frodo, lying back against the pillow, 
saying tenderly, "It was wonderful for me as well—more wonderful than I 
could have dared hope.  I take it my little incantation worked?"  Frodo 
turned and crawled up to sit beside Gandalf.  "Oh, yes!  I hardly felt any 
pain.  In fact, it was extraordinary.  It was so exciting to feel you inside 
me,  big and powerful, driving such intense pleasure deep into me."  He 
took Gandalf's hand gently.  The wizard smiled drowsily at him, then 
yawned and slid down until he was lying on the bed.

Frodo followed him.  "Another little nap, old fellow?" he teased, but 
suddenly a huge yawn erupted from him as well.  Through half-closed 
eyes Gandalf saw this and laughed softly.

"I seem not to be the only one, young fellow."

Frodo smiled sheepishly.  "Yes, you've managed to wear me out.  Not 
surprising, really.  That climax was amazing.  Maybe a little nap would be 
a good idea."  Gandalf covered them both and enveloped Frodo in his 
arms, and very soon they were sound asleep.

********************************************************************

An hour or so later, Bilbo was puttering about in the kitchen, waiting for a 
cake to come out of the oven—his and Frodo's pre-birthday cake.  Since 
there would be so many people at the party on their actual birthday, Bilbo 
had planned a little private party a week in advance, so that he could 
celebrate in peace with his two favorite people.  From then on,  he 
realized, the preparations for the big party would make relaxed socializing 
difficult.  Gandalf had come early because it would take a long time to set 
up all his elaborate fireworks displays.

Glancing into the hallway, Bilbo saw a small stack of towels that he had 
left for Frodo to take to Gandalf's room.  Sighing a bit at the 
irresponsibility of youth, he went, picked them up, and headed for the 
guest room.  Once there, he tapped quietly but received no answer.  
"Must be napping," Bilbo thought.  "I surely would have noticed if he went 
out."  He opened the door with great care, glancing in and seeing the 
wizard indeed in bed and fast asleep.  Given the utter quiet with which 
hobbits can walk in all situations, Bilbo decided to sneak in, deposit the 
towels by the pitcher and basin, and leave without waking the wizard.  
There was plenty of time yet before dinner, and Gandalf must be 
exhausted after his trip.

He crossed the room and placed the towels on the table, then turned to 
leave and realized with a shock that Gandalf was not alone.  He could 
see a small, tousled head, instantly recognizable as Frodo's, tucked down 
under the wizard's chin, resting on his beard.  Bilbo's first thought was 
simply that the two friends had nodded off while talking, but it was not like 
Frodo to take a nap during the day.  The bed, which Frodo had made so 
neatly earlier that day, was a mess, the sheets and quilt twisted and 
hanging down at several places rather than being neatly tucked in.  Then 
he noticed something on the floor on the far side of the bed, and taking a 
step to his left, he spotted the slippers and gift wrapping, as well as 
Frodo's bright clothing and Gandalf's grey garments strewn carelessly 
about.  All their clothing seemed to be there, he noted.  They must be 
completely naked under that quilt.  Frodo's little smile and Gandalf's 
utterly serene expression reflected a bliss that surely went beyond that 
attributable to a meeting of long-parted friends.  Bilbo stared for what 
seemed like a long time, taking in all these details and hoping to discover 
some explanation other than the obvious one.  Then he shook his head 
and quietly left.  Outside in the hallway he paused, a frown on his genial 
face, pondering this startling new development.

His initial reaction was anger that his old friend Gandalf should have 
seduced his innocent young nephew, though he had to admit that Frodo 
was an adult now—or would be officially in a week—and he had long 
suspected that Frodo and his friends were not quite so innocent as their 
parents fondly believed.  He didn't like to pry, and he always felt 
embarrassed raising such things with Frodo—especially since he had had 
relatively little experience in these matters himself.

After fuming a bit, however, Bilbo began to think back over what had 
happened recently and how it might bear on the situation.  He recalled 
suddenly Gandalf's remark at lunch, about Frodo having asked him for a 
birthday present—of all odd requests.  That must have been the slippers 
he noticed on the floor.  And Frodo had been vehemently insistent upon 
Bilbo's sending invitation after invitation to the old wizard, despite the fact 
that Gandalf had not visited in nine years and had not answered the initial 
invitations.  Indeed, various bits of strange behavior on Frodo's part 
seemed now to hold more significance than Bilbo had realized at the time.  
Reluctantly he admitted to himself that this must be something both Frodo 
and Gandalf had wanted.  Perhaps Frodo had even seduced Gandalf.  
His teasing and banter with the wizard now began to look in retrospect 
like covert flirtation.

The smell of the baking cake sent Bilbo back to the kitchen to remove it 
from the oven.  Then he wandered into the sitting room, pouring himself a 
stiff sherry and sitting down to think.  How did he feel about all this?  What 
should he do when Gandalf and Frodo came out for dinner?  He 
considered not telling them that he knew, but then he realized that they 
would most likely see the towels and realize that he had been there.  For 
a moment he thought of sneaking back in to remove the towels, but then 
it began to seem better that the pair should realize that he knew about 
their relationship.  At least that would obviate an awkward revelation later.  
It did not bother him that two males were sleeping together in his house; 
he had nothing against such relationships in general, though his own 
dalliances, such as they had been, were with women.  He suspected that 
he might be feeling a tiny bit jealous of Frodo.  He wondered whether, if 
Gandalf had ever expressed such interest in himself, he would have 
welcomed it.  It had never occurred to him before, but looking back, he 
halfway thought he might.  Too late for that, though, and he dismissed the 
idea quickly.  At any rate, he resolved to try and be happy for them both 
and reassure them that he accepted their being a couple.  He still found 
himself bothered a bit by the whole thing, but given that the relationship 
was an unavoidable fact, a cheerful attitude would make things easier for 
all concerned.  Now it was time to get that cake out and go on preparing 
dinner—a very special dinner, not just for their birthday but now also to 
celebrate this new development.  At least, he tried to think of it that way.  
"If the state of that bed is any indication, they will have worked up hearty 
appetites," he chuckled to himself, glad to find that he could view the 
situation with some degree of humor.

*********************************************************************

A little while later, Gandalf moved and stretched, and Frodo opened his 
eyes and sat up.  They smiled at one another, too peaceful and content 
even to speak, and then leaned together for a lingering kiss.  Finally the 
delicious smell of newly baked cake drew them back to reality.  "I am so 
hungry!" Frodo said with a little laugh.

"I must say, I am too.   I ate relatively little at lunch," Gandalf replied.  
Frodo grinned, nuzzling into Gandalf's beard, "Thank goodness!  If you 
had not invited me back to share that pie, I think I might have given up on 
you altogether and left.  You're a difficult fellow to lure into bed, Gandalf 
the Grey, though once you're there, it turns out to be well worth the 
effort."  This led to another kiss, but a shorter one, as they realized that 
they would soon be called to dinner.  They both rose from the bed.

Gandalf looked around the somewhat chaotic room.  "There's no time for 
a bath.  I suggest we clean up a bit here."  He moved toward the pitcher 
and basin.  "I filled that with hot water, but I'm sure it is quite cold by now," 
Frodo remarked, then stopped abruptly, clutching the items of clothing he 
had been picking up.  "Towels!"

"Don't worry, there is a stack of them here," Gandalf said, turning toward 
the hobbit.

"No, it's not that," Frodo said worriedly.  "When I was getting the room 
ready for you, Bilbo put out some towels he had washed, but I forgot to 
fetch them in here.  Well, that is, I got distracted and never had a chance.  
I'm sure they weren't there when you came in!"  He stared at Gandalf in 
dismay.

"So Bilbo must have brought them in while we were asleep," the wizard 
replied, frowning.  "I was wondering—in the few moments when I could 
wrench my mind from thinking about you, my pet—just what we are going 
to tell Bilbo.  Now we can assume he knows.  I suppose we shall simply 
have to play it by ear, taking our cue from how he behaves toward us.  
Certainly I could not have kept this a secret from him—not as an old 
friend and a guest under his roof.  Have you ever hinted to Bilbo how you 
feel about me?"

"No.  And you?"

Gandalf shrugged.  "Never!  I was determined not to worry him by 
revealing my attraction to you, since as far as I could see, it would not 
come to anything.  Well, we must face up to it."  He picked up a towel and 
handed it to Frodo.  "Let's make use of these now that we have them.  
We have two birthdays to celebrate!"

"The most momentous birthday of my life," Frodo agreed, smiling.

It took the pair quite some time to clean up and dress, since they stopped 
at frequent intervals for kisses and caresses.  At last they heard the 
sound of a gong ring out.  Gandalf looked questioningly at Frodo.  "It's 
something Bilbo added a few years ago.  He got tired of shouting for me 
to come to the table—the corridors of Bag End are so long, and I 
frequently just couldn't hear him.  So now that gong is our five-minute 
warning for every meal.  It works quite well."  The pair faced each other 
for a moment, summoning their courage, then walked out to the kitchen to 
greet Bilbo.

He looked up with a smile as they entered—not an ordinary smile, but a 
rather knowing one.  He said to Frodo, "Don't worry, I am not going to 
scold you.  You look like a mischievous Took caught out in a prank, the 
way you used to when you would steal mushrooms from Farmer Maggot, 
remember?  And Gandalf is looking like your guilty accomplice.  I'm not 
upset, not at either of you."  He sighed.  "I'll admit I was at first, but I got 
over that.  I can't say I'm entirely reconciled to the idea, and it may be 
some time before I get used to it.  But there, it's a fact, and I'm . . . well, at 
any rate, I'm delighted that the two of you are so happy."  Frodo hurried to 
embrace his uncle, and Gandalf gave him an affectionate—and relieved--
smile.

After a moment, Bilbo cleared his throat loudly and stepped back.  "Since 
it's just a private little party for the three of us, I thought we could eat here 
in the kitchen and then have a quiet evening by the fire.  I assume you 
two will want to sit together," he added, gesturing toward the bench by the 
wooden table.  Gandalf sat, watching Frodo as the two hobbits bustled 
about, putting the various platters and dishes on the table.  Then Bilbo sat 
on one bench, and Frodo slipped onto the other as close to Gandalf as he 
could without actually climbing onto the wizard's lap.

Bilbo watched them staring into each other's eyes, then added with mock 
exasperation,  "I just hope you'll be in a frame of mind to appreciate some 
of this fine dinner I've gone to such trouble to make."

Gandalf tore his gaze away from Frodo to survey the table.  "It looks 
marvelous, as usual.  And a soufflé, my dear Bilbo!  Ah, you remember 
how much I love eggs."

"How could I forget?  I always lay in an extra supply of them when you 
come to visit—that and cold chicken and pickles."  He and Gandalf 
laughed, and Frodo felt annoyed for a moment that they were sharing a 
private memory.  But quickly he realized that Gandalf was trying to 
reassure Bilbo that the new relationship between the wizard and Frodo 
would not damage their old friendship.

Indeed, as the meal went on, Gandalf divided his attention between Frodo 
and Bilbo in a very diplomatic way.  Frodo tried to do the same, though he 
found himself staring up at Gandalf and wishing that they could at least 
embrace and kiss a bit.  But maybe that would offend Bilbo.  He had to 
admit that it hardly seemed polite.  He contented himself with reaching 
over at intervals during the meal and stroking Gandalf's thigh lightly, and 
the wizard glanced down fondly at him.  Indeed, toward the end of the 
meal, as Bilbo's excellent Old Winyards wine went to their heads a bit, 
Frodo's hand became more venturesome, and Gandalf's eyes when he 
looked at Frodo held a warmth that made the hobbit's insides turn to 
water.  Bilbo pretended not to notice all this, but at times a resigned smile 
played about his lips.

At last even the hobbits were stuffed, and Bilbo led them into the old, 
familiar sitting room, poking and feeding the fire until it was a merry blaze.  
After-dinner drinks were distributed, and the three pulled out their pipes.  
Gandalf and Frodo sat together on a small sofa, while Bilbo occupied his 
favorite armchair.  They talked for a long time, but in that relaxed, dark 
atmosphere, Frodo became a bit bolder in demonstrating his feelings.  He 
cuddled against Gandalf, who draped his arm around the hobbit, and 
Frodo buried his face in the wizard's beard—a gesture that, Gandalf 
realized with a little thrill of delight, was already becoming a habit that he 
would  treasure.  Such distractions eventually made conversation flag.  
Bilbo finally remarked, "I must say, you two were much more entertaining 
when you were still bickering and teasing each other."

Gandalf looked up, "Perhaps you're right, but you'll just have to put up 
with it.  I'm afraid I find this little fellow quite irresistible, and he seems 
rather fond of me."  Frodo looked up with delight and rose on his knees to 
brush his lips against the wizard's.  Bilbo pressed his own lips together, 
biting back his urge to make a sarcastic remark.  Jealousy again? he 
wondered.  He shook his head and distracted himself by tapping his pipe 
sharply on the ashtray and slowly filling it again from the jar beside him.  
He watched as the pair stared at each other and the wizard's fingers 
played lightly over Frodo's shoulder and cheek.  Finally he sighed loudly.  
"I would never have believed I would live to see a mighty wizard behaving 
so foolishly over a silly young hobbit, however pretty."

Gandalf glanced over at him.  "True.  In all my hundreds of years, it's the 
most foolish thing I have ever done."  Frodo's mouth dropped open in 
mock anger, and he pummeled Gandalf's chest lightly with his fists.  
Gandalf raised his hands to ward off the blows, looking at Bilbo again and 
shrugging.  "Such a childish little chap, too.  Look at this!"  He turned back 
to Frodo, gently seizing his wrists to stop the soft blows and looking him 
in the eyes with a puzzled frown that held a hint of a smile.  "I simply 
cannot understand why I should be so helplessly, devotedly in love with 
him."

Bilbo quickly looked away, gazing fixedly at the fire.  Frodo stopped 
moving and stared at Gandalf, breathing hard as he felt tears beginning to 
well up.  It was the first time either of them had used that word.   Certainly 
love was what he felt for Gandalf, but a tiny suspicion had lurked at the 
back of his mind that Gandalf might just be very fond of him—and 
beguiled by the pleasures they had shared that afternoon.  It thrilled him 
to hear Gandalf utter the word—and so openly, before Bilbo.  He hugged 
the wizard, pressing his face to the side of his neck and kissing it and 
finally pressing his teeth against the skin.  He felt a little shudder move 
through the wizard's body.  When Frodo settled back down, he was 
practically sitting in Gandalf's lap.

Bilbo rolled his eyes heavenward, uttered another exaggeratedly loud 
sigh, stood up, and stretched.  "Very sweet, I'm sure, but I have had 
enough for tonight.  Perhaps I will get used to this sort of thing eventually, 
but—well, I think I'll go to my study and work on my book."  Gandalf and 
Frodo made a few polite noises about him not going, but they were not 
very pressing, and Bilbo started for the door, turning to say, "Don't stay up 
too late—and I didn't mean that," he added as the two smirked at him.  He 
walked slowly along the corridor and entered the study, lighting a fire to 
take the mid-September chill out of the air.  He felt sad to leave the 
company of his two favorite people, when he so enjoyed sitting by the 
hearth with them.  Yet he felt happy for them and realized he was 
becoming resigned to the idea of their desire to be together.  "Perhaps 
after the first rapture wears off a little," he reflected, "they won't be quite 
so wrapped up in each other and will provide better company . . . though 
not for me," he added sadly to himself.  He realized that in a way this new 
development came at an ideal time.  Now Frodo would not be quite so 
much on his own after Bilbo left.  Surely Gandalf would visit the Shire 
more frequently.  Shrugging, he wrapped a shawl around his shoulders, 
sat at his desk, and dipped his pen in the inkwell—though he sat for a 
long while in thought before he set it to the paper.

Meanwhile Gandalf and Frodo remained pressed close together.  Frodo 
picked up some nuts from a small table and began cracking them.  
Gandalf shook his head.  "A huge meal only an hour ago and you're 
hungry again?"  He leaned down and ran his lips teasingly over the 
hobbit's neck, but Frodo pretended not to feel them.  With a little smile, 
Gandalf became more provocative, flicking his tongue across the hobbit's 
earlobe and then into the ear itself, before blowing gently into the wet 
opening.  Frodo sat struggling to suppress a smile and any reaction to the 
wizard's skillful mouth, but little gasps occasionally signaled how difficult 
this was.  Gandalf pulled back to look at Frodo's face, then with a little 
smile leaned over and pulled the entire ear into his mouth.  Despite 
himself, Frodo emitted a stifled moan, and the pair laughed briefly.

"Seriously though, Bilbo's right, we mustn't stay up too late," Gandalf said.  
"I have a lot of fireworks to set up before the party, and it is slow, delicate 
work."

"You've been setting off some spectacular fireworks already," Frodo 
answered with a little grin.

Gandalf clicked his tongue censoriously.  "Get your mind off that for a 
minute, can't you?  I mean it.  I don't want you hanging around and 
distracting me while I'm working.  Otherwise when I start setting the 
fireworks off during the party, half of them will probably launch straight 
into the ground!"

Frodo laughed.  "No, I promise.  I'll have plenty to do, looking after the 
deliveries and setting up tables and such," he said, adding, "But we'll both 
have to take the occasional break from our hard work."

"Yes, there is much in what you say."

They sat quietly for a little while.  Finally Gandalf said, "You said you had 
fantasies about you and me.  What did you think about us doing?"

Frodo gave a little embarrassed laugh.  "You don't want to hear about 
that."  Gandalf snorted.  "Of course not.  That's why I asked you."  He 
moved his hands to Frodo's ribs and tickled the hobbit.  "Tell me," he 
demanded.

Frodo writhed.  "All right, all right, I'll tell."  They both settled back, and 
Frodo began to speak.  "Well, at first it was nothing much.  When I was 
with someone else, I tried to imagine that he was you.  That was pretty 
difficult to do, though--no beard.  But later what I thought about got more 
elaborate.  It's odd, but you and I were never here in Bag End when it 
happened.  Perhaps even in a fantasy I didn't want to upset Bilbo.  But 
you and I would be doing it in the fields or in one of the private dining 
rooms at the Green Dragon or somewhere like that.  In my imagination, it 
was always you who started things; it was probably too frightening to 
think about me doing anything myself.  You'd reveal that you'd secretly 
loved me, and then you'd put me down where I could lie comfortably—
even out in the fields it would be just like a soft bed—and you'd take down 
my trousers and suck me.  That was basically it for a long time.  Then I 
started imagining it was happening in Rivendell. Bilbo told me so much 
about the Last Homely House that I could picture the hall with the fire and 
Elves singing and telling stories in the evening.  Bilbo has taught me 
many Elven songs, and he's always singing them around the house, so it 
was easy for me to imagine that part.  I couldn't think what the walls 
looked like, so it was always very dark there outside the small circle of 
firelight.  Anyway, I'd be sitting in a dark corner, listening to a beautiful 
Elven song, and you'd come over and sit with me.  I thought of us as 
already knowing each other, but not well, just acquaintances.  But as the 
song went on, you would start looking at me more and more, and finally, 
because we were in such a dark corner, you'd lean over and kiss me and 
put your hand down inside my trousers and stroke me until I came—
mmm, yes, it was like that, only not as good, of course, because it wasn't 
really you doing it.  That sort of scene worked very well when I was in bed 
in the dark doing the same thing to myself.  Sometimes it was really dark 
in that corner, dark enough for you to get down on your knees without 
anyone noticing and open my trousers and suck me."  By this time Frodo 
and Gandalf were both breathing a bit harder, with Gandalf continuing the 
light caresses across Frodo's bulging trouser-front that he had begun 
during the telling and watching the hobbit's face as Frodo stared into the 
flames.

Finally, his eyes a bit glazed with arousal, Frodo looked at Gandalf.   
"What about you?  Have you fantasized about me?  What did you imagine 
us doing?"

Gandalf gave a brief, breathy laugh, "We'll save that for another time."

Frodo smiled,  "Another time.  You will at least visit me more often now, 
won't you?  I mean, you stayed away so long mainly because of me, 
didn't you?"

Gandalf sighed, reluctantly coming back out of Frodo's fantasies to reality.  
"Yes, I will visit more often, I hope.  The situation in the world outside is 
gradually getting a bit worse, but so far I don't foresee any threat so great 
that it could keep me away from you for years on end."  He leaned in and 
kissed Frodo's cheek gently, then changed the subject, "I'm surprised, 
though, that you set your fantasy in Rivendell.  Quite the confident lad, 
thinking you could attract me there, with all those beautiful Elves about."

Frodo frowned at him indignantly.  "I think I'm getting a bit tired of hearing 
about all those beautiful Elves."

Gandalf wiped the smile from his face and gazed lovingly down into 
Frodo's eyes for a short time.  "What beautiful Elves?" he murmured.

Frodo broke into a self-satisfied little smile, "That's better!"  At once he 
leaned in and whispered in Gandalf's ear, "I want you again."  Gandalf's 
cock, already somewhat aroused during Frodo's story, stiffened further at 
this simple, passionate declaration.  But he put on a look of puzzlement 
and said, "I beg your pardon, what did you say?"  Frodo pressed his lips 
together and shook his head, but he whispered a bit louder, "I—want—
you—again!"

Gandalf looked doubtful.  "Well, I'm not sure . . . an old fellow like me 
might not be ready again so soon.  Why don't you check and see?"

Frodo grinned skeptically, but he reached down and thoroughly explored 
Gandalf's erection through the cloth, pretending to consider carefully 
whether it was swelling sufficiently.  Gandalf gasped as Frodo caressed 
him, but he managed to inquire coolly, "What do you think?  Is there any 
hope for it?"

Frodo burst out laughing, "Hope?!  I think you're more ready for it than I 
am!"  He whispered very softly into Gandalf's ear, "Do you know what 
else I used to fantasize?"

"How could I possibly know?"

"All right," Frodo said, and Gandalf could feel the hobbit's erection 
grinding slowly against the side of his belly.  "Well, this was the last time 
you actually visited us, and we sat with Bilbo in this room, as we did 
tonight.  And I looked at you and thought how big you were and how you 
could easily pick me up and carry me anywhere and do what you wanted 
with me.  I wished you really would—but though I caught you staring at 
me a couple of time, you didn't do it," he concluded in a breathless rush.  
Frodo threw his arms around Gandalf and pressed his mouth against the 
wizard's, which opened instantly and sucked in his soft, delving tongue.   
Frodo whimpered, and Gandalf put one arm around the hobbit's body and 
the other under his thighs, lifting him quickly and seemingly without effort. 

Realizing that he could not navigate safely through the maze of parlor 
furniture between them and the door, Gandalf reluctantly pulled back from 
the deep kiss.  Frodo whispered delightedly, "Mmm, it was just like this," 
and began to tongue the wizard's neck and ear.  He continued to do so as 
Gandalf got to the door and moved along the corridor, and at first the 
wizard made no attempt to discourage him.  Then Gandalf saw the light 
showing under the door of Bilbo's study.  Frodo was by now thrusting 
more quickly against Gandalf's side and uttering little moans and gasps of 
excitement as he sucked and nipped at the wizard's neck.  Gandalf 
whispered, "Do—unh!—try to be a little quieter—ah!--my dear Frodo, or 
Bilbo will—" but the hobbit's uncontrolled eagerness so aroused him that 
he paused outside the door of his room to kiss Frodo again, deeply and 
eagerly, before taking him in and shutting the door.

Quickly he crossed to the bed and tossed Frodo down onto it a little 
harder than he had intended.  The hobbit did not seem to mind but 
instantly began plucking at his shirt buttons, obviously determined to get 
rid of his clothes as soon as possible.  The wizard climbed onto the bed 
beside him, kneeling and hurriedly shedding his own clothes.  Soon they 
were both completely naked, and Gandalf pushed the hobbit onto the 
mattress and dropped down over the hobbit, pressing him deep into the 
mattress and kissing him hungrily.  Frodo writhed beneath him.  They 
could feel each other's fully rampant cocks sandwiched between them, 
Frodo's pressing into Gandalf's hard belly, the wizard's delving into the 
valley between the hobbit's thighs.

Finally Frodo tore his mouth away from Gandalf's and begged, "Take me 
again, Gandalf, please go inside me! Please, please, please, please."  He 
nuzzled the wizard's cheek and ear.

Gandalf paused, rising to rest on his elbows and staring down at Frodo.  
"Well, you don't have to beg.  I would love to.  But are you sure you want 
that again so soon?  Aren't you a bit sore from this afternoon?"

Frodo shook his head.  "No!  No, I'm fine.  Your magic did its work well, 
my own private wizard.  What happened this afternoon felt so wonderful.  
It has only left me a bit itchy down there—and I know how I want that itch 
scratched!  And it's my birthday--almost.  And now that I'm 'coming of 
age,' I want to enjoy it all I can!"  Frodo paused for a moment, then added 
more quietly, "After all, I realize you aren't going to settle down and stay 
here with me.  I've fantasized about that, too, but I know it won't happen."  
He looked up into Gandalf's eyes, and the wizard suddenly felt the same 
sense of impending separation—not within days, but certainly within 
weeks.  He longed to do everything he could to pleasure the hobbit, to 
make up to him for his own inevitable departure, to answer the appeal in 
those wide blue eyes.  Frodo reached up and pulled Gandalf's head down 
to his own, sucking just the middle of the wizard's upper lip into his mouth 
and tonguing it.   Gandalf closed his eyes and quietly enjoyed this.  He 
sighed when Frodo drew back, but the hobbit started kissing him gently 
but quickly all over his cheeks.  Trying to make light of the thought of 
separation, Gandalf murmured, "I can see that, from now on, when I need 
rest and relaxation, I will have to leave the Shire, not come here."

Frodo giggled and pushed his erection against Gandalf's belly.  "Yes, 
well, if I have anything to say about it, you'll come here more often—in 
more than one sense of that word."

Despite being thoroughly aroused, Gandalf winced.  "So that's what I'm in 
for, is it?  Bad puns and adolescent sexual innuendo?"

Frodo shrugged unconcernedly.   "Maybe I'll grow out of it."

Gandalf smiled.  "Well . . . not too soon.  You are charming just as you 
are—puns and all.  Actually, I must admit I rather liked that one—the 
sentiment expressed at any rate.  All right, you've convinced me.  Let me 
try going inside you, and I'll see if I can make this a particularly grand 
climax to this early birthday celebration—in more than one sense of that 
word."  He rose to his knees and gently turned Frodo over onto his hands 
and knees, then paused, frowning as if thinking deeply.  "Now, what was 
that spell I used?"  Frodo wriggled impatiently.  "It's on the tip of my 
tongue," Gandalf continued, "but I just can't . . ."

"Stop teasing!" Frodo demanded.  "You can't have forgotten!"

With a chuckle, Gandalf stroked Frodo's buttocks and softly recited the 
same little incantation he had used that afternoon, and Frodo sighed 
happily as he felt himself relax and become ready for the wizard.  
"Gandalf?"  The wizard paused as he placed his cock against Frodo's 
anus.  The hobbit turned his head and said, "Go in as deep as you can, 
will you, and go slowly.  I want this to be even more intense than the last 
time."  With a short thrust of his hips, Gandalf buried the tip inside the 
hobbit's ass.  Frodo's body jerked slightly, but he uttered no sound to 
indicate pain.  After a brief pause, Gandalf began to pump slowly, pushing 
a tiny bit further inside each time, giving Frodo plenty of time to express 
distress and to ask him to stop.  Instead the hobbit began to make low, 
growling moans far down in his throat with every thrust, and Gandalf's 
restraint began to disappear as he reveled in the taut, damp heat that 
gripped him.   Slowly he sank himself deeper until about two-thirds of his 
cock was buried in Frodo's ass.  At last the hobbit stopped moaning and 
after a pause gasped, "I think that's far enough."

"All right.  Let me know if you want me to pull out at all."

"Just a tiny bit . . . yes, that's it," Frodo responded.  Gandalf reached 
down to stroke Frodo's cock and  began to thrust again, abandoning 
himself to pleasure as his need to monitor Frodo's reaction diminished.  
Time seemed to stop for both as the wizard moved and Frodo, now nearly 
silent, savored the extreme sensations that the large cock was driving 
deep into him.  Eventually  the wizard felt his own fulfillment approaching 
and struggled to control it, waiting for Frodo's gratification to arrive.

"More, please," Frodo begged, and Gandalf realized that he had slowed 
his rhythm slightly.  Clenching his teeth, he thrust a bit harder, and soon 
Frodo threw back his head and groaned loudly, over and over, as his 
climax seized him and the wizard felt a hot little puddle gradually form in 
his palm.

Gandalf kept pumping as he felt the hobbit relax.  Now that Frodo was 
finished, he did not want to thrust any harder, but he realized that his own 
bliss remained tantalizingly elusive.  "I must have controlled myself a bit 
too well," he thought, "and I'm sure Frodo wants me to finish soon."  He 
paused briefly, reaching down and guiding one of Frodo's hands between 
his thighs to the testicle sac.  At once the hobbit began to flutter his 
fingers delicately over Gandalf's balls, and the wizard started thrusting 
again.  Yes, that was marvelous, that would do it, he realized.  
"Definitely," he murmured aloud.

"What did you say?" Frodo said, his voice muffled by the pillow on which 
he had rested his head after his climax.

"Nothing.  Just don't stop!" Gandalf gasped, and he grimaced and 
groaned as Frodo's delicate touch released him to soar into a lengthy 
flight of intense pleasure.  By the time the final tremors passed and he 
pulled out of Frodo, he was trembling with the effort and the bliss alike.  
He remained kneeling briefly, panting, as the hobbit relaxed onto his back 
and smiled up at him, a smile mirroring all the adoration and contentment 
he felt himself.  He turned and seated himself beside the prone hobbit, 
settling his back into the pile of pillows propped against the headboard.

Despite his braggadocio that afternoon, Frodo was obviously exhausted 
by their latest lovemaking, and he allowed Gandalf to tuck the sheets and 
quilt around him.  Before drifting off to sleep, Frodo whispered, "Gandalf, I 
shall love you and want you forever."

Gandalf murmured "Forever," and was silent for a long moment.  Slowly 
he said, "Alas, 'forever' for you is not the same as 'forever' for me."   But 
he realized from Frodo's soft breathing that the hobbit was already 
asleep.  Gandalf leaned down to kiss the smooth cheek gently and finally 
whispered, "I shall love you for as long as we have."  He wondered if, 
once he returned to the Uttermost West, he would even be able to 
remember Frodo.  His mind would be so different there.  If he was 
allowed to recall his time with Frodo, he knew he would remember their 
love literally forever.  He sighed.

Surprisingly, Gandalf did not feel particularly sleepy, despite the fact that 
his body was almost limp and supremely satiated.  His mind was abuzz 
with confusion.  He could not for a moment doubt his overwhelming love 
for the beautiful little creature beside him, and yet his rational mind could 
not stop speculating on what part this unexpected change would play in 
his own life—and his great tasks.  For years, Gandalf had resisted the 
idea of loving Frodo, simply assuming it was wrong.  He had expected to 
feel a great sense of guilt over having in some way violated his mission in 
Middle-earth.  Yet now that he had surrendered to that love, he felt no 
regret at all—only a conviction deep in his heart that this was right, that it 
was what he was meant to do.  Yet it seemed to make no sense.  He had 
been in Middle-earth for just over two thousand years, and although he 
had indeed had many casual encounters and somewhat extended affairs, 
he had never been in love, at least, not like this.  Why would he suddenly 
feel this way about a hobbit, however attractive?

It occurred to him that it was a bit like the way fifty odd years ago, he had 
felt determined to send Bilbo off with the Dwarves to fight Smaug.  It had 
seemed ridiculous at the time that he should choose a hobbit.  He had 
been following an inexplicable impulse—and yet it had worked perfectly.  
The dragon had been killed, the kingdoms east of Mirkwood restored, the 
Battle of Five Armies won—all due to a surprising extent to Bilbo.  Could it 
be that Frodo would play some similarly important role in the fight against 
Sauron?  The idea certainly seemed just as ridiculous.  The two cases, 
however, were very different.  He had never loved Bilbo, fond though he 
had been of the hobbit.  The stakes were so high that he had felt little 
compunction about sending him into an adventure that could prove 
dangerous.  All his instincts now, however, were to protect Frodo from 
ever having to undergo such a test, to keep him in the Shire and isolated 
from the troubles of the outside world, to visit him at intervals, and to 
experience again the joys that they had shared that day, for as long as 
Frodo lived.  Perhaps Frodo's love was a reward, after centuries of hard 
and sometimes dangerous work.  Perhaps he could even make a sort of 
home here with Frodo, even if it was one he could visit only now and 
then.  With great care, he lifted the blankets up off of Frodo's body, 
propping them to form a sort of little tent that would keep the hobbit warm 
but allow the wizard to gaze at his beautiful, relaxed body in the dim 
candlelight while he thought.

Could there be some link between Bilbo's adventures and Frodo?  Of 
course Bilbo was about to leave virtually everything he owned to Frodo, 
including the treasures he had acquired during his quest.  There could not 
be much of the gold from the trolls' hoard left, Gandalf was virtually 
certain.  Bilbo planned to take his little sword Sting with him—and hadn't 
he donated his mithril shirt to the museum in Michel Delving?  He smiled 
at the thought of hobbits gawking unwittingly at such a priceless object.  
Then his mind turned reluctantly to the one object that had haunted his 
thoughts for years:  that odd ring that Bilbo had found and tried to keep 
secret.  Gandalf had long had a strange, disturbing feeling about that 
ring—almost a queasy sensation in the pit of his stomach--when he 
thought about it.  He had tried from time to time to reason out what sort of 
a magical ring it could be, but so far he had come up with no plausible 
theories.  The idea of Frodo having the ring bothered the wizard a great 
deal, especially now, but he had to admit to himself that it would be best 
for all concerned if the thing stayed in a safe spot like Bag End.  "Even 
the Wise cannot see all ends," he told himself, as he so often did when he 
found himself inclined to speculate overmuch.  Carefully and quietly he 
slid down to lie beside Frodo and gently took the soundly sleeping hobbit 
into his arms, lowering the covers over them both and quickly joining him 
in slumber.




"Thrice Returned #2:  The Morning After"

Author:  Nefertiti  nefertiti_22002@yahoo.com
Rating:  NC-17
Pairing:  Gandalf/Frodo  (established relationship)
Warnings:  Angst, May/December romance (if you don't like the pairing, 
just don't read it, please)
Disclaimer:  I neither own these characters nor expect ever to receive any 
income from this story, which is offered purely for the enjoyment of fans.
Author's note:  This story is a sequel to my "Thrice Returned," which in 
turn was a sequel to Poncing Ponies' "Twice Given." It is book-based and 
occurs on the evening of September 22, 3001 (Shire Reckoning) and the 
morning of September 23.  During that evening, Gandalf has his 
argument with Bilbo over the Ring and persuades his old friend to pass it 
on to Frodo; that argument arouses the wizard's suspicions about the 
nature of the Ring.
 "The Morning After" fits into Chapter 1, "A Long-expected Party," and 
follows the paragraph ending "Gardeners came by arrangement, and 
removed in wheel-barrows those that had inadvertently remained behind."  
Essentially it covers the period of the next three sentences:  "Night slowly 
passed.  The sun rose.  The hobbits rose rather later."  Delightfully vague 
and ripe for slashy romance.
Many thanks to Elanor for betaing, for great feedback, and for 
enlightening exchange on the esoteric subject of Gandalf slash.

***********************************************************************
Frodo closed the round green door of Bag End, being careful not to slam 
it.  He did not think Gandalf could hear it from the guest room, and the 
wizard was probably sound asleep anyway.  Still, he did not want to risk 
waking him.  Frodo was completely exhausted, not only by the hard work 
of helping with Bilbo's party but even more by the task of seeing the 
guests off.  The house seemed different already with Bilbo gone.  He was 
very glad that Gandalf was still there to keep him company.  Of course, 
he would be very glad to have Gandalf there under any circumstances but 
especially now.

As he took off his jacket to hang it on one of the hooks in the hallway, he 
remembered the large envelope that Bilbo had left him.  It was still on a 
table in the sitting room, where he had set it after his earlier conversation 
with Gandalf.  He already missed his uncle, and  he went in and broke the 
wax seal to see if Bilbo had left him any personal communication along 
with the legal documents.  Sure enough, there was a brief letter in Bilbo's 
hand.  He glanced through it.  Nothing much, just a last farewell with a 
few instructions about Bag End, the papers, the gifts to their relatives, and 
the ring.  After he finished reading the letter, Frodo thought it odd that 
Bilbo was most concerned about his possibly losing the ring.  The other 
matters seemed more important.  Indeed, Frodo had been surprised to 
hear that Bilbo had bothered to leave the ring with him.  He had no 
particular interest in it.  True, it was a magic invisibility ring—but although 
that might occasionally be an amusing thing to have, Gandalf had told 
him not to use it.  What point was there in having it then?  The whole 
thing seemed a bit trivial and childish.  Still, he dutifully fastened the chain 
onto his belt and pushed the gold band down inside his trousers pocket.  
It certainly did seem oddly pleasant, knowing it was there.

The hobbit walked along the hallway, pausing at Gandalf's closed door.  
Should he go in and sleep with his lover and risk waking him, or should 
he simply go to his own room—a room he had not slept in for a week 
now?  He stood thinking, or trying to, for weariness made it difficult.  
Every night since that first wonderful one a week ago he and Gandalf had 
made love, but now they were both obviously too tired for that.  But they 
had also fallen asleep every night wrapped in each other's arms, and 
thinking of those blissful moments, Frodo decided he could not bear to 
sleep alone.  He would not have Gandalf with him much longer, he 
thought with a pang of sadness.  He silently opened the wizard's door.

Gandalf was indeed asleep, and Frodo did not want to disturb him by 
lifting the covers to slide in.  Instead he quietly undressed and curled up 
on top of the quilt, not touching the wizard but near enough to feel the 
warmth of his body, and covered himself with a spare blanket.  It had 
been a momentous night.  He was now the master of Bag End.  And even 
though he would greatly miss Bilbo, at least now he had Gandalf—and for 
another whole week!  Yesterday the wizard had mentioned that he could 
probably stay that long.  Of course, when he departed, Frodo would miss 
them both, and the comfortable hobbit hole would seem very big and 
empty.  He would be more alone, he realized, than at any time since his 
parents had died so long ago.  But he was basically of a cheerful 
disposition, and he thought, "For years now I've missed Gandalf when he 
left and longed every day for him to return.  In those days I did not have 
any hope that he would ever suspect I loved him—let alone turn out to 
love me back.  Now at least when I miss him, I know he'll come back just 
for me.  That is a definite improvement!"  And he fell asleep with a little 
smile on his face.

In the morning, like the other hobbits in the Shire, Frodo slept rather late.  
When he finally woke, he was lying on his side facing Gandalf, who was 
sitting up, leaning against the pillows, his arms crossed, staring 
abstractedly at him.  Feeling refreshed and happy, Frodo said, "Good 
morning!  I didn't get a chance to tell you that the fireworks last night were 
wonderful.  The real ones, I mean.  No time for the other kind."  He 
expected some sort of teasing rebuke for that hoary joke, but Gandalf just 
smiled vaguely at him, obviously not paying much attention to what he 
said.

Frodo knew he would have to get up soon and deal with the aftermath of 
Bilbo's departure—most notably the prying of various greedy relatives.  
But he wanted to put that off—especially since he was distinctly feeling 
that it would be nice to linger with Gandalf for some talk and caresses--
and maybe something more.  The hobbit rolled onto his back, looking up 
at Gandalf.  The blanket slid down to his waist, and although the morning 
air was a bit chill, he did not pull it up.  He thought about how the wizard 
loved to kiss and lick his small pink nipples, or to lingeringly caress them 
with his fingers, and something besides the cold made him shiver.  He 
was disappointed when Gandalf did no more than move his gaze briefly 
over the relaxed nipples to the flat belly and then back to Frodo's face.

"Perhaps he's still tired from last night," Frodo thought.  It had been a very 
elaborate fireworks program, and Gandalf had set off all the pieces 
himself, not trusting anyone else to handle the intricacies of the various 
fuses.  Still, the wizard did not look all that tired, and he had awakened 
before Frodo himself.  Frodo wasn't about to give up so easily.  After all, 
last week when Gandalf had first arrived,  it had taken Frodo forever to 
break down his resistance and get him to admit his love for the hobbit.  
Perhaps more blatant means were necessary.  He moistened his lips and 
pursed them slightly, twisting a bit so as to let the blanket slide even 
further until the curly hair of his lower abdomen was just visible.  It would 
be so easy for the wizard to slip his hand under that blanket.  Frodo was 
pleased to see Gandalf's eyes linger a bit longer as he looked down at his 
torso, but again he returned his serious, thoughtful gaze to the hobbit's 
face.

"All right, one more try and I give up," Frodo privately resolved.  Aloud he 
said, "There's a lot of clearing away and cleaning up to be done today, 
but I wouldn't mind starting by polishing your long staff a bit."

Gandalf gave him a reproachful little frown, but then looked down at the 
quilt, saying nothing.  Frodo was a bit miffed.  Two horrid jokes in a row 
and no retort!   Gandalf must be more tired than he looked.  The hobbit 
sighed and began to roll away to get out of bed.  But suddenly the wizard 
pulled him onto his back again.  Gandalf leaned on his elbow, gazing 
down intensely into Frodo's eyes.  "You know how much I love you, don't 
you, Frodo?"

Frodo smiled up at him.  This was much better!  Maybe now he would get 
some of what he wanted.  His cock stirred at the thought.  With a happy 
little sigh of anticipation he replied, "Of course I do.  This has been the 
most wonderful week of my life, learning just how much."

Gandalf did not smile in response.  "I want you to remember it, Frodo, 
after I leave.  If I do not return or send messages for long stretches of 
time, you must remember it."

Frodo's smile faded.  He had expected a conversation like this, but not 
now.  A week was soon enough.  Why think about it until they had to?

Gandalf saw the puzzlement in his face.  "I know it is difficult for you to 
imagine, Frodo.  You have never gone journeying.  You can have no idea 
of the great distances between the various places I must visit when I am 
not here in the Shire.  Some of them are very remote, with travel difficult 
and accommodation not to be found.  Often I need to consult documents 
in archives, and those are held in very few spots, often hundreds of miles 
apart.  And then there are destinations, equally distant, where I must go 
and meet with others among the Wise, on matters of great weight.  I 
assure you, I would not leave you for these things if they were not vitally 
important.  I hope you will try to understand."

Frodo became progressively sadder and more worried as he listened to 
this speech, and his slight arousal of a few moments before faded.  "I will 
try.  I know I'm lucky that such an important person as you would want to 
spend even a little time with me.  I must say, that's what I really can't 
understand."

This finally drew a smile from Gandalf, and he kissed Frodo gently on the 
cheek.  "Frankly, neither can I—the whole thing puzzles me greatly.  I 
only know that I want to spend more than a little time with you.  A great 
deal of time, in fact.  More than I can.  Much more."

Frodo pressed his lips together regretfully.  "I wish I could crawl inside 
that bag of yours and go wherever you go."

Gandalf chuckled, though his eyes remained sad.  "In a way that would 
be wonderful, but you would be a most distracting piece of baggage, Mr. 
Baggins.  After my experiences of this past week, I don't think I should get 
anything done at all.  You would be a danger to Middle-earth! . . . . Good, 
I like to see you smiling.  But seriously, my dear hobbit, if these were 
ordinary travels, I would take you with me no matter what difficulties that 
entailed.  But I most definitely do not want you becoming involved in the 
troubles of the world outside.  I know them well, and it is my responsibility 
to deal with them.  And I, along with some others, have the power to do 
so—I sincerely hope!  But I want you to stay here, in the Shire where you 
belong, safe and happy, very, very happy—and I shall do whatever I can 
to keep you that way."

Frodo nodded, although he was puzzled by the wizard's vehemence.  
"Gandalf, I am happy.  I know I shall miss Bilbo, but he's doing what he 
has so long wanted to, and I must admit, I like the idea of being the new 
Mr. Baggins of Bag End.  And now I'll know that you'll come back to me, 
whenever you can.  Will you think of this as your home from now on, 
Gandalf?  Please, say you will."

The wizard smiled rather wistfully.  "I should like to, Frodo.  When we first 
made love last week, I thought it might be possible, and maybe it is.  But 
in all my time in Middle-earth, I have never been able to feel that any 
place is really home for me here."  He paused, glancing away for a 
moment, and said very quietly, "After all, I have a home elsewhere."  He 
looked back at Frodo.  "I probably shall go on thinking of Bag End as your 
home—the place where I can come and find the most wonderful welcome 
in all of Middle-earth."

Gandalf gazed down into Frodo's eyes for a long time, with a hint of a 
frown on his face, stroking the hobbit's soft cheek.  Frodo's puzzlement 
returned.  Why was Gandalf telling him all this now, and why was he so 
serious?  And where was his home?  But he sensed that the wizard was 
not going to explain it all to him—perhaps could not explain it. 

Gradually Gandalf began to breathe more deeply as he stared at Frodo, 
and abruptly he rolled slightly to prop himself on his elbows above him, 
kissing him deeply and with an almost savage fervor.  Frodo was startled.  
He had been longing for Gandalf to embrace him and caress him, but he 
was not prepared for such intensity.  The wizard's lips and tongue and 
teeth seemed to be demanding so much from him, and he struggled 
slightly in Gandalf's arms.  But as the wizard's tongue claimed his entire 
mouth and he felt fingers find his nipples, pinching and twisting them, he 
relaxed and let Gandalf's insistent mouth and hands excite him, swiftly 
and irresistibly.

Frodo's cock soon was straining upward against the wizard's body.  By 
now Gandalf had moved to his neck, sucking at his flesh with an open 
mouth and writhing tongue.  Then the wizard's teeth were pinching bits of 
his delicate skin, always stopping just short of hurting him.  Joy flowed 
over Frodo, and yet at the same time he was worried and even a bit 
frightened by the wizard's sudden and overpowering need for his body.  
Yet Gandalf was rapidly arousing a similar need in him, and his erection 
throbbed almost painfully.  He wrapped his legs around the wizard's 
waist, thrusting against him and wordlessly inviting penetration.  Gandalf 
invoked the little spell that they both knew well by now.  The familiar 
relaxation of Frodo's anus followed, and Gandalf pushed quickly into 
him—though he went no deeper than usual.  By now they knew much 
about each other's desires and limitations, and as always Gandalf took 
great care not to injure his smaller partner.  As the wizard entered him, 
Frodo arched his chest and pressed the top his head back into the pillow, 
humming with pleasure.

Gandalf thrust no harder or deeper than usual, but he was moving far 
more quickly, his breath hissing in rhythmic bursts through his clenched 
teeth.  He wrapped one arm around Frodo's body, holding the hobbit 
firmly against him and cupping his buttocks with his long fingers.  Frodo 
whimpered as the wizard's other hand slid between their bodies and 
stroked and pulled his cock insistently.  Soon he felt himself reaching the 
brink.  "Please, Gandalf . . . it's . . .  it's . . ." he begged frantically, and 
almost at once he moaned in blessed release as he sprayed hot streams 
up over both their chests.  Gandalf immediately thrust even faster, moving 
with an impatience and desperation that Frodo had not sensed in him 
before.  Soon the wizard grimaced as his ecstasy hit him, groaning loudly 
with each intense spasm, gradually slowing his pace but continuing to 
thrust hard, milking every last bit of pleasure until it faded away 
completely.

The whole thing had taken only a very few minutes, but Frodo was dazed 
and wonderfully satiated  by its force.    Gandalf again rested on his 
elbows above Frodo, his eyes closed, taking deep gulps of air.  Finally he 
gently arched his arms up over the hobbit's head, enveloping him in his 
beard as he bent down to kiss his forehead.  Frodo reveled in the warmth 
and security of Gandalf's body and wriggled to free his arms so that he 
could embrace the wizard.  As he did so, he realized that Gandalf's body 
was still tense—not placid and blissfully relaxed, as it always had been 
after they made love.  Finally Gandalf lifted his head again, and Frodo 
looked up into his face with a worried expression.  Seeing this, the wizard 
smiled and licked the tip of Frodo's nose lightly.  Frodo laughed, relieved, 
and stared adoringly up at him.

Reluctantly Gandalf rose and moved off the bed.  "I must bathe quickly 
and go out for a while," he said.

Frodo sighed.  "Yes, I have to get a bath, too, and face the repercussions 
of Bilbo's departure.  In case you're hungry again after last night, there's a 
bit of bread and fruit.  You know where everything is.  Just help yourself."

Gandalf turned back to him, smiling regretfully.  "It's odd to think that Bilbo 
won't be there, puttering around the kitchen."  Frodo nodded, then moved 
toward the chair where he had draped his clothes.

"Frodo, I . . ."

Frodo turned back.  "Yes?"

"Nothing.  Well, I . . . I'm going into the village on some errands.   For one 
thing, I want to check on my horse.  Just to make sure that the lads at the 
stable are treating her well."

Frodo looked at him curiously and shrugged.  "They always do, don't 
they?"

Gandalf replied, "Yes, yes, but it never hurts to check.  At any rate, I have 
been away so long that they have some new fellows working there now.  
And I have a few other things to do.  I'll be back this afternoon.  Let me 
know if you need anything from the village."

Frodo grinned.  "You always have what I need, my dear wizard, and you 
don't have to fetch it from the village."

Gandalf laughed softly.  "I'm glad you realize that, my dear hobbit."

And with that Frodo turned again to pick up his clothes, reflecting that if 
he could just get through the next few hours, the rest of the coming week 
would be quite delightful.

Gandalf stood silently watching him.  As Frodo moved toward the door, 
he saw the gold chain attached to the belt and hanging down into the 
trousers pocket.   He winced, for that hidden gold band was driving him 
away from his beloved hobbit.  For how long, he wondered.  It didn't 
matter.  He had to find out about the Ring, for Frodo's sake as much as 
any one else's.  Still, he had not been able to bring himself to tell Frodo 
he was leaving that day.  The hobbit had enough worries, having to face 
his relatives.  He would put off disappointing Frodo so cruelly until the last 
minute.  They had had one week of delight together.  He suspected that it 
would have to do for a long time.


At the end of Chapter 1, in the afternoon, Gandalf abruptly returns and 
tells Frodo he must leave immediately, and the chapter ends, "Frodo did 
not see him again for a long time."


TBC in  "Thrice Returned #3:  A Long-Expected Return"



“Thrice Returned #3:  A Long-Expected Return”  (3/11)

Author:  Nefertiti  nefertiti_22002@yahoo.com
Rating:  NC-17
Pairing:  Gandalf/Frodo  (established relationship)
Warnings:  May/December romance;  moments of angst.
Disclaimer:  I own no rights and expect no income.
Summary:  After a nine-year absence, Gandalf appears at Bag End to 
reveal what he has learned about the Ring—and to renew his romance 
with Frodo.
Feedback:  Always welcome.
Author’s note:  This story is book-based and begins on April 12, 3018, 
with Gandalf’s arrival at Bag End, as described in Ch. 2 of FotR.  It spans 
the two and a half months he spends with Frodo before setting out in late 
June on the journey that will end with his imprisonment by Saruman in 
Orthanc.  That departure occurs in Ch. 3, “Three Is Company.”

This series began with a sequel to Poncing Ponies’ lovely story, “Twice 
Given”; my thanks to her for welcoming a sequel by another hand and 
being so encouraging and helpful.  Many thanks also to Elanor for 
betaing, encouragement, wonderful suggestions, and engrossing wizard-
slash discussions.


That evening, as Sam was walking home and twilight was fading, there 
came the once familiar tap on the study window.

Frodo welcomed his old friend with surprise and great delight.  They 
looked hard at one another.

“All well, eh?” said Gandalf.  “You look the same as ever, Frodo!”

“So do you,” Frodo replied; but secretly he thought that Gandalf looked 
older and more careworn.


Frodo stared after the wizard as he walked into the sitting room.  He was 
baffled and hurt.  Gandalf had been gone for nine years and yet had not 
embraced or kissed him.  With a worried little frown on his face, he 
followed Gandalf into the warm room, where a fire was burning to chase 
away the spring chill.  The wizard dropped heavily into a chair and dug 
the heels of his hands into his eyes.  His head dropped onto the back of 
the chair, and Frodo realized that he must be exhausted.  He moved over 
to stand in front of the chair, looking at Gandalf uncertainly.  Gandalf 
rolled his head slightly to the side,  blinked at him, and smiled.

“I’m sorry, Frodo, but I am terribly tired.  I rode long and far today—farther 
than I should have, but I was so anxious to see you again and I could not 
bear the thought of stopping at an inn only a few hours’ journey from 
here.  My horse is undoubtedly thinking unkind thoughts about me as a 
result!  And then walking from the village and up the Hill, it hit me how 
very weary I am.  Well, at any rate, come here, my darling hobbit!”

He sat up slightly and held his arms open.  Frodo broke into tears of joy 
as he climbed into the wizard’s lap to find himself in a fierce embrace.  He 
threw his arms around Gandalf, burying his face in the wizard’s beard and 
neck.  They remained still a long time, and then Gandalf pushed Frodo 
away slightly, holding his head between his hands and looking slowly at 
his face, ending with his brimming eyes, then joined his lips with Frodo’s 
for a leisurely, gentle kiss.  At last Frodo pulled back to stare at the 
wizard’s face with relief and exasperation warring in his mind.  Gandalf 
brushed the tears from his cheeks.  “It has been so long—“ the hobbit 
began, but Gandalf interrupted.

“I am all too aware of it, my dear Frodo.  But it could not be helped—“

“But, Gandalf--”

“I hope you at least received my letters.” 

“Yes, I did get some letters from you quite a while back, but I was 
beginning to get really worried.  There has been nothing at all for over a 
year and a half!  I have been imagining all sorts of dreadful things.  If I 
could only know you were safe, the waiting would not be nearly so bad.”  
Frodo looked down into his lap, his lip trembling.

Gandalf said firmly, “Frodo!  I told you that I would not always be able to 
return, and I told you that I would not often be able to send letters.”  He 
smiled slightly.  “You are spoiled here in the Shire, having a fine postal 
system.  You should be proud—it’s the best in Middle-earth.  
Unfortunately, most places do NOT have one.  Outside these borders, I 
am usually dependent on finding someone reliable traveling this way who 
can pass on a message to someone else and so on until it reaches 
someone who MIGHT be going to the Shire.  As I told you so long ago, 
however, no matter how long I am gone or how seldom you receive 
letters, I love you very much and wish I could be here with you far more 
often.”   He put his fingers under Frodo’s chin and raised the hobbit’s face 
to his, looking anxiously into his eyes.  Frodo struggled to produce a 
smile.

“I hope none of my letters went astray.   I do have a friend who lives far 
east of here, but he often travels this way and puts letters into the post for 
me.   How many did you receive?”

“Eighteen.”

“Yes, that would be about right.  There cannot have been more than two 
or three that went astray.  Better than I would have expected.”

Frodo sighed.  “I’m glad you at least wrote those.  I have read them over 
so many times.”

Gandalf smiled sadly.  “You kept them all, did you?”

“Of course!  They’re right here.”  Frodo scrambled down from Gandalf’s 
lap and fetched a little leather folder from a nearby table, clambering back 
into the wizard’s chair.

“See, neatly preserved—except for all the blots from my tears.”

Gandalf leafed through the sheets, then gave Frodo a bemused look.  
“There are NO blots here at all.”

Frodo smiled reluctantly.  “Well, there would be if I didn’t always have a 
handkerchief about me.”

Gandalf stared at him sympathetically.  “Do you really cry over my letters, 
Frodo?”

Frodo swallowed and replied very quietly, “Sometimes.”

Gandalf closed his eyes with a sigh and hugged the hobbit tightly to 
himself, rocking slightly as if comforting a child.  Finally he released his 
hold on  Frodo.  “And after all that you still love me, my sweet hobbit?”

Frodo’s serious blue eyes stared at him in surprise.  “Well, of course!”

Gandalf brushed the hobbit’s hair back off his forehead.  “You should be 
glad, really, that the Shire is so far from where I usually must be.  Its 
isolation is what has allowed you and all these charming hobbits to live 
this simple, safe life.  And that is what drew me here to begin with, many 
years ago.”

He took Frodo by the shoulders and looked into his eyes steadily.  “Frodo, 
listen to me.  I would rather keep you safe and lonely than be with you 
more often and put you, along with the rest of Middle-earth, at risk.  Can’t 
you understand that?”

Frodo stared at him forlornly and said in a small voice, “Yes . . . I’m sorry, 
Gandalf.  It’s just that it’s SO hard to wait.”

“I know, but by holding onto your love for me and waiting, you help me a 
great deal, you know.”

“How?”

“Every day that I am gone, I think about you—here in this protected part 
of the world—and it helps me to go on and do what I must.  But I fear that 
it may no longer be possible to keep the Shire safe.  The situation in the 
world outside is getting far worse.  I have learned things that lead me 
strongly to suspect that events are building to a crisis—and that you, alas, 
may well be involved in them.  The only bright spot is that it may be 
possible that we will not need to be apart for quite such long stretches 
from now on.  I simply do not know anything for certain yet.”  Frodo 
looked at him with a puzzled expression.  Gandalf said, “Well, it is 
complicated, and I shall tell you later.  But right now, what of the fabled 
hobbit hospitality?”

“Of course, you must be hungry and thirsty as well as tired.  Or did you 
have dinner on the way?”

“No, only lunch, and that quite early.  I could use some supper and a bit of 
good Shire wine.”

Frodo climbed down.  “I’m afraid I have nothing special to give you.  I ate 
long ago, and I didn’t know you were coming, obviously.  I certainly don’t 
have any . . . what was it, cold chicken and pickles?”

Gandalf smiled.  “Yes, but whatever you have will be fine.  You know I like 
all sorts of Shire food, even the simplest.  And may I help myself to the 
wine, which I presume is kept in the same place?”

“No, don’t get up, I’ll fetch you a glass.  There is still a bit of the Old 
Winyards left, you will be glad to know.”

“Indeed! . . . Thank you, Frodo.”  He took an appreciative sip, then rested 
his head on the back of the chair with his eyes closed.

“Would you like to move into the kitchen, or shall I bring your supper in 
here?”

“Here, if you don’t mind.  It will be a considerable effort to move, and I 
shan’t attempt it until I am off to bed—with a nice warm bath before, if it is 
convenient.”

“Of course.  You know it takes almost no time to fill the tub.  But surely we 
can talk before you retire—just a little.  You must tell me WHY you’ve 
been gone so long.”  He hesitated.  “I was almost starting to think that . . 
.”  He looked down with an embarrassed little smile.  “Well, that maybe all 
those beautiful Elves had made you forget an ordinary little hobbit.”

Gandalf gave him a fond smile.  “Not all the beautiful Elves in Middle-
earth could do that.  And you are hardly ‘ordinary,’ though I suspect that 
now you are fishing for compliments.”  He took Frodo’s hand and studied 
it for a moment.  “But seriously, my dearest hobbit, don’t you think I have 
such thoughts about YOU?  I realize that nine years is a large portion of 
your young life.  Sometimes I think how foolish it was of you to fall in love 
with me—and I must admit that there are days when I wonder if my 
absence will be too much for you to bear and you will . . . will finally 
become disgusted with me and sensibly find someone here in the Shire, 
some attractive, reliable hobbit who can be with you all the time.  As I 
rode here, I wondered just a tiny bit whether I would find you still living 
here alone—No, wait!  I know that you love me, but . . . well, camping 
alone in a forest far from here, it is all too easy to fear that your love could 
eventually be stretched to the breaking point.”

Frodo shook his head anxiously at intervals during this speech, and he 
was again fighting tears by its end.  “Gandalf!  No!  Don’t EVER think that!  
I’d wait no matter how long it took!”

Gandalf looked at him silently for a moment, then murmured,  “That is 
wonderful to hear, Frodo.”  They looked at each other somberly for a 
moment, and then Gandalf cleared his throat.  “Now, what about this 
supper I hear so much about and see so little of?  Once I’ve disposed of 
that, yes, a bit of chat and an after-dinner pipe might not be too 
strenuous.  Just don’t be surprised if I nod off in the middle of it.”

Within twenty minutes Frodo returned with a tray bearing plates of eggs, 
bread, dried fruit, and a small tart.  He had thought the wizard might have 
dozed off, but the wine seemed to have revived Gandalf a bit.  The hobbit 
moved a small table within Gandalf’s reach and set the tray on it.  Once 
he had everything arranged, he climbed again into the wizard’s lap and 
sat leaning against him and reaching up to touch or kiss him occasionally.  
Gandalf put one arm around him and endeavored to eat with the other.

After a few minutes he remarked, “You are making this remarkably 
difficult, my dear hobbit, but don’t you dare move.”  He kissed Frodo’s 
forehead, then returned to his meal.

When Gandalf was finished, Frodo stoked the fire, then came back to 
rejoin the wizard in his chair, kneeling and resting one knee between 
Gandalf’s legs and the other beside his thigh.  He leaned his body against 
the wizard’s, putting his arms around his neck and nuzzling into his beard 
as he so loved to do.  Gandalf softly stroked his back and shoulders.  

Eventually Frodo pressed his mouth against the wizard’s, and the gentle 
kiss went on and on, with neither willing to break it.  At last Frodo ran his 
tongue insistently against Gandalf’s closed mouth, moving his hips 
slightly against his body.  The wizard drew back, looking into Frodo’s 
eyes with a little smile.  “You mustn’t get your hopes up tonight, Frodo.  I 
am simply too tired.  I assure you, if I were not . . .”  He stroked the 
hobbit’s cheek.

Frodo smiled, trying to hide his disappointment.  His contact with the 
wizard’s body was making him harden rapidly, however—especially as he 
remembered the times he and Gandalf had made love nearby, on the rug 
in front of the fireplace.  He moved back slightly and shifted uneasily as 
his trousers tightened around his erection.  Gandalf could see this, as well 
as the hobbit pressing his lips together and trying to breathe normally, 
willing his arousal to recede.  He made as if to climb down from the 
wizard’s lap, but Gandalf pulled him against his body once more.  “I 
suppose, though, that it would not take much effort for me to pleasure 
you, my darling hobbit—as long as you do not expect anything TOO 
lively.”

Frodo was panting slightly, and he looked pleadingly into the wizard’s 
face, then rested his head on Gandalf’s shoulder, moving his body 
rhythmically against the wizard’s side.  He whispered, “Oh, yes, Gandalf . 
. . please . . . I know you’re exhausted—but it wouldn’t take long, I 
promise!”

Gandalf smiled.  “Yes, as an expert on fireworks, I should say you have a 
very short fuse tonight . . .  Oh, fine!  Now you have ME making silly puns.  
At any rate, show me what you want, Frodo.”

Frodo took the wizard’s hand and gently kissed it on the back and on the 
palm, then  pulled it down to his bulging trousers.  Gandalf stroked his 
erection gently, turning his head to watch the pleasure passing over the 
face lying so close to his own.  The hobbit looked dazed, with his mouth 
slightly open and gasping each time the wizard’s fingers fondled the 
length of his shaft.  His eyes were pressed shut.

“Look at me, Frodo,” Gandalf whispered, and Frodo managed to open his 
eyes languorously and stare into the wizard’s, whimpering softly with 
bliss.  Gandalf looked lovingly at him for a while, then ran the tip of his 
tongue around Frodo’s slack lips, slowly, delving slightly inside as the 
hobbit opened wider and flicked his own tongue against Gandalf’s.  Both 
reached at the same time to untie Frodo’s trouser-laces and laughed 
briefly as their hands bumped each other.

“I’ll do it,” Frodo murmured, “just keep going!”

As the hobbit unlaced his trousers, Gandalf caressed his erection again 
then slipped his hand down inside the loose cloth.  He found the slender, 
straight cock upright, moist with heat and oozing drops at the tip.  He 
pulled and stroked it, rubbing his thumb over the tiny slit on the end, 
massaging the precum over the velvety surface.  Frodo’s head lolled on 
his shoulder, and his eyes closed in bliss.  “Look at me,” Gandalf said 
again.  Frodo’s blue eyes were glazed with approaching ecstasy.  
“Gandalf . . . yes, yes . . .” he whispered.

The wizard removed his hand suddenly, and Frodo squeaked in 
disappointment, but Gandalf had only reached to pick up his napkin from 
the table.  He pushed it loosely down inside the gaping trousers to cover 
the tip of Frodo’s throbbing erection, before he resumed stroking, now 
faster and harder.  The wizard’s other hand, which had been cupping the 
hobbit’s buttocks, slipped down between his legs and began to gently 
massage the back of his testicles.  Frodo jerked and thrust against 
Gandalf’s hand, gently at first, then hard as he buried his face in the 
wizard’s shoulder, muffling his loud groans as the bursts of pleasure 
coursed through him.

Gandalf pulled Frodo closer and feathered swift kisses across his cheeks 
and mouth as the hobbit gradually stopped panting and focused his eyes 
again.  The wizard carefully squeezed the napkin into a ball and removed 
it from Frodo’s trousers.  “I think I managed to save us from a rather 
sticky aftermath,” he said.

Frodo felt inside his trousers, then laced them up loosely.  “Yes, not a 
drop missed.  Neatly done!”  He sighed contentedly.  “That was 
absolutely, marvelously, splendidly wonderful.   But I’M the one that’s 
supposed to be welcoming YOU.  Are you sure you don’t want me to—“

“It’s very tempting, young fellow . . . but I really do not feel like it—for 
once!  Though your simple meal and excellent wine have woken me up a 
bit.  But if looking into your beautiful eyes and having you in my arms did 
not arouse me—then absolutely nothing could tonight.  But I assure you, I 
very much enjoyed watching you come for me.  I feel spectacularly 
welcomed!   I shall be content for now to talk and hold you for a while.  It 
is SO good to be back.  And then I shall be off to bed, to SLEEP, mind 
you—though with you in my arms.  Tomorrow I shall make love to you in 
every room in Bag End if you like!”

Frodo laughed.  “That’s big talk, my dearest wizard!  I may hold you to 
that, and there are a great many rooms in this hole.”

Gandalf frowned.  “Yes . . . well, I stick by my offer, but maybe you should 
give me a few days to accomplish it.”

“Gladly!  But you will be staying for more than a few days this time—say 
you will!  You must!”

Gandalf replied, “To some extent it depends on what we decide about the 
things I’ve come to discuss with you.  But I think it’s quite possible that I 
would be able to stay with you for a while.  Perhaps, given that the 
weather is so pleasant, I can move my horse from the village stable.  You 
own that little field across the road, don’t you?”

Frodo smiled.  Anything that made it seem as if the wizard was settling in 
at Bag End was welcome.  “Yes, and of course you can put her there.”

“Oh, the lovely mare that Elrond has been letting me use for years 
decided she was getting too old for such long trips.  We talked it over and 
agreed that I would only ride her over short distances around Rivendell—
though I must say, when I’m there, I like to get away from horseback 
riding for a while.”

Frodo looked at him skeptically.  “Can you really talk to horses—or, that 
is, can you understand them when they talk back?”

Gandalf gave a little snort.  “I’d be a poor wizard if I couldn’t.”

Frodo stared at him.  Ordinarily Gandalf behaved so little like a magical 
being that it rather took him aback when the wizard referred to his special 
powers so offhandedly.

Gandalf resumed, “Elrond loaned me another horse, a spirited young 
stallion who thought himself ready for any amount of long journeying.  
Rather boasted about it, I must say.  I rode him long and hard these past 
few days, but now he will get a chance at a rest.”

He pulled out his pipe, and Frodo handed him the pipeweed jar.  “It’s 
wonderful to be able to smoke again.  I ran out of pipeweed months ago, 
and I was only able to replenish my supply in Bree.  But this stuff is much 
better, from the smell of it.”

Frodo watched him carefully fill the pipe.  “You can have bushel baskets 
of it if you’ll only stay with me for a while.”  He knew he should not nag 
Gandalf about his long absences, but he could not help asking, “Why do 
YOU have to do all this hard and dangerous work?  Aren’t there other 
people, powerful people, who could take over SOMETIMES?  I know 
Bilbo told me that you helped defeat the Necromancer, and your work is 
very important, but do you ALWAYS have to do it?  I have missed you SO 
much!”

Gandalf sighed.  “It’s your own fault, Frodo, for falling in love with a 
wizard.  Very foolish of you.  With all these beautiful hobbit lads and 
lasses close to home, you pick a wandering greybeard who neglects you 
shamefully.  Absolutely shamefully.”  He pulled Frodo close and kissed 
him lightly about the mouth and cheeks again.

Frodo twisted away.  “Don’t try to distract me—unless you’re prepared to 
follow up on those kisses with something more exciting.  I thought not.  
Well, all right, it’s partly my fault, I’ll grant you.  Guilty as charged, I did fall 
in love with a wizard, knowing what it meant.  At least the last time you 
stayed away for nine years, you had the excuse that you were vainly 
fighting your overwhelming, highly sensible attraction to me—don’t tickle 
me!  I refuse to be distracted from my question:  Why doesn’t someone 
else do some of this wandering and researching and . . . and whatever 
else it is that you do.  You once said there were other wizards—just what 
do THEY do in all this?”

“All right, I’ll give you a straightforward answer—although I cannot tell you 
everything.  There ARE other people working along with me—others 
among the Wise.  And they do what they can, very important things.  But 
mostly they are defending their own domains, and even that is getting 
harder and harder.  Someone has to hold them together to our plans, 
which is a large part of what I do.  And yes, there are other wizards, 
though I am not sure where they all are.  One, my cousin Radagast, has, 
I’m afraid, retired to a rather solitary life in Mirkwood, and although he 
contributes some help now and then, he is not as active as I had hoped.  
Sometimes I envy him that simple existence.  Of course, it would take a 
hobbit to make it really pleasant, and he, poor fellow, doesn’t have one.”  
He ruffled Frodo’s hair.  “And there is another wizard who works with us 
against the Necromancer, and he did play an important part in helping to 
chase him out of his stronghold 76 years ago.  I am not without help, my 
dear Frodo, but things are getting much worse, I fear, and we shall need 
all our combined power and more.”  He again leaned his head back 
against the chair and closed his eyes.

Frodo had begun during this speech to wonder whether he should have 
brought up the subject.  He still did not really understand how all these 
people fit together, and yet it was clearer than ever that Gandalf’s 
departures meant more than loneliness for them both.  The situation in 
the outside world sounded very dangerous.  “Is . . . is there going to be 
another war, like the Battle of Five Armies?”  That was the only war he 
knew much about, since it had been one of Bilbo’s favorite tales.

“Alas, almost certainly there is, and much worse.  Indeed, there are 
already skirmishes beginning far south of here.   The Dark Lord, or the 
Necromancer, as you have known him, has secretly been rebuilding his 
domain and his military might.  Our efforts long ago, in which Bilbo played 
a small but important part, unfortunately did not rid the world of our great 
Enemy.  And now . . .”  He was silent for a moment, looking with a worried 
expression into the fire, then at Frodo.  “ . . . now I have discovered things 
that make me realize I cannot hide you here and expect that you will 
remain isolated and safe from the terrible events that I fear will unfold.”  
He paused again, pulling Frodo to himself and hugging the hobbit.

“Why, Gandalf, what have you discovered?”

“It may sound hard to believe, Frodo, but the Ring that Bilbo found long 
ago and gave to you  is linked to these terrible events going on far away.  
It is not just some little magical trinket that helps its owner disappear and 
avoid relatives or play pranks on friends.  Unless I am greatly mistaken, it 
is vastly powerful and has been central in many of the great events in the 
history of Middle-earth.”

“I don’t understand.”

“No.  As I said, it will take a lot of explaining.  In fact, I think we should put 
that off until tomorrow.  Such matters are best left until daylight.  The 
shadows are too deep now, even in your little sitting room.  Besides, I am 
simply too tired to give you a coherent account of such complex matters.”

Reluctantly Frodo climbed off his lap, going to prepare a bath for Gandalf 
and then to put 
the wizard to bed.


Gandalf was having an exquisite dream.  He was sitting in a large, well-
furnished room, something like the one he had in Rivendell.  A beautiful 
Elf had come wordlessly to him, knelt before him, and pulled out his 
member, licking and caressing it until he was moaning and writhing in 
delight.  As he drifted awake, he realized that he was in his room at Bag 
End—but the wonderful glow of pleasure in his nether regions was not 
fading along with the dream.  Quite the contrary, it was increasing, and he 
lay for a moment reveling in the sensation of having a warm, delicate 
tongue sliding insistently over his throbbing length.  Being careful not to 
move any part of his body below his waist, the wizard raised his head and 
shoulders and saw a hobbit-sized bump under the covers, moving slightly 
as the tongue flicked here and there.  He grinned and flung aside the 
covers to find Frodo diligently stroking and licking his very upright 
member.

Despite his ragged breathing, Gandalf gasped out, “Aren’t you 
smothered?”

Frodo continued moving his hands along the shaft as he grinned at the 
wizard.  “Not yet!  I haven’t been down here long, and I’ve got the light 
spring blankets on the bed.  And I had a strong feeling that you would 
wake up very soon.  You had a morning erection, and when I woke up 
and saw it pushing up the covers like a tent-pole—well, I couldn’t pass 
THAT up!  So I crept under to get reacquainted with a very dear old 
friend.  He seems quite happy about my visit.”  His blue eyes sparkled as 
he applied tongue and lips to the side of the cock’s tip, kissing it wetly.

“He is indeed,” Gandalf sighed happily, lying back and closing his eyes.

“Oh, no, my dear wizard!  It’s YOUR turn to look at ME,” Frodo 
commanded, pausing only briefly in his licking and kissing and not at all in 
his stroking.

“Mmmm, gladly,” Gandalf murmured, dragging Frodo’s pillow over onto 
his own and propping his head against it to gaze at the hobbit pleasuring 
him so happily.  “Frodo, you do have the most wicked little grin.  I guess 
you ARE glad to see me back.” 

Frodo chuckled, sending little puffs of air over the wet shaft and making 
Gandalf flinch at the teasing sensation this created.  At last he could not 
keep his eyes open any longer, and he grimaced.  Frodo saw this and 
stroked the shaft faster and harder, and the wizard sucked in his breath 
sharply as the hobbit licked his balls.  “Frodo . . . I’m almost . . .” he 
rasped, and Frodo moved to clasp his lips over the tip.  Hot, thick liquid 
instantly filled his mouth, and he eagerly gulped it down, continuing to 
pump and squeeze with his hands.

As Gandalf’s climax receded, he lay back against the sheet and smiled 
lazily at Frodo as the hobbit moved up to sit beside him.  Frodo licked his 
lips with exaggerated delight and murmured, “I had completely forgotten 
what you taste like my dear wizard.  But it’s hardly surprising.  It’s been 
NINE YEARS, after all!”  He looked accusingly at Gandalf, who resolutely 
closed his eyes and ignored him.  Frodo said more softly, “Well, now I 
remember, but you can give me more reminders in the days to come—
many days, I hope. In the meantime, would you like breakfast in bed?”

Gandalf yawned.  “Yes, that sounds lovely, but . . . maybe . . .  maybe I’ll 
just go back to sleep for a while.”  Frodo smiled at this familiar habit—
though Gandalf seldom slept after sex early in the morning.

Frodo kissed the tip of his nose.  Gandalf smiled drowsily at him, then 
nestled into the pillows.  “Yes, do have a sleep, and I’ll bring breakfast in 
to you.”  There was no response.  “Well, I did wake him up early,” Frodo 
thought cheerfully, “why shouldn’t he sleep a bit longer?  He’ll need all his 
energy later on—if I have anything to say about it!  In the meantime, 
breakfast.”  He pulled his clothes on loosely and made his way to the 
kitchen.

He fixed some breakfast for himself and took his time eating it, thinking of 
all the lovely things he and the wizard could do during the unusually fine 
spring days the Shire was experiencing.  Hearing a noise outside, he 
went to open the round green door wide and waved as he saw Sam 
getting out his tools to work in the garden.  Then he returned to the 
kitchen and put together a tray for the wizard.  As he entered the guest 
room, Gandalf was just yawning and waking up again.

“Eggs again, I’m afraid.  It’s a good thing you like them.  I’ll have to lay in 
more supplies and do some cooking today.”

“I never object to eggs.  Here, put the tray on my lap and sit beside me.”

As Gandalf ate, Frodo leaned against him, occasionally taking a bit of 
food and holding it up to the wizard’s mouth.  This held up the meal 
somewhat, but both found it very agreeable.

Frodo waggled his eyebrows at Gandalf.  “Now, we’re even, and we can 
go about this in a more leisurely fashion.”  From Gandalf’s expression, the 
hobbit knew that he did not have to explain what “this” was.  “I hope you 
haven’t forgotten your very convenient little preparatory spell by having 
been gone so long.”

Gandalf chuckled.  “That is one spell I shall never forget!  Though, really, 
Frodo, I’m hardly such an incompetent wizard that I wouldn’t have a few 
others that would probably work just as well.”

Frodo sat silently for a moment, then said, “Well, despite how long you’ve 
had to be away, we’ve given each other so much joy in this bed—and 
elsewhere.  Looking back, I still can’t believe I got up the nerve to kiss 
you that day.”

Gandalf smiled down at him.  “Yes, I was anything but encouraging, 
wasn’t I?  But how could I turn down a hobbit birthday present—especially 
from such a deliciously pretty hobbit?”

“Luckily, you couldn’t, and here we are.”
  
The wizard finished his meal, got up, and stretched.  “This has been a 
lovely way to end such a long separation, my dearest hobbit.  BUT . . . it 
is time to face reality.  Could you light a fire in the sitting room?  I’ll join 
you there in a few minutes.”

Frodo had turned to leave, but he paused.  “Do you think we need a fire?  
It’s shaping up to be a warm day, for April at least.  Sam is already at 
work in his shirtsleeves.”

Gandalf looked at him with a surprisingly somber expression.  “Yes, I’m 
afraid we do need a fire, Frodo.”  He sighed.  “I’ll be with you shortly.”
_________________________________________________________________
_____

That morning Gandalf made the final test by tossing the Ring into Frodo’s 
little fireplace.  Once the hobbit had seen the fiery writing that appeared 
on it, Gandalf told him about the Ring, its history, and the dangers that 
they faced.  Terrified as he was by all these revelations, Frodo realized 
that at least he now better understood the wizard’s comings and goings 
over the years.  His main consolation was that Gandalf had promised to 
help him bear his Burden.  Surely that meant that at last he would be able 
to travel with the wizard and to see places outside the Shire—even 
Rivendell and the Elves.  If he had Gandalf with him, he thought, he could 
face up to almost any danger.

They were largely silent over lunch as Frodo struggled to absorb all that 
he had been told.  Afterward, hoping to banish their worries for while, they 
retired to Gandalf’s room.  They made love, beginning passionately and 
quickly, and then prolonging their final build in a more leisurely fashion.  
Afterwards, Gandalf drifted off to sleep.  Rather than the usual few 
minutes of post-coital slumber, however, he napped for over an hour.  
Frodo realized that his lover was still tired from the prolonged travel of the 
previous day and patiently waited, resting against his side and stroking 
his beard occasionally.

At last the wizard opened his eyes and smiled at seeing Frodo looking up 
at him.  He pulled the hobbit to him and kissed him, delving his tongue 
slowly and thoroughly into his mouth.  Then he nibbled at Frodo’s ear and 
whispered, “I want to taste you, Frodo.  I want you to come in my mouth.”

Frodo felt a little shiver pass through him and looked at Gandalf with a 
provocative little grin.  “I don’t think I’m quite ready yet, but if you want me 
to come in your mouth, my darling wizard—then MAKE me ready,” he 
challenged.

Gandalf grinned in return and considered for a moment.  “I’ve said on a 
number of occasions that I wanted to kiss you absolutely all over your 
body.  I never got around to it, but it still sounds like a wonderful idea.  I 
would wager a considerable sum that by the time I was finished, you 
would be BEGGING me to take you into my mouth.”

Frodo said teasingly, “I’d definitely like to see THAT.  Can you really 
reduce me to such desperation?”

“It’s the sort of challenge I’d like to try and meet, at any rate.”

“It might take a long time.  Don’t forget what you did for me last night, 
added on to what just happened.”

“Hardly.  But we HAVE a long time, my dearest hobbit.  What better way 
to spend the afternoon than in thoroughly reacquainting myself with your 
beautiful body by tasting every bit of it?  Besides, you’re so small, it won’t 
take as long as it ordinarily would.”

“Ordinarily!  Have you kissed someone ALL over before?”

“Frodo!” Gandalf said reproachfully.  “You shouldn’t ask such questions.  
Aren’t you afraid you won’t like the answer?”

Frodo pouted—quite delightfully, Gandalf thought.   “Maybe.  But HAVE 
you?”

“Well . . . let us just say, if I did wager that that would be a good way of 
making you beg for release . . . I would have good reason to think I would 
win.  Now, none of that!  You ASKED!  Twice!”

Gandalf started with Frodo’s head, moving his lips over the curly hair and 
pressing lightly.  His attentions to the hobbit’s face, neck, and ears made 
him squirm slowly in delight.  As Gandalf moved slowly down Frodo’s 
body, he reached the relaxed, smooth pink nipples.

“Of course, there are some parts of your body I want to kiss more than 
others,” he murmured, licking and sucking at them gently as they 
hardened.  As his mouth lingered, Frodo closed his eyes and hummed 
with a faint sense of reviving arousal.  “Why do you like playing with my 
nipples so much?”

Gandalf paused and looked back and forth between them thoughtfully.  “I 
have no idea.  Let me see if I can figure it out.”  Slowly and with thoughtful 
expression he flicked the tip of his tongue across each tiny peak in turn, 
then paused and looked at them with a puzzled expression.  “No, still no 
clue.”  Frodo laughed as the wizard sucked and kissed them a bit longer, 
then looked into the hobbit’s face.  “It’s quite a mystery.”

Slowly his lips explored Frodo’s chest and stomach, teasing gently and 
moving on, pausing at spots that he knew were especially sensitive.

Frodo lay basking in pleasure and the slow build of arousal.  “I have 
missed this so much over the years.”

Gandalf paused and looked briefly up at Frodo.  “How did you occupy 
yourself all that time, if you don’t mind telling me?”  He lowered his lips to 
the hobbit’s body once more as Frodo began to speak.

“Well, for a start, I tried not to sit at home by myself, pining for you.  I 
could not have borne THAT for long.  I traveled in the Shire, visiting 
relatives I had not seen in a long time—the relatives I like, of course, and 
there are really quite a few of those.  And I went to the Green Dragon 
many an evening, to hear silly gossip passed round and chewed over.  It 
was quite pleasant, really, though occasionally I found myself suddenly 
picturing you coming in the door, all travel-stained and suddenly 
overjoyed to find me unexpectedly sitting there.  You’d want me so badly 
that you’d carry me off to one of the private dining rooms and take me 
passionately.  Sometimes it was all so vivid that I actually felt dizzy.  Once 
the Gaffer accused me of being drunk.  But I wasn’t—except with the 
thought of you.”

Gandalf paused again in his kissing, but this time he did not speak or 
glance at Frodo’s face before resuming.

“Sometimes one of my friends or cousins would come over and sit by me 
in the corner and try to, get something started, as we used to.  I think they 
suspected about you and me, after I rather suddenly dropped out of 
circulation as soon as you arrived for Bilbo’s party, and of course they 
talked behind our backs after his disappearance.  But then when you 
were gone so long, I guess they thought that was over.  I suppose I was a 
little tempted, since it’s obviously hard to get along without that sort of 
thing.  But I knew if I gave in, I’d just be thinking of you the whole time 
and be more miserable than ever, not to mention feeling guilty.  So I just 
took care of it myself, once I got home and in bed.   Mmmmmm . . . that 
feels wonderful.  Well, I won’t have to do that for a while, anyway.”

The wonderful sensation arose from Gandalf’s lips and tongue exploring 
the insides of Frodo’s thighs, then working a bit more quickly down one 
leg.
 
”Are you even going to kiss my feet, Gandalf?”

“Well, they appear to be reasonably clean, and if I kissed your curly head, 
I can certainly cope with your furry little toes.”  He proved it by nibbling at 
each of them with his lips.   Then he began to kiss up the other leg, lightly 
stroking the inner thighs and the backs of Frodo’s knees with his fingers.  
Glancing upward he saw that Frodo’s penis, which had been lying against 
his thigh, was now beginning to rise slightly, and he grinned with a hint of 
triumph.  The hobbit bit his lower lip in anticipation and watched as the 
wizard slowly moved over him.  

Gandalf skirted around the half-hard cock as he reached Frodo’s hips, 
and then he gently turned the hobbit onto his stomach.  His mouth moved 
slowly over the firm buttocks, now with the lips barely brushing the skin, 
now biting gently.  Frodo felt his erection press down into the mattress 
and he dug his fingers into the sheet.  Gandalf parted his buttocks slightly 
and inched his tongue down the cleft until it reached the tiny opening and 
lingered, flicking teasingly against the puckered hole.  Frodo jerked at 
first, then found himself struggling to stay still, panting rapidly and 
shallowly as the unfamiliar, exquisite sensation made his whole body 
quiver.  After a short time his erection became almost painful.

“Please, Gandalf, now!  Take me in your mouth!  I can’t wait!” he said in a 
strangled voice.

He heard a soft chuckle, and the wizard said, “But I haven’t finished here.  
Don’t you want me to kiss all over your back as well?”

“Later!  Please, PLEASE, I’m completely ready for you!”

Gandalf rolled him over onto his back again.  “I should have made that 
wager.  Well, I’ll continue that another time, then.  Ah, yes, here’s one 
important part I neglected on the first pass.”

He kissed the tip of Frodo’s erection, then circled the shaft with a slightly 
open mouth, wetly kissing downward until he reached the balls and gave 
them the same treatment.  By now Frodo was twisting his hips, trying 
vainly to maneuver the head closer to the wizard’s lips.  “Gandalf, suck 
me, please!  You wanted me to come in your mouth!  Let me!”

The wizard finally raised his head and descended onto Frodo’s member, 
taking it all inside in one swift movement that made Frodo grimace and 
groan loudly.  Gandalf held the hobbit’s hips firmly to prevent his 
involuntarily thrusting into his throat, and he moved slowly up and down 
the shaft.  Withdrawing his mouth for a moment, he moistened his long 
middle finger and slipped it slowly inside Frodo.  Frodo gurgled as 
Gandalf resumed sucking, his lips and tongue moving quickly and 
insistently as he stroked the most sensitive spot inside the hobbit.  He 
pressed Frodo’s belly down with his free hand as the hobbit began to 
thrash and whimper, at last moaning repeatedly as his cock sent warm 
jets into Gandalf’s throat.  Gradually his spasms drew further apart and 
finally vanished as the wizard ran his tongue up the sensitive ridge of his 
shaft.

Frodo lay, blissfully drained, as Gandalf slid up alongside him and laid his 
neck on the hobbit’s outstretched arm.  Frodo opened his eyes and 
stroked the wizard’s cheek.  “Well!  THAT certainly makes up for a lot!”

Gandalf asked hopefully, “For a few months of my absence, perhaps?” 

Frodo pretended to consider this seriously, then nodded with a thoughtful 
little frown.  “Perhaps.”

“Then I might hope to work off my debt to you eventually?”

Frodo just grinned.

Gandalf lay happily watching the afterglow registered on the face so close 
to his own.  After a contented silence, Frodo asked,   “Did you ever figure 
out why you find my nipples so fascinating?”

Gandalf laughed softly, touching each of them with a delicate fingertip.  
“No.  But I am a diligent researcher, and I vow to pursue this vital 
question with considerable care.  I suspect that the answer would have to 
be based on a GREAT deal of evidence.  If I ever come up with 
interesting conclusions, I shall share my discovery with you.”

They were silent for a short while, and Gandalf’s smile slowly faded as he 
gazed at Frodo’s face and body.  Frodo noticed and stared at him with his 
eyebrows raised inquiringly.  “What’s wrong, Gandalf?”

“I . . .”   The wizard sighed.

“What?  Please tell me!”

“You are so very beautiful, Frodo.”

Puzzled, Frodo smiled at him lovingly but received no answering smile.  
He waited.

“Frodo . . . it may seem odd, but I must confess that when I first arrived 
last night, I actually hoped to see you looking at least a bit older.  It would 
have told against my fears about the Ring.  Seeing your beautiful blue 
eyes as luminous as ever, your skin smooth and glowing and untouched 
by time, I hardly needed to test the Ring in your fireplace—though I did, of 
course, to absolutely confirm my suspicions.  Such worries about the 
Ring, I think, so occupied my tired mind that I even neglected to embrace 
you at first.  And yet . . . at the same time I could not help being delighted 
to see you thus, exactly the same lovely hobbit I had left so long ago.  
And that is the terrible irony that we now face.  Assuming that the Ring 
can eventually be destroyed, you will once again display the outward 
signs of age.  Not suddenly, to be sure, but inevitably.”

Frodo tried with only partial success to laugh.  “Well, I’m afraid I am in 
trouble then.  I remember the first day we ever made love, you said you 
couldn’t love me for my mind, so it must be for my beauty.”

“I’m not sure that’s QUITE what I said, but I was teasing you, you silly 
hobbit!  You know I shall not love you any the less if—WHEN you begin to 
age normally.  It’s simply that one regrets to see beauty of any sort fade.”  
He laughed suddenly.  “Of course, years from now your wrinkles WOULD 
be a constant reminder of our triumph over the Dark Lord, so I suppose 
that I should look forward to them.”

“Well, I shan’t mind looking older if you’ll always love me.”

“Do not fear on that account, Frodo.”  He narrowed his eyes and glanced 
with a speculative smile along the hobbit’s relaxed, naked body.  “Then 
again, it’s certainly a GREAT incentive to take as much advantage of this 
beauty as I possibly can while you still have it.”  He looked back 
mischievously into Frodo’s face and met an answering grin.

“By all means.  I can set you some more challenges and hope you meet 
them as well as you did that one.”  They leaned together for a long, gentle 
kiss.  Finally Frodo took a deep breath.  “Well, I must get up and fix us 
some supper before we can carry through all these big plans.  Speaking 
of which, we’ve managed the sitting room and your bedroom.  You still 
owe me quite a few OTHER rooms of this hobbit hole.”

“Give me time, my dear hobbit, just give me time!”


After that, the wizard settled in with Frodo, and to the hobbit’s utter 
delight, he showed no signs of leaving.  When Frodo reluctantly asked 
Gandalf whether he would have to go off on some mission soon, the 
wizard replied, “Right now I think I can do the most good here, watching 
over you.  I must make some short trips to gather news—but my sources 
are close enough that I should be able to return to you within days.  We 
have a bit of precious time.” 


The wizard’s longest absence was in May, when he said he was meeting 
an old friend away to the south.  He returned, apparently reassured, and 
Frodo secretly dared to look forward to a beautiful summer spent with 
Gandalf.  

They made love often, sometimes quickly and passionately, sometimes 
spending lazy afternoons talking and caressing for hours before finally 
building up to mutual release.  Although they did not make love in literally 
every room in Bag End—which in some cases would not have been very 
comfortable--their tally quickly surpassed the number of rooms in the 
hole.  They almost never spoke of the Ring, though Gandalf early on 
instructed Frodo always to put it someplace safe and secret before they 
made love.  He did not have to explain why—Frodo had seen how upset 
he had been when the hobbit offered him the Ring.  He had no clear idea 
how the Ring’s pull might work upon the wizard, but it was best not to 
take any chances. 

Despite their worries, it was the most joyous time of Frodo’s life since that 
first idyllic week leading up to Bilbo’s party.  Gandalf had never stayed 
with him so long.  The weeks stretched into months, and the hobbit dared 
to hope that his lover would remain at Bag End until the planned 
departure date in September and even go with him and Sam.  Maybe 
Sam would not have to go at all, and he would be alone with Gandalf on 
the road.

This peaceful life lulled his fears somewhat, and he felt less terrified of the 
Ring and those hunting it.  Maybe once they arrived in Rivendell, he could 
turn the Ring over to someone else, someone better suited to carry it into 
danger.  Then he could go back to his quiet life, anticipating Gandalf’s 
visits and far from the troubles of the outer world.  Secretly he held on to 
his fantasy that, after the Ring was destroyed, Gandalf would be free to 
stay for long stretches of time like this one—or even to move in and finally 
feel at home in Bag End.  He tried not to think about the wizard’s remark, 
years ago, that he had a home somewhere else—so far away that it was 
apparently not even in Middle-earth.  A tiny nagging fear occasionally 
intruded into his thoughts:  perhaps someday Gandalf would leave 
Middle-earth altogether.  He could only hope that the wizard would at 
least stay with him all his life.  It would be such a short time compared to 
Gandalf’s own lifespan—however long that would be.  Surely the wizard 
could spare it—would spare it, for him.

Just as Frodo was beginning to assume Gandalf really would stay all 
summer, however, the wizard dashed his hopes by announcing one 
evening in late June that he was off again the next morning.  “Only for a 
short while, I hope,” he said.   “But I am going down beyond the southern 
borders to get some news, if I can.  I have been idle longer than I should.

He spoke lightly, but it seemed to Frodo that he looked rather worried.  
“Has anything happened?” he asked.

“Well, no; but I have heard something that has made me anxious and 
needs looking into.  If I think it necessary after all for you to get off at 
once, I shall come back immediately, or at least send word.  In the 
meanwhile, stick to your plan; but be more careful than ever, especially of 
the Ring.  Let me impress on you once more:  DON’T USE IT!”


The pair rose before dawn the next morning, and Frodo fed Gandalf 
breakfast in the kitchen.  They did not talk much, for each was saddened 
at the thought that Gandalf’s hopes of getting back in “a short while” might 
prove far too optimistic.  He had said similar things before trips that 
stretched into long months or even years.

Gandalf looked at the hobbit’s sad face and said, “I am sorry, Frodo.  I 
know separations are worse for the person who stays at home, going 
through the daily routine and not knowing when the other will return.  It 
must be maddening.”  Frodo smiled wanly in response.

At last Gandalf was ready to leave.  He put on his cloak and hat, picked 
up his staff, and slung his small bag over his shoulder.  They said all their 
farewells, with lingering embraces, and Frodo walked sadly beside the 
wizard and swung the great round door open.  A beautiful summer day 
was dawning, the sort of day when they would have wandered through 
the nearby countryside and woods for hours—with Gandalf entertaining 
the hobbit by striking up conversations with the various animals they met.   
And, as they often had, they might well have found some secluded forest 
clearing where they could pleasure each other without fear of discovery.

Now, however, Frodo watched as the wizard stood looking out at the neat 
yard and the horse tied to the gate, waiting for him.  He seemed unable to 
take the first steps over the threshold and out onto the road that, as Bilbo 
always said, went ever on to so many distant places.  Finally Gandalf 
moved as if to step out, but he stopped and looked at Frodo again.  The 
hobbit was trying to keep back his tears, but he looked as if he was about 
to fail in his efforts.

“This becomes more difficult each time,” Gandalf sighed.

Suddenly the wizard leaned his staff on the wall beside the door and 
dropped to his knees.  He embraced Frodo, cupping one hand behind the 
hobbit’s head and pulling it forward to kiss him.  Frodo at first assumed 
that this was simply one final kiss to cap the many they had shared that 
morning.  But Gandalf quickly deepened it, thrusting his tongue far inside 
Frodo’s mouth and moving it insistently until the hobbit began to suck and 
lick it in response.  Without breaking the kiss, Gandalf slipped his bag off 
his shoulder, and it and his hat dropped to the floor.  Frodo was confused, 
but as Gandalf began to moan softly and pull the hobbit’s shirt out of his 
trousers and to stroke his back and knead his bottom, he realized that the 
wizard intended to take him right there on the floor.  The suddenness and 
passion of it seemed odd, but Frodo welcomed it eagerly.  To have the 
wizard stay even a bit longer, especially in a mood that promised swift 
and intense pleasure, was an unexpected delight.

Frodo put his hands on Gandalf’s shoulders to steady himself, panting 
and squirming as the wizard tongued his neck and unbuttoned his shirt, 
rubbing his fingertips over the hobbit’s stiffening nipples.  Dimly Frodo 
realized that the door was still standing wide open and they were fully 
visible from the road.  Awkwardly Frodo twisted in Gandalf’s arms and 
stretched his hand toward the knob.

Gandalf gripped him more tightly and murmured next to his ear, “No! . . . 
let me hold you, Frodo!  I want to feel you against me!”

“Gandalf . . . oh! . . . but the . . . the door’s open!”  He gave a breathy little 
laugh as Gandalf’s tongue tickled his ear.  He could feel Gandalf’s cock 
against his knees, completely erect already.  With an effort he pulled 
slightly away from the wizard and swung the door closed.  Breathing hard, 
Gandalf took advantage of this brief pause to shed his cloak and unlace 
his trousers, freeing his erection, then pulling Frodo to himself again.  He 
nuzzled the hobbit’s shirt open with his face and sucked at Frodo’s 
nipples, tonguing them insistently.  One arm went around Frodo’s knees, 
the other around his torso, and he quickly lowered the hobbit onto his 
back on the large rug just inside the door.  Frodo moaned, holding the 
wizard’s head against his chest.  “Oh! . . .  oh, yes! . . . Oh, Gandalf, don’t 
stop!”  Gasping for air, Frodo thought giddily, “It’s a good thing I cleaned 
this rug recently!”  He felt Gandalf’s fingers undo his trouser-laces and 
slip inside, pulling on the rapidly stiffening shaft.  The wizard took Frodo’s 
ear entirely into his mouth, licking and sucking it hungrily.  Frodo jerked 
and began to thrust upward against Gandalf’s palm.

Gandalf released his ear and whispered into it, “I need you, Frodo!  I want 
to go inside you one last time!”

Frodo was writhing with arousal by this point, and he murmured, “Do it, 
Gandalf!  I want it too!”

Gandalf rose slightly and pulled Frodo’s trousers down, but he seemed in 
such a great hurry that he could not wait to remove them entirely.  As he 
got them just below Frodo’s buttocks, the cloth bunched up around the 
hobbit’s thighs.  Gandalf pushed Frodo’s bent legs upward until the cleft 
of his ass was revealed and the wizard could maneuver his erection 
against the tiny puckered entrance.  He murmured his spell quickly 
through gritted teeth, and Frodo sighed in anticipation and spread his 
bent legs as far apart as he could, welcoming Gandalf’s leaking tip as it 
pushed inside him.

Despite the initial rush, Gandalf set a fairly slow pace once he was inside 
the hobbit, as if he were trying to delay his departure and prolong the brief 
time they had left.  Frodo moaned with each thrust, trying and failing to 
wrap his legs around the wizard’s waist, defeated by the cloth stretched 
between his thighs.  Gandalf pinched his nipples with one hand and with 
the other managed to reach under the bunched trousers to find and 
stroke the hobbit’s erection. Finally, after savoring Frodo’s tight, moist 
heat for a long time, Gandalf pumped faster, and soon Frodo was 
groaning and writhing as his cock erupted in the wizard’s hand and 
creamy spurts fell over his chest and belly.  Gandalf stiffened and 
gasped, digging his cock quickly and shallowly into Frodo until his own 
ecstasy hit him, and his loud groans mingled with Frodo’s softening ones 
until the last flickers of pleasure died.  Gandalf pulled out and sat back on 
his heels with bent head as he panted.  Frodo lowered his feet to the floor 
and lay still, his eyes closed, completely relaxed and satisfied.

Finally Gandalf got up and began fastening and straightening his clothes, 
and Frodo, after lying for a few moments with a contented smile and 
looking up at him, did the same.  As Gandalf watched Frodo awkwardly 
struggling to get his pants back up over his hips, he thought, as he so 
often did, how small and innocent and vulnerable and beautiful the hobbit 
was.  As always, he felt a great desire to protect his lover.  Then suddenly 
the conviction came into his mind that, if he accepted the hobbit’s earlier 
offer to give him the Ring, it would be much better for Frodo.  The wizard 
would achieve what he had desperately wanted:  to allow Frodo to remain 
naïve, uninvolved, safe in the Shire.  Surely he had been wrong.  Frodo 
could not be meant to have the Ring—not with that lovely face, that 
fragile, delectable body.  Gandalf knew that he himself would be strong 
enough to take the Ring to Mordor.  If he did it quickly enough, it would 
not have time to gain a hold on him.  He was more powerful than any but 
a few others in Middle-earth.  Surely he could resist the Ring for the 
course of the journey.  He could clearly picture Frodo’s relief and 
gratitude if he agreed to take the burden from him.  He could also picture 
Frodo waiting for him when he returned triumphantly from his quest, 
welcoming him into his warm bed and eager to reward the wizard in all 
sorts of delightful ways.  And then Gandalf would be able to stay with him 
longer, he felt sure—as long as he wanted.  His eyes went to the gold 
chain as Frodo managed to do up his trouser-laces and belt.  It would be 
so simple.  He nearly reached out his hand to it.

But glancing up into Frodo’s blue eyes and his loving smile, Gandalf 
suddenly realized that the hobbit would hate him if he took the Ring.  And 
the Ring would gain control of the wizard, sooner or later, certainly long 
before he reached Mt. Doom.  It would not work.  How could he possibly 
have thought it would?  With a pang of fear, Gandalf realized that the 
Ring had put these thoughts into his head.  It had been tempting him.  
Frodo had been wearing it as they made love.  Even worse, he thought, 
the Ring might actually have lured him to take Frodo as he had, in a 
sudden burst of lust, precisely so that it could draw close to him and work 
upon his mind.  Surely not that, he comforted himself.  He had taken 
Frodo with the same passionate fervor that morning seventeen years 
before, when he faced his first separation from his beloved hobbit—when 
suspicions about the Ring were just beginning really to trouble him..  He 
shut his eyes tight and turned away from the hobbit, still trying to assess 
what had just happened.

Frodo looked doubtfully at him.  “What’s wrong?”

Gandalf turned back to him and smiled.  “Nothing!  Just a bit dizzy.  I 
guess I stood up too quickly after that vigorous farewell, my dear hobbit.”  
He put on his cloak and picked up his hat, bag, and staff, then faced the 
door as Frodo opened it again.

Gandalf cupped Frodo’s chin with his hand and smiled.  “I had better get 
outside that door before those big eyes pull me back yet again!”   He 
stared into Frodo’s face, which still glowed with bliss.  That was how he 
wanted to remember Frodo—until he could return and cause that 
delighted, satisfied look again.  He stepped across the threshold.  “I may 
be back any day,” he said.  “At the very latest I shall come back for the 
farewell party.  I think after all you may need my company on the Road.”

Frodo stood watching and waving as Gandalf rode off down the Hill.  Sad 
though the hobbit was at Gandalf’s departure, the wizard’s revelation that 
he might come along on the journey to Rivendell had sent a surge of joy 
through him.  If it happened, it would be one of his fantasies come true.  
Maybe the others would as well.  


TBC in “Thrice Returned #4:  Full Moon over Isengard”


“Thrice Returned #4:   Full Moon over Isengard”  (4/11)

Author:  Nefertiti  nefertiti_22002@yahoo.com
Rating:   NC-17, mostly for language
Pairings:  Gandalf/Saruman (he wishes!), Gandalf/Frodo (latter absent; 
established relationship), Saruman/Frodo (threatened).
Summary:  Saruman reveals to Gandalf why he has kept him prisoner 
atop Orthanc.
Warning:  No sex, but lotsa nasty talk.  Threatened non-consensual sex 
and rape.  Angst.
Disclaimer:  I claim no rights to the characters or locations; this story is 
offered free of charge to fans.
Feedback:  Most welcome.
Author’s note:  Book-based.  This story assumes that Saruman has long 
been in love with Gandalf.  (There is some motivation for this in Tolkien’s 
“Concerning Gandalf, Saruman and the Shire” in Unfinished Tales, where 
Saruman’s intense jealousy and hatred of Gandalf could be interpreted as 
some sort of warped love).  The action takes place on September 18, 
3018, the evening when Gwaihir rescues Gandalf from Orthanc.   (The 
wizard had been imprisoned on July 10.)  The basic situation of the 
imprisonment comes from Gandalf’s description of Saruman’s treachery 
in “The Council of Elrond.”

This series began with a sequel to Poncing Ponies’ lovely story, “Twice 
Given”; my thanks to her for welcoming a sequel by another hand and 
being so encouraging and helpful.  Many thanks also to Elanor for 
betaing, encouragement, wonderful suggestions, and general wizard-
slash discussions.


Gandalf stretched his legs and tried for perhaps the thousandth time to 
find a comfortable position.  He was seated on the hard surface of the 
pinnacle of Orthanc, his back against the bottom of one of the four great 
horns of stone that topped the tower.

Was there any more deadly combination of emotions than stark fear and 
utter boredom? he wondered.  He had been Saruman’s prisoner now for 
71 days exactly.  One of Gandalf’s gifts was always to know the precise 
time and date (according to any calendar in use in Middle-earth), just as 
he could always tell which direction was north—even on a cloudy night or 
in a cave.  Why in Arda had Saruman not sent him to Barad-Dûr yet?  
That had seemed to be his intention when Gandalf first arrived and they 
had their memorable argument about the Ring.  Surely Sauron was only 
too eager to get Gandalf into his dungeons for perpetual torture—
especially since Saruman would presumably have told Sauron that their 
prize prisoner knew where the Ring was.  And just as surely Saruman 
must have some foul reason of his own for delaying or avoiding 
dispatching his prisoner to the Dark Lord.  Presumably the transfer would 
involve sending messengers to Mordor to announce the capture of one of 
Sauron’s most powerful and persistent opponents, and arrangements 
would have to be made.  Yet messengers could have gone back and forth 
between Isengard and the Dark Tower several times by now.  What was 
Saruman up to?

Gandalf pushed his dread of Sauron’s wrath and cruelty to the back of his 
mind and tried to concentrate on devising a method of escape.  He had 
run over the same slim set of ideas so many times.  He had long since 
ceased to add any new plans to the small stock of impossible ones he 
had replayed endlessly.  There just seemed to be no way to remove 
oneself from a 500-foot pinnacle of solid rock with nothing to aid one.  No 
rope, no tools.  No way to overpower the guards who delivered his 
meager meals, since more guards always waited outside the door, 
blocking the head of the long stairway.  The door itself was so hard that it 
hurt his knuckles to rap against it, and there was no crack under it, no 
keyhole—nothing.  Saruman had not bothered to take his staff.  It was 
rendered useless in this fell place, engulfed in the immense power that 
the treacherous wizard had  patiently woven about his fortress and 
himself.  As a slender length of wood, it was not of much use.  He had 
pondered whether he could draw upon the power of his Elven Ring, 
Narya.  But those Rings had been made for healing and protection, not 
aggression.  Besides, its special strengths lay in the domain of fire, and 
there was nothing here to burn.  He had briefly considered attacking 
Saruman with flame, but Saruman’s own magic would undoubtedly 
protect him.  Gandalf had not forgotten the ring Saruman now wore, 
though  he had no way of knowing whether it actually conferred any 
significant abilities on its wearer.  Clearly, Saruman had been 
accumulating power in ways that were forbidden to the Istari, and Gandalf 
had no wish to test the other wizard’s limits.

What was Frodo doing?  He returned to his third and final subject of 
contemplation.  Ideally his lover was safe in Rivendell by now, but if he 
was not . . .  He winced at the thought of the Black Riders arriving at Bag 
End, or intercepting Frodo in Bree, or coming upon him and Sam in the 
long stretches of wilderness between there and Elrond’s safe haven.

Gandalf had to give Saruman credit.  He had learned about the Shire long 
before Sauron had.  Saruman had had spies there for many years now.  
He had even gone there occasionally himself once upon a time.  Gandalf 
used to laugh at Saruman’s petty jealousy and haughty disapproval of his 
own interest in such trivial beings as hobbits.  Whatever the original 
motives for such obsessive prying had been, however, Saruman had 
picked up news of bigger doings in the Shire.  Now, Gandalf realized, 
Saruman could pose nearly as great a threat to the Ringbearer as did the 
Dark Lord himself.  How to protect Frodo?

Once again he returned to the thought of escape.  No rope, no tools . . .  
Pointless!

Ordinarily when Gandalf was alone—and he often was in the course of 
his travels—he could relax and call upon the vast resources of his 
memory to entertain himself.  Now, though, all those events seemed 
unimportant and failed to occupy his mind.  The only thing that diverted 
him from his dismal reflections was his recollections of the precious days 
he had spent with Frodo since they had become lovers:  only a total of a 
few months over the past seventeen years.  In fact, only three days 
earlier they had passed the seventeenth anniversary of their first time 
together.  He wondered if Frodo had remembered it—but of course he 
had.  He always remembered such things.  Gandalf felt a bit less 
desperate as he thought back over their days of making love, sitting in the 
warm kitchen at Bag End, walking in the fields and woods of the Shire, 
making love again . . . 

These healing thoughts were interrupted by the ponderous grinding of the 
heavy door.  His meals came irregularly and at annoyingly long intervals, 
so he hoped that this was simply another delivery—until he saw 
Saruman’s white hair and shimmering robe emerge from the open 
stairwell.  “Pretentious fool!” Gandalf thought, as he always did when he 
saw the absurd robe, multi-colored and indicative of Saruman’s blind 
ambitions to gather the powers of all wizards to himself.

Saruman looked around the large area of the pinnacle.  It was dusk, and 
Gandalf was difficult to notice against the dark stone, dressed all in grey 
and sitting motionless with lowered head in the shadows.  Gandalf did not 
rise as Saruman walked over and stood before him, for that would look 
like a sign of respect.  He hated these occasional visits from Saruman.  
The other wizard had never again tried to persuade Gandalf to become 
his ally, either in league with Sauron or in a conspiracy against him.  He 
knew now that Gandalf could never be persuaded.  Saruman seemed, 
however, unable to refrain from taunting his captive, reveling in his fallen 
state.  At least, Gandalf reflected, he had not turned to torture—yet.

“Well, Gandalf, are you thinking interesting thoughts?  It is not very 
comfortable up here, is it?  You probably miss your agreeable days in that 
little rustic Shire of which you are so fond.  I never have understood why 
someone with your mind would be content to sit by the fire in a common 
pub, sipping ale and trading petty gossip with a passel of simpletons.”

Gandalf raised his head to glance at Saruman from under his hat brim, 
then lowered it again.  Stiff from sitting so long, he struggled to his feet 
and strolled away from Saruman, surveying the distant mountains as the 
last tinge of the sunset faded from their peaks.  This daily reminder of his 
home in the Uttermost West always brought a longing to his heart, even 
when he was in the Shire with Frodo.  He wondered if Saruman ever 
thought any more about the West, the Sea—

Saruman chuckled softly.  “There is no place for you to go where you 
cannot hear me, Gandalf, much though you pretend to ignore me.  As I 
was saying, you must miss all those trivial diversions, the pipeweed, the 
generous meals, the randy little hobbits, so willing to join you in the 
private rooms at the inns.”

This was a new twist, Gandalf reflected.  Saruman had made barbed 
comments about his smoking at the last Council meeting, but he had 
never mentioned his sex life.  “Really, Saruman, your spies have been 
very thorough.  Why have you bothered to set them to follow me all these 
years?  Such small doings can hardly interest a vast intellect like yours.  
It’s confusing.  I can hardly tell your spies from Sauron’s.”

Saruman smiled with quiet triumph.  “Spies who look long enough for 
trivial matters may inadvertently uncover more important ones—as I 
learned when they found indications about the Ring.  And frankly, it 
amuses me to hear of your dalliances with these little creatures.  It’s quite 
funny, when you think about it.”

Gandalf definitely wanted to keep the conversation away from the Ring, 
so he replied lightly, “Saruman, you dislike my smoking pipeweed, you 
scoff at my drinking ale, you disapprove of my sex life.  Are you going to 
criticize ALL of my little pleasures?  I recall telling you that you should try 
smoking yourself—and in fact I know you secretly have done so.  I might 
add that if you indulged in a bit of sexual activity once in a while, it might 
improve your disposition and perhaps even your mind—which seems to 
be straying into narrow, muddy paths.”

Saruman stood staring at Gandalf, then moved slowly toward him until he 
had backed the other wizard up against another of the tower’s pointed 
horns.  Quietly but intensely he said, “Maybe I will take your advice, 
Gandalf.  Perhaps I DO need a bit more pleasure in my life.”  He was 
staring at Gandalf with a strange, cold glint of rage in his eye, and 
Gandalf’s heart began to race.  Was this it, finally, the moment when 
Saruman would torture and question him about the Ring?  

He was wholly unprepared for what happened next.  Saruman stepped up 
to him, pushing his body hard against the rough stone and pinning it there 
with his own.  Gandalf’s hat, which he had so often used to shield himself 
from Saruman’s gaze, fell to the pavement.  A powerful hand gripped 
Gandalf’s jaw and forced his mouth wide open.  Clumsily Saruman 
pressed his lips against Gandalf’s and pushed his long tongue deep 
inside, moving it insistently as Gandalf struggled to break away.  Although 
Gandalf was still quite strong, ten weeks of short rations and physical 
inactivity had left him distinctly weaker than Saruman, whose other hand 
held his arm in an iron grip.

At last Saruman pulled back and stared into Gandalf’s face.  Despite his 
revulsion and shock, Gandalf tried to keep his voice steady.  “Well . . . I 
must admit, I had absolutely no idea.  Such an absurd notion would never 
occur to me.  Here I assumed you set your spies on me because you 
considered me dangerous in some way.  I suppose I should feel flattered.  
But as you may have sensed, your tender affection is not reciprocated.”  
He managed a contemptuous little smirk, though his lips ached.

Saruman replied with carefully contained fury.  “You should not be so 
insolent, Gandalf!  You are utterly in my power.  I can do with you 
whatever I want.”

This time he grasped Gandalf’s head on both sides, spreading the long, 
powerful fingers out to hold him fast as the thumbs pushed his chin down 
once more.  The kiss was even more invasive and savage than before, 
and it seemed to go on for minutes.  When Saruman finally withdrew 
again, Gandalf touched a finger to his lower lip and found blood on it.   “I 
can’t say much for your seduction techniques, Saruman.  I told you you 
needed to get more pleasure in Middle-earth.  Your inexperience and 
desperation are showing.”

Saruman suddenly raised his arm, his hand poised to strike Gandalf 
across the face, but he mastered his rage and lowered it again.  Gandalf 
shook his head.  “Really, you’re too easy to tease, Saruman.  You should 
develop a thicker skin and a sense of humor.  I’ve always thought so.  
Odd, how I’m always telling you things you should do, and you’re always 
telling me things I shouldn’t.  You’ve never discovered the little joys of this 
continent that we are supposed to be protecting, have you?”

Saruman took a step toward the other wizard, his face lowering.  Gandalf 
looked into his eyes with calm contempt.  “You can force me if you wish, 
obviously.  But be warned, Saruman, I shall resist to the best of my ability 
to the end, and though you would undoubtedly overpower me—especially 
if you are coward enough to have your minions help you—it would be a 
nasty, painful business for you as well as me, I assure you.  Unless you 
enjoy that sort of thing, I would advise against it.  I suppose you could 
drug me, but you won’t, will you?  You want me to be aware of every 
single thing you do to me . . . Yes, I thought so.”

To Gandalf’s surprise, Saruman’s face assumed a tiny, dangerous smile.  
“Yes, you would be strong enough to make it unpleasant for me.  But I 
don’t fancy taking you in front of grinning orcs and soldiers.  And I don’t 
want JUST to take you.  I want you to do things for me, to me, anything I 
tell you.  And you will, without fighting me, Gandalf.  I can wait.  There is 
another way.”  He paused, savoring the other wizard’s puzzled little frown.  
“I have just learned that there is one in the Shire who is particularly dear 
to you.  Isn’t that true, Gandalf?”

Gandalf blanched and stared at his captor intently.  This game had 
suddenly become far more perilous.  Saruman went on, openly 
triumphant.  “You may ridicule my spies, but they are very clever, and the 
locals are prone to gossip.  It was in that way that I learned about your 
little hobbit friend who disappeared so spectacularly at his birthday party 
some years back.  Obviously he had the Ring, and you used that overly 
dramatic way to spirit him off to some safe hiding place.  You should have 
been a bit more discreet about it, and it might never have reached my 
ears.  The denizens of the Shire still recount it as a choice story.   I must 
admit, though, that you have concealed his whereabouts very effectively, 
and my agents are still searching for him.  But they will find him, and the 
Ring, eventually—have no doubt of that.  In the meantime, however, they 
have picked up some fascinating, if rather scurrilous, news about your 
habits while in the Shire.  For a long time your visits there involved only 
the occasional brief fling.  But now there is a little fellow who claims all 
your time and attention.”

Gandalf struggled to hide how much this turn in the conversation 
frightened him.  It was a relief to know that Saruman was on the wrong 
track in his hunt for the Ring—but if he threatened Frodo . . . .  He had 
always known that Saruman was jealous of him for some reason, but how 
had he never seen the obsession behind it?  He knew the answer:  
Saruman was brilliant—the only one capable of deceiving him for long.

Despite Gandalf’s efforts, Saruman could see how disturbed he was, and 
he began to taunt him more openly.  “I’m sure you would be delighted to 
be reunited with your lover.  It could happen very easily—HERE.  Yes, I 
would like to meet this hobbit of yours.  I’m told he is VERY pretty.  And if 
he can hold the attention of a mighty Istar, then he must be quite talented 
as well.”

By this time Gandalf could barely contain his rage and fear.  He stood 
rigid, staring at the floor, his teeth clenched and his arms folded.  
Surreptitiously he dug his fingertips painfully into his upper arms to 
restrain himself from replying to Saruman’s jibes, which would only 
inflame him further.  How had that great mind, once so admirable, come 
to this?

Saruman’s delight and excitement were mounting, and he went on with 
glittering eyes, “Do you find his body irresistible, Gandalf?  What is his 
secret?  Does he have tiny pert nipples?  Does he know how to pleasure 
you especially well?  Does his little tongue make you squirm and cry out 
when he licks your cock?  Does he taste good when he comes in your 
mouth?  Hmmm?”

Gandalf was silent for a moment, then said steadily, “I will pay you this 
one compliment, Saruman, though it will be the last you ever get from me.  
I had not thought you capable of sinking so low.  Obviously I was 
mistaken.  Again, it’s odd how the only mistakes I have made here in 
Middle-earth turn out to be entirely due to you.”

Saruman laughed.  He was finding it immensely exciting to speak about 
such things to Gandalf and to watch him fume.  He had never used some 
of these words before, but he knew them well from the coarse talk of the 
Orcs and men he had constantly about him.  He found they came easily 
to his tongue now.  “My spies have told me much, Gandalf.  Of course, 
they can’t see everything, but there are apparently rumors that you have 
quite a generous endowment.  I shall find out for myself eventually, of 
course.  I hope it’s true—I would enjoy that.  But in the meantime, tell me 
this.  Isn’t your size rather inconvenient for your poor LITTLE hobbit?  
How much can you force inside him?  Do you ram the whole thing into his 
ass?  Do you make him squeal when you do it?  Or perhaps, despite 
being so short, hobbits have special capacities in that regard.  Maybe it’s 
very easy to bugger them, eh, Gandalf? . . . Well, you don’t need to 
answer my indiscreet questions.  I confess, I’m simply curious to find out 
what can make a great mind like yours turn to straw when a mere hobbit 
climbs into bed with you.  But I will curb my curiosity for now, and soon 
enough I will experience for myself the delights that this little chap has to 
offer.  And while we await his arrival, I can visit you and enliven your 
weary hours by telling you about all the ways I will take him, over and 
over.  His ass must be a joy to ream, wouldn’t you say?  Tight beyond 
imagining, I should think.  Hot and moist and TINY, yes?  But I’m 
forgetting—you’re not answering my questions, are you?  Well, I’m sure 
you miss him inordinately.  Soon, however, you’ll be able to see a great 
deal of him.  I’ll make sure you have an excellent view of everything I do 
to him.”

Gandalf was trembling by this point, thinking how easy it would be for 
Saruman’s agents to lure Frodo away from Bag End, pretending to bring 
a message on his own behalf.  If Frodo thought someone would take him 
to Gandalf, he would follow him eagerly.  He could probably even be 
enticed away from Rivendell.  Gandalf had mentioned Saruman to Frodo 
as being his superior, and Elrond would probably not discourage the 
hobbit from responding to a message purporting to be from the two 
wizards.  Provoked out of his usual caution, Gandalf lashed out at his 
tormentor.  “Saruman, I swear, I shall escape, and I shall protect him!  He 
will never come within hundreds of miles of you or your accursed tower!  
By threatening him, you have made a terrible mistake—worse even than 
if you had forced yourself on me!”

Saruman laughed, almost lightheaded with joy at having at last found a 
means of triumphing over Gandalf.  His agile mind was leaping ahead.  Of 
course it would be amusing to rape the hobbit in front of Gandalf—but 
that was not really the point.  He would attain something he wanted far 
more, for surely Gandalf would buy his beloved’s safety with his own 
body.  He would have Gandalf without a struggle.  He would be able to 
demand that Gandalf pleasure him in any way he wished.  He stared at 
Gandalf’s thin lips and imagined the other wizard docilely  kneeling before 
him, closing those lips around his cock.  He was becoming aroused at the 
thought, but it would not do to press his advantage too soon.  No, he 
would have to be in a position to humiliate Gandalf for all those insolent 
remarks at the Council meetings, embarrassing him before the other 
members.  And if Gandalf’s hobbit was really as pretty and talented as he 
suspected—he could have him as well, later on.  Gandalf would be 
powerless to stop it.

Aloud he simply said unconcernedly, “How could you possibly escape?  If 
there were a way, you would have found it after more than two months.”

Gandalf was again cold and silent, refusing to respond to Saruman’s 
jibes.  Saruman knew he should leave on that note, but all his threats 
concerning what he would do to Frodo and to Gandalf were definitely 
making him harden.  His body wanted the other wizard then and there.  
Irresistibly drawn to make a final effort, he moved close to Gandalf once 
more.  Gandalf tensed as he heard Saruman’s labored breathing and felt 
the heat of his body.  “Of course, Gandalf, I would not have to carry out 
my little plan if you submit to me now.”

Gandalf rapidly considered his options.  Would Saruman keep his word?  
If he thought there was the least chance of it, he would do what he asked, 
revolting though the thought was.  But surely there was no reason to think 
Saruman would keep faith.  He would almost certainly kidnap Frodo 
anyway.  What about escape?  True, he had not found the means in ten 
weeks.  Yet he MUST escape, he MUST save Frodo.  If he refused to 
submit to Saruman, the treacherous wizard might become impatient—he 
was clearly aroused to a dangerous level even now—and force him 
anyway.  Surely a man capable of raping a defenseless hobbit—or of 
even talking about such a thing—would not have any compunction about 
having his servants subdue Gandalf—perhaps tying him down and 
leaving him for Saruman’s private pleasure.  But Saruman wanted 
Gandalf’s subservience as well, and he was probably capable of 
controlling himself until he could coerce it.   If indeed Saruman waited and 
brought Frodo to Orthanc, Gandalf could offer his own body to Saruman 
THEN.  On the whole, defying Saruman and hoping against hope to 
escape seemed the only real option.

It took only a moment for Gandalf to think all this through, and he knew 
Saruman had considered all the same possibilities.

As if to confirm this, Saruman smiled.  Already very close to Gandalf, he 
moved around to position himself behind the other wizard’s shoulder.  He 
stared at Gandalf for a moment, then reached around and slipped his 
fingers under the grey cloak and between the buttons of the shirt 
underneath until they found the nipple.  Gandalf hear Saruman’s breath 
catch in his throat as he encountered it.  He began to pant as he rubbed 
his fingertips delicately over it, feeling its shape and the way it hardened 
involuntarily under his touch.  His arousal was growing as he continued to 
pull and twist the little nub.  He began to speak into Gandalf’s ear, and the 
grey wizard realized with a shock that Saruman had abruptly switched 
tactics.  He was putting forth all his effort to use the almost magical 
appeal of his voice to seduce his victim.  Saruman watched Gandalf’s 
face for any sign of reaction, either to his fingers’ movements or to his 
words.

“Does that feel good, Gandalf?  It has been a long time since you have 
had anyone, has it not?  More than two months since you left your 
delectable little hobbit.  You must need it very badly by now.  And from 
what I hear, you have not been the sort to turn down such pleasure when 
it is offered to you.  I’m afraid I have been overhasty in my eagerness, but 
I’m sure I could give you the joys that you so sorely miss.  I grant that I 
am not as experienced as you, far from it, but I learn quickly.  I think you 
would enjoy some of the things that I have in mind for us to do together.  
You must admit that your willingness to bed such creatures as hobbits is 
a bit embarrassing to the mighty order to which we both belong.  You are 
meant for better things, Gandalf.  Only you and I are really worthy of each 
other . . .”

He would have continued, but the unfamiliar and intimate feel of Gandalf’s 
skin under his fingers made Saruman close his eyes and gasp raggedly.   
As the blood rushed in his ears, he wondered whether it was worth 
waiting.  Did it really matter so much if Gandalf submitted to him?  The 
thought of pinning the other wizard and pushing into him inflamed him 
until he felt dizzy.  Even then, however, he remembered what Gandalf 
had said about resisting.  The grey wizard might be thin, but Saruman 
could feel the compact, hard pectoral muscles under his fingers.  
Subduing Gandalf would not be easy, he realized, and he might be badly 
hurt in the process.  The thought dampened his passion somewhat.

Gandalf had taken a deep breath and held it during much of Saruman’s 
speech, gritting his teeth.  How could Saruman delude himself that his 
seductive voice could make Gandalf forget all his threats against Frodo?  
How could he possibly think that Gandalf might actually find any of this 
appealing?  The whole thing was ludicrous.  Saruman’s fingers were 
awakening nothing but a deeper sense of revulsion.   Gandalf suppressed 
his desire to whirl and strike out and defend himself.  Instead he simply 
said quietly and firmly, “You SHALL not have me, Saruman.  Not now, not 
ever.”

Saruman’s fingers stopped moving, then pinched hard for a moment, and 
Gandalf could not suppress a brief grimace of pain.  Slowly Saruman 
withdrew his hand and walked to the stairwell.  The door below opened, 
and a shaft of light picked out his figure against the darkness as he turned 
back and calmly said, “I know why you are doing this, Gandalf, and it will 
not avail you.  There IS no way of escape.  The Men of Numenor did their 
work well when they created this tower.  Even an Istar cannot find a flaw.  
I know—I have lived here many, many years, and I have spent countless 
evenings on this roof.  For my amusement, I have thought long about 
what I would do, if I were a prisoner here myself.  I would hardly leave 
you up here alone if I thought there were any possible means of escape  I 
have NEVER found a way.  Neither will you.  There is still time for you to 
protect this silly little creature on whom you dote so.  Submit your body to 
my desires, Gandalf.  If you satisfy me in all the ways I want, then I shan’t 
bother sending for the hobbit.  I could, but I would not.  You are what I 
really want.  I SHALL have you, and not by force, sooner or later, 
whatever you may say—and you know it.”

As he disappeared down the stairs, Gandalf sank to sit against the hard 
stone once more and wait until his breathing and pulse slowed to normal.  
He was as near to sheer despair as he had ever been.  He had 
underestimated Saruman.  The wizard was more powerful than he had 
thought—perhaps enough to defy the gods themselves and throw their 
plans and hopes for Middle-earth off course forever.  How could he 
counter such malevolent power?  He had been only one of five sent to 
guide Middle-earth through its dangers.  Now he was deserted by all the 
others.  How could he do the work of five, especially when opposed by 
the most powerful of them all?  Perhaps this was truly the end; after two 
thousand of years of struggle, perhaps he would have to admit defeat.  

But he could NOT give up.  The one thought that he clung to was that at 
all costs he had to reach Frodo.  And if he could manage that, the quest 
to destroy the Ring would still have to go forward—assuming he and 
Elrond could persuade others among the Wise to follow that course.  Now 
there would be one more powerful and malicious force against which he 
would have to protect Frodo.  But he would face that when he came to it.

At least he finally understood the answer to his question about Sauron.  
When he first arrived at Orthanc, Saruman had said he would be tortured 
until he revealed the whereabouts of the Ring.  Gandalf had simply 
assumed that the torturer would be Sauron.  What had Saruman said at 
the end?  “Until the Ruler has time to turn to lighter matters:  to devise, 
say, a fitting reward for the hindrance and insolence of Gandalf the Grey.”  
He had taken the “Ruler” to be Sauron—the Ruler of the Ring.  But what if 
Saruman had been referring to himself?   At some point he had decided 
to risk keeping Gandalf for his own carnal purposes.  Perhaps it had been 
when he first learned that the Ring might be in the Shire.  That must be it.  
Now he was somehow stalling Sauron, making excuses not to send the 
prisoner.  Part of Saruman’s plan in summoning Gandalf to Orthanc had 
been to find the Ring.  Even if he could not force Gandalf to reveal Bilbo’s 
whereabouts, Saruman could keep him from protecting or warning the 
hobbit while the wizard’s agents searched for him.  Once he had the Ring, 
he could keep Gandalf for himself in defiance of Sauron, who might well 
be helpless to oppose him—assuming that Saruman knew how to wield 
the One.  He probably did to a considerable extent, having studied the 
great rings so thoroughly.

It occurred to Gandalf that there was a bright side to all this—a 
pathetically feeble one, to be sure.  Given a stark choice between eternal 
torment by Sauron and staying here for all time as Saruman’s plaything, 
the latter had to be preferable.   Maybe Saruman is right and his 
technique will improve, Gandalf thought with a reluctant little chuckle.  He 
tried to imagine Saruman making tender, passionate love to him.  He had 
a very lively imagination, but it could not conjure up THAT scene.

His smile faded as another realization came to him.  Saruman had 
probably desired him for many years.  Little taunts and glances at Council 
meetings might have alerted him that Saruman was, in his own perverse 
way, flirting with him.  Saruman had long known that Cirdan had given 
Narya to Gandalf rather than to himself—that was obviously one of many 
perceived slights that had fed Saruman’s jealousy.  And Saruman knew 
perfectly well that if he could gain the One, he would control the Bearers 
of the Three.  Saruman could order Gandalf to do anything he wanted, 
and he would not have to use a bit of force.  Gandalf closed his eyes 
wearily and sighed.  Everything made perfect sense now—Saruman’s 
spying, his obsession with the Rings.

The dreadful irony was that in trying to gain possession of Gandalf’s 
body, Saruman might well capture Frodo—intending only to use the 
hobbit as a means of coercing his lover, and yet inadvertently finding the 
Ring itself.  Clearly Saruman’s one failure--so far--was that he had not yet 
put two and two together and realized that Frodo had that great prize.  
Gandalf wondered again whether he should offer himself to Saruman, as 
long as there was the slightest chance that that would keep the wizard 
away from Frodo and the Ring.

Still, he could not entirely give up all hope of thwarting Saruman.  It was 
just not in his nature.  He simply HAD to find a way.  Suddenly he snorted 
briefly, a bitter little chuckle.  If he failed, the punishment would be bizarre 
indeed:  spending the rest of eternity—or at least as long as Saruman 
wanted him—as the wizard’s sex slave.  Now there was something he 
never could have imagined in his wildest dreams!  Looking down at his 
white beard and wrinkled hands, he murmured with a puzzled smile, “Why 
is it that everyone seems to find me so irresistible lately?”  Suddenly he 
recalled something Frodo had said during that first blissful day together:  
“You’re FUN!”  Gandalf laughed aloud and said to the night air, “Well, I 
doubt that Saruman thinks I’m fun!  And I doubt that he will ever know the 
joy of having someone think HE is fun.”

Gandalf realized that perhaps he was beginning to understand why he 
had been meant to love Frodo.  He had initially liked to think of his darling 
hobbit as something quite separate and isolated from the rest of his life.  
The moment when Gandalf had tossed the Ring into Frodo’s fireplace, 
however, that situation ceased to be possible.  The most important part of 
the wizard’s tasks in Middle-earth would be to destroy the Ring, and he 
implicitly believed what he had told Frodo:  that the hobbit was MEANT to 
have the Ring—though Frodo seemed not yet to have understood 
Gandalf’s hints that he must be THE Ringbearer until the end.  And the 
chosen Ringbearer was also the one person in Middle-earth that Gandalf 
was most desperate to protect.  It could not be a coincidence.  “And that 
may be a comforting thought,” he remembered saying to Frodo.  The 
poor, frightened hobbit had responded, “It is not!”  Really, Gandalf thought 
fondly, Frodo is not always the brightest little fellow.  He reached up and 
touched his swollen lip again, discovering that it was still bleeding a little.  
Still, he thought, Frodo is a MUCH better kisser than Saruman!

He laughed again, long and quietly, enjoying a tiny respite from his 
worries in the sheer delight of recalling Frodo—not in danger, not 
captured by Saruman, but just at home in his hobbit hole in happier days.  
Finally he got up again and paced slowly across the far-too-familiar 
stretch of flat paving.  The full moon had risen until it was shining down on 
the tower from a high angle.  The wizard leaned against one of the horns 
of stone and crossed one ankle over the other.  He looked wistfully 
upward, wondering if possibly Frodo was somewhere—preferably 
Rivendell—looking up at that same moon.  He stood thinking about the 
hobbit for a long time.

Suddenly a large, dark shape crossed the bright disk—a huge pair of 
wings.  Gandalf blinked and stood upright, ceasing for a moment to 
breathe.  The shape circled lower, and Gandalf inhaled deeply.  A 
shudder of relief passed through his entire body.  At least Radagast had 
not entirely deserted him.  He managed to assume a calm demeanor and 
smile as the great bird landed.  

“Gwaihir, my friend!  I badly need to ask a favor of you!”


TBC in “Thrice Returned # 5:  Reunion in Rivendell”


“Thrice Returned #5:  Reunion in Rivendell”  (5/11)

Author:  Nefertiti   nefertiti_22002@yahoo.com
Rating:  NC-17
Pairing:  Gandalf/Frodo (established relationship)
Warnings:  May/December
Summary:  Gandalf and Frodo meet in Rivendell, satisfy their pent-up 
urges, and prepare for the Fellowship to set out on the Quest. 
Disclaimer:  I claim no rights to these characters and receive no 
remuneration related to this story.
Author’s note:  Book-based.  This story begins by continuing on directly 
after the end of Book Two, Chapter I of The Fellowship of the Ring and 
spans the roughly two months Frodo, Gandalf, and the others spend in 
Rivendell before setting out on the Quest.  “Reunion in Rivendell” marks 
the mid-point of the “Thrice Returned” series and is intended as a low-key 
lull in the angst piling up around the lovers.
This series takes it name from my sequel to Poncing Ponies’ lovely story, 
“Twice Given.”  As always, my thanks to her for welcoming a sequel by 
another hand and being so encouraging.  Many thanks also to Elanor for 
betaing, encouragement, wonderful suggestions, and engrossing wizard-
slash discussions.  Without her, this series would most likely never have 
developed past being a sequel.


From Book Two, Ch. I
At last there came a knock on the door.  “Begging your pardon,” said 
Sam, putting in his head, “but I was just wondering if you would be 
wanting anything.”
“And begging yours, Sam Gamgee,” replied Bilbo.  “I guess you mean 
that it is time your master went to bed.”
“Well, sir, there is a Council early tomorrow, I hear, and he only got up 
today for the first time.”
“Quite right, Sam,” laughed Bilbo.  “You can trot off and tell Gandalf that 
he has gone to bed.  Good night, Frodo!  Bless me, but it has been good 
to see you again!  There are no folks like hobbits after all for a real good 
talk.  I am getting very old, and I began to wonder if I should ever live to 
see your chapters of our story.  Good night!  I’ll take a walk, I think, and 
look at the stars of Elbereth in the garden.  Sleep well!”


After leaving Bilbo, Frodo walked along the corridor, wondering where 
Gandalf was.  The wizard had left the Hall of Fire shortly after having 
guided him there.  While sitting listening to the Elven chants and songs, 
Frodo had smiled to remember his fantasy of Gandalf kissing and 
pleasuring him in a dark corner there.  The room was a bit too brightly 
illuminated for that sort of thing.

Ashe walked, he realized that he had no idea where Gandalf’s room was.  
Still, if Gandalf would only come to HIS room tonight . . .  He felt 
considerably stronger after the large meal and restful evening, and with 
recovery came the return of desire.  He pictured the wizard waiting in his 
bed to take him in his arms.  He hastened his step, but when he opened 
his door, the room was empty

After a few moments of feeling sorry for himself, he realized that he was 
indeed a bit tired.  He sighed and undressed, and after a quick wash, he 
put on his nightshirt (which was distinctly too long for him).  He climbed 
into the Man-sized bed.   He had barely settled in when there was a very 
soft knock on the door.  Gandalf poked his head in and looked across to 
the bed.  “Are you awake, Frodo?”  he whispered.

“Yes.”

“I shan’t disturb you.  I just wanted to make sure that you are all right.  
Good night!”

Frodo snorted in annoyance.  “No!  Come in.  I . . . I’ve got something to 
tell you about my condition.”

Gandalf came in and closed the door, frowning anxiously as he lit the 
lamp by the bed and moved the chair so that he could sit as close to the 
hobbit as possible.  He examined Frodo’s face for signs of pain or fatigue 
but found none.  “What’s wrong with your condition?”

“What’s wrong?  I’m upset, that’s what’s wrong!  When I woke up this 
morning, you didn’t take me in your arms, you didn’t kiss me!  And what’s 
worse, you’re not doing it now, either!  Are you ALWAYS going to behave 
this way after separations?  Do I have to seduce you EVERY time?”

“My dear, silly hobbit, can you ask?  This morning I wanted to assess how 
you were feeling before allowing you the slightest exertion.  Moreover, I 
was constantly expecting Sam to pop in.  He has been EXTREMELY 
diligent about watching over you.  There have been many times, believe 
me, when I wanted just to touch you, to stroke your cheek.  Of course, I 
did, every now and then, but I was always looking over my shoulder!  I am 
grateful to him for all he has done for you, of course, but I hardly want him 
as an audience to such intimacies.  He reported to me a short while ago 
that you had gone to bed, and I followed him to make sure that he did the 
same—and did not come back here to curl up outside your door like a 
faithful dog or some such nonsense.”

They both chuckled, but Frodo said, “Seriously, he’s been so devoted and 
kind and brave—we shouldn’t laugh.”

“Oh, yes, he’s an excellent companion for you.  Of course, at moments I 
think he’s perhaps a little TOO devoted to you.”

Frodo grinned at him, surprised.  “Do I detect a bit of jealousy in my dear 
wizard?”

Gandalf looked somewhat sheepish, but he smiled and replied, “Well, 
perhaps just a touch.”

Frodo smiled fondly at him and stroked his hand.  “I like that.  Of course, 
Sam is not exactly the equivalent of a houseful of beautiful Elves, but he’s 
something, at least!”

“At any rate, it is probably safe now to hope that we need fear no 
interruption.  I must say, fresh air and a meal have done wonders for you.  
You seem to be recovering very quickly since that splinter was removed.”

“Yes, well, Sam’s not here, and I’m feeling reasonably healthy—and if you 
don’t kiss me soon, I shall explode like one of your firecrackers!”

Gandalf grinned.  “A very apt comparison, my dear hobbit.  Dealing with 
you IS a bit like dealing with fireworks.  Still, with careful handling, none of 
my fireworks has ever blown up in my face.”

Frodo sighed and smiled in return.  “Well, you certainly know how to 
handle me.”

Gandalf leaned forward and put his arms slowly and carefully around 
Frodo’s shoulders, raising him slightly and kissing him very gently.  After 
a short while the wizard pulled back.  Frodo gazed into his eyes with a 
sad little frown.  “I’ve wanted that for so long.  All through the journey from 
Bag End, I was haunted by the idea that I’d never see you again, that you 
were . . . Aragorn hinted that maybe the Black Riders had done 
something to you.”  He put his good arm around Gandalf’s neck and 
pulled the wizard’s mouth to his again, kissing him a bit harder.  “And 
when I woke up this morning, I couldn’t believe it.  I was SO relieved . . .”  
A tear slid down his cheek.

Gandalf looked down into his lap and sighed.  “I know . . .  I know what 
you must have gone through.  As you will learn when I tell my tale at the 
Council tomorrow, there was a time when I was convinced of the same 
thing—that the Black Riders had caught up with YOU.  Luckily I soon 
found out that you had escaped and joined Aragorn in Bree.  But  before 
that my ten miserable weeks as a prisoner gave me plenty of time for 
imagining all sorts of dreadful things.  Then, when you were brought here, 
so pale and limp, I thought at first that you had succumbed to your 
wound.  And it was certainly not clear for some time that Elrond would be 
able to save you.”  He took a deep breath.  “But that is over.  As I said this 
morning, we are both safe—for now.  And I believe that we shall not have 
to part again soon.”

“That would be wonderful.  Gandalf, do you think the others know about . 
. . us?”

“Yes, I thought it best to tell them.  I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.  I’m GLAD we’re not going to keep it secret.  I want all those 
beautiful Elves to know that you are spoken for.  No more exciting nights 
with Gandalf the Grey for them!  And they ARE beautiful.  Seeing them, I 
cannot fathom why you would prefer me.”

Gandalf nodded.  “It IS odd, isn’t it?”  He assumed a thoughtful look.  
“Now that I am back here, I am reminded of how very, VERY beautiful 
they are.”  He sighed wistfully.

“Gandalf!”

They both laughed, and Frodo went on, “Now that they know, they must 
all be terribly jealous of me.  I’ve taken their wizard.”

“On the contrary, I’m sure that they’re all jealous of ME, sharing a bed 
with the most beautiful hobbit in Middle-earth.”

“Yes, I’m afraid Rivendell will be seething with jealousy while we’re here.”

Frodo pulled Gandalf in for another kiss.  Despite the wizard’s gentleness 
and reserve, Frodo felt himself hardening quickly, and he pushed his lips 
against Gandalf’s mouth, demanding entry for his tongue and finally 
delving deep inside.  He sensed a flare of desire, quickly suppressed, in 
the wizard.  Gandalf pulled back from him again, breathing noticeably 
harder.  He looked away.

“Frodo, you are making this very difficult.”

Frodo reached up with his good arm and tried to pull the wizard back 
down, murmuring breathily, “But Gandalf . . . why can’t we just be 
cautious and gentle?”  The wizard took the small hand from his shoulder 
and held it in his, kissing it.

“Frodo, you have been unconscious for five days now.  You don’t know 
what it has been like for me, sitting and seeing you lying there, slowly 
pulling back from the brink of death.  I realize that after what you have 
been through recently, you may find this hard to believe—but I AM trying 
to protect you!  I just haven’t had much opportunity to do so.  I don’t want 
to risk hurting you now that you’re recovering so well—”

Frodo interrupted, “Yes, but I am feeling MUCH better!  My main problem 
now is that I have not seen you for nearly four months!  I have had plenty 
to time to get to the point where I need you VERY badly.”

“--AND you just got up today for the first time—“ Gandalf continued firmly.

Frodo snorted.  “UP is right!  Look what you’ve done to me.”  He threw 
back the blankets and pulled his nightshirt up, revealing his fully hard, 
pink erection.  “You’ve simply got to do something about it.  It’s your fault, 
after all!”

Gandalf bristled.  “MY fault!  Who just tried to force his entire tongue into 
my mouth?”  The wizard was, however, aroused despite his best efforts, 
and he longed to touch Frodo’s throbbing shaft.

Frodo replied, “Well, it’s your fault for coming here tonight.  I was—well, 
NEARLY resigned to quietly falling asleep.  When you came in, naturally I 
assumed—“

Gandalf interrupted to declare without much conviction,  “You need rest.  
In a few days . . .”

Frodo gaped.  “A few days!  But I can’t wait, not even a few hours.  
Gandalf, you tell me to sleep, but how can I if you don’t help me?  I’ll . . . 
well, I would just have to do it for myself if you leave me like this.”  He 
stared up at Gandalf with wide blue eyes and a sad little pout.  “And that 
would be more effort than just lying here and feeling your wonderful 
mouth take me deep, DEEP inside and suck me until I’m completely 
drained.  It won’t take long, I know!  PLEASE, Gandalf!  I’m not asking 
you to pounce on me and ravish me, I’m just begging you to suck it, 
gently.  And then I could sleep very well indeed.”

Gandalf gulped, and Frodo looked at him more hopefully.

“When you put it that way—somehow it begins to sound almost 
therapeutic,” the wizard said, with a quiet laugh.  He moved the lamp 
closer and looked deeply into Frodo’s face.  The beautiful eyes held 
eagerness, even desperation, but there was something more—his skin 
was ruddier than it had been, giving a hint of returning health that 
encouraged the wizard.  He reached down and ran his thumb and one 
finger up the sides of Frodo’s shaft.  “I have to admit, anyone with an 
erection that hard must be reasonably well.  Apparently what I have 
always said about hobbit resilience is truer than I knew,” he said with a 
reluctant smile.  “I suppose . . . but if I sense that this is harming you in 
any way, I am going to stop, I warn you.”  Frodo suppressed a grin and 
nodded earnestly.  “And I don’t want you to move.  Just lie there, and I will 
do everything.” 

With that he pushed Frodo’s nightshirt further up, until it was bunched 
under his arms.  He was about to lean forward to kiss Frodo’s chest when 
he suddenly seemed to hear an echo of Saruman’s mocking voice:  
“Does he have tiny pert nipples? . . .  Does he taste good when he comes 
in your mouth?”  He froze, staring at Frodo’s body.  He had escaped from 
Isengard, but was the memory of Saruman’s vicious taunts going to 
intrude into his mind every time he made love to Frodo?  He was 
breathing more deeply but not with passion.

Frodo, prepared for the wizard’s mouth to delight him, lifted his head 
slightly to look into Gandalf’s tense face.  “Is something wrong?”

Gandalf started slightly.  “No!  Just admiring your beautiful nipples.”

Frodo looked doubtfully at him.  “It looked quite intense just for that.”

Gandalf tried to smile at him.  “I was INTENSELY admiring your pink, 
pert, delectable little nipples—and all the rest of you.”  Frodo smiled and 
relaxed onto the pillow.

The wizard stroked Frodo’s chest and belly gently with his fingers as he 
thought defiantly, “Yes, Saruman, he DOES have tiny pert nipples, and he 
DOES taste good when he comes in my mouth . . . and I have all of that 
and you never will—so to hell with you, Saruman!”

Gandalf gave a little snort of laughter, then smiled genuinely at Frodo and 
began to tongue and suck the hobbit’s nipples avidly.  To his relief, the 
sensations that surged through him had nothing at all to do with the 
treacherous wizard’s threats.  The feel of his tongue rasping across the 
little, hard peaks delighted him.  Yes, he was definitely enjoying this 
immensely, just as he always had.  Heat surged into his crotch, and he 
moaned against Frodo’s chest.  The hobbit hummed with pleasure and 
stroked Gandalf’s hair.  The wizard’s fingers lightly brushed Frodo’s inner 
thighs, and the hobbit spread his legs to allow greater access.  Finally he 
whispered, “Mmmm, touch it, Gandalf.  I want to feel your fingers on it!”

He began to utter strangled, incoherent noises deep in his throat as 
Gandalf stroked the shaft briefly, then slid his lips over the tip and slowly 
sucked the entire cock into his mouth.  He worked to bring Frodo 
gradually to the edge of ecstasy, then finally allowed him to slip 
effortlessly over it.  Frodo uttered a long gasp of relief, then lay panting 
and whimpering as he spurted into Gandalf’s mouth, little grimaces of 
pleasure playing across his face.  After a long time, Frodo slowly relaxed 
against the sheet.

Gandalf had watched his face through all this and found himself nearly 
hard by the end, but he hoped to hide this from the hobbit.  In a haze of 
bliss, Frodo opened his eyes and shook his head slightly.  “I’m sleepy, but 
I don’t want to drift off right away after that.  I want to stay awake to enjoy 
how WONDERFUL I feel.”  Suddenly he noticed the considerable bulge in 
Gandalf’s trousers.  “Oh, dear!  I’m sorry, Gandalf, I didn’t think—Here, 
get into bed with me.”  He grabbed the wizard’s hand.

“No, Frodo, it doesn’t matter.  I can wait.  Just let me leave, and you can . 
. .”

But the hobbit held on so tightly that Gandalf would have had to struggle 
with him to get away.  Frodo brought Gandalf’s hand up to his mouth to 
kiss it.  As he did so, the index finger slipped slightly into his mouth, and 
he sucked wetly at it.  He heard Gandalf give a gasping little moan of 
arousal.  Thus encouraged, he drew the finger almost entirely into his 
mouth, tonguing and sucking it passionately.  He had never done this 
before, but he realized from Gandalf’s reactions that it was stimulating 
him enormously.  He glanced up at the wizard, holding his eyes with his 
own half-closed ones, still slightly glazed from his recent climax.  Gandalf 
stared at him, breathing raggedly, trying to look away but caught by the 
double pleasure of the hobbit’s warm tongue caressing him so 
suggestively and the blue eyes staring at him with a combination of 
impishness and adoration.  The hobbit sucked the finger in, then 
withdrew, pursing his lips into a seductive pout and running them up and 
down the finger.  At last Gandalf whispered urgently, “Frodo!”

Frodo withdrew his mouth and commanded, “Get into this bed!  I’ll . . . I’ll 
leap up and jump around the room and do all sorts of strenuous things if 
you don’t!”

Gandalf shook his head in exasperation and chuckled.  “Well, we certainly 
can’t have that.  I—all right.”  He kicked off his boots and carefully eased 
himself, fully clothed, onto the edge of the bed and embraced Frodo.

Frodo reached down with his right hand and stroked the wizard’s erection 
through his trousers.  Gandalf uttered a brief groan, and he clutched a 
handful of the nightshirt against Frodo’s back.

The hobbit whispered, “Just let me keep going, gently.  This arm isn’t hurt 
at all.  I could not bear it if I did not give you the same pleasure you have 
given me.”  Wordlessly the wizard reached down and undid the knot of his 
trouser-laces, pulling them loose so that Frodo could bring out his 
throbbing erection and caress it directly.  The hobbit watched the need 
reflected in Gandalf’s face as he panted and pressed his head into the 
pillow they shared.  Frodo murmured,  “It’s wonderful to touch you this 
way again at last—so hard and warm and eager.  I wanted to feel again 
how much you want me.”

“Frodo, my darling hobbit!  I DO want you, so badly!  Oh, that feels 
marvelous!”

The hobbit pulled as hard as he could with one hand, and Gandalf 
moaned with pleasure.  But Frodo was at an awkward angle, too close to 
Gandalf’s body, and there was no room for them to move apart.  After 
quite some time he felt the wizard trembling, desperate to achieve 
release.  Gandalf began to thrust slightly into his hand, but Frodo realized 
that, despite the wizard’s painful arousal, they were making no progress.

“I don’t think this is going to work,” he whispered anxiously.

Gandalf managed to master his voice, then gasped, “I believe you’re 
right.  We should give it up.”

Frodo grinned.  “A noble offer, but I think we’ve gone just a bit too far to 
quit now.  If I could just use my mouth as well.  Try kneeling and 
straddling my chest.”  Gandalf struggled to rise and position himself as 
Frodo had suggested.  The knob of his straining purple erection brushed 
against Frodo’s lips as Gandalf took firm hold of the headboard and 
leaned slightly forward.

“Perfect,” Frodo said, licking the large, smooth tip and gathering the drops 
already oozing from it.  “Mmm.  I had almost forgotten what you taste 
like.”  He then pressed his pursed lips against it and swirled his tongue 
over it as he again stroked the shaft firmly, now from a much better angle.  
“Pity I can’t use both hands,” he thought, taking the entire tip into his 
mouth and sucking noisily at it as he stroked the shaft even harder and 
faster.  From the gasps and moans he heard coming from above him, he 
decided that it didn’t matter—this was obviously going to work!

Gandalf managed to choke out, “Oh, Frodo . . . it has been so long!”   
Almost at once he began to groan rhythmically and his cum gushed into 
Frodo’s mouth.  Considerable practice earlier that year had left Frodo 
better able to deal with it, and he managed to swallow it all, listening to 
Gandalf slowly became quiet as the last shudders of pleasure drained 
from him.  After panting heavily for a few moments, the wizard tucked his 
shrinking penis into his trousers and lay back down by Frodo.

“An inspired idea, my dear hobbit.  I probably would have thought of it 
myself, but I was not in a particularly rational state.”  He lay quietly 
running his fingers along Frodo’s cheek as his breathing slowly returned 
to normal.  “Well, I must admit, you do not seem to have suffered any 
harm during all that.  Quite the contrary.  You are positively glowing with 
triumph.”  He nestled into the pillow, quickly falling asleep.  Frodo grinned, 
knowing that the wizard would soon wake up again—or would he?  This 
late at night, he well might not.  Frodo struggled to keep from dozing off 
himself, realizing that he would have to wake Gandalf in a few minutes 
and send him off to his own room.  Sam might be aware of their 
relationship, but he imagined that his faithful companion would still be 
shocked to find the wizard in Frodo’s bed when he arrived the next 
morning.  Besides, the bed really was quite narrow for two people.  He 
shook Gandalf’s shoulder gently.  “Wake up, old fellow.”

Gandalf’s eyes fluttered open, and he smiled at Frodo with utter bliss.  
Frodo took his hand and sucked at the end of his finger briefly.  “You 
really enjoyed THAT, didn’t you?”

The wizard just gave a little nod.  Frodo continued, “I’ll keep that in mind.  
But now, alas, it’s time for bed . . . or sleep, I should say.  Off you go.”

Gandalf was fully awake immediately, and he rose to pull on his boots 
and replace the chair.  Then he returned to the bed and leaned down, 
embracing Frodo and gently sucking his lips, taking the top one in first 
and tonguing it, then switching to the bottom.  Frodo did the same with 
Gandalf’s lips, and they slowly took turns at this for a few minutes.  Both 
soon realized, however, that they were beginning to invade each other’s 
mouths with their tongues, and Gandalf straightened up.

Frodo stared up at him accusingly.  “I think you’d better get out of here.   I 
need my rest, my dear wizard.  I’ve been unconscious for five days, you 
know.  And I only just got up today for the first time.  What are you doing, 
tempting me like this, old fellow?  Try to control yourself!  There will be 
plenty of time for this sort of thing later.”  

Gandalf shook with silent laughter.  Finally he nodded.  “Yes, your health 
is definitely improving, young fellow.  Still, I think I HAD better get out of 
here.  But once you fully recover—watch out!  You won’t be able to get 
me out of your bed.”

Frodo waggled his eyebrows.  “Why would I want to?”

The wizard crossed and opened the door, pausing to look back.

Frodo frowned sternly at him.  “And one more thing.  I want you to stay 
away from all those beautiful Elves.   I warn you, I’m going to keep a 
close eye on you!”

Gandalf started and assumed a worried look.  “I nearly forgot!  There 
must be three of them waiting for me in my bed right now.  I must rush!  
I’ve a long night ahead.  Sleep well!”

He ducked out and closed the door quickly as Frodo vainly looked around 
for something to throw after him.  The hobbit laughed quietly and relaxed 
onto the pillow, MUCH more content than when he had first climbed into 
bed.


Gandalf hurried along the chilly corridor to his own warm room, still 
chuckling at this little exchange.  His own bed, which was singularly free 
of “beautiful Elves,” looked inviting.  But a heap of embers was still 
glowing in the fireplace, and he decided to sit and have a last pipe while 
he pondered the upcoming Council.  The joy of his reunion with Frodo 
quickly dissipated as he considered what he would face the next day.  He 
would have to guide the person he loved most in Middle-earth into taking 
on a supremely dangerous task.  “Frodo IS the Ringbearer,” he told 
himself, “and much though I hate the idea, I CANNOT shift that burden 
onto another’s shoulders.”

Sitting beside Frodo during those five long, anxious days, he had realized 
that many of the things he loved about the hobbit—his determination, his 
wit, his resilience, his innocence, and yes, his provincial naiveté and 
simplicity—made him the ideal Ringbearer.  He was strong and brave 
enough, Gandalf hoped, to carry on through great dangers—the episode 
in the Barrow certainly suggested as much.  And he took after Bilbo, who 
had accomplished amazing feats for such a small person.  And Frodo 
was completely ignorant in the ways of power and domination, so that 
even if he seized the Ring, he could not use it very effectively.  And the 
wizard hoped that its irresistible lure would be slower to affect a simple 
soul like him than one who knew how to wield a Ring.  A shudder passed 
through him as he briefly contemplated the black treachery of Saruman.

Finally he thought, “But I can at least go with Frodo, to the end, to the 
Mountain.  I do not believe that I could bear to take some other path and 
watch him walk away toward that utter darkness.  This MUST be why I 
was meant to love Frodo—to give me the strength, the will to help and 
protect the Ringbearer, even beyond what dedication I would have 
brought to that mission in any case.”  A dark thought which had haunted 
him for months resurfaced in his mind:  by accompanying the Ringbearer, 
he would fall further under the lure of the Ring himself.  With a tired sigh 
he thought, “I shall just have to resist it.  It’s as simple as that.  I can only 
hope that a struggle over the Ring does not kill our love for each other.  It 
would be romantic to think that nothing COULD kill that love—but the 
Ring ultimately could corrupt anything.  Maybe if we are both strong, we 
can reach the Mountain before that happens.  We must.  There is no 
other choice.”

Gandalf was not capable of giving in to despair or regret for long, and he 
rose to ready himself for bed, dismissing such thoughts.  At least Frodo 
was recovering quickly for now.  Quite quickly, he reflected contentedly, 
with the afterglow of their lovemaking still lingering in his body.  After long 
nights of anxiety, he would be able to sleep soundly.


A few weeks later, Frodo was sitting in the library at Rivendell, a long, 
high book-lined room with a narrow table stretching nearly its full length.  
He sat near one end of the table, struggling with a large tome that 
Gandalf had suggested might give him a better idea of the history of the 
Ring.  It might--IF he could get through it, but it was densely and dryly 
written, and as he yawned, he wondered if he really needed to know 
THAT much about the Ring’s background.  And most of what he had read 
so far seemed to have little to do with the Ring.  It was getting on for late 
afternoon, the time when pre-dinner drinks would be brought round and 
the other, more dedicated researchers finally would cease their labors for 
the day.  He sighed and tried to concentrate on the lines of text swimming 
before his eyes.

On the opposite side, near the other end of the table, Gandalf was sitting, 
surrounded by open books, rolled and unrolled maps, a scatter of sheets 
containing his notes, and several stacks of books awaiting his attention.   
He was leaning forward, deeply absorbed in another huge, dusty volume.  
Frodo envied his ability to get through all this material and apparently find 
it fascinating.  He would have to depend on the wizard’s vast knowledge, 
since he would never be able to learn enough, despite the fact that there 
were at least a few weeks left before their departure.

After staring at his lover with a little smile on his face, Frodo was about to 
turn back to his own book when his attention was diverted to the other 
figures in the room.  Elrond was partway up a small ladder that gave 
access to the upper shelves, searching for something.  Aragorn, who had 
been standing next to the ladder, now turned, stretched his neck to see 
what Gandalf was doing, glanced up at Elrond while putting his finger to 
his lips, and then tiptoed up behind the wizard.  Frodo tried to pretend he 
was reading, but he watched in puzzled fascination as Aragorn crept up 
directly behind Gandalf and looked down at the pages that were so 
gripping the wizard.  He grinned and then suddenly clapped his hands on 
Gandalf’s shoulders, leaning down by his ear and saying “Aha!”

Gandalf gave a huge start, then sighed and looked up into Aragorn’s face 
with mock indignation.  “Is this the way you treat an OLD MAN?”

Aragorn grinned, his hands still on Gandalf’s shoulders as he leaned 
around to look into the wizard’s face.  “Would this be that same old man 
who could probably send me flying the length of this room with a flick of 
his staff if he had a mind to?”

For a moment Gandalf looked up at him with the hint of a wicked smile.  
“Now THAT’S an idea!”  They both laughed, as did Elrond, who had 
turned to watch this little scene.  Frodo’s mouth was hanging slightly open 
in astonished amusement.  He had actually not spent all that much time in 
the library, except when Gandalf shamed him into it, and he had never 
seen the other three together in such private circumstances.  It was a side 
of Aragorn that he certainly had not encountered before.  He endeavored 
to seem focused on his own book, but he continued to observe the others 
as Elrond descended the ladder and came to stand at Gandalf’s right, 
while Aragorn moved forward to the wizard’s left side.

“Now, now, children, what is the problem?” Elrond said with a tolerant 
smile.

Aragorn looked at him and shook his head.  “Here we are looking for the 
answer to an important and vexing question, and our colleague is reading 
what appears to be a particularly irrelevant volume dealing with the 
history of the goblin wars of the First Age.”

The pair both frowned at Gandalf, trying rather unsuccessfully to 
suppress little grins.  The wizard looked from one to the other, shrugging.  
“It’s QUITE a fascinating subject, and I had never run across such a 
detailed account before.”

Aragorn shook his head.  “Well, I’m sure the answer we are seeking will 
be quite fascinating and much more practical, IF we can just find it.”  He 
slid the open book away from Gandalf toward Elrond, who picked it up, 
glanced at the title on the spine, and with a little smile began to close it.

Gandalf stiffened and said exasperatedly, “Well, put a bookmark in it!”

Elrond paused and looked around.  “I don’t have one.”

Gandalf scrabbled briefly among the scraps of paper before him and 
handed one to Elrond, who slipped the marker into the book before 
closing it and placing it on the table out of the wizard’s reach.  The two 
stared at Gandalf accusingly.  He responded with a sigh, “I take it neither 
of you would object if I were to continue reading that, in the privacy of my 
own room, before bedtime, when I am ‘off duty,’ so to speak.  Hmm?”

Aragorn laughed.  “Oh, not at all.  It looks just the sort of thing to send 
one off to sleep quickly.”

Gandalf and Elrond suddenly guffawed, and Aragorn and Frodo looked at 
them with puzzled frowns.  Once the laughter died down, Gandalf said to 
Aragorn with a mischievous little smile, “Of course you realize Elrond 
wrote it.”

The two laughed again, and Frodo did as well, as quietly as he could.  
Aragorn was taken aback.  “Um, and absorbing stuff it is, too, I’m sure.  
Ah, saved!” he added, as an Elf came in carrying a tray with a pitcher of 
wine and four goblets.

Chuckling, the three of them moved away from the table to pour drinks.  
While Gandalf and Elrond stood talking at the other end of the table, 
Aragorn walked down to Frodo holding two glasses.  He sat beside the 
hobbit and handed one to him, then took a little sip from his own and sat 
back comfortably.

Frodo smiled in response and gratefully pushed away the book he had 
been “reading,” then tasted his wine.  He had had few chances to talk to 
Strider—Aragorn, that is—since the Council, because the Ranger had 
been away on scouting missions.  He had told Gandalf that he found the 
Man a bit grim and strange, yet now he seemed so relaxed and cheerful.  
A tiny doubt had begun to tickle at Frodo’s mind, however, during the little 
scene he had just witnessed.  Could Aragorn have been Gandalf’s lover 
at some point?  The Ranger was certainly quite handsome, in a rugged 
sort of way, especially now that he had had a chance to clean up and 
replace his worn travel clothes.  It shouldn’t matter, Frodo told himself.  
He knew that Gandalf had had lovers before their relationship  began, 
many of them here in Rivendell.  He had teased Gandalf about the 
“beautiful Elves,” but he had tried not to speculate as to which ones had 
shared the wizard’s bed in times past.  Gandalf had told the hobbit that he 
had never loved any of them the way he loved Frodo, and Frodo believed 
and trusted him.  But despite his best efforts, he strongly suspected that it 
would be hard to be in a small group like the Fellowship with one of the 
wizard’s former lovers.  Maybe it was best not to know.  He decided not to 
try and pry into the past.

Aragorn smiled at him, as if divining his thoughts, but did not speak.

“You’re an even braver man than I had realized, Strid—uh, Aragorn,” the 
hobbit remarked.

Aragorn raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“Facing up to Black Riders is one thing, but playing tricks on a great 
wizard!  I think few of the people here at Rivendell would dare to do 
THAT.”

Aragorn’s smile broadened.  “Well, I suppose I do it partly because I CAN.  
Maybe I was showing off to you just a bit, because even after all these 
years, I find it amazing to be so close to one of the Istari—oh, sorry, that’s 
the Elven word for “wizards.”  Or I should say, “wizard” is the Common-
Tongue word for Istar.  And by the way, we have never been lovers, if 
that’s what you were wondering.”

Frodo tried to hide his relief as he smiled at Aragorn—but he realized that 
he was indeed VERY relieved.  He said, “I remember the first time he 
mentioned you to me, back in April, he spoke of you very admiringly.  
Something about you being the greatest . . . what was it?  ‘Huntsman,’ I 
think he said.”

Aragorn’s face crinkled into another wide grin as he heard that.  “I know, 
he has considerable respect for me—and I must say, that is one thing that 
has kept me going through all these years of hardship and uncertainty.  
He acts as if I AM the King of Gondor and assumes I WILL regain my 
throne someday.  Few others seem to have that confidence, but if he 
believes it, I believe it.  Sometimes I think I struggle on as much to live up 
to Gandalf’s opinion as I do to attain the crown.”  He laughed quietly.

Frodo stared at him.  “That’s exactly how I feel.  I think that’s how I ended 
up being the Ringbearer,” he added with a rueful little smile.  Then the 
smile faded.  “It’s not a bad way to live your life.  I remember when I was 
in the Barrow and tempted to flee without my friends.  My first thought 
was, surely Gandalf would have to admit I couldn’t do anything else.  And 
then I thought, ‘Oh no, he wouldn’t!” and I had to get them out of there.  It 
helped give me the courage to do that.”  Aragorn nodded solemnly.

Frodo was silent for a moment, then asked, “How did you meet him?  
Here in Rivendell?”

“Yes.  It was nearly forty years ago now.  You may not know this, but 
Elrond became my foster father after my real father was killed.  I was two 
then.”

Frodo nodded.  “My parents died when I was very young as well.” 

Aragorn nodded in return, then resumed, “Well, somehow I had never met 
Gandalf until I was twenty-five.  Let’s see, you would have been, I think, 
twelve at that point.  Gandalf  was particularly busy in those times.  There 
was the quest to kill Smaug and restore the kingdoms east of Mirkwood, 
and the Battle of the Five Armies, and the rumors of the return of Sauron 
to Mordor, and Gandalf’s frustrations because of Saruman’s growing 
opposition.  He spent most of what free time he had in Lórien or the Shire.  
And of course I was often away from Rivendell myself.  At any rate, we 
did not meet until one afternoon I arrived here and Elrond told me that he 
wanted to introduce us.  I was thrilled and a bit nervous.  Here I was 
finally going to meet the powerful and lofty Istar about whom I had heard 
so many amazing stories.”

He laughed, and Frodo smiled in anticipation.

“Well, we went back to his room—his room was always kept for him, no 
matter how many years went by between visits.  There he was, sitting at a 
little worktable in a corner, surrounded by a clutter of paper and twine and 
bottles of this and that.  His hands were nearly black and he had a long 
dark smudge down one cheek.  I was a bit puzzled at first, and I thought, 
well, he must be mixing some important potion or doing an esoteric 
experiment—and then I realized that he was making fireworks!  I was 
completely taken aback, but he got up and greeted me in the warmest 
way, and within minutes I felt as if he was an old friend.”

He paused in thought, smiling, and Frodo waited to hear more.

Aragorn went on, “Gandalf became a sort of father to me—more than 
that, my dearest friend and mentor.  Elrond of course had raised me, and 
I love him very much.  But he is often a trifle aloof and formal.  More so as 
I reached adulthood and fell in love with Arwen.  Elrond struggles to 
accept that she will stay with me when the Elves depart, but inevitably it 
has created a tiny coolness between us—though as you probably can tell, 
we’re still quite close.  Gandalf stepped in and gave me the fatherly love I 
had so wanted.  We have traveled a great deal together over the 
intervening years, since his goals and mine are much the same.  We 
have been through dangers and long, boring weeks on the road, and . . . 
and that, in short, is why I can joke with him so easily, Frodo.  In 
situations like this he’s . . . well, he’s FUN!”

Frodo looked at him in delighted surprise.  “That’s just what I said to him 
once!” and then he blushed, remembering exactly where and when he 
had said that to the wizard—and what they had just been doing.

If Aragorn noticed this, he did not react, only continuing, “And that is why I 
also know that you are a very lucky hobbit!”  He smiled and sipped his 
wine.

Frodo sighed.  “I know, believe me, I know.  I always knew it, but being 
here in Rivendell and realizing what a very important person he is and 
seeing how many great and beautiful people he has to choose from, it 
makes me, well . . .”  He sighed and shook his head.

Aragorn leaned over and patted his shoulder.  “On the other hand, from 
what I’ve seen so far, I should say that he’s a very lucky wizard.”

Frodo looked up at him with wide eyes.  “Why?”

“I’m not quite sure, since I know you so little yet.  He has told me a great 
deal about you over the years—nothing too intimate, of course, but . . . 
well, I’ve watched the way his eyes light up when he speaks or thinks of 
you.  And I have seen a change in him during the past seventeen years.  
He has always been of a cheerful disposition, of course, but lately there 
has been a sort of underlying, steady joy and contentment—though I 
know your love has also brought him new anxieties, especially since he 
discovered the true nature of the Ring.  He worries about you a great 
deal, though I’m sure that’s not telling you anything you don’t know.”

They sat in silent thought for a moment, and then, to lighten the tone, 
Frodo asked with a hint of mischief, “And no more beautiful Elves in his 
bed, I hope.”

Aragorn looked at him quickly, then grinned.  “He told you about that, I 
gather.  No, no more ‘beautiful Elves.’  And you mustn’t think there were 
THAT many of them before.  Though given how young I am and how old 
he is, there must have been some that I don’t know about.  And I suspect 
that there are a few jealous glances leveled at you in the evenings, 
though Elves are very good at hiding such things.”  He laughed.

Frodo blushed again, unable to hold back a little smile of pleasure.  “I 
never really thought there were that many,” he said, a trifle untruthfully, 
and shrugged.  “I just love to tease him about it.”

Aragorn smiled briefly, then looked more seriously at him.  “One thing I do 
want to impress upon you.  For years Gandalf was determined to keep 
you away from the troubles that he deals with in the larger world.  His 
realization that you are the Ringbearer made that impossible, of course.  
It is excruciatingly difficult for him, but he will have to send you into 
terrible danger and hardship.  It breaks his heart, but you must realize 
that his love for you will never cause him to spare you anything that he 
thinks is important to the Quest.  Indeed, he never spares himself in such 
circumstances.  But at the same time he will do everything in his 
considerable power to protect you—and you could not have a better 
protector, Frodo Baggins.”  Frodo nodded. 

They sat peacefully for a few moments without talking further, and then 
an Elf arrived to announce dinner.  As the pair rose, Frodo looked with 
delight at Gandalf, waiting at the other end of the room to go out with him.  
He was enormously pleased that Aragorn had talked so openly with him.  
Not only was he reassured about those “beautiful Elves”—and about 
Aragorn himself—but he realized that the Ranger was not nearly as grim 
a fellow as he had thought.  He was more overjoyed than ever to have 
such a companion to help guide him in his Quest.

As they reached the other end of the room, Aragorn and Elrond went out, 
leaving Gandalf holding out his hand for Frodo to take.  The hobbit 
grasped it, but held the wizard back and pushed him away from the 
doorway slightly.  He held up his face, and Gandalf leaned down and 
kissed his cheek lightly.  Frodo looked seductively up at him.  “Just wait 
until I get you alone,” he purred.

Gandalf raised his eyebrows and squeezed the hobbit’s hand.  “That 
eager, are we?”

Frodo nodded.  “I can’t wait . . .  to tell you EXACTLY what I thought of 
that book!” and he moved toward the door, pulling the amused wizard 
after him.


After that Frodo visited the library more often, but usually for short 
stretches when Gandalf and Aragorn took breaks from their labors.  They 
talked and laughed together, and sometimes Frodo made further efforts 
to study a little himself.  Somewhat to his surprise, he occasionally found 
Merry there as well, pouring over maps or pulling some of the less 
weighty volumes down to peruse.  More predictably, Pippin and Sam 
avoided the place altogether.

After dinner on the night before they were to leave, Gandalf took Frodo’s 
hand as usual and drew him out of the large dining room and into the 
corridor that led to the Hall of Fire.  They looked into each other’s eyes, 
and Gandalf’s warm gaze held Frodo entranced with its promise of 
passion and fulfillment.  The hobbit barely noticed that there were no 
others moving along with them until they walked into the Hall and he 
realized that it was entirely empty but for themselves.  The wizard paused 
to bar the door behind them.  The hobbit looked up at Gandalf 
questioningly, and the wizard smiled at him so fondly that Frodo 
swallowed hard.

Gandalf said gently, “You once told me that you had pictured us, as mere 
acquaintances, sitting together in a dark corner here, listening to Elven 
songs—and getting to know each other a good deal better.  I have 
thought of that every time I have entered this room since—and many 
more times when I have been far away from here and from you.  I found it 
impossible to provide both the setting and the songs, so we shall have to 
use our imaginations for the latter.  But Elrond indulged me by letting us 
have the room to ourselves tonight.  Why don’t you go over into a dark 
corner and listen to the songs, Frodo?”

As he walked across the broad hall, Frodo tried to remember exactly what 
he had told Gandalf about his fantasies.  He chose a comfortable bench 
in the darkest corner and settled onto it, staring at the fire and recalling 
the beautiful singing that he had heard there night after night.  Out of the 
corner of his eye he watched Gandalf, who strolled along the opposite 
wall, glancing in his direction occasionally, just briefly, but with an 
admiring look.  The wizard pulled out his pipe and lit it, still casting 
glances his way frequently.

Finally Gandalf crossed and sat by Frodo, but not as close as he 
ordinarily would have.  “Young Frodo Baggins, is it not?  It is good to see 
you again, and so far from home.  Are you enjoying your stay in 
Rivendell?”

Frodo smiled and tried to be matter-of-fact.  “Very much.  It is good to see 
you again as well, Gandalf.  It has been all too long since your last visit to 
the Shire.”

“I would have to agree heartily with that sentiment.  You are even more 
beautiful than I remembered.”

Frodo felt a shiver of pleasure and desire glide through his body.  “I—I 
had no idea that you would think such a thing about me.  There are so 
many . . .” he could not resist a mischievous little grin, “. . . so many 
beautiful Elves here.”

Gandalf’s eyes passed slowly over him, from head to toe, then up again, 
lingering on his bulging crotch, his rising and falling chest, and finally 
settling on his luminous eyes, which reflected the firelight as if he was 
already glowing with desire.  “I have thought about you often, my dear 
hobbit, though it might surprise you to hear it.  You fill my dreams at night, 
and I have longed for this reunion.”

Frodo gulped, unable to respond coherently as Gandalf’s eager eyes 
again slowly took in his body.  It almost seemed to the hobbit as if the 
wizard’s hands were already upon him, feeling, exploring, exciting.  
Glancing around as if someone might be watching, Gandalf slid over until 
their bodies were touching and put one arm around Frodo’s shoulders.  
He looked down for a moment, as if appraising the hobbit’s reaction to 
this bold move.  Frodo pretended to be confused, listening to the “music” 
but breathing hard.  Suddenly Gandalf pulled the hobbit toward himself, 
lowering his head to press his mouth softly but eagerly against Frodo’s.  
Frodo was about to open and welcome him, but he vaguely remembered 
that he was supposed to be surprised by this.  He pulled reluctantly away 
and looked with puzzlement up into the wizard’s hungry eyes.  “What are 
you doing?” he managed to ask, though he longed to pull Gandalf against 
him, on top of him.

Gandalf stroked his cheek.  “I have remembered you for years, Frodo, 
from my last visit to the Shire:  your beauty, your wit, your liveliness.  
Seeing you again, I must tell you that I love you.  I hope that does not 
shock you, my dear boy.”

Frodo licked his lips, as if nervous and unsure of himself.  “No . . . I’m . . .  
not shocked.  I’m glad.”  Gandalf smiled and kissed him again, now 
deeply, as his hand slid up Frodo’s thighs and chest, undoing two buttons 
of his shirt and slipping inside to rub Frodo’s nipples, delicately at first, 
then more sharply as Frodo moaned against his tongue.  Frodo jerked 
and twisted as Gandalf’s fingers pinched him more aggressively, and 
then, as Frodo slid down, whimpering with desire, Gandalf lowered 
himself onto his knees, spreading the hobbit’s legs and cupping the 
growing erection with his hand, manipulating it skillfully through the cloth 
until Frodo begged, “Oh, Gandalf, take it in your mouth, please!”   The 
wizard opened Frodo’s shirt and sucked maddeningly at his nipples as he 
undid the hobbit’s trouser-laces and pulled his rampant member out.

He whispered, “Don’t make so much noise, my dear hobbit!  The others 
will hear.”  Frodo held his breath to prevent himself from uttering loud 
moans of bliss as Gandalf hooked Frodo’s knees over his shoulders and 
licked the firm rod that poked up toward his chin.  Frodo whispered, “That 
feels better than my best fantasy could imagine!”  Gandalf’s lips nibbled 
teasingly at the cock’s tip, and he flicked his tongue back and forth down 
the sensitive underside of the shaft.  Pressing Frodo’s erection up flat 
against his belly, the wizard licked his testicles and finally drew each in 
turn into his mouth before engulfing the entire sac in wet heat, his tongue 
swirling and poking until Frodo was dizzy with arousal.  He felt weightless, 
floating in the air before Gandalf’s mouth, moving toward an ecstasy that 
seemed about to surge into his loins and then flitted away as the wizard 
removed his mouth and kissed gently along Frodo’s delicately veined 
length.  “No, Gandalf!  Don’t tease me!  I’m ready, please!” the hobbit 
moaned in a strangled voice, then gasped with joy as Gandalf slowly 
sucked the tip into his throat and tightened his lips to pull and tongue 
Frodo’s cock insistently.  At last Frodo felt his pleasure soar, and he sent 
spurt after spurt into the wizard’s throat.  Finally he went limp, and 
Gandalf lowered him carefully.  The wizard slid up to sit beside him again 
as Frodo panted and gazed up at him rapturously.

“I hope you don’t think that I’ve been too forward, Master Baggins, but 
being so close to you like this carried me away.  I could not resist you.”

Frodo rubbed against the wizard’s arm, sighing happily.  “I’m not at all 
offended, Master Gandalf.  In fact, you may think me a bit forward as 
well.”  His hand slid into Gandalf’s lap and felt the wizard’s erection well 
started and increasing under his exploring fingers.  “Mmm.  That’s awfully 
big, but I’d love to feel it inside me.  Perhaps you could find a way to 
manage that.”

“I wouldn’t be at all surprised,” Gandalf gasped, as he leaned back and 
closed his eyes, enjoying Frodo’s gentle stroking.  Soon the hobbit rose 
and straddled the wizard’s lap, his knees on the bench, opening Gandalf’s 
shirt wide and brushing aside his beard.  Gandalf opened his eyes again 
and watched him, breathing slowly but deeply as Frodo fastened his open 
mouth over one nipple and sucked the little nub while he pinched and 
teased the other.  Gandalf reached over the hobbit’s thighs and around 
his back to unlace his own trousers, freeing an erection that pressed up 
against Frodo’s bottom, which was still enclosed in the loose trousers 
bagging low on his hips.

“Oh, Frodo, that feels sublime!  If only time could stop now and we could 
go on just like this—no Quest, no journeying, no danger.  Just your lips 
and tongue on me like this, so soft and warm and wet and—“  He began 
to rock his hips, rubbing his length against the rough folds of Frodo’s 
trousers.  At last, with a stifled groan, he pushed Frodo down onto his 
hands and knees on the rug before the bench and knelt behind him, 
pulling the trousers further down to reveal Frodo’s small buttocks.  
Gandalf’s long fingers raked slowly down Frodo’s back and squeezed his 
cheeks eagerly.  Then one hand slid under Frodo’s stomach to find the 
hobbit beginning to regain his erection.  The wizard leaned forward to 
whisper, “Are you ready for me, Frodo?  May I go inside you?”

Frodo was focused on the wizard’s hand, stroking and pulling him.  He felt 
Gandalf trembling with desire and was keenly aware that this was the last 
night they would be alone for many days, perhaps weeks.  He suddenly 
felt almost desperate to please the wizard, to make him remember their 
bliss no matter how long they had to avoid such intimacy.  He whispered, 
“Yes, Gandalf.  Take me!”  He moaned loudly as Gandalf’s spell relaxed 
him and he felt the tip of the wizard’s cock push slowly but powerfully into 
him.  He spread his knees further and dropped his head down onto his 
crossed forearms, opening himself as fully as possible to the wizard’s 
eager thrusts.  Gradually Gandalf slowed and halted, gasping as he 
savored the warm, moist sheath gripping him.  “That’s far enough, isn’t 
it?” he said between clenched teeth.

“Yes, perfect.  Just like that,” Frodo murmured, and the wizard resumed 
driving pleasure deep inside him.  Wordlessly the hobbit reached down to 
guide Gandalf’s stroking hand to a quicker pace, eager to regain his full 
erection.  He welcomed the wizard’s leisurely pumping rhythm, giving him 
time to build slowly toward his fulfillment.  Gandalf whispered his name 
over and over as he climbed toward release with exquisite slowness.  At 
last Frodo sensed that Gandalf was barely able to contain himself, nearly 
frantic to slip over into ecstasy.  “Go ahead, now!” he urged, and Gandalf 
uttered a gasp of relief as he immediately thrust harder and faster, 
grimacing and pressing his chin down into his chest as he sent his seed 
deep into the hobbit.  He pulled Frodo’s shaft even more rapidly, and just 
as the wizard was gliding down from the height of his pleasure, Frodo 
squealed and thrashed.  His come soon coated Gandalf’s fingers, which 
moved with slippery heat over his tip and shaft until Frodo’s last drops 
emerged and tiny shudders shook his body.

After Gandalf had recovered somewhat, he rose and fastened his 
trousers, moving up onto the bench again and helping the hobbit to 
straighten his clothing and sit beside him.  The wizard leaned against the 
wall and ran his fingers through Frodo’s curls.  “Making your fantasies 
come true turns out to be most rewarding, my dear, beautiful hobbit.  Let 
me know if you remember some other particularly vivid ones.”

Frodo swallowed and nestled against the wizard’s side.  “Now that we can 
be together, I don’t need to fantasize about things like that--though I 
suspect that before this journey is very old, I shall be daydreaming about 
getting you alone.”

Gandalf sighed.  “Yes.  Quite apart from the constant presence of the 
others, it will be cold, and the country we shall pass through does not 
provide much shelter or privacy for a lovelorn wizard mad with desire for 
his hobbit.”

Frodo stretched up to kiss his cheek.  “Well, at least we should be able to 
hug and kiss and sleep close together.  Surely that won’t be too offensive 
to the others.”

Gandalf yawned, clearly ready for sleep and yet battling to stay awake 
and enjoy this last night.  “To be sure—as long as you can keep it to that.  
Just don’t get carried away and start slipping your hands inside my 
trousers or pulling your shirt open to tempt me with your nipples.”

Frodo laughed.  “I’ll TRY to contain myself.  Though if I do find myself 
invading your trousers, I could just say that I wanted to warm my hands in 
the hottest place I could find.”

They continued to sit gently caressing each other, though Gandalf was 
practically nodding off after a few minutes.  To wake him up, Frodo asked, 
“Did you explain to Elrond why you wanted to be alone with me here?”

Gandalf grinned drowsily.  “Of course not.  Your fantasies are for my ears 
only.  But I should imagine that he had a general idea of what we would 
get up to—though he could hardly know what prompted me to want to do 
that HERE specifically.  But he kindly granted my request without 
questions.  I don’t often ask personal favors of him—just his general 
hospitality and help in our common cause.”

“Where have all the beautiful Elves gone, deprived of their gathering 
place?”

“Oh, there are other rooms where smaller groups can assemble.  And 
tomorrow night they will have the place all to themselves again.  Their 
strangely assorted visitors will be off on their long Quest.  And we must 
get up early.  I wish I could sit here and give you all the pleasure you 
could possibly want—but although I have managed to hide the fact 
admirably, I am falling asleep.”

“Don’t worry.  Two wonderful climaxes in a fantasy come true have made 
me VERY happy and content.  But wait—you’ve only come once during 
all this.  Don’t you—“

“Frodo, I’m quite content myself.  At any rate, I believe I owed you one 
for—let’s see, the day before yesterday, was it?”

“I don’t remember any such thing.”

“Well, it IS hard to keep track.  You’ve seduced me so often during the 
past few days.”

“Oh, only me, was it?  I seem to recall that you practically threw me into 
bed yesterday afternoon.”

“Perhaps, but you were being particularly provocative just before that:  
looking up at me with those big sapphire eyes and smiling SO 
suggestively and generally teasing me beyond resistance.  In fact, I 
suspect that if you were big enough to lift me, you would have been the 
one doing the throwing.”

“Mmm, quite possibly.  But whoever did the seducing, the results were 
wonderful.”

“Yes, it’s quite pleasant to have a beautiful, enticing lover small enough to 
scoop up and carry off to bed when you want him.”

Frodo frowned. “Well, it’s not fair, me not being able to do the same 
thing.”  He sighed, then looked up with a little grin.  “On the other hand, as 
we nearly always seem to want it at the same time, I guess it doesn’t 
matter.  And I have to admit, it’s quite pleasant to have a wonderful, 
strong lover big enough to scoop you up and carry you off to bed—and 
have his wicked way with you.”  He tried to lean over and kiss Gandalf’s 
ear, but the wizard held him back.

“Yes, well, getting back to the point at hand, I have just made mad, 
passionate, stunningly satisfying love to you, and I am sleepy!”

With that he stood up and dragged the hobbit along to his room.  As they 
undressed, Frodo kept looking at Gandalf, licking his lips slowly in an 
exaggeratedly lustful fashion.  Gandalf laughed and shook his head, but 
his eyes were moving over Frodo’s increasingly naked torso.  By the time 
they had undressed and washed and climbed into bed, Frodo detected 
signs of reviving interest in what he had in mind.  Instead of cuddling 
down by the wizard, Frodo straddled his thighs.

“Sorry, I know you need your sleep, old fellow, but I want to say farewell 
to my very dear friend down here face to face, so to speak.  Last chance, 
after all, last chance.”

Gandalf smiled and shook slightly with quiet laughter.  Frodo looked 
impishly at him.  “Can you resist me, my dear wizard?”

Gandalf, who was beginning to pant slightly by this point, glanced 
downward and replied in mock exasperation, “Apparently not, young 
fellow.  Your ‘dear friend’ seems to be preparing to receive another 
spectacular farewell.”

Frodo scooted forward over the growing member and sat on Gandalf’s 
belly.  Slowly he kissed the wizard’s cheeks, dragging his lips wetly over 
the skin and pausing to press them down.  Gandalf lay with his eyes 
closed, but he seemed no longer to be in any danger of falling asleep.  
Frodo moved slightly to press his lips on the wizard’s ear, making soft 
slurping noises as he delved in with his tongue.

Gandalf was panting harder and more raggedly now, and his fingers slid 
lightly over Frodo’s body.  He whispered, “Oh, Frodo!  The longer we are 
together, the more exciting I find you.  No wonder I cannot resist you!  
You know how to make me unbearably hard.”

Frodo’s tongue continued to tickle Gandalf’s ear, and he arched his body 
to bring one nipple up directly in front of the wizard’s mouth.  As Gandalf 
began to suckle at it, Frodo whispered, “Well, it’s no wonder, my dear 
wizard.  I’ve learned a lot lately—from a MASTER teacher.”  Gandalf did 
not respond aloud, but Frodo felt his hot breath gusting over the wet 
nipple as he gasped with arousal.  

Frodo drew back, then leaned forward to thrust his tongue deep into 
Gandalf’s mouth.  The wizard’s hands moved down to cup his buttocks.  
The hobbit felt under the beard for the nipples, pinching and plucking at 
them until Gandalf was moaning softly into his mouth.  At last Frodo sat 
back and pulled the wizard’s hands to his own chest, arching forward as 
Gandalf played gently with his pink nipples.  “That’s so lovely,” Frodo 
whispered, wondering if perhaps he would become so aroused that the 
wizard would need to suck HIM after his own turn.  “This could go on all 
night,” he thought with a grin.  Despite prolonged stimulation by the 
wizard’s skillful fingers, however, Frodo’s contentment from their earlier 
lovemaking lingered.  Gandalf’s erection, however, was fully rampant by 
this point.

Gandalf gasped, “My dear hobbit, this time it’s definitely YOUR fault.  You 
must relieve me.”  He pushed gently on Frodo’s shoulders, and the hobbit 
pressed the wizard’s length down and moved to sit on his thighs again.  
“Please, Frodo, now!”

Frodo let the erection bob up again and ran his tongue all over the shaft 
and tip, tickling the balls delicately with his fingers.  As Gandalf moaned 
and squirmed against the mattress, Frodo stared at him, as if trying to 
memorize every fleeting grimace of pleasure, every increasingly 
desperate movement of the wizard’s writhing body, to sustain him in the 
long weeks ahead.  But soon he shut his eyes and concentrated all his 
attention on using the techniques he had learned during the long, blissful 
afternoons and nights at Bag End.  He traced each throbbing vein with his 
tongue, now brushing with a feather-like touch, now sucking eagerly with 
open lips up and down the full length.  He teased the sensitive underside 
with a light back-and-forth flicking.  He licked the large balls with his entire 
tongue, then kissed deeply into the soft place where they met the shaft.  
Frodo knew that the wizard’s eyes were fixed on him, and he heard his 
breath catch at each particularly tantalizing caress.  He sought to excite 
Gandalf further by groaning softly as he rubbed the shaft against his 
cheeks between kisses, blowing on the wet skin with little gasps.  Finally 
he had an idea and sidled slightly closer to the shaft, until he could rub 
the tip over his relaxed nipples.  They tightened at once, and he moaned 
sensually.  He heard a snorting groan from Gandalf, who whispered, “Oh, 
Frodo!  Yes, don’t stop!”  Frodo felt the wizard making tiny thrusts against 
his chest, pressing and stretching his nipples and humming with 
excitement.  He continued to hold the tip against himself until Gandalf 
finally begged, “Now, Frodo, PLEASE . . . use your mouth . . .!”  Frodo 
moved back slightly and lowered his lips over the large, smooth tip, 
sucking hard as he pumped the shaft quickly with both hands.  After only 
a short while, Gandalf quivered and then groaned as his thick liquid 
gushed to fill the hobbit’s mouth.  Frodo gulped it until the wizard gasped 
softly as the last blissful tremors shook him.

Frodo slowly licked the entire shrinking shaft one last time, finding every 
last drop, then crawled up and pulled the covers over himself and 
Gandalf.  The wizard hugged him tightly.  “You are quite something, my 
dear hobbit.  Here I did not think I could stay awake another minute, and 
you managed to arouse and satisfy me marvelously.  But from the sounds 
you were making, I expected to find you cajoling me for more.  Shall I . . . 
?”

He slid his hand down under the blanket and along Frodo’s firm belly to 
find his penis relaxed against his thigh.  Frodo grinned and shook his 
head.  “  I think you’d fall asleep in the middle of it.  Besides, I wanted to 
please YOU, my darling wizard.  To show you how much I shall miss your 
beautiful cock.  You liked it when I rubbed these with it, didn’t you?”  He 
pulled the cover down slightly to bare his nipples.

“’Like’ is hardly the word.  Even if I had been completely indifferent up to 
that point, you would have had me fully ready like that!”  He snapped his 
fingers, then gazed adoringly into the hobbit’s eyes.

“Good!  Another way to melt my wizard into a puddle of helpless desire.”  
Gandalf smiled vaguely, but his eyelids were drooping again.  Frodo 
settled him down into the pillow and pulled the covers up further, touching 
his lips softly to the wizard’s and curling up against him.  Frodo’s smile 
slowly faded, and he sighed.  “How long will it be before we sleep in a bed 
together?” he wondered as he felt his eyelids growing heavy.

He would have been appalled if he had known the answer.
_________________________________________________________________
____

TBC in “Thrice Returned #6:  Stealing away in Moria”


‘Thrice Returned #6:  Stealing away in Moria”  (6/11)

Author:  Nefertiti  nefertiti_22002@yahoo.com
Pairing:  Gandalf/Frodo (established relationship)
Rating:  NC-17
Warnings:  May/December; angst.
Disclaimer:  I own no rights to these characters and situations and post 
this without expectation of any recompense.
Summary:  Gandalf and Frodo seize an opportunity to be alone during the 
journey through Moria, and Frodo expresses his fears.
Author’s note:  Book-based.  The action takes place early on the morning 
of January 15, 3019, the day of Gandalf’s battle with the Balrog, the 
Fellowship’s escape from Moria, and their journey to Lórien.  It fits into 
Volume I, Book Two, Chapter iv, “A Journey in the Dark,” immediately 
after Frodo has his dream of seeing Gollum’s luminous eyes and before 
the passage “He woke and found that the others were speaking softly 
near him.”
 This series takes its name from my sequel to Poncing Ponies’ lovely 
story, “Twice Given.” As always, my thanks to her for welcoming a sequel 
by another hand and being so encouraging.  Many thanks also to Elanor 
for betaing, encouragement, wonderful suggestions, and engrossing 
wizard-slash discussions.  Without her, this series would most likely never 
have developed past being a sequel.
_________________________________________________________________
_____

Gandalf was lying awake in the great hall of the Dwarrowdelf.  It had 
occurred to him as soon as the Fellowship had reached that hall that it 
might finally provide an opportunity for him and Frodo to slip away for a 
few precious moments alone together without endangering either 
themselves or the rest of the group.  In that great open space they could 
move far away enough not to be heard but still to be within earshot if an 
alarm was raised by the others.  The great columns made it easy for the 
wizard and hobbit to avoid becoming lost, providing they went straight 
along one row.  They would never be quite out of sight of the faint glow of 
Gandalf’s staff—which, as the sole source of light for the group, he would 
of course leave with the others.

He hardly would have liked to broach the subject of his and Frodo’s 
departure to just any member of the group, but Aragorn was on guard.  
He was not likely to tease or express disapproval—and Gandalf trusted 
him as a watchman as much as he trusted himself.

It had been exactly three weeks since they left Rivendell.  Recalling his 
and Frodo’s last night together there, Gandalf shifted uneasily and felt 
himself harden slightly—and not for the first time on the journey.  He had 
also recently noticed Frodo looking at him so forlornly that it wrung his 
heart.  The terror and vastness of Moria had frightened the hobbits more 
than the others, and Gandalf longed to hold and kiss Frodo.  If he could 
not lift the Burden of the Ring from his lover, at least he could comfort the 
hobbit a bit.  He could wrap his arms tightly around Frodo and make him 
feel safe for a little while.

Gandalf quietly rose and went over to Aragorn, whispering that he wanted 
to take Frodo a bit apart from the group.  Aragorn smiled slightly and 
nodded, then pointedly surveyed the darkness in the opposite direction as 
Gandalf moved and knelt beside Frodo.  He lowered his head to brush his 
lips against the hobbit’s ear.  Frodo moved and gave a little moan, leaving 
no doubt that fear and fatigue had not entirely dulled his desire.  Gandalf 
smiled sadly.  He vividly recalled how Frodo used to make that same 
drowsy, languorous little moan when they would sleep late at Bag End, 
and the wizard would gently caress him into both waking and arousal.  
The sound triggered an intense longing to be back in the guest bed with 
the hobbit, and the feeling was almost as physical as hunger or thirst.  
Frodo turned over slightly, putting one hand out as if expecting to find the 
wizard lying beside him.  Gandalf sighed and softly pressed his fingers 
over Frodo’s lips, whispering very quietly, “Come with me, Frodo.  At last I 
think we have a chance to steal away by ourselves for a short while.”

In answer Frodo put one arm around Gandalf’s neck and pulled himself 
up to push his mouth against the wizard’s.  After a brief, eager duel of 
tongues, Frodo rose, and they slipped quietly from the little pool of light 
cast by the staff, which leaned against the wall near Aragorn.  The 
Ranger glanced at them to note in which direction they went, then 
returned to his slow survey of the surrounding gloom.

Gandalf and Frodo could see better in the dark than could any of the 
others—Frodo as a result of the Morgul blade’s wound, Gandalf as part of 
his powers as a wizard.  Even so, as they left the dim glow behind, they 
had to feel their way from one column base to the next in a straight row, 
finally moving in behind the fifth one.  The staff cast a dim light in the 
corridor they had just left, but the space where they now stood was utterly 
dark.

Gandalf had kept his hand on Frodo’s shoulder, and he whispered, “We 
are far enough now that the others will not hear us—I hope.”  He knelt 
and pulled Frodo to himself, guiding the hobbit’s warm lips to his own.  
After such a long abstinence, they were both rapidly aroused, clinging 
closely and clutching at each other’s bodies as they ravenously kissed 
with wide-open mouths.  With a great effort, they suppressed the sounds 
that they would ordinarily have been drawing from each other by that 
point, and their gasps and faint, stifled moans could only have been heard 
by someone close by.

Finally they ended the kiss, and Frodo ran his hands down Gandalf’s 
beard.  “You smell of pipeweed again.  It’s a little scent of home.  You had 
lost that recently.”

“Yes, getting a chance to smoke again was a great relief—but nothing like 
what I hope we will be able to give each other now!”

He began to tongue the hobbit’s neck and nibble at his ears, cupping one 
hand around Frodo’s bottom to pull him harder against himself and 
stroking his erection with the other.  Frodo caught his breath and snorted 
softly.  Suddenly, through a haze of passion, he remembered the mithril 
shirt.  It seemed silly not to be able to tell Gandalf about it, but he had 
promised Bilbo to keep it a secret from absolutely everyone.  His tunic, 
inner jacket, and thick outer jacket had prevented the wizard from noticing 
it during their restrained embraces and casual caresses on the journey, 
and he had always taken great care when washing to avoid letting 
anyone see it.  Now, though, Gandalf would almost certainly try to touch 
his nipples.  Frodo tried to think how he could plausibly avoid that, since 
ordinarily he would have welcomed such attentions.

“It’s too cold to undress,” Frodo said, and indeed his teeth were almost 
chattering.  “How are we going to do it?”

Gandalf replied, “However we do it, do you think you can be quiet, even 
at the end?”

“Well, I never HAVE been quiet when you’ve made me come—but if that’s 
what it takes now, then I must.”

“All right then.  I would love to take you in my mouth and feel your mouth 
on me.  But it would be quite awkward and uncomfortable on this hard 
floor—my knees are protesting already.  And frankly, not having had a 
chance to wash in four days, neither of us might enjoy that experience as 
much as usual.  Besides, seeing it happen is half the pleasure!”

“Well, hardly HALF!”

“All right, all right, more like, shall we say, between one eighth and one 
ninth the pleasure.  Stop splitting hairs, my sweet, silly hobbit, and come 
over here with me!”

Gandalf stood up and groped until he found the nearby column, then sank 
to sit with his back against its base.  He moved Frodo to straddle his 
upper thighs.  With the hobbit’s knees bent and his feet on either side, 
their trouser-fronts were pressed tightly together.  Frodo moaned softly as 
he felt his own swollen member rub against Gandalf’s hard bulge.

“No louder than that, remember, Frodo,” Gandalf whispered, running his 
fingers up Frodo’s arms to cup his head in both hands and pull him in for 
another wet, deep kiss.  Frodo began to thrust his hips, rubbing his 
throbbing erection against the wizard’s.  Without breaking the kiss, 
Gandalf reached down and unlaced their trousers.  As he did so, Frodo 
slid his hands up under Gandalf’s beard and undid the top buttons of his 
heavy cloak and the woolen shirt underneath, spreading them slightly 
open.

Gandalf brought out their erections, raising them to lie together between 
their bellies.  Frodo gulped, suppressing his automatic impulse to groan 
loudly as the contact sent sparks of pleasure through him.  He 
recommenced thrusting, now more eagerly, with short, hard twitches of 
his hips as he pressed himself forward against the wizard’s body.  His 
cock’s tip rubbed against the prominent veins of Gandalf’s shaft, causing 
them both to gasp and clench their teeth.  Suddenly Frodo felt the 
wizard’s hands slide to the bottom of his jacket.

“What are you doing?” he whispered, slowing his movements.

“What do you THINK?” the wizard responded, with a little puff of laughter.  
“I may not be able to see those sweet little nipples of yours, but I certainly 
want to feel them.  I have greatly missed them since we left Rivendell.”

Frodo stammered, “No!  I don’t . . . I mean, your hands are FREEZING!  I 
don’t want them against my bare skin, thank you very much!  Anyway, 
you can’t reach my chest with your mouth, not sitting like this—whereas I 
am in a PERFECT position.”  He brushed Gandalf’s beard aside.  
“Remember our old game, ‘find the nipple’?”

Gandalf chuckled softly.  “Of course!  I HIGHLY approve of your reviving 
that very entertaining pastime.”

Frodo began to feel his way across the wizard’s chest with his fingers.  
“I’m afraid this time it’s all too real a game.  Oh, yes, here’s one . . .”  He 
rolled it between two fingers, “ . . . and here’s the other.”  He fastened his 
open mouth against it, rubbing and flicking it with his tongue.  This time it 
was Gandalf who uttered little strangled sounds and gasps, struggling to 
avoid making considerably more noise.  His hands slid down Frodo’s 
back to his buttocks, kneading them hard with his long fingers spread 
wide around them.  He pulled the hobbit’s hips against himself in time to 
Frodo’s movements, intensifying the pressure of the increasingly insistent 
thrusts.

Frodo threw his head back, pinching both of Gandalf’s nipples hard.  This 
caused the wizard to buck beneath him, grinding upward to meet his 
pumping hips.  When the wizard sensed that Frodo was nearing a 
complete loss of control, he pressed the end of one finger against the 
hobbit’s lower lip.  At once Frodo gave a sharp gasp and pulled it as far 
into his mouth as he could, sucking on it in time to his sharp jabs against 
Gandalf’s cock and belly.  Gandalf stroked Frodo’s cheek with his fingers 
and slid his other hand down between the hobbit’s thighs, until he felt the 
soft roundness of his balls, then tickled them gently as Frodo thrashed 
frantically against him.  Gandalf felt his own climax about to sweep over 
him, and he bit his lower lip.  At the last possible moment his hand left 
Frodo’s crotch and moved to pull both their erections slightly to one side.  
When they came, almost simultaneously, the spurts arced invisibly out 
and down onto the cold, bare stone.  Gandalf’s finger somewhat stifled 
Frodo’s moans, but neither could entirely suppress his reaction to their 
fulfillment after such a long enforced separation.  Finally Frodo slowly 
relaxed and lay panting on Gandalf’s heaving chest, and they embraced 
tightly, feeling their hearts pounding against each other.

Gandalf whispered, “Oh, well, if Aragorn could hear that, at least he’ll be 
discreet about it.  I’m just grateful that neither Pippin nor Merry is on 
guard.”

The wizard fell silent again, and Frodo lay contentedly against him, 
nuzzling into his beard, which warmed his cold nose delightfully.  
Suddenly he felt Gandalf trembling—and clearly not just with cold post-
coital reaction.  Frodo felt suddenly fearful.  “What is it?  Did you hear 
something?”

There was a long silence, and Gandalf finally whispered, “No . . . I felt the 
Ring . . . luring me.”

Frodo gasped in dismay.  “Tell me . . . how?  What did it do?  Did it . . . 
show you things?”

“Yes, visions.  The same things it has shown me before.  I did not tell you, 
but it happened in June, when I was last with you in Bag End.  Vivid 
images of how I could take the Ring to Mordor myself, how I could 
destroy it—how grateful everyone would be—especially you.  It seems so 
real, and yet I realize full well that I would never get close to Mount Doom 
without succumbing to it.  Just the act of taking it from you now would 
show that I am too vulnerable to its power ever to be able to destroy it.  
What I hate most is that it holds YOU out as bait:  how I could be with you 
afterward, for a long time, visions of us together in the Shire.  You in bed, 
so happy, so eager to do anything for me.  No burden left, no tasks to 
take me away from you.”

The wizard paused briefly.  “It’s rather ironic that the Ring has to tempt 
me by urging me to destroy it.  I suppose I’m lucky in a way.  I pose the 
Ring something of a dilemma.  On the one hand the Ring knows that my 
great aim IS to destroy it.  That is the only reason why I would take it to 
begin with, and therefore it deceives me into believing I could do that.  On 
the other hand, the Ring’s primal lure, the desire to possess and keep it, 
is so great and fascinating that the very idea of destroying it becomes 
appalling to me and I dread to take it for that purpose.  My reason for 
taking it would be my reason for rejecting it!  But each time it becomes 
more difficult to remember the destroying part—only the pleasures 
afterward and the power I would gain.”

He sighed.  “We probably should not have slipped away like this.  Clearly 
the Ring’s temptation is growing, and it affects me more when I am so 
close to you and you have it on your person.  I should have waited until 
we got out of here, to a safer place, where you can hide the Ring while 
we make love, as you did in Bag End.  And we SHALL be in a safe place, 
soon, I hope.  A wonderful Elven enclave not far from here where I am 
always welcome and where we can rest and recover from our hardships.  
There will be delicious food—enough even for hobbits!—and perfect 
safety, and we shall, my dearest Frodo, be able to sleep together 
comfortably and in privacy.  Then we won’t have to fumble about in the 
dark and pleasure each other so clumsily and quickly.”

“Mmmm.  I can’t wait.  And we won’t be shivering and knocking each 
other in the eye with our elbows.”

They laughed, but then Gandalf became serious again.  “Yes, we 
probably should have waited.  But I must admit, my desire for you was 
growing each day, and I so wanted to please you.  For the last few days 
you have been looking at me with such a desperate gaze.”

Frodo swallowed hard.  “I’ve desired you, too, of course, but I . . . I’ve 
looked at you for other reasons, too.  I’m afraid for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Aren’t you worried about what Aragorn said?”

“I hadn’t thought about it.  He probably said that because we were cold 
and frightened and hunted.  Of course he would feel a sense of danger.”

“But why for YOU especially?  And what about the hammering we heard 
in the depths?”

Gandalf felt for his cheek and stroked it.  “That was many miles back, in 
an altogether different part of the Mines.  With luck, we have left whatever 
it was behind.  We have certainly not heard it since, have we?”

“No, but I’m still worried.”

Gandalf smiled but realized that Frodo could not see it.  He ran his fingers 
through the hobbit’s curls and hugged him tighter.  “Frodo, we have just 
finally had the chance to be together more intimately than at any other 
time since Rivendell—and now we are comparatively close to the East 
Gate.  Let us be hopeful!  Besides, even if I saw very real dangers on all 
sides, what can we do but go on?  We cannot turn back and traverse 
Moria again!  Have you an alternate plan, Frodo?”

The hobbit replied in a very quiet whisper, “No . . . but . . .”

“But what?”

“Aren’t you EVER afraid?  For yourself, I mean?”

“At times, yes.  But if I let that hold me back from doing what must be 
done, our goals would never be achieved.”

Frodo sighed and clutched Gandalf tightly around the neck.  Gandalf 
moved his lips over the hobbit’s cheek and tried to divert his train of 
thought.  “What’s wrong now?  Don’t tell me you want MORE, you randy 
little thing!”

Frodo laughed reluctantly.  “No, it’s not that.  I’ll wait for the safe place 
you told me about—and the privacy.  No, it’s just . . . I think sometimes 
you’re too brave for your own good.”

Gandalf stroked his back gently.  “Frodo, I have managed to survive in 
Middle-earth for hundreds of years now—and I have done some very 
dangerous things in that time.  Things that frighten me now, when I look 
back on them, more than they did then.  Do not worry.  I imagine that I 
shall go on surviving.”

Frodo tried not to sound too frightened.  “Just see that you do, my dear 
wizard.  I . . . I could not go on without you—not on the Quest, not . . . not 
at all.”

Gandalf was silent for a moment, then took Frodo firmly by the shoulders.  
Frodo was glad that he could not see the wizard’s face, for he suspected 
that it wore a daunting frown.  “Frodo, you must not say such things!  I 
have no intention of . . . of leaving you.  But were that to happen, for any 
reason, you MUST go on!”  His voice remained quiet, but Frodo could 
hear how disturbed he was.  “Promise me, Frodo!  If someday I am not . . 
. not with you any more, you must not give up.  If you did, my greatest 
task in Middle-earth would fail and indeed that would make a mockery of 
all my other accomplishments.  I realize that there is only a slim chance 
that the Quest will succeed in any case—but YOU are the one providing 
that chance.  You must promise me to carry on no matter what.  Trust in 
Aragorn as you would in me!”

Frodo was nearly in tears.  “Gandalf, don’t be upset with me!  I can’t bear 
it!  I promise, I’ll do whatever I can to carry through the Quest, even . . . 
even,” he paused, struggling to draw a deep breath.  He felt suddenly 
suffocated by the dark.  “Even if you’re not there.  But you will be, 
Gandalf, I’m sure you’re right.  We’ll be in this safe place that you know 
of, and we’ll sleep in privacy, as you say, and make love comfortably, for 
hours.  I’m sure being there will raise my courage.  It’s just that this place 
is SO frightening.”

As he finished speaking, he wondered why he was suddenly reassuring 
the wizard.  Could the Ring be prompting him?  Here he had begun by 
trying to warn Gandalf to be more careful for his own sake—and now he 
was ending by telling Gandalf that everything would be well.  He was still 
frightened, but he could no longer bring himself to beg Gandalf to be 
careful.  He had already upset his lover once.  They both fell silent, 
kissing and caressing quietly for a few minutes.

Finally Gandalf murmured, “Well, this was a rather sorry excuse for 
lovemaking, wasn’t it?”  They laughed quietly.

“It was a great deal better than not doing it at all, you must admit.”

“Oh, yes!  It just proves that the worst sex I could have with you is still 
marvelous.  Well, my dearest Frodo, it sounds to me as if you are getting 
sleepy, and I could use a short nap before we move on again.  This will 
be a long, difficult day, even if we manage to get out of Moria without 
wrong turnings or misadventures.  And we should reassure Aragorn that 
we have not lost our way.  Let’s go.”

They rose and moved quietly back toward the light.  Aragorn greeted 
them with a nod, and Gandalf put Frodo to bed, kissing his cheek.  He sat 
looking at the beautiful hobbit as he drifted off to sleep, thinking of all the 
ways he would be able to pamper Frodo in Lórien.  He could feed him 
exquisite little treats, and there would be Elven music.  They could take 
long walks through the mallorn groves.  The wizard was not sure how 
long they would stay in the Golden Wood.  Weeks, perhaps.  Long nights 
of lovemaking and sleep—and security.  All that could begin as soon as 
tonight, he thought with a wistful smile.  “More chances for Frodo to tease 
me about the ‘beautiful Elves,’” he thought with a fond little grin.

The wizard looked up and saw a tiny grey hint of dawn in a shaft high 
overhead.  He smiled.  Good, he was right about where they were.  Yes, 
that meant that they might well be in Lórien by tonight.  A stay there, 
sheltered by that land’s safety and power, should, as Frodo had said, help 
them all regain their will and courage.  Galadriel and Celeborn would 
surely be able to provide ideas about resisting the Ring and surviving the 
dangers of Mordor.  He smiled slightly and sat savoring the lingering 
pleasure of his and Frodo’s lovemaking that suffused his body.

Then, however, Frodo’s frightened warning came back to him:  “I think 
sometimes you’re too brave for your own good.”  He smiled more broadly.  
They had in fact been remarkably lucky in Moria, with most indications 
suggesting that the Mines, or at least most of them, were abandoned by 
friend and foe alike.  He would be as careful as he always was, and 
certainly he intended to take no unnecessary risks—only to protect the 
others if they were endangered, and that seemed increasingly unlikely 
until they were well south of Lórien.  With a final glance at his sleeping 
hobbit, Gandalf rolled himself in his blanket and cloak to get a last half-
hour of sleep before they moved on towards the East Gate.

_________________________________________________________________
_______

TBC in “Thrice Returned #7:  Waking in Ithilien”


“Thrice Returned  #7:  Waking in Ithilien”  (7/11)

Author:  Nefertiti  nefertiti_22002@yahoo.com
Rating:  PG
Pairing:  Gandalf/Frodo (established relationship)
Warnings:  May/December
Disclaimer:  I claim no rights to these characters and expect no income 
from this story.
Summary:  Frodo wakes after his rescue from Mt. Doom and discovers 
that Gandalf is alive.
Feedback:  Definitely.
Author’s note:  Book-based.  The action occurs in Vol. 3, “The Field of 
Cormallen,” directly after the paragraph in which the eagles rescue Frodo 
and Sam.

This series takes its name from my sequel to Poncing Ponies’ lovely 
story, “Twice Given.” As always, my thanks to her for welcoming a sequel 
by another hand and being so encouraging.  Many thanks also to Elanor 
for betaing, encouragement, wonderful suggestions, and engrossing 
wizard-slash discussions.  Without her, this series would most likely never 
have developed past being a sequel. 
_________________________________________________________________
_____

Frodo opened his eyes and initially found it difficult to focus on the shifting 
shapes above him.  At last they resolved into leafy branches, moving in a 
gentle breeze.  He lay still, enjoying the startling and unfamiliar luxury of a 
pillow under his head and a soft coverlet over his body.  A faint stinging in 
his hand was the only physical reminder of his ordeal.

“Where am I, and what is the time?”  His questions, uttered aloud when 
he had awoken in Rivendell so long ago, came into his mind unbidden.  If 
he spoke them now, however, the same beloved voice would not 
respond, and he could not bear the thought of someone else answering 
them.  There seemed to be no reason to speak or move at all.

Finally he reluctantly turned his gaze to the right, wishing desperately that 
he could see the wizard by his bed, as before.  Frodo’s heart skipped a 
beat as he found himself looking at an old man, clad all in white, with a 
broad-brimmed hat dipped down so that it entirely hid his head.  He sat 
cross-legged, turned toward Frodo and leaning his elbow on the arm of 
the chair as he nodded and dozed.  He reminded Frodo so much of 
Gandalf that the hobbit froze in joy and amazement.  At once, however, 
he realized that it was impossible.  The wizard was gone forever.  This old 
man must just be a kind doctor, watching over his recovery.  Frodo lay 
back hopelessly, looking upward again at the sunlight filtering through the 
leaves, barely wondering how he had come there.  He would find out 
soon enough.  It didn’t matter anyway.

Frodo struggled to hold back his tears.  He had cried so much over the 
loss of his lover already, but the escape from the hell of Mordor brought it 
back with shattering force.  Why had he survived the Quest if Gandalf 
hadn’t?  The last thing he remembered was striving to keep his promise 
and do what Gandalf had died to help him achieve.  It had been the only 
thing besides Sam’s devoted support that had kept him going.  And he 
had failed Gandalf, and Gandalf was gone, and all he wanted was 
oblivion.  It occurred to him that soon everyone but he would be 
celebrating a great victory that someone else had accidentally 
accomplished.

He struggled to think what Gandalf would want him to do now.  That had 
been his lodestar for years.  If he could figure that out, it might be a tiny 
line to clutch in his vast sea of grief.  But whenever they had talked about 
what might happen after the Ring was destroyed, it always had involved 
the two of them together.  Gandalf’s advice had always been to strive to 
go ahead, to do what he had to, to stay true to the Quest.  But what if 
there was nothing left to strive for?  He recalled Aragorn’s words after 
Gandalf had fallen:  “What hope have we without you?  We must do 
without hope.”  Without hope.  He had gone on for so long without hope, 
and he could not keep doing it now, for the rest of his life.

In the midst of his despair, Frodo was irresistibly drawn to look at the old 
man once more.  Against all reason, he felt a curious excitement.  He 
rose slightly from the pillow, leaning on his elbow and trying to get a 
glimpse of the face behind the hat-brim.  As he leaned further and further, 
he accidentally put part of his weight on his bandaged hand, and the 
sudden pain made him draw in his breath with a hiss.  At once the old 
man’s head snapped upright.  Frodo found himself gazing into Gandalf’s 
face—so familiar and yet changed in some elusive way.  The hobbit felt 
completely bewildered and dizzy.  Was this another of his many dreams 
of Gandalf?  Surely he would wake shortly and find himself back in 
Mordor.  Then a tiny whiff of pipeweed tickled at Frodo’s nose.  It brought 
back those last few minutes with Gandalf in the dark in Moria so vividly 
that he nearly lapsed into unconsciousness again.  He stared with 
dawning hope at the figure before him.  Gandalf smiled as the initial 
shock left Frodo’s face, and that smile finally made the hobbit realize that 
it was, it had to be his wizard, unthinkable though it seemed.  The two 
stared at each other.  Frodo was torn between tears and inexpressible 
joy, confusion and certainty.  He opened his mouth to cry out his lover’s 
name, but Gandalf quickly put his finger to his lips and pointed over to 
Frodo’s other side.  The hobbit turned and saw a second bed not far from 
his own, where Sam lay in a deep slumber.

Frodo sighed with relief at seeing Sam, alive and sleeping so peacefully.  
Immediately he turned back, laboring to breathe, and whispered, 
“Gandalf!”  He leaned forward and reached out, and Gandalf murmured, 
“My dear hobbit!” and moved quickly to sit on the edge of the bed.  The 
two embraced and sat for a long time.  There seemed to be no words to 
express the immensity of their mutual achievement or the wonder of their 
reunion.  Frodo kept passing his hands over Gandalf’s shoulders, back, 
and neck, trying to convince himself that this was a real, living body, not a 
vision.  At last he managed to blurt out, “Don’t let me go, don’t let me go!  
I want to stay this way forever.  For days, at least.”  Gandalf hugged the 
hobbit as tightly as he dared, fighting tears as Frodo buried his face in the 
wizard’s beard—as he had so often done playfully long ago.

Finally, pulling back to look at Gandalf, Frodo stammered, “It’s really you . 
. . isn’t it?  I-I thought you were dead.”  The wizard hesitated, gently 
tracing his fingertips up and down Frodo’s arm, then replied with a trace 
of a sad smile, “I was.”  Frodo frowned at him doubtfully, waiting for an 
explanation that was clearly not forthcoming—at least not at that moment.  
Gandalf went on more lightly, “I assure you, my dearest Frodo, nothing 
less could have kept me from staying with you and aiding you in your 
task.  Still, you and Sam managed wonderfully on your own.”

Frodo glanced away, his face twisting in sudden anguish.  “Sam, yes.  But 
not I.  I failed you, Gandalf.”

The wizard betrayed no surprise but watched Frodo with grave sympathy.  
“You mean by claiming the Ring at the last, I assume.”

Frodo was startled.  “How did you know about that?”

Gandalf replied, “Since my return, I have been aware of each time you 
used the Ring.  Not only was I able to see further, but clearly you were 
learning how to draw upon the Ring’s power—especially after your 
conversations with Galadriel and your visions in her mirror.  To say the 
least, that moment in Mount Doom astonished me.   Just before that, I 
had been torn between doubt and despair.  Sauron sent me evidence that 
you were his prisoner, and yet I was not entirely convinced that you were.  
After all, why would he have bothered to deal with us at all if he already 
had the Ring?  When you put on the Ring, I realized that you were indeed 
still free and actually at the Cracks of Doom.  But things became very 
confusing after that, and for a short time I frankly had no idea what was 
happening—until the Ring actually went into the fire.  I gathered later from 
seeing your wound that someone took the Ring from you by force.  I am 
not certain, but I strongly suspect that that someone was Gollum.”

Frodo nodded, and Gandalf continued gently, “Did Sam push Gollum into 
the abyss?”

“No,” said Frodo.  “He fell in as he exulted over the Ring.”

Gandalf nodded thoughtfully, then went on in a soft but emphatic tone.  
“Frodo, you did NOT fail me.  I knew all along that there was a chance 
that you would not be able to destroy the Ring voluntarily.  After all, you 
could not even will yourself to throw it into the fire that day at Bag End, 
and that was before you had borne it so long and through such hardships.  
But I have always hoped and indeed felt in my heart that if you managed 
to get the Ring to the Cracks of Doom, it would be destroyed—though I 
could not see clearly how.  No, you did not fail me.  As far as I am 
concerned, you succeeded at that moment in the Emyn Muil when, 
despite your fear, you took pity on Gollum and spared his life.”

“But how did you know . . . oh, never mind,” Frodo trailed off.  Gandalf 
smiled briefly.

“Your pity for Gollum allowed the Ring to be destroyed.  Because of him, 
you . . . failed to fail in the Quest, so to speak.”  Frodo looked doubtfully at 
Gandalf, who went on firmly, “The Ring is gone, Frodo, and it would not 
be so if you and Sam had not taken it to the brink, through great acts of 
heroism.  I am very, very proud of and grateful to you both, more than I 
can say.  Do not torment yourself about that last moment.  The Quest was 
achieved!”

Gandalf’s earnest praise nearly banished Frodo’s feelings of guilt, and he 
managed  a small, shaky smile.  At once, however, the pent-up memories 
of the journey crushed down upon him, and he began to weep, quietly but 
with an aching intensity.  Quickly Gandalf leaned forward and again put 
his arms around Frodo, drawing him close.  Within the wide sleeves of his 
cloak, the hobbit was nearly hidden but for his head resting against the 
wizard’s shoulder as he sobbed.  Gandalf waited in patience and sadness 
as Frodo poured out his accumulated grief and weariness.  After long 
minutes the sobs gradually diminished, and Frodo felt a great peace and 
joy slowly filling him. He was with Gandalf.  Nothing else seemed 
important.

“What an amazing change!” he whispered.

“What is?”

“For weeks I have gone into dangers I could never have imagined, until I 
seemed to be facing death.  I did not expect ever to feel safe again.  And 
now, here with you, I feel as safe as I could hope to be.”  He closed his 
eyes and sat for a time with his head still pressed against Gandalf’s 
shoulder, but now in contentment.

Finally Frodo sat back with a puzzled expression.  “But where are we?  
And how did I get here?  Surely Sam did not have the strength to carry or 
drag me all the way out of Mordor?”

“Gwaihir and the eagles found you and carried you up and out of the ruin 
of Gorgoroth.  They brought you here to Ithilien.”

“But how did they know where to look?  How did they know to look at all?” 
Frodo persisted.

“I told them and came with them as they searched.”

Frodo stared at him in surprise and adoration.  “You went into the chaos 
of Mordor for me?”

The wizard smiled and shrugged, looking down.  He tried to speak 
steadily, but his voice shook noticeably.  “After all, I WAS largely 
responsible for sending you there.  And apart from everything else, I 
wanted you back!  We have both been through a great deal, but I’m still 
quite fond of you, you know.  And brave, beautiful, clever, thoroughly 
delightful hobbits are hard to come by.”  Gandalf took Frodo’s hands in 
his own and went on more cheerfully, “The ride was certainly spectacular!  
I got an aerial view of the whole of Gorgoroth in its destruction.  I had 
never been beyond the edges of Mordor, of course, nor seen the Dark 
Tower.  It was still in the last stages of its collapse as I glimpsed it through 
the smokes and vapors.  Even in its ruin, it was an overwhelming sight—
more formidable than even I had imagined.  I am rather glad that I had not 
seen it until then.  Otherwise I might never have believed that we could 
defeat such a foe.  I might have been more inclined to acknowledge that 
those who accused me of being a fool for sending a hobbit into Mordor 
with the Ring might well be right.  I am very grateful to you for giving me 
irrefutable proof that I am NOT a fool!”  He laughed quietly, and Frodo 
smiled fondly, wondering vaguely who could possibly have had the nerve 
to call Gandalf a fool.

On common impulse they glanced over to make sure that Sam was still 
sleeping soundly, then leaned in and pressed their lips together.  As far 
as Frodo was concerned, that soft kiss could go on forever.  It pushed all 
the memory of the terrors of Mordor to the back of his mind, remote and 
now veiled with immeasurable joy.  At last he withdrew slightly, not 
because he wanted to, but because he was beginning to feel a bit woozy.

Gandalf saw that Frodo was becoming weary.  He whispered, “You 
should sleep again.  There will be much time later for talk.”

Frodo began to lie back on the pillow but stopped, leaning on his elbow, 
and stared at his lover.  “What if I wake up and find that you are gone 
again—that this was a dream?”  His face bore a slight, melancholy smile, 
but Gandalf sensed the genuine terror lurking behind the hobbit’s 
question.  The wizard considered for a moment, then slipped his hand 
into Frodo’s.  “Perhaps I should not tell you this, but on the other hand, 
now that the Ring is gone, I shouldn’t think that it matters.  You see, my 
dear Frodo, the same Power that chose you to be the Ringbearer also 
sent me back to continue helping in the struggle against Sauron.  I do 
NOT exist now only in your dreams, Frodo, and I SHALL be here when 
you awake, I promise you.”

Frodo lay back, but he continued to grip the wizard’s hand.  “I’m just 
making sure,” he whispered with a wobbly little grin, and he quickly drifted 
off to sleep—though his tight hold on Gandalf did not relax.  Carefully the 
wizard pulled his chair closer and slid back into it, without taking his hand 
out of Frodo’s.  He sat sadly contemplating the sleeping hobbit and 
watching for signs of Sam’s awakening.
_________________________________________________________________
___

TBC in “Thrice Returned #8:  Lamb Pie”


“Thrice Returned #8:  Lamb Pie”  (8/11)

Rating:  NC-17
Pairing:  Gandalf/Frodo (established relationship)
Warnings:  May/December relationship, post-Quest angst
Disclaimer:  I make no claims to any rights to these characters and expect 
no income whatsoever from these stories.
Summary:  Gandalf helps Frodo to cope with the memories of the Quest 
and their separation.
Feedback:  Yes, please.
Author’s note:  Book-based.  This story begins near the end of Book Six, 
Chapter IV of THE RETURN OF THE KING, at the line “Then the others 
also departed, and Frodo and Sam went to their beds and slept.”

This series takes its name from my sequel to Poncing Ponies’ lovely 
story, “Twice Given” (and the lamb-pie reference will be difficult to 
appreciate for those who have not read that story).  As always, my thanks 
to her for welcoming a sequel by another hand and being so encouraging.  
Many thanks also to Elanor for betaing, encouragement, wonderful 
suggestions, and engrossing wizard-slash discussions.  Without her, this 
series would most likely never have developed past being a sequel. 


On the first night after his awakening and reunion with Gandalf in Ithilien, 
Frodo returned to the little clearing and slept in the same bed beside 
Sam’s.  Again the wizard sat by him all through the night as the hobbit 
gripped his hand.  Despite this, Frodo suffered through nightmares three 
times, once so agonizingly that Gandalf had to wake and comfort him. 
When he asked what Frodo had dreamt about, the hobbit glanced up into 
his eyes, sighed, and simply whispered, “Losing you.”

The wizard stared at him with concern.  “You have had many such 
dreams?”

“Yes.  Nearly every time I have fallen asleep, since we left Lórien.”  
Gandalf moved to sit on the edge of the bed and gathered Frodo into a 
close embrace, and the hobbit continued softly into his ear, “Sam told me 
that he often heard me say your name in my sleep.  It is always you being 
attacked by horrible creatures—not just the Balrog but sometimes Orcs, 
sometimes wolves, and worst of all, sometimes the Black Riders.  Each 
time I see them challenge you, and even though I try to stop you,  you 
move away from me to fight with them.  And as you go further, I call for 
you, and you look back--but darkness suddenly swallows you up—like a 
door closing out all hope and leaving me alone.”

The wizard did not press him further but sat stroking his hair for a long 
time before Frodo drifted off again.  Gandalf laid him gently down again, 
tucking him in and moving to resume his patient vigilance in the chair.

Although most of the soldiers were sleeping in the open, the leaders each 
had a tent.  The second night, Gandalf arranged for Sam to join the other 
young hobbits, and he led Frodo to his own tent, with two comfortable-
looking cots pushed side by side.  “Not exactly a ‘real’ bed,” the hobbit 
muttered, “but it will certainly do.”  There was also a chair, and a small 
desk.  Gandalf sat down in the chair and opened his arms, and the hobbit 
climbed up to sit across the wizard’s lap.  Gandalf pulled him into a series 
of long, soft kisses.  At intervals, Frodo made tiny whimpering noises of 
joy and nuzzled into Gandalf’s beard.  Neither tried to deepen the kisses, 
realizing without words that it was too soon for more.

“What will happen now?” the hobbit finally asked.

“We shall stay here in Ithilien while the last of Sauron’s forces are brought 
under control.  That will also allow you and Sam to recuperate a bit before 
the journey to Minas Tirith.  There we shall live together in a house in the 
palace area, and you will be able to heal further in mind and body.  You 
can tell me anything you want to about what happened to you—and you 
can ask me for anything you want, my dear hobbit.  I am utterly yours.”

“That’s exactly what I DO want—just you!”

“I hope that that will be enough, Frodo.  You have been through so much.  
Still, no matter what those beautiful blue eyes have seen, they shine as 
entrancingly as ever.”

Frodo moved his fingers over Gandalf’s face, slowly.  “I don’t think I’ll ever 
get enough of kissing you and touching you.  To know that you’re real, 
you’re alive, you’re with me.”  Suddenly he frowned and stroked the 
wizard’s eyebrows.  “I thought you looked different, and now I see why.  
Your beard is shorter, and your eyebrows aren’t as bushy.  They still curl 
out and sweep to the side quite elegantly, but they’re smaller.  Why?”

“I’m afraid I lost portions of my beard and eyebrows in my battle with the 
Balrog.  Burned away, you see.  They’re growing back nicely, but it will 
take a while for them to be as they were before.  Do you like them better 
this way?”

“No!  I want your eyebrows the way they were.  They were so wonderful—
like little wings.”

Gandalf glanced away for a moment, then smiled at Frodo.  “Well, at least 
I won’t need them quite as much as I did before.”

“What do you mean, ‘need’ them?”

“Well, my eyebrows have come in quite handy from time to time when I 
had to intimidate people—not that I do that often or enjoy it when I do.  
Well, not always, anyway.  Still, when you’re trying to galvanize 
reluctant—and sometimes slow-witted—leaders into cooperating against 
Sauron, a dose of intimidation is sometimes unavoidable.  Ask Gimli to 
give you a full account of our visit to Theoden in Rohan!  I even had to 
summon up a thunderbolt in that case—just to get his attention, you 
understand.  The eyebrows certainly did their part in the conversation that 
followed.”  He chuckled.

“HOW do you intimidate people with your eyebrows?”

The wizard wiped the smile from his face, drew his brows together into a 
fierce frown, and flared his nostrils.  Frodo flinched.  “I can imagine that 
that WOULD work.  I hope you never get really angry with me.  I should 
shrivel up immediately.”

Gandalf yawned and gave Frodo quick kiss.  “I doubt I shall ever have 
reason to be angry with you.  Annoyed, yes—but angry?  Hardly.  And 
you may go on kissing and touching me as much as you want, but 
preferably tomorrow.  I for one am getting sleepy.  Aren’t you?  You look 
quite weary. Why not go to bed now?” 

Frodo did not reply to this but sat in abstracted silence for a little while.  
“Gandalf, I thought that I could never experience anything more wonderful 
than back in the Shire, when you first admitted that you loved me.  But 
this is even better—to have you back.”  He began to cry against the 
wizard’s shoulder, whether in joy or sudden sadness Gandalf could not 
tell.  He realized that as the hobbit’s physical strength gradually returned, 
his terrible memories were beginning to haunt him more.

The wizard held him for long minutes, until he was quiet again.  Frodo 
was looking extremely tired, but when Gandalf tried to remove the 
hobbit’s arms from around his neck, he shook his head and clung tighter.  
Over and over he seemed to be about to fall asleep, yet his eyes kept 
snapping open, and he stared at Gandalf until his lids drooped again.  At 
last the wizard decided not to try to put Frodo to bed.

“Would you like to hold my hand and try to sleep just a little, Frodo?” he 
whispered.  Frodo nodded and drew his arms down to take the wizard’s 
long, thin hand between his own small ones, pressing it to his chest.  
Leaning against Gandalf, he soon drifted off.  The wizard cradled the 
small body against his own, noting with relief how it finally relaxed.  
Frodo’s chest slowly rose and fell against his, and the soft breathing 
deepened.  Despite having slept little during long nights spent by Frodo’s 
bedside, Gandalf sat for nearly an hour taking pleasure in simply feeling 
the hobbit in his arms again.  “Little wings,” he murmured.  Then gradually 
he too fell asleep, and they remained in the chair.  All that night the hobbit 
lay nestled against the wizard, apparently without dreaming.

The next morning, they rose, and Gandalf poured some water in the basin 
so that Frodo could wash.  He noticed, however, as he unbuttoned his 
own shirt, that the hobbit seemed reluctant to undress.  He was looking at 
the ground with a worried frown and glancing at Gandalf out of the corner 
of his eye.  “What’s wrong, Frodo?” he asked softly.

Frodo hesitated.  “I’m . . . well, I’m so thin and bruised, I don’t want you to 
see me.”

Gandalf slowly continued to undress and made an effort to speak matter-
of-factly.  “My dear hobbit, I saw you naked when Aragorn and I were 
tending to your injuries.  I am well aware of what you obviously suffered 
and how you look.  You need not feel shy.”

Thus encouraged, Frodo shed his clothes and  scrubbed his face at the 
basin.  Gandalf surveyed his emaciated body.  “You have begun to mend, 
Frodo.  Your bruises are starting to fade.  But you are, as you say, terribly 
thin.  I remember that wonderful day in Bag End, when I was so 
concerned merely because you had skipped lunch!  And now you have 
endured so much and nearly died of hunger and thirst.   I think a banquet 
every night is in order.  I want those ribs to disappear under a layer of 
proper hobbit padding.”

Frodo dried his face and turned, his smile disappearing as he stared at 
the wizard.  “You say that I’m thin, Gandalf, but you’ve lost a great deal of 
weight as well—more even than I realized from sitting against you.  And 
you were already quite slender—unlike me!  What happened?”

Gandalf hesitated.  “That came about as a result of my fall in Moria.  
Someday I shall tell you that story, but not so soon, and not on such a 
beautiful morning.  Believe it or not, I have actually gained back a fair 
amount of weight since then.  Let us get dressed now, and be off to 
breakfast—a large one that will do us both good.”

Over the next weeks, Gandalf devoted all his time to Frodo, watching for 
signs of recovery or relapse.  At first he talked only of pleasant things—
avoiding for now asking the hobbit for any details of his sufferings during 
the Quest.  He realized that Frodo’s mood varied considerably, and the 
hobbit often fell into reveries from which Gandalf could arouse him only 
with difficulty.  Frodo also was very reluctant to let the wizard out of his 
sight, and at night he continued to jolt out of dreadful nightmares about 
the journey to Mordor and about losing his lover.  Gandalf took care never 
to leave Frodo’s presence without explaining where he was going and 
when he would return.

The camp tended to be noisy and bustling, and the two often went for 
long walks in the woods to be alone.  Occasionally they came upon 
burned and scarred areas where battles had been fought, but the April 
weather was rapidly bringing out a new growth to cover these grim 
reminders.  They discovered a favorite clearing on a hillside where they 
could look out over the River to the distant White Mountains.

As the days passed, Frodo seemed less moody and quiet, and Gandalf 
felt that they could begin to probe the past a bit.  One day, upon reaching 
their clearing, the wizard sat with his back against a tree trunk.  Frodo 
leaned back between his bent knees and rested against Gandalf’s chest 
and stomach, with the wizard’s arms draped over his shoulders.

“Frodo, Sam has told me much about your dreadful journey to Mordor—
the Dead Marshes, the Black Gate, the meeting with Faramir.  I am so 
glad, by the way, that you and Sam met him—an admirable young man, 
don’t you think?   Sam also told me about the terrible struggle with the 
spider and your capture.  The poor fellow wept when he described losing 
you.  And of course he told of his joy at finding you in your cell at Cirith 
Ungol.  He did not know fully, however, what happened to you there, and 
he says you never told him.  It is terribly difficult for you, I know, my 
dearest hobbit, and I dread to ask this, but . . . if I am to help you with 
your dreadful memories, I’m afraid I must.”  Gandalf hugged him harder 
and struggled to master his voice.  “Did the Orcs . . . Did they rape you, 
Frodo?”  He heard a tiny moan next to his ear and held his breath.

“No.  But I thought they would.”

Gandalf hugged Frodo tightly and rubbed his cheek against the side of 
the hobbit’s head, rocking him slightly, so relieved that he could not speak 
for a few moments.  “I suspected and hoped that they had not.  When 
Aragorn first examined your injuries, he found no damage to you that 
would indicate it.  But there are other things they could have done to you 
or made you do that would leave few traces.  I could never have forgiven 
myself if you had suffered that—however much I was convinced that you 
were meant to be the Ringbearer.  My darling Frodo, do you want to tell 
me what did happen in the tower?”  

Frodo answered slowly, “When the spider’s venom wore off and I woke 
up, I was completely confused and didn’t understand where I was or what 
had happened.  The Orcs said awful things to me and gloated and looked 
at me.  They said they would do things to me.  But they only searched me 
and left me naked.  The leaders kept them back—I think because  I was 
supposed to be sent to the Dark Tower unharmed.  But they would have 
done it, I’m sure, if it weren’t for that.  As they stripped me . . . well, the 
ones who did that put their hands on me as if they wanted to take me, but 
still they didn’t.  One of them told me that it would happen to me when I 
got to the Tower of the Dark Lord—that he would let Orcs do that to 
torment me, and he would watch and laugh.  But then they went away 
and left me alone.  I thought I would never see Sam again.  But . . . I’m 
afraid even worse for me was thinking that the Enemy had taken the Ring 
from me—because naturally that’s what I believed had happened.  I went 
back and forth between being upset because I couldn’t bear having the 
Ring taken from me and because I had failed you and the rest of Middle-
earth.  And both those ideas were equally unbearable to me.  But 
fortunately it was not too long before I heard Sam’s voice, and he came 
and found me.”  

Gandalf cleared his throat.  “Yes, Sam is quite a hero in my eyes, as you 
can imagine.  I told him so, of course.  He was a bit flustered.  I’m 
certainly glad I decided to send him with you on the Quest rather than 
turn him into a spotted toad.  By the way, I was quite taken aback when 
you made that absurd threat on my behalf, back in Bag End.  Spotted 
toad, indeed!”

Frodo looked up with a trace of a grin.  “Well, you could have, couldn’t 
you?”

Gandalf shrugged.  “Of course, but it is hardly the sort of magic I like to 
practice, you know.  More a silly hobbit’s notion of what a wizard might 
do.  Sam did not know me very well in those days, or he would not have 
been so frightened.”

“Gandalf, I just said it to make him keep our secret.  I didn’t think you’d 
really do it.”

“Well, thank you for that high opinion, anyway.”

“No, your specialty runs more toward turning me into a very happy 
hobbit.”

“I am glad to hear that you think so.  I intend to go on doing so for all the 
rest of your life.”  He sighed.  “Well, my dear Frodo, dreadful though your 
hardships in Mordor were, I keep reminding myself that they could have 
been even worse.  Here you are, horribly thin and bruised and burdened 
with terrible memories—but you are my brave, resilient hobbit.  The 
bruises will heal.  I shall fatten you up with all sorts of lovely treats.  And 
perhaps I can help create some new memories that will make the old 
ones fade a bit.”

Frodo turned in Gandalf’s arms, raising his face and inviting a long, 
tender kiss.  Then the hobbit settled back against his lover, but he again 
seemed sad and pensive.  Finally he spoke softly.

“The worst thing, though, was losing you.  I’m surprised I was able to 
keep going at all.  After we emerged from the East Gate of Moria, and we 
had cried and rested a bit, my mind was numb.  I couldn’t stop thinking, 
‘It’s impossible.  He can’t be gone.  He’ll come back somehow.’  I 
imagined all sorts of impossible ways that you could have survived—that 
you had escaped, too, and were following us.  When we moved on to 
Lórien, I kept looking back thinking I’d see you, hurrying along to catch up 
to us.  Then that night, on the flet, it finally became real to me and I 
realized that you would never be there.  If it had not been for Lórien and 
Galadriel, I’m not sure I could have kept my promise to you.  They 
cushioned my grief, somehow.  She seemed to understand how awful it 
was that you had died, and the Elves made up laments that comforted me 
a little.  But at the same time, it tore at my heart because Lórien was 
exactly the kind of place you had loved most—and I thought many times 
how much I would have loved to be there with you, because of all the 
mallorns and the flowers and the beauty and timelessness of it all.”

Gandalf buried  his nose in Frodo’s curls.  “Perhaps someday you and I 
shall be able to go there together.  You’re right, it is the place I love best 
in Middle-earth—a certain hobbit-hole excepted.”

“Our stay there must have been about a month, we reckoned later, 
although while we were there, we did not have any sense of how much 
time was passing.  And during that stay I struggled to think of how I could 
go on without you and fulfill my promise to you in Moria.  I decided to do 
what you had said, to trust in Aragorn and just cling to that promise and 
go on.  If I could just carry through your mission, I would remain faithful to 
you—sort of the way a lover remains faithful.  Only I wasn’t tempted to 
love another person.  I was tempted over and over to abandon the 
Quest—or later to seize the Ring for my own.  Either way, I would have 
betrayed you just as much.  I kept thinking that once I had done what you 
wanted with the Ring, THEN I could give in to grief.”  His voice became 
very quiet.  “I wished that I would die at Mt. Doom, after the Ring went 
into the fire.  It’s odd in light of what happened, but I even thought about 
jumping into the Abyss with it.  But of course I wanted Sam to survive, 
and he simply would not let me succumb to despair.  I don’t know where 
he gets all his optimism, but he never quite gave up, no matter how bad 
things were.  But of course, he hadn’t lost all that he loved in the world.”

“Don’t cry, Frodo, it is all over now.  We have each other again.  And 
we’re even in a beautiful forest together, though not one quite as 
wonderful as Lórien.”

“Hold me, Gandalf!  Tight!”

Frodo twisted and pressed himself against Gandalf, kissing his neck wetly 
and squirming slightly.

Gandalf took his shoulders and held him away, looking earnestly into his 
eyes.  “Frodo, you are too weak for us to resume our lovemaking yet.  I 
know you want comforting, but let me just hold you for now.  And this time 
I’m NOT going to let you talk me into it, as you did that night in Rivendell.  
You are obviously not nearly as robust now as you were then.”

“All right, I won’t try.  You’re probably right.  But you do still want me, don’t 
you?  My body, I mean.  That is, when you became Gandalf the White, 
you didn’t, um, become too lofty and ethereal and above all that sort of 
thing?  You still . . .”

Gandalf laughed.  “Oh, yes!  I have a real body, with the same desires—
and I am far from being above all that sort of thing.  And I most definitely 
still want you.  But, Frodo, I can wait, any amount of time.  I shall let you 
decide when you are ready.”

Frodo smiled and nodded, then waggled his eyebrows and asked 
suggestively,  “Do you have some sort of . . . special powers now?”

“None, I’m afraid, that would lift you to blissful, delirious heights of ecstasy 
unlike anything you have ever experienced before.  Though you will be 
delighted to learn that I HAVE gained the ability to recover my erection 
and make love about forty times a day.”

Frodo stared at him open-mouthed for a moment, then realized that the 
wizard was trying rather unsuccessfully to suppress a grin.  He punched 
his lover lightly in the chest.  “Gandalf!  For a moment I thought you were 
serious.  Well, I think forty times would be a bit much, even when I am 
completely well again.”

“Happily, you seem to be much better already, my dear hobbit.  Food and 
rest and security have helped immeasurably.  I can almost imagine you 
as your old self, back in Bag End.”

“Yes, where I used to tease you about being an old man and not able to 
keep up with a young fellow like me.”

Gandalf pretended to be indignant.  “I seem to recall I did quite well by 
you in those days, Frodo Baggins.”

“Oh, you did.  I would hardly have teased you otherwise.  But now I feel a 
bit old and tired myself, and you, my dear, elderly wizard, are the one 
waiting for me so that we can make love again.  In fact, you say I’m 
better, but my eyes are still so sunken and I’m so scrawny, I’m worried 
that you won’t want me after all.  You don’t seem ever to get at all hard 
when you’re holding me.”

The wizard laughed.  “On the contrary, I have simply been extremely 
successful at concealing the fact when it HAS happened.  I assure you, 
you look QUITE appealing to me.  If you were a little stronger, I’d scoop 
you up and carry you off to bed right now, as you used to claim I did in 
Rivendell.”

Frodo grinned.  “Well, I almost feel as if I could . . .“

“ALMOST.  Well, nevertheless, we’ll wait a bit longer.”

“All right, but you said I could decide when.  You DID, Gandalf!”

Gandalf nodded.

Frodo leaned in and whispered in his ear, “Soon.”


Eventually the great military campaign against the Dark Lord was 
completed, and the great army made its way back to Minas Tirith for the 
coronation of the King.  Frodo was thrilled to be asked to help with the 
actual crowning, especially along with Gandalf. 

Afterward they went up through the burned and broken parts of the City 
into the better-preserved upper levels.  There, as Gandalf had said, the 
hobbits and wizard entered a large house adjacent to the palace where 
they would live during their stay in Minas Tirith.  Gandalf took Frodo’s 
hand as they explored the rooms, ending in the one which they would 
share.  It was large and airy, and its window faced the West.  There was a 
single elegant, large bed, with high, beautifully carved head- and 
footboards, a small table near the window, chairs, chests and cabinets, 
lovely old hangings on the walls, and all the necessary comforts. 

As they unpacked and settled in, Gandalf watched Frodo.  The hobbit 
looked pale and tired as he moved about the room.  “Frodo, this has been 
a long day.  You have plenty of time for a nap before dinner.  I shall sit by 
the bed or lie beside you if you wish.”

“I think I shall sleep a little.  But you need not sit here if you have other 
things you should do.  I seem to have largely got past fearing that you 
might be a dream.  You are blessedly real!”  He hugged Gandalf around 
the waist and pressed his head against the wizard’s stomach.  Gandalf 
stroked his hair.

“Frodo, we shall be living here for some time.  And although I have other 
things to do, they are not particularly pressing and should not take up 
much of my days.  I shall always be ready to listen to anything you want 
to tell me, or to hold you, or to walk and show you the beauties of the city.  
I would love to take you riding on Shadowfax into the countryside.  Long 
ago I told you that I wanted to keep you in the Shire, safe and happy.  
Well, circumstances intervened, to say the least.  But now there is nothing 
else that is remotely as important to me as seeing you well and happy 
again.  That is now MY Quest.”

“But you’re such an important person, can it be that you really don’t have 
lots of things to do?”

Gandalf laughed.  “Yes.  After all these years, I am finished!  You, more 
than any one else, made that possible.  Now, although I shall certainly 
give counsel to Aragorn and others as the Fourth Age begins, I am largely 
a wizard of leisure.”  But if you feel comfortable being alone, I shall go 
and perhaps take a pipe with the others by the hearth.”  And he went out, 
noting with pleasure how peaceful Frodo looked as he lay with closed 
eyes.

Despite all of Gandalf’s best efforts, however, Frodo had bad stretches.  
He would become listless and withdrawn, and Gandalf could tell that his 
mind was reliving the journey through Mordor—or worse, yearning for the 
vanished Ring.  Nothing he could do seemed completely to banish such 
thoughts.  One day, the pair was standing hand in hand high on the walls 
of Minas Tirith, looking out over the Pelennor.  Gandalf told of how he had 
stood on that very spot on the day of the great battle, when he had 
witnessed from afar Theoden dying and the killing of the Witch King.  The 
sun was shining, and the labor of repair and rebuilding was going on 
everywhere, but Frodo seemed to pay little attention to anything around 
him.  The hobbit at intervals pressed the back of the wizard’s hand to his 
cheek.

That night at dinner, Frodo’s mood had not lightened, and he sat silent as 
the younger hobbits bickered and joked.  Gandalf followed their 
conversation with a tolerant smile and intervened at one point when too 
many bread-rolls began to fly back and forth.  At intervals, however, he 
glanced at Frodo and received only brief, cheerless smiles in return.

The arrival of a bowl of fruit and a platter of cheese created a rare interval 
of silence, as the hobbits began to eat again.  Gandalf took slices of the 
richest cheese, one for Frodo and one for himself.  He prodded the side 
of the hobbit’s stomach with his finger and shook his head.  “No.  Still not 
enough padding.”  Frodo smiled a little more brightly and nibbled at the 
crumbly slice.

Gandalf glanced around, then said, “I’m afraid Bilbo is going to be a bit 
disappointed with his nephew when we return to Rivendell.”

Frodo stared up at him, baffled.  “Why, because I’m so thin?”

“No, because you promised him that you would take copious notes and 
be ready to write a sequel to his book—and I don’t see any signs of your 
doing so.”

Pippin chimed in, “Yes, I said Frodo should be locked up in a tower to 
write it all down, and it’s been weeks and he hasn’t even started.  Gandalf 
is too tender-hearted to lock him up, that’s the problem.”  Merry and 
Pippin grinned at the wizard, and Frodo looked up at him with a more 
cheerful expression than he had worn all day.

Sam, who had barely smiled at this, suddenly spoke.  “I think you’re right, 
Master—sorry, you’re right, Gandalf.  One thing that came into my head 
during the worst of the times in Mordor was that we were part of a story 
that goes far, far back into the mists of time.  Like what you were telling 
me the other day about the giant spider and how there were lots of 
spiders like that thousands of years ago, in the First Age.  It SHOULD all 
be written down.”

Frodo looked up again at Gandalf.  “It’s true.  Sam said that several times 
when we were in Mordor.  It comforted us both, I think, to have a sense 
that we were not quite as alone as we felt—that we were involved in 
something huge and immensely worth struggling for.”

Gandalf frowned thoughtfully.  “Yes, and it would be good for the people 
of the Fourth Age to know that this enormous struggle occurred.  But the 
project would be much harder if you wait until you get home.   The tale of 
your adventures would best be told if you knew what others were doing 
elsewhere at the same time.  I’m afraid the members of the Fellowship 
will never be assembled in one place again, so you should take 
advantage of our stay here.  Aragorn and I could tell you part of what 
went on, and a bit of the history behind it.  You should have Legolas and 
Gimli tell you their own tales more fully, while you still have them to hand.  
I’m sure Pippin and Merry would be willing to help.  They played important 
parts in the War of the Ring.”

Both hobbits beamed and held their heads up higher.

The wizard went on, “I scolded both of them about how little they knew 
about the wide world, but they have finally begun to take an interest in 
this fascinating continent—rather to my surprise but certainly to my 
delight.  Coming to Rohan and Gondor have given them more vivid 
lessons than any Shire schoolteacher could.  Even Sam, though he went 
with you, probably could tell you things about that journey that you don’t 
know.”

Sam nodded earnestly.  “And I could take over writing, if Frodo felt too 
tired.”

A little smile appeared on Frodo’s face as he listened.  “You’re right.   I 
had vaguely been thinking that I should start to make some notes.  But I 
didn’t want to face some of those memories.  Still, if the rest of you could 
help me, I’m sure it would be wonderful.  I’ll start in the morning.”

Merry said thoughtfully, “There’s so much to be told, though.  Maybe we 
all could help, not just by taking notes, but even by doing some writing of 
our own.”

Sam nodded again.  “That’s right, Frodo.  Mr. Bilbo’s book is long enough, 
and he didn’t have half the adventures that all the members of the 
Fellowship did.”  

Pippin said, “Well, I should write up everything that happened to me here 
in Minas Tirith.  The people I met, and the Steward’s death, and how 
Gandalf saved Lord Faramir—“

Gandalf interrupted.  “With a great deal of help from you, my dear Pippin.”

Pippin blushed with pleasure.  “Some, I suppose.  At any rate, I could 
write that part.”

Frodo noticed the adoring look that Pippin cast at the wizard and 
wondered with some amusement if his young cousin might have a little 
crush on Gandalf.  He had heard vaguely that Pippin had done something 
terrible and that the wizard had been stern but ultimately kind, bringing 
him to Minas Tirith on Shadowfax.  He would have to ask Gandalf about 
that.  Despite teasing the wizard a bit, Pippin seemed very devoted to 
him, now that he thought about it.  Poor fellow, he said to himself.

Merry swallowed a somewhat large mouthful of cheese he had been 
struggling with and announced, “I’m the only one that rode with the 
Rohirrim.  I could write about that.  And the ents—“

Pippin snorted.  “I wanted to write about the ents.  And the attack on 
Isengard!  And—“

“And finding the pipeweed.  Everyone here knows how important THAT 
was.”

Gandalf stood up, murmuring “What have I unleashed?”

Frodo began to feel a bit overwhelmed as he listened to the other hobbits’ 
eager and increasingly loud argument about who was to write what.  He 
glanced at Gandalf, who was sidling quietly toward the door.  The wizard 
gave a tiny shrug, as if to say, “You’re on your own,” and went out.  He 
paused in the hallway, hearing the babble of raised voices even through 
the thick wood panels.  He stood staring at the floor and smiling for a little 
while, listening with amusement, then murmured “Hobbits,” shook his 
head, and went out to take a long walk.
_________________________________________________________________
___

Late the next morning, Frodo went into his and Gandalf’s room to find a 
stack of paper and a pile of pens next to a beautiful inkwell on the table 
by the window.  He went over and ran his hand over the cool, smooth, 
and very blank sheet on top.  “How do I begin?” he asked the wizard, who 
was sitting by the table, smoking his pipe and reading.

“Well, I think we should start simply.  Suppose we sit opposite each other, 
and I can tell you a few things, and you can write them down.”  The hobbit 
nodded, sat down, and arranged the writing materials.  He looked up 
expectantly at the wizard.

Gandalf shifted his chair closer to the table and settled into it again.  He 
assumed a thoughtful expression.  “What would be a good starting point?  
Let me see.  How about:  ‘beautiful Elves I have known’?  A long and 
fascinating chapter that would make.”

Frodo frowned at him.  “Stop it!  You’re the one who suggested this!”

Gandalf laughed and began to tell him stories of Rivendell, of meetings of 
the White Council, of plans made to drive Sauron out of Dol Guldur over 
sixty years earlier—things that Frodo already knew a little about, from 
Bilbo—as a way of easing him into the writing.  By the time he was 
finished for the day, the hobbit’s hand was sore and he had amassed a 
respectable stack of notes.  He had also found the stories absorbing and 
looked forward to hearing more.  

Over the next days, Gandalf was gratified at the patience and enthusiasm 
Frodo displayed for his new task.  The other Fellowship members’ interest 
in the project did not flag, and one or more would often join Frodo’s note-
taking sessions.  Late one afternoon, while visiting the hobbits, Gimli 
asked Gandalf why he had picked Bilbo to go with the thirteen dwarves 
on the Quest of Erebor.  Gandalf’s tale held them all enthralled, and he 
answered their questions at length while Frodo scribbled furiously.  As 
Gandalf had suspected when he proposed the project to begin with, the 
writing and conversations helped Frodo to put aside his dreadful 
memories, and the hobbit slept better and seemed more consistently 
cheerful.
_________________________________________________________________
_______

On one of these long, quiet afternoons, Frodo and Gandalf were alone in 
their room, and Frodo put down his pen.  He hesitated, then said, 
“Gandalf . . . there’s one bit of our tale that you’ve never told me, and 
maybe you don’t want to.  How did you die, and what was it like, and how 
did you come back to life?  And what happened after that?”

Gandalf sat looking at the bare table for a while.  “It is not easy for me to 
talk about the Balrog itself or of what happened to me as I fought it.  I 
shall tell you only a bit about that, and then more about my rescue and 
recuperation.  I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not, Gandalf.  I don’t want to upset you.”  Frodo picked up the 
pen again, nervously, fearing what he about to hear but determined to 
find out whatever he could about his lover’s ordeals.

“Well, of the Balrog, let me just say that we fell a long way, to a place 
where his fire was extinguished and we were in utter darkness.  It was 
terrifying to be lost, without sight, in cold and wet and slime—and having 
all the time to fight a powerful and merciless creature.  Ordinarily my 
sense of direction is perfect, but there I lost all orientation.  Eight days 
that hideous battle went on—endless days.  I had . . . I had been burned 
by his fire during the fall, and I was in pain the entire time.”  He paused 
and closed his eyes, breathing deeply.  Frodo’s eyes brimmed with tears.  
Gandalf opened his eyes and saw this.  He struggled to smile.  “Don’t cry, 
my dearest Frodo.  It is long since over.

“At any rate, I gathered that I must have been winning, for he suddenly 
fled, dragging me  up the Endless Stair to the pinnacle of the mountain.  
Two more ghastly days it took, so evenly matched were we.  But light and 
air were my elements—and they finally gave me the advantage.  One 
final blow beyond the many I had dealt him finally killed him.  A joyless 
sense of triumph filled me as the huge, dark cloud, its flames fading, 
slowly fell away from me.  I had conquered, but I had taken too much hurt 
from him to survive.  I collapsed in the snow and died.”

Frodo stretched across the table to squeeze Gandalf’s hand.  “What was 
it like?”

‘That would be very hard to explain, Frodo.  Fifteen days my body lay 
there, while my spirit was elsewhere.  It was horribly galling to believe that 
I had failed in my mission.  So I thought, at any rate—though no one 
knew that a Balrog had survived since the First Age, secreted and silent.  
But I was made to realize that I had not failed, and I was given a second 
chance and sent back, as I told you, to continue my struggle.  In order to 
do that,  I was endowed with greater power, since now I had to deal with 
Saruman and Sauron both.”

“Did . . . did you think about me?”

“You never left my mind, Frodo.  At first, when I felt I had failed, I also felt 
that I had betrayed you.”

“But you saved us.  We could never have fought off the Balrog alone, 
even all eight of us.  I just wish it hadn’t taken you with it.”

Gandalf was silent for a moment.  “Someone had to rid the world of it.  
Imagine it emerging from the Mines, descending upon Lórien . . . as it 
might well have, if it had succeeded in wiping out the Fellowship.”

“Yes, all the Elves there were horrified when they heard about the Balrog.  
Gandalf, what happened after you were sent back?”

“Well, I was in desperate need of rescue and healing, for my return to life 
found me still lying on the frigid mountain peak.  It was so cold that I 
fortunately was numb to the pain of my burns.  After I struggled and 
gasped to fill my lungs for the first time, I gradually realized my plight.  I 
could lift my head enough to see how horribly damaged my body was and 
also that the doorway beside me had entirely collapsed.  I had nothing, I 
could not move, and I was utterly alone.”

By this point Frodo was in tears again, and Gandalf stood and moved 
around the table, lifting him and sitting in his chair, kissing him and 
murmuring soft words into his ear until the hobbit recovered somewhat.  
He had given up all pretense of taking notes.

“Fortunately Galadriel sensed when I regained my life.  She sent Gwaihir 
to search for me, and it took him three days to survey that huge mountain 
range and spot me lying there.  I was on my back staring upward, and I 
saw him as a tiny dot at first.  As he wheeled downward, I was terrified 
that despite his keen vision he would pass by me.  I could not move to 
signal him nor cry out—my throat was utterly parched and swollen.  But 
as he descended toward me, I realized that I was saved.

“I must say, Galadriel thinks of everything.  She had placed a small phial 
of water on a chain around Gwaihir’s neck, and he let it slip to the ground 
beside me.  Not surprisingly, my hands had suffered the most from the 
flames, but eventually I managed to catch the flask between my forearms 
and maneuver it up to my mouth, and I was able to draw the stopper with 
my teeth.  That bit of water wet my mouth enough for me to utter a 
heartfelt ‘Gwaihir!’

“He asked if I was prepared to have him lift me.  Though I was still a bit 
dazed, I remembered one crucial thing.  ‘Can you see a sword lying 
anywhere nearby?’ I asked.

“‘There is one wedged between some rocks, just behind your head.’

I was glad, for I would have hated to lose that beautiful and historic blade.  
My staff, I remembered, had shattered on the Bridge, and everything else 
had burned. ‘I don’t suppose you can carry me and the sword at the same 
time,’ I said uncertainly.

“’No, but I promise you that I shall return and bring it to you.’

“I thanked him and braced myself as he lifted me up and bore me toward 
Lórien.  You have remarked on how thin I am, Frodo.  By that point I had 
not had food or drink for about 26 days!  Granted, I was dead for 15 of 
those days—but still!  Gwaihir described it in his poetic way:  ‘The sun 
shines through you.’  Well, that gives you some idea.

“I think I passed out from shock, for the next thing I remember was feeling 
water trickling down my throat.  Gwaihir had delivered me to a large flet, 
open on one side, and a small group of Elven healers were clustered 
around me.  I was in a bed near a fireplace, which was slowly warming 
me.  I jerked awake at the feel of that water and gulped at it.  Then I 
turned my head and saw Galadriel and Celeborn to my left.  They were 
clearly appalled by my terrible injuries, but Galadriel has considerable 
powers as a healer.  There was a cabinet full of medicines and bandages 
nearby.

“My joy in seeing Galadriel and Celeborn, however, was immediately 
replaced by terrible anxiety.  During the three days on the mountainside, 
my mind had returned to you and the others.  I gasped out, ‘The 
Fellowship!  What can you tell me of them?  Did they escape?‘

They both hastened to reassure me, no doubt to keep me from moving in 
my agitation.  ‘They are well!’ Galadriel said quickly, and Celeborn added, 
‘Yes, Aragorn led them directly here after they escaped from the East 
Gate.’

“’All eight?’

“Galadriel smiled for the first time.  ‘All eight are fine.’

“I closed my eyes with relief.  Celeborn explained that you all had come to 
receive healing and rest and counsel.  I thought of the Fellowship, and 
especially you, of course, forced to go on into dangers that I had never 
intended for you to face without me.  I was trying desperately to get a 
grasp on the length of time that had passed and what you all had done 
since we parted.  “’When did they leave?’ I asked.

“I think Galadriel wanted not to tell me, and she tried to signal Celeborn 
not to do so—but too late.  He said, ‘They left only yesterday morning.’  

“‘Yesterday!’ I gasped, for I had assumed that you were far away by that 
time.  My sole thought was to follow you immediately, and I even forgot 
my helpless state, foolishly trying to sit up.  The moment I rose slightly 
from the pillow, however, the pain, which I had nearly forgotten in my 
anxiety for news of you, went stabbing through me.  Galadriel’s main 
assistant handed her a small, dark bottle, which she held to my lips.  I did 
not accept it at once, being dazed by the agony.

“’It will ease your pain,’ she said in a firm voice that calmed me a bit.  She 
lifted the bottle, and after choking slightly, I managed to get a few sips 
down.  I lay gritting my teeth, but within a couple of minutes I felt the pain 
draining away.”

Frodo hugged the wizard.  “Gandalf, stop!  I can’t bear to think of you 
suffering so much.  I’m sorry I asked you about all this.”  Gandalf pressed 
Frodo’s head against his beard.

“Hush, Frodo.  You have heard the worst, for Galadriel made certain that I 
never felt such agony again.  Let me go on and tell you of how I 
recovered.  The tonic made me quite drowsy as it worked, and Galadriel 
leaned in to speak distinctly to me.

“’I shall give you the rest in a moment.  But first we must try to get a little 
food into you.  You cannot begin to heal without something in your 
stomach.’  With the pain easing, I realized that I was indeed ravenously 
hungry, and I watched eagerly as she picked up a small pottery bowl and 
a spoon. ‘It’s a simple custard, so it should not challenge your stomach 
too much, and it will make a tiny start on putting some flesh back on you.’  
I gulped each spoonful—she could scarcely feed me fast enough.  After 
the little bowl was empty she continued, ‘I’m afraid that must do for now.  
But soon I hope to offer you a lavish banquet with the finest wine that 
Lórien can provide.  Now I shall give you the remainder.  It will send you 
into a deep sleep, and we can dress your wounds.’

“I was very sleepy, but I was also still worried.  “’How long will the healing 
take?’ I asked, ever mindful of the possibility of finding you.

“She thought briefly, then finally said uncertainly, ‘Perhaps a week.  Let 
us plan that banquet for seven days from tonight.’

“A week seemed like an eternity with you going ever further from me—yet 
it would require an enormous effort on her part to heal me that fast, and I 
could but nod gratefully to her.  She was about to put the bottle to my lips 
again when Celeborn stopped her with a touch and leaned over me.

 “’Forgive me, Mithrandir, for troubling you with a question when you are 
in such a state—but for the safety of us all, we must know:  What became 
of the Balrog?’

“I woke up just a bit at that and assumed an expression of surprise and 
annoyance as I looked up at him and said in what I hoped was an 
indignant tone, ‘Dead, of course!’  I glanced at Galadriel and added, 
‘What a question!’  It was far from the wittiest remark I had ever come up 
with, but Celeborn and Galadriel were so taken aback that I was capable 
of even such a feeble attempt at humor that they laughed—as much from 
relief as from amusement, no doubt.

“Galadriel held up the little bottle with a smile.  ‘I take it this is working?’

“’That is WONDERFUL stuff!’ I said very sincerely, for by that point I was 
feeling almost no pain at all, and indeed it had given me just the hint of a 
pleasantly giddy sensation.  I drank the rest and very quickly fell into a 
deep slumber.

“I slept for over 25 hours.  To my relief, the first thing that I saw when I 
awoke was Glamdring, conspicuously propped against a chair nearby.  
Galadriel and Celeborn were seated by a fire on the other side of the 
room.  Celeborn was carving something.  An impressive little cabinet 
containing a cooking plate and stuffed with supplies had been set up by 
the head of the bed.  One wall was partially open to the surrounding 
foliage, and it was an altogether beautiful sickroom.

“’Good afternoon,’ I croaked, for my throat was again parched.

“They greeted me, and Galadriel gave me a glass of water and asked 
how I was feeling.

“I think I said something not terribly bright like, ‘I can’t seem to wake up,’ 
for I still had to struggle to keep my eyes open.

“’Yes, Celeborn was just suggesting that I gave you too large a dose of 
the painkiller.  But you seemed to be sleeping peacefully and naturally.  
Are you in pain?’

“‘My hands sting somewhat.  Otherwise, no.’

“’Good.  In that case, we shall give you some food.’

“She prepared an omelet for me—she of course also knows how much I 
love eggs.  I was even more ravenous than the afternoon before, or at 
least I was less distracted by pain.  My head was slowly clearing, and I 
remarked, ‘I must say, it seems unfair that, considering how seldom I can 
visit you, I should have to spend most of my time here asleep or in a 
daze.  I can’t talk intelligently with you!’

“’Well, as the days pass you will need less of the tonic, and we shall have 
time to talk before you leave.  We would like to receive some counsel, 
and I suspect you would as well.’

“’Yes, all my plans have been knocked completely off course, and I must 
rethink them.  What are you up to over there, Celeborn?’ I asked between 
bites of omelet, which Galadriel was feeding me, my hands being bound 
up in thick bandages.  He held up what he had been working on, and I 
saw that it was a new staff for me, made of a graceful ash branch.

“’You are in need of an entirely new set of clothes and equipment—
except for your sword, of course,’ he remarked.  ‘Galadriel’s women are 
at work on the garments, and I have tackled this.’

 “My host and hostess tried everything to hasten my healing—delicious 
food, Elven music, flowers, fresh air, and of course skilled medical 
treatment.  It would have been wonderfully relaxing, had I not been 
almost constantly worried about you and the others.  Naturally the news 
that Boromir seemed excessively interested in the Ring did nothing to 
calm my fears, but I could only trust to Aragorn to protect you.  I realized 
that with every passing day my chances of catching up to and 
accompanying you diminished drastically.

“After talking with Galadriel and Celeborn, I began to think that might be 
for the best, despite my extreme reluctance to have you go off without my 
guidance and protection.  Galadriel believed that it was too risky for me to 
be subjected to the temptation of the Ring for such a long period and 
under increasingly trying circumstances.  After what had happened that 
last night with you in Moria, I could hardly disagree.  In her opinion, once I 
was in Mordor, I would be all too aware of what I could do to defeat 
Sauron if I seized the Ring.  I must admit, I had long worried about that 
myself.  In some ways, you might be safer without me.  You would know 
far less about how to wield the Ring and hence perhaps be less tempted 
by it.”

Frodo smiled ruefully.  “Yes, I finally realized that the reason everyone 
thought I would make the ideal Ringbearer is because I am weak and 
ignorant.”

“Well . . . not exactly, but something like that.  But you know I have 
always believed in native hobbit strength and resilience.  And sometimes 
it is a good thing not to have great power and knowledge.  If I had wanted 
those qualities, I could have entrusted the Ring to Saruman—but I don’t 
think that would have been a good idea!  Besides, you are not really weak 
and ignorant.  When you first got the Ring, you were unpretentious and 
secluded, yes.  Still, I obviously found you enormously attractive long 
before I had the faintest notion that you would become the Ringbearer.  
Given a choice between you and Saruman, powerful and wise as he is, 
which did I want?”

Frodo rubbed his head against the wizard’s arm.  “After all this time, I am 
still amazed that you did want me above all others.  It would have made 
more sense, I would think, for you and Saruman to become lovers—long 
ago, I mean, before he became corrupt.”

Gandalf hesitated, stung by a sudden memory of Saruman’s mouth and 
hands on him, but he forced himself to respond lightly, “It never occurred 
to me!  I had admired him, but I must say I had never liked him much.

“Getting back to the Ring, though.  Obviously you did learn a little about 
how to use it.  When you made Gollum swear his oath of loyalty on the 
Ring, you drew upon its power—more so, I think, than anyone ever has 
since Isildur’s time.  Neither Gollum nor Bilbo ever did much with it except 
make themselves disappear.  I fear that your use of the Ring then made 
you more vulnerable to its power later on.

“Still, your control of Gollum worked brilliantly in the end.  By telling 
Gollum that he would be cast into the fire himself if he tried to take the 
Ring, you presumably forced the Ring to make that very thing come 
about.  It HAD to keep its part of that bargain, which you, as its current 
owner, had made.   Unfortunately for the Ring, Gollum happened to have 
it in his hand when it cast him into the abyss!  So you see, in a sense you 
did actually destroy the Ring, though you presumably had no such 
intention when you made Gollum swear his oath.”

Frodo blinked in surprise.  “I suppose so.  But at the time, I just wanted to 
do what you would have done—to give him another chance to recover fro 
the effects of  the Ring.  His treachery doomed him.”  He sighed.  “What 
happened after you healed in Lórien?”

“As Galadriel predicted, it took a week.  Each day I needed less of the 
tonic and regained a bit of movement and flexibility.  One eventful day I 
could hold a spoon—rather clumsily, but I managed to eat a little on my 
own.  The next day I took a few steps.  But at the end of the week, 
Celeborn and Galadriel presented me with my new staff and white 
clothes, which I thought quite splendid.”

“They are very beautiful.”

“Yes, and on my last night there we had a splendid banquet, as promised.  
The next morning I set out to follow the Fellowship, going on foot toward 
Fangorn Forest.  During that journey I sensed when you put on the Ring 
atop Amon Hen.  It was foolish, my dear hobbit, but I realize that 
Boromir’s betrayal left you little choice.  Happily, you heard me when I 
spoke to your mind from afar, and you removed the Ring just in time.”

“So that WAS you speaking to me?”

“Yes, of course.  I hope you don’t mind that I was a bit sharp with you—
but it was an extremely perilous situation.  After that, I struggled with 
Sauron for some time—something I had never done before.  An 
exhausting experience.”

“But I used the Ring again to slip away in one of the boats, and you didn’t 
speak to me then.”

“Well, I was vaguely aware of what you were doing, but that happened 
during the most intense part of my battle of wills with the Dark Lord, and 
thus he was already distracted from you.  Afterward I was so weary that I 
simply wandered about Fangorn Forest for four days.  By then I had 
decided not to follow you.  Galadriel, Celeborn, and I agreed that my best 
course would be to guide Rohan in its struggle against Saruman and then 
to go to the aid of Gondor.  The better we fared militarily, the more the 
Dark Lord’s Eye and his forces would be drawn away from Mordor—and 
the greater your chances would be.  Luckily, that strategy worked.  If 
Sauron had resisted my distractions and arrayed even a small circle of 
guards around Mt. Doom, you would never have got close to it.”

“Why didn’t he do that anyway—just in case, even though most of his 
troops would go elsewhere?  He had so many soldiers.”

“Because, as I said at the Council, it would never enter Sauron’s mind 
that anyone could ever wish to destroy the Ring.  Even when I dealt with 
the Mouth of Sauron outside the Black Gate, the Dark Lord seemed to 
think that you were only a spy that I had foolishly sent into Mordor—one 
clue that perhaps he did not really have you—or the Ring.  Yes, until you 
put on the Ring in the Cracks of Doom, Sauron was completely unaware 
of our intent.  That, I find, is one of the great weaknesses of treacherous 
beings like him:  they cannot imagine the situations and viewpoints and 
motives of others.  They judge everyone by their own beliefs and desires.  
I cannot really understand such minds—but fortunately I CAN quite 
readily imagine THEIR situations and viewpoints and motives.”

Frodo nestled against the wizard, and they were both silent for a long 
while.  Finally Frodo said, “I hadn’t realized what you went through, 
Gandalf.  I just thought that you died quickly and must have come back to 
life soon after.  But what happened to you was so horrific—you must have 
suffered more than I did.”

“Perhaps in some ways.  Certainly the pain and fear during the struggle 
with the Balrog were terrible and went on for what seemed like an 
eternity.  But I was never subject to the kinds of doubts and temptations 
that you underwent, my pet.  Of course, after my death, I felt, as I said, 
that I had failed, abandoning you and throwing the leadership of the 
struggle against Sauron to Aragorn, even though he was not quite ready 
for it.  But you must remember that after my return, I had one tremendous 
advantage that allayed my suffering considerably:  I knew that you were 
alive, and hence I was never as close to despair as you were.  I gained 
news of you in Lórien and later from Aragorn and the others and still later 
from Faramir.  I greatly regretted not being able to let you know that I was 
alive as well, for I knew your grief would add to your Burden.”

“Yes, when you spoke to my mind those few times, I thought it was some 
sort of vision or waking dream.  It helped me, for in some way I felt that 
you were contacting me from some place or realm I could not imagine, 
beyond death.”

“My dearest Frodo, long ago in Bag End, I promised to help you bear your 
Burden, and I like to believe that I continued to do so from afar.”

“You did, Gandalf.  We kept our promises to each other.”


Gandalf often took Frodo out to explore the city and its surroundings.  He 
watched the hobbit’s injuries continue slowly to heal and his body to fill 
out slightly.  When they caressed, he felt Frodo’s kisses gradually 
becoming more probing and his movements against his body more 
sensual.  Clearly Frodo’s desire was reviving, and the wizard found it 
increasingly difficult to contain and conceal his own reactions to such 
contact.    He was determined that Frodo should not feel any sort of 
pressure to resume their more intimate relationship, and yet he sensed 
that the hobbit still felt a little unsure of his own attractiveness.  He 
wanted somehow to signal Frodo that he would welcome physical love if it 
were offered.  At last he hit upon a plan.

While living in the house with the others, Frodo and Gandalf had usually 
taken their meals in a large dining room along with the other hobbits, 
often joined by Gimli and Legolas.  Frequently they all dined instead in 
the palace with Aragorn.  One early afternoon, however, as Frodo was 
sitting in their bedroom at the table by the window, writing up some of his 
own experiences, Gandalf entered carrying a tray.  

“I thought we could have lunch on our own here, by the window,” Gandalf 
remarked, setting the tray on the edge of the table.  The hobbit moved his 
notes aside, and Gandalf  began to disperse its contents and create two 
place settings.  Frodo pushed a second chair to the table and smiled up 
at the wizard.

“It has been ages since we’ve eaten a meal alone.  What are we having?”

“Take a look.  Why don’t you serve the main course?” Gandalf said, 
removing a cover from a deep baking dish containing a pie and pushing it 
toward Frodo.  “Careful, it’s still hot.”  He began to toss a small salad and 
divide it into two bowls.

Frodo stared at the pie, picking up a knife and glancing at Gandalf with a 
questioning look.  The wizard watched him without expression as he 
sliced carefully across the center of the crust.  Frodo sniffed and grinned 
up at Gandalf delightedly.  “Is that lamb pie I smell?”

“Indeed it is.  A perfect dish, don’t you think, for, say, a mid-September or 
mid-April lunch, with a leisurely, pleasant afternoon following?”

“Perfect,” agreed Frodo quietly, his grin fading as he blinked back tears.  
He managed a little smile.  “Are you courting me, Gandalf?”

“Oh, yes, lamb pie is SO romantic.”

“Well, it is to me.”

“Actually, now that you mention it, it is to me as well.”

Frodo took a deep breath and concentrated on cutting the pie and serving 
the pieces onto the two plates.  Gandalf poured a glass of red wine for 
each and sat down opposite the hobbit.

“I had quite a time getting such a thing as lamb pie, what with the war 
being so recently over and things not yet back to normal.  But even 
Sauron never became powerful enough to disturb the cycle of seasons, 
and the new spring lambs arrived in the fields and barns of Gondor as 
usual.  And Aragorn aided my little project.  I told him just a little about my 
sentimental reasons for wanting it.  I’m sure the local lamb-pie recipes do 
not hold up in comparison with Bilbo’s—but I did the best I could.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t suggest we sit on the bed to eat it.”

Gandalf frowned.  “As I recall, I kept finding crumbs in the sheets for 
days, crushed  quite small--no doubt by some vigorous activities that took 
place there.  No, I thought lamb pie served in a bedroom would be close 
enough.”

Frodo took a bite and chewed slowly.  “Not bad.  Of course, I prefer 
Bilbo’s, but it’s quite passable.”  He extended his hand across the table, 
and Gandalf took it.  “I suppose in a way we ARE starting over, you and I.  
Thank you for thinking of this.  A little touch of home, and a reminder of 
the most wonderful day of my life.”

Gandalf squeezed his hand.  “Mine as well.”

Frodo tried to laugh.  “Considering how old you are, that’s saying 
something.”

“Yes, well, it’s still true, you know.  And we shall have many, many more 
wonderful days together.”

They raised their glasses to that prediction, and then each took another 
bite.

Frodo paused.  “Gandalf, may I sit on your lap to eat?”

“Of course.  Should I feed you as well, like a little child?  I shall if you 
wish.”

“You needn’t go that far.  Here, slide your plate over.  There.  Better?”

“Much.”

They ate in contented silence for a while, Frodo leaning against Gandalf’s 
chest.  “I’m afraid I’m getting crumbs on your clothes instead of on your 
sheets.”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter.  Scatter them as you will.”

After another short silence Frodo looked up at Gandalf.  “Do you expect 
the same thing will happen when we finish this pie as happened that 
day?”

“If you mean, shall I shy away from you like a startled rabbit and then 
agonize over whether I should return your kisses, I should say it is VERY 
unlikely.  If you are referring to what we did after that, well, quite possibly 
something similar will happen.  It is entirely up to you.”  The wizard 
laughed.  “As indeed it was then!  You certainly took charge of things.”

“Well, somebody had to!  I know, I know, you couldn’t seduce your dear 
friend’s adopted son and so on.  And such an innocent young chap, too—
“

“Hah!”

“Well, I suppose you THOUGHT I was.  And probably you were violating 
some obscure and ancient wizardly oath . . .  May I take the last bit?”

“You may, and being a hobbit, you will probably still be hungry afterward.  
So I have provided these as well.”  He removed another cover from a 
plate with two delicious-smelling little cakes.

“Mmmm.  Just the thing to fatten us both up.”

“So I thought.  I prefer to have something to take hold of when I make 
love to you, my dear Frodo.”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind taking hold of one part of you.”

Gandalf frowned and pursed his lips thoughtfully.  “Good appetite, 
returning randiness—I think my hobbit is well on the mend.”  He 
neglected his own cake to move his lips and tongue over Frodo’s neck 
and ear as he ate.  By the time the hobbit licked the last crumbs off his 
fingers, he was giggling and slowly writhing on Gandalf’s lap.  The wizard 
said, “Well, you polished that off quickly enough.  Shall we retire to the 
bed for a . . . rest?”

“No, let’s stay here for a while,” Frodo said, pushing the plates away and 
turning to straddle Gandalf’s lap.  He grinned and slid his arms over the 
wizard’s shoulders, moving in to lick and nibble at his lips.  Gandalf put 
one arm around Frodo’s waist and cupped the back of his head with the 
other, hugging him tightly and restraining himself from deepening the kiss 
too suddenly.  Finally Frodo pulled away with a breathy little laugh.  “No, 
you don’t seem to be at all worried about whether you’re doing the right 
thing by kissing me.”

“Definitely the right thing.  NOW shall we go to bed?  I’m sorry, my dear 
hobbit, but it has been SO long.”

“Well . . . if you don’t mind, I’d like to make love the way we did the last 
time.”

“Just . . . rubbing ourselves together, as we did in Moria, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“But why?”

 “I liked it!”

“I liked it, too, but it was rather . . . simple, shall we say?  What was so 
good about it that you want to do it that way again when we have other 
options?”

Frodo shrugged and said simply, “I liked doing this.”  He thrust his hips 
against Gandalf’s stomach a few times as he kissed the wizard’s cheek.

“Oh, really?  You liked that, did you?  I suppose I AM the one who gets to 
do that most of the time.  Well . . .”

“I thought I was allowed to decide everything now.”

“Is THAT what I said?  Surely not.  And there MUST be a time limit on 
that, due to expire quite soon.”  He laughed.  “Of course we can do it that 
way if you wish--but here in this chair, please.  I’d prefer NOT to sit on the 
floor again, if you don’t mind.”

“Fine.  We want to do it right this time.  Light and air and warmth—and we 
can see each other and actually moan out loud in ecstasy.”

“Yes, but if you make TOO much noise, Sam and Merry and Pippin may 
hear and be jealous and want me to give them the same pleasure.”

“Well, with your new ability to make love forty times a day, you can 
accommodate them.  They’re not as beautiful as your beloved Elves, but 
they’re not bad-looking.”

Gandalf looked thoughtful.  “Four hobbits into forty.  Ten times each.”  He 
clicked his tongue.  “A daunting prospect.  No, I think I shall continue to 
reserve my bed—and chair—for just one hobbit.”

Frodo’s head was slightly lower than Gandalf’s, and the wizard took the 
hobbit’s face between his hands and stared lovingly into his eyes.  Then 
he leaned down and kissed him, gently at first but more deeply as Frodo’s 
mouth pressed eagerly up against his, the delicate little tongue pushing 
as far as it could go between his lips.  Gandalf licked it, swirling his own 
tongue around it and marveling at how so small a thing could arouse him 
so much.  He wrapped his arms tightly around the hobbit and pressed his 
bulging trouser-front up between Frodo’s thighs and against his crotch.

Ordinarily at this point he would have lifted Frodo and carried him to the 
bed.  Certainly he had suppressed his own desires for so long while 
tending to Frodo’s needs that he yearned to feel the hobbit’s body 
beneath his own and make love to him with a barely bridled intensity.  
Instead he forced himself to sit still, letting Frodo guide how they 
proceeded.  The hobbit drew himself up and licked and kissed Gandalf’s 
ears, and the wizard gasped as he ran his hands down to squeeze 
Frodo’s buttocks, pressing the fingertips teasingly down into the cleft 
through the cloth.  Frodo began to thrust slowly against Gandalf, and the 
wizard felt the hobbit’s erection press into his stomach.  Frodo’s eyes had 
closed in growing pleasure, but now he opened them and looked into 
Gandalf’s.  He leaned over to whisper in the wizard’s ear, “Oh, Gandalf, I 
love you so much!”

Too moved to reply, Gandalf turned his head and caught Frodo’s mouth 
with his own, arching his body up against the hobbit’s and hugging him 
tightly.  His tongue explored the sweet warmth of Frodo’s mouth, and he 
hummed with arousal.  After a few moments Frodo pulled back, panting 
slowly and deeply.  He pushed Gandalf’s hands away and sat upright, 
making tiny rocking movements with his hips and unbuttoning his own 
shirt.  He spread it wide and watched Gandalf’s face as he gazed at the 
hobbit’s body.  The wizard remembered the first time he had seen that 
naked body, flawless and glowing with health.  His fingers gently traced 
the new scars and last fading bruises, as well as the still-prominent ribs, 
and he glanced up into Frodo’s face with a sad smile.  Then he looked 
down again, his breath shuddering as he stared at the two little pink 
mounds, as smooth and delectable as ever.  Lightly he touched a finger 
to each in turn and watched as they puckered quickly, then rubbed them 
gently.  Frodo’s mouth fell open and his eyes closed.  “Ohhh . . . that feels 
wonderful.  Don’t stop!”

Gandalf smiled and pinched the little beads softly. “I remember the first 
time I touched you here.”

Frodo half-opened his eyes and smiled so sweetly that Gandalf felt his 
breath catch.  “You were so happy, so eager.  You begged me not to stop 
then, too.”  He paused, tweaking the sensitive peaks.  “You excited me so 
much.  And you still do.  I want to give you such enormous pleasure!”  He 
leaned down to suck and lick Frodo’s nipples hungrily as the hobbit 
groaned with growing abandon.  Dimly he felt Frodo opening his shirt, 
then jerked as the hobbit reached down inside with both hands and 
pinched Gandalf’s nipples gently.  His fingers squeezed harder as the 
wizard moaned over and over against his chest.  Frodo could feel 
Gandalf’s rock-hard member straining upward under his buttocks.

Rubbing his cheek against Frodo’s chest, Gandalf gasped brokenly, “I . . .  
Frodo . . . please!”  The wizard was trembling as he resisted his strong 
desire to lower the hobbit to the floor and take him.  Frodo reached down 
and unlaced their trousers, bringing out both erections to lie against each 
other, pointing upward between their bodies.  He began to thrust his cock 
along Gandalf’s shaft.  Its rough, swollen veins rubbed against the 
hobbit’s length, and he gulped with desire.  Gandalf was utterly enthralled 
as he watched Frodo’s bliss slowly mount and felt the insistent pressure 
along his own member.

The wizard intended to delay his own climax until after Frodo’s, thinking 
that the hobbit might take longer than usual in his slightly weakened 
condition.  With Frodo determining the pace of the thrusting, moving 
progressively harder and faster, however, Gandalf felt himself losing 
control.  He pressed his head into the back of the chair as Frodo rubbed 
his erection even faster up and down the wizard’s.  Gandalf abandoned 
the hopeless effort to contain himself and grasped Frodo’s cheeks, pulling 
his hips harder against his aching length.  The hobbit abruptly slid his 
hand down between them to grip the end of Gandalf’s cock, pulling and 
squeezing it hard.  This sudden additional pleasure sent Gandalf over the 
edge, and he clenched his teeth and raised his hips to meet Frodo’s 
thrusts as ribbons of his hot come draped across both their bodies.  “Oh, 
Frodo!” he gasped, continuing to push his erection up and down the 
slickness on the hobbit’s belly to prolong the last shivers of bliss.  Very 
soon, Frodo stiffened and began to groan loudly as Gandalf continued to 
pull the hobbit’s hips against himself.  More streams of heat splashed 
against their bodies.  As Frodo’s pleasure slowly faded, the wizard 
hugged him tightly.  They sat almost motionless until both had recovered 
sufficiently to talk.

“Well, you were right, my sweet hobbit, this is a very pleasant way to 
make love—though being able to see each other enhances it a great 
deal—to say nothing of the fact that your enticing chest is not encased in 
a coat of mail.”

Frodo replied by throwing his arms around Gandalf’s neck and resting his 
head on the wizard’s shoulder.  Gandalf smiled lazily and settled lower in 
the chair, drifting into a brief nap.  Frodo smiled contentedly.  He was not 
sure yet about all the changes his lover had undergone in his 
transformation, but he was happy to find that the White wizard napped 
briefly after lovemaking, just as the Grey one had.  The fewer changes, 
the better.  Everything had been so wonderful before.  It seemed as if it 
could be again.

Without realizing that he was echoing Gandalf’s own actions on their first 
night together in Ithilien, Frodo lay in quiet joy, feeling and listening to the 
wizard’s breathing as he slept.  Suddenly it occurred to him that it had 
been–how long? at least an hour—since any memory of Mordor or any 
worrisome thought at all had crossed his mind.  Even weeks after the 
Quest had ended, sad or terrifying memories had been invading it 
frequently, and so many things were still reminding him of horrible 
moments during the journey to the Cracks of Doom.   At least for now he 
felt at peace.  He also realized that he now seldom felt a sense of panic 
when the wizard was not in sight, as he often had in Ithilien.  The bliss 
lingering in his body now was certainly not a dream.

A few minutes later the wizard stirred and opened his eyes.  Frodo kissed 
his cheek and sat up to face him again, grinning as the afterglow 
continued to suffuse him.  Then he glanced down and realized that their 
chests and bellies were sticky with congealing semen.  The hobbit 
reached backward to snatch a napkin off the table, wiping most of it off 
and smiling a little as he recalled having done much the same thing the 
very first time he had pleasured Gandalf.  From the wizard’s expression, 
Frodo suspected that he was recalling the same thing.

Gandalf stroked his cheek.  “Yes, you are definitely the same eager, 
enthusiastic hobbit I loved so much before.”  He paused.  “I am so glad, 
Frodo, that you have not changed in this at least . . . that your 
experiences have not made you . . . less able to enjoy making love with 
me.  My darling hobbit, you are so . . .”  He broke off and laughed with 
quiet irony.  “I was about to say that you are so precious to me—but I 
think that would be a poor word to use under the circumstances.  A pity—
it is a word that would apply well to how I feel about you.  I shall say 
instead that you are a treasure beyond anything I ever expected to 
discover in Middle-earth.  I shall love you as long as I have you and 
beyond.”

Frodo looked down for a short while, then back up at the wizard.  “I’m 
glad, too, Gandalf.  I’m glad this didn’t disappoint you—no, wait, I know 
you didn’t mean that exactly.  What I mean is that I’m glad nothing has 
ever happened that could change my feelings about you in any way—
except to make me so . . . relieved and grateful to have you back.  I want 
us always to have this joy together—whatever bad memories I may have.  
But making love with you doesn’t bring back any bad memories.  It only 
takes them away.”

Gandalf went on stroking Frodo’s cheek for a long time, then finally made 
an effort and smiled at him.  “In that case, my dear hobbit, we should 
make love as often as possible—even if it’s NOT forty times a day.”

Frodo grinned.  “Definitely, my dear wizard.  Maybe in a little while we can 
go to bed, as you wanted.  I haven’t exactly forgotten what it feels like to 
have my cock inside your expert mouth---but I would appreciate a 
reminder anyway.  But first, I see you never ate your cake— and no, I’m 
NOT trying to get it for myself!  I just want to fatten you up a bit.  He 
stretched backward again and brought the small plate to rest against 
Gandalf’s beard, then broke off a piece and held it up to the wizard’s lips.  
As Gandalf chewed, Frodo softly kissed his cheeks, then straightened up 
to feed him another bite.  When the entire thing was gone, Frodo leaned 
over and flicked his tongue over the wizard’s ear.

Gandalf took the plate from him and sat up straighter, depositing it on the 
table and hugging the hobbit.  The wizard licked his lips slowly.  “And 
now, from one tasty little morsel to another.” 

Frodo giggled and held on tightly as the wizard stood up and carried him 
off to bed.
_________________________________________________________________
_______

TBC in “Thrice Returned #9:  The White Tree”




“Thrice Returned #9:  The White Tree”  (9/11)

Author:  Nefertiti  nefertiti_22002@yahoo.com
Pairing:  Gandalf/Frodo (established relationship)
Rating:  NC-17
Warning:  May/December; angst
Disclaimer:  As always, I claim no rights to the characters and expect no 
income from these stories.
Summary:  When Gandalf becomes despondent about eventually losing 
Frodo, Arwen steps in with a plan.
Author’s note:  Book-based.  The action takes place within the first two 
weeks of July, 3019, during the time Frodo and the other hobbits are 
living together with Gandalf in a house in Minas Tirith.

This series takes its name from my sequel to Poncing Ponies’ lovely 
story, “Twice Given.” As always, my thanks to her for welcoming a sequel 
by another hand and being so encouraging.  Many thanks also to Elanor 
for betaing, encouragement, wonderful suggestions, and engrossing 
wizard-slash discussions.  Without her, this series would most likely never 
have developed past being a sequel.
_________________________________________________________________
____

One sunny July morning, not long after the royal wedding, Frodo and 
Gandalf were sitting on a bench in the courtyard where the White Tree 
was resplendent in its green and silver foliage.  It was one of the wizard’s 
favorite spots, for the Tree was the most concrete reminder in Middle-
earth of his immeasurably distant home and the joys of ages past.  He 
was staring at it with an abstracted smile.

Frodo was leaning slightly against his arm, and he glanced up 
occasionally at his lover.  He was delighted to be with him, but he knew 
that  the wizard was capable of sitting there for hours on end, staring at 
the tree.  That sort of contemplation appealed to the hobbit little more 
than had reading the thick volumes in Elrond’s library.  Finally he broke 
the long silence.   “I . . . I had a dream last night, Gandalf.”

Quickly the wizard looked down at him with a little frown.  “I’m sorry, I 
didn’t notice.  You should have woken me up.”

“No, I didn’t need to.  Just waking up and feeling your body next to mine 
was enough.  So warm, with your beard lying on top of my arm.  It was 
enough.”

 “What was the dream about?”

“Well, I had not dreamt about you leaving me for a few weeks.  But it was 
one of those where you walk away into the darkness to fight some 
horrible foe and just never come back.”  As Gandalf put his arm around 
Frodo’s shoulders, he felt the hobbit shudder at the memory of the 
nightmare.  Frodo went on,  “Gandalf, you must never leave me again.  
You have disappeared twice now—first Saruman and then the Balrog 
took you.  I don’t worry so much about it as I used to . . . still . . . you 
didn’t intend to disappear either time—but it happened.”

Gandalf smiled down at him.  “Silly hobbit!  Why would I ever disappear 
now?  Between the two of us, we have managed to eradicate all the great 
forces that could possibly keep us apart.  I dealt with Saruman and the 
Balrog, and you, my pet, eliminated the worst foe of all.”  He paused and 
suddenly chuckled softly.  “Come to think of it, I am now the most 
powerful being in Middle-earth.”

Frodo was taken aback, and his eyes widened briefly.  The wizard smiled 
and kissed him lightly on the nose.  “But I don’t think I’ll need all that 
power to do what I want most:  To make you happy.”

Frodo threw his arms around Gandalf’s waist.  “And I want to make you 
happy.”

“It is too late for that, my dear Frodo.  You have already done so.  Apart 
from giving me your love, you have lifted a burden that has been weighing 
on me for over two thousand years now.”  He beamed at the hobbit.

“Two THOUSAND years?”

“Yes, just a bit over that.”

“You’ve always said you were hundreds of years old.”

“Well, if you put enough hundreds together, you end up with thousands, 
don’t you?  But I suppose I did not want to intimidate you TOO much.  
And perhaps I thought it made me sound SO much younger and more 
attractive to you .”

Frodo smiled.  “I’ve always insisted that you aren’t an old man—but I 
guess I was wrong.  You really ARE old!”

Gandalf laughed along with the hobbit, but then looked at him more 
thoughtfully.  As he had sat by Frodo’s bed those five long first days in 
Ithilien, he had realized that now that the Ring was gone, he would have 
to tell the hobbit something about himself—his true nature and whence he 
came.  Frodo would have to know a bit more when it came time to write 
his book.  And perhaps knowing more about his lover would ease the 
hobbit’s fears and finally rid him of those nightmares.  Gandalf hesitated.  
How to begin?

“You have perhaps been a bit impatient, my darling hobbit, with my love 
for this tree.  You would understand better, though, if I told you that its 
lineage goes back very far.  It is descended from Telpirion, one of the two 
glorious Trees of Valinor.  Even hobbits have heard of those, I believe.”

“Well, I know that they were the original source of all light in the world and 
that they were destroyed by the rebellious god who became the Dark 
Lord of the First Age of Middle-earth,” Frodo said, eager to demonstrate 
to Gandalf that he DID know something about the past.

“Exactly.  It was the great tragedy of the ancient world, the loss of their 
light.  It was saved to some extent when one blossom from each was 
taken, and those were made into the sun and the moon.  Still, the light we 
see today is a diminished version of what existed before.  How well I 
remember the beauty of that radiance, before evil entered Valinor.”

Frodo looked at Gandalf almost with alarm.  “How can you remember 
that?  It happened much, much more than two thousand years ago.  I 
know Elrond is very old and can remember even as far back as the First 
Age—but you must be younger than he is.”

Gandalf sighed.  “In one sense, yes, I am younger.  That is, my life here 
in Middle-earth, as the person you know as Gandalf, has gone on for 
roughly two thousand years.  But I had existed long before that began.  I . 
. . I am not exactly an old man or even a wizard, though that is the closest 
word in the Common Tongue for the role I have played here.”

Frodo stared at him.  “I wondered how even a wizard could come back 
from death.  So what ARE you?”  He looked a bit dubious, as if he were 
not sure that he really wanted to find out.

“You know also, do you not, that there is a creator god who made the 
universe and the other gods, and that they gave form and life to Arda?”

Frodo’s heart was pounding faster.  He simply nodded.

“Well, there is an order of beings beneath the gods, called Maiar.  I . . . 
well, I am one of those beings, a Maia.  I was sent here, along with four 
others, to aid Middle-earth in the struggle against the Dark Lord.  We all 
arrived here embodied as old men.  Now that my task is done, I 
eventually shall leave Middle-earth and return to my home in Valinor . . . 
no, no, just a moment.  That will not be until after your death, my darling 
hobbit, I assure you.  You will have me with you for all of your life.”

Frodo stared at him, awestruck and a bit appalled.  At last he asked in a 
small voice, “So you’re a . . . a kind of god?”

“Not exactly.  I and those of my order are aides to the gods—their 
emissaries, their . . . servants or messengers, if you will.  We are of the 
same type, to be sure, but less powerful.  We did not participate in the 
creation of Arda, for example—but we help to guide its existence and 
destiny.  That is why the Istari were sent—as guides for the free peoples 
of Middle-earth in its dark days.  You mentioned that evil came to the 
Uttermost West.  Sauron himself was originally a Maia and aided the first 
Dark Lord.  Thus the great evil that arose in Middle-earth in this age 
ultimately has its origin in the troubles of Valinor, and the gods felt it only 
right that they should aid in fighting it.”

Frodo looked stunned.  At last he said, “That explains how you were able 
to know so much.  Did you even know that Gollum would destroy the 
Ring?”

“No, Frodo, I knew no more about the future of the Ring than I told you.  
You see, while in Middle-earth I have acted on the promptings of my 
heart.  I conceive ideas, and I act on them if I feel that they seem RIGHT 
to me—whether they appear to make sense or not.  It was a silly notion to 
send Bilbo off to help fight the dragon—and later it certainly seemed very 
strange to me that I should fall in love with a hobbit.  Yet look how well 
both have turned out.  I guide others, but I myself am guided in a way that 
I do not fully understand.  Nevertheless, I trust these feelings of rightness.  
Or indeed, my feelings of something being wrong.  It was that sense of 
wrongness that led me to investigate the Ring after Bilbo’s birthday.  And 
I wish now I had heeded my nagging uneasiness about Saruman!  But as 
to Gollum, all I knew was that it was right that he should be spared, that 
he should live out his destiny in regard to the Ring—though what that 
destiny was, I did not know.”

They sat in silence for a while.  Frodo kept looking at Gandalf out of the 
corner of his eye with a little frown.

The wizard pretended not to notice, then looked up at the midday sun.  
“And now, enough of staring at this Tree, as you have probably been 
thinking, my darling hobbit.  I am still in a human body, and I want my 
lunch.  Let us go.”


That afternoon, the two were sitting in bed, after having made love.  
Gandalf had just woken up from a short nap.  Frodo was beginning to 
think that it was time they took each other in their arms and began the 
long, languid climb to another blissful release.  But Gandalf seemed 
unusually quiet and pensive.  To try and draw him out of that mood, Frodo 
took the wizard’s hand and said, “Maybe your being a Maia explains why 
you are so very good in bed, old fellow.”

Gandalf laughed briefly.  “That has nothing to do with it, young fellow.  As 
I’ve told you, two thousand years has allowed me to build up QUITE a lot 
of experience.  And I think I bring considerable, oh, let us say, enthusiasm 
to such activities.  There is nothing superhuman about it.”  He paused 
thoughtfully.  “At least I don’t think so.”

Gandalf did not seem inclined to display that enthusiasm again, however, 
and Frodo took another tack.  “You once mentioned that you had 
fantasies about us.  I told you my fantasies long ago—and you made 
them come true in ways that were more wonderful than anything I could 
have imagined.  But in all this time you have never told me about yours.  
Why don’t you tell me now?”

Gandalf smiled down at him and thought for a moment.  “All right, I’ll tell 
you my favorite.  When I first visited Lórien, hundreds and hundreds of 
years ago, I discovered the attractions of making love on a flet.  Pardon?  
Oh, yes, well, obviously with beautiful Elves.  You must remember, 
though, that this was very long ago.  At any rate, I find it absolutely lovely 
to be naked on a platform in the open air, high up in the forest canopy.  
The wind blows the branches around you, and the sunlight filtering 
through the yellow leaves turns your partner’s skin golden—and of course 
there is that wonderful sense of time standing still as you pleasure each 
other, and it seems as if you can go on forever.  From the time when I fell 
in love with you, I have wished that I could take you to Lórien and then 
spirit you away to a place deep in the woods, far from everyone.  I could 
spend a whole day just giving you joy and taking delight in your body.  It 
would be so different from being together in your quiet, cozy rooms at 
Bag End, or even in the tame little fields and woods of the Shire.  Of 
course, when we set out on the Quest, I hoped to arrange such a day 
once we got through Moria.  True, winter is obviously not the ideal season 
for such activities—but I would have found a way.  It never happened, but 
perhaps some day we shall go there together and make my fantasy come 
true.”

Frodo sighed and ran his hand idly across Gandalf’s chest under his 
beard.  “It does sound wonderful.  I hope we can.  What else have you 
fantasized?”

At this, the dreamy little smile that had remained on Gandalf’s face as he 
talked of Lórien suddenly vanished, and he frowned sadly.  There was a 
long silence, and it was not merely one of contentment and peace.  Frodo 
felt Gandalf’s body tense, and he looked up to find that the wizard had 
tears in his eyes.

“Gandalf!  What?  What is it?”  He sat up and stared worriedly at his lover.

Gandalf sighed deeply and hesitated.  “My dearest fantasy about you is to 
have you with me forever.  You will have me all of your life—I promise 
you that.  But to me, our time together will come to seem like a fleeting 
moment.  For so long I was drawn away from you by the dangers we 
faced, and my main thought was always to snatch what days or weeks I 
could with you.  Later, naturally, I was concerned simply that you survive, 
and still later, that you should recover from your journey.  Now our fears 
seem to lie all in the past, not the future, and we can be together almost 
constantly.  And yet this great happiness has brought with it an equally 
great dread of its end.”  He gathered Frodo up against himself and 
hugged him very tightly, kissing his neck softly.

Frodo pulled his arms loose and wrapped them around Gandalf’s neck.  “I 
wish I were an Elf, for your sake.  Not so I’d be more beautiful,” he added 
with a shaky smile, “but so we WOULD be together forever.  But I’m not.  
You once told me that I was foolish to have fallen in love with a wandering 
wizard.  But I’m afraid it was even worse for you to fall in love with a 
hobbit.  When you think about it, roughly half my life is over already.”

At that, Gandalf pressed his face hard against Frodo’s neck and began to 
cry, almost silently, but intensely.  Frodo was startled.  He had 
occasionally seen Gandalf misty-eyed, though usually with tears of joy.  
But the wizard had never actually wept before, and he went on for a long 
time, without speaking.  Frodo could not think of any way to comfort his 
lover.  There was no reassurance, no cheery prediction that the hobbit 
could offer him.  He could only hug Gandalf and stroke his hair and wait 
through the long minutes until the wizard gradually stopped crying.

At last Gandalf let Frodo go and sat back, sighing.  “I’m sorry, Frodo.  I 
should not cast a pall over what should be a joyous time for us both.  But 
telling you about myself this morning suddenly made our eventual 
separation vividly real to me.  We should seize each precious moment, I 
suppose, and yet the very act of doing so reminds me of how dreadfully 
soon those moments will run their course.”  He sat, lost in thought, staring 
at the blanket.


During the next few days, Gandalf remained sad and distracted, though 
occasionally Frodo was able to coax him into a long walk or lure him into 
bed—though they made love less often than usual.  Frodo was so 
accustomed to Gandalf being cheerful and ready for banter that he had 
no idea how to deal with this new melancholy

One morning he awoke late and found that Gandalf had already risen and 
gone out.  He was not in any of the other rooms of the house, and when 
Frodo asked the other hobbits if they had seen the wizard, they looked at 
each other and then shrugged.  With a pang it occurred to Frodo that this 
was the first time since their reunion in Ithilien that Gandalf had left him 
without explaining where he was going.  The hobbit did not feel any of the 
old sense of panic about his lover’s possible disappearance, and the 
wizard was probably right to think that he did not need such coddling now.  
Still, it saddened him to think that Gandalf had become so distracted by 
his gloomy thoughts that he would go out without a word or a note.

By now Frodo was beginning to be seriously worried about Gandalf’s 
melancholy.  Clearly it was not a passing mood, and he had still not 
thought of any way to coax the wizard out of it.  He decided to try and find 
Gandalf, but when he went to the courtyard of the White Tree, his usual 
bench was empty.   Frodo sat on it for a while himself, trying to think of 
where else he might look.  Perhaps Gandalf had gone to the palace to 
advise Aragorn about some important matter.  He debated whether he 
should disturb such a discussion, then decided that he could at least 
inquire if Gandalf was with the king.  As he walked along the colonnade 
surrounding the fountain, he passed through a door and into a second, 
smaller courtyard with a flourishing garden, full of the bright blooms of 
mid-summer.  As he stopped to smell the scented air, a soft voice hailed 
him, and he saw that Arwen was there alone, gathering flowers in a 
basket.  She smiled in greeting, and he did his best to smile in return.

“You are looking healthier and more robust with each passing day, 
Ringbearer” she said, “Is there anything more you desire that we could 
provide for you?”

“Thank you, my Lady.  Right now I’m looking for Gandalf, and I thought he 
might be here in the palace with Aragorn.  King Elessar, I should say.”

“No, I am afraid that they went riding out from the City earlier.  Is 
something worrying you?  You look so sad.”

“Well, yes, but it’s not really I that is sad.  It’s Gandalf, and I must admit 
that I am worried about him.”

Arwen nodded.  “Elessar and I were just saying last night that Mithrandir 
seemed unusually pensive lately.  Come, tell me about it.”  She placed 
her basket on the grass and led Frodo to a small bower nearby where 
they could sit out of the hot late-morning sun.  At her urging, the hobbit 
described the conversation that had ended with the wizard’s weeping and 
the lingering unhappiness that he saw in his lover.  Frodo concluded, “I 
understand why Gandalf feels as he does,  but I have neither the wisdom 
nor the knowledge to help him.  I cannot promise to live longer, which I 
suppose is what he wants.  All I can do is to be with him as much as 
possible for all of my life.  But perhaps you, my Lady, having been an 
immortal yourself, might suggest something to me that could comfort 
him.”

Arwen replied slowly.  “Perhaps I could speak to him, Frodo.  I have faced 
somewhat the same sadness mingling with my love for many years now, 
and he knows that.  He might tell me something that would give me a clue 
as to how we might help him.  We have known each other nearly my 
entire life, since he arrived in Middle-earth only a few years after I was 
born.  I have always loved him as a sort of second father, and I know he 
is very fond of me.  It would give me great pleasure to be able to aid 
him—and you.”

Frodo agreed to this gratefully.  “Often now he goes to sit and 
contemplate the White Tree—for hours on end, at times.  You would 
probably be able to speak to him more privately there than in a house 
bustling with hobbits.  Surely he will come there later today or tomorrow.”  
Arwen nodded and watched the slight figure as he went out the way he 
had come.

That afternoon, Arwen found the wizard sitting alone on the bench, 
staring solemnly at the foliage of the White Tree, with an unfilled pipe 
clenched in his teeth.  She halted uncertainly in the shadow of the 
colonnade that surrounded the court.  Immediately Gandalf looked up and 
smiled.  As if noticing for the first time the pipe in his mouth, he removed it 
and tucked it away in a pocket.

“Am I interrupting you, Mithrandir?” she asked softly.

“Not at all, my dear.  Quite the contrary, I welcome an interruption of my 
gloomy, pointless thoughts.  I suppose I have still not got out of the habit 
of worrying since for so long I spent my time trying to decide what I 
should do next to further the Quest.  Treebeard has occasionally criticized 
me—in a friendly way, of course—for being so concerned about the 
future.  But what choice did I have in those days?  Now, though, I wish I 
COULD ignore the future.”  He slid to one end of the bench to make room 
for her.

Arwen moved to sit by Gandalf.  “Yet you still have real worries--mostly 
involving Frodo, I suspect.”

The wizard’s smile vanished, and he looked into the splashing waters of 
the fountain.  “Naturally I worry about the effects of the Quest upon him, 
but I believe that the terror and hardship are slowly releasing their hold on 
his mind.  It is such a joy at last to be able to help him, as I could not 
during the worst parts of his journey.”

“You love him very much, do you not?”

Gandalf turned and looked at her quizzically.  “Of course!  I assumed that 
the way the two of us behave, even when we are with others, would have 
made that tiresomely apparent.  I remember that on the evening of our 
first day together, Bilbo remarked that we were not very good company 
any more, and I am afraid that is true even now.”

Arwen smiled fondly.  “Hardly!  It is obvious, however, that you are 
completely devoted to him, and he simply adores you.  And I must say, he 
is utterly charming and lovely, even after all his hardships and sufferings.  
I got to know him a little at Rivendell, of course, and now meeting him 
again, I quite understand why even an Istar would be entranced by him.”

Gandalf’s face lit up as he listened to this description of his lover.  
“Indeed.  Looked at objectively, an Istar falling in love with a hobbit 
sounds bizarre—and yet, when I am with him, it seems like the most 
natural thing in the world.”

Arwen nodded.  “Still, I fear that, despite his progress, his physical and 
mental hurts will never be fully healed.”

“Yes.  There are no means in Middle-earth to wash away all the evil that 
was perpetrated by Sauron.  I expected that and accepted it as I pursued 
the Quest.  Yet it is particularly sad that lingering evil should so afflict the 
one who destroyed the Ring.”

They sat silently for a short while, and then Arwen turned to Gandalf 
again.  “But you are saddened also by the fact that you will have him to 
aid and love for such a short time.”

Gandalf closed his eyes, and a little frown of distress briefly crossed his 
face.  He sighed and turned to Arwen, shrugging.  “He is a mortal.  You, 
my dear, know all too well what that means when one has the fortune—
good or bad I am not quite sure—to fall in love with one.  Between Elf and 
Man it has happened on rare occasions, and great joy and great sadness 
have both resulted.  Even in one case a Maia fell in love with an immortal.  
Melian took on human form to marry the great Elven king Thingol.  She 
would have been, what . . .  your great-great paternal grandmother.  Well, 
your own heritage, with its combination of Maia, Elf, and Man, suggests 
just how complicated the whole thing can get!  But even in that case, 
Melian eventually abandoned her human embodiment and returned to 
Valinor, facing eternal separation from her daughter.  And between Maia 
and mortal, there has never been such love—until now.  You at least had 
a choice, and you made it.  I do not have that same choice.  I can never 
become mortal.”

He paused and shook his head.  “I know that I should try and treasure the 
time we have together, but I cannot seem fully to do so.  Frodo remarked 
the other day that about half his life is over, and it suddenly and 
wrenchingly brought home to me how excruciating it will be to lose him.  I 
realized how little of his life I have shared with him since we learned of 
each other’s love.  That was nearly eighteen years ago, and I have been 
with him perhaps a total of seven or eight months since then.  So much 
joy in so little time!  And though we shall be together for much longer 
stretches now, I cannot wholly rejoice in that thought.

“And of course I still long to go back to Valinor—to shed this ancient body 
and become again what I really am.  Yet I could never bring myself to 
leave while he is alive—and the prospect of his approaching death 
appalls me.  I can fully enjoy neither my time with him nor the prospect of 
returning home.”

“Would you stay, as I shall, if you COULD become mortal?”

Gandalf thought for a long while and spoke with difficulty when he finally 
replied.  “I do not believe that I would.  I have a place in the universe 
which I cannot abandon for any personal desire, however great.  
Ironically, it was because I was placed in this Man’s body to undertake my 
labors that I was able to fall in love with Frodo to begin with.  Romantically 
in love, that is.  Maiar have great love for many of the things in this 
physical world—but this!  Romantic love is something very different.  I 
have thought long and often about how that love was linked to my burden.  
I concluded that I was meant to love Frodo as a means of inducing me to 
protect and guide him as devotedly as I possibly could.  As things turned 
out, I look back and think that I was right.  And yet, now that my burden 
has been laid aside, I cannot help but wonder why I now must suffer the 
grief of watching him grow old and die.”

He stopped abruptly, unable to go on as he fought tears.  Arwen herself 
was nearly weeping as she listened to the wizard.  She placed her hand 
on his shoulder for a short while before standing and departing silently.


The next morning, Arwen took Aragorn to visit Galadriel.  They sat on a 
covered porch of the house she shared with Celeborn, facing the east.  
The two listened without comment as Arwen related her conversations 
with Frodo and the wizard.  As she finished, Galadriel shook her head.  
Aragorn leaned upon his elbow, staring over the railing at the distant 
mountains surrounding Mordor.

“It pains me greatly,” he finally said, “that I should gain so much while the 
two who accomplished the most should face this terrible dilemma.  For 
Frodo, I suppose, the prospect is less wrenching.  Being mortal, he is 
accustomed to the idea that he will die eventually, and I know that he 
deeply feels what a privilege it will be to have Gandalf with him all his life.  
It is Gandalf who must face the reality of eternal grief after experiencing a 
love which must for him, I suppose, seem brief indeed.  He has preserved 
what could be preserved, as he would say, and he has crowned me and 
passed on the care of Middle-earth to my line.  We prosper in the wake of 
what he has accomplished, yet he has little reward for all his long labors.”

Galadriel smiled sadly.  “I must admit, I feel much as you do.  You both 
know that the gods have finally forgiven my ancient part in the rebellion 
against them and will permit me to return to Eldamar.  But what I have not 
told you, Elessar, is that their forgiveness resulted largely from my aid to 
the Ringbearer and my refusal of his offer to give the Ring to me—and I 
strongly suspect that Mithrandir may have pled my case to the gods.  
Thus I too have been rewarded for my much smaller part in this great 
struggle.”

Arwen frowned.  “I’m sure he tries to think of his time with Frodo as 
reward enough--and yet clearly he has not been able to accept that idea, 
and I sense that he never will. Their impending parting may forever 
shadow his joy in loving Frodo.”  She looked down into her lap.  “Of 
course my father faces a similar dilemma, and our separation must occur 
soon.  But I at least made the deliberate choice of mortality for my love.”  
She took Aragorn’s hand.  “As he said, Mithrandir does not have that 
choice.  But I think I may have discovered a solution to this great 
problem.”

The other two looked hopefully at her.

Arwen took a deep breath, then continued.  “My idea may be outlandish 
or even impossible.  You, my Grandmother, can judge better than I.  But I 
simply cannot believe that the Valar would intend for these two to end this 
way:  for the one who organized the struggle against Sauron to be torn 
from the one he loves—especially when that lover is the one who carried 
through the Quest.  If they were MEANT to do these things, as Mithrandir  
puts it, surely something else was MEANT ultimately to happen to them.”

“But what?” Aragorn asked.

Arwen looked away from the other two, across the broad fields of the 
Pelennor.  “My idea is that the same thing could happen for them as 
happened for me—but in reverse.  A mortal who loves an immortal could 
be offered a choice to leave Middle-earth in order to be with his love.  
Frodo could, perhaps, take my place on the Last Ship—his rightful and 
natural place beside Mithrandir.”

There was a long silence.  Finally Galadriel spoke.  “No mortal has ever 
been allowed to live in the Uttermost West.  That does not mean, 
however, that I think your idea holds no merit.  No mortal save Beren has 
ever accomplished what Frodo has, playing such a crucial role in 
defeating the great Enemy.  Beren was given a special privilege to rejoin 
his love—albeit in a very different way from what you propose.  My heart 
suggests that this might be one of those extraordinarily exceptional 
circumstances that arise when the great ages of the world end and begin 
anew.”

Arwen stared at her, breathing hard.  “Then you think that there is even a 
faint possibility that my idea might bear fruit?”

Galadriel thought again before replying, “It seems good and right that 
something along the lines you have described should happen--for surely 
we all agree that Mithrandir can only be truly happy now if he can be with 
Frodo.  The situation’s very uniqueness, however, makes it difficult to 
imagine how it could be accomplished.  For in all of Middle-earth, only 
Mithrandir himself has the power and authority to allow it.  And yet it 
clearly has not occurred to him.  Perhaps that implies that it is 
impossible.”

Aragorn shook his head thoughtfully.  “Not necessarily.  After long 
journeys with him, I have come to know him well, and  I believe that 
Mithrandir simply expects no reward.  During his life in Middle-earth he 
has had so little and asked for so few things.  At first I was quite surprised 
when he accepted Theoden King’s offer of a gift as a reward for his cure.  
When he chose Shadowfax, I realized that he did so out of need, to help 
him in his struggles.  But think how little he owns:  his clothes, a blanket, 
a staff, a sword, a bit of money for expenses, his fireworks-making 
equipment and supplies, and a few oddments for camping.  Even his 
pastime of making fireworks aims at giving pleasure for others—and once 
he uses them, he has them no longer!  And think, too, of how much he 
has had to resist during his stay here:  the Ring itself, the desire to settle 
down and lead a comfortable life—both temptations to which Saruman 
ultimately succumbed.  Perhaps in important matters like this, his instinct 
remains to resist the things that he wants.  No, I believe that it simply 
does not occur to him that he COULD ask for Frodo as a companion in 
the West, or that the gods would probably allow him that dispensation 
willingly—“

Galadriel interrupted, “Even gladly, I should think, for Olorin has always 
been greatly beloved of the gods—more than he realizes.  Yes, Aragorn,  
I can easily imagine Mithrandir agonizing over whether it would be right 
for him, in effect, to reward himself by granting Frodo this boon, and 
especially because doing so would go against the absolute strictures 
against mortals sailing West.  Despite his enormous love for Frodo, he 
would probably deny himself the joy of his companionship if he felt that he 
was doing something that would offend the gods.”

Arwen shook her head firmly.  “How could such a love as his for Frodo 
ever offend Elbereth?  She most of all would rejoice to see Mithrandir 
happy.  But he cannot realize that unless the idea comes into his own 
heart.”

Aragorn said thoughtfully, “I remember that long ago, on one of our early 
journeys together I asked him why he had never established a home for 
himself, as the other Istari had—at least, the two I knew of.  He seemed 
disapproving of their actions and he said that he was not allowed to.  He 
did not mind, he said, indulging in the simple pleasures of Middle-earth—
good food and drink, convivial company, smoking, little toys like 
fireworks—but that he never wanted the slightest power over land or 
people.  Something about him belonging to all of Middle-earth but none of 
Middle-earth belonging to him.  I think he meant it as a kind of joke, but it 
is profoundly true, I think.”

Galadriel nodded, “It was that lack of desire for power that led him to 
refuse my proposal that he head the White Council.  I have always felt 
that he took his mandate a bit too far in that case—though how could he 
have known in those days what Saruman would become?”

Aragorn replied, “Precisely, and we must not allow him to take that 
mandate too far again.  To please no one but his own sense of duty he 
would give up Frodo!  Can he not see that such self-sacrifice is no longer 
necessary?”

Arwen took his hand.  “You are right, and my plan would permit Mithrandir 
to take Frodo with him and not feel that he was acting selfishly or trying to 
assert too great a power.  Do you remember, my love, how you told me 
about Sam and Merry and Pippin forming a little conspiracy of three to 
help Frodo against his wishes?  I think we three should form another, for 
Mithrandir’s sake.”

The others stared at her expectantly, and she went on, glancing back and 
forth at their faces, trying to gauge their reactions as she spoke.  “As we 
all know, Frodo is hurt in mind and body, beyond the healing powers he 
could find here in Middle-earth.  Yet such healing might be found in 
Eldamar, and he certainly deserves a chance for that.  Let us present that 
idea to Mithrandir as the reason for sending him across the Sea.”  She 
looked at her companions with a touch of mischief, “Would it not be 
unkind of Mithrandir to deny Frodo that opportunity for healing . . . after all 
that he has been through?”

Aragorn turned to Galadriel.  “A wise lady who clearly takes after her 
grandmother.”

Galadriel moved to sit beside Arwen and embrace her.  “You are right, my 
dear.  That MUST be what the gods intend.  They have put this thought 
into your heart.  I cannot but believe that Elbereth herself—and Manwe 
too, no doubt—would approve.”

Arwen smiled with relief.  “I am so glad that you both believe my scheme 
might work.  The first step, I assume, would be to propose the idea to 
Mithrandir.”

Galadriel agreed.  “Of course.  Only he could approve it.  And I think you 
are the one to do that, my dear.”

Arwen went on.  “Assuming that he does approve—and we MUST not let 
him decide against it—we could put it in the same terms to Frodo.  That 
we—I, I suppose it would have to be—I am offering him this boon in 
hopes of his healing.  I think he would understand, at least a little, for 
Mithrandir has told him something of his own nature and of whither he will 
eventually return.  I shall go to Mithrandir at once.”

Arwen was unable to find Gandalf, either in the house or in the courtyard.  
The next morning, however, she visited the courtyard again, and he was 
seated as before, contemplating the fountain and the White Tree.  He 
greeted her warmly, and she sat beside him to explain her idea.  She 
concluded, “Would it even be possible, Mithrandir, for Frodo to go over 
the Sea to find the healing he needs?”  She watched him closely, 
determined to counter any objections he might raise.

Gandalf had stared at her in growing surprise as she spoke, and now he 
shifted his eyes to the Tree again, trying to assimilate her words.  Finally 
he turned back to her with a sad, fond smile.  “I see what you are trying to 
do, my dear, and I am very grateful, more than I could ever express.”

Arwen looked at him, trying somewhat unsuccessfully to look puzzled.   
Gandalf went on.  “Really, Arwen, did you think that I abandoned all my 
wisdom when I finished my tasks in Middle-earth?  Obviously you are 
offering me an excuse to take Frodo with me when I depart over the Sea.  
It is extraordinarily sweet of you.  I know you will believe me when I say 
that nothing could make me happier, but—“

Arwen gave up any attempt to convince him that her idea was simply to 
help Frodo.  She said earnestly, “Then do it, for whatever reason—for HIS 
sake and for your own!”  

He sighed.  “Surely you of all people should realize what a dereliction of 
my trust that would be.  I can hardly expect one of the most basic 
premises of Arda’s existence to be suspended because I fell in love with a 
pretty little hobbit.  After all, immense changes in the world itself took 
place and an age of Middle-earth ended when the gods had to physically 
separate the mortal and immortal lands.  Numenor foundered after an 
attempt by mortals to invade the Uttermost West, and the Sea was bent 
to prevent its happening again.  Only one mortal has ever been permitted 
to set foot on Eldamar—your grandfather, Earendil.  And as you well 
know, the gods decided that he could be allowed neither to stay there nor 
to return to Middle-earth.  Even now he sails the skies in his ship, shut out 
forever from the bounds of the world.  No, the Ban of the Valar, its 
stricture against mortals dwelling in the Undying Lands, has always been 
absolute.  That I should seek to violate that profound principle . . . it would 
be an unheard-of exception.”  He shrugged and shook his head.

Arwen gazed at him with a touch of exasperation.  “Mithrandir, what you 
and he have accomplished is also an extraordinary exception.  Only one 
other time in the history of Arda has an Enemy so evil and powerful been 
defeated.  As you say, a great exception to the principle of mortality was 
made then, too.”

“But even then a mortal was not allowed into the Uttermost West.  Luthien 
and Beren were permitted to live again, but they did so here in Middle-
earth.”

“No doubt, but here a Maia is involved, not an Elf.  And that reminds me 
that in bringing about the downfall of Sauron, you yourself defeated two 
other foes who also came from the ranks of the Maiar—the Balrog and 
Saruman.  Along with Frodo, you have accomplished something that has 
NEVER happened before.  You have FINALLY rid Middle-earth of the last 
of the evil that Morgoth brought with him into his exile.  Even Beren and 
Luthien could not do that!  Can you really believe that anyone would 
consider you greedy or presumptuous to want to take your love with you?  
A single little hobbit going to Eldamar is hardly the same thing as the 
attempted invasion by hordes of Numenorean men.  And, after all, as you 
pointed out to me, the gods themselves made it possible, even perhaps 
necessary, for you to fall in love with Frodo.  Indeed, everyone comments 
on how Elf-like he is in his beauty and spirit.  If the gods gave you a 
beautiful lover, how COULD they object to your wanting to keep him with 
you?”

Gandalf sat for a long moment staring at her.  Finally he sighed and 
looked down.  “Possibly you are right.  I should think this over—“

“No!  You have thought and thought and still not come to the right 
conclusion.  Elessar and my grandmother both agree with me.  Will you 
not trust Galadriel’s judgment, if you doubt mine?  She knows far more 
about these matters than I do, since she herself is Firstborn and once 
lived in Eldamar.  Believe us, all three of us:  you COULD take Frodo with 
you.”

Gandalf  just sat gasping for a while.  Finally a hesitant, bemused little 
smile appeared on his face, and he finally looked up at her again.  “I 
could, couldn’t I?”

“Of course.  Whom would it serve to leave him behind?  Absolutely no 
one.”

Gandalf stared into her eyes and struggled to speak.  Finally he simply 
nodded.

Arwen threw her arms around him.  “Thank goodness!  Otherwise I would 
have thought that you DID lose your wisdom somewhere along the road.”

Gandalf looked a bit dazed and said, “I suppose I should take Bilbo as 
well.”

Arwen laughed, partly from nervous relief.  “Oh, so after all that fuss you 
are already planning to take another?  What next, all of Frodo’s cousins?”

“No, my dear, of course not.  It’s just that Bilbo was a Ringbearer, and I 
have long realized that he took much deep, lingering hurt as well.  One 
can hardly offer healing to one Ringbearer and deny it to another.”

“True.  It is sweet of you to think of that, Mithrandir.  I’m afraid I was 
simply concerned with your and Frodo’s happiness.”

Gandalf cleared his throat, then leaned over and kissed her forehead.  
“You have indeed made me profoundly happy.  I hope you have some 
idea of how grateful I am to you.”

She stood and looked down at him.  “I think I do.  In a way, Frodo’s 
departure with you will make my own decision easier to bear.  I shall 
know that you and he are experiencing the joys that Aragorn and I do—
but with less of the sadness that must follow.”

Gandalf stared up at her.  “But that implies . . . Arwen, do you seriously 
think the gods would grant Frodo immortality as well as entry into the 
West?  Could he in effect become . . .”  A strange little smile played about 
his lips as he concluded, “. . . a beautiful—if small--Elf?”

“Well, it IS against the basic principles of the world for mortals to live 
there, isn’t it?  Mithrandir . . . Olorin, my grandmother says that the gods 
love you more than you know.”  She kissed his cheek and with a hint of 
fond teasing in her voice concluded, “Try ASKING them!”   She turned to 
go, then faced him once more.  “I shall tell Frodo about all this, if you do 
not mind.  I shall put it in the same terms that I used initially to you—that 
he is being granted this boon for his healing.  Indeed, I want to give him a 
gift that I think may help him, a little anyway.  After that, I shall leave it to 
you to explain your future together.”

Gandalf nodded, still looking a bit dazed.  When Arwen glanced back 
from the colonnade, he was gazing again at the White Tree.


The wizard remained there for nearly an hour, then slowly walked out and 
through the streets of the city.  He wanted to give Arwen plenty of time to 
summon Frodo and talk with him.  And he wanted Frodo to have some 
time to himself, to think.  After all, the hobbit had been confronted with 
many strange and overwhelming new ideas lately.   As Gandalf went, 
cheerful townspeople greeted him occasionally as they went about their 
business, and he stopped to have a few words with some of them.

Finally it was time for dinner, and the wizard returned to the house just as 
the hobbits were preparing to begin their meal.  He joined them, sitting 
beside Frodo as usual.  The hobbit was wearing a white gem on a silver 
chain, and Gandalf recognized it as an Elven healing jewel.  Looking into 
his lover’s eyes, the wizard could see that he was puzzled and thoughtful, 
and suddenly he wished they could be alone.  He longed to take Frodo in 
his arms and answer his questions.  He tried to join in the animated 
conversation among the other three hobbits, and they managed to have a 
fairly lively meal despite Frodo’s failure to join in with more than an 
occasional word or two.

At last dinner ended, and Gandalf and Frodo retired to their room.  The 
sun was approaching the horizon, and Frodo moved to the window.  
Stretching slightly, he could rest his folded arms on the sill, and he placed 
his chin on his arms.  Gandalf stood in the door watching him for a short 
time, seeing the glow of the coming sunset tint his lovely face.  Then he 
crossed and leaned down to place his own forearms on the sill.  Silently 
they watched as the orange sun sank below the White Mountain range 
stretching into the distance.  The pair looked in each other’s eyes.

The wizard smiled.  “This is the first sunset I have been able to watch with 
unadulterated joy for a very long time, my darling Frodo.”

“Then it’s true,” Frodo said in wonder.  “At first I did not completely 
understand what Arwen meant—but, the ship that I would take . . . you 
would be on it, too, wouldn’t you?  It means we could be together for a 
long time, but you would be able to return soon to your home, as you long 
to do.  Did you know what she was going to tell me?  Was it your idea?”

Gandalf raised his eyebrows.  “Yes, I knew, but I’m afraid it was her idea, 
not mine. NOT that I would not want to take you with me, my sweet 
hobbit!  You know how I would long for such a thing.  But I simply did not 
think it possible.  Arwen convinced me to the contrary.  Your 
accomplishment was so stupendous that the gods would want to offer you 
the physical healing that only Elven medicine could provide—and I hope 
they are also offering my love as a means of healing your mind and heart.  
It occurred to me then that I was resisting the idea of your sailing with me 
much as I had resisted my attraction to you years ago.  Once I gave in to 
that attraction, I realized that it was right, and I assure you, my pet, I have 
never regretted it or felt guilty about it.  And now, the more I think about 
this, the more I realize that Arwen’s idea is also right.  How could putting 
aside the great good that I found in you be my duty?  You are the very 
opposite of the Ring to me; you are the emblem of all the good things I 
sought to protect in Middle-earth.  I once called you a treasure that I 
found here.  Now I believe you are a treasure that I shall not have to 
lose.”

He was silent for a time, and Frodo took his hand.  The wizard went on,  “I 
must tell you, Frodo, that Arwen even suggested to me that you might be 
granted immortality.  And perhaps she is right about that as well.  The 
gods might give you that ultimate boon, for my sake.  Well, at least partly 
for my sake.  And undoubtedly also because you so merit it, ”  He 
watched as the hobbit looked away and breathed hard, overwhelmed at 
the idea.

Gandalf spoke quietly,  “Immortality is not entirely a joyous thing, much 
though many fear death.  The Elves call death “the Gift of Men,” and 
hobbits are, after all, only small Men.  Perhaps it is selfish of me to want 
you to be granted immortality.  You must consider well what it would 
mean to live forever—or until the end of the world, when everything will 
change in ways that I cannot describe to you.  I can only say that I would 
do my best to make unending life bearable to you—wait, I know you 
would say it could never be unbearable with me, but it is not that simple.  
Ultimately it is difficult for me, as a Maia, to conceive of what mortality 
means to a being.  At any rate, Frodo, you have a long time to ponder 
that idea, and I shall not ask you for an answer until we reach the 
Uttermost West.”

“I will ponder it, Gandalf.  Do you know when we shall take the ship 
across the Sea?”

“Not precisely.  A few years hence, perhaps.  The peace is won, but we 
must ensure that it is strong and that the Fourth Age will be less troubled 
by dark forces than the Third Age was.”

“Aragorn says that we shall set out for home in seven days.”

“Did he?  Good!  It is time, alas, for our Fellowship to begin to disband 
and return to normal life—those that can.  Normal life is, after all, what we 
fought for.”

The dusk was fading, and although it was high summer, a chill wind from 
the snowy mountain peaks had begun to blow.  They closed the window 
and moved to light the fire and lamps.  Then the wizard sat in his chair by 
the hearth and beckoned Frodo onto his lap.  The hobbit nestled against 
him, and Gandalf held him and stroked his back.

“I know that I have been less attentive than usual to you recently . . . 
especially in one way.  I want to make that up to you.”  The wizard’s lips 
moved over the hobbit’s forehead, and he slipped his fingers between the 
buttons of Frodo’s shirt, very softly tickling and rubbing the hard little peak 
that instantly formed.  The hobbit barely moved, but Gandalf heard his 
breath grow slow and deep and his slack mouth utter tiny moans and 
whimpers.  The wizard tilted his head to one side to look into Frodo’s 
face.  Sensing this, Frodo opened his blue eyes, dimmed with pleasure, 
and looked up at him.

Gandalf whispered, “I love your face when you’re aroused.  It mirrors my 
own desires, and as if through a clear glass it shows me how much you 
want me.  I could never tire of this, Frodo, as long as the world lasts.  As 
you told me that first night, I shall love you and want you forever.”

Frodo sat up and faced him, tears in his eyes.  He opened his shirt, and 
as the wizard pinched both tiny pink nubs, Frodo whispered, “Oh, 
Gandalf!”

“What, my sweet?  Tell me what you want.”

“Take me.  Overwhelm me with pleasure, to match the joy that I feel.  Do 
you remember how you went so deeply into me our first night?”

“Of course I do.”

“After that you only took me that hard a few times, when you were going 
to leave me.  I . . . I loved it when you did that.  Now I want it when we 
know we shall be together.  I want that intensity, so that at the end I feel 
the ecstasy flood through my body.  You have not gone inside me at all 
since . . . well, since Rivendell, that night in the Hall of Fire.”

“True, so you are not used to it any more.  Shouldn’t we go more 
cautiously tonight?”

“I’ll tell you if it hurts me.  Try it.  I know you want to.  I can feel it under 
me.  You’re harder than that iron poker over there.”

“I must admit, my dear hobbit, you scarcely exaggerate . . . all right, I 
cannot deny you anything you want.”

“Forever?”

“No, TONIGHT, you silly thing.  Do you think I’d agree to give you your 
own way ALL the time?”

He lifted Frodo, pressing his mouth hungrily against the hobbit’s and 
tasting him deeply as Frodo put his arms around the wizard’s neck and 
pulled himself harder into the kiss.  Gandalf crossed to the bed and stood 
Frodo on it.  As rapidly as he could, the wizard stripped the small body, 
tonguing the chest and belly as he undid the hobbit’s laces and pushed 
the trousers down around his ankles.  Gripping Frodo’s buttocks until his 
fingers sank deeply into the flesh, he pulled the hobbit’s cock abruptly into 
his mouth.  It was nearly erect already, and Frodo was soon fully 
rampant.  “Careful!  Not so soon!” the hobbit squeaked.

Gandalf immediately let him go and moved onto his knees on the bed, 
embracing Frodo’s naked body, licking and sucking his nipples as he 
stroked the delicate, upright shaft.  The hobbit jerked and moaned, 
quickly giving up his vain attempts to find the wizard’s shirt buttons under 
the beard but managing to step out of his trousers.  He stood writhing and 
gasping as the wizard’s beard tickled and rasped against his body.  He 
held Gandalf’s head against his chest as he panted raggedly.  “Gandalf, 
take me, take me, take me,” he murmured with growing desperation, 
twisting slightly with impatience as the wizard flicked his nipples hard with 
the tip of his tongue.

Finally Gandalf rose and guided Frodo to the elaborate wooden 
headboard of the bed.  Frodo gripped it and faced the wall, as Gandalf 
undid his own trousers and moved close up behind the hobbit.  He 
paused, breathing hard, and muttered, “WHY are hobbits SO short?”

Frodo gasped slightly with laughter as Gandalf looked exasperatedly 
around.  “Why don’t I just get down onto my hands and knees?” he asked.

“Because you want me to go deep, and I think it would be easier this way.  
That low chest against the wall might do it.  Here, come along.”  Quickly 
he got down from the bed and slid the chest against the high footboard.  
Frodo stepped up on it and grasped the solid edge of the carved wood.

“Isn’t that a bit TOO high?”

“Well, not if you spread your feet apart.  Mmm, yes.  Most inviting.  Now, 
where was I?”

He moved close behind Frodo and passed his hands rapidly over the 
hobbit’s body as he kissed the back of his neck.  Frodo turned his head 
and managed to stick his tongue out far enough for the wizard eagerly to 
lick it with his own.  Gandalf groaned and pressed his throbbing cock 
between Frodo’s upper thighs, thrusting and rubbing it along the hobbit’s 
cleft and pressing at his balls from behind.  Panting, the wizard dropped 
to his knees and kissed the hobbit’s buttocks, biting softly as Frodo jerked 
and threw his head back.  He froze as he felt Gandalf part the cheeks 
gently.  “Oh, yes, oh, yes,” he whispered, quickly and repeatedly, and 
then the warm tongue touched his puckered opening.  He took a deep 
gulp of air, holding it for a moment before letting it out in a long, blissful 
moan.  He trembled as the wizard kissed and licked him gently, humming 
with arousal and kneading his buttocks.

At last Gandalf stood and pressed against Frodo’s back, reciting his spell 
quickly.  “Oh, yes,” Frodo whispered again, as his anus relaxed and 
opened to the wizard.  Gandalf pushed the tip of his erection inside, then 
stopped, partly to savor the incredible tightness that he had missed for so 
long and partly to gauge Frodo’s reaction.  The hobbit uttered a series of 
fast little moans.  “Keep going,” he finally gasped.  Slowly Gandalf thrust a 
few times, then stopped and waited a moment to avoid finishing 
immediately.  Frodo sensed this and waited, licking his lips and panting.  
Then Gandalf resumed, his hands stroking the hobbit’s shaft and bottom.  
“Is that far enough?” he whispered.  “I don’t think I can last much longer if 
I go deeper in.”

Frodo gasped in disappointment.  “A LITTLE further, please,” he begged.  
Gandalf circled his chest with one arm, hugging the hobbit tightly against 
himself.

“Spread your legs a bit more,” he whispered, and Frodo complied, feeling 
the wizard’s cock pressing and rubbing his prostate while Gandalf thrust 
as hard as he could without spilling into the hobbit.  Frodo began to 
whimper and pant through clenched teeth.  “Now!” he almost shouted, 
and he gripped the footboard as the wizard pumped harder, almost lifting 
the hobbit’s body from the trunk with each stroke.  At once Gandalf lost 
control, groaning as his hand clenched tightly around Frodo’s shaft.  He 
continued to thrust over and over as the hobbit’s face crinkled into a tight 
grimace.  Utter bliss swept over him, and he sent streams of cum against 
the carved wood.  Sharp fillips of ecstasy continued to make them utter 
soft, diminishing moans at increasing intervals, until they finally relaxed 
somewhat.  They remained standing, however, with Frodo still gripping 
the board.  The wizard swayed slightly as he leaned forward over him, still 
hugging the hobbit’s damp back against his stomach.  Gandalf shook his 
head slightly and reached out to steady himself, gripping the footboard 
next to Frodo’s smaller hand.

As his breathing began to slow, Gandalf bent his knees briefly to pull out 
of Frodo, but the pair remained standing, reluctant to separate their 
bodies.

Gandalf laughed softly.  “Am I holding you up, or are you holding me up?”

“I think only this footboard is preventing us both from falling.”  As he felt 
Gandalf rest somewhat more heavily upon him, Frodo gasped, “Don’t fall 
asleep like this!  We’ll collapse.”

Gandalf answered weakly.  “I’m not likely to fall asleep while my head is 
spinning like this.  Faint, quite possibly.  Fall asleep, no.”

Frodo laughed softly.  “Well, that’s even worse.  If you’re capable of 
moving, could you get us onto the bed?  I’m afraid if I let go I’ll topple onto 
the floor.”

Slowly Gandalf straightened up.  “Ah, it’s passing.  Here, I think . . .”

Somehow he managed to maneuver them both around to the side of the 
bed and up onto the mattress.  They fell into the pillows propped against 
the headboard.

Gandalf looked at Frodo with a slight smile and raised his eyebrows.  
“Was that INTENSE enough for you, young fellow?  If not, you’d better 
find yourself a younger wizard.  I don’t think I could cope with anything 
more extreme than that.”

Frodo turned his head to look blissfully up at him.  “That was EXACTLY 
what I had in mind, old fellow.  I’ll admit, I also felt a bit dizzy there for a 
while.  Yes, I think I’ll keep the wizard I’ve got.”

“Good.  Because I could definitely imagine doing this with you forever.”

“Forever,” Frodo sighed happily.

Gandalf’s eyelids were drooping.  “Yes, I felt quite giddy for a moment.  In 
a pleasant way, I must say.  VERY pleasant.  Very, VERY . . . pleasant . . 
.”

Frodo grinned and nudged his arm, and the wizard’s eyes opened 
slightly.

The hobbit said, “We should wash before we go to sleep.”

“Does it involve moving?”

“Obviously.”

“Out of the question.”  Frodo nudged his arm harder, and the wizard 
sighed.   “ MUST we?”

“I think so.  Besides, you’re sitting on top of the covers.  I could not get 
you tucked in unless you get up.”

Gandalf groaned.

Frodo pushed on his arm more insistently.  “Oh, make an effort.  It’s not 
like you’re some 3000-year-old codger.  You’re a strapping fellow of a 
mere 2000.  Up you get!”

Gandalf frowned resentfully at him.  “Oh, all right!”

They cautiously moved off the bed.  Finding that they could stand up 
reasonably well, they quickly washed, straightened the rumpled covers, 
and collapsed onto the bed once more.  They sat drowsily enjoying the 
lingering bliss in their  bodies.  At last Gandalf looked down at Frodo with 
a fond smile.  “Do you know, my darling hobbit, I think we deserve each 
other.”


TBC in “Thrice Returned #10:  August Sun over Isengard”

“Thrice Returned #10:  August Sun over Isengard”  (10/11)


Author:  Nefertiti  nefertiti_22002@yahoo.com
Rating:  NC-17
Pairing:  Gandalf/Frodo (established relationship)
Warnings:  May/December
Summary:  After discovering that Treebeard has let Saruman go, Gandalf 
struggles with memories and with fears for the future.
Feedback:  Encouraged.
Author’s note:  Book-based.  This series takes its name from my sequel to 
Poncing Ponies’ lovely story, “Twice Given.” As always, my thanks to her 
for welcoming a sequel by another hand and being so encouraging.  
Many thanks also to Elanor for betaing, encouragement, wonderful 
suggestions, and engrossing wizard-slash discussions.  Without her, this 
series would most likely never have developed past being a sequel.

The first half of the story takes place during Volume 3, Chapter VI, “Many 
Partings,” beginning with the passage:  “Now the guests were ready, and 
they drank the stirrup-cup, and with great praise and friendship they 
departed, and came at length to Helm’s Deep, and there they rested two 
days.  Then Legolas repaid his promise to Gimli and went with him to the 
Glittering Caves.”  The second half takes place during the same chapter, 
a few pages later, as the remaining members of the Fellowship, along 
with Galadriel, Celeborn, Elrond, and Elrond’s sons visit Isengard.  


Gandalf and Frodo were gazing up at marvelous formations of stalactites 
and frozen waterfalls of stone in hues of orange, pink, and yellow.  They 
had been trailing along behind Gimli and Legolas as the dwarf showed his 
friend through the caverns behind  Helm’s Deep.  The members of the 
Fellowship were making their leisurely way back from Minas Tirith to their 
respective homes.  During their two days at the fortress, their friends 
showed Sam and Frodo around the area and told them of the great battle 
that had taken place there.   Gandalf had downplayed his own role in the 
climax of the battle, but Frodo had been thrilled as Aragorn, Gimli, and 
Legolas all described in detail how the wizard had appeared suddenly as 
all hope was lost, bringing victory out of defeat.

As Gimli went on into the depths of the cave, leading Legolas by 
torchlight, the wizard stopped and lit up his staff.  “I must say, I enjoy 
visiting beautiful places like this, but I have a somewhat limited tolerance 
for caves.   I share Legolas’ preference for growing things.   Have you 
seen enough?”

Frodo nodded, somewhat overwhelmed by the huge spaces and the eerie 
silence.  “Still, it’s nice and cool in here after the heat of the day.  Shall we 
go back and sit near the entrance and have something to eat?”

“Have you brought something?  Oh, yes, I might have known.  Well, that 
sounds very pleasant, my pet.”

They made their way back and sat in the shadows just inside the bright 
entrance to the cave.  Frodo extracted a bit of dried fruit and little cakes 
and water from his pack and handed some to Gandalf.  They sat 
munching in silence for a short time.  Frodo noticed that Gandalf was 
looking preoccupied, and the hobbit tried to cheer him up.

“What’s the matter, my dear wizard?  You’re not regretting your decision 
to take me with you when you leave Middle-earth?  Are you upset at the 
prospect of being saddled with a silly hobbit forever?”

Gandalf nearly laughed, but he tried to keep a straight face.  “I must 
admit, the utter madness of the whole plan has finally struck home to me.  
I have begun to ask myself, ‘What have I done?’”

Frodo looked up at him with a triumphant and complacent little grin.  
“Well, it’s too late.  You’ll just have to put up with me, I’m afraid, because 
I’m not giving up my wizard for anything.”

He nestled up against Gandalf, who put his arm around the hobbit and 
squeezed him briefly.  

“But seriously, Gandalf, what were you brooding about?  Does . . . does 
this place remind you too much of Moria and what happened there?”

Gandalf looked at Frodo with a little frown.

“No, that’s not it.  These caverns are not very much like Moria, after all.  
No, I am just thinking about the next stage of our trip.  I have said that my 
task is over, but there are a few loose ends dangling.  One thing I 
absolutely must do, much though I dread the prospect, is visit Isengard 
again and check on Saruman.  That will be our next stop on this 
otherwise very pleasant journey.”  He clenched his teeth, and the tendons 
in his jaws worked.  “I do not want you to go there with me.  There is no . . 
. no point in it.  We shall make a camp at the mouth of the valley, and you 
can wait for us there.”

“Why?  Why can’t I go?  I want to see Isengard and Orthanc and 
Saruman.”

“No!  Absolutely not!”

Frodo was startled by the wizard’s vehemence.  Gandalf had never 
spoken to him in quite that tone before, and his mood had changed so 
suddenly since their little bantering exchange.  He tried to think if he had 
done anything to upset his lover, and he spoke rather uncertainly.  “But, 
Gandalf, so much happened that I didn’t see.  I want to know how to 
describe it all when I come to write my book.  I need to understand where 
you were imprisoned and how you defeated the White wizard and all sorts 
of things you can’t just tell me.  And I’ve heard so much about them that I 
must admit I’m just very curious to see it all for myself.”

Gandalf made an obvious effort to respond quietly and calmly.  “Frodo, 
listen to me.  I have good reasons for not wanting to take you there.  
Please, just do what I ask.  I’ll answer your questions about all those 
events at any length, and describe where they took place.  I’m sure Merry 
and Pippin can fill in that part of the tale.  They both had considerable 
experience of Isengard.”

Frodo was more puzzled than ever.  Gandalf’s attitude seemed to make 
no sense.  At least, though, the wizard was apparently not upset with him.  
He ventured again, “What reasons?  Why can everyone go to Orthanc but 
me?”

Gandalf sat for a long time without answering, his face dark and brooding.  
At last he glanced into Frodo’s earnest eyes.  “Frodo, Saruman is 
dangerous in ways other than the ones I revealed to the Council.  He did 
not imprison me just to obtain news of the Ring.”  He paused and took a 
deep breath.  Frodo waited expectantly.

“You see, Frodo, Saruman turned out to be in love with me.”

“In love!  But I thought you had become enemies—that he hated you.”

“He does.  Remember how I once remarked that Gollum both hated and 
loved the Ring?”

“Yes.”

“I think Saruman’s desire for me or the Ring or both may have done 
something similar to him.  He both loves and hates me, I think—and he 
wanted my body as much out of hate as love.”

Frodo stared at him, horrified.  “He didn’t . . . he didn’t . . .”

“No, he did not force me.  He came very close to trying at one point.  He 
taunted me in foul ways and even touched me, a bit.  Somewhat like the 
Orcs in Cirith Ungol, I imagine, though your experience was undoubtedly 
far worse.  Fortunately Saruman was overweening.  He could have taken 
me—maybe--but he wanted, apparently, to coerce me into returning his 
love.  He thought if he could get me to submit to him, he could eventually 
make me want him—of all perverse, self-deluding notions!  I suspect it 
would not be enough for him simply to have my body.  He could only 
defeat me thoroughly if I became enthralled with him.  Of course there 
was never a possibility of that.  No, the thing that terrified me was that he 
threatened to harm you in order to force my submission.  I shall not tell 
you what he said, but he would have used you cruelly in order to obtain 
me.  He had absolutely no compunction about it.  And THAT is why I do 
not want you anywhere near him, imprisoned though he may be.”

Frodo made a little grimace of disgust.  “I can’t believe he would be 
foolish enough to think you could ever love him.  And why you?  He is so 
powerful, surely he always could have had many lovers if he wanted.”

“From something he said to me during that grotesque attempt at 
seduction, I think Saruman wanted me partly because I was the only one 
in Middle-earth more-or-less equal to him in rank.  He would not deign to 
take one that he perceived as below him—though I suspect he has 
secretly on occasion, just as he hid his smoking.  Only casually though, 
for purely sexual gratification.  He would not want an ordinary being as a 
long-time lover.  He often criticized me for my joy in simple pleasures and 
people.  I gather that by exhibiting such “low” tastes I had betrayed him in 
some way, and he wanted to force me to see that only he and I were 
good enough for one another.”  He shook his head with a wry smile.

Frodo thought for a while.  “Well, I want to go with you to Orthanc.  More 
than ever now.  Otherwise my imagination would always conjure up 
dreadful ideas about him and what he did to you.  I want to see him as a 
prisoner, to see you in control of him.”

“Well, I do not wish to taunt Saruman as he did me.  Indeed, when I 
visited him with Theoden I forced myself to be magnanimous to him, 
perhaps more than I should have been.  But I do remember what he was 
like before, and it makes me very sad.  Long ago he was a wise and 
admirable wizard, and a very great and powerful one—if a bit haughty, 
even from the start.”

“If he was anything like you, he must have been wonderful.”

“We were never much alike, and we were never really friends, but I 
respected him a great deal.  It was very difficult to have to depose and 
imprison him, despite all that he had done to me and threatened to do to 
you.”

Frodo looked thoughtful.  “But he loved you, and he must have been 
desperate—and very jealous of me, I suppose.”

Gandalf stared at Frodo.  “You have learned the lesson of pity better even 
than I had hoped, Frodo.  And yes, Saruman is pitiable.  But I’m not sure 
that he isn’t dangerous still.  That is one reason I should speak with him—
but I hope it will be the last time.  Perhaps, though, you are right.  
Perhaps I would feel better about the whole thing if you came with us.  It 
would show him that he has failed to hurt either of us in the long run, that 
our love remains unsullied by his sordid desires.  Seeing you should 
shame him, but I doubt he is capable of feeling anything other than 
jealousy and anger towards us both.  And I would also like for him to see 
two more of the simple little hobbits that he scorns so much—two simple 
little hobbits who were able to destroy the great Ring.  And, as you say, it 
might be good for you to see him defeated and powerless.  Yes, the more 
I think about it, the more I realize that THAT is the memory of him that I 
would wish you and I to share.  All right, I shall take you with me, though it 
will be difficult for me to see you in his presence, to let him touch you with 
his eyes, to talk to you—though I do not imagine that you, as the 
Ringbearer and my lover, would ever succumb to the lure of his voice.”

Frodo nodded.  “I can’t imagine it either.”  He paused, then again tried to 
lighten the conversation.  “On the other hand, I’m not sure I want YOU to 
be in Saruman’s presence.”

“Why not?  I am hardly in any danger of yielding to him at last.”

Frodo narrowed his eyes in mock accusation.  “Are you sure?  Gandalf!  
Were you deliberately leading him on?”

Gandalf looked at him with an incredulous little frown.

“Confess, you were flirting with that dreadful wizard behind my back.  You 
secretly wanted him, and he knew it!”

Gandalf let out a great guffaw, then continued to laugh more quietly for a 
long time.  Finally he shook his head, shrugged, and said, “I just couldn’t 
help myself.  Those flashing eyes, that contemptuous curl to his lip . . . 
they drove me mad!  He was completely irresistible.”  They both laughed 
and smiled fondly at each other.

“Trust you to make things seem—not quite so grim.  Indeed, my dear 
hobbit, it was thoughts of you that helped me through that lonely, 
frightening imprisonment.  Well, that is settled then.  You SHALL go.”

He leaned down and kissed Frodo, nibbling at the hobbit’s soft lips.  
Frodo moaned softly with pleasure at intervals, and the pair savored the 
first hints of arousal, anticipating how they would satisfy each other later 
when they could be alone in their room.  Soon they heard the voices of 
Gimli and Legolas, echoing up along the cavern walls in friendly argument 
as they emerged from the depths.  Gandalf and Frodo stood up to await 
them, and then the four walked slowly back toward the fortress.


Later, at Isengard, the group had their meeting with Treebeard.  The ent 
revealed that he had let Saruman leave Orthanc and depart.  Frodo had 
seen that Gandalf was quite upset but that the wizard had stifled his 
reaction in order not to seem ungrateful to his old friend.  After a while 
there came the sad partings as Gimli and Legolas left the group to head 
toward Fangorn Forest.  As Treebeard said his farewells to Galadriel and 
Celeborn, and then to Merry and Pippin, the wizard turned and stared 
thoughtfully up at the pointed horns of the great black tower.  Frodo 
watched him and wondered how the news of Saruman’s departure was 
really affecting his lover.

After Treebeard left them, the group agreed to spend a few hours at 
Isengard, surveying the work of the ents and enjoying the garden they 
had created.  They also dreaded the coming departure from Aragorn.  As 
the others wandered off in pairs or small groups, Gandalf sat on a low 
block of stone near the entrance.  The hobbit drifted over to him and 
asked in a low voice, “Are you thinking about Saruman—worrying that 
he’ll try to do something to one of us?”

The wizard looked at him solemnly.  “There is certainly that possibility.  I 
do wish Treebeard had not given in to him.  Of course, there is nothing to 
be done about it now, but naturally I am disturbed by this development.  
From what I know of Saruman’s state of mind from our last meeting, he is 
far from resigned to his fate and thus quite likely to seek revenge of some 
sort.  And he knows that the best revenge he could take on me would be 
to hurt you.  Still, I suppose we should not let worry overshadow our joy in 
all that we have accomplished.  After all, without his staff or any of his 
other possessions, Saruman is vastly reduced in power.  And you and 
your fellow hobbits have all become much MORE powerful, in your own 
modest way.  I would like to think that you could deal with him yourselves 
and that you don’t always need my protection—though of course you will 
have it much of the time, my dearest Frodo.  Nevertheless, our hope of 
having you see him as my prisoner is certainly not going to come true,”  
he added ruefully, ruffling Frodo’s curls gently.

Frodo looked at the bleak, forbidding tower with an anxious little frown.  
“Could we . . . would you mind terribly . . . going inside?  With me, I mean, 
and maybe some of the others who want to go.”

Gandalf stared at him for a moment.  “Why?”

“Well, I cannot see him as your prisoner, true.  But I could at least see 
where he kept you and know that you can walk away from it this time.  I 
don’t know, maybe it would help you, too, to see it that way.  Or perhaps 
I’m asking too much.  Maybe it would be too horrible for you to go back in 
there, especially with me.”

Gandalf looked up at the tower for a long time.  Finally he nodded.  “If you 
think it would make you feel better in any way, I shall go inside with you, 
Frodo.  I dread the thought, but, yes, let us try it.  If I find it too difficult to 
face, we shall simply abandon the attempt.  And I suppose Aragorn might 
want to have a quick look over what is now his.  He has never been in 
Orthanc either.”

They looked around and found Aragorn a short distance away, talking 
with Galadriel and Celeborn.  Briefly Frodo explained their plan to him.  
Aragorn did not know the full extent of Saruman’s obsessive and vicious 
treatment of Gandalf or his threats against Frodo, so he accepted their 
suggestion at face value and agreed to accompany them.  The three 
walked slowly along the road toward the main entrance to the tower.  
Frodo held Gandalf’s hand and glanced up into his face occasionally, but 
although his lover betrayed some slight signs of agitation, he was 
suppressing them as much as he could.

They climbed the long, high stairway toward the door and paused by a 
cracked and chipped patch.  Gandalf pointed to it and looked at Frodo.  
“There is where the falling Palantir nearly ended my incarnation as 
Gandalf the White,” he said to the hobbit with a slight smile.  Frodo 
wrinkled his nose as he looked at the cracks, and he squeezed Gandalf’s 
hand and pressed against the wizard.  Meanwhile Aragorn had gone up 
the last few steps, using the great black keys to open the door.  

Inside it was gloomy but not pitch dark.  Filtered light came in through tall, 
narrow slits in the thick wall.  Gandalf supplemented that illumination by 
lighting up his staff.  He led the other two up a short flight of steps to 
Saruman’s study, which had two large windows and was considerably 
brighter than the entrance hall and stairway.  “This is where he welcomed 
me when I first arrived.”  The wizard sat down in an ornately carved 
wooden chair with a padded leather seat.  “Yes, I sat here and ate a bit of 
bread and cheese and had a glass of wine.  I was rather tense, since my 
conversations with Saruman had long ceased to be pleasant.  He was 
always goading me about something, and I frequently had to restrain 
myself from becoming quite sharp with him.  Still, on that occasion I had 
no suspicion of what was to come.  Despite my disapproval of Saruman’s 
decision to establish a permanent home—especially such an elaborate 
one—I always found this room intriguing.  I knew he had been doing 
experiments, and I wondered if there were secrets tucked away amidst 
this clutter.  I suppose he took any important documents with him, but he 
could not carry anything heavy.  I can’t say I fancy the idea of digging 
through it now.  I doubt now that he ever discovered anything really 
significant—like the old secrets for making rings of power.  If he had, he 
would have used it against us.  His most precious possession was the 
Palantir, and of course he did not make that himself.”

Frodo wandered around, looking at curious maps and instruments that 
were hanging or lying around the room.  Aragorn said, “I think I shall go 
on and try to get a sense of the layout of the place.  It seems impossible 
to get lost here, since all the rooms apparently open directly out onto this 
central staircase.  I’ll make a torch out of a piece of this wood,” he added, 
moving to the fireplace.

Gandalf hesitated.  “I think I shall go up to the roof.  Alone to begin with, if 
you don’t mind staying here by yourself for a while, Frodo.  Give me a 
little while up there, and then if either of you wants to see the top, come 
and join me.  The view is quite spectacular, of course, if one does not 
have to live with it for months on end.”

Aragorn was occupied with making his torch, but Frodo watched with a 
little frown as Gandalf went out of the room and paused on the long 
stairway looking up.  At first the hobbit thought his lover might decide 
against visiting his old prison, but eventually Gandalf walked up the steps 
and soon disappeared around a bend.  Frodo wished he could go along, 
but he realized that he had to respect Gandalf’s wishes on this matter.  
He continued to inspect the room, glancing at various documents left lying 
about, but nothing seemed particularly important—or indeed particularly 
comprehensible.

Gandalf reached the large door that led out onto the roof.  As he stepped 
through, he hesitated.  There was no key and no one to lock him in, but 
he paused and put an opening spell on the door, just to reassure himself.  
He slowly went up the stairwell until he was standing on the hard, black 
flagstones.  Exactly a year ago he had been trapped there, and the 
beautiful summer weather was the same sort he had experienced on 
many days.  At least, he reflected, walking to look over the edge, the grim 
devastation that Saruman had wreaked upon the area around the tower 
no longer dominated the view below.  

He paced slowly across the roof and clicked his tongue in annoyance.  
WHY had Treebeard given in to Saruman?  Despite the fact that the 
treacherous wizard had been responsible for destroying so many trees 
and even killing several Ents, Treebeard had nevertheless fallen prey to 
that unnaturally persuasive voice.  He gave a humorless little snort of 
laughter.  Treebeard had always claimed that he worried too much about 
the future, and now, when Gandalf had believed that he could put such 
worries behind him, the Ent himself had forced Gandalf to return to 
brooding on things to come.

He wondered why he had put himself through the ordeal of returning to 
this roof.  Partly, no doubt, to reassure Frodo that he was not haunted by 
the events of that dreadful time.  Partly perhaps to prove the same thing 
to himself.  True, he remembered vividly the constant fear of expecting, 
week after week, to be sent off to Mordor and the Dark Tower.  Still, the 
previous visit to Isengard and his breaking of Saruman’s staff had made 
that memory less oppressive to him.  But now there was a renewed, and 
very real fear that Saruman was out there, somewhere, almost certainly 
with vengeance on his mind.  Ironically, he thought, they were probably 
safer here in Orthanc than they would be when they rode into the bleak, 
deserted lands to the west of the Misty Mountains.  He recalled 
Saruman’s vicious threats against Frodo, and the ugly, gloating tone in 
his voice as he made them.  Here I am again, Gandalf thought, standing 
on Orthanc and worrying about what Saruman might do to Frodo.  He 
shuddered slightly.  Well, they were hardly vulnerable to attack, traveling 
as they were, in a group.  There was no way that Saruman could carry 
through those threats.   He did not know their plans and hence could not 
be deliberately hiding in ambush.  They would just have to be particularly 
cautious.

He was tempted to leave the tower as quickly as possible, but he had 
promised to show Frodo his rooftop prison.  He sat on the paving, his 
back against one of the tower’s horns, as he so often had during his 
captivity.  Gradually he relaxed a little and began to enjoy the view and 
the superb weather.  He barely flinched when he heard a footstep on the 
stair, and he smiled in welcome as Aragorn emerged.  He looked at the 
amazing vistas all around, then slowly walked over to the wizard.

“To let, one spacious wizard’s tower, beautiful views, luxurious 
accommodations.  What say you, would the prospect of such a home 
tempt you to stay on and advise me, my friend?”

Gandalf smiled briefly.  “Now, we’ve had all this out before.  You know I 
must leave Middle-earth.”

Aragorn sat beside him, and his own smile faded.  “Oh, yes, I know.  But I 
have your promise to return for a long visit before you go, at least once.  
You won’t forget, will you, dazzled by two beautiful blue eyes that lure you 
to stay in the Shire?”

“You know I won’t forget.  I can visit you and still manage to spend far 
more of my time with Frodo than I did before his Quest began.  But like 
you, I dread the time when we must say good-bye forever.”

Aragorn was silent for a moment.  “I have just seen the pain of Arwen’s 
separation from Elrond, and I’m afraid that I shall feel much the same way 
when you and I part for the last time.”

Gandalf glanced at him and then looked out over the distant mountain 
peaks, sighing.  “You have Arwen, you have your throne, you have a 
great kingdom to rebuild, to preserve, and to expand.  You have many 
friends and allies across this great continent.  You no longer need me.”

“No, perhaps not.  No, I realize that.  You have taught me well in the 
many years we have known each other.  When problems confront me, I 
can almost always imagine what you would do in the same situation.  But 
I shall miss you, Gandalf.  We have been through so much together.  We 
have shared so much joy and tedium and fear and triumph.  It is not 
because I need you that I wish you could stay.  It is because I love you, 
as a friend, as a father, as a teacher.”  He stopped, tears standing in his 
eyes.

Gandalf put his hand on Aragorn’s shoulder.  “I know, Aragorn, my friend . 
. . my very dear friend.  I feel the same way.  I never had a father myself, 
of course, or any family in the sense that mortals have them.  But to the 
extent that I can imagine what that would be like, I think that you have 
indeed been a son to me.  There is no one in Middle-earth that I shall 
leave behind with half so much regret.”

They sat silently, and finally Aragorn said, “Well, no sense in plunging 
ourselves into melancholy now.  I shall look forward to your visit . . . 
when, do you think?”

“Oh, perhaps in a year.  Summer would be a good season for traveling.  
We shall probably not reach the Shire until around the end of the year, 
and I want to spend a good long stretch of time with Frodo before leaving 
to come south again.  Speaking of which, I rather expected him to be up 
here by now.”

“I’ll go down and see what’s keeping him.”

Gandalf thanked him and stood up to stretch his legs as his friend 
disappeared down the stairwell.  On the way down, Aragorn met Frodo, 
treading carefully in the gloom of the stairs.  The hobbit looked inquiringly 
at him.  “Do you think it would be all right to go up and see Gandalf now?  
Does he seem . . . upset at being back here?”

“He seems fine, but perhaps he’s just putting on a brave front for our 
benefit.  At any rate, go and comfort him whether he needs it or not.  He 
certainly wants you, you lucky hobbit.  Go on up.  We’ll wait below, for as 
long as you two want to stay up there together—within reason, of course.”

The wizard greeted Frodo with a brief kiss when he reached the roof, and 
then the pair strolled slowly around the pavement.  “My very elegant 
dining room, sleeping room, sitting room, all in one,” Gandalf said with a 
sweep of his arm across the roof.  

“Well, it’s certainly as bleak and barren as you described it.  I can’t 
imagine spending ten weeks here.”

“No.  I have had many dangerous and trying experiences here in Middle-
earth, but that period must rank high among them.  Shall we sit down 
here, out of the sun?  Or have you seen enough?  I suppose the others 
will want to depart soon.”

“Aragorn said they could wait a while.  And as before, we won’t have 
much privacy once we’re traveling in the uninhabited country.”

The pair sat in the shade, and Frodo leaned against Gandalf , his head 
lying on the wizard’s beard.  Gandalf stroked his hair slowly and softly.  “I 
missed you so much during that time, my lovely hobbit, and yet I was 
MOST grateful that you were not here.”  He chuckled.  “I wish I could 
have seen Saruman’s reaction after Gwaihir rescued me.  He had taken a 
great risk by not sending me to Mordor, and he must have realized that 
he was in even greater danger once I was gone.”

“Let’s not think about him any more.  You once said that you would make 
some new memories for me, to help banish the bad ones.  Maybe I can 
as well.”

Slowly he slid his hand down from Gandalf’s chest, past his thin, 
muscular belly, and finally to the front of his trousers.  The wizard inhaled 
sharply, then remained utterly still as Frodo gently rubbed his member 
through the cloth.  At first the hobbit thought that his lover was not 
responding at all to his touch, but gradually he felt the first signs of 
arousal and realized that Gandalf was gasping softly and raggedly.  
Through the white cloth, the hobbit nudged the half-hard erection upright 
along the wizard’s stomach and pulled and squeezed it a little harder.  
Gandalf continued to run his fingers through Frodo’s hair.  They sat for 
long minutes, neither speaking, as the hobbit’s hand stroked Gandalf to 
full arousal.  The wizard was writhing slightly under him by now.  He 
began to put his arms around Frodo, but the hobbit whispered, “Don’t 
move.”  He began to unlace Gandalf’s trousers, sliding down so that his 
head was against the wizard’s stomach, just above the gap that formed 
as he pulled the laces apart.  He reached in and pulled Gandalf’s erection 
out, stroking it a bit more firmly and pulling it toward his mouth so that he 
could lick its head wetly.  The wizard let out a long sigh, then drew in a 
hissing breath through clenched teeth.

Frodo prolonged the climb toward ecstasy, relaxing his grip as the wizard 
became more aroused, running his fingers teasingly over the throbbing 
veins, and brushing the large balls with just their tips.  He swirled his 
tongue luxuriously over the black slit in the end, tasting the first drops 
leaking from it.  Gandalf began to whimper quietly in combined pleasure 
and frustration, but Frodo refused to increase either the speed or 
pressure of his caresses.  At last the wizard gasped, “You DO plan to 
relieve me eventually, my dear hobbit—I hope.”

Frodo dragged his tongue along the ridge on the underside of Gandalf’s 
length.  “Eventually, yes,” and he resumed his tantalizing attentions.

After a few more minutes, Gandalf was writhing more actively.  He tried to 
push his erection harder against the hobbit’s tongue.  “Frodo, please!” he 
begged in a strangled voice.  At last the hobbit took pity on him and 
engulfed the big, plumlike tip with his mouth, pumping the purple shaft in 
a tight fist for a short time until the wizard tensed and moaned loudly.  
Gush after gush of thick hot liquid filled Frodo’s mouth, and he swallowed 
deftly, then coaxed little additional flashes of pleasure through the 
wizard’s cock in a long, slow descent.  

As Gandalf sighed in bliss, Frodo pushed himself upright again and 
leaned against the wizard’s shoulder.  As he expected, Gandalf laid his 
cheek on top of the hobbit’s head and immediately drifted off to sleep.  
His trousers were still undone, but Frodo did not want to move to close 
them, supporting the wizard as he was.  “Aragorn is not likely to let 
anyone come up and disturb us,” the hobbit thought with a grin.  “He 
probably suspected we’d need some real privacy.”

A few minutes later Gandalf sat up and looked at him with half-closed 
eyes and a very contented expression.  He kissed Frodo’s forehead.  
Frodo quickly scrambled to his feet.  “Well, that was very pleasant, but we 
wanted to cover some distance before sunset.  And I have now had a 
thorough sample of the dreadfully hard floor you had to contend with all 
that time.  Do you want to leave now?”

Gandalf rose and looked down at him lovingly.  “Yes, let’s go, my darling 
hobbit.  You have definitely provided the last memory I want to associate 
with this place.  Off to the road again—the one that leads toward home.”




TBC—and concluded—in “Thrice Returned #11:  His Own Private 
Wizard”


“Thrice Given #11:  His Own Private Wizard”  (11/11)


Author:  Nefertiti  nefertiti_22002@yahoo.com
Pairing:  Gandalf/Frodo (established relationship)
Rating:  NC-17
Warning:  May/December
Feedback:  Absolutely.
Summary:  After the Scouring of the Shire, Gandalf visits Bag End, has a 
VERY pleasant bath, and tells Frodo a bit about their future together.
Disclaimer:   I claim no rights to these characters and shall receive no 
remuneration related to this story.
Author’s Note:  Book-based.  This, the final story in the “Thrice Returned” 
series, takes place in early February, 3020,  three months after the 
Scouring of the Shire and Frodo’s return to Bag End.
This series takes its name from my sequel to Poncing Ponies’ lovely 
story, “Twice Given.”  As always, my thanks to her for welcoming a sequel 
by another hand and being so encouraging.  Many thanks also to Elanor 
for betaing, encouragement, wonderful suggestions, and engrossing 
wizard-slash discussions.  Without her, this series would most likely never 
have developed past being a sequel.


Frodo put another log onto the fire in the guest bedroom and looked 
around.  Everything was prepared for Gandalf’s visit, and he had been 
able to think of little else all day.  In the two months since the four hobbits’ 
return to the Shire and the death of Saruman right outside Bag End, 
Frodo had spent his days in supervising the restoration of the comfortable 
old hobbit hole.  The work on that had long since ended for the day, and 
the place was quiet after the hammering and bustle that had earlier filled 
it.  There was still much to be done, but the key rooms—the kitchen, 
sitting room, guest bathroom, and guest bedroom—were quite habitable 
by now.  He had given the guest room priority over his own.  The Man-
sized bed was there, and once Gandalf arrived, they would share it.  Even 
alone, Frodo had been sleeping in that bed while his own room was still 
under repair.

Throughout Bag End Frodo was trying his best to make the rooms look 
just as they had before.  In some cases that simply was not possible—
especially when it came to duplicating very old furniture that had been in 
the Baggins family for many years.  But he had taken particular care with 
the guest room, matching the colors of paint and having an almost 
identical quilt made for the bed.  Now, he thought happily, it looked almost 
exactly as it had that momentous day nearly eighteen and a half years 
ago, when he and Gandalf had become lovers.  He smiled at his own 
sentimentality, but he even had put towels of the same colors and 
stacked in the same order by the pitcher and basin.

As he fussed about, arranging and rearranging everything, he thought 
many times back over that mid-September afternoon and evening over 18 
years earlier.  It had been SO frightening to stay in the room after they 
shared that silly piece of lamb pie, especially when Gandalf said he 
wanted to rest after his trip.  The wizard had even deliberately curled up 
on his side facing away from Frodo and the door.  The hobbit had seized 
all his courage to make one last, blatant attempt to show Gandalf his love.  
He remembered that first kiss and his sudden exhilaration at the initial 
little reciprocating movement of the wizard’s mouth against his.  He 
paused, leaning against the bed, and savored the memory of that joyous 
moment, when all the fantasies that he had thought so ridiculous had 
started to come true.  Frodo recalled how Gandalf had struggled to resist 
him even after their first kisses and smiled a bit smugly at the wizard’s 
eventual surrender.  Gandalf certainly had not held back after that 
moment.  Frodo found himself hardening distinctly at the memory of 
Gandalf’s eager mouth on his throat and chest, and he decided that he 
should try and think about something else.  It might be hours before the 
wizard arrived and he could do anything to satisfy the hobbit’s desires.

Ordinarily in the evenings he tried to put in at least a little time on his 
writing.  His project to chronicle the Quest and the War of the Ring was 
still in its early stages, since he was still sorting the huge stacks of notes 
he had taken in Minas Tirith and Rivendell.  His records of conversations 
with Gandalf, Aragorn, Galadriel, Celeborn, and Elrond were voluminous.  
With his own memories and those of the three other hobbits, he realized 
that he had the makings of a very large book indeed—probably more than 
one.

He wandered back into the kitchen, sniffing the delicious odors of the 
various dishes he had prepared.  They were all things meant to be served 
cold or at room temperature, since he did not know exactly when Gandalf 
would arrive.   His stomach was beginning to make little rumbling noises, 
and he wished that the wizard would hurry and appear.  He could barely 
refrain from starting his own meal, so he took himself out of temptation’s 
way and wandered out to open the great round door, freshly repainted 
green.  The rain was pouring down, as it had been all afternoon.  Frodo 
stood for a short while watching the heavy drops plop into the little stretch 
of gravel illuminated by the lamps in the hallway.  There was a distinct 
chill in the air, and he shut the door and began to pick up a few scraps of 
wood and wallpaper that had been dropped in the hallway.  Very soon, 
however, he heard the familiar tap on the study window and flew across 
the hall to throw the door open again.  The wizard soon appeared and 
hastened to step into Bag End, bringing a gust of winter wind with him.  
Frodo hastened to pushed the door shut.

Gandalf stopped on the rug, soaking wet and dripping.  He looked as 
bedraggled as a mighty White Wizard could look, and Frodo laughed 
quietly in mingled amusement and sympathy as Gandalf leaned his staff 
on the wall, lowered his bag to the floor, and removed his hat.  The hobbit 
turned away, intending to fetch some towels.  But Gandalf dropped to his 
knees, and his hand gripped Frodo’s upper arm and spun him around.  
The hobbit found himself crushed against the wizard’s sodden garments.  
“Frodo!” Gandalf murmured, and moved his hand to the back of his 
lover’s neck, guiding his mouth to his own in a kiss that quickly became 
deep and devouring.  When they finally moved reluctantly apart, they 
realized that Gandalf was kneeling in a spreading pool.  Frodo was 
beginning to feel distinctly cold and damp, his own garments having 
absorbed water as efficiently as any towel.  Gandalf smiled regretfully at 
the hobbit.  “I’m afraid—“

“Yes, I know . . .”

“If it weren’t that I’m so very wet . . .

“Yes, you’d be on top of me right now, stripping off my clothes and having 
your wonderfully wicked way with me, but . . .”

The wizard drew Frodo a bit closer, and he stared into the hobbit’s happy, 
sparkling, mischievous eyes.  He brushed his lips lightly against Frodo’s, 
murmuring with a breathy little laugh, “Mmmm, I am tempted anyway.  
You excite me so much, my darling hobbit.”

Frodo sucked gently on Gandalf’s upper lip, content to let the wizard 
decide whether his passion could be delayed.  It would not be very 
comfortable to be taken under these circumstances—the wet clothes, the 
cold floor—but he know that Gandalf’s body and mouth and hands would 
soon awaken fierce desire in him, and the discomfort would fade.  He 
halfway hoped that the wizard WOULD go ahead and take him.  He could 
distinctly feel the heat of Gandalf’s body through the wet clothes, and he 
pressed against his lover, offering himself if Gandalf wanted him right 
away.

The wizard finally sat back on his heels and said reluctantly, “No, I want 
our reunion to be warm and comfortable.  Not some quick roll on a hard 
floor.  We are not in Moria, thank goodness!”  Gandalf gazed again into 
Frodo’s eyes, then stood up.

The hobbit sighed and watched as Gandalf peeled his clingingly wet cloak 
off and hung it on a hook.  “It’s so good to see you!  And the very evening 
when you said you would come—unlike that last dreadful time, when I 
expected you and you never appeared.  I don’t know how many times I 
went to the door that night, hoping to see you coming up the Hill.”

“Yes, well, it took imprisonment by a powerful wizard to keep me away 
from you that time.  Now I can be my usual punctual self.  I must say, 
though, I could hardly find my way here.  The whole area has changed, 
and the rain did not help.  But as I traveled from the Old Forest, I saw 
many signs that the Shire is already beginning to recover from the 
dreadful things that Saruman and his pathetic army of thugs did to it.  Bag 
End may bear the scars of all that, but with you in my arms, it remains the 
most splendid dwelling in Middle-earth.”

“And it still can offer hospitality to a wandering wizard.”  Frodo looked him 
up and down.  “Are you more hungry or tired?  Apart from drying you off, 
what can I do for you?”

“Mostly I am cold, but hungry as well.  I am not particularly tired, as I have 
made a gradual journey here, looking over what the poor Shire has 
suffered and talking with folk in the fields and inns along the way.  My 
darling Frodo, you could see to both needs if you could begin by putting 
me in a hot bath and, luxury of luxuries, serve my meal to me right there 
as I soak in the tub.  With a bit of wine, if possible, though I gather from 
what the innkeepers have told me that Saruman’s men nearly decimated 
the Shire’s supply of such pleasant things.  And after I’ve eaten—well, 
who can tell what other hungers might need satisfying?”

“Oh, knowing you, I have a pretty fair idea.  Yes, that sounds like a 
wonderful scheme.  You run along and put your things in your room, and 
I’ll fill the tub.  Luckily that big one that Bilbo had made for you survived all 
the destruction and looting.  The bathroom was a mess, of course, but it 
has been thoroughly cleaned now. Then you can warm yourself in it while 
I ply you with all sorts of food and drink—and keep you company.  I 
suppose it was lucky in a way that Saruman chose Bag End for his own 
headquarters—the cellar was quite well supplied.”

Gandalf’s bathtub had survived in part because it was sunk right into the 
tile floor.  An ingenious little metal conduit ran from the kitchen to the 
edge of the tub, and hot water from a tank by the kitchen fire could be 
released into it with the simple drawing of a plug.  It was so hot, in fact, 
that jugs of water were stored in a corner of the bathroom to cool it down 
to a comfortable temperature.  Frodo poured some of this into the 
steaming tub and watched as his lover came in and undressed.

“I’m glad to see that you have gained some more weight.  I can no longer 
count your ribs—at least, not as easily.”

“Well, you know Tom Bombadil’s typical meals—plenty of honey, cream, 
bread, cheese, and the like.  Three months there considerably filled me 
out.”

“I don’t know if ‘considerably’ is the word.  You’re in no danger of 
becoming fat, or even merely plump.  But after all, I remember nearly a 
year ago, when you looked on the edge of starvation.  Here, I think the 
water is perfect.  Get in, and I shall cater to your every whim—beginning 
with dinner.”  He hurried away to the kitchen.

Gandalf settled into the large tub and slid down until he was up to his 
shoulders in hot water.  The chill of the long, wet trip quickly faded away, 
and he was looking quite cheerful by the time Frodo returned, carrying a 
tray laden with food.  He set it on the tiles beside the tub and poured 
some wine into two pottery mugs.  “Not very elegant, but I don’t want to 
risk breaking a glass by the tub,” he said.

Gandalf sat up, surveying the tray, and laughed.  “At last you serve me 
cold chicken and pickles!  And eggs, and all sorts of good things.”  He 
began to eat, as did Frodo, sitting cross-legged on the floor on the 
opposite side of the tray.

“All right, tell me finally just what cold chicken and pickles have to do with 
anything.  Can they really be the favorites of a great wizard who banquets 
with kings and Elven nobility?”

“No, though I like them quite well.  You see, it’s just that Bilbo had some 
of both in his larders that memorable day when I came with the dwarves 
to recruit him as the Burglar for the expedition to the Lonely Mountain.  I 
arrived last, and I asked Bilbo to fetch them to the table.  He was QUITE 
taken aback that I knew without being told that he had them ready to 
hand.  Not only did I think that they would be a pleasant addition to the 
meal, but I wanted to show off to the dwarves a bit—to remind them that I 
was, after all, a wizard and that they would do well to take my advice.  As 
they did in the end, though not without considerable further argument, as 
you know.”

Frodo laughed quietly.  “I loved hearing Bilbo tell that story when I was 
little—but he never included THAT detail.  I’m glad I know it at last.”

As they ate, Frodo told Gandalf a bit about the battle to regain the 
freedom of the Shire and the efforts at rebuilding that had followed.  The 
wizard knew quite a bit about them already, since Tom Bombadil still 
maintained occasional contact with wandering Elves and with hobbits of 
the eastern Shire like Farmer Maggot.  Gandalf had also heard many 
firsthand accounts during his journey.  The wizard sighed when the hobbit 
described the death of Saruman, but he said nothing.

Finally Frodo asked the question that had been in the back of his mind 
since Gandalf arrived.  “How long will you be staying with me?  Do you 
have to leave at all, now that the Quest is over?  Or if you do, maybe you 
could take me with you, and we could make love on a flet in Lórien.  By 
the time we got there, perhaps it would be warm enough.”

Gandalf paused and sat with a wistful, abstracted look on his face for a 
few moments.  “That would be lovely, but I suspect that that fantasy will 
never come true.  Despite the end of the Quest, I still have some duties, 
and for that matter, so do you.  You are needed here, to help rebuild the 
Shire.  Didn’t I hear that you are now Deputy Mayor?  And my last tasks, 
such as they are, will involve giving counsel to Aragorn as he struggles 
with the recovery of his kingdom.  Of course, that kingdom includes much 
of the North—even the Shire.  So you and he will be at work on the same 
thing—establishing the Fourth Age of Middle-earth in peace and safety.  
I’m afraid my trip to Gondor will take me away from you for a few months, 
my pet, but at least this time you will not have to worry about my safety.  
Once I have helped Aragorn all I can, my time will indeed be completely 
over, even as an advisor.  Much has been lost or diminished during this 
dark time, but we have, I think, preserved as much as we could.  For Men 
and Hobbits and Dwarves and other races, accomplishment should far 
outweigh regret.  For the Elves it is otherwise, but their destiny has long 
been known.  I shall go with them—and being able to take you with me, 
my darling hobbit, will make my only important fantasy come gloriously 
true.”

Frodo half rose and leaned far over the tray to kiss the wizard.  After he 
sat back again, they continued eating.  Frodo sighed with a sad little 
smile.  “That’s another thing I wish I could do before I leave—go back and 
see Aragorn again.”

“Yes, that is another reason I must go.  As I told him, Aragorn has been 
like a son to me.  Of all the people I leave behind—of all those I have 
known over my two millennia here—he is undoubtedly the one that I shall 
leave with the greatest regret.  In that time I have seen many friends die, 
but his loss—through both my departure and his death—will grieve me 
forever.”

“Do you wish you could take him with you as well?”

“No, for he belongs to Middle-earth in a way that you no longer do.  He 
must guide it  into the Fourth Age, the Age of Men.  You saved Middle-
earth, but he must preserve it.  But I shall miss him.  We spent so many 
hours by campfires, talking, far from inhabited areas, and we shared so 
many hopes.  I have tried not to lose my heart entirely to those here in 
Middle-earth, for I always knew that I would leave eventually.  Oddly, I 
succeeded for so long, only to lose it twice, to him and to you, at nearly 
the end of my stay.  I am now convinced that when I fell in love with you,  
you were meant to go with me when I leave.  But my parting with Aragorn 
will be wrenching for us both—though he has, I know, grown beyond 
needing me.  And after all, it would be natural for a Man, a mortal, to lose 
his father--as Aragorn might have by now anyway, had his real father not 
been killed long ago.”

They had finished eating by this point, and Frodo slid the tray out of their 
way along the floor toward the door.  To cheer the wizard up, he asked, 
“Would you like me to wash your back?”

The wizard raised his eyebrows—an impressive sight, since they were 
now back to their former length.  “JUST my back?  Ah, yes, I have missed 
that wicked little smile of yours.”

Frodo moved behind him, soaping up a thick cloth and beginning slowly 
and gently to wash the wizard, massaging his neck and shoulders.  
Gandalf virtually purred with pleasure and shifted his body to give the 
hobbit access to various parts of his back.  Then Frodo reached around 
his neck and slid the cloth under the wizard’s beard, lathering his chest 
and lingering to rub each nipple tantalizingly with the nubby cloth.  He 
flicked his tongue around the edge of Gandalf’s ear, then dug it hard into 
the opening, wiggling it provocatively.  Soon Gandalf was moaning and 
twisting his body slightly in the warm water.  Frodo brushed aside the 
wizard’s fluffy white hair at the back and ran his tongue over his neck, 
eventually scraping his teeth gently across the skin.  Gandalf closed his 
eyes and hummed softly with arousal.  Frodo could see his erection 
floating upward, swollen and purple, in the soapy water.

At last Gandalf murmured, “Do you know what this bath sorely lacks?”

“Possibly a naked hobbit pressing himself eagerly and lustfully against 
you?”

“Exactly.  Now, you look adequately eager and adequately lustful but not 
nearly naked enough.”

“Nothing could be more easily remedied,”  Frodo replied, quickly shedding 
his damp clothes.  He paused, standing beside the tub, and looked down 
at Gandalf.  The wizard’s eyes were full of desire, and he breathed slowly 
and deeply as he surveyed Frodo’s body, lingering on the rising cock and 
the little nipples.  The hobbit stared back with undisguised need and let 
Gandalf’s gaze caress him to full erection, then stepped down into the 
tub.

Frodo stood astride Gandalf’s waist, his member pointing straight at the 
wizard’s mouth.  Gandalf smiled and stared at it in anticipation, his hands 
running up and down the outsides of Frodo’s legs.  They slid around to 
settle on the hobbit’s buttocks, squeezing and kneading them, his fingers 
delving into the cleft and stroking the sensitive skin gently.  Frodo 
continued to stand, though his knees felt weak and he was trembling with 
excitement.  Gandalf’s soapy finger tickled and pressed at his tiny 
opening, and he whimpered with pleasure as it slowly invaded him, 
circling and stretching, quickly finding his prostate and rubbing gently.  As 
Frodo moaned and closed his eyes, Gandalf suddenly pulled his hips 
forward until the hobbit’s thighs spread wide across his chest and the 
slender pink erection slid abruptly into his mouth.  Frodo caught at the 
wizard’s shoulders to steady himself.  His gasp of surprise turned into a 
gurgle of delight as Gandalf’s warm tongue lapped about him and his 
eager lips sucked hard and quickly.

“Mmmm, not so fast, not so fast,” Frodo said, wanting to prolong the 
pleasure a bit, but he soon stopped urging Gandalf to slow down and 
begged, “Oh, Gandalf, yes, now, hard!”  He thrust as gently as he could 
into the wizard’s throat and arched his body backward, groaning as 
Gandalf took him deep and gulped his hot spurts.  Frodo shuddered and 
gripped the wizard’s head as his climax lingered, then stood panting, 
lightheaded with bliss.

At last Gandalf’s hold on the hobbit’s bottom relaxed, and he removed his 
finger as he allowed Frodo to slide down his chest and belly until the 
hobbit’s cleft rested against the top of the wizard’s very hard erection.  
Gandalf spread his fingers to grasp the hobbit’s cheeks again and began 
to rock his hips and rub his smaller partner up and down his length.  The 
motion set up waves as the water rolled back and forth along the tub, 
moving Gandalf’s body rhythmically and lifting Frodo gently with each 
swell.  Gandalf lay back, shifting his glance from Frodo’s slack, blissful 
face down to his sweet, pink nipples, and up again.

“Oh, Frodo, I could lie against you like this for hours,” he breathed.

Gradually Frodo recovered a bit and looked lovingly down into Gandalf’s 
admiring eyes.  He leaned forward and reached under the wizard’s beard 
to find his nipples, still erect from the slight chafing of the rough cloth.  
Frodo pinched gently and Gandalf closed his eyes and moaned softly in 
ecstasy.  “No, not hours,” he whispered with a smile, rocking faster and 
pushing his chest up against Frodo’s hands.  Soon he rasped, “Harder,” 
and Frodo twisted the little brown beads more sharply.  Gandalf thrashed 
suddenly under him as he sent pearly jets high over the lower edge of the 
tub and onto the shiny tile.  Frodo bobbed up and down as the water 
sloshed about them, his buttocks continuing to slide up and down the 
wizard’s shaft as long as the spasms of ecstasy lasted.  As Gandalf finally 
lay back in contentment, Frodo settled forward along his body, resting his 
head against the wizard’s shoulder.  Gandalf was soon dozing in the 
warm water, and for a few minutes Frodo lazily nuzzled under his beard.

Eventually Gandalf stirred and looked down at him with a delighted smile.  
“Now THAT is what I call a bath.  Every tub should come equipped with a 
hobbit.”

“Not just any hobbit, I hope.  At least, not any tub YOU occupy.”

“Of course not!  I have been spoiled.  Only the most wonderful hobbit in 
the world will do for me.   I think, though, that we should vacate this 
particular tub for now.  The water is turning tepid, and I feel in need of a 
comfortable bed and a long sleep after that exemplary welcome.  And 
you?”

As they climbed out of the tub and picked up towels, Frodo replied, “Bed 
is definitely in order.  You should get plenty of rest.  I plan to wear you out 
thoroughly tomorrow, old fellow.”

“Strange, I had the same plan for you, young fellow.”

Once dry, the two hurried along the chilly hall to the warmth of the guest 
bedroom, lighting candles, banking the fire, and turning down the bed as 
they talked.

“By the way, you have no doubt learned that your scheme worked 
admirably.  Entirely without your help, Sam and Merry and Pippin rose to 
the occasion and dealt most bravely and firmly with Saruman’s forces.”

“I had no doubt that they—and you—would.”

“I quite understand why you had to let us do that on our own.”

“Yes, Merry and especially Pippin had become a little too used to 
depending on me to protect them—though they hardly needed it.  They 
had proved themselves to be courageous and capable fighters—and 
obviously you and Sam had been tested in ways that most great warriors 
could never dream of.  I must say, early on in our journey—and for quite 
some time—I regretted having urged Elrond to make Pippin a member of 
the Fellowship.  Quite the mischief-maker!  Still, he pleasantly surprised 
me by maturing quickly when confronted with the realities of war.  He and 
Merry, both.  By the end, I was quite pleased to take credit for having 
been responsible for them being along on our Quest.  Nevertheless, I 
naturally wanted very much to come and protect you  against Saruman.  I 
had to keep telling myself that four warrior-hobbits could deal with even 
such a serious problem as his occupation of the Shire.  But I was very 
relieved indeed when news reached us that Saruman had finally been 
dealt with.”  He climbed into bed and settled into the pillows heaped 
against the headboard.

“I can imagine!  By the way, I’m glad you told me at Bree that you 
intended to make that sudden departure from our merry band.  I would 
have been quite hurt and confused otherwise—though I might have 
figured out your little ploy.”

“Perhaps, given long enough.”

“Oh, thank you very much!” The hobbit clambered onto the bed and 
leaned back against Gandalf.  “I take it you enjoyed your visit with Tom 
Bombadil and Goldberry.”  

“Oh, yes.  In some ways, Tom irritates me no end—his insularity and 
general indifference to the fate of the world at large hardly suit my own 
views.  He could have used his power to aid us far more than he did.  
Still, he helped at exactly the right moments and saved my darling hobbit 
and his friends—twice!—so I should not complain.  And he certainly is a 
font of information about trees and other living things.  We took some 
wonderful rambles in the Forest.  He showed me the infamous Old Man 
Willow—from a safe distance, of course.  Tom also remembers an 
immense amount about the eras long before I arrived in Middle-earth, and 
he told me some marvelous tales.  So that was very pleasant.  And 
Goldberry’s cooking, while simple, is delicious.  Still, I think I learned all I 
can from Tom, and his domain is distressingly free of lovely, seductive 
hobbits.  I was soon longing to visit you, though I forced myself to give all 
of you the three months we had agreed upon to see the Shire headed 
back towards its old self.”

“A bit long, if you ask me.  The two nights we spent at the Prancing Pony 
were, well, QUITE memorable.  But since then I couldn’t help but wonder 
if you had given up beautiful Elves AND beautiful hobbits for . . . for . . . 
well, whatever Tom is.”

Gandalf laughed loudly.  “Hardly!  Quite apart from the fact that I have 
NOT given up my beautiful hobbit—as you well know--I have never 
seduced nor allowed myself to be seduced by married people.  Though 
Goldberry IS quite attractive,” he added thoughtfully.

Frodo was so taken aback that he failed to maintain the teasing 
exchange.  “I had forgotten—you used to have female lovers as well.  Did 
you like them as well as the male ones?”

“Well, why not?  The end results are the same, and the methods of 
achieving them have delightful differences.”

“Do you miss having women?”

Gandalf gazed at Frodo’s naked torso.  “When it comes to sex, I don’t 
miss ANYTHING.”  He took Frodo in his arms, and the two slid down 
beneath the covers and quickly fell asleep.
_________________________________________________________________
_______

The next morning the pair slept late, had a leisurely breakfast, and made 
love in the late morning.  During the night it had stopped raining, and by 
the afternoon a thin, pale sun was shining through the mist—a sign of the 
early spring that would lead into the wonderfully warm and productive 
year to come.  Soon the ground was firm enough for walking, and Frodo 
took the wizard on a tour of the area, pointing out the damage and the 
progress in repairs.  By the time they returned to Bag End, the wind had 
picked up, and both were chilled.  They sat in the kitchen by the fire, 
eating some little scones Frodo had just made.  The hobbit drank tea, 
while Gandalf sipped some of the wine that Frodo had found squirreled 
away in the cellar for Saruman’s personal use.

As their fingers played together across the table, Frodo asked, “Tell me, 
my sweet wizard, when you had recovered in Lórien but hadn’t left yet, 
did any of those beautiful Elves try to drag you up onto a flet and tear 
your clothes off and have their way with you?”

Gandalf frowned and clicked his tongue.  “Almost constantly.”

“And what did you do to ward them off?”

“Well, Celeborn had carved my new staff by that time, so I used it to keep 
them off, like flies.  But it was touch and go.  They simply would NOT 
believe that there was a hobbit as beautiful as they and that I should be 
so devoted to him.  Well, I should specify that the ones who had met you 
when you were in Lórien realized that you were indeed that beautiful, and 
THEY were all quite crestfallen and did not try to seduce me.  But the 
others!  So persistent!  I finally had to ask Celeborn to assign me a 
bodyguard, and after that they left me alone—though they did keep 
casting rather reproachful looks at me.  And the bodyguard himself 
seemed to think that the best way to protect me was to press himself 
most insistently against me.”

Frodo had been laughing quietly during all this.  “Those poor Elves!”

“You feel sorry for them?  I thought you were jealous.”

Frodo shrugged.  “A little of both.  But I can sympathize with their being 
so anxious to spend time with you.  You are so attractive and VERY good 
in bed.”

Gandalf stared at him with a skeptical smile.  “You flatter me, Frodo.  You 
see me through the eyes of a lover—fortunately!  After all, during my 
entire time in Middle-earth I have been an old man, and not a strikingly 
handsome one at that.  I would hardly be likely to attract beautiful Elves—
or hobbits—for my looks.  But as to what happened in bed, most Elves I 
have been with have been even older than I, so they have had plenty of 
experience.  On the whole, yes, I think those Elves and I managed to 
have QUITE pleasant times—long ago, of course.”

Frodo sighed.  “And I’m so very young that all my experience has been 
with equally naïve hobbits and with a wizard who for a long time was 
hardly ever IN my bed.  Even now I must seem very clumsy and ignorant 
compared to those sophisticated Elves.”

Gandalf chuckled.  “Always fishing for compliments.  Well, I shall oblige 
you.  I assure you, my sweet hobbit, that you have considerable natural 
talents in that regard.  You are as delightful to be in bed with as any Elf 
could be.”

Frodo looked at him with a puzzled little frown.  “What ‘natural talents’ do I 
have?”

“Well, you are marvelously responsive and joyously uninhibited and 
amazingly enthusiastic and spontaneous and generous and imaginative 
and direct and witty and . . . and in short, you’re FUN!”

During this speech Frodo had been a little taken aback by all the things 
that his lover saw in him.  Then at the end, he smiled.  “You remember 
that?”

“Of course.  That was one of many things that made me love you:  the joy 
you took in being with me, the fact that you would say that to me.  I have 
always treasured it, and I want you to know that I feel the same way 
about you, that YOU’RE fun.  And despite all that you have been through, 
you still have the qualities that I loved you for, that make me want to be in 
bed with you rather than any beautiful Elf there is or ever has been.  To 
be sure, you have changed somewhat.  These days you are occasionally 
more melancholy and thoughtful.  You are less carefree than when we 
first declared our love—but much of the time your joy and enthusiasm and 
all the rest of it are still there.”  He paused and sighed.  “But after all, in 
those happy days you were just on the cusp of adulthood.  Despite the 
fact that you look nearly as youthful as you did then, you have matured 
greatly and become a kind, reflective, altogether admirable hobbit.”

Frodo was silent for while, his eyes welling.  “What you say almost makes 
me understand how you could love a silly little hobbit.  I can’t tell you how 
glad I am that I make you feel that way.  But anyway, you have changed 
as well.”

“Really?  How?”

“It’s hard to describe.  Everything I loved about you is the same, only 
somehow more so.  You . . . you puzzle me more than you used to.  You 
don’t seem to be the same wizard who smoked a casual pipe with me by 
the fire—though you still do, so I don’t know why I think that.  There are 
more things you say that I don’t understand.  But you’re at LEAST as fun 
to be with in bed.”  He moved around the table to sit on the bench by 
Gandalf, and they exchanged a quick kiss.

Gandalf smiled as he took another scone.  As he reached across the 
table for the butter, his beard caught briefly at the salt cellar.  
Disentangling it, he remarked with mild annoyance, “I must say, I look 
forward to NOT having to be an old, bearded fellow any more.  Only a few 
years now, perhaps less, until we depart.”

Frodo stared at him in utter incomprehension.  “What ARE you talking 
about?”

Gandalf paused thoughtfully.  “Our departure over the Sea, when I return 
to Valinor and the Elves leave Middle-earth.  It’s true, I did not tell you 
about the changes that will occur in me as I give up being an Istar and 
become again what I truly am—a Maia.  You see, Frodo, as I told you, 
when I was sent here, I was embodied as an old man.  When I am again 
in my home, I shall not be embodied any longer, that is, not for much of 
the time, and happily not in THIS body.”

Frodo’s eyes widened in alarm.  “You CERTAINLY didn’t tell me THAT 
part!  What do you mean, you won’t have this body?”  He stroked 
Gandalf’s hand as if fearing that the wizard would fade into invisibility any 
moment.

“Well, I suppose now that our departure is not all that distant, I should 
explain a bit more, especially about our relationship.  Once we are on the 
ship, Elrond and Galadriel can tell you and Bilbo more about life in 
general in Eldamar.  Though Lórien gave you a little taste of what it will be 
like—oh, except that Eldamar lies along the shore of the Sea.”

“Yes, fine, but let’s get back to this business about you not having a body.  
I was assuming that . . . you’d have one and . . . all the parts that bodies 
usually have, and we could go on enjoying each other—well, in ALL 
ways.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Frodo!  Of course I shall embody myself when I visit 
you—which will be quite frequently, I assure you, my dearest hobbit.  We 
shall definitely still be together, and you will be able to see me and touch 
me, and we can do exactly the sorts of things we do now.”

Frodo breathed a sigh of relief.  “All right, good, we’ve got THAT straight.  
Now, about THIS body . . .”

Gandalf sighed.  “How to explain?”  He gestured to himself.  “Well, this 
old man’s body is only the form that I took on when I came to Middle-
earth.  When we reach the Uttermost West, I shall live in Valinor, where 
what you would call ‘gods’ live “You and Bilbo will live in Eldamar.  But the 
two places are next to each other, just separated by a mountain range 
with a large pass running between them.  I can move between them, and 
also embody myself as I wish.  And as I say, I shall come and see you 
often—far more often that I did here in the Shire before the Quest began.  
Once I leave Middle-earth, however, the body that you know as Gandalf 
will disappear.  When I am not with you, I shall be in a form that you 
cannot see or hear.”

“If you can embody yourself, why don’t you just do that and stay here with 
me forever?”

“Because when I am in a corporeal body, I am different.  In becoming 
Gandalf, I lost much of my being, my knowledge, my . . . myself.  And 
although you think of me as, well, a spirit or a god, I am not a terribly 
important one.  I have duties and obligations to the gods.  Without 
sounding too pretentious, I hope, I may say that I have a place in this 
Universe, and it is not one that I could ever abandon, even for love of you.  
I have told you that I was ‘meant’ to guide you in the Quest.  I was meant 
to do a great many things here, and with the help of valiant people like 
yourself, I was able to do most of them.  The Power that meant me to do 
these things is far greater than I am, Frodo, and I must serve it.”

Frodo looked a bit dazed by all this, and he could think of no reply.

Gandalf laughed again.  “It is odd to think of it, but in fact I did not want to 
come here.  Yes, I was far from sure that I could deal with Sauron.  
Indeed, I was afraid of him—as well I might have been.  Ironically, I 
thought that . . . well, that the being you knew as Saruman was better 
suited for that.  He volunteered right away for the mission, quite confident 
that he could succeed.  I was more-or-less told to go, and of course, I did 
so.  But the point is, I may be a very powerful being in some ways—
especially from your viewpoint—but I am not free to spend the rest of 
eternity dallying with my beautiful hobbit.”

Frodo stared at him.  “You did not want to come to Middle-earth?  You 
have never hinted that you didn’t love it and everything good in it.”

“Well, I was leaving a place so wonderful that it is inconceivable to the 
mortal mind.  In fact, I usually live in a place called Lorien, thought it is 
quite different from the Lorien you know here in Middle-earth.  It is the 
most beautiful garden in the world.   I have longed to return to it.  Not a 
day went by when I did not.  In particular I would watch the sun set and 
think of home.  It is where I belong, despite everything that has happened 
to me here.  But I won’t say that I have not enjoyed Middle-earth a great 
deal, once I got here.  After all, one can travel and love strange places 
and people and still want to go home afterward—as you and Bilbo both 
learned.  Indeed, once I was in a human body and knew that I would have 
to remain in it for a long time, I determined that I would try to enjoy those 
things that I had never experienced—things that only a corporeal body 
CAN experience.  And I must say, from the moment I saw the green 
shores of Middle-earth, I have been intrigued by its immense variety and 
beauty.  How I loved discovering things like beer and good food and all 
the widely varying creatures that inhabit your continent.  I adored it when I 
was introduced to pipeweed.  Such a charmingly physical thing, drawing 
smoke into one’s mouth!  And of course there are VERY delightful 
sensations of a more intense sort that one can experience only in a 
body.”

Frodo stared at him thoughtfully.  “So when we get across the Sea, you’ll 
be invisible much of the time?”

“To you and the Elves, yes.”

Frodo’s mouth dropped open in mock indignation and he narrowed his 
eyes.  “Well, how do I know you aren’t going around eyeing all those 
beautiful Elves lasciviously, or even seducing them when I can’t see you 
doing it?”

Gandalf laughed hard at that.  “Maiarime spirits do not seduce Elves or 
anyone else.  We do not have sex.  We were not born, we do not 
procreate—we do not need sex.”

Frodo gaped at him.  “Wait a minute.  If you don’t have sex, what is it that 
we’ve been doing together all this time?  Because to me, it certainly FELT 
like sex—and quite a bit of it at that.”

“But, my dear silly hobbit, I’ve just been telling you, these activities were 
only possible because I came to Middle-earth as an old man—well, say, a 
Man, with a real body.  Before that, I had known about sex, of course, but 
I had never experienced it.  Needless to say, I was QUITE thrilled my first 
time—and yes, it WAS with a beautiful Elf, and no, I am NOT going to tell 
you who.  After that,  I must say I took full advantage of that particular 
new capability as often as I could.  Why not?  That and food and all those 
physical aspects of ‘life’ proved so wonderful, they almost offset the 
considerable limitations that embodiment imposed upon me.

“I feel enormously fortunate to have experienced that romantic, physical 
sort of love.  Maiar often love things or people in the physical world, but 
not in that way.   The only other Maia who ever had a similar experience 
embodied herself as a woman to marry a great Elven king with whom she 
had fallen in love.  But she had to leave Middle-earth eventually, to 
resume her disembodied state as a Maia,  separated forever from him 
and their daughter.  To be able to take you with me and continue such a 
relationship once I return to my home and my natural state is a unique 
privilege.  By the way, when I say that only this one other Maia and I have 
experienced romantic love, I am not forgetting Saruman—but I refuse to 
consider his obsession with me to be real love.  I’m not quite sure what it 
was.  Oddly enough, Saruman seemed not to enjoy the pleasures that 
Middle-earth offers—or at least he would not show it if he did, as when he 
secretly took up smoking in imitation of me.  To be sure, he lived a life of 
luxury in Orthanc toward the end, in a selfish way.  He HAD so many 
THINGS.  It always astonished me.”

“And you had so little—though you seemed to love luxury as well.”

“Oh, not luxury exactly, just comfort.  When necessary I was willing to 
sleep out in all weathers and eat cram or lembas for weeks on end.  I 
can’t imagine Saruman EVER doing that.  Still, after a long stretch on the 
road, I had NO objections to the pleasures of anything from a palace to a 
country inn--or a hobbit hole.  Perhaps such things gave me an 
appreciation for what I was trying to save.  Certainly Saruman lost that 
appreciation long ago—if he ever had it.”  He sighed.

“Well, I am certainly glad you enjoyed the Shire and what you found 
here.”  Frodo lifted his face for the wizard to kiss.

Gandalf moved his warm lips against Frodo’s, then gazed down into his 
eyes.  “Yes, you are far and away the best reason for embodiment that I 
have ever found.  I must say, before I came to Middle-earth, I did not tend 
to take a bodily form all that often.  I preferred to move among the 
physical beings I loved without their knowing it.”

Frodo stared at him, struggling to imagine this.

“And I assure you, when I came to Middle-earth two thousand years ago, 
I did not CHOOSE to come as an old man.  I was ‘assigned’ this form, as 
it were—for reasons that I may explain someday, though I suspect that I 
do not entirely know them myself.”

“If you had had a choice, what form WOULD you have taken when you 
came to Middle-earth?”

“Almost certainly that of an Elf.  I have always been particularly fond of 
Elves among all forms of life, and I feel the most affinity with them.  Long 
ago, on those occasions when I did embody myself, it was usually as an 
Elf.  Here in Middle-earth, people have often taken me to BE an Elf, since 
I lived among them and did not age visibly—though no Elf would ever 
resemble an old fellow like me.  But ‘Gand-alf’ even has a form of the 
word in it.  It’s a sort of nickname, really, meaning roughly ‘the Elf with the 
staff.’”

Frodo thought this over and suddenly laughed.  “So if all those years ago 
you had had your choice, I could have been making love with a beautiful 
Elf myself!”

Gandalf grinned.  “Would you have liked that?”

Frodo’s smile faded in confusion.  “No, it was just a joke.  I didn’t mean 
that I’d RATHER have an Elf than you.”

“But once we reach the Uttermost West and I need to embody myself to 
visit you, I COULD come to you as a beautiful Elf.  When we’ve made 
love, haven’t you ever thought about how nice it would be if I weren’t 
QUITE so old—if I were sprier, livelier . . .”

Frodo sniffed.  “No!  And I’ve never noticed you having any trouble 
keeping up with me . . . old fellow,” he added falteringly.  That familiar, 
teasing endearment had suddenly taken on a more serious overtone.  
How could he face never calling his lover that again?

“That’s very sweet of you, young fellow, but I mean it.  I could come to 
you in any form you want.  Well, any male form, I should specify.  The 
Valar and Maiar are all either male or female in their fundamental natures, 
and they cannot switch when embodying themselves.  But even  with that 
limitation, I would have a huge range of choices.  I could visit you as a 
lovely hobbit like yourself, for example, or a young, handsome Man—
Gandalf as he would have looked if he had ever been young . . . and 
handsome,” he added.

By this point Frodo was looking quite worried, and Gandalf assured him, 
“Maiar take on different forms all the time.  Really, Frodo, it’s quite simple.  
You’ll see, you’ll get used to it once you have been there for a while.”

“No!  I want YOU!  Maybe you Maiar are used to each other looking 
different all the time, but we mere mortals have to relate to each other by 
physical means.  It would be VERY nice to be able to recognize the man I 
love when he deigns to come and see me.”

“But, Frodo, it WOULD be I, and you would know that.  Truly.  This body 
is not at all the real I.”

“It is to me.  Gandalf looks like you!  I mean, I love you as you are NOW.  
That’s all I know, and that’s all I want!”   He frowned anxiously.

Gandalf smiled mischievously at him.  “Just think, though.  I could come 
in different beautiful forms—you could have a whole bevy of lovers of all 
sorts.”

“I don’t WANT them!  Or you as them, or whatever it would be!  I . . . 
WANT . . .YOU!  Is that plain enough?”

“Frodo, really.  You’ve not gotten over this childish behavior, after all this 
time?”

“Well, you’re enough to drive me to it!”

Gandalf’s face assumed an expression of bemused perplexity—a look 
quite unlike any Frodo had ever seen there.  For once he seemed at a 
loss for words.  Finally a reluctant little smile appeared.  “So you really 
haven’t minded making love with an old greybeard all this time?”

“What ARE you talking about?  Did I seem to mind it?  It never occurred 
to me.  All I know is, I wanted you so much and for so long, and when I 
got you, I was thrilled, and I’ve never stopped being thrilled.  And here 
I’ve been thinking that I could have you FOREVER—and you’re telling me 
that I CAN’T?”

Gandalf stared at him for a long while, then finally said softly, “My dear 
hobbit, I have always rather assumed that you loved me DESPITE my 
being an old man.  For some reason, I find it wonderful to learn that it 
made no difference to you.”

“Of course it didn’t.  After all, would you want ME suddenly to turn into a 
beautiful Elf?!”

“Hardly—but you are already as beautiful as an Elf, so that is irrelevant.”

“But IF I weren’t—if I were just an ordinary-looking hobbit, WOULD you 
want me as a beautiful Elf?”

Gandalf frowned incredulously.  “Of course!”

Frodo gave an exasperated snort.  “Gandalf!”

“No, naturally I would not, my darling hobbit.  But after all, you HAVE only 
one shape—always had, always will.  I have any number of them, 
potentially, and no one of them is my ‘real’ shape.  And, as I say, I could 
be quite beautiful.  Why not take advantage of that?”

Frodo pouted stubbornly, then stared into the wizard’s eyes.  “I don’t want 
to.  How many times do I have to tell you?  Just because you would find it 
a little inconvenient when you OCCASIONALLY embody yourself this 
way, you want to take away my wizard.  Gandalf, I could not bear not to 
feel your beard tickling me as you kiss me, or not to watch those amazing 
eyebrows when you talk or make love to me, or not to see your eyes 
crinkle up when you laugh!  I could never, NEVER bear not to hear your 
voice again—YOUR voice, exactly as it is now.  Please, Gandalf!”

Gandalf returned his stare, then looked down at the table.  “I suddenly 
realize that, after all this time in Middle-earth, I have never quite 
understood mortals—even you.  All right, I shall embody myself again in 
this inconvenient, aged form when I come to you.  Maybe some day, 
when you have become accustomed to your new life and the way things 
are there—we could just try an experiment with another form—“

“NO!”  Frodo’s lip trembled and tears stood in his wide blue eyes.  
“Promise me you’ll ALWAYS be Gandalf, at least for me!”

Gandalf sighed and smiled tenderly at him, pulling Frodo up to hug him 
tightly and speak softly into his ear.  “Once again you prove that I cannot 
resist you.  If that’s what you want, my sweet, silly hobbit . . . then I 
promise.  For you, I SHALL always be Gandalf.”


THE END

This series is dedicated to my dear muse, beta, and fellow wizard-slash 
devotee, Elanor