Title: A Jewel Among Hobbits Author: Hathaldir Author's Email: hathaldir@myway.com Pairings: Frodo/Gildor Rating: R Summary: Gildor has long watched Frodo, and now his chance has come. Disclaimer: If you think I invented these characters and their world, you really shouldn’t be reading this. Author’s note: Written as part of the Frodo New Year Mathoms for Alezzia, who requested Frodo/elf. I wanted to do a heavily book-based piece, some bits (mostly dialogue) are taken from the last half of “Three is Company”, The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien. I kept the Tolkien quotes to a minimum, just enough to show that just because it didn’t happen in canon, it doesn’t mean it couldn’t. Also my first attempt at anything over PG. -- The star-cast shadows seemed to shimmer as the elves grew nearer. Frodo was still unnerved by the sudden desire to put on the ring that had come over him when the Black Rider came near. He silently thanked the elves for choosing to come by here, singing in their clear voices. Pippin and Sam were sitting by the wayside, waiting for the Elves to pass, and Frodo joined them, relieved. The singing grew nearer. One clear voice rose now above the others. It was singing in the fair elven-tongue of which Frodo knew only a little. Frodo lost himself in the voice that managed to be rich yet light, fair yet strong. He imagined that such a beautiful voice must have an equally beautiful singer. All elves can sing, but no snatch of song and laughter had made him feel so carefree before. No song sung by any hobbit could ever have lifted the cloud that had come over him after the Black Rider, but this song, this voice did. They passed slowly, and the hobbits could see the starlight glimmering on their hair and in their eyes. They bore no lights, yet as they walked a shimmer, like the light of the moon above the rim of the hills before it rises, seemed to fall about their feet. They were now silent, and as the last Elf passed he turned and looked towards the hobbits and laughed. ‘Hail, Frodo!’ he cried. ‘You are abroad late. Or are you perhaps lost? What is the meaning of it?’ ‘The meaning of it, fair people,’ said Frodo nodding towards the one who had hailed him, ‘is simply that we seem to be going the same way as you are. I like walking under the stars. But I would welcome your company.’ *I would desire your company*, he thought as his eyes roved over the ageless form of the elf that hailed him. The elf was standing slightly apart from the rest of his people, and seemed to be appraising the hobbits, looking at them each deeply, as if to divine their thoughts. *If he could read my thoughts, he would take his company back the way they came as fast as can be. Is he married? Betrothed? I wonder. It is impossible to tell how old an elf is, you never know if they’re just into adulthood or have been there a few thousand years.* ‘But we have no need of other company, and hobbits are so dull,’ they laughed. The elf standing apart blinked at this comment, seeming to come out of his deep thoughts. ‘And how do you know that we go the same way as you, for you do not know whither we are going?’ called an elf from the back. ‘And how do you know my name? Who are you and who is your lord?’ asked Frodo in return. He thought he had a good idea who was their lord, the elf standing apart was wearing tunic, leggings and traveling cloak of the same style, but the fabric seemed to be more richly embroidered than his companions’. He also had a heraldic device on the pin that closed his cloak, while the others had but simple gems or small enameled pins. ‘I am Gildor,’ answered their leader, the Elf who had first hailed him. Frodo smiled to himself, proud of his deductive skills. ‘Gildor Inglorion of the house of Finrod. We know many things, we have seen you often before with Bilbo, though you may not have seen us.’ *But I remember you, young hobbit,* thought Gildor. *One does not easily forget eyes that blue or skin so pale and fine that you would think there was Elven blood in your lineage.* ‘Come now, Frodo, tell us what you are doing? For we see that there is some shadow of fear upon you.’ ‘O Wise People!’ interrupted Pippin eagerly. ‘Tell us about the Black Riders!’ The elves did not answer at once, but spoke together softly in their own tongue. At length Gildor turned to the hobbits. ‘We will not speak of this here. We think you had best come now with us.’ ‘I thank you indeed, Gildor Inglorion,’ said Frodo bowing so low he missed the light in Gildor’s eyes when he said his name. ‘Elen síla lúmenn’ omentielvo, a star shines on the hour of our meeting,’ he added in the high-elven speech. ‘Be careful, friends!’ cried Gildor laughing. ‘Speak no secrets! Here is a scholar in the Ancient Tongue. Bilbo was a good master. Hail, Elf-friend!’ he said, bowing to Frodo. *Oh that you could become more than a friend to this elf,* thought Gildor. He had seen Frodo on many a ramble with Bilbo, and the young hobbit had intrigued him. Never before had he seen eyes of such lustre or skin so pale on one not of the Eldar race. Hearing the two hobbits speak as the ambled around, Frodo reminded him of himself, many thousands of years ago; curious and ready to learn everything about the world outside his own. They marched along in silence, Frodo doubling his pace to keep up with Gildor, Gildor slowing so Frodo would not tire, and Sam resolutely sticking by his master. Both Gildor and Frodo were acutely aware of each other; Frodo noticing the grace of Gildor’s gait and the faint light that seemed to gather around him, Gildor of the quiet way the hobbit moved and his bearing. His bearing set him apart from the other two hobbits in a way Gildor could not define. When the reached the elves’ hall (of which Sam said: ‘No more n’lots of trees grown close together, in my opinion; any sensible Hobbiton tree wouldn’t grow that close to his neighbour.’) Gildor had to go with his people to see to arrangements for food for the company and for their three guests. Once the arrangements were made, and the three tallest log stools were being found for the guests, he climbed to the top branch of the tallest tree to think. The Netted Stars could be seen through a swirling mist. *How appropriate,* thought Gildor, one hand grasping a branch, *I can see what I want, but why or whether I should want it is a nebulous, untouchable thing. I have always remembered him, and wanted to know more about him since the first time I saw him with Bilbo. Now he is here, I have named him Elf-friend, and I am just going to let him slip by me. Maybe I just wish to keep those eyes, that face, a perfect memory. But having him here, hearing his voice say my name, is better than any memory. He has only just met me, but I have thought about him for many years now. But he is here now with his friends, we are protecting him from the fell Riders, this is not the time to be thinking about his eyes, his hands on… O Valar give me a sign!* With that dropped his hands to his lap and focused again on the night sky. As he watched, Borgil, the red, fire-like star rose and with its rising the mist swirled away to reveal Menelvagor, the warrior, poised and ready. *Am I to fight for his attentions, or am I to fight in the last war before my people leave Middle-earth? The time has come and the Riders are abroad again, there will be a war, I know not where, but somewhere.* Gildor smiled a sad smile as he came to his decision. *I will do it. I will make an advance and see what the future holds in that direction. If there is to be a war, I would wish to know how he feels before aught might happen to either of us. I know not what part he is playing in this, but he seems to have strength and seriousness the other hobbits lack. He knows what is, what could be at stake.* Frodo and his companions wrapped themselves in cloaks and blankets, and drowsiness stole over them. The night grew on and Pippin fell asleep, pillowed on a green hillock. Sam sat beside Frodo, eyes wider than dinner plates, watching the elves go about their business. Frodo smiled inwardly at Sam’s wide-eyed innocence. For Sam, the elves were creatures out of stories, but for Frodo they were simply wise and beautiful beings. He had seen an elf up close only once, on one of his rambles with Bilbo when he was very young. They were spending the night out in the woods for the first time, and Bilbo had told him he would stay awake and watch the fire they had lit to keep the wolves away. He woke up after just a few hours sleep to hear Bilbo talking in a strange language, and someone answering in a melodic voice in the same language. Young Frodo rolled over quietly to see who their visitor was. He saw shape sitting beside Bilbo on a log, a tall shape that seemed to shine, and he wanted to touch it, feel it, to find out where the light came from. He still didn’t know, but he did know that walking beside Gildor had felt right. It had only been a few miles, and they had exchanged no words, but it felt right nonetheless. *Ah, but what am I thinking? Elves are such ethereal beauties, and must be used to those high standards. An elf would not be interested in a hobbit, no matter who the elf or who the hobbit. We can but stare and adore the beautiful people, Samwise has the right idea. They think we are little, and silly, and dull.* Suddenly under the trees a fire sprang up with a red light. ‘Come!’ the Elves cried to the hobbits. ‘Come! Now is the time for speech and merriment!’ Frodo sat, eating, drinking, and talking with delight; but his mind was chiefly on the words spoken. He knew a little of the elf-speech and listened eagerly. Now and again he spoke to those that served him and thanked them in their own language. They smiled at him and said laughing: ‘Here is a jewel among hobbits!’ *Yes, and a diamond among jewels,* thought Gildor. ‘Your friends, Mr. Baggins, seem to have found our talk so uninteresting they have fallen asleep,’ Gildor smiled as two elves carried Pippin and Sam away to the beds that had been made for them. ‘I can see you still want to talk and maybe have the chance to ask some questions of your own. Let us take a torch and leave your companions to their slumber.’ He stood up and lit a torch in the crackling fire, then guided Frodo to a quieter part of the grove with a hand on his shoulder. He gestured to a tree root for Frodo to sit on, then stuck the torch into the earth before sitting down on the ground beside the root. Now, Frodo noticed, it was like they were the same height. No more looking up to see those deep blue eyes. At this level he noticed a small scar on Gildor’s temple. *There is so much I don’t know, about the world, about the ring, about you. I wish I knew, I just wish I knew.* They spoke of many things, old and new, and Frodo questioned Gildor much about the happenings in the wide world outside the Shire. At last Frodo asked a question that was near to his heart: ‘Tell me, Gildor, have you ever seen Bilbo since he left us?’ Gildor smiled. ‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘Twice. He said farewell to us on this very spot. But I saw him once again, far from here.’ He would say no more about Bilbo, and Frodo fell silent. ‘You do not ask me or tell me much that concerns yourself, Frodo,’ said Gildor. ‘But I already know a little, and I can read more in your face.’ Frodo sat on his tree root, surprised. The elf couldn’t be talking about the attraction he felt, he was trying to ignore it and push it away in an attempt to stop his mind hoping for the unimaginable. ‘My…my task?’ stammered Frodo, looking at the ground. It could be nothing else, Gildor could not have found out about the ring so secret in his pocket. Gandalf would never forgive him, when he appeared, for letting his errand be discovered, even if it was an elf who discovered it. And now the elf had moved closer, he could smell the leaf-fresh scent of his hair. Something stirred in his breeches, and he knew he had to get away before causing any embarrassment. He looked up at Gildor and found that the elf had leaned in closer, and was staring at him with deep, sea-blue eyes. ‘No, little hobbit, your heart. My heart.’ With that, Gildor’s lips were on his, gloriously soft, and a tongue so warm, inviting his own in to Gildor’s mouth. When he responded and put a hand in Gildor’s hair, the elf moaned, his mouth pushing more persistently on Frodo’s, wanting to elicit that same passion from the hobbit. He needn’t have worried, the hobbit’s arousal became evident very quickly. Frodo pushed the elf away reluctantly, yet showing strength Gildor had not expected in one so small. ‘What about the others? What about your people? These are trees, not walls separating us.’ ‘Your people are sound asleep, my dear hobbit. My people are at the other end of the grove, singing, eating, laughing, maybe enjoying what we might in a few moments. They should not worry what their lord does in his own time, but to ease your fears I will put out this light.’ With that, Gildor plucked the torch from the earth and extinguished it neatly in the hole it had made. In the darkness Frodo could just make out the shape of the elf beside him, his profile crisp in the moonlight, the stars reflecting in his eyes. The snatches of song from the other elves seemed to move farther and farther away until they were just birds whistling in the trees. He felt warm hands pulling him from the hard root to the soft grass on the edge of the large clearing. Lying on his back, he got a quick glimpse of the stars before a curtain of hair, shining silver in the moonlight, blocked his view. Lips were on his, hands moving up and down his body, never staying long in one place. Teasing, stroking, pleasuring and now stopped. Frodo knew how to stop them, and they stayed where they were the moment they ceased their wandering, tangled in his hair. Frodo smiled to himself; elves were just like hobbits when it came down to it. A well-placed hand undoing the laces on someone’s breeches concentrated wandering minds and hands. The laces undone, he pressed gently on Gildor’s shoulders, getting the elf to lie on his back on the grass. He pulled the breeches down slowly, managing to brush against Gildor’s erection a few more times than necessary. When Gildor felt his legs naked in the cold night air, he gasped, partly because of the breeze and partly because of the realisation that this was really happening. A bigger gasp and a moan when he felt warm, soft lips on his erection, and featherweight fingers stroked the insides of his thighs. A small hand reached up and pushed away the lower edge of Gildor’s tunic. Gildor tried to take it off, his fingers fumbling with the fastenings. *I haven’t fumbled with clasps like these in thousands of years. I haven’t felt so young…* The warm lips had ceased their work and left, leaving Gildor damp and hard in the cool night breeze. He saw the outline of Frodo against the starry sky, a Frodo with his shirt off and his breeches almost gone. Gildor reached out and gave a final tug, releasing Frodo’s foot from the material, and making him stumble to his knees. Gildor pulled the hobbit to him and kissed him hard, forgetting about the cold night air. Together they had defences against the cold, together they were warmer, hotter than could be imagined even on Midsummer’s day. Frodo’s hands finished the work on Gildor’s tunic, and the elf sat up to take it off. Now both naked, Frodo straddling Gildor’s lap, Gildor nuzzled Frodo’s neck, finding the tender places and caressing them with his mouth and tongue. *He smells and tastes of cinnamon and woodsmoke and something earthy, like mushrooms. Why didn’t I introduce myself to you all those years ago? If I had known it would be like this I would have settled in the Shire, no matter what my people said.* Frodo’s head was back, his arms around Gildor, hands roaming over the smooth skin of his back. He found a raised scar on one shoulder, a long, thin line, and stroked it gently, unconsciously. *I smell leaves and the fresh crisp scent on a snowy morning. I wonder if you can taste starlight.* He turned Gildor’s head and drew his bottom lip into his inviting mouth, sucking gently. He felt a fine, long-fingered hand reach between them (*There is no space between us, how is his hand there?*) and start to stroke him. The stroking increased its pace, and Frodo kissed Gildor harder, running his hands through the hair that glinted in the starlight. Leaving one hand fondling the nape of Gildor’s neck, he too found a space between them to slide his hand; his fingers brushed two hardened nipples before grasping Gildor’s hardness and stroking. Their hands moved with the same rhythm, up together, down together, mixing the small amount of fluid that had been released (*His? Mine? Ours*). Gildor shifted slightly, and now their erections were pressed together, for their full length and the hands stroking them, Frodo’s right and Gildor’s left, could interlock their fingers and pleasure in tandem. The heat and warmth and slickness and pleasure had Frodo’s mind reeling. *Is that my hand, or his hand? Am I stroking myself, or him? How can two beings be so close? We are one, we must be one.* Borgil and Menegalvor were shining bright above when the elf and the hobbit came. Both moaned into each other, Frodo into Gildor’s chest and Gildor into Frodo’s curly hair. Their joined hands stayed together as Gildor lay back on the grass, pulling Frodo into a tight embrace against his chest. They lay there a while, listening to each other’s breath and heartbeats. Gildor was idly toying with the pointed tip of Frodo’s ear while Frodo was stroking the elf’s chest. ‘We should return to the main camp, dear Frodo. If your loyal Samwise awakes and you are not there, he will wake all beings, hobbit, elf or animal, and then we shall certainly be found. I want to tell all of Middle-earth about what I have found with you, but would prefer it to be at a moment of my choosing.’ Frodo looked up at Gildor, then kissed him lightly as he moved to reach their clothes. They dressed standing as close to each other as possible, sometimes doing up their own buttons, sometimes reaching over to do the other’s. Frodo was almost asleep by the time they were walking to the bowers where the other hobbits had been put to bed. ‘Gildor, I don’t want to leave you, but I…I must find Gandalf, and then…but I don’t…’ ‘Quiet, Frodo. I may not be gifted with foresight like that of Lady Galadriel, but we will meet again. Far from here, but we will be together again, I can assure you of that.’ Frodo felt sleep coming upon him, even as Gildor finished speaking. ‘I will sleep now,’ he said; and the Elf led him to a bower beside Pippin, and he threw himself upon a bed and fell at once into a dreamless slumber. -- A/N: Gildor was on the boat Frodo took from the Grey Havens.