Title: Circumstances Beyond His Control
Author: Nienna Calaquendi
(nienna_calaquendi@yahoo.com)
Pairing: Frodo/Haldir (mainly), Frodo/Sam
(slightly)
Rating: NC17 
Warnings: Interspecies
Summary: While traveling through
the Shire on a mission for Galadriel, Haldir crosses paths with Frodo under
unusual circumstances.
Disclaimer: I acknowledge that someone other than myself
holds the copyright to these characters. No profit has been made from this
story.
A/N: Many thanks and hobbit hugs to LeLe for an expert beta, as always,
and also for putting up with much elf-related whining.


1.

Under normal circumstances, an elven-trained horse would never bolt and run; it was expected
to be as steady-natured and sure-footed as its master in any situation. And
under normal circumstances, an elf would never be thrown from his horse  --  an
occurrence even more rare than a steed unexpectedly becoming unruly. But
circumstances in the wide world differed considerably from those in the
enchanted Golden Wood, as Haldir of Lorien was about to be forcibly reminded.
Under normal circumstances, Frodo Baggins would be safe and snug at Bag End in
the Shire, perhaps writing at his desk or sitting in the sun while chatting with
his gardener at work. For the gardener in question, Samwise Gamgee, normal
circumstances entailed keeping at least one eye on his master at all times while
also keeping one step ahead of anything Frodo might require. Such circumstances
were subject to change at a moment's notice, however, based on the somewhat
capricious nature of said master.

Normal circumstances were about to be well
and truly turned upside down.

One bright April afternoon, Frodo awoke from his
nap feeling decidedly restless. Perhaps it was the arching unbroken blue of the
sky outside his window that called to him, or the lush green hills that beckoned
him to look beyond his own front door. Perhaps it was the way the eager spring
sun turned the Water to quicksilver, tracing a shimmering path that he longed to
follow into the distance. Or perhaps it was simply because his comfortable bed
had seemed all too empty when he wakened, as it had seemed for some time. With
little hope of the one he desired ever joining him there, his lonely yearnings
came as no great surprise.

Frodo couldn't pinpoint exactly when he'd come to
think of Sam as more than a friend, but he was well aware that his feelings had
long ago crossed the threshold of what was considered normal and proper.
However, considering Sam's conservative nature and strict upbringing, Frodo
could only pine for him in silence and try to resign himself to never having
more than Sam's friendship. The resulting loneliness Frodo carried in his chest
like a dull ache, quietly endured but never totally forgotten. 

But at least he
had Sam's abiding companionship, Frodo told himself, and if it wasn't quite
enough, it was far better than being alone, especially on a beautiful spring day
that fairly demanded new adventures.

"If you don't stop pacin', Mr. Frodo,
you're likely to wear a path in those tiles," Sam observed from the sunlit
kitchen with an amused look. He was in the process of putting dinner together
for the two of them, as he sometimes did, but surmised he wasn't going about it
quickly enough. "Are you that hungry?"

Frodo's steps didn't so much as pause.
From farther down the hall he called back to Sam, "Pacing? I'm not pacing." Then
he turned and retraced his path to stand, fidgeting, in the kitchen doorway. He
tried not to notice the easy grace in Sam's movements and the way the afternoon
sun gilded his curls; however, it was like trying not to notice the sun herself.  
Sam gave him a skeptical look. "You're as nervous as a cat in a thunderstorm,
sir. What's gotten into you?" 

"Let's go someplace for a few days, Sam. Let's
go walking and see some fresh scenery," Frodo suggested on a sudden whim.
Perhaps a tramp through the countryside would cure his restlessness, and the
longer the outing, the better. Of course, the prospect of camping in the woods
for a night or two, alone with Sam, sparked his imagination even as he told
himself to stop thinking such foolish thoughts.

"So it's spring fever, is it?"
Sam chuckled. "Here I thought I was keepin' you waitin' too long for your
dinner." 

Frodo rolled his eyes. "How soon can you be ready to go?"

* * * 
After a quick meal they set out cross-country, heading south toward Tuckborough.
Frodo had suggested that spending a few days with his Took relations might prove
entertaining. Sam thought that was probably a serious understatement. 

As they
walked, Frodo plied Sam for the latest Hobbiton gossip and shared in turn the
few tidbits of news he'd heard from his cousin Merry over in Buckland. They sang
traveling songs from Bilbo's impressive repetoire and set a brisk pace, reaching
the East Road by sundown. With Great Smials still a full day's walk ahead of
them, they made camp for the night in a tree-sheltered hollow a stone's throw
from the road. 

Sam studied the western sky, sniffing the air. The sun had
dropped below the iron-grey clouds massed on the horizon and thunder grumbled
low and distant. "I  'spect we'll have rain afore too long, sir. The trees are
right thick here, but still, we might get a bit damp." 

Frodo looked up from
spreading his bedroll, close to Sam's but not too close, and nodded. "Do you
think we should move farther from the road? Considering what Farmer Willowbank
was saying the other night at the Dragon?"

"What, that there's been rough folk
causin' mischief round here? I wouldn't put too much stock in that, Mr. Frodo;
he likes to make himself important, if you follow."

"Even so, we probably
shouldn't have a fire. Just in case." 

"As you like, sir." Sam dropped to his
knees on his blankets and rummaged in his pack, pulling out a simple wooden pipe
and a leather pouch of pipeweed. "At least we can have a smoke 'fore we call it
a night." 

Frodo went for his own pack but paused in mid-reach. "Ah. I didn't
think to bring my pipe. I was... distracted earlier." 

Sam gave him an amused,
tolerant look as he loaded the pipe's bowl with weed. "Aye, that you were,
beggin' your pardon. What's got you so tied up in knots?"

Feeling the blood
rush to his face, Frodo was thankful for the dusk that had settled around them.
"Well, in these months since Bilbo left I've been lonely, of course. I often
wonder where he is and how he fares." If it was a weak answer, Frodo thought
ruefully, at least there was a measure of truth to it. 

Tinder and flint
sparked in the darkness and Sam drew a deep puff, setting the weed aglow. He
paused before responding thoughtfully, "I reckon that Mr. Bilbo's just fine,
wherever he is. You can't be worryin' 'bout him all the time and upsettin'
yourself." Reaching across the short distance that separated them, he handed the
pipe to Frodo.

Frodo took it with a sidelong glance. They often exchanged such
companionable gestures, but tonight sharing a pipe seemed unexpectedly intimate.
Frodo was all too aware of the generous curve of Sam's lips and how those lips
had wrapped around the pipestem that he now held. He barely tasted the smoke, so
absorbed was he in his wayward thoughts.

"Mr. Frodo?"

"Hmm?" Frodo blinked,
pulled back into the moment. Sam was gazing at him with frank curiosity. Hastily
Frodo handed back the pipe and turned to fuss with his bedroll. "I don't want
any more, Sam, but thank you. I'm ready to turn in." Really, Frodo thought, this
is going too far. His little obsession was getting the better of him tonight,
and if he wasn't careful, he'd end up embarrassing himself or, worse yet,
embarrassing Sam. With a quiet sigh Frodo settled himself among his blankets,
curled on his side with his back to his friend. He fell asleep to the sound of
Sam's soft, steady puffing. 

* * * 

The piercing cry of a panicked horse
jolted Frodo awake some time later. He sat up and gave Sam a quick nudge,
peering into the darkness. From farther down the road, just out of sight, they
could hear the scuffling sounds of a struggle, confused shouts and retreating
hoofbeats fading into silence. Suddenly came the sound of heavy footsteps
pounding on the road, headed their way at a full run, and rough voices
bickering.

"Bert, ye great ninny! Ye shoulda knowed better than t' pick on one
a'them!" 

"Aye, but I din't know 'twas one a'them till..."

In another instant
the men had passed by and the night grew still again.

"Robbers!" Sam breathed
excitedly, close to Frodo's ear. 

"Yes, perhaps. We should go see if anyone is
hurt," Frodo murmured, and rose as if to do so.

"Beggin' your pardon, Mr.
Frodo, but it could be dangerous! You shouldn't oughta do that," Sam hissed,
catching Frodo's arm impulsively and surprising them both.

"Either let go of me
or come with me, Sam," Frodo said evenly, glancing down to where Sam's hand
gripped his forearm; when he got that tone there was no point in arguing with
him.

Sam released him, muttering something about the famous stubbornness of
Bagginses, but followed as Frodo began picking a path through the trees,
avoiding the road for the moment. As they drew close to the site of the trouble,
they could see that someone lay face down in the underbrush  --  a Big Person
wrapped in a long grey cloak, with an elaborately decorated  bow and quiver
strapped to his back. A sleek curved sword rested near his outstretched hand.
His right arm was twisted at an awkward angle, his long blond hair matted with a
spreading patch of darkness where he'd taken a blow to the back of his head.
Sam clutched at Frodo again. "What if it's one of them robbers, sir? This ain't
safe!"

"It sounded to me like the troublemakers got chased away, but whoever
this is, he obviously needs help." 

Frodo leaned close, ascertaining that the
stranger still breathed, then said,  "Help me roll him over, Sam."

Together
they turned the man carefully onto his back. Wisps of silky hair fell away to
reveal a delicately pointed ear and strong, regal features. "An elf!" Sam
exclaimed, awestruck. 

"So it seems," Frodo murmured, kneeling to look closer. 
At the sound of voices, the elf's brow wrinkled. He mumbled something
unintelligible and his eyes drifted open to find the hobbits hovering close over
him. Suddenly he startled, striking out blindly, and knocked Frodo away while
trying to rise. As soon as he attempted to lift himself off the ground, though,
the injured arm made itself known and he crumpled.

"Mr. Frodo!" Sam's first
instinct, as always, was for his master's well-being. He rushed to Frodo's side
to help him up and ensure that he was unhurt before turning to scowl at the
stranger.

"I'm all right, Sam," Frodo straightened his jacket and weskit, a bit
disconcerted by having landed gracelessly and unexpectedly on his backside. He
approached the elf again and knelt nearby  --  but not too near. The elf watched
him warily, cradling the injured arm with the opposite hand.

"We mean you no
harm," Frodo said in the Common Tongue, then repeated himself in careful
Sindarin.

The elf's eyes grew wide and he gave his head a shake as if to clear
it, immediately wincing at the sharp motion. 

"You were set upon, by thieves we
assume. Can you understand me? Can you speak?" Frodo cast a quick glance toward
Sam, whose brows were drawn together in a fierce expression. Sam didn't like
strangers at the best of times and Frodo knew he'd already passed judgment on
this one, elf or no.

"Little people?" The elf said slowly in Westron as he
struggled to sit up, bracing himself on the unhurt arm. 

"Hobbits of the
Shire," Frodo answered. "We'll help you, if you let us."

At that the elf arched
a disdainful eyebrow and fixed him with an icy stare. "I do not need your help,
nor do I want your help." 

Frodo looked surprised at the rebuff but pressed on.
"I'm sure you're more than capable of taking care of yourself under normal
circumstances, but that arm obviously needs attention," he said in his most
reasonable tone  --  the one he used to great effect with difficult merchants
and obstinate younger cousins -- "And the nearest settlements are some hours
away. What do you plan to do?"

"Once I retrieve my horse, I'll go about my
business without troubling you further," the stranger replied in a faintly
sarcastic tone. At that he got to his knees in an unsteady attempt to stand.
When he swayed, Frodo quickly caught him by his good arm.

The elf shook off
Frodo's hand impatiently. "I *said* I didn't --" he began, then collapsed in a
faint.

"No, he don't need our help," Sam affirmed with a wry glance at Frodo.
"Now what?"

"I expect his horse is halfway back to wherever it came from, and
we don't stand a chance of trying to move him ourselves," Frodo considered,
studying the unfortunate elf. "I suppose one of us ought to stay here with him
while the other goes for help."

"Now just a minute, sir! I don't intend on
leavin' you alone with them ruffians about," Sam  leveled a no-nonsense look at
Frodo and crossed his arms over his chest, prepared to be just as stubborn as
his master if pushed to it.

Frodo had just opened his mouth to object when the
injured stranger groaned, his eyes fluttering open. Both hobbits watched
expectantly as he sat up once more. 

"Where is my horse?" the elf asked curtly,
rubbing his forehead as if it pained him. "And where are these settlements you
speak of?" 

"Your horse is gone," Frodo replied. "And the closest village is
Hobbiton, about three hours' walk north, cross-country."

"Can I get a horse
there? I must continue my journey." The set of his jaw indicated that he had no
doubts about his ability to do so, despite the present evidence to the contrary.
With a tremendous effort he managed to stand, though he seemed shaky and weak. 
Frodo tucked his hands in his pockets, resisting the urge to reach out and
steady him. "A pony, perhaps. But you're in no shape for walking." 

"I will
walk because I must," the elf replied as if speaking to a child. "North is...
which way?"

Frodo and Sam traded a dubious look. "We'd better show you."



2.
The journey back to Bag End, which had taken Frodo and Sam three hours at a
brisk pace in the late afternoon sun, seemed twice as long in the dark with the
injured elf reluctantly following them. Not long after they set out, the skies
opened in a spring torrent and by the time the Hill loomed in the weak pre-dawn
light, they were soaked to the skin, chilled, and exhausted.

They headed
directly to Bag End, despite the elf -- whose name was Haldir, they had learned
-- insisting that he wanted only to obtain a pony and be on his way. As he was
clearly in no condition to do so, Frodo and Sam steered him inside the smial and
closed the round green door behind them. 

While Sam kindled a welcome fire in
the parlor fireplace, Frodo persuaded the elf to rest on the thick wool rug and
fetched an armful of blankets and towels.

"Next we must get you out of these
wet things," Frodo matter-of-factly, kneeling before Haldir and relieving him of
his sopping cloak before he could protest. "You don't need to catch a chill on
top of your injuries."

Sam instantly shot him a horrified glance, as if to say
his master shouldn't handle such menial tasks himself. Haldir also looked mildly
horrified as Frodo reached for the fastenings of his grey woolen jerkin.

"No,
leave it," Haldir insisted with a warning glare, deflecting Frodo's hand. "It
will dry." 

"All right, you can sit there dripping if you like," Frodo
commented wryly, "but I expect the healer will strip you herself when she
arrives." He almost chuckled at the elf's affronted expression, and added, "If
you'll excuse me, I 'm going to take my own advice and go dry off." 

* * * 
Sam hurried off to fetch the widow Goodchild, a relation on his mother's side
who handled everything from birthing babies to herb-lore for the folks around
Hobbiton. Still rattling off details of the night's events and answering
rapid-fire questions, Sam ushered her into the parlor just as another fine
spring dawn was breaking. 

With a courteous nod to Frodo, she knelt by the
injured elf and took quick stock of the situation. Haldir reclined on the hearth
rug, wrapped in blankets with a makeshift pad of soft cloth stanching the
bleeding from the cut on his head and pillows supporting his injured arm. He had
drifted off into uneasy sleep, but at her touch his eyes opened.

"Good day,
master elf," Mrs. Goodchild said briskly, unruffled at the prospect of such an
unusual patient. Haldir managed a stiff nod of acknowledgment but looked none
too happy at being fussed over. 

Without further preliminaries she leaned close
and began parting the layers of blankets surrounding him. Her light, careful
hands explored the area around his shoulder, then slid gently over his arms,
checking for further injuries. Though Haldir never flinched, the tenseness of
his proud features indicated that the shoulder was indeed quite painful.

"Well,
that shoulder's out of place, see there? The bone has moved around and we'll
have to force it back where it belongs," she pronounced at last.  

"Let's get
that wet tunic off next. Samwise, get behind him there and help him sit up." Sam
and Haldir exchanged a glance that spoke of mutual displeasure before they both
grudgingly complied.

Removing the tunic and jerkin proved tricky because of the
hurt arm but Mrs. Goodchild eventually prevailed in the attempt, exposing a
smooth, muscular chest and powerful arms. She insisted, despite the elf's
protests, that his wet trousers come off too, although she did allow him to keep
his linens, Frodo noticed in spite of himself before hastily averting his eyes.
Frodo excused himself to make tea, since Sam had his hands full acting as Mrs.
Goodchild's assistant. By the time he returned with a tray, Haldir was wrapped
once more in a blanket, looking slightly more resigned to the situation. His
head wound and several minor cuts and scrapes had been cleaned and dressed, and
the healer was contemplating the mending of his shoulder. 

"I don't know if the
three of us can manage this," she pondered. "We're at a bit of a size
disadvantage here, and there's no easy way to do it." She studied Frodo
appraisingly. "I'll need both you lads to help, unless you'd want Samwise to go
after the Gaffer instead, sir."

Frodo shook his head. "I don't mind helping,
but you'll have to tell me what to do." 

Mrs. Goodchild positioned Frodo and
Sam on either side of Haldir, instructing Sam to brace hard from behind while
Frodo did the same from in front. With an apologetic glance at her patient, she
pushed with all her strength against Haldir's shoulder, up and back. The elf
winced as the bone shifted into place but did not make a sound.

The healer ran
her hands over the shoulder again, nodding in satisfaction, and guided Haldir to
lie down again. "Good as new, or will be in a few days. Keep him from using it
as much as you can," she said to Frodo. "It's that bump on the head we need to
be more concerned about. Bed rest for at least a week, that's what he needs."
Haldir started to protest but she silenced him with a look. "A bump like you
took is nothing to fool with, sir. I'm sure these lads will take good care of
you." She proceeded to rattle off a list of warning signs they should watch for
and handed Frodo a small jar of salve for the elf's bruises and scrapes.

Frodo
and Sam traded an eloquent glance; they hadn't bargained on being long-term
caretakers to an injured and somewhat hostile guest. Frodo drew a deep breath
and said a little too brightly, "Well, then! Perhaps we should have some tea and
breakfast...?"

* * * 

Tea and pleasantries aside, Haldir had no intention of
remaining in the halflings' custody a moment longer than absolutely necessary.
Although the dark-haired lad was kind and seemed to be genuinely concerned, the
other fairly radiated dislike and suspicion. Yes, he must leave as soon as
possible... If only the blasted dizziness would pass, and the overwhelming urge
to sleep... He shook his head at the proffered teacup and settled himself on the
rug once more, curling on his side and closing his eyes.

"Master Haldir," Frodo
said softly, leaning over him and resting a gentle hand on his arm. "We must get
you into bed. You'll be far more comfortable than on the floor." The elf's eyes
drifted open and he studied Frodo wearily, as if his strength to resist was
slowly ebbing away. 

"Sam, do you mind...?" Although Frodo knew his friend did
indeed mind, Sam moved dutifully to help Haldir sit, and between the two of them
they got the elf to his feet, wool blanket still swathed around him. Frodo
guided him down the long, winding main passage to a small round door near the
end of the hall, while Sam fetched water for washing and a bundle of firewood.
Frodo steadied the elf as he ducked into the low opening and guided him to sit
on the edge of the high, man-sized bed.

"How is it that you have..." Haldir
squeezed his eyes shut for a moment as if trying to regain his bearings. "...A
bed so large when you are so small?"

"A family friend who is your size stays
here from time to time." Frodo smiled, remembering the furor that bed had caused
when Bilbo had it imported from Bree for Gandalf's use. Hobbits had gossiped
about it for months -- why, a bed that size was *indecent*, and who knew *what*
old Bilbo might be up to with that wandering conjurer! Bilbo, of course, had
delighted in the controversy and, incidentally, proved the rumor-mongers correct
by sharing that bed whenever Gandalf visited. Thinking of Bilbo only reminded
Frodo how lonely he had been since his dear cousin had departed, lonely and
dreaming hopelessly of Sam...

Frodo shook himself out of his reverie to find
Haldir studying him intently, brow furrowed.  Flustered by the unexpected
scrutiny, Frodo backed away. With a murmured, "Sleep well," he padded to the
door and pulled it closed behind him. 

* * *

When Frodo emerged from Haldir's
chamber, Sam was nowhere to be found. Frodo had almost reached the conclusion
that his friend had gone home -- although it was quite unlike him to leave
without saying so -- when he heard the creak of the toolshed door. He hurried
around to the side yard.

"Sam?" Frodo peered into the dusty interior of the
shed.

"Sir?" Sam stood at the workbench, applying a whetstone to the edge of
his shears as calmly as if he had just arrived for an ordinary day's work at Bag
End.

"I thought you'd gone," Frodo said, feeling unaccountably relieved that he
hadn't. "You should, you know. You must get into dry clothes and try to sleep."
Sam cast him a sidelong look. "I reckon these clothes are just about dry by now
anyways, but... are you sendin' me home, Mr. Frodo?" 

Surprised, Frodo groped
for a suitable answer. "No, of course not! It's just... I'm concerned about you.
You certainly mustn't try to work today; you haven't slept and --"

"Nor have
you, sir, beggin' your pardon." Sam replied, turning to face him.

The first
idea that rushed to Frodo's mind wouldn't do to speak, not at all. He cleared
his throat and attempted to collect himself, lest he offer Sam the use of the
master bedroom -- with the master present. "I shall retire shortly, I expect. If
you'd like to use one of the guest rooms rather than go home to rest, you're
welcome to." The words came out sounding far more stiff and formal than he'd
intended. 

"If you don't mind, I'll head on home," Sam replied, his voice
altogether neutral. He returned the shears to their usual spot and began wiping
the dust off his hands with a rag.

"Of course." With a short nod, Frodo turned
away. How foolish, he thought, to have such thoughts about one's best friend.
Especially when that friend was Sam -- steady, reliable, *practical* Sam. It
could never be.



3. 

Sleep was a long time coming, despite Frodo's fatigue
from the long and eventful night. Though he resolved to put his ridiculous
notions about Sam out of his mind once and for all, he couldn't deny his
lingering yearning for his friend. Nor could he deny his aching loneliness, and
had not a clue what to do about it. Wrapping his arms tightly about his
unresponsive pillow provided little comfort.

He awoke some time later feeling
disoriented, as darkness had fallen; apparently he'd slept the whole day
through. He remembered the injured elf with a guilty start and rolled out of bed
to dress and splash his face with cool water.

In the kitchen he took a moment
to load a serving tray for his houseguest with some cold meats, cheese, bread
and fruit. The door to Haldir's room remained closed, not a sound audible from
within. Frodo decided it would be prudent to check on him, despite the risk of
disturbing him; after all, the healer had said the head injury was not to be
taken lightly. If he was sleeping, Frodo could at least drop off the food for
when he awoke.

Though the door swung inward on silent hinges and Frodo stepped
instead just as quietly, Haldir's eyes flew open. Dismayed, Frodo said, "Oh, I'm
sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"I was not sleeping," the elf replied in a
cool, measured voice, drawing himself into a sitting position and pulling the
blankets up around his waist. He seemed much more alert now, Frodo noted as he
drew closer, though not much friendlier.

"How are you feeling?" Frodo asked
cautiously as he set the serving tray on the bedside table.

Haldir fixed him
with an unwavering gaze. "Why are you helping me?" The abruptness of the
question, and the suspicious tone in which it was delivered, caught Frodo off
guard. 

He studied the elf for a moment without speaking, meeting his
contentious stare unflinchingly. "Because you needed help."

"You took a risk." 
"Perhaps."

The elf raised an eyebrow to indicate he thought there was no
"perhaps" about it. "Where are my clothes? I must go." 

"I sent them to be
washed. You shall have them back tomorrow."

Haldir shot Frodo a look of
unmistakable challenge. "I would leave tonight if I could."

"I know. But since
you can't, may I get you something to eat?" He indicated the laden tray.
"You're doing it again. Why?"

Frodo frowned, puzzled. "Doing what? I don't
understand."

"You're *still* trying to help me," the elf said as if pointing
out the painfully obvious. 

"You're a guest in my home, albeit an unwilling
one. I would do the same for anybody."

"Even a stranger."

"Well, yes, under
the circumstances. Wouldn't you?"

The question seemed to strike a nerve. Haldir
frowned and he started to cross his arms over his chest, wincing at the attempt
as the injured shoulder reasserted itself. Frodo bit back an instinctive
expression of concern, which the elf noted with a sharp glance in his direction.
When he had settled himself comfortably again, Haldir replied, "No. We do not
willingly have dealings with other folk."

"Are all your people as wary as you?"
Frodo asked. He didn't consider the question particularly tactful, but then,
Haldir obviously preferred the direct approach.

"Our lands are constantly under
threat from our enemies. Our wariness keeps us alive." A note of fierce pride
crept into his voice. 

Frodo nodded. "While we are troubled very little by the
outside world and have no enemies to speak of. Our lives here are peaceful."
Haldir studied him through narrowed eyes. "You are a puzzle to me." 

"A puzzle?
Why?" Though he felt as if he were being tested by a strict tutor, Frodo held
his ground, keeping his expression pleasant and his voice steady. It was
perfectly understandable that the elf be defensive, even hostile, if his people
disliked outsiders -- and even more so, injured and dependant as he presently
was. Frodo resolved to do his best to win Haldir's trust.

"You are so different
from my people, as different as can be." Haldir glanced around the cozy,
low-ceilinged room. "Your ways, your home, your appearance. You are so small."
Frodo arched an amused eyebrow at that. "It is not that we are small, but that
you are excessively large."

Haldir stared at him for an instant before he
chuckled ruefully, shaking his head. "I had not thought of it that way. I had
never even heard of halflings until recently."

The elf's surprised chuckle
dispelled much of the tension in the room and left Frodo feeling relieved and
considerably more relaxed. "Yet I grew up hearing tales of your people." Frodo
offered, smiling at the memory. 

"How is this so?" 

"My guardian was a
scholar. He studied the history of the elves, the languages..."
 
"You spoke to
me in Sindarin. I thought I was dreaming."

"My elvish is quite rusty, I'm
afraid," Frodo admitted. "I thought perhaps you couldn't understand me."

With
the air of one used to being obeyed, Haldir nodded toward the foot of the bed.
"Come, sit. I would hear more about you, Frodo Baggins."

Frodo climbed up to
settle himself on the edge of the high mattress, feet dangling, pleased at the
turn the conversation had taken. Perhaps Haldir would not be such an unwelcome
guest after all.

* * * 

Although Haldir was curious about hobbits -- and Frodo
in particular, it seemed -- Frodo was equally curious about elves. Their initial
careful politeness gave way to an easy rapport and they quickly fell into a game
of sorts, matching each other question for question. Haldir had a keen intellect
and a sharp wit that Frodo found refreshing; he had not had such lively
discussions with anyone since Bilbo's departure. 

Bilbo would have liked the
elf, Frodo thought, feeling a little wistful that his beloved cousin was not
there to join in their rambling conversation, although Bilbo would certainly
have been more outspoken and inquisitive than Frodo dared. Discussing the
relative merits of elf and hobbit culture and the state of things in the outside
world was a fascinating venture; it was quite easy for Frodo to lose track of
time.

When the talk ranged to lands and journeys, Frodo excused himself to
fetch one of Bilbo's books of maps, wishing belatedly that he had thought to
bring a chair back with him to Haldir's bedside. The elf, however, seemed to
think nothing of shifting over so that Frodo could sit next to him, propped
against a bank of feather pillows, on his left to avoid the injured arm. It felt
overly familiar to Frodo, though somehow comforting as well, to settle atop the
coverlet in the spot from which Haldir had moved, where the blankets were still
warm with his body heat. But after all, Frodo told himself, sitting side by side
was the easiest way to peruse the maps together.

"Lothlorien is here," Haldir
pointed out an area marked as forest to the east of the Misty Mountains,
"between the arms of Anduin and Celebrant." He drew a path lightly across the
map with an elegant finger. "I crossed the Hithaeglir here, over the high pass
at Caradhras, then traveled west to pick up the Old South Road and followed that
to Bree. From there I took the East Road to... here." He marked the area where
the hobbits had found him. "How very odd, isn't it, that I traveled all this
long way without incident to get waylaid so close to my destination, here." He
traced the road to its end at the harbor of Mithlond on the Gulf of Lune. 

"The
rest of your journey was uneventful, then?" Frodo asked, trying not to sound
overly eager, though he loved to hear talk of adventures in the wide world.
"For the most part, yes. I avoided what few travelers I encountered in the
interests of both safety and speed."

"Last night I wasn't sure if your mission
was urgent, or if you were simply anxious to be out of our clutches," Frodo said
lightly, glancing up at the elf.

Haldir's lips twisted in a wry smile,
pleasantly surprised by Frodo's perceptiveness and candor. "Both, actually.
Though I find your company far more enjoyable than I first expected."

"And I
yours," Frodo responded graciously.

Not for the first time, Haldir found
himself staring, fascinated by the halfling's expressive blue eyes and the
almost elvish beauty of his features when he smiled. He was truly lovely, but
there was something else, something indefinable about him -- an inner light, a
purity of spirit that transcended appearances, transcended even physical size.
Haldir felt a quick, unexpected stirring of interest and desire, and chided
himself for being overly sentimental, no doubt due to the knock on the head he'd
taken. How his brothers would laugh if they knew what he was thinking: Haldir,
who detested anyone who was not an elf -- and anyone who was not a Lorien elf,
for that matter -- becoming infatuated with this halfling. Ridiculous! 

Frodo
didn't appear to mind Haldir's lingering gaze and returned it curiously, finally
looking away to lean over the book and flip the pages to a detailed map of the
Shire. Haldir rested his hand on Frodo's back in an easy, companionable gesture.
Without thinking Frodo leaned into his touch, prompting Haldir to stroke gently
across his shoulders. Neither spoke for a long while. 

The unexpected contact
felt like cool rain in a drought to Frodo, grateful for even that simple
comfort. It brought home to him once more how pervasive his loneliness had
become; every inch of his skin ached to be touched. And though his friends and
cousins were caring and warmhearted, an affectionate hug was not at all what he
craved. Haldir's touch felt more like a caress, intimate and unhurried. Frodo
couldn't help but wonder how those large, warm hands would feel stroking bare
skin...

To have such an idea pop into his head while sitting in bed beside
someone he barely knew -- an elf, no less, and one who was wearing little more
than a blanket -- suddenly made Frodo feel self-conscious. He straightened and
closed the book of maps.

"Perhaps we should call it a night," he said
offhandedly. "I just realized how tired I am."

"Indeed, it is almost morning,"
Haldir responded with a glance toward the small round window where the eastern
sky was growing pale. "We have talked the night away."

"Good night, then,"
Frodo said as he swung his feet over the edge of the bed. "Or good morning."

"A
good morning it shall be," Haldir replied, watching him go. He wondered why
Frodo had suddenly shyed away from his touch; it had been quite apparent that
Frodo was enjoying the closeness. Despite the various confidences shared in the
course of their wide-ranging conversation, the halfling remained something of a
mystery -- although, Haldir thought, a mystery he would quite enjoy unraveling,
given the opportunity.



4.

Sinking -- Frodo felt like he was sinking into the
depths of the yielding feather mattress, or was it more like falling? Not a
plummeting drop but drifting gently down, yes, like a leaf, and coming to rest
in strong arms, powerful arms equally capable of protecting or controlling. A
broad span of flawless ivory skin, heated against his cheek. Strands of long
silver hair spilling over his face, ensnaring him. Eyes the color of summer
thunderclouds, framed by dark lashes, and full, sensuous lips that claimed his
own possessively. A tongue demanding entry, filling him, taking him, and he
opened to it eagerly, holding nothing back. Frodo's hands traveling lower over a
flat expanse of firm muscle to a nest of golden curls and the straining hardness
he sought. Ah, it was even larger than he expected, long and thick and weeping
at the tip. A slow slide downward to take it into his mouth, lapping at the dewy
drops and closing his lips over the head... swirling his tongue... 

Sunlight
slanted against Frodo's closed lids and he stirred languidly, reluctant to allow
the delicious dream to slip away. He was fully hard, almost painfully so,
yearning for the touch and taste lingering so vividly at the edge of memory.
Already near the brink, he took himself in hand and spilled into the sheets
after just a few quick strokes. Half awake, his heart pounding, he almost called
out the name of his dream lover: Haldir.

* * * 

"Good morning, Sam," Frodo
called out, despite the fact that he had slept till well past noon. He strolled
across the yard to where Sam was working at the rear of the property.

"Mornin',
Mr. Frodo," Sam answered agreeably, leaning on the spade he'd been using to
prepare the vegetable garden for planting. He pushed a stray curl off his sweaty
forehead, leaving a streak of dirt.

Frodo resisted the urge to reach out and
wipe off the smudge, recalling his vow to think of Sam as only a good friend,
nothing more.

"Were you able to catch up on your sleep?" Frodo asked
conversationally.

"Aye, though the Gaffer didn't much like me 'layin' around
all day,' as he put it." Sam chuckled. "But no sooner'n I woke up, he found
plenty for me to do."

"I'll bet he did."

"How's your houseguest?" Sam asked,
his light-hearted mood fading.

"Better, I think," Frodo answered with a small
smile, "We talked quite a bit last night." He thought it wisest not to spell out
that he and Haldir had talked till near dawn; he was sure Sam would not approve.
"Ah, so he's talkin' now? Didn't strike me as bein' very friendly." Sam resumed
turning over spadefuls of earth as they chatted.

"I know you don't like him,
Sam," Frodo said before he could think better of it. "And I'm surprised, since
you've always had an interest in elves."

"Well, sir, this *particular* elf
ain't much like what I expected, if you follow. Not much at all."

"He's not a
bad fellow, you know. He's been through a lot in the past two days."

"Seemed to
me his manners left a lot to be desired, sir, if I can speak plain," Sam paused
in his work, giving Frodo his full attention. "Not to mention his attitude."
"His attitude is better now," Frodo said, a quick surge of defensiveness taking
him by surprise. "We had a wonderful talk about elves and Bilbo and many other
things."

"Did you find out what he's doin' in the Shire in the first place?"
"Yes, he bears a message for the elves of the Grey Havens. It's a matter of some
urgency."

"Awful high and mighty for an errand boy, ain't he?"

"It's a
dangerous journey, Sam, and he's traveled hundreds of leagues from his home.
It's not like carrying a letter from Hobbiton to Michel Delving."

Sam nodded,
though he looked skeptical. "That's all well and good, Mr. Frodo, but there's
just something about him... I won't be sorry to see him go."

"He's anxious to
leave and will do so as soon as he's able." Frodo assured him. "You won't have
to put up with him much longer."

"Nor will you, sir."  Sam pointed out as if he
thought Frodo needed reminding.

* * * 

Bound for the kitchen, Frodo paused
outside Haldir's door and lifted his hand to knock before reconsidering that
idea. He had enjoyed the time they had spent together very much, perhaps too
much, and found himself greatly looking forward to more long talks before the
elf had to leave. However, it was not talking that preoccupied Frodo at the
moment; his vivid dream remained all too clear. He chastised himself for the
direction his thoughts were taking. After all, Haldir was a stranger, and a Big
Person, and very male; all those reasons and a host of others precluded his
having the slightest interest in Frodo. The attraction was undoubtedly
one-sided.

He had just turned away from the door when he heard rustling
movement inside the room. On impulse he knocked.

"Enter." 

Haldir sat on the
edge of the bed, bare feet on the floor and apparently clad only in the sheet
pulled across his lap. The unexpected sight stole Frodo's breath; the legendary
beauty of the elves as described in tales was as nothing compared to the reality
before him, even more vibrant than his dream: broad shoulders, muscular chest,
lean, sinewy arms and legs dusted with golden hair... and piercing blue-grey
eyes. 

It was his eyes that held Frodo enthralled. Haldir was studying Frodo
just as intently as Frodo was studying him.

Frodo felt his face redden but
resisted the urge to look away. With an effort he managed to keep his voice
calm. "Good morning. How are you feeling?" 

Haldir smiled slightly, his voice
dry. "Not as well as I would like, but far better than I have been."

Frodo drew
closer, peering at the shoulder. Surprisingly, the bruising around the joint was
already beginning to fade.

"It is much better, though still a bit painful,"
Haldir commented.

"And your head?" 

"Dizzy if I move too quickly. Even so, I
am mending far more rapidly than your healer predicted."

"May I check on the
wound?"

At Haldir's nodded assent, Frodo climbed up, mindful of the
strategically placed sheet, and tentatively parted the elf's thick, smooth locks
to inspect the injury. The bump had gone down considerably and the cut itself
appeared to be healing well.

"This is looking much better. Shall I put some
salve on it for you?"

"If you like. It's there," Haldir gestured toward the
bedside table.

Frodo retrieved the jar of creamy white balm, flecked with green
and smelling strongly of mint, and scooped up a dollop. He applied it to the
bruised flesh as gently as he could manage, surprised to find that the salve
made his fingers feel warm and tingle pleasantly. Abruptly he noticed that his
fingers weren't all that was suddenly feeling warm and tingly. He scrambled down
off the bed and took refuge in mundane matters. 

"Do you feel like eating? I
can make us breakfast," Frodo offered.

"Breakfast sounds wonderful, thank you.
Have my clothes been returned?"

"Not yet." Frodo blushed again and turned
quickly away, darting to the wardrobe. "I should have thought to look before,"
he said over his shoulder as he threw open the doors. "Gandalf may have left
some things here that might fit you."

"Gandalf, you say?"

"Yes, he's the
family friend I spoke of," Frodo answered without turning. The bed creaked as
Haldir rose and wrapped himself in a blanket. He crossed the room to stand
nearby as Frodo opened drawers and inspected shelves. 

"Mithrandir." Haldir
said in wonderment. "You know him?"

Frodo looked up with an impish smile.
"You've been sleeping in his bed."

"You are full of surprises, my friend,"
Haldir chuckled.

"Apparently so," Frodo replied, pulling a rumpled bundle of
rough cloth from a low drawer. He shook it out to reveal a pair of large, loose
trousers, faded to an indeterminate color. Though Frodo felt quite relieved at
the discovery, Haldir seemed even more thankful.

* * * 

"I'm not known for my
skill in the kitchen, so simple fare will have to suffice," Frodo said wryly as
he scooped eggs scrambled with mushrooms into a serving bowl and placed it on
the table. He refilled Haldir's mug with tea, then his own, and sat down across
from the elf. 

Haldir eyed the table heavily laden with bacon, eggs, sausages,
bread, cheese, fruit, and half an apple pie. "I see no lack of skill here, but
if this is meager fare among your kind I would like to see your feasts."
"Hobbits appreciate good food, and lots of it," Frodo smiled. "Not only am I a
mediocre cook, but I'm also considered dangerously underfed."

At Haldir's
puzzled look he added, "Most hobbits are somewhat more... rounded than I."

"Ah.
More like your mate, then."

Frodo blinked at him in surprise. "My... what?"
Haldir gestured in the general direction of the garden. "Samwise. He is more
typical of hobbits?"

"Well, yes," Frodo stammered. "But he is not... that is,
we're not..." 

"I should not have assumed," Haldir said, studying Frodo
closely. "I meant no offense."
 
"I'm not offended, although Sam might be."

"I
don't understand. Is such a thing considered shameful among your people?" Haldir
ventured. "It is not among mine."

Frodo searched for the right words, striving
to keep his voice level. "It's not considered... normal." 

"Yet you care for
him."

"Yes," Frodo forced himself to meet the elf's thoughtful gaze. "But he
does not feel the same way."

Haldir's proud features softened in an expression
of gentle sympathy; unexpectedly he covered Frodo's hand with his and gave it a
quick squeeze. They finished their meal in silence.

* * * 

Immersed to his
elbows is soapy dishwater, Frodo pondered his conversation with Haldir.
Apparently it was all too obvious that Frodo had feelings for Sam, given the
conclusion the elf had drawn based on the little he'd seen them together. Frodo
felt foolish for mooning around like a besotted tweenager, yearning for someone
he could never have.

Perhaps it was spring fever, as Sam had jokingly suggested
days earlier. Certainly Frodo was lonely and had been for months following
Bilbo's unexpected departure. Sam's company took the edge off that loneliness,
but it just wasn't enough. It wasn't enough by half. 

The sound of the back
door opening caught his attention. Sam. He had politely but firmly declined
Frodo's offer to share the meal earlier, as he had declined all of Frodo's
overtures of friendship since -- 

Since they had encountered Haldir and their
comfortable routine had been dramatically disrupted. Frodo frowned. Was that why
Sam seemed so much more distant than usual? 

"Mr. Frodo?" The object of his
affections stood hesitantly in the doorway.

"Come in, Sam, and sit down. Would
you like some tea?" To his own ears Frodo sounded far too eager. He dried his
hands on a dish towel and drew a deep, steadying breath.

"No sir, but thank you
just the same," Sam replied. "I'm done with the vegetable garden and the Gaffer
wants me to help him this afternoon. I just wanted to tell you I'm goin' now."
"Oh. Well. Thank you for letting me know." Frodo managed to sound less concerned
than he felt.

"I'll be back in the mornin' as usual," Sam added before taking
his leave.

Frodo couldn't remember the last time Sam had gone home early.



5. 
Pacing the smial restlessly did nothing to improve Frodo's frame of mind after
Sam left. No matter how often he turned his thoughts away from his friend, in
the next moment they flew back to him as if they had a will of their own. Even
Mrs. Proudfoot, when she dropped off the laundry, remarked on his fey mood.
"You're looking a mite peaked today, Mr. Frodo," she informed him. "Don't know
how you manage, bein' up here alone all the time with no one to look after you."
It took all his restraint not to slam the door behind her.

Intending only to
distract himself from his jumbled thoughts, Frodo sought out Haldir. He found
him sitting cross-legged on the floor of the study, paging through a thick book
bound in crumbling brown leather. The late-afternoon sun streaming through the
window turned his silver-blond hair to shining gold.

"What are you reading?"
Frodo asked conversationally, settling down on the floor nearby.

"An account of
the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. A sad tale."

"The fifth battle of Beleriand, where
Fingon fell."

"I would do well to remember that you are a scholar, Frodo. You
probably know these stories better than I do."

"I'd hardly say that!" The
obvious flattery made Frodo laugh in spite of his mood. Impulsively he asked,
"Read to me?"

Haldir arched an eyebrow in a characteristic gesture of surprise,
but seemed willing. "From the beginning?"

"You choose." 

Frodo let his eyes
drift closed in enjoyment as Haldir began reading. His voice was low and rich,
evenly measured. The language of the elves was truly beautiful when read by a
native speaker; even this sorrowful tale seemed musical and sweet. It quickly
dissipated Frodo's earlier mood; he found himself smiling, letting the words
wash over him, but came to realize he was listening to the voice far more than
the tale when that voice paused.

His eyes flew open to find Haldir watching him
with an intent, feline expression. The elf didn't seem at all abashed at having
been caught staring; rather, he gave Frodo a slow, pleased smile.

Frodo felt
almost as if he had been the one caught out, transfixed as he had been by
Haldir's voice. The silence between them fairly crackled and Haldir continued to
gaze steadily at him as if waiting for something. 

"How long before you must
leave?" Frodo finally asked, though the question held an odd sinking feeling,
something akin to disappointment.

"Perhaps a day. Perhaps two." 

Frodo nodded,
eyes cast downward. Though he feared betraying his foolish emotions once more,
he spoke what he felt. "I will be sad to see you go."

"I will be sorry to leave
as well." 

Another weighty pause. Haldir said, "May I ask you a question?"

"Of
course." Frodo wondered briefly at the request -- after all, they had asked each
other a great many questions already -- before Haldir moved so they sat side by
side, much as they had done the previous night as they had perused maps
together. He rested a hand lightly between Frodo's shoulder blades, sensing as
much as hearing Frodo's shaky in-drawn breath, feeling a quick tensing of the
wiry muscles.

He began to stroke gently across Frodo's shoulders. "When I did
this last night, you seemed to enjoy it, but then you pulled away as if I had
somehow made you uncomfortable. Why?"

Caught off guard, Frodo considered his
options and found he had no good answer. He could point out the obvious, that it
had been quite late and he had been tired, but he hesitated to sidestep the
issue that way. He wouldn't lie, yet he was reluctant to speak the truth. And
Haldir was watching him again, waiting, and he couldn't think, pinned as he was
by that searching gaze. 

"Because I feared I enjoyed it too much." Though
barely more than a whisper, Frodo forced the words out and looked up hesitantly
to meet Haldir's eyes.

"Are you not allowed to enjoy yourself?" Haldir's
innocent tone belied the knowing smile curving his lips.

Once again Frodo had
no ready response. He settled on a reply that bypassed all the things he
presently could not put into words. Just as he had done the night before, he
leaned back into the warmth of Haldir's touch.

It seemed to be the right
approach, for the elf gave a little satisfied sigh and shifted closer, resting
both hands softly on Frodo's shoulders. He began to massage the tight muscles
there, gently at first, easing Frodo's tension before increasing the pressure
and roaming farther down his back. 

Frodo let his eyes drift closed once more,
determined not to be timid. He had rejected this simple pleasure the night
before as the misguided result of his own insecurities, but now... He pressed
harder against Haldir's hands and savored the harder strokes he received in
return. The elf traced vigorous, tingling paths from neck to waist, although
hampered somewhat by Frodo's braces.

Impulsively Frodo pulled the braces off
his shoulders, then tugged his shirttail free in an unspoken request. Haldir
slipped his hands under the finely woven linen and ran light fingers over
Frodo's skin, raising wave after wave of shivers. He was not massaging now so
much as simply caressing, tracing the ridge of Frodo's spine, the angle of his
shoulder blades, the sweep of his ribs. 

Frodo wondered what response was
appropriate on his part, other than silent acquiescence, and how any other
response -- such as stripping off his shirt, which he wished desperately to do
-- might be interpreted. Quite against his intentions a little wordless sound
escaped his lips, part pleasure and part frustration. 

"Do you like that?"
Haldir leaned closer, his warm breath brushing Frodo's ear like the ghost of a
caress.

Frodo nodded. He didn't have words to describe just how much he liked
it, and didn't trust his voice at that moment anyway. 

The tantalizing fingers
slid around to graze Frodo's sides, a featherlight touch that under different
circumstances would have tickled. The telltale heat and fullness in his groin
was fast becoming difficult to ignore -- or conceal -- and when Haldir began
tracing tingling paths across Frodo's chest and belly, it became near impossible
to maintain any sense of composure. Frodo shivered again and managed, in a rough
whisper, a question to which he suspected he knew the answer. "Haldir, do you
mean to seduce me?"

"Would you like me to?" 

Only one answer seemed possible
to Frodo at that moment: "Yes." 

He darted a quick, wide-eyed glance over his
shoulder to gauge the elf's response. Haldir gave him a wicked grin before
tugging playfully at Frodo's shirt.

"In that case, *this* has been annoying me
for too long already. May I?" Haldir unfastened the top buttons with deft
fingers and slipped the shirt over Frodo's head, then bent to brush dark curls
aside and press his lips to the delicate skin at Frodo's nape. Though part of
Frodo's mind had trouble believing what was happening, his body was reacting
most enthusiastically to the leisurely kisses Haldir trailed along the graceful
curve of his throat.

Frodo suddenly felt as impatient as a tweenager. Haldir's
attentions were unhurried and luxuriant, like a slow, soaking spring rain, but
Frodo craved the overwhelming sudden intensity of a summer  downpour. He ached
to be swept away, lost in sensation, and it wasn't happening near fast enough.
He twisted in the elf's embrace, shifting around so they faced one another. It
was unnerving to be so close to such beauty and grace, allowed for the first
time to run exploring hands over Haldir's bare chest, over pale skin and firm,
sculpted muscle. Frodo wanted to drink in the sight of the elf's perfect body
and learn every angle and curve of it, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from
the intense gaze that held him fast. Flushed and in awe at his own boldness,
Frodo rose to his knees and leaned forward to lightly fit their lips together.
For the space of a heartbeat neither moved, then Haldir nuzzled Frodo's cheek
and pulled away slightly, catching Frodo's hands where they rested on his chest. 
"Your hands are shaking. Are you sure this is what you want?"

"Yes." Frodo
breathed, his heart racing. 

Haldir raised an eyebrow, studying Frodo's face
and evaluating his answer. Frodo didn't flinch from the inspection but lifted
his chin defiantly. 

Apparently satisfied, Haldir guided Frodo to straddle his
lap, then cupped Frodo's smooth cheek and pulled him close for a deep, lingering
kiss. Haldir's lips were soft and gently demanding, his tongue curling
seductively around Frodo's to taste and explore, savoring Frodo's eager
response. Haldir kissed him long and thoroughly before withdrawing -- or trying
to. But Frodo claimed Haldir's mouth again greedily, refusing to let him pull
away even an inch and soon leaving them both gasping for breath.

"Slowly now.
Let us enjoy this," Haldir soothed in a whisper, though not displeased at
Frodo's obvious enthusiasm. If he had been able to speak, Frodo would have
assured Haldir that he *was* enjoying it. He molded his body as closely as
possible to Haldir's, thrilled by the silky glide of skin against skin and
delighting in Haldir's strong arms holding him tight. It had been far too long
since anyone had held him like this.

Despite Haldir's coaxing, Frodo couldn't
slow down. His body trembled with the force of his desire, unexpectedly kindled
and now burning like wildfire. Every inch of his skin cried out to be touched,
and he squirmed restlessly in Haldir's lap. Haldir resumed kissing him, languid
and deliberate, refusing to yield to Frodo's wordless pleading. He finally
caught Frodo firmly by the hips to still him and slowed their pace until Frodo
whimpered in frustration. 

"When I said slowly, Frodo Baggins, I meant it. We
shall do this right or not at all." Though Haldir's voice was stern, the corners
of his mouth turned up in a hint of a smile. 

Frodo gazed at him imploringly,
hoping that all his desire and frustration showed in his expressive eyes. "Then
let us do it right... but please, let us do it *right now*."

Haldir chuckled
and moved to disentangle their limbs. "That will require a bed, not a carpet.
Come." He offered Frodo a hand and pulled him to his feet.



6. 

Haldir's
massive bed was soft and yielding, the elf's body solid and muscular stretched
alongside Frodo's. Long, deep kisses and unhurried caresses were stretching
Frodo's patience past the point of endurance. He yearned to push Haldir onto his
back and brazenly straddle his hips, wanted to demand more contact, *now*. A
frustrated moan escaped him and he hooked a leg over Haldir's, bringing their
bodies into closer alignment. 

"Mmm, yes, that's better," Haldir murmured,
cupping Frodo's firm backside and causing him to squirm. "But I would like it
far more without these in the way." He slid a finger under the waistband of
Frodo's trousers, then set to unfastening them, pausing after each button to
claim another lingering kiss. Though Frodo longed to pull the offending garment
off quickly and kick it away, Haldir seemed intent on teasing Frodo throughout
the whole process. Once the buttons were undone, Haldir slid the soft fabric
down inch by excruciating inch and stroked the creamy skin as it was gradually
revealed. Frodo felt oddly torn between wanting to lie naked and wanton in the
elf's arms and hiding beneath the sheets, suddenly self-conscious. In the end,
lying exposed won out, though his heart pounded nervously.

Haldir surveyed
Frodo's perfectly proportioned body, drinking in the sight of his smooth chest,
flat belly, lean thighs, and eager arousal. He looked up to meet Frodo's eyes
with an appreciative smile. "You have a lovely body."

"I must seem very small
to you," Frodo said uncertainly. 

"No, not at all. You are perfect. I enjoy
looking at you." Haldir guided Frodo's leg over his hip and settled Frodo's hips
snugly against his belly. Frodo's eyes squeezed shut of their own accord at the
feel of his sensitive flesh pressed close to the elf's velvety skin. 

"Open
your eyes," Haldir directed. Frodo tipped his face up to find that the elf had
that heavy-lidded, catlike expression again. He forced himself to hold that
intense gaze as Haldir kneaded Frodo's backside and explored the cleft between
his cheeks with gentle, curious fingers, grazing lightly over his tight opening. 
"Do you like that?"

"Oh yes," Frodo sighed.

Haldir's hand traced a path up and
over a sharp hipbone to slide between them and gently clasp and stroke Frodo's
hardness. 

"And that?"

"*Yes*."

"I thought so." Haldir stroked the swollen
head with his thumb, slicking it with the droplets already welling up. With his
eyes locked provocatively on Frodo's, he brought his thumb to his mouth and
tasted the clear liquid. 

Frodo's eyes widened and he covered the elf's hand
with his. Frodo guided it to his mouth and lapped at the pad of Haldir's thumb
before encircling the digit with his lips and sucking gently. A flutter of the
elf's eyelids told Frodo the gesture had sent a jolt directly where he had
intended. Delighted at being able to return a bit of Haldir's teasing, Frodo
slid the digit in and out of his mouth, circling it with his tongue, until
Haldir finally growled in mock frustration.

Growing bolder by the minute, Frodo
reached down and pulled at the waist of Haldir's loose trousers. "Off with
these." 

The elf rolled languidly onto his back. "If you want them off, *you*
take them off."

With a mischievous smile, Frodo quickly untied the drawstring
with fingers that only stumbled nervously for an instant. Forgoing Haldir's
slow, tantalizing approach, he tugged at the garment until the elf lifted his
hips and allowed Frodo to slide it down and away. Frodo caught his breath at the
sight of Haldir's impressive erection, seized by an irresistible urge to take it
into his mouth. He leaned close, combing his fingers through the silky curls at
its base and wrapping his hand around the thick shaft, but stopped short when
Haldir squeezed his shoulder. "Come here," the elf murmured.

Frodo settled face
to face with Haldir and was immediately guided onto his back as the elf took
charge once more. Haldir lowered his mouth to suck at a small dark nipple that
quickly pebbled at his touch, then turned his attentions to its mate. Frodo
twined his fingers in the elf's long hair -- thick and perfectly straight, so
different from hobbit curls -- as Haldir's tongue traced a leisurely path down
his chest and belly, pausing to explore his navel. He nuzzled Frodo's stiff
member, running his tongue lightly from root to tip before backing away to
nibble at the ticklish juncture of hip and thigh. Frodo whimpered softly in
frustration. Yes, this was really happening, but not nearly quickly enough.
Rational thought was fast slipping away and Frodo relinquished it willingly.
Haldir skimmed Frodo's shaft with his tongue again, then pulled back to taste
the soft skin at the inside of Frodo's thigh. He continued that approach until
Frodo finally exclaimed, "You are teasing the life out of me!" 

"So impatient!"
Haldir murmured with a chuckle. But he relented, covering Frodo's arousal with
his lips and engulfing its full length, immersing Frodo in wet heat that set off
exhilarating shock waves throughout his body. He felt himself shaking; it had
been too many years since he had enjoyed a lover's intimate touch. He truly
would have to heed Haldir's cautions, otherwise it would be over much too soon.
Frodo held himself very still, resisting the urge to thrust, but propped himself
on his elbows, the better to watch. As he expected, the elf was in no hurry and
tasted and tongued him at length, building up to a rhythm only gradually. All
Frodo's senses narrowed to that single point, wetness and warmth and spiraling
pleasure that threatened to overpower him. But when he tensed in anticipation,
dangerously close to his peak, Haldir stopped abruptly.

"Oh no," Haldir
breathed. "Not yet."

Frodo dropped his head back onto the pillows with a shaky
sigh, seriously doubting his ability to resist much longer. He was surprised
when his lover sat up and moved away, but Haldir reached for the healer's little
jar of salve on the bedside table and settled himself comfortably between
Frodo's legs. Though Frodo knew by now that Haldir would take his own good time,
he shifted impatiently, breathless with desire. The elf gently spread Frodo's
legs and pushed them back to provide better access, slicking his cleft with the
slippery substance. The balm made Frodo's skin feel pleasantly hot and the
strong fragrance of mint filled the air.

"Slowly, now," Haldir reminded him,
breaching the sensitive ring of muscle with the tip of a finger, only gradually
sliding inside to seek the hidden pleasure point. Frodo gasped and thrust
reflexively against the pressure, then writhed under a sudden wave of sensation
as Haldir found what he sought and stroked it again and again. Without thinking
Frodo reached for himself, so hard now that he ached, but the elf caught his
wrist.

"Not yet."

Haldir's eyes never left Frodo's as Frodo bucked and ground
down forcefully against his hand. Slowly he ran his tongue along Frodo's
straining member before taking it into his mouth once more. Frodo's eyes
fluttered closed, his breath growing short and fast. He was at the mercy of his
senses now, at the elf's mercy, and he surrendered utterly, quickly becoming
overwhelmed.

"Ah, *now*!" Frodo cried out in belated warning as the first surge
took him by surprise, a blinding rush of pleasure that stretched on and on,
obliterating thought, leaving him trembling and breathless in its wake. Nothing
compared to this, nothing. When he collected himself enough to open his eyes, he
found Haldir leaning over him, a rapt expression on his face. The elf pressed a
kiss to Frodo's damp forehead, then gathered him into a close embrace, resting
one hand lightly over Frodo's pounding heart.

As they lay quietly holding each
other for a few moments, Frodo found it near impossible to order his scattered
thoughts. Although he had yearned for this, he had never expected it to happen. 
It was like a gift of the Valar and he intended to savor every moment to the
fullest. With that idea firmly in mind, he stirred and eased Haldir onto his
back, pausing to admire his powerful, masculine form. The elf smiled indulgently
and stretched his arms over his head in a languid display of well-defined
muscles. Frodo leaned down to kiss him ardently, tasting his own essence on
Haldir's tongue. Though Frodo would have liked to subject Haldir to the same
protracted teasing he had endured, he knew it was beyond him to administer such
treatment at the moment. He settled for tracing a path of lingering kisses from
the elf's throat to his groin. 

The erotic dream that had awakened Frodo that
morning flooded back in full force. He bent his head and nuzzled the golden
curls, drinking in the sweetly musky scent and moist warmth. He touched his lips
to the base of the velvety hardness, grazed soft kisses along its length until
he reached the sensitive head. As in his dream, clear beads of moisture gathered
there, and he touched his tongue to the oozing slit, drawing a low hiss from
Haldir. Forcing himself to go slowly, Frodo wrapped his lips around the head and
swirled his tongue over the heated flesh until Haldir shifted under his touch
with a soft groan. He took in more of the thick shaft, wrapped his hand around
the base, and carefully began to move, alternating the wet embrace of his lips
with long strokes of his tongue. 

Soon Haldir's breath began to grow ragged and
he whispered Frodo's name, slipping into elvish with his murmurs of
encouragement and pleasure. Eager to please, Frodo quickened the pace, drawing
him in deeper and stroking harder, at last causing the elf to toss his head and
clutch convulsively at Frodo's shoulder in unspoken warning. With a shudder and
a wordless cry Haldir arched up and spilled forcefully, surprising Frodo with
the copious rush. Frodo swallowed, and swallowed again, delighted to be able to
give such intense pleasure. Breathless but quite unwilling to let go, he
lovingly licked Haldir clean as the elf lay back with a sigh. 

Frodo returned
to snuggle beside Haldir and buried his face in the elf's neck, one arm thrown
possessively across his broad chest. He whispered against the sweat-dampened
skin, "I have been so lonely." 

"I know, meleth," Haldir murmured against his
tousled curls. "Have I eased your loneliness at all?"

"Oh yes." Frodo raised
his head to favor Haldir with a sweet smile. "More than I can say."

Haldir
brushed Frodo's hair back from his face and returned the smile, though Frodo
thought he detected a hint of sadness in his lover's clear grey eyes. Although
they had not spoken of it, Frodo knew then, without a doubt, that Haldir was
painfully lonely too.



7. 

Frodo awoke to the comforting warmth of a solid
body snuggled against his back and powerful arms cradling him close. Even before
he opened his eyes, a smile spread across his face as he recalled the night
before. He rolled over to find Haldir wide awake.

"Mmm. I'm so happy you're
here," Frodo murmured drowsily.

They shared a lazy, lingering kiss. "I'm happy
you feel that way." 

Frodo blinked the sleep from his eyes as he realized much
of his weight rested against the elf's injured right shoulder. Concerned, he
shifted away. "I'm sorry; how is your shoulder?"

Haldir pulled him back into
the circle of his arms. "Much better. Close to normal, in fact." 

Frodo opened
his mouth to speak, thought better of it, and looked away. This was not the time
to bring up the subject of Haldir's leaving.

With a gentle hand, the elf turned
Frodo's face back toward him. "Let us take today and enjoy each other's company.
I can spare a little time."

Frodo breathed a small sigh of relief. Just the
thought of parting caused him to feel lonely and sorry for himself; he was
grateful that Haldir was willing to put it off a while longer.

"Well then, If
you're feeling up to it, let's go walking today," Frodo suggested. "The
countryside is beautiful this time of year..." 

"Yes, that sounds lovely,"
Haldir replied, his voice somewhat muffled as he buried his face in the silky
skin of Frodo's throat. The nibbling kisses he bestowed there raised shivers and
caused Frodo to sigh blissfully.

"We could take a picnic lunch..." Frodo
continued in an unsteady voice.

"Mmm-hmm." Haldir ran his tongue up the rim of
Frodo's ear and sucked on the sensitive tip. Frodo caught his breath, swallowed
hard, and abandoned all thought of conversation.

"Or we perhaps we should just
stay in bed a while longer..."

"A fine idea." 

* * * 

As Haldir finished in
the bath, Frodo made tea and laid out a light breakfast. His thoughts turned to
Sam; though it was well past dawn, Bag End's grounds were deserted. He wondered
if something unexpected had happened, since Sam never failed to show up with the
sun. Frodo smiled wryly to himself, realizing he had been successful in putting
his troublesome obsession with his friend completely out of his mind since the
previous evening. Haldir's company was proving to be a most enjoyable
distraction. 

But it was more than a mere distraction, Frodo thought, trying to
pinpoint exactly how he felt about the elf. Beyond the powerful physical
attraction, he felt respect and trust and, yes, deep affection for Haldir. Not
the same affection he held for Sam, but how could it be, when the two were so
dissimilar? Where Sam was comfortable, the elf was challenging. Sam was steady,
Haldir unpredictable. Sam was unfailingly loyal, and Haldir... Haldir would soon
leave, and nothing would change that fact. Though Frodo told himself it
reflected not at all on whatever feelings the elf might have for him, he
couldn't repress a sinking sense of loss and abandonment. *You're being
foolish*, he scolded himself. *Make the most of what you have and expect nothing
beyond that.* With a sigh he fetched a large old wicker basket from one of the
pantries and set himself to making sandwiches. He was looking forward to their
picnic and resolved to set any gloomy thoughts aside. 

Frodo didn't know how
long Haldir had been standing silently in the doorway, watching him. When he
finally looked up, their eyes met and Frodo let an appreciative smile spread
across his face. Haldir was dressed in his own clothes for the first time in
days. The long-sleeved black tunic and leggings contrasted strongly with his
silver-blond hair and pale skin, and the dove-colored woolen jerkin made his
eyes seem more grey than blue. 

Haldir quirked an eyebrow, the corners of his
mouth twitching upward. "Yes?"

"You look... stunning."

"So this suits me
better than Mithrandir's castoffs?" 

"Far better." Frodo unexpectedly
snickered. "It shall be our secret that you were in his pants, so to speak. And
his bed for that matter."

Haldir feigned a shudder. "I like Mithrandir, but I
do not like him *that* well."

* * * 

"We'll head north toward Overhill," Frodo
explained. "There's a path leading away to the west, into the woods. It's one of
my favorite places for a walk and I think you'll like it." 

Frodo led the way
through Bag End's front gate and set a leisurely pace down the hill. Haldir
insisted on carrying the well-laden basket and found he had to shorten his long
strides to allow his smaller companion to keep up. Before they reached the first
bend in the road, Frodo exclaimed, "Ah, I've forgotten the blanket!"

Haldir
arched an amused eyebrow. "What are you planning that will require a blanket?"
"Can't have a picnic without a blanket to sit on, of course."

"Hmm. So it has
nothing to do with a seduction in the wilderness?" Haldir's voice dropped
suggestively, causing Frodo to look up at him with a delighted grin.

"That
would certainly make better use of the blanket!" Frodo chuckled. "Wait here a
moment and I'll go fetch it." He trotted off up the hill, leaving the elf
leaning against a tree, arms crossed, watching him with a fond smile.

Despite
the intimacy they had shared, Frodo remained something of a puzzle to Haldir.
They had quickly formed the foundations of an easy friendship, but friendship
was one thing and this... this was something entirely different. Friendship
didn't adequately explain Haldir's fascination with the halfling, nor his
apparently unquenchable urge to touch him. Though his common sense told him that
he never should have entered into such an unusual liaison, his heart told him
otherwise. He'd long ago come to understand that a solitary existence was most
natural for him, but even so, Frodo could easily ensnare him, if he allowed it.
He could feel the bond between them strengthening with every moment they spent
together. Though he knew there was no avoiding their circumstances, Haldir
already regretted having to leave. He turned that thought aside; they had today
and would make the most of it.

* * * 

Gently rolling grassy hills gave way to
a forest of beech, oak and maple that thickened as the path wound on. The high
canopy diffused the strong sunlight to a green-gold glow, and the air was alive
with birdsong and the sighing of leaves in the gentle breeze. 

Frodo led Haldir
through the trees to overlook a tiny crystal-blue lake set between the arms of
the hills, fed by a clear spring that rushed over tumbled chunks of granite.
Haldir smiled in appreciation. "Shall we go down?"

"Well, there's no path down
the hill, but I expect we can manage it." 

Haldir led the way effortlessly
through tangled underbrush and steep, uneven terrain. From time to time he
reached out a hand to steady Frodo or help him find his footing. When they
reached the bottom of the slope, Frodo was breathless and both he and Haldir had
bits of leaves and twigs clinging to their hair and clothing. They exchanged a
glance and snickered like children at each other's disheveled appearance.

They
took their time meandering around the margin of the lake, admiring the silvery
fish that darted just below the surface, before spreading an old, faded blanket
on a swath of lush grass nearby for their picnic. Haldir watched, mildly amused,
as Frodo set out plates and glasses, sandwiches wrapped in paper, fruit, cheese,
a custard, and half a dozen little blueberry tarts. 

"Yet another hobbit
feast," Haldir observed. "How did you fit all that food into so small a basket?"
"Years of practice," Frodo replied cheerfully. "Care for some wine?"
Conversation tapered off as they ate, until finally Frodo lay back with a
satisfied sigh, letting his eyes drift closed.

"Mmm, I could almost doze off
now," he murmured, "except I wouldn't want to miss a moment of this glorious
day."

Haldir lounged on his side nearby, his head propped on his hand and a
smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "The day is still young -- is there
nothing that might make it even better?"

Frodo opened languid eyes to find the
elf gazing at him intently. "Yes. Come here."

"Insatiable creature." Haldir
leaned over Frodo to kiss him, soft and slow. "I was merely suggesting a nap in
the sun."

"Oh, indeed." With a mischievous smile that brought dimples to his
cheeks, Frodo turned away and curled on his side as if to sleep, eyes closed.
Immediately Haldir spooned up behind him and wrapped a possessive arm around his
middle. Frodo settled his backside against Haldir's hips and wriggled
provocatively.

"You are a shameless tease!" Haldir exclaimed, laughing.

"Ah,
but I'm not teasing."

"Indeed. Who would think such an innocent-looking hobbit
would be a born seducer?" 

"You're a fine one to talk! You, my friend, are the
very personification of seduction." 

Haldir chuckled. "I am flattered, but that
does not make me immune to your charms."

"And what charms would those be?"
"Those lovely eyes of yours, for one," Haldir replied, his voice growing velvety
and intimate as he nuzzled Frodo's ear. "Your lips, which I cannot resist
kissing. Your skin that fairly begs to be touched."

"Oh? Tell me more." Frodo
purred, smug as a cat lapping cream. 

"There's this little spot *here*" -- he
nibbled the tender skin of Frodo's throat, drawing a gasp --" and here..." His
fingers grazed a peaked nipple through soft linen.

"And here," Frodo prompted,
catching the elf's hand and guiding it downward.

"Ah yes, there." Haldir
stroked Frodo's stiffening flesh lightly through his trousers. 

"And what about
here?" Frodo pressed backward and rubbed his rounded backside against the elf's
growing hardness. 

"Mmm, yes, that's certainly *foremost* among your charms,"
Haldir murmured, clasping Frodo's hip to pull him closer. 

Frodo sighed and
began to move his hips in a slow rhythm, his eyes drifting closed at the
sensation of the elf's hard length sliding against his cheeks. Yes, this was
teasing, but he teased himself as much as his lover, remembering all they had
done together and dreaming of all they had yet to do. He heard Haldir catch his
breath, long fingers tightening on Frodo's hip. 

"You drive me mad with wanting
you, Frodo!"

Frodo cast a wicked glance over his shoulder. "Oh, but I'm just
getting started." He sat up and shrugged out of his braces, then quickly
unbuttoned his shirt, exposing his slender, flawless chest to his lover's
attentive gaze. Carelessly he shed the fine linen and unbuttoned his trousers,
tugging them down unceremoniously and tossing them aside before lying back
against the warm blanket. The caress of the soft breeze and the kiss of the
strong sunlight felt deliciously wanton, but Haldir's eyes on him felt nothing
short of erotic. Feeling a little breathless, Frodo trailed his fingertips down
his chest, shivering at his own touch. His hands brushed lightly over dark
nipples already standing erect, glided over his flat stomach, and lingered near
his groin, pausing to gauge the elf's reaction. Haldir watched, transfixed, his
lips moist and slightly parted, as Frodo took himself in hand, stroking lightly
and never taking his eyes off his lover's. The spine-tingling thrill that
coursed through Frodo was almost more than he could bear, and he nearly moaned
in frustration, suddenly hoping in spite of himself that Haldir would soon stop
this game.

"You do mean to drive me to madness!" Haldir groaned dramatically,
leaning to steal a brief kiss and cover Frodo's wayward hand with his own. 
"Perhaps. Or perhaps just to the point where you lose control. *That* I would
like to see." Frodo  relinquished his grasp, leaving the elf's hand poised on
him tantalizingly but, for the moment, still. 

"I do not give up control
easily," Haldir said wryly. "And if I were to lose myself, I would fear injuring
you."

Frodo rolled onto his side and began unfastening the delicate silver
clasps of the elf's jerkin. "You won't hurt me, Haldir; I'm not all that
fragile." He paused, studying the deep, ageless eyes locked onto his.  "Does it
seem very strange to you, having a lover who is so much smaller?"

The elf gave
him a warm smile, running a hand appreciatively along the dip of Frodo's side
and the slight curve of his hip. "Not strange, just... out of the ordinary. I
find myself forgetting our differences until something brings them to mind. Like
fearing to be too rough with you, for instance."

"I... didn't know that was a
concern. Please don't feel you must be careful with me." Frodo said,
deliberately concealing a twinge of disappointment. "I don't want you to be
careful." The final clasp fell open under his fingers and he reached for the
laces of the elf's tunic. 

"All right then, I will be just careful enough to
avoid hurting you, but not a bit more than that. Does that please you?"

"It
will do." Frodo gave him an appraising glance, letting his eyes roam down the
length of Haldir's body. With a mischievous smile he ran a hand under the hem of
the elf's tunic, avidly seeking bare skin. "At the moment I would be pleased to
have you out of all these clothes."

"It does appear I am lagging behind in that
area," Haldir chuckled. He sat up and stripped off jerkin and tunic in one
swift, fluid motion, then his high black boots. As his hands moved to the
lacings of his leggings, he paused and gave Frodo a sly look. "I should teach
you a lesson about teasing, dear one, but I suspect I do not have the patience
to torment you properly."

Frodo's eyes sparkled with merriment. "So those vast
reserves of patience you showed me last night have run out?"

"On the contrary,
you have been a bad influence on me," Haldir answered with a smirk. "I have
grown nearly as impatient as you." As if to prove it, he made short work of his
lacings and tugged the garment down quickly over lean hips, then settled next to
Frodo again with a smug look.

Frodo knew he would never get enough of the sight
of the elf's hard, muscular form, nor the intoxicating warmth of it stretched
firmly against him. He wriggled closer, a wicked grin lighting his face at the
feel of the insistent heat nudging his thigh. "Yes, and your impatience is
showing itself." He tipped his face up for a hungry, lingering kiss, opening his
eyes at last to find the elf studying him thoughtfully.

"Tell me, Frodo, does
our size difference not seem odd to you?" 

Frodo considered for a moment. "It
did at first, but now... Some aspects of it I quite approve of. Like this."
Without breaking eye contact he boldly reached down between them to cup Haldir's
substantial length. The elf's eyes fluttered closed briefly and he pushed hard
against Frodo's hand, then leaned to claim his mouth, more demanding this time,
tongue intent on possessing. With a soft moan Frodo responded ardently,
caressing that searching tongue with his own. He could never get enough of the
elf's kisses, never; they were like strong wine on an empty stomach, leaving him
dizzy but craving more. And the feel of that hot, needy flesh cupped snugly in
his hand was enough to drive thoughts of all else from his mind, enough to make
his own hardness throb in response. He caught Haldir's hand and guided it to
where it was most desperately needed. 

"Unfortunately," Haldir murmured between
increasingly heated kisses, "those differences do make certain other
activities... impractical." 

Frodo smiled against the elf's lips, his pulse
racing at the suggestion. "But not impossible." 

"Perhaps."

Gracefully Frodo
twisted in his lover's arms, hooking his leg over Haldir's and settling his
backside snugly against that generous length. "I would very much like to find
out," Frodo breathed. Haldir didn't reply, but grasped Frodo's hip as they began
to rock slowly, discovering the way their bodies fit together. Frodo wished
fervently to be pinned firmly beneath Haldir's glorious body and taken
thoroughly, for as long as they could last -- impractical or not. And though the
slide of the elf's impossibly hot, velvety smooth skin against his cheeks was
pleasurable, he ached for more than this tantalizing touch. 

With a smooth
motion Frodo spread his legs and captured that velvet heat between his thighs,
hearing Haldir catch his breath, feeling slickness begin to coat his skin as
they faltered and shifted and set a new rhythm. Haldir's shaft rubbed against
Frodo enticingly, nudging him from behind and below and scattering his thoughts
as his every sense focused on that feeling. The elf gave a soft hum of pleasure
and engulfed Frodo's hardness with his hand, spreading the seeping droplets
across the swollen head with his thumb. A little moan escaped Frodo and Haldir
quickened their pace in response. Frodo wrapped his fingers around Haldir's
hand, stroking together now, and cried out in desperation, "Ah, Haldir, this
isn't enough! I want -- you know what I want. Please." Sharp teeth nipped at the
tip of Frodo's ear, drawing an appreciative whimper. 

"Yes, Frodo, but not
here, not now." The elf's low, husky voice as much as his words sent a thrill
rippling down Frodo's spine.

"You would want that? With me?" Frodo gasped,
delighted.

"Ah, Frodo, I would bury myself deep in you and make you cry out my
name," Haldir growled.

"Yes, yes!" Frodo sobbed, pushed over the edge by the
raw desire in his lover's voice. He clamped down hard with his thighs as the
wave of pleasure swelled to bursting and blocked out all else but the intense
throbbing at the center of his being. He rode the wave, breathless, spurting
long and hard over their joined hands. When at last he stilled, he pressed his
face into the soft cotton of the blanket as if seeking the stability of the soft
turf beneath it. Warm breath caressed his ear, soft kisses smoothed his curls.
As conscious thought crept back, Frodo shifted and gave Haldir's hand, still
entwined with his, a quick squeeze and released it to clasp instead the
insistent hardness nestled between his thighs. The slippery essence coating his
hand glided luxuriantly over the sensitive skin, drawing a low hiss of pleasure
from the elf. Frodo arched his back into the easy push and slide, sighing a
little in counterpoint to his lover's tightly controlled breathing. Wet fingers
gripped Frodo's hip fiercely, anchoring him for forceful thrusts that Frodo
returned just as forcefully. The images vivid in his mind's eye continued to
inflame him, and he gasped, "Haldir, ride me hard, love!" wishing it were truly
so. 

He felt as much as heard the elf's sharply indrawn breath, felt the sudden
tensing of muscles in belly and thigh. "Frodo!" Haldir called out in warning as
the force of those final thrusts rolled Frodo almost onto his stomach; like a
leaf swept before the wind he yielded completely, relishing his lover's
strength. Haldir pressed his forehead into Frodo's curls and gritted his teeth
against a cry that would not be restrained, then Frodo felt the throbbing and
hot rush between his legs almost as if it were his own, sparking a tingle of his
own renewed arousal.  

The stillness that followed was punctuated only by
ragged breathing and the whisper of the light breeze. Haldir rolled onto his
back, pulling Frodo into a tender, sated embrace, heated skin slick with sweat.
Unexpectedly wave after wave of shivers took Frodo, though he was far from cold;
without a word Haldir flipped the edge of the blanket over both of them. 

"Ah,
Haldir," Frodo murmured drowsily against his lover's shoulder, "I am yours, body
and soul. Do with me as you will."

The elf pressed a kiss to his damp forehead,
voice rough with emotion. "And I am yours, Frodo, more than you know."

Moments
later they drifted into light, blissful slumber, caressed by the radiant
afternoon sun.

* * *    

Gentle fingertips traced the strong line of Frodo's
jaw, trailed down the curve of his throat to linger at the center of his chest.
A warm palm pressed itself flat there, sensing his heartbeat and riding the
steady rise and fall of his breath. At the brief press of familiar lips on his,
Frodo opened his eyes. Haldir hovered over him, leaning on one elbow, a soft
smile lighting his normally stern features.

Without speaking Frodo returned the
smile warmly, studying Haldir as if seeing him for the first time. Wonderingly
he lifted a hand to his lover's face, outlining the strong arch of a dark brow,
the ridge of a high cheekbone, the sculpted curve of his lips. This was not the
cold, harsh elf he and Sam had encountered days earlier on the East Road; this
person was warm and generous, a considerate lover and a loyal friend. Had Haldir
changed, or merely Frodo's perceptions of him? No matter; Frodo's heart swelled
with joy at his mere presence. He leaned up to claim a long, deep kiss.

"Did
you sleep well?" Haldir asked, resting a possessive hand lightly on Frodo's
belly.

"Wonderfully well," Frodo said with a contented sigh. He stretched his
arms over his head and arched his back, catlike. "You?"

"Oh yes. How could I
not, with you next to me?" He kissed Frodo again, tenderly, and resumed his
leisurely exploration of Frodo's skin, skimming over his chest and throat as if
to commit the sight and feel of him to memory. 

Although the lingering
attention was delightful, Frodo was not content to lie back passively. He turned
onto his side, equally interested in exploring Haldir's glorious body. Much of
it was familiar to him -- though not nearly as familiar as he would like --
while whole expanses of fine ivory skin remained to be savored with eyes, lips,
and tongue. He raised a hand to caress the elf's shoulder, where not the
slightest hint of the recent injury was evident, and stroked down his arm,
admiring the well-defined muscles. Frodo's hand looked small even to his own
eyes, compared to the sturdy form of his powerful, graceful lover, but
remembering their earlier discussion of their differences, he smiled.

The smile
grew into a broad grin as Haldir's questing fingers drifted to Frodo's side,
stroking lightly along the crease under his arm and teasing at the sparse patch
of fine, dark hair.

"You do realize that tickles?" Frodo asked, barely
repressing the urge to squirm away.

"Oh?" Haldir's voice was all innocence,
though he never paused in his playful attentions. Frodo retaliated by skittering
his fingers mischievously up and down the elf's sides. When his tickling drew no
reaction whatsoever, Frodo put on a mock pout. 

"Don't tell me: elves aren't
ticklish?"

Haldir chuckled. "Not this elf."

"I should have known." Frodo
rolled his eyes, then glanced down to where his hand rested on Haldir's side. An
irregular ripple of silvery-pink flesh marred the smooth skin below the elf's
ribs. Leaning closer, Frodo gently traced its contours with his finger. "This
must have been painful." 

Haldir nodded, eyeing the old injury as if he'd
forgotten it was there. "I took an orc spear during a skirmish many years ago. I
was lucky that the foul thing was not poisoned -- the wound could have been much
worse."

Frodo tilted his head, curiosity kindling in his eyes. "You must have
many such stories." 

"Indeed, and not all of them stories that ended well." 
"Even so, I wish we had time for you to tell me all of them." With sympathetic
fingers Frodo followed the path of another old wound across Haldir's ribs, a
long cut faded to a shiny, thin line. The elf had told Frodo about his duties as
marchwarden and the ongoing battle to defend Lorien's borders, but the thought
of him facing such evil creatures, and bearing their scars, was chilling. 

"I
would wish for that, too," Haldir replied, catching Frodo's hand. "But there are
other scars, deeper ones, here" -- he placed Frodo's hand over his heart --"that
you are helping to heal."

* * * 

The sun had begun its gradual slide into the
west by the time they made ready to return to Bag End. As they repacked the
picnic basket, Frodo glanced up to find Haldir staring into the distance,
preoccupied. 

Frodo laid a hand lightly on the elf's knee. "You're thinking
about leaving." 

"Yes," Haldir answered with a sigh, placing his hand over
Frodo's and entwining their fingers. "Tomorrow I must locate a horse. I have
money to purchase one."

"The Sandheavers over at Bywater raise ponies and I
believe they may have a few full-sized horses as well, though as you can imagine
there is little call for them round here."

They shared a half-hearted smile at
that. "Once you have completed your errand, might you come back for a while?"
Frodo asked hesitantly.

Haldir's brow creased and his eyes grew troubled. "I
will wait at Mithlond while a party prepares to depart, then we must ride with
all haste to Lorien. I cannot. I am sorry."

Frodo looked away, gathering his
composure. He had not dared to hope, yet the answer felt like a door slamming
closed, decisive and irrevocable. Loss and grief welled up and tears pooled in
his eyes.

Haldir caught both of Frodo's hands  and squeezed them. "You must
know that I wish the situation were different, but I am bound by duty and honor
to serve the will of my lady and the needs of our people."

"I know." Frodo
said, blinking away the tears. He was determined not to make the situation more
difficult for either of them when no amount of anguish was likely to change it,
and forced himself to sound more acquiescent than he felt. "And I would not have
you do otherwise."

They set off hand in hand, unspeaking, as the sun at their
backs cast long shadows before them.



8. 

"There are leaves in your hair,"
Haldir observed with a little smirk as they entered the smial, "and grass stains
on your trousers." He plucked at Frodo's curls and combed through the dark locks
with his fingers.

Frodo made a little tsk-tsk sound as he led Haldir down the
winding hall toward the kitchen. 
"Whatever will the neighbors think!" He cast a
sly glance in Haldir's direction. "Although once Mrs. Proudfoot and her
daughters see the mess we've made of the linens this week, the whole village
will be overrun with gossip." 

"I'm sure my presence here already has your
neighbors talking." 

"I'm sure you're right. They'll come up with a good enough
story on their own, I expect, but can you imagine what they'd say if they knew
the truth?"

Haldir flashed him a wicked smile. "The truth being that you're
holding me here against my will to have your way with me repeatedly?"

"Against
your will, hmm? You haven't exactly been fighting me off." Frodo's rich chuckle
died abruptly as they halted in the kitchen doorway. Sam stood gazing silently
out the round kitchen window, his stance rigid with tension.

"Hello, Sam,"
Frodo managed to choke out around the sudden lump in his throat. There was no
way Sam could have missed Haldir's last comment nor his own, and Frodo felt
suddenly ashamed. Out of respect for his friend's dislike of the elf, he had
intended that Sam never learn of their budding relationship, and he certainly
hadn't expected Sam to be in the house. Now it seemed the secret was out in no
uncertain terms and Frodo unaccountably felt as if he'd betrayed Sam's trust
somehow.

"Mr. Frodo," Sam said, turning to fix him with a carefully neutral
gaze and ignoring Haldir altogether. "I was a bit concerned when I couldn't find
you around all day. I came in to leave you a note."

"A note about what?" Frodo
moved toward him, struggling to suppress a rising sense of concern. 

"Well, it
don't matter now, sir," Sam replied, his voice tight as he edged toward the
door. "It ain't none of my business, nohow."

"Sam, please." Frodo said with a
touch of desperation. The hurt Frodo saw behind his friend's tightly controlled
manner cut him more deeply than he ever would have expected. 

Sam paused,
holding Frodo's eyes for a long moment as if measuring him. "Well then." His
gaze flicked up and he addressed Haldir, who stood behind Frodo. "If you don't
mind my askin', *sir*, I wondered when you'd be well enough to travel."

His
face a cool, composed mask, Haldir responded cautiously, "Soon, I expect."
"Well, it won't be soon enough!" Sam exploded, glaring up at him defiantly.
"You've caused enough trouble 'round here already, and I won't stand by to see
Mr. Frodo trifled with."

As shocked as if he'd been slapped, Frodo glanced
between his friend and the elf as they stared at each other in a pitched battle
of wills. He was about to intercede when Haldir spoke.

"I do not *trifle* with
anyone," the elf replied in a faintly sarcastic drawl. "Least of all with Frodo.
You need not worry; I do nothing that is against his wishes."

Sam's face grew
red but he refused to back down. "You have no right, interferin' in what you
don't understand."

"It was my understanding that there was nothing going on in
which to interfere." 

Frodo cringed. He wouldn't want to be on the receiving
end of Haldir's icy fierceness, no more than he would want Sam's bristling fury
directed at him. He had never seen Sam so angry, not even the time Pippin had
picked and eaten every last one of the early strawberries.

Sam snapped, "Well,
that shows how little you know about it! We were just fine until *you* came
along!" He turned to leave and stopped short, his eyes locked onto Frodo's. "And
you --" Sam's voice was barely a whisper, barely controlled. "I can't believe
you would --" With a choked sob, he stormed from the room. A moment later the
back door slammed behind him.

Frodo stared after his friend, stunned, feeling
compelled to run after him and -- what? Apologize? Explain? But Sam would be in
no mood to hear it. Frodo collapsed into a chair and rubbed distractedly at his
forehead. "Haldir, I apologize for Sam. That was... so unlike him that I just
don't know what to say."

"You need not apologize for something that was not
your doing." Haldir crossed the room and folded himself onto the bench across
the table from Frodo. "If it was my comment that upset him..."

"Between your
comment and mine, I don't suppose we could be accused of being discreet! But
even so, I don't understand why he would be so furious." 

"Perhaps he cares for
you more than you think."

Frodo looked dubious. "I know he cares for me as a
friend, Haldir, but I'm sure that's all."

The elf gave him a searching glance.
"Do you think any of your other friends would have reacted so violently?"

Frodo
thought fondly of Merry and Pippin and their carefree, easygoing attitudes.
"Well, no. Even if they disapproved, they would have the courtesy to keep that
opinion to themselves, or to discuss the matter with me in private. Or so I
would hope. It's almost as if..." He trailed off, considering.

"Almost as if
Sam were jealous?" Haldir supplied gently.

"Almost," Frodo mused. If that were
true... if Sam's outburst had been born of something more than his usual
protectiveness... and for that matter, if that protectiveness were the result of
deeper feelings lying hidden, unspoken... 

Frodo looked up to meet Haldir's
sympathetic eyes, feeling stricken. "I have to talk to him! Forgive me, but I
must go find him."

Haldir nodded. "I think you should." 

* * * 

The grounds
of Bag End were not so large that Frodo couldn't search them thoroughly in just
a few desperate moments. The front garden, the side yard, the shed, the
vegetable garden... all empty. Sam was gone. 

Frodo sank down under the ancient
oak at the top of the hill and wrapped his arms around his knees, heartsick. He
had no idea where Sam would go, upset as he had been. Surely he wouldn't go home
-- the Gaffer would probably thrash him for leaving work and march him back up
the hill besides. The Green Dragon? Not in the mood he'd been in. Perhaps he
would stop by the Cotton farm; Sam was good friends with the Cotton lads and
their sister. Frodo tormented himself with thoughts of Sam going to Rosie for
comfort and found himself feeling every bit as jealous as Sam had acted. 
Utterly confused, he let his head fall back, none too gently, against the rough
trunk. How could he have been so foolish? If he'd had the slightest indication
Sam was interested in him as anything other than a friend -- though he still
didn't know for sure if Sam was -- he would never have taken up with Haldir. But
he had, and there was no changing it. His heart sank at the thought that his
selfish actions had pushed his closest friend away. 

Frodo made his way back to
the smial in silence and headed directly to his room, throwing himself face-down
on the bed and burying his face in his arms. He ached with sorrow and guilt and
tears that just wouldn't come. With a stomach-twisting sense of loss, he
realized he had no idea how to make things right again with Sam. No matter what,
their relationship would never be as it had been. Part of him wished desperately
that the last few days had never happened, but at the same time a stubborn,
wayward part didn't have a single regret over anything that had happened with
Haldir. 

Haldir. Frodo fought back the urge to run to the elf and fling himself
into those comforting arms. The scene in the kitchen hadn't even ruffled his
composure; Frodo wondered idly if elves ever got jealous. Frustrated with
himself, he muttered a word he wouldn't use in polite company and sat up and
rubbed his eyes. He started for the kitchen, thinking to make himself some
calming chamomile tea, but got no farther than Haldir's room. The door stood
open, though the chamber was empty. He hesitated for a moment in the doorway,
pondering the big bed with its rumpled sheets. Impulsively he crossed the room
and climbed onto the mattress, resting his head on a pillow that carried
Haldir's clean scent and a lingering trace of mint. He drew a long, deep breath,
and another, and the hard coiled knot in his chest finally eased enough to allow
his tears to flow.  

* * * 

Frodo awoke some time later to loud, persistent
knocking at the back door. How odd, he thought hazily, anyone who would bother
knocking would ordinarily come to the front door. Really the only person who
used the back door was... Sam. Suddenly wide awake, he leaped out of bed,
heedless of his sleep-tousled hair and untidy clothing, and rushed down the hall
without a second thought.

He flung open the door and gaped in shock. Yes, it
was Sam knocking, and in the first instant of reaction Frodo felt overcome with
gratitude and relief that he had come back. But equally startling was the fact
that his friend held the halter of a very large silver-grey horse. 

"Sam?" At
least a dozen things Frodo wished to say all crowded into his head at once, with
the effect of rendering him speechless as he took in the details of the
situation. Sam's anger appeared to have dissipated and, judging by his troubled
eyes, he was ashamed of his earlier behavior. He stroked the horse's nose with
his customary gentleness as he and Frodo stared at each other wordlessly.

"I'm
glad you came back, Sam," Frodo finally managed. 

"Mr. Frodo, I'm so sorry
about... today," Sam blurted, looking distinctly ill at ease. "I should never
have spoke out of turn like that, and I'll understand if you sack me and send me
home and never want to see me again."

Frodo shook his head. "Oh, Sam, I'd never
do that... but I do think we need to talk." 

Sam took a deep breath, as if
contemplating a difficult task. "Aye, we do at that." 

"Tell me about your
friend here," Frodo stepped closer to examine the intricately detailed elven
saddle and tack the horse wore, and rested a tentative hand on the creature's
neck. The deep brown eyes regarded him calmly.

Sam's face brightened. "Well, I
can't take credit for findin' him, sir. Jolly Cotton was comin' back from Michel
Delving yesterday evenin' and saw him grazin' by the side of the road. Sounded
like it were the very spot where... where the horse got lost in the first place.
Jolly said it was as if he was just waitin' for his master to come back,
standin' there with his saddle and packs still on him. 'Course, Jolly had heard
about your guest and put two and two together and took this fella home with
him."

"Thank you for bringing him here." Frodo said softly. He knew Haldir had
been worried about the creature and would be grateful for its return.

"Welcome,
sir."

"Can you tether him someplace?"

"Oh, aye, he's tame as a kitten. Jolly
even sent a sack of hay along with him, so he'll be well-fed and ready to go." 
Ready to go. The words echoed in Frodo's mind, recalling and renewing his
earlier sense of impending loss. He forced himself to focus on Sam again,
watching as he crossed the yard and tied the horse's lead rope to the fence,
then returned to stand before Frodo with downcast eyes.

"Let's go sit down,"
Frodo suggested, striving to order his thoughts. They walked to the wooden bench
that faced the perennial border, where Frodo had often whiled away the hours
keeping Sam company while he worked. That happy memory seemed impossibly distant
at the moment. 

The silence felt deafening to Frodo, but he knew not where to
begin. He watched Sam's sun-browned hands fidgeting nervously with the hem of
his jacket and was wracked once more with an overwhelming sense of guilt. Sam
was dear to him, no matter what; Frodo couldn't stand having this uncomfortable
distance between them and it was all his doing.

"Sam, I'm --"

At the same
moment Sam spoke, "Sir --"

Hesitantly their eyes met. 

"You go first, Mr.
Frodo."

"Sam, I've made such a mess of things! I'm very sorry. I never meant to
hurt you." Frodo rested a hand lightly on Sam's sleeve in a gesture of comfort.
"Well, sir, if I'm hurt it's my own fault, I figure." The quaver in Sam's voice
belied his brave words.  "It's like the Gaffer says: those as put their nose
where it don't belong..."

"I would have told you, Sam, except I know you don't
like him and..."

"Aye, that's true enough. But beggin' your pardon, Mr. Frodo,
there's so much more to it than that." Sam's hazel eyes swam with unshed tears.
"I just don't understand *why*."

Frodo abruptly stood and began to pace. When
he finally spoke, he gazed off down the hill, unable for the moment to face his
friend's obvious pain. "Because I'm lonely, Sam, and I have been for a long
time." 

"I know Mr. Bilbo leavin' was hard on you, sir, but lonely? With me
here?" 

"Sam, you're my dearest friend, don't ever doubt that, but I needed...
that is, I need... more than just friendship." Frodo hesitated, biting his lip.
"Sometimes I need to be touched, as well." 

Tears roughened Sam's voice. "And
you would let someone like him touch you?"

"I don't expect you to understand
it, Sam. I'm not sure that I do, myself. It's not as if anyone else has any
interest in me." 

"Is that what you think?"

Sam's challenging tone caught
Frodo off guard and he swung around, puzzled. "What?"

"You think nobody has any
interest in you?" Disbelief sounded in Sam's voice and his eyes flashed with a
hint of temper.

Frodo watched him warily, concerned that his friend might
become upset again. "What do you mean?" 

Sam ran his fingers distractedly
through his curls, not quite able to meet Frodo's eye. "Well, sir, it's like
this. I never have been one to be interested in another lad. Not like... not
like *that*. But with you... 'cause it's *you*... well, that makes all the
difference." 

Frodo stared at him a moment as the words sunk in. "I didn't
know. Sam, I don't know what to say." 

Sam stood and crossed the few paces
separating them, his hands shoved in his pockets. "It's my own fault for not
sayin' so 'fore now, I reckon. I just didn't know how to go about it and, well,
I didn't think you'd ever be interested in the likes of me nohow."

Though tears
prickled his eyes, Frodo managed a smile. "Oh, Sam, you have no idea." 

When
Sam spoke his voice was scarcely more than a whisper. "If you want somebody to
touch you, Mr. Frodo, and hold you... let me." Hesitantly he held out his arms
and gathered Frodo into a gentle embrace. 

Frodo allowed himself to be cradled
against the solid warmth of Sam's broad shoulder. He felt foolish and
insensitive for having overlooked the depth of Sam's feelings for him, which, in
retrospect, were more than obvious. All Sam's attentive caretaking, both of Bag
End and Frodo himself, spoke of deep affection, perhaps even love. Frodo wished
desperately to repair whatever damage had been done to their friendship, though
he couldn't allow himself to hope for anything beyond that. Not yet.

At last
Frodo straightened and pulled away, and Sam stepped back reluctantly, searching
Frodo's face. "What happens now, sir?" Hope and nervousness mingled in his
voice.

"I wish I knew!" Frodo gave a shaky laugh. "But I will be very happy to
get back to acting like friends, and that's a good place to start."

Sam nodded,
and for an awkward pause neither moved or spoke. Finally Sam said, "I should be
gettin' on home, I reckon. Should I take the horse back to the Cottons' barn for
the night?"

"No, leave him. I can always take him over there myself if need
be." 

"All right then." Sam started to turn away, then impulsively reached out
to squeeze Frodo's hand before bidding him good night. Frodo stood and watched
thoughtfully till he passed out of sight down the lane to Bagshot Row.



9. 
After Sam disappeared down the lane, Frodo dropped onto the bench by the back
door and ran his fingers through his hair with a bemused sigh. Sam's confession
had shocked him speechless, for he had all but given up any hopes of Sam ever
being more than a friend. The sudden reversal would take some getting used to,
for now Frodo needed to sort out his own feelings -- feelings that were confused
by the presence of his elven lover.

Despite the obvious complications, crossing
paths with Haldir had been an enlightening, liberating experience; even now,
Frodo felt no remorse about their brief, intense affair, just regret over the
pain it had inadvertently caused Sam. But since Haldir's horse had been found,
there was no further excuse for the elf to linger. Already Frodo felt the
impending loss with sadness and regret, already he dreaded being alone again. 
And that was reason enough to preclude him turning his affections too quickly
toward Sam, for Sam could never replace Haldir -- nor would Frodo expect him to.
And that was assuming that Sam did indeed want to go down that road. Would Sam
be able to trust him now? What must Sam think of his judgment in this situation?
Their talk tonight had cleared the air somewhat, but much remained to be said. 
Much remained to be said between Frodo and Haldir, as well, and time was growing
short. It was more important than ever to make the most of the time they had
left, and with that thought Frodo hurried inside.

* * * 

Haldir sat
cross-legged on the front steps of Bag End, the great round door standing open
at his back. Away in the west the setting sun flooded the sky with a golden-pink
glow. Watching the fiery orb sink nearer to the horizon, the elf sighed,
thinking of the last leg of his journey that would soon take him west to the
harbor at Mithlond. The few days he'd been delayed in Hobbiton had not
threatened the success of his mission, since he had consistently made good time
throughout the rest of his travels. But now it seemed it was time to move on,
for his presence had caused trouble for Frodo, trouble that still needed to be
set right. Tomorrow he would go, on foot if necessary. 

He shook his head at
the incongruity of the situation, marveling at the odd turn of events that had
brought him and Frodo together in the first place. When he had encountered the
halflings on the road the night he was attacked, he had thought them curious but
insignificant; admitting to himself that he needed their help had been a
humbling, eye-opening experience. But it was Frodo's sincere concern and caring
that had opened his eyes further -- opened them enough to perceive Frodo's inner
beauty and pure spirit. Then something within him had shifted, a change not
unlike awakening from a dream, but he had awakened *to* a dream, a joyous
interlude with a most unlikely partner. And now... now the dream was about to
end. 

Haldir knew all too well that Frodo would be hurt by their inevitable
parting, though it was beyond either of them to prevent it. He too would be
hurt, Haldir realized now, but that mattered far less to him. He had allowed the
emotional connection between them to deepen, even though he knew better -- or
should have known better. He accepted the resulting pain as his due; it would
fade, eventually, leaving an empty, barren place in his heart and bittersweet
memories. But he regretted none of it; his only regret was that their impulsive,
passionate relationship would be over too soon, like a falling star burning to
ash as it streaked across the night sky.

* * * 

Frodo found Haldir watching
the sunset, seemingly deep in thought. Unspeaking, but with a small smile and a
sweep of his hand, the elf invited Frodo to join him. Frodo settled onto the
stone step with a sideways glance at his companion, then moved closer to rest
his head against Haldir's shoulder. They sat in peaceful silence as the play of
changeable colors in the western sky reached its brilliant peak and dusk began
to gather around them. Finally Frodo stirred and reached for Haldir's hand.
"Come. I have something to show you."

Frodo led Haldir down Bag End's winding
hall and pulled open the back door to reveal the horse, still tethered to the
side yard fence.

"How is this possible?" the elf asked in amazement, a wide
grin lighting his face. Without waiting for an answer, he crossed the yard with
swift strides. Frodo trailed behind, quietly basking in Haldir's surprised
happiness.

"Suilad, Aduial, mellon nin!" Haldir greeted his steed, stroking its
smooth gray neck fondly. "Frodo, however did you manage this?" 

"It was not my
doing. Sam brought him. A friend of his found the horse last night, standing by
the side of the road near the spot where you were attacked."

"This is
wonderful. I had not dared hope he would be returned to me."

"Does he need to
be stabled for the night?"

"No, he has spent many an evening under the stars.
If there is somewhere we can tie him that offers a little shelter -- there,
under that tree perhaps." Haldir untied Aduial and led him toward the back of
the property, where he looped the lead rope around a fencepost under the gnarled
old oak behind the vegetable garden. Frodo followed, carrying the sack of feed.
Together they removed the saddle and tack and stored it in the toolshed,
ensuring the horse was comfortable for the night.

"Did you speak with Samwise,
then?" Haldir asked as they strolled back inside.

"A little. You were right,
you know; he was jealous. And hurt." Frodo strove to keep his tone light and
relaxed, despite all that weighed on his mind as a result of that conversation. 
"Are things better between the two of you now?" 

"I think so, although there
are many things we need to talk about, and there is much for me to think about
as well." *But not now, not yet*, Frodo added silently. *All I want to think
about tonight is you.*

* * * 

"This was not at all how this day was supposed
to turn out," Frodo mused, sipping a glass of Old Winyards. After taking turns
at bathing, he and Haldir had shared a light meal, both of them
uncharacteristically quiet throughout, and now they sat on the parlor rug before
a small, welcoming fire.
 
"Perhaps not, but in the end it may have been for the
best. From what you have told me, you and Sam might never have found the courage
to speak your feelings otherwise." Haldir stretched his long legs toward the
hearth and leaned back on his hands, his casual pose at odds with the slight
tension humming in the air. His wineglass sat untouched at his side.

Frodo
sighed. "I suppose you're right, but in any case I would have preferred not to
deal with it today. I wanted today to be... for us."

"As did I." 

The weight
of the silence and the awkwardness of the conversation grated on Frodo's nerves.
He wished very much to return to the easy camaraderie they had enjoyed earlier,
before the incident with Sam had shattered their fragile tranquility. He moved
closer to rest a hand on the elf's thigh and gazed steadily into his eyes. "I
want you to know that this business with Sam doesn't affect how I feel about
you. Or us."

Haldir nodded. "I would understand if it did. You have only to say
so."

"And I would. But can we put it aside now? I will deal with it once..."
"Once I am gone." The elf's matter-of-fact tone made Frodo cringe.

"Believe me,
I am in no hurry to see you go! I would have you stay as long as you like... as
long as you can," Frodo's voice grew wistful, his eyes downcast.

Regret
shadowed Haldir's features like clouds passing before the sun. With a sigh, he
placed his hand over Frodo's. "Now that Aduial has been returned, I must go. I
will leave tomorrow at dawn."

Frodo swallowed hard. He was not surprised at the
announcement -- he had expected as much -- but was surprised at the intensity of
his response. A stubborn ferocity rose up and challenged his more rational self.
He did not want Haldir to go. Not now, not ever. Period. 

He forced himself to
look up and nod in silent agreement, feeling laid bare by Haldir's searching
gaze that seemed to penetrate clear into his soul. 

"I know it is difficult for
you, and for that I apologize," Haldir began, choosing his words with special
care. "I never intended that you would be hurt. When we started this -- when *I*
started this -- I thought it would be a harmless diversion, a new experience:
pleasant but soon over, with no harm done."

Haldir stared thoughtfully into the
fire for a moment before locking eyes with Frodo once more. "It has become more
than a meaningless diversion to me, and that in itself is a new experience. You
must understand, Frodo, that I've spent all my years avoiding emotional
entanglements. I've taken pride -- misguided as it may have been -- in holding
myself aloof, distant, even with my bed partners. I would give only that
physical part of myself because I was convinced that I had nothing more to give.
You have shown me that is not the case, and for that I am grateful."

So that
was the source of Haldir's deep loneliness, Frodo thought, a kind of
self-imposed isolation that struck a familiar chord. Quite unable to compose a
suitable reply, he leaned forward and covered Haldir's lips with his, a slow,
gentle kiss tenderly returned.  

"I will never forget our time together," Frodo
whispered, pulling away only slightly to trail his fingers down the elf's
flawless cheek. "You have given me so much."

"Not nearly as much as you have
given me." Haldir cupped Frodo's face between his hands and kissed his forehead,
his eyelids, the tip of his nose, then claimed his mouth, teasing at Frodo's
lips with his tongue. Frodo opened to him eagerly, the slide of Haldir's tongue
against his own sending a flash of fire directly to his groin. Once more he was
amazed at how quickly the elf could spark his desire. As he tilted his head,
inviting a full exploration of his mouth, a little wordless hum of pleasure
escaped him. Haldir's long fingers tangled in Frodo's curls as he delved deeper,
accepting all that Frodo offered. A soft sigh of pleasure told Frodo his lover's
passion had kindled as rapidly as his own. Impulsively Frodo straddled Haldir's
outstretched legs and twined his arms around his neck.

"I want you, Frodo,"
Haldir's voice, low and seductive against Frodo's ear, sent a delicious tingle
rippling throughout his body. 

"I am yours," Frodo answered simply.

* * *   
The door to Haldir's room closed behind them with a soft click, shutting out the
rest of the world. Frodo felt feverish, though he could not blame it on the
small fire crackling on the hearth. He yearned for Haldir's touch, but not only
that; tonight he intended to luxuriate in every moment, every word, every
caress.

Haldir reached out and enveloped Frodo's small hand with his larger
one, holding it with great tenderness, and led him to the side of the bed.
Gracefully the elf seated himself and guided Frodo to stand close, between his
knees, so they were nearly eye to eye. For a drawn-out moment they studied each
other without speaking, without moving. Frodo studied Haldir's proud features,
memorizing the arch of his brows, the strong nose, the perfectly sculpted full
lips. Those penetrating grey eyes he had long since committed to memory; he knew
he would forever see their intense gaze in his imagination and in his dreams. 
Anticipation sharpened Frodo's senses almost beyond bearing, but with great
restraint he stood quietly, waiting. Leaning forward, Haldir cupped Frodo's
face, his lips brushing against Frodo's soft as a gently falling leaf, his hands
light on Frodo's shoulders. The elf's scent washed over Frodo, a crisp, clean
aroma like the forest after spring rain, and warm, moist lips trailed across his
cheek and along his jaw, causing his knees to grow weak. His fingers clutched at
Haldir's sinewy forearms for balance. 

Haldir nuzzled Frodo's neck, pushing his
collar aside to expose silky pale skin that he covered with featherlight kisses.
Then his fingers moved to Frodo's top shirt button, which he unfastened slowly
while licking his way up Frodo's throat to nibble at his earlobe. Frodo shivered
at the wet heat of the elf's mouth suckling gently at the tip of his ear,
overcome with tantalizing memories of that gifted mouth elsewhere on his body. A
warm glow pooled in his groin and in his heart, the rush of emotion easily as
powerful as the rush of sensation. He reached out for the lacings of Haldir's
tunic, but to his surprise, the elf caught his hands.

"Wait." Haldir gave no
explanation, although he allowed a hint of a playful smile to curve his lips. 
By now Frodo knew better than to attempt to hurry him, so he allowed his hands
to drop limply to his sides as the elf deliberately opened the next button and
then the next, spreading the white linen and kissing his way down Frodo's chest
and stomach. The loving attention made Frodo feel like the most cherished being
in all of Middle-earth, and Frodo longed to touch Haldir in return, longed to
pour his own emotions into his fingertips and share the wonder and appreciation
he felt. But for the moment he stood quietly as bidden.

Frodo's shirt hung open
to his waist now, and carefully Haldir tugged the hem free and slipped the
braces off his shoulders. As the elf released the last shirt button, his hand
brushed the hard swelling already evident in the front of Frodo's trousers,
causing Frodo to gasp at the heated pulse that coursed through his body. Haldir
gave him a slow smile before tracing the ridge with teasing fingers that darted
quickly away, leaving Frodo lightheaded with yearning. 

With a rapt expression,
as if drinking in the sight, Haldir pressed his hands flat against Frodo's
smooth belly and slowly stroked upward. The slight friction of his palms against
sensitive nipples made Frodo want to cover the elf's hands with his own and
guide him to pinch the hardened nubs and roll them between his fingers. Instead
he arched into the maddening touch with a little whimper, steadying himself with
a firm grip on Haldir's muscular thighs. Soft as a whisper Haldir's fingers
skimmed over Frodo's chest, tracing the angle of his collarbone, sliding the
shirt off his shoulders and down slender arms. The garment dropped to the floor
unheeded as Haldir gathered Frodo into the circle of his embrace to claim
another kiss. 

The first touch of gentle lips and softly searching tongue
tested Frodo's restraint; he leaned into Haldir and responded hungrily, wrapping
his arms around the elf's broad back. Frodo's body throbbed under the sweet
onslaught of his lover's mouth moving so seductively on his and the warm hands
caressing his bare skin. No one had ever stirred such depths of passion in him;
it was like an irresistible craving, never completely satisfied, and now tinged
bittersweet with the knowledge of their parting. Sudden hot tears stung Frodo's
eyes at the thought, and he swallowed the pain, or tried to. He should have
known it would not go unnoticed.

"Frodo?" The sudden concern in Haldir's voice
only made matters worse. Frodo stood with eyes squeezed shut, his teeth sunk
into his bottom lip, fighting for control.

"I'm all right. Don't stop." 
Gentle fingers cupped Frodo's jaw and light, fleeting kisses dotted his
forehead, his cheeks, his closed lids, everywhere but his lips. The elusiveness
of that teasing mouth tormented him until he finally opened his eyes to find his
lover's face mere inches from his. His fingers tightened on Haldir's arm. "Kiss
me," Frodo whispered.

They met in a tender kiss that made words irrelevant, a
kiss that spoke of unquenched yearning and love and sorrow. Frodo could feel
himself growing heated again, his tears burned away by rekindled desire. Haldir
sensed it, Frodo knew; the elf rested his hands lightly on Frodo's hips, fingers
sliding beneath the waist of his grey woolen trousers, but waiting as if for
permission. His heart quickening with anticipation, Frodo nodded.

One by one
Haldir pushed the buttons free, then guided the trousers over Frodo's narrow
hips to fall loosely onto the floor. With a sigh of relief Frodo stepped out of
them and kicked them aside. His skin that seemed so pale by day glowed luminous
in the firelight, warm blush and soft shadows and coiled heat. It was as if for
a moment Frodo could see himself as Haldir must see him, rare and delicate; he
could feel the desire as his lover's gaze swept him, tangible as a caress. 
Haldir reached for Frodo's hand and tugged gently. "Lie down."

Frodo climbed
onto the thick mattress and settled himself comfortably, content for the moment
to wait on his lover, though confident the wait would not be long. He was not
disappointed. He watched as Haldir stood and pulled his black tunic over his
head in a quick, flowing motion, then unlaced his leggings and smoothed the
softspun fabric down slowly. His eyes never left Frodo's, and he stood for a
moment calm and poised, allowing Frodo time to study his body. Frodo had once
thought of elves as graceful but ethereal creatures, composed of air and spirit
more than flesh and blood, never having encountered their innate strength and
power. That strength and power now stood revealed before him in all its glory,
in this proud, beautiful being, and Frodo savored his every angle and curve and
plane. Too much of that lovely body remained unexplored, he thought regretfully. 
"If we had time," Frodo mused, "I would learn all the special ways to give you
pleasure and all the intimate secrets about you no one else knows."

"And if we
had time, I would learn each and every way to make you scream my name," Haldir
replied with a self-assured smile. "I would make you beg for my touch."

Wryly
Frodo said, "You fairly make me beg now. Not that I mind." 

"I will not make
you beg tonight, meleth." That seductive voice so full of promise vibrated
through Frodo's blood, and he felt himself swell harder just looking at the elf
-- *his* elf, at least until morning. He ached anew at the impending loss of
their bond, and once again he purposely put that thought aside.

"Come here,
then." Frodo reached out his hand to his lover. Far better to focus on these
stolen moments, on the welcoming warmth of Haldir's skin, his tenderly seeking
mouth and the reverent touch of his hands. It was intoxicating, as always,
inflaming Frodo quickly, as always, making it easy for him to give up thinking
altogether. Tonight, especially, his body didn't need his mind's interference,
and he wished to give his lover his full attention.

And Haldir seemed intent on
keeping Frodo's attention in no uncertain terms. The elf pressed lingering
kisses down the length of Frodo's arm, suckling at the silky fine-grained skin
at the crease of his elbow, linking their fingers. Slowly and deliberately he
explored Frodo's hand with lips and tongue, drawing each finger into his mouth.
By the time Haldir had moved on to kiss and lick at the other hand, Frodo was
squirming against him, his every nerve tingling and desire quickly building to
fever pitch. He clung desperately to his lover, expressing his urgency with
another deep kiss, intense and more pleading now. His body seemed to have no
self-restraint at all where Haldir was concerned, and well the elf knew it.
Languidly Haldir turned onto his back and pulled Frodo with him, settling the
hobbit atop his chest, legs spread wide. The position left Frodo feeling
deliciously exposed, open and vulnerable, and he wriggled down to press their
hips together, heat against heat, almost gasping at the sensation. Haldir
stroked up and down Frodo's back with featherlight fingertips and kneaded his
firm backside with strong hands. Frodo was suspended enticingly between
pleasures, torn between pushing down against that generous hardness or arching
up into the teasing fingers that continually approached his sensitive entrance
and then danced away. It was maddening, tantalizing, and impossibly arousing. He
moaned softly, eyes drifting closed. "I love the way you touch me. Don't stop."
"And I love touching you, bringing you pleasure... indeed, I love everything
about you." The words sounded almost like a confession, slippin free of their
own accord. Something in Haldir's manner struck Frodo, and he looked up into
thoughtful eyes. "That is the heart of the matter, is it not?" Haldir continued.
"Frodo, I love --"

"Don't say it!" Frodo exclaimed around the sudden lump in
his throat, resting his fingers against the elf's lips. "Don't. I can't bear
it." Better to leave it unsaid, he thought distractedly, better to pretend a
little while longer that neither of them would be hurt. 

Haldir's brow creased
in concern, but he nodded and pressed a gentle kiss to Frodo's fingertips. "I
will never forget you, meleth nin," he whispered, a fierce edge to his voice. He
was serious now, as serious as Frodo had ever seen him.

"Nor I you." Frodo bit
his lip against impulsive tears and drew a deep, steadying breath. He held
Haldir's eyes unwaveringly, for though he was not willing to speak his feelings,
he could not, would not deny them.

"Never." 

"Never." 

Frodo tilted his face
up for a kiss to seal the promise, feeling awed and humbled and more than a
little overwhelmed. Haldir's lips molded lightly to his, and it was as if Frodo
could feel the words he had not allowed his lover to speak transmuted into this
intimate caress, impossibly caring, achingly slow. A wave of shivers prickled
Frodo's skin and he deepened the kiss, tenderness blossoming into sweet
yearning. Haldir's hands roamed his thin frame as if to chase away the shivers
and spread heat in their wake, heat soon fanned to full blaze by the glide of
skin on skin. Were they never to have more than this, Frodo would still count
himself fortunate, but from this one evening remaining to them, he wanted
memories that would sustain him through the lonely nights to come. He broke free
of the kiss to look up at his lover and search his heavy-lidded eyes.

"What is
it, dear one?" Haldir murmured. "How can I give you pleasure?"

Frodo could feel
the eager press of Haldir's arousal hot against his skin, adding to his boldness
as he looked him in the eye with his request. "You know what I want. Make love
to me, Haldir."

A touch of surprise flickered across Haldir's normally serene
features, instantly followed by mild concern. For a long pause he studied Frodo
without speaking, finally asking only, "Are you sure?" 

"Quite sure. I know you
won't hurt me." 

"Well, not intentionally." Still Haldir sounded doubtful.

"If
we don't at least try, I will regret it the rest of my days." Frodo responded
with passionate sincerity, unwilling to be dissuaded. He got the impression that
the elf was unaccustomed to giving in, gracefully or otherwise, but Frodo set
his jaw stubbornly and gazed at him with determined, imploring eyes. 

After a
moment of silent deliberation, Haldir nodded. "As you wish. Now come here and
kiss me." Resisting the urge to pounce in his eagerness, Frodo leaned in to
capture his lover's mouth with a little sigh of pleasure. Haldir tangled a hand
in Frodo's curls while the other snaked between them to clasp Frod