Title:  Tales From Middle Earth: At the Sign of the
Dancing Maiden
Author:  MJ  
Email:  bonarbridgemj@yahoo.com
Pairing:  Frodo/Sam
Rating:  R

Summary:    A tiny inn, the best of beers, and a very
special bedroom.    
  
Note:  Follows TFME:  Shouting In the Silence. 
Related to TFME stories under Merry/Pippin and
Gandalf/Radagast.

Disclaimer:  These characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien
and his heirs.  I have merely borrowed them for these
adventures.

Category:  Romance, AU, Humor









3 September, 3017


High in the Downs of the West Farthing, comfortably
settled within a snug fold of the hills, sat the
village of Little Delving.  Although not quite so far
away from the center of things as to be considered in
The Wilderness, it was true that not many town-bred
hobbits ever found themselves bidding one of the local
inhabitants good morning.  But there were some who
would sooner pass up a third helping of
Chicken-and-Spinach Surprise than miss a stop at the
local inn.  For as tiny as it was, The Dancing Maiden
could boast some of the finest beer to be had west of
The Green Dragon, a fact that two weary travelers had
kept well in mind for most of the afternoon.

"I've missed this place, I have."  Fists propped
against his hips, Sam gazed up with delight at the
handsome wooden lass caught so cleverly in mid-clog,
her shiny clapper of bells held high in the final
whirl of the Springle-ring.  "It took a while, my
dear, but your Sam's come back."

Frodo chuckled and lowered his own gaze to the
welcoming sight of the open front door.  Tucking his
hand under Sam's elbow, he gave it a firm tug.  "You
can flirt later, Master Gamgee.  Right now my tongue
is parched and my feet want some rest, so let the lass
be and come inside!"

In the space of three steps, they were over the
threshold and into the cool shade of the common room. 
It took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the dim
light, most of which came from the fire crackling
merrily in a big stone hearth in the opposite wall. 
Off to the right was a low counter with polished mugs
lined up at the far end, while to the left stood
several round tables of polished oak with four chairs
apiece pushed neatly up to their edges, each one
boasting a cheerful green cushion. 

Wasting no time, Sam stepped up to the counter and
rapped sharply.  "Farliman Oakes, you've got
customers!"

From a doorway near the far end of the counter came a
startled "Oy!" and, quick as a wink, out popped a very
round, very rosy-cheeked hobbit, a huge turnip
clutched in one hand.  A look of pleased surprise lit
up his face and, tossing the turnip over his shoulder,
he came puffing across the room, stopping with a
whoosh of breath right in front of them.             

"Your pardon, sirs, I was just checkin' with the
missus about this evenin's supper and I didn't hear
you come in."  He glanced from Frodo to Sam and his
entire face blossomed in a cheery smile.  "Now, what
can I do for you?"  

"Good afternoon, Mr. Oakes.  Don't you remember me?" 
Frodo grinned as the innkeeper's eyes widened with
surprise.  

"Why, if it isn't young Mr. Baggins!"  A chuckle
started deep in his belly and he slapped his hand on
the counter.  "And your little Sam as well!"

Sam stiffened with an indignant gasp, but Frodo
managed the first word.  "Yes, Farliman, it's us." 
The innkeeper was as kind as he could be, but he'd
never been noted for his concept of time.  "We're on
our way to Bindbale and wish to stay the night.  Have
you got room?"

Still chuckling, Farliman clapped his hands together,
rubbing fiercely.  "Have I got room?  Why, of course
I've got room!"  Ducking quickly round behind them, he
prodded them both gently in the direction of the
nearest table.  "You just come right this way and have
a seat."  He pulled two chairs out, banishing
invisible crumbs from each cushion with a quick swipe
of his hand.  "You're a little early for supper, but
you just make yourselves comfortable and I'll fetch
you some of this year's best to tide you over."  Eyes
twinkling, he patted Sam on the head and bustled off
in the direction of the kitchen, soft chuckles
stuttering along in his wake.

Sam was livid.  His glower dogged Farliman Oakes all
the way across the room and through the doorway.  It
was quite possible that the local brew, fine as it
was, would not make it past his teeth that evening.

Trying very hard not to laugh, Frodo leaned his elbow
against the table and covered his eyes with one hand. 
Sure enough, Sam's exasperated mutter wasn't long in
coming.  "There's oaks and there's Oakes and it seems
both of 'em's got no more sense than a three-legged
table."  Frodo dropped the hand to cover his mouth as
Sam snorted.  "And that's a fine insult to the table. 
Beer or no beer, I'll not..."

"Sam.  Please."  Sitting back in his chair, Frodo
wiped tears from the corners of his eyes, still
managing not to laugh.  "You know Farliman.  He never
could keep track of time.  When we were here last,
you'd barely come of age.  He's just picked up where
he left off."

Sam rolled his eyes, but a smile hovered round his
mouth as he mumbled quietly,  "Whatever you say, Mr.
Frodo."

Frodo stared a moment, then burst out laughing.  It
was quite some time before he could stop and the sound
rang happily through the little common room.  When he
finally caught his breath and dried his cheeks with
the edge of his jacket, he looked back at Sam, whose
face was now covered by a grin nearly wide enough to
reach both ears.  Heaving a sigh that reached clear
down to his toes, Frodo said softly,  "My dear Sam. 
What would I do without you."

The grin faded from Sam's face and bending his head
close to Frodo's, he whispered,  "Waste away to
nothing, I expect.  Which your Sam won't never let
happen.  Ever."

As is the nature of things, Farliman Oakes hove into
view at that very moment with two chilled mugs of
beer.  "Here you are, lads.  Drink up!  These are on
the house."  Sam ducked as a mug sailed over his head.
 "Supper's at 6:30 on the dot, but there shouldn't be
more'n two or three others besides yourselves.  And if
you'd like to freshen up a bit before then, just you
look over there."  He waved toward a doorway set back
to the left of the counter.  "Our biggest room's
through that door.  Otherwise its just the three
little'uns round the other side, for those as don't
need more than a cot to prop their feet overnight. 
And I expect you're lookin' for somethin' a bit nicer
than that."  Hugging tightly clasped hands to his
chest, he beamed.

Frodo clamped his teeth round a burst of startled
laughter.  He could feel the heat rising in his
cheeks, but a quick glance told him poor Sam was
bright red. 

"That's very..."  Frodo cleared his throat. 
"...nice."  He smothered further thoughts of laughter
behind his fist and nodded his thanks to the still
beaming Farliman, who nodded back, winked, then
whirled himself around for a quick bustle back to the
kitchen.                       

Frodo didn't dare look at Sam again.  Not only were
sharp bubbles of laughter popping in his chest, but an
ache deep in his belly was sending signals he hadn't
felt in a long time.  Good signals.  Wonderful
signals...  

Sam, caught somewhere between embarrassed chagrin and
pure indignation, decided that downing most of his mug
of surprisingly cool beer would be the best thing for
his peace of mind.  Lowering his mug, he glanced
toward Frodo and saw that his beer was still
untouched.  Reaching over, he tapped the mug with the
blunt edge his own.  "Good for what ails you.  Just
you take a swallow or two."  But right at that moment,
Frodo looked at him, looked him right in the eyes,
with a smile so candid and so intimate, that for the
first time since they'd declared themselves, Sam
realized just how intensely aware he was of Frodo. 
His mug hovering forgotten above the table, he fell
slowly into those deep blue eyes and remembered things
he seemed to have known forever.  Like the scent of
lavender and Farfields Blend that surrounded Frodo no
matter the time of day or night.  Like the sound of
his voice raised in laughter and song.  Like the way
his skin would feel when every stitch of his clothing
was lying on the floor... 

With a jerk, Sam dropped his mug to the table. 
Squeezing his knees together, he shoved Frodo's beer
forward and whispered hoarsely,  "Drink up.  Bar's
closing."

Frodo started to open his mouth, thought better of it,
and picked up his mug, downing it in one long go. 
Setting it carefully back on the table, he licked his
lips and whispered, just as hoarsely,  "That was
excellent.  But it appears to be all gone.  So, why
don't we..."  He ran suddenly sweaty palms slowly down
his thighs.  "...go freshen up."

And without further ado, chairs were shoved back and
packs grabbed from the corner.  Sam led the way as
they headed for the little hall to the back bedroom,
but they'd no more than reached the end of the counter
than Farliman Oakes stepped out of the kitchen door,
his hands buried in a dishtowel.  

"The missus says supper'll be ready right on time but
you're not to worry if you run a bit late."  He
clasped the dishtowel against his substantial middle
and chuckled.  "I'll make sure she don't throw it all
out before you've had a good sup."  

Once again, Frodo dared not look at Sam.  "That's very
kind of you, Mr. Oakes.  But there's no need..."

Farliman wiggled a broad finger toward the hall. 
"That's a mighty fine bed, too.  Missus stuffed it
herself.  Soft as a duck's bottom, it is.  Nothin'
finer."

Frodo managed a weak smile.  He could hear Sam
sputtering at his side.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Baggins, a mighty fine bed.  'Twould
take a lot of pother to hurt that mattress, so you
just take your time."  If his grin had been any
bigger, his teeth would have fallen out.

"Thank you..."  Frodo's mouth opened and closed
several times before he could manage any more. 
"That's...good to know."  

Farliman nodded and beamed and waved them along with
his dishtowel.

Frodo turned and shoved Sam down the little hall.

"Frodo...!"

"Shhh!"

Sam clutched his pack to his chest, grumbling under
his breath.  "Now that's what I call gettin' personal.
 Beds and such, just as if he had a right.  If he
thinks he can just up and...  Oh!"

Sam stopped dead in his tracks.  They'd reached the
biggest bedroom at the end of the hall.  The door
stood open and a fire spread its cheerful glow
throughout the room.  Frodo pushed gently at Sam's
back but it was like trying to budge a rock.  And Sam
had the strangest look on his face. 

Frodo bit back a smile.  "You haven't changed your
mind, have you?"

Sam gave a little start.  "No.  No, it's just...  This
room.  I hadn't really thought much about where we
are."  His voice trailed away as he moved slowly
through the door and dropped his pack into a big
overstuffed chair.

"Sam, are you all right?"  Frodo dropped his own pack
and closed the door.

"No.  Yes!"  He shrugged.  "It's only that I've just
remembered."  Eyes wide, Sam turned round slowly until
he'd seen the entire room, his glance lingering at the
last on a large four-poster set against the opposite
wall.  "My Dad's told me many a story about courtin'
my Mum.  She was born in Michel Delving, but she had
folks up here."  He frowned.  "Now how could I have
gone and forgotten:  they stayed here after they got
married."  Cheeks pink, he studied the tips of his
toes and whispered,  "I'd guess they must have stayed
in this room.  In that bed."

Frodo lips parted in surprise, then laughing quietly,
he turned Sam around and pulled him into his arms,
hugging him so hard he squeaked.  "I'll have you know
that I love you, whether your Mum and Dad stayed in
this room and rumpled the sheets or not."  Sam's face
was pressed into his neck and Frodo could feel him
shaking with laughter.  "And since they're not here
and we are, I think we could manage to rumple our own
sheets.  Put Mrs. Farliman's handiwork to the test."

Sam pulled away, eyes wide.  "What?  Before supper?"

The glint in Frodo's eyes gave fair warning as he
reached behind Sam's head for a fistful of hair.  "It
occurs to me that you're a rascal, Sam."  His voice
shook a little as he tugged Sam forward.  "But I'd
like to know for sure..."

For one long moment, a devastating grin lit Sam's face
and then, between one breath and the next, they were
wrapped tight in each others arms, all thoughts of
supper forgotten. 

If Sam had ever wondered what it would take for his
knees to go to jelly, he certainly knew now.  This was
no dream.  This was as real as real could be.  Frodo's
hands were touching him all over, running down his
arms, down his back, squeezing him in places he'd
never been squeezed before.  And all he could do for
now was hold on as Frodo trailed kisses along his jaw,
stopping just long enough to suck a spot right behind
his left ear.  The sudden bolt of pleasure that shot
through Sam's belly shivered all the way down his legs
before rushing back up with a surge of heat right to
the center of his groin.  Then Frodo pulled him even
closer and, with a little moan of delight, Sam felt
something hard crowding right into the center of that
heat.   

Gasping a little, Frodo pulled back just far enough to
cup Sam's face between his hands.  "It's us, now. 
Just you and me."  He could see his own face reflected
deep within two soft brown pools.  Something wild
fluttered right below their surface.  "No more
silence.  No more pain.  Just you and me."  His mouth
twitched in a quick smile.  "And that big bed."  Sam's
mouth opened in silent laughter and Frodo felt his
heart fill.  Wrapping the fingers of both hands in the
back of Sam's shirt, he pulled him as close as
possible and gently kissed the pulse in the hollow of
his throat.   

Sam groaned straight from the gut, his eyes fluttering
shut.  "Bed.  Bed...  No.  No!"  Shaking with effort,
he reached back and clasped Frodo's wrists.  Slowly
pushing his arms away, he said, in a voice grown rough
with need,  "Please.  Let me."  For a moment, the
breath froze in his throat as he looked in Frodo's
eyes.  There was so much honesty there, so much need. 
So much love.  Sam knew, far beyond a doubt, that this
was the right place and the right time.  "Please..."  

Something huge and bright opened deep in Frodo's heart
and every last shadow was banished, every memory of
broken promises, every lingering fear of loneliness
was gone.  Tipping his head back, he closed his eyes
as Sam so slowly, so carefully undressed him, until he
stood trembling under two gently roving hands.  He
could have laughed and cried, and yet he had breath
enough for neither.  And where had Sam found the
little tune he was humming...

Sam was nearly reeling in the heat from Frodo's body,
but somehow, without moving more than a handspan away,
he fumbled breathlessly through all the right catches
and in a double handful of heartbeats, his own clothes
lay scattered across the floor.  But when he pulled
Frodo into his arms and their bodies touched, all the
way down, his hands remembered the good sense they'd
been born with.           

For long moments, they spoke only in slow, shivery
kisses.  New it all might be to Sam, but his heart and
his body knew exactly what they wanted, making it very
clear, in a very short time, that taking a very long
time was not an option.  And then not only were they
on the bed, they were right in the center of it. 
Breathing in little gasps, Sam rolled Frodo onto his
back.  The firelight sent shadows dancing over their
bodies and for long seconds, he studied the beloved
face, running the tips of his shaking fingers over
Frodo's eyes, his nose, his lips...  "I'm here, aren't
I?  Lyin' in this big bed, naked as the day I was
born, with such an ache in me to touch you, it seems I
could pop."

"Sam."  It was barely a croak, but that was all Frodo
could manage.  

Braced on one elbow, Sam leaned over, trailing
feathery kisses down Frodo's body, nipping gently
until the skin flushed to deep rose under his lips . 
"I love your neck.  Your shoulders.  Your nipples. 
Your belly button..."  He buried his fingers in the
dark thatch below Frodo's belly.  "Your bit of flesh
here."  

"What?"  Frodo lifted his head, trying very hard to
glare.  "Sam..."  

Shifting his weight, Sam slipped his thigh between
Frodo's legs and tugged gently at the curly hairs
wrapped round his fingers.  "Gaffer's always told me
I'm a mite too frolicsome, so don't you be taking
offense at your Sam's wanton ways."  His fingers
trailed slowly in simple possession over Frodo's belly
before he said with a grin,  "I don't expect I know
all the right words for love making and all."  

The smile hit Frodo right between the eyes.  Moaning
softly, he caressed Sam's flushed cheeks with with the
back of his fingers, lingering over the parted lips. 
"You use whatever words your heart desires,"  he
whispered.  "For I love you too well to need other
than your own perfection."

Sam swallowed hard, but the tears spilled over anyway,
trickling slowly down his cheeks to gather on the edge
of his jaw, like diamonds in the firelight.  "It's
true that I didn't ever think I would love anyone as
much as I love you.  Not in all my years.  And I do so
want to lay with you, and find all the ways that
please you."  His sweet smile blossomed once again. 
"And I expect I'd like it fine if you'd take the lay
of my skin, if you take my meaning."

Laughter came bubbling up from somewhere deep inside
Frodo and his breath caught on a sob.  "Oh, my
wonderful Sam.  Every inch of me is yours.  And just
you mark my words..."  Narrowing his eyes, he ran a
hand up the back of Sam's thigh and into the deep,
warm cleft.  "Once I've recovered my wits, I shall be
all over you, like a Sackville-Baggins at a yard
sale."

Sam gasped and dropped his head onto Frodo's breast,
little shivers shaking his body.  "Oh...  Then I guess
I'd better see if I can finish what I started." 
Lifting his head just a little, he sucked one puckered
nipple between his teeth.

Frodo jerked and arched upward into the curve of Sam's
body, moaning deep in his throat.  "Please..."  And
then warm fingers were stroking him everywhere,
setting the blood pounding in his ears.  "Oh, please."
 And Sam was all around him, covering him with heat
and sweat and the heady scent of passion, until all he
could do was writhe and twist under eager mouth and
loving hands, and bury his flailing fingers in hair
and sheets and air...  

Sam knew this was how it was supposed to be.  He
wanted to give and give and then give again.  He
thought his heart might leap out of his chest and if
he could hold Frodo forever, it still wouldn't be long
enough.  Pushing his heart and soul out through his
hands, his lips and his skin, he tried to say
everything he'd been holding back for so long. 
Whatever now drove him came from so deep inside it
seemed always to have been a part of him and the ache
was so fierce, it made him cry out with joy.

And Frodo's mouth was so sweet.

This was so far beyond anything Frodo had ever known,
anything he'd been prepared for.  Every part of him
screamed with pleasure, every inch of his skin
shuddered under the onslaught.  Gasping sobs racked
his body and the muscles in his thighs bunched and
shivered as he arched as far as he could into fingers
he seemed to remember had always been there.

Eager and wild with the first touch of passion, they
left as little unsaid as possible, until finally, the
world spun away, leaving two sweat-slick bodies,
shifting and molding together in the ancient spiral of
desire.  And when the ache was so deep, so strong,
that Frodo knew he shouldn't be able to survive, the
coil snapped, banishing the last of his fears and
leaving him cradled in a steady, welcoming heart. 

For long quiet minutes, Sam lay sprawled in Frodo's
arms, catching his breath, with no desire to move
whatsoever.  Then a soft kiss was place on his brow
and Frodo shifted to pull him closer.

"My dear Sam.  Do you realize how different it all
might have been?  If I hadn't heard you, under that
tree?  We would have come all the way here, perhaps
never knowing, never..."

Sam quickly raised himself just high enough to place a
gentle finger against Frodo's lips.  "My old Dad says,
leastways when I was grown enough to know what he
meant..."  He blushed.  "He says a good belly warmin'
does more to clear the air than just about anything
else, 'cept a wash with Lily Mounder's good lye soap. 
So why don't we just forget we ever..."  Sam stopped
and looked at Frodo in alarm.  "What's wrong?  Frodo? 
I didn't touch somethin' I shouldn't have?"

But Frodo was laughing so hard, he couldn't breathe
and between one wheeze and the next, he grabbed Sam
and pulled him as close as he could, which seemed to
settle the question of what to do until supper was
ready.   


End.