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Sep. 29th, 2004 11:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
claudia603Title: Ranger From the North
Author: Claudia
Pairing: Frodo/Halbarad
Rating: varies
Summary: In the autumn after Bilbo leaves, Frodo meets a Ranger of the Northlands in the Shire.
A little people, but of great worth are the Shire-folk. Little do they know of our long labour for the safekeeping of their borders, and yet I grudge it not.
Halbarad in The Return of the King
First part here: Chapter 1
The man wrenched his hand back, dropping the knife. He lifted his hands outward, palms up, to show he meant no harm.
“I am sorry. I did not intend to alarm you.”
Frodo lowered his arms, peering at the man in suspicious curiosity. Throwing his arms up had been a reflex, but he did not actually sense that he was truly in danger. Something in the man’s voice soothed him.
“Who…who are you?” Frodo managed despite his violently trembling jaw. His body seemed separate from him, numb and shivering against his will.
One winter day when Frodo had been a lad in Brandy Hall there had been a rare snowfall. While playing outdoors with his cousins, he had fallen into a deep puddle of melted ice. His cousins had helped him inside, but even after he had reached the safety and warmth of the smial, he had shivered for hours in front of the fire.
A dull nausea had taken hold of his stomach, and he swallowed several times. Now that the sun had nearly set, a chilly wind had picked up.
The man knelt close to Frodo’s head, which was still propped up by the pack still wedged to his back. “Your wet clothing must come off or you will become ill.” He ran his finger along the sturdy straps to Frodo’s pack. “I had intended to cut the straps to your pack without thought to how alarming it would be for you to have me wield a knife at you.”
“No matter,” Frodo managed. He wriggled up into a sitting position and slid the pack off his shoulders, setting it to his side.
“May I?” The man pushed one of Frodo’s braces from his shoulder, offering him a gentle smile. The steel gray of his eyes offered a glimpse of what surely must be a harsh life full of trials. “I shall take you to a nearby cottage. You must be made warm and quickly.”
Frodo nodded, shivering so hard he could barely speak. “Thank you. I would have drowned.” He caught a distant and all too brief whiff of blueberries. Mama had loved to bake blueberry pies. His papa would always laugh that deep throaty chuckle, as can only come from the stoutest of hobbits, when he dabbed a mischievous finger in the batter.
“No matter.” The man’s sudden fingers on Frodo’s shirt buttons shook him back to the present. The man paused after unbuttoning the first three, meeting Frodo’s gaze. Now his eyes looked more noble than steel. Beneath his hood, Frodo caught a glimpse of shaggy dark hair and high cheekbones. “I am Halbarad.”
“Frodo,” Frodo said through chattering teeth. “Frodo Baggins at your service.”
Halbarad worked Frodo’s arms out of his soaked shirt, which clung to him like an icy second skin. He then unclasped his cloak and wrapped it snugly around the shivering hobbit. The cloak was heavy, made of what felt like thick green wool, and it soothed Frodo immediately.
“Are you certain?” Frodo asked. “Will you not get cold yourself?”
Halbarad shook his head. “Will you unbutton your breeches for me?”
“Pardon?” Frodo asked, his eyes widening.
“Your breeches. They must come off, too.”
Color heated Frodo’s cheeks, though he was not sure why. He had nothing to be ashamed of, but somehow the idea of this strong and noble man who had saved his life seeing his most private parts unnerved him – and sent a strange flutter in his stomach. Frodo nodded and stretched numb fingers under the heavy layers of cloak to the button of his breeches. His fingers bumped clumsily against each other, refusing to cooperate. He could not grasp the button. He looked up at Halbarad with a flush.
“I cannot,” he said.
Halbarad nodded. He slid his hands under the heavy cloak and over Frodo’s wet breeches. His hand floundered and groped blindly at Frodo’s groin, and Frodo jumped, letting out a loud gasp.
“I am sorry,” Halbarad murmured. He found the button and in seconds, Frodo’s breeches were unbuttoned and pulled down over his hips. Frodo’s belly and groin had warmed nearly to match his cheeks. Halbarad secured his cloak around Frodo’s shoulders so that only the hobbit’s hairy feet poked out from under the bottom folds. Halbarad wrung out Frodo’s clothes and thrust them inside Frodo’s pack, which he pushed into his own pack. After putting his pack on his shoulders, he lifted Frodo.
“Where are you taking me?” Frodo asked. Against his will, his eyelids had grown heavy, and he fought it. He did not want to miss a moment of the journey with this puzzling man. He rather enjoyed the feel of shockingly strong arms wrapped snugly around him, carrying him at an easy pace, as if his burden weighed nothing at all. At last Frodo could do no more than surrender to the rocking motion of Halbarad’s steady strides through the dusky woods.
“To a warm hearth.”
TBC
Author: Claudia
Pairing: Frodo/Halbarad
Rating: varies
Summary: In the autumn after Bilbo leaves, Frodo meets a Ranger of the Northlands in the Shire.
A little people, but of great worth are the Shire-folk. Little do they know of our long labour for the safekeeping of their borders, and yet I grudge it not.
Halbarad in The Return of the King
First part here: Chapter 1
The man wrenched his hand back, dropping the knife. He lifted his hands outward, palms up, to show he meant no harm.
“I am sorry. I did not intend to alarm you.”
Frodo lowered his arms, peering at the man in suspicious curiosity. Throwing his arms up had been a reflex, but he did not actually sense that he was truly in danger. Something in the man’s voice soothed him.
“Who…who are you?” Frodo managed despite his violently trembling jaw. His body seemed separate from him, numb and shivering against his will.
One winter day when Frodo had been a lad in Brandy Hall there had been a rare snowfall. While playing outdoors with his cousins, he had fallen into a deep puddle of melted ice. His cousins had helped him inside, but even after he had reached the safety and warmth of the smial, he had shivered for hours in front of the fire.
A dull nausea had taken hold of his stomach, and he swallowed several times. Now that the sun had nearly set, a chilly wind had picked up.
The man knelt close to Frodo’s head, which was still propped up by the pack still wedged to his back. “Your wet clothing must come off or you will become ill.” He ran his finger along the sturdy straps to Frodo’s pack. “I had intended to cut the straps to your pack without thought to how alarming it would be for you to have me wield a knife at you.”
“No matter,” Frodo managed. He wriggled up into a sitting position and slid the pack off his shoulders, setting it to his side.
“May I?” The man pushed one of Frodo’s braces from his shoulder, offering him a gentle smile. The steel gray of his eyes offered a glimpse of what surely must be a harsh life full of trials. “I shall take you to a nearby cottage. You must be made warm and quickly.”
Frodo nodded, shivering so hard he could barely speak. “Thank you. I would have drowned.” He caught a distant and all too brief whiff of blueberries. Mama had loved to bake blueberry pies. His papa would always laugh that deep throaty chuckle, as can only come from the stoutest of hobbits, when he dabbed a mischievous finger in the batter.
“No matter.” The man’s sudden fingers on Frodo’s shirt buttons shook him back to the present. The man paused after unbuttoning the first three, meeting Frodo’s gaze. Now his eyes looked more noble than steel. Beneath his hood, Frodo caught a glimpse of shaggy dark hair and high cheekbones. “I am Halbarad.”
“Frodo,” Frodo said through chattering teeth. “Frodo Baggins at your service.”
Halbarad worked Frodo’s arms out of his soaked shirt, which clung to him like an icy second skin. He then unclasped his cloak and wrapped it snugly around the shivering hobbit. The cloak was heavy, made of what felt like thick green wool, and it soothed Frodo immediately.
“Are you certain?” Frodo asked. “Will you not get cold yourself?”
Halbarad shook his head. “Will you unbutton your breeches for me?”
“Pardon?” Frodo asked, his eyes widening.
“Your breeches. They must come off, too.”
Color heated Frodo’s cheeks, though he was not sure why. He had nothing to be ashamed of, but somehow the idea of this strong and noble man who had saved his life seeing his most private parts unnerved him – and sent a strange flutter in his stomach. Frodo nodded and stretched numb fingers under the heavy layers of cloak to the button of his breeches. His fingers bumped clumsily against each other, refusing to cooperate. He could not grasp the button. He looked up at Halbarad with a flush.
“I cannot,” he said.
Halbarad nodded. He slid his hands under the heavy cloak and over Frodo’s wet breeches. His hand floundered and groped blindly at Frodo’s groin, and Frodo jumped, letting out a loud gasp.
“I am sorry,” Halbarad murmured. He found the button and in seconds, Frodo’s breeches were unbuttoned and pulled down over his hips. Frodo’s belly and groin had warmed nearly to match his cheeks. Halbarad secured his cloak around Frodo’s shoulders so that only the hobbit’s hairy feet poked out from under the bottom folds. Halbarad wrung out Frodo’s clothes and thrust them inside Frodo’s pack, which he pushed into his own pack. After putting his pack on his shoulders, he lifted Frodo.
“Where are you taking me?” Frodo asked. Against his will, his eyelids had grown heavy, and he fought it. He did not want to miss a moment of the journey with this puzzling man. He rather enjoyed the feel of shockingly strong arms wrapped snugly around him, carrying him at an easy pace, as if his burden weighed nothing at all. At last Frodo could do no more than surrender to the rocking motion of Halbarad’s steady strides through the dusky woods.
“To a warm hearth.”
TBC