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claudia603Title: Ranger From the North
Author: Claudia
Pairing: Frodo/Halbarad
Rating: PG13
Summary: In the autumn after Bilbo leaves, Frodo meets a Ranger of the Northlands in the Shire. AU.
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
Chapter 8
Frodo held his breath as Halbarad halted just inside the cottage, although this time he did not stiffen with doubt. He threw back the hood of his cloak, revealing unkempt dark hair flecked with gray, and he pulled the mask from his face. He then looked around the cottage in wary wonder. The thinning late afternoon sun through the windows gave the newly polished floors a magical golden glow.
Frodo and Sam had worked hard during the last weeks. Frodo had told Sam very little, other than that he wished to help one of the Big Folk who had saved his life during his wanderings. Sam had been horrified not just that Frodo had been so close to death but that he had been near enough to any of the Big Folk. But after he had recovered from his moaning over how dear Mr. Frodo needed to stay closer to home from now on and how there was no need for him to wander so far, he had acquiesced. He had been more than happy to do anything at all for he who had saved his master’s life, even if he wasn’t a hobbit. Together they had swept and polished the floor, cleaned the windows inside and out, shaken the rug, and had placed a thick burgundy tablecloth over the rickety table and centered it with a heavy clay vase filled with orange and red chrysanthemums and marigolds. They had hung thick drapes over the windows. As far as food and drink, Frodo had brought several bottles of wine, found in Bilbo’s well-stocked cellar. Also, they had brought a bag of potatoes from the garden, onions, and some herbs. He had also brought extra dishes and glasses. Frodo had plenty in Bag End that he rarely used.
“You did all this…why?” Halbarad unclasped the weapons from around his waist and set them to rest in the corner near the fireplace.
“Well…” Frodo flushed deeply and looked down at his furry feet. He could not very well blurt out that he loved Halbarad and wished only for him to have as much happiness as could be salvaged so far from his home. He said the only sensible thing he could think of. “You saved my life.” He took off his brown jacket and as he could not reach the cloak hook, he dropped it on the ground beside the door. “Alas, there was not much to do about your bare furnishings. You would not be comfortable on furnishings such as could be found in the Shire and it might rouse suspicions for me to order from Bree or to have Man-size furniture specially made.”
Halbarad looked around the room again, his lips still curved in astonishment. “What you have done is more than enough. You made what little is here look like a home. That I have not had since…” Halbarad’s eyes clouded and he gazed into the distance. He blinked and came back to himself after a moment. “It has been many years.” He dropped to one knee and clasped Frodo’s shoulders. His eyes, unmasked now, were frighteningly intense, and Frodo could see pain in their depths. His breath was hot on Frodo’s lips and all it would take was for either of them to lean forward. Frodo swayed, but Halbarad drew away and instead kissed his brow. Frodo shivered as Halbarad’s moist lips lingered for too long.
“Thank you, Frodo,” he said, at last pulling away and standing.
Halbarad built a fire in the hearth, and they settled together on the fur rug. They did not speak, for Halbarad was reticent and nearly impossible to draw out in conversation. Frodo stopped trying after a few attempts, but his heart pattered happily. He had imagined this moment almost every day since he had met Halbarad. And almost every night since then he had brought himself to pleasure imagining that sitting here side by side before the fireplace, the Ranger would unbutton his shirt while nuzzling his craggy face against his soft neck. He imagined how his tongue would slide in Frodo’s mouth and it would taste of pipe-weed and worn leather and campfire. He imagined rough hands groping under his shirt and stroking over his belly, down his hips, and over nipples tender with arousal.
He absently rubbed his arm where Halbarad had grabbed him with such fierceness earlier. There would be bruising later. Yes, it had all started quite badly, but that no longer mattered because Halbarad had thawed, and though he did not speak, his stern mask had fallen, and he seemed content at last.
“Did I hurt you?” Halbarad asked in sudden concern.
“Oh, no,” Frodo flushed and pulled his fingers from his arm.
Halbarad shook his head. “I am sorry. I am deeply shamed by how I have treated you this day, when you have shown me nothing but kindness.”
“No, please,” Frodo said, bravely taking Halbarad’s large hand. “Let us not allow for regrets. Let us just enjoy what time we have.” He paused, gathering courage, and then he added, “I have missed you.”
Halbarad smiled, and Frodo’s breath caught. When Halbarad smiled, everything transformed, like a stormy gray sea when the sun at last breaks out, bringing color and light. “You have met me but one time before this. Have I impressed you so?”
“Yes,” Frodo said. “Very much, I’m afraid.”
Frodo was not sure whether he imagined it, but Halbarad’s hand trembled under his touch. “You have made an impression on me as well.”
“Have I?”
“You are not as most halflings I have come upon. There is something unworldly about you, something Elvish perhaps, a fairness not seen often in mortals.”
Frodo’s ears buzzed into merry ringing, and he held his breath. They leaned closer, breaths withheld, as if in a dream. At any moment, they would fall into each other’s arms, kissing and groping with the ferocity of survivors whom after months in a Southern desert find fresh water at last. Frodo hardened and his abdomen filled with warm fluttering. But then, as if an icy shadow fell between them, Halbarad looked away and glanced out the window.
“The sun is nearly down. Will you be needing to return to your home?”
Frodo’s cheeks numbed as if Halbarad had struck him. He could only gaze at him, not quite comprehending the question, only comprehending that he had pulled away. He had been wrong. He had misread kindness for eagerness.
At last Frodo stumbled to his feet. “First I shall make you something to eat,” he said, tilting his face away so that Halbarad could not see his biting disappointment. He fumbled for a bowl on the table and with shaking hands laid it beside the bag of potatoes. In a dull voice he continued, “I shall make you a potato and leek soup. Will you not set some water to boil in the hearth? I think we can share a glass of wine before I head for home.”
“It will be fully dark by then, and I shall accompany you home. It is not wise to be abroad late.” He had removed his muddy boots and was working at wiping them clean with a damp towel.
“Especially if you are but a helpless halfling,” Frodo added bitterly. Of course a Ranger who had seen so much of the world and as many dangers as he had would have no use for a hobbit that didn’t even own a sword and had no idea how to use one.
Halbarad let out a bark of a laugh. “I’ll warrant you’re not helpless, Frodo.”
Frodo only managed a stiff smile as he began to peel a potato.
“After all,” Halbarad added with crafted lightness to his voice. “How many hearts have you stolen? Surely there is a hobbit…a lass…perhaps a sweetheart?”
Frodo’s heart jolted and he met Halbarad’s gaze, unable to hide his pain. “No, no sweetheart.”
“That is a pity,” Halbarad said, scrubbing his boot with the towel, which had already turned brown with filth. “Whoever shall you choose will be fortunate.”
“No,” Frodo said with an unprecedented harshness that startled Halbarad into meeting his gaze. “No, that is not true. Because I should never be able to give my heart to…her… because I love one I cannot have.”
Halbarad paled slightly and turned away. His hand clenched the towel, but he did not move. He looked as though he had been delivered a regretful blow. So he had guessed Frodo’s feelings. He knew and he pitied Frodo, regretted coming here this day when he could never return such foolish love.
***
When Halbarad was a lad, he and his older brother had often played by the River Mitheithel, practicing what they had learned thus far about hunting with stealth. One day Halbarad had stepped on a thorn. The thorn had been long and thick, and it pierced through his boot and into his foot, causing a jagged pain that radiated all the way up to his knee. He had been so shocked that he had been unable to cry out to his brother, and he had just stood in place, his mouth half opened with unspoken pain.
Frodo’s last words had done the same to his heart. He had been warming up to it, nearly certain that the halfling returned his affection. Frodo had swayed toward him, breath held, just moments earlier. Halbarad had turned away because he had not been sure. If he had acted upon his instinct and he had been wrong, he would have forever destroyed Frodo’s sweet trust in him. But Halbarad had felt Frodo’s pulse quicken when he kissed his brow. Had that not been a sign? He had seen the flush in the halfling’s cheeks every time they accidentally brushed against each other. He had seen the adoration in expressive eyes that could not, would not ever mislead.
Halflings were so different from Men, especially the Dunadain, in how they showed affection. In both Bree and The Shire, hobbits hugged and kissed and held hands, and it meant nothing other than friendship. Perhaps Frodo had shown Halbarad such attention and kindness as he would his own kind. Perhaps it had only been because Halbarad had saved his life and he felt he owed him something in return.
Suddenly Halbarad felt lonelier than ever before. It had come out at last -- Frodo had a love, one who perhaps did not return his feelings but to whom his heart was given. This fortunate hobbit -- and Halbarad was nearly certain it was a hobbit -- whether lass or lad, had surely never frightened Frodo with harsh words or lain rough, bruising hands on him. The one Frodo loved was a fool not to bask in the devotion that flowed so naturally from this comely hobbit with the dreamy smile and melodious voice.
TBC
Author: Claudia
Pairing: Frodo/Halbarad
Rating: PG13
Summary: In the autumn after Bilbo leaves, Frodo meets a Ranger of the Northlands in the Shire. AU.
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
Chapter 8
Frodo held his breath as Halbarad halted just inside the cottage, although this time he did not stiffen with doubt. He threw back the hood of his cloak, revealing unkempt dark hair flecked with gray, and he pulled the mask from his face. He then looked around the cottage in wary wonder. The thinning late afternoon sun through the windows gave the newly polished floors a magical golden glow.
Frodo and Sam had worked hard during the last weeks. Frodo had told Sam very little, other than that he wished to help one of the Big Folk who had saved his life during his wanderings. Sam had been horrified not just that Frodo had been so close to death but that he had been near enough to any of the Big Folk. But after he had recovered from his moaning over how dear Mr. Frodo needed to stay closer to home from now on and how there was no need for him to wander so far, he had acquiesced. He had been more than happy to do anything at all for he who had saved his master’s life, even if he wasn’t a hobbit. Together they had swept and polished the floor, cleaned the windows inside and out, shaken the rug, and had placed a thick burgundy tablecloth over the rickety table and centered it with a heavy clay vase filled with orange and red chrysanthemums and marigolds. They had hung thick drapes over the windows. As far as food and drink, Frodo had brought several bottles of wine, found in Bilbo’s well-stocked cellar. Also, they had brought a bag of potatoes from the garden, onions, and some herbs. He had also brought extra dishes and glasses. Frodo had plenty in Bag End that he rarely used.
“You did all this…why?” Halbarad unclasped the weapons from around his waist and set them to rest in the corner near the fireplace.
“Well…” Frodo flushed deeply and looked down at his furry feet. He could not very well blurt out that he loved Halbarad and wished only for him to have as much happiness as could be salvaged so far from his home. He said the only sensible thing he could think of. “You saved my life.” He took off his brown jacket and as he could not reach the cloak hook, he dropped it on the ground beside the door. “Alas, there was not much to do about your bare furnishings. You would not be comfortable on furnishings such as could be found in the Shire and it might rouse suspicions for me to order from Bree or to have Man-size furniture specially made.”
Halbarad looked around the room again, his lips still curved in astonishment. “What you have done is more than enough. You made what little is here look like a home. That I have not had since…” Halbarad’s eyes clouded and he gazed into the distance. He blinked and came back to himself after a moment. “It has been many years.” He dropped to one knee and clasped Frodo’s shoulders. His eyes, unmasked now, were frighteningly intense, and Frodo could see pain in their depths. His breath was hot on Frodo’s lips and all it would take was for either of them to lean forward. Frodo swayed, but Halbarad drew away and instead kissed his brow. Frodo shivered as Halbarad’s moist lips lingered for too long.
“Thank you, Frodo,” he said, at last pulling away and standing.
Halbarad built a fire in the hearth, and they settled together on the fur rug. They did not speak, for Halbarad was reticent and nearly impossible to draw out in conversation. Frodo stopped trying after a few attempts, but his heart pattered happily. He had imagined this moment almost every day since he had met Halbarad. And almost every night since then he had brought himself to pleasure imagining that sitting here side by side before the fireplace, the Ranger would unbutton his shirt while nuzzling his craggy face against his soft neck. He imagined how his tongue would slide in Frodo’s mouth and it would taste of pipe-weed and worn leather and campfire. He imagined rough hands groping under his shirt and stroking over his belly, down his hips, and over nipples tender with arousal.
He absently rubbed his arm where Halbarad had grabbed him with such fierceness earlier. There would be bruising later. Yes, it had all started quite badly, but that no longer mattered because Halbarad had thawed, and though he did not speak, his stern mask had fallen, and he seemed content at last.
“Did I hurt you?” Halbarad asked in sudden concern.
“Oh, no,” Frodo flushed and pulled his fingers from his arm.
Halbarad shook his head. “I am sorry. I am deeply shamed by how I have treated you this day, when you have shown me nothing but kindness.”
“No, please,” Frodo said, bravely taking Halbarad’s large hand. “Let us not allow for regrets. Let us just enjoy what time we have.” He paused, gathering courage, and then he added, “I have missed you.”
Halbarad smiled, and Frodo’s breath caught. When Halbarad smiled, everything transformed, like a stormy gray sea when the sun at last breaks out, bringing color and light. “You have met me but one time before this. Have I impressed you so?”
“Yes,” Frodo said. “Very much, I’m afraid.”
Frodo was not sure whether he imagined it, but Halbarad’s hand trembled under his touch. “You have made an impression on me as well.”
“Have I?”
“You are not as most halflings I have come upon. There is something unworldly about you, something Elvish perhaps, a fairness not seen often in mortals.”
Frodo’s ears buzzed into merry ringing, and he held his breath. They leaned closer, breaths withheld, as if in a dream. At any moment, they would fall into each other’s arms, kissing and groping with the ferocity of survivors whom after months in a Southern desert find fresh water at last. Frodo hardened and his abdomen filled with warm fluttering. But then, as if an icy shadow fell between them, Halbarad looked away and glanced out the window.
“The sun is nearly down. Will you be needing to return to your home?”
Frodo’s cheeks numbed as if Halbarad had struck him. He could only gaze at him, not quite comprehending the question, only comprehending that he had pulled away. He had been wrong. He had misread kindness for eagerness.
At last Frodo stumbled to his feet. “First I shall make you something to eat,” he said, tilting his face away so that Halbarad could not see his biting disappointment. He fumbled for a bowl on the table and with shaking hands laid it beside the bag of potatoes. In a dull voice he continued, “I shall make you a potato and leek soup. Will you not set some water to boil in the hearth? I think we can share a glass of wine before I head for home.”
“It will be fully dark by then, and I shall accompany you home. It is not wise to be abroad late.” He had removed his muddy boots and was working at wiping them clean with a damp towel.
“Especially if you are but a helpless halfling,” Frodo added bitterly. Of course a Ranger who had seen so much of the world and as many dangers as he had would have no use for a hobbit that didn’t even own a sword and had no idea how to use one.
Halbarad let out a bark of a laugh. “I’ll warrant you’re not helpless, Frodo.”
Frodo only managed a stiff smile as he began to peel a potato.
“After all,” Halbarad added with crafted lightness to his voice. “How many hearts have you stolen? Surely there is a hobbit…a lass…perhaps a sweetheart?”
Frodo’s heart jolted and he met Halbarad’s gaze, unable to hide his pain. “No, no sweetheart.”
“That is a pity,” Halbarad said, scrubbing his boot with the towel, which had already turned brown with filth. “Whoever shall you choose will be fortunate.”
“No,” Frodo said with an unprecedented harshness that startled Halbarad into meeting his gaze. “No, that is not true. Because I should never be able to give my heart to…her… because I love one I cannot have.”
Halbarad paled slightly and turned away. His hand clenched the towel, but he did not move. He looked as though he had been delivered a regretful blow. So he had guessed Frodo’s feelings. He knew and he pitied Frodo, regretted coming here this day when he could never return such foolish love.
***
When Halbarad was a lad, he and his older brother had often played by the River Mitheithel, practicing what they had learned thus far about hunting with stealth. One day Halbarad had stepped on a thorn. The thorn had been long and thick, and it pierced through his boot and into his foot, causing a jagged pain that radiated all the way up to his knee. He had been so shocked that he had been unable to cry out to his brother, and he had just stood in place, his mouth half opened with unspoken pain.
Frodo’s last words had done the same to his heart. He had been warming up to it, nearly certain that the halfling returned his affection. Frodo had swayed toward him, breath held, just moments earlier. Halbarad had turned away because he had not been sure. If he had acted upon his instinct and he had been wrong, he would have forever destroyed Frodo’s sweet trust in him. But Halbarad had felt Frodo’s pulse quicken when he kissed his brow. Had that not been a sign? He had seen the flush in the halfling’s cheeks every time they accidentally brushed against each other. He had seen the adoration in expressive eyes that could not, would not ever mislead.
Halflings were so different from Men, especially the Dunadain, in how they showed affection. In both Bree and The Shire, hobbits hugged and kissed and held hands, and it meant nothing other than friendship. Perhaps Frodo had shown Halbarad such attention and kindness as he would his own kind. Perhaps it had only been because Halbarad had saved his life and he felt he owed him something in return.
Suddenly Halbarad felt lonelier than ever before. It had come out at last -- Frodo had a love, one who perhaps did not return his feelings but to whom his heart was given. This fortunate hobbit -- and Halbarad was nearly certain it was a hobbit -- whether lass or lad, had surely never frightened Frodo with harsh words or lain rough, bruising hands on him. The one Frodo loved was a fool not to bask in the devotion that flowed so naturally from this comely hobbit with the dreamy smile and melodious voice.
TBC
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no subject
Date: 2004-10-18 01:20 am (UTC)*kicks Halbarad's ankle. He hops in pain, stumbles forward, and lands in Frodo's arms*
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Date: 2004-10-18 02:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-10-18 01:58 am (UTC)*clings to the hope offered by a bowl of potato and leek soup*
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Date: 2004-10-18 02:11 am (UTC)Hal and Frood are being AWFULLY stubborn for me. *sighs* I do so want them to kiss...
Thanks!
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Date: 2004-10-18 02:35 am (UTC)Though I don't suppose Halbarad would agree at the moment.
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Date: 2004-10-18 02:43 am (UTC)*kicks them both*
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Date: 2004-10-18 02:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-10-18 02:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-10-18 03:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-10-18 03:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-10-18 03:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-10-18 03:19 am (UTC)He'll have to engage in some serious wanking, I suppose ;-D
no subject
Date: 2004-10-18 02:54 am (UTC)He could not very well blurt out that he loved Halbarad and wished only for him to have as much happiness as could be salvaged so far from his home.
Embarrassing, maybe, but it would have saved a lot of misunderstanding!
Seriously, I love how you have Halbarad considering the differences between Hobbit and Man culture. It's a reasonable caution. Perhaps the wine will work. *licks lips*
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Date: 2004-10-18 03:09 am (UTC)Thank you! Here's to hoping the wine will loosten them up! ;-)
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Date: 2004-10-18 02:58 am (UTC)tension.
we hates it precious.
*er, but we love this fic, of course!
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Date: 2004-10-18 03:10 am (UTC)Thank you very much for reading!
no subject
Date: 2004-10-18 05:29 am (UTC)Instincts = GOOD!
Thinking about culture differences = BAD
Halfling swooning in your arms? = GUH!
Get with it guys!
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Date: 2004-10-18 10:35 am (UTC)Some Ranger he is if he can't trust his instincts! ;-D
Thanks! ;-) *joins you in slapping him upside the head*
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Date: 2004-10-18 07:11 am (UTC)I like Shirebound's suggestion . . . even if Frood might get slightly squished :)
You are definitely killing us all here !
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Date: 2004-10-18 10:36 am (UTC)Well, if Halbarad just happened to land on Frodo, then he'd have to do something about just happening to be in that position, now, wouldn't he? ;-)
hehe. Thanks!
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Date: 2004-10-18 06:09 pm (UTC)Communication, boys -- it's the wave of the future.
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Date: 2004-10-18 08:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-10-21 03:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-10-21 07:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-10-21 09:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-10-23 12:39 am (UTC)However, you are the author, and if you like torturing your readers this way, I must just grit my teeth and bear it.
*whines pitifully*
The one Frodo loved was a fool not to bask in the devotion that flowed so naturally from this comely hobbit with the dreamy smile and melodious voice.
Tell me about it, Hal! This last is promising, however. Let's bring out the wine and propose some toasts - or play a game of "Truth or Dare"!
no subject
Date: 2004-10-23 01:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-10-29 02:09 am (UTC)You are KILLING me...I just want you to know that! Killing me!
*runs away nearly dead to read the next chapter!*
no subject
Date: 2004-10-29 02:40 am (UTC)