AND Blissful Nights...

[claudia603]

I think this is another one that I have in very few places and only a few chapters are on LJ so I'm putting all in one place here so I can index...Also an old school one of mine -- warnings for girly!Frodo and all! :))


Title: Blissful Nights
Pairing: Frodo/Boromir
Rating: PG13 up to NC-17 toward end
Summary: In Rivendell, Boromir and Frodo cannot deny an instant
attraction.
Story notes: I am aware that the council of Elrond was right after Frodo
woke from his injuries, but I’m making it later.



Frodo watched the large man ride into Rivendell and dismount from his
horse. His large, muscular body was both fascinating and frightening,
and Frodo felt at once breathless. He had not yet gotten used to interacting
with Big People. He had traveled with Aragorn, but Aragorn was not
typical. He was more Elven—or more appropriately, more similar to
Gandalf. This man riding into town had exactly the look that Frodo had
pictured when he thought about the Big People—intimidating and arrogant
but full of muscular grace.

The man looked up suddenly, as if he sensed Frodo’s gaze. He lifted his
hand in tentative greeting before striding away, leading his horse. Frodo
hoped that he would show up for the feast that evening. His stomach
rumbled with hunger. He had only been out of bed a few days. His
appetite had returned with a vengeance.

“Hallo, Frodo.” Pippin squeezed his arm. “How are you feeling?”

“I couldn’t be better,” Frodo said.

“What were you looking at so intently just now?”

Frodo realized that he had a secret smile on his face. His cheeks grew
warm.

“Oh, a man rode in just now. I was wondering who he was.”

“You can soon find out. I was sent to get you. Dinner is served, and
several newcomers will be there. That man must be one of them.”

At the dinner, Frodo sat between Sam and Aragorn. He enjoyed the
company of his friends very much, but he was distracted. He found that
his eyes kept wandering across the table to the man who had captured his
fascination. He couldn’t believe that the man had had such a strange
effect on him in so short a time. His heart sped and slowed in strange
rhythms.

“Excuse me,” Frodo said softly to Aragorn. “Who is that man? Is he from
a distant land?”

Aragorn smiled softly. He cleared his throat to capture the attention of the
man, who had been deep in contemplation.

“Excuse me, Boromir. I’d like to introduce you to someone.”

The man Boromir looked up from his meal. His eyes rested on Frodo. He
seemed to notice him for the first time. His lips parted in curiosity.

“Boromir, this is Frodo Baggins. He came from the Shire, through many
perils, of which you’ll learn during the council. Frodo, this is the son of
the Steward of Gondor. He has come to learn more at Elrond’s council.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Boromir said with a soft smile. “I have
never seen a halfling, though my brother used to tell me tales of little
people who lived far to the north of us. That is where the Shire is, I would
guess.”

“Yes,” Frodo answered. “And I, in turn, have not met many men. I’m
glad to meet you.”

A tall elf bent over Boromir and whispered something in his ear. Boromir
nodded. He turned to Frodo.

“Please excuse me. There is a matter I must attend to.”

The large man got up, pushed his chair in, and strode out of the room.
Frodo stared after him, his cheeks red and hot. Boromir was a big man, but
he moved with agility and grace. His huge hands were callused from a
lifetime of wielding swords. His voice had been soft and courteous.

Frodo looked up to catch Aragorn smiling at him. Frodo glanced down at
his food. He suddenly had no appetite. He was bitterly disappointed that
Boromir had been called away before they could talk more.

“He’s a good man,” Aragorn murmured. “Trustworthy and brave.”

“Yes, it seems so,” Frodo answered.

“Frodo, you will be in Rivendell for several weeks before the council. I
am quite certain you’ll have further opportunity to talk to Boromir.”

Frodo’s cheeks flamed. He had been too obvious. He wondered if Boromir
had sensed his over-eagerness. Frodo would not be able to bear it if he
had already made a mess of his potential friendship with the man.

Aragorn dropped his voice to a whisper.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he said. “You would not be the first to fall for
such a man.”

Frodo pushed his chair back. His humiliation was complete. He could not
meet Aragorn’s gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he stammered. “Please excuse me.”

Frodo’s hobbit friends followed him out of the room.

“What is with you?” Merry asked. “Are you ill?”

“No,” Frodo said. “I just want to be alone for awhile.”

Pippin smiled knowingly.

“I think it has to do with a certain Gondorian who arrived in town today.”

“Does all of Rivendell know already?” Frodo said, his throat catching.

“No, only your dear friends.”

“What are you talking about?” Sam asked.

Frodo told him about how Boromir had ridden into Rivendell that day and
the effect it had had upon him.

Frodo flushed again. Now that it was in the open, he found that he could
more clearly define his feelings. He could admit to his friends and to
himself that he had a sudden and violent crush on Boromir. He wanted to
know more about him. He wanted to know everything about him. Most of
all, he knew the next few weeks would be full of the distraction of trying
to meet up with the young man.

“If he’s out and about dealing with business now,” Pippin said. “Then he’s
not in his room.”

Pippin smiled mischievously. Merry punched his arm.

“I see what you’re getting at, cousin.”

“I don’t understand,” Frodo said with a puzzled frown.

“You Bagginses can be so dense sometimes,” Pippin said, shaking his
head. Sam glared at him.

“What he means, dear Frodo,” Merry said. “Is that your fellow is not in his
room. We can sneak in and you can find out more about him. You can find
out if he has a sweetheart or—“

“No,” Frodo said, appalled. “I’m not going to sneak through his
belongings!”

“You don’t have to go through his stuff,” Pippin shrugged. “But aren’t you
be curious as to what his room looks like? His bed?”

Frodo flushed furiously.

“I should never have told you!”

But he was tempted. Pippin was right. There could be no harm in simply
entering his room and smelling his scent, seeing what manner of pack he
had or the swords he carried with him. His breath caught at the image of
the powerful man wielding a sword nearly the length of Frodo’s body.

“All right,” he said quietly. “But if we get caught, I’ll blame it all on
you.”

“That you may,” Pippin said.

“Mr. Frodo—“ Sam said, shaking his head. “I don’t know about this.”

Frodo put his arm around Sam’s shoulders. “It’s all right, Sam. You
don’t have to go.”

“If you’re going, then I’m going.”

Frodo took a deep breath. Despite his initial annoyance at his younger
friends, he felt a surge of excitement. He hadn’t done anything this
mischievous since he had stolen mushrooms from Farmer Maggot’s field
as a youngster. After the past dark weeks, it felt good to be a little
youthful.


***


"Do you know where he sleeps?" Frodo asked as he followed his friends
down a long, arched corridor. The steady chirp of crickets filled the silky
night air. Frodo imagined being invited by Boromir to come to his room.
The thought made him feel warm all over.

Pippin and Merry looked at each other, and Pippin winked.

"I made it a point to find out. I saw cousin Frodo with stars in his eyes at
dinner, gazing at Boromir, that unmistakeable look of desire in those big
blue eyes--"

"How could he resist, I wonder?" Merry asked.

"Stop, you two!" Frodo protested, turning red again. Had his feelings
been so obvious to everyone at the feast?

"Anyway," Pippin said. He finished the apple he had been nibbling on
and threw it into a nearby bin. "I asked around until I found out where he
was staying. Just follow me."

Frodo's heart sped as they climbed a flight of stairs and entered a new
corridor. He had explored the house of Elrond after he had first awakened,
but he had never been in these quarters.

Pippin stood proudly in front of a huge door. Elvish runes curved around a
gold knob. Frodo found himself blushing again. He had never fallen for
anybody so violently before. A wave of dizzyness overcame him, and he
clutched the knob.

"Are you sure we should do this?" he asked.

"He won't be back for hours," Merry said. "Any matter involving
conversation with the elves is bound to take half the night."

"I still don't know," Sam muttered, shaking his head.

Pippin pushed open the door, and it swung open. The hobbits crept in.
Frodo was amazed by the size of the room. His own quarters were huge,
but the elves had kindly tried to give the hobbits the smallest rooms they
could find in order to make it as home-like as possible. This room seemed
the size of all of Bag End, if it were spread into one chamber.

A huge sword and round shield leaned against the wall. Frodo brushed his
hand over the shield. It smelled like pinewood and leather. Frodo inhaled,
imagining burying his face into Boromir's hair.

"What's this?" he heard Pippin ask in the background. Frodo saw that his
young cousin had picked up several rings from the dresser.

"Oh, Pippin, be careful," Frodo said. "Those look quite valuable."

Frodo ran his hand on the hilt of the sword. He lifted it with both hands.
He had been right in his earlier musings. The sword was nearly his height
and extremely heavy. He could barely lift it. He curled both hands around
the hilt and raised it from the ground. What strength Boromir must have in
order to thrust through the air, to strike down his enemies! His own small
hands felt soft and inadequate.

A loud voice at the door caused Frodo's heart to leap into his throat. He
released Boromir's sword, and it fell to the floor with a huge clatter.

"What is going on here?"

Frodo stared up in dismay at the large man. He felt so ashamed. Sam
cowered beside him, clutching his arm. Sam was trembling and Frodo felt
rotten for dragging him into this situation. Sam had been terrified of the
men in Bree, and had barely trusted Aragorn until the end of their
desperate journey to Rivendell. And now here was this warrior from
Gondor furious at them.

Merry and Pippin stood in place, fidgeting and looking very much like
hobbit children who had been caught stealing mushrooms.

"I asked what's going on," Boromir took a threatening step into the room,
causing the hobbits to flinch and move back. "Why are you going through
my belongings?"

Frodo's throat filled. He had no excuse for the foolish way he and his
friends had acted. He smarted inside, knowing that he had ruined any
chance he might have to pursue the young Gondorian. Now the man no
doubt would have the impression that hobbits were silly, mischievous
children.

"We're very sorry," Pippin said in a small voice. Boromir wheeled to him
in a fury. He raised his fisted hand, and Frodo gasped, wondering if the
man would strike Pippin. Instead, Boromir shook his head, obviously
disgusted. He took in a deep breath and unclenched his fist. His voice,
which had been so beautiful at dinner, was low and threatening. His gray
eyes glinted like iron.

"I did not know the halflings were so discourteous--now all of you--get
out!"

Merry and Pippin fled the room immediately. Frodo felt rooted in place.
He wanted to say something, to apologize for his shameful act. A lump
filled his throat. Any chance he had ever had with the man was now gone
forever.

Sam dragged Frodo out the door, glancing back in terror at the man
glaring down at them. Frodo looked up, knowing his cheeks were red.

"I'm very sorry," he managed before Boromir slammed his door shut on
their faces.

Frodo followed his friends numbly down the corridor until they were out
of earshot.

"Oh, Sam!" he choked. "How could I have done that? I acted like a hobbit
just into his tweens. Now he will never--he'll hate me now. I've lost my
chance."

His shoulder ached, and he felt like fierce icy fingers were digging into it.
He was weary. He just wanted to curl up in bed and not come out until the
council.

"Mr. Frodo, it wasn't your fault. If you ask my opinion, it's Pippin that
ought to have his bottom bruised. We should never have listened to him.
Now, don't fret. I'll help you fix this. When this fine man hears about
what you've gone through, he'll not let something this trivial get in the
way--you'll see! Now let's get you to bed. You look right tired, Mr.
Frodo."

***



Boromir breathed in the fresh morning air. Though it was late October, it
felt like spring in Minis Tirith. The sweet fragrance of lilacs wafted under
his nose. A silky warm breeze rustled his clothing, which seemed much
too heavy for Rivendell's mild weather. He found Aragorn sitting on a
carved chair on one of the many balconies. He was sipping tea, a faint
smile of contentment on his face.

"Good morning, Aragorn," Boromir said, nodding. He had originally
intended to keep walking in order to get something to eat, but instead he
paused. He couldn't rid his mind of the vision of the beautiful dark-haired
halfling he had met at the feast and his friends trespassing in his room two
nights earlier.

"Morning, Boromir." Aragorn took in a sniff of the air. "A fine day it will
be today--as is every day in Rivendell under this sun."

"That is true." Boromir leaned against the balcony. "Tell me, Aragorn.
You traveled with the halflings, am I right?"

Aragorn gave him a strange, knowing smile that puzzled him.

"Yes, why do you ask?"

"I wonder. Is it the custom in the Shire to think nothing of rifling through
the belongings of others?"

Aragorn's smile faded. "Not that I know of, Boromir, though certainly
hobbits are much more open with each other than men. Did something
happen?"

Boromir explained what happened when he came back to his room and
found the four hobbits going through his belongings.

"It's not that I have anything to hide, Aragorn, but it is the principle of the
matter. I nearly spoke to Elrond about it, but I decided that I gave them
enough of a scare."

"All four of them, you say?"

"There were four."

"Frodo was there?" Aragorn said in disbelief.

"Frodo?" Boromir looked confused.

"The halfling I introduced you to at the feast."

"Ah, yes," Boromir said with a faint smile. He remembered thinking that
the halfling looked more like an elf with his soft, flawless skin and huge
blue eyes. "Yes, Frodo was there, too."

"I don't understand it," Aragorn said, shaking his head. "I understand the
two younger hobbits--they are but like teenagers among our own kind.
And Sam, he would follow Frodo anywhere. But Frodo is so serious and
intelligent--much like his uncle--and he's gone through so much. I'm just
surprised he was involved in such mischief. Though he was quite curious
about you."

Boromir shook his head. "If he was before, I don't think so anymore. I
saw him in the corridor yesterday. He fled to get out of my way. Perhaps I
overreacted when I found them in my room. Frodo was curious about me,
you say?"

"If I know Frodo," Aragorn said. "I would say he's deeply embarrassed by
what happened."

Boromir felt an unexpected shudder of warmth under his skin as he
remembered the hobbit's flushed face. He wondered what it would be like
to stroke that cheek. He wondered how it would feel to sink his lips into
Frodo's moist bow-shaped lips. He flushed. What he was thinking was
proposterous. He was a warrior on a mission. The last thing he needed was
to fall for a helpless, silly halfling.

***

Frodo wandered around the grounds of Elrond's house, avoiding his
friends. Pippin had already apologized profusely to him. Pippin had tried
to comfort him the best he could

"He can't be that kind, anyway, Frodo, if he yelled at you like that and
slammed the door in your face."

"No, Pippin. We deserved it."

Frodo waited around the dining area, hoping the Gondorian would show
up. This time he would not flee. Just the day before, he had wandered
down the corridor, close to Boromir's quarters and the large man had
turned the corner out of nowhere, startling Frodo badly. Frodo had fled,
his heart thudding too hard to encounter Boromir. He had agonized over
his lack of courage the rest of the night.

Finally Boromir entered. Frodo took a deep breath and bravely walked to
the man.

"Boromir," he said softly. THe man did not appear to have heard. He
cleared his throat. "Boromir!"

Boromir flinched, as if startled, and then looked down at Frodo in surprise.
He didn't say anything.

"I...I wanted to..." Frodo looked up at the man's stubbled face, but he could
read no warmth there. "I wanted to apologize for the other night."

Boromir nodded curtly, but still did not say anything. Frodo flushed. This
was becoming awkward. He wasn't sure whether to continue. He felt his
throat swell in disappointment.

"All right," Frodo said. He turned away in humiliation. Perhaps Pippin
was right. The man was not worth pursuing. But he could not let it go so
easily. There had to be a reason Frodo had felt such a strong initial
reaction to him. It was worth one more chance. Boromir started to walk
away. Frodo trotted after him and grabbed his sleeve.

The man turned in irritation. "What is it?"

Frodo's face heated. "I want to start over. Pretend you never saw me in
your room. Please let me make it up to you. Come, Boromir. We can
arrange to take a picnic into the fields just beyond the house. I...I'd really
like to know you, to talk to you."

Boromir's eyes widened in surprise. His cheeks turned slightly red and he
released an awkward laugh. "I don't think it's a good idea, halfling. Now,
good day!"

He turned and strode quickly out of the room. Frodo's cheeks burned in
deep shame. He had thrown himself at Boromir, and he had been
ruthlessly turned down. He knew now that Pippin was right. The man was
cold, not someone who could ever please a warm, affectionate hobbit like
himself. The knowledge didn't make it hurt less. In fact, his insides felt
like tiny pinchers attacked him from all angles. Frodo collapsed on a
nearby chair and lay his head on his knees in despair.


***


Boromir rushed through the corridors, barely noticing his surroundings,
his heart thudding. He had gone into the dining area to eat, but food was
the last thing on his mind now. He could not believe what had just
happened. The halfling Frodo had begged him to go on a picnic, in a
private field, so that he could get to know him! Now that he thought about
it, Aragorn had worn a secret smile after Boromir had mentioned the
halflings. Aragorn had also said that Frodo was curious about him. What
did it mean? He was afraid to think too much about it. He knew he had
just been incredibly rude to Frodo, but he simply didn't trust himself.

If he went with Frodo, and the halfling wanted to kiss him--his breath
quickened at the thought. He wouldn't be able to control himself. What
was it about his lovely dark curls, soft, flawless skin, and most importantly
sparkling blue eyes that made Boromir's breath catch? He could fully
admit it to himself. Just being in the presence of the halfling made him
feel weak. Weakness was something he could not allow in himself. He did
not have the time or inclination to fall in love.

Later that afternoon, he walked around the outdoor grounds of the House
of Elrond. The calm he had begun to feel in this Elven fortress had left
him. His mind burned. He could not go back to his room and rest. He
pictured himself taking Frodo up on his offer, going with him into a sunny
field with nobody else around.

***

Frodo felt weary beyond belief. His attempt to charm Boromir had failed
miserably. His shoulder had begun to ache again. Elrond had told him that
it would be common for it to hurt occasionally and that unfortunately he
would probably never be rid of it completely. He had only been out of bed
a few days and sometimes even a walk from his quarters down to the
dining area left him winded and weak. Today especially. Now there was
nothing to look forward to. When he had first seen Boromir and
recognized his attraction for the tall man, he had believed that something
exciting was going to happen to him, that he had something outside of the
Ring to think about. Now he had butchered that hope by behaving
foolishly. He didn't care that he was tired. He needed to get some fresh
air. After that he would go back to his room and take a nap--and try to rid
his mind of Boromir.

He found himself wandering around the steep paths and staircases outside.
The air was sweet and warm, and he breathed it in. After an hour of such
wandering, his shoulder ached with an icy intensity that he hadn't felt
since before losing consciousness at the Ford. He thought he should
probably inform Elrond, as he was to tell him if his shoulder hurt more
than a gentle throb.

***

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur for Boromir. Everywhere he
went, he could think of nothing other than trying to catch sight of the
slight figure with the curly dark hair. He should never have spoken so
abruptly to him. The halfling had just shocked him--he hadn't known how
to deal with it. He wished he had at least been less cold to him. What must
Frodo think of men after his two encounters with him?

He finally spotted Frodo climbing a flight of stairs, looking pensive. He
hadn't seen Boromir yet. Boromir held his breath, just watching him. The
halfling looked pained, pale and sad. Boromir shook his head in self-
anger. He was going to talk to Frodo--and let whatever came of it come.
Boromir flinched in concern as Frodo staggered and nearly fell. Frodo
clutched his arm, as if it pained him greatly. He leaned heavily against the
wall that ran along side the stairs.

Boromir ran quickly toward him, intending to help him. It was obvious
Frodo had injured himself or was ill. His face looked very pale now.

"Frodo?"

Frodo looked up at him; his eyes looked glassy and pained. There was no
doubt that he was ill.

"Boromir," he gasped. "Please help me, I--"

Frodo's eyes rolled behind his head. Boromir caught him as he collapsed.
Boromir's heart sped as he lowered Frodo gently to the ground and onto
his lap. He felt Frodo's cheeks. They were frigid.

"What's this?" Boromir muttered, feeling sick inside. He had never felt
skin so cold on a living person before. He shook Frodo's shoulder. He
clutched Frodo's hand and squeezed. It felt icy, as if Frodo had held his
hand in a bucket of snow for several hours.

"Frodo? Can you hear me?"

Frodo groaned but did not open his eyes. Heart pounding, Boromir carried
him down the stairs. He nearly ran into Aragorn at the bottom. Aragorn
immediately grew concerned when he saw Frodo in Boromir's arms.

"What's happened?"


"He collapsed on the stairs. He's very ill, Aragorn. Feel him. His skin is
like ice."

Aragorn took Frodo from Boromir. He stroked Frodo's face in concern. He
sighed when he felt how icy his skin was.

"It is his wound. I must get him to Elrond at once. He should have spent a
few more days in bed."

"What is wrong with him, Aragorn?"

"I will say no more other than to say that he was stabbed by a blade of the
Enemy. The poison still troubles him, though Elrond's hands are the best
healing he could have had."

Boromir paled. He had badly misjudged the hobbits as being soft and
silly. Frodo had experienced horror and pain that most warriors in Minis
Tirith, near the border of Mordor, had never had to face.

He looked up to ask Aragorn more, but the ranger had already lifted Frodo
over his shoulder and run down the stairs.

***

Frodo had seen a lovely vision before he had fallen into cold shadows. He
had seen Boromir's shining face, creased with concern. He had thought he
felt his strong arms clasp him. But then the red-eyed orcs surrounded him
with whips and cudgels. He had thought he had awakened already from
this nightmare, but it continued. A fiery red eye blazed in front of him,
whispering dark words. He tried to remember the details of Boromir's
face, but the fiery eye kept blocking it. He shrieked, trying to rid his body
of the icy pain, hoping anybody would help him.



***



Before Frodo opened his eyes, he smelled faint pipeweed. He smiled in
sleepy contentment. It was a smell he had always associated with Bilbo. A
sweet, warm breeze brushed Frodo's curls. He opened his eyes to find
himself in the same big bed he had awakened in just three days earlier.
Last time he had found Gandalf sitting in a chair beside him. This time it
was Aragorn. He smiled at Frodo, still puffing on his pipe. Frodo was
somewhat disappointed that it was not Bilbo.

"I was certain you'd wake soon," Aragorn said with a smile. "How do you
feel?"

"What happened?" Frodo asked, trying to move. His shoulder ached, but it
wasn't the piercing, cold pain that had debilitated him when--

He suddenly remembered Boromir's concerned face and strong arms
before he had blacked out. Frodo flushed at the thought. During his walk,
he had been trying to push the man out of his mind. He had spotted him
standing on the balcony, watching him. He had tried so hard to give the
man the impression that he was no longer a silly hobbit with a crush, but
instead, he had fainted in his arms.

"You were walking around outside and you had a relapse. Elrond gave you
a very aggressive treatment. You're getting some color back. I just sent
Sam and Bilbo away to get some rest. Sam will be furious that once again
you've shown your usual propensity for waking up right after he leaves."

Frodo laughed a little. He felt very little pain, just a pervasive weakness.

"I feel all right now," Frodo said.

"All the same, Elrond has commanded a week of bed rest."

A tentative knock sounded on the door. Frodo imagined that it was
Gandalf or Sam. He felt warm, surrounded by dear friends who cared
about him. Despite the heavy darkness of the quest, he could not ask for
more.

"Go ahead and come in," Aragorn said.

The door cracked open. Frodo's heart banged, leaving him breathless.
Boromir's wide shoulders nearly filled the door frame. Frodo looked down
at his hands, flushing furiously. What was he going to say to him after he
had thrown himself at him?

Aragorn did not seem surprised to see Boromir. He winked at Frodo. "I
must go for a bite to eat. I will be back to check on you."

Frodo looked at him, silently pleading Aragorn not to leave him alone
with Boromir, but Aragorn quickly slipped out of the room. Frodo
clenched his hands together. A delicious smell of cooking drifted into his
room, making his stomach growl.

"How are you?" Boromir said in a gentle voice. "I was worried."

"I am much better, thank you," Frodo said, wringing his hands. He had
assumed he would never interact with Boromir again.

A dry hand touched his brow. "Am I making you uncomfortable? Would
you like me to leave?"

Frodo looked up, ashamed by his rude behavior. "Oh, no!" he cried. "I'm
sorry...I..I'm really sorry. Please sit down."

Boromir smiled. "I brought you something."

"You did?"

"I asked Aragorn what halflings like to eat. He said you have an
uncommon love of mushrooms. I requested that the kitchen fix you a
mushroom pie. I hope it's all right."

Frodo grinned. He had thought the food scent came from down the
corridor. "It sounds wonderful! Yes, I'm very hungry and I would love to
share it with you!"

"Oh," Boromir smiled. "Nay. It's all for you. I am not fond of
mushrooms."

Frodo cringed. He had been too eager, and now the man would leave in
disgust again.

"But," Boromir added. "I brought myself cold meats and cheeses that you
are also welcome to partake in. Aragorn warned me that the appetites of
hobbits belie their size. Am I right?"

Frodo smiled again, moved that Boromir had gone through the trouble to
find out what he would like to eat and have it cooked for him. "Boromir,
thank you! You didn't have to do this. It is very kind of you."

"Aragorn explained what happened to you on Weathertop. I was rude to
you and I wanted to apologize."

Frodo's heart pattered. The conversation was turning into a direction that
he longed for, and yet he was not sure how to respond. He had already
given away too much of himself.

"No," Frodo said. "It was I that was rude. My friends and I should never
have entered your room. It's just that--" He glanced up at Boromir, who
was preparing the food on a large tray. Frodo caught a glimpse of the
blond hair on his hard chest. He wondered how it would feel to place his
smooth cheek on it. Before he could help himself he blurted. "It's just that
I've been fascinated by you since you rode into Rivendell."

Boromir paused in his arranging of the cold meats on the tray. His lips
parted in shock.

"Fascinated? I can't imagine..."

Frodo hoped he had not erred by being so blunt. Hobbits were open with
each other, but perhaps that was not the way of men.

***

Boromir stared down at the flushed halfling. He could easily be
swallowed by his beautiful blue eyes. Despite a serious illness caused by
an evil blade of the Enemy, Frodo's eyes sparkled with rare innocence,
though childlike would not be an accurate description. Frodo was
definitely not a child. Still, he looked at Boromir with such open trust. The
men of Gondor were trained from an early age to trust only reluctantly.
This halfling had pulled through horrendous odds and had fought bravely
against the Dark Lord's servants, yet he still had a naivite about him, as if
his most pressing problem was a decision on what to cook for dinner.

And he had just told him that he was fascinated by him. Just looking at
Frodo made him reel inside, as if he had fallen under a dizzy spell. He
longed to run his hands along Frodo's soft skin, longed to clutch Frodo's
cheeks in his hands. The darker side of him longed to jump on the bed, rip
Frodo's clothes off, and stare into those blue eyes to see if they would
remain serene and gentle while he thrust with brutal force inside the tiny
body--anything to rid himself of this reeling itch. He felt dirty for thinking
such a thought. He was a noble man. He couldn't, with good conscience,
touch this halfling at all. He knew if he started, he would be unable to
control a rush of violent lust--and he had no desire to cause Frodo more
pain.

"Frodo," he said quietly, his throat feeling tight. "What is it that you
want?"

Frodo looked down. "I don't know."

"Let us eat then," Boromir said, though he found he had no appetite. He
would never be able to eat with those luminous eyes fixed on him. In fact,
after they ate, he should leave and not come back. The more he stayed
with Frodo, the more he would find more to love. Right now he knew
almost nothing about the halfling, other than he was uncommonly brave,
he was beautiful, he loved mushrooms, he had a sweet smile...

Frodo dug into his pie, eating as though he had not eaten in weeks. When
he was finished with it, he smiled at Boromir again. "Very delicious,
Boromir. I can't thank you enough."

By the time the meal was finished, Boromir knew plenty about Frodo. He
had learned about the deaths of Frodo's parents, he heard the love in
Frodo's voice as he talked about Bilbo, he learned that Frodo enjoyed
reading and writing, cooking, and that he had never married. He was also
the best listener he had encountered. He asked Boromir many questions
about growing up in Minas Tirith. He listened to the answers with a look
of fascination in his expressive eyes.

If it was possible to fall in love within an hour's time, Boromir had done
so. This could not be. He had to leave. He had to sort through his feelings.
He couldn't do so while Frodo was looking at him with eyes alive with
attraction for him.

"Frodo," Boromir said, placing a trembling large hand on Frodo's small
hand. "I must go now."

"Will you come back?" Frodo asked. "I am to be bedridden for a week,
Aragorn says."

"I'll...I'll try." He bowed his head, shamed by what he was certain was a
lie. He could not promise. He could not bear to get any closer to Frodo. If
he did, he would fall hard for him and there would be no turning back. He
had come to Rivendell for the council. War was imminent in Gondor, and
he had come on a warrior's mission, sent by his father to find the riddle to
a dream. To give into his feelings for Frodo was a luxury he couldn't
afford.


***


Frodo read and reread the note, his throat closing in aching
disappointment. He had managed to ruin it with the Gondorian again.
Three simple sentences: Frodo, thank you for your company yesterday. I
will not be able to visit you this week. I am sorry.

Frodo swallowed the ache in his throat. He needed to learn to accept that a
relationship with Boromir was not meant to be. He shifted uncomfortably
in the bed. The other hobbits were chattering together and seemingly
oblivious to his pain. Their intentions were good. They could be
anywhere in the House of Elrond, but they chose to keep their bedridden
cousin company.

"Frodo, guess what!" Pippin said, turning to him suddenly. "Remember
your friend, the man from Gondor that kicked us out of his room?"

Frodo's heart leaped at the mention of Boromir. His throat was too dry to
respond.

"How could he forget?" Merry teased. "He fainted in his arms."

Frodo flushed, but he forced a smile. "What about him?"

"He's offered to teach me sword fighting. I'm to meet him in the courtyard-
-you know, the one with the funny blue founntain--tomorrow morning."

Frodo's heart sank. Boromir could not visit him and yet he could find the
time to spar with his cousin. This had confirmed what he had suspected.
Boromir's inability to visit him was personal. Something in their
conversation over cold meats and mushroom pie had turned Boromir off.
Well, Merry and Pippin, and even Bilbo, had often told him that he was
too moody, too serious. That was true, but this time he knew the culprit--
he had been too eager. He had never been in love and he did not know
how to act. Pippin was dynamic and fun. He didn't take himself so
seriously. Boromir would surely find him more appealing.

"Oh," was all he managed.

"I'm sure we could get permission from Gandalf or Elrond so that you
could sit outside and watch," Pippin said.

"Frodo's supposed to stay in bed," Sam said, putting his arm around
Frodo's shoulders in a protective manner.

"I'm feeling very tired," Frodo said. He felt cold and his limbs felt heavy
all over. "Could I please have some time alone?"

"Oh, sorry, Cousin Frodo!" Merry said. "We've been thoughtlessly
chattering away and you're still sick! Forgive us."

Frodo shook his head. "I appreciate you coming, I really do."

"Shall I get Gandalf?" Sam asked, feeling Frodo's face in concern.

"I'm not feeling sick," Frodo said, desperately trying to keep the irritation
from his voice. "Just tired." He closed his eyes as if to illustrate the point.
After his friends left, he settled back into his pillows. He read the note
again several more times before closing his eyes. It was not long before he
fell into a dreamless sleep.



The next morning, Frodo refused the food Sam had brought him and when
Gandalf tried to assess his temperature, he pulled away with a scowl.

"There is nothing wrong with me! Now can't everyone just leave me alone
for a bit!"

"Nothing wrong but a hobbitish temper," Gandalf said, shaking his head.
"Dear Frodo, I do wish you'd eat just a little."

Frodo looked at his old friend and felt guilty for snapping at him. Sam
and Gandalf only had good intentions.

"I'm sorry," Frodo said. "I'm just...I just want to be alone."

"Is there anything you wish to talk about?"

At that moment, he heard the light, merry sound of his young cousins
laughing outside. He heard a familiar deep voice join them. He sighed
mournfully.

"Please, Gandalf. I would like to join my cousins outside. The sun would
do me good."

"I am sorry Frodo, but bedridden means bedridden. Elrond did not say
otherwise."

"Then leave me please. I want to sleep."

As soon as Gandalf and Sam left, Frodo dressed and slipped out of his sick
room. He crept carefully along the corridor, hoping not to run into Gandalf
or Aragorn. After nearly twenty minutes of climbing down winding
stairways and trotting across marble patios, Frodo reached the courtyard
with the blue fountain. He paused by the spray, letting a warm mist hit his
face.

Merry and Pippin cried out in joy when they saw him. Boromir looked
visibly startled. He averted his eyes.

Frodo sat on a chair. He was suddenly cold and he had not brought his
cloak. Nobody else looked cold, and he assumed it was not the weather
but the after effect of his wound. He wondered at the wisdom of
disobeying Elrond and Gandalf. He couldn't imagine climbing all those
stairs to return to his room.

"Thank you," Frodo said. "Go on with your sparring. I'm just watching."

The sun rose high in the sky, and it grew warmer. Frodo was still chilled.
He watched Boromir laugh with Pippin and Merry. He treated them in a
different manner. With Frodo he had been gentle and kind and soft-
spoken. With the younger hobbits, he laughed and joked. He barely looked
at Frodo. Frodo felt miserably invisible, as if he had put on the Ring.
Finally he got up and slipped away without saying farewell. His feet
dragged as he ascended the stairs. At the top, he crashed into Aragorn. He
was too weary to catch his fall, and he stumbled to his knees. Aragorn
grasped Frodo's arm and helped him back to his feet.

"Are you all right?"

Frodo nodded. Aragorn's demeanor grew stern. "Then you must come
back to bed right away. Gandalf's furious. In fact, I don't want you to walk
any farther."

Aragorn swung Frodo off his feet and carried him back to his room again.
When they entered, Gandalf's white brows were bristling. Aragorn set
him on the bed. He could barely hold his eyes open. Gandalf had been
right. He needed the bed rest.

"Frodo Baggins, you will make yourself ill again. You will stay in bed this
time if I have to tie you down."

"All right," Frodo said weakly. "I am sorry."

"If you need more company," Aragorn said softly. "Just say the word.
Someone could stay in here with you. I know it must be hard to be stuck in
here when your companions are out and about. You look so down. Is
something troubling you?"

"No, it is all right." Frodo's chest felt heavy. He didn't care anymore. "I am
sorry. It won't happen again."

Aragorn sat beside Frodo, waiting in sympathetic silence. Gandalf patted
Frodo's head. "My boy, I'll bring you some mushroom soup. In the
meantime, try to rest. I didm't mean to be harsh."

Frodo managed a sweet smile in Gandalf's direction. "Thank you,
Gandalf." After Gandalf left the room, Frodo could not prevent his chin
from shaking. He had never wept in front of anyone other than Bilbo. His
body was fatigued and still injured, and therefore his inhibitions were
weakened.

"What is it, Frodo?" Aragorn put his hand under Frodo's chin. His gray
eyes were so kind. During their conversation during the feast, Aragorn had
seemed to understand Frodo's feelings for Boromir.

"Aragorn, I've made a fool of myself," Frodo whispered.

"With the son of Gondor's Steward?" Aragorn asked with a smile.

"Please don't make light of it," Frodo said, turning away. "I know I
deserve it. I'm acting like a tweenager in love for the first time, but--"

"Did he say something to you?" Aragorn gently wiped Frodo's tears from
his cheeks with a scented cloth.

"No, well, yes...not exactly. We had such a wonderful visit but then he
wrote me a note that said he couldn't visit me. I think I said something to
make him not want to see me again."

Aragorn sat on the edge of the bed and took Frodo's hands in his.

"Frodo, my guess is that he wants you very much." Aragorn flushed.
"And who wouldn't? Do you want to know something?"

Frodo looked at him, puzzled.

"Since I saw you in Bree," Aragorn continued. "I have felt an attraction for
you as well. Now, don't worry, Frodo. I would never act on it. My heart
fully belongs to Arwen Evenstar. To have an attraction for someone and
not act on it is wholly innocent and beautiful. And you are beautiful,
Frodo, on many levels--your strength, your sweet nature, your youthful
bearing, your bravery. I could go on. I won't even go into the fact that your
eyes could start wars between nations."

Frodo giggled when he saw the crease of laughter in Aragorn's eyes at that
last. He could not believe what Aragorn had said. He never would have
guessed it. He felt flattered, and yet not at all uncomfortable. He knew
Aragorn was a true man of honor.

"My point, Frodo, is that he is afraid. You must have made a huge
impression."

"But what shall I do? What good is it if he is attracted to me and afraid to
act? I'm stuck in this room, and I have no inclination to humiliate myself
further."

"I'll tell you what," Aragorn said, still squeezing Frodo's hands. "I wish to
do my part to reward you for the suffering you've endured so far on behalf
of all of Middle Earth. All Boromir needs is a reason to act. He has to
believe that he is about to lose you. With your permission only, dear
Frodo, I will talk to him about you. I will imply that I harbor a deep and
secret love for you. I will pretend that I plan to make my desire for you
known...soon."

Frodo blushed furiously, especially in light of what Aragorn had said
about feeling attracted to him. "It sounds so...so deceptive, Aragorn. It is
the way Merry and Pippin used to act to gain the favors of lasses back in
the Shire."

"I know it sounds deceptive, but if this doesn't work, then I'm afraid that
you will have to forget about this man."

"You would do this for me?" Frodo asked. "What about Arwen? What if
she should hear of it?"

Aragorn chuckled, pulling his hands away from Frodo and standing. "She
is over two thousand years old, Frodo. She knows me far too well. What
say you?"

Frodo laughed a little. He felt much lighter. It was worth a try. If Boromir
didn't react, then Aragorn was right. Frodo would need to move on.


***



"Well, Frodo Baggins," Gandalf said with a smile. "You should be pleased
to know that Elrond has given you permission to leave bed to dine with us
tonight."

Frodo brightened at the prospect of leaving the room and being with his
friends in a more sociable setting. He smiled, leaping out of bed like an
eager child. Several days had passed since his tearful conversation with
Aragorn, but he suspected Aragorn had something to do with Elrond's
decision. Frodo was still in shock by what Aragorn had said to him and
what he had been willing to do for him.

During their trip from Bree to Rivendell, Aragorn had seemed so grim and
secretive. Frodo had been frightened of him at first. He had been afraid to
speak up during their first days together. He had obeyed the ranger in
submissive silence. He had cringed when his cousins whined about lack of
food or other unpleasant circumstances. Aragorn had the cold, grim look
of a man who killed for less reason than hobbit impertinence. But his
kindness had taken over after Frodo had been stabbed. For seventeen days,
Frodo had hovered near death and shadows. Sometimes Aragorn's voice or
touch was all that had penetrated. Frodo had seen him in several new
lights--as a healer, a comforter, a man with fine knowledge of literature,
elves and the ways of the Enemy.

To see Aragorn so light-hearted and mischievous was truly interesting.
And Frodo still could not believe that Aragorn had been attracted to him.
To have such a grim, important man, who had seen so much of the world,
be attracted to a hobbit who had never left home before this journey,
seemed outlandish. Frodo thought that if he did not know Aragorn was
already bound to Arwen, he may have fallen for him instead of Boromir.
And now Aragorn would help him gain the favor of the son of the Steward
in Gondor.

Frodo dressed carefully. He wore a silk shirt in a shimmery silver-blue
color--one of the many articles of clothing the elves had left him. The shirt
brought out the stunning blue of his eyes.

The door opened, and Frodo startled. Sam rushed in the room and took
Frodo's hand. He looked up at him, blushing.

"What is it?" Frodo asked, amused.

"Oh...it's nothing...it's just that...Oh, Mr. Frodo. Please forgive me for
being so bold but you look right handsome tonight! And Mr. Boromir's
going to be at the feast. If he doesn't fall for you tonight, then promise me
you'll forget about him!"

Frodo's stomach warmed at the confirmation that Boromir would be there.
He smiled at Sam. "I promise you I will try."

When they reached the dining area, Boromir, who was already seated,
glanced at him and turned abruptly away, his face turning red. He looked
rattled.

"You'll be sitting beside me, my friend," Aragorn whispered in his ear. He
winked, putting his arm around Frodo's shoulder. He helped Frodo onto a
chair directly across from Boromir before sitting on his left side.

"Frodo," Aragorn said looking down at him with a gentle smile. "You
look very nice tonight. I don't know anyone else who has such vivid blue
eyes."

"Thank you," Frodo said, blushing. "You look very nice tonight, too."

Boromir cleared his throat. He said, "I dare say the Lady Arwen has eyes
that would rival Frodo's, though the competition would be stiff."

Frodo was unsure of what to make of Boromir's comment. Boromir had
jumped at the bait, but it was obvious by his comment that he was not used
to charming his lovers. Instead of feeling upset by Boromir's
unintentional insult, Frodo merely laughed, covering his mouth. Aragorn
put his hand on Frodo's shoulder, giving it a small, intimate rub. Frodo's
cheeks warmed. At the corner of his eye, he could see Boromir watching
them. He looked tense, as if he were in the middle of a battle and he knew
the enemy was just behind the trees.

"So tell me, Boromir," Aragorn said. "How goes Gondor's alliance with
Rohan as of late?"

Boromir shook his head and spoke of the tension between Minas Tirith
and the horse people. Aragorn nodded at appropriate times until he was
done. Afterwards, there was a short silence. Frodo briefly met Boromir's
gaze, but he looked away.

"You have such small hands," Aragorn murmured, lifting Frodo's hand
and turning it around in his own huge hand. "It's difficult to believe that
you're not so much younger than I. And such soft skin."

"Aragorn," Frodo gently chastized, pretending to be embarrassed. Though
he found Aragorn's method deceptive, he was beginning to like it. He had
never participated in such romantic banter before. He had been cursed or
blessed, depending on the circumstance, by a sweet hobbity bluntness. He
had never played at being coy. He had not enough experience with lovers.
More accurately, he had no experience. Aragorn rubbed his back in small
circles. His body responded to Aragorn's touch in a way he did not want.
He closed his eyes, imagining that Boromir was touching him as Aragorn
was right then. He startled when Aragorn's hand moved down and
squeezed his knee. He felt his member stiffen.

Aragorn bent over and whispered in Frodo's ear, "The steward's son has
not eaten a bite so far." Then Aragorn very deliberately planted a wet kiss
in Frodo's ear before pulling away. Frodo smiled at him as if he were
delightfully scandalized--as indeed he was.

"I hear the lady Arwen will be joining us for sweets after the meal,"
Boromir said. Frodo glanced at him. Aragorn was right. For such a large
man, he had a small appetite.

"Yes, she will," Aragorn said. He pulled his hand away from Frodo's knee
as if he were duly chastized by Boromir's reminder of his betrothed. Frodo
tried to keep a straight face. Boromir met Frodo's eyes. Lust burned in his
serious gaze, and that, more than Aragorn's touch, made Frodo flush an
even brighter red. Aragorn was right. If this didn't work, nothing would.

***

Boromir could not swallow. His throat was too tight. He had been foolish.
Very foolish. He could not blame Frodo. It was not the halfling's fault that
Aragorn was so unscrupulous. Frodo probably didn't understand exactly
what Aragorn wanted from him. He probably thought Aragorn was in love
with him, like he was with the elf maid. The idea of Aragorn's experienced
hands being the first on Frodo's body made Boromir nauseated. Aragorn
would use Frodo for one night and then break his heart.

Boromir watched the sparkle in Frodo's blue eyes and the flush in his
cheeks as he responded to Aragorn's aggressive flirtation. Boromir felt a
heaviness on his chest. He had told himself he didn't have a use for a
relationship with Frodo. He could not fall in love. What would his father
say? How could he help save Gondor when he was in love with a halfling
from the Shire? A part of him wanted to foresake his city and follow
Frodo back to his peaceful land. He imagined how he would justify it to
his father. He could say that he was there to prepare the halflings in case
of an invasion from the Enemy.

Now it was too late. He had sent that cold letter to Frodo with no
explanation, and Frodo must have been heartbroken. He would have
rightfully interpreted it as rejection. There could be no other explanation
for Boromir not to visit the sick hobbit.

He had never felt so miserable in his life. Aragorn was whispering in
Frodo's ear something that made the hobbit turn red with pleasure. Then
he kissed his ear, making Frodo gasp in delight. Boromir sighed. Aragorn
had barely backed off even with Boromir's overt comments about the Lady
Arwen.

"Excuse me," Aragorn said, scooting back his chair. "I will be right back."
He winked at Frodo. "Think about what I asked you about tonight. I must
speak briefly to Legolas."

Boromir stared at Frodo, but Frodo wouldn't meet his eyes. He had turned
instead to Pippin on his other side, who was chattering away to him.
Boromir scooted from the table. His chest heated. He would confront
Aragorn. Just what did the ranger mean to do, playing with Frodo's heart
when he was already engaged, and right under the nose of the lady's
father? Aragorn had stepped into the next room. Boromir paused when he
heard Aragorn's voice.

"--think I should tell him tonight?"

"Do what you think is best," an elven voice answered.

"I love him, Legolas. I think I only realized it in the last few days. He was
very lonely and so I spent extra time with him. He is so brave, so strong,
so charming, Legolas."

Boromir clutched the wall, his heart pounding at what he was hearing. He
had been wrong. Aragorn did not want Frodo just for a night. The elf
murmured something Boromir could not hear, and Aragorn continued.

"I've never felt anything like it. When I see his skin, I just want to bruise it
with my touch. When I see his sparkling eyes, it just melts me inside. I am
aroused all the time--without even touching him. When I see his moist
pink lips, I just want to crush them with my mouth and not let go until he
is drowning with it. I can't think when I'm around him. Whoever would
have thought--and with a hobbit?"

"But a particularly beautiful hobbit, more elven than halfling, I think."

"And Boromir." Aragorn sighed. "Frodo is still enamored of him. I will
have to convince him otherwise. It shouldn't be too difficult. The man has
coldly rejected him several times. Left him in tears the other day. I told
him then to forget about someone who treats him so harshly. If the man
wanted him, he would have acted by now."

Aragorn's last words were like a dagger in Boromir's heart. Although
Aragorn was uncharacteristically nasty, he was right. Boromir had acted
without considering how his actions would affect Frodo. He had acted out
of his own selfish concerns. He had not considered how miserable Frodo
must have felt lying in bed alone, thinking that Boromir must hate him to
reject him so coldly.

Boromir stormed back to the dining table. He was a masterful man and did
not give up any fight without his best effort. He was used to knowing what
he wanted and aggressively going after it. Now he was certain about what
he wanted. He grabbed a startled Frodo by the arm and pulled him from
his chair. Frodo gasped and looked up at him. His eyes widened in
surprise.

"Boromir!"

The others at the table were too shocked to do much other than stare as
Boromir lead Frodo out of the dining hall and into the quiet corridor. He
pushed Frodo against the wall and knelt so that they were of the same
height.

"Frodo, do you still want me?"

Frodo was breathing rapidly, looking at Boromir in shock and amazement.
He had not expected this. But now Boromir was not going to avoid the
situation anymore. He would not allow Aragorn to steal what was his from
under his nose.

"What do you mean?" Frodo asked, still trying to catch his breath.

"Frodo, please don't play dumb. I owe you an apology. I've been horrible
to you. I have rejected you again and again, even when it has hurt my
heart. I was selfish to think I was only hurting myself. Please forgive me. I
would like a second chance to make you happy."

Frodo barely hid a smile. "Boromir, what are you asking?"

"I would like to...try with you," Boromir said, letting his heavy hands rest
on Frodo's shoulders. Oh, how he wished he had the nerve to slip his
hands under the silk shirt to feel Frodo's skin, which would be a much
more luxurious texture than silk. "I am very attracted to you--and you to
me. I cannot imagine to what ends such a relationship as you and I will
have will come, but it is too late to worry about such matters. All I want is
to give you my heart. Will you be willing?"

"Yes," Frodo said. "I do want a relationship with you, Boromir."

"Good," Boromir said, shutting his eyes. Now if Aragorn came to Frodo,
Frodo would send him away. At least he hoped. If Aragorn was as
unscrupulous as he had been acting at dinner, it was possible that Aragorn
might try to force himself on Frodo. Boromir shuddered at the thought.
Now that Frodo had agreed to be in a relatonship with him, Boromir's
protective urges increased. Perhaps he should wait around outside Frodo's
bedroom and make sure Aragorn didn't try to make an appearance.

"What made you change your heart?" Frodo asked. His eyes were so vivid.
And Boromir grew aroused just listening to the soft musical lilt of the
halfling's voice.

"I didn't change my heart; I merely recognized it."

Boromir leaned into Frodo to kiss him, to at last taste those sweet lips, but
Frodo turned his head so that Boromir got only his soft cheek. Boromir
groaned in embarrassed. Frodo was from the Shire. Things moved much
slower there. Couples probably did not have sex until they were married.

Frodo held his gaze. "I don't want a meaningless physical relationship,
Boromir. I want to know everything about you first. I want to do things
with you, go places with you before we do anything...in...like that. I hope
that is all right with you."

Boromir nodded. He could barely keep his hands from the halfling. He
prayed he could keep his end of the bargain. He knew that if he was
patient that he would be rewarded most generously.


***



Frodo laughed and grabbed the covered bowl out of Boromir's hands.

"Oh no you don't! You told me you don't like mushrooms!"

"I just had to see if you'd truly fight for them, Frodo."

"You don't want to see what happens to a hobbit when he's deprived of his
mushrooms," Frodo said, dishing out more of the delicious mushroom
concoction onto his plate. He had already had three helpings. The bowls
the elves had given them had kept the food warm for their two-hour ride
into the country.

They had discovered the field full of bright purple heather, and Frodo had
insisted they picnic there. He had ridden on Boromir's horse in the front
with Boromir's arms around him. Frodo had imagined Boromir's large
hands slipping under his clothing and rubbing his soft skin. He had
imagined one of Boromir's rough hands drifting into the front of his
breeches and grasping. Nothing had happened. Boromir had kept his hands
strictly on the reigns. Now the horse wandered freely in the field, happily
munching the fresh grass.

Frodo patted his stomach and groaned. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but
I'm very full."

"You ate twice what I did," Boromir said in admiration. "I had heard
hobbits had voracious appetites, but--" He shook his head in amazement.

Frodo lay on the blanket with his eyes half shut. A brisk breeze tousled his
curls. Boromir lay beside him, watching him by the corner of his eye.
Frodo's heart thudded. He was alone with Boromir--in the most romantic
of settings, far from anyone else. His lower abdomen throbbed with
longing. Part of him ached for Boromir to roll on him and make love to
him right there in the field. Frodo knew that all he had to do was to
snuggle close to him, to let his hand slip into Boromir's breeches, and he
knew Boromir would eagerly continue from there.

But Frodo could not allow himself to do it. He was afraid that if they made
love so soon after meeting that the chance for a deeper relationship would
die. Frodo knew Boromir ached to touch him. It was obvious in the way
Boromir flinched whenever they accidentally touched--his self-control
dangled by a thin thread. Boromir had never met a halfling before, much
less fallen in love with one, and Frodo knew there must be an element of
the exotic in his attraction for Frodo. An attraction so purely physical
could easily burn out. Frodo did not want to be discarded as soon as
Boromir got a taste of halfling. He wanted it to be harder for Boromir to
let go.

"Are you going to fall asleep?" Boromir asked, nudging him. "Or shall we
do something a bit more active?"

Boromir jabbed a strong finger under Frodo's arm and tickled. Frodo's
eyes snapped open. He was extremely ticklish, a matter which Pippin had
often used to his advantage throughout the years. He laughed and pulled
away, but Boromir crawled after him.

"No, Boromir, no!" Frodo laughed. "Stay away!"

He fell on his back, curling his limbs, helpless to Boromir's assault. The
man's hands were unbelievably strong, strengthened from years of
wielding swords, as they jabbed at him from all angles. Frodo laughed
wildly, throwing his head back, slapping at Boromir as if he were an
annoying insect.

"Do you surrender?" Boromir asked, hands poised over Frodo's neck.

"Yes! Yes!"

Boromir helped Frodo to his feet.

"Frodo, you would make a poor soldier. You caved only after one attack."

"I am not trained in war," Frodo said, wiping the tears of laughter from his
eyes. He gasped for breath.

"I can see that."

"You were from a young age, were you not?" Frodo said, throwing
himself on the ground again.

"Yes, indeed. All good men are. Only the cowards and weaklings are not."

Frodo felt somewhat miffed. After all, most hobbits were not at all trained
for war. Boromir did not seem aware of how insulting that comment was.
According to what he had just said, all hobbits were cowards and
weaklings. Frodo tried to see the situation from his perception. Boromir
knew nothing of hobbit culture. He had grown up living so close to the
shadow. Of course, the men of Gondor had to be much more war-oriented.

"I could handle a sword from a very young age," Boromir said. "I started
training on a sword probably the size of one that you halflings might use.
My father trained us himself. He especially enjoyed watching my brother
and I spar."

"And what of your mother?"

Boromir's gray eyes looked sad. "She died when I was very young. I
barely remember her."

"What was her name?"

"Finduilas,"

"An elven name," Frodo said in wonder.

"I suppose," Boromir said, as if he disdained the idea. "Though there was
nothing elvish about her."

Frodo shivered. The sun had gone behind a bloated blue cloud. It almost
looked as though it might rain. Frodo did not want to end this lazy
afternoon.

"My parents both died when I was young," Frodo said.

"Both?" Boromir said in surprise. "This is tragic. Did they die together?"

"Yes."

"It may have been better for my father if that had been the case with my
parents. He became very bitter after my mother's death. Come, let us not
continue such a grim topic. I have an idea! The river not too far from here.
I know of a pretty little cove. I did some exploring here on my own while
you were bedridden."


Frodo and Boromir cleaned up and packed their picnic supplies and the
leftover food and left them in the middle of the field.

"Hopefully your horse won't discover the leftover food," Frodo laughed.

Boromir rubbed Frodo's shoulder. "He is very happy with his grass."

Frodo followed Boromir, trotting to catch up at times. He took Boromir's
hand. Boromir smiled down at him and squeezed his hand gently. They
went into the woods and down an incline until they reached the edge of the
Bruinen River. Frodo balked. His shoulder ached and a sudden chill
seeped over it. He could all too easily see nine black figures trying to cross
the river, calling to him to give up the Ring. The Ring seemed suddenly
heavy on its chain. Frodo had nearly forgotten he had it with him.

"Are you cold?" Boromir asked in concern. "You don't have your cloak
with you."

"It's just that...no, I'm all right."

The chill in his shoulder eased somewhat, but he hoped that they would
not stay at the river for too long. It made him uneasy. A sharp gust of wind
ripped through his jacket. The air smelled pungent with the coming rain.

Boromir saw a lightweight boat tied to a slender tree. He turned to Frodo
with a grin. "What say you that we take a small ride down the river?"

Frodo backed away, his heart thudding. "Oh, I don't know."

He didn't want to look like a coward in front of Boromir, but he was
terrified of boats. There had been a storm the night his parents had died
on the Brandywine River.

"Come," Boromir said. "I'm experienced. You need not do anything. Just
sit tight, and we can explore that little island."

He pointed to a small, grassy clump of land in the center of the river.

"It's about to rain," Frodo said. "Perhaps we should head back."

"Nonsense. What's a little rain? Come, Frodo, don't be nervous. I promise
we won't tip over."

"You know," Frodo said in a desperate attempt to keep his voice light.
"Hobbits don't do well in water. I can't swim."

"And I am a very strong swimmer," Boromir said. He had untied the boat.
He stretched his arm out, waiting for Frodo to come to him. "If you fall in,
I will save you."

"I'd rather not," Frodo said stiffly. He wished desperately that Boromir
would drop the subject.

Boromir strode to him and gripped him gently by the upper arm. "Frodo, I
know you're nervous, but I guarantee you will like it once you are offshore
and see that I won't possibly allow anything to happen to you. I won't let
you back out now."

He firmly led Frodo to the boat and helped him in. Frodo told himself that
if he had truly protested, Boromir would have respected his desire. He
tried to relax. Boromir was right. He was a strong swimmer and
experienced with boats. Frodo's parents had only been in a boat a few
times before they had drowned.

Frodo clung to the sides.

"It's all right," Boromir said with a reassuring smile as he pushed the boat
off shore and jumped in. The boat rocked wildly under his weight. Frodo
squeezed his eyes shut and dug his nails into the sides of the boat.

Boromir rowed swiftly. Frodo opened his eyes and concentrated on
Boromir's rippling muscles as he rowed. They were strong, powerful
limbs. Frodo tried to imagine them wrapped around his small frame in the
middle of heavy lovemaking. He blushed at the idea, and Boromir offered
him a shy smile. A distant rumble of thunder yanked Frodo out of his
thoughts. He gasped and looked up. The sky to the West had become dark
purple.

"We better hurry to our island," Boromir said. "You are right, Frodo. It
does look like it may rain."

A flicker of lightning lit up the purple clouds.

"Take us back," Frodo said, his jaw trembling. "Please."

His heart pattered rapidly, and his palms felt clammy with sick fear. He
could not seem to get in enough breath. He had never felt this panicked in
his life. The water looked dark and bottomless, though the current was not
very swift. Still, he reckoned it was strong enough to pull a hobbit under.

"Frodo, relax," Boromir said with a laugh.

"Boromir!" Frodo shouted, tears springing to his eyes. "Take me back,
now! I don't want to do this! I don't like boats and I don't like water. This
is not fun for me. If you continue with this, I will consider you more a
bully than a dear friend!"

Boromir looked hurt and surprised. "All right," he said softly. "I am very
sorry. We will go back. I didn't mean to frighten you so. I thought..."

He trailed off. He rowed as quickly as he could to shore. His flushed face
he kept bent down in concentration.

"Thank you," Frodo whispered. He clutched his trembling hands together.
A crack of thunder, followed by a quick flash of lightning, filled the
silence. A gust bent the trees on the side of the river, rattling the golden
leaves.

When they returned to shore, Frodo gratefully stepped out. He marched up
the incline through the woods, not even looking back to see if Boromir
was following. His chest heated with anger. Boromir had ignored Frodo's
discomfort. The fact that he had forced him into a situation that terrified
him hurt him deeply.

"Frodo!" Boromir called from far behind. Frodo had forgotten that
Boromir had to tie up the boat. Frodo waited without turning around.
"Frodo, what is this? I did not realize you were so upset."

Rain burst from the sky in a sudden downpour. The thunder sounded like
it was right over their heads. Frodo saw a streak of lightning just over the
river. He shivered.

"I am very sorry," Boromir said, kneeling so that he was face to face with
Frodo. "It's just that when I was afraid as a child, my father found it best
to force me to face whatever it was. It is the way of my people, I'm afraid."

"First," Frodo said, flushing. "You should not treat me as a child because
of my size. Second, when I say I am uncomfortable with something,
please respect it and don't force me. You really frightened me today!"

"I am sorry," Boromir said. He looked truly miserable. "It was not my
intention to frighten you. Please, may I embrace you?"

Frodo nodded shortly. Boromir put his arms around Frodo's body,
squeezing gently and lovingly. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I know I deserve
it, but please do not be angry with me. I can't bear it."

"Boromir," Frodo said in a soft voice. He pulled back so that he could see
Boromir's face. "It's just that...do you know how my parents died? In a
boat, on a river. I've never gotten over my fear of the water."

"Oh, sweet Frodo," Boromir buried his face in Frodo's neck, locking his
hands behind Frodo's back. "I feel terrible. The last thing I want is to hurt
you."

"It's all right," Frodo said, tentatively putting his hands behind Boromir's
neck. He pulled back. "Let us go back."

The ride home was good. The incident at the river was forgotten as Frodo
taught Boromir silly Shire songs. Boromir enjoyed it immensely, and by
the time they neared their destination, Boromir was belting out the tunes in
a beautiful baritone to counteract Frodo's tenor. By the time they reached
the House of Elrond, they were soaked and hoarse from singing. After
Boromir lifted him down from the horse, Frodo turned to him with a
smile.

"Boromir, we should change our clothes before we catch our deaths of
cold, so I will take leave of you for now. Let us meet tomorrow! This
evening I would just like to read quietly and spend some time with my
friends."

Boromir masked his disappointment at parting so early. He smiled, putting
his hand on Frodo's shoulder and squeezing. "Tomorrow, then. I will come
for you in the morning. And I promise--no boat rides."

Frodo smiled back. "Good then. Have a good evening!"

***

Boromir watched as the other hobbits greeted Frodo inside. They hugged
him with enthusiasm. Rainwater dripped on the floor around Frodo's
soaking clothes. Boromir wished with violent yearning that he was a
hobbit. He had a feeling that Frodo would trust him more. He thought
about the ugly incident on the boat and felt a deep, burning shame. He
could picture Frodo's blue eyes, terrified and wet with tears that he had
desperately tried to hold back.

And the very touch of his soft, wet skin when he had buried his head in
Frodo's neck! Boromir had longed to suck on the sweetness in the hollow
of his neck. He had yearned to peel off Frodo's wet clothing and have him
right there on the soggy grass. But Frodo would never have allowed it.
How long would he have to wait for even a simple kiss? He itched to feel
Frodo's pink lips under his. Their time in Rivendell was not limitless.
There was no time for halfling coyness. He leaned against the wall, out of
sight from Frodo and his friends. He knew he should go back to his room
and change, but he heard Aragorn's voice. He tensed.

"Greetings, Frodo! Where have you been?"

"Boromir and I went on a lovely trip today. We got caught in the rain. I'm
just on my way to my room. Come, Aragorn, follow me. I'd like to talk to
you. I never got a chance to thank you for--"

Boromir's stomach twisted and turned cold. As Frodo and Aragorn walked
down the corridor, Boromir could hear no more of their conversation. His
face contorted as he tried to hide his jealousy. Aragorn--the ranger, the
upstart king who was a descendant of corrupted Isildur--had been invited
to Frodo's room, whereas Boromir had been dismissed. He slammed his
fist into the wall in a sudden fury. The fact that the wall did not yield
angered him further. He stormed down the corridor. Perhaps after he
changed his clothes and built a fire in his fireplace, he could relax. He
would try to picture anything other than what Frodo and Aragorn might be
talking about in Frodo's room.


***



Rain thudded on the ceiling and swept past the open windows in silver
droves. Frodo straightened his weskit and peered at himself in the mirror.
He had always been slender, but the weeks of illness in the wild had taken
a toll. He was too slim now. His cheekbones were prominent, and his face
was dominated by huge blue eyes. There was no bulge in his stomach--
most unnatural for a hobbit. Boromir didn't seem to find him lacking,
though. Frodo shivered in delicious anticipation. Boromir would be here
any moment.

"You look right good," Sam said and patted his shoulder.

"Thank you, Sam," Frodo said, turning shining eyes in his direction.

"I hope you and Boromir have a pleasant day together. You deserve all the
happiness you can get--and I mean that."

"I know you do," Frodo said.

"Try to get him to show you his sword," Pippin said, winking and putting
his arm around Frodo's shoulder. "And I mean the real sword of Gondor."

Frodo blushed. "It's not like that yet!"

"Why not?" Pippin asked. He winked at Merry.

"Mr. Frodo has more class than that," Sam said, blushing furiously
himself.

"Pippin is just jealous, Frodo," Merry said. "Pay him no heed."

"Jealous? Why should I be--"

A strong knock at the door made Frodo smile. He pinched his cheeks,
though they were already flushed. He flung open the door. He greeted
Boromir. "Good morning!"

"Morning," Boromir said, smiling at Frodo. He hovered in the doorway,
glancing at the other hobbits nervously. Pippin could not disguise his
curious stare. He was just above eye level to a critical part of Boromir's
anatomy. Merry hit him and muttered at him to look away. Sam tried to
stare anywhere but at Boromir, but failed miserably.

"Are you ready to entertain all of us today, Boromir?" Frodo asked. He
enjoyed the look of horror that crossed over Boromir's face. He grabbed
Boromir's hand before he could sputter a response. "I'm only teasing you!
I would not do that to you--not yet!"

Boromir let out a visible breath of relief. "You had me frightened for a
moment. What would I do with four of you halflings? One is unruly
enough!"

Frodo swatted Boromir's hand in mock anger and bid his friends farewell.

"Where shall we go?" He followed Boromir down the corridor.

"It is pouring rain outside," Boromir said. His voice sounded strained.
Frodo imagined he must be nervous. He clearly felt pressure to make
Frodo happy after what had happened in the boat the day before. Frodo
felt somewhat guilty about his anger toward Boromir after he had gotten
out of the boat. He wondered if he may have overreacted. No, he was sure
he hadn't--he would never feel comfortable in boats, but he still regretted
making Boromir feel bad about it.

Frodo gave Boromir a teasing smile. "I hadn't noticed it was raining."

Boromir squeezed Frodo's shoulder. "Even sarcasm is sweet coming from
your mouth."

Frodo laughed and took his hand. The hand was large and dry, yet Frodo
felt it tremble.

"Shall we go back to my chamber?" Boromir said. "I have a lot of room, a
covered patio--we can send for food, a point all too dear to you, I am
certain. We can spend the entire day there if you wish."

"I would very much like that," Frodo said squeezing his hand.

"I have some games that should amuse you," Boromir said.

"Games?"

"I brought them from Gondor. Faramir and I often competed. I'm
ashamed to admit that I lost miserably most times--though I always beat
him at sword play."

"It sounds intriguing," Frodo said.

They reached the bedroom. Again, Frodo was awed by its size. Frodo
flushed a little, remembering the last time he had been in the room, when
Boromir had scolded him and his friends. Boromir sat on the floor,
leaning his back against the plush red velvet couch behind him. Frodo sat
on his knees on the couch, leaning back on his heels.

"Shall we make morning tea?" Boromir asked. "I have a kettle and tea
bags. These elves have the most soothing concoctions."

"I know," Frodo said. "I was under their care when I was ill." He made a
face. "Though not all their concoctions tasted nice."

Boromir turned to him. His face was grave. "Can you not tell me more
about your battle with the Enemy? It intrigues me so."

Frodo shuddered. He could still remember the searing pain and cold.
Being in the wild, so far from help, had been miserable, even under
Aragorn's care. The screech from the Ringwraiths still echoed in his ears.

"You do not want to talk about it," Boromir said softly. "I am sorry."

"I would rather not. The pain is still too fresh a memory."

They were silent as Boromir got up to heat the kettle over his small
fireplace. He smiled at Frodo. "The elves think of everything, do they
not?"

"Yes," Frodo said. "I've never been so comfortable as I have in Rivendell.
I can see why Bilbo chose to live here."

Frodo felt a sinking guilt when he thought about his uncle. He had
desperately wanted to spend more time with Bilbo. He had tried to seek
him out last evening, but Bilbo had already retired for the night. He knew
that Bilbo had sat by Frodo's bedside during the many unconscious nights
he was ill. Frodo vowed to take leave of Boromir earlier than planned so
he could go see Bilbo.

"So, what did you do last night?" Boromir asked. He sat on the couch
beside Frodo. Frodo looked at him, curious. Boromir's voice had sounded
as if he tried too hard to make it sound casual.

"Not too much," Frodo said. "It was as I told you. I changed out of my wet
clothing, took a bath." He grinned. "My friends came over and I told them
all about you! I said you tried to steal my mushrooms and you tried to
drown me in the river."

Boromir did not smile. Frodo's smile faded. "Boromir, what is it? You
seem distracted and upset."

"No, no," Boromir said. His voice sounded strangled. He pulled at a loose
piece of thread in his tunic.

"Come, what is it?" Frodo said. His heart felt suddenly heavy. Perhaps
Boromir regretted starting this relationship with him. He was having
second thoughts. He wanted a gentle way out. Frodo felt sick at the
thought.

"Aragorn came to your room last night," Boromir said. He looked up and
met Frodo's gaze. The pain was naked in his eyes.

"Aragorn?" Frodo said, puzzled. He had talked to Aragorn briefly before
entering his room, but Aragorn had not stayed.

"I heard you. You invited him to your room."

Frodo stared at Boromir in disbelief. It had never occurred to him that
Boromir might be jealous. He felt such relief that Boromir was jealous and
not trying to end their relationship.

"I can't believe you would be worried about Aragorn!" Frodo said, trying
not to smile.

"Was he in your room?" Boromir insisted. Frodo tried to force himself to
take Boromir's question seriously, though the idea amused him greatly. He
didn't imagine Boromir would appreciate him laughing now.

"Boromir," Frodo put his hand on Boromir's broad shoulder. "You must
not think like this. Aragorn is very dear to me. I could never have made it
to Rivendell without him. But there is nothing between us other than sweet
friendship." Frodo flushed a little at that last. He remembered the gleam in
Aragorn's gray eyes as he had confessed to Frodo his attraction for him.

Boromir looked unconvinced. "Be careful of him, Frodo. I..." He looked
at Frodo as if debating whether to tell him more of something that he
knew. "I overheard something."

"What did you overhear?" Frodo asked. His heart thudded. He debated
telling Boromir about the deception that Aragorn had helped him with.

"I overheard that Aragorn is in love with you."

Frodo couldn't help it. His lips twitched. He tried desperately to look
serious. "Really?"

Boromir's large hand slid under Frodo's chin and lifted it to face him.
"You know something about this?"

"Oh, Boromir!" Frodo pulled away, breaking into sudden laughter.
Boromir looked uncomfortable. Frodo tried to stop laughing since
Boromir's eyes had darkened with anger. "I must confess something. It's
just that you were being so cold to me and I was desperate to know if you
cared at all for me. So Aragorn and I planned a deception. He was to
pretend that he was in love with me in front of you...to make you jealous!"

Boromir stared at Frodo in frank shock. "You...you planned that?"

Frodo nodded, his eyes bright and clear. Boromir stared in disbelief for
several moments before breaking into a large, relieved grin. Then he
began to laugh with Frodo.

"I'm glad then," Boromir said. "I'm so glad. I may never have acted."

"How about those games you were going to show me?" Frodo said when
he was done laughing.

Boromir got out a book from his pack. Frodo watched with interest as
Boromir opened it. He handed Frodo a piece of paper and a quill pen.

"I'm going to read you a situation and you will need to solve the problem."

"This sounds like mathematics."

"In a way," Boromir said, shrugging. "Do they teach mathematics in the
Shire?"

"Of course," Frodo said. "What do you think--that we live in holes in the
ground?" He laughed, but when Boromir didn't laugh with him, he realized
that Boromir truly knew nothing about the Shire and the dwellings of
hobbits. With dismay, Frodo wondered if the son of the steward of Gondor
would think hobbits were uncivilized if he knew. He might picture hobbit
holes as filthy, smelling of mud and dirt. He longed for Bag End with a
fierce ache in his throat, yet remembering his home made him realize how
vast the difference was between his upbringing and that of Boromir.


***

Boromir looked down at the halfling sitting cross-legged on the couch
beside him, quill pen in hand. Boromir's groin ached. He could barely
stand to sit so close without being able to curl his arm tightly around
Frodo's waist. His fingers throbbed with the craving to run his fingers
through that silky curly hair. He wanted to pull off all the layers of
clothing that the hobbit was still insisting on wearing, though he was not
traveling--his shirt, vest, jacket, velvet breeches. Most of all, he wanted to
crush his lips against the halfling's moist pink lips. Boromir had never
seen lips on either a man or woman that were more meant to be kissed
than Frodo's.

Frodo squeezed his hand. Boromir realized that he had not heard what he
had just said. He was only aware of the soft hand sliding over the bare skin
of his arm, sending prickles of pleasure through him.

"What...what did you say?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

"Your mind is miles away! What is it?"

"Nothing," Boromir said, grasping for any excuse. "I did not sleep well
last night."

"Why not?" Frodo said. His beautiful eyes--had he ever seen such a vivid
shade of blue?--focused on him with trust and affection. Boromir lifted his
hands, yearning to cup Frodo's cheeks. He controlled the urge and put
them instead on his thighs, clenching with need.

"Bad dreams I suppose," Boromir said. "Though I don't remember them."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Frodo said. Then he laughed again, that musical
sound that made Boromir's groin ache more. "This may make you feel a
little better. Did you know that I dreamed last night about you? I just
remembered."

"Did you?" Boromir said. Why were these halflings so reluctant to be
touched? Why did they move so slow? Boromir was a warrior, and
warriors acted with the knowledge that they may not live to see the next
day. He supposed he didn't know for certain that all halflings were like
Frodo, but even so, it would make sense. The inhabitants of the Shire had
never had to face daily danger. Time went much more slowly for them.

"Yes," Frodo said, covering his mouth as if embarrassed. "I had a dream
that we were at a big fancy feast. I believe it was at the wedding of
Aragorn and Arwen. Elrond looked very grave and serious--and you kept
stealing food off his plate."

Boromir grinned. "I thought halflings were the only creatures greedy about
food."

Frodo laughed again. His eyes sparkled when he laughed. A knock on the
door startled them. When Boromir opened the door, he found that food
had been left on a tray outside the door.

"Speaking of food," Boromir said.

"Wonderful!" Frodo said. "I am famished! We will have to begin your
games after we eat."

"Oh, I'm sorry Frodo," Boromir said with a grin. "I only ordered enough
for myself."

Frodo snatched the tray from him in mock indigence. "I am deeply sorry,
Boromir, but you should know that you never joke about food with a
hungry hobbit!"

"A lesson well learned," Boromir said. His hands trembled as he watched
Frodo set the table. He moved with such quiet grace on feet that seemed
sizes too big for him. Occasionally he turned and gave Boromir a big
smile. Boromir clenched his hands together. He could not bear it if they
went through the entire day and he did not get the chance to touch Frodo.
Even a chaste peck on his cheek would be better than nothing.


***


Frodo sat at the glass table on Boromir’s outdoor patio, his feet dangling
from the tall wicker chair. His head was bent over the next logic puzzle
problem that Boromir had given him. He read it aloud.

“The Steward Boromir has put 100 prisoners into solitary cells in the
dungeons of Minas Tirith.”

“It doesn’t say that,” Boromir said, laughing.

“This is my version,” Frodo said. “Anyway, in this prison, there’s a
central room with one unlit candle. No prisoner can see the candle from
his cell. Every day, the guard—let us call him Faramir--picks a prisoner at
random, and that prisoner goes to the central room. While there, the
prisoner can light the candle or blow it out if he wishes. Also, the prisoner
has the option of asserting the claim that all 100 prisoners have been to the
central room. If this assertion is false (that is, some prisoners still haven’t
been to the living room) then all 100 prisoners will have their throats slit
for their stupidity. However, if it is true, all prisoners are set free and
given the pleasure of company with the steward’s favorite hobbit.”
Boromir chuckled and shook his head, and Frodo continued. “Thus, the
assertion that every prisoner has been inside the room should only be
made if the prisoner is 100% certain of its validity. The prisoners are
allowed to get together one night, to discuss a plan. So, what plan should
they agree on, so that eventually, someone makes a correct assertion?” *

“This is irritating, Frodo,” Boromir groaned, sitting beside him. He put his
arm around Frodo’s shoulders.

“I did not know that Minas Tirith had such prisons!” Frodo said with a
smile.

“There’s a special prison for impudent halflings, I promise you that,”
Boromir said. “Come, enough of these games. Let us take a walk.”

“Hold on. I think I can get this riddle. Don’t you know that hobbits are
experts in all matters riddle?”

“Do not cause yourself too much strain,” Boromir said in a dry voice,
giving Frodo’s shoulder a tight squeeze.

“Shhh!” Frodo said. He looked at the ceiling. Then down at his paper
again. “The prisoners will need to designate someone who will count.”
Boromir looked puzzled, but Frodo continued. “The others will need to
light the candle if it is currently unlit and it’s their first time lighting it.”

“Where are you getting this?” Boromir asked in frustration.

“Hold on, Boromir,” Frodo said, thoroughly lost in his calculations. “The
counter will start—“

A sharp knock at the door startled them.

“What now?” Frodo said.

“I don’t know,” Boromir said as he made his way to the door. “But I still
maintain that halflings cheat!”

“No, we just use our swords less and our brains more.” Frodo had to
admit that he was proud of being able to outwit Boromir on puzzles.
Having a skill that Boromir seemed to respect that did not take physical
prowess had been a challenge to find. Frodo smiled fondly. He could hear
Boromir’s deep voice as he thanked the elf who had left food for them.
The past week had been wonderful. Frodo and Boromir had met every
day. Frodo had grown incurably fond of him. More than that. Fond was
too light a word. He loved Boromir’s voice, his strength, the love in his
voice as he spoke about his family and country, his endearing but foolish
Big Folk notion that because Frodo was small, he needed extra protection.
His heart fluttered whenever Boromir drew near or when they touched.
He knew it had been wise not to begin with the distraction of a physical
relationship, but now he was ready to move to the next stage. The idea
sent flutters through his stomach. He yearned to kiss the large man, but he
was uncertain about timing.


***


"No, you don't lean into the sword or you will lose your balance at the first
hit," Boromir said. He chuckled and grabbed Frodo’s wrist as he nearly
stumbled and dropped the sword. Granted, the sword was as long as he
was--and very heavy. "You really need one more appropriate for your
size, but well, there's time enough later for a real lesson. We’ll ask around
for a sword that would suit you. I would dearly love to teach you."

"This is a fine sword," Frodo said, examining Boromir's sword.

"It was my father's. I wish you to meet him. He can appear cold of nature
to those who do not know him, but he is a good and noble man. He has
done well with Gondor. If I do half as well…"

His heart swelled with a sudden desire to show Frodo his city. He
imagined the wonder in Frodo’s wide blue eyes as Boromir led him
around the White City. He would get many strange looks, but he would be
so proud to show Frodo his city and to introduce him to his brother and
father, neither of whom had met a halfling before.

"I would like to meet him," Frodo murmured, still focusing on the intricate
patterns on the sword’s hilt.

Boromir knelt behind Frodo. “Here, let me show you again the
movement.”

Boromir's breath caught in his throat. He was close to Frodo’s face. He
slipped his arms over Frodo’s arms and held Frodo’s hands over the hilt.
He longed to drop the sword and crush Frodo to him. Frodo laughed
nervously, and eyed Boromir, his cheeks flushing. Boromir felt heartened
by his response. Frodo might be waiting for Boromir to take control.
Boromir still didn’t understand courtship in the Shire, but Boromir was a
warrior, used to taking what he wanted.

Boromir had been patient. Frodo and Boromir had met every day. They
had mostly stayed in Boromir’s room, just as they were today. They had
met every day, and not once had Frodo allowed more than holding hands
or a quick embrace.

Frodo dropped the sword and twisted around in Boromir’s arms. He
wrapped his small arms around Boromir’s neck. Boromir’s heart started
to pound. With a shy smile, Frodo moved in and captured Boromir’s lips
in his own. Boromir was left breathless by the sweetness of those lips. It
was everything he had imagined. Boromir’s arousal tightened as Frodo
pressed into him and kissed him hungrily. Boromir’s arms slid down
Frodo’s body until he was holding the halfling tightly around the waist.

Frodo pulled back, and Boromir groaned. “Don’t stop,” he said. “Please.”

“There now, I’ve done it,” Frodo said, flushing.

“Might I have a little more of that?” Boromir asked. His hands trembled.
He didn’t think the pain in his trousers could be controlled much longer.
His arms curled around Frodo's waist, pulling him close. Frodo was so
light that it took no effort to squeeze him to his hard body. Boromir's
hands slid up to grip the back of Frodo’s head and pull him again toward
his mouth. Those sweet lips were his again!

Frodo tried to pull back, his eyes bright with uncertainty. Boromir
effortlessly kept him in place. He again clamped his mouth over the lips he
had eyed with such hunger since he had met him. Frodo squirmed in his
embrace, trying to pull back, pushing his head back and forth.

“Wait, Boromir, wait,” he said, his voice muffled by Boromir’s lips.

"Frodo," Boromir gasped, moving his lips down to Frodo's neck. His skin
was silky. Always there was the faint fragrance of lavender on him.

“You are so sweet," Boromir said. His hands slipped under Frodo's shirt
and vest and rubbed over the silky skin.

Frodo's eyes flew open. "No," he said. "Please stop, Boromir. You’re
going too fast!"

“Fast?” Boromir said in irritation. “We are both adults, are we not? How
long do I have to wait?”

Frodo looked miserable, but he did not speak. Boromir continued to grip
him tightly around the waist.

“Are you threatened by me?” Boromir continued. “Do you think I would
do something to hurt you?”

Frodo shook his head. “But I don’t want—“

“It will be all right, Frodo,” Boromir said. “I promise I will be gentle.”

Boromir kissed him hard again. His hands under Frodo's clothes become
more insistent. He had to have him. If it took Frodo this long to kiss him,
how long would he wait for anything else? He was certain that once
Frodo felt his own arousal, he would stop his silly protests.

So did he plan on taking Frodo by force if he continued to protest? Of
course not. He loved Frodo. He would never do anything to hurt him. He
just had to keep touching him. Frodo would soon melt under his touch. He
would beg for more. After all, Frodo had been the one to pursue him. He
had even used deceptive techniques—it still burned his chest when he
remembered Aragorn telling Legolas how he wanted to ravish Frodo.

Kissing Frodo did not ease the throb in his belly. A fire had erupted. His
arousal dug painfully into Frodo’s leg. Frodo let out a pained cry as
Boromir pushed him down onto the plush carpet.

"Boromir, what are you doing? Please stop! I'm asking you to stop!"

Boromir pinned Frodo beneath him. Why was Frodo being so stubborn?
If he kept protesting, Boromir was going to have to stop, and he didn’t
know if he could. "I love you, Frodo. I love you. Please let’s do this. I--"

He gently parted Frodo's thighs, laying his full weight over Frodo's middle
so that he could not move. Once Frodo felt how badly Boromir needed
this, he would be flattered. Surely he would allow Boromir to continue.
He tried to think clearly. He could not go further until Frodo consented.
Otherwise it was rape. The idea of associating himself with that vile act
cooled him down somewhat. Frodo was so small—and he was
inexperienced. What Boromir itched for would hurt Frodo badly if he
wasn’t willing and they didn't prepare for it. Even in the heat of this lust
he could never forgive himself if he caused Frodo pain. No, he could not
do this now. He had to stop.

He looked at Frodo's face, intending to kiss him and climb off of him.
What he saw turned him cold inside. Frodo’s blue eyes were dark with
rage. His jaw trembled. A tear had trekked down his cheek.

"Frodo," Boromir whispered. The fiery lust had disappeared as swiftly as
it had come on. He had frightened and hurt this gentle creature, the first
person that he had truly fallen in love with.

Boromir pushed off of him, covering his face. He could not bear to look at
Frodo. He felt only terrible, horrible shame. Snakes slithered inside his
stomach. He wanted to throw up.

"Please forgive me, Frodo. Please."

Frodo scrambled to his feet. He was silent as he smoothed his clothes and
began to stumble toward the door. Boromir clutched Frodo’s foot,
wrapping his hand around Frodo’s ankle. He immediately released him
when he saw Frodo’s eyes, full of deep anger and betrayal. He watched as
Frodo left the room, letting the door slam behind him.

Frodo ran down the corridor, his vision blurred. He viciously wiped the tears from his face with his sleeve. He did not know or care where he went. He just wanted to run until he could breathe no longer. His feet made no sound on the marble floor, but his angry gasps seemed magnified in the peaceful silence of Elrond’s home. He covered his mouth with the crook of his elbow, muffling the sounds that would surely bring members of the household out of their chambers to see what the fuss was. He had to find somewhere quiet and isolated. He wanted to think through every detail of what had just happened. Had it been his fault? By kissing Boromir, had he given him the signal that it was all right to proceed? No—he had made it clear he wanted to stop. But Boromir had pushed forward. Had there been a cultural misunderstanding? Perhaps that was the way it was among men. Perhaps hearing their partners protest was part of the charm of lovemaking for them. Frodo wondered if he had overreacted. Maybe Boromir would have soon stopped on his own.

Frodo’s ribs ached from Boromir’s crushing embrace. The man was so strong that Frodo had been completely helpless in his arms. Frodo shuddered. Lust had sent Boromir into a frightening state where he might have unintentionally crushed Frodo until his ribs snapped. He had tuned out Frodo’s protests. His mind had been narrowed to one purpose—to charm Frodo into submission by his passion. It was like the day they had been on the boat in the storm; Frodo’s obvious fear had been secondary to Boromir’s desire. Frodo’s throat felt strangled. In the few weeks they had known each other, Frodo had grown to love the Gondorian. To have him turn on him was like a stab in his chest.

Frodo rounded a bend--and nearly slammed into Aragorn.

“Steady, Frodo!” Aragorn prevented the collision by grabbing Frodo’s arms. He grew concerned when he saw Frodo’s face. “What has happened?”


He kneeled and examined Frodo’s face as if looking for signs that his illness had returned. Frodo gazed at his kind face. Aragorn would never have forced him. He was gentle and perceptive. He would have stopped the moment Frodo had grown uncomfortable. Frodo leaned into him and threw his arms around him, burying his head in Aragorn’s neck.

“Frodo, Frodo, what’s this?” Aragorn asked softly, returning the embrace and rubbing his back in a soothing manner. “What has happened?”

Frodo shook his head. He hated that this was the second time he had broken down in front of Aragorn—and over something so trivial.

“Come,” Aragorn said, kissing the top of Frodo’s head. “Let us go to my room. I’ll make you some tea.”

Frodo nodded and pulled out of the embrace. “I am sorry,” he said softly. “I do need someone to talk to. Especially you. Maybe you would explain why…” Frodo trailed off.

Aragorn did not speak until they reached his chamber. He shut the door firmly. He led Frodo to a loveseat, low to the ground and decorated with satin pillows. Frodo wondered if this was the same room Aragorn had grown up in as a child. After Aragorn put a kettle on the fire, he sat beside Frodo. His gray eyes looked grave. Frodo found himself unable to maintain eye contact with him.

Aragorn put his hand under Frodo’s chin, gently forcing him to look into his eyes. “Did Boromir hurt you?”

Frodo tried to speak several times. Every time he did, he felt so ashamed that he couldn’t. He was taking up Aragorn’s time for something that had clearly just been a misunderstanding.

“If he hurt you, he will be accompanied out of Rivendell.” Frodo was surprised by the harsh gleam in the ranger’s eyes. “You can guarantee that.”

“No, no,” Frodo finally said. “He didn’t hurt me. Not in a physical sense at least.”

“Pain does not have to be physical to hurt.” Aragorn said, releasing Frodo’s chin. “Come, what happened?”

Frodo looked up at him. “Aragorn, could you please tell me something about men? Is it common for you to crave physical gratification, at the expense of all else?”

Aragorn looked at Frodo’s wet eyes a moment before answering. “Boromir has been raised a warrior, Frodo. His mother died when he was very young. He has only had experience with other men like him, who are forceful and boastful about their strength. They only know how to conquer. Boromir loves you—I can see that. In the last week, you are all I have heard him talk about—to anyone who will listen. But these warriors sometimes do not understand that conquering a heart is a much different matter than conquering an army. You have had a misunderstanding with him?”

“Yes,” Frodo said. “I want him to know me, to care about what I think and feel, but it seems he is only interested in…” Frodo waved his hand. He felt embarrassed to reveal this to Aragorn, who had admitted an attraction to him. “I mean, I have talked to him for hours, trying to engage him in conversation. I once tried to teach him Elvish, if you can believe it!” Aragorn chuckled at that, and Frodo continued. “But he’s only half paying attention. I can tell by his gaze that all he wants to do is take off my clothes and…Perhaps I should have allowed him. What harm would it have done? We are both adults. But, Aragorn, he would bore of me! I know I am exotic to him, and once he…once it is over, he will throw me aside.”

“What about you?” Aragorn asked.

“What do you mean?”

“What do you want out of him? The two of you are very different. He knows nothing of the Shire. I know Bilbo taught you well, but you know very little about Minas Tirith. Both of those places have shaped you into the people you are.”

“He thinks people who do not wield swords are weak and cowardly,” Frodo said resentfully. “But yet he does not seem to openly hold me in disdain. But somehow perhaps that is worse. Perhaps he takes it for granted that halflings are inferior to men. In the Shire, we are horrified by the things men do to one another. They spend so much time wielding their swords and conquering that they never stop to marvel at how unspeakable it is to take another life.”

“Yes,” Aragorn nodded. “I’ve always known that the Shire folk were superior in their thoughts on war.”

“Oh, I do not mean to sound ungrateful. I know your people have guarded our borders, have made it possible for us to never have to wield swords.”

The kettle had started to boil, and Aragorn got up to take it off the fire. He poured hot water into two mugs and handed one of them to Frodo. Frodo nodded his thanks and blew on it in an effort to cool it down.

“I do not take offense, Frodo. But you have not answered my question. What do you want out of Boromir?”

Frodo sipped his tea. The flavor was soothing, reminiscent of lime and something else he could not put his finger on. “The first time I saw Boromir,” he said in a faltering voice. “I nearly fainted. He fascinated me. His strength, his size. He was beautiful. He still is. I suppose I had a, as we say in the Shire, a crush. And it lifted my heart after the evil I had just been through. He was harsh with me at first, but his face was so tender when I was ill and fainted in his arms.” Frodo looked bewildered. “I do not know what I want out of him. My road has been dark and may grow darker still. I wanted something to distract me. Certainly there can be nothing long-term for us. He cannot very well live in Bag End with me. Can you imagine?”

Aragorn joined Frodo in laughter, though Frodo noticed that his eyes did not smile. “I can see the mighty warrior banging his head on the ceiling every day.”

“Yes,” Frodo continued. “And I can’t see that the Steward of Gondor would be happy to see that his heir has chosen a lover with hairy feet who barely comes up to his chest and who cannot produce an heir.”

Aragorn smiled sadly. He was silent as he took several sips of his tea. Then he said, “If you do not see long term potential in this relationship, why is it so important for you that Boromir love your mind? Why does it disturb you that he may cast you aside--as you clearly plan to do to him?”

Frodo’s lips parted. Though Aragorn’s voice was soft, his words cut into him. Frodo had not considered his own intentions. His cheeks burned as he considered how selfish he had been. Why had he denied Boromir, led him to believe that he was resisting physical contact because he wanted the relationship to be forever, when that simply was not true? Frodo gasped as the truth hit him. He was only attracted to Boromir on a physical level!

“Frodo, I do not mean to be harsh. You deserve happiness. I’d gladly make certain you have it the rest of your days. But perhaps you should be honest with Boromir. It may be unfair to him to string him along like this if you have no intention of pursuing this relationship beyond a few blissful weeks in Rivendell. My perception is that he thinks he has found the person he will love forever. I have heard him speak eagerly to my friend Legolas about taking you to Minas Tirith.”

Frodo looked at Aragorn in dismay. His throat felt dry. He had had no notion of how serious Boromir’s feelings toward him were. He had not been frank about it. The idea that he would have to break Boromir’s heart, even after what had just happened between them, caused a sad lump to fill Frodo’s throat.

“But still,” Aragorn continued, brushing Frodo’s cheek with his hand. “That does not excuse his behavior.”

“I kissed him,” Frodo said in a dull voice. “But I did not want to go farther and he tried to push it. He only stopped, I think, when he realized that if he went any farther he would be committing an unspeakable act.”

Aragorn took Frodo’s hand and squeezed.

“I left him then,” Frodo said. “I know he’s sorry. I know he didn’t mean to lose control. I should talk to him. We really should be honest about our feelings. For you’re right, Aragorn. I think…I think the reason that I’ve been afraid to move to the physical with Boromir is that I wanted so much to find more. But I’ve come to believe that we do not have much in common and he does not treat me as an equal.”

“So it wasn’t really because you were afraid he would push you aside,” Aragorn murmured, running his hands up and down Frodo’s arms in a soothing manner.

Aragorn’s touch sent shivers through Frodo’s body. He had resisted Boromir’s touch and yet in Aragorn’s hands, he felt that he could melt. He had no desire to pull away. His stomach had suddenly become full of frantic grasshoppers. This had to stop. He jumped to his feet. “I must go!”

“All right,” Aragorn said. Frodo saw a flicker of pain and confusion pass over Aragorn’s face. “I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable.”

“It’s that…it is only that…” Frodo stuttered. “I—“

Aragorn pulled Frodo to him and grasped him around the waist. Frodo held his breath. Aragorn breathed quickly as he clasped his hands behind Frodo’s back. Frodo’s groin swelled and grew warm. What was the matter with him? This was Aragorn, his Strider who had frightened him in Bree, led him into the wild, and did his best to nurse him after he had been stabbed. This was Aragorn, who was betrothed to the most beautiful elf princess in Middle Earth. Frodo’s face heated, and he looked away from Aragorn’s face.

“Frodo, I beg you not to take offense by anything I have said to you. I consider you a dear friend. Even if you do nothing else, you have already done more for Middle Earth than any great elf warrior. More than that, I love that the Enemy has not managed to mar your innocence and sweet nature.”

“Thank you,” Frodo said in a small voice. His breeches felt tight, and he shifted his legs uncomfortably. If Aragorn glanced down, he would see.

Neither of them moved for several moments. Frodo’s skin felt hot and his limbs trembled. He wished Aragorn would run his hands up and down his arms again. If only Aragorn’s hands would run down the front of his vest and slip under his shirt. Frodo closed his eyes. He should not be thinking this way. Aragorn leaned down to kiss him on the forehead but at the same time, Frodo raised his head. Their lips bumped. Frodo gasped and withdrew, but Aragorn clasped the back of Frodo’s neck and pulled him back into the kiss. Frodo went completely limp as Aragorn’s lips conquered him. Frodo’s heart fluttered in irregular patterns until he could barely breathe. He had never felt anything like it. Boromir’s kiss had bruised his lips with crude force. Aragorn’s kiss was soft yet insistent, filled with controlled fire.

A weak internal voice begged him to pull away. He was doing Boromir a great wrong and Aragorn was doing Arwen a much greater wrong.

But he had neither the strength nor willpower to pull back.



Aragorn pulled back, breathing in hard, jagged gasps. His arms slid up Frodo’s waist and came to rest on his shoulders.

“Aragorn,” Frodo breathed. He controlled an urge to draw Aragorn’s lips back to his —- anything to avoid thinking about the warm and woozy feelings that seeped down his limbs. His trembling legs gave out, and only Aragorn’s steadying grip on his shoulders prevented him from collapsing.

“I’ve wanted to do that since Bree,” Aragorn whispered. His mouth twisted in pain. “Please forgive me.”

Frodo summoned all of his willpower and took a deep breath. “We are not free to do this.”

Aragorn released Frodo’s shoulders and turned away, his voice harsh and low. “I have only made things worse.” He covered his face with his hands and let out a weak groan. “I thought I would get my desire for you out of my system, but this has only made me crave you more.”

Frodo looked down at his feet. “I must speak to Boromir, to settle something with him…and you…“ His heart wrenched with guilt as he pictured Arwen, Elrond’s serene and beautiful daughter, who had spent hours soothing him when he had been ill.

“I have done Arwen an unthinkable wrong,” Aragorn said in a dull voice. He picked up a vase from his bedside table and set it down again without really looking at it. “And in her father’s very home -- my home by Elrond’s kindness.” His shoulders slowly slumped, as if all of his strength was oozing out of him. “And I have done you a wrong, too. This will not…cannot…happen again, Frodo. Much as I want it.”

Frodo’s jaw hurt from trying to keep the pain from his face. He had never felt anything like that kiss, which had sent hot life coursing through him. His body ached for more, to be taken to Aragorn’s bed. If only circumstances were different…

“No, you are right,” Frodo said.

***

Boromir lay on his bed and stared morosely at the ceiling, going over everything that had happened in his bedroom. He had been insane with lust for the halfling, his member stiff from the moment he had seen Frodo that day. When he had wrapped his arms around Frodo’s waist to help him in his sword parleying, his senses had gone awry. A delicate lavender scent had filled his nostrils, Frodo had turned to him with those eyes like Elven sapphires, and he had at last kissed Boromir. Boromir clenched his fists. He should have left it at that, should never have pushed it farther.

Boromir closed his eyes against the vision of Frodo’s eyes dark with rage and fear. The one he loved now feared him, hated him. And he did love Frodo, loved him so much his chest ached. He tried to focus on his true purpose in coming to Rivendell, to discuss the dream both he and his brother had been haunted by, in which the words of a poem needed to be interpreted. But his mind kept sticking on the phrase, “And the Halfling forth shall stand.” And then he again saw Frodo’s enraged eyes.

Boromir had been ready to give up everything -- his stewardship, his life in Gondor -- all for this small person who had captured his heart in such a short time. And he had ruined it, first with the incident on the boat and now with his lack of control. If Frodo did not give him another chance, Boromir could not blame him -- and the thought was unbearable.

***

Boromir’s heart caught. He had wandered into one of the many small courtyards of Rivendell and had found Frodo alone, his large, hairy feet dangling from a stone bench. The halfling gazed into the distance, a worried crease in his brow. His eyes —- those eyes that rivaled an Autumn blue sky -- were wide and pensive.

“Frodo,” Boromir said quietly. He cringed, ready for anything -- for Frodo to jump up in fury, to yell for help, to attack him. He did not expect the calm but sad smile on the hobbit’s face.

“Boromir…please sit with me.”

“Are you…are you certain?”

“Yes.” Frodo smiled encouragingly and patted the bench beside him. Boromir’s heart lifted at the sight of Frodo’s smile. ”It’s all right. I am not angry.”

Boromir sat beside him, careful to keep ample distance between them. He drew his cloak close so that it did not touch Frodo. “I don’t know what happened yesterday…would do anything to take it back. I am so sorry, Frodo.”

Frodo sighed, but there was no sign of anger in his eyes. “I know you meant me no harm, Boromir. I know how you feel about me.”

“No, you don’t,” Boromir said. “I have not told you.” He reached for Frodo’s hand, but he pulled back just before his fingers grazed Frodo’s soft skin, a bitter lump in his throat. When would he deserve Frodo’s trust? He startled happily when Frodo slipped his small hand in his and looked up at him with a gentle smile. Boromir would die happy if he could wake every morning and see that sweet face smiling up at him.

“I’ve never met anyone like you.” Boromir squeezed Frodo’s hand with both of his. “You’ve had my heart from the moment I saw you at that feast, the night you and your friends trespassed in my chamber.” They looked at each other and laughed. Boromir’s smile faded, and he continued in a serious tone. “I was reluctant to give my heart to you, but it happened anyway.” Boromir rubbed Frodo’s hand as if he were trying to warm it. “I love you, Frodo…think I just realized how much this morning. I want to take you to Minas Tirith with me…want to spend the rest of my days with you.” He stopped rubbing Frodo’s hand and tightly clutched it. “I would be willing to give up the stewardship.”

“Boromir,” Frodo interrupted. “You cannot be in earnest.”

“Why not?” Boromir released Frodo’s hand and cupped Frodo’s cheeks in his hands. Frodo did not pull away, but he averted his eyes. Something was wrong. A nervous buzzing in his ears blocked Boromir’s senses, sending a numb tingling through his limbs until he could barely feel his hands on Frodo’s face.

“Because…” Taking a deep breath, Frodo looked down and then back into Boromir’s eyes. “You cannot possibly think that we have a future beyond this.”

Frodo’s words hit Boromir like a blow to the stomach. He ripped his hands from Frodo’s cheeks and turned away, nearly bowled over. A fierce ache clutched his chest, squeezing it so tightly that it was several moments before he could speak again. “Why do you say this?”

Frodo laid his soft hand on Boromir’s leg. “You have a responsibility as future steward. You cannot throw it away for one hobbit! That would be absurd. And as for me, I do not know that I am free to spend the rest of my days in your city. I…this council tomorrow…”

“If not my city, then we will go back to your country!” Boromir inwardly cringed at the desperation in his own voice, but he could not let Frodo slip from him. “I will do anything for you, will give up anything.” His voice trembled with pleading. “I swear it that I will make you happy. You’ll never want for anything.”

“I have wronged you,” Frodo said in a small voice, looking down at his hands.

“No, no,” Boromir said. “It is I who have wronged you. I have given you reason to mistrust me.”

“No, I have denied you when…” Frodo let out a large, shuddering sigh before looking up, his eyes wide and determined. “I wish to go to your bed, Boromir.”

Frodo’s words caused Boromir’s heart to thump violently against his chest. He ached for Frodo’s sweet, soft skin, his lips, his tight heat, but something was wrong. He would rather Frodo continue to deny him physical contact if he would only profess his unwavering love.

“But,” Frodo continued. “I must be honest with you.”

Boromir watched him carefully, trying to control the banging of his heart.

Frodo’s expression was grave, and his lips had paled. “I must be firm in my view that I do not see a future with you. Aragorn helped me realize…” Boromir’s stomach twisted in cold jealousy that Frodo and Aragorn had been together, speaking of such intimate matters. “…while I am very much attracted to you, and I am very fond of you, I am not in love with you.”

Boromir held his chest, unable to speak, so overwhelmed was he by cold, bitter disappointment. He waited, breathlessly hoping that Frodo would take back what he had just said, but the hobbit just looked at him in uncertain pity, which only confirmed that he surely did not return Boromir’s feelings. Boromir had poured out his heart – and all for nothing! A sudden helpless rage filled him. He breathed in quick, angry spurts and got up, pacing in front of the bench like a restless animal.

“Did Aragorn sway you?” Boromir finally asked, his voice a trembling growl. “Did he convince you of this because he wishes to bed you himself?” He drew ugly satisfaction from watching Frodo flinch. Faramir had often chastised him about his temper, had said that it would bring him ill will if he did not control it.

Frodo flushed deep red and refused to meet his eyes.

So something had happened between Frodo and Aragorn! Boromir didn’t think he could bear the tight cold twisting in his stomach. Still breathing heavily, he continued to pace, barely noticing where his feet fell. He should leave now and never speak to Frodo again. But he could not. He could not leave with his heart broken and Frodo still looking as if he did not care. He needed Frodo to share his pain.

“No, no.” Frodo’s voice was shaky. “He did not influence me. He only helped me realize what I already really knew.”

“Did he get what he wanted from you?” Boromir asked. He picked up a large rock and hurled it to the ground, taking childish satisfaction when it smashed a flower. Still, he did not see enough pain on Frodo’s face. “Did he ram his cock inside you? Did you like it?”

Frodo looked down, clenching his hands together. “Why do you speak to me like this?”

Boromir shoved his hand under Frodo’s chin. “Have the decency to look at me.”

Frodo still kept his eyes down, and Boromir yanked the hobbit’s chin up, forcing Frodo to look at him. Boromir felt immediately sick when he saw miserable tears in Frodo’s eyes. The pain he wished to see in Frodo’s face was now clearly evident, but it did not give Boromir the satisfaction he had thought it would.

“This is why it wouldn’t work,” Frodo said in a small voice. “I fear you. I fear your strength. If you took me to Minas Tirith, how long would it take before I lived in fear of doing something to displease you?” Frodo paused, trying to catch his breath. Every word hit Boromir like a new blow in the stomach. He struggled not to collapse to his knees as Frodo continued. “Once you have me, you will not try so hard to hide your natural inclination as a warrior who always takes what he wants! You would grow to hate me because I’m too different from you…and I’m not a doll to bend to your will. And then what? Will you beat me into submission? Will you then throw me aside?”

Boromir yanked his hand away from Frodo’s chin. Frodo’s words stung like thousands of wasps. “I would never hurt you.” This was the worst feeling in the world, to hear such cruel mistrust from the one he loved. “I am so sorry you fear me, Frodo. I know I have acted in such a manner to deserve this. What happened yesterday was…It will never happen again. Never. I have no experience with your kind--Frodo, I beg you.” The man took Frodo’s hands in his and clasped them hard. He could not hide his impending tears. He, the strongest most fearless warrior in Gondor, was about to weep in front of a halfling who had stolen and then trampled on his heart.

“I want to experience you,” Frodo said, pulling one of his hands out of Boromir’s grasp and wiping a single tear from Boromir’s cheek. “Can we not leave it at that?”

The halfling was offering himself to him, pure and simple. Boromir’s heart felt like it was breaking apart inside, but if he could push Frodo’s hurtful words to the back of his mind, he could take this beautiful creature to his bed. He could release the urges that had built in him. But then what? Would Frodo cut him off completely? He knew so little of the ways of hobbits! He had no way of knowing how typical Frodo’s behavior was in comparison to others of his kind.

“I kissed Aragorn,” Frodo said dully, as if speaking to himself.

Boromir’s hands turned cold. He was silent for several moments, unable to catch his breath.

“He forced you?” he finally asked.

“No.”

Boromir shoved Frodo from him, nearly knocking him from the bench. “You fool,” he uttered. His breath came out in such rapid gasps that he could barely speak. “I would love you until I die…would give you my heart. And you act as if my touch is poison, all the while seeking the hands of that ranger of the wild, already betrothed and…”

He clenched his fists, and it took every ounce of his willpower not to strike Frodo, to wipe the sad but calm expression from the hobbit’s face. How satisfying that would be right now -- to hear the crack of his fist on that soft face, to see Frodo’s blue eyes filled with surprised agony…

I could never do that, Boromir thought with a shudder, his throat filling. I love him too dearly. Even now.

“I do not know what to say,” Frodo said. “I wanted you to know—“

“You know nothing, Frodo.” Boromir said coldly. “And as for your *offer*…” He spat on the bench between them, and though he was aware of how common he must appear, the act satisfied his helpless rage and hurt. He forced himself to his feet and strode out of the courtyard.

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Title: Blissful Nights 13/13
Author: Claudia
Pairing: Frodo/Boromir

Rating: NC-17
Summary: In Rivendell, Boromir and Frodo cannot deny an instant attraction, but must work through many cultural differences.

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and make no money from them.

Story notes: DONE!!! :-) Thank you all for your patience in waiting for this update and completion…it’s been a long haul and I’m trying very hard to be good and finish all my WIPs.

Also, there are a few possibly botched movie and/or book quotes in here.


Blissful Nights 13


In the moonlight, the Elvish writing, thin as gossamer thread, glimmered like mithril around the arch of the door to Boromir’s chamber. Frodo clutched a small vial, something Aragorn had given him, and with his free hand, he traced over the Elvish letters. He reckoned the time to be early morning, several hours before dawn. He heard naught but the beeps and chirps of gentle nocturnal creatures. He wiped his sweaty palms on his silk Elvish nightshirt and took a shuddering breath.

In the breezy corridor, statues of Elvish warriors gleamed under the pale moonlight, neither judging nor approving, only gazing in eternal serenity. The distant roar of the Bruinen was soothing, a lullaby for those with light hearts, but since the council, Frodo’s heart had been far from light, and sleep came rarely.

He shivered, hearing the echo of his own voice: “I will take the Ring to Mordor.”

Everyone had stared in stunned disbelief, but Boromir had turned away, his eyes downcast with grief. Yet he had come through and offered his sword and the might of Gondor to the quest. Frodo had held his gaze, straining to see any sign of the gentle adoration Boromir had once felt for him, but he had seen nothing but raw pain in the Man’s hazel eyes.

The Ring hung against Frodo’s pale chest like an icy weight, yet it anchored him, and he felt fierce protectiveness. If he had not volunteered, if someone else had claimed it, he would now feel empty, ripped apart inside. He wondered if he had volunteered out of selfless desire to do all he could for Middle earth…or if he had simply been unwilling to give up the Ring. He could not deny the relief that had shuddered through him when his fingers had once again curled around the Ring.

“I will take it.” The memory mocked him. “I will take the Ring to Mordor.”

A heavy silence had descended as everyone had turned to stare at the little halfling who had dared what nobody else could stop fighting long enough to do. Through the roaring fog in his ears, he had watched Aragorn blink and fix his eyes on him with new respect, and he had seen Gandalf square his jaw in resigned sorrow.

“You hold the fate of us all, little one,” Boromir had said, swallowing, as if he could barely stand to speak to Frodo. The deliberate condescension in Boromir’s words had stabbed Frodo, and his shoulder had throbbed in sympathy. As for the raw pain in the Gondorian’s voice, Frodo had nobody to blame but himself. He intended to do his best to make it up to Boromir tonight…if the Man would allow it.

Frodo turned the knob to Boromir’s chamber, holding his breath as a strange thrill sent shivers up his arms. Warriors slept lightly, trained to react with deadly force when sleep was invaded. Frodo continued to hold his breath as he crept across the room with hobbit-like stealth. His heart echoed so loudly in his ears that he marveled that the sleeping Man could not hear it.

He set the vial that he carried on the bedside table and placed both of his hands on the edge of the enormous bed. He heaved himself onto the bed but halted, frozen on his knees, when Boromir groaned and stirred. Only after Frodo heard steady breathing from the Man did he release his own breath. He crawled across the bed until he stared down at Boromir’s face, so peaceful in sleep. How he longed to brush the stray clump of hair from the Man’s cheek! His chest ached. Why had he so callously hurt this good Man, whose only fault was to carelessly give his heart to Frodo? There had been no need for Frodo to have told him about Aragorn.

The time Frodo had spent with Boromir had mostly been joyful. True, there had been tension, but the deep fondness that they had shared was a unique gift. That it had ended on such a discordant note caused Frodo’s heart to ache fiercely. He would do much for another chance to hold that same conversation. This time he would not mention Aragorn at all.

Frodo carefully peeled the coverlet from Boromir’s broad chest. Boromir was wearing a loose, Elven nightshirt, much in the same style as the one Frodo wore. Frodo lifted the shirt, grinning as he realized that like himself, Boromir was not wearing undergarments. Boromir’s limp member lay before him, within tantalizing reach. When Boromir stirred again, Frodo was jolted from his delighted daze. Boromir’s sleep was clearly becoming more restless and it was only a matter of time before he woke. Frodo closed his eyes, letting out a deep sigh of contentment, as he slid his hands over Boromir’s member, feeling himself harden in response. Boromir groaned but still did not wake. Frodo licked his hands and stroked the Man’s member, which quivered into wakefulness in Frodo’s hands.

“Frodo,” Boromir muttered into his pillow, and Frodo’s cheeks grew warm. At any moment Boromir would wake to find it was not a dream. Frodo rubbed more insistently, concentrating on moving his hands as quickly as possible. How he longed for the confidence to take Boromir into his mouth! However, he thought the Man was most likely too big and it would only cause Frodo to gag in an embarrassing manner.

Before Frodo could cry out, strong hands slammed into his shoulders and he was flipped onto his back, hands gripping his upper arms like vices. Boromir hovered over him, fully awake and glaring fiercely. Something unyielding dug into Frodo’s thigh.

“How dare you…” Boromir’s voice trembled with rage, and Frodo’s heart pattered in alarm that he may have pushed it too far with this warrior. “I thought made it clear I did not wish to bed you--not on these terms.”

Frodo did not dare struggle against Boromir’s harsh grip, and for several seconds, neither of them spoke and there was only the sound of ragged breaths coming from both of them.

Finally Frodo said, “There do not need to be terms.”

Boromir released a frustrated sigh. “If I am not worthy of you coming with me to Minas Tirith, then I am not worthy for you to bed.”

“You know I could not live in Minas Tirith—“

“I would treat you with love and devotion. You would want for nothing…” Boromir shook his head in despair. “Instead, you choose to go on this mission to your death…and the death of us all.” Boromir paused, and a strange gleam came into his eyes. “May I not see it for a moment? I had but a glance in the council…”

Frodo’s heart grew cold, and he suddenly felt foolish for putting himself into this potentially dangerous position. He was an unworthy bearer of the Ring if it could be snatched from him in Elrond’s very house.

“It is best that it stay hidden.”


“As you wish,” Boromir said, and his eyes were suddenly gentle and full of pain, the frightening gleam gone. “But I beg you, Frodo--give the Ring to one better able to bear it, one who is used to such hardships. Give it up and come with me. Do not go to your death.”

Frodo wriggled in Boromir’s grip, his chest filling with hot anger. Boromir continued to underestimate him. He had the nerve to ask Frodo to live with him in Minas Tirith when it was obvious that he would treat Frodo as little more than a pet to be coddled and protected!

Frodo gazed into his eyes, his cheeks rosy splotches. “Whether you think I am worthy or not, I am going to Mordor. I do not know whether I go to my death or not. If you truly love me as you claim, you will not try to stop me. Let us not make promises neither of us may be able to keep.”

“How can you—“ Boromir began, but stopped when he saw the fury in Frodo’s eyes.

Frodo continued, his voice softening as he took pity on the Man, who spoke so only out of desperate love that he deemed unrequited. “We will be traveling many long leagues together, and much can happen over so much distance and time. Our feelings may deepen or we may grow to hate one another. But now, in this haven of rest, we have time before we set off on our journey, and that means soft beds and good food and Elvish wine. Come, Boromir.” Frodo pressed up against Boromir’s hardness. “Let us use it to our advantage. Let us take some enjoyment while we can.”

Boromir relaxed on top of Frodo, resting his arms on either side of Frodo’s head, letting his fingers play with dark curls.

Suddenly Boromir’s head collapsed on Frodo’s chest, and he wept. Frodo could barely breathe from the Man’s shuddering weight fully on him, but he wrapped his arms around Boromir’s neck.

“What is it?” Frodo whispered, kissing the top of Boromir’s head. “What is it?”

“I love you, Frodo.” Boromir said in a voice choked with tears. “I know you do not return it, but I cannot help it. I forgive you everything. Whatever you say, whatever you do, I cannot stay angry with you, and I would do anything not to lose you.” He kissed Frodo’s cheek and smoothed curls from the hobbit’s brow. “As you wish…Let us take enjoyment with no promises. My heart breaks at the hardship you will surely endure on this perilous road you have chosen. But I swear it, Frodo--No harm shall come to you while I stand. I will protect you with all I have to give.”

“Boromir,” Frodo whispered, thoroughly moved by the Man’s words, and he kissed Boromir’s wet, grizzled cheek.

Boromir took the cue and his lips fell on Frodo’s soft neck, kissing with rough earnest, slowly moving upward until he captured the hobbit’s lips. His kiss was fiery, full of passion repressed for far too long. Frodo was anchored in place by his lips, and he liked the feeling. His hardness throbbed against Boromir’s weight.

“Boromir, hurry, please,” Frodo whispered, struggling to pull Boromir’s nightshirt from his chest. Boromir paused in his kissing only long enough to pull off the shirt and fling it carelessly over the side of the bed. He fell atop Frodo again, and his downy hair rubbed against Frodo’s pale chest, causing tingles of pleasure to rip through Frodo. Rough large hands caressed Frodo’s sides and hips and ran over his buttocks.

Frodo gasped, thrusting his chest up. Boromir captured the hobbit’s soft neck again, gently nipping and then kissing gently, moving up over Frodo’s flushed cheek. Frodo’s small hands roamed the expanse of Boromir’s back, thrilled by the rippling muscle under the skin. Boromir’s tongue flickered over Frodo’s ear.

“I never noticed how sharp that point is,” Boromir laughed gently.

Frodo felt something solid digging between his thighs and he pushed up against it, sending sweet reverberations through him. Strong hands kneaded his buttocks.

“Frodo…” Boromir said, panting, his eager face dripping with sweat. “I know you’ve never done this.”

Frodo thrust frantically against him. “No, but I am ready.”

“I don’t want to hurt you. I…”

“Oil,” Frodo gasped. “The vial on the table –“ Frodo waved vaguely toward the bedside table.

Boromir laughed as he reached across the bed to where Frodo had earlier set the vial. “You planned this well, halfling.”

“Indeed,” Frodo answered with a playful smile.

The vial clutched in his hands, Boromir slid down Frodo’s body until he took the hobbit into his mouth. Frodo groaned pitifully as Boromir’s tongue danced around it and he sucked deliciously. Frodo shoved his hips up into the wet warmth, crying out, and as he did so, an insistent finger slid into the cleft in his bottom. He squirmed against it, feeling both discomfort and a building explosion inside him at the same time, and just before he knew he was going to burst, Boromir released him from his mouth, mischievously sliding back up to knead Frodo’s buttocks, his finger still twisting inside the cleft.

“Boromir, please,” Frodo panted, rubbing his bottom desperately against Boromir’s hand. “I cannot bear this.”

“Then I will have you now, Frodo.”

A second thick finger suddenly slid inside Frodo, and both twisted and turned inside him sending pricks of blinding pain mixed with vibrations of the sweetest sensation Frodo had ever experienced. “Relax, Frodo, you are still too tight. You must relax.”

Frodo had never felt anything like it. Everything became foggy except for this twisting, as if Boromir were stirring all the bliss inside him like a cake mix, exaggerating all sensation.

“Help me,” Boromir said, putting the vial in Frodo’s hands. Frodo blindly opened the vial, a gift from Aragorn, though he would never tell Boromir this, and shuddered as the cool oil spilled over his hands. He rubbed Boromir’s stiff shaft, taking great pleasure in the Man’s labored gasps.

“Are you ready now?” Boromir whispered.

“Yes, yes,” Frodo said, closing his eyes.

“If it hurts, you must tell me and I will pull out. You have my word.”

Something thick and unyielding slid into him, just a little, and Frodo gasped at the pinpricks of pain that filled his hole. Under the surface of the pain, Frodo felt the beginnings of pleasure beyond his wildest imaginings. If only the Man could fit fully inside him!

“Am I hurting you?”

“No, no,” Frodo lied.

Boromir slid further inside, and this time Frodo couldn’t help but cry out.

“I cannot do this,” Boromir said in a hoarse voice, pulling out completely, but not without some disappointment. “I will not hurt you to gratify my pleasure. There are other ways.”

“Boromir, you must try again! Please! It will get better.”

Boromir tried once again to slide into Frodo, gripping the hobbit’s slender shoulders as if he feared he was going to break him. “It goes in with greater ease this time,” Boromir said. “Are you in pain?”

“No,” Frodo said. It was again a lie, but he would not have Boromir pull out now, not when he knew it was going to give him unheard pleasure if they could both but be patient.

The tearing pain at last gave way to bright vibrations that sent sparkling lights in Frodo’s vision. The vibrations grew stronger until Frodo’s heart beat so fast he could barely breathe and he barely felt Boromir’s now uncontrolled thrusts.

They finished at the same time, clutching each other with bruising force, crying out each other’s names, not caring at that moment if all of Elrond’s household heard them.

Panting heavily, Boromir rolled his weight from Frodo, clutching the hobbit tightly to his chest. Frodo’s body still shuddered with reverberations, though he would probably be sore later. It was worth it. He sighed, thinking there could not possibly be anything more blissful than what Boromir had just given him.

“Thank you, Frodo,” Boromir said. “I can perish in happiness even if this is all you offer me.”

“I will offer more than this,” Frodo said with a slow smile. “But let us not speak of perishing in this fair house, not with such a dark road before us.”

Boromir kissed Frodo’s brow. “You must come to my city, even if only for a short while. You will need rest before your venture into Mordor, if go you must.”

“Go I must,” Frodo said, nuzzling against Boromir’s neck. “But do not look so crestfallen. If I am not slain during this quest, I believe it will be my fate to see your city.”

Boromir cupped Frodo’s chin in his hands. “You carry a heavy burden, Frodo. But I believe…” Boromir sighed heavily and looked away for a moment. ”This is difficult for me to admit…” His hands slid behind Frodo’s head, fingers tangling into dark curls, and he cradled the hobbit’s head to his chest. “I have little confidence in this desperate course the council of the wise has decided, to send a halfling—one dear to me--blindly to his death into Mordor. But if any wisdom is to be found in this choice…” Boromir swallowed. “It is that you are the halfling. You have strength in you to rival any of the best warriors in Gondor. I have seen you survive a stabbing from a Morgul blade and I have never heard of such a feat before.” Frodo’s cheeks warmed and his heart lifted as Boromir continued. “I know I have said unkind things to you that seem to contradict this, but that is only because I love you and only wish you to be safe.”

“Thank you, Boromir,” Frodo said, snuggling against the solid chest. He was still firm in his belief that there should still be no promises between them. He looked forward and saw nothing but darkness and fire on his road. But…if he did not look too far ahead, if he yielded to the muscled arms wrapped tightly around him, he could see nights of silk sheets, heady wine, lavender oil, and most of all, a Man who loved him so much that he was willing to embark with him on a perilous quest just to make certain that his hobbit remained safe.


END