Courtship 7

[claudia603]

Title: Courtship
Author: Claudia
Pairing: Frodo/Aragorn
Rating: varies (this one PG)
Summary: This is total crack fic in that I’m writing it purely for fun, it may not be edited or beta-ed, not trying to be profound, and I don’t know where it’s going. I intend to finish it, one way or another, because that’s part of my personal challenge, to dive into this story, have no idea where it’s going, and bring it to a hopefully satisfying finish. And I’ve missed my main interspecies pairing lately! :-) *grin*

Note: Totally borrowed surgicalsteel's family for a scene. And a character from gloryunderhill in mention...LOL!






For days, the village of Bree could speak of nothing but the daring lovers who had fled and disappeared into the wilderness – and Mr. Hollybrush, so angry that he vowed to rip the poor hobbits into pieces if he found him. Hobbits and Men were more aware of one another than ever before, and so made a bigger effort to avoid one another. A juicier scandal had not hit in a good while. Around the tables at the Prancing Pony, in the market, on the street – it was all the Breelanders could talk about.

Thankfully, Bill Ferny and his friends had left Frodo and Al alone, and there had been no further disturbances by them. Possibly Bill Ferny had been giving a stern talking to by the law of Bree. Not that it would stop him for long, but at least there was a break from it.

“Goodness gracious,” Frodo said, thoroughly annoyed, as he stocked a few items on Al’s shelves. “What the people of Bree need is a big, fiery dragon to fly overhead.”

“This may be just as bad for them,” Al said, shaking his head.

“Well, I feel sorry for them,” Frodo said. “Choosing their love based on what is proper alone.”

“Love and marriage are two different things,” Al said.

“Did you love your wife?” Frodo asked softly. He knew very little about Al before he had met him, but he did know that his wife had died a long while ago.

Al nodded. “At first it was fondness, then over that year, it turned to love. But we were only married a year. She died in childbirth. Both she and the babe perished.”

“I am sorry. I did not know that.” Frodo’s cheeks heated.

“It was a long time ago. It hurts still, but I think I shall never marry again. I have my shop and many dear friends to keep me company.”

Frodo turned a sudden and brilliant smile towards him, and Al looked surprised, but he could not help but to smile back. And Frodo, being a hobbit who wore his heart fully on his sleeve for all to see, rushed across the room and threw his arms around Al’s ample waist. “You are a dear,” he said. Al laughed, ever puzzled by Frodo’s spurts of passion, and embraced him back. Frodo’s voice was muffled as he pressed his cheek into Al’s chest. “You have just taught me something far more valuable than any scholar could. I shall stop moping about like a lovesick lass and enjoy the riches right here before me.”


Serinde checked Frodo’s foot every day that week, and on the last day, she removed the stitches, little by little. Frodo cringed only a little.

“It has healed marvelously.” She looked up. “And you were very brave.”

As she washed his foot, Frodo took a breath and gathered the courage to ask the question foremost on his mind. “Serinde, do you know Strider well?”

Serinde snorted a little, wringing the cloth out. “I see far too much of him, if that’s what you mean.”

Frodo’s heart sped, and he could not help it, but his cheeks heated. “He is very mysterious to me.”

“Many think so. He and my husband are regarded with much suspicion here in Bree.”

“That is sad,” Frodo said. “Strider is so kind and rich with knowledge. I cannot believe all he knows and has experienced.”

Serinde looked at him sharply, and Frodo was not certain, but it seemed her lip twitched upward slightly. “Halbarad should be home within the week and when he arrives, I would very much like it if you could come for supper.”

Frodo never turned down a meal invitation.



The lad stood before Frodo, clutching his hands together, his cheeks burning. “It’s just that it’s all….it’s so foolish.”

Frodo crossed his arms and waited patiently. He was used to the twitching and blushing and cringing that otherwise sensible men and women displayed over love letters.

“Come now,” Frodo said, taking his arm and leading him toward the stool next to his desk. “Please do sit down. Be at ease. Whatever you tell me does not leave this room. That I promise.”

The lad was tall but not fully grown – Frodo could not tell his age for certain – it was always hard to tell with the Big Folk – perhaps eighteen or nineteen. The lad did sit, but he was far from at ease.

“My name is Cadin Appledore. I want a letter written but…” He met Frodo’s gaze. “I truly am at your mercy, Mr. Baggins. If my father found out about this…” He shuddered. “It would be far worse than with Lan and Dora.”

“Do you love a hobbit?” Frodo asked. My word, he thought, if Lan and Dora had begun a fad, he could not imagine what would happen in Bree.

“No, no,” Cadin said, but he laughed. “But this may be worse. This…” He glanced at Frodo again, as if testing him. “person is not well liked, but, I’ve seen hi – this person speaking to you, so I think you’re kinder than most.”

Frodo’s heart squeezed. “You started to say him. Is it a man?”

Cadin’s face had gone tomato-red. He mumbled. “I’ve a bit of a thing for…er…I fancy other lads. Shall I go now? You’ll not be wanting to help me, will you? Please don’t tell anyone. Please. My father might kill me.” He started to scramble to his feet again.

Frodo gripped Cadin’s wide wrist, keeping him from standing. “Stay, please. I care not who you love. Do you wish a letter written to this…lad?”

Cadin looked visibly relieved but then settled on the stool again, far more relaxed. “He’s hardly a lad,” he laughed. “He’s one of them wandering folk, a ranger.”

Frodo’s cheeks felt suddenly hollow and numb. He dropped his quill. His hands shook miserably. “Oh.”

“He’s not well liked, I know,” Cadin said. “And some call him stick-at-naught and I know he’s not often here in Bree. But when he is, I can’t take my eyes off him. He’s so powerful, frightening kind of. I like that.” Cadin offered Frodo a shy smile.

Frodo’s throat filled, and still he could not speak. Everything felt numb. All he felt for Strider, that he had tried to shove aside, came back, churning his stomach, flushing his cheeks, making him tremble.

“I’m sorry,” Cadin said, suddenly noticing Frodo’s discomfort. “Is there a problem?”

“I do not know.” Frodo’s lip felt numb. He felt so flustered. Then he saw the disappointment in Cadin’s eyes and straightened his shoulders. “Oh, I am sorry. It is not you. I’m afraid my mind left us for a moment.” He laughed nervously. “You want a letter to Strider?”

He thought about the letter he had written to Strider, the day that Oron had come in, the day that Strider had left. He had never continued it. His heart had ached too much.

“Do you think he’d hurt me?” Cadin asked. “Some folk find this rather…unnatural and Rangers—well, they’re strange and not able to be predicted.”

Frodo sighed, squeezing his quill until his knuckles paled. “He’d not hurt you. But likely he’d not respond. What would you like to say?”

“I’ve simply no way with words,” the lad said. “Would you…could you write it for me? Then not sign my name? Not just yet. I know it’s a bit dishonest, but I just want to see if he’d ever have anything to do with the likes of me.”

Frodo’s cheeks burned. Of course he could write a letter. He could pour his own heart into it. Perhaps it would even soothe his heart to do so because his name would not be on it. Then again, perhaps Strider found this lad appealing…Frodo shuddered. He could not think about it. Nor could he bear to see this eager lad’s heart be broken either. It was all a tangled mess now.

“Will you write it? Mr. Baggins?”

Cadin’s voice brought him back. He should say no. He should offer his apologies and send the lad on his way.

But he heard his own voice blurt, “Yes, yes. I will write it for you.”

The lad grabbed Frodo’s cheeks with unexpected vigor and kissed his brow. “Thank you so kindly! It feels wonderful to have someone understand.” He kissed Frodo’s brow again. “When…when will it be finished?”

All the strength seeped out of Frodo’s limbs, and his voice came out faint. “Tomorrow. You can come for it tomorrow.”

After the lad left, Frodo’s heart sank to his stomach, where everything churned unpleasantly, and he rested his head in his trembling arms.




Frodo dressed in his finest – going to supper at Mistress Serinde’s made him eager to look his best. He wore a silver brocaded vest and his crispest, cleanest white shirt. He picked some fresh wild flowers from his back garden and tied them up with a string.

Young Thorongil and Tarie, ages six and five, threw themselves at him when he stepped through the door.

“Hobbits!” They yelled in delight, pulling him to the floor with them. Frodo laughed and tickled Tarie mercilessly under her bare feet, and she then pretended to stab him.

“I’m a Ranger!” she yelled in a shrill voice.

Frodo clutched his belly where he had been “stabbed,” rolled onto his back, and pretended to be mortally wounded.

“Fear not,” Thorongil said. “Let me see the wound. Oooh, it is bad. You’ve lost much blood.”

Frodo groaned dramatically.

“You would help an enemy?” Tarie asked, her eyes gleaming every bit as grim as a Ranger’s.

“I would. It matters not who is wounded,” Thorongil said. “Any healer should know that.”

And without warning, in walked Strider. He stopped abruptly when he saw Frodo. Frodo sat up, his skin turning cold and then hot, and Strider paused in the doorway. They stared at one another, speechless. Frodo’s heart thudded so fast that he could not catch his breath.

Then Strider turned to Serinde. “I thank you for your invitation, but I cannot stay.”

Serinde’s chin shook. “What sort of nonsense is this? Of course you’re staying. Where else would you eat? At the inn?”

Strider mumbled something incoherent, and Serinde slapped him with a dishtowel and stomped into the kitchen.

Frodo scrambled to his feet and grabbed Strider’s elbow. “I wish to speak to you – in private.” He rolled his eyes toward the front door.

Strider sighed and followed Frodo outside.

Once they were both seated on the stoop, Frodo demanded, “Why did you leave?” He had forgotten how keen were those gray eyes, how lovely and smooth and low his voice. The very sound of it made him awfully warm between his legs. All of the hurt of Strider leaving him rushed back to him.

“It is what I do, Frodo. It is my duty.”

“But without a farewell?”

Strider looked uncomfortable. “Something immediate came up. And you were busy.”

Frodo’s heart pounded with fury. “Busy? I was in Al Goatleaf’s shop being robbed. Of course, you’ve been gone. Perhaps you’ve not heard.”

“Robbed…” Strider laughed bitterly. “Is that what you call it?”

Frodo’s mouth fell open. He had expected concern or surprise but not this black humor about it.

“Strider, what is the matter with you?”

“It is nothing.” Strider started to get up.

“No.” Frodo grabbed his arm and pulled him back down. Strider’s eyes widened with surprise but he did not protest. “You are distant and cold and I really must know—” Frodo stopped himself abruptly and flushed. He thought about the letter that he was to write, that he had not yet finished although the deadline had long passed, and it all seemed so dishonest. He had Strider right here before him. He could tell him everything, and let him do with it as he might. If he humiliated him right here and now, then Frodo could leave and send his apologies to Serinde later.

“Know what?”

Frodo took a breath. His hands trembled so wildly that even clutching them together did nothing to still them. “I think…I think I love you…I can’t stop thinking about you day or night.”

“If that is the case,” Strider said brusquely. “Why did you kiss another?”

Frodo felt the color drain from his face, and he was rendered speechless.

Strider raised his eyebrows at him and stood, going inside, letting slam the door. After a time, Frodo followed him. His stomach felt shrunken and cold. So Strider had seen him with Oron.

“Come back!” Thorongil shouted, truly indignant. “You can’t just get up when you’ve lost that much blood. The wound will get infected!”

Frodo collapsed to the floor, no difficult feat. His limbs had lost all their strength. He clutched at his now truly nauseated belly and lay on the floor again. “Let me perish please.”

“I can do that,” Tarie said, holding an imaginary sword at his throat. “Come, Thorongil, the enemy wishes to die. Let me ease his passing!”

Serinde clapped in the doorway. “It’s time to eat now! Let poor Frodo up, please.”

Tarie smiled then and helped Frodo to his feet and led him to the dining room.

Serinde served a lovely meal, and despite the ugly and humiliating scene with Strider, Frodo had forgotten how pleasant it was to eat such a spread among friends.

“I’d invited Glory Underhill,” Serinde said. “But she couldn’t make it.”

“That is too bad,” Halbarad said. “She’s a sweet lass.”

Halbarad and Strider were clearly kinsmen, but Halbarad looked distinctly different. His shoulders were broader, his hair darker and more curly. He had a scar above his lip, and his eyes were green, and seemed less stern than Strider’s, almost more uncertain, and Frodo hated to admit it, but kinder. Halbarad continued, “So since I’ve arrived, I’ve heard nothing but the disappearance of Lan Brockhouse and Dora Hollybrush.”

Frodo nodded but said nothing.

“A man marrying a hobbit. I’m not certain this would work. Too many differences.”

“I’m not sure that’s true,” Frodo said, and at the same time, Strider said, “Not necessarily.” Their eyes met. Strider continued. “In some cases it might work splendidly.”

“Especially,” Frodo said, swallowing. “If the man were kind and warm.”

“And if the hobbit is true.”

Halbarad glanced from Strider to Frodo and then asked, “What do you suppose her father will do? I surely hope he won’t harm anyone in the Brockhouse family.”

“He’s not a pleasant man,” Frodo said. “He came to the shop a few days ago.” He shuddered.

“Did he say something to you?” Serinde asked.

Frodo rolled up his sleeve to the bruising on his arm from being grabbed.

Strider’s eyes flickered a moment before he said, “Pity your friend wasn’t there to help.”

Frodo glared at him. “Al was a dear. He drew his sword and chased him out.” He rolled his sleeve down again.

When supper was over, Frodo helped Serinde clear the table.

“Sit down,” Serinde said. “You’re a guest here.”

But Frodo hovered in the kitchen doorway because Halbarad had spoken and Frodo could hear every word.

“He’s a charming fellow. He’s from the Shire, isn’t he?”

Strider only grunted in answer.

“You know him well?”

Again, another grunt.

“Come now, Strider,” Halbarad said. “I’ve known you long enough to know when your heart is wounded.”

“It truly is nothing.”

Strider’s words gutted him right in his belly where Tarie had pretended to stab him.

Ah, well, then, Frodo thought, swallowing hard. Then it shall be nothing to me either.


TBC

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