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shirebound!! I found it buried deep, deep in my fic journal! AND you're right - it was really hard to find. I hadn't linked to it in my "multiple pairings" page for some reason, and thus, it didn't make it to Last Ship either - eep!!
Title: Pale Stars of Hollin
Author: Claudia
Pairing: Frodo/Elladan/Elrohir
Summary: Frodo is cold and heart-broken in Hollin. Elladan and
Elrohir can help. AU quest.
Disclaimer: Don’t own anything. Don’t make any money off it.
Frodo didn’t realize how numb the ice-edged air had made his fingers until he tried to thread the slender needle from Sam’s darning kit. Ever since the company had passed out of the haven of Rivendell and set off across the wilderness under slate gray skies, the wind had been cold and ruthless. Unfriendly eyes sought them from the sky, so they traveled by night and rested by day and could not even build a small fire. The only warmth Frodo felt was in sleep, but that was a cruel illusion. Day after day, he dreamed he was tucked in down covers, his cheeks heated by a crackling fire in the hearth. Then he would wake at dusk, too frozen even to shiver, choked by his own icy breath.
The small boulder he now sat on in the dawn’s faint light was covered by a sheen of sparkling frost, and the frozen damp seeped through his breeches and chilled his bottom. His frigid fingers were clumsy at best as he threw back his cloak and unbuttoned his shirt, shuddering as the wind tore at his bare chest. Once the shirt was off, he wrapped his cloak around himself and thrust his hands into the fleeting warmth between his thighs.
In the dim overcast light, Frodo glanced at the rest of the company. Boromir was curled up against a boulder, wrapped in his enviable fur cloak, legs tucked up against his chest. Sam slept on the ground next to Frodo, covered by his cloak and blanket, his face tense, as if he had fallen asleep against his better judgment. Gimli snored happily, the only one who seemed oblivious to the cold. He was resting on his bottom, legs splayed outward, head thrust back against the same boulder against which Boromir lay. Legolas stood, wrapped in his cloak, one foot slightly pointed, his head cocked to the side. His eyes were open. Frodo did not think this odd, as he had learned not to be surprised by the peculiar fashion in which elves slept. Gandalf slept sitting up, his hat perched over his face, his long fingers wrapped around his staff.
Aragorn was nowhere in sight, and Frodo assumed that he was scouting the area.
He swallowed, disappointed in himself for focusing on Aragorn, who was none of his concern. Frodo struggled to block out thoughts of the Ranger and memories of that one kiss the last night in Rivendell which had left such a hollow spot in his heart.
Elladan and Elrohir stood together, not asleep, as they were on watch duty. Their backs were to Frodo, and each of them wore velvet cloaks, one in rich maroon, the other a jewel blue, and these cloaks fell over their shoulders and ended at their lithe calves. Neither seemed disturbed by the chilly wind, which tousled their black hair and fluttered their thin gray tunics. Since leaving Rivendell, the sons of Elrond had barely spoken two words to Frodo, which Frodo found disconcerting, since they had, after all, been chosen to go on this quest on his behalf. Frodo was not sure what to make of these distant and lordly brothers, what they might think of a hobbit from the Shire with the fate of Middle earth in his hands. He only knew that he often felt tongue-tied around them, foolish and clumsy in their presence. Their eyes often bored into him, as if marveling at his weakness.
Still, Frodo was grateful to them, because their being chosen for the company had prevented his rash young cousins from accompanying him to an end that surely would be deadly. He could still see the crestfallen expressions on his cousins’ faces as they had stood before Elrond.
“Your time for valor may yet come,” Elrond had said to the two young hobbits. Merry and Pippin had bowed their heads, utterly crushed. "And if it does, you shall have to fight all the more bravely for what you hold dear.”
“But we cannot leave Frodo,” Merry said. “We made a promise.”
“He can’t go to Mordor without us,” Pippin said, his eyes filling with tears.
“I will say no more,” Elrond said, closing his eyes.
Frodo sighed and pulled his hands from between his thighs, rubbing them together. He missed Merry and Pippin with a dreadful ache. On this endless cold march across the wilderness, he often longed for his light-hearted cousins, who could make him laugh, even under the darkest circumstances. Yet picturing them safe in the Shire was balm to his heart.
At last Frodo was able to feel his hands enough to distinguish the needle in one hand and button in the other. He tried to keep his fingers mostly tucked under the folds of his cloak. He had placed his shirt over his knees, and now he thrust his needle in and out of the thick linen.
“Frodo, you should get some sleep.”
Frodo jumped slightly, and in doing so, pricked his finger with the needle. He flinched, but he did not look up. His cloak slipped from his bare shoulders, and he clenched his jaw. “I must fix my shirt.”
Aragorn fell to one knee in front of the boulder and adjusted Frodo’s cloak. His voice dropped low. “You will make yourself ill.”
There was genuine concern in Aragorn’s voice – for the Ringbearer, to whom he had sworn his protection. But nothing more. Frodo let out a harsh sigh and not for the first time wished to blot out that last night in Rivendell. Frodo could still hear Aragorn’s voice that night, sad and full of pity, his fingers strong on Frodo’s shoulders. “I would do much for you, Frodo, but I cannot give you this.” Frodo’s stomach had sickened. He should never have come to Aragorn’s room, should certainly never have moved in to kiss the Man with no encouragement. Yet the memory of what could have been would be forever etched on his lips.
Now Aragorn moved away and spoke in a low voice to Elladan and Elrohir. The three of them looked up into the sky, seeking enemies. Elrohir – or was it Elladan? He still could not tell them apart – turned slightly, and the sparse winter light gave his keen eyes a silver luster, like a distant star. He met Frodo’s gaze and gave him a barely perceptible nod. Frodo looked away, blushing furiously, and bit the thread free from his shirt, yanking at the button for good measure.
He dropped his cloak behind him, shocked into breathlessness by a sudden gust of icy wind. By the time he pulled his shirt on, his fingers were once again utterly useless. He fumbled at the buttons, unable even to pull a button through its hole.
“Allow me.”
Frodo looked up with a harsh gasp, which puffed out of his mouth in ethereal mist. He had not heard the Elf – Elrohir or Elladan - approach, and now all he could do was stare. Up close, his face was fairer than Frodo had recalled.
“El-“ Frodo began, flushing with embarrassment of not knowing how to address the one helping him.
“Elladan.” The Elf gave him a kind but brief smile. His face showed little expression as he finished buttoning Frodo’s shirt, his fingers agile and tender. He wrapped Frodo’s cloak firmly around his shoulders. With a quick nod, he patted the hobbit’s shoulder and strode back to his brother.
Frodo stared after them, and new warmth seeped through his limbs. He gazed up at the lightening sky. Through small breaks in the clouds, Frodo caught the glimpse of fading stars, pale beacons of the ending night.
Sam stirred and awakened. He sighed and climbed to sit beside Frodo on the rock. “You should be sleeping,” he said in an accusing voice, wrapping his blanket and cloak around both of them.
“I’m not tired, Sam.” Frodo smiled, and he immediately knew it was a lie. He felt warm and sleepy, and his eyes drooped closed.
Sam put his arm around Frodo’s shoulder. “Now, Mr. Frodo, you justlean your head on my shoulder and rest up a few moments. I’ll get you a bite to eat when you wake. It’s just a shame we can’t have a fire and some hot stew.”
“Oh, Sam…” Stars gleamed behind Frodo’s closed eyes, but they emitted warmth at last.
***
Frodo had stumbled off the path in the dark, and now he was lost. He called out, but none in the company answered. He heard only his own small voice, echoing plaintively off the ragged cliffs on either side of him. There was no sign of the rest of the company, not even Sam, who never allowed him out of his sight. His shoulder throbbed as if hundreds of tiny cold needles were being jammed into his wound at once. He stumbled to his knees, clutching at his wound. The world around him dimmed and turned to gray mist. Ahead, a black shadow formed. Then another. Three more joined, and he was surrounded, just as he had been at Weathertop. Frodo tried to climb to his feet, but he tripped. Lying on his back, he was at once surrounded by black shadows, hissing with cold breath, and they blocked out the silver stars.
“Master Halfling.” The whisper warmed his ear, and the shadows fled. “Master Halfling, awake!”
Frodo opened his eyes, gasping harshly and blinking in the dim light.
A warm hand covered his brow, and a concerned face, belonging either to Elladan or Elrohir, hovered above him. He had slipped off the rock and was lying slumped on the ground. Sam, too, had fallen on the ground, tangled in his cloak and blanket.
Frodo clutched the Elf’s hand, craving the warmth, shivering, unable to speak. The horror of the black shapes pressed in on him.
Strong hands cupped Frodo’s cheeks, and the keen eyes, which had previously seemed so distant, were now filled with concern. “It is all right. I am here. Fear not the darkness.”
“Thank…thank you,” Frodo finally managed. He took in deep breaths while the Elf kept his hands on Frodo’s cheeks and hummed under his breath, as if he were comforting a sleeping babe. Frodo’s heart slowed, and he began to feel more serene.
After a long pause, Frodo added. “And thank you for yesterday.”
The Elf looked puzzled.
“My buttons,” Frodo said, blushing, remembering those slender fingers working with such tender care.
“Ah…that was my brother.” He rubbed Frodo’s cheeks. “You are so cold. This will not do at all.” He worked at unbuttoning Frodo’s shirt, undoing what his brother had done.
“What are you doing?” Frodo asked, but he felt shocking new warmth in his groin when the Elf’s fingers brushed against his bare skin. He met Elrohir’s eyes and was struck breathless by the deep concentration he saw there.
Elrohir paused, looking at Frodo as if for the first time. He managed a small smile. “Are you certain you have no Elvish blood in you? It is said that the Elves at one time took halfling lovers.”
Frodo blushed, uncertain whether Elrohir jested or not. “I should say not. The Bagginses have always been a respectable family…” He trailed off, shocked by his own rudeness at implying that to mix with Elves was considered not respectable. “I am sorry,” he finished.
Elrohir met his gaze and smiled. “It is only that I have never seen such fairness in a mortal.” His hand brushed over Frodo’s bare chest, and Frodo leaned into his touch, his heart beating faster.
“Do you wish for me to continue?” Elrohir asked, his hand frozen on Frodo’s chest. “Your heart quickens.” Frodo hardened, and a warm tingling surged through all his body. He glanced in dismay at the others, terrified that they should wake and ruin this moment. But nobody stirred, and even Aragorn seemed to have fallen into a deep sleep.
“Here?” Frodo asked, now breathing quickly, imagining those pale, slender hands stroking the length of his body. Elrohir lifted him with effortless strength. His steps were sure and swift, and in seconds, Frodo had been placed on his back on the ground behind the shadow of a looming boulder, out of sight of the rest of the company. He was wrapped so tightly in his cloak he could barely move.
Elrohir reached under the cloak and continued to undress Frodo, pausing only to massage Frodo’s bare skin, immediately blocking out the icy air.
“What is this?” Elladan knelt beside them.
“Frodo is cold,” Elrohir said.
Elladan swallowed several times and looked away. “Is that so?”
Frodo flushed, his cheeks heating painfully. He could not understand Elladan’s expression – was it desire or revulsion? Elladan walked away without another word. Elrohir paused, watching his brother’s departure before turning back to Frodo. He eyed the hobbit’s arousal and asked, “Shall I continue?” When Frodo nodded, he kissed Frodo on the soft skin of his neck while stroking his back in vigorous circles.
“My brother desires you greatly.”
Frodo’s arousal became stiff and painful at the thought of not one, but two powerful Elf lords desiring him.
“And you?” Frodo asked breathlessly.
“It is the only time my brother and I have rivaled.”
“But I am a hobbit,” Frodo said, gasping in disbelief as Elrohir worked at loosening his breeches. “Surely there are elves of great beauty in Rivendell.”
Elrohir pulled Frodo’s breeches down to his knees and stroked the hobbit’s hips as he spoke. “You may be mortal, but we see you as if behind a glass curtain. Your laughter is like music, your feet, like most of your kind, are like the roots of apple trees, deeply connected to the earth – yet for you, it is ephemeral. I deem you are not long for this world. You walk between shadow and light, as you have been marked by the Valor.”
Frodo looked at him, lips parted slightly, and his arousal diminished somewhat. “Then I shall not succeed in this quest. You see my death, and the death of us all.”
“Nay,” Elrohir said. “You misunderstand. I see a smile upon your face that speaks of the release of all burdens and cares, your eyes like beacons of bliss. A mist surrounds you…and music to rival that played in my father’s hall.”
“There is music now,” Frodo murmured as Elrohir slipped the hobbit’s breeches completely off.
Elrohir positioned himself atop Frodo, careful not to crush, keeping much of his weight on his forearms. He kissed Frodo’s lips with deliberate slow care, each kiss like the drinking of fine wine, something to be tasted and relished. He came up for air only after six or seven of such kisses.
“It is far better than I imagined,” he laughed.
Frodo smiled back at him. “And this is far better than…” He paused, remembering his only kiss with Aragorn. The Man’s lips had been rough and unresponsive, far different from this gentle conquering.
“Let no shadow veil your face, my love.” Elrohir said in a softer voice, cupping Frodo’s cheeks. “I shall make it my duty to make certain no shadows mar your vision.”
“No,” Frodo said. “There are no shadows here. And am I your love?”
“Do you wish to be?” Elrohir asked, breath withheld.
Frodo’s heart lurched pleasantly. “But you barely know me. You’ve not spoken a word to me before today. How can this be?”
Elrohir laughed, letting his fingers run up and down Frodo’s sides. “You may think that because we do not die that we cannot look upon beauty of spirit and be instantly conquered. But that would be a lie.”
“And what of your brother?”
Elrohir smiled. “What do you think we shall do?”
“I would not have him stand in the cold.”
“You have a generous heart.”
“Can it belong to two?” Frodo asked. The conversation was peculiar and dream-like. These lords of Elves, who had seemed so distant, above mortal tastes, loved him. And why should he not accept their love, strange though it seemed to him? He knew in his heart that Elrohir had seen a vision of his death. He would not survive the quest. Perhaps under normal circumstances, what he was about to do would be unheard of. But now, with a limited stretch of time before him, and most of it on dark, unpleasant roads, he would gladly give his heart to those who would take it.
Elladan was suddenly beside them, smiling, as if he had heard everything. Insistent hands swept over Frodo’s skin, everywhere at once. Cool tongues lapped the pink nubs of his nipples. A warm mouth devoured his hardness while another nibbled at his ear, planting a string of kisses on his neck. Frodo at last felt confident enough to let his own hands explore the long sleek bodies on either side of him, and he was rewarded by urgent gasps. He had no sense of how long it went on – a lick here, a gentle squeeze there, a lingering kiss - but it seemed that time stood poised and silent as his body began to build in song.
He quivered in delight as the tingling burgeoned inside him like one of Gandalf’s fireworks as it soared into the sky. At last it exploded, sending twinkling lights before his eyes, and for many moments, the three of them could do nothing but pant in unison. Frodo’s eyes closed, and he fell almost immediately into an odd dream about a small lad with dark curls and blue eyes who toddled about stone halls. Frodo called out to him, by his name, which was similar but not exactly like Elrohir. An heir, he thought. But he shook his head as he slipped into a new dream of mist and sea.
But alas, none of us shall have heirs.
“Has there ever been a mortal so fair in this age?” Elladan asked, running his fingers through Frodo’s silky curls as the hobbit drowsed.
“Nay.” Elrohir said, rubbing the scar on Frodo’s shoulder. “It burns my heart to see what the Enemy has already done to him. I fear he will be broken ere the end.”
“Not this one,” Elladan said. “None should have survived that Morgul blade. His song is still valorous.”
“And we shall keep it thus,” Elrohir said. He looked to the East, and he saw fire bursting high into a blackened sky. Frodo stirred and groaned. The Elf’s vision only lasted a moment, and then the sky turned back to ominous gray, filled with swollen clouds that perhaps promised snow.
END
shirebound!! I found it buried deep, deep in my fic journal! AND you're right - it was really hard to find. I hadn't linked to it in my "multiple pairings" page for some reason, and thus, it didn't make it to Last Ship either - eep!!Title: Pale Stars of Hollin
Author: Claudia
Pairing: Frodo/Elladan/Elrohir
Summary: Frodo is cold and heart-broken in Hollin. Elladan and
Elrohir can help. AU quest.
Disclaimer: Don’t own anything. Don’t make any money off it.
Frodo didn’t realize how numb the ice-edged air had made his fingers until he tried to thread the slender needle from Sam’s darning kit. Ever since the company had passed out of the haven of Rivendell and set off across the wilderness under slate gray skies, the wind had been cold and ruthless. Unfriendly eyes sought them from the sky, so they traveled by night and rested by day and could not even build a small fire. The only warmth Frodo felt was in sleep, but that was a cruel illusion. Day after day, he dreamed he was tucked in down covers, his cheeks heated by a crackling fire in the hearth. Then he would wake at dusk, too frozen even to shiver, choked by his own icy breath.
The small boulder he now sat on in the dawn’s faint light was covered by a sheen of sparkling frost, and the frozen damp seeped through his breeches and chilled his bottom. His frigid fingers were clumsy at best as he threw back his cloak and unbuttoned his shirt, shuddering as the wind tore at his bare chest. Once the shirt was off, he wrapped his cloak around himself and thrust his hands into the fleeting warmth between his thighs.
In the dim overcast light, Frodo glanced at the rest of the company. Boromir was curled up against a boulder, wrapped in his enviable fur cloak, legs tucked up against his chest. Sam slept on the ground next to Frodo, covered by his cloak and blanket, his face tense, as if he had fallen asleep against his better judgment. Gimli snored happily, the only one who seemed oblivious to the cold. He was resting on his bottom, legs splayed outward, head thrust back against the same boulder against which Boromir lay. Legolas stood, wrapped in his cloak, one foot slightly pointed, his head cocked to the side. His eyes were open. Frodo did not think this odd, as he had learned not to be surprised by the peculiar fashion in which elves slept. Gandalf slept sitting up, his hat perched over his face, his long fingers wrapped around his staff.
Aragorn was nowhere in sight, and Frodo assumed that he was scouting the area.
He swallowed, disappointed in himself for focusing on Aragorn, who was none of his concern. Frodo struggled to block out thoughts of the Ranger and memories of that one kiss the last night in Rivendell which had left such a hollow spot in his heart.
Elladan and Elrohir stood together, not asleep, as they were on watch duty. Their backs were to Frodo, and each of them wore velvet cloaks, one in rich maroon, the other a jewel blue, and these cloaks fell over their shoulders and ended at their lithe calves. Neither seemed disturbed by the chilly wind, which tousled their black hair and fluttered their thin gray tunics. Since leaving Rivendell, the sons of Elrond had barely spoken two words to Frodo, which Frodo found disconcerting, since they had, after all, been chosen to go on this quest on his behalf. Frodo was not sure what to make of these distant and lordly brothers, what they might think of a hobbit from the Shire with the fate of Middle earth in his hands. He only knew that he often felt tongue-tied around them, foolish and clumsy in their presence. Their eyes often bored into him, as if marveling at his weakness.
Still, Frodo was grateful to them, because their being chosen for the company had prevented his rash young cousins from accompanying him to an end that surely would be deadly. He could still see the crestfallen expressions on his cousins’ faces as they had stood before Elrond.
“Your time for valor may yet come,” Elrond had said to the two young hobbits. Merry and Pippin had bowed their heads, utterly crushed. "And if it does, you shall have to fight all the more bravely for what you hold dear.”
“But we cannot leave Frodo,” Merry said. “We made a promise.”
“He can’t go to Mordor without us,” Pippin said, his eyes filling with tears.
“I will say no more,” Elrond said, closing his eyes.
Frodo sighed and pulled his hands from between his thighs, rubbing them together. He missed Merry and Pippin with a dreadful ache. On this endless cold march across the wilderness, he often longed for his light-hearted cousins, who could make him laugh, even under the darkest circumstances. Yet picturing them safe in the Shire was balm to his heart.
At last Frodo was able to feel his hands enough to distinguish the needle in one hand and button in the other. He tried to keep his fingers mostly tucked under the folds of his cloak. He had placed his shirt over his knees, and now he thrust his needle in and out of the thick linen.
“Frodo, you should get some sleep.”
Frodo jumped slightly, and in doing so, pricked his finger with the needle. He flinched, but he did not look up. His cloak slipped from his bare shoulders, and he clenched his jaw. “I must fix my shirt.”
Aragorn fell to one knee in front of the boulder and adjusted Frodo’s cloak. His voice dropped low. “You will make yourself ill.”
There was genuine concern in Aragorn’s voice – for the Ringbearer, to whom he had sworn his protection. But nothing more. Frodo let out a harsh sigh and not for the first time wished to blot out that last night in Rivendell. Frodo could still hear Aragorn’s voice that night, sad and full of pity, his fingers strong on Frodo’s shoulders. “I would do much for you, Frodo, but I cannot give you this.” Frodo’s stomach had sickened. He should never have come to Aragorn’s room, should certainly never have moved in to kiss the Man with no encouragement. Yet the memory of what could have been would be forever etched on his lips.
Now Aragorn moved away and spoke in a low voice to Elladan and Elrohir. The three of them looked up into the sky, seeking enemies. Elrohir – or was it Elladan? He still could not tell them apart – turned slightly, and the sparse winter light gave his keen eyes a silver luster, like a distant star. He met Frodo’s gaze and gave him a barely perceptible nod. Frodo looked away, blushing furiously, and bit the thread free from his shirt, yanking at the button for good measure.
He dropped his cloak behind him, shocked into breathlessness by a sudden gust of icy wind. By the time he pulled his shirt on, his fingers were once again utterly useless. He fumbled at the buttons, unable even to pull a button through its hole.
“Allow me.”
Frodo looked up with a harsh gasp, which puffed out of his mouth in ethereal mist. He had not heard the Elf – Elrohir or Elladan - approach, and now all he could do was stare. Up close, his face was fairer than Frodo had recalled.
“El-“ Frodo began, flushing with embarrassment of not knowing how to address the one helping him.
“Elladan.” The Elf gave him a kind but brief smile. His face showed little expression as he finished buttoning Frodo’s shirt, his fingers agile and tender. He wrapped Frodo’s cloak firmly around his shoulders. With a quick nod, he patted the hobbit’s shoulder and strode back to his brother.
Frodo stared after them, and new warmth seeped through his limbs. He gazed up at the lightening sky. Through small breaks in the clouds, Frodo caught the glimpse of fading stars, pale beacons of the ending night.
Sam stirred and awakened. He sighed and climbed to sit beside Frodo on the rock. “You should be sleeping,” he said in an accusing voice, wrapping his blanket and cloak around both of them.
“I’m not tired, Sam.” Frodo smiled, and he immediately knew it was a lie. He felt warm and sleepy, and his eyes drooped closed.
Sam put his arm around Frodo’s shoulder. “Now, Mr. Frodo, you justlean your head on my shoulder and rest up a few moments. I’ll get you a bite to eat when you wake. It’s just a shame we can’t have a fire and some hot stew.”
“Oh, Sam…” Stars gleamed behind Frodo’s closed eyes, but they emitted warmth at last.
***
Frodo had stumbled off the path in the dark, and now he was lost. He called out, but none in the company answered. He heard only his own small voice, echoing plaintively off the ragged cliffs on either side of him. There was no sign of the rest of the company, not even Sam, who never allowed him out of his sight. His shoulder throbbed as if hundreds of tiny cold needles were being jammed into his wound at once. He stumbled to his knees, clutching at his wound. The world around him dimmed and turned to gray mist. Ahead, a black shadow formed. Then another. Three more joined, and he was surrounded, just as he had been at Weathertop. Frodo tried to climb to his feet, but he tripped. Lying on his back, he was at once surrounded by black shadows, hissing with cold breath, and they blocked out the silver stars.
“Master Halfling.” The whisper warmed his ear, and the shadows fled. “Master Halfling, awake!”
Frodo opened his eyes, gasping harshly and blinking in the dim light.
A warm hand covered his brow, and a concerned face, belonging either to Elladan or Elrohir, hovered above him. He had slipped off the rock and was lying slumped on the ground. Sam, too, had fallen on the ground, tangled in his cloak and blanket.
Frodo clutched the Elf’s hand, craving the warmth, shivering, unable to speak. The horror of the black shapes pressed in on him.
Strong hands cupped Frodo’s cheeks, and the keen eyes, which had previously seemed so distant, were now filled with concern. “It is all right. I am here. Fear not the darkness.”
“Thank…thank you,” Frodo finally managed. He took in deep breaths while the Elf kept his hands on Frodo’s cheeks and hummed under his breath, as if he were comforting a sleeping babe. Frodo’s heart slowed, and he began to feel more serene.
After a long pause, Frodo added. “And thank you for yesterday.”
The Elf looked puzzled.
“My buttons,” Frodo said, blushing, remembering those slender fingers working with such tender care.
“Ah…that was my brother.” He rubbed Frodo’s cheeks. “You are so cold. This will not do at all.” He worked at unbuttoning Frodo’s shirt, undoing what his brother had done.
“What are you doing?” Frodo asked, but he felt shocking new warmth in his groin when the Elf’s fingers brushed against his bare skin. He met Elrohir’s eyes and was struck breathless by the deep concentration he saw there.
Elrohir paused, looking at Frodo as if for the first time. He managed a small smile. “Are you certain you have no Elvish blood in you? It is said that the Elves at one time took halfling lovers.”
Frodo blushed, uncertain whether Elrohir jested or not. “I should say not. The Bagginses have always been a respectable family…” He trailed off, shocked by his own rudeness at implying that to mix with Elves was considered not respectable. “I am sorry,” he finished.
Elrohir met his gaze and smiled. “It is only that I have never seen such fairness in a mortal.” His hand brushed over Frodo’s bare chest, and Frodo leaned into his touch, his heart beating faster.
“Do you wish for me to continue?” Elrohir asked, his hand frozen on Frodo’s chest. “Your heart quickens.” Frodo hardened, and a warm tingling surged through all his body. He glanced in dismay at the others, terrified that they should wake and ruin this moment. But nobody stirred, and even Aragorn seemed to have fallen into a deep sleep.
“Here?” Frodo asked, now breathing quickly, imagining those pale, slender hands stroking the length of his body. Elrohir lifted him with effortless strength. His steps were sure and swift, and in seconds, Frodo had been placed on his back on the ground behind the shadow of a looming boulder, out of sight of the rest of the company. He was wrapped so tightly in his cloak he could barely move.
Elrohir reached under the cloak and continued to undress Frodo, pausing only to massage Frodo’s bare skin, immediately blocking out the icy air.
“What is this?” Elladan knelt beside them.
“Frodo is cold,” Elrohir said.
Elladan swallowed several times and looked away. “Is that so?”
Frodo flushed, his cheeks heating painfully. He could not understand Elladan’s expression – was it desire or revulsion? Elladan walked away without another word. Elrohir paused, watching his brother’s departure before turning back to Frodo. He eyed the hobbit’s arousal and asked, “Shall I continue?” When Frodo nodded, he kissed Frodo on the soft skin of his neck while stroking his back in vigorous circles.
“My brother desires you greatly.”
Frodo’s arousal became stiff and painful at the thought of not one, but two powerful Elf lords desiring him.
“And you?” Frodo asked breathlessly.
“It is the only time my brother and I have rivaled.”
“But I am a hobbit,” Frodo said, gasping in disbelief as Elrohir worked at loosening his breeches. “Surely there are elves of great beauty in Rivendell.”
Elrohir pulled Frodo’s breeches down to his knees and stroked the hobbit’s hips as he spoke. “You may be mortal, but we see you as if behind a glass curtain. Your laughter is like music, your feet, like most of your kind, are like the roots of apple trees, deeply connected to the earth – yet for you, it is ephemeral. I deem you are not long for this world. You walk between shadow and light, as you have been marked by the Valor.”
Frodo looked at him, lips parted slightly, and his arousal diminished somewhat. “Then I shall not succeed in this quest. You see my death, and the death of us all.”
“Nay,” Elrohir said. “You misunderstand. I see a smile upon your face that speaks of the release of all burdens and cares, your eyes like beacons of bliss. A mist surrounds you…and music to rival that played in my father’s hall.”
“There is music now,” Frodo murmured as Elrohir slipped the hobbit’s breeches completely off.
Elrohir positioned himself atop Frodo, careful not to crush, keeping much of his weight on his forearms. He kissed Frodo’s lips with deliberate slow care, each kiss like the drinking of fine wine, something to be tasted and relished. He came up for air only after six or seven of such kisses.
“It is far better than I imagined,” he laughed.
Frodo smiled back at him. “And this is far better than…” He paused, remembering his only kiss with Aragorn. The Man’s lips had been rough and unresponsive, far different from this gentle conquering.
“Let no shadow veil your face, my love.” Elrohir said in a softer voice, cupping Frodo’s cheeks. “I shall make it my duty to make certain no shadows mar your vision.”
“No,” Frodo said. “There are no shadows here. And am I your love?”
“Do you wish to be?” Elrohir asked, breath withheld.
Frodo’s heart lurched pleasantly. “But you barely know me. You’ve not spoken a word to me before today. How can this be?”
Elrohir laughed, letting his fingers run up and down Frodo’s sides. “You may think that because we do not die that we cannot look upon beauty of spirit and be instantly conquered. But that would be a lie.”
“And what of your brother?”
Elrohir smiled. “What do you think we shall do?”
“I would not have him stand in the cold.”
“You have a generous heart.”
“Can it belong to two?” Frodo asked. The conversation was peculiar and dream-like. These lords of Elves, who had seemed so distant, above mortal tastes, loved him. And why should he not accept their love, strange though it seemed to him? He knew in his heart that Elrohir had seen a vision of his death. He would not survive the quest. Perhaps under normal circumstances, what he was about to do would be unheard of. But now, with a limited stretch of time before him, and most of it on dark, unpleasant roads, he would gladly give his heart to those who would take it.
Elladan was suddenly beside them, smiling, as if he had heard everything. Insistent hands swept over Frodo’s skin, everywhere at once. Cool tongues lapped the pink nubs of his nipples. A warm mouth devoured his hardness while another nibbled at his ear, planting a string of kisses on his neck. Frodo at last felt confident enough to let his own hands explore the long sleek bodies on either side of him, and he was rewarded by urgent gasps. He had no sense of how long it went on – a lick here, a gentle squeeze there, a lingering kiss - but it seemed that time stood poised and silent as his body began to build in song.
He quivered in delight as the tingling burgeoned inside him like one of Gandalf’s fireworks as it soared into the sky. At last it exploded, sending twinkling lights before his eyes, and for many moments, the three of them could do nothing but pant in unison. Frodo’s eyes closed, and he fell almost immediately into an odd dream about a small lad with dark curls and blue eyes who toddled about stone halls. Frodo called out to him, by his name, which was similar but not exactly like Elrohir. An heir, he thought. But he shook his head as he slipped into a new dream of mist and sea.
But alas, none of us shall have heirs.
“Has there ever been a mortal so fair in this age?” Elladan asked, running his fingers through Frodo’s silky curls as the hobbit drowsed.
“Nay.” Elrohir said, rubbing the scar on Frodo’s shoulder. “It burns my heart to see what the Enemy has already done to him. I fear he will be broken ere the end.”
“Not this one,” Elladan said. “None should have survived that Morgul blade. His song is still valorous.”
“And we shall keep it thus,” Elrohir said. He looked to the East, and he saw fire bursting high into a blackened sky. Frodo stirred and groaned. The Elf’s vision only lasted a moment, and then the sky turned back to ominous gray, filled with swollen clouds that perhaps promised snow.
END
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no subject
Date: 2010-11-16 01:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-17 02:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-17 02:09 am (UTC)WHAT? *incredulous* Even if you THINK that, you don't SAY it.
That pisses me off FOR you. :( Boo on stupid people.
I'LL take that fic! :D
no subject
Date: 2010-11-17 11:44 pm (UTC)I was pretty not impressed by all that.
no subject
Date: 2010-11-18 12:45 am (UTC)But fuck that. (No, not butt fuck, that's reserved for awesome people.)
Just assure me you never wrote for that bitch again. :D
no subject
Date: 2010-11-18 01:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-11-18 02:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-16 01:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-16 03:10 pm (UTC)