*** 
 
 
They lay there for many long minutes, limp as wet dishrags, their  
bodies still locked together.  
 
Aragorn was the first to stir. He raised his head slowly and looked  
at the small sweat-soaked face beneath him. Frodo's eyes were closed  
and his lips were curled upward into a slight smile. The ranger  
reached up and smoothed the dark hair from the bruised forehead.  
 
"Little one?"  
 
Frodo opened his eyes for a moment and sighed before closing them  
again. "Mmmmm . . ." he mumbled in a sleepy voice. "That was . . ."  
he trailed off, unable to find the words.  
 
Aragorn planted a soft kiss on the rosebud lips. Leaning up on his  
elbows, he moved his hips back to withdraw his now-flaccid member  
from Frodo's body. A grimace passed across the hobbit's face and  
Frodo jerked slightly as Aragorn's penis came free.  
 
"Frodo, did that hurt?" the ranger asked, concerned, as he rolled  
over to lay next to the hobbit and leaned over him. One hand came  
down to play with Frodo's dark curly bangs while the other rubbed the  
hobbit's collarbone.  
 
"It only burned a little, Strider. I'm feeling rather . . . raw . . .  
down there, is all." 
 
Aragorn raised his eyebrows. "I imagine you're feeling a lot more  
than that, Frodo. And if you don't now, you certainly will be in a  
few hours, I'm sure." 
 
"Probably. But it was worth it."  
 
Aragorn chuckled. "Now that I have spoiled you, Master Baggins, how  
did you find the experience? Was it to your liking?"  
 
Frodo turned his head slightly to face the ranger, blue eyes opening  
wide, dark lashes rising and falling.  
 
"Truly, Strider, it was . . . unlike anything I've ever known. I  
never dreamed such a feeling was possible." He looked down  
shyly. "What about . . . you? I don't have . . . knowledge . . . of  
these matters, or I would have been more pleasing, I'm sure,  
but . . ." 
 
"Frodo!" the ranger laughed, taking the hobbit's face in both of his  
hands and kissing him on the tip of the nose. "Little one, you  
were . . . perfect. Please believe me. I have never felt so  
completely satisfied . . . or fulfilled."  
 
The blue eyes opened wider---if such a thing was possible, Aragorn  
thought to himself---and fixed the ranger with a stare. Frodo  
swallowed hard.  
 
"You are telling the truth?" the hobbit asked. "You found me . . . to  
your liking?"  
 
The ranger nodded, his long hair coming down to tease Frodo's face as  
he bent close. "Of course, Frodo. I only wish . . . I only wish I  
hadn't caused you pain."  
 
"It really wasn't that bad, Strider," the hobbit replied. "I . . .  
got used to it, and then . . . once the pleasure set in . . . the  
pain wasn't noticeable anymore. It was just . . . glorious." His  
eyes fastened on Aragorn with a look of rapt admiration. Then, unable  
to hold it back, the small mouth opened in a tremendous yawn.  
 
Aragorn smiled. "I think it's high time we finally got some sleep,  
little one," he commented. "The morning will come all too swiftly.  
But first, we need to wipe this butter off, I think . . . and I need  
to have a look at you."  
 
"Strider," the hobbit argued, feeling a weird sense of deja vu, "I'm  
fine . . . really . . ." 
 
"Hush," the ranger told him kindly as he got off the bed and walked  
to grab a towel.  
 
"Haven't you already spent enough time taking care of my injuries?"  
the hobbit asked, confused.  
 
The ranger wiped his penis and lower body well with the towel to  
remove as much of the butter as he could. Suddenly, his face looked  
troubled. There was a tiny bit of blood on the towel.  
 
"NO arguments," the ranger told him firmly, tossing the towel and  
grabbing a clean one. "I want to make sure I didn't . . . injure you,  
Frodo." He walked back over to the bed and plopped down between the  
hobbit's still-spread knees. Dampening the towel, the ranger pushed  
Frodo's knees up farther and began to gently clean the area.  
 
The ranger separated the hobbit's buttocks and gently examined him,  
pausing as Frodo flinched slightly from the pain. Sure enough, the  
hobbit was bleeding just a tiny bit. The ranger dabbed at it with the  
towel, noting that Frodo did, in fact, look quite raw and abraded--- 
and would probably have some bruising around the area. Aragorn  
winced.  
 
Frodo whimpered as the ranger touched him. "Strider . . . that does  
sting. Is this necessary?" 
 
"I'm sorry, little one," the ranger told him gently as he looked  
up. "I only want to make sure you're okay."  
His eyes softened. "You were bleeding just a bit, but I've taken care  
of it."  
 
Frodo gulped and raised his head up. "Bleeding?"  
 
"Only a little, Frodo," the ranger told him, seeing the wide blue  
eyes fill with fear. Aragorn's heart clenched to know that he had  
caused such pain. "You're abraded and maybe torn a bit, I think . . .  
almost everyone is, their first time. You more so than most, little  
one, because you're so tiny . . . I'm sorry. Would that I had not  
caused you such pain." The ranger looked sad.  
 
Frodo's eyes shone with emotion as he laid his head back. "Oh,  
Strider . . . I asked you to do it. It was . . . wonderful. I would  
not take it back now for anything . . . it was worth any pain I  
should feel."  
 
Hearing this, Aragorn's spirits lifted, and he smiled, reaching up to  
pat Frodo's knee.  
 
"Thank you, little one. Though you may change your mind when you find  
yourself having to ride a pony." He raised his eyebrows at the look  
of alarm in the blue eyes.  
 
"Yes," the hobbit agreed, "that will be uncomfortable." He grimaced.  
 
Aragorn leaned down and finished cleaning Frodo's buttocks.  
 
"Strider," a small voice said.  
 
"Yes, Frodo?"  
 
"Could you . . . hurry up down there? Otherwise, well . . . I'm going  
to be in the mood to do this again. And I need my sleep, as you keep  
reminding me."  
 
Aragorn chuckled. "All done, little one." Taking the damp towel, he  
moistened it more and laid it on Frodo's backside to ease the sting.  
Then he removed the pillow from under Frodo's rump and gently lowered  
the hobbit's legs to lie flat, keeping the towel in place. "How do  
the older injuries feel?"  
 
"Better," the hobbit answered. "My stomach is no longer upset,  
although the ribs and head are still sore."  
 
Aragorn nodded. "And your forehead is still bruised and swollen, I'm  
afraid. It will be for a while. But, you will be on the mend soon  
enough."  
 
He gently lifted the hobbit's shoulders and fluffed his pillow before  
laying Frodo back down. Then, straightening the covers, he pulled  
them up to Frodo's chest and gave the hobbit a pat before getting up  
and quickly pulling on his breeches.  
 
"Strider," Frodo said, "Where are you . . . going? Are you leaving?"  
 
"I'm only going next door to check on the others, little one. I'll be  
right back." With that, the ranger unlocked the door and slipped out.  
 
With a sigh, Frodo allowed himself to sink down into the bedclothes.  
His backside did hurt, but it was worth every minute of pain, he  
decided, as he reflected on the events of the evening. Truly, in one  
night, he had survived the worst thing to ever happen to him---and  
the best thing. His lower lip quivered as he thought of what the  
morning would bring---he would have to leave this place, fleeing into  
danger again with his three companions, and Strider would be gone.  
The hobbit doubted he would ever see the ranger again.  
 
Suddenly, the door cracked open and Aragorn slipped back inside. "The  
others are fine," he told Frodo, walking toward the bed. "I have a  
key to their door --- they are sleeping soundly, as only hobbits can  
sleep," he said with a smile. "As you should be."  
 
Yawning, the ranger pulled the covers and climbed into bed next to  
Frodo, carefully easing the small body close to him for warmth. With  
alarm, Aragorn noted that the hobbit's eyes looked suspiciously  
watery.  
 
"Little one, have you been crying?" the ranger asked him, tracing  
Frodo's lips with a finger. The hobbit shook his head. He didn't want  
Strider to know how upset he was at the prospect of their parting.  
 
"I am all right, Strider. Really."  
 
"Are you having flashbacks again? About the ruffians?" Aragorn asked  
knowingly, sure that was it. He was surprised when Frodo shook his  
head.  
 
"No, Strider . . . I . . . haven't thought about that in a little  
while, actually," Frodo told him, carefully shifting his legs to get  
more comfortable. He winced as he moved his backside.  
 
The ranger sighed at the hobbit's pain and restlessness. "I do wish  
we had some athelas . . . a poultice would help a great deal . . ."  
 
Frodo emitted another huge yawn. "What is athelas?" he asked,  
blinking as he grew more sleepy.  
 
"Kingsfoil," the ranger answered. "To many, it's a weed. To rangers,  
it has powerful healing qualities. But, I have none in my pack---and  
it can only be found in the wild. Perhaps I will look for some in the  
morning."  
 
Frodo nodded, wanting to steer the conversation away from his  
injuries and the thought of what the morning would bring. Parting  
from Strider. Fleeing into more danger. Carrying the burden of the  
Ring alone, with only his three small companions. He sighed.  
 
"What is it, little one? What has upset you?" the ranger asked him,  
hugging him closer and kissing the top of Frodo's head.  
 
"Just thinking about tomorrow, Strider," Frodo answered in a weary  
voice, one small hand reaching up to brush the ranger's hair.  
 
"Don't think about tomorrow, Frodo, not yet," Aragorn said, looking  
into the wide blue eyes. "Tonight, we have each other, and we shall  
sleep soundly in each others' arms."  
 
Smiling shyly, Frodo nodded assent. "You are right. Tonight, we can  
take comfort in each other." He snuggled in closer to the ranger and  
closed his eyes, breathing softly. Aragorn looked at him, wondering  
at the hobbit's beauty, then lay his head next to Frodo's on the  
pillow and was soon asleep.  
 
 
** 
 
The morning dawned cold and bright. The sun's rays shone in through  
The Prancing Pony to light on a large bed in an upstairs room. On the  
bed, a man and a hobbit lay intertwined, the hobbit on his uninjured  
side. Behind him lay the man, also on his side, curled protectively  
around the hobbit's much smaller form. Aragorn's arms were clasped  
lightly around Frodo; his chin rested gently on top of the hobbit's  
curly head.  
 
As the rays of light shone in, Aragorn blinked sleepily, awareness  
returning to him, and looked down at the soft warmth asleep in his  
arms. The ranger smiled. He knew it was time to rise, but he was  
extremely comfortable, and he was enjoying the hobbit's closeness.  
 
As if on cue, Frodo stirred slightly, a small whimper escaping him as  
he shifted in the bed.  
 
"Frodo?" the ranger whispered, reaching up and rubbing the hobbit's  
arms and shoulders. "Frodo, it is time to wake up."  
 
"Mmmmm . . ." was the hobbit's only answer before slowly opening one  
blue eye. "Strider . . ." he groaned, yawning.  
 
"Time to get up, little one," the ranger prompted, sitting up. He  
gently rolled Frodo over onto his back and gently kissed the tiny  
mouth, his tongue seeking. 
 
"Mmmmm . . ." the hobbit began again. "Okay . . . I'm getting up, I'm  
getting up." He shifted slightly and winced. "Elbereth, I feel sore  
this morning."  
 
"What hurts?" the ranger prompted.  
 
"Everything," Frodo said with a sigh, yawning. He looked at the  
concern on the ranger's face and smiled. "I'm all right, Strider. My  
head feels much better. My ribs are achy, but that's to be expected."  
 
"And the rest of you?"  
 
"Well," the hobbit answered, "let's just say I won't be sitting a  
pony this morning willingly."  
 
Aragorn laughed. "You may have no choice in the matter, Master  
Baggins, if you cannot walk on that ankle."  
 
"I would much prefer the pain of the ankle, thank you."  
 
The ranger smiled down at the sleepy hobbit. Unable to stop himself,  
he pulled the sheet back from Frodo's chest and midsection and lazily  
caressed the hobbit's chest and stomach.  
 
Frodo made a small sound of pleasure and closed his  
eyes. "Strider . . . I don't want to get up. Can't we lay here all  
day?" he murmured.  
 
"I'm afraid not, little one," the ranger answered. "But I think I can  
do something about bringing you more toward wakefulness, hmmm?"  
 
He moved the sheet all the way back to reveal Frodo's lower body,  
noting that the hobbit still had the remnants of a morning erection.  
Aragorn shifted in the bed a bit and suddenly, Frodo felt the  
ranger's warm tongue on the end of his penis.  
 
Frodo moaned and opened his eyes to fix the ranger with a drowsy blue  
gaze. "That is, indeed, Strider, a sure way to . . . get me up, as  
you would put it," he whispered.  
 
The ranger's eyes shone with mirth but he didn't answer---he grasped  
the hobbit's member with one large hand and moved the hand up and  
down with firm strokes. Frodo emitted a strangled noise as he felt  
the warm wetness of the ranger's mouth enfold his penis.  
 
"Mmmmm . . . Strider . . . uh . . ." was all the hobbit could manage  
to say as the waves of pleasure started building up from the man's  
manipulations. His hips began bucking with each stroke as the  
crescendo mounted.  
 
Aragorn glanced up at the hobbit, whose head was arched back into the  
pillow and slightly aglow with sweat. Suddenly, the rosy mouth opened  
in a groan and the blue eyes rolled back a bit, then squeezed shut,  
as Frodo went over the edge. The ranger felt the warm release in his  
mouth and swallowed several times.  
 
Removing his mouth, Aragorn smiled at the hobbit lying trembling on  
the bed from the after-effects of the momentous orgasm. Frodo lowered  
his eyes to meet Aragorn's and shook his head with wonder.  
 
"Strider . . ." he began breathlessly, "I am feeling rather awake  
now. You have . . . permission to get me up at any time."  
 
Moving back to the hobbit's head, the ranger chuckled and reached  
down to hug the thin shoulders. "My pleasure, little one," he said,  
gently catching Frodo's lips in his, "but now it really is time to  
rise---out of bed, that is. I'll change and then help you with your  
clothes." He crawled out of bed and began pulling on his breeches.  
 
Once those were on, he headed back to Frodo and gently wiped the  
hobbit's brow with a towel. "Your head does look better this morning,  
Frodo," he commented. "You'd better let me know if you still have any  
dizziness or headache." 
 
At that moment, a knock came at the door. "It's Sam," a voice said.  
Frodo pulled the bedclothes back up to his neck as he lay there,  
hoping his face wasn't too flushed to arouse the other hobbit's  
curiosity. 
 
"One moment, Sam," the ranger called, hastening to straighten the  
bedclothes and hide the half-gone plate of butter. The ranger  
unlocked the door and let the hobbit in.  
 
Sam ran straight to Frodo's bedside. "Mr. Frodo, how are you  
feeling?" If he noted that Frodo was in his birthday suit, instead of  
his nightshirt, he didn't comment on it.  
 
"Much better, Sam," Frodo said, taking the other hobbit's hand and  
squeezing. "Much better, thanks to you and Strider. And rather  
hungry."  
 
"We'll get you some breakfast, Mr. Frodo, right away," Sam told him.  
 
"Sam," the ranger put in, "would you see about ordering breakfast up  
for all of us?"  
 
"Will do, Strider," Sam answered, and was out the door.  
 
Aragorn picked up Frodo's clothes from the day before. They were a  
bit grimy, but they were all he had.  
 
"Let's get you dressed, now," the ranger told him, picking up the  
clothes and gathering a thing or two from Frodo's pack. Frodo groaned  
as the ranger sat him up, checking the bindings on Frodo's ankle and  
ribs again.  
 
Carefully sitting him up on the edge of the bed, Aragorn eased  
Frodo's clothes back on, making sure to avoid the hobbit's injuries.  
He completed the shirt and knelt to ease Frodo's pants on, stopping  
as the hobbit grimaced.  
 
"I'm sorry, Strider," he began. "I'm just sore, is all . . . my  
backside feels like that time I fell bottom-first out of Farmer  
Maggot's oak tree when I was a tweenager." 
 
"And what were you doing up in that oak tree?" the ranger asked,  
amused.  
 
"Hiding. I had . . . stolen some mushrooms and was trying to escape  
his wrath."  
 
Aragorn laughed. "Such a rebellious hobbit."  
 
The ranger finished the pants and was buttoning the vest when Sam  
strode back in.  
 
"Breakfast for five is on its way," he announced as he went and sat  
on the bed next to Frodo. As he sat, jostling it, Frodo winced, and  
Sam noticed.  
 
"Mr. Frodo, are you in a lot of pain?" he asked, alarmed.  
 
Frodo and Strider exchanged a glance. "Just a bit . . . sore,  
Sam . . . from the ribs, you know, and the ankle . . ." He coughed to  
cover up a giggle. "I'm sure they'll be better soon, thanks for  
asking."  
 
Sam patted Frodo's knee soothingly. "Well, of course you'll be riding  
a pony with that ankle, Mr. Frodo. Nooo . . ." he said to stall the  
protests, "Sam won't hear none o' that. You're riding the pony and  
that's that."  
 
Frodo rolled his eyes. He would ride on the pony, but he wouldn't  
like it.  
 
A knock sounded at the door and Butterbur and his helper, Nob, came  
in bearing trays of food. "Well . . . Mr. Underhill," the innkeeper's  
loud voice said as he sized up Frodo, "you're looking a sight better  
this morning, you are. A sight better." He shook his head. "Can't  
apologize enough, Mr. Underhill, for what happened to you. If there's  
anything . . ."  
 
Frodo was about to speak up when Strider cut in. "Actually,  
Butterbur, they'll be needing ponies, if anybody could see fit to  
round them up," he said. "As well as food for packs. We're willing to  
pay for anything you can't spare, of course," he added, knowing the  
innkeeper would not charge anyway.  
 
"Oh, ye-e-e-ssss," the innkeeper drawled. "Of course. Of course." Old  
Butterbur started out the door, then stopped. "I nearly forgot," he  
said, wiping his face. "Uh, Strider, might I have a word with you  
outside?"  
 
Aragorn walked out the door with a backward glance at Frodo. He was  
gone for several minutes before he returned alone.  
 
"Well, Frodo," the ranger said gently, kneeling down beside the  
hobbit who sat on the bed. "Looks like Nettles is dead, too. The  
authorities dragged him off and locked him up . . . and somebody  
stabbed him for his failure. Apparently, there were some people paid  
to look for a `Baggins' here . . . spies sent out from the South. All  
the more reason you're lucky to be leaving this place."  
 
Frodo looked at him, biting his lip, remembering the night before and  
the dangers still to come. "You're lucky . . ." the ranger had said.  
Not "we're."  
 
Aragorn turned to Sam. "Sam, would you go see what's keeping Merry  
and Pippin?" he asked. "Their breakfast is waiting. Frodo and I are  
going downstairs for a moment --- we'll be right back."  
 
Sam hurried out the door and the ranger turned back to the hobbit.  
Gathering Frodo into his arms, Aragorn picked him up easily, cradling  
him, and walked to the door.  
 
"There is something else as well," the ranger told him, "Come --- I  
want to show you something."  
 
"Strider, I can walk . . ."  
 
"No, you don't, Master Baggins. I will carry you."  
 
Aragorn hurried downstairs with his burden, and Frodo wondered where  
he was going. Walking through the main room and ignoring the strange  
looks from the patrons there---that same strange ranger carrying that  
hobbit again---Aragorn made his way into the hobbit wing of the inn  
and stopped before a door.  
 
"This is the room you four were going to sleep in last night, Frodo,"  
the ranger told him as he opened the door and pointed at the four  
small beds inside. "Take a look."  
 
Frodo gasped. The beds had been turned upside down, their bolsters  
cut up. The room was a mess. "Black Riders," the hobbit guessed, blue  
eyes wide.  
 
"Yes, Frodo. They came here, looking for you --- it's fortunate  
indeed that you were in a different room." He looked at the hobbit  
visibly quivering in his arms and hugged him. "I guess we'd best be  
going back now. We have a lot to do before we leave. I was going to  
go look for you some athelas, but I would probably have better luck  
along the way to Rivendell."  
 
Hearing this, Frodo turned his head so fast to look at the ranger  
that his head swam. "We? Along the way?" he asked, lips trembling,  
then more hesitantly, "Strider . . . what do you mean? Do you mean  
to . . . come with us?" Blue eyes widened in hope.  
 
Aragorn looked at him, surprised. "Of course, little one. I thought  
you knew that. I swore to protect you, and I stand by that. I can  
think of no quest more important than that. Strider will be by your  
side, as long as you will have him." 
 
Hearing this, tears welled up in the hobbit's eyes. 
 
"I will not leave you, Frodo," the ranger told him. "I will go with  
you all the way, even if that means into the very fires of Mordor  
itself."  
 
"Thank you, Strider," the hobbit whispered back. "I don't know . . .  
what to say." His small arms clasped tightly around the ranger's neck  
as their lips met in a gentle kiss.  
 
"And, Strider," the hobbit began shyly as he pulled away. "Will we  
ever . . . that is . . . if we find the time alone, will you lay with  
me again?"  
 
Aragorn looked in surprise at Frodo and laughed softly. "Frodo," he  
murmured, "I would bed you right now on one of these hobbit beds if  
they were not torn to pieces. We would make love like madmen and  
madhobbits, even with my legs hanging off the edge, while your  
friends breakfasted alone." 
 
Frodo's blue eyes crinkled up in pleasure. "Make love?" he asked.  
 
"Yes, little one," the ranger answered. "Love." 
 
With that, the ranger turned to carry the hobbit back to their room  
to have breakfast with the others. Frodo lay in his arms, knowing he  
was happier than he had a right to be, considering the journey ahead.  
Many dangers faced them---Black Riders chased him---but Frodo would  
not be facing it alone. At night, in the darkness, by the campfire,  
he would have the comfort of Strider's arms.  
 
*THE END*