There was something Frodo ought to have remembered, he knew it. But he had been so sleepy lately, and nothing seemed to be more important than drowsing in the window seat with stacks of books piled around him. No matter how many times he read and drowsed the day away, those stacks never seemed to get smaller. He had a vague memory of Sam saying that all the libraries of Gondor were Frodo's now; a nonsensical thing to say, of course, but nothing that Sam wouldn't have done for Frodo if he could. Although… Frodo flipped over the book in his hands, frowning. Now that he thought of it, the book was written in a dialect closer to what Boromir had spoken than any sound of Westron that had ever come to the Shire's ears; though Frodo could not summon a memory of Boromir's voice, nor any more memory of the Man himself than his name and a sort of uneasy regret, as if he were someone whom Frodo had wronged somehow. There was a drying reddish-brown blotch on the back cover of the book, nearly invisible on the calfskin. Frodo stretched out a finger to touch it, the dreamlike sense of unease growing stronger. "Are you liking the books, Frodo?" Frodo jumped half out of his skin and turned to see Sam closing the door behind him. Letting out a small sigh of relief, he smiled up at Sam as Sam stripped off his cloak and (sword?) and came to stand by the window seat. "I like them very much, Sam. I'll read to you for a while tonight, shall I? I know you like that." Sam slid a hand onto Frodo's shoulder, smiling fondly down at him. Gold flashed in the corner of Frodo's eye, and Frodo flinched away from a sudden nightmarish vision of his own fingers raking frantically at Sam's, nails slicing Sam's flesh almost to the bone. "What's wrong, me dear?" Sam asked soothingly. Frodo shook his head, trembling a little. "I… I don't think I slept well, that's all. And I had nightmares. Where were you?" "Away on a little business, naught more. Nothing for you to trouble your head about." Sometimes Sam looked at him in a way that unsettled Frodo, as if Frodo were no more than a pretty toy; a well-loved toy, to be sure, carefully tended and cared for, but a toy all the same. Frodo leaned his head to rest on Sam's hand. "Sam, dear… where are Merry and Pippin? It seems as if they never come to see me anymore." Sam was still for a moment before his other hand lifted to stroke Frodo's hair gently. "Do you remember when they were here last?" Frowning, Frodo tried. "I think… we played cards, or dice, or – no, that was the time before. They wanted me to go somewhere with them, didn't they? And Pippin was crying. Is he all right now?" "Aye. He is." But there was a note in Sam's voice that made Frodo's frown deepen. "I want to see him. Both of them." "Maybe later, Frodo-love." A sudden flare of temper stirred Frodo closer to wakefulness than he had been in who knew how long. "You think I'll forget, don't you? I won't. I'm going to see my cousins." He rose, took two steps away from Sam, and stumbled. For a moment the world swayed alarmingly; and then Sam's strong arms were around him, steadying him, and Frodo clung gratefully to that strength. "See, now, me love?" Sam murmured, stroking Frodo's arm. "You don't want to be wandering about. You could take a nasty fall, and the stairs in the tower are steep. Best you stay here and let your Sam do for you." "But you aren't mine anymore, are you?" Frodo whispered, throat tight, without any clear idea of what he was saying. "I'm yours. And what will become of me, Sam, when you get tired of me?" Sam nuzzled at Frodo's ear, making him shiver with an unsettling combination of pleasure and revulsion. "I could never get tired of you. Aye, you're the fairest flower in all the garden, and sometimes it's the fairest flower as needs the most tending." Sam's hand came up to cup Frodo's face, shining gold gleaming on one finger. And that band was part of what Frodo should have remembered and didn't, and it was part of Sam too, and Frodo's eyes closed under a wave of desire so strong that it made him sway again. No, not desire – need, which could come without desiring. "Tend me, then," he whispered thinly. "You've been away too long." When had it become so powerful, this need for Sam's hands on him, for the faint, frightening chill of that gold band skating across his skin like a spear of cold freezing the waters of a pond in its wake? He didn't know, but the strength of that need made him whimper and sob and beg, made him catch Sam's hand in both of his own and cover it with feverish kisses that slowly moved inward until they centered on gold that flared to sudden heat underneath his tongue. Sam, please, I need it… Sam's hands on him, clothing falling to the floor and the sheets chill against his back, searing heat and cold on one of the fingers that closed around the ache of his arousal, making him writhe with pleasure, pain, desire, loathing… Sam, please, give it to me, please… Sam inside him, filling him, easing one emptiness and making another throb like the drums he sometimes heard outside the tower, frightening him, stirring vague memories that he had no desire to explore. Better to turn his face into Sam's throat and move with him, letting pleasure (but it hurt, oh, it hurt, but not in his body) wash through him and wash away thought. Please, I want it, I'll beg, I need… And there, Sam's hand closing around him again, smooth gold sliding across his skin, and Frodo arched off the bed and screamed as he came. When they were finished the heavy lethargy returned, and Frodo wound himself sleepily around Sam. "Sam…" he began, then paused to yawn. "Aye, me dear?" Sam answered, and there was cold amusement in his voice but not a trace of drowsiness. Frodo frowned, remembering things that might have been memories, dreams, or only visions: drums at the base of a fortress, light from so many torches that the sky shone like the morning, armies moving away across the rich verdant plain. "Sam, where are you when you're not with me?" Sam kissed Frodo lightly on the forehead and pulled the sheet over him. "Tending the garden, pet. Naught more than that. Go to sleep, now." Still unsettled, Frodo slept.     Back to the fanfics page Back to the home page