Work Text:
Foreword:
"It is plain indeed that in spite of later estrangement Hobbits are relatives of ours: far nearer to us than Elves, or even than Dwarves. Of old they spoke the languages of Men, after their own fashion, and liked and disliked much the same things as Men did. But what exactly our relationship is can no longer be discovered."
- J.R.R. Tolkien, "Concerning Hobbits", Fellowship of the Ring.
**After a space of many years when Hobbits and Men had little dealings, there came to pass events which forced four hobbits to leave their lands and roam the wide world, learning of Men, and of Dwarves, and of Elves. There they found the lands of Men, and with great Men they did learn of strength and loyalty, wisdom and honor. This is the tale of Hobbits and Men.
Tale One: "Strength"
Chapter 1: Seeking
October 28, 1418 Shire Reckoning:
In Rivendell the days were full of feasting and the nights rang out with joyous song, but Frodo felt a shadow amidst the joy, a dark blot of sadness in one lone figure who was often absent when the others gathered to laugh and sing and dance.
Frodo had seen Arwen Undomiel for the first time only a few nights ago, before Elrond's Council--he had been awed by her beauty as any mortal might. But he had also noted something strange. Where she was, Aragorn was not; if she came into a room, Aragorn would silently slip away, shoulders bowed and a hollow despair in his face. Frodo had asked Bilbo about it, and had been told of the love of Aragorn and Arwen, and of the mandate of Lord Elrond.
"It is a classic love story," Bilbo declared from the depths of his padded chair in his room, puffing on his pipe and confessing that he meant to put it into song if ever the two of them should actually end up together.
An odd dark anger came over Frodo at his words, but at first he could not put a name to the feeling. Then he noted Sam watching him and realized: it was jealousy. He was jealous of Arwen, angry that the mere sight of her should send Aragorn into shameful creeping and hiding. Something had happened within his heart in his time with the Ranger since their meeting in Bree.
He had tried to convince himself it was respect and admiration he felt for the grey-eyed Ranger, but that had not stopped the thrum in his belly every time their eyes met or the shameful images that came to him whenever he caught a glimpse--any glimpse--of skin. The Dnadan was a master at stealth and hiding; Frodo had thought a time or two he had caught Aragorn looking at him, appraising him, but every time just as he took notice of it, Aragorn had turned away. Then after the night on Weathertop, the looks had ceased. Aragorn had become his protector and savior instead, and in such an unequal relationship, even when the pain of his wound had been manageable, nothing had been possible between them, not even simple friendship. And yet he so wanted to be friends, not just companions who had faced danger together. There was something in Aragorn's loneliness that mirrored his own soul and cried out to him.
Until he had learned of Arwen, it had seemed this would be the time and place to pursue something, but now he knew Aragorn's heart. It was a delicate time for Frodo too; just after he awoke from his terrible wound, Sam had confessed his love to him. Sam was dear, so very dear to him he could not even put it into words, but Sam was not his equal--not yet--he was younger and still innocent in many ways. If they survived this, they would be both wiser and tougher, and bound together forever.
Right now, he was torn. He needed strength, wisdom, and endurance. Who better to learn it from that a man who had been fighting evil since he himself was a tiny tot in his mother's arms? But he would not go asking without giving equally in return. And what could he possible give that Aragorn needed?
Better to forget the whole thing.
"Mr. Frodo, your thoughts wandering again?" Sam's gentle voice brought him out of musing to note that Bilbo had fallen asleep in his chair by the fire and the sun was swiftly setting behind the trees on the hill overlooking Elrond's house. It would be time for another dinner among the elves, probably with Elrond and his daughter. They were heaping him with praise for his decision to destroy the Ring; he was now the most honored guest at the table, with Sam by his side. It made his head spin.
"Yes, Sam--I'm sorry. I seem to do a lot of that here, I'm afraid."
Sam smiled, raising a hesitant hand to pat his knee. "It don't trouble me none. Something about this place seems to lend itself to deep thought, though I don't know quite what--I'd almost say there was a magic in this valley, as it were. 'Course you have plenty to be thinkin' on, too."
Frodo took Sam's hand and rubbed it encouragingly. "If I neglect you, please tell me. I've been alone so long I fear it has become second nature for me to lose myself to my thoughts--I shall be as bad as dear Bilbo someday, I expect."
"I heard that," Bilbo mumbled, shifting in his chair and opening one eye. He grinned, then closed his eyes once more.
Frodo saw Sam watching him, silently, and berated himself for not feeling more grateful, for feeling almost indifferent. He loved Sam, he was almost sure of it, but something wasn't right with him, something needed doing . . . he wasn't sure. He was sure that Sam couldn't possibly understand, though. He tried to smile and leaned in to kiss Sam on the cheek.
A clear high note rang out from the main hall, from a wooden chime the elves used to signal a gathering. "That would be the call for supper," Sam said, rising to his feet. He had lost some weight in their trek from Bree, but he was gaining it back rapidly thanks to Elrond's magnificent table. Frodo drank in the sight of him, so familiar and comfortable, before rising himself.
"Are you coming to dinner, Bilbo?" he asked, but this time the old hobbit really had fallen asleep.
It hardly surprised him that Aragorn was missing again, for tonight Arwen looked utterly breathtaking, ethereal and glowing as if by moon and starlight. When she spoke a few words to him, he stammered something he hoped was appropriate as a reply, but always his gaze sought Aragorn.
Sam whispered in his ear, "What is the matter, master? Something is clearly troubling you tonight."
"It's Aragorn. I can't say more here," Frodo whispered back, then Elrond was asking him about the meal and he was nodding and trying to bestow adequate praise--Elrond did set a fabulous table.
When the meal was over (without so much as a glimpse of Aragorn), Frodo kindly thanked the elves and left a few minutes early towards the Hall of Fire where perhaps Aragorn would be waiting for a distant glimpse of Arwen before he disappeared to his room for the night. On the way there, he felt Sam keeping close behind him, his worry almost tangible, and wondered how he could possibly explain his odd behavior.
"You're for him, aren't you, Mr. Frodo. Don't tell me nay--I know the look in your eyes when you talk of Mr. Strider. Shall I leave you to him, then?" Frodo glanced quickly at Sam, cursing himself for underestimating him; once again he had seen right into his heart, piercing any deception. At the thought of Sam leaving, his heart lurched in fear. He stopped and faced him.
"No, Sam, please. You're right--I seem to be drawn to him, but not for love. Something else; something I'm struggling to understand. He saved my life; he saved all our lives, in truth, and I feel I need to repay him, or I need healing from him--I don't know . . . I just feel there needs to be an exchange between us, for both our strength. Do you see how alone he is, here where he is supposedly home? I feel that way too. We are more alike than different, he and I." Frodo shook his head. He could see pain in Sam's eyes, in his bowed stance. This was all wrong; he didn't know how to explain this or what would happen if he left Sam, even for a night with another . . . "I'm so sorry, my dear blessed Sam. I wish I could be so much more for you--you deserve better."
"Nonsense, sir--"
Frodo would not let Sam console him this time. "No, I'm behaving terribly, I know. It's only . . . he seems so sad, Sam. I want to console him."
Sam made a swipe at his eyes, muttering about an eyelash, but Frodo caught the trail of moisture across his cheek when he lowered his hand. "I think I'm understanding things. If you must, you must. I'm still coming with you to Mount Doom. You'll have to bury me in the ground to keep me from doing that. I love you no matter what." He stood defiantly waiting for Frodo to naysay him.
By his face, Frodo knew Sam's heart was breaking; he could feel the pieces cutting into him, like knives. He surged forward and hugged Sam hard, burying his face in his sturdy shoulder. "Please don't tell me this is over for you and me--I don't want that--I don't know what I want . . . "
Sam's hand steadily patted him on the shoulder. "Give yourself a night, sir, and we'll see what the morning brings. More than anything I want your happiness, whether it be with me or no. You'd best be talking to Strider--this needs clearing up for all of us. Come on, let's see if he's there."
They broke apart as the first of the elves could be heard leaving the dining hall, and walked quickly to reach the Hall of Fire, pausing in the doorway to survey the room. In the back of the great chamber, almost completely hidden in the shadow of a stone column, stood Aragorn. He was dressed in an emerald velvet surcoat and black hosen, his beard neatly trimmed and his hair swept back, his rough hands holding a goblet of wine, slowly swirling it as he kept watch on the doorway. He spotted Frodo and smiled warmly; instantly heat flowed through Frodo, and he almost had to lean on Sam for support as strength left his legs--oh his reactions were growing worse each time! He was an embarrassment and an imbecile to desire such one so high above him.
"Let's go have a talking with Mr. Str-Aragorn, Mr. Aragorn there," Sam said in a soft voice, taking Frodo by the elbow from where he wavered by the doorway and gently steering him towards Aragorn's niche.
Frodo tried to read the emotions in Sam's face, usually so open, but for once it was unreadable. They had almost reached Aragorn--enough to where Aragorn knew they were coming to speak with him, when Sam suddenly left his side.
"Good luck, sir--I know you'll do what's best; you always do. I'll be in my chambers if you need talking, afterwards . . ."
Then Sam left Frodo alone with Aragorn.