West of the Moon

A Tolkien Fanfiction Archive

 

 

Parley
Frodo and Aragorn practice sword fighting in Lorien.
Author: Claudia
Rating: R

 

"Frodo."

Frodo, lying on his back in the soft grass of Lorien, startled
at Aragorn's gentle voice. He had nearly slipped into a doze,
so entrancing was the gurgle of the nearby brook as it
danced over rocks, and so soft was the grass beneath his
cheek.

"Oh..." Frodo sat up, wiping the sleep from his eyes and
wincing at the stiff soreness in his side, where he had been
stabbed in Moria. "I'm afraid I nearly fell asleep."

"Are you all right?" Aragorn asked, his eyes dark with
concern. Frodo smiled, flicking pieces of grass from his
cloak. Aragorn was so very dear, always concerned for the
other members of the fellowship. Many warriors had little
patience for those smaller or weaker, but Aragorn was
particularly protective of and kind to Frodo, and Frodo had
sensed for quite some time that his being the Ringbearer
was only a part of it. He could not tell for certain the rest of
the reason, but Aragorn, lonely and wild wanderer, seemed
to have found something dear and comforting in Frodo.

"Yes...I am quite all right. Thank you." His shirt would have
grass stains on it, but after the dank stench of Moria, grass
smelled of the earth, and reminded him of the Shire.

Aragorn grinned and settled beside him. "Do you mind my
company?"

"I would beg you to stay." Frodo's cheeks heated just ever
so slightly. He could not forget how pale and grief-stricken
Aragorn's eyes had been when Frodo had first opened his
eyes after the stab to his chest had rendered him senseless.

"How is your wound?" Aragorn touched Frodo's shirt with the
tip of his fingers, over the binding he had put on. "You've
taken off the mithril shirt." Frodo shivered, wishing he had
the courage to lean into Aragorn's touch. How would those
rough hands feel under his shirt, stroking with need...?

"Yes...For now we are safe so I have taken it off. And I am
stiff, but otherwise all right."

Aragorn looked up at the mallorn tree above them. "Lorien is
but a fortress against the growing dark, but here you shall
indeed sleep light of heart and with no fear." His fingers
trailed down the front of Frodo's shirt and then he seemed
suddenly to shake himself out of a daze, and he pulled his
hand away.

"Gandalf said the same about Rivendell," Frodo said, leaning
toward Aragorn, hoping for another touch.
"Rivendell...Lorien, they are fading. If the Enemy wins, then
they are overcome. If...if I succeed, then they must fade."
Frodo saw the sadness in Aragorn's eyes and flushed. "I am
sorry." He grabbed Aragorn's hand and squeezed. "I did not
mean to remind you--"

Aragorn shook his head. "Far better that the Evenstar wane
with her people on a distant shore than alone and cold after
they have all sailed."

"Come!" Frodo leaped to his feet in a purely hobbity style,
eager to lighten the mood. "Practice with me." He drew
Sting.

"You wish to parley with me?"

"I am but a defenseless hobbit," Frodo said lightly, arching
his eyebrows. "I must have more practice. You would not
have me go forth into darkness with no skills."

"You? Defenseless?" Aragorn laughed, reaching up to stroke
the hilt of Sting fondly. "I'd wager you against a cave troll
any day."

Frodo clutched at his sore side with a groan and raised one
eyebrow. "Oh, must you remind me what it is like between
hammer and anvil?"

Aragorn leaped to his feet and drew his sword. Then he
shook his head. "Oh, no, no, no, Frodo. You're holding it all
wrong. Anyone you fight will easily break your wrist with one
stroke."

Frodo looked at this hand, which was gripping the hilt of the
sword so tightly that his fingers were white and numb. "Oh."

"Relax, but remain alert. Here I come." Aragorn swung his
sword toward Sting, and Frodo clashed blades with him.

"Aragorn!" Frodo stepped back, wiping the sweat from his
brow. "You're not using any strength at all. If you were a real
enemy, you would not take such care with me."

"If I were a real enemy, you would be slain by now. This is
my full strength, my hobbit." With one wicked blow, he
swung, aiming for the middle of Sting. It was wrenched from
Frodo's hand and Frodo was knocked to the ground onto his
back. He grabbed his twisted wrist.

Aragorn sheathed his sword and fell to his knees on either
side of Frodo's hips. "Are you hurt? I am sorry. I meant only
to knock the sword from your hand."

"No...I'm not hurt, but let us never say that Anduril does not
have a bite!"

"Thankfully," Aragorn said, shifting and leaning over Frodo's
face so that his hot breath tickled Frodo's lips. "Your task
should not include fighting Rangers from the North, who are
the best trained in all of Middle-earth."

"No?" Frodo raised his eyebrows. "But should that be the
case, I should much rather use such charm as I might have
with these...Rangers." Frodo let his hand drift over Aragorn's
grizzled cheek. Aragorn grinned, and Frodo felt a newly
hardened bulge press into his stomach.

"Your eyes could fell the most hardened Ranger, like Elvish
treasure, enchanted. It will be the death of me."

He worked to unbutton Frodo's cloak, while taking little
breaks to nibble at Frodo's neck. Frodo arched against him,
feeling a sweet tingling in his belly. His own arousal pushed
against his breeches. He pulled at the leather ties to
Aragorn's tunic. Aragorn hastily did away with his own cloak
and finished Frodo's job by peeling off his worn jacket and
tunic. Frodo's jacket and vest next came off, but when
Aragorn began to unbutton his shirt and pushed it over his
shoulders, Frodo felt the cold metal of the Ring against his
chest. He grabbed Aragorn's hands, stopping them before
more of his shirt came off. He would not have the Ring as
the only thing between him and Aragorn.

"No."

Aragorn pulled his hands away, nodding in full
understanding. He kissed each of Frodo's bare shoulders,
nudging Frodo's chin up so that he could devour his neck.

Frodo wriggled out of his breeches until his bottom rested
against the cool grass. He realized then that Aragorn had
done away with his flannel wool breeches because he felt
hardened flesh against his. He did not know how it had
happened so fast, but the air filled with the scent of mint and
pine, and Frodo's breath eased and he thrust against
Aragorn, desperate to be filled, and Aragorn at last entered
him.

When they lay half naked under the mallorn tree, Frodo
turned to Aragorn, kissing him gently on the lips.

"Your sword indeed has a bite, and I do not speak of Anduril
here."

END

 

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