Promises

by Ariel (arielphf@yahoo.com)

Rating: R, sexual acts described.
Characters: Frodo, Bilbo, Hamfast, a very young Sam, and several OCs.

Disclaimer:
This is a work of fan fiction. The characters and settings used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate. The author recieves no remuneration for presenting the work on this site but the work is the intellectual property of the author. It may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent.

Chapter 1 - Meeting

Bright morning sunlight was filtering through the treetops on the hill overlooking Bywater. It was a perfect day for a walk as the late spring was creeping ever steadily towards summer. Frodo Baggins, recently removed from his former home in Buckland, was still getting his bearings in the hills around Bag End and, often with his uncle; he had already been quite accustomed to walking the trails and paths of the western Shire. He loved the place already and was growing ever fonder of his odd uncle Bilbo – something he had thought couldn’t have been possible since he was most uncommonly fond of the old hobbit already. Bilbo had always fascinated him and the thought that he was now living with him, his heir, was good fortune almost beyond belief. Periodically throughout Frodo’s childhood, Bilbo had visited Buckland, bringing presents and occasionally traveling with dwarves along the way. He had cut quite a dash through the Shire and most of the Bucklanders held him in high regard, although Frodo knew he was not as so well respected everywhere. While adventures were part of the history of Buckland, the folks of Hobbiton seemed much more interested in sensible, respectable pursuits. At least they were openly congenial – few would wish to risk loosing the favor of so wealthy and generous a hobbit as Bilbo Baggins.

As Frodo topped the rise, he stopped under the trees and surveyed the Bywater pool. The surface of the water far below glistened as tiny, wind-stirred waves caught the sun. The smell of green growing things and warm tilled earth drifting up from the fields below was intoxicating. Frodo sighed and felt utterly contented. This had to be the loveliest spot in the entire Shire! Just below the crest was a small hollow that looked as if someone had once started the building of a new hole. It didn’t look finished, but the effort had created a small flat place just below the crest upon which he stood. He looked into this shady grotto and was shocked to see the body of a girl lying on the ground below him. He started and immediately drew back, not wanting to disturb whoever it might be.

The figure didn’t move. Whoever it was was either deep in sleep or,… Frodo stopped. He hadn’t seen her face, her head was below the cliff, tucked in where Frodo had not been able to glimpse it from his vantage point. Perhaps she was not just sleeping? Perhaps there was something wrong? Perhaps she had fallen from the very crest that Frodo had just been standing upon? Frodo couldn’t just leave her there without at least making sure that nothing was amiss. While it was certainly not uncommon to find a hobbit lad taking a nap in the woods after a hard day’s labor, a lass in a similar condition was not usual in the least. He crept back to the edge of the crest. She was still there, motionless. Frodo leaned forward as far as he could from the crest, but he could still not get a clear view of her face to tell if anything was wrong. If he came around below her, he would surely disturb her slumber, if she was indeed just sleeping, and he didn’t wish to do that. Perhaps if he leaned a bit further…

Too far! The crest, which had been thinned from the digging below it, was made of nothing but light, dry soil. It could not hold the whole weight of a hobbit lad, even one so slight as Frodo. As he leaned out, the small shelf let go and before he could catch himself, Frodo and a large portion of the crest, tumbled down to the level below, to land in a heap on the very startled and quickly wakened hobbit lass. Frodo landed squarely on her and heard her gasp and cough as the air left her lungs. Dirt and fine dust followed and though Frodo quickly got off of the girl, she was obviously in distress and having difficulty regaining her breath. Frodo took her hand and clumsily patted her back – as had been done to him when he’d had the wind knocked from him. She finally seemed to catch her breath and roughly pulled her hand from his.

“Who!?…,” she said between gasps. “…what?!”

“I am sorry,” Frodo exclaimed. “Entirely my fault, of course! I was concerned that you were all right, seeing as you were lying so still. I should have called out, but didn’t want to disturb you if nothing was amiss.”

The young girl, for girl she was, Frodo now saw, was still having difficulty breathing. The dirt from the hill covered her dress and the fine mist of dust that was now settling coated her curls. She couldn’t have been much older than Frodo himself, and Frodo had the strangest notion that he had seen her before somehow, although when, and in what context, he couldn’t possibly imagine, being as he was so newly arrived at Bag End. The girl was starting to get some control of her coughing, but still held her side as if in pain. Frodo’s heart sank as he realized his little escapade had really injured her.

“Please, are you alright? I would never forgive myself if I thought I had harmed you!”

“My!” She drew a breath. “I don’t believe so,… I was more startled than anything. It isn’t every day that someone falls out of the sky on you!” Her voice was soft and cultured, and a bit justifiably indignant. It had the slight lilt of a hobbit from Buckland, not of Bywater. Frodo looked at her closely, again wondering if he knew this girl. She looked up at him and brushed dusty hair from her face to reveal a pair of bright green eyes the color of new leaves. Frodo was sure he would have remembered a lass with eyes like that. “What happened?” she asked, with an obvious effort at civility, as if she were not at all sure she would approve of the answer. Then she looked up and saw the raw dirt that was now exposed on the cliff above her. “Oh, my!” she repeated, softly. “You fell all that way? It’s a wonder you didn’t break your neck!” She looked him over closely, but after a moment seemed satisfied and picked up the basket that had been by her side. It was now half filled with dirt. She sighed and began to struggle to her feet. Frodo stood quickly to help her. It was quite apparent that she was in some pain, at least, if not greatly injured.

“You are hurt!” he exclaimed. “Please, you must come up to Bag End, let me get you something for your ease…”

The girl stood cautiously and started brushing the dirt from her clothes. She was careful of her right side, Frodo noticed, right where his knee had landed, he thought ruefully.

“No, I shouldn’t need….Bag End, did you say?” She glanced quickly at Frodo. “Are you that young Mr. Baggins, then? I had heard you’d come up to Hobbiton.” She shifted somewhat uncomfortably and passed her basket to the left hand. She held out her right in greeting. “Mae Burrows, since your name I already know. I am staying with the Brownings of Bywater.” Frodo took the proffered hand, not sure what to say. He remained concerned; she still seemed to be favoring her side.

“You are most gracious for someone who just received the full weight of a foolish hobbit on top of you. I cannot possibly see how you could not be furious with me!” Frodo was beginning to feel quite embarrassed with himself. “I really must insist you allow me to escort you. If not to Bag End, then to where ever you might find some comfort.“

Mae took a deep breath, testing, and a look of pain crossed her face. Frodo winced also. “Perhaps a sit down would be in order,” she said after a moment. “I seem to have not escaped completely unharmed, though I doubt it is more than the wind knocked out of me.”

Frodo quickly offered her his arm and the two of them walked up the hill towards the roadway. It was a little way to Bag End, Frodo had walked on an indirect path to the overlook, but he had done so briskly and was further from his new home than he had anticipated. The walk seemed to be getting harder on Mae as they went on. She wasn’t complaining, but her courtesy made Frodo feel even worse. At long last, they approached the door of Bag End. Frodo was quite relieved to help Mae into the smial.

“Bilbo!” he called. There was no immediate answer, but Frodo could hear his uncle in one of the back rooms. “We have a guest, could you help me?” He brought Mae into the dining room and cleared a chair by the fire of the quills and papers covering it. Trying to conceal her discomfort, she eased herself down into it. “Some tea.” Frodo made the comment as if deciding what to do next – it was not a question. He hurried to the kitchen.

“Hullo?” Bilbo Baggins asked from behind Mae’s chair. She turned, with great care, for such motion was still painful, and smiled at him.

“Mr. Baggins. So good to see you this morning. You see I have finally managed to get myself invited to Bag End.”

Bilbo laughed. “So you have, Miss Burrows! But not for a professional visit, I hope! Is my nephew well?”

“Quite healthy, I assure you.” Mae gave Bilbo a wry look. “And quite…solid?” She laughed softly. “We had a bit of a mishap this morning above the old sand pit. He fell out of the sky on me.”

“What?!” Bilbo was aghast. “Oh, dear! What happened? My child, you must tell me how you got into this state!” Bilbo looked to the kitchen where Frodo was just coming back with a tray laid out with tea. He was looking quite sheepish, or so Bilbo thought, and was still coated with some of the dirt that covered Mae. “My dear boy, what have you been up to this morning?”

As the tea was consumed, Bilbo pried the brief tale from them. He sat back at the table, his feet crossed in front of him and his hands contemplatively interlaced across his belly. He looked quite disapproving at first but after explanations were given and apologies provided, he sat up and shook his head smiling.

“I suppose there’s no real harm done in the end. Still, miss Mae, a young lass like you shouldn’t ought to be so unguarded even in the heart of the Shire. What if someone of less moral character than young Frodo here found you lying there? You really should be more careful.”

Mae blushed a bit and cast her eyes down. “I know, but it was such a lovely morning, and I had been up very early looking to restock my herbs. I found that spot before and as no one has ever disturbed me up there, I didn’t think twice.” She smiled warmly at Bilbo. “I’ll be sure to be far more careful from now on.”

Bilbo smiled back with the same warmth, it was clear to Frodo that he liked Mae and that they were somewhat acquainted. “Excuse me,” he began. “But I am at a bit of a loss here. It’s clear that you and miss Mae know each other, Bilbo, and she knew of me before this morning, but I have yet to be properly introduced.”

“Bless me!” Bilbo laughed. “You are right, my boy! And it’s no wonder you’ve never met miss Mae, she’s apprenticed to our midwife! We’ve had no call for her skills in this house in many years.” Bilbo winked merrily at both young hobbits. “Not while I’ve lived here at least.”

“Dore Browning also tends the sick, and mends broken bones.” Mae added. “Although, Mr. Baggins is one of the healthiest hobbits I have ever met and has never had need of her services in that area either.” She turned and looked at Frodo. Her green eyes narrowed in thought. “You know, I do believe we HAVE met before. And I might have just remembered when. You lived in Brandy Hall as a child, did you not?”

“Yes, till recently, I did.” Frodo answered.

“I thought so. I met you once long ago. You had fallen from a tree along the Brandywine and my mother, Daisy Burrows, who was the midwife in Buckland, was called to your aid. I remember she brought me in to see you when my father and I went to retrieve her. I was just a tiny child then, and so were you, but my mother brought me in to see you in your sick bed. I remember you looked so sad and miserable and you had a huge bruise on your forehead.” Mae touched her own forehead in illustration. “My mother said ‘You see here, little Mae, what comes of hobbit children being too adventurous for their own good?’ She told me to take a good look at you and to remember your fate the next time I tried to climb a very big tree.” Mae laughed. “I did remember, and have never fallen from any tree. But, it seems, you didn’t learn that lesson as well.”

Bilbo roared with laughter and Frodo felt himself blushing again, although he could not help but smile. “Well, yes,” he admitted. “I know that happened, but I have never had any memory of the event other than not being let out of doors most of that spring! If I had met you then, it is not a wonder I didn’t recall it.”

Bilbo nodded. “Yes, it was a near thing, my boy. I don’t think you could have been more than a lad of 8 years. No one knew how you got so high in that tree but it was a terrible fall. It’s a wonder you survived at all, but I’ll wager it was in no small part due to Missus Burrows’ care.”

Mae nodded and smiled again. “Yes, my mother is a wonder. She’s delivered most of the children in Buckland for the past 30 years – she’s positively legendary. I only hope that I may one day be as learned and well loved.”

Bilbo leaned forward and patted her on the shoulder. “I am sure you will, my dear. From what I’ve heard you’ve had a good start on that road. Although don’t expect we Bagginses to provide you any claims.” He puffed himself up pridefully. “We are as healthy as horses and intend to stay so.” He winked at Frodo.

“Well, I am glad to hear it!” Mae laughed. “If all I have to do is deliver babies for the rest of my days I shall be glad indeed.” She sipped the last of her tea and stood. Frodo noticed the sit down had seemed to have done her good. She stood without wincing and was breathing much more easily. He thought she still looked a bit pale, but that could have been from the dirt that still covered both of them. “Now,” she said, “That’s all settled, but I really should be on my way. I thank you for your hospitality Mr. Baggins… Mr. Baggines… I should say. Considering the circumstances of our first meeting, you’ve made it into a most pleasant morning.”

Bilbo insisted that Frodo get a cart for miss Mae. Although it was but a short walk to Bywater, and she would normally have dismissed the idea, this morning she accepted the offer graciously. She would never have admitted it, but her side still hurt and was beginning to stiffen. She wondered indeed if Frodo had broken her rib when he had fallen, but she had no wish to make him feel guilty. Even if it were a broken, there was nothing that could be done other than rest and care. There was no benefit in making both of them feel poorly about the situation. As it was, the young hobbit kept looking sideways at her to assure himself that she was, indeed, all right. It was at least better than the looks of remorse and embarrassment he had been giving her on their walk up to Bag End. She had almost wanted to laugh at his chagrin – it was most charmingly endearing. As the tiny cart reached Bywater, Mae pointed out the home she shared with the Brownings. Frodo halted the pony and hopped down to help Mae from the cart. He grasped her waist, most gentlemanly, to lift her out of the cart, but at his touch, Mae could not stifle her cry of pain. She regretted her outburst immediately when she saw the look of concern return to his face.

“I’ll be fine!” she gasped. “Please don’t trouble yourself! It is nothing that a few days rest in the fine care of Mrs. Browning won’t cure.” She stepped more gingerly from the cart, this time Frodo only offered his arm to steady her. “Your concern is quite touching, but I truly will be alright.” Mae stood beside the cart, still a little breathless but trying to look pleased. She looked up, smiling to reassure him, and for a moment was held in his searching gaze. The intensity of his expression warmed her cheeks and she found it difficult to look back at him.

“Alright,” Frodo laughed, “If you are going to insist on absolving me of all blame, I will let you, but at least when you are fit for it, could I invite you for tea again? It seems the least I can do – and it would assure me that you had survived my less than gentle treatment.”

Mae nodded, and forced herself to look him in the eye. “I would be delighted to visit you and Mr. Bilbo again! Ah ha! And now I have managed twice what Dore hasn’t been able to ever do – get myself invited to Bag End.”

“Well, don’t suggest that I fall on her! One embarrassment of that kind is quite enough for this hobbit, thank you!” He took her hand and kissed it graciously. Mae immediately felt the blush rising again but said nothing.

TBC

Promises

by Ariel (arielphf@yahoo.com)

Chapter 2 - Prophecy

As it turned out, several days later, when Frodo’s invitation to tea was received at the Brownings’ home, Mae was in no condition to attend. Quite coincidentally to her fall, she had been helping Dore Browning care for old Banda Chubb who had suddenly come ill with fever. After a quick examination, Dore had found nothing seriously amiss with him that good care would not cure and so she set her apprentice, Mae, to tend him. Two days later the fever was worse not better, and Dore returned to take another look. Whatever had grappled hold of old Banda was more formidable than the midwife originally suspected and she commenced to taking charge of his care immediately. Mae was sent home. So it happened that Dore Browning was not initially aware that her apprentice was also developing a case of the very same fever that was racking Banda Chubb.

The old hobbit lasted 2 days more and died in the height of a raging fever. Dore kept his family away, for fear of whatever was spreading the sickness, because by this time, she knew that her apprentice was also deathly ill. She wanted to make certain no other hobbits would be lost to it. Dore and her family took care of the arrangements for Banda – and after a smoking of the house and all possessions, they left the home for his relations. The Chubbs, being as they were, were most eager to examine the house, and to make sure that the Brownings had made off with nothing but what was owed them for Dore’s services.

Mae Burrows was very ill. Even the self-imposed quarantine the Brownings were under didn’t prevent the spread of gossip and the events were quickly known. There was general agreement in the Shire that Dore Browning had acted with good judgment and quickly and had probably prevented a Shire-wide tragedy, but it was also generally agreed that young Mae would likely die, just as old Banda had. Frodo heard the gossip and felt more than what he might have considered a normal amount of concern for someone whom he had only just met. Perhaps it was still the guilt he felt for falling on her, or perhaps it was the memory he had of her brilliant green eyes, but he could not help feeling greatly distressed at the thought of her ill to the point of death. If Bilbo noted his nephew’s concern, he said nothing about it – but he kept himself apprised of the situation in Bywater nonetheless, and so kept Frodo informed.

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For a week and a half, Mae raved. Dore used all her skills to keep the girl’s fever down, and tried all her strongest herbs and potions in an effort to defeat and break it. At last, grudgingly, the fever abated and the girl began to wake and speak. “I’ve had dreams…,” was one of the first coherent things she said to Dore. “Dreams of loss and pain…. Oh, the sorrow!” Dore was not certain her apprentice was completely well or unchanged by the illness. As sometimes happens, the mind can be affected by high fever and it may never be right again. Dore hoped this was not so, as she was more than passing fond of Mae and was a friend of the child’s mother. Mae had shown promise and skill in the profession of midwifery, and Dore felt it would be a sore trial to lose her. A week after the fever had broken, on a day that dawned bright and warm as a harbinger of a fair summer to come, Mae Burrows woke fully and was at last able to come out of doors and enjoy the sun. Dore put her in the garden, with a gentle tea of toast and milk and honey, and sat with her cleaning freshly picked peas. Mae delighted basking in the sun but still felt far too weak to do more than sit and enjoy the day. At length, she stirred a bit and looked to Dore who was finishing the last of her labor.

“Did you read to me as I slept, Mistress Dore? For it seems to me I heard a great tale of heros told to me through my fever.”

Dore wiped her hands on her apron. “Why, no, not so as you’d say. We spoke to you, of course, being as that is a way to keep the mind in touch with the day to day when the body is unable, but no, we told no great tales to you while you slept.”

Mae frowned slightly but was beginning to feel sleepy again in the warm sunshine. “A dream it was then,” she sighed. “Strange, though. Most dreams fade upon waking, but this one grows ever stronger on my mind.” She closed her eyes and signed, eased in comfort. Dore smiled, thinking her charge had fallen asleep again. She stood and took her peas inside. Mae did not sleep, though. She listened to the sounds of the early summer garden, the twittering of birds, the trickle of the rivulet that passed through the garden’s southern edge, the warm sigh of the wind as it stirred the rose bushes and she smelled the scent of those blossoms as they drifted on that wind. All was contentment, but as sleep tried to steal upon her again, Mae felt the poignant sadness that her dream had filled her with take hold and she roused again. It was so vivid, this vision, but it was not a memory of image or word as much as of emotion. Her heart was responding to something that she had no conscious memory of hearing or seeing and it disturbed her. It seemed to her that she was dreaming of someone – a singular figure who glowed from within with a strange, clear light. It also seemed that she understood this figure to be a hobbit, though she knew of no tale of the Shire that matched the dream, as she understood it. It seemed this small figure had a great task set before him, and though the figure thought himself too small to accomplish it, he moved through trials unimaginable in an effort to do so. There were images in her dream too – but they were vague and though there were many strange faces there, of elves and big people, and even dwarves, Mae could never see the face of the hobbit clearly. She saw a kingly man with long dark hair and the hobbit seemed to be carrying a crown to him. There was also the image of a great dark expanse of heaving grey water. She knew that to be the sea – though Mae had never even seen it herself – and the sight brought her inexplicably to tears. She opened her eyes to find herself back in the sunny garden. Dore had come to check on her.

“You’re crying! My child! Whatever is the matter? Do you still feel ill?”

Mae felt the tears on her cheeks. “I don’t know!” she cried. “I am suddenly filled with the most profound sorrow I have ever known – and I am not sure why! My dream….” Her voice trailed off and the tears continued to fall. Dore shushed her and took her hand, guiding her back to the safety and warmth of her small house. Obviously, Mae still needed time to mend before she would be whole and fit once more.

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Mae did mend, but she kept her dream to herself from that point on. She did not wish to trouble her mistress with what Dore would probably consider trifles. As time when by, the tale unfolded only a little to Mae’s conscious mind, but the images and feelings intensified till she could hardly pass an hour of the day without thinking of them. Other strange happenings were also occurring that were troubling enough to Dore without Mae mentioning her fevered imaginings.

It started innocently enough. When Mae started to once again help Dore deliver babies and mend the hurts of the folk of Bywater and Hobbiton, she seemed to have developed an uncanny ability to guess the gender of the child about to be delivered. Dore was skilled in noting the way a child lay in his mother and making a fair guess from that, but Mae was never wrong, and even more strangely, she seemed to hardly even look at the mother before proclaiming the child’s gender. Truly, it was a skill that would be helpful to a future midwife, but it’s development, following so closely on the heels of Mae’s illness, troubled Dore. There was also the time when the two of them had been called to the home of a farm to the north of Bywater Pool. Mae and Dore had set off late in the evening for the call had been urgent and there had been no time to wait. Fierce rains had been falling all the day and the evening fell swiftly. It was wholly dark when the hobbits started out. Poor Toby, Dore’s eldest son, was hard pressed to keep their small cart from miring in the deep ruts that were forming in the road, especially since he couldn’t see them ahead. As the three approached one of the small streams that fed Bywater Pool, the sound of swiftly rushing water could be heard coming from the darkness ahead. Mae touched Toby’s sleeve and asked him to stop. The tone of her voice sounded as if she were in a dream.

“The bridge is gone…” she whispered. “We could not go down this road much farther. There is need for haste – take the upper road – and hurry – that bridge has held.” She sat back and was silent. Dore stared at her but could not clearly see Mae’s face in the deep gloom. What possessed the girl, Dore did not know, but she tapped Toby’s arm and indicated that he should follow the advice given. Mae seemed to stir after a mile or so and was quite herself by the time they arrived. She had been right about the need for haste, as the child was sorely in need of the medicines Dore had brought. She was also right about the bridge, as it turned out, for the next day it was found that the lower bridge had indeed been washed away by the rain swollen stream.

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So went the summer and as the autumn came to the Shire and harvests were brought in, it seemed the promise of spring had been fulfilled. The granaries and barns were full and, though there had been better years in recent memory, there was enough to share for even the poorest hobbit families. September came, and with it an invitation that was delivered to the Browning home addressed to Jack and Dore Browning of Bywater and their son, and to Miss Mae Burrows from Mr. Frodo Baggins. Since the birthdays of both Messer’s Baggins landed on the same day in September, a large party was being planned. The Brownings were surprised to have received an invitation to such a prestigious party – they were a notable enough family, if not very wealthy, but were not of a station that might be expected an invitation to such an auspicious occasion. Mae was delighted to go. Other than her odd recurring dream, she was quite herself again, and as any hobbit maid, she loved parties and presents. She found herself looking forward to the festivities quite eagerly. On the 22nd, at teatime precisely, the guests began arriving at Bag End. Mr. Bilbo and Mr. Frodo greeted them at the door and invited all to the garden where a table had been set with cakes, tea, cold meats, breads and wine. There was also a large barrel of ale in the corner, which boded well that the party would continue into the evening and that refreshments would be plentiful. The Brownings were prompt as befitted their station, and Mr. Bilbo greeted Jack Browning warmly and, as there were few guests yet, brought he and Toby inside to show them around Bag End, something they had never been privileged to see before. Frodo stood beside the ladies and smiled warmly at Mae. Mae blushed, but found his smile contagious.

“I was glad to hear you were feeling better.” he said. “I sent an invitation to tea shortly after we met, but when I received word that you were so ill, I couldn’t help feeling guilty that I had truly caused you harm – despite all your and Missus Dore’s assurances to the contrary. I am afraid it made me hesitate to invite you again.” He bowed cordially towards her and held forth his hand. “But as you see, I have built up my courage since.” Mae smiled broadly. The attention of such a handsome young hobbit was definitely intoxicating and she felt suddenly coy. She took his hand.

For an instant she felt the warm flesh of his palm on hers. Then, without warning, a flash of memory or dream filled her mind. She saw, with crystal clarity, an image that she had never seen so clearly before – that of a hobbit, carried on the back of another, both covered in dust and dirt, their faces scratched, their lips, cracked and dry. Mae’s eyes opened wide and she stared at Frodo in abject horror. The face of the hobbit in her dream was staring back at her – it’s wide, blue eyes beginning to show shock at her reaction to his touch. Suddenly it seemed to Mae that all of the half seen images she had previously thought were fanciful creations of her fever came rocketing back to her and she was for the first time able to see them clearly. They were all of this hobbit, Frodo Baggins – older, perhaps, but not much so, and others, some hobbits also, whom she didn’t recognize. There was also for the first time an image of the old wizard and a horrible shriveled dark creature that she could barely see for the shadows around it. She felt again the horror and sorrow engulf her and she swooned. Dore cried out and reached to catch her, but Frodo was faster. He picked her up and gently carried her into the hole and laid her on a couch in the first small bedroom. Dore followed in great distress, wringing her hands. Frodo knelt and touched Mae’s brow. She sobbed softly, grasped Frodo’s hand and buried her face into it. Frodo was shocked to feel hot tears on his palm. He looked up at Dore at a complete loss for what to do. The old midwife was also at a loss and seemed quite upset by Mae’s behavior.

“I don’t know, Mr. Baggins, she’s not done this since her illness – I’d thought she was quite over these spells!” Dore looked about to cry herself. “I don’t know what has come over the child!”

“It’s alright,” Frodo replied. “There’s no harm done. Perhaps the excitement…” Frodo looked down at Mae. She had stopped sobbing but held his hand to her face, her eyes were closed but the tears still streamed down her cheeks. “Perhaps she is unused to such stimulation. We can let her rest in here, till she is recovered.” Frodo wondered how he was going to disentangle himself. Mae showed no sign of relinquishing his hand – indeed she seemed to be most attached to it – as if she lived by its touch. Frodo was beginning to feel uncomfortable, but was also stirred. When she had looked at him in wonder, Frodo had received the full power of her luminous green eyes. It was like he had never seen her before, never realized how startlingly beautiful those eyes and the hobbit lass who possessed them, were. There had also been an expression in those eyes that had compelled him, a look that seemed at once to see him completely and to be searching for more, as if she could not see enough. He would not soon forget that look.

“Mae, dear,…” Dore pulled the girl’s hands away from Frodo’s and she held them, palms together. “You rest here a moment, and we will make ready to leave. I’ll go for Jack and Toby…”

“No…” Mae whispered. She still sounded tearful, but was recovering. “We won’t leave. I felt faint, but it is past. I will be quite all right with a bit of rest, really. And I wouldn’t wish to be the cause of missing such a lovely party.”

“Miss Burrows, are you certain? You looked quite ill just now.” Frodo glanced at Dore but the older hobbit shook her head uncertainly.

“I will be quite all right, I assure you.” Her voice was sounding stronger, but she was not looking at him. “I should be far more upset to find my foolish outburst had been the cause of distress for you and your guests, Mr. Baggins.”

Dore and Frodo looked at her for a moment, both unsure, till Dore huffed a bit and nodded. “Well, if that’s the way you’ll want it, child, we’ll oblige. But I’d dare say, keep your options open. We’ll leave if you ask, if the fit comes on you again. In the meantime, you rest here, with Mr. Baggins’ leave of course, till you feel up to coming out.” She looked inquiringly at Frodo and he nodded confirming. Mae now looked up at him from where she lay, but winced and looked away quickly, as if the sight of his face pained her. There was so much sorrow in that look, so much,..pity? Frodo could not be certain, but the expression seemed piteous, though the reason for such an expression escaped him. He ushered Dore out of the room and pulled the door to.

When Mae was alone she sat up on the couch and drew a deep breath. She knew what she had seen in her dream was not pure fancy, and she knew it as clearly as if she had lived the experience. Like the little things she had been predicting, the things that disturbed Dore if she mentioned them, Mae thought her vision of Frodo must be a vision of some future time. It was what was to happen, not a dream. Mae had to that point not accepted the thought that any of these visions were more than guesses, or dreams, though it had crossed her mind that they might be premonitions. It had been just too fantastic a notion to be believed. It had been far easier to dismiss them or not mention them, but her reaction at the door of Bag End had been real – she could not dismiss that – and her sudden comprehension of the events and their relevance to Frodo Baggins could also not be denied. For some unexplainable reason, she had never been more sure of anything. She looked to the door, pulled to but not shut and saw movement through the open slit. More guests were arriving. Mae sat, miserable, in the little room and had no idea what she could possibly do. The dream, or rather, premonition, was still incomplete. It was not like a story, with a beginning, middle and end, as proper stories were told, but was a string of images that flitted through her mind strung together with intensely strong emotions. She still had no idea of the ‘why’, what it was that was so dreadfully important that Frodo would one day risk his life for it, but she knew somehow that it was dreadfully important, and that there was nothing she could do to stop him. Indeed, what could she even say? Mae had a pretty good idea of what the folk of the Shire would think if she started claiming she could tell what the future held. It was certain they would think the fever had affected her brain. But what about Frodo Baggins? She ached to warn him, council him, protect him…but she couldn’t even surely tell from what. And she was certain that if she tried to explain herself, she would only succeed in making him even more leery of her. And what if,… despite her certainty, she were wrong? Questions and doubts whirled in Mae’s head till she felt positively dizzy. She must stop this before she drove herself mad. She looked to the door and carefully stood. She needed to do something, anything, to get her mind out of this turmoil.

Mae pulled the door open to the hall where a couple of guests were milling. Mr. Bilbo was showing them around Bag End, just as he had done Mr. Browning. Across the room, Frodo stood, shaking hands with a guest, but when Mae appeared in the doorway, he looked up and smiled at her. Mae gasped softly, but it went unheard by those around her.

It was as if Mae had never seen him before. She wondered how on earth she could have been so blind the first time she had met him. He was standing at ease with his guests, but obviously trying to gracefully move them on out to the garden, and glancing her way as if to indicate that he would be coming over to see her as soon as the guests were out the door. Mae watched, fascinated, as he gracefully directed one elderly hobbit towards the front door. He looked so bright compared to all the other hobbits in the room; so singular and fair. As if he were cut from a completely different cloth than the common folk surrounding him. Perhaps it was his youth or energy, Mae could not tell, but she could not keep her eyes off him. He turned to come towards her. Mae blushed and quickly looked away so that her expression would not betray her.

“Feeling yourself again?” he asked. Mae swallowed, hoping her own voice would not waver.

“Oh, yes…” she said softly. “I am so sorry if I upset everyone. I don’t know what came over me. I feel…” She paused and looked up at him. “…better.” *How blue his eyes are,* she thought. *How fresh and fine he is. What force in this world could ask to sacrifice such beauty?*  Mae drew a quick breath, but before Frodo could say anything else, she held her hand out for him to take. Thinking she wished him to guide her, Frodo took it. Mae closed her eyes for just a moment as her hand touched his, but steeled herself and motioned for him to show her to the garden. As they walked, Mae seemed almost not to see her surroundings, rather trusting to Frodo to keep her feet where they should be. Her grip on his hand was not the light touch of social necessity, but firm, like she drew some strength or knowledge from it. It was a short walk to the garden patio, through the small gate and to where the guest’s tables were set and it was over too quickly for Mae. She did not let go his hand immediately but turned and studied his face, burning it into her mind. Now it was Frodo’s turn to be taken aback. Her eyes mesmerized him – they looked at him so openly, he could almost fall into those depths. Frodo gaped and stuttered a bit, at a loss for what to say, but feeling as if he should say something. Mae smiled, but kindly – no, Frodo thought, more than kindly. He felt a bit of alarm as it began to dawn on him what the nature of his own reaction was beginning to be.

“Excuse me!” he managed to get out. He took back his hand and hurried towards the garden gate, nearly tripping over a chair on his way, and catching himself most ungracefully. Over his shoulder he saw that Mae was still watching him, but unlike the other guests who had noticed it, she did not laugh at his near fall. Frodo took an unsteady breath and stumbled up the stairs to the entrance of Bag End. Bilbo was still shaking hands with guests. Frodo took up his position beside him, but when the older hobbit spoke to him, it took Frodo a moment to realize he was being addressed. “What?” he asked still a bit breathless.

“What’s the matter, Frodo?” Bilbo asked. “Were you having difficulties with some of our guests?”

“NO!” Frodo said quickly. Too quickly. Bilbo looked at him suspiciously. “I mean,… it was nothing,” Frodo assured him. “I was escorting some of the ladies to the garden.” Bilbo raised an eyebrow in amusement but said nothing. Frodo was still too flustered to take notice.

The party was deemed a success by all who attended, for the food was plentiful and of very high quality and there was ale and good wine that lasted far into the evening. After the main meal, gifts were presented to the guests and Dore was thrilled with the soft leather bag she received. Mae had gotten a small brooch shaped like a butterfly with emerald green glass in the wings. It was dwarvish work and very lovely. She was astonished and flattered at the gift, and wondered which of the two Bagginses had chosen it for her. Frodo, after an initial flustered blush, avoided Mae all evening. Though it didn’t seem to deter her, he noticed. She watched him either openly or in sidelong glances from beneath her long brown lashes. Frodo was worried that by his gift and attention he had somehow given her a false impression. But what he found even more disquieting was the growing feeling that perhaps he had unconsciously wanted to impress this pretty hobbit maid. That thought was what was making him the most uncomfortable. He had never before had such a visceral response to anyone nor had he ever felt quite so out of control of his own feelings. It never crossed his mind that Mae herself might have been to blame for some of them – being a good gentlehobbit, he took all the responsibility for her obvious interest upon himself and the guilt he felt made him completely unable to look at her.

As the guests departed, Frodo made a point of busying himself with ‘goodbyes’ and ‘thank you for comings’, carefully avoiding eye contact with Mae even when he took his leave of her. She did not seem upset or put off, but still looked at him openly with thought and wonder. Though usually a well-spoken lad, he found words failed him utterly when he stood before her – a fact that Bilbo noted with much more obvious amusement this time than before. At least the thought of Bilbo being amused at him, took Frodo’s mind in another direction and he was able to regain some composure to complete his duties as host gracefully until all the guests had departed.

Bilbo said nothing concerning Frodo’s behavior, for which Frodo was very grateful. He wasn’t sure what he would be able to say in response, at any rate. That night he found sleep didn’t come easily. It was as if the darkness had given license to his imagination and the thoughts that drifted unbidden into it fueled his embarrassment. It wasn’t until late in the night that he drifted off in exhaustion, and if he still dreamed then, at least he was too tired to remember them.

TBC

Promises

by Ariel (arielphf@yahoo.com)

_{Warning for this chapter - this is where the hanky panky begins... cover your children's eyes... :o}

Chapter 3 - Offerings

The next day it was Frodo’s job to clean the remains of the party and to return tables and chairs to their storage holes. He dove into his work and even had all the party dishes washed up before Bilbo emerged from his rooms. They sat in the sunny kitchen and drank tea and ate a light second breakfast of apples and cheese along with slices of cake left over from the party. Frodo seemed restless and Bilbo, with a touch of his amusement from the day before, suggested Frodo go out for a brisk walk to ‘take the edge off’ his energetic mood. Bilbo had papers to examine and review and claimed that Frodo’s fidgetiness would be quite distracting to the study of serious matters. Frodo obliged, hoping also the exertion would help him to focus on something other than the events of the previous day. He started off from Bag End walking north along the trail that wound up towards Overhill. Pointedly, he was walking away from Bywater. About an hour out, Frodo paused to take a drink from his bottle and survey the land. He was still high up the far side of the hill and amid the field there were small copses of aspen and birch, their leaves just beginning to turn yellow. It was a warm and sunny day for autumn and Frodo removed his coat and vest and bundled them in his bag. It was warm enough for him to feel quite comfortable without them. He continued walking, now taking an easterly track across the middle of the slope. It was more wooded there and the bright leaves intercepted much of the slanting autumn sun so that it was not quite so hot in their shade. Frodo’s pace slackened as he walked, the urgency he had felt when he had set out was beginning to ease and he was feeling a bit better. Bilbo’s suggestion had been right. Frodo wondered if indeed the old hobbit, who had been a confirmed bachelor as long as anyone had known, didn’t have a far better understanding of what Frodo had been dealing with than might have been guessed. The thought made Frodo chuckle.

Just ahead and above him on the slope, in a patch of light created by an opening in the trees, Frodo caught sight of movement. It was the swirl of skirts and the bottoms of two hobbit feet as a figure knelt in the sun picking something that was growing there. It was Mae. Frodo felt his heart stop. How on earth he had managed to happen upon the one person in all the Shire that he didn’t feel the strength to meet this day? Frodo stood shock still, hoping she wouldn’t turn and he could make his way down the slope silently. No such luck. Mae stood at that moment and turned. She jumped slightly, also shocked to see him of all people standing below her.

“Oh!” She had her basket on her arm, a pile of dirty roots heaped within it. Her fingers were covered with soil, as was the small spade she had obviously been using to dig them out of the ground. “Oh, my, Mr. Baggins! I didn’t see you there!” She was overcoming her initial start and a blush was rising in her cheeks. “I was just digging out some…” She stopped, the words stumbling on her tongue. She drew a deep breath and swayed a bit unsteady on her feet. Without a moment’s thought, Frodo was up the slope and reaching out to steady her. “I am sorry…” She was quite breathless. “You must think me the silliest creature! I don’t know…”

“No, it’s alright…” Frodo assured her. “It certainly seems I am a constant source of complaint to you… I’ll be gone and trouble you no more.”

“No!” Mae gripped his shirtsleeve and before he could pull away, she had his hand in hers again. “You are no trouble.” She smiled, shakily. “Right now I would be in far more distress if you left than if you stay. I… enjoy your company.” She looked apologetically up at him. “Would you sit and talk with me? “

Frodo knew that was the last thing he should possibly do, but he could think of no way of disentangling himself gracefully. He sat on the grass beside her and battled with his inner demons. The truth of the matter was, he didn’t trust himself. The warm grass and the lovely hobbit maid was an intoxicating combination. She held his hand in her two, pondering what to say to him. Frodo noted the way the sunlit strands of curl drifted above her head on the gentle breeze, the warm, earthy scent of her, the touch of her skin and how his palm was becoming increasingly damp in her care.

“I don’t know quite how to explain this…” she began carefully.

“You don’t need to explain anything.” Frodo assured her. “It’s my fault! I was unforgivably forward towards you – I should have been ashamed of myself!”

Mae looked up at him, her lips parting ever so slightly and her wide, green eyes mirroring her surprise. She started to shake her head but never finished the motion. As quick as the thought had come to him, Frodo had leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. It was clumsy, and he regretted it immediately, but it was as if he had had no choice. Mae eyes widened even more and for the first time, Frodo wondered if perhaps he had misread the situation. She seemed genuinely surprised at his kiss – but was adjusting quickly to the idea. She leaned forward, hesitantly, and gently returned it. Frodo closed his eyes, hardly daring to breathe.

For Mae, the kiss had been a surprise. She had not even considered he would have looked upon her odd behavior this way – but how could he even imagine it’s true cause? Such a timid, clumsy kiss – the feel of it was still on her lips - it stirred an answering passion of her own that had nothing to do with premonition or protectiveness. She did not hesitate to return it. He was trembling a little bit, Mae touched his cheek and he sat back, his breath coming a little rapidly. “I’m sorry…” he said.

Mae shushed him and traced his lower lip with a finger. Frodo closed his eyes once more, debating with himself and then kissed the finger. Mae caught her breath at the sight – his face lit by dappled sunlight lying against her hand, his eyes closed and his brows frowning just a bit as if expecting this moment to evaporate. All thoughts of what Mae had been planning to say, to explain to Frodo, evaporated as she looked upon him. All she could feel was sudden, overwhelming desire that blocked out everything else. Whereas the premonitions had sapped her strength and heart, this flame gave her life. She felt him gently kiss her palm, timidly asking and she melted. A sigh of pleasure escaped her and, at that, Frodo opened his eyes again. It looked as if he had found new resolve, and, finding it, was acting quickly before it faded. He pulled at the strings that held her bodice and began striping the laces from it urgently. Mae moved closer and put her arms around his neck… she kissed his temple, a feather’s touch of a kiss,… and began to kiss his cheek, the hollow of his neck, his chin,… finally finding his mouth again as the bodice was freed. This time the kiss he gave her was less clumsy and much more insistent. Mae was engulfed by it and coherent thought became even more impossible. She slipped her hands under the light shirt he wore and felt the smooth warmth of his skin, his heart was beating fast and strong. She slowly spread her hands across his chest and the buttons came undone as she pushed. The feel of his body on her hands was intoxicating – so alive, so vibrant. No! She pushed back the sudden thought that threatened to invade this moment. She would not think of what she saw in store for him. She would live in this moment, and whatever she could give him of her life, of pleasure and delight, she would, willingly.

Frodo dropped the shirt, now unbuttoned, onto the grass as if it annoyed him. He fell upon Mae and kissed her again. Her own blouse, freed from the bodice, was full and loose and he slipped it up over her head to toss it beside his own garments. He laid his chest on hers and hungrily kissed her again. He knew what his body was commanding him to do, he could feel the urgent messages that threatened to explode within him, but he was not yet a hobbit grown full, and though he knew of the things that hobbit lads and lasses did in the hollows and dells on fine summer evenings, he had yet never done them himself. Mae moved beneath him, arching her back and undulating in a way that made Frodo almost gasp. He broke off the kiss and groaned as the pressure in his loins threatened to overwhelm him. Mae reached down to his waist and fumbled with the buttons of his breeches. Her mind was on fire now. She could think of nothing except that she wanted to give him pleasure, and take pleasure from him. Mae was still a youngster herself – not yet quite come of age. She was as inexperienced as Frodo was, though through her midwifery, she knew enough to guide him.

Frodo impatiently undid the buttons of his trousers. He knew he dared not wait, that his body was possessed by an unquenchable desire and he would soon have no control over it. Mae relinquished the buttons and slid her hands down Frodo’s bare back and over his smooth buttocks. Frodo kicked his trousers off the rest of the way and lay naked on top of Mae. Then, as if suddenly aware of what he needed to do, Frodo sat back and pulled on Mae’s skirt. Down it slid and Mae eagerly kicked it off as well. Now they both were naked in the dappled sun, their pale skins touched brilliant gold in the bright patches. Frodo gazed at her for a moment in wonder, unable to believe he was really doing what he was doing, but he could not wait, his body was responding to her naked loveliness and he needed to act quickly. Mae, her eyes half closed, her lips red and her face flushed, reached for him and he could hold out no longer. Mae grasped him close and felt hot tightness in her own loins as he searched her. It was quick…Frodo pushed up inside her in an instant that made Mae cry out. She could not tell if it was pain or an overwhelming of sensation she felt, but she bit her lip and held him as he strained and pushed into her. With each trembling push of his hips, Mae felt the pain lessen and the beginnings of a rush of her own pleasure grow. Her hands spread over his damp back down to the strong, young muscles that were driving into her. Such a tender fire there was in him! She could feel it in her fingertips as it coursed through the rhythmic tensing of his muscles. There was so much life in him and he was giving that life to her. As she felt it spread within her, it triggered her body’s own overwhelming answering rush. Any remaining coherent thought remaining in her fled as she surrendered to it.

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And so it was that, naked on the grass of a fine autumn morning, Frodo Baggins and Mae Burrows found delight in one another. Afterwards, Mae held him to her breast as he eased and drifted off, his fair face at peace and contented. She brushed her lips across the stray wisps of curl that drifted above his head. Now her mind was thinking again. It seemed so apparent to her who the hobbit in her dream images had been – she wondered that she hadn’t recognized him before. The problem, she now realized, was that throughout the summer, as the dreams had played out her mind, she had come to love tormented image she saw. She had not been aware of the feeling growing in her mind, but now,…now that that image had a real face, and was real flesh and blood, she knew her feelings for what they truly were. She ran a trembling hand across Frodo’s bare, sleeping back. She loved him, and she knew some of what was in store for him. It was as a knife twisting in her heart. She stroked back the black curls and looked down at his sleeping face. Silently, her tears fell as she studied every line of it. Unguarded like this, he looked almost unearthly – as an elven child or an image of dream. Mae tried to force back the other images in her mind, but the contrast of this peaceful face with the pained, drawn one she could also see was too startling to be denied. If only she could see more of it, to see if there was something in these images she could use to help him. They lay together till the wind grew and the chill could not be denied, but Mae still had learned nothing more than dismay from her dream. Frodo stirred and Mae quickly wiped her eyes. Instead of getting up immediately, he smiled and kissed her lightly between her breasts.

“I will never forget this…” He sighed, laying back on her. “You are the most wonderful creature I have ever seen – so beautiful….”

“I was thinking the same things of you.” Mae sighed, hoping her tone did not betray the fact she had been crying. If it did, Frodo did not notice. “I could lie for days and days with you like this… but I must get back. I’m expected…” Frodo sat up quickly, looking very apologetic. Mae almost laughed to see his expression. She sat up too, took his face in her hands and kissed it. “But I would not have given up this time with you for anything in the world. You have made me very happy.”

“But,” Frodo began. He did notice she had been crying – again. He wondered at this odd behavior in her – if it were indeed something peculiar about her or if all hobbit lasses behaved so at such times. He was too inexperienced to know, but it moved him nonetheless. He touched her face in return. “If you are happy, why the tears?”

Mae wiped her eyes again, even though they were dry and then laughed. “Because I am unforgivably silly, that is why, my dear, sweet hobbit. It is no great matter.” She lied, but Frodo accepted it. He stood and pulled his trousers back on. Mae gathered her clothes and did the same, but from the corner of her eye, watched his every move. It was as if his youth and vitality screamed from every fiber of him – she could not drink in enough of it. She wanted to engrave his sweet innocence her memory,… ‘before it is taken from him forever’ her thought finished. She shuddered and turned away to finish dressing, so that he could not see the torment that clouded her face.

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Mae took leave of Frodo and promised to meet him again when she could. Frodo seemed delighted, but Mae could tell it was more with boyish enthusiasm than with the depth of feeling that she felt. As she came back to her room in Dore Browning’s home, she felt a great weariness settle on her. She did not know if what she had done this day was wise or foolish, but she knew the premonitions she had had were tormenting her even more. There was the vision of a room with dark and richly carved beams, and a huge bed in its center. Upon the bed lay Frodo, very pale and drawn. Mae knew that Mr. Bilbo stood by the bed’s side with another hobbit she did not recognize. She knew somehow that both had been by his bed for many days as Frodo had gotten weaker and weaker. That sight had mocked her as she had gazed upon the rosy, sleeping countenance she had held to her breast. How was she to bear it? What could she possibly do? Tell him? Tell him what? Even she was not absolutely certain what her premonitions were really were. If she tried to warn him, would he think her mad, dismiss her utterly? He would doubtless never touch her again and Mae realized she could not bear that thought, but neither could she bear the thought of him endangered and tormented as her visions showed. She had no answers.

Dore noted Mae’s disquiet from the moment she had walked through the door, but the day’s work gave her no chance to speak. It was after supper before she found a chance to get the girl alone – as they sat by the fire mending clothes. Mae bent to the work with more industry than she usually showed for the mending of clothes but Dore bided her time with patience.

“You’ve been up to see that Frodo lad, haven’t you?” Dore said frankly. Mae sputtered on her tea, hardly expecting such a direct and open question. Hobbits, by custom, did not speak of such personal matters even between husband and wife, but Dore was not a customary hobbit and was quite known for her lack of tact. Mae blushed furiously and set her drink down. “I don’t much care what you get up to in your own time,” Dore continued. “But I can see that boy has an effect on you.” The old hobbit looked at her apprentice intently. “He’s a sweet boy, but a gentlehobbit to be as he is, is certainly not going to see more in an apprentice midwife than good company. Surely you see that?” Mae continued to look down and said nothing. “Well, that is your own affair, I suppose. You know enough to care for yourself proper. I just don’t wish to see my dear girl break her heart for someone who will never settle for her. Those Bagginses are notorious adventurers, you know. I could never see old Mr. Baggins settling down, even before his adventures – and that boy looks to be much like him, poor thing!” Dore picked up her sewing again, as if the matter were settled, but Mae still sat, unmoving and looking at the floor. Dore, watching her for a long moment, frowned as a thought occurred to her. “That’s not entirely it, is it?” she asked.

Mae looked up and gave the slightest shake of her head. “No….” she whispered in an almost inaudible voice. She ached to tell someone of her troubles. Dore was not the most imaginative, but she was often shrewd and had lived enough years to develop a hobbity sort of wisdom. Mae was unsure whether she wanted her to guess at the troubles or to remain ignorant of them – the girl was at a loss to predict how her mistress would react so she said nothing more. Dore frowned, but continued sewing. She seemed to be mulling something over in her mind. Mae waited – but could not bring herself to pick up her work again.

“You’ve been acting most peculiar since your illness.” Dore said at length, not looking up. “I know you’ve tried to hide it, but I see things.” Dore shifted uncomfortably as if the next admission were uncomfortable for her. “Yes, I see things… and so do you, don’t you?” Now she squinted at Mae, with a somewhat fearful, somewhat disapproving look. “You knew about that child at the Bracegirdle farm, and when old Tom Polewhite fell – you knew about him too? And the bridge…” Dore shook her head slowly. “It’s not natural, and I dare say, no good will come of it, but you’ve not let it slip nor made it widely known. That is good – you’ve been using your head about that at least.”

Mae looked up, opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t find words. Her expression was one of fear, embarrassment and just a hint of gratitude. Dore scoffed at her.

“It’s something those elves of Mr. Baggins’ acquaintance would ponder over, surely, but as long as you do nothing foolish….” Dore paused, and wondered. “Are you seeing something in that brain of yours for Mr. Frodo? Oh, child! What could possibly happen to him? He’s been made heir to a fortune! A luckier and more promising lad there hasn’t been seen around here in ages!” Dore drew a quick breath and stopped. “Or… You think he’s going to go off adventuring like his uncle?” The old hobbit shook her head. “Well, then it serves him right if he comes to a bad end, I dare say…” she sighed. “Child, if that is what you think is going to happen, then perhaps you should avoid the boy… No use getting your heart broken over someone who’s foolish enough to walk right into a troll’s cave.”

“But should I tell him?” Mae asked at last, breathless, with her voice tight from unshed tears. “Should I say what I have seen? Warn him of the perils in his path?” Mae looked about in a sudden frustration, “How can I bear not to – if I suspect these things are to be, how can I keep it from him?” Then she sighed hopelessly. “But whatever could I say that would make him believe it?” She added almost to herself.

Dore still had her own doubts about her charge’s claim of foresight, but she put aside her sewing for the last time to give the matter her full attention. She hmmmm’ed a bit and sipped at her tea. Mae, who had been grateful to at last share her troubles with someone, began to have some second thoughts about her admission. “I see there IS more to this than just a pretty maid’s fancy.” The old hobbit said at length. Her tone was thoughtful and kindly as if she had put much thought into her response. “But I also see there is something of fate in it too. I believe in fate, child. There are things we are born to do. You, I saw right off, were born to be a healer, just as I was. Perhaps young Mr. Baggins was born to adventure? I know, it seems a silly thing for a hobbit to be born to – but old Bilbo came back from his adventures and not a soul would have believed that possible. Perhaps there is something to that old Tookish blood in them both that fates them to such paths? If it be young Mr. Baggins’ fate to go off and fight dragons, then what right have you to try and change that? Danger? Well, that’s part of life and even more a part of adventure, or so I am told, and if you take the one, you must take the other.” Dore leaned forward and patted Mae’s hand kindly. “I don’t know what you see in that little head of yours, but even if what you see were true, do we go about knowing what lies around every corner? No, and that’s as it should be. If we did, we should never go out of the house and nothing would get done.” Dore frowned thoughtfully. “Besides, if we were to know our fates before hand, would we still act the way we should to meet that fate? Who knows how that could mess up the normal order of things?”

Mae looked up at this, surprised. One of the strongest themes of her dream had been the importance of Frodo’s task – that had been paramount, although she still had no clear idea what the task actually was. The idea that something she could choose to do could disrupt that frightened her. It was not something she had considered before.

“I don’t think I would like this ‘gift’ of yours.“ Dore continued. “Although it might be nice to know the gender of a child before it is born.” She laughed. “I dare say, it hasn’t made your heart any easier. Perhaps it is better for us to live as most befits us.” Dore stood and Mae knew the conversation was over. It had been far more than Mae had expected, and she was grateful to her mistress for that.

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For the next week, Mae kept herself busy and tried to forget that autumn day in the sun. She knew what she felt was far more than what young Frodo did – and though she could rationalize the reasons why she felt the way she did, her heart was rapidly betraying her. The visions had only intensified since she had met him on the hill, she could hardly pass an hour of the day when she didn’t think about him, or see his face or feel the soft warmth of his hair on her skin. It was torment, but such sweet torment that she would not have forgone it. In idle moments, she would fancy what it would have been like to have him as her own, but reason would quickly squelch such thoughts. It was so completely impossible – the difference in their stations was too great - and yet, she could not help but daydream about it. He was such a gentlehobbit, and so kind – he might even see it as his duty to offer himself, despite her lowly birth. If he did offer, which Mae doubted he would, she would have to deny him,… and yet, if such a denial meant she could not see him again, Mae wondered how she could ever bring herself to do it.

The weather had been cool and rainy; the sweet spell of October warmth was rapidly fading from memory as the true fall weather began in earnest. Mae stayed within Dore’s home, restless and fidgety, as she was unable to go out to even walk for her ease. One afternoon, Toby had come back from working in the fields and had said he had stopped by the Ivy for an ale. He told Mae that there had been a young hobbit lad of about 9 years there who had a note for her. Bewildered, Mae took the note and retired to her room to read it. The note was written in a strong, elegant handwriting that she somehow knew belonged to Frodo even before she read the signature. The note read.

‘I should very much like to invite you, Miss Mae Burrows, to tea on Friday next. Would you please come?’

Mae touched her hand to the fine ink lines and drew a deep sigh. Two lines on a parchment and all her carefully contrived plans for detachment seemed to fall away. She knew what she should do…but she had no will left to do it. Her heart ached only to see him again and she could not resist.

Friday came, and teatime could not come soon enough for Mae. She had carefully concocted a story for Dore about attending to a friend who was feeling poorly, and told her mistress that she didn’t know how long she would be. Dore, having seemingly forgotten all about the Frodo matter, nodded absently without so much as raising an eyebrow. Mae took her leave in the afternoon and, pulling her hood up over her curls, walked towards Bag End.

At the door, she knocked timidly and was surprised to see the door swing inwards almost immediately. Frodo stood there. Looking breathless and excited. The smile on his face was broad and positively infectious.

“Hello!” He cried. “Come in!” He stepped back eagerly almost hopping in his apparent delight. “I’ve tea already poured. Please, let me have that cloak.” Mae turned her back to him and unclasped the garment. He reached over her shoulders to take it and Mae closed her eyes and shuddered as she felt his hands at her neck. She violently forced herself to cool – she could not believe how rapid and complete her reaction to him was. It was as if she a starving woman being presented with a sumptuous feast. When she had control of herself, she faced him again. Frodo stood, with her damp cloak over his arm, looking at her with an odd mixture of hope, enthusiasm and trepidation. He seemed nervous too – although he was controlling it well. Mae found the expression disarmingly charming and could not deny her answering smile. How could anyone not love him when he looked like that?

“Where’s your uncle?” she asked politely.

“Well, he’s… “ Now Frodo looked a bit embarrassed. His fair face was growing red as he spoke. “Actually, he’s gone to Buckland. Left this morning on business. I must say he was a bit surprised when I didn’t want to go with him. But,…” Frodo’s voice trailed off. “I wanted to speak to you alone. I was hoping you wouldn’t mind…” Frodo began, now looking almost a little scared too. “Mae, I wondered how you would feel about marrying me.” Frodo began. “It…it is what I wanted to talk to you about. Of course, it might be difficult, with the families and all. And we will need to wait till I come of age, but…”

Mae felt her heart stop. She opened her mouth to speak, but could find no words to fit the wonder she felt. For a moment the most incredible feeling of joy welled up within her. She felt as if she must shout it to the sky and leap into his arms. She realized why he had asked this. He was an honorable hobbit and though she would never have expected such consideration, the fact that he had offered it spoke volumes. He was truly a jewel beyond price – and she trembled as the full realization of what he offered struck her; she who, alone among her people, had some inkling of his worth. How could she help but love him? But,… she knew what she should say. She should have reminded him of their stations, of his duty to the Shire and his family, of the impossibility of what he was proposing. And of the fact that she knew he did not really love her. That what he felt was the flush of a childish infatuation, nothing more. It would have been the right, responsible thing for her to do, but somehow she found she could not bring herself to speak. She wanted him. It was purely selfish, she knew, but at that moment her desire buried every honorable intention she ever had. She reached up and caressed his face.

“I am glad you invited me.” Mae whispered at length. Her voice was soft, husky and quavered quite obviously. “So very glad.” She ran her hand up into Frodo’s hair and he leaned over and kissed her very softly on the mouth. Mae felt her head spinning. She drank in the warm, musky smell of his skin and the feel of his trembling lips on hers. He was nervous, eager, unsure but hopeful, and Mae responded to his kiss with such fierce passion that it could leave no doubt in his mind that she was willing. She pulled him close to her and surrendered to him completely.

Frodo was much more at ease this time. He was gentle and considerate although still charmingly eager. It seemed to Mae that accepting the prospect of marriage to her, as he had seemed to, calmed him and took away some of his guilty quickness. Afterwards, they lay nestled together in his feather bed listening to the sound of rain on the windows of Bag End. The fire was lit and the room was warm, fueled as much by their passions as the fire. Frodo held her close to him and she listened to his breathing in her hair as it grew even and peaceful and she knew he was asleep. Carefully, she slid from his arms and gazed lovingly upon him. Frodo lay on his side, naked as she was. Firelight touched his skin and lit him at the edges like an aura of flame. It was as if he glowed from within with a warm, comforting light. That sight of him etched itself in Mae’s mind. Then another image, so like and unlike this one came forth unbidden. In it, he lay in the same position, but not in comfort, - in despair! His skin, filthy and bruised, a bleeding cut laced across his side, his bed, a pile of filthy rags. Mae almost cried out in terror at what she saw. She clapped a hand over her mouth and tears sprang to her eyes. NO! She had been blissfully free of visions since arriving and had hoped they would not trouble her as they had at their first meeting, but this one, which she had never seen before, was the worst yet by far! Mae put forth a hesitant hand to touch him, reassure herself he was really there and whole. His skin was warm and clear and he stirred slightly as she caressed his arm. Mae bit her lip to keep the sobs from escaping. As clearly as if someone had spoken in her ear, Mae now understood something about Frodo’s fate. He would never marry anyone. Not her, which in her heart she had known already, or anyone at all. He would never be given the chance. Mae felt as if a knife had been thrust into her body. She shook with silent sobs and had to slide carefully from the bed so her torment would not wake him. Love and pity surged within her as tears fell in a wash down her cheeks. At that moment, she would have willingly given her life to keep him safe, protect him. Her visions were so incomplete, so haphazard – only the emotions were clear and strong – that all they did was torment her. She could find nothing in them of useful information. What to avoid, what not to do… And there was also the thought that Dore had placed in her mind. What right did she have to keep him from his fate? There really was nothing she could do to save him. Hopelessly, she sank to her knees by the hearth, and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. If these visions were nothing but torture, then why did she have them? She wished suddenly that she had never had her ‘dreams’, never touched the hand of Frodo Baggins and felt his fire…but,…no… The memory of his lithe body striving into her, his delicate, scholar’s fingers clenched into white sheets as spasms of ecstasy took hold of him, the warmth of his soft curls against her cheek… How could she wish to have never known these things?

She had decided to stay this evening, to let him assume she had agreed to his proposal of marriage, in answer to the heat of her own desire, but, as she knelt, naked in the firelight of Frodo’s room the beginning of an idea began to form in her mind. It was a wild, foolish, foolhardy idea that would have made no sense in the rational light of day, but Mae was struck by how incredibly right it felt to her. She could save something of him. She looked to the bed where Frodo still slept peacefully and along with a surge of overwhelming love, she felt a new resolve grow within her. She knew in her heart he did not love her with more than a young hobbit’s fancy. He had asked for her hand from a sense of duty but he would feel as much relief as regret if she turned down his offer. That much she could tell even without foresight. But, if she acted on this idea, she would have to one day leave him. That thought gave her an ache of regret, but she knew when that time came, it would hurt her far more than it would hurt him. Her honor and respectability would be destroyed, but somehow that did not seem an important consideration. Yes, this was more important. It was all she had to give, and she knew that one day he would deserve far more than anything she could offer. It would take some time until her plan bore fruit and until then, she could hold him, love him and fill his days with as much joy as she could. Now Mae knew in her heart she would do it. She was resolved. She would save something of him. She wiped her face, for the tears she shed were growing cold on her cheek. She knew what she would do and the knowledge gave her a measure of peace. She came back to Frodo’s bed and lifted the quilt over him. Then she slid under it herself and took him into her arms.

TBC

Promises

by Ariel (arielphf@yahoo.com)

Chapter 4 - Fruition

As the autumn finally succumbed to winter’s cold rains, Mae and Frodo met as often as they were able. Frodo said nothing of his proposal to Bilbo, but the older hobbit seemed to know something was afoot. He was, it appeared, still more amused than concerned. Frodo wondered at this, but as he reminded himself, Bilbo had once been a young hobbit too. Frodo also had noticed a change in Mae. She seemed more as she had at their first meeting, confident and gentle, less the stricken dove, but instead of the bright energy she had shown then, she now seemed to possess a sad strength. A part of him wondered at this too, but most of his thought was attempting to come to grips with the concept of betrothal. He knew it was his duty, and knew he would do it, but the thought did not settle easily in his mind. It wasn’t as if he disliked Mae, quite the contrary, if he were to marry at all, it would be her. It was not as Mae had thought either, the concept of station didn’t even enter into it in Frodo’s mind, it was the whole idea of settling down that made him uneasy. It was as if he knew in his heart he was not quite ready for it, but he had made a promise with his body, and would not forsake it.

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It was on a morning in early spring that Mae finally knew she had succeeded. The knowledge gave her little joy. Although premonitions still assaulted her whenever she was near him, the thought of never seeing Frodo again seemed far more bitter than the torment of seeing images of him in peril. Her heart was going to break, but it was too late now to choose another path. It was with utmost care and silence that she packed her meager belongings. Dore Browning was old but she knew her craft well. While Mae had taken extensive precautious to hide her visits to Frodo, she could not long conceal what was growing within her from the sharp eyes of the midwife. She needed to act quickly, before her heart or her body betrayed her. She decided to leave that evening – when the entire house had gone to sleep – and travel on foot under the cover of darkness down to Buckland, and probably on to one of the towns further east. She needed to get as far away as she could quickly or she felt Frodo would follow her. Mae was certain Dore would soon realize what had driven her away and she would not have the same compunction against announcing the reason that Frodo would. Rumors would fly – and she would need to avoid prying eyes until she was out of the Shire.

As the evening deepened, Mae grew restless. She told Dore she was going to bed early and went to her room and sat. She pulled out a piece of parchment and began to compose a letter. This would be her last letter to the one she loved – it required thought and care to achieve the effect she wanted. When at last she had what she thought was a good composition, she wrote it carefully and folded the note. A drop of red wax sealed it along with a few tears. They could not be helped. It was full dark now, and the house was silent. Mae put the letter in her bosom and pulled her bag from under her bed. It was a pitifully small bundle, but that made traveling easier anyway. Through the hall and out the round red door, she moved without a sound. She shut the door and crept along the garden walk. As she closed the gate, it felt like a trapdoor had fallen on her past. This was it. There was no going back now. Mae knew she should be terrified, she should be loath to leave the comfort and security of the future she could have had – but for some reason, she felt no fear. It was as if the life inside her gave her strength – and courage and purpose. It probably was pure folly that she felt this way, but at least it enabled her to do what she felt she must.

The road to Hobbiton was deserted – thankfully. She met no one until she timidly knocked on the door below Bag End. The hobbit who tended the Baggins’ gardens appeared after a bit of shouting, dressed for bed and looking very cross. Mae apologized profusely and started to explain that she had a letter for Mr. Baggins the younger and that it was important that he receive it the next morning. As she spoke, Mae noticed a small child peering from behind the older hobbit’s leg. He couldn’t have been more than nine. The child had apparently just been woken because he was blinking stupidly in the lamplight as he leaned against his father’s leg. Mae fumbled in her speech and stared at the child, entranced. The boy noticed her gaze and forced his sleepy brown eyes to focus. Mae squatted down till she was on level with the child’s eyes. The older hobbit sputtered, beginning to get angry over the girl’s incredible rudeness. How dare she wake him and his child and then proceed to ignore the parent. Mae paid him no heed; something Ham Gamgee found even more infuriating. She stared into the child’s eyes and started to smile. This was the other hobbit she had seen in her vision. She recognized him for the first time, although she knew she had seen him running about before. The child was staring open mouthed at her, but he didn’t seem afraid. Mae scanned his features, seeing perhaps the face she had envisioned instead of the one that stood before her. Her smile grew warmer.

“You are stronger than I am, little one.” she sighed softly, dreamily. “You have more strength and courage than I can boast – for you will stand by him… I cannot. I can not watch what you must bear.” She reached a hand out to the child’s cheek. He did not move away, but obviously had no idea what she was talking about. Mae laughed. “What’s your name, child?” The boy blinked but said nothing. Mae shook her head. “It doesn’t matter anyway.”

Ham, growing crosser, asked her state her business quickly and be gone, “Decent folk are sleeping by this hour!” he growled. Mae blinked and, as if coming out of a daze, pulled the note out of her bodice.

“Could I trust you to do something for me please?” she asked, looking to both father and son, but her gaze rested most fondly on the child who was finally reacting to her with something other than wonder. The boy nodded slowly and came forward from his father’s side. “Please give this to Frodo Baggins? No one else, only Frodo. Can you do that?” The child’s mouth closed and he nodded vigorously – obviously now more fully awake and realizing that he was being entrusted with something of importance. Mae sighed, smiled and chucked him under the chin. “You are a very good boy, did you know that?” The child’s mouth gaped open again. It seemed a common expression of wonderment for him. Ham scowled, but seeing the girl being so kind to his son made it more difficult to be angry with her. She turned to the father. “Again, I am sorry to have disturbed you. It is not an urgent matter, but I would not be able to deliver it at any other time. You are most kind to present it for me.” With that, she pulled her cloak more tightly about her shoulders and gave them each a polite curtsey, and then she was gone.

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Spring mornings at Bag End usually began with the sounds of singing from Ham Gamgee as he began his morning labors. There was much to be done in his garden and his master’s to ensure that they were both fruitful come summer. Frodo was not often the first one to arise, but it was so this morning. He wandered along the smial that led from his rooms to the kitchen, pulling up his suspenders as he walked and yawning. The fire in the kitchen hearth required a bit of stoking and some more wood to bring it to life, but it had been well banked the night before and the tiles and hearth still radiated heat. It was quite cozy in Bag End’s kitchen. Frodo filled the kettle and set it over the fire. Then he sank onto the bench and rested his head on his propped arm, waiting for the water to boil. He had almost drifted off again while sitting there, when a knock came to the window. Frodo blinked, startled and saw little Samwise peering over the sill. Frodo thought the sight of him struggling to peek into the window exceedingly funny. He got up and went to the front door to invite the child in. Samwise appeared around the corner pulling his father’s arm towards the stoop where Frodo stood. The older hobbit had a piece of parchment in his hand and the boy looked well pleased with himself.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Baggins,” Ham said a he came up the walk. “But my boy was watchin’ out to see if you were up. I wasn’t wanting to disturb your sleep for nothing.”

“I’m awake,” Frodo stretched and yawned, not appearing nearly as awake as he claimed, “What did you need?” He asked.

Hamfast apologetically handed Frodo the folded parchment. “A young lass dropped this by last evening. Very late it was, and she asked not to disturb you but to make sure we gave this to you, sir, in the morning. I believe it was the midwife’s apprentice, that Mae-lass, though I couldn’t be certain with her cloak on.”

At that, Frodo blinked, and was instantly fully awake. He received the paper with a sinking heart. What had happened? He thanked Ham and Samwise and went back into Bag End. At the kitchen table, the tea forgotten, Frodo carefully broke the seal and spread the paper out before him. It read:

‘To my sweetness, my light. If you are reading this, I am gone from the Shire. Please do not follow me. I have long realized why you asked me to marry, but it is I who am to blame for what happened between us, not you. You have acted with nothing but honor. I have not. Perhaps, if I did not love you as much as I do, I could have taken your offer – lived a lie, but I could not do that to you. Your life has a great purpose and you need to live it. I release you from your vow. There is more, of course, but you would not understand it now. Perhaps one day we will meet again and I will tell you my tale in full, but until then, know that I love you more than life, and will, always.’

Frodo sat back and reread the note again, but it still bewildered him. He had the feeling that much more was unsaid than was said. What had he done? He was still digesting the implications of his letter when Bilbo, newly arisen and dressed, wandered into the kitchen for his tea. He saw his nephew, the look on his face and the letter, and a pang of remembrance tugged at his heart. In silence he filled the teapot with hot water and pulled some apples and cakes from the cupboard. Frodo carefully folded his letter and placed it into his pocket.

“If you wish to talk about it, I’ll listen.” Bilbo said, with just the right amount of interest. Frodo sighed but could not look up.

“You’ve been very understanding, Bilbo.” The younger hobbit said at length. “I must have looked like a fool.”

Bilbo sat opposite him at the table and poured himself a cup of tea. “Foolish? No. Not at all. From what I saw, and that wasn’t much, you were very happy.” Bilbo waited and carefully sliced an apple into quarters. He placed half of the sections on a plate and proceeded to eat the rest. He knew Frodo would speak in his own time if he wished. The apples were gone and Bilbo had started on the cakes before Frodo spoke again.

“She’s left.” he whispered. “I’ve no idea why.” Frodo looked up at his uncle, stricken. “I…I didn’t expect this. I had asked for her hand…but I felt,…trapped. Do you think she knew? Do you think she could tell I was reluctant?” Frodo shook his head. “I do feel a fool. I didn’t know what I had and now I’ve lost it…”

Bilbo listened, showing nothing on his face, but when he spoke it was kindly. “We never do value what we have until it’s gone.” He munched thoughtfully on his cake. “You’re very young, Frodo, too young to be thinking about such things as marriage. There is time enough for both of you when you’ve grown a bit. Mayhap she saw this clearer than you did.”

“But why leave?” Frodo asked. Then he stopped as a thought occurred to him. “You don’t suppose…” He began, his eyes growing wide. Bilbo quickly shook his head as if intercepting his thought.

“You forget, she’s apprenticed to a midwife. She would know what to do to avoid anything of that sort. No, I doubt very highly that Ms. Burrows is ‘in the family way’, she’s not that foolish a girl.”

Frodo settled back and nodded absently. “I suppose you’re right, of course.” A wry smile crossed his lips. “Well, I guess the cat’s out of the bag now. I say it again, you’ve been remarkably patient with me, Bilbo. I imagine you’ve been regretting your choice of me as heir ever since this all began! Surely you thought I was some unprincipled cad who would be making his reputation through the ladies of Hobbiton!” Frodo felt his face blushing from having to discuss the matter with such candor. Bilbo chuckled.

“Actually, I thought to myself ‘that boy’s a Baggins through and through.’” The look Frodo gave him then made Bilbo chuckle again, but he didn’t elaborate. “Give her some time, Frodo, and yourself. You have so much to do and see before you consider something as serious as marriage. And who knows, there may even be an adventure ahead for you.” Bilbo winked. “And you wouldn’t want to leave some poor lass at home while you were off with old Bilbo would you?” The old hobbit patted the younger one’s arm. “She’s probably being a lot smarter about this than you realize.”

Reluctantly, Frodo nodded, but his heart was still troubled. The thought that Mae would not be back was growing on his mind. He found himself remembering the way she smelled, of earth and chamomile, the curve of her throat, the way she had moved under him when they lay together. He shut his eyes quickly. What had he lost? Perhaps it was that knowing she was gone made the memories more poignant, but it seemed to Frodo he would never again feel the wild joy and desire that Mae had stirred in him. Her face now seemed more fair to him than any other, and the brilliant green of her eyes seemed to stare back from his memory as clearly as if they were before him. He sighed, but did not open his eyes. “Will I ever forget her?” he whispered.

“No,” answered Bilbo immediately, and at that Frodo did look at his uncle. “But someday, the memory will bring more pleasure than pain.” Bilbo drained his tea and started patting his pockets for his pipe. Frodo knew from his tone and action the matter was closed and he did not speak of it again.

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Immediately after Mae’s departure, the rumors flew rampant. It was widely believed that she had gotten herself in ‘difficulty’ and had run off to Buckland and her family, but word from that region denied that she was living there. No one had seen her and if she had stopped in her flight to visit her family, none but they were any the wiser for it. Dore Browning openly doubted this was the case but did not work very hard to dispel rumors to the contrary. To her credit though, the name Baggins was not mentioned. When asked, Dore honestly answered she didn’t know if her apprentice had been meeting anyone in secret, although ever after she avoided Bag End, and never did pay any calls there.

It was mainly because the worlds of the Big People and the Little rarely met, that Mae was able to disappear seemingly into the woods of Buckland. She had traveled far and reached Bree by walking along the East Road. She had traveled unmolested – a factor she did not consider unusual since she had never traveled the road before – but every once in a while on her journey she would see far off, a lone figure or two, tall and dark against the skyline, keeping watch over her. They were men, of course, and she had never met one before, but somehow she knew they meant her no harm. In Bree, she found work as housekeeper to a family of Big People from Archet. They needed a nanny and housekeeper for they had recently been blessed with twin girls and the mother was hard pressed after the difficult birth to keep up with her other children. Mae was pleased to find the position although the ways of the Big People were strange to her and it took some time for her to become accustomed to them. It was also fortunate that Mae was among Big People for even as her own pregnancy became more obvious, they did not deem the matter worthy enough to spread rumors about.

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And so it was on a day of rain in September that Mae Burrows felt the pains that told her she must soon retire to her small rooms. September, she mused, must be the time for Bagginses to be born. She took leave of her mistress and asked to be excused till she was fit to work again. Her mistress consented though she wondered that her hobbit nanny would have no midwife with her nor friend or companion of her people to stay by her as the humans did at such times. Still, the woman knew little of hobbits’ private affairs and so did not know that Mae’s was indeed an unusual situation.

The labor was hard and long and Mae wept in her pain, for the one face, the one touch she longed for at that time knew nothing of her plight. In all the long summer she had missed him desperately, but never before so much as during that eternal night. As the sun was returning, Mae’s labor finally ended and she held, with trembling arms, a tiny boy child with a slicked down of ebony that curled as it dried. A fairer baby Mae had never seen and, despite her weariness, she had no desire to do anything but gaze upon his beauty. His tiny perfection astonished her. It had never occurred to her that the baby would look so like his father – a piece of him; an expression of flesh and blood. The child had lain hidden within her for so long, had been a part of her; it was almost a shock to note how little a claim she had to his features. Lovingly, she dried the child and wrapped him in the cloths she had ready. Here was what she had saved, and in this child she saw the light that had drawn her and the purpose of her visions. Perhaps now her fate had been met as well. So bright a star as Frodo Baggins could not be wholly taken from the world without diminishing that which remained – at least now, she thought, his light was reflected. She settled the child to her breast and fed him.

TBC

Promises

by Ariel (arielphf@yahoo.com)

_{There be hanky panky in this chapter too.  Same warning... ;)}

Chapter 5 - Gifts

Late in the year of Plenty, 1420, on an evening in October, two strangers came walking along the road to Hobbiton. Both were cloaked though it was clear one was a young boy and the other a lady hobbit of middle years. The older hobbit walked with head bowed but the boy looked about him in wonder. They asked no directions, but walked on up to the New Row with hardly a hesitation – as if they knew the place well, until they came to the end and there the lady stopped. She asked the boy to wait and proceeded up the walk that meandered through the sheltered garden. At the door, she knocked timidly. After a bit of pause, it was opened by a sunny hobbit lass with large brown eyes.

“Yes?” Rosie asked the stranger. The stranger looked at her closely, appraisingly.

“Is Mr. Baggins at home?” she asked. Rosie blinked and nodded, wondering at the visual examination the lady gave her.

“He’s in the study. Can I say who is calling?”

The older hobbit hesitated, but, appearing to decide something, asked. “May I first know who you are?”

Rosie was taken a bit aback, but smiled reassuringly, “I’m Rosie Gamgee. My husband Sam and I take care of Mr. Frodo since he’s come back from the wars. He is a very good friend. And now, may I ask your name again?” Rosie’s tone firmed protectively. The older hobbit paused, and a faint smile flitted across her face.

“Please tell him Mae Burrows has come to call, if he’ll see me.”

Rosie nodded and allowed Mae through the door to wait. After a moment, Rosie returned and beckoned her forward. “He’ll see you. Though the name gave him a start.” Now it was Rosie’s turn to give her guest a once over. Mae nodded, sadly, as if what Rosie told her was not a surprise.

“Yes, it would. I will not trouble him for long, but I believe he will be glad of my visit.” Rosie then led Mae back into the bowels of New End to a little room with a fire. The fire surprised Mae, for the early evening was balmy and there seemed to be little need for it. Its warmth kept the little room close, but the air was fresh as it circulated through a small window. It felt like the kind of warm dry heat one might have expected in the home of an aged hobbit, heat that helped stiff joints and old bones feel less pained.

At a desk with his back to the fire, sat a dark haired hobbit with an evening robe on. He looked up when he heard the sounds of Rosie and Mae coming into the room. Mae drew a sharp breath when Frodo turned to look at her. He was much changed. When Mae had known him, it had seemed that a delicate fire had burned inside him, fragile and spirited. Now that fire was stronger, no longer delicate but of immeasurable fortitude, and, in it’s burning, it had shorn away the gloss of youth that had once been his. He seemed now more a burning ember coated in ash, a strong, pure light masked by a cloak of grey, his once bright countenance dimmed by years and toil. Mae was struck by this change and stood in the entrance to the room for a moment staring at him. Frodo thanked Rosie and told her he would like to speak with his guest alone. Rosie left quietly, but it seemed plain she would remain in earshot while Mae was alone with him.

“Hello, Frodo.” Mae said quietly.

He shifted in his chair so that he faced her directly. “Hello, Mae. Won’t you come in?” His voice was cordial but had no warmth. “I has been, what…?”

“Twenty seven years…” she finished for him. “A very long time between friends.”

“Are we friends, Mae?” Frodo’s voice was a bit sharp. Mae whinced. “I wasn’t sure what we were anymore. You,… you didn’t leave me with much to go on.” Mae drew a deep breath and seemed to steel herself. Frodo turned back to his desk, but he did not seem to see the papers before him. “If you are here to claim what I once offered you,…” he said in a soft, distant voice. “…you are too late. I cannot offer it now.”

“You could not offer it to me when you did.” Mae’s voice was tight and forced. “I knew it then, though you did not.”

Frodo turned to her again, frowning. It was a wound long healed, but her words rekindled some anger in him. “I offered myself in good faith. I would have married you. Did you think me so base that I would lie just to…?”

Mae shook her head, quickly confirming she knew he would not, and stepped forward, her hand outstretched to touch his cheek. Frodo stiffened and she stopped, her hand falling by her side. “Did you ever wonder,” she asked after a long moment of silence between them. “…why I left?”

Frodo frowned, but would not look up at her. “Yes,” he said at length. “I often did. I thought of many reasons, tried to find out where you’d gone…. But you disappeared well. I heard nothing of you. “ He looked up, towards the small round window. Full dark had fallen. He sighed. “For years I would look for you at fairs, parties… wherever there were large groups of hobbits together… but I never saw you. After a time, I stopped looking.” He looked down. “I thought once you left because,…” Then he shook his head, as if changing his mind about mentioning his thought.

A ghost of a smile passed over Mae’s face at that, but she did not dwell on it,…yet… “I wanted to tell you why then.” she answered. “But you would not have understood my reasons,… not until now.”

Now it was Frodo’s turn to eye her critically. Mae drew herself up and looked into the fire, as if taking strength from it to say what she must.

“It was soon after you had come to live here in Hobbiton, I was ill – I almost died,” Mae said. Frodo nodded, indicating he remembered it. “Something,…happened to me then.” she continued. “I started,…seeing things after that. Things that had not yet happened.” She looked directly at Frodo. “One of the first things I saw was you…. I saw you.” Now her eyes grew bright with the beginnings of tears. “I thought someone had told me a tale,… one of agony, of heartbreak and loss while I dreamed. But no one had. I saw what you would feel, what you would go through…” Now a few of the tears fell from her eyes. “It was not until I touched your hand next that I knew it was your future I beheld. Until that moment, it was no more than a story to me. A heartbreaking, touching story, but not real; not until I touched you.”

Frodo frowned. He remembered the incident. It was the first time he had noticed her. It was the first time he had felt the full power of her brilliant green eyes… He shook his head. That was a flame long dead, he reminded himself. “So you say you saw the things my future held?” His tone was highly skeptical. “And you didn’t run screaming from me?” It was a hollow, bitter jest.

“In the end, yes…” Mae whispered. “But at first I was drawn to you, like a moth to a flame. I saw only bits and pieces, shadows and feelings, but when I was with you, they were clearer and I could make out more meaning. I wanted to see if I could find something in those visions – something I could say or warn you about that might save you.” She shook her head. “All I saw was pain, and loss and heartbreak… In the end, it was more than I had the strength to bear.” She looked down at her hands.

Frodo looked at her grimly. He did not believe her, and was growing angry that she would dredge up feelings he had carefully closeted away. “If you knew these things,” he growled, “Why did you not tell me? Warn me? I find this tale of woe of yours just a little too fantastic to be believed. Especially told to me now,… now that the account of my adventures is well known. You will have to do better than this to curry my favor.” Frodo’s voice was becoming more bitter. He was rapidly coming to the end of his patience for her charade.

“Would you have believed me?” she countered. “Even now, after all that has happened you find it difficult. If I had said anything to you then, you would have dismissed me utterly. And I would never…” She stopped, drew a deep breath and sighed. “Do you remember the red lit room?” She saw Frodo stiffen. “Do you remember the taste of liquor being poured down your throat?” she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “You were so frightened, in such despair,…you were prepared to die, but you were not prepared for what they did to you…”

“STOP!” Frodo was visibly trembling. “Enough,….” he whispered hoarsely.

Mae turned to him and Frodo could see the tears flowing down her cheeks. He remembered, she cried a great deal… The anger he felt ebbed and he began to doubt himself. She nodded faintly. “That was not in any tale, was it? You never spoke of what they did to you, the orcs, in that dark tower? Not to anyone. How would I know of it, if I did not speak the truth?” She closed her eyes, squeezing more tears from them. “There was much more, all of it horrible, and that was torment to me… I loved you desperately…” Her voice rose to a sob. “…but I was too weak.”

Frodo stood. He was still trembling from the memories she had stirred, but the pain in her voice could not be denied. He knew that pain. He took a step towards her and wrapped his arms about her. She buried her face in his shoulder as the sobs wracked her body. “I believe you now…” he whispered in her ear as the sobs eased. “And I am sorry. You have had to live with these memories longer even than I have.”

Mae reached her arms around him and held him too. He was still slight and wiry but he felt frail to her, as he never had before. “After I left, I began to doubt myself. For many years I saw nothing of your fate and began to wonder if perhaps I had dreamt it all, but I had made a life for myself and there was no going back. Then, two years ago, I heard that you had come through Bree. I was wild with joy and desperate to meet you, but by the time I came to town you had gone. I had missed you.” Mae laid her head on his shoulder. “After that, we heard nothing for months, but then bits of tales began to filter in from the north. The rangers left and we were beset by ruffians and wolves. I don’t think most of the Bree-folk knew how those strange men had protected us.” She drew a deep breath in the perfume of his scent. It was changed too, but still brought back the memory of nights of bliss in his arms. “When you returned to Bree the next year, I could not get away and missed your coming then too. It was a hard year for a healer. After you left and your tale was being told, I heard much that had been in my visions. I think that was the first time I really, totally believed that what I had seen was real. And because of that, I realized at last the depths to which you had suffered.” She caressed his shoulder with her cheek.

Frodo raised a hand to her hair and stroked it gently, comfortingly. “Burdens are often eased when shared, they say. You have given me more peace than you imagine. I am glad you came.”

Mae suddenly stood back from him and looked deeply into his eyes. A hopeful smile was growing on her face. “I’ve brought someone with me.” she said gently. “I would like you to meet him.” She pulled him towards the door, but Frodo hesitated. The drama of her visit had been stressful enough. He did not feel he would have the stomach to meet the hobbit that she had ‘made a life with’. He did not feel he could bear it.

“Mae, please…” Frodo pulled his hand from hers. “I am not the same hobbit you once knew. You would do well to forget me and get on with your life.”

Mae’s bright smile faded and she looked at him with such compassion that Frodo almost felt embarrassed. She came back to him and laid a soft hand on his cheek. “You wait here then.” She said, and was gone out the door with such a flurry of energy that Frodo did not have a chance to stop her. He shook his head and sat back at his desk. He was tired. He had known seeing Mae again would be painful and taxing, but it had been more draining than he had imagined. She still held his heart, and that was something he had not anticipated. It would hurt him more than he could admit to see her look with love upon another, but he could see no course of action he could take but to bear it and greet the one she would bring.

He heard Rosie’s exclamation first. A gasp of shock followed by her excited voice speaking too rapidly and softly for Frodo to follow. He heard the swish of a cape in the smial and the soft pad of hobbit feet on the tiles. Now they were at the door of his study, Frodo could hear someone’s soft intake of breath. He sighed and looked up.

Standing in the doorway was a young hobbit in a blue cloak. Both Mae and Rosie stood behind and to either side of him. Mae beamed with pride and hope and Rosie looked flushed and excited. The younger hobbit was studying Frodo with wide green eyes the exact color of new leaves,… eyes that were the same color as Mae’s… and yet the face of the hobbit… Frodo’s own mouth fell open as he realized that the face of the stranger was as like to his own as if he were looking into a mirror. The boy took a step into the room, his eyes never leaving Frodo’s. He moved gracefully, lithely and seemed to possess a youthful energy that fairly crackled from his slight frame. Frodo slowly stood, much less gracefully than the boy, for the shock of this vision seemed to be robbing his legs of strength. The two of them stared at one another, each studying every detail of the other. Standing together as they were, it was impossible not to see the resemblance between them, and Mae, seeing the two hobbits she loved most in the world side by side wept openly, for joy this time.

Frodo held forth his hand to the boy. It was trembling. “Hello?” he croaked in greeting, his voice would not stay steady. The boy looked at the proffered hand and, as if suddenly realizing he was to grasp it, did so. His hand was trembling too, Frodo noticed.

“Elan.” The boy said, meaning that that was his name. Frodo slowly smiled and the sight of that smile brought an answering one to Elan’s face. Behind them, Rosie choked back a sob of her own. She and Mae were in tears, but they both beamed in delight.

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At the kitchen table of New End, the four of them became acquainted, or reacquainted as the case might be. Frodo had found new energy or so it seemed for he could not keep his eyes from the young hobbit. He sat; listening intently to every word that the boy uttered and Elan was flushed and proud to be held so high in the esteem of his father. He had not known what to expect from the journey, but it was turning out to be far better that anything he had imagined. As Rosie laid out a large supper, Frodo reached under the table and squeezed Mae’s hand. Mae gazed back at him, lovingly and proud. Frodo had seen that look before, on Sam’s face, and Rosie’s, and on Merry’s and Pippin’s when they were in a particularly sentimental mood (or when the ale had been particularly free flowing). Those who knew and loved him gave him that look. Now there was another who loved him, and she had brought with her a gift the likes of which he had never dared dream.

As Frodo watched the bright, energetic boy, he noted every detail. His hands were long fingered and slender, but they had known labor more than books. His clothes, though not ragged, were well worn and patched. Mae had not done as well as she had claimed, it seemed. He wondered what she had had to deal with these long years raising the boy herself and that pained him to think on all that he had missed, all he had lost. He turned and looked at Mae who was now laughing gaily and realized that even if he could have gone back and lived his life over, he would never have valued this hobbit lady then as he did now. He would never have valued this child,…his child, he corrected himself, as much as he did now. With Sam and Rosie to care for him and to carry on as his heirs, he had thought his life complete but until he had set eyes on this boy, he had not realized how much he missed having a child of his own. After all such options had seemed long past and he had given up on any idea of a family one had been given to him.

Supper went long into the night and then pipes by the hearth. Mae hovered close by Frodo’s side as he and Elan talked. Rosie was warmed to see how well he had taken to the mother and son. It had only been a couple of weeks since she and Sam had told him they were expecting a child, and though he had been delighted, the sad thought had crossed Rosie’s mind that Frodo would never know such joy himself. She was happy to see herself wrong in that. Mae was content, as father and son talked, just to hear the sound of their happy speech, but after a time she noticed Frodo quieting. She reached for his hand and held it in hers. His slim fingers wrapped around her palm in a quick and quiet thanks. She smiled. This was all she had needed. To see him happy made her feel as if her life was fulfilled.

It wasn’t long after that that Mae felt Frodo’s fingers slacken and his grip on her hand fell gently away. She looked at him, alarmed, but saw that he had merely fallen asleep in the chair. Elan noticed it also and stopped in his tale. He looked worriedly at Rosie.

“Will he be alright?” he asked, frowning in concern. Rosie nodded.

“He hasn’t fallen asleep by the fire for a while, but it’s happened. My Sam usually helps me get him off to bed, or if it’s just me, I let him set by the fire. He’s just tired himself out, that’s all.”

With Elan there, they lifted Frodo’s sleeping form and his son carried him gently to his rooms. Rosie and Mae turned down the bed and the boy laid him in it. Frodo sighed softly in his sleep and settled his dark head into the white pillows. Rosie guided them out of the room, but Mae spared one worried glance back. He was younger than she was, by a couple of years, and yet she did not feel nearly as old as he seemed to be. She had not thought how the trials of his plight would have worn on his body and aged him before his time, but now the concept gnawed at her.

“You’re staying here,” Rosie was saying. “I’ll hear no argument. My Sam’s due back in a day or so and he would be heartbroken not seeing you.” This last comment she directed mainly to Elan, and the boy smiled brightly. Rosie put a hand to her throat upon seeing that smile and then shook her head. “Glory, it’s like seeing Mr. Frodo new again! Sam will be so happy you’ve come.” Rosie led them down past Frodo’s rooms to a lesser-used section of New End. There truly was room enough for all in the large, cozy burrow. She put them in two rooms with windows that faced the east, and which, probably for that reason alone, were not much used. Hobbits generally slept past sunrise if they could help it. After settling them in, Rosie took leave of her guests and retired.

Mae found she could not sleep. Though the bed was rich and comfortable and she could hear her son breathing softly in the next room, her mind was not at ease. She rose and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. On silent feet, she walked back up the passage till she found the door behind which they had left Frodo sleeping. She slipped inside. It was dark in the room with only a touch of starlight from the window to illuminate it. She held hands outstretched and walked towards the bed. There. She could feel the coverlet beneath her hand. She felt her way along it till she touched his hand. He was sleeping peacefully. She had not disturbed him. To the side of his bed there was a large padded chair into which she now sank, and there, in the dimly lit room, by Frodo’s bedside, she at last found she could sleep.

Morning came. Frodo found that these days, he woke earlier than he had used to. He stretched and had almost settled back into sleep when the events of the day before leapt back into his thought. His eyes snapped open and he frowned, wondering if perhaps it had all been a dream. He sat up and saw that there, curled up asleep in the chair beside his bed, was Mae. Frodo’s heart leapt. It had not been a dream. He slid from the bed and knelt beside the chair. Even at middle age, she was lovely, though in the peace of sleep he could see the fine lines that age had started to etch there. But it was not her loveliness that drew him now. This was the mother of his son. The only child he would ever have and as fine a boy as any father could ever wish for. She had done this on her own, forsaken her honor, her security and the life she might have known,…for him – and he had known nothing of it. He touched her cheek in a gentle caress that opened her eyes. Mae drew a sharp breath upon seeing him so close, but it was the look on his face that melted her heart. Even in their happiest days, he had never looked upon her with a look of such pure and utter love. She dared not move for fear of loosing this most fragile moment. Then Frodo leaned forward and kissed her and Mae knew that she had not.

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“Oh…you are trembling!” Frodo sat back, alarmed. “Is there something wrong, Mae?” His voice was tender and concerned, soft and with a tone of warmth and compassion she had never heard from him before. She was shivering; it was a reaction to his nearness that she hadn’t anticipated. Frodo eyes grew wide as a thought occurred to him that hadn’t before. “I didn’t think,…you are married, aren’t you?”

Mae quickly shook her head, a nervous, apologetic smile crossing her lips. “No, I never married…” she shrugged. “I guess I never found the time to…” Then, pausing, she added in a surer tone. “And if I had, I would not be here in your rooms.” Frodo laughed, his soft voice growing husky.

“I never got around to it myself.” he said. Then he shook his head, a bit puzzled. “If you aren’t married, and you have come to my rooms of your own accord, why are you trembling?” He reached up to her face, guiding her to look him in the eye. Her expression brought him up short; it was one of shame and desperation. She looked as if, at that moment, she wished to be anywhere but in this room, and at the same time the hunger he saw there was undeniable. It finally began to dawn on Frodo what might be the matter. “Mae,” he asked softly. “How long has it been since you have been taken abed?”

Mae blushed, instantly crimson, but she forced her eyes to meet his, though she trembled as she did so. “Twenty seven years…” she replied in a whisper. Then she had to look away, for the expression on his face made her blush deepen.

Frodo sat back on his heels and felt a warmth spreading through him. He had thought he could not feel more love for this dear hobbit than he already did, but the surge of emotion he now felt belied that. He had known loneliness too, although for him, among the company of friends and family, it must have been easier to bear than what this dear lady had suffered. He smiled; he could not help it. It was a broad, knowing, loving smile that bathed her in its light. “Well,” his voice was very husky. “I know now what I must do.” He stood and went to the door. Mae’s tenseness began to ease, thinking her peril over, but when she heard the sound of a bolt being drawn across the door, she looked up. Frodo was standing by it looking down at her. The smile had not left his face, though his eyes were bright and his manner was decidedly more determined than before. Mae’s heart leapt back into her throat.

“It’s alright, Frodo. To be here is all I wished…” Mae began, her blood pounding in her ears. “I would not ask more of you…” She plastered herself against the chair’s back. If she could have disappeared into it’s padding, she would have. Frodo stooped and took her shaking hands in his.

“You have asked nothing, but I see there is something you need… And, perhaps I need it too. I have not been so chaste as you, but it has been a very long time for me as well.” He chuckled. “We forget, sometimes, to stop and taste the sweetness of life once in a while.”

“But,…” Mae sputtered, looking for all the world like she wished to escape. “…But, we… we never married! I could not presume now….” Her voice trailed off at Frodo’s raised eyebrow that seemed to say, as clearly as if he had spoken the words ‘that didn’t stop us before’. But instead of saying it, he held her hand close and spoke as soothingly as he was able.

“Mae, hear me. You have known me, you have borne me a child, you have kept yourself from every other hobbit for far longer than I would have expected…” He brought her hand to his breast as if to make a vow. “If those are not the actions of a wife, I do not know what they could be called. You are more wife to me than any other….” The mischievous glint returned to his eye and he chuckled. “And I have neglected my husbandly duties for far too long,…” He pulled her to her feet. She was as tense as a bowstring, but stood without flinching by sheer force of will. Frodo laid a gentle hand against her neck and pushed her hair back to expose the white skin. There he placed a gentle kiss. Mae quivered and drew in a breath sharply, but did not falter. Frodo smiled in admiration and began a series of long, slow, circular kisses along her neck. Mae closed her eyes and let out a soft sigh. Much of the stiffness left her as she leaned into his lips.

This was what she had needed, though she had not consciously known it when she had come to his room. She had only known that she needed to be near to him, know he was there, but as she felt tendrils of his curls against her cheek and smelled the musky, spicy scent of him she knew that this touch was what she had really craved. Her desire had been so long denied. She had thought herself long past heeding this song of flesh, but the force of her response made it impossible for her to refuse him. It was an animal hunger and it terrified her, but that terror was unbearably sweet.

Frodo saw Mae’s eye’s half close and felt her relax under his lips. It filled him with delight to be able to please her so; delight and an answering desire of his own. He found her mouth again and kissed her deeply, and, wrapping his arms about her, he held her tight. Mae could not help but feel the hard swelling that had begun to grow on him. Her knees threatened to give way, but Frodo held her up. Her head swam and she whimpered softly. It was too much for her to bear! Frodo released her from his kiss and held back a moment. Slowly… He needed calm himself. She was breathing heavily and trembling in his embrace – although at this point, he doubted it was from fear. Frodo willed himself to relax. After so long, he wanted both of them to savor this. He ran a hand up her back, appreciating the feel of her warm body through the thin gown. She opened her eyes fully and stared at him, breathless.

“Oh, please…” she moaned, her voice aching and Frodo had no power to refuse her. He began to undo the laces of her gown with infinite care and gentleness. Mae found the strength to stand and closed her eyes again to steady herself. Frodo spread the gown open and pulled it slowly from her shoulders. It fell to the floor to become a dusky white mass at her feet. Mae drew a trembling breath, suddenly vulnerable and opened her eyes.

Frodo stood before her. His eyes glittered; the graceful arches of his lips were ruddy from the kisses and a flush of pink lay across his cheeks. His breath came just a little bit fast, as if from excitement or exertion. Mae found her hands moving, almost of their own accord. They had placed Frodo in his bed that night in his evening gown. He still wore the clothes that he had under it. Mae’s hands shook as she loosened the gown’s belt and let it fall. The simple cotton shirt beneath was wrinkled but warm to her touch. Slowly, and focusing all her thought to just this task, she began undoing the buttons. Frodo looked down upon her, admiring her intense control as she attended to each fastening. He felt a bit giddy himself as she proceeded down to the front of his trousers. Before she could get the other side of the panel undone, the trembling in her hands forced her to stop. She blew out a breath and clenched her fists. The feel of him, hard beneath the wool cloth, made it impossible for her to concentrate and without concentration, she knew she would soon loose all control. Frodo shrugged out of the shirt and dressing gown, letting them fall to the floor, and then, casually, undid the last button on his trousers. Mae suddenly realized her eyes had been transfixed on that coarse wool and as he made to pull the pants down, she looked quickly away, embarrassed. If her face hadn’t already been scarlet, she would have blushed anew.

Frodo slid out of the brown wool and almost chuckled at her blatant attempts not to look at him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and, kissing her again, backed her towards his bed. Mae closed her eyes and stumbled against him. There was nowhere for her to go. Frodo lifted her gently and laid her back on the pillow. He was ready for her; she could feel him brush against her thigh. Her body tensed once again as she waited, but Frodo was patient. To her surprise he began gently smoothing her skin with his fingertips. Mae’s eyes were closed so she could not see him but she could feel him climb onto the bed and could sense the heat of his nearness. As he began touching her, gently, here and there across her body, she kept her eyes closed tight. She did not know where his feather touch would alight next. Then a feather kiss, soft and inviting, was on her breast. She drew in a startled breath and heard Frodo’s husky laugh. He was enjoying this.

“I missed you.” he sighed. “More than I ever thought I would. I won’t make the mistake of letting you go again.” He touched her face and guided her to look at him. She did and was startled by the nearness of the astonishingly blue eyes. She could loose herself in those depths forever. Holding her with that stare, he put his hand in the small of her back and lifted her up just slightly. Then, settling his hips between her thighs and forcing them wide, he pushed gently into her. She felt even the slightest movement he made. Her body was so sensitive it was as if she were on fire. Accepting him almost overwhelmed her but she could not look away. He drank in the sight of her eyes widening as he drove deeply in. She was to him, at that moment, the loveliest creature he had ever seen. He knew he would remember this one vision of her as long as he lived.

Mae felt more than heard Frodo’s deep groan of pleasure and at last she was released from his gaze. She could no longer think, only feel and the sensations were carrying her on rolling waves of intense pleasure. She moved with him, becoming one without a moment’s awkwardness or hesitation. It was as if she had been created only for this moment in time. Frodo controlled her. It was he who moved them both. He was no longer the eager, clumsy boy she had known but a skilled and ardent lover and he was rapidly taking her to heights she had never even dreamed of. How he could sense the moment just as she was about to be swept away, she could not tell, but he brought her right to the edge of it again and again. It was not until she felt she absolutely could not stand it another instant that he finally let her go. She rolled back on the wave as all conscious thought was overwhelmed.

Warmth and delight. Mae began to feel her surroundings again and she smiled from the exquisite pleasure. She was still in this moment and Frodo was still within her. Now, it was time for his pleasure. She could see him straining to control himself; the stress of the effort bringing beads of sweat to his brow. She arched her back and drove her hips up hard against his. He had not expected it. She saw him gasp, his eyes closed tight and he began to tremble. Now it was Mae’s turn to control him. She brought her thighs up against his sides and rubbed his smooth skin. There was the scar of the whip. She could feel the interruption of it along his ribs. She wrapped her legs about him and drew him into her. Frodo’s face contorted, she could see the tendons tighten in his forearms. Now he quickened. With each driving thrust of his hips a deep, guttural groan escaped him. It reverberated through them both and Mae felt her own rush hastening again in response to him. His whole body tightened and his face froze in a semblance of sweet pain. Mae felt him tense within her body and the delightful sensation set her off again. His hands clutched convulsively into the coverlet beside her shoulders and the tight muscles of his stomach slammed against hers again and again. Control was impossible now, and Frodo didn’t even try. He forgot gentle, forgot slow and let the wildness take him, knowing no power in the world could have stopped it anyway. His own culmination rocked Frodo. It had been far, far too long since he had felt this delicious sensation. His heartfelt, throaty moan thrilled Mae with the satisfaction it proclaimed. Finally he dropped against her, breathing heavily, and sighed. Mae held onto him, feeling the tremors that still shook his body. At last. It was what they both had needed.

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Passing by in the smial, Rosie was surprised to see the door of Frodo’s room still shut. He had usually arisen by this time of day. She frowned. Considering the circumstances of the night before, she wondered if, indeed, something was wrong. He had been ill, very ill, only weeks before, and yet he had tried to hide it from them. Perhaps the stresses of meeting his son and the child’s mother had been too much? She had almost touched the doorknob when a sound from the room stopped her. It was a moan of pleasure from a decidedly male voice. Rosie quickly took her hand away and felt her cheeks flush in embarrassment. Then, as quick as the blush had come, a broad smile grew in its place as she began to understand. Mae! She thought. She could have hugged the older hobbit right there. Mr. Frodo would be quite all right after all.

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“Frodo?” Mae whispered softly. She felt the muscles of his face against her cheek and knew that he smiled. His dusky curls tickled her nose. The sweat of their exertions was drying everywhere except where their bodies touched. She ran a hand slowly over his back causing goose bumps to rise where she touched him.

“Hmmm?” he murmured sounding quite pleased with himself.

“Do you think we should get up? The others, Elan and Rosie, they will be waking soon. They’ll wonder what has become of us?”

It felt as if Frodo smiled again. He wrapped his arms around her naked body protectively.

“Who says I am finished?…”

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“You will, of course, move back.” Frodo sipped his tea as he and Mae sat in the kitchen watching the sun creeping along the window sill. “There is room enough for all of us here, and I would love to show Elan about the Shire. I fancy he would enjoy walking these hills as much as I once did.”

Mae forced her smile, but her eyes reflected a troubled heart. “He’s a hobbit lad nearly fully grown. Perhaps you should ask what is his heart’s desire?” She looked down into her tea. “It may be he already has a life he wishes to live.” Frodo noted the tone and looked at her closely. He reached across the table and touched her chin so that she would look up at him.

“What is it, Mae…? There is something. I just want to help you, take care of you, see that you are provided for, after all you have done for me.

She shook her head. “I didn’t come here to ask for anything. I came to make peace and ease both our troubled hearts. Elan and I deserve nothing from you.”

“But I want you to stay with me.” Frodo whispered taking her hand. “I want us to be together, I want to see my son…” He could see the pain in her face, the terrible struggle that swelled within her.

She brought his hand to her lips, kissed it gently and began to stroke the long fingers. Her face grew sadder as she sat, and when she spoke, her lip trembled. “You forget, Frodo. I am a healer and I have known your body. You may be able to hide the truth from the others, but I know….” She sighed tearfully. “How long would you be able to hide your illness from your friends? From your son?”

Frodo was silent. Though he stared at Mae he did not seem to see to see her for a long time. Finally, a long, low sigh escaped him and he looked down, resigned. “They don’t know.” he whispered in a small voice. “Sam should, but I don’t suppose he wants to see it. Why should I say anything? It would only cause him pain.”

“Yes….” Mae’s softly ragged whisper tore at Frodo’s heart. “If he knew, as I do, it would cause him great pain.” Her lip trembled more as she forced herself to speak. “I know I am being selfish. I know I am weak, but please,…” She looked into his eyes, pleading. “Don’t ask me to watch you die. I could not bear it!” She hugged the hand she still held to her cheek and Frodo felt her tears on his palm. It was an image he remembered from a world away, when she had first held his hand and cried into it. How could he let her go again? After all he had been through and given up, how could he relinquish someone who had brought him such joy? But,… what right did he have to ask her to stay? She was right, of course. He knew his time was growing short. He remembered the words of Elrond and knew that in the fall of the next year he would leave Middle Earth forever. It was not death, but to her and all those he loved, it would seem like it. His time was over. He had to think of those he would leave behind.

“You had strength enough to bear a child for me, Mae Burrows. I think you are stronger than you realize. But I will not ask you to stay if it would hurt you. I love you too much to do that.” She squeezed her eyes tight together and hugged his hand. “But,” he continued. “You must let me do something for you. Sam is my heir…” She opened her eyes and looked as if she was going to speak, but Frodo silenced her firmly. “Sam IS my heir,” he repeated, “for what he has gone through for me and for the great love we bear each other, he will always be. But for my son…” Frodo smiled and lingered on the word as if savoring it. “…my son. I wish to help provide for him.”

“We need nothing!” Mae assured him, but Frodo silenced her with a sudden, angry look. He would not be denied. Mae saw now the ember of his spirit surging into flame; indomitable, powerful.

“I have some funds that are mine to do with as I will. New End I will leave to Sam and Rosie and their heirs. It is theirs by right and I doubt Elan would be happy so far from the lands of his birth. I will leave him instead a cache of gold that was given to me by King Elessar. I have no need of it. I will also provide him a letter acknowledging him as my son, though none who knew me could deny that he was.” He looked into her eyes and now it was Mae’s turn to feel the power of his brilliant blue gaze. It always had taken her breath away, but now the might behind it stunned her. “You may ask nothing of me, but I will need much from you. You must swear an oath to me.”

Numbly she nodded. She could not have refused him. “By my life, I will,” she said. Frodo nodded and continued, holding her firmly with his gaze.

“No, not by your life… For I want you to swear that you will live. Swear to me you will live a long and fruitful life. Swear to me you will stay by the side of my son. Swear to me that you will do everything in your power to keep him safe and whole and happy, that he will live long, love and be loved. Swear to me, my dearest love, that he will have the life that was denied me.”

Mae gazed at him in wonder as her tears fell. “I swear…”

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For a fortnight Mae and Elan stayed with Frodo, Sam and Rosie. They were the most blissful days Mae had ever spent in her life. In their youth, she and Frodo had had only stolen moments. Now, though they had but a handful of days together, they lived every moment to the fullest. When Sam returned, Frodo sent Elan out to greet him and poor Sam had almost fainted away at the sight of the boy! It had taken many strong ale’s and the comfort of his good wife before Sam felt strong enough to take Elan’s hand. As October passed and November’s chill came, Mae knew it was time she should be going. When she was with Frodo it taxed his strength, but he would not take his ease. She truly feared she would be the early death of him. Finally, on a rainy November afternoon, she told him she would go with the morning. She gave him a gift, a small braided circle of her and Elan’s hair. It fit around Frodo’s forearm like a bracer. He wore it ever after, and it was one of the few possessions he brought with him to the Lonely Isle. Elan promised to return as often as he was able and he wept openly at the parting. In the short time they had been together, father and son had learned to love each other deeply. Frodo wept too, but the knowledge that Elan would live after him, be happy and grow old in Middle Earth was great comfort to him.

Then, at last, Mae came to him and Frodo held her long in his arms. He smoothed her hair, wiped her tears away and shushed her. “Easy, my lady, I am comforted. My work is done, but yours is just beginning. You have promises to keep and a long road ahead of you.”

The End