“Come along, we don’t have all day. This isn’t a walking party.” Said Frodo, as he strode purposefully onward.

“Nonsense! It is so a walking party,” replied Linwe, from where she was still stooped as she picked daisy and Lilly of the Valley blossoms, then deftly entwined into fine rope. Frodo turned back to watch her. In a few minutes his wife had decked herself in crown, bracelets and necklace, all made of flowers. Even her ankles wore flower garlands. When her “jewels” were arranged to her satisfaction, she started to prance off down the path, past Frodo and beyond. Leaving him to stand and watch as her small, pale feet danced with the dappled sunlight and shadow.

They were travelling to Tuckborough. It had been her idea. She had suddenly become quite taken with the idea of travelling on foot and camping for the night. Frodo had some misgivings about taking on such a venture with her, she had never camped out before, after all. However he had no sure arguments against the idea, so as was usually the case, Linwe’s whim won out over his concerns. She had even insisted that they bring as little as possible for “authenticity” she had said. So they had set off. Frodo carrying their only pack (at his insistence) containing a bit of food and cooking gear, a couple of blankets, and Sam’s fire kit. Linwe only carried a water pouch, that was all Frodo would permit her. They were only to be out for one night so they did not require much. And besides Linwe had been adding to their stores from what she found growing wild in the late June weather.

They were now walking next to a stream where the bright sunlight glittered and shimmered on the water’s surface. Frodo continued to walk a short distance behind Linwe. The sound of her humming came drifting back toward him. It was a light and happy sound. He admired the way her light blue dress fitted her somewhat slight form. The cut of the dress was common to that of the gowns of the Elven ladies and the women of Rohan and Gondor. On their taller forms, the gown that flowed fluidly from the hips, gave the wearer a long, elegant appearance. On Linwe, the same style, modified to her smaller stature and taste (she wore her skirts to just below her knees or to mid-calf) had a very different, though to Frodo’s mind, more charming appearance. It moved about her in a way that made Frodo think of water in a brook that danced and giggled as it flowed over and through rocks and stones.

As he watched her a breeze came up, pulling at the hem of her dress and lifting old leaves from the ground to swirl them about. Linwe raised her arms up to either side of her as though to let them glide on the moving air. Frodo stopped and watched as she then she turned about and started to dance with the wind as her partner. The loose curls of her hair, that she refused to bind in braids or buns, danced much as the leaves did. When she turned he saw her eyes were closed and her face turned up to be touched by the sun as she moved about with a dreamy smile on her face.

As he watched this dance of his wife and the wind he found himself longing to be a part of it. Unbidden, his mind conjured up thoughts of what it would feel like to dance with her and have the light fabric of her dress brush against the bare skin of his legs. With a slight start he wondered at why his own legs would be bare. His thoughts answered. Because he himself would be nude. A more modest part of him was rather shocked by the idea, but another stronger part leaped on the idea, understanding that for him the only way to really share in the dance of his wife and the wind was by being free of his clothing that could not move with the wind as hers did.

Mesmerized by the movement before him Frodo absently removed waistcoat, shirt and breeches. As each article of clothing he felt his spirit lift with the caress of the wind. Once free of all restrictive fabric he closed his eyes and savored the feel of moving air touching him in places it rarely did. He lifted his arms to let them ride the breeze on either side of him and started to feel himself move as Linwe did. Unaware he moved towards her. His arm brushed against hers. Her hand caught his as it glided past. He felt her move near to him. The curve of her backside pressing against his front. Her hands found each of his and moved his arms to share in her dance with the wind. He felt the light flirting touch of the hem of her skirt against the bare skin of his legs. In that moment he understood that the wind was a part of her meant to surround him in her caressing femininity.

In that moment he felt free. The wind and his wife seeming to have carried away his inhibitions. All that was wanted in that moment was to let the moment happen. To dance with the abandon of a child fresh bathed, running naked through a garden, having escaped its mother. He knew this abandon well for it is what he had done as a child. He remembered slipping away from his mother before she could dress him, to dash outdoors and caper about in the warm, evening air.

The wind shifted Linwe’s hair to one side, exposing the tender flesh of her neck in silent invitation. Frodo accepted. As his lips grazed her skin, the summer fragrance that always wafted about her, even on the coldest winter day, filled his nose. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. As he tenderly savored this small taste of her, he felt a hunger within him grow. He gently pulled his right hand from her’s then let his finger tips glide along her arm. Even the remains of his maimed finger tingled as it moved over first her skin then the delicate fabric of her dress. Slowly his hand moved the length of her outstretched arm, to her shoulder then down the side of her body, barely touching the curve of her breast, then snaked around her waist. His other traced its way along her other arm in the same way as the first. With both his arms about her he pulled her nearer still. She let her body relax back against his. Her arms gracefully falling to either side until her palms rested gently upon his thighs. A heavy sigh escaped his lips then he started kiss her firmly up and down her neck and nipping on the silky lobe of her ear. She moaned softly. He felt heat surging up in his nether region.

With kisses and caresses he explored her body. His malehood grew firm and he instinctively pressed it against her seeking her warmth. In time he became mildly distracted as he became aware that she was still dressed. He wanted that fabric to be gone. He wanted to feel his naked body pressed to her naked body. With one hand he started to pull up the skirt of her dress until it rested on the thin silk fabric of her loose fitting under drawers. He felt the fabric catch and flutter in the breeze as though it might flutter off with the leaves. Carefully his hand moved to the front of her waist until it found one end of a tied silken cord. He slowly pulled on it then felt the gentle whisper of her underclothes fall to the ground. He felt an urge to touch her intimately. He even let his hand brush across the protective hair of that most private part of her. Then he resolutely pulled his hand upwards as his other hand moved into place beneath her upraised skirt, then together both of his hands slid upwards taking her dress along with them. Frodo pulled back long enough to push the dress up over her body and up stretched arms, until it was free of her body and fluttered softly to the ground. Frodo took one lingering look at the naked form before him. Somehow her garlands of flowers had remained. Sunlight and shade danced across her body accentuating each lovely curve. Frodo found himself wondering if he had, in fact, married one of the fairy folk. Perhaps a child of the spirit of summer for she was in form of the folk described in myth and legend rather the buxom hearty form common to hobbits. For certain she was a dream like vision that he felt he must reach out for before she disappeared. He pulled her back into place before him.

Skin to skin he felt at once both at peace and exhilarated. His malehood rested in the cleft of her backside. Delighting in the feel of her warm soft skin rubbing against him like a whispered hint of pleasures to come. His hands slid over the front of her as he slowly and rhythmically pushed his hips against her from behind. He could feel her breathing had become as heavy as his own. His left hand reached up to caress and knead one breast while his right slid down to the warmth between her legs. He felt his own delicious desire increase as her pleasure grew. His fingers explored silken folds until they came to a pebble hard center and pressed firmly. He heard his name sigh past her lips. He whispered hers into her ear.

His hands continued their ministrations both upwards and downwards. Her sighs turned to moans with growing intensity. Frodo’s need for her grew her. Deep felt love fueled fiery passion. When he could bear it no more he turned her to face him. He pulled her close. His maleness probed where his finger tips had recently been. His mouth sought hers to savor a long, deep kiss filled with emotion. The warm summer breeze continued to move about them as Frodo carefully lowered Linwe to the mossy ground. He moved his lips across her skin in imitation of the moving air that moved across each graceful curve of her body. He tasted as he touched, his tongue leaving small wet marks that chilled against her skin. Linwe’s back arched upwards.

Linwe started to make her own explorations of his body. Her hands slid lightly over his skin, making him shiver. The petals of the flowers she wore grazed him with their own feathery touch. He stilled himself allowing her lips, hands and flowers to go where they wished, unimpeded by him. His face, his chest, his arms, his hands to the tips of his toes, no part of him was left untouched. Some touches tickled and he laughed in his arousal. Other touches left him feeling dizzy with pleasure.

Unable to resist any longer he reached out to touch her as she was touching him. Her response was instant and completely uninhibited. Once more she uttered her name. Her voice vibrating with the multitude of emotions coursing through her. His own physical and emotional yearning for her surged still higher. He rose up over her and sought out that which he had refrained from entering before now.

Oneness

Oneness of body as he slid forward and he felt her flow up and around him.

Oneness of mind as they moved together.

She cried his name and the sound was both primal and tender. With the single cry of his name she expressed all she was feeling. All of the love, passion and joy. He understood the full meaning of that single cry and he answered. With all of the love, all of the passion, all of the joy, he felt at that moment, he cried her name.