[Warning: purple prose alert. Yeah, there's a sex scene in this chapter (it's time to divest Frodo of some innocence, woo-hoo!), and it's written like a romance novel, gentle euphemisms and all. I personally don't find hard-core terms sexy, or appropriate for this setting.
Obligatory disclaimer: I don't own these characters, they belong to the Tolkien estate, New Line Cinema, yada, yada, yada. If I could own Frodo, I would, though ;) Oh yes. He'd be my precious :)]
When the day came, I told myself that he surely wouldn't come, would have better things to do. But on the afternoon in question, I picked my way through the underbrush approaching the stream, and found Frodo sitting under a tree, engrossed in a book.
"Mr. Baggins," I said, my voice revealing my pleasure at seeing him. "I hope you haven't been waiting long."
He jumped to his feet. "Frodo," he said. I blinked in confusion. "Call me Frodo," he continued, "and no, I haven't been waiting long, and even if I had, it wouldn't matter. It's a gorgeous day, perfect for reading in such beautiful environs."
"May I?" I asked, holding out my hands. He placed the book carefully in them, and I opened it to the title page. "Lay of the Children of Hurin," I read aloud.
"I thought I might read some of it to you, while you worked," he offered.
I laughed in delight. "That's very thoughtful of you, and I should love to have you do so." I handed the book back to him, and our fingers touched momentarily, sending a frisson of pleasure through me. I pulled my shaking hand away, and busied myself with rummaging through my carry sack. Why did he affect me so? And could he see it?
Not meeting his eyes, I began to walk carefully along the streambank, until I found a thick growth of water plantains. I knelt, spreading my skirts about me, and Frodo flopped down before an adjacent tree. He raised his brows questioningly, and at my nod, began to read.
The afternoon wore on, and I found myself gathering far more plantains than I needed, drifting in the pleasure of hearing his cultured voice recounting the tale of Túrin and Beleg. I finally shook myself, and brushed my hands together, wiping off smudges of dirt and bits of green from my fingers.
"Had enough?" he said, looking up at me from where he lay, propped against the root of the nearby tree.
"Yes, I'd better get these back home, and stored properly. I enjoyed this; thank you, Mr. Bag-, I mean, Frodo," I finished hastily.
He grinned at me, and then raising his eyebrows, asked, "Will I see you soon, Lily?"
I felt my knees go weak to hear him speak my name, but covered it well, brushing my hair back from my cheeks, and looking up towards the blazing sun as if to gauge its heat against my face. Mentally shuffling through what herbs and flowers needed to be gathered at this time of year and were available nearby, I told him where I would be in two days, and we parted ways.
Thus began a soon cherished tradition, in which we would meet in the afternoon and I would harvest what I needed, while he read or told tales, and even on rare occasions, sang. We grew comfortable with each other, discussing all manner of things, wondering about the world outside the Shire and the people inhabiting it. I learned a great deal about Frodo's friends and studies with Bilbo, and he in turn, would ask questions about my collecting and medicinal practices. I had never met a young Hobbit so knowledgeable in so many things, and interested in hearing my own thoughts on matters, uninformed as they might be.
One warm, sunny afternoon, I was clipping the yellow flowers of a patch of goatweed, my cutting shears happily snipping through the tender stalks. Frodo lay on his stomach nearby, feet dangling in the air, plucking pieces of grass absently and arranging them in piles and patterns before him. We were on the edge of a sunny meadow, in the shade of a spreading oak tree near the pleasant stream that ran through these woods.
"What made you decide to become a healer?" he asked.
I swatted at a gnat that kept hovering near my face, and replied, "I went to live with my Aunt Camellia at a very early age, and she taught me all about it. Eventually, it just made sense that I should continue on with it, especially after she died."
"You lived with your aunt?" he sounded surprised to hear that I had had a similar upbringing to his.
"Yes." I was silent for a moment, reflecting on the past. "My parents had many children, too many, and to make space in our home, I was sent to Aunt Camellia's for most of my childhood." This was a common arrangement among large Hobbit families that had outlying family members, and one family could have several cousins living together in one burrow.
"I'd have liked to have had some brothers or sisters," he said a little sadly. "Do you see your family very often?"
"I see some of my brothers and sisters quite a bit. Many of them live nearby."
"And your parents?"
I stilled briefly. "They live in Michel Delving, and I don't have much chance of getting over there."
Frodo glanced sidelong at me, and then picked at a piece of clover before him. "What's the real reason you don't see them?" I stiffened, and he apologized immediately. "That was impertinent, wasn't it?"
"Yes." I stared at the flowers before me, unseeing. "Truth be told, we had a bit of a falling out years ago. When I was in my late tweens, they decided that my aunt was a bad influence on me, and brought me back home. I wasnot happy about that."
"Oh."
"And then I got married, too early in life, to be honest, to a man that they thought wasn't suitable for me, and that made the gap between us even wider. That breach between us has never fully healed, I'm afraid." I picked up my shears again, and began cutting more goatweed heads.
"What was your husband like?" Frodo asked curiously.
I paused, thinking back to what seemed like another life. "Kind. Quiet. Hard-working. He was a farmer, a good twenty-five years older than me, and I think I must have seemed very youthful and silly to him at times."
"Did you love him?"
I glanced reprovingly over at him. "Now that was an impertinent question, don't you think?"
"Yes." He cocked an eyebrow at me. "Are you going to answer it?"
I huffed out a deep breath, and turned away. The silence stretched between us, until finally I said, "Yes, I loved him. He was a kind Hobbit, that gave me a comfortable home, and a pleasant life, as far as he was able."
Frodo rolled onto his knees. "And that's it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, it's just" he paused, and flushed under my questioning gaze. "You deserve so much more."
I shook my head, and looked away. "Part of being an adult is learning that dreams and reality rarely mix. I put any girlish fantasies away the day I left home for good."
I could sense him looking at me sadly. "What happened, I wonder," he said softly, "to make you content with so little?"
"I never said I was content," I whispered fiercely, staring at the stream in the near distance, feeling my eyes itching with unwanted tears.
We sat in silence for what seemed an eternity, until he cleared his throat. "Do you know what I think?" He leaned forward until he was quite near, and I looked over at him in surprise. "I think you need a little more fun and laughter." He snatched the shears from the blanket beside me, eyes dancing merrily. "And a lot less work." Raising his brows in challenge, he jumped to his feet, and dashed away.
"Hey!" I cried in surprise. "Give those back," and raced after him. Frodo led me on a mad chase through the meadow, laughing the whole while in that high-pitched chortle of his, while I ran breathlessly after him. He dashed into the midst of some trees on the far edge, and I caught up with him as he tried to dodge behind a large birch. He chuckled, and held the scissors above my head, while I tried to grab them, muttering mock-deprecations under my breath and laughing in turn. I finally grasped his wrist, and pulling his arm down, plucked the shears from his grasp.
"Oh-ho," he teased, "you think you're clever now." Still laughing, he suddenly seized me by the upper arms, and swung me about, capturing me against the tree. We both froze as our bodies suddenly came in contact, and my breath caught, no longer in laughter, but in surprise at the sudden rush of pleasure running through my veins.
Frodo looked down at me, his gaze open and full of feeling, and then moved his head forward, bringing his lips gently against mine while his eyes fluttered shut. His kiss was soft at first, shy and uncertain, ready to pull back immediately should I protest, but almost instantly, it was as if a fire leapt between us, and we pressed tightly against each other with a gasp. The shears fell forgotten from my fingers as my arms raised as if of their own volition, to tangle in his long dark hair, while he kissed me deeply, longingly.
I wrenched myself away suddenly, and raised a shaking hand to my lips, still breathing heavily. "We shouldn't be doing this," I whispered urgently.
"Why?"
I blinked at him in surprise. "WellI'm ten years older than you!"
"And?"
"Wouldn't you rather be spending time with girls closer to your age?" I asked miserably.
"My dear Lily," he chuckled. "If I wanted that, don't you think I'd be doing it?" He stooped, picking up the shears, and placed them into my hand. "Ten years isn't that much of a difference, and if I think nothing of it, why should you?" He grasped my free hand in his own, and began to walk towards the meadow.
"Do you know," he began conversationally, "I've thought of nothing but you for months now."
I struggled to think rationally, to make sense of what had just happened. "It's because I nursed you that one night. Patients often have strong emotions for their healers."
He laughed aloud at that. "And they continue to feel that way, several months later? I think not." I had no answer to that, and he continued on, saying, "I even made up an excuse to come visit you that one time in your shop, because I so desperately wanted to see you again." Ah, that made my meeting with Bilbo make all the more sense - no wonder he had sounded confused at my mentioning Frodo's visit to the apothecary!
Frodo glanced over at me, looking rather glum. "You seemed angry with me that day, and I thought for sure that I hadn't a chanceso I tried to stay away. But the summer crept on, and I found myself seeking out the places where you might be, in the hopes that I might see you again. I never realized how many different spots there must be that you stop to gather herbs," he grinned. "It was sheer dumb luck that I happened upon you a couple of weeks ago." He stopped beside the blanket under the oak tree, and turned to stand in front of me. "But I'm glad that I did. Dare I hope that you're glad as well?" He slid a hand under my chin, and forced me to look up at him.
I breathed in uncertainly, looking into his hopeful eyes, and then threw caution to the wind. "Oh yes," I whispered, "but-"
"Do you know what I think?" Frodo interrupted seriously, grabbing the shears from my hand, and tossing them into my nearby carry sack. He leaned forward then, his face but inches from my own. "You worry too much." And he kissed me again, no hesitation in him this time, and I felt my knees go weak as his lips and tongue lovingly explored my own. Slowly, we sank down onto the blanket, kissing more and more urgently, until he suddenly pulled back, and looked at me earnestly.
"I should tell you," he said, looking chagrined. "I, ah, have never really"
I stopped him from explaining further by leaning in and kissing him. "And it's been rather a while for me," I murmured against his lips.
Frodo grinned, blue eyes dancing. "I expect we'll figure it out."
He paused then, looking at me in concern. "Are you certain, though? I don't
want to rush you-" I stopped him again with another kiss that silenced
all questions and doubts.
[And that's all you get to read, here on ff.net. This story has now taken a decided adult turn (i.e. NC-17), and since ff.net doesn't have the cojones to allow that kind of story anymore, if you'd like to read the rest of this, you'll have to read it at Open Scrolls (do a search on google.com for "Open Scrolls Archive") I'm under the same username there. It's only just begun, folks :) ]