He opened it promptly despite the lateness of the hour. He was still dressed. He stepped back and gestured me in silently. I came in and closed the door behind me, tense with anxiety. "I missed you after supper, Frodo."
He turned away from me and walked over to the chair before the fireplace. I was struck by the leaden way in which his feet hit the ground, as if every movement cost ten times the energy it should. I went over and crouched on the ottoman at his feet. As he sat down, I felt a surge of real dismay. He was thin and pale still, but there was something else. His eyes had no light in them. I shivered. The last time I had seen eyes like that was when I was laying out my dead.
"You are very kind and conscientious, but it's not necessary."
I felt a horrible sinking feeling. "What do you mean?"
He tossed a bit of paper into my lap. With a shock, I recognized the note I'd left for Tilly. The bitch! I held it in shaking hands.
"I'm referring to your promise," he continued. "It's no longer necessary."
"Frodo, I—"
"It was very considerate of you to oblige Merry."
"Yes, but that's not why—"
"As I said, you have been very kind to me, but I think coming to my room in the middle of the night is somewhat extreme, don't you?"
"Frodo, just listen to me a moment," I said in frustration. "I missed something from my room today."
He was calm, almost dispassionate when he answered. "Really?"
"I think you've removed it."
He made no answer.
"Why, Frodo? I don't understand."
He was so still he might have been a statue carved from some lovely white stone.
"Why? You must tell me." I asked. "Frodo, please do me the courtesy of answering!"
He shook his head, looking up at the ceiling. I recognized that tilt of the head. Sometimes you could keep tears from running down your cheeks that way. "Let's just say that 'the difficult parts' as you called them, are difficult enough that I've also longed for a peaceful end."
"Frodo, I think you should talk about it." I waited a moment. "Frodo, I don't understand and I want to…" I was struggling to keep my composure, feeling as if I would fly apart into little shards any second. "Blast you, will you talk to me!" I flared.
His eyebrows drew together in a frown. "Don't speak to me like that," he said, almost politely. "You have no right—"
"I think I do have a right, don't you?" I cried, "since I've so conveniently provided you with this."
He put his hand over his eyes and took a deep breath. "You want to understand. All right, why not?" he said at last. He took his hand away and looked at me bitterly. "But I don't wish to look at you as I tell it. Turn away, Tansy. Turn away or leave."
I pivoted away from him on the ottoman, trying to hide the hurt in my eyes. At least he was talking to me. I heard him shift a bit in his chair and then he began speaking in a low voice I sometimes had to strain to hear. I don't remember word-for-word everything he said that night, and I don't want to remember. I hated hearing him speak of it, wishing all the while I could turn and offer him some comfort. His voice wavered and cracked in the telling, and he paused several times to collect himself.
"When I ran forward to the pass, the Spider came behind me and stung me, poisoning me. I remember nothing of it, but that is what Sam told me. I awoke in the hands of orcs. I say I awoke, but truly they woke me with some vile potion. They searched me, and stripped me, and striped me. Flogged me like a common criminal. Beat me. I heard them laughing and cheering while I struggled to breathe around the pain, not knowing if they would beat me to death in that courtyard. Almost praying they would. I knew the Ring was gone. My mind was hazy because of the spider's poison and it was hard to think straight. But I knew I had doomed Middle Earth with my weakness. With my stupidity.
"Sméagol had betrayed us. And probably killed my Sam, as well. I'd fooled myself into believing I'd bound Sméagol, even that perhaps he had begun to trust me, finally. That I could redeem the miserable creature… I failed. I was captured, and the Ring was gone. And perhaps the worst was that I wanted the Ring back. So badly. I'd never imagined how agonizing it would feel to be without it. I wanted it. Like nothing I've ever wanted before or since. Ever."
Here he stopped for several minutes, before beginning again. "After the fun, the orcs threw me into some sort of tower chamber and left me there. I could hear fights starting below. They were quarreling, over me and over the plunder they'd taken from me. The noise got louder until it seemed as if every creature must be murdering another. The tower eventually fell quiet and I wondered if they were all dead. Then I heard the strangest sound. Someone was singing. Half out of my head with grief and fear, I tried to answer the phantom. At least one orc was still alive, and he heard me and came into the chamber. I was sure he had come to kill me at last. I remember wondering how much it would hurt and if I'd want the Ring with my last breath. The orc struck me with a whip and I threw my arms over my face, like a complete craven, like a coward. I couldn't face my death." He paused a moment. "Isn't this what you wanted to know, Tansy?" he added quietly. I hugged my arms around myself, feeling cold.
"Having my arms over my face as I did, I did not see what happened next. There was a scuffle, and Sam was there. He'd found that most of the orcs had killed themselves fighting. He had come into the tower to rescue me." He stopped again for several minutes, his breathing hitching roughly.
"Even more, Sam had fought the Spider when it would have dragged me away to its lair. When he cut the spider webs binding me, he-he thought I was dead. So he had taken the Ring thinking that the Spider's poison had killed me. He overheard the orcs talking and realized I was alive, and came back for me. He could have abandoned me then, and did not. Of course I, in a fine display of gratitude, struck him and demanded the Ring back.
"If he hadn't given it to me, I think I would have tried to kill him." He repeated this musingly. "Yes, I think I would have tried to kill him. I don't think I would have succeeded, though. He was in much better shape than I at that point. He may have been forced to kill me, however." He spoke as if this outcome would've been more desirable, and I wanted to cry out in protest.
"My gear had been destroyed, so we only had Sam's. I had no clothing, you remember me saying they stripped me, don't you? He found some orc-stuff that would suit and we set off. We had finally gained entry into Mordor, the Black Land itself. My memory begins to get hazy here. There was the thirst, as we had little water. The foulness of the air made it hard to breathe. The whip-marks and the spider sting were painful. The wound I received on Weathertop, that I thought had healed, began to ache and chill again. Worst of all, was the constant pressure of the Ring on my mind. Eroding me. Erasing me. I could feel myself slipping away, everything that made me Frodo Baggins. Even the physical sensations of the moment, the thirst, the hunger began to slide away from me. I remember striking my feet on the rocks as I walked. The sharp pain would bring me back to myself. I could be Frodo again and feel it, even if just for an instant. The Ring was heavy, and the chain cut into my neck. I could see the blood and I could do nothing. Nothing. If you want details about how far we walked each day, and what we did, you'll have to look at Sam's account of that time. I've got it in my notes for the Red Book. I don't remember any of that. Just… losing myself. And struggling to keep some small piece, some part of me alive."
He fell silent again for a long while. "I failed, of course. Again, I failed miserably. When we reached the Cracks of Doom, I was almost completely under the Ring's influence. I had begun to wonder why I was fighting this, when it was so obvious I was going to lose. I couldn't do it; I knew I couldn't do it. Even Sam knew I couldn't do it. I don't remember much except… " His voice broke. "Except how relieved I felt when I finally gave in. No more pain. I couldn't do it and finally I accepted it." He took a harsh breath. "Yet despite that, despite my failure, the world wasn't destroyed. Gollum attacked me there at the last to get the Ring back. He bit this finger off to do it, and then maddened with joy, fell into the inferno. Do you understand now? Arda was saved and the Dark Lord overthrown by the loose stones underfoot in Oroduin."
He sounded very fatigued. "When the Ring was destroyed, I thought I would die. I had expected I would. How could it not happen that way? But Gandalf, who as it turns out, was still alive, managed to rescue Sam and myself before our deaths. The Eagles plucked us out of Mordor and brought us to the Armies of the West to be nursed back to life. And eventually, I returned home. I believe you know the rest."
My mind was overwhelmed. I turned on the ottoman, and careful not to look at his face, stared into the fire. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him, slumped in his chair, with firelight glistening on the tears on his face. I tried to take in the agonies he'd suffered, and couldn't. I could not think of a single blessed thing to say to him. So I sat, wishing I had the courage to reach out to him, and not finding it. And he sat, rubbing his thumb over the absence of the finger on his hand, while the tears on his face dried and faded away.
At last, he stirred and said quietly. "It's late. You probably should go now."
Still staring at the fire, I finally felt as if I could speak. "I don't think you should be alone."
"It's no concern of yours."
I floundered, feeling tears stinging in my eyes. He seemed outwardly unchanged from the hobbit I'd seen when I walked into this apartment. I knew more, though. I knew more and it changed everything.
"There are no answers in poppy-sleep, as appealing as it may sound to you now," I said.
He smiled grimly, looking away over my shoulder. "Are you certain of that?" he said coolly. "You have never sought peace in that sleep?"
I looked down at my hands, unable to answer. He continued remotely. "You had not thought to kill yourself, then?"
I swallowed hard. He went on, in that even, frighteningly calm voice. "I think you were planning to kill yourself the day we met in the cemetery. I thought you seemed odd that day. When I saw that bottle on your washstand, it was clear."
I couldn't deny any of it. I said hotly, "Yes, you're right. You're right about everything. Why shouldn't I do as I wish? I had no one and I was tired of the pain…." My voice trailed off, and I bit my lip hard, tasting blood.
He shook his head. "Have you heard me? The pain? Yes, I'm tired of the pain, too."
"I had decided it was wrong, Frodo," I said, stumbling over my words in my haste to convince him. "We talked of unexpected gifts, never knowing. Joys that come unbidden, undreamt of. Why deny them? And there's Sam," I added. "You do have someone that loves you, why leave him?"
He looked into the fire meditatively. "Sam would spend his life looking after me, and never mind. But he could be more. He would be, if I were gone." He looked inexpressibly sad and reached out to take my hand. "You seek your peace, I seek mine," he said gently. "I am weary, Tansy. Let me rest."
"Sam is not the only being in the World who cares for you." My mouth was dry with apprehension. "Let's not speak of this any more tonight. Instead, I want to tell you-"
He dropped my hand, interrupting me. "Tansy, I think you should go now."
"I won't," I said angrily. "Just listen to me for a minute!"
He stood up and turned away. "Don't you understand?" he asked tonelessly, "I've died already once, in Mordor, and what little is left of me should go, as well. It's only proper."
"Stop it! Stop pitying yourself, I don't want to hear it," I snapped at him, jumping to my feet. The room spun around me dizzily.
He finally turned and looked at me, his eyes icily blue. "Then don't."
"Frodo, I care—"
"You have been very kind to me, and I'm sure Merry is fully satisfied but now I am asking you to leave." He took my shoulders firmly, and began pushing me toward the door. I began to feel panicky. I wasn't reaching him.
"Frodo, don't, listen to me, no one could have done better, it was impossible," I pleaded with him, planting my feet. Tears were trickling down my cheeks. "Elrond couldn't do it, Gandalf couldn't do it, that Elven lady, Galadriel couldn't have done it. Only you. Only you could have done so much, gotten so far. How can you think you failed?"
He froze, staring at me. "I will not discuss this anymore. I don't want your pity. I don't want to think about might-have-beens. Goodnight."
He was still not listening to me. My frustration boiled over. I grabbed two big handfuls of his shirt and shook him as I hard as I could.
"I'm not offering you pity! I care about you, can't you see that? Stop pushing me away!" I yelled into his face. "You are not dead, you fool, open your stupid-gorgeous-blue-blasted eyes!"
Buttons began popping off his shirt, flying everywhere. I gave him a final shake that knocked him against the wall and nearly off his feet. He grabbed at my shoulders to steady himself, shock written large on his face. For a long moment we stared at each other, eyes wide, breathing hard. And I kissed him.
I kissed him, even though on the inside I was shaking with fear that he would hate me for it, would throw me out, and call me names. I couldn't help it. I wanted to take away some of the pain I'd seen in his eyes. And I kissed him because I wanted to so badly. Because I'd wanted him ever since he first looked over at me in the cemetery. All these thoughts jumbled up in my head, since all I could really feel was his lips on mine.
He didn't kiss me back right away. He stood as if turned to stone, his hands still on my shoulders. I let go of his shirt, and slid my hands up to his neck. I put a hand on either side of his face, and pressed myself close to him. Then he kissed me back. Then he kissed me until I thought I might stop breathing.
He moved, turning us so that my back was against the wall behind us. Then he took my chin in his hand and kissed me hard, his lips moving restlessly over mine. I ran my hands softly over his face and neck, and my tongue lightly over his lower lip. Some of the tension eased out of him, and he put one arm around my shoulders, and the other at my waist. I reached around to his back and pulled his shirt loose from his breeches. I slid my hands up his back, thinking dizzily, I was right, his skin is like silk. He made a small noise in his throat when I tugged his shirt off his shoulders. His lips left mine and he pressed his forehead against the wall, closing his eyes. I lifted one of his arms and pulled the shirtsleeve off, then the other and dropped it on the floor. I kissed the curve of his neck, feeling the silver chain of the necklace he still wore cool against my lips. His breathing quickened and he opened his eyes to look at me. I slid my hands down the smooth hollow at the small of his back.
He kissed me again, this time with no hesitation. I couldn't breathe. The one thought repeating in the back of my head was: Oh, he tastes so good! His lips left mine and traveled down the side of my neck. When he reached the line of my bodice and chemise, he pushed them off my shoulder. He kissed there, and I wrapped my arms around him and clung to him shamelessly. It felt like I hadn't been touched in a hundred years and every brush, every caress woke a thousand sleeping nerves.
He kissed my mouth again, teasing my lips open. His body was so warm. His heat was soaking into me, making me want to stretch out against him. I began sinking down; my legs didn't want to hold me up anymore.
He bent his knees easily, and with the same grace I'd noticed earlier, picked me up and moved over to the low divan. When he laid me down on it, I could see desire in his eyes. It made something deep in me clench. He eased down on his side next to me. Leaning over, he kissed down my throat and loosely coiled the drawstring of my chemise about his fingers. I brought my hand up over his and pulled the drawstring loose impatiently. I curled my hands into his hair, pressing his mouth against my skin. It wasn't enough; I couldn't feel enough of his body.
I hooked one leg round his hips and pulled him over atop me. His weight impressed every contour, every curve of his body into mine. I cried out at that delicious pressure. The jewel on its chain slid down my throat, coming to rest as a warm weight between our bodies. His hand tightened convulsively on the sleeve of my chemise. He turned his head and whispered to me; "Are you sure?" I slid my legs up about his waist and pulled him to me. He found my bodice laces and began untying them. I arched my back, until I could feel him pressing into me. Even through my skirt and his breeches, he felt good. I tilted my hips against his experimentally, and he inhaled sharply. One of the laces snapped in his hand. I shrugged the bodice off immediately. My chemise was already untied so it came off as well.
He was up on one arm, looking down at me. The light from the fire lit the side of his body, glowing along his bare chest. His braces had fallen down around his hips. I pulled them up and then traced along them to where they buttoned into his breeches. I slid my fingers caressingly inside the waistband and leisurely unbuttoned them. I did the right side first, and slowly eased my hands across his body to the left. When I finished, he had closed his eyes and I could see a dew of perspiration on his upper lip. He exhaled a long breath, as I pulled him down onto me and reached around to his back. His body was as taut as a bowstring. Again, I followed the braces down until I could slide one hand inside the cloth and unbutton the back fastenings. Then I dropped them on the floor.
I turned my head and kissed his mouth, running my tongue along his lips. I could taste the saltiness on his skin. He raised his head, and kissed me hard, demandingly. I tightened my legs around him, sliding my hands around to the small of his back. He turned part way onto his side, pulling me with him, and reached for the closures on my skirt. He loosened them quickly, and I kicked it off. My hands were shaking when I reached for the fastenings of his breeches. I only managed to undo half the buttons before he pulled the cloth down over his hips. He kicked them off, and I threw my arms around him and kissed him open-mouthed.
He rolled back over atop me, and I thought my heart would stop. I moaned into his mouth. I wrapped my legs around his hips, and arched up to meet him. I looked at him above me, seeing what I'd seen in my dream…was it only last night? His blue eyes nearly closed, his cheeks flushed with exertion. The feelings, and his body were unlike anything I'd ever felt. I was trembling with desire. I kissed the corner of his mouth, and ran my hands down his smooth back. I wanted more of him. My body felt as if a fire was licking along it. This whole time we'd said almost nothing, speaking with caresses and kisses and soft noises. But now, he stiffened, his lips muffled against my skin and hair. "Tansy," he said, his voice catching. And I cried his name back to him, over the roaring of the fire in my ears, dissolving into heat and motion and life and pain…again.
When the tremors of ecstasy eased, I found myself lying sprawled over the divan. Frodo was a sweetly heavy weight atop me, quiescent. His breathing tickled my ear as it gradually slowed. I let one leg fall, but left the other curled around the tops of his thighs. I ran my hands over his back caressingly, luxuriating in a wonderful combination of fatigue and smug self-satisfaction. His back was damp with sweat and my hands slid along his skin easily. I circled from shoulders to buttocks and back again, delighting in the minutiae of his body. My lover's body.
My fingers found a smooth regular line along the back of his neck. I turned my head, and saw the silvery white of a healed scar, with the chain of his necklace overlying it. I swallowed hard. The Ring. The blasted, damned Ring. He'd said it had cut into his neck, but I hadn't realized… I returned to caressing his back gently, trying to communicate through my hands. I stroked his hair, lifting the curls away from his head and wrapping them about my fingers. I pulled one lock gently straight and realized that it nearly touched the top of his shoulder blades. I began amusing myself by combing through various locks and seeing how long they were.
He finally spoke. "That tickles," he said, so softly I wouldn't have heard him save for his lips being next to my ear.
I stilled my hands at once. "Shall I stop?" I asked.
"No, don't," he murmured drowsily. "It's pleasant. I'd forgotten how soothing a woman's hands are."
"Sometimes 'soothing' is correct," I said mischievously, "and sometimes not."
I felt him smile. I could feel the small movements of his face and I knew he was smiling. "Yes, that is true." He began to stir, as if to roll to the side and I tightened my leg, holding him still.
"Aren't I heavy?" he asked.
"Not at all," I answered. "I'd just as soon you stayed exactly where you are." The sensation was wondrous. I had missed this.
He was silent for a while, then raised one hand and brushed my hair back away from his face. "Tansy…." He began, and then stopped. I waited quietly. I expected that he would feel some sort of discussion was called for. "After learning about what Merry had asked of you, I didn't think…"
"Frodo, yes, Merry asked me to spend time with you." I smiled into the darkness. "But I'm here because I wish to be. Because I was driving myself mad in thinking and wondering about you. If I'm to be completely truthful, I was attracted to you that first day."
His shoulders relaxed a little. "I wondered if I was so idiotic as to completely misread everything you'd said to me."
"No," I whispered.
He hesitated and said tentatively, "Still…even after hearing….?"
I felt a stab of sorrow so sharp, tears threatened. How could he, after everything he'd done, still doubt himself? And yet, it was the Quest and the suffering that had done this, had broken him so. "Yes, Frodo. Even more so, after learning all you've borne."
He propped his head on one hand, and looked into my eyes intently. In this dim light, his eyes were shadowed, a dark misty-blue, like twilight in high summer. I looked back at him, and let him see how much I wanted him, even now. The tension melted away, and I saw a flash in his eyes of the same self-satisfaction I'd felt. I dropped my eyes to his lips, remembering the almost hypnotic pleasure of sliding my lips over his. Such a small thing, and yet the sensation had engulfed me, until that was all I could feel, all I could imagine, the motion of his lips on mine, and exploring his taste and smell.
It was too soon, wasn't it? I caressed his thighs, touching him lightly on the inner surfaces where I knew he'd be sensitive. I felt the muscles bunch up. It was not too soon. I looked up at him, and he bent his head and kissed me.
The sweetness of his tongue sliding into my mouth, made me feel as if I had never existed before this moment. I gripped his hips tightly, and the motions left me dizzy and breathless. I couldn't speak to him or gasp out his name since his mouth still covered mine. The pleasure and the tension began coiling inexorably in my belly. I pushed against him urgently, and he responded. He rose up on his hands, and then pulled us both up. He slid his hands underneath me and lifted me, then stood, still holding me against him. I wrapped my arms about his shoulders and tightened my legs around his waist.
"I think we'll be more comfortable in the bedroom, don't you?" he said simply, only a slight strain in his voice. I nodded silently, and he walked toward the bedroom adjoining the sitting room. I could feel every rippling movement in his muscles as he moved us. I kissed along his throat, and found the freckle again.
He eased us down onto his bed, turning so I lay atop him. A flicker of surprise soaked into my lust-addled brain. Tory had always been a full on, all out type of lover. My eyes flew open and I eased up a little to look at him "Slowly," he whispered. "We have time, don't we? Or do you have an appointment I should know about?"
I ran my mouth along his neck. "No, I don't think so," I said softly, letting my lips move against his skin. "Other than with Frodo Baggins, that is." He exhaled softly and slid his hands tenderly over my body. He rocked upward and I cried out at the intense sensation. His breathing had quickened and I thought I would melt into ecstasy that instant. "Slowly," I gasped. "This isn't nearly slow enough."
His hands tightened on my waist. "It isn't?" he murmured. His full lips were parted as he breathed, and his incredibly blue eyes were hazy and out-of-focus. I looked at his body, the lithe body I'd been imagining, and I saw it on his breast, a little above his heart. Marring the smooth ivory of his skin was a small white scar, barely a fingers-width long and half again as wide. I immediately realized I was looking at the wound from the Wraith, the one he'd said continued to pain him. I could no more resist the sudden impulse that came over me than I could resist falling in love with him.
I bent and put my lips on the scar. I could feel a faint chill in my lips and I shivered thinking of it. "What are you doing?" he asked.
"Is this the scar that pains you?" I asked him, not removing my lips from it. He swallowed hard. I could see it out of the corner of my eye.
"Yes," he answered throatily.
"And does it pain you now?" I opened my lips and licked slowly all about and over the scar, as if I could wipe away the pain and torment he'd felt.
"No," he gasped.
"Good." I said. He looked up at me, and twined his fingers in my hair, pulling my face down to his. I licked along his lips, and whispered. "I only want you to feel me, until you couldn't possibly think of anything else. Anything else." As I spoke, I started to pull away from him, and I saw his jaw tense and he said, "I think you have your wish." And he grabbed my waist, and rolled us both over until he was atop me again. We both cried out. He slid his hands up my back until he could clasp my shoulders and pin me between his hips and his hands. I stopped thinking about anything then, too caught up in the motions and rhythms of our bodies. An endless time later, I heard him gasping and the tension within me exploded into bright lights behind my eyes.