Disclaimer: This story contains homosexual sex, so consider yourself warned. They're not my characters. What, you're shocked and surprised?
Aragorn leapt off his horse the moment he rode through the gates of Rivendell. The three hobbits he’d herded for the better part of a week stared around at the massive elvish city, but Samwise recovered quickly. “Mister Frodo! What’s happened to Frodo?”
“He’s alive,” said an elf guard who came to take Aragorn’s horse. “Elrond tends him night and day.”
“Take me to him,” Sam begged.
“I know the way,” said Aragorn. He led the hobbits to their wounded friend, himself curious to know Frodo’s fate. The room was full of light and open to the air, as was elvish custom, and Merry and Pippin were clearly nervous to be so far above ground, but Samwise only had eyes for the bed in the center of the room and the grim figures standing over it: Elrond, Gandalf, and a hobbit who must be Frodo’s uncle Bilbo.
Bilbo turned and brightened when he saw the hobbits. “Sam! Thank goodness you’re safe.” He frowned at Merry and Pippin. “As for you two, you’re a long way from the shire for no good reason. A Brandybuck and a Took. Nothing but trouble.”
“Just a moment!” Pippin pulled himself up to his full, if unimpressive height. “We’re heroes, we are. Without us, Frodo and Sam would never have made it out of the shire alive.”
“I can’t concentrate with all this racket,” said Elrond. “Bilbo, take them out of here.” Bilbo seized Merry and Pippin’s ears and dragged them down the hall. Aragorn suppressed a smile.
Sam was completely oblivious to the whole drama. He sat next to Frodo, softly calling his friend’s name as he rubbed Frodo’s hands and tried to warm them.
“How is he?” Aragorn asked Elrond.
“He will live, I think,” said Elrond. “Arwen brought him here just in time, though it was a close thing.”
“I should go and find her,” said Aragorn.
“Strider,” Gandalf called him by his chosen name, “I wish to speak to you privately.”
Aragorn followed the wizard onto a parapet out of hearing range of the others.
“I have another task for you, one which I deeply dislike to name,” said Gandalf. “We must wait to decide the ring’s fate until a council can be assembled, and also until Frodo recovers. The ring must be freely offered, for even greater misery will befall the one who steals it from its bearer, and while Frodo sleeps he cannot give his permission.”
The wizard seemed older, more tired. “I made a terrible mistake in leaving the ring with Bilbo Baggins. He is a good and true friend, but the ring corrupts all it touches, even the kind and innocent heart of a hobbit. Its hooks are in him yet, and I fear what will happen if he is left alone with his sleeping nephew. At the same time, because he is such an old friend, I would hate to bruise his dignity by making him think I didn’t trust him. I cannot give this task to Samwise; he’s faithful enough, but he cannot lie well enough to spare Bilbo’s heart. But between you, Elrond and myself, I believe we can save both Bilbo and Frodo while giving the impression that we are merely tending Frodo’s bedside.”
“Of course,” said Aragorn.
“I must confess I will be glad when Frodo gives the ring away and goes back to the shire with Sam and the others,” said Gandalf. “It’s a terrible burden for such a small creature to bear.”
Aragorn thought of his own burden, the curse in his blood that bound him to the shameful history of the ring. When he’d first met the hobbits back in Bree, he’d been unsure whether to laugh or weep. The ring should have been entrusted to a noble warrior, someone strong enough to keep it out of the wrong hands. If he himself, nobly born, didn’t have the strength to face his destiny, then what hope did a hobbit have? But as they’d traveled together to Rivendell, before the wraith attack, he’d seen Frodo grow steadily more quiet and pale. While his companions had let loose a never-ending series of complaints about the hard pace and the lack of interruptions for meals every hour, Frodo had shouldered his unique burden without complaint. And Aragorn realized, looking into the eyes of the wizard who had never offered to carry the ring, that only a hobbit, a creature who had no power nor cared for any, could resist the siren call of the ring for long. Only a hobbit could keep from becoming the ring’s tool, however many were needed to protect that hobbit from outside threats. “Until he sets the ring aside,” said Aragorn, “I will watch over him as I have promised.”
Life in Rivendell was quite uneventful. Aragorn divided his time between Arwen, the sepulcher where the sword of his ancestor lay, and Frodo’s room, usually in the company of Sam, Bilbo, Elrond or Gandalf. Frodo’s color improved, and his wound stopped festering and began to heal, but he did not waken.
One day as Aragorn watched the sleeping hobbit, nearly asleep himself, he came fully awake as Bilbo entered the room. “No change?” asked Bilbo.
“None. At this point Elrond says more medicine would be useless, he’s almost ready to wake.”
“Good,” said Bilbo. “The poor boy has suffered enough for one lifetime.” He smiled bitterly at Aragorn. “I know why you and the others have kept such close vigil over my nephew, Strider. I watched Frodo grow up, he’s like the son I never had, but I would gladly smash a chair over his head if it would gain me back my ring. It’s terrible, terrible, but I can’t help it. And the worst part is that the ring will corrupt him as it has corrupted me. A few short months ago he was a bright and joyful child, but all that’s gone because I couldn’t carry the burden myself any longer.”
Frodo stirred, and Bilbo dashed out. “Elrond! Gandalf, come quickly! He’s waking!”
On the long road to Mordor, Aragorn spent much of his time watching Frodo and Boromir. Boromir had endless patience and good humor for Merry, Pippin and Sam, teaching them to fight, saving tasty vittles and herbs for their boundless appetites. But Frodo was another story. Boromir watched Frodo like a hungry wolf, waiting for the chance to take the ring. Frodo knew his responsibility too well to give it to Boromir, but the ring wore him down day by day like a long illness, making him paler and more withdrawn. He would never give the ring to Boromir, true, but when Boromir took it he made no move to get it back, only pleading with his eyes. It was unfair to make anyone beg for his own punishment.
At night in the mountains, they all took to sharing sleeping rolls for warmth, huddling as close to the fire as they could without burning in their bedrolls. Merry and Pippin usually curled up together, snoring almost as loudly as Gimli, who usually shared with one of the humans and stayed as far away from Gandalf and Legolas as possible. Samwise usually curled up with Gandalf or Boromir, but only because Frodo insisted on sleeping apart from the others, afraid the ring might corrupt them in their sleep. Aragorn had second watch that night, and watched as Frodo shivered in his sleep, his hands clenched around the ring so tight Aragorn feared he’d strangle himself with the chain.
Aragorn finally stood up and sat beside Frodo, warming the young hobbit with his body. He stroked Frodo’s back, and Frodo’s eyes opened. He stared at Aragorn confused.
“You should stay away. The ring…”
“The ring has not corrupted us yet, and I cannot protect you at such a distance. You’re the first one in danger if we’re attacked; you can’t stay so far from the center of camp alone.”
Frodo paused, considered, then propped himself up on one elbow and nudged himself into Aragorn’s lap. The shivering eased. Aragorn took Frodo’s hands between his own to rub them. Frodo sighed happily and sank deeper into Aragorn’s embrace. But all of a sudden he blushed and pulled away, taking two quick steps across the snow to his bedroll.
“What’s wrong?” Aragon asked, then he saw the tent in Frodo’s trousers. He reached over and pulled Frodo back into his lap.
“You’re not … offended?” Frodo asked.
For answer, Aragon leaned down and kissed Frodo gently on the lips. The hobbit sighed and relaxed, wrapping his little arms around Aragorn’s back and kissing him deeply. Aragorn had been hoping for this for a long time, but hadn’t wanted to pressure Frodo. The hobbit had enough on his mind. But if Frodo were willing…
And Frodo was indeed willing. His hands tightened in Aragorn’s hair as Aragorn kissed and nipped a line down Frodo’s throat. He kissed Aragorn’s rough cheek, his eyelids, his mouth, then paused. “I don’t know what to do.”
Aragorn smiled. “Neither do I, Frodo. I don’t exactly make a habit of seducing halflings.”
“No, I mean, that’s as much as I’ve ever done with anyone.” Frodo blushed. “Things are very different back in the shire.”
Aragorn pulled away to study Frodo’s eyes. “We don’t have to rush.”
Frodo shook his head. “I don’t know how much time I have left. I don’t know how much time any of us have.”
Aragorn pulled the blankets around them both to keep out the cold. Then he pulled off Frodo’s shirt, amused to find his chest and belly covered with soft hair. The pants went too, and more hair curled around the base of a shaft half the size of a man’s and a tight, firm pair of balls. He pulled off his own shirt, trousers and shoes, and watched as Frodo’s eyes raked his much larger and less hairy form.
It fell to Aragorn to make the first move, so he bent and licked Frodo’s nipple, letting the cold air bite it before suckling on it once more. Frodo gasped and arched against him, so honest and open in his pleasure. The ring brushed Aragorn’s cheek, and he flinched from its call. He moved down to lick Frodo’s belly button, then lower to Frodo’s cock. Frodo was built so much smaller that Aragorn was able to take him completely in his mouth, and with a little maneuvering sucked the balls into his mouth as well. Frodo spasmed and gasped, kicking reflexively with his large feet, and Aragorn quickly gave him a finger to suck to muffle his cries before he woke the others. The feeling of the hobbit’s hot little mouth on his finger distracted Aragorn terribly, but he kept sucking and licking until Frodo shot a prodigious amount of seed into Aragon’s mouth. The taste was different from a man’s, tart like apples. Aragon swallowed every drop and licked Frodo clean.
Frodo lay still for a long moment, taking the slow road back from whatever country of pleasure hobbits lost themselves in at such moments. Then he opened his eyes and slid down the length of Aragorn’s body to the ruddy cock that ached for touch. It seemed as large as Frodo’s head and Aragorn was frightened for a moment. “You don’t have to,” he said, worried that he was too big for the hobbit.
“I want to,” said Frodo. He bent and kissed the tip of Aragorn’s cock, barely able to wrap both hands around it. Slowly he slipped the head in and out of his mouth, unable to take the width of it at first. But hobbit appetites made for determined mouths and large throats, and slowly, slowly, Frodo took the enormous member down his tight throat. Aragorn bit his lip and closed his eyes, desperate not to betray them to the others. He ran his hands over Frodo’s back as Frodo slowly eased the large shaft in and out of his mouth. He tried to delay the inevitable, but his cock soon shuddered and delivered shot after shot of hot come down the hobbit’s tight throat. Frodo choked a little, but Aragorn was too far gone to stop.
Afterwards, Aragorn pulled away and watched Frodo wipe the flood of semen off his face. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have hurt you,” said Aragorn.
“You didn’t,” said Frodo, licking the semen off his fingers experimentally. “It was just more than I thought.” He looked down. “You’re still hard.”
Indeed he was. But Aragorn shook his head. “You’ve done enough, Frodo. I don’t want to tax you.”
Frodo stared at him. “Tax me? This…” he gestured at the ring, “…taxes me. I don’t want to be alone, Aragorn. Don’t leave me alone.” He grasped Aragorn’s cock and began rubbing it up and down between his hands, but Aragorn pulled his hands away for a moment. “I won’t leave you. Not now, not ever.”
Frodo smiled up at him and kissed him, one hand straying to Aragorn’s cock. “I want you. I want as much of you as I can get. Please, before we run out of time.”
“I don’t want to hurt you. You’re so small.”
“I trust you, Aragorn. Please!”
He would never make Frodo beg. Aragorn turned Frodo over and snatched a handful of snow, warming it to water and easing a cool, wet finger in and out of Frodo’s warm body. Frodo bit back a cry and gripped Aragorn’s other arm, but when Aragorn paused, Frodo begged him not to stop.
Aragorn eased his finger in and out of Frodo until the hobbit relaxed and let him enter, then added a second finger. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Frodo. Then he positioned himself at Frodo’s entrance and carefully pushed inside.
Oh, it was tight! Tighter than anything Aragorn had ever imagined, and Frodo was so warm and willing in his arms. Frodo had begun to harden again, and Aragorn cupped his little cock and stroked it as he thrust deep inside the hobbit. “Are you all right?” Aragorn asked.
“Better than all right,” Frodo whispered back. “Aragorn…”
Aragorn had an idea. He pulled out of Frodo, ignoring the hobbit’s protest, and crouched on his heels beside Frodo. “Show me.”
Frodo stood behind him, pulling the blankets over them to protect them from the cold, and pushed inside Aragorn with one easy thrust. And oh, it was perfect, better than perfect, Frodo inside him, guiding him, strong enough to keep all Aragorn’s self-doubt at bay. His shaft touched a nerve inside Aragorn and pleasure sparked and grew. Aragorn rubbed his own shaft desperately as Frodo trembled inside him, spilling his seed and falling limp against his back. A moment later, Aragorn followed him, spurting hot fluid into his hand. They lay still for a long moment, and when Aragorn eased Frodo off his back and onto the bedroll, the young hobbit was fast asleep. Aragorn smiled and kissed him, and held him close while he scanned the camp and the cliffs for any sign of trouble.
They were careful, discreet. The other hobbits were not raised to accept such things, and Aragorn couldn’t stand the thought of Boromir making jokes. If Gandalf knew, he kept his own council. And then all of a sudden Gandalf was dead, killed by a creature more terrible than Aragorn had ever seen. The hobbits mourned him, Frodo most of all, who had grown up with the wizard coming and going from his uncle’s house. They had to press on.
And then, that terrible day when Frodo shrank from him as though expecting torture. “It’s taken Boromir,” he cried, and though Aragorn tried to reassure him that Aragorn would never hurt him, the doubts about his bloodline showed in his eyes.
“We all knew Boromir would be the first to break, even back in Rivendell,” said Frodo. “But I can’t stand the thought of you turning on me against your will. I couldn’t bear it. I have to go on alone.”
And Aragorn let him go. Later, watching Frodo and Sam disappear into the green on the opposite shore, he prayed as never before. “Keep him safe, Sam. Do what I could not.”
End.