(no subject)
Title: Ranger from the North
Author: Claudia
Pairing: Frodo/Halbarad
Rating: PG
Summary: In the autumn after Bilbo leaves, Frodo meets a Ranger of the Northlands in the Shire.
A little people, but of great worth are the Shire-folk. Little do they know of our long labour for the safekeeping of their borders, and yet I grudge it not.
Halbarad in The Return of the King
A/N: I'm sorry for the long build-up, but it's necessary, I believe :-)
Previous chapters
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Naturally the first time Frodo had come to this cottage nestled deep in a clearing of the woods, he had been asleep in strong arms, unaware of his surroundings. He had not noticed the enormous oaks, laden with burnt orange and curled brown leaves, with their thick limbs that curved over the cottage as if in protection. He had not noticed that the wood that made the cottage was rather splintery, as if it had been made in great haste. He had not noticed the thatched roof or the smudged windowpanes or the front stoop, which looked as if he had not been swept in months, perhaps years. And furthermore, it had not occurred to him the oddity that this mannish cottage existed inside the Shire.
Although it was early afternoon, the air had a sharp, chilly quality to it, and the light had grown thin, as if it were close to dusk. Frodo peered in one of the dirty windows, his heart echoing in his ears, and he strained his eyes for movement.
Inside the cottage, it was dark and still.
Of course Frodo had known that the chances were slim that Halbarad would actually be there. He had convinced himself that he should expect nothing. Halbarad was a Ranger with duties that stretched far beyond concern for one hobbit that he had met by chance. All the same, hope had buoyed his heart. It seemed fated that they should meet again, and he would not have at all been surprised to come upon him in the woods.
Stepping soundlessly upon the dirty front stoop, he approached the door. He curled his hand into a fist, pausing. His heart still thudded so hard that he could barely breathe. If Halbarad actually was inside, and his heart still held tiny hope of this possibility, perhaps catching up on sleep, Frodo was not sure exactly what he would say.
He knocked.
He closed his eyes and ran through what he would say if Halbarad answered -- I’ve your tunic…I’ve come back to give you your tunic…I thought you might want it back. Of course it was no trouble…I enjoy a brisk walk through the woods in autumn…Thank you, I’d love to come in…
But he heard no heavy footfalls and nobody answered the door, and he released a shuddering sigh that sent weakness through his thighs. He knocked again, stronger this time, with more confidence and dwindling hope. No answer. He tried the door and it swung open with no resistance. Inside, the cottage looked exactly as Frodo had left it the morning before. As far as he could tell, the Ranger had never returned.
Frodo gazed around at a room that now looked barren and empty, and he felt suddenly melancholy. Halbarad spent much time on the road, wandering, often taking what sleep he could on the cold, hard ground beneath the stars. This cottage was the one place far from home in which he had the comfort of a roof over his head. And how grim and desolate it looked, nothing like Bag End, which was always a beacon of comfort at the end of a long journey. Gracious, no wonder Halbarad’s mouth had nearly cracked into pieces when he smiled - there seemed nothing in this world to give him warmth.
As Frodo trekked home, a cold, disappointed knot in his throat, a fine idea took flight. Instead of mindlessly roaming the Shire like a love-struck lass, he would work to make the cottage a pleasant place for Halbarad. Of course, he would need to beg Sam’s help, and so he would need to let him in on his little secret.
***
“Well met!” Estel rose and gripped Halbarad in a tight embrace. They sat down then at the shadowy table in the back corner of the Prancing Pony’s common room. They ignored the suspicious stares from the Bree folk. Both had built callous skins over the years. Estel flagged old Butterbur down and when the fat innkeeper, out of breath despite hardly any customers at this early time of the day, reached them, Halbarad ordered a tall ale and stew.
When his ale arrived, he took a long sip. “It is good to have a hot meal and ale.”
“And company, too.”
“Aye.” Halbarad’s thoughts flickered back to the halfling Frodo, how every time he flushed, pink bloomed over his pale cheeks. The last few nights, well…he would not admit to anyone, and certainly not to Estel, what he had dreamed about.
In his latest dream, Frodo had writhed beneath him, his eyes full of dark blue wantonness. Halbarad had plunged deep into him, and Frodo had moaned ever for more. His lips - oh, how his lips were softer and fuller than he had imagined, and they tasted like the earthy wine they had drunk just before falling into bed, and he had devoured until the lips were swollen and bruised.
For a time, Halbarad and Estel discussed matters of the world, of their duties on the borders of the Shire, of great evil building in the East.
“I met one of the Shire folk,” Halbarad said. “I had never spoken to one of them before.”
“Do not make a habit of it,” Estel said. “They should never come to know how we labor to protect their border.”
“I had no choice. It was that or let him drown. I took him to the cottage that I use on occasion. We talked. He was very unusual, Estel, nearly Elvish to my mind. He spoke of a cousin who had traveled outside the Shire-“
Estel’s expression became eager. “Bilbo Baggins. You met--”
Halbarad looked at him in surprise. “You know him?”
“I have had the pleasure of meeting Bilbo. This tale grows more curious by the telling, for I had not told you what I mainly came to tell you. It has come to my ears from Mithrandir that there is a hobbit of the Shire by the name of Frodo Baggins-“
“That is the hobbit I met.”
Estel’s voice dropped. “He bears something of great evil, Halbarad.”
Halbarad’s skin grew suddenly too small for him, and he felt cold inside. “What mean you by that?”
“By this thing he bears, he will draw evil to him and to his kind and he must be watched carefully. We must have more guards on the borders. Will you do this for me? I have other business, wretched business that I must attend to. This Frodo is a dear friend of Mithrandir, and Bilbo Baggins is an Elf friend. Will you watch out for him?”
“I will,” Halbarad said, his heart aching from Estel’s pronouncement of Frodo’s great evil, but his voice dropped. “Estel, what could he…what great evil could this innocent hobbit possibly bear?“
“We will not speak of it here,” Estel said. “Have a care, Halbarad.”
Halbarad had anticipated a warm meal with much eagerness, but when the food arrived at his table, he found he could barely eat it.
TBC
Author: Claudia
Pairing: Frodo/Halbarad
Rating: PG
Summary: In the autumn after Bilbo leaves, Frodo meets a Ranger of the Northlands in the Shire.
A little people, but of great worth are the Shire-folk. Little do they know of our long labour for the safekeeping of their borders, and yet I grudge it not.
Halbarad in The Return of the King
A/N: I'm sorry for the long build-up, but it's necessary, I believe :-)
Previous chapters
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Naturally the first time Frodo had come to this cottage nestled deep in a clearing of the woods, he had been asleep in strong arms, unaware of his surroundings. He had not noticed the enormous oaks, laden with burnt orange and curled brown leaves, with their thick limbs that curved over the cottage as if in protection. He had not noticed that the wood that made the cottage was rather splintery, as if it had been made in great haste. He had not noticed the thatched roof or the smudged windowpanes or the front stoop, which looked as if he had not been swept in months, perhaps years. And furthermore, it had not occurred to him the oddity that this mannish cottage existed inside the Shire.
Although it was early afternoon, the air had a sharp, chilly quality to it, and the light had grown thin, as if it were close to dusk. Frodo peered in one of the dirty windows, his heart echoing in his ears, and he strained his eyes for movement.
Inside the cottage, it was dark and still.
Of course Frodo had known that the chances were slim that Halbarad would actually be there. He had convinced himself that he should expect nothing. Halbarad was a Ranger with duties that stretched far beyond concern for one hobbit that he had met by chance. All the same, hope had buoyed his heart. It seemed fated that they should meet again, and he would not have at all been surprised to come upon him in the woods.
Stepping soundlessly upon the dirty front stoop, he approached the door. He curled his hand into a fist, pausing. His heart still thudded so hard that he could barely breathe. If Halbarad actually was inside, and his heart still held tiny hope of this possibility, perhaps catching up on sleep, Frodo was not sure exactly what he would say.
He knocked.
He closed his eyes and ran through what he would say if Halbarad answered -- I’ve your tunic…I’ve come back to give you your tunic…I thought you might want it back. Of course it was no trouble…I enjoy a brisk walk through the woods in autumn…Thank you, I’d love to come in…
But he heard no heavy footfalls and nobody answered the door, and he released a shuddering sigh that sent weakness through his thighs. He knocked again, stronger this time, with more confidence and dwindling hope. No answer. He tried the door and it swung open with no resistance. Inside, the cottage looked exactly as Frodo had left it the morning before. As far as he could tell, the Ranger had never returned.
Frodo gazed around at a room that now looked barren and empty, and he felt suddenly melancholy. Halbarad spent much time on the road, wandering, often taking what sleep he could on the cold, hard ground beneath the stars. This cottage was the one place far from home in which he had the comfort of a roof over his head. And how grim and desolate it looked, nothing like Bag End, which was always a beacon of comfort at the end of a long journey. Gracious, no wonder Halbarad’s mouth had nearly cracked into pieces when he smiled - there seemed nothing in this world to give him warmth.
As Frodo trekked home, a cold, disappointed knot in his throat, a fine idea took flight. Instead of mindlessly roaming the Shire like a love-struck lass, he would work to make the cottage a pleasant place for Halbarad. Of course, he would need to beg Sam’s help, and so he would need to let him in on his little secret.
***
“Well met!” Estel rose and gripped Halbarad in a tight embrace. They sat down then at the shadowy table in the back corner of the Prancing Pony’s common room. They ignored the suspicious stares from the Bree folk. Both had built callous skins over the years. Estel flagged old Butterbur down and when the fat innkeeper, out of breath despite hardly any customers at this early time of the day, reached them, Halbarad ordered a tall ale and stew.
When his ale arrived, he took a long sip. “It is good to have a hot meal and ale.”
“And company, too.”
“Aye.” Halbarad’s thoughts flickered back to the halfling Frodo, how every time he flushed, pink bloomed over his pale cheeks. The last few nights, well…he would not admit to anyone, and certainly not to Estel, what he had dreamed about.
In his latest dream, Frodo had writhed beneath him, his eyes full of dark blue wantonness. Halbarad had plunged deep into him, and Frodo had moaned ever for more. His lips - oh, how his lips were softer and fuller than he had imagined, and they tasted like the earthy wine they had drunk just before falling into bed, and he had devoured until the lips were swollen and bruised.
For a time, Halbarad and Estel discussed matters of the world, of their duties on the borders of the Shire, of great evil building in the East.
“I met one of the Shire folk,” Halbarad said. “I had never spoken to one of them before.”
“Do not make a habit of it,” Estel said. “They should never come to know how we labor to protect their border.”
“I had no choice. It was that or let him drown. I took him to the cottage that I use on occasion. We talked. He was very unusual, Estel, nearly Elvish to my mind. He spoke of a cousin who had traveled outside the Shire-“
Estel’s expression became eager. “Bilbo Baggins. You met--”
Halbarad looked at him in surprise. “You know him?”
“I have had the pleasure of meeting Bilbo. This tale grows more curious by the telling, for I had not told you what I mainly came to tell you. It has come to my ears from Mithrandir that there is a hobbit of the Shire by the name of Frodo Baggins-“
“That is the hobbit I met.”
Estel’s voice dropped. “He bears something of great evil, Halbarad.”
Halbarad’s skin grew suddenly too small for him, and he felt cold inside. “What mean you by that?”
“By this thing he bears, he will draw evil to him and to his kind and he must be watched carefully. We must have more guards on the borders. Will you do this for me? I have other business, wretched business that I must attend to. This Frodo is a dear friend of Mithrandir, and Bilbo Baggins is an Elf friend. Will you watch out for him?”
“I will,” Halbarad said, his heart aching from Estel’s pronouncement of Frodo’s great evil, but his voice dropped. “Estel, what could he…what great evil could this innocent hobbit possibly bear?“
“We will not speak of it here,” Estel said. “Have a care, Halbarad.”
Halbarad had anticipated a warm meal with much eagerness, but when the food arrived at his table, he found he could barely eat it.
TBC