Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Frodo/Aragorn, Frodo/Merry
Summary: Frodo and Merry celebrate spring and each find new beginnings.
Disclaimer: Frodo and all recognisable characters are the property of the Estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. No offence is intended, nor profit made.

"You're coming to Reverdie and that's final."

Meriadoc Brandybuck stood by the fireplace in what used to be Bilbo Baggins' study at Bag End. His cousin, Frodo Baggins, was bent over the desk scribbling endless numbers into a long ledger account. He was frowning.

"I mean it, Fro," Merry continued petulantly, "I won't come of age if you're not there. I simply refuse."

Pretending not to listen, it was all Frodo could do to keep from giggling. He had lost all power to cipher and had just miscalculated an important sum. But Merry always had that effect on him. He gritted his teeth in fury. His accounts were in disarray and he had to have them current before spring tithing two weeks hence. He bent further over his desk and started to add the sum again.

"You are coming, Fro, and that's that. Absolutely everyone in Buckland will be there. It'll be the best Reverdie since you lived at Brandy Hall."

There was no response from his cousin other than the scratches of his quill.

"And if you're nice, you can stay in my room, now there's the ticket, love," Merry chattered on, "we can lay awake all night and gossip. I shall be totally crushed if you're not there to keep me sane."

Scratch, scratch.

"Frodo…now be serious. The horses are groomed and ready. We can be off after second breakfast."

Rents hadn't been paid on the 130 acres in North Bywater and the miller was late again (as usual) with his contribution to the cooperative that Frodo chaired. Gaffer Gamgee needed him to inspect the planting fields on the south side of Hobbiton, and to make matters worse, Widow Bracegirdle, who was far from destitute, had asked for another extension on her loan, the third one, close in the wake of the six-month extension he had already…

"I'll have Sam pack your clothes." Merry clapped his hands. "All right?"

…granted her. Now he would have to journey to Michel Delving to call on the widow and it would doubtless be unpleasant.

"You will need your yellow waistcoat and your new scarf with the scrumptious fringe-the one I gave you for my birthday-I won't forgive you if you don't wear it to Reverdie, and …"

"Merry, stop it!" Frodo's voice had a bit of an edge on it. He put down his quill and turned. "I am not going to Buckland."

"But it's Reverdie! The Re-greening Celebration. And it's my birthday, Fro!" My 33rd, my coming of age. And Da said that I will dance the Reverdie Circle this year." He smiled at Frodo, his grey-blue eyes sparkling. "There will be a frightful celebration and we will party 'till dawn, Frodo, you remember!"

"I do, cousin, I remember well the debaucheries of Buckland's springfest." The master of Bag End smiled condescendingly at his younger cousin. "But my youth is over, Mer, I am 45 and a confirmed old bachelor. I have no need for the revels of spring and sex." Frodo picked up his pen. "So…although I thank you heartily for my lovely green scarf-with the fringe-I will wear it another day. Now, Sam can pack your clothes, dear, and you can be on your way back home. I have accounts to manage and widows to visit."

Merry raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"The Widow Bracegirdle."

Merry's grin faded. "Oh."

The dejected look on Merry's face made Frodo laugh. "Merry, I am destined to be a single hobbit. Some people are made that way, so do not worry, I am content."

Merry dropped unceremoniously down into the upholstered chair by the fireplace, his legs dangling over the arm. "Humph. You are lucky, you know, in a way."

The Master of Bag End turned back to his accounts and tried again to add up the sum.

"I mean, I have to marry, Fro, even if I don't want to. Even if she's a hag and is hateful or smells."

Frodo turned to his favorite cousin and laughed aloud, all hope of continuing his accounts abandoned.

"It's not funny!" said Merry, frowning. "Da told me that I had better start looking, now that I'm old enough."

"Well, you are the heir to Brandy Hall and will be expected to carry on the noble Brandybuck line."

"Bollocks on the noble line!" Merry stood and wrapped his arm around Frodo, running his fingers down his cousin's chest. "Oh love," he whispered, "I miss the old days…and the nights."

Frodo shivered. "I…we…we were young, Mer. But…"

Merry's fingertips lingered on his tightening nipple. He rubbed the shirt over it, the material making it rise and crinkle.

"But now is the…Merry, it's time…for adult behave…oh, Mer, please."

Frodo tossed his head back as Merry leaned in and unbuttoned his shirt. Squeezing one nipple between his fingers, he flicked the other with his tongue, around and around, until it was red and hard. He sucked the nub until it peaked and glowed and his cousin's breathing was ragged. Then Merry moved up and caught Frodo's lips in a once-familiar kiss. Murmuring little sounds of pleasure, Frodo strained up into his cousin, opening his lips as if it was yesterday and Merry pressed his advantage, pushing harder and harder, deeper into Frodo's warm, moist cavity. It was the familiar duel of dominance as Frodo lunged back inside his cousin, sucking and thrusting, engaging his tongue, almost in combat with his younger, more aggressive cousin.

But in his enthusiasm, Merry pushed a bit too far. Its center of gravity overcome, the high stool tipped, tottered for a breathtaking instant, then clamored to the floor taking Frodo and his lovely cousin with it.

They rolled around, laughing and giggling like tweens until Sam's footfalls were heard running down the hall.

"Mr. Frodo!"

Merry's laugh was so infectious that Frodo was hysterical when Sam made it to the doorway. "Are you all right, sir? Mr. Merry?"

Frodo unwrapped his legs from around Merry and the stool but Merry rolled on top of him, laughing quite uncontrollably now. "Sam…Sam…"

Sam stared with amazement at the two grown up cousins, long past their childhood ways--yet for all to see, they were rolling about the floor like tweens, or younger even. Still, it was not his place to wonder why. He shifted from one foot to the other. "Ah, can I bring you…some tea, Mr. Frodo?"

Frodo tried to get up again but Merry held him down by his shoulders, grinning with that irresistible smile that melted Frodo's heart. In his mind 's eye, he could still see the adoring 7-year old following him around Brandy Hall, "tell me a story, Cousin Frodo, tell me about the dragons and the brave, big men who fought them in olden times, tell me about the rangers and the Men of the West."

Quietly smiling now, Merry stared deeply into Frodo's dark blue eyes. His cousin had stopped struggling and Frodo's smile told him all he needed to know. He had won.

Merry looked up with a huge grin on his face. "Sam, my good fellow, pack Mr. Frodo's things for a fortnight's stay. And don't forget his new scarf. We're going to Buckland!"

The clatter of their ponies' hoofs was lost in the noise of carts and goats and servants running in every direction to prepare for the huge spring celebration. The main courtyard at Brandy Hall was a swirl of activity, noise, and total confusion. Merry jumped down and stretched out a helping hand to his cousin.

"I'm not a geriatric, Merry, for Eru's sake, I can get off a pony." Frodo jumped from his mount a little too sprightly and stumbled on the cobblestones, sending Merry into peals of laughter.

Frodo's icy gaze put a premature end to his merriment but the two cousins were chatting happily as they handed their mounts to a groom and hurried for the round door leading to the main reception hall. Clearly their arrival had been reported for Esmeralda Brandybuck was waiting for them.

"You should have sent word," she said, trying her best to sound cross while giving her only son a powerful hug and then a kiss on the cheek. "I expected you two days ago, Merry, you should show some consideration."

Merry grinned at Frodo over his mother's shoulder. "Yes, Ma, but look who has come for Reverdie."

Frodo smiled weakly at his aunt, not knowing for certain that he was welcome at the home where he had spent most of his errant childhood.

Esme Brandybuck let go of her son and, arms akimbo, assessed her one-time ward. "Well, Frodo, how unexpected…but nice, of course…to see you."

Merry was rolling his eyes behind his mother's back and it was all Frodo could do to keep a straight face.

"Thank-you, Aunt Esme, I hope I won't be too much trouble."

Esmeralda looked Frodo up and down for a length of time that made him shiver. Her authoritarian eyes always had that effect on him but he gazed at her with as neutral an expression as he could muster.

"Not at all," Esme said politely. "You are always welcome here, Frodo, I thought you knew that."

Frodo took a deep, long breath and opened his mouth to answer but before he managed a reply, his Uncle Saradoc came running down the hall, grinning from ear to ear.

"Merry…and Frodo!!" He grabbed them both in his powerful arms and hugged them with glee. "Lads I am delighted to see you." He turned to Frodo. "And it's been too long, young hobbit, or shall I say, Squire Baggins."

Frodo grinned. "Oh, please, Uncle Sara…"

"No, lad, you are a hobbit of means and responsibility and it's been long time since you graced us with your presence. How are Bag End and Hobbiton? Haven't had a chance to get that way for ages."

Frodo smiled. "They are just fine and unchanged, as I am sure you well know from all of Merry's visits."

"Yes, well lads, this calls for a fine mug of ale, I'm thinkin', and a chat in my library. He motioned to a servant to take the travelers' bags. "Esme, love, where are you putting Frodo?"

"Well…"

"He will stay in my room, Da," said Merry, a bit too quickly. "I mean… with the visitors for Reverdie and all, space is at a premium, I'm sure."

Esme frowned but her son was right. Every guest room was long spoken for. She motioned for the servant to take the bags. "Well, then I will leave you lads to your ale. This smial doesn't run itself, you know."

"Yes, dear," said Saradoc. "I know." He wrapped his arms around Merry and Frodo. "Come me lads, let us away to male territory."

Esmeralda clicked her tongue in displeasure as she was confronted with three big smiles, then shaking her head, she turned and left for the general direction of the kitchen, her heels clicking on the stone walkway.

Frodo and Merry sat in big, overstuffed chairs near the crackling fire. It might be spring but the weather was chilly and Tomfast, the weatherhobbit, had predicted a cool Reverdie. The re-greening celebration would have to be taken in the spirit of the date rather than the warmth of the sun.

"Lads, it's good to see you both together again," Saradoc grinned as he took a long drink of ale. "A sight for sore eyes."

"Yes, Da," said Merry, sporting the mirror image of his father's smile, "This Reverdie will be the best we ever had, now that Frodo's here."

Merry's father leaned back into his huge chair and puffed on his pipe. "Ah, lad, I still can't believe my little hobbit is now a full grown adult." His eyes caught Frodo's. "Just like his cousin."

Frodo squirmed a little and busied himself lighting his own pipe.

"Frodo-lad?"

Saradoc's gaze never wavered from Frodo's face. It was a look he knew too well from his childhood when he was caught in some mischief and had managed to drag Merry into it as well.

"Uncle." Frodo met Saradoc's eyes with a steady gaze born of his own maturity and the knowledge that he was an independent hobbit, titled, and wealthy in his own right.

"It must be lonely living up at Bag End all by yourself."

Frodo ventured a quick glance at Merry. "Not at all, Uncle Sara. I am content."

Saradoc leaned forward a bit. "Content? But surely you want more than that out of life."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Marriage, lad, that's what I mean. It's time a hobbit like yourself settled down with a fine lass and children. That quiet, stodgy old place could use the sound of little feet and children's laughter."

Frodo frowned, fidgeting nervously with his pipe. "Now, uncle, I have no wish to marry." He glanced at his cousin who was grinning helplessly. "And no need to do so, if I might say."

Saradoc ended his son's smile with a glance. "I am serious, both of you. Merry will be a husband before too long, now that he's of age. His mother and I are considering some young women of good families."

Merry choked on his ale. "Father!"

"What, lad? You will marry soon and that is all there is." He laughed lightly. "And you should encourage your cousin to do the same. Bag End needs an heir too." Suddenly Saradoc's eyes narrowed into a look both cousins knew was not to be trifled with. "You lads need a productive outlet for your…desires-one that will bring you children and respectability."

Merry opened his mouth to protest but his father held up his hand with his forefinger raised in the air. "Don't look so grim, love, one would think I was recommending torture. A lovely hobbit lass is hardly that."

"But Da," Merry face looked like the torture had already begun.

Saradoc finished his ale. "Merry, I can't force your cousin here to enter into the joys of connubial bliss, but you, my lad, will soon be producing grandchildren for your mother's delight." He looked at his son and his face took on a mischievous air, like one holding in a big secret and losing the battle. "And I think she has a lass all picked out."

Frodo had to clamp his hand over his mouth to stifle the huge laugh in his throat.

Merry sprung to his feet. "NO! I will not!" His face twisted into a horrid mass of lines and wrinkles. "I mean it!"

Saradoc was also losing the battle to stay serious. "Merry-lad, what a face! She is a lovely lass."

"Da, I'm only 33!" Merry's voice was shaking. "And I shall choose my own wife, who and when I DECIDE."

Saradoc was laughing now. "I was only jestin' with you, lad."

But Merry's face was red with anger. "Who and when I decide!" He almost whispered it, his voice was so strained, before stomping out of the library and slamming the door in punctuation.

"Well, that was quite a performance."

It was an hour later and Frodo stood in the doorway of Merry's suite of rooms in the family quarters, having shared another ale with Saradoc before venturing into his cousin's domain. As the heir to Brandy Hall, Merry had the second-finest set of rooms in the smial, sporting a sitting room with a fireplace and a large bedroom with windows opening out over the courtyard.

The heir was sprawled out on a large, lumpy sofa, his hands behind his head, one leg over the back, staring into the ceiling. Frodo sat down and roughly shoved his cousin into a sitting position.

Heaving a big sigh, Merry leaned his head on Frodo's shoulder. "I feel awful."

Frodo caressed his hair. "Life changes, dearest. Maybe you should think of this spring, of Reverdie, as a new beginning, a time for adulthood…and all it entails."

"Oh fine, I have to change and you get to stay the same. Maybe I'll ask Ma to find you a wife."

Frodo boxed him on the ear. "Not if you want to see tomorrow and all those Brandybuck children you'll be having with dear Mrs. Brandybuck, your esteemed lady."

"Frodo!"

Frodo laughed but Merry leaned into him and planted his lips squarely on his cousin's. His guest resisted at first but Merry was persistent and gained entry to Frodo's lovely mouth.

"Hmmmmm." Merry made little sounds of pleasure as the two engaged in an increasingly lustful tongue twisting and he wrapped his arm around Frodo's head, holding him closer as he ravaged his cousin, thrusting his tongue deeper and deeper, exploring every corner of Frodo's welcoming chamber.

Merry reached into Frodo's loose travel shirt and quickly found a raised nipple. He tweaked it mercilessly, causing Frodo to suck harder on his cousin's tongue, tiny squeaks of pleasure also escaping from deep in his throat.

Merry pulled out of Frodo's mouth and began kissing and licking him on the chin and neck, nipping and sucking the soft, white skin, all the while continuing to torture the nipple until Frodo groaned loudly.

The younger cousin smiled, reclaiming his cousin's mouth and reaching down into Frodo's breeches, slipping underneath the small clothes. He found what he was looking for and grasped it hard.

Frodo shuddered, digging his fingernails into Merry's shoulders as his cousin's fingertips danced along his length. "Mer," he whispered, "maybe we shouldn't…not here, not now, not…"

"Not ever?" Suddenly Merry pulled away, dragging his hand out of Frodo's breeches. "Is that what you mean by new beginnings?"

Frodo sighed. "Mer, we're adults now, not tweens experimenting in the treehouse. Your father is right, you have to consider the future, make plans."

"Well, love," Merry gave the sore nipple one last tweak, grinning at the yelp he elicited from Frodo. "If I am to marry and have babies for Buckland, then you…you my dear cousin Frodo, must also begin anew."

Frodo stood up. "No, no, no," he chanted petulantly, his eyes dancing. "And save your sweet smile for your mother. I am going to bathe and clean up now and leave you to your daydreams of love." With that he raised his eyebrows and smiled sweetly before leaving both the room and his cousin, the latter bent over with an ache in his groin that could not be denied.

Rubbing his sore chest, Frodo made his way through the once familiar twisting and turning corridors of the ancient Brandybuck homestead. The huge compound was so familiar to him and would always be his home in a way. He laughed to himself as he reached a side door, imagining Merry in the library as stern old father, bouncing giggling fauntlings on his knee.

The afternoon sun was burning brightly, counteracting early spring temperatures, as Frodo headed for the bathing house. Definitely warmer than Hobbiton, he thought absently as he smiled at a serving woman who obviously remembered him. Perhaps the weatherhobbit was wrong about Reverdie being cold this year.

But as he walked the brick pathway, Frodo's mind wandered to more serious issues. Merry was an adult now, his birthday on the very day of re-greening, and soon he would dance the Reverdie with a sweet young lass, his future set in stone. Frodo sent silent thanks to his Uncle Bilbo for getting him out of this Brandybuck world, where one was forced to conform, as even Merry would one day conform.

Frodo shivered again. No new beginnings for him. He was content to live a quiet, retiring life. Quite content.

The bathhouse roof reflected the strong sunlight and Frodo shielded his eyes. For some reason the path ahead beckoned and instead of going into the bathhouse, his feet found a will of their own, for it was a beautiful day and the warmth too much to resist. And he knew where the path led.

Frodo's steps quickened as he walked through a side gate and exited the Brandy Hall complex. The woods were sparse in this part of Buckland and he could still feel the wonder of the spring sunshine on his face and arms. He rolled up his sleeves as he hurried even faster until finally he saw his destination.

The Brandywine River stretched out before him, strong, blue-green and majestic, its waves breaking on the rough shore. Large willow trees reached their limbs over the water and birds chattered their excitement as they dove at each other in the air, spring mating foremost in their minds.

For Frodo the river had once spelt freedom. Here he would come when things got too bad at the Hall. He would strip off his clothes and swim-far out into the center of the current-until he met the torrent, fighting its upstream strength until he could swim no longer, then letting it carry him back, pretending it would take him to the world of men and dragons and wizards.

But it never did. Eventually the young hobbit would recover his senses and swim back to where he had left his clothes. Then he would run for all he was worth not to be late for supper.

Smiling at the memories, Frodo gazed at the beautiful, wild river. Before long his nimble fingers were unbuttoning his shirt and sliding his travel-dusty breeks to the ground. Frodo stood naked in the sun, feeling the rays warm his body. He looked around nervously but no one was about. The river drew him like an old familiar friend, and smiling, Frodo Baggins, the staid, respectable Squire of Hobbiton, ran headlong for the shore and with a hoop of laughter, dove into the icy water.

The ranger reached out, grabbing a branch that threatened to slap him in the face. He held on to it, steadying himself as he negotiated a difficult part of the deer path. To call it a path was an overstatement; it was just a few inches wide and only an experienced tracker like himself could follow it for any distance.

"Sauron's balls!" The man swore as this time a branch did slap him in the face, cutting him with one of its brambles. He closed his eyes automatically as he reached for the thorny limb and broke it away, managing to swipe another thorn across his hand.

Still cursing under his breath, the ranger found a fallen log and sat down. He removed a clean linen cloth from his pocket and licking it, wiped his bleeding face, pressuring the wound until the blood stopped flowing. He remained where he was for a moment, listening to the birds chattering loudly in the treetops. A sure sign of spring, he thought. The sun was warm, birds mating and nesting, it must be time for the Shire-hobbit festivals in Buckland. Reverdie, wasn't that what they called it? Regreening?

The man sighed in spite of himself. His food had run out the day before and he was still hours from his cabin near the bank of the river. And he was tired. Tired of endless patrols, tired of petty criminals seeking the rich lands of the Shire. He had recently dragged three of them back to Bree, hands bound behind their backs, and thrown them in the jailhouse.

He dabbed at the small hole in his hand, wiping the blood away. The elves would also be celebrating now, he thought, with songs and food and musical poetry. For a minute he wished he was back in Rivendale, where all was peaceful and pleasant, where the wizard Gandalf sometimes stayed, and a lady waited…

Aragorn shook off the memory. He had made a vow to patrol the boundary of the Shire, to see that the land was kept safe from the more unsavory members of his race. He laughed bitterly. He had also made a vow to earn his birthright, hadn't he? The ranger grimaced at the hunger pangs in his stomach. Eru would enlighten him when the time was right, when he would fight the powers of evil and return to the White City. Gandalf the wizard had told him this.

Until then… Aragorn stood, grateful for the few minutes of rest. Until then, he would do his duty and help his fellow rangers keep the peace.

He headed back to the deer path and quickened his pace until finally he could hear the roar of the Brandywine. The sun was lower in the sky and his lodging not more than 30 minutes walk. He had built it of logs and mud bricks ten years ago to give him shelter during his longer treks from Bree. Although sparsely furnished, it had a well-designed fireplace and a comfortable bed. It also had some dried deer meat hung in the rafters and enough root vegetables to make a hot stew. After a week on patrol, that sounded better than all the delicacies of his boyhood elven home.

Aragorn's forest hut welcomed him with a rustic quality that mirrored his own attire. He gathered the dried meat, some flavoring herbs, and the vegetables onto a roughly hewn table. Then the ranger reached underneath for a bucket and soon he was hurrying along the path to the river, not thinking about anything but warm stew in his belly. He removed his leather boots and waded out into the current where the spring run-off water was clear and clean.

But before he could fill his bucket, he heard it.

Frodo's body hit the icy water with a thud, his diving skills somewhat rusty. Still, the rushing water on his naked body felt splendid. Gasping a bit at the chill, he nonetheless welcomed its reviving shock and he swam forward into the current.

Like the lad he had once been, Squire Baggins was still a skilled swimmer and slowly his muscles overcame the chilly water, responding to his commands as he moved out into the river. His soul sang with joy at the freedom he felt, along with all the sweet memories of youth. He swam upstream, gaining against the current, and soon was in the small outcropping where the current faded and the water was warmer. Frodo smiled and shouted aloud to the sky. He remembered swimming here with Merry in the heat of summer, and the first time they kissed on that very shore.

Frodo treaded water, his emotions in a jumble. He knew they had to separate. Merry had to become a respectable married hobbit. It was his cousin's duty and it was his duty to let him move on. New beginnings, wasn't that what they had said?

Frodo kicked and his foot broke the surface as he stared at the trees along the bank. But there would be no new beginnings for him. With Merry in the arms of a wife, he would be…what would he be? Frodo laughed to himself, choking on some swallowed water.

Crazy old Squire Baggins, the recluse on the hill-that's what they would call him. He laughed again. They probably already did.

Well, he thought, suddenly feeling the 45 years in his tiring limbs, crazy old Squire Baggins can still swim the Brandywine. He lengthened his body over the surface of the water and made his way back to the current. Taking long languid strokes, he ignored the signals his body was sending him and ventured into the center of the river, letting the strong current take him down stream, back to where his clothes lay. He tried to make his mind a blank but thoughts surfaced of his Merry in bed with a longhaired lass, kissing her, loving her, forgetting all about him.

Frodo could see the familiar jumping off spot in the distance and he began to make for the shore. But the current was stronger here and it held him back. Frodo swam harder, putting more muscle into his shoulder strokes but the current won again and suddenly he was swept past the spot where his clothes were waiting. Cursing he turned perpendicular to the current and swam as hard as he could.

Aragorn looked up. The late afternoon sun was blinding him and he squinted against its reflection on the water.

"What was that?" He muttered aloud.

Then he heard it again. A cry for help?

The third time left no doubt in his mind.

"HELP!!"

The ranger's keen eyes darted towards the sound and far in the distance he saw a small spec being tossed and pummeled by the river's unsavory ways.

He squinted again as it got closer.

"HE…L…" The weakening cry was swallowed in the water's wake.

Aragorn tossed the bucket to the shore and dove into the water. He was an expert swimmer and in top physical condition so it took him no time to reach the child. Its curly hair was plastered to its face as it fought him, shoving his arms away with blind hysteria. Once again the child fell under the water and Aragorn struggled to stay afloat with his belligerent captive. Soon it fainted from exhaustion but even then it took all of Aragorn's strength to hold the small creature out of the water.

The man was panting heavily as he waded up the bank and dropped to his knees with the limp, lifeless creature in his arms. Its small, naked body offered no resistance as he laid it on the soft, green moss. Its head rolled to one side but no breath came from its blue lips. Aragorn lifted the child up and pounded it on the back. Water spilled out of his mouth but there was no sign of life. Desperate, the ranger laid him back on the ground and stared for the first time at his face.

His mouth opened as he gasped in shock. This was not a child, but a hobbit, an adult hobbit from the small lines around his eyes. Maybe a dead hobbit, for that matter, he thought bitterly.

But Aragorn was not one to give up and he shook the lifeless creature, shouting at it helplessly. "Wake-up! Wake-up!"

But the creature was still not breathing. His lips were a sickly shade of blue and his chest remained low and sunken.

Merry Brandybuck stomped out of the bathhouse, clean and steaming. His sandy hair fell in wet ringlets around eyes that glared at everyone as he hurried back to the Hall.

His mind was in a jumble. Where was Frodo? He had expected to enjoy the baths with his handsome cousin but the Baggins was nowhere to be found. Merry continued his rude behavior all the way to his rooms, where he startled a chambermaid by slamming the door as hard as he could. Merry dropped his wet towel on a nearby trunk and went to his extensive wardrobe, pulling out all manor of evening finery and laying it out on the bed. He would at least look good at supper and maybe his cousin would notice. Then it would be early to retire, both he and Cousin Frodo, to his very soft bed.

He turned at a sudden knock on the door but before he could respond, it opened on his mother who rushed in, her long skirts sweeping behind her. "Merry, dear…"

Merry ran for the trunk and grabbed the towel, covering himself. "Mother!!"

"Oh, for Eru's sake, dear, I have seen it all before."

Merry frowned, gathering the towel closer around him. "I am a grown hobbit, Ma, and require my privacy. I swear, I will have a lock put on that door if you do that again."

Esmeralda put her hands on her hips. "And may I remind you, dear, that this is my smial and I will go where I please and when I please."

Merry opened his mouth to respond but his mother held up her hand. "Let us hear no more of this. I have a surprise for you, Merry."

Her son smiled. "Oh, has Frodo come back?"

"No," Esmeralda's voice had an edge on it now, "I haven't seen your cousin. But there is someone downstairs I want you to see." She glanced at the suit Merry had laid out on the bed. "Wear the blue weskit, dear, it is better suited to your eyes."

Esmeralda went to Merry's closet and removed his blue velvet weskit, laying it carefully on the bed. "There now, that looks nice. I expect you in the South Parlor in fifteen minutes, and comb your hair, love, you look a sight." She stood back and looked at him, shivering in his towel. Then she reached into a pocket within her voluminous skirts. Out came an amethyst vial, which she quickly uncorked. A musky aroma of wood, earth, and smoke filled the room.

"Your father's scent, Merry, but I think it will do well on you."

Merry backed up a step. "No, Ma, I don't…"

"Nonsense." Esmeralda turned the vial upside down on her fingertip and let the thick oil spread over it. Then she stepped forward without hesitation and rubbed the oil lightly over Merry's chest ignoring his protests.

Esmeralda fingercombed her son's damp hair, placing it across his forehead in a fussy style he hated. Then she stepped back with a big smile on her face. She inhaled deeply. "Oh, that is perfect. Perfect, Merry. Fifteen minutes, dear. Don't keep us waiting."

With that she turned and left his rooms closing the door with a slight click.

"Balls!" Merry cursed loudly, not caring who heard him out in the hallway. There was no water in the washbasin so he used the damp towel to wipe the oil off his body. But the scent was everywhere. Borrowing some colorful phraseology from the riverhobbits he knew, the heir to Buckland got dressed in his mother's choices and presented himself at the South Parlor in fifteen minutes. His hair, however, was combed back off his face.

Esmeralda sat primly on her best brocade sofa, her hair done up in formal curls, and next to her, seated comfortably in a straightback chair, a cup of steaming tea in her delicate hands, was Miss Estella Bolger.

The ranger was shaken. In seconds he would have a dead hobbit on his hands and that was something he wanted to avoid at all costs. He shook the limp body again to no avail and the creature's little chest seemed to sink all the further into death.

In desperation, Aragorn took a deep breath and covered the blue lips with his own. He blew into the hobbit's mouth but could only feel the breath coming out his small nose. So he pinched it closed and took another breath. Making a tight seal, he blew gently at first but then more firmly until he saw the hobbit's chest rise. His own eyes enlarged in surprise at the success of this strange maneuver. But after the air was expelled, he did it again and again, watching as the bluish skin color faded.

After about fifteen minutes, the hobbit moaned and Aragorn knelt up, watching in wonder. It had actually worked! He was breathing on his own! The man smiled, his heart full of joy, watching the tiny creature fight for life. Without thinking, he reached out and moved a swatch of dark curly hair from the hobbit's eyes. He was beautiful, his skin, clear and fair, and the ranger could not but help wonder at the eye color behind those tightly closed lids.

In spite of himself, the man's eyes wandered down the naked creature's body. It was perfectly formed and lovely: the small, pointed ears, the strange, wooly foot-fur, dripping water and curling tightly…and then the man's eyes moved again, lingering over the dark, silky curls between his legs and the beautiful things that peeked out from them.

Aragorn shook his head, coming to his senses. It was getting colder and he was dripping wet and shivering himself. He quickly pulled on his dry boots, picked up the small body and hurried back to his cabin. Once inside, he laid the hobbit on his bed and covered him with a worn blanket. Then he busied himself with a fire, and although the room was soon warm, the hobbit hadn't stirred.

The ranger checked his pulse and found the creature's skin-tone better. He was breathing easily. Aragorn shivered again in his wet clothes, and taking one more look at the unconscious hobbit, he left the cabin and hurried as fast as he could toward the river, returning with the bucket full of water.

He poured it quickly into his iron kettle, placing it over the fire. A hot meal was now indispensable to them both. He quickly cut up the venison and root vegetables along with some healing herbs, and dropped them into the hot water. Aragorn stirred the stew and stepped over to his straw bed. The hobbit was still unconscious and the ranger frowned, wondering if he would ever wake up. But his own health was also a matter of concern as the ranger was now trembling uncontrollably.

He returned to the fire and stripped off his clothes, laying them over a nearby stool to dry. The ranger stretched his lean, sinewy body, feeling the heat of the fire on his legs as his skin lost its gooseflesh and took on a rosy hue. Breathing deeply, Aragorn leaned over and grabbed a log, tossing it on the flames and bending over to place it just right beneath the iron caldron.

Frodo Baggins opened one eye, his mind in disarray, not knowing what had happened or where he was. Slowly the room came into focus and he was staring into a lovely, white, milky ass. The other eye popped open immediately. Merry?

Frodo squinted to get a better focus. This ass did not belong to a hobbit. Terrified, Frodo lay still, fear creeping over him as the creature by the fire straightened up. Now his eyes grew wide with terror. A man! Oh, sweet Eru save me, Frodo pleaded silently.

The man turned and Frodo shut his eyes. Oh, dear, oh, dear, he thought. I'm to be killed…or worse.

Frodo had seen a man before--once or twice--as a young hobbit down by the Brandywine docks. He and Merry loved hanging around the riverhobbits, trading jokes and listening to their colorful language-it was forbidden and thus one more delightful thing to defy Aunt Esmeralda.

Sometimes men from Bree came by to sell pipeweed or other goods but the hobbit traders usually refused to take them, considering them inferior to hobbit-made products. Hiding in the corners or behind shipping barrels, Frodo and Merry had been terrified of the men, of their size, and their big, booming, nasty voices.

And then there were the stories. Men liked to kidnap hobbits who wandered too far from the Shire, so Aunt Esme said. They would eat them or sometimes keep them as slaves and they did unspeakable things…

Frodo tried to calm himself. The stories were doubtless idle legends, meant to scare Buckland children from venturing onto the Bree road. But he was a 45-year adult now and not a child to be frightened by tales of men and dragons. Still, he kept his eyes closed as the man moved about the room, humming to himself.

Merry took a deep breath. "Stel."

Esmeralda was unaware that Merry knew this hobbit lass well. Unbeknownst to her parents, Stellie was a bit of a tomlad and liked to venture out with her brother, Fredegar, and the other lads, exploring, climbing trees, chasing rabbits, and the like. But now she was dressed in a tight-fitting blue bodice, a long, billowing plaid skirt and a shining, grey silk blouse--with her hair done up in complex curls and ribbons. Her mother's rubies graced her neck and the matching earrings sparkled in the last rays of sunlight streaming through the window.

But Merry saw her in lad's breeches sliding down a muddy slope into Farmer Maggots' garden, then chasing after Frodo, trying to be first to get the coveted mushrooms. Now, to Merry's astonishment, this same lass was sitting demurely in his mother's best parlor, sipping tea, looking every inch the gentlehobbit lass calling on the lady of the manor.

"Merry, you remember Estella." Esmeralda's voice sounded like lilting bells of charm and delight. "She is here with her family for Reverdie.

Merry swallowed hard. Estella was smiling at him, a hint of mischievousness in her eyes.

He had wrestled this lass in the mud and punched her as good as he got, but now he bowed formally. "Yes, of course. How very nice to see you again, Estella." He glared at his mother but she was looking at the silver tea set on the table in front of them.

"Pour yourself some tea, dear, and sit with us." Esmeralda gazed up at her handsome son. "Estella is just telling me the most charming story about the tapestry she is making."

It was all Merry could do to pour his tea without shaking, he was so mad. But there was nothing for it, he was trapped. He sat where his mother motioned him, on a chair next to their visitor, took a sip of tea and smiled ruefully.

"Do tell, Estella, and what, pray, is happening these days…in the wonderful world of tapestry?"

Frodo couldn't stand it one second longer. The room had been silent for several minutes and he had to know what was happening in his own world. He opened his eyes and looked up-and straight into the dark grey stare of the Numenorean ranger who guarded his homeland.

He let out a squeak of fear, his eyes large as saucers.

"Are you all right?" The voice was deep, rich and commanding.

Frodo stared up at the man, standing naked in front of the bed. Against his will, the hobbit's gaze drifted downwards. He eyes got bigger. By Eru, by Eru, he was so….

"Are you all right?!"

Frodo jerked his eyes upward and opened his mouth but nothing came out.

Aragorn looked down at himself. "Oh, sorry." He reached for a blanket out of his pack and wrapped it around his waist.

Frodo could only stare at the beautiful man before him. His shoulders were broad and his chest speckled with dark hair. Its skin was smooth and strong, punctuated by large, rosy, somewhat erect nipples. Reluctantly, Frodo drew his eyes away and looked up into the man's face. His eyes were kindly and his features pleasant and symmetrical. His straggly hair and beard, however, told of the long days on patrol with no means of grooming.

Frodo stirred and tried to sit up on the bed, his muscles slow to respond, realizing for the first time that he was naked too. The ranger reached out to help him but Frodo inched backwards, wrapping the blanket around himself as a huge shiver racked his body.

"Wh…at, who…" He swallowed hard, tasting the dirt of the river in his mouth. He had been in the Brandywine…in the river! Frodo closed his eyes, trying to remember. The water was so strong and he was so tired…the shore, so far…

"Are you all right?" The ranger spoke quietly, bringing up a stool to sit by the bed.

Frodo opened his eyes, pulling the blanket closer. Sitting so close on the stool, the man was huge, almost twice Frodo's size. "I…I was in the river. The current was so strong and the water was so…cold." He smiled weakly. "I thought I was a dead hobbit."

The man let out a long breath. "You almost were. But you sound all right now. I am glad."

Frodo rubbed his eyes and crinkled his face, trying to get some feeling into his skin. "Did you save me?" He realized immediately that it was a stupid statement. "I mean, you must have saved me, or I would be a dead hobbit."

The man smiled for the first time. "Yes, I got you out of the river and I…I found a way to bring air to your lungs…that is, I had to…you were almost gone from us."

Frodo didn't want to think of how that air got to his lungs. Instead, he looked at the strange creature in front of him. "I thank you, sir, with all my heart. It was a grand and generous act."

Aragorn stared into the hobbit's big blue eyes. He could not take his own eyes off them, their beauty was like nothing he had ever seen before. "I…that is…" Uncharacteristically, he fumbled for words.

Frodo, however, had found his voice. "The river was treacherous! You could have been killed. He coughed a few times, holding his chest. His voice was then quieter. "Oh, I don't know how you did it."

Even injured, the hobbit's voice was sweet and melodic. He had never met anyone so beautiful in every way. "I…I am sworn to protect the Shire, my good hobbit. It is my duty."

Frodo stared back at him. "Are you then, one of those rangers?"

Before Aragorn could answer, the hobbit continued, talking faster and faster. "I know what you are! We have stories and legends about the Numenorians. My Uncle Bilbo told me…about the Dunedain, the Men of the West, but I never…I never…"

He started shaking with fear. It was like an obscure legend coming to life and now it was not so exciting or benevolent. This was no ordinary Bree-man. Numenorians were great men in every way, long-lived and strong, supreme warriors. Frodo stared at the door, wondering if he could make it. What if his aunt was right. What if they did eat hobbits?

He began to shake uncontrollably.

Suddenly the man stood and went over to the fire. The stew was bubbling hot and the aroma from the herbs filled the room. He took a ladle hanging from a nail and scooped some stew into a wooden bowl.

"Here." His voice was strong and commanding as he stared into the hobbit's eyes. "You must get some warmth into you." Aragorn handed the bowl to Frodo, then set out another for himself before sitting down on the stool.

"Eat!"

The stew smelt wonderful and the warm bowl felt good in his trembling hands. Frodo raised it to his lips and sipped the fragrant liquid, taking in small chunks of meat and turnips. He closed his eyes with delight as the warmth washed over him and he greedily drank more.

Finally, Frodo sighed and opened his eyes, some of his fear waning. The ranger was still staring at him, his own bowl untouched.

"Forgive my bad manners, sir. I am Frodo Baggins of Hobbiton, in the West Farthing of the Shire." He reached out his hand.

The man squeezed it gently. "And I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn…but that is a bit pretentious for these parts. Around here, I'm known as Strider."

Frodo smiled, reclaiming his hand. He took another sip of stew and Aragorn did the same. "The stew is excellent and I am in your debt. You have saved my life."

Aragorn seemed embarrassed at the open praise. "As I said, Mr. Baggins, it is my duty."

Frodo coughed again. And again, spilling some of the stew.

"Here, let me help." The ranger put down his own bowl and sat on the bed next to Frodo, putting his arm around his shivering shoulders. He took the hobbit's bowl in his hands and held it to his lips.

Frodo felt the fool to be so coddled by a strange man but his weakness was undeniable and he leaned gratefully against the ranger's strong shoulder, sipping the stew in small increments.

Finally, he pulled away, his head spinning. "I…I am sorry, I…don't know…what…" Frodo's head leaned heavily against the ranger's broad chest, and as Aragorn lowered him onto the bed, he slipped into a deep sleep.

"…And of course our dear Estella is old enough to dance the Reverdie this year...with a fortunate partner. Merry?"

Esmeralda's son was gazing blearily out the window.

"MERRY!"

"Yes, mother." Merry spilled a bit of tea on his velvet breeches as he extricated himself from a pleasant daydream where he and Frodo were racing ponies over the nearby hills. "Reverdie."

"You will show Estella every courtesy at the celebration, as The Master's son and host." She turned to their guest. "Merry is an accomplished dancer, Estella, have no fear."

Estella looked at Merry, her eyes showing more of the mocking tone he had seen earlier. "Is that so?"

"Oh yes, dear, he has had several lessons, you know."

Estella was clearly stifling a laugh. "Lessons…you mean dancing lessons?"

"Yes, of course. Our Merry will lead Reverdie, now that he is of age. He must do the Circle steps correctly or spring planting will be a failure."

"Of course, Mrs. Brandybuck." Estella looked at Merry, her eyes glittering, her gloved hands over her lips to keep them from erupting in hilarity. "I look forward to watching the Circle Dance this year."

"Oh, but Estella, my lovely lass, perhaps Rosamunda hasn't told you."

As one, both Estella and Merry turned to Esmeralda, their eyes wide in shock, and for a time that seemed an eternity, the Mistress of the Hall hesitated.

"It is a secret, of course but…

Neither young hobbit in the room was breathing.

"You, Estella, will dance Reverdie with Merry this year." Esmeralda was smiling serenely. "Your mother and I have decided, dear. You two will make a lovely, lovely couple to lead the re-greening."

Merry let out a long breath, quite beyond daydreaming now. This was serious business. He bit his lip, not knowing what to say and Estella was smiling at him, making him all the more tongue-tied.

"Now," Esmeralda was rising from her beautiful settee, "I have duties to attend to for supper tonight."

Merry stood politely.

"No, dear," his mother was still smiling. "You stay here and keep our lovely guest company. You should get to know each other."

With that she swept from the room with all the grace that was her station.

Merry sat down slowly as Estella suppressed a giggle. "Dancing lessons?"

"You breathe one word and I will…"

"What, Mer, what will you do." Estella sipped her tea, never taking her brilliant eyes off Merry.

"Oh balls, Stel, I don't know."

Merry stood and walked over to the window, catching Estella's reflection in the setting sun. She did look quite nice, he thought, all cleaned up. Estella was giggling openly now and for some reason it warmed his heart. He turned and smiled for the first time, joining in her infectious laughter.

"Just don't tell Frodo, ALL RIGHT, or Fatty either...and definitely not Pippin. I would never hear the end."

She put down her teacup. "It will be our secret, Mer."

Merry turned back to the window. "I wonder where Frodo has got to?" he whispered to the panes, just under his breath.

Estella stood and joined him. She put her arm around Merry's shoulder. "I'm sorry…about our mothers, that is. I didn't mean for them to push us together."

Merry looked at her.

"I…I can go home, if you like, Mer. This is your birthday Reverdie, your coming of age--and it should be nothing but fun for you. No unpleasantness. Or implications.

Merry turned back to the window.

"So Frodo has come to help you celebrate."

"Yes…ah…yes, Stel, Frodo is here…somewhere."

"Then I shall go home."

"No," Merry spoke quickly, not knowing why but he didn't want her to go. "No, I want you to stay."

He put his arm around her waist. She felt good, fitting perfectly within his embrace. He burst into laughter. "Well, Stellie, my mother would be very happy if she walked in right now…I mean, to see us arm in arm."

Estella pulled him closer, returning his laughter. "Well, then, let us keep the mothers happy." She leaned her head on his shoulder and Merry was surprised that it felt just fine.

Aragorn struggled into his dry clothes with a deep frown on his face. The hobbit had slept fitfully, tossing and turning, coughing all night. He was still asleep and Aragorn had felt a fever on Frodo's forehead that worried him deeply. The river was cold and he had almost downed. Now Aragorn worried that the halfling might have the lung inflammation disease-and it might as easily take his life as the Brandywine.

The ranger had brewed a tea of Athelas leaves and taken it off the fire to cool when Frodo stirred. He groaned and opened his eyes. They were red and inflamed. "Ar..thor…on…"

Aragorn rushed to the bed. "How do you feel, Frodo?"

"Terr…ible," he whispered. A chill wracked his small body and he grabbed Aragorn's hand. "I feel so cold, then so hot...and weak as a faunt. What is the matter with me!"

Frodo's hand was on fire and his pulse rapid. Aragorn reached for his forehead and found it damp and hot. He gently laid Frodo down on the mattress and pressed his ear to the hobbit's bare chest, listening to his ragged breathing.

Suddenly he ran for the Athelas. "Here, you must drink. NOW!"

"No." Frodo turned over and curled himself into a ball. "I feel so sick."

Aragorn turned him back and dragged him onto his lap. He wrapped the blanket around the hobbit and held him as he shivered. "Here, you must take the Athelas. It is your only hope, Frodo."

Frodo looked up in shock. "Wha…What is this malady?" He sipped the Athelas tea that Aragorn held to lips.

"Drink it all." Aragorn's tone held no room for argument and Frodo finished the tea as he had been commanded, wincing at its bitter taste.

Choking again, the hobbit grabbed the ranger's hand. "Now, tell me!"

"I believe it is the lung inflammation, Frodo. The fever can be serious and…"

"Pneumonia?" Frodo shivered helplessly and felt like a flame in the ranger's cool arms. "Oh, no."

Aragorn covered him with two blankets, tucking them underneath the shivering hobbit. "The Athelas will help," he said gently. "But you must rest and stay in bed."

"Oh, no," Frodo repeated. "Noooo, I must…" His voice was weaker and he coughed violently.

When it was over, Frodo leaned back on the pillow unable to continue. He closed his eyes and soon the only sound in the room was his labored breathing. Aragorn felt his forehead again and frowned. This was bad, very bad.

He dipped a cloth into the water and gently wiped down the hobbit's face. "I have to lower your temperature, Frodo," he whispered, ringing out the cloth and dipping it in the bucket again. He pulled down the blanket.

"Noooo." Frodo pulled weakly at the blanket.

Aragorn sighed. "This is not a time for modesty, little one. You can die from this fever." He then firmly pulled the blanket down and rubbed the wet cloth over Frodo's body, trying not to think of the creamy white skin and the perfectly formed limbs. He turned Frodo over and washed the back of him, constantly dipping the cloth back into the cool water. When he was finished, the ranger grabbed a spare shirt that was hanging on a nail and pulled it over the hobbit's head and shoulders, guiding his arms through the huge sleeves and rolling them back. It was big enough on Frodo to make a proper hobbit nightshirt.

"There, is that better?" Aragorn turned Frodo over again and wrapped the blanket around him. "At least you have something to wear."

Frodo smiled weakly as he sunk his head into the pillow and fell into a deep sleep.

And the ranger never left his side, constantly bathing his feverish face and slowly letting it burn into him until he was sure he would remember its hobbity beauty until his dying day.

Morning's bright rays streamed through the cabin window finding the ranger still sitting by the hobbit's side. Perched on the stool, he had watched over him all night and kept the fever down by his constant ministrations.

Now he stood and stretched his long arms to the ceiling, his muscles trembling from inactivity and his thoughts in a jumble. But before he could sort them out, the hobbit stirred again, moaning and coughing.

Aragorn sat on the bed and took Frodo's hand. It was much cooler than the night before and he felt it squeeze his own as the hobbit opened his eyes, made dazzling by his flushed complexion.

"Agoroan."

"Aragorn." The ranger smiled at him.

Frodo rubbed his forehead. "Ara…gorn."

"How are you feeling?"

"Better, yes, better than last night." He took a deep breath. "But so tired."

"The fever has broken," said Aragorn, smiling. "And the Athelas has completed its wonders. I feared it would not work on a hobbit but it has saved you."

He then restarted the fire, stirring up the banked coals and laying more logs on top. "I will heat up the stew and you can finish it. It will do you good to gain some strength."

Frodo leaned up on one elbow. "Oh, by Eru, Merry! Reverdie! Aragorn, they will be looking for me at the Hall, they will find my clothes and think I drowned!"

The hobbit sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. "I must go!" Frodo stood quickly, grasping the blanket around him and before Aragorn could move he took a step, then fell flat on the floor.

Aragorn ran to his side and picked him up, laying him back onto the straw matted bed. "You're not going anywhere."

"No, I must…"

Aragorn leaned over, his face close to Frodo's. "Calm down. I will go to the ferry landing and send a lad to the Hall to tell them you are all right."

"Oh, thank-you."

"But only if you stay in bed and eat the stew. I will brew more Athelas tea and I want you to drink that too." He smiled. "It is the only way you will get well."

Frodo smiled back. The man's large, grey eyes were so compelling…and yet commanding at the same time. "Thank-you," he said quietly.

The ranger was still smiling as Frodo stretched up and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. He leaned back into the pillow and closed his eyes wearily. "I owe you so much."

Because his eyes were closed, he didn't see the stunned look on the ranger's face, nor did he see him shiver and rub his cheek. Instead, when Frodo opened his eyes again, the ranger was ladling out the soup.

"Here, drink it all," he said bruskly, "and stay in bed."

Quickly Aragorn made some tea with the remaining Athelas leaves and Frodo sat up in bed and drank it dutifully, along with the stew.

While he was eating, the ranger sat down on the stool. "Tell me about Reverdie."

Frodo swallowed a large piece of venison before answering. "It is the spring planting festival in Buckland, held on the first Highday of the first full moon of spring."

"In two days," said Aragorn thoughtfully.

"It is the re-greening, the renewal of the land and the celebration of new life and new beginnings." Frodo smiled between mouthfuls. "It begins with the Reverdie Circle Dance, where the Master of the Hall-or sometimes his heir, if he is of age-will dance with his lady in a large circle-far out in the planting fields where the celebration is held.

"The steps are highly ritual and must be done properly. As they dance, the Master throws out seed for planting and the crowd sings the springsong, louder and louder as they dance faster and faster around the huge circle, and the lady is bedecked in ribbons, one for every baby born the previous year in Buckland. The ribbons welcome the new babies to be born the coming year and if she dances correctly, there will be more ribbons next time."

Aragorn smiled. "I have seen similar festivals in other lands."

"It is important to the Buckland hobbits," said Frodo with a smile. "I don't know as I hold with everything…literally, I mean. The success of the planting and harvest is more likely due to the soil, weather, and good, hard work, but I love the ceremonies and it is wonderful to gather with my own people." Frodo sighed. "I am originally from Buckland, you see. I miss it sometimes."

Frodo cleared his throat. "After the Master and his lady have danced the Reverdie Circle and spread the seed over the dance field, the others dance in their footsteps, until all have completed the circle and pounded the seed into the earth."

"An interesting custom, I give them that."

"You should join us." Frodo's eyes gleamed at his new friend. "The hobbits should learn what you have done for me and they should know of your race and how you protect us. It is wrong to be so ignorant of our benefactors." Frodo smiled, catching and holding the ranger's eyes. "Of course it would be better if you went without those horrid boots." He stared down at the ranger's bare feet. "Amazing. They are so skinny and, well…so plain and naked."

"They look fine to me!"

Frodo laughed. "Even with such feet, barefoot is better than smelly leather boots." I don't know how you men stand them."

"Rangers do not go anywhere without boots, Frodo. What a silly idea."

"Well, that is not important. But you should learn our customs, Aragorn, and show hobbits that men are…are quite nice to know." He looked down. "Not like the stories. And I mean it, you are welcome to join us."

The ranger laughed. "That is not possible. We are different species, with different lives and ways-as you have so clearly pointed out. But your Reverdie reminds me of some Elvish rituals, where they dance in circles under the moon, holding each other with silken cords. How does it end?"

Frodo laughed. "They break out the kegs of ale and the tons of food the ladies have been cooking for a week…and we dance and sing and celebrate all night and into the morning. It's Reverdie! New beginnings. Spring. New loves. Everything is new."

Aragorn smiled but his eyes took on a serious cast. "And what do you celebrate, Frodo Baggins?"

"Oh…I don't know." Frodo tilted his head and pursed his lips. His voice became quieter. "I celebrate for the others."

Aragorn stared at him.

"The others. New marriages, new romances, new babies, new plantings and all. I even suspect my cousin Merry will be finding a new lass…to share his life with." He found himself looking deeply into Aragorn's eyes. "But I am content."

The ranger stared back. "I see." He took a deep breath. "Ah, now I must go to Buckleberry landing. I will send word to the Hall that you are well."

Once again, fatigue overwhelmed the ranger's guest. "Tell Merry...please." Frodo said quietly as he lay back on the bed.

Aragorn reached for his boots and slipped them on. Then he tucked the blanket around Frodo and laid another on top of him. "Now stay in bed. No one knows of this place so you are safe until I return."

But his only answer was Frodo's light breathing as he fell into a deep sleep.

Aragorn returned after sending a hobbit lad off to the Hall with the message for Merry Brandybuck. He had re-filled the bucket with water and his hunting skills had procured a nice, juicy rabbit, now over his shoulder.

His guest was still in bed but had turned over in his sleep. The blankets were fallen away and the shirt scrunched up to reveal most of his beautiful body. The ranger stood for a moment in the doorway and gazed on dark, curly locks that flowed onto his shapely shoulders, the peaches and cream complexion and the lovely back that curved into a perfectly formed ass and thighs.

Aragorn sighed audibly. He'd been alone a long time now. His elven love, an impossible dream. He sighed again, staring at the sleeping hobbit. Like Frodo, he was content. He was doing his duty and watching out for those less strong. Perhaps, as Gandalf had implied, there were great deeds in his future but for now, yes, for now he was content.

Just then Frodo shivered and reached for the blanket, pulling it up. Then he turned over and saw the ranger looking at him.

"I am sorry. I…I just walked in." Aragorn put down the bucket and laid the rabbit on the table.

Frodo sat up on the bed and pulled the shirt down over his knees. He rubbed his eyes like one in a daze. "Did you send the message to Merry?"

Aragorn began filling a clay mug with some of the fresh water. "Yes, it is sent." He handed the mug to Frodo and sat down next to him on the bed. "Now drink, the water will do you good."

Frodo took the mug and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "Thank-you again. You have been so kind to me."

He smiled and the ranger thought his heart would stop. Aragorn opened his mouth to speak.

"Yes, I know," said Frodo softly, "it is only your duty."

The hobbit put his arm around Aragorn's shoulder. It felt warm and wonderful, like it belonged there forever. Aragorn looked down into the cornflower eyes and swallowed hard. Frodo was staring deeply into his soul almost, as if he could see all the loneliness and longing therein. Suddenly, the hobbit leaned up and into his lips. He touched them softly with his own but it was like a bolt of lightening searing into the man's flesh.

Aragorn pulled away.

"I am sorry," Frodo pulled away too and dropped his arm. "I don't know why I did that."

"Frodo…"

The hobbit looked away. "I must go. They will be expecting me back. I promised my cousin." He stood up shakily and stepped away, nervously smoothing down Aragorn's extra shirt. Lost in its huge size, Frodo looked up at the man and smiled sheepishly. "Merry will never forgive me if I miss him dance the Reverdie."

Still sitting on the bed, Aragorn grabbed Frodo's shoulders with both hands. "Reverdie is in two days," he said, pulling the hobbit to him and wrapping his strong arms around his body.

Frodo felt the man's arms engulfing him and his knees buckled, not from his recent illness but from something he had never felt before. At least, not like this. He grabbed Aragorn by the shoulders, not knowing what to do or how to proceed. He only knew that he had to feel more.

"Oh, Frodo." Aragorn was rubbing his cheek against the hobbit's face. He sighed heavily as his lips found his small, perfectly formed mouth. "Hmmm," he licked the hobbit's lips and gently gained entrance. "Frodo." The word felt good just to say, with his voice low in his throat as he parted Frodo further and thrust inside.

Frodo's fingernails dug into the ranger's shoulders as he opened to him, leaning his head back as Aragorn pressed down, supporting the hobbit with his strong arms. He wrapped his tongue around Frodo's and sucked hard, like nothing Frodo had ever felt before. The power and strength of the man took his breath away. His heart was beating harder than it ever had and his own tongue was fighting back without hesitation. He slipped sideways and grabbed one of Aragorn's lips, sucking and biting it hard.

The ranger moaned and took Frodo inside his mouth once more, holding his head with the back of his hand, guiding him in this passion between strangers.

Aragorn pulled Frodo up on the bed and pressed his head into the pillow. He leaned down on his arms and stared into Frodo's eyes, his chest heaving and his eyes intense. Frodo stared back with an equally intense gaze, his fingers grasped around the ranger's forearms.

"Aragorn…" He managed to whisper, "I have never been with a man, I don't know how it would..."

"And I have never been with a hobbit." The man smiled, his lips moist and inviting. He could feel the heavy bulge straining against his breeches. "But we can teach each other…that is, if you wish to." He pulled further away. "Or we can stop. Now. I don't want to hurt you or force you into something you don't…want. I don't know what will happen."

Frodo was hyperventilating, lost in the ranger's eyes, his normally articulate brain failing him. "Aha…"

The ranger bit his lip, trying to choose his words carefully. "I want to love you, Frodo."

Frodo swallowed hard. He rubbed his fingers along the man's hairy arms, feeling the strength, articulation, and masculinity of his muscles. He reached up through the ranger's open jerkin and grabbed Aragorn's shirt buttons. Hastily he unbuttoned them and found himself staring into two beautiful pink nipples, erect with excitement.

He gasped in surprise, then laughed to himself. Had he expected this man to look any different from a hobbit? He timidly reached up and rubbed his fingertips lightly over a nipple, feeling Aragorn shudder. How amazing, he thought, that a little hobbit could make this powerful man jump and twitch.

The thought was an aphrodisiac to him and suddenly Frodo felt very powerful, to say nothing of the growth he too was experiencing between his legs. He smiled and tweaked the nipple harder, eliciting a deep groan from Aragorn. The ranger threw his head back as Frodo squeezed harder, twisting and pulling.

"Shall I consider that to be yes?" Aragorn spoke softly.

Frodo grabbed the shirt and pulled Aragorn down on top of him. He found his lips and covered them with his own. "Oh, yes, yes, yes, I want you to love me...more than anything."

Aragorn pulled up a bit and hovered tantalizingly over the hobbit's lips. He kissed them lightly and then the hobbit's chin. Slowly he kissed the soft skin, the neck, and into the hollow of his throat, over his collar bones, sucking and nipping as Frodo whimpered, his hands in the ranger's hair, tugging and pulling him where he wanted him to be.

Aragorn deftly pulled the shirt off the hobbit and stared down at his beauty. "Oh, Frodo," he whispered, continuing his kisses, lingering at the soft, tan nipples, whipping his tongue around them and lightly biting the tips, smiling as the hobbit screamed and pulled his hair.

The man continued down Frodo's abdomen, feeling his own excitement rise and not missing the hobbit's own erection. He smiled as he continued down. He couldn't remember feeling this wonderful, not in years.

Frodo grabbed the bed sheets between his fingers as the man continued down his body. "Ara…please…gorn…oh… uhhh…"

Aragorn could wait no longer. He engulfed the hobbit's privates in his mouth caressing them tenderly as Frodo shuddered and screeched, his back bending and bucking with each stimulation. The ranger pulled back and took Frodo's cock in his mouth, holding it in one hand and caressing its rosy tip with his lips. With his other hand, he unbuttoned his own breeches and kicked them away. The relief was physical as his own privates jumped free of their restraints.

"Don't stop," Frodo managed to whisper between groans and Aragorn complied, slowly moving his lips down the hobbit's shaft, sucking and nipping, his tongue licking its own teasing pathway.

Aragorn was amazed at the size of the hobbit's warm, pink bits-happily much larger than his diminutive height would have predicted. He increased his ministrations, twisting his tongue around and around Frodo's shaft, thinking how this might work after all. The hobbit's length was growing, filling the ranger's mouth with its moist heat. He opened wide and took him deeper, down to the base, feeling his own erection throb. Then he took in Frodo's balls, wiping them with his tongue, feeling them throb with his rough stimulation.

Frodo screamed in pleasure as Aragorn now sucked his entirety again, alternately squeezing and relaxing with his lips. He could taste the pre-cum as the hobbit neared climax and he reached for that special spot between his legs.

Frodo was breathing hard, his voice barely under control. "Sto…op, just a…min…ute."

Aragorn brought his head up. "Are you all right!?"

The hobbit's face was flushed and his nipples peaked high, a bright shade of crimson. "Oh, oh, yes, Ara…Ara…gorn. Please…in…side me. Now."

Aragorn's member shuddered as if it had heard on its own.

"Are you sure?"

"YES!" Frodo screamed, "Now!"

Aragorn was beyond any decision making anyway as he turned the hobbit over on his stomach. The beautiful ass was pristine, white, and open to him as he licked his fingers and caressed the soft skin, spreading moisture over Frodo's cleft and cheeks. He leaned down and trailed his tongue into the cleft, down to the target that Frodo was so imploring him to penetrate. It was so soft and pliable. Stretchable.

"Now!" Frodo yelled again, his cock trembling and leaking.

Feeling more confident, Aragorn licked his fingers again and moistened his shaft but there was no time for more.

He turned Frodo over again and raised the hobbit's legs over his shoulders.

"I want to see your face...when…I…" He reached a finger into Frodo's opening and it responded, easily stretching to two and then three fingers.

Frodo groaned and shouted something unintelligible.

But Aragorn was enheartened as he moved his stiff, erect cock into position. This will be all right, he thought vaguely, but by then neither of them could have stopped. Frodo grabbed his arms as Aragorn drove into his body, once, twice, not hearing the hobbit's screams of delight, not knowing anything other than his own delirium.

The man groaned himself as he continued, driving in as far as he dared and feeling Frodo's shudders each time he hit the prostate.

"Aga..ron!" He hobbit's voice was shaking. "More."

Aragorn looked down at the Frodo's huge cock, red and throbbing, leaking and ready to explode but held in check by the hobbit's will. He thrust harder, determined to break that will and force the surrender he knew would be soon inevitable.

Again and again Aragorn drove himself into the small but welcoming cavity. Frodo was screaming with each penetration but would not let himself come. He dug into the ranger's forearms, drawing blood but Aragorn couldn't feel it.

The man was relentless now as his own excitement became unbearable and the familiar point of no return was passed. He screamed as he could feel his orgasm building, rushing through his organ.

Frodo felt it too and it was too much for him. He yelled and lifted his head up off the mattress, coming all over his chest and belly, his cock throbbing and spurting more than Aragorn would have thought possible. But he was blinded now by his own passion, groaning in pleasure as he spent much of himself deep into the hobbit's cavity again and again and again until he thought he would die right there of his own sensations and the look on the hobbit before him-pure passion, pure lust, pure desire. His blue eyes were black and lidded, a hint of too much moisture in their corners.

I love you." The hobbit's lips were soundless but there was no doubt about the words.

Aragorn caught his breath as he gazed at the beautiful hobbit and suddenly his heart gave a huge, painful throb in his chest. But it was too late.

It had happened.

Frodo woke up alone in the ranger's bed, his body satiated and weary. He smiled as he stretched his arms overhead, feeling the man's heavy shirt slide over them. A small sigh escaped his lips as he remembered the lovemaking and the wonderful way the man had made him feel. He loved his cousin, Merry, and having sex with him was delightful but…this…this was like nothing he had ever experienced. Maybe this is what they called romantic love, he thought, and he marveled at it.

Frodo swung around and sat on the edge of bed, realizing for the first time that he was alone. He stood up on shaky legs but nonetheless felt all right. He was himself again and his mind functioning in its no-nonsense, methodical manner. What was to happen now? How could he ever say good-bye to the ranger who had saved his life…and given him so much more.

He looked around the small but cozy cabin. The rabbit had been skinned and the meat deposited into the fragrant herbal stew now cooking on the fire. It smelled wonderful and Frodo fantasized what it would be like to live a rustic existence in the woods. No accounts to balance, no tithes to collect, or disputes to manage between his neighbors. Just a simple life. Time to garden himself, to enjoy nature all around him, and time to love…a beautiful, gentle man.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. This was silly even to think of, and the man…he was doubtless gone on his travels again, with nary a thought for the hobbit he had saved. It was only part of his many duties.

As for Frodo Baggins, he had better go back to the Hall and his cousin and his foster-parents and his life, quickly, before any other fantasies took up lodging in his brain. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying not to imagine the sight he must present, dirty and sweaty, naked and barefoot inside a man's shirt. Still, there was nothing for it, he had to return in any condition he could manage.

Frodo walked across the room, his unsteadiness leaving him as he reached the open doorway. He stepped onto the porch only to confront the ranger's back as he sat on the steps.

"Aragorn."

The man jumped, as if lost in his thoughts, he had not heard the hobbit approach. He looked up at Frodo with a deep sadness in his eyes. "I am sorry, Frodo. I did not mean for things to go so far. I hope you are unhurt."

Frodo sat down on the step. The woods in front of them were thick, with only the hint of an overgrown trail heading out toward the river. He could hear the distant roar of the Brandywine, backdropped against the narrow shafts of light slicing through the trees.

"There is no need to be sorry." Frodo took the ranger's hand and kissed it. "It was wonderful, you were wonderful." He reached up and drew Aragorn's lips to his. Assertively he pushed inside and took the ranger's tongue for his own, sucking and nipping at it. They kissed like that for a long time until Aragorn pulled away with a look of concern.

Not noticing, Frodo gazed out into the woods, a flush on his face. "It's so beautiful, I could stay here forever."

The ranger laughed nervously. "In this little cabin?"

"It's not so bad," said Frodo, punching him playfully on the arm. "I could fix it up, bring some curtains and furniture from Bag End. We could enlarge it, hire some hobbits from the Hall to help."

The ranger stared at him. "What are you saying?"

"That maybe I could live here for a time, make it a home for you."

Aragorn leaned down and softly kissed Frodo on the lips. "Why would you want to do that?"

"You make me feel like I have never felt before. I want to feel that way always, Aragorn. I don't want to be content anymore, I want to be deliriously happy. I want to be in love. "

Aragorn's eyes darkened a bit. "I am gone for long periods on patrol. The forest can be dangerous and the foe I pursue are often ruthless. You would be lonely here alone and it might not be safe."

"I don't care."

Aragorn stood up and he suddenly seemed so tall to Frodo.

"But I do, my hobbit." He lifted Frodo up off the step. "Come, have some rabbit stew and then I'll take you back to the Hall."

"Would you not even consider it?" said Frodo desperately. "Or…I could travel with you. I would love that! I want to see the world outside, I always have."

Aragorn sighed. "This is folly. I told you…"

"Have you no feelings for me? None at all?"

"Frodo, I…it doesn't matter what my feelings are." The ranger looked over Frodo's head, into the woods. "You have your world and I have mine. They will never meet and that is only for the best. I am an outcast and a loner, a rogue in some districts, an outlaw in others."

"You didn't answer my question."

Aragorn put his hand on Frodo's shoulder and propelled him back into the cabin. "Come and sit down, the stew smells good. It will nourish you until you can rejoin your kin."

They ate in silence, each with his own thoughts. Finally, Frodo put his bowl down and stood up from the table.

"I thank-you, sir, for the nice meal," he said evenly, avoiding the ranger's eyes. "And for all the care you have given me."

"Frodo…"

"And of course for saving my life. I am grateful for that too." He turned on his heel and headed for the door.

"Frodo, wait," Aragorn's voice sounded strained and helpless. "Wait, I'll take you back to the Hall. You shouldn't walk in the woods alone."

The hobbit stopped at the door and turned back. "I prefer that you don't, Aragorn. I can find my way back to the Hall. I grew up in this country and know it very well. I am quite capable of getting back to "my world" as you put it."

Aragorn's lips parted in frustration. "As you wish."

"Thank-you," Frodo nodded politely, tilting his head. "I'll see that the shirt is cleaned and returned to you."

Then he walked through the open door and down the steps.

Aragorn rushed out onto the porch as the hobbit hurried away. His hand grabbed a supporting post--as if it to keep him from running after the most wonderful being he had ever known and begging him to stay.

But his hand held firmly and it wasn't long before Frodo was out of sight and hurrying along the river toward Brandy Hall.

"You seem so distant Fro, are you sure you're all right…after your ordeal?"

The two cousins lay in Merry's large, comfortable bed, warm and cozy under the down comforter. The first rays of dawn were just making their way through his window but the hobbits had been awake for hours.

"He was incredible, Mer, just incredible."

Merry frowned. "All right! He was incredible. I am just glad you are safe and not drowned. Even Ma cried, you know, and Da was going to cancel Reverdie."

Frodo laughed. "He couldn't do that."

Merry planted a warm kiss on Frodo's mouth. "I would not have danced the Circle…or indeed ever again."

Frodo smirked at Merry's bombast as he leaned up on one elbow. "It just occurred to me, Mer, who's your partner for Reverdie? Who's the lucky lass?"

Merry looked up at him, a small smile creeping across is face. "Estella."

This time Frodo laughed out loud. "Stella stealer? The mushroom thief?"

Merry laughed too. "Yes. And don't you call her that. She is…she is very nice."

Frodo stared at the heir to Brandy Hall. There was something in Merry's voice he had not heard before. His expression turned serious as he sought his cousin's eyes. "Merry…"

Merry's smile faded too and they both stared at each other as if a deep understanding had suddenly passed between them, forecasting profoundly and with finality the end of something intangible, something they would never forget but that had seen its day and was gone.

"I'm glad it's Stella." Frodo recovered his smile as he observed the dawn light growing stronger. He leaned over and kissed Merry on the cheek. "Happy birthday, dearest. You deserve the very best, Mister Brandybuck."

"Fro…"

"No, love, it's wonderful, I mean it." Frodo kissed Merry again, this time on the lips. He lingered there a long time but neither cousin opened their mouths or made it overly sexual. Finally, he fell back into the pillows and wrapped his arms tightly around Merry, his voice a mere whisper. "It's time."

And wrapped in each other's arms, the two Brandybuck cousins fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

The night of Reverdie was cool, dry, and crisp but not uncomfortably cold. Perfect, some said for dancin', drinkin', and carryin' on.

Up in the family wing, Frodo and Merry were getting dressed in new finery, as was the Reverdie custom.

Frodo stood in front of the looking glass making minute adjustments to his green and yellow waistcoat, tugging here and there at the brocade, a look of frustration on his face.

Merry had been ready for an hour, dressed in a dark blue, velvet suit, newly made by the master tailor in Bywater. His mother had commissioned it and designed every cut and stitch herself, much to Mr. Tetherbottom's consternation. But Merry did look good as he paced nervously back and forth, even Frodo had to admit it.

"Oh, upon my word!" exclaimed Frodo irritably under his breath, fingering a loose button hanging by a thread.

"The word…my dear cousin," said Merry, standing behind Frodo and observing the two of them in the glass, "is gorgeous." Merry took Frodo's pale green scarf from the top of his bureau. "Here, let me." He wrapped it around his cousin's neck and tugged on it gently. "I'm so glad you brought this, love. It looks perfect."

The silk shimmered in the pale light, its cream-colored fringe accentuating the richness of the effect.

Frodo smiled. "It is lovely, Mer. Thank-you."

"You're welcome!" Merry shouted out loud, his excitement more than he could contain as he pecked Frodo on the cheek. "And now we should go before my mother comes and re-dresses us." He turned to the window and lifted his voice. "Lasses of Buckland, prepare for your fate!"

Frodo smiled as Merry turned back to him, a complex, indefinable look on his face. He wrapped his arm around Frodo's head and pulled him close-into a deep kiss, passionate and filled with longing. "Oh Frodo, Frodo, I fear tonight will change us all."

Frodo backed up a step, dizzy with passion and the sudden change in his cousin. He tilted his head in understanding or perhaps in farewell.

"Then let us go and meet our fate."

From time immemorial, Reverdie had started at sunset and lasted until sunrise on the first day of planting. The symbolic scattering of the seed by the Master of the Hall meant that all the fields in the realm would prosper under his blessing. It was a big responsibility and like his predecessors, Saradoc Brandybuck took it very seriously. And he saw that his son would take it seriously too.

Everyone was gathering on the planting field as the sun sunk further into the west. They had worked all day setting up tables of food, bottles of wine, and barrels of ale. Now crowds of hobbits, fresh from bathing and sporting new, spring finery, mingled on the grass and wondered how the new laird would dance the Reverdie Circle. Would he do it proper and give them a good year or would he stumble and mis-time the steps, fail to spread the Reverdie seed, and give them a harvest to fear.

High on their wooden platform, the hobbit musicians were tuning up their strings and horns, practicing the special dance music-only played on this occasion-to be sure that they were not the cause of any failure. Occasionally, one of them would gaze up at the setting sun in trepidation. Soon it would begin.

Merry Brandybuck smiled at all the birthday wishes and good luck slaps on the back as he wandered through the crowd with Frodo by his side. But soon he saw his mother heading straight for them and alongside her was Rosamunda Bolger and her daughter, Estella. The young lass looked stunning in a pale yellow bodice with a green and yellow flowered skirt tumbling about her ankles. Her black hair was done up in the latest fashion and all about her hung tiny ribbons, each one contributed by a new Buckland mother.

Frodo watched as Merry's mouth hung open, awestruck at her beauty.

"Merry-dear," said Esmeralda sweetly, "here is the lovely Estella."

Rosamunda reached out and straightened part of her daughter's bodice and then re-aligned a wayward curl before the former tomlad gently pushed her hand away. She stepped from her mother's side and curtsied low to Merry, as was the custom.

Merry swallowed hard and Frodo was the only one to catch the slight tremor in his fingers as he bowed formally to Estella, taking her hand and kissing it. Then he offered her his arm and they moved through the crowd exchanging small talk and accepting congratulations as smoothly as if they did it every day.

Frodo turned to depart in another direction. This was Merry's night and he was happy to stay deep in the background. Besides, he too had sensed the winds of change and something told him that he would sleep alone in Merry's big bed that night. But before he could ponder these things too deeply, the shrill voice of his foster-mother broke through the air.

"Frodo-dear, now don't run off. Come here a minute."

He turned to see Esmeralda still standing beside Estella's mother. They had been joined by someone Frodo didn't know, an attractive hobbit lady, perhaps in her early forties. With a quiet sigh he returned to see what Esmeralda wanted.

"Frodo, I wish you to meet Estella's distant cousin, Lily Boffin, from Longbottom. She has come to Reverdie for the first time since her dear husband died of the consumption, three years ago."

Frodo bowed. "My condolences, Mrs. Boffin."

Esmeralda continued. "Frodo, Rosamunda and I thought you might escort Lily tonight. You are both from outside Buckland and Lily likes to read books, don't you dear, and poetry too."

Lily was blushing a bright crimson. "Mrs. Brandybuck, there is no need…"

"Nonsense, my dear." She looked at Frodo sternly. "There is every need. I am sure that Mr. Baggins will be delighted to have your company."

Frodo bowed again and held out his arm. "I would be charmed, Mrs. Boffin. Please do walk with me."

Lily gratefully reached for his arm and with a polite nod to the other ladies, Frodo firmly steered her through the crowds of hobbits until they found themselves on the edge of the Reverdie field. The sun was close to setting now and torches were being lit around the party grounds.

"I am so sorry, Mr. Baggins," Lily spoke sincerely. "I had no idea she would do that, else I never would have come here. As it were, I only came to watch my dear cousin, Estella, dance Reverdie with the young master."

Her escort smiled. "Please, call me Frodo. And there is no need to apologize. I am here for a similar purpose."

"And do call me Lily, of course. I am tired of being referred to as the Widow Boffin. I'm not ancient and prefer to be a hobbit lady with my own name, in my own right."

Frodo laughed good-naturedly and started to answer but he was interrupted as the musicians struck a resounding chord.

The crowd's tittering quieted and everyone stared at the western sky. Frodo looked to the opposite side of the field and saw Merry and Estella lost in conversation as the Master of the Hall outfitted his son with the special bag of wheat seed, suspended from a golden cord. Saradoc had his hand on each of their shoulders and was smiling and talking to them when suddenly Merry laughed out loud, his eyes dancing as they gazed at Estella.

Lily had also observed the little scene. "I expect there'll be a wedding in the fall, don't you think, Frodo? Won't that be nice? And another fine party we will have, I've no doubt of it. Frodo?"

Frodo shook his head and turned to look at her. "Ah…yes, Lily, I have no doubt of it either. A fine wedding."

Another chord from the musicians rang out as the sun caressed the far away mountains. The crowd fell silent-as silent as hundreds of hobbits could be-and all eyes turned to Merry and Estella. The hobbits backed away from the dancing field as the young couple stepped forward. Frodo saw the tenseness in Merry's eyes as the chord sounded once again.

As if on cue, the sun dipped into the west, replacing its eye-blinding yellow with streaks of red and orange flashing across the violet sky. The crowd was truly silent now, holding its collective breath as Merry reached into the pouch and gathered up a handful of seed. With a glance at the setting sun, he lifted his hand high over his head and threw the seed far into the center of the field.

And the music began.

It was a low, rhythmic piece, with only the deep, long strings playing in the beginning. Merry and Estella stepped onto the edge of the deserted field and bowed to each other. Then slowly they stepped in synchrony with the music, dipping and swaying in countless circles while the crowd watched breathlessly. At predetermined intervals, Merry reached into the pouch and grabbed a handful of seed, throwing some into the field and some into the pathway ahead of them. And as they danced the arena's perimeter, the couple softly trampled the seed into the rich earth.

Again and again Merry performed the intricate dance as his ancestors had done before him. Again and again he swirled Estella around in tiny circles, their eyes locked in harmony, their steps moving in the ancient patterns. And as they continued around the field, the crowd relaxed. The dance was being executed perfectly, young Meriadoc was a true Brandybuck, showy, proud, and competent, doing his duty in the finest Buckland manner. Saradoc was beaming, Esmeralda in tears of pride as the music accelerated--faster and faster in speed, higher and higher in pitch, lighter and lighter in tone.

Merry was flying, one arm around Estella's waist and the other holding out her hand as the couple flew around the huge field, throwing symbolic planting seed in all the right places. And as they neared the completed circle the crowd became more animated. It was a perfect dance, perfectly executed, with no errors. The harvest would indeed be blest.

Everyone started to clap, singing the springsong as Merry and Estella swirled past. The seed was almost gone and those close by could hear the couple laughing with each other, enjoying the last minutes of the dance.

Until finally they had danced the Reverdie Circle and assured all in Buckland that the planting would be a success.

Now, as tradition demanded, they bowed to the crowd and invited all to join them. Suddenly the field was alive with couples dancing the Circle in their footsteps. The kegs were opened and the food uncovered. Toasts were cheered by all. It had been perfect.

"Oh, Stella," Merry was breathless, his chest heaving, as the couple swirled away from the others, ending up breathless against a large tree just outside the field. They both leaned against it, laughing and breathing hard.

"It was wonderful!" shouted Merry up to the large, heavy branches. "Reverdie, the dance, the seeding, the music."

He glanced down, catching Estella's deep brown eyes in his own and his voice took on a different tenor. "Being with you."

Merry suddenly leaned in and kissed her lips, sinking deeply into them. Then he grabbed her hands and whirled her back onto the dancing field amid all the other couples. "Stella, Stella," he gasped between breaths, "this will be a night to remember!"

"Would you like to dance?" Frodo's voice lacked conviction as he stared beyond Lily, toward a large tree at the opposite side of the field. Lily turned but she couldn't see what had so thoroughly garnered his attention.

"You don't have to." She replied quietly, stepping away. "I am happy to sit at the Bolger's table and perhaps have a glass of wine."

Frodo watched her go. Estella's cousin was really quite lovely. And perhaps she would be a fine companion, interested in books and Elvish verse.

By any measure of society, Frodo Baggins, you are being a cad, he thought, failing in your duty as a gentlehobbit and ignoring this lovely, sweet lady.

But it was hard to be a witty and attentive companion when what he wanted desperately, more than anything else in the world, was to be alone.

After all had completed the The Circle, the musicians broke into more rollicking, hobbity music and the crowd responded with animated dancing. The feasting was joyful as all the Bucklanders were happy with both the coming planting season and the future Master of the Hall. The general opinion was that young Meriadoc had done well, even better than his father's first Reverdie.

The stars were just peeping out of the black sky and it promised to be a wonderful night. Perfect, perfect, perfect, as the older folk kept saying.

Lily Boffin sat with her Bolger relatives sipping a glass of wine and picking at the sumptuous plate of food Fredegar had prepared for her. She was lost in her thoughts and didn't notice the hobbit who came up behind her.

"Please, Lily, I would be grateful if you might honor me with a dance around the field."

She looked up and into the bright blue eyes of the Squire of Hobbiton.

He smiled at her. "There are doubtless some poor re-greening seeds that have not yet been trampled into the earth,"

Lily took Frodo's hand as Fatty gave his old friend a grinning wink and a hearty thumbs-up. Ignoring Fatty's smirk, Frodo helped Lily to her feet and escorted her to the dancing field.

The party was in full force and the younger hobbits were assembling for the linear dancing where the sexes lined up facing each other. At the musical cue, everyone clapped to its rhythm and the lasses danced toward the lad to the right of her partner. They would swirl around in each other's arms and then re-form the lines and the last lass would move to the opposite end of the line, re-adusting the relationships. Thus the shifting continued until the original partners danced with each other.

Then the couples broke from the lines and swirled around the field as fast as they could, the lasses lifted high into the air, with pert ankles and colorful petticoats flying fast and furious for all to see. The lads held their lasses in a warm embrace, twirling them under their arms until dizziness sometimes put a halt to it all, or the desire to find a private spot over the hillside or by the river.

Frodo hesitated to join the lines but Lily squeezed his hand affectionately. "Mr. Baggins, we are not that old that we can't dance the springdance." Without waiting for him to answer, she led him to the lined up lads and took her position opposite him, her face smiling as it had not done for a long time.

They did the middle-aged crowd proud and even managed to impress some of the tweens with their sprite, quick steps until the lines broke at the end of the dance, only to be re-formed again by other couples.

"Thank you, Frodo, this is such fun," said Lily, panting as they made it to the edge of the field. "It has been a long time since I've danced."

"Not at all," said Frodo, his own chest heaving as he smiled at her. "The pleasure is all…all…" Frodo's voice trailed off as his eyes caught something far away in the woods, a large shadow moving along the edges. He stared intently, forgetting his partner for a minute.

"Are you all right?" Lily stepped closer to him. "I heard you have been ill."

"Yes, I'm…" Ignoring Lily's concern, Frodo continued to stare at the forest.

The music had changed to a slow dance and the couples were arm-in-arm, moving and swaying in sensuous, circular motions as the shadow moved closer. Frodo stood where he was and watched, his eyes big as saucers as the dark shape moved into the light and he recognized what it was.

"May I join you?" Aragorn walked straight toward the couple, his voice, quiet, his eyes slightly blank and fixed on Frodo Baggins.

One-by-one, the crowd stopped dancing, as the couples froze in their footsteps. Never in the history of Buckland had a man entered into one of their festivals. Never.

Aragorn took Lily's hand and kissed it, then he looked at her with a winning smile. "Do you mind, my dear, if I steal your partner?"

Lily's voice was paralyzed with shock but she did not fear the man. He appeared well groomed and his clothes were clean and neat. But his smile was positively sparkling and it lit up his face as his eyes gazed down at her.

And then she almost laughed out loud. The man was barefoot, his thin, bare-naked, hairless feet sunk deep in the moist grass.

She turned to Frodo who was smiling as she had never seen anyone smile, his eyes fixed on the tall man before them. She opened her mouth but still no words came out so she nodded at the man, not sure what would happen next as she backed into the crowd to stand with Merry and Estella.

Aragorn took Frodo's hand and led him into the middle of the field. The music had stopped but the newcomer caught the eye of the music leader who in turn stared questioningly at Saradoc Brandybuck. The Master of the Hall nodded his ascent and the music started again, the same slow rhythmic dance.

Aragorn grabbed both ends of the pale green, silken scarf that Frodo had around his neck and pulled the hobbit in a slow, sensuous circle around himself. As the music continued, they danced in widening circles, the scarf taunt and their eyes locked together in passion. Frodo grasped the scarf mid-way, feeling the smooth, tight silk beneath his fingers as he surrendered to the ranger, following his steps around and around the Reverdie field. Finally, Aragorn began to pull the scarf to himself, tightening it, bringing Frodo closer and closer inward, all the while moving his feet to the music over the soft, seeded earth.

Before long they were almost touching, the green silk bunched up in Aragorn's large hands. He leaned down and whispered, "This is how the Elves dance at Midsummer…in Lorien." He let the scarf out to its full length again and swirled Frodo around, their eyes never leaving one another as the music gained intensity.

Then the ranger lifted the scarf over Frodo's head and wrapped it around his own neck. He leaned down and put his arms around Frodo, swinging him up and off the ground for a moment, then twirling him around and around under his arm as the crowd stood back in awe.

Again and again they danced in a wide circle, each gazing at the other until Frodo reached for the ends of the scarf and pulled hard, bringing Aragorn's face close to him. They swayed again to the irresistible sounds of the melody and Frodo tugged harder on the silk, the long fringe entangling in his fingers. Aragorn's face was close now and in another second, Frodo had his lips within his own. He dropped the ends of the scarf and put his arms around the man, kissing him tenderly, his eyes moist with tears.

"Oh, Aragorn, our worlds have come together."

Still swaying to the music, the man wrapped his powerful arms around the hobbit and closed his eyes. He returned the kiss as if there was no one else in the world, parting his lips for Frodo and letting him inside while the two of them moved back and forth, lost in the music and each other.

Merry put his arm around Lily and smiled sadly at her. "I am sorry," he whispered, "but I fear this is his true love."

The hobbit lady smiled back. "Oh, I knew that, Merry, when I saw their eyes--for I too have known my true love. I am only happy for him."

Estella sighed, also putting her arm around Lily and the three of them watched, fascinated by the strong emotions, palpable between the swaying couple.

Far away, at the opposite side of the field, Esmeralda Brandybuck clicked her lips in disapproval and started toward them, only to be stopped by the powerful arm of her husband.

The music played on and the man once more threw the scarf around the hobbit, who grabbed one end and held it as they pulled each other around and around toward the edge of the field. Slowly the other hobbits started dancing again, their eyes darting toward the man and the hobbit but not willing to give up their Reverdie fun. Tomorrow would see the greatest gossip-fest ever held in Buckland but tonight was for partying.

Closer and closer, Frodo and Aragorn twisted around, always to the beat of the music, eyes-locked, using the silk scarf to pull one toward the other, until there was no space between them. The ranger dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around the hobbit as if he would never let him go.

"Come live with me," he said, his voice husky with passion. "And travel with me and be with me-for I cannot be without you."

Frodo kissed him again. "Nor I without you."

Aragorn took a deep breath, as if he had not been breathing for a long time. "Then let us enjoy our blended worlds."

The ranger stood and put his arm around Frodo, then led him back to the dancing hobbit couples who occasionally stole a glace at the unusual pair. But as the night wore on, they became more interested in ale, food, and spring celebration.

Together, Frodo and Aragorn danced the slow dances, the linear ones, and the rollicking circular affairs, with four or five couples holding hands and swirling around and around to the fastest music the musicians could play. As they ate and drank at various family tables, the ranger was gradually accepted into Buckland society, much as a certain wizard was always welcome in Hobbiton.

Frodo and Aragorn held hands as they wandered among the crowd, and throughout the night were inseparable, dancing and feasting and celebrating until they could constrain themselves no longer.

It had indeed been perfect, a night of renewal and rebirth of the land, with every hope of a successful planting season and a promising fall harvest. But for two hobbit cousins, it represented far more-new beginnings and rich pathways of happiness that neither had ever imagined existed.

Merry had danced all night with Estella, finding himself on the banks of the Brandywine, tipsy with wine and wrapped in her arms as the morning light broke over his homeland. But Frodo was nowhere to be seen and in his mind's eye, Merry could still remember the dazzling smile his cousin had flashed him before vanishing into the night, hand in hand with his ranger.

"New beginnings, Stel," he whispered to the lovely lass curled up in his arms. "The world is born anew."

The End

Endnotes: The author thanks Willow-wode and Claudia for their excellent hobbit works that inspired some of the venues and atmosphere in this piece-and also thanks to QAF122 for the lovely idea that inspired Frodo and Aragorn's Reverdie dance scenes.

When everything is reborn in hope
And winter flees far from us,
When nature has turned green again
Lines from Ma Normandie, by Frédéric Bérat (the national anthem of Jersey)

From Wikipedia: The reverdie is an old French poetic genre, which celebrates the arrival of spring. Literally, it means "re-greening"… Originating in the troubadour ballads of the early middle ages, reverdies were very popular during the time of Chaucer. English examples from that era include "Sumer is icumen in" and "Lenten ys come with love to toune".