Story Downloaded from Open Scrolls Archive (https://www.openscrolls.net)

Title: Apple Flavored Kisses (#953)
Author: MysteriousWays
Chapters: 2

Archive: Tolkien
Category: Alternate Universe (AU)
Description: A sequal to my story "Coming of Age". It is the Harvest Festival and Frodo meets up with Impatien for the first time since the evening before his thirty-third birthday. Frodo's own sensuality continues to awaken and perplex him.
Published: 27 May 2004
Updated: 15 May 2005
Warnings:
Type: General
Characters: Frodo


Chapter 1 - Apple Flavored Kisses

To my sister Beethoven’s7th, a.k.a. Susan for planting the idea and the title of this story in my head.



Apple Flavored Kisses


Frodo walked with Sam, through the Harvest Festival market. It was to be the last open air market of the season. All of the crops had been harvested and the air had the faintest odor of winter about it. It was a fine day for the festival. The sky was the crisp clear blue that only seems to happen in the last days of October. Sam paused at a stall to admire some newly made gardening tools, Frodo stood off to one side enjoying the October sunshine. As Frodo stood looking about the milling crowd the sound of a familiar voice came to his ears. He looked about for the source. Just then the crowds thinned enough for Frodo to see the familiar sheen of Impatien’s soft reddish brown hair. Frodo felt his heart skip a beat. He had not really spoken to Impatien since the evening before his thirty-third birthday when she had set with him on the bank of The Water and had kissed him.

Frodo had had been taken aback and disappointed when Impatien had ended the kiss then informed him it was time to take her home. At her front gate, she had given him a chaste kiss on the cheek then disappeared into her cottage. Frodo had started to walk home in a befuddled state. After ten minutes he realized he was walking the wrong way. When he was going in the right direction he walked right by his own gate. Eventually he made it home to spend the rest of the evening staring into the fire in his bedroom hearth, thinking of Impatien and the kiss, until he dozed off, he then dreamed of Impatien. In his dreams she did more than kiss him.

The next evening Impatien had attended his and Bilbo’s birthday party, but Frodo had avoided her. That had turned out to be an easy thing to do, Impatien had been right about lasses starting to pay great amounts of attention to Him. It seemed that every available lass of marriageable age was at the party. Almost all of them had gifts for him, all of them hand made, everything from pies to knitted scarves. It became obvious to Frodo that the gifts were intended to show him what an accomplished wife they each would be. None of them tried to give him the gift that Impatien had given. Frodo was relieved. One kiss on the wrong lips and he could find himself included in a betrothal announcement.

After that evening and Bilbo’s departure, Frodo had nearly for gotten about Impatien’s gift. There were inheritances to be distributed among Bilbo’s friends and relatives. Then there had just been settling into living alone, being Master of Bag End and Gandalf leaving abruptly.

Frodo had not seem much of Impatien over the next several weeks. The Harvest Festival was the first time he had ventured away from Bag End in that time. Then there among the familiar faces at the festival was Impatien. She had a booth of her own set up to show off the baskets she made and sold to earn her living. She was dressed demurely in a dark green dress decorated with an embroidered pattern of leaves and vines in the colors of the autumn leaves the fell from the trees near by. Her soft brown eyes were filled with an inviting warmth as she smiled and chatted with folks stopping to admire here wares. Suddenly the thought came to Frodo that Impatien most likely sold a basket to each person she took the time to talk with. Instinctively he knew that very few could resist the persuasive charm of her smile.

Impatien had been a fixture of the open air market of Hobbiton, for as long as Frodo could remember. Long before either of her parents had passed away she had started selling her baskets. At first folk had bought her then somewhat clumsily made baskets because they admired a child who was industrious and obviously hard working. With time and practice Impatien’s efforts improved to the point that it was generally acknowledged that no one made a finer basket. When Impatien’s mother died four years after her husband, some folk had been rather shocked at the young Hobbitess’s decision to continue on in the cottage her father had built, alone and unprotected. She was, after all, only a tweenager of twenty-five. Her neighbor’s, the Muddyfoot’s, came forward to let it be generally known that they would keep a close eye on her. With these assurances, and Impatien’s own continuing exemplary behavior, folks came to accept the unusual situation. Some were surprised that Impatien did not get married soon after she came of age but others had long since started thinking of her as a respectable spinster. Frodo hadn’t given it any thought one way or the other. To him Impatien had always been a friendly face that he would see when he was out and about. He enjoyed talking with her when the opportunity presented itself, she was interesting and was a reader like himself. After the kiss Frodo found he was much more aware that Impatien was more than just a friendly face in the crowd.

In the early afternoon Frodo and left off with roaming the market with Sam to go home for a quiet meal. He tried to read as he had his tea but images of Impatien looking so pretty and inviting in the October sunshine, kept intruding into his thoughts. All that Frodo had told Impatien in the time leading up to the kiss had been true. He was well aware of lasses. He liked the way they looked. He liked the flowery fragrances wafted to him as they walked by. When he danced with them he liked the feel of them in his arms. He had often thought how nice it would be to follow that quick peck on the lips from Sage Underhill, with something a little bit more serious. But Frodo was aware that he had no real interest in marriage, so to partake in further explorations of the possible intimacies between a Hobbit and Hobbitess were out of the question. Frodo determinedly diverted his mind with books, or kept his considerations of lasses to the confines of a lad’s night time dreams.

Frodo lost track of time as he sat letting his thoughts of Impatien meander between pleasant and puzzled. A knock at his door startled him back into awareness of the present. He turned to face the door in time to see Sam let himself in. “Hullo, Sam.”

“Good evening Mr. Frodo.”

“What brings you here?”

“I’ve come to walk with you to the Festival dance, Mr. Frodo.”

“Oh, yes, that’s right. Well, I suppose we may as well be on our way,” Frodo said with a smile.

“Err, Mr. Frodo, were you not planning on putting on something a bit more grand for the dance? You are still in your everyday clothes.”

Frodo looked down, “Ah, so I am. Please excuse me, Sam. I will not be long in changing.”

“No need to rush, Mr. Frodo. But if you don’t mind my asking, are you feeling all right? Maybe dancing and such is not what you need tonight. Maybe a quiet evening at home would be better. I would be happy to stay here with you and make you a pot of my mother’s chicken soup.”

Frodo smiled, “You’re a good friend, Sam. I feel perfectly fine, just give me a few minutes and I will be ready to go.”

The promise of the clear day was fulfilled in a clear starry night. Frodo sat at a table near the dancing square sipping from a pint of ale, resting from a recent turn of dancing. As was his habit he was obliging in dancing with as many lasses as were wanting him for a partner. In the past the lasses were happy to take a turn with him then move on at the end of the song to another partner. This evening several of the lasses seemed determined to keep Frodo as a dancing partner the entire evening. Time after time he found himself attempting to peacefully break up arguments between lasses who were feeling proprietary of his attentions. It was still early in the evening but all of the lasses determined to make him their husband had taken away much of the pleasure he usually had at dances. Frodo glanced about him, feeling weary, he noticed two lasses point at him then start to come his way. He quickly got up from the table then made his way to the shadows behind the platform the musicians were on. He paused to consider what he should do next, giving thought to just leaving the dance without a word to anyone. This would bother Sam the most, he would likely stop at Bag End later to check in. Frodo hated to cause Sam needless worry but to go back into that crowd would mean to battle his way through the lasses. Frodo was so busy debating this with himself that he did not notice another person slip into the shadows with him. Suddenly his eyes were covered by two small warm hands, a happy voice was spoke softly in his ear. “Guess who?”

Frodo suddenly found it difficult to breath. His heart was pounding hard in his chest. He knew that voice. “Impatien?”

“Right you are,” she said as she removed her hands then quickly moved to stand in front of him, “my goodness, Frodo. You look as nervous as a cat. Did you think I was one of the other lasses who is so determined to make you her husband?”

Frodo tried to smile, “They have been rather aggressive this evening.”

“You have nothing to fear from me, my dear Mr. Baggins, I seek no husband this evening.”

“I appreciate that,” Frodo said with some relief.

Impatien gave him a long steady look. Frodo could feel his heart start to race even faster. This is the closest contact he had with her since the evening she had given him that kiss. Frodo swallowed nervously as he watched her smile in a mysterious way. “I would like some fresh air away from that great crowd. I don’t suppose you would care to walk with me?”

“N-no, I mean, yes, I will walk with you. I suppose.”

Impatien took hold of his arm before Frodo could offer it. It was all starting to happen again as it had that evening a month ago. She had a firm hold on his arm. He was acutely aware of the light touch of her bosom against his arm. The fragrance of her perfume wafted up seeming to surround him, it had a spicy tang to it this evening, like sandalwood.

She steered their foot steps towards a group of nearby wagons and carriages. As they neared one wagon that was nearly loaded full they both caught the sweet smell of apples. “Mmmm, suddenly I am feeling rather peckish. This looks like the Hornblower’s wagon, I don’t think they would mind if I helped myself to an apple.” In a few short moments Impatien had reached under the tarp covering the goods in the wagon, snatched out her prize, then had Frodo walking toward the deeper shadows of some near by trees as she munched happily. “I’ve hardly seen you, lately,” she said to Frodo between bites.

“Erm, well, I have been a bit busy. Settling Bilbo’s affairs you understand.” Using his free hand, Frodo fidgeted with the color of his shirt. The evening seemed to getting warmer with each passing moment.

“Oh well, I suppose that is all right then. As long as you hadn’t suddenly become upset with me in some way.”

“Upset?” Frodo was finding it difficult to shape words with his mouth.

“Or worse afraid,” Impatien stopped then moved to stand once more before Frodo, “you know you needn’t be afraid of me.”

“Oh… I… a… I am not afraid.” Frodo could not help but notice that the torches from the dancing square were reflected in her dark eyes. He was mesmerized.

“I am so glad,” Impatien said with a bright smile, then held up the remaining half of her absconded fruit, “Would you like a bite of my apple?”

Frodo could not take his eyes off of her. He licked his lips nervously. Her lips, he could not take his eyes from them. They looked soft and slightly moist, perhaps from the juice of the apple. She suddenly seemed so near. As though all he had to do was lean forward a little and he would be able to press his lips to hers.

His lips were on hers.

Without being aware of his own actions, he had swept her into his arms and put his lips to hers. Her response was willing, even enthusiastic. Briefly Frodo was in wonder at how her body seemed to melt against his own. His lips parted then hers. Their tongues reaching for one another then caressing in tender fiery passion. Her mouth had the sweet taste of apples. Frodo could feel her hand reach up and get entangled in his hair. His arms pulled her closer. He could feel heat building in his lower regions. One of his hands slid down her back to the swelling of her bottom. He could hardly believe his own daring or her willingness. She felt so lush and lovely in his arms, he wanted to keep her there always, and just savor the feel of her. His hand slid up once more, seeming to move of its own accord it went towards one of her breasts that was pressed so firmly against him. His thumb had just grazed the roundness of it when a familiar voice was heard calling from somewhere near by.

“Mr. Frodo?” At the sound of Sam’s voice the spell was broken. Almost before Frodo was aware of it, Impatien had slipped from his grasp then disappeared into the shadows, “Mr. Frodo, I’ve been looking everywhere for you, what are you doing here in the dark?”

“Nothing much, Sam, just getting a taste of apples.”


Chapter 2 - Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-two




"Do you think they will have a boy or a girl?" Linwe asked Frodo from where she stood by their bed combing her hair.

"I am not sure but I would imagine it would be one or the other." replied Frodo, who was sitting in a chair by the fire. He had his lap desk resting on his knees and was busily sketching on a piece of paper.

"But don’t you want to make a guess?" persisted Linwe.

"Sam and Rosie are going to have a baby. I suppose that is all that really matters to me, that and I hope that it will be healthy. I am sure I will like it which ever it is." Frodo turned his gaze back to what he was working on.

"That isn’t the point, dear."

"Enlighten me, my love, what is the point?" he asked without bothering to look up again.

"The point is that trying to guess whether the baby will be a boy or girl is often considered to be a pleasant diversion."

"Then by all means divert yourself, my dear, make all of the guesses you like."

"But it isn’t fun by myself!" Linwe protested.

"Then I will guess they are having a boy." Frodo said with a quick glance and smile towards Linwe. She got a brief glimpse of dimples as well before he went back to sketching.

Linwe sighed and just stood watching for a while as she continued to pull the comb through her hair. After a moment she walked across the room and came to stand next to Frodo’s chair. "What is it that has such a tight hold on your attention?" She asked while trying to see over his shoulder.

"I am trying to sketch the lay out of Bag End. Bilbo once told me that when his father built the place he had planned on the possibility of one day needing to add onto the hole. Bungo had hopes that one day Bag End would be to the Baggins family what Brandy Hall and Great Smials is to the Brandybucks and Tooks. I was thinking the time has come to make some of the additions he planned for, we can have a proper nursery put in by Sam and Rosie’s room."

"That would be nice," Linwe said absently.

"The four of us can discuss it tomorrow and sort out how much we might want to add and where."

"It sounds lovely." Linwe said with a sigh.

Frodo looked up at his wife, a slight frown creasing his brow, and causing his eyebrows to pull together and curl upwards over his nose. "Do I hear a hint of sadness in that sigh?"

Linwe shook her head. "No you don’t, I am fine."

"I am not convinced," said Frodo. He picked up his lap desk and set it on the floor next to his chair. He then turned to Linwe took one of her hands and pulled her down so that she was sitting on his lap. "Now, try to tell me again that everything is just fine."

Linwe smiled, "Everything is just fine."

"I don’t believe you?"

"Why not?"

"Because when you are unhappy or troubled by something your eyes tend to turn a more stormy gray. How you manage that I do not know. Now tell me what is bothering you?"

Linwe snuggled down until her head was on Frodo’s shoulder. "Merenwen explained the reasons for the changes in my eye color to me once. She said it had to do with the way moods effect the flow of our blood and body temperature. My eyes show more dramatic changes because my eyes are hazel." She said and nuzzled his neck.

"That is interesting. Now that you have been so kind to explain that to me, shall we go back to the original discussion?"

"Oh, are you ready to make a guess on whether the baby will be a boy or a girl?" Linwe asked brightly.

"Linwe! You know that is not what I meant. Now why are you evading the question? Why can’t you just tell me what is --

"I am being honest. There is nothing bothering me," asserted Linwe while keeping her face averted as much as possible from Frodo’s view.

"You are not being honest with me. I know you too well, so you might as well at least admit that something troubles you."

Linwe sighed extravagantly, "Very well, there is something troubling me."

"What is it?" urged Frodo.

"I am troubled by the fact that you will not be still and cease to badger me with all of these questions and accusations. Now if you don’t mind I would like to sit here quietly for awhile."

Frodo chuckled, "Have your secrets then. It is obvious I am not going to win this argument with you," Frodo then kissed Linwe affectionately on the forehead.

They sat peacefully listening to the sounds of the crackle of the fire and the ticking of the clock on the mantel. Frodo lazily twined one of Linwe’s curls around his fingers, letting the silky tress caress the remains of his missing finger. He smiled to himself and thought, Linwe always preferred to hold that hand rather than his whole one. At that moment Frodo felt like he was the luckiest Hobbit in all of Middle Earth.

A year ago that day, he and his friends had arrived in Bree on their way home after their entire long journey. Very little of their homecoming had been as Frodo had expected. Frodo was now sorry that necessity had prevented them from going straight onto Brandy Hall when they first entered Buckland. Frodo would have liked meeting Linwe several days earlier and thus having her in his life that much longer. But then it was most likely best that they hadn’t. Linwe would likely have insisted on traveling on with them, and Frodo did not like to think of what harm could have come to her if she had.

Very little of the past year had gone the way Frodo had expected it to. If on that night in Bree, someone had told him that in one years time he would be sitting in his own room at Bag End in front of his own fire, with his own sweet wife curled up on his lap, the summer-like smell of her filling his every breath, he would not have believed it, not for all the gold in Lonely Mountain.

The only part of the year that went according to Frodo’s expectations was Sam marrying Rosie and moving into Bag End with him. Now the old Hobbit hole was to be blessed with only the second baby to be born within its comforting walls. Frodo sighed and thought to himself ‘if only…’ but the thought was interrupted by a flash of insight and Frodo’s eyes widened in sudden understanding. "Dearest?"

"Mmmm Yes?" came Linwe’s muffled reply, her face was still nestled firmly beneath his chin.

"Would you by any chance be bothered that we ourselves are not yet expecting," Frodo felt Linwe stiffen a little. He guessed her eyes were likely wide open and bright with threatening tears. His guess was right. "Linwe, our turn will come."

"Not soon enough." He heard her say quietly.

"And when would ‘soon enough’ be?"

"That night when I came in here when you were having that dreadful nightmare, just before we were married. If I had it my way I should be sitting here with a great round tummy getting in the way, and coming close to my due date," Linwe said petulantly.

Frodo Chuckled, "I’m sorry things have not progressed as you would have liked, but I am sure we will not have to wait much longer."

Linwe sat up so that she could look Frodo in the eye. "How much longer can we wait? Do you realize that most Hobbits our age have already left off with having children?"

"I suppose so, unless they are Bracegirdles."

"You are making fun of me. I don’t think you take me seriously," Linwe accused.

"Yes dear, I do take you seriously. And I want us to have children as much as you do. After all we do have thirty-seven names…"

"Thirty-nine" corrected Linwe

"Thirty-nine names picked out. If the children don’t start coming soon we will still be having them when we reach one hundred years old. I for one would hope that by then our daughter will be married to Sam and Rosie’s son and it would be our grand child we were all clambering to hold. I think we should consider giving our children two names each, as you have, then we need not worry about where we will find the time to have so many. Having two names seems to have not harmed you, my Linwe Taralom, so I am sure it will not hurt our children either."

"That is a good thought," agree Linwe feeling more cheerful. "and if we can manage one a year for the next twenty then by the time we are about one hundred-five years old then we should be seeing our youngest come of age."

"There we are, that isn’t so terribly old. Now, going back to the original discussion. I would like to suggest that if you do find it hard to bear to live in close quarters with Rosie and Sam as they are awaiting the arrival of their baby and going about making all of the necessary preparations, then we could leave for a while, and go to Buckland to stay in our little cottage in the woods."

"That will not be necessary. I was feeling a little sorry for myself is all. I would not dream of missing a moment of this time. I would feel we were abandoning Rosie and Sam. Besides if we leave them alone, Sam will not bother with seeing that the new addition is made. He will insist that he and Rosie have more than enough space for ten babies in their room."

"You are right about that," chuckled Frodo "I am glad we are staying then. Besides, I am sure that by Yule, we will be watching you grow rounder by the day as well. Sam and I will exhaust ourselves worrying over you and Rosie."



~~~~~


Frodo took a breath and felt the ash filled air burn his throat. Shards of rocked tore the skin on his hands and knees as he clawed his way upwards.

The voice

Would he never be free of the mutterings of that wretched voice?

"Sam, help me!" Sam did not answer. Sam was not with him.

Frodo tried to peer ahead through the falling ash. There was a figure up ahead. He reached out imploringly with one hand. "Help me. I can not do this alone."

The figure moved towards Frodo, looming higher and higher above him as it moved closer. Frodo craned his neck trying to look up at the now immensely large figure. It was wearing armor, there was a red gleam where eyes would be. Frodo felt himself start to quake in fear. "No! Please No!" The figure silently raised a large black sword, bringing it down and around in a fast silent stroke aiming for Frodo’s neck. Frodo screamed. "NO!"

"Frodo! Wake up!"

Frodo’s eyes flew open. He was breathing heavily, he could feel a cold sweat trickling from his forehead into his hair. Linwe was sitting up next to him, her hand resting on his chest. Even in the late night darkness of the room he could tell that her eyes were filled with worry. He took her hand into his own, "I’m all right. It was only a bad dream." He tried to smile at her reassuringly and failed.

"I noticed. Can you get back to sleep or would you like a cup of warm milk?"

Frodo could still feel himself shaking in the aftermath of the nightmare. "I think a cup of warm milk would be helpful. But I will get up and get it myself, you go back to sleep."

"No, I am awake and will not be able to sleep again until you are settled in once more. Now your night shirt is damp with sweat, you get up and change and I will go to the kitchen and fix you your milk."

Twenty minutes later Frodo and Linwe were sitting before the fireplace in the kitchen, watching the dancing flames of a small fire and sipping from slightly steaming mugs. "Do you want to talk about it?" Linwe asked quietly.

"No, not right now." Frodo replied, just as quietly.

Linwe was not surprised. Every night that he had a nightmare, she asked if he wanted to tell her and the answer was always the same. Linwe did not press further. She knew that a time would come for him to tell. For now she could only wait, watch, and love.



~~~~~


Linwe and Rosie walked arm and arm in the thin November sunlight. They were off to shop, one of their favorite past times. This time they shopped with a purpose. Rosie and Sam’s baby would need clothing and linens and the two Hobbitesses wanted to get an early start on making them.

"Linwe, when I went into the kitchen this morning, I noticed that there were two mugs sitting in the sink, with the dredges of milk and nutmeg still in them. I believe that is your favorite remedy for sleeplessness, is it not?"

Linwe kept her eyes turned from Rosie’s. "It is." She replied simply.

"Is everything all right?" persisted Rosie.

"Everything is fine. Frodo woke up in the night and could not get back to sleep. There is nothing to worry about." Linwe smiled at Rosie, but turned her glance away before Rosie could look too deeply in her eyes.

"Linwe, this is not the first morning I have found mugs sitting in the sink, in the morning. I have been finding them at least twice a week every week for about a month now. It has been my experience that when someone is having that much trouble sleeping, they are fretting over something. I don’t suppose you would care to tell me what it is?"

Linwe sighed, "Frodo has been having nightmares, that is all. It really isn’t anything to worry over."

"What are his nightmares about?"

"The quest, as always."

"Ah yes, I should have guessed as much. But Linwe, is Frodo having more of a problem with them or has he just taken to having late night mugs of warm milk?"

Linwe didn’t say anything at first, but then sighed, what was the point in having a friend if you couldn’t tell them what was wrong. "I guess it is a little bit of both. It does seem that he has been having more of them lately."

"Do you think there is reason to be concerned?"

"Maybe there isn’t but I will admit that I am. Most Hobbits have not seen the horrors that Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin have. Now they revisit those horrors at night, in their sleep," Linwe sighed deeply, "I suppose all that we can do is continue on as we are, making the best of it."

"I believe you are right, dear," agreed Rosie. Linwe did not notice the long speculative look Rosie gave her.
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