Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings, Legolas, Frodo and all affiliated with the Trilogy and all those cool books Tolkien wrote don't belong to me. They belong to HIM, the master of all writing and wonderfully cool Middle-earth stuff. HAIL TOLKIEN!!!! And thank the gods that he's not here to see what I'm doing to his poor creations…hahaha.

Warnings: Slash, AU, maybe some OOC-ness, whatever else my psychotic mind can come up with…

Archive: Take if you want, just send me a link so I can link to your page.

Summary: After the destruction of the One Ring and Frodo's return to Bag End, the Hobbit receives a visit from one he never expected to see again…

Feedback: GIMME, GIMME, GIMME!!!

Author's Note: This is my VERY FIRST Lord of the Rings fan fiction story, so things might seem a little off. Trying to get used to writing in a non-modern way is a pain in the arse. Oh, and HI AURORA!!! BTW everyone, I wrote this story because my friend wanted to see a Legolas/Frodo slash fiction. This is the result of that request, and it was fun to write (although personally I prefer Gimli/Legolas slash…both of them are hotter than hell and don't tell me Gimli's ugly because HE IS NOT!!! He and Legolas are both hotter than the deepest pit of hell and there's NOTHING anyone can say about it! HA!). Anyway…this story is for Aurora Wyvern. ENJOY!

Why Do You Always Stare At Me?

Chapter One

By: The Sadistic Cow

Eurynome69@hotmail.com

It was midsummer, and the sun was slowly dipping below the horizon to allow the moon and the stars to shine and glitter in the black, velvet sky. The wind caressed the fields gently, the lush grass waving slowly as leaves blew in cyclone-like flurries all across Hobbiton. Bats and birds flittered across the sky, calling out as clouds floated by above them, burying the moon behind them for an instant.

Sitting in his kitchen at Bag End, Frodo's eyes skimmed over the pages he had recently written in his diary, while sipping a cup of tea. His eyes were red and puffy from lack of sleep, and even though it had been nearly three months since the Ring had been destroyed, he still felt as though something was terribly wrong. His heart ached and the hollowness within him kept him awake at night, struggling in bed for a comfortable position and failing miserably.

So, rather than spend another night of futilely attempting to get comfortable, Frodo sat in his kitchen, looking at his diary, and sipping tea. He wasn't quite reading what he had written; he knew off by heart what the words said without looking at his scribbled, exhausted penning.

'Ah, alas, my heart is still empty. As empty as Bag End without Bilbo, I'm afraid; albeit this emptiness goes much deeper than that of missing kin. This hollow feeling in my gut, it is like starvation of the worst kind. It clenches and gnaws at me, eating away at my insides until I cannot sleep. My mind is as busy as Sam with his garden; unendingly active and lacking exhaustion. And, as with Sam, it revolves around one thing, and one thing alone.

I do not know how much longer I can withstand this pain. I feel so cold and alone. At least when I was in the company of the Fellowship, I was able to hold back the bitter bile in my belly by taking comfort from the others. The sparkling light that surrounded him…the way he danced on top of the snow; his lightness of heart gave me hope that all would be well. The way they argued and squabbled made me laugh and the coldness was gone. He had just to look at me and I would be comforted. But now, he is not here.

I wish to see him once more. To see that sparkle in his eyes, the way his lips curled up in that childish grin of his. The way the moonlight seemed to be drawn to his hair, how it glittered so, how HE glittered and shone in the dark. He was a beacon of light in my dark world, and it is he, of all the others, that I miss and yearn for most.

But above all, above all that I miss and I wish to see, to feel…to hear again is his voice. The songs, ah, the songs! They cheered me as nothing else could, his sweet voice rising and falling with the winds, carrying far and near. The sweet notes becoming full, then whispery…the way his eyes became half-lidded when he sang, and how his lips moved…ah, if only I could hear him singing again! This hollowness would surely leave me if I were to...'

And there his words had stopped, frozen in a sentence that seemed would never be completed as Frodo nibbled on the end of his pen's feather, frowning down at the book. His head spun from lack of sleep; and his vision blurred ever so slightly as he leaned back in his chair, allowing his hand to fall at his side and dropping his pen. A shiver passed through him as a cool wind slipped through the cracks in his window; he heard a door creaking somewhere in his hobbit-hole, but dismissed it as a trick of the wind. A loud yawn escaped his mouth, and as his hand came up to cover it he thought he heard the door creak again, and the soft click of it shutting.

'Trick of the wind,' he thought as he finished his yawn.

At least, he deemed it a trick until he heard a soft, familiar voice humming a tune he had only heard once before:

"To the Sea, to the Sea! The white gulls are crying,

The wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying.

West, west away, the round sun is falling.

Grey ship, grey ship, do you hear them calling,

The voices of my people that have gone before me?

I will leave, I will leave the woods that bore me;

For our days are ending and our years failing.

I will pass the wide waters lonely sailing.

Long are the waves on the Last Shore falling,

Sweet are the voices in the Lost Isle calling,

In Eressea, in Elvenhome that no man can discover,

Where the leaves fall not: land of my people for ever!"

Sitting up straight, Frodo's eyes were large in his face as he spun around in his chair, causing it to tip violently and fall to the floor with a crash. Groaning, the little hobbit blinked as a light, amused laugh tittered above him.

As his eyes focused again, Frodo's mouth opened in surprise as he came face to face with a pair of feet clothed in light, Elven shoes. Blinking in astonishment, barely daring to hope, Frodo's eyes traveled from the shoes, up long, slender legs to a slim torso, before they fell upon a familiar face that grinned at him and winked.

"Hullo, Frodo! It has been long since our eyes last met, has it not?" Legolas twittered, his hands on his hips and a wide smile tugging at his lips. Frodo was speechless; unable to move, let alone stand. Lifting an eyebrow at the astonished hobbit, Legolas laughed again, sweet melody in the quiet hobbit-hole. "Well my friend, you seem like you need a hand," he said, bending down and lifting Frodo to his feet.

His eyes softened and grew worried as he noticed the dark circles beneath the hobbit's eyes. He frowned, carrying Frodo over to the table and putting him down on top of it, looking him over carefully. Frodo winced, his ears and cheeks turning red under the Elf's scrutinizing look. He shifted his feet but could not speak, so astonished was he at the Elf's sudden appearance that he could not fathom what to say.

"You look under the weather, dear Hobbit," Legolas finally said, stepping back. "Have you not been sleeping well?" His crystal blue eyes watched Frodo carefully; he felt as though they were piercing his soul.

"No, Legolas…" The name rolled off his tongue so easily, and Frodo found it difficult not to freeze when he said it. 'I missed you so much, so much…' "I…I haven't been sleeping well at all."

The Elf's frown deepened. "Why would that be, Frodo?" he asked, his voice soft, low.

The hobbit shivered again, this time from hearing his name on the Elf's lips. 'Calm yourself, fool of a hobbit,' he scolded himself. 'There is no way he could possibly feel the same…'

When no answer seemed forthcoming, Legolas leaned in closer until his face was barely an inch from Frodo's. "What ails you, Elf-friend?" he asked, his voice throaty, husky. His eyes bored into Frodo's with an intensity that almost matched Gandalf's. "You are not speaking, and that disturbs me. It is unlike you."

Taking a shuddering breath, Frodo opened his mouth to answer but no sound came; the close proximity of the Elf had robbed him of all breath. The scent of his friend was overpowering; like the forests of Mirkwood mixed with pipe smoke and cinnamon, oddly enough. He could feel Legolas's breath against his cheek, hot in the cool air of the kitchen, and his eyes burned.

Swallowing, Frodo opened and closed his mouth a few more times; still, though, nothing would come. Yet finally, he managed to stutter out, "N-nothing, Legolas…nothing at…at all. Just…not able to…to sleep…"

Legolas frowned, worried. "Are you sure of that?" he asked, pulling back a little too look at the hobbit again, eyes traveling over every inch of him.

Frodo nodded quickly, head bobbing wildly as he took a few steps back. "Quite sure!" he nearly shouted, looking down at his feet. Suddenly, he let out a mock gasp and put his hands over his mouth.

"Oh, dear me!" he cried, laughing almost crazily. "Look at this, getting my table all dirty with my big feet." Laughing in an obviously fake manner, Frodo hopped down from the tabletop to his chair, then to the floor. Looking up at Legolas, who towered above him with a quirked eyebrow, Frodo gave him an equally fake smile as he went to the cupboard and pulled out a towel, and quickly ran back to wipe down the table. All the while he laughed nervously and chattered to the Elf as he crossed his arms and watched. "Oh, I forgot! Me and my terrible manners, I'm so like an Orc! Would you like some tea? I have herbal, rosemary and much, much more! I apologize for not offering you in the first place but—"

A loud crash from outside startled him, cutting him off in mid-babble. He and Legolas both spun toward the window, where the sound had come from. Growling followed, along with the scuffling of feet and scratching against the wall.

The Elf's eyes narrowed, and he drew his knife from his belt as he turned away from Frodo, who had frozen in the middle of the kitchen, his eyes as wide as saucers. "Frodo," he whispered as the hobbit turned to look at him. "Stay here."

The hobbit's jaw dropped. "What? No! Legolas!"

But the Elf was gone, vanished down the hall and towards the outside. Frodo heard the door creak softly, and then click shut, but that was it. Slowly, letting the towel drop to the floor, Frodo moved toward the small window that lay on the other side of the kitchen. He could still hear the soft scratching and scuffling, and one or two small growls as he came closer; it disturbed him greatly that there was a beast outside his home.

And Legolas had gone to find it.

Frodo felt something inside him wrench and twist. "Legolas…" he whispered. 'Oh dear no! If it is a beast out there it might kill him!' he thought, terrified.

Suddenly, there was a loud shout, words cried in the Elven tongue. Frodo gasped as he heard a loud thud, followed by shrieks and howls of some other beast as Legolas engaged it in battle. The sounds of struggling came clearly through the window, thuds and yelps and howls as the Elf and…whatever the other thing was, tussled and fought for supremacy.

There was an abrupt, pained yell from Legolas, and Frodo had had enough. Dashing through Bag End on his short legs, he ran faster than any hobbit ever did; bursting out the door he launched himself through the garden, toward the window. "Legolas! Legolas!" he cried, terrified out of his little wits as he rounded the corner.

He stopped mid-run abruptly as he saw the one he was looking for, sitting on the ground with a stunned look on his face, eyes watching the front gate swing shut with a soft click. He barely looked at Frodo as the hobbit approached, dropping to his knees beside the tall elf and looking worriedly at him. "Legolas, are you well?" he asked quickly, breathless. "What happened?"

Nodding slightly, the Elf turned his eyes back to Frodo, wonder in their blue depths. "It was the queerest thing, Frodo," he said, his voice soft. "It spoke, and its voice sounded familiar. But it was the most horrid thing I've seen of late! Not even an Orc could compare to this thing's perverse visage!"

Frodo stared at him, scared. "How did you escape though, if this beast was so terrible?"

Seeming to think, the Elf looked back at the still gate, the wind ruffling his hair and blowing it behind him. His skin seemed to glow in the moonlight, and Frodo found he had to consciously prevent himself from gasping at the other's ethereal beauty. Legolas continued, "It was standing by the window, shuffling about in the bush. I swore I heard two voices, but there was only one creature there. I'm sure of it." He trailed off again, a slight frown crossing his face. "Much like that Gollum creature, it was talking to itself, but it had two voices! 'Well, how are we to go about it then?' it said to itself. Then, 'We'll have to get their attention.'"

Legolas shook his head in confusion as Frodo leaned forward, touching his shoulder gently to urge him on. "And then what?" he asked. "What made you cry out so?"

The Elf wrinkled his nose. "The blasted thing stepped on my foot," he replied, looking down at the offended appendage and wiggling it. Frodo blinked.

"That's all it did?"

"Yes."

Wrinkling his own nose, Frodo said, "How queer."

Legolas had to agree.

There was silence for a few long moments as the two sat out in Frodo's garden, watching the gate and pondering what the creature had wanted with them. Slowly, Frodo edged in closer to the Elf as Legolas leaned back on his palms, head tilted up toward the sky. He glanced at the fey creature out of the corner of his eye, and then a thought occurred to him.

"What brings you here, Legolas?"

With the moonlight shining in his eyes, the Elf gave Frodo a saucy wink and a small, tittering laugh. "You, of course. Who else but you do I know in this part of the Shire?"

"Well, Sam and Pippin and Merry…"

Legolas waved his hand in a dismissive manner, rolling his eyes. "I've already visited them," he told Frodo in his clear, musical voice. Tilting his head, he gave Frodo a strange smile as he looked at him out of the corner of his eye. "But I do have business with you, my dear hobbit."

Frodo began to sweat a little. What 'business' could the Elf have with him? He decided to ask.

Chuckling, Legolas rolled over on his stomach and propped his chin in his hands, looking at Frodo with an almost piercing gaze. "I've been trying hard to figure out a reason for something I noticed quite a bit during our adventure not so long ago," he said, his voice dropping a few octaves, turning husky and low. His eyes, filled with stars and moonlight, glittered and bored into Frodo's intensely. "It has been in my mind much these days, and I have been unable to answer it myself, so I have come to you."

"What…is it?" The hobbit swallowed, unsure of the look in the Elf's eyes as he leaned forward just slightly, reaching out one hand to lay it on Frodo's knee.

"Why did you always stare at me?"

To be continued…

I know, it kinda sucks and it's short…but oh well. :P If you want more, then…you'll get more! HA!