I own nothing. I am not making a profit. I only play with the characters. This is humor . . . certainly not to be taken seriously (what else is new with my stories?)
****
"Mr. Frodo, you're lookin' rather pensive again."
I stopped in my tracks, fixing Sam with a stare while swatting a mosquito at the same time. Hoards of the nasty little insects swarmed here just outside Osgiliath, and they could be quite bothersome. Only Smeagol, scurrying several yards ahead, seemed oblivious to them. Captain Faramir had warned us that the slight bit of water still caught in the old sewers attracted them, but I hadn't realized---oh, but back to Sam. Well, one certainly didn't hear words such as "pensive" often issue from the mouth of Samwise Gamgee.
But I suppose others had been using it around me often enough lately . . .
"Pensive, Sam? What makes you say that? I can't imagine I look more pensive today than I did, oh, a month ago, or a month before that. Goodness knows there's enough to be pensive about."
"Well, you have got that look, sir. But it don't look like the usual look you get when thinking of the reason for where we're going. No, it looks like you're thinking about him again, sure as clouds floating above in the sky."
I'm sure my cheeks were red with embarrassment as I replied. "Of course I was thinking about him, Sam. I nearly always am, but I was also thinking a good bit about Captain Faramir and the Gondorians, too." Was it my imagination or had my voice taken on a wistful tone without my consent?
Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head, hefting his pack for a better grip. "How could I forget? My bones ache like an old gaffer's from bein' thrown about so many times, blindfolded, and being carted about by so many men." As if to emphasize his point, Sam rubbed the small of his back and grimaced, then stared hard at me, his round eyes narrowing. "But you, Mr. Frodo----forgive me for saying this, sir, but considering everything, you probably liked it!"
Oh, this time I could *feel* the heat rising in my cheeks, as well as other places I hoped Sam certainly wouldn't notice. Of course, I reminded myself, Sam already knew most of my shameful secrets, and if I told him the latest, it would be but another he would take to his grave. "All right, dear Sam, I confess," I said, turning to watch his expression. "I found our capture by the good Captain Faramir quite . . . interesting, and the man himself in particular very . . . stimulating."
My faithful companion gave me a knowing look. "Begging your pardon, sir, but that's not exactly news. I figured that out a goodly while ago. It was the tossing that did it, wasn't it? The rough treatment?"
I bit my lip, quite ashamed of the rather queer and cracked penchant I had discovered I possessed these last few months. The wicked yearnings had apparently lain dormant all these years, ready to erupt at the slightest provocation. And that provocation walked on two legs and was, generally . . . quite a bit larger than myself. In a number of ways. What would Bilbo say? For that matter, what would Merry and Pippin say?
"Sam," I said, "I lived nearly my entire life sheltered in the Shire, never taking a wife and enjoying few relationships. And I always wondered why and so did everybody else, even Gandalf. Now, ever since meeting Aragorn, I know why. It was an eye-opening experience, I guarantee."
At this, Sam grinned, but all the while keeping a sharp eye on our small guide ahead. "If I recall, you liked the way he hauled you up them stairs. And I was scared half to death, thinking he was a ruffian come to kill you."
"You certainly didn't show you were scared." I laughed as I recalled Sam and my cousins entering the room with their fists up. "And you're right . . . I have *very* fond memories of Aragorn grabbing me by the neck and swinging me onto the floor. That's when I realized I . . . I do enjoy men treating me just a bit roughly. Not enough to seriously hurt me, you know, but a man's huge arms lifting me up or whatnot give me quite a case of the shivers."
"I know you had a liking for Mr. Strider, sir. But he never treated you rough again after Bree."
"No, but he could be stern sometimes." Closing my eyes a moment, I could still hear Aragorn's baritone voice chastising me, and it made me smile. "I do miss him."
"What about Boromir?"
"What about him? We know what unfortunate fate befell him," I said, preferring not to think about his terrible demise at the hands of the Orcs. "What are you getting at, Sam?"
"Well, he treated you rather mean when he tried to take the Ring, didn't he?"
"Yes, indeed he did. And it was a terrifying experience." Well, at first it was. What I didn't mention to Sam was that even while frightened for the Ring's sake, I was so aroused by the big warrior's hands groping me that if Sam hadn't come along, I was planning on stopping as soon as I reached the eastern shore and taking care of myself right then and there. In the canoe if need be. Oh well, Sam knew me well enough by now anyway. He probably suspected, so I might as well tell him.
I did tell him, and indeed he was not all that surprised, to my chagrin.
"Anyone with eyes to see can tell you've developed a taste for strong and manly men, Mr. Frodo, especially when they're a bit, er, forceful. And they for you."
"Samwise Gamgee, I don't know why you would think that. Much as I wanted him to, Aragorn never laid a hand on me in that way. Neither has any other man." Was it my imagination, or blast it, had that wistful tone crept into my voice yet *again*?
"Not for lack of trying, I'll warrant," Sam said. "You've just been too stubborn to see it, and the men didn't want to press their advantage. But I noticed, Mr. Frodo, by the way they'd get this grim set to their mouths and their backbones would go rigid as they gazed at you, as if they'd purely melt right then and there if they didn't fight it. And you . . . your eyes would get all huge and liquidy, and your hands tremble just a little bit, not just with Mr. Strider or Mr. Boromir, but even when Faramir's men passed us around, and especially when the Captain himself put his hands all over you to lead you along that path."
I nodded, knowing Sam was right, and spared a smile, trying not to think too much about Faramir touching me lest I embarrass myself. "Well, the quest was made a bit more pleasant by my fantasies, I'll admit. But now, I doubt we'll meet anymore good men on our way to the Black Lands."
"I don't know, Mr. Frodo. I could probably find a good Southerner down here somewhere to pick you up and swing you about by an ankle, if that would cheer you up. Or maybe an Easterling---I bet they've got big fingers and a good grip."
Laughing, I took a swig of fresh water from my flask and clapped Sam on the shoulder. "You're a dear friend, Sam, for thinking about me so. And maybe you're right . . . a fascinating foreign man might just make the trip down here not so bad after all."
Still chattering away as only two hobbits could, we continued on toward Mordor, our hearts a little lighter than they had been in days. Up ahead, Smeagol turned and looked at us oddly with those luminous eyes, muttering something about "naughty hobbitses."
I can't imagine what he was talking about.
The End
****
"Mr. Frodo, you're lookin' rather pensive again."
I stopped in my tracks, fixing Sam with a stare while swatting a mosquito at the same time. Hoards of the nasty little insects swarmed here just outside Osgiliath, and they could be quite bothersome. Only Smeagol, scurrying several yards ahead, seemed oblivious to them. Captain Faramir had warned us that the slight bit of water still caught in the old sewers attracted them, but I hadn't realized---oh, but back to Sam. Well, one certainly didn't hear words such as "pensive" often issue from the mouth of Samwise Gamgee.
But I suppose others had been using it around me often enough lately . . .
"Pensive, Sam? What makes you say that? I can't imagine I look more pensive today than I did, oh, a month ago, or a month before that. Goodness knows there's enough to be pensive about."
"Well, you have got that look, sir. But it don't look like the usual look you get when thinking of the reason for where we're going. No, it looks like you're thinking about him again, sure as clouds floating above in the sky."
I'm sure my cheeks were red with embarrassment as I replied. "Of course I was thinking about him, Sam. I nearly always am, but I was also thinking a good bit about Captain Faramir and the Gondorians, too." Was it my imagination or had my voice taken on a wistful tone without my consent?
Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head, hefting his pack for a better grip. "How could I forget? My bones ache like an old gaffer's from bein' thrown about so many times, blindfolded, and being carted about by so many men." As if to emphasize his point, Sam rubbed the small of his back and grimaced, then stared hard at me, his round eyes narrowing. "But you, Mr. Frodo----forgive me for saying this, sir, but considering everything, you probably liked it!"
Oh, this time I could *feel* the heat rising in my cheeks, as well as other places I hoped Sam certainly wouldn't notice. Of course, I reminded myself, Sam already knew most of my shameful secrets, and if I told him the latest, it would be but another he would take to his grave. "All right, dear Sam, I confess," I said, turning to watch his expression. "I found our capture by the good Captain Faramir quite . . . interesting, and the man himself in particular very . . . stimulating."
My faithful companion gave me a knowing look. "Begging your pardon, sir, but that's not exactly news. I figured that out a goodly while ago. It was the tossing that did it, wasn't it? The rough treatment?"
I bit my lip, quite ashamed of the rather queer and cracked penchant I had discovered I possessed these last few months. The wicked yearnings had apparently lain dormant all these years, ready to erupt at the slightest provocation. And that provocation walked on two legs and was, generally . . . quite a bit larger than myself. In a number of ways. What would Bilbo say? For that matter, what would Merry and Pippin say?
"Sam," I said, "I lived nearly my entire life sheltered in the Shire, never taking a wife and enjoying few relationships. And I always wondered why and so did everybody else, even Gandalf. Now, ever since meeting Aragorn, I know why. It was an eye-opening experience, I guarantee."
At this, Sam grinned, but all the while keeping a sharp eye on our small guide ahead. "If I recall, you liked the way he hauled you up them stairs. And I was scared half to death, thinking he was a ruffian come to kill you."
"You certainly didn't show you were scared." I laughed as I recalled Sam and my cousins entering the room with their fists up. "And you're right . . . I have *very* fond memories of Aragorn grabbing me by the neck and swinging me onto the floor. That's when I realized I . . . I do enjoy men treating me just a bit roughly. Not enough to seriously hurt me, you know, but a man's huge arms lifting me up or whatnot give me quite a case of the shivers."
"I know you had a liking for Mr. Strider, sir. But he never treated you rough again after Bree."
"No, but he could be stern sometimes." Closing my eyes a moment, I could still hear Aragorn's baritone voice chastising me, and it made me smile. "I do miss him."
"What about Boromir?"
"What about him? We know what unfortunate fate befell him," I said, preferring not to think about his terrible demise at the hands of the Orcs. "What are you getting at, Sam?"
"Well, he treated you rather mean when he tried to take the Ring, didn't he?"
"Yes, indeed he did. And it was a terrifying experience." Well, at first it was. What I didn't mention to Sam was that even while frightened for the Ring's sake, I was so aroused by the big warrior's hands groping me that if Sam hadn't come along, I was planning on stopping as soon as I reached the eastern shore and taking care of myself right then and there. In the canoe if need be. Oh well, Sam knew me well enough by now anyway. He probably suspected, so I might as well tell him.
I did tell him, and indeed he was not all that surprised, to my chagrin.
"Anyone with eyes to see can tell you've developed a taste for strong and manly men, Mr. Frodo, especially when they're a bit, er, forceful. And they for you."
"Samwise Gamgee, I don't know why you would think that. Much as I wanted him to, Aragorn never laid a hand on me in that way. Neither has any other man." Was it my imagination, or blast it, had that wistful tone crept into my voice yet *again*?
"Not for lack of trying, I'll warrant," Sam said. "You've just been too stubborn to see it, and the men didn't want to press their advantage. But I noticed, Mr. Frodo, by the way they'd get this grim set to their mouths and their backbones would go rigid as they gazed at you, as if they'd purely melt right then and there if they didn't fight it. And you . . . your eyes would get all huge and liquidy, and your hands tremble just a little bit, not just with Mr. Strider or Mr. Boromir, but even when Faramir's men passed us around, and especially when the Captain himself put his hands all over you to lead you along that path."
I nodded, knowing Sam was right, and spared a smile, trying not to think too much about Faramir touching me lest I embarrass myself. "Well, the quest was made a bit more pleasant by my fantasies, I'll admit. But now, I doubt we'll meet anymore good men on our way to the Black Lands."
"I don't know, Mr. Frodo. I could probably find a good Southerner down here somewhere to pick you up and swing you about by an ankle, if that would cheer you up. Or maybe an Easterling---I bet they've got big fingers and a good grip."
Laughing, I took a swig of fresh water from my flask and clapped Sam on the shoulder. "You're a dear friend, Sam, for thinking about me so. And maybe you're right . . . a fascinating foreign man might just make the trip down here not so bad after all."
Still chattering away as only two hobbits could, we continued on toward Mordor, our hearts a little lighter than they had been in days. Up ahead, Smeagol turned and looked at us oddly with those luminous eyes, muttering something about "naughty hobbitses."
I can't imagine what he was talking about.
The End