Disclaimer: All characters and places in this belong to J.R.R. Tolkien, not me. I'm just playing with them, not making any money, or trying to cause any harm.
Author's Note: Oh, look! It's more crack!fic plot bunnies from my Lit class. We covered LotR a month or so ago and in one discussion, my teacher put out the idea that Sam, Frodo, and Gollum acted like a family unit at times. I've already written one crack!fic about hobbits and families but I decided to do another one. So, enjoy! Why don't you see if you can tell what family role each character fills?
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"Come on, Sam!" Frodo called out gaily, hopping from one tussock of marsh grass to another. He stopped to gaze at his surroundings, taking in a deep, almost choking breath of the fumes.
Everything around him was muted, colors appearing dreamy as objects floated in and out of the mists that plagued the Dead Marshes. Winding paths of sickly yellow and brown grasses threaded their way through murky brown-green water. In the far, dim distance, lights shimmered and danced between clumps of dead reeds.
A hand slipped into his, and Frodo turned away from the eerily beautiful panorama. Sméagol was crouched at his side, looking eagerly up at him. He was wearing a clean pair of breeches that Sam had cut down for him, though neither Sam nor Frodo could coax him into wearing a shirt, and he had managed to keep almost clean, with only two small patches of drying mud at his knees. Frodo smiled down at him for a moment and then looked back for Sam.
His friend was several loops of the path behind them, slowed by the heavy picnic hamper and blanket he carried. Frodo sighed and called, "Are you sure you don't want help, dear Sam?"
Samwise Gamgee grimaced and hitched the basket higher by its creaking handles. "I'm all right, Frodo. I didn't pack that much!"
"But the fat hobbit did pack it heavily," Sméagol cackled happily. Frodo noticed Sam's quick glare in his direction and tried not to sigh.
Deciding to stave off the argument, Frodo chided Sméagol gently, "Don't call him that. It's rude."
An apologetic glance was all the answer Frodo got, but it was enough. Sam wouldn't pursue the matter, and Sméagol would remember his manners. A job well done.
Sam lugged the picnic basket to an almost dry spot then put his burden down. Sméagol galloped madly about as he hindered more than helped Frodo and Sam spread the blanket out then set out the dishes. Serving dishes were brought out next, and their delicious contents were revealed.
Their meal turned to the normal fuss as Frodo coaxed Sméagol into eating tiny morsels of food. Sméagol, for all that he was a distant ancestor of hobbits, did not like to eat. He fought and whined at every bite Frodo presented him with. Bits of cold chicken were galloped, with realistic whinnies and neighs, into a protesting mouth to be chewed and swallowed reluctantly. Frodo snatched quick bites of his own meal in between his battles with Sméagol while Sam glowered at them over his own food.
Eventually, when they were just unpacking the dessert pie, Sam snapped. "That's it. If he can't eat with decent people, then he can eat by himself."
"Sam!" Frodo protested, putting a comforting hand that still held a fork on Sméagol's shoulder. "He is eating. It's just harder for him. Isn't that right, Sméagol?"
Sméagol lowered his head to hide his smirk as he nodded sadly. Glancing at the fat hobbit out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Sam's face going red with anger.
"I don't care," Sam insisted. "You are excused, Gollum."
Sméagol looked pleadingly at Frodo, but he just shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. Knowing there would be no help from that quarter, Sméagol asked, "Can we have some pie at least...precious."
Sam's face went a shade redder, darkening to resemble bricks. He tried his best to prevent Gollum from falling into his old habits of speech, with no help from Frodo, who was too soft in Sam's opinion, but sometimes Gollum slipped or did it deliberately, like now.
"No," he declared, "you may not have some pie. Go and play somewhere quietly while Frodo and I finish."
Sam did his best to ignore the reproachful look that Frodo was sending his way by concentrating instead on Gollum's sullen expression. Tension mounted for a moment then Gollum looked away and slunk off to the far side of their little island.
Sam couldn't resist calling after him, "And don't get too mucky! Those are new breeches you're wearing."
Gollum muttered something that might have been "stupid fat hobbit" and "horrible clothes" but Sam couldn't be sure. The food he had eaten was already adrift in the sea of acid that was his stomach after any time spent with Gollum and he didn't want to upset his digestion anymore, so he let the remarks slide.
Frodo watched anxiously until Sméagol was safely occupied then turned on Sam. "What were you thinking? He was doing well."
"No, he wasn't." Sam eyed the unblemished pie before attacking it with a knife.
"Sam, we're not going to have this argument again," Frodo said wearily. "Sméagol is making progress, just not as fast as you might like."
"Gollum-" Sam stressed the name-"Is the same as he always was. He's just clever enough to hide it from you."
"Please-"
"No, I won't hear any more of it," Sam said resolutely, plunking a large wedge of pie each onto his and Frodo's plates.
No doubt, Sam expected Frodo to argue, but instead Frodo just sighed and cut himself a bite of pie. He really was tired of this longstanding argument between them. Sméagol was getting better. He was slowly throwing off the Ring's influence, and Sam simply refused to see it.
Sighing again, Frodo lifted a bite of fresh pie on his fork and brought it to his mouth. The delicious, fruit filled morsel was just sliding past his lips when he started upright.
The thick stench of the Dead Marshes clogged Frodo's nose and throat, destroying any lingering memories of pie or the taste of food. Sam snorted and stirred restlessly behind him. There was no sign of Gollum in the enveloping fumes.
Frodo lay back down, thinking idly as he drifted into a weary sleep. He really did have the strangest dreams.