Title: In Safekeeping
Author-Mbradford
Summary: Unwanted attention from an aggressive admirer puts Frodo in great danger. Sam to the rescue!
Warnings: Non-consensual slash elements, light Frodo/Sam slash Rating: R due to violence.
Disclaimer: I do not own the places or the characters except for one Rushford Bramblethorn. Not sure I want to own him, really. He's nasty! Making no money, spending too much time.
A/N This story is the result of encountering a plotbunny at the Library of Moria site. I am currently trying to post this there as well, but my e- mail submission isn't getting through. Thanks though, to Ladyrogue at Library of Moria for donating the plotbunny that kept me awake last night. Thanks also to Emma and Iorhael, for showing me through their own great stories, the proper way to make a nasty hobbit!
So far, I have only written light-hearted, G-PG rated sweet hobbit fics, so this is a departure for me. I'm keeping the slash implications as low- key as I can, to try to make this palatable for as many readers as possible. What intrigued me about this particular plotbunny was the opportunity to cast Sam in a heroic role. Last but not least, I apologize in advance if I mangle canon, change the laws of physics, or do anything else which doesn't make sense.
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Chapter 1 - Admiration
"I suppose no harm will come of it, and it has been a rather tiring day," Frodo admitted, as Fredegar and Tom cajoled him.
"Of course not," said Fredegar, regarding the young Master of Bag End with a smile. It had only been a month since Bilbo had made his spectacular exit at the birthday party, and Fredegar knew his friend was still pained by his uncle's sudden departure. It would do Frodo some good to relax a bit, and what better way than a couple of half-pints at the Green Dragon in the company of friends?
"Come on, Frodo. You need to get out of Bag End for a few hours," Tom added.
Frodo nodded, giving in. He'd not seen Fredegar Bolger and Tom Cotton for a while and it would be good to sit down and talk with them for a bit. He had a rather difficult translation of an elvish history weighing on his mind and wanted to make an early start of it in the morning, but he should still be able to accomplish that goal as long as he didn't stay out too late.
Frodo retrieved his cloak from the chair it was draped over in the parlor, and followed his friends out the door. It was not a long walk to the Green Dragon Inn, but it was rather chilly out that evening. As they made their way along the path, Frodo reflected that he had been rather reclusive since Bilbo left. Things just weren't the same without Bilbo around. A little bit of the light that had been a part of everyday life at Bag End had seemingly gone with the eccentric old hobbit, and Frodo had felt the absence.
There was a warm glow of lamplight from the windows of the Green Dragon's common room, which seemed to drive back the chill of the evening as the three hobbits walked in. A good number of hobbits occupied the benches and chairs this evening, and the usual activities of singing songs and telling jokes and stories were in full swing. The constant babble of conversation rose and fell in waves around them as they sought out an empty table.
As Frodo, Fredegar and Tom walked past a table occupied by a particularly noisy group, one of the clearly inebriated hobbits looked up and watched them pass. Rushford Bramblethorn regarded Frodo and his friends over the rim of his tankard, Frodo in particular. The expression on his face changed from one of mild curiosity to a rather nasty leer as he contemplated.
Wasn't that Frodo Baggins, the nephew and adopted heir of that old crackpot Bilbo Baggins? Ahh, yes. So it was. He took another swallow of ale, his eyes never leaving Frodo's retreating form. Bramblethorn remembered having seen Frodo about Hobbiton from time to time. A striking young figure of a hobbit Frodo had been even as a tween, but now.hadn't the lad just come of age a short while ago?
He sipped his ale again, letting his eyes drift over Frodo's features. Slim, by hobbit standards, dark curly hair framing an unusually pale face with sharp angular features. Impossibly large, blue eyes. He wanted a closer look into those amazing eyes. He wanted a lot more than that, he acknowledged to himself with a wolfish grin. Given the right opportunity -
Across the room, Frodo glanced up and caught Bramblethorn's gaze. Without realizing why, he found himself starting to blush slightly. Maybe it was just the ale working on him combined with the effects of a long day in his study, but that look seemed rather odd. He'd seen a similar expression on Fredegar's face a few months back when his friend was looking at the new barmaid at the Inn. Frodo's blush deepened, and he looked around quickly to see if there was, in fact, a pretty lass in the near vicinity. He saw none nearby. Shaking his head slightly and telling himself to stop imagining things, he turned back to the conversation at his own table.
An hour or so later, Frodo felt his energy beginning to ebb, and rose from the table. "Gentlehobbits, I thank you for inviting me along with you this evening, but it's time I should be on my way. I've a long day planned tomorrow, and it wouldn't do to begin it with a headache!"
Fredegar and Tom laughed. "Thank you for allowing us to drag you from your home, Frodo," Tom answered. "Take care of yourself, and please don't hibernate so much. We'll have to come dig you out again if you do," Tom threatened good-naturedly.
Frodo threw his cloak over his shoulders and made for the door, his thoughts already turning to that tricky elvish translation. Thus occupied, he didn't notice another figure rising to follow him from the room.
~*~
The night air was crisp indeed, and Frodo shivered slightly as he wrapped his cloak tighter around him. He was not far down the path when he thought he heard footsteps behind him. He turned to see Rushford Bramblethorn approaching at a leisurely pace. Frodo frowned inwardly. Now what could Bramblethorn want? Frodo was not well acquainted with the other hobbit, but had met him briefly on a few social occasions.
"Well, well! Frodo Baggins, isn't it?" Bramblethorn said amiably as he closed the short distance between them. "It's pleasant running into you this evening," he added, the smile never leaving his face.
"Likewise, Master Bramblethorn," Frodo responded with a polite nod to the other hobbit.
"It's a shame to find you leaving so soon. I had hoped to engage you in conversation for a short while," Bramblethorn continued, as he moved to stand closer to Frodo. A little too close, Frodo thought. He could smell the ale on the other hobbit's breath, and by the look of him, Bramblethorn had enjoyed his fair share that evening.
Continuing to smile politely, Frodo backed up a step. "Please pardon my early departure. I've some pressing work to begin early in the morning, so I'd not planned to be out late," he replied.
"It's a shame. I should have enjoyed your company this evening." Bramblethorn had taken another step forward and the look on his face had changed. Frodo noted uneasily that it was starting to develop into the strange look he had seen directed at him earlier in the evening. The short hairs on the back of Frodo's neck began to bristle as he took another cautious step away from Bramblethorn.
"Perhaps another time," Frodo ventured, wanting to end the conversation, but not wishing to be rude. He bowed slightly to the other hobbit and turned to continue down the path. Immediately, hands fell upon his shoulders and spun him around again. Frodo found himself looking directly into Bramblethorn's eyes, which had taken on a threatening gleam that didn't match his still polite tone of voice.
"Don't be so hasty in your departure, Master Baggins," Bramblethorn fairly purred. "I think you wouldn't mind our spending a little time together either, by the look you gave me earlier."
Frodo stared, any pretense of civility beginning to evaporate in the face of the insinuation. "The look I gave you? You have a vivid imagination!" Indignation was plainly evident in Frodo's voice as he confronted the somewhat drunken hobbit before him.
"Do I?" Bramblethorn smiled, and paused as if to consider. "I will grant you that, certainly, Frodo," he said, emphasizing his use of Frodo's first name. "In fact, I'll just bet you have no concept of the true extent of my imagination." With that statement, Bramblethorn tightened his grip on Frodo's shoulders and advanced closer still.
Frodo felt himself pierced by a stab of anger and a growing surge of fear. He tried to calm himself and take control of the situation. "I would not presume to guess," he managed. Attempting a firm tone, he continued, "Please take your hands off me. If I understand what you propose, I am not interested."
"Oh, but I think you are. You just won't admit it!" Bramblethorn shook Frodo and shoved him backwards, still not releasing his grip. Frodo stumbled backward into a tree and realized, to his horror, that he was effectively trapped. If only someone would come down the path! But the night was comparatively young, and no other hobbits had ventured out from the warmth of the inn into the chilly air. The path remained deserted save for the two of them.
Bramblethorn was leering openly now, pressing Frodo against the tree. "I've admired you from afar for so long," he said, winding his fingers into Frodo's hair. "I've wanted you since I first saw you, truthfully. You're such a lovely thing, you must be accustomed to a great deal of attention." The fingers in Frodo's hair tightened, now pulling painfully. "No reason to act so coy, Frodo."
Frodo was revolted, and panic began to overtake him. "Stop it! Let go of me!" he exclaimed and tried to twist out of Bramblethorn's grasp. Having had enough of Frodo's protests, Bramblethorn promptly backhanded him across the face, knocking the smaller hobbit to the ground. As Frodo fought to regain his equilibrium, his attacker pounced on him, pinning him face down on the ground and pulling one of his arms up painfully behind him. Frodo grimaced as he felt his wrist twisted in the vise-like grip.
Through the tide of his rising panic, Frodo took stock of his situation. Bramblethorn was larger and stronger than Frodo, but he was also rather drunk. Frodo had been careful to keep his alcohol intake to a minimum, as he did not want any ill effects to deal with in the morning. Frodo noted that he had fallen to the side of the path, and now lay at a slight downhill incline. He took a deep breath and willed himself to be calm, to relax, in hopes that Bramblethorn would then relax his grip as well.
"Take it easy, Frodo! No need to become combative. But you do show a lot of spirit, and I like that about you," Bramblethorn hissed. Frodo felt the hand on his wrist ease its grip slightly and felt his attacker's weight shift somewhat. What he heard next was almost enough to stop his heart - the sound of fabric rustling and the click of braces being unfastened. It was now or never.
With all his strength, Frodo rolled to the side and pushed at Bramblethorn. The other hobbit's back was to the downward slope, giving Frodo some advantage. As his attacker fell away from him, Frodo scrambled to his feet and aimed a well-placed kick at Bramblethorn's groin area. The blow connected and it was Bramblethorn's turn to fall to the ground, rolling a short way down the incline as he did so. With a cry of pure fury and pain, Bramblethorn tried to regain his feet, without success.
Frodo didn't wait to see how seriously he had injured the other hobbit. He turned and fled down the path toward the comparative safety of Bag End. His breath coming in ragged gasps, Frodo flung the door open and bolted inside, slamming and locking it in a single motion. With his back to the door, he fought to control his racing heart and the burning pain in his lungs. Trembling violently, he found his legs would no longer support him and he sank to the floor. His head fell forward into his hands and in terror and misery, Frodo wept.
Summary: Unwanted attention from an aggressive admirer puts Frodo in great danger. Sam to the rescue!
Warnings: Non-consensual slash elements, light Frodo/Sam slash Rating: R due to violence.
Disclaimer: I do not own the places or the characters except for one Rushford Bramblethorn. Not sure I want to own him, really. He's nasty! Making no money, spending too much time.
A/N This story is the result of encountering a plotbunny at the Library of Moria site. I am currently trying to post this there as well, but my e- mail submission isn't getting through. Thanks though, to Ladyrogue at Library of Moria for donating the plotbunny that kept me awake last night. Thanks also to Emma and Iorhael, for showing me through their own great stories, the proper way to make a nasty hobbit!
So far, I have only written light-hearted, G-PG rated sweet hobbit fics, so this is a departure for me. I'm keeping the slash implications as low- key as I can, to try to make this palatable for as many readers as possible. What intrigued me about this particular plotbunny was the opportunity to cast Sam in a heroic role. Last but not least, I apologize in advance if I mangle canon, change the laws of physics, or do anything else which doesn't make sense.
*************************************************************
Chapter 1 - Admiration
"I suppose no harm will come of it, and it has been a rather tiring day," Frodo admitted, as Fredegar and Tom cajoled him.
"Of course not," said Fredegar, regarding the young Master of Bag End with a smile. It had only been a month since Bilbo had made his spectacular exit at the birthday party, and Fredegar knew his friend was still pained by his uncle's sudden departure. It would do Frodo some good to relax a bit, and what better way than a couple of half-pints at the Green Dragon in the company of friends?
"Come on, Frodo. You need to get out of Bag End for a few hours," Tom added.
Frodo nodded, giving in. He'd not seen Fredegar Bolger and Tom Cotton for a while and it would be good to sit down and talk with them for a bit. He had a rather difficult translation of an elvish history weighing on his mind and wanted to make an early start of it in the morning, but he should still be able to accomplish that goal as long as he didn't stay out too late.
Frodo retrieved his cloak from the chair it was draped over in the parlor, and followed his friends out the door. It was not a long walk to the Green Dragon Inn, but it was rather chilly out that evening. As they made their way along the path, Frodo reflected that he had been rather reclusive since Bilbo left. Things just weren't the same without Bilbo around. A little bit of the light that had been a part of everyday life at Bag End had seemingly gone with the eccentric old hobbit, and Frodo had felt the absence.
There was a warm glow of lamplight from the windows of the Green Dragon's common room, which seemed to drive back the chill of the evening as the three hobbits walked in. A good number of hobbits occupied the benches and chairs this evening, and the usual activities of singing songs and telling jokes and stories were in full swing. The constant babble of conversation rose and fell in waves around them as they sought out an empty table.
As Frodo, Fredegar and Tom walked past a table occupied by a particularly noisy group, one of the clearly inebriated hobbits looked up and watched them pass. Rushford Bramblethorn regarded Frodo and his friends over the rim of his tankard, Frodo in particular. The expression on his face changed from one of mild curiosity to a rather nasty leer as he contemplated.
Wasn't that Frodo Baggins, the nephew and adopted heir of that old crackpot Bilbo Baggins? Ahh, yes. So it was. He took another swallow of ale, his eyes never leaving Frodo's retreating form. Bramblethorn remembered having seen Frodo about Hobbiton from time to time. A striking young figure of a hobbit Frodo had been even as a tween, but now.hadn't the lad just come of age a short while ago?
He sipped his ale again, letting his eyes drift over Frodo's features. Slim, by hobbit standards, dark curly hair framing an unusually pale face with sharp angular features. Impossibly large, blue eyes. He wanted a closer look into those amazing eyes. He wanted a lot more than that, he acknowledged to himself with a wolfish grin. Given the right opportunity -
Across the room, Frodo glanced up and caught Bramblethorn's gaze. Without realizing why, he found himself starting to blush slightly. Maybe it was just the ale working on him combined with the effects of a long day in his study, but that look seemed rather odd. He'd seen a similar expression on Fredegar's face a few months back when his friend was looking at the new barmaid at the Inn. Frodo's blush deepened, and he looked around quickly to see if there was, in fact, a pretty lass in the near vicinity. He saw none nearby. Shaking his head slightly and telling himself to stop imagining things, he turned back to the conversation at his own table.
An hour or so later, Frodo felt his energy beginning to ebb, and rose from the table. "Gentlehobbits, I thank you for inviting me along with you this evening, but it's time I should be on my way. I've a long day planned tomorrow, and it wouldn't do to begin it with a headache!"
Fredegar and Tom laughed. "Thank you for allowing us to drag you from your home, Frodo," Tom answered. "Take care of yourself, and please don't hibernate so much. We'll have to come dig you out again if you do," Tom threatened good-naturedly.
Frodo threw his cloak over his shoulders and made for the door, his thoughts already turning to that tricky elvish translation. Thus occupied, he didn't notice another figure rising to follow him from the room.
~*~
The night air was crisp indeed, and Frodo shivered slightly as he wrapped his cloak tighter around him. He was not far down the path when he thought he heard footsteps behind him. He turned to see Rushford Bramblethorn approaching at a leisurely pace. Frodo frowned inwardly. Now what could Bramblethorn want? Frodo was not well acquainted with the other hobbit, but had met him briefly on a few social occasions.
"Well, well! Frodo Baggins, isn't it?" Bramblethorn said amiably as he closed the short distance between them. "It's pleasant running into you this evening," he added, the smile never leaving his face.
"Likewise, Master Bramblethorn," Frodo responded with a polite nod to the other hobbit.
"It's a shame to find you leaving so soon. I had hoped to engage you in conversation for a short while," Bramblethorn continued, as he moved to stand closer to Frodo. A little too close, Frodo thought. He could smell the ale on the other hobbit's breath, and by the look of him, Bramblethorn had enjoyed his fair share that evening.
Continuing to smile politely, Frodo backed up a step. "Please pardon my early departure. I've some pressing work to begin early in the morning, so I'd not planned to be out late," he replied.
"It's a shame. I should have enjoyed your company this evening." Bramblethorn had taken another step forward and the look on his face had changed. Frodo noted uneasily that it was starting to develop into the strange look he had seen directed at him earlier in the evening. The short hairs on the back of Frodo's neck began to bristle as he took another cautious step away from Bramblethorn.
"Perhaps another time," Frodo ventured, wanting to end the conversation, but not wishing to be rude. He bowed slightly to the other hobbit and turned to continue down the path. Immediately, hands fell upon his shoulders and spun him around again. Frodo found himself looking directly into Bramblethorn's eyes, which had taken on a threatening gleam that didn't match his still polite tone of voice.
"Don't be so hasty in your departure, Master Baggins," Bramblethorn fairly purred. "I think you wouldn't mind our spending a little time together either, by the look you gave me earlier."
Frodo stared, any pretense of civility beginning to evaporate in the face of the insinuation. "The look I gave you? You have a vivid imagination!" Indignation was plainly evident in Frodo's voice as he confronted the somewhat drunken hobbit before him.
"Do I?" Bramblethorn smiled, and paused as if to consider. "I will grant you that, certainly, Frodo," he said, emphasizing his use of Frodo's first name. "In fact, I'll just bet you have no concept of the true extent of my imagination." With that statement, Bramblethorn tightened his grip on Frodo's shoulders and advanced closer still.
Frodo felt himself pierced by a stab of anger and a growing surge of fear. He tried to calm himself and take control of the situation. "I would not presume to guess," he managed. Attempting a firm tone, he continued, "Please take your hands off me. If I understand what you propose, I am not interested."
"Oh, but I think you are. You just won't admit it!" Bramblethorn shook Frodo and shoved him backwards, still not releasing his grip. Frodo stumbled backward into a tree and realized, to his horror, that he was effectively trapped. If only someone would come down the path! But the night was comparatively young, and no other hobbits had ventured out from the warmth of the inn into the chilly air. The path remained deserted save for the two of them.
Bramblethorn was leering openly now, pressing Frodo against the tree. "I've admired you from afar for so long," he said, winding his fingers into Frodo's hair. "I've wanted you since I first saw you, truthfully. You're such a lovely thing, you must be accustomed to a great deal of attention." The fingers in Frodo's hair tightened, now pulling painfully. "No reason to act so coy, Frodo."
Frodo was revolted, and panic began to overtake him. "Stop it! Let go of me!" he exclaimed and tried to twist out of Bramblethorn's grasp. Having had enough of Frodo's protests, Bramblethorn promptly backhanded him across the face, knocking the smaller hobbit to the ground. As Frodo fought to regain his equilibrium, his attacker pounced on him, pinning him face down on the ground and pulling one of his arms up painfully behind him. Frodo grimaced as he felt his wrist twisted in the vise-like grip.
Through the tide of his rising panic, Frodo took stock of his situation. Bramblethorn was larger and stronger than Frodo, but he was also rather drunk. Frodo had been careful to keep his alcohol intake to a minimum, as he did not want any ill effects to deal with in the morning. Frodo noted that he had fallen to the side of the path, and now lay at a slight downhill incline. He took a deep breath and willed himself to be calm, to relax, in hopes that Bramblethorn would then relax his grip as well.
"Take it easy, Frodo! No need to become combative. But you do show a lot of spirit, and I like that about you," Bramblethorn hissed. Frodo felt the hand on his wrist ease its grip slightly and felt his attacker's weight shift somewhat. What he heard next was almost enough to stop his heart - the sound of fabric rustling and the click of braces being unfastened. It was now or never.
With all his strength, Frodo rolled to the side and pushed at Bramblethorn. The other hobbit's back was to the downward slope, giving Frodo some advantage. As his attacker fell away from him, Frodo scrambled to his feet and aimed a well-placed kick at Bramblethorn's groin area. The blow connected and it was Bramblethorn's turn to fall to the ground, rolling a short way down the incline as he did so. With a cry of pure fury and pain, Bramblethorn tried to regain his feet, without success.
Frodo didn't wait to see how seriously he had injured the other hobbit. He turned and fled down the path toward the comparative safety of Bag End. His breath coming in ragged gasps, Frodo flung the door open and bolted inside, slamming and locking it in a single motion. With his back to the door, he fought to control his racing heart and the burning pain in his lungs. Trembling violently, he found his legs would no longer support him and he sank to the floor. His head fell forward into his hands and in terror and misery, Frodo wept.