"I say! Shall we take our ease here, brother?"

The loud voice came from the direction of the front door, and Frodo rose wearily to answer it.

"Indeed, brother. Our friends shall welcome us."

Frodo opened the door and leaned against the frame as Aragorn waved a yellow flag, Boromir bowed and held out a silver spoon, and both assumed dramatic poses.

"I must protest, sir; 'welcome' is ill stress'd," Boromir said, stowing the spoon. Aragorn glowered.

"You protest, yet remove sounds from your words!"

"I hold to the great Elf wordsmith, Hadech," Boromir sniffed.

"You hold to your own miscounting, methinks."

"You think? That is a tale I have not heard."

"Dare you insult your king, o Boromir?"

"Dare you insult the dead, o Aragorn?"

Frodo yawned. "Are you two going to come in today, or would you prefer to wait a month or two?"

"Hold a moment, Frodo, there's a good lad," Aragorn muttered. Boromir was doing something complicated with a spoon now, and Aragorn suddenly began juggling the flags.

"Let us end this, brother, and take our ease."

"Right you are! I suppose there will be cake?"

"Cake out your ears," Frodo interjected. "Only there mustn't be a badger this time. The last one nearly gave Sam apoplexy."

"Don't be absurd," Boromir scoffed, catching Aragorn's flags and tossing him a spoon. "It's not Tuesday. Well, then?"

"You've won this round," Aragorn replied, stowing the spoon and taking out a small roll of parchment and a pencil. He made a careful mark and tucked the items back in the pouch at his belt. The two Men shook hands and followed Frodo back to the kitchen, where Merry was talking over some of Sam's strong tea and Sam himself was staring into his full cup. Pippin remained on the floor, curled obstinately in the fetal position with his hands over his ears.

"So I said we could still be friends, and that I was sorry about the hat," Merry was saying. Sam shook his head.

"Imagine," he said, half to himself. "A Bracegirdle and all."

"I'm not listening!" Pippin said unnecessarily. Merry rolled his eyes.

"I can't say that I blame him, Mer," Frodo said, getting out cups for Boromir and Aragorn. "I've read enough about buggery to last me a lifetime."

Boromir choked a bit on his tea. "I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"

"You've come in a bit late," Frodo sighed. Aragorn frowned, concerned.

"What troubles you, my friends? You all look a bit glum, and what's this about…"

"Buggery," Sam said, thumping a fist against the table.

"Sam," Boromir said in awe, "I've never heard you swear in my life, before or after death."

"It's not swearing, sir. Them stories as Frodo reads have taken a turn for the worse. No, not Mary Sues," Sam continued, forestalling Boromir's interjection. "It's called slash. There's a great stack of parchment on Mr. Frodo's desk that's all over how we hobbits buggered each other before the Quest, on the Quest, and after the Quest, and a lot more besides. And none of it true, though Mr. Merry is more than a mite familiar with Toby Bracegirdle, come tell, but there's naught to be done."

"May I take a look?" Aragorn asked. Frodo obligingly fetched the parchments, and handed Aragorn a stack. Aragorn read quickly, then turned an unusual shade of puce.

"Honestly, Frodo," he managed at last. "Anduril?"

"Aragorn!" Frodo wailed in despair. "Sam just told you! I don't actually think those things!"

Aragorn shuffled the parchment. "Of course. It's obviously fiction. I'm not the least bit scruffy."

Boromir raised an eyebrow and Pippin snickered. Sam perched on a bench to read over Aragorn's shoulder and scowled.

"See here," he said after a moment or two. "I thought it was you and I as was getting' up to no good, Mr. Frodo! Not you and Mr. Strider!"

"I told you there were all sorts of pairings," Frodo said, lowering his head again. Sam crossed his arms.

"Who else, then?"

"Who else, what?" Frodo asked, looking up. Sam hopped off the bench.

"Who else am I supposed to be…be… Enjoyin' company with?"

Frodo blinked. "Well… Just me, I suppose. I'm the one who seems to shag everything in sight."

"You do at that," Boromir said, turning over a stack. He paused, and eyed Frodo appraisingly. "Can you really bend in half backwards?"

Merry choked on a mouthful of tea, and Pippin leapt up to pat him helpfully on the back. His efforts were somewhat thwarted, though, when he piped up, "Of course he can. I've seen him do it loads of times."

"Interesting," Boromir said, going back to the pages. Pippin turned all of his attention to Merry, who now sounded like he might hyperventilate. Sam still scowled.

"Just you, then?" he said. "How come?"

"I don't know, Sam," Frodo said, exasperated. "In the stories, you're always hopelessly devoted to me, that's all."

"Not far from the truth," Pippin murmured, sending Merry into fresh spasms.

"Why can't I be interested in anyone else?" Sam asked. Frodo looked up at him as if he'd sprouted a second head, a third arm, and multiple hairless feet simultaneously.

"You're not…jealous, are you, Sam?" he said incredulously. Sam blushed and held his arms tighter.

"I just don't see why it's you as gets everyone you bat your eyelashes at. Why, I know for fact I'd kissed more lasses than you before I'd even come of age, and I may not be as fair as you, but my Rosie always said I'd Ipersonality/I."

"Sam," Merry said, recovered at last, "I don't really think Frodo's position is one to be envied. From what I can gather, it seems my dear cousin is being portrayed as something of a trollop, albeit an unusually bendy trollop, and one with an overenthusiastic adoration of swords."

"I think you're fair enough," Pippin said, leaving Merry's side to slide a comforting arm around Sam's shoulders. "Frodo's always been too skinny. And you do have a personality, a wonderful one, and look at all you can do: garden, and cook better than any of us, and you're as good as a healer when someone's ill. And whatever those damnable stories say, I know that Frodo loves you very much. If he were a nancing poofter, I can't imagine he'd ever leave your side."

Sam's posture relaxed, and Pippin pulled him easily into a hug. Merry shook his head, smiling, but Frodo glowered at Pippin's back.

"Nancing poofter, honestly!" he muttered darkly. "And how does Sam know about any lasses I've kissed?"

"Erm," Boromir said awkwardly. "I think we've come to the edge of manly bonding."

Sam sniffed, releasing Pippin, and Pippin helpfully produced a handkerchief. Aragorn simply looked a little stunned.

"Hobbits," he said. "Always were a bit peculiar."