Title: Wine
Author: Tiamat's Child
Characters: Rosie/Sam/Frodo
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Frodo tends to think too much when he's been drinking
Notes: This is a pentadrabble, it's 500 words minus title and note and the rest of the lot. For the lovely lass Mary, on her birthday. Happy Birthday Mary!
Wine
"All love is bound up in violence." Frodo says, waving his wineglass in a movement that almost dumps the remnants of his wine onto the couch and his knees. "Oops."
Sam doesn't say anything, but his smile holds a great deal of fond skepticism. Frodo frowns. He's just drunk enough to be a trifle petulant. "No, really," he insists, "All loves are held together by violence." Sam shakes his head, grinning.
"That's fair silly." Rosie says as she comes into the parlor carrying a new bottle of wine. A white this time since she's quite certain that Frodo, at least, has had more than enough of the heavy red. "Where could you possibly find violence in what we've got?"
Frodo smiles, delighted to be given a chance to argue his point. "Ah, but you see, my dear Mistress Rose," he tells her, gesturing with the wineglass to emphasize his words, just the way Bilbo used to. "We wouldn't be what we are if it weren't for the Ring, and the Quest, and Boromir, and Saruman, and…well, all of the terrible things that have happened to us." Frodo settles back into the cushions, quite sure he's won. Rosie just snorts and pours more wine into Sam's empty glass.
"How does all of that mean we're tied by it?" Frodo's jaw drops and he stares at Rosie in shock. Sam has to hastily smother a laughing fit, lest he find himself on the receiving end of one of Rosie's glares and Frodo's best hurt blink. Rosie's been drinking too, and she only gets more stubborn when she's a little tipsy.
"We're together because we want to protect each other." Frodo says finally.
"He's right about that, Rosie." Sam tells her, pulling her down to sit between them.
"Hmmph." Rosie says, as the three of them cuddle close. "So you're saying that we love each other because we want to protect each other, which, may I remind you, we want because we love each other."
Frodo blinks, confused. Sam laughs and hugs them both. "Oh! I *do* love you two!" Rosie smiles, and rests her head on Frodo's shoulder.
"You think too much sometimes. Why worry about why love is? That's not important."
Frodo wants to protest that he never said it was important, exactly, but he doesn't get a chance. Rosie leans over and kisses him, her mouth firm and sweet and a strong reminder of the wine that is humming swift and warm through his blood. He gasps and she's pulling away, kissing Sam now, and Sam reaches out and pulls him into the kiss and everything is bright and burning, but it doesn't hurt at all. It's far too good to hurt. And Rosie's right, it doesn't matter *why*, it only matters *is*, and he's glad he knows that, as he's always glad of knowing things, only at the moment there are more important things to know, like where to touch and when to kiss…
The wine sits out till morning.