THE JOYS OF A BEARD

by Soledad

Disclaimer: Not mine, all Tolkien's, except the Mary Sue and the weird plot. Sue me, and you'll be given the Sue – pardon the really bad pun.

Rating: PG-13, for excessive OOC-ness from the side of the canon characters (especially Elrond), double betrayal and attempted murder.

Summary: Samwise takes a walk in Elrond's garden – and gets more than he has bargained for. Coincidentally, someone forges a dark and evil plan to hurt our heroine.

Author's note: I needed something different or else the fic could have become too monotonous. So I pondered over my cliché chances and decided for gratuitous hobbitslash – well, sort of. And who else would be better for that than Sam, whose… erm… fondness for Elves is a canon fact? The chapter turned out darker than I had planned, but that is the best I can do right now.

The quotes are from LOTR, this time. I found nothing suitable in the HoME-books.

Also, this will be the last update for quite some time. My muse had abandoned me because of some current abuse, and my mind has turned to very dark places, which does not help when I try to write funny stuff.

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''If the Elves knew the joys of a beard, no dwarf would be safe.'' – Legolas, in ''A Diamond Between Wood and Stone'', the most poetic Legolas/Gimli story I've ever read. Written by Pythoness, may the Valar bless her.

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CHAPTER 6: ROSIE – WHO?(1)

They continued debating for quite some time, 'til Elrond called an end to the discussion, declaring that Frodo obviously was not feeling well and needed some rest. Indeed, the hobbit sat there with gazed-over eyes and a slightly open mouth, drinking in the pale-shining beauty of the Princess Girithlhawien(2), all but a step away from actually drooling. But since every one – well, almost every one – shared his enchantment, the others became truly worried that his Nazgúl wound might ailed him again, not realizing that he was simply lovestruck.

So he was brought to his bedchamber by Gandalf, tucked into bed, and fussed over for a considerable time by Elrond, Ingold and Sam, but only seemed to recover when the Princess joined them and offered to watch over him till he would fall asleep. And indeed, hardly was she seated on the edge of his bed and took his small hand in her cool, slender one, the huge blue eyes of a hobbit fell shut and he sank into a peaceful sleep. The Princess then began to sing an old song of enchantment, known only to the priestesses of Yavanna: a song about the rebirth of the forest in springtime, and her voice was like that of a nightingale and like the running water over white stones in the sunshine.

The others left quietly, amazed by her healing powers and the beauty of her song, and their hearts rejuvenated like the lives of trees in the stirring season. Sam Gamgee, being satisfied that his beloved master was safe with the most powerful Elven sorceress since the days of Lúthien, slipped out to take a stroll in the gardens and see more of the house. For it was, just as old Mr. Bilbo had long ago reported, ''a perfect house, whether you like food or sleep or storytelling or singing, or just sitting and thinking best or a pleasant mixture of them all.'' Merely to be there was a cure for weariness, fear or sadness.

Well, most of it, anyway. For not even Elrond's house could cure Sam's heart from the dread that had been filling his whole being, ever since he caught himself lusting after his master. He had spent days at Frodo's bedside, watching his beautiful master struggling with that evil wound and trembling in fear for Frodo's life.

As the days went by, however, he began to think less and less of his master's injury and more and more of his sprite-like, almost Elvish beauty. The creamy skin, stretched too tightly over the fragile bones for a hobbit to look healthy, made his fingers itch to caress it. That rosebud mouth almost begged to be kissed to become pink once again, instead of being so horribly pale. The small, brown nipple, peeking out of the oversized nightshirt made his head swoon and his breeches so uncomfortably tight he could barely sit. But his true undoing were Frodo's feet, with the soft brown curls covering them; so soft and silky that Sam began to shiver from the mere thought of them. No-one in the whole Shire had feet like his master(3).

But oh, all that wonder was for the Princess now to admire. Mr. Frodo had chosen her to stay in his chambers, not his faithful Sam. And thought Sam was grateful beyond measure for the Princess' healing powers that eased the pain of his beloved master, he couldn't fully suppress the odd hint of painful jealousy. He could not blame Frodo for falling for the Princess – she was, after all, wise, powerful and fair beyond belief –, but he could not help feeling envious, either.

Sam shook his head, trying to fight the bitter tears of disappointment and kept walking. At least he hoped to keep his mind occupied this way. Elrond's house was a big one and very peculiar. There was always something new to discover. And, of course, it was full of Elves, which made it the more wondrous for Sam, who had fancied the Fair Folk from his early childhood on, even though he had not seen a single one of them before he came to Rivendell. The tales about them had been enough for him.

But now he could make up for all those years of yearning, for certainly, he had his fill of Elves here. Some of them were like kings – the Lord Elrond and his kinsmen even more than the others –, terrible and splendid; and some as merry as children. And the music and the singing – at times Sam asked himself whether the Elves could feed on song alone. He had never seen the Princess eating, for starters, and Prince Legolas seemed to avoid the big feasts most of the time, too(4).

Sam walked along several passages and down many steps and out into a high garden above the steep bank of the river, 'til he reached a porch on the side of the house looking east. Shadows had fallen in the valley below, but there was still a light on the faces of the mountains far above. The air was warm. The sound of running and falling water was loud, and the evening was filled with a faint scent of trees and flowers, as if summer still lingered in Elrond's gardens.

However, the sounds of running and falling water were not the only ones that reached his ears. There was an argument going on in the porch, with hushed voices but heated anger. He sneaked a little closer, for this was the first time ever that he heard Elves fight among each other, and he wanted to know what they could possibly fight over.

''You cannot do this to me, my Lord'', a soft, lyrical voice complained. ''Have I not served you well for three thousand years? Have you not repeated to me again and again that you seek no other pleasure than the one I give you? And when you wanted an heir, have I not gone trough all the perils of Fangon forest to achieve that secret draught from the Giant Treebeard that made me able to carry your child?(5) You need not the Princess Girithlhawien in order to produce an heir any more. And yet now, that am with child, you would toss me out of your bed and wed her!''

''You are being unreasonable again, Melpomanen(6)'', a harsh, impatient voice answered; Sam recognized it as Erestor's, which shocked him even more than the mere thought of a male Elf becoming pregnant. ''It matters not how long you have been my consort and how much pleasure your body can give me. I never asked you to mess around with earth magic to have a child with me. How could that possibly be useful for Rivendell? You are but a love slave in this house, given to me by Elrond to keep my bed warm(7). She is the Princess of the closest of strongest Elven kingdom. Wedding her would mean that we shall have a strong ally in Mirkwood, and we need that.''

''But she will never give you what I can'', the other Elf answered in a broken voice. ''I only live for you; she does not.''

''Nay'', Erestor agreed, ''and I shall not throw you out of my chambers, foolish Elf. You are mine, and I intend to keep you. Come here!''

There were light footsteps and the unmistakable sound of two people exploring the wet caverns of each other's mouth. Then one of them left, according to his rapidly fading footfall, while the other remained in the porch in silence. After a few moments, though, Sam heard soft moans coming from that direction, and he sneaked even closer, believing that the Elf might be indulged in draining his own fountain of immortal life in order to find some much-needed comfort, and that would have been a sight the hobbit wanted not to miss(8).

But he was wrong, apparently. The fragile, dark-haired Elf was sitting on the ground, not an inch of his luscious flesh in sight, his long legs pulled up against his narrow chest. He hugged his knees close, rocking back and forth, giving those soft, low sounds of not lust but despair, while crystal tears were flowing down unstoppably his thin face.

Founding the right company for his own misery, Sam sat down next to the Elf and rubbed the narrow back sympathetically. He had little hope that the Elf would take comfort from him, he was so small and insignificant and… and hairy, but to his surprise, the dark-haired beauty made no attempts to shook off his hands. Soon, the soothing motions became caresses, as his clever little hands wandered down the back of the Elf, towards more intimate parts of that slender body, mapping the paths that led to the aforementioned fountain of immortal life. It took not long for the heartbroken Elf to submit to the eager ministrations of the love-hungry hobbit(9) and his dagger got sufficiently polished ere it was tucked away again for possible later use.

''You have my gratitude for your gracious service, Master Half-high'', the Elf said, feeling clearly better now. ''I admit, I never guessed that the little folk would carry such impressive weapons.''

''I am a gardener'', Sam replied, blushing slightly. ''We are taught to take good care of our tools. I hope your soil would not need any immediate digging up for a while.''

''Nay; you have taken care of it rather sufficiently'', the Elf yawned and shifted positions gingerly. ''Now I only have to collect some leaves for the evening tea of the Princess; then I can take some much-needed rest.''

''I think I would best seek out my bed myself'', said Sam. ''I have not done so much… digging since I was a tween-aged lad, back in the Shire. Unless you need some help with those herbs. I know my way around them, if you catch my meaning, Master Elf.''

''No need for that'', the Elf replied almost too quickly. ''I know where I can find what I need. Have a restful night!''

With that, he quickly wandered off towards some evergreen bushes nearby. Sam looked after him a little bewildered, for he could see naught over there that would fit as tea in his opinion, but then he just shrugged and walked back to Frodo's chambers. Mayhap Elves drank different sorts of tea than hobbits did.

He had forgotten this little detail and never thought of it again, til the evening meal was brought to Frodo's chambers. The Princess was still there, pouring her healing powers into the still weakened body of the hobbit by laying a cool hand upon Frodo's forehead and looking into the misty blue eyes of the hobbit who seemed to have entered a higher state of ecstasy by her mere touch. Sam swallowed his tears in silence.

Gandalf and Elrond had come a little earlier to see how Frodo was faring, and the Master of the House warned the Princess not to drain her own life force too much, for it could have become dangerous. But she only smiled at him with that sweet and heartwrenchingly sad smile of hers and said:

''Worry not, my Lord, for we of the Cult of Yavanna have learnt how to restore our strength through the use of selected herbs and meditation; and we can call forth greater strength than common healers.'' To that Elrond could not say anything. He might have been the greatest healer west from the Misty Mountains, but his healing powers were naught compared to those of a priestess of Yavanna.

''Your tea, Princess'', Melpomaen, for he was the one who had brought the meal, murmured, and handed her a cup filled with some green draught. Sam sniffed discretely.  The scent seemed vaguely familiar for him, but he could not put his finger on it. Still, it most definitely seemed not to be a common sort of tea, and the ill-concealed madness burning in the dark eyes of the Elf was not soothing his concerns, either.

Then, just as the Princess took a few delicate sips from the hot liquid, he suddenly knew what it was.

''Nay, do not drink it, sweet Princess!'' he screamed in utter shock. '''Tis wolfcherry-leaf, it would kill you in two days!(10)''

Elrond snatched the cup from the Princess and sniffed its contents. Then his noble face darkened in righteous anger.

''You'', he said menacingly and hit Melpomaen in the face so that the young Elf staggered and fell on his knees(11); ''tried to poison the Princess in my own house? To murder the future wife of my kinsman? The mother of his children-to-come?''

''I am the one who is carrying his child!'' Melpomaen cried, not even trying to defend himself against the blow of the Master of the House. '''Tis I he should be marrying!''

''You are… what?'' Elrond could not believe his ears. But Gandalf grabbed his hand ere he could hit the young Elf once more.

''Wait, Elrond. I do believe I have heard of the strange draught of the Tree Giants in Fangorn Forest. They have many magic powers. One of them is to make males able to carry children, for the Tree Giants have no females(12).''

''Does this mean that you got hold of this draught and are now with Erestor's child?'' Elrond asked, disgusted. Melpomaen nodded, and the Master of the House shook his head. ''Well, then we shall have to see how we can terminate this… this abomination, ere we get rid of you entirely. Whether you shall live or die, that will be Erestor's decision.''

''Nay, my Lord'', the Princess said with quiet dignity, ''by law, 'tis mine. And I wish him not to be harmed. You see, when a she-Elf is consecrated for the Cult of Yavanna, we go through a secret ritual that binds us with all living things she has created. We become part of all her work. Therefore, no poison, may it come from a plant of from a beast, can do us any harm.''

She looked around the astonished faces, then reached out for Melpomaen and helped him to his feet.

''I blame you not for what you have done'', she said, ''For you did it out of love and despair, and I feel pity for your loss. Also, the child you are carrying has been conceived out of love, and 'tis the flesh and blood of my future husband. Therefore, I shall not allow it to be harmed, either. Rather, I shall take it as if it were my own and raise it as it suits one of the Children of Lúthien.''

''Princess, you are too easily forgiving this worthless slave'', Elrond said, shooting Melpomaen a murderous glare, ''but be it as you wish. He shall not be harmed. But as soon as the child is born, he will be cast out from Rivendell and sold to an other realm.''

TBC

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End notes:

(1) The tile is a little misleading. There won't be any mentioning of Rosie Cotton. It is referring to the fact how a lot of stories conveniently neglect her whole existence, in order to make a Frodo/Sam relationship plausible.

(2) This time the name means Evil Husband-Stealer. The reason will be revealed later in this chapter.

(3) Obviously, I go with the movie-version of Frodo here – who would be lusting after a 51-year-old, slightly fat hobbit? Also, it seemed logical to me to give a hobbit a foot fetish.g

(4) The reason of which Sam could not guess at that time, of course.

(5) The Giant Treebeard used to be a malevolent entity at this stage of story development, who even captured Gandalf, ere Saruman entered the picture. Also, I apologize for the misuse of the ent-draught. I know, as a rule male Elves should become pregnant for no apparent reason, but that stretches the credibility a little too much for my taste. So I used the good old magic fertility potion instead.

(6) Melpomaen is the Elven name of the movie extra called Figwit by his fans. I didn't want to use Lindir, in order to avoid ruining the effects of ''Innocence''. I apologize by all Figwit-fans for using him, but he can suffer so prettily...

(7) Because slavery is a common thing among Elves, more so in Rivendell, did you not know? Well, me neither. But I have read a little, and now I am taught better.

(8) For all hobbits are shameless voyeurs, especially when it comes to Elves, of course.

(9) Why, certainly! Sex with a stranger is the best medicine for heartbroken Elves that get dumped after three thousand years.

(10) Ask me not what the heck the stupid plant is. I have no idea. Does it matter, considering that I just had an Elf try to poison another one?

(11) Sure. This is how Elrond handles problems, is it not?

(12) And thusly we have found an elegant solution for the problem of the absence of the Entwives.