Frodo awoke at first light to find himself on the floor of his study, curled up on the rug. He felt a flood of hope, thinking that the ghost of Mariella had only been a nightmare begotten of falling asleep over his new book with that name written in it. But then he noticed that he was surrounded by scattered stubs of sealing wax, a dented mug, and a candlestick. Furthermore, when he climbed blearily to his feet and looked at the book on the desk, he saw it was still open to page 36, where the two male Elves in their gauzy windblown robes were locked in an eternal kiss.
Frodo closed the book, embarrassed beyond endurance at the thought of having to show that picture to Sam and ask him whether he'd like to give it a go. Well, he hadn't actually promised Mariella he would. Maybe there was still some way to get out of it.
He carried the book to the trunk room at the back of the smial, went to a trunk in the farthest corner, and put the book into it under a heavy pile of folded-up blankets. Perhaps, like some magic objects, if it wasn't touched or opened, it wouldn't yield up its dreadful enchantments.
"Frodo," said a calm, female voice with a Gondorian accent, as he closed the trunk. Frodo yelped and spun around. There floated Mariella, arms folded, watching him. "You can't escape me that simply, you know."
"E-escape you? No, no, of course not. I wasn't trying to. I just was, er, tidying up, and..."
"Because you see," Mariella interrupted, examining her transparent fingernails, "you're my owner. It doesn't matter where you put the book. I'd still find you. Why, you could send it out into the sea on a raft, and it wouldn't rid you of me. Not that you'd do that to an original Caerolas, of course."
"No--I wouldn't," Frodo said, which was true, but he was quite dismayed at this news all the same. "Then whoever buys the book, they inherit you, so to speak?"
"Quite. You'd have to sell that volume to get rid of me." She looked at him with a flirtatious smile. "But you don't want to do that either, do you?"
Frodo took the book out of the trunk, and stood holding it, caressing its faded ribbons with his thumbs, trying to get up the courage to say "Yes" and march past her. But in the end he only hung his head. If he could just endure this until Gandalf showed up, everything would be all right. Gandalf would be able to do something to clear this girl out of his hair. Surely he would. Until then, Frodo's scholarly pride would not allow him to let such a treasure go.
"That's what I thought," Mariella said, smirking at his silence. "So, I hope you're ready for tonight."
"Tonight? Oh--no, no, you must give me more time. Sam is shy, as I told you, and I will need to, er, work on him..."
"To-night," she sang, and vanished.
Frodo kicked the trunk in frustration. Then he put down the book and tromped off to have breakfast, for, really, there was no use facing certain social disaster on an empty stomach.
* * *
Frodo was clearing some dishes in the kitchen just before lunchtime when a knocking at the door startled him into dropping the spoon in the sugar-bowl with a clatter. He realized a moment later that ghosts were unlikely to knock at the door--to judge from Mariella they just appeared wherever they wanted to, in fact--so he went to open it. It turned out to be none other than Sam, dusted with a light coating of pollen, beaming and holding out a handful of wildflowers for Frodo to take.
"Afternoon, sir! For the table, I thought, like."
"Oh. Thank you, Sam." Frodo took them, and sneezed. "They smell lovely," he said. "Do come in."
"You seem a bit down today, Mr. Frodo. Do you feel all right?"
Frodo took a vase from a cupboard, and filled it with water for the flowers. "I...I stayed up rather too late last night, because of the book. That's all."
"Ah, then some tea'll be just the thing. Shall I make it?"
Frodo was tempted to cry out, "No! Run, Sam! Run as far away from here as you can!", but of course that would sound insane, and Sam wouldn't go; he would stay and demand to know what was happening. Anyway, if Frodo tried something like that, Mariella would probably start flinging everything in the kitchen at him. Frodo sighed and answered, "Yes. Tea sounds good. Stay for lunch, in fact, won't you?"
Over lunch Frodo couldn't get up the nerve to tell Sam about Mariella, or her strange request. Really, how did one broach a subject like that? Instead, he let Sam chatter on about the hound pups and the fox-kits and the other small creatures being born this season. Frodo didn't say much in answer, but encouraged him with hums and nods, still trying to work out a way to explain his new predicament.
Then Sam stopped talking, and whispered, "Lor bless me!" Frodo looked at him and found he had gone pale and was staring at something behind and above Frodo's shoulder. Frodo looked too, though he had a good suspicion of what he would find.
Indeed, there hovered Mariella, hand on her hip, swinging a teapot in her other hand. "My dear hobbits," she said. "You are taking rather too long to get to the point. Frodo, don't you have something to ask Sam here?"
"Um...yes, well..."
"Who is that?" asked Sam, round-eyed. "Gracious, sir, is that a ghost?"
Mariella looked at the ceiling in disgust. "Have you told him *nothing*? My, but you're hopeless. Well, if you aren't going to tell him--"
"No! I will!" Frodo jumped up. "Er, Sam, this is Mariella. She...she's the former owner of the book. She's...yes, well, she's a ghost, as you surmise..."
Sam had gotten to his feet too, and hadn't taken his eyes off the young woman. "Bless me," he whispered again.
"I'm a ghost, *and*..." Mariella prompted.
"And," Frodo stammered, "and--she has always had a fondness for looking at...at..."
"Man-flesh," Mariella filled in, with a sweet smile at Sam, whose pale-faced astonishment shifted in the direction of blushing perplexity.
"Yes," Frodo went on, "and she approached me last night, and it seems she...she threatens to...well..."
"Throw things at you for the rest of your life," Mariella said helpfully, holding up the silver teapot.
"Quite. Throw things--if I don't, er, do as she wishes."
Sam stepped forward, fists clenched at his sides. "Now, see here, miss!" he said. "All due respect, and that, but what's Mr. Frodo ever done to you, that you think you can get away with treating him in such a manner?"
Frodo cringed. "Sam--"
The teapot went flying, and only Sam's quick dodge saved him from getting knocked in the head. It sailed over his shoulder, and Mariella smiled. "I *think* I can get away with it because I *can* get away with it. He's stuck with me until someone else buys that book from him. That's all there is to it. Tell him what I want, Frodo."
Sam turned angrily to Frodo. "You sell that book right away, Mr. Frodo! There ain't nothing worth this, no matter how nice those pictures are."
Frodo seized Sam's shirt with both hands and cried, "It's a Caerolas, lad! Don't you understand? A Caerolas!"
"But, sir--"
"Tell him what I want," interrupted Mariella. "I've got all kinds of plates over here to throw, and oh my, they do look fragile!"
"You get that book and we'll go out right now and sell it," Sam insisted. "You can't live like this."
"Please," Frodo whined. "If we just do what she wants, she'll settle down, and I can keep the book..."
"And what I want is--?" she prodded.
Frodo looked at her, then at Sam, and smoothed Sam's shirt under his hands. "Yes. Er, what she wants, Sam, is...er...close your eyes, would you?"
"What for?"
"Please, do it. Oh, dear, she's got the saucers! Close your eyes, quick!"
"All right." Sam closed his eyes. "But--"
Frodo pecked him quickly on the lips. Sam made a slight choking sound in surprise. "There," said Frodo to Mariella, letting go of Sam's shirt. "I've kissed him. Are you satisfied?"
Sam had opened his eyes, and was staring at his master, and the ghost, in bewilderment. Mariella, meanwhile, only yawned, tossing a saucer up and down, catching it one-handed. "Hardly," she drawled. "That looked nothing like the picture in the book."
"What picture?" demanded Sam. "You tell me what's going on here, sir."
Frodo sighed wretchedly. "Well, you know when I said she liked to admire young fellows...well...she wants to see me do things with *you*. A...a kiss, she said. There's a picture of two Elves, and..."
Sam lifted his chin. He wore a brave, determined look that Frodo had seen him employ when there were snakes to be chased out of the tool shed. "Let's see it, then."
Frodo led the way to the trunk room, followed by Sam, and Mariella, who still swung the saucer in her hand. ("Just in case," she said daintily.) The book was still in the trunk where Frodo had attempted to hide it. He dug it out and ruffled through it to page 36. Unable to look Sam in the eye, he handed him the book and said, "There."
Sam studied the picture quietly for a moment, then set the book down on the trunk. He took Frodo by the waist, pulled him close, glanced down at the picture one more time as if for reference, and swept Frodo into a tight, solid, warm kiss. Through the rushing of his surprised pulse in his ears, Frodo heard Mariella's gasp of delight. He was just getting used to the feel of Sam's mouth against his when Sam let him go, tugged his own shirt straight, and huffed, "There. That do for you, miss?"
"Sam," said Frodo faintly, in impressed amazement.
"Beg your pardon, sir," Sam added. "Had to be done, seemingly."
"That was marvelous!" squealed Mariella, clapping her hands together. The saucer flew up in the air. Frodo and Sam both dove for it, tripped over each other, and landed in a heap on the floor. Sam did, however, catch the saucer an inch from the floorboards.
"Thank you, Sam," Frodo said, grunting for breath under the weight of Sam's torso.
"I don't suppose you could turn round and do it again?" Mariella suggested. "While you're lying there, I mean."
Frodo glared. "You only said we had to imitate that picture! Well, we've done it. Now kindly leave me in peace."
"I said *for starters* you had to imitate the picture. I now expect you both to be consumed with mutual passion, and to sit about pining and dreaming when you aren't together, and to be very sweet and physically affectionate with one another when you *are* together."
"You can't demand that!" sputtered Frodo, struggling to his feet, with Sam's help.
"You're holding hands already," Mariella pointed out. "I think it shall come quite naturally."
Frodo snatched his hand away from Sam's. "He was helping me up! Now, really, Miss Mariella..."
Mariella flung four dusty cushions, one after the other, straight at Frodo and Sam's faces and chests. The ensuing cloud of dust sent Frodo into a fit of sneezing.
Sam pushed a handkerchief into Frodo's hand, and waved the dust away, stepping forward to stare down the ghost. "Look here, you! Mr. Frodo bought that book fair and square. You've had your turn with it, and it's his now. We did what you like, so you just let it go, and don't bother us no more! We can't go changing our lives around for you."
Mariella knocked him over with a rolled-up rug. "Your appeal is very charming, especially in your dear Mr. Frodo's defense. But, you silly thing, I'm not asking for your entire lives. I'll get bored of the pair of you eventually--I always do--but until then, I want to see some *affection*."
"Sam, you don't have to," Frodo said, kneeling to help Sam to his feet. "I'll--I'll find a way to deal with this."
"You won't win," Mariella sang.
"It's all right, Mr. Frodo," grumbled Sam, glaring at Mariella. "I won't leave you to face this by yourself. If you really want to keep that book--"
"I do," Frodo apologized. "So help me, I really, really do."
"Then I'll do what needs to be done," Sam said grimly. "Provided it ain't too improper, mind."
"Oh, I'd never make you do anything you wouldn't enjoy," Mariella simpered--which, Frodo noticed, did not exactly address the concern. "Now, I think I shall go have a nap. Sam *will* come back after dinner." She winked her dark, gleaming eye at the two hobbits, and faded into nothing.
Sam drew a breath. "My, but that's unnerving."
"Isn't it, though," said Frodo.
"Where does she go when she disappears like that?"
"I can't possibly know. To 'sleep,' she says."
"And can she hear us when she's there?"
"It seems not. She wasn't aware that I hadn't told you about her yet, when she arrived at lunch."
"In that case..." Sam turned to him. "Listen, sir, if you won't sell that book, I'll go along with your plan, really I will--"
"You don't have to. You know that, Sam."
"But I will, if that's what she wants. Better me than anyone else, who might go telling tales about it around town, if you see what I mean."
"Oh yes, I do indeed. I was going to ask you, in fact, not to tell anyone. None of this would help the things they're already saying about me."
"I shan't," Sam vowed. "But, sir, this can't go on forever, and to be honest, though I don't mind kissing you and such--"
"You don't? Really?" Frodo was pleased, though he knew it was a silly time to feel that way.
"I don't, sir, but--"
"I don't mind either," Frodo interjected. "Which is to say, you don't disgust me or anything, and I'm comfortable with you, and I wanted to assure you of that--but never mind. Do go on."
"Yes, sir. Thank you. Thing is, though I don't mind it, it's awful odd doing it with someone watching, especially a ghost of a Big Person. Downright eerie, it is. I can manage it, but I'm not sure how much I could do, with an audience, as it were."
"That's a perfectly natural reaction. Healthy, even."
"Good." Sam sounded relieved. "So you'll understand, if I put my foot down if she ever asks anything too indecent, it ain't about you, mind. It ain't a question of disgust or anything, like you said..."
"Absolutely. Which reminds me, I meant to have a look at page 87...but not right now. Listen, Sam, this is my hope: sooner or later Gandalf will come visit, and we'll tell him what's going on. He'll be able to do something. I know he will."
"Aye, but when's the next time he'll be coming round?"
"Well, that I don't know," Frodo admitted. "Let's hope it's sooner than the date at which her interest runs out, though, or we shall be in this awkward situation for much longer than we might like."
"I'll bear it if you can," said the stout Sam.
"You are too kind, Sam." Frodo laid a hand on Sam's shoulder, then withdrew it quickly, thinking of how much Mariella would like to see them touch. Curse that girl, turning every innocent gesture into something salacious!
"Reckon I ought to come back after dinner, then."
"Sounds like you must. There are far too many knick-knacks around here she hasn't thrown yet."
Frodo saw Sam out, and, naturally, did not kiss him farewell. That had never been a habit of theirs. However, as he closed the door, Frodo found himself thinking of that kiss again. Goodness! It did make sense that someone who did as much physical labor as Sam should have such strong, sure arms; but who could have predicted his lips would be so silky-soft? Undoubtedly there was a practical reason involving a beeswax ointment or something. Yes, come to think of it, there had been a slight honey-like taste...
"Ugh!" Frodo gave his head a brisk shake, and stalked away to clear up the kitchen dishes. The silly things that ghost was making him think of! Honestly!
* * *
Frodo closed the book, embarrassed beyond endurance at the thought of having to show that picture to Sam and ask him whether he'd like to give it a go. Well, he hadn't actually promised Mariella he would. Maybe there was still some way to get out of it.
He carried the book to the trunk room at the back of the smial, went to a trunk in the farthest corner, and put the book into it under a heavy pile of folded-up blankets. Perhaps, like some magic objects, if it wasn't touched or opened, it wouldn't yield up its dreadful enchantments.
"Frodo," said a calm, female voice with a Gondorian accent, as he closed the trunk. Frodo yelped and spun around. There floated Mariella, arms folded, watching him. "You can't escape me that simply, you know."
"E-escape you? No, no, of course not. I wasn't trying to. I just was, er, tidying up, and..."
"Because you see," Mariella interrupted, examining her transparent fingernails, "you're my owner. It doesn't matter where you put the book. I'd still find you. Why, you could send it out into the sea on a raft, and it wouldn't rid you of me. Not that you'd do that to an original Caerolas, of course."
"No--I wouldn't," Frodo said, which was true, but he was quite dismayed at this news all the same. "Then whoever buys the book, they inherit you, so to speak?"
"Quite. You'd have to sell that volume to get rid of me." She looked at him with a flirtatious smile. "But you don't want to do that either, do you?"
Frodo took the book out of the trunk, and stood holding it, caressing its faded ribbons with his thumbs, trying to get up the courage to say "Yes" and march past her. But in the end he only hung his head. If he could just endure this until Gandalf showed up, everything would be all right. Gandalf would be able to do something to clear this girl out of his hair. Surely he would. Until then, Frodo's scholarly pride would not allow him to let such a treasure go.
"That's what I thought," Mariella said, smirking at his silence. "So, I hope you're ready for tonight."
"Tonight? Oh--no, no, you must give me more time. Sam is shy, as I told you, and I will need to, er, work on him..."
"To-night," she sang, and vanished.
Frodo kicked the trunk in frustration. Then he put down the book and tromped off to have breakfast, for, really, there was no use facing certain social disaster on an empty stomach.
* * *
Frodo was clearing some dishes in the kitchen just before lunchtime when a knocking at the door startled him into dropping the spoon in the sugar-bowl with a clatter. He realized a moment later that ghosts were unlikely to knock at the door--to judge from Mariella they just appeared wherever they wanted to, in fact--so he went to open it. It turned out to be none other than Sam, dusted with a light coating of pollen, beaming and holding out a handful of wildflowers for Frodo to take.
"Afternoon, sir! For the table, I thought, like."
"Oh. Thank you, Sam." Frodo took them, and sneezed. "They smell lovely," he said. "Do come in."
"You seem a bit down today, Mr. Frodo. Do you feel all right?"
Frodo took a vase from a cupboard, and filled it with water for the flowers. "I...I stayed up rather too late last night, because of the book. That's all."
"Ah, then some tea'll be just the thing. Shall I make it?"
Frodo was tempted to cry out, "No! Run, Sam! Run as far away from here as you can!", but of course that would sound insane, and Sam wouldn't go; he would stay and demand to know what was happening. Anyway, if Frodo tried something like that, Mariella would probably start flinging everything in the kitchen at him. Frodo sighed and answered, "Yes. Tea sounds good. Stay for lunch, in fact, won't you?"
Over lunch Frodo couldn't get up the nerve to tell Sam about Mariella, or her strange request. Really, how did one broach a subject like that? Instead, he let Sam chatter on about the hound pups and the fox-kits and the other small creatures being born this season. Frodo didn't say much in answer, but encouraged him with hums and nods, still trying to work out a way to explain his new predicament.
Then Sam stopped talking, and whispered, "Lor bless me!" Frodo looked at him and found he had gone pale and was staring at something behind and above Frodo's shoulder. Frodo looked too, though he had a good suspicion of what he would find.
Indeed, there hovered Mariella, hand on her hip, swinging a teapot in her other hand. "My dear hobbits," she said. "You are taking rather too long to get to the point. Frodo, don't you have something to ask Sam here?"
"Um...yes, well..."
"Who is that?" asked Sam, round-eyed. "Gracious, sir, is that a ghost?"
Mariella looked at the ceiling in disgust. "Have you told him *nothing*? My, but you're hopeless. Well, if you aren't going to tell him--"
"No! I will!" Frodo jumped up. "Er, Sam, this is Mariella. She...she's the former owner of the book. She's...yes, well, she's a ghost, as you surmise..."
Sam had gotten to his feet too, and hadn't taken his eyes off the young woman. "Bless me," he whispered again.
"I'm a ghost, *and*..." Mariella prompted.
"And," Frodo stammered, "and--she has always had a fondness for looking at...at..."
"Man-flesh," Mariella filled in, with a sweet smile at Sam, whose pale-faced astonishment shifted in the direction of blushing perplexity.
"Yes," Frodo went on, "and she approached me last night, and it seems she...she threatens to...well..."
"Throw things at you for the rest of your life," Mariella said helpfully, holding up the silver teapot.
"Quite. Throw things--if I don't, er, do as she wishes."
Sam stepped forward, fists clenched at his sides. "Now, see here, miss!" he said. "All due respect, and that, but what's Mr. Frodo ever done to you, that you think you can get away with treating him in such a manner?"
Frodo cringed. "Sam--"
The teapot went flying, and only Sam's quick dodge saved him from getting knocked in the head. It sailed over his shoulder, and Mariella smiled. "I *think* I can get away with it because I *can* get away with it. He's stuck with me until someone else buys that book from him. That's all there is to it. Tell him what I want, Frodo."
Sam turned angrily to Frodo. "You sell that book right away, Mr. Frodo! There ain't nothing worth this, no matter how nice those pictures are."
Frodo seized Sam's shirt with both hands and cried, "It's a Caerolas, lad! Don't you understand? A Caerolas!"
"But, sir--"
"Tell him what I want," interrupted Mariella. "I've got all kinds of plates over here to throw, and oh my, they do look fragile!"
"You get that book and we'll go out right now and sell it," Sam insisted. "You can't live like this."
"Please," Frodo whined. "If we just do what she wants, she'll settle down, and I can keep the book..."
"And what I want is--?" she prodded.
Frodo looked at her, then at Sam, and smoothed Sam's shirt under his hands. "Yes. Er, what she wants, Sam, is...er...close your eyes, would you?"
"What for?"
"Please, do it. Oh, dear, she's got the saucers! Close your eyes, quick!"
"All right." Sam closed his eyes. "But--"
Frodo pecked him quickly on the lips. Sam made a slight choking sound in surprise. "There," said Frodo to Mariella, letting go of Sam's shirt. "I've kissed him. Are you satisfied?"
Sam had opened his eyes, and was staring at his master, and the ghost, in bewilderment. Mariella, meanwhile, only yawned, tossing a saucer up and down, catching it one-handed. "Hardly," she drawled. "That looked nothing like the picture in the book."
"What picture?" demanded Sam. "You tell me what's going on here, sir."
Frodo sighed wretchedly. "Well, you know when I said she liked to admire young fellows...well...she wants to see me do things with *you*. A...a kiss, she said. There's a picture of two Elves, and..."
Sam lifted his chin. He wore a brave, determined look that Frodo had seen him employ when there were snakes to be chased out of the tool shed. "Let's see it, then."
Frodo led the way to the trunk room, followed by Sam, and Mariella, who still swung the saucer in her hand. ("Just in case," she said daintily.) The book was still in the trunk where Frodo had attempted to hide it. He dug it out and ruffled through it to page 36. Unable to look Sam in the eye, he handed him the book and said, "There."
Sam studied the picture quietly for a moment, then set the book down on the trunk. He took Frodo by the waist, pulled him close, glanced down at the picture one more time as if for reference, and swept Frodo into a tight, solid, warm kiss. Through the rushing of his surprised pulse in his ears, Frodo heard Mariella's gasp of delight. He was just getting used to the feel of Sam's mouth against his when Sam let him go, tugged his own shirt straight, and huffed, "There. That do for you, miss?"
"Sam," said Frodo faintly, in impressed amazement.
"Beg your pardon, sir," Sam added. "Had to be done, seemingly."
"That was marvelous!" squealed Mariella, clapping her hands together. The saucer flew up in the air. Frodo and Sam both dove for it, tripped over each other, and landed in a heap on the floor. Sam did, however, catch the saucer an inch from the floorboards.
"Thank you, Sam," Frodo said, grunting for breath under the weight of Sam's torso.
"I don't suppose you could turn round and do it again?" Mariella suggested. "While you're lying there, I mean."
Frodo glared. "You only said we had to imitate that picture! Well, we've done it. Now kindly leave me in peace."
"I said *for starters* you had to imitate the picture. I now expect you both to be consumed with mutual passion, and to sit about pining and dreaming when you aren't together, and to be very sweet and physically affectionate with one another when you *are* together."
"You can't demand that!" sputtered Frodo, struggling to his feet, with Sam's help.
"You're holding hands already," Mariella pointed out. "I think it shall come quite naturally."
Frodo snatched his hand away from Sam's. "He was helping me up! Now, really, Miss Mariella..."
Mariella flung four dusty cushions, one after the other, straight at Frodo and Sam's faces and chests. The ensuing cloud of dust sent Frodo into a fit of sneezing.
Sam pushed a handkerchief into Frodo's hand, and waved the dust away, stepping forward to stare down the ghost. "Look here, you! Mr. Frodo bought that book fair and square. You've had your turn with it, and it's his now. We did what you like, so you just let it go, and don't bother us no more! We can't go changing our lives around for you."
Mariella knocked him over with a rolled-up rug. "Your appeal is very charming, especially in your dear Mr. Frodo's defense. But, you silly thing, I'm not asking for your entire lives. I'll get bored of the pair of you eventually--I always do--but until then, I want to see some *affection*."
"Sam, you don't have to," Frodo said, kneeling to help Sam to his feet. "I'll--I'll find a way to deal with this."
"You won't win," Mariella sang.
"It's all right, Mr. Frodo," grumbled Sam, glaring at Mariella. "I won't leave you to face this by yourself. If you really want to keep that book--"
"I do," Frodo apologized. "So help me, I really, really do."
"Then I'll do what needs to be done," Sam said grimly. "Provided it ain't too improper, mind."
"Oh, I'd never make you do anything you wouldn't enjoy," Mariella simpered--which, Frodo noticed, did not exactly address the concern. "Now, I think I shall go have a nap. Sam *will* come back after dinner." She winked her dark, gleaming eye at the two hobbits, and faded into nothing.
Sam drew a breath. "My, but that's unnerving."
"Isn't it, though," said Frodo.
"Where does she go when she disappears like that?"
"I can't possibly know. To 'sleep,' she says."
"And can she hear us when she's there?"
"It seems not. She wasn't aware that I hadn't told you about her yet, when she arrived at lunch."
"In that case..." Sam turned to him. "Listen, sir, if you won't sell that book, I'll go along with your plan, really I will--"
"You don't have to. You know that, Sam."
"But I will, if that's what she wants. Better me than anyone else, who might go telling tales about it around town, if you see what I mean."
"Oh yes, I do indeed. I was going to ask you, in fact, not to tell anyone. None of this would help the things they're already saying about me."
"I shan't," Sam vowed. "But, sir, this can't go on forever, and to be honest, though I don't mind kissing you and such--"
"You don't? Really?" Frodo was pleased, though he knew it was a silly time to feel that way.
"I don't, sir, but--"
"I don't mind either," Frodo interjected. "Which is to say, you don't disgust me or anything, and I'm comfortable with you, and I wanted to assure you of that--but never mind. Do go on."
"Yes, sir. Thank you. Thing is, though I don't mind it, it's awful odd doing it with someone watching, especially a ghost of a Big Person. Downright eerie, it is. I can manage it, but I'm not sure how much I could do, with an audience, as it were."
"That's a perfectly natural reaction. Healthy, even."
"Good." Sam sounded relieved. "So you'll understand, if I put my foot down if she ever asks anything too indecent, it ain't about you, mind. It ain't a question of disgust or anything, like you said..."
"Absolutely. Which reminds me, I meant to have a look at page 87...but not right now. Listen, Sam, this is my hope: sooner or later Gandalf will come visit, and we'll tell him what's going on. He'll be able to do something. I know he will."
"Aye, but when's the next time he'll be coming round?"
"Well, that I don't know," Frodo admitted. "Let's hope it's sooner than the date at which her interest runs out, though, or we shall be in this awkward situation for much longer than we might like."
"I'll bear it if you can," said the stout Sam.
"You are too kind, Sam." Frodo laid a hand on Sam's shoulder, then withdrew it quickly, thinking of how much Mariella would like to see them touch. Curse that girl, turning every innocent gesture into something salacious!
"Reckon I ought to come back after dinner, then."
"Sounds like you must. There are far too many knick-knacks around here she hasn't thrown yet."
Frodo saw Sam out, and, naturally, did not kiss him farewell. That had never been a habit of theirs. However, as he closed the door, Frodo found himself thinking of that kiss again. Goodness! It did make sense that someone who did as much physical labor as Sam should have such strong, sure arms; but who could have predicted his lips would be so silky-soft? Undoubtedly there was a practical reason involving a beeswax ointment or something. Yes, come to think of it, there had been a slight honey-like taste...
"Ugh!" Frodo gave his head a brisk shake, and stalked away to clear up the kitchen dishes. The silly things that ghost was making him think of! Honestly!
* * *
