In the middle of reorganizing one of his bookshelves the next day, to make room for his newer purchases that had been piling up around the room, Frodo was startled by a familiar womanly voice.
"I do hope you're daydreaming about Sam while doing that."
He twisted around to look at her, almost falling off the chair he was standing on. "Oh, good day, Miss Mariella. Pardon me for asking, but do you ever consider knocking on doors first, to avoid giving people a fright?"
"I do like to knock on doors--walls and ceilings too--but mostly in the middle of the night. I'll start doing that, if you insist."
"No," Frodo sighed, getting down from the chair. "Never mind. How can I help you?"
"You can get Sam in here at once. He's out in the garden, doing something or other with twine and chrysanthemums. I was watching him from the bedroom window. He's glowing with perspiration, and has just opened up his shirt and poured water down his neck to cool off; and, my word, I can't take it another minute. You simply must touch him, or *I* shall."
Much as Frodo didn't like to impose on Sam, he was quite alarmed at the idea of Mariella molesting the lad. "All right," he said, and moved toward the door. "All right--don't do anything. I'll call him in."
A minute later, the two hobbits were standing side by side in the front parlor. Sam did indeed look warm and rumpled from working in the sun, and his faded white shirt stuck to him, soaked in patches on the front and back. Scents of green leaves and wet cotton and earth drifted from him. Frodo breathed it in, appreciating the freshness, then sneezed once.
"Sorry for looking like this, sir," Sam said. "Didn't know I'd be called in at this hour."
"You look fine," Frodo said. "And I'm sorry for summoning you. It was Mariella's wish. But, Miss," he said, turning a stern look on Mariella, "as Sam's employer, I must insist that he not be interrupted in his work for long. He's a busy fellow, and it isn't fair to him."
"All I ask is five minutes. You needn't even sit down," she said.
"Very well," Frodo said, glancing at Sam, who answered with a nod. "What must we do, then?"
"Same as you did yesterday. However..." She strolled around them, looking them up and down. "With your shirts off."
"What?" laughed the surprised Frodo.
"Sam's shirt is wet. Be a good boy and help him take it off."
"Yes, but *my* shirt isn't wet."
"It will be when you embrace him, with his bare, damp skin."
Frodo glanced at Sam, expecting the lad would "put his foot down" at such suggestions. But Sam only answered by lifting an eyebrow at him in a skeptical, possibly amused, fashion. "Willing if you are, sir," he said.
Frodo nodded. "Think I can manage."
"You wouldn't want to get this grime on your fine shirt anyway." Sam opened the remaining buttons down his front, and peeled one arm out.
"Help him with it!" snapped Mariella.
Frodo, who had started undoing his own buttons, jumped and turned to Sam. "Oh--right, right." He was in time to take the damp shirt and pull it from Sam's other arm, leaving his gardener bare to the waist.
Sam seemed nonchalant about it. "Can I help you out as well?" he asked politely.
"That's the idea," Mariella commended.
"Certainly; thank you," Frodo answered to Sam, ignoring Mariella. He draped Sam's shirt over a chair, then stood with his arms slack and chin lifted, letting Sam unbutton and remove his shirt, as if he were being helped by his valet to dress for dinner. (This had never been among Sam's job duties, but Frodo noticed he seemed quite able to do it, if ever the need should arise.)
"And now," Mariella said, when Frodo's shirt had been folded and placed on the chair by Sam, "up against the wall with *you*." She gave Frodo a push with her hand. It felt quite cold on his bare shoulder, and he shivered.
"Against the wall? All right." He assumed an innocent expression as he put his back to the wall, though he had a secure guess that this pose was not going to be what anyone would call "innocent".
"And you," Mariella looked to Sam, "--hold him there. With your thighs as well as your arms if need be. And of course kiss him all the while," she added, as if this should be obvious.
Sam looked a bit dubious about this plan.
"It's all right, Sam," Frodo said, stretching a hand toward him.
"If you're sure you don't mind," Sam grumbled, taking his hand and moving closer.
"She insists that we enjoy it. So we may as well try." Frodo shot a sardonic smile at Mariella, over Sam's arm.
"Oh, yes," Mariella said. "Do try. Or I may have to prod you." She picked up the fireplace poker, which was, at least, cold, and therefore not an instrument of complete nightmarishness.
"Charming," answered Frodo. Then he pulled Sam up against him, and encouraged, "Put your arms round me."
Sam obeyed, and Frodo found himself comfortably fitted between Sam's warm skin and the smooth wooden wall. He tipped back his head until it touched the wall as well, and focused on Sam's eyes, trying not to see the transparent form hovering behind him. "Kiss me?" he murmured.
Sam, who had taken on a rather thoughtful look, leaned forward and caught Frodo's mouth in a soft kiss.
Frodo closed his eyes and curled his arms tight across Sam's back. Their naked chests slid together, Sam's skin feeling damp and slightly sticky against his, but not unpleasant. "Ohh..." Frodo moaned, when the movement of their lips allowed. He heard two gasps in response: one, ecstatic, from Mariella; the other, quiet and near and surprised, from Sam. He urged Sam closer with another cinch of his arms, and Sam responded with a much firmer kiss.
Frodo wasn't sure how long they kept it up, but he did feel that Sam had followed orders quite well: by the time they deemed it proper to stop, Frodo was pinned most securely against the wall. He could have lifted his feet off the floor and not fallen, so strongly was Sam holding him.
"That was beautiful!" said the enraptured Mariella, while Sam and Frodo carefully unstuck their torsos and limbs from each other. "Oh, I was perfectly able to imagine that you were a master who'd called his man-servant in from the garden for a quick crush up against the wall! It was perfect!"
Sam turned to stare at her in perplexity, and seemed to have a mind to speak up, but Frodo distracted him by petting his upper arm, and answering for them both: "I'm sure we're glad to have pleased you, then, madam."
"I must go daydream some more about this. Yes, I must indeed!" Mariella flung the poker happily onto a chair, and sailed away, disappearing before she reached the door.
Sam shook his head. "She comes up with strange notions, and no mistake."
"You did wonderfully, Sam." Frodo gave Sam's arm one last caress. "It's much easier when we don't fight it the whole way, isn't it?"
"Aye, it is that." Sam picked up his shirt and slipped his arms into it. He threw Frodo a shy grin as he straightened his collar. "Almost had me convinced, you did."
"Well, the enjoyment was almost real," returned Frodo, whimsically. He strolled past Sam to fetch his own shirt, and nudged his elbow on the way. "Have a lovely afternoon."
* * *
Mariella left them quite alone for the rest of the day, but awakened Frodo most importunately the next morning by seizing his ankles through the blankets and shaking him.
"Gracious," he gasped as he bolted upright. "There are kinder ways to wake people up, you know!"
"But it's half past nine," she wheedled. "Sam's already here, in the garden!"
"I'll do much better at seducing him if you let me sleep longer," said Frodo, turning back over onto his pillows.
"You will not. Get out of bed!"
Frodo groaned. "You've deprived me of sleep enough. Give me another hour, and I promise I'll...I'll get him to lie on top of me or something."
That pleased her. "Oooh! Would you indeed?"
"Yes. Now go away."
"With your shirts off?"
"Yes, fine." Frodo hauled the sheet over his head.
"Then I'll be back in one hour," she said, in a loud whisper. "Sweet dreams, little hobbit!"
Frodo, too tired to care about what he had just promised, fell promptly back into slumber.
But when his ankles were again seized, at half past ten, he knew it had not been a dream.
"All right, all right," he grumbled. "I'm getting up."
"Shall I call in Sam?" said the excited Mariella, bobbing up and down in the air, drifting strangely through the furniture.
"Let me bathe first," Frodo yawned, putting on a robe. "I think he liked the fragrances."
"Oh yes, I quite forgot to ask." Mariella followed him down the hallway. "What did he smell like yesterday, when he removed his shirt for you and clasped you in his arms?"
"Like a lad who has taken off his shirt. And like grass." Frodo paused with his hand on the bathroom door. "Miss, you are *not* to accompany me into the bath, do you understand?"
She lifted her chin, and her eyes darkened ominously. "I'd like to see you stop me."
"I know I can't," pleaded Frodo. "Which is why I'm asking you, as one civilized person to another."
"All right. But tell me this: were you thinking about it all day afterward? Kissing Sam, of course I mean."
Frodo sighed, closed his eyes, and rested his forehead against the door. "How could I not think about it afterward? This is entirely too strange to ignore!"
"And compared to other people you've kissed," she went on, as if she was taking a survey, "how does he rate, in terms of skill?"
"He rates..." Frodo shrugged carelessly. "He rates very well, I suppose. I haven't much experience. But he hasn't been disagreeable."
"I knew it!" said the jubilant Mariella. "You're starting to like it!"
Frodo turned weary eyes to her. "Oh, it's not--I mean, you seem to imply that--oh, just don't go telling him theories like that. Please."
"I won't," Mariella said. "*You* will, one day, though."
Frodo's mouth dropped open. "What?"
"See you soon." She waved mischievously and disappeared.
* * *
It was with some nervousness that the freshly-groomed Frodo invited Sam inside for lunch.
"Actually," he said as they stepped into the smial, "Mariella would like to see us first. I made her promise we'd only allow five or ten minutes..."
"It's all right, sir," Sam said, cordially. "There are worse ways to spend a body's time indoors." And he winked at Frodo.
Mariella, waiting by the fireplace, chuckled happily at that exchange. "Adorable, Samwise, just adorable. Seat yourselves on that sofa again, won't you?"
They sat down. Frodo dreaded that she would request some romantic dialogue, so was actually a bit relieved when she directed, "Off with your shirts again. And then keep each other warm. And, Frodo, keep your promise."
While they took off their shirts, Sam asked, "Promise?"
"I'll show you," Frodo sighed. He put aside his shirt, and waited while Sam set his on the opposite arm of the couch. Then he beckoned, and Sam obediently slid over and put his arms round him. They were getting oddly used to this, Frodo thought. He tilted his head and began to kiss Sam.
"Good," purred Mariella. "I didn't even have to tell you."
Frodo steadfastly ignored her, bending his mind instead to the details of Sam that he would need to remember: Sam's lips tasted like honey and his mouth tasted like cornbread this morning; his teeth were smooth on Frodo's tongue, and his arms felt silky but strong as they slid up and down Frodo's back.
Oddly, keeping his promise now didn't actually sound so bad. He leaned backward, pulling Sam with him. Sam seemed to understand. Without even breaking the kiss or whispering a word to question it, he shifted his legs so that they could lie comfortably, and let his weight settle atop Frodo.
"Yes!" said the rapt Mariella. "That's it! Oh, you're naturals!"
Frodo extracted his tongue to snap, with his head tipped back, "Will you please keep your comments to yourself? We do much better without them."
"Sorry," she whispered. "Do go on!"
"Thank you." Frodo met Sam's damp mouth, which seemed to be waiting for him, and they resumed their newly horizontal activity.
Some minutes later, Sam, who had been discovering that nibbling on Frodo's earlobe was also diverting, paused to ask him, "Are you not comfortable?"
"I'm quite comfortable. Why?"
"You keep squirming, like."
"Well, so do you."
"Aye, but I'm squirming because...because I *am* comfortable, see."
"It's the same for me," Frodo shrugged. "I assure you, I was just thinking that until today I had never noticed how comfortable my own couch was."
"Well, all right, then," said the reassured Sam, and set to investigating the dark reaches of Frodo's mouth with his tongue.
A while later, Frodo broke his lips away to ask Mariella in breathless tones, "How long has it been?"
She was lying on her stomach on the floor, with her chin propped up in her hands, watching dreamily. Now she cast a look at the clock, and answered, "Only half an hour. Take your time."
"Half an--" Sam rose up to his knees. "Goodness, I shouldn't dally like this, sir..."
Frodo grabbed him, pulled him back down, and re-immersed him in kissing. Sam gave up without much of a struggle, and indeed was apparently quite comfortable, to judge from the amount of wriggling he was doing.
After another minute or so, Frodo released him, and they separated and sat up, gasping for breath.
"Well," Frodo said, brushing off his trousers and directing a haughty look at Mariella. "I hope you're satisfied. Taking up our valuable time like this."
Sam coughed. "Yes. Quite so," he contributed, in an unsteady voice.
Mariella rolled her eyes, and lifted herself from the floor, smiling. "You two are so deeply enjoying this. I would have thought I'd died and gone to a better world, if I weren't already dead. Time to go contrive more scenes for you. Good day!" And off she floated, fading to nothing somewhere beside a window.
Frodo, shivering a little in his shirtless condition without Sam's warmth on top of him anymore, glanced at Sam to read his thoughts. Sam answered with an amiable shrug.
"What she say can't hurt us none," Sam said, with his usual practicality.
"No indeed, Sam. You are very right." Frodo planted his hands on his knees and stood up. "Lunch?"
* * *
"I do hope you're daydreaming about Sam while doing that."
He twisted around to look at her, almost falling off the chair he was standing on. "Oh, good day, Miss Mariella. Pardon me for asking, but do you ever consider knocking on doors first, to avoid giving people a fright?"
"I do like to knock on doors--walls and ceilings too--but mostly in the middle of the night. I'll start doing that, if you insist."
"No," Frodo sighed, getting down from the chair. "Never mind. How can I help you?"
"You can get Sam in here at once. He's out in the garden, doing something or other with twine and chrysanthemums. I was watching him from the bedroom window. He's glowing with perspiration, and has just opened up his shirt and poured water down his neck to cool off; and, my word, I can't take it another minute. You simply must touch him, or *I* shall."
Much as Frodo didn't like to impose on Sam, he was quite alarmed at the idea of Mariella molesting the lad. "All right," he said, and moved toward the door. "All right--don't do anything. I'll call him in."
A minute later, the two hobbits were standing side by side in the front parlor. Sam did indeed look warm and rumpled from working in the sun, and his faded white shirt stuck to him, soaked in patches on the front and back. Scents of green leaves and wet cotton and earth drifted from him. Frodo breathed it in, appreciating the freshness, then sneezed once.
"Sorry for looking like this, sir," Sam said. "Didn't know I'd be called in at this hour."
"You look fine," Frodo said. "And I'm sorry for summoning you. It was Mariella's wish. But, Miss," he said, turning a stern look on Mariella, "as Sam's employer, I must insist that he not be interrupted in his work for long. He's a busy fellow, and it isn't fair to him."
"All I ask is five minutes. You needn't even sit down," she said.
"Very well," Frodo said, glancing at Sam, who answered with a nod. "What must we do, then?"
"Same as you did yesterday. However..." She strolled around them, looking them up and down. "With your shirts off."
"What?" laughed the surprised Frodo.
"Sam's shirt is wet. Be a good boy and help him take it off."
"Yes, but *my* shirt isn't wet."
"It will be when you embrace him, with his bare, damp skin."
Frodo glanced at Sam, expecting the lad would "put his foot down" at such suggestions. But Sam only answered by lifting an eyebrow at him in a skeptical, possibly amused, fashion. "Willing if you are, sir," he said.
Frodo nodded. "Think I can manage."
"You wouldn't want to get this grime on your fine shirt anyway." Sam opened the remaining buttons down his front, and peeled one arm out.
"Help him with it!" snapped Mariella.
Frodo, who had started undoing his own buttons, jumped and turned to Sam. "Oh--right, right." He was in time to take the damp shirt and pull it from Sam's other arm, leaving his gardener bare to the waist.
Sam seemed nonchalant about it. "Can I help you out as well?" he asked politely.
"That's the idea," Mariella commended.
"Certainly; thank you," Frodo answered to Sam, ignoring Mariella. He draped Sam's shirt over a chair, then stood with his arms slack and chin lifted, letting Sam unbutton and remove his shirt, as if he were being helped by his valet to dress for dinner. (This had never been among Sam's job duties, but Frodo noticed he seemed quite able to do it, if ever the need should arise.)
"And now," Mariella said, when Frodo's shirt had been folded and placed on the chair by Sam, "up against the wall with *you*." She gave Frodo a push with her hand. It felt quite cold on his bare shoulder, and he shivered.
"Against the wall? All right." He assumed an innocent expression as he put his back to the wall, though he had a secure guess that this pose was not going to be what anyone would call "innocent".
"And you," Mariella looked to Sam, "--hold him there. With your thighs as well as your arms if need be. And of course kiss him all the while," she added, as if this should be obvious.
Sam looked a bit dubious about this plan.
"It's all right, Sam," Frodo said, stretching a hand toward him.
"If you're sure you don't mind," Sam grumbled, taking his hand and moving closer.
"She insists that we enjoy it. So we may as well try." Frodo shot a sardonic smile at Mariella, over Sam's arm.
"Oh, yes," Mariella said. "Do try. Or I may have to prod you." She picked up the fireplace poker, which was, at least, cold, and therefore not an instrument of complete nightmarishness.
"Charming," answered Frodo. Then he pulled Sam up against him, and encouraged, "Put your arms round me."
Sam obeyed, and Frodo found himself comfortably fitted between Sam's warm skin and the smooth wooden wall. He tipped back his head until it touched the wall as well, and focused on Sam's eyes, trying not to see the transparent form hovering behind him. "Kiss me?" he murmured.
Sam, who had taken on a rather thoughtful look, leaned forward and caught Frodo's mouth in a soft kiss.
Frodo closed his eyes and curled his arms tight across Sam's back. Their naked chests slid together, Sam's skin feeling damp and slightly sticky against his, but not unpleasant. "Ohh..." Frodo moaned, when the movement of their lips allowed. He heard two gasps in response: one, ecstatic, from Mariella; the other, quiet and near and surprised, from Sam. He urged Sam closer with another cinch of his arms, and Sam responded with a much firmer kiss.
Frodo wasn't sure how long they kept it up, but he did feel that Sam had followed orders quite well: by the time they deemed it proper to stop, Frodo was pinned most securely against the wall. He could have lifted his feet off the floor and not fallen, so strongly was Sam holding him.
"That was beautiful!" said the enraptured Mariella, while Sam and Frodo carefully unstuck their torsos and limbs from each other. "Oh, I was perfectly able to imagine that you were a master who'd called his man-servant in from the garden for a quick crush up against the wall! It was perfect!"
Sam turned to stare at her in perplexity, and seemed to have a mind to speak up, but Frodo distracted him by petting his upper arm, and answering for them both: "I'm sure we're glad to have pleased you, then, madam."
"I must go daydream some more about this. Yes, I must indeed!" Mariella flung the poker happily onto a chair, and sailed away, disappearing before she reached the door.
Sam shook his head. "She comes up with strange notions, and no mistake."
"You did wonderfully, Sam." Frodo gave Sam's arm one last caress. "It's much easier when we don't fight it the whole way, isn't it?"
"Aye, it is that." Sam picked up his shirt and slipped his arms into it. He threw Frodo a shy grin as he straightened his collar. "Almost had me convinced, you did."
"Well, the enjoyment was almost real," returned Frodo, whimsically. He strolled past Sam to fetch his own shirt, and nudged his elbow on the way. "Have a lovely afternoon."
* * *
Mariella left them quite alone for the rest of the day, but awakened Frodo most importunately the next morning by seizing his ankles through the blankets and shaking him.
"Gracious," he gasped as he bolted upright. "There are kinder ways to wake people up, you know!"
"But it's half past nine," she wheedled. "Sam's already here, in the garden!"
"I'll do much better at seducing him if you let me sleep longer," said Frodo, turning back over onto his pillows.
"You will not. Get out of bed!"
Frodo groaned. "You've deprived me of sleep enough. Give me another hour, and I promise I'll...I'll get him to lie on top of me or something."
That pleased her. "Oooh! Would you indeed?"
"Yes. Now go away."
"With your shirts off?"
"Yes, fine." Frodo hauled the sheet over his head.
"Then I'll be back in one hour," she said, in a loud whisper. "Sweet dreams, little hobbit!"
Frodo, too tired to care about what he had just promised, fell promptly back into slumber.
But when his ankles were again seized, at half past ten, he knew it had not been a dream.
"All right, all right," he grumbled. "I'm getting up."
"Shall I call in Sam?" said the excited Mariella, bobbing up and down in the air, drifting strangely through the furniture.
"Let me bathe first," Frodo yawned, putting on a robe. "I think he liked the fragrances."
"Oh yes, I quite forgot to ask." Mariella followed him down the hallway. "What did he smell like yesterday, when he removed his shirt for you and clasped you in his arms?"
"Like a lad who has taken off his shirt. And like grass." Frodo paused with his hand on the bathroom door. "Miss, you are *not* to accompany me into the bath, do you understand?"
She lifted her chin, and her eyes darkened ominously. "I'd like to see you stop me."
"I know I can't," pleaded Frodo. "Which is why I'm asking you, as one civilized person to another."
"All right. But tell me this: were you thinking about it all day afterward? Kissing Sam, of course I mean."
Frodo sighed, closed his eyes, and rested his forehead against the door. "How could I not think about it afterward? This is entirely too strange to ignore!"
"And compared to other people you've kissed," she went on, as if she was taking a survey, "how does he rate, in terms of skill?"
"He rates..." Frodo shrugged carelessly. "He rates very well, I suppose. I haven't much experience. But he hasn't been disagreeable."
"I knew it!" said the jubilant Mariella. "You're starting to like it!"
Frodo turned weary eyes to her. "Oh, it's not--I mean, you seem to imply that--oh, just don't go telling him theories like that. Please."
"I won't," Mariella said. "*You* will, one day, though."
Frodo's mouth dropped open. "What?"
"See you soon." She waved mischievously and disappeared.
* * *
It was with some nervousness that the freshly-groomed Frodo invited Sam inside for lunch.
"Actually," he said as they stepped into the smial, "Mariella would like to see us first. I made her promise we'd only allow five or ten minutes..."
"It's all right, sir," Sam said, cordially. "There are worse ways to spend a body's time indoors." And he winked at Frodo.
Mariella, waiting by the fireplace, chuckled happily at that exchange. "Adorable, Samwise, just adorable. Seat yourselves on that sofa again, won't you?"
They sat down. Frodo dreaded that she would request some romantic dialogue, so was actually a bit relieved when she directed, "Off with your shirts again. And then keep each other warm. And, Frodo, keep your promise."
While they took off their shirts, Sam asked, "Promise?"
"I'll show you," Frodo sighed. He put aside his shirt, and waited while Sam set his on the opposite arm of the couch. Then he beckoned, and Sam obediently slid over and put his arms round him. They were getting oddly used to this, Frodo thought. He tilted his head and began to kiss Sam.
"Good," purred Mariella. "I didn't even have to tell you."
Frodo steadfastly ignored her, bending his mind instead to the details of Sam that he would need to remember: Sam's lips tasted like honey and his mouth tasted like cornbread this morning; his teeth were smooth on Frodo's tongue, and his arms felt silky but strong as they slid up and down Frodo's back.
Oddly, keeping his promise now didn't actually sound so bad. He leaned backward, pulling Sam with him. Sam seemed to understand. Without even breaking the kiss or whispering a word to question it, he shifted his legs so that they could lie comfortably, and let his weight settle atop Frodo.
"Yes!" said the rapt Mariella. "That's it! Oh, you're naturals!"
Frodo extracted his tongue to snap, with his head tipped back, "Will you please keep your comments to yourself? We do much better without them."
"Sorry," she whispered. "Do go on!"
"Thank you." Frodo met Sam's damp mouth, which seemed to be waiting for him, and they resumed their newly horizontal activity.
Some minutes later, Sam, who had been discovering that nibbling on Frodo's earlobe was also diverting, paused to ask him, "Are you not comfortable?"
"I'm quite comfortable. Why?"
"You keep squirming, like."
"Well, so do you."
"Aye, but I'm squirming because...because I *am* comfortable, see."
"It's the same for me," Frodo shrugged. "I assure you, I was just thinking that until today I had never noticed how comfortable my own couch was."
"Well, all right, then," said the reassured Sam, and set to investigating the dark reaches of Frodo's mouth with his tongue.
A while later, Frodo broke his lips away to ask Mariella in breathless tones, "How long has it been?"
She was lying on her stomach on the floor, with her chin propped up in her hands, watching dreamily. Now she cast a look at the clock, and answered, "Only half an hour. Take your time."
"Half an--" Sam rose up to his knees. "Goodness, I shouldn't dally like this, sir..."
Frodo grabbed him, pulled him back down, and re-immersed him in kissing. Sam gave up without much of a struggle, and indeed was apparently quite comfortable, to judge from the amount of wriggling he was doing.
After another minute or so, Frodo released him, and they separated and sat up, gasping for breath.
"Well," Frodo said, brushing off his trousers and directing a haughty look at Mariella. "I hope you're satisfied. Taking up our valuable time like this."
Sam coughed. "Yes. Quite so," he contributed, in an unsteady voice.
Mariella rolled her eyes, and lifted herself from the floor, smiling. "You two are so deeply enjoying this. I would have thought I'd died and gone to a better world, if I weren't already dead. Time to go contrive more scenes for you. Good day!" And off she floated, fading to nothing somewhere beside a window.
Frodo, shivering a little in his shirtless condition without Sam's warmth on top of him anymore, glanced at Sam to read his thoughts. Sam answered with an amiable shrug.
"What she say can't hurt us none," Sam said, with his usual practicality.
"No indeed, Sam. You are very right." Frodo planted his hands on his knees and stood up. "Lunch?"
* * *
