This chapter is a bit of an interruption in the Ring's story, partially to give a little emotional/character basis for Frodo (unfortunately rules of writing still apply to fanfiction XD). If you're waiting to hear about the Ring, she'll be in the next chapter again.
As the time wore on, the Ring realized just how much she had adapted to life as a part of a weaker species. She missed Sauron's succulent thirst for power very much; she now fed on the essence of those with limited vision and no ambition. She despised herself for it, but could do nothing. Her ambition and will slipped away, little bits in every passing day.
For Frodo, he paid little attention to the Ring. Bilbo kept her in his pocket often while Frodo lived his life in the gentle Shire. He accumulated friends there, close to Bag End. One Samwise Gamgee, the son of Bilbo's gardener, was a sweet soul that Frodo took a liking to. The young Baggins also invited his cousins, Peregrine Took and Meriadoc Brandybuck, from his home on the other side of the Brandywine river.
One day, while out with his cousins, Frodo attempted to drag Sam out of his house. The poor lad had been struck with the flu for over a week, and Frodo was convinced his friend had to feel better now. He sprang in the door; Mr. Gamgee—who preferred that the boys called him Gaffer—was not home. It would be easy to convince Sam to come outside.
Frodo sprang through the door and down the long, broad hallway to Sam's bedroom. "Sam!" he called out. "Sam!"
"Mr. Frodo?"
Although they were not yet twenty, Sam had taken to his Gaffer's habit and called Frodo after a title. But following his statement, Sam slipped into a coughing fit. He sounded nasal in his speech, and Frodo tsked to himself; the boy just needed to get outside. But as Frodo's hand slipped around the knob of Sam's bedroom, a voice stopped him . . . a soft, low, girl's voice that he didn't recognize.
"Rest, Sam," she said quietly. "Gaffer said you must stay here."
"But Mr. Frodo's calling!" Sam protested.
Frodo knocked carefully, and the female voice responded.
"Come in, Mr. Baggins."
Frodo slipped inside and nearly doubled over. A young girl sat there in a chair by Sam's bed; she looked perhaps in her early thirties, but that took a little bit of internal digging for Frodo to figure out, as he was first taken aback by her appearance. She was not normal in any sense of the word—she had bushy, red hair that fell from her head to her thighs, long and thick. Her eyes were a murky blue and set in a deep stare, her lips slightly dark but full. She sat in a fairly normal looking dress, but nothing about the way she moved said anything about a typical hobbit; somehow he felt she was almost serpentine, for no evident reason. Frodo stood, a little dumbfounded, although he didn't entirely understand why. Something about her was completely off.
She extended a hand to him. "Well met, Mr. Baggins." He shook it distantly; something was wrong with her hand too. She cocked her head, studied him a little. A young thing, she knew, some years younger than herself.
"Mr. Frodo," Sam started, sitting up. He was pale, and he had dark circles around his hazel eyes. He coughed violently, and the girl spun to face him. She tore her hand from Frodo's, pressing Sam gently against the bed. The boy exhaled slowly, and when he calmed she lifted a bowl from a nearby table, spooning soup into Sam's mouth.
She turned and gave Frodo a fleeting glance. "My apologies, Mr. Baggins," she began. "Sam isn't feeling too well. You can come back in a few days."
Frodo stepped forward despite that, hoping she wouldn't mind that he at least wanted to talk to his friend. She frightened him a little bit. "How are you, Sam?" he asked gently. He laid his hand on the bed, near the girl. She lifted an eyebrow but said nothing.
"I'm alive, Mr. Frodo," Sam managed, patting Frodo's hand. Then he coughed again, and the girl laid her hands over his chest once more. He sighed, allowing the pressure of his lungs to dissipate to her touch. "Thank you, Sev," he muttered.
Frodo glanced up at Sev, and she nodded back to him.
"Oh!" Sam tried to sit up, but Sev kept him down, blushing slightly. She had intended to keep distanced from the hobbits of the Shire, but she admitted to herself that it was only a matter of time before Sam introduced her to someone. Especially someone admittedly attractive like this Frodo. "This is my sister, Sevanaan. Sev, this is Mr. Frodo."
Frodo cocked his head. "I didn't know you had a sister."
Sam shrugged. "She doesn't talk to people much. I'm surprised she didn't duck under the bed when you walked in."
Sev bit back a response and sat down. Admittedly she'd felt a little intruded on Sam's behalf, as Gaffer had strictly ordered her to keep an eye on her surrogate brother. She also felt a little intrigued by Frodo; Sam brought back stories of their adventures together, little things about reading and gardening, and Sev liked what she heard.
"I apologize again," Sev interjected, "that Sam is not able to come outside today, but if you want to run the risk of contracting his disease . . ." She sighed. "You may stay here and speak to him for a while. But soon he shall have to sleep." She stood and gathered his soup bowl in her hands, stepping out before Frodo could say anything more.
He turned to his friend, hesitantly taking Sev's chair by his side.
"She's not much older than you, Mr. Frodo," Sam said. "She won't be of age for some time yet."
Frodo paused. "I thought she was in her thirties." He glanced back into the hall, wondering if she would come back. Perhaps not.
Sam shook his head. "Mid-twenties, probably a couple of years older than you."
"Then she should be courting," Frodo mused. He furrowed his brow; if he had a sister he'd be worried about Pippin or Merry getting to her. Sev bit back a chuckle when she heard him; her, courting! As if she could or would. Hobbits terrified her too much, and she terrified them too much.
Sam shrugged. "She doesn't get out enough. She stays here, just in the house."
Frodo spoke with Sam a little while longer, until Sev slipped back inside with another steaming bowl of soup. She set it aside, intending to eat it, and laid a hand on Frodo's shoulder. Both of them stiffened; she hadn't entirely meant to do that, somehow in the mindset that she was touching Sam. She hurriedly pulled away.
"I'm very sorry," she admitted finally, "but Sam must sleep now. Gaffer will be home in twenty minutes or so."
"But I'm feeling fine, Sev!" Sam insisted.
Frodo turned to her, about to join Sam in his argument, but Sev adamantly shook her head. She allowed her eyes to sink closed; she didn't like disappointing people, but presently the two members of her home were pitted against each other, with Gaffer on the side of right. "I'm sorry. He may wait for you as long as he wishes out in the front room, but Gaffer would not be pleased to come home and find you two talking and spending your energy, Sam." She stood by the door. "You need to rest."
Sam sighed, then turned to Frodo, who also admonished him to rest. "Thank you for coming, Mr. Frodo." He sank back into his pillow, and Frodo waved to him.
"Get feeling better soon, Sam!" he called out behind him as Sev shut the door. She stepped with Frodo into the front room.
"Would you like something to eat, Mr. Baggins?" she asked.
He nodded emphatically, then paused. "You can call me Frodo," he said. "You are Sam's sister, after all."
Sev laughed slightly, surprised by his polite naivety. She slipped a few homemade biscuits from one cupboard, then an apple and a wedge of cheese from the pantry. "Thank you. You are a kind one," she admitted. Most male hobbits, according to Gaffer, were rather obnoxious at Frodo's age . . . at Sev's age. She'd been encouraged not to court, but she had no friends anyway, not outside of Sam's crush Rosie Cotton. She snickered to herself at the thought; she'd never told Rosie, but it was only a matter of time before Sam would need a little push.
Frodo stepped over to the counter as she set out the apple and grabbed a knife. He watched while she hacked the apple into pieces, sliding it almost instinctively to catch it with the blade. She threw the cores aside, then got caught in his eyes . . . and she halted, a little taken aback at the way his wide gaze took her in.
"Tell me, Frodo," she said, setting the apple slices aside, "how did you meet Sam?"
Frodo hesitantly stepped into telling how he met Sam, when the Gamgee was tending to Bilbo's garden with Gaffer. Sev interrupted him briefly to set before him a pile of apple slices . . . strangely paired with a smattering of cheese each. He eyed her, but she gestured to the fruit.
"It's good, I promise," she insisted before setting the biscuits in front of him.
Frodo picked up an apple slice, tempted to slip the cheese off, but he popped it in his mouth anyway. Sev watched expectantly while he sank his teeth into it; the cheese offered a salty gentleness, and when the juices trickled out of the succulent, crunchy apple, the salt melted into place, and the stark flavors combined in a balance. Frodo's eyes widened; he hadn't entirely been expecting that. He swallowed and sat back.
Sev leaned forward on the counter, folding her arms. "Well? What do you think?"
He shrugged slightly. "It's different," he admitted, but then ate the rest of the slice in his hand. He spoke around the last of it. "What do you think?"
Sev chuckled. "It's my favorite food in the world. Apples and cheese . . ." She sank into a moan of ecstasy before righting in place.
Frodo lifted a piece. "Do you want one?"
She hesitated slightly before throwing it off. "No, it's yours. I'll cut one of my own." Then she gestured to the other slices with her knife. "Unless you don't want those, but I would be more than willing to eat them if you don't want them."
Frodo picked up another one, but divided it between the apple and cheese to eat it. "I'll eat these if you're going to cut another one anyway."
That satisfied her, and she proceeded to cut an apple for herself.
"How old are you?" Frodo asked after a while.
Sev shrugged. "Twenty-seven. And you?"
"I'll be twenty next month."
Sev glanced up at him fleetingly. "Same month as Master Bilbo."
"Same day," Frodo said, somewhat proud of himself.
She gawked at him. "No! Honest?" She shook her head, glancing back down at the apple. While she acted surprised, emotions didn't hit her as hard as it did most hobbits; she hardly felt anything. Subsequently she berated herself for reacting more than she felt, but she lived that way on a daily basis.
But Frodo couldn't have noticed her wince. He continued on about how he and Bilbo had gotten along for that, then began into the ring in Bilbo's pocket. That started a whole mess of conversation: they laughed and talked for over three hours before Gaffer stepped inside. He gawked, watching them snipping biscuits into little chunks. The moment Frodo showed Sev that he could catch food out of mid-air if she aimed right, she couldn't help but do it again and again. They laughed every time he missed, but now as Gaffer entered Sev scrambled to a halt; Frodo was a little slower descending from their plane of excitement. She stood upright, then nodded to her stepfather.
"My apologies, Gaffer," she chuckled, breathless. She patted Frodo's shoulder as he let out his last bits of laughter. "I thought you would be home a while ago."
Gaffer lifted an eyebrow when he saw them. He set his burden aside, a few bags of vegetables and fruit. Sev immediately dived to the bags, dragging them to the pantry. Frodo stood to help her . . . and her face abruptly turned pink. Only Sam ever helped her with that, but somehow she'd never considered that anyone else could do so.
When they finished, Gaffer nodded to Sam's bedroom. "How is he, Sevanaan?"
Sev winced at her full name; Gaffer never meant any harm, but he also didn't know what the name stood for. She stood upright and nodded to him. "He should be sleeping, Gaffer. Would you like me to check on him?"
Gaffer shook his head, hugging her just slightly. "Thank you, dear." He paused as he surveyed Frodo, who thumbed the crumbs from his mouth. "I assume Mr. Frodo has been helping you?"
Sev cut off a snicker. "To an extent, Gaffer. He's been keeping up my morale." She stepped aside and allowed Gaffer into Sam's room, then moved towards Frodo. She extended her hand. "I've had a wonderful time, Frodo. Thank you for visiting; you are welcome back whenever you wish to be here."
Frodo smiled at her, then shook her hand. He bent over it, but did not kiss it (for only hobbits of age did that, and he didn't want to anyway). "Thank you for letting me talk to Sam, Sev. I enjoyed today as well. Keep making the biscuits; I need to work on my catching skills."
She outright laughed this time, and Frodo joined her, not releasing her hand. "I will work on my aim, I promise," she said, breathing it in a sigh. She tugged for her hand back, and Frodo released it abruptly. She walked him to the door . . . and as he waved to her, walking again home, she wistfully wondered if anyone in the world like that would ever appreciate her.
