The Ring asserted that someday Frodo would have to become dark enough for her to handle, but the more time he spent around Sev the brighter he became. The Ring didn't understand what made him sparkle like that, but some days when he came home he looked about ready to pop with all the light inside. She'd cower a little bit.
Finally, one day during Frodo's 30th year, she realized she could wait no longer. She appeared to him as a woman, but somehow did not alter her features. She conceded that was a result of still being under Bilbo's jurisdiction . . . but something still felt off. Somehow she did not become what Frodo was attracted to. She waited behind Frodo's bedroom door; Bilbo was out for only a moment, for the Ring wanted to speak to Frodo alone, and she'd sent him outside on a vain pursuit of Gaffer. Something about the flowers wilting in the front garden: the Ring didn't entirely care what she'd told him, and didn't quite remember.
The Ring sucked in a breath and released it. "Frodo," she started, stepping out from behind the door. Frodo lay on his bed, a book in hand with the pillows stacked behind him to keep him sitting up. His gaze left the page when she stepped in, and she halted. He was no longer a boy so much as almost grown. She searched him, wondering why he interested her so. It was like Bilbo . . . but more. Far more.
Frodo startled, and his book fell aside as he scrambled to his feet. "Who are you?" he asked suddenly. The Ring paused at his sudden aggressive fear; she'd never heard anything of the like in him. His eyes grew apprehensive.
She shook off her surprise and held up a hand. "Calm yourself, Frodo Baggins," she said, a little exasperated. "I am the Ring."
Frodo relaxed. "Bilbo's ring?"
She nodded. "Now sit down, lad, I only wish to speak to you."
Frodo sank onto the bed, still unsure how to take her presence. She abruptly sat down beside him, or almost on top of him. He slid over to give her room, but she backed him into the very corner of the bed, squeezing up by his side. She didn't know what brought her that way, but something drove her to be as close to him as possible. She asserted it had something to do with how he would be her master in only a handful of years . . . but she didn't look beyond that bare thought for fear another answer would arise. It did anyway; perhaps she hadn't always thought him this attractive.
Frodo folded his legs, uncomfortable with her nearness. He opened his mouth to tell her so, but she spoke first.
"Tell me, lad," she said, then hesitated. She grabbed his ankle and dragged his leg off of his other. He jolted with the sudden contact. "Relax, boy, I'm not going to hurt you," she muttered. Frodo did his best, but it was impossible with her so close. His heart thudded at the way her shoulder blade buried itself in his side. "Tell me," she continued, "what has your uncle told you of me?"
Frodo began to respond, but she suddenly picked up his hand, rolling it over in her fingers, studying it. Frodo's eyes widened, and his words collapsed into an "uh . . ." She gazed up at him expectantly, laying his hand in her lap. He moved to pull it back, but she pretended not to notice.
"Go on," she persisted.
She stared relentlessly into his eyes until he bashfully continued. He told her all the stories Bilbo had, nothing of Sauron and nothing of Mordor, nothing of her history. Then, she realized, she'd never told Bilbo those things, save that she needed to get back to Mordor. He'd never asked for the reason, and she didn't give it to him.
The Ring nodded. "Interesting." While he spoke, she continued to study him, all the way from head to feet. She tried to pick him apart, learn what irked and attracted her so about him. He was distracted enough with his telling that he didn't notice her turn over his arms, peer down at his feet, glance into his face and all over the features of it. He reacted to nothing until she laid her hand over his heart, feeling for the thuds there. He stiffened and scrambled back suddenly, and she subsequently stared up at him, confused.
"What is it?"
Frodo blinked. "I hope you will pardon me, my lady, but pray, what do you want?"
The Ring hesitated. "Simply to understand what my master will be like." Probing him had helped her understand his mind: relative to all she had thus encountered, it was structurally very stable, very bright, very blinding. His lack of power or the desire thereof helped a great deal . . . but so did his innate intelligence, and courage to do anything he must. If she could get him on her side, he would be a powerful asset. She studied him one last time and backed away. "Until later, Frodo Baggins," she said dismissively. She walked into the other room to ponder what she'd seen and felt. A defensiveness built up in her mind when she wondered if she truly thought him handsome; of course she didn't. He terrified her. She blushed madly when she thought of touching him, and convinced herself it meant nothing.
Frodo stared after the Ring, completely taken aback. He shivered, remembering how her fingers traced across his chest as though poising to strike his heart. He drew his body together—he couldn't bring himself to finish his book now. He stood to go find Sev, for at this point he told her everything. Talking to her was cathartic to an extent, or so he'd learned: while he spent most of his time with Merry and Pippin (and Sam when he wasn't busy), they weren't much for conversation. Sev was the complete and utter opposite—she analyzed every bit of the world, and was willing to discuss it at any length. At times she would open up and do something fun, but most of the time she simply readied herself to listen to anything he had to say and speak right back. Often he was not in the mood to be so deep about life, but the more time he spent with her the more he began to think about the world in the way she spoke.
He left right away to get to the Gamgees' . . . and shivered when he saw the Ring on the table on his way out. He might not have believed that she was anything but a horrifying stranger if Bilbo hadn't told him years before that she could become a woman, as well as what she looked like. He raced out the front door, passing Bilbo on the way. Bilbo did not mind where his nephew wandered to, although periodically he would come home dirty or in trouble, usually courtesy of Merry and Pippin. They often pilfered mushrooms together when they were younger, but Sev managed to still that behavior just slightly in Frodo, if only by distracting him.
Frodo leaped up to the Gamgees' front door and knocked rapidly. The door slipped open.
"Gaffer and Samwise are at the Bagginses'," she said timidly, not even poking her head around.
Frodo chuckled. "I happen to have just come from there, and they're not who I'm looking for."
Sev finally turned from the door, ecstatically grinning. He nodded to her, and she gestured him inside.
"What can I do for you?" she asked carefully, shutting the door behind him. "Usually you see me only when you have something deep to think about."
He sighed, not sure entirely how to explain it. "This is a rather unusual problem," he said slowly. "I guess I'm just a little confused."
Sev lifted an eyebrow, trying to be excited for him at her assumption of his issue. "Sounds like trouble with a girl." She waited for him to confirm or deny, but he just stared up at her hopefully; that seemed the closest assumption to his problem. She sighed, defeated, and gestured to the kitchen. "Come; I have biscuits. But you have peaches instead of apples this time . . . assuming you like them."
Frodo nodded slowly, and she brought him inside. It kind of stung for her to realize he liked another, but Sev knew it would happen eventually, even if she never wanted to admit it to herself. Frodo sat down, although he did not eat.
"Frodo?" She sat down beside him.
Frodo sighed. "Bilbo's ring," he muttered.
Her eyes opened wide. "Ring?" For all her thought train could consider, he already meant to propose to this unknown lass that she'd conceived in her mind . . . using Bilbo's ring. Her heart thudded, but she shoved the notion down.
He nodded, glancing up at her. He grew confused at her terrified expression. "Are you familiar with it?"
Sev shrugged. "Not entirely, only that Bilbo brought it back from his adventure from the dragon." She paused. "Why? Is it special for any other reason?"
Frodo glanced around, then nodded. He launched into explanation about how it could turn one invisible, and how it could become a woman. Sev lurched in place, then held up a hand to ask him a sudden question that worried her.
"And you've fallen in love with this Ring?"
He blushed. "No, not really."
Sev cocked her head, suddenly shaky with relief. "Then what is it?"
Frodo leaned forward, shifting in place. "She never came to me as a woman, not until today." He ran his fingers up and down his arm, trying to keep the memory of her touch at bay. But it was impossible, talking about it. "She asked if she could talk to me . . . but I don't think she even heard a word I said. She just started touching me, like she was going to eat me." He squirmed in place, then glanced up at Sev apologetically. "I suppose she just terrified and confused me; I don't have much to say for it."
Sev nodded slowly, assessing the issue in her mind. She had little to say as well—save that she was relieved Frodo hadn't started courting yet, from what she understood. She reached forward and grabbed his hand with both of hers. He startled until he realized it was meant only as a friendly gesture, or so he thought. In truth she meant more, but resisted acting on that.
"I'm afraid I don't either," she confessed, "save that she seems unusually abrasive. I would not trouble yourself with her for now." Then she glanced up at him. "You are, however, strangely polite, and I think you ought to be more vocal if she truly upsets you that way. Being that insensitive to you she might not be sensitive to herself. Besides that, she is not a hobbit, and perhaps functions differently. Just make your feelings clear."
Frodo settled, not entirely internalizing what she said, but accepting that the Ring was no longer here, that familiarity kept him safe. Sev squeezed his hand, and he sensed jocose solemnity entered her grip.
"I wish you luck," she said, mockingly mournful. Frodo raised an eyebrow, then stared down at the peach she left in his hand. He chuckled at the sight, shaking his head.
"Thank you, Sev," he said quietly, patting her hand. Then he glanced up. "On that note, any young men that Sam isn't aware of that are eyeing you? I could use good practice."
Sev laughed, a little bitterly. "You'll never have to worry about that." She glanced outside. "I told you, I'm leaving the Shire the moment I get the chance. Gaffer wants me to stay here until Sam is of age, and then I'm off to see the world."
Frodo blinked. She'd said that? "Why?"
"I don't belong here, Frodo," she said numbly, not looking at him. "It's torture to be here, to live." Her tone grew dark like it did occasionally, but Frodo had never heard her speak words such as these. "Gaffer tried to tell me that things would be all right, but somehow I don't entirely believe him. My blood still burns and cuts me, and my mind is still constantly in a drunk headache." She stared down at the ground, then sighed. "I'm sorry, Frodo, we're here to discuss your troubles."
Frodo reached forward, grabbing her shoulder. "What are you talking about? Blood that burns? You've never mentioned this."
Sev nearly tore herself from his grasp in an internal frenzy, but managed to calm herself. "I don't belong here," she said cryptically. She glanced up at him, settling. "Just because I will never court doesn't mean I won't try to help you."
"I'm not entirely interested in courting," he admitted. Sev relaxed suddenly, nearly sinking to the floor: if he did end up courting a girl, it was for love and not for simple attraction. Of course, she couldn't count on that, but she could at least know for a while that perhaps Frodo would be safe.
"Not a problem," she said slowly, marking her words. "I probably wouldn't be much help anyway."
Frodo lifted an eyebrow. "If you're so disappointed," he said, mildly sarcastic, "perhaps I could court as it is." He paused, surveying her. His stomach lurched at the thought of courting someone when he realized he would court her of anyone: she was older than him, but they were good friends. Surely it couldn't hurt.
Sev lifted her eyes to the ceiling. "Go for it. That decision is yours to make."
Frodo scooted close to her. "Actually, I'm feeling suddenly protective." He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and she grew slightly rigid. "And, seeing as I don't wish to court at present, perhaps we could help each other be protected from the wiles of society."
Sev's eyes bulged, and she turned slightly towards him, but didn't meet his gaze. "Meaning?"
"Meaning," Frodo said, lowering his voice, "what if we were to feign a courtship?" He almost didn't believe she would accept his offer if he asked her to actually court him; the idea seemed strange even to him, considering that they were only friends.
She startled, but he held her in place.
"Just hear me out," he whispered. His mind fizzled at the thought of truly courting her through this outlet, but he considered the falsehood a decent idea. "We're good enough friends, it should not matter to us, but it would keep me from being expected to court anyone else, and perhaps you wouldn't feel pressure to go to such great lengths in finding a companion."
She lifted an eyebrow. "If we were to feign it that may or may not push me to find someone who actually courted me of the desire to do so."
Frodo groaned to himself. "Sev, that's not what I meant." He squeezed her closer, and she nigh wrenched away from him—the concept he suggested terrified her. "Of course I truly care about you, but in this case we wouldn't expect it to go anywhere, seeing as you plan to leave someday." He paused at his realization.
Sev's eyes sank closed, and she swallowed. That sounded horribly painful, when she conceded to herself that perhaps she was in love with Frodo. She shook it away; he was too young. Feigning to court could turn into something literal in the future, however. It might even convince her to remain in the Shire.
She nodded slowly. "I like it," she managed. "A pact, then. But if you start courting another girl, or one catches your eye, you must let me help you."
Frodo grinned and extended his hand for her to shake. She accepted, then shook his hand slowly. But he lifted it close to his mouth before she could take it back. She froze, eyeing him with dark suspicion.
"You've got to act like it to make it work," he said, lightly kissing the back of her hand.
Sev's pulse fluttered, but she shook it off. "Indeed," she said, trying her best to sound devious, but that stood ready to cave in to actual hope. "How much, exactly, do we make it look like an actual courtship?"
Frodo paused, then considered. He couldn't think of a drawn line through an actual courtship and a false one when he thought about it behavior-wise. Then an excuse hit him: "It's just between us. I think the interactions are the same."
"Except for when we're alone," she pointed out.
Frodo cocked his head.
"That we know, between the two of us, that this is nothing more than a wicked plot," she said, containing her wistfulness. Nothing more than a wicked plot. There was no light of desire in his eyes, no trick to all of this save to keep himself from courting . . . and to keep a gauche friend, an exile from society, from feeling horrible about herself. She did not mind that he pitied her; in fact, she thought him the kinder for it. She lurched when she wondered if he would be the only person that ever accepted her as more than a surrogate family member.
He nodded, although slightly hesitant.
Sev bit her lip, about to tell him (although it might have come out with a bitter sting) that she would not kiss him, for she was saving that for someone special. Then she realized that he was someone special. But she still felt it a lost cause to kiss him; likely he did not view a kiss with the same intensity that she did, and she shuddered at the thought that someone would take it from her for less than it was worth.
"Then we are both safe." Frodo broke the silence, squeezing her close and laying his hand over her own. She swallowed and sidled up to him ever so carefully. "We are officially faking a courtship now; we ought to make an appearance."
Sev stiffened and almost launched out of his grasp. "A what?!"
Frodo dragged her away from a standing position. "An appearance. Sev, society must know if either of us are to be safe. You must come with me everywhere."
"But your friends—,"
"Will have to deal with it. They know how to handle each other when lovesick." Frodo stood abruptly, not releasing her hand. She inwardly groaned; she felt like she was on a chain, but she took it anyway. She'd rather be hooked to Frodo than anyone else, even if she felt like her independence had suddenly been ripped from her fingers.
This isn't the best chapter, but then what exposition is? Don't worry, we get deeper into the Ring in a couple of chapters. :) Thanks for reading!
