In this autumn of the year 1418 by Shire-reckoning Samwise Gamgee was thirty-eight years old, and wished with all his heart that he felt thirty-eight instead of ten. It had been bad enough having Aragorn come and summon him to Elrond's chamber. Worse yet was that Elrond was actually in that chamber, and so was Gandalf, and Aragorn showed no signs of leaving. Sam looked dubiously at the assembled collection of Big People, seated just inside the balcony in a vast library, felt his ears begin to burn, and tried hard to ignore how big everything was. "Good morning, Samwise," Elrond said courteously, with that air of majestic serenity only partially spoiled by the fact that his fingertips were tapping nervously on his knee. "Sit down, Sam," Gandalf urged, pushing a chair toward him. Sam hoisted himself into it and sat with his feet dangling six inches off the floor, and was unpleasantly reminded of the time the Gaffer had caught him stealing mushrooms. "Would you like some tea?" "No, thank you, sir," Sam answered. "I ain't done anything wrong, have I?" "No, no, no," Gandalf said hastily, picking up his own cup and saucer with an uneven rattling noise. "No, no indeed. We just... have matters that we wish to discuss with you, that's all." Sam peered at Gandalf, frowning. The wizard looked very nearly flustered, a thing Sam hadn't thought possible. Aragorn began to sit, then stood again. "Well. I'll just be on my way, then, shall I?" he said heartily, and then sank back down under the weight of the glares that Gandalf and Elrond levelled at him. "Or possibly I'll stay for a bit." "What matters?" Sam asked stubbornly. There was a very long silence before Gandalf finally cleared his throat. "Well. Of course you know that Frodo has offered to take the Ring to Mordor and cast it back into the fiery chasm from whence it came." When no more seemed to be forthcoming, Sam prompted patiently, "Aye, I know it. I was there when he did." "Frodo is in many ways the best-suited for the task," Elrond said. "In others, however... well, the Ring is old and powerful -" "Canny and subtle -" Gandalf put in. "Looking for a way to return to its master -" Aragorn added. " - and it poses certain... well, dangers to the bearer, which he would do well to be, erm, prepared for," Elrond finished with some difficulty. "And some of those dangers, alas, take forms that Frodo is perhaps not well-prepared to combat," Gandalf said. The three of them sat looking anxiously at Sam, as though waiting for him to say something; and suddenly Sam was reminded less of the time he'd been caught stealing mushrooms than the time that the Gaffer had sat him down and said that Sam was growing up faster than his mam could keep his clothes fitting, and time they had a Talk. "Erm," he said, scarlet with the memory and none too sanguine about the outcome of this conversation either. "What sort of dangers?" "Well," Gandalf said, and then didn't say anything else. "Well?" Sam prompted. "Well. The sorts of dangers that..." "The trouble is that Frodo's a virgin," Aragorn broke in abruptly. "Very much a virgin," Elrond said. "I don't believe I've ever seen a hobbit past his teens who was quite so, erm, virginal," Gandalf added. Sam lifted an eyebrow. "And?" he asked rather forbiddingly. Surely Mr. Frodo's sex life, or unaccountable lack thereof, was the very last thing that Big People should be poking their oversized noses into. "And..." Aragorn went on. "Well, you've seen him when he puts on the Ring, haven't you?" Oh, yes. Yes, Sam had. And he rather wished that putting on the Ring wasn't so dangerous, because anything that could make Frodo look like that had its definite good points in Sam's book. "Aye, I've seen him. So?" "So the fact that Frodo has never had sex means that the Ring has seized upon a very effective way to influence him, and a way that Frodo has not the experience to combat," Gandalf said rather quickly. Sam opened his mouth. Then he closed it again, a look of dawning horror spreading over his face. Surely they couldn't mean... There was another awkward silence in which everyone looked at Sam as though expecting him to say something terribly helpful. "So you want me to see about fixing him up with someone?" he finally ventured doubtfully. All those elven women were so tall... "Well," Elrond said, "no." Aragorn shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "You see, we'd have approached Merry and Pippin about this but we didn't feel that they would treat it with the proper gravity, and -" " - would perhaps provide Frodo with a rather more abrupt and extensive education than he really needs," Gandalf continued. "You want me to..." Sam began a bit shakily. "We know that you have his best interests at heart," Aragorn said with the sort of heartiness that did nothing at all to cover nervousness. "You have somewhere around a month to... well, we'd like him to be fairly experienced by the time the Fellowship sets out," Gandalf said. "Well. That's settled," Elrond said brightly. "I believe I saw Frodo in the gardens not long ago." Sam paled. "What, now?" he asked, rather scandalized, and three Big People went scarlet. "That's up to you, of course," Aragorn answered. "Just... well, it would be better if you didn't procrastinate." "We knew that we could count on you, Sam," Elrond said, beaming. And so Sam found himself standing outside Elrond's chamber door, facing in the general direction of the garden and trying to come to terms with the fact that he had apparently just agreed to seduce his master for the good of Middle-Earth.   Well, it's the job that's never started that takes longest to finish, Sam thought, then went scarlet to the eartips at the thought of what the Gaffer would say about having one of his sayings applied to this particular situation. Frodo was indeed in the garden, sitting cross-legged on a stone bench under a willow with a book spread out in front of him and a breeze ruffling his unruly curls. As Sam watched, Frodo lifted a hand and pushed his hair irritably back behind his ear; Sam took a deep breath, forced away thoughts of sucking on that graceful eartip, and went to sit next to his master. Frodo glanced up over the book with a smile. "Good morning, Sam." "Morning, sir," Sam answered, then swallowed hard, feeling more awkward than he'd felt around Frodo since... well, since the first time he'd found out that those dreams did not necessarily always feature lasses. "Good book?" "It's a copy of Bilbo's. He did a wonderful job with it. You'd like the part with the trolls, he tells it so well here, and I know that was always one of your favorite stories." "Yessir," Sam said absently, rather wishing now that he'd paid more attention to Hal and Ham boasting about how they could get just about anyone up for a tumble - though, granted, they'd been talking about lasses, and grossly exaggerating in any case. Frodo was frowning at him. "Sam, is something wrong?" "No! No. What could possibly be wrong?" Sam asked, rather panicked. "Well, I don't know, but you're certainly acting as if something is. Have I done something to -" "No, Mr. Frodo, of course not. I'm just... Wouldn't you like to come in out of the wind, sir? It's near time for elevenses. They'll have sent something up to your room, I'm sure." This was really rather like swimming through molasses. "Yes, that sounds like a good idea. Will you eat with me? And then I'll read you the bit about the trolls, if you'd like." "Sounds like more fun than you ought to be able to have with your clothes on," Sam said rather dismally. "Hmm? Yes, swimming's fun too, but the runoff from the mountains is very cold. Let's go eat, then." He smiled up at Sam, that bright, brilliant smile that always nearly stopped Sam's heart in his chest. This, Sam thought as he rose and trailed after Frodo, was going to be harder than he'd thought.   The warm breeze came in through the window, carrying the scent of late roses with it; it gently lifted the diaphanous white curtains, ruffled discarded napkins on the small table, and drifted over to where Frodo curled into Sam's side on the bed. "That was good," Frodo said contentedly. "Aye, sir, that it was." "Bilbo has such a talent for this sort of thing, don't you think?" "He does at that, sir. I could fair hear those trolls nattering on." Frodo stretched drowsily, the book shifting on his lap, and pushed his sleeves up over his elbows. "Shall I read some more, or would you like to?" "I'd like to hear you, if you don't mind," Sam said, then felt his eartips redden a bit. He squirmed a little, trying to get more comfortable against the ornate headboard without dislodging Frodo. "Not at all," Frodo answered, and began reading again. Sam took stock of the situation. Here it was, a lovely day coming right in through the window to them, the bed right there under them and Frodo leaning against him - and every time Sam tried to work himself up to kissing Frodo, Frodo would look up at him with that disarmingly innocent gaze, and Sam would lose his nerve utterly. Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained (and nothing lost, neither, said a small voice in his head, which he shushed sternly). Sam took a deep breath and stretched, lifting his arms over his head, and then brought his right arm down to stretch along the headboard in back of Frodo's shoulders. Frodo appeared not to notice. Sam resisted the urge to drum his fingers on the headboard in exasperation. Just then, however, Frodo shifted against him, getting more comfortable; seizing the opportunity, Sam slipped his arm around Frodo's shoulders, fingers wrapping lightly around the soft linen of Frodo's shirtsleeve. Frodo did look up at that, surprise and concern in the lovely eyes hovering tantalizingly close to Sam's own. "Are you cold, Sam? I can pull the blanket -" "No - no, Mr. Frodo, not... cold," Sam answered, ending on a rather hopeless sigh. Frodo smiled. "Were you afraid that I was? Dear Sam, you take such good care of me. It's quite lovely today, though." "Yes, sir, it is that," Sam said in resignation, removing his arm from his master's shoulders. Frodo patted him on the hand, still smiling, and began to read again. It was Friday afternoon.   Saturday: "You know that elf who's going to be travelling with us? Legolas?" Frodo asked thoughtfully, taking a bite out of a large juicy strawberry. "He's a bit strange, don't you think?" Sam tore his eyes away from Frodo's red-stained mouth and blinked. "I can't say as I'd noticed, sir. What makes you say that?" "He came up to me after dinner last night and said that he'd be perfectly willing to warm my bed if you weren't up to the task." Sam tried valiantly to splutter indignantly and choke on his bread at the same time. "Well, of course I told him that you did a wonderful job at keeping my bed warm, there hasn't been a night since we've been here that you haven't had the hot water bottle ready come time to turn in. And he gave me the oddest look and patted me on the head and went away." "Really, sir?" Sam asked a bit weakly. "Yes. And I thought it might be some sort of strange Elvish custom, offering to tend to other people's hot water bottles, so I went and asked Bilbo. He just patted me on the shoulder and said it was his own fault for not having had a talk with me years ago. Really, it was all very strange." Sam sighed glumly. "More juice, Mr. Frodo?"   Sunday: "You should rest, Mr. Frodo. You had a long day, tramping around on them trails with Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin and all." Frodo glanced up at Sam over his dinner, eyes wide and luminous in the plentiful candlelight. Then he smiled. "You've been awfully insistent on getting me into bed lately, Sam." Sam choked on his wine. "Sir, I didn't - I mean to say, what happened was that -" "It's all right, I understand." "You do?" Sam asked weakly. "Yes. We have a long journey ahead of us, and we'll all need all the rest we can get. Everyone is so solicitous here, too, it's quite wonderful." Sam's briefly-raised hopes of getting out of all this without anything hideously embarrassing happening fell again. "Solicitous, sir?" "Yes. Aragorn was just asking last night if I wanted him to come and test out my mattress, to make sure that it wasn't too soft or too hard. And Arwen offered to come by some night and tell me stories that the elves don't usually tell to other Races - very special stories, she said. It was very kind of her. And then Boromir asked if I'd like to see the White Tower of Ecthelion. Everyone has really been very kind." Sam was feeling distinctly annoyed. Really, was he going to have to hang a sign around Frodo's neck saying Keep off, Sam'll get round to it eventually? "Anyone else offered anything, if you don't mind me asking?" "Not really - oh, no, Elrond did ask me to have dinner tonight, but I told him that I was already planning to have dinner with you. He said that he certainly hoped I had an informative evening. I'm not sure what he meant by that. What do you think he meant, Sam?" "I couldn't say, sir, I'm sure," Sam answered, looking despondently into his wine.   Monday: Propriety forbade Sam from tackling Frodo to the bed, but the option was beginning to look more and more attractive. Gandalf had taken to calling in the morning and pointedly eyeing the sheets. Elrond scrutinized the two of them every time he saw them, a scrutiny that always ended in Sam being on the receiving end of an exasperated look. Even old Mr. Bilbo was giving Sam stern, meaningful looks; Sam had taken to avoiding Bilbo like the plague. His attempts at seduction had thus far been so spectacularly unsuccessful that Sam was beginning to wonder if Frodo even had more than a vague academic idea of how bairns were made. It didn't seem to simply be that Frodo wasn't interested - he seemed to have no idea that there was anything to be or not be interested in, and that was a rather larger problem. So, Sam thought, squaring his shoulders as he lit the bedside candle. Sometimes you needed the jeweller's tapper and sometimes only a good smack with a sledgehammer would do, and it was looking like the sledgehammer was called for here. The door opened and closed behind him and Frodo came up beside him, rolling up the sleeves of his nightshirt and yawning. "I don't know about you, Sam dear, but I'll be glad to get into bed." "Tired, sir?" "Not so much that - my legs hurt from wandering all over the place with Merry and Pippin today. It'll be nice to stretch out." Frodo climbed into the bed and settled himself underneath the covers, then settled back against the headboard and smiled up at Sam. "Don't put the candle out yet, please, I think I'll read for a while." "Mister Frodo," Sam said, "move over." Frodo looked mildly astonished but did as he was told. Sam got into bed beside him and shifted the covers back. "Do you want to hear more of Bilbo's book?" Frodo ventured. "No, sir," Sam answered. "I want you to hold still for just a minute." "All right, but I - mmm!" Frodo's mouth was soft and sweet under Sam's, and not, as he'd half expected, entirely unresponsive. Cupping his hands gently around Frodo's face, Sam patiently nudged Frodo's lips open with his tongue, licking softly along Frodo's own tongue before pulling back to see how things were going. Frodo was staring wide-eyed at him. "Oh, my," he said a bit shakily. Sam lifted an eyebrow, looking encouragingly at his master. "Your. Um. Your tongue was - and you - I had no idea that two lads even could -" "And why not? Ain't we got mouths just like the lasses do?" Sam brushed Frodo's hair gently out of his eyes. "Did you like it?" "I, um, I don't think I know. It was a bit... overwhelming." Frodo swallowed hard. "Maybe you could do it again? Just to be sure?" Sam did it again. "Oh, yes. Yes, I definitely liked that." Frodo frowned thoughtfully. "Do you know, though, it feels rather like that when the Ring wants me to put it on." "Does it?" Sam asked innocently, and nipped Frodo's earlobe. "Yes. Um. Yes, it does." "Let me show you a few things that Ring don't know aught about." Sam said, and pushed Frodo gently back down onto the bed. "Oh, Sam!"   Gandalf's brusque knock on the door the next morning barely roused Sam enough to crack an eyelid before the door opened. "Good morning, Fr - oh, well done, Samwise!" "Mmrph," Sam answered, having no desire at all to escape from the warm confinement of soft blankets and clinging Frodo. Frodo stirred against him, sighing and stretching, and Gandalf nodded meaningfully at Sam and beat a hasty retreat. Sam, who was beginning to wonder if the Valar had created Big People just to plague hobbits, turned and kissed Frodo lightly on the forehead. "Morning, Mr. Frodo," he said drowsily. "Sleep well?" "Mm, I don't think I've ever slept that well in my life. Why didn't you tell me about all this sooner?" "Didn't think it was proper, I suppose." Sam trailed light kisses down Frodo's cheek. "I think it's quite proper. And I think it would be even more proper for you to move your hand just a bit and... mmm, there..." Gradually the sound of the breeze became full of whispers, sheets rustling, soft laughter, and eventually things like "Sam, what are you - oh. Oh, yes. Oh, more." The Ring, thoroughly peeved and lying forgotten on the bedside table, continued to sulk.   A/N: Many thanks to Willow Wode, whose idea this was.   Back to the fanfics page Back to the home page