TITLE: Unavoidable: An Unexpected Arrival 

AUTHOR: Stella Hobbit

RATING: NC17

PAIRING: F/S

WARNINGS: None

STATUS: Completed

SUMMARY: A story of Sam and Frodo’s first meeting.

AUTHOR’S NOTES: I came up with a number of plot lines on my 
holiday recently and thought that I’d be able to get it down in a few pages.  
Not going to happen!  As the chapters progress, the story gets darker and 
Merry and Pippin start to get involved in their own dramas.  I’m an angst-
bunny, so this story’s going to get hot and heavy.  This is my first-ever 
fiction, so I hope you like it.  Feel free to send me an email – all opinions, 
advice, encouragement and flames will be looked at (not guaranteeing I’ll 
answer you though 8P )

ARCHIVE: No problems, just tell me where you’re putting my babies. 

FEEDBACK: Hell yeah, I’m a glutton for punishment or praise :-).  
Contact me at thelaconiclibrarian@hotmail.com or check out my Live 
Journal at www.livejournal.com/users/stellahobbit/

DISCLAIMER: If you thought that I owned these characters, then you’re a 
fecking idiot!  The people and places belong to the estate of J.R.R. 
Tolkien.  I don’t make a profit from this (show me one slash writer who 
does!), I just share my stories with like-minded people.






There are some houses that are extremely small in size, yet the inhabitants 
are as lonely as hermits.  Where there is no love, there is no peace.  There 
are some houses that are exceedingly large in dimension yet the people 
living inside them feel safe and comfortable, confident that they are in 
their place and are happy to be there.  The residence of Mister Frodo 
Baggins of Bag End was a mixture of the two.  The smial was opulent in 
size and facilities, rich in fabrics and abundant in provisions.  Yet only one 
hobbit lived there.  

In the year 2980, when Frodo Baggins was 12 years old, his parents died 
suddenly in a boating accident.  He had lived his whole life at Brandy Hall 
and, even though he was technically an orphan, was surrounded by friends 
and family that wished him well and took care of him as best they could.  
But any child knows that ten people with half-hearted wishes cannot beat 
the love of one person who has your best interests at heart.  

Thus it was with great gladness that Frodo accepted the invitation of his 
third cousin (on his father’s side, for all hobbits knew their genealogy) to 
quit Brandy Hall and live with him in his comfortable house at Bag End.  
Bilbo Baggins was a mystery to most of his relatives; at age seventy-eight, 
he still had not taken a wife and looked to live a bachelor until his dying 
days.  Some of the meaner relatives whispered that Bilbo had only asked 
Frodo to live with him so he would not be alone in his old age (even 
though Bilbo looked remarkably well for his age, and could have passed 
for a spry fifty).  Frodo did not view the situation with the same suspicion 
– all he knew was that Bilbo could tell the most wonderful stories, Bilbo 
could laugh the loudest and blow the most ridiculous smoke rings.  Bilbo 
actually seemed to pay attention to Frodo when he spoke!  After sorting 
out the particulars, Frodo thanked his myriad of relatives for their concern 
and affection over the years, packed his small belongs and, for the first 
time in his twenty-one years of living, walked with lightness in his chest 
and adventure in his heart.  





At the time Frodo was suffering the death of his parents, the Gamgees at 3 
Bagshot Row were celebrating the birth of the third and final son 
Samwise, fifth child out of an eventual six in the family.  With his cheerful 
demeanour and gentle ways, he was the favourite of all who knew him.  
As soon as he could walk, he would follow his Gaffer on his rounds – to 
the mill, around the pastures, he would even attempt to follow his father 
into the Green Dragon.  And questions!  The young Samwise was forever 
asking questions.  It was not enough that he shadowed his father in his 
every step and got in the way of his important work, he would wonder why 
the Gaffer was planting those flowers in that particular spot, and how the 
Gaffer knew when to plant the potato seeds and which tree would the 
Gaffer fell to make his sturdy gardening tools.  Hamfast would look at 
Sam, bemused that such a small person could have such curiosity.   He 
would attempt to answer the questions to the best of his ability – until the 
questions became too much for even the Gaffer to handle, and he would 
send his son home to his mother with a slight kick to his dusty bottom.  
For all that, Samwise was the apple of his father’s eye, and Hamfast saw a 
future where his golden-haired, brown-eyed son would be a master of 
garden and growth as he was.  

The inhabitants of the Shire were as shocked as the peerage of Brandy 
Hall to hear the news of Frodo’s adoption.  As Bilbo and Frodo tramped 
up the road, their bright smial door in view, Bilbo spied Hamfast working 
industriously in Bag End’s front garden, spreading mulch over the posies 
that bordered the walkway.  Hamfast stood up and stretched at the sound 
of people approaching and exclaimed “Mister Bilbo, I didn’t expect 
yourself to be back so quickly!  I’ve not laid a log aside for your fireplace 
and…”

“It is of no consequence Master Gamgee, I tired of the noise of 
Brandybuck Hall and longed for the solitude of my quiet smial.  I fear I 
am getting too old to be surrounded by so many people” chuckled Bilbo.

Gamgee replied “Nonsense, ifin’ you don’t mind me saying so Mister 
Bilbo.  You’re a respectable hobbit sir, and there’s nowt to tell what a 
respectable hobbit can and can’t do.  Although I’m rightly pleased to have 
you back.  I’ve some questions to ask you regarding the planting of the 
next crop.”

“I will speak with you with the greatest of pleasure Gamgee, although I 
must first get my charge inside and fill him up with tea and food before he 
wastes away in front of our eyes.”  Bilbo gestured to Frodo at his side.  
“Mister Gamgee, I have the pleasure of introducing you to my third cousin 
Frodo Baggins, lately of Brandybuck Hall.  Frodo has consented to 
humour an old man and has come to live with me at Bag End.”

Hamfast respectively touched his hand to his forehead, assessing the 
quality of Baggins stock in front of him.  Good height, slightly thin for his 
age, large blue eyes, dark brown hair, the sheen of pale skin that denotes a 
bookish person.  “Pleasure to meet you Master Frodo.”

“Frodo,” Bilbo continued, “this is Mister Hamfast Gamgee, the greatest 
gardener to be found in the Shire.  He has very kindly agreed to take care 
of our gardens and fulfil any other business that I should require of him.  
He lives with his family down the road, all the Gamgee troop help this old 
bachelor in some way.”  

“It is my pleasure to meet you Mister Gamgee” Frodo spoke quietly, but 
held out his hand to Hamfast as easily as you please.  Hamfast took it, 
expecting a weak-wristed clasping and a slight touching of palms, but was 
pleasantly surprised when he felt a firm, dry hand shake his with a strength 
that was unexpected.  Hamfast nodded to himself, ‘this one wants 
watching’ he thought.  ‘Most people ‘round here will be thinking he’s like 
a lettuce, full of shine and colour but limp and wet.’  ‘No,’ Hamfast 
thought, ‘he’s more like a pumpkin.  He’s got a glossy sheen to himself 
that makes your eyes glare, but there is a hardness underneath the shine 
that speaks volumes of his character.’  Hamfast nodded to himself again, it 
had been his habit for as long as he could remember to compare people 
with growing things – he had never been wrong and didn’t expect to be 
soon.

“Frodo me lad,” Bilbo said, cutting into Hamfast’s private revelry, “let 
yourself in boy and have a look around the house.  There are plenty of 
rooms that are empty, choose one that you’ll find comfortable.  When 
we’ve got you set up, we’ll choose another room for your study so you 
may continue your work…whatever work a lad of your age has to do.”  

“Bilbo, I am twenty-one years old” Frodo replied ruefully.

“So you are,” Bilbo exclaimed, slapping him on the back and directing 
him towards the house.  “So you are,” he repeated under his breath.  “Ah, 
to be a tweenie again.”  

“I don’t think being a tweenie is all it’s cracked up to be sir, begging your 
pardon.  Time of turmoil and trouble it was for me, but then, I never was 
good at taking directions,” Hamfast chuckled.  

“How right you are Hamfast, how right you are.” Bilbo said as he watched 
his charge enter his new home.  “Hamfast, about my young cousin.”

“Yes sir?” Hamfast enquired.

“He’s…..,” Bilbo paused, “he’s not had a good time of it so far in his life.  
He’s an only child, and his parents died nine years ago and he’s been left 
to fend for himself up at Brandy Hall.  Oh, I don’t say they’ve treated him 
badly, he was well-fed and clothed, but….I don’t think he’s been made to 
feel special in a long time.”  Bilbo blew out an exasperated breath, looked 
at his feet, looked down the road, looked at his front door, then finally 
looked back at Hamfast.  “I mean to take care of him Hamfast.  I’m all 
he’s got know and he’s….well, he’s all I’ve got.  I know it’s difficult for 
you to think of Hamfast, with a large happy family such as yours….”

“Excuse me for saying sir, and pardon me for interrupting, but I’m glad 
he’s here.  For the both of ya.  I’ll help ye with him the best that I can.  
Nothing like taking care of someone to make you feel good about 
yourself.”

Bilbo smiled at his faithful retainer.  “I knew you’d understand Hamfast, 
and I thank you in advance for your help.  I think it will take a while 
before young Frodo feels safe and comfortable in an unknown 
environment.”  A faraway look returned to Bilbo’s eyes.  “Well,” he 
exclaimed, “can’t stand around here all day gas-bagging, I’m sure you’ve 
got things to attend to, and I know I could use a bit of luncheon.”

“Right you are sir,” Hamfast agreed, “I’ll step off to me own home for a 
meal and come back shortly to discuss the planting with you.”

“Of course Hamfast, take your time,” Bilbo threw over his shoulder as he 
walked up the pathway.





Hamfast walked the short journey to his own house, and meet his wife 
with a kiss and a squeeze in the kitchen.  As he consumed his bread and 
cheese, he related Bilbo’s words to his wife.  Bell listened intently, 
clucking and cooing at the tale of the poor orphan in Bilbo’s charge.  At 
the pronouncement that Frodo would be living at Bag End permanently, 
Bell tutted and said “And ‘tis the best thing for both of them.  ‘Tis not 
right for a man of Mister Bilbo’s age and respectability to be living in that 
large smial all by his lonesome, the poor lonely lad will do him good.  Not 
even a brother or sister to keep him grounded!  Here,” she said as Hamfast 
rose from the table and grabbed his hat to return to Bag End.  “Ye take this 
blueberry tart I’ve made to the poor lad up the road and ye can all have a 
nice afternoon whilst ye be talking yer business.”  With a peck on the 
cheek, Hamfast accepted the still-warm pastry and legged it back to Mister 
Bilbo’s.





Unbeknownst to both his parents, young Samwise (or Sam, as he was 
affectionately known) had hidden himself in the pantry at the beginning of 
their conversation.  He had heard the whole story of poor young Frodo, 
who did not have a father or a mother to keep him happy.  At the tender 
age of nine, he still believed in the power of his parents and family to keep 
him safe.  Sam wiped a slight tear from his eye; he was a compassionate 
hobbit and resolved to do something to welcome young Mister Frodo 
himself.

Frodo sat on his bed and looked around his room.  Whilst it was large and 
comfortable, it still lacked personality.  Frodo knew he should start 
unpacking his bags, laying small ornaments and books around the room to 
make it feel his own, but he felt low in spirits and lacking in energy.  He 
could hear the low mummers of Bilbo and Hamfast in the kitchen as they 
pulled out chairs and readied themselves for talk.  Frodo heard his cousin 
yell out to him “Frodo, come here lad and tuck into this excellent 
blueberry tart that Missus Bell sent up for us.”

Frodo got up from the bed, opened the door and stuck his head out into the 
corridor.  “Not right now thank you Bilbo.  I mean to get myself sorted 
first.”

“As you like Frodo,” Bilbo shouted, “although I can’t guarantee there’ll be 
any left.”  Frodo closed the door on the laughter of the two men and 
leaned against the jamb.  How did he feel to be here?  Was he happy, sad, 
apathetic?  It was all too soon for his feelings to sort themselves out.  He 
was glad of the peace and quiet that this smial inspired, and he looked 
forward to pleasant days of conversation and study with Bilbo.  “But will 
Bilbo like me?” he wondered.

A rustling sound by the window attracted his attention.  He moved swiftly 
and quietly to the window and peered out.  There was nothing to be seen.  
The rustling sound started again, he looked down and saw the tousled 
brown hair of a young hobbit climbing earnestly under his window.  
“Hey,” Frodo said.  The boy looked up, his tongue still sticking out of the 
side of his mouth in concentration, and let go in his surprise.  Luckily 
Frodo was not as delicate or slow as his appearance made him seem, he 
quickly clutched onto the boy’s suspenders and hauled him 
unceremoniously into his room.  When the young hobbit was on his feet 
and his tongue was back in his mouth, he looked up at his unexpected 
saviour.  “An elf!” he thought to himself.  “Ain’t no hobbit as fair as he 
is.”

“I’m sorry to tell you, but I am an ordinary hobbit,” Frodo replied, 
smiling.  Sam squeaked, he hadn’t realised he had spoken out loud.  Frodo 
knelt down on his knees in front of the young house-breaker and said 
quietly “I’m Frodo Baggins.  Who might you be?”

“Sam, err Samwise Gamgee sir.  Begging your pardon sir,” Sam replied 
breathlessly.  He rather belatedly slapped his fingers to his forehead.  
Frodo laughed and took Sam’s saluting hand into his own. 

“And to what do I owe this pleasure, young Mister Samwise Gamgee?”

“Ain’t no pleasure sir, I’s come to look at you.  When I heard ‘bout you,” 
and Sam stopped talking abruptly, realising he might be overstepping the 
boundaries of decency with the striking hobbit in front of him.  Yet Mister 
Frodo did not appear annoyed, he still held Sam’s hand in his own and 
was smiling at him.  Sam was so close to his face that he could see his 
own reflection in those large blue eyes.

“When you heard what Samwise?”  Frodo asked, leading Sam by the hand 
to his bed, where they both sat comfortably facing each other.

“Well’en,” Sam stammered, “please call me Sam sir, all my friends do.”

“Sam,” Frodo replied, rolling the name on his tongue.  “I like it Sam.  And 
I like you.  Does that mean I’m one of your friends now?”

“Yes sir,” Sam breathed, “if’n you would, I would be ever so happy.”

Frodo laughed, this child had a spark in him.  “Well Sam, if we are 
friends, why don’t you tell me what you heard about me.”  Frodo watched 
patiently as Sam held a battle within himself.  In the end, the need to 
continue talking with this beautiful figure out weighed his father’s training 
to ‘not get ahead of himself’. 

“Well sir, I heard my mam and da talking about you in the kitchen.  They 
didn’t know I was in the pantry just now and they were talking about you 
and Mister Bilbo, and the fact that you’re an…..” here Sam halted, unsure 
if he should go on.

Frodo gently raised Sam’s chin so the young hobbit would look him in the 
eye.  “I’m a what, Sam.”

“An orphan sir!” Sam exclaimed, unable to contain himself.  “You don’t 
have no mam and da, you don’t even have any brothers or sisters to play 
with, and I thought, ‘Poor Mister Frodo, no one to take care of him’ and I 
thought sir, well, maybe I can be his friend so he ain’t so lonesome.”  Sam 
paused for breath and looked Frodo bravely in the eye.  “Did I do the 
wrong thing sir?”

Frodo shook his head slowly so as not to dislodge the tears he could feel 
filling in his eyes.  “No Sam,” he replied huskily, “you didn’t do a thing 
wrong.”  He sniffed and cleared his throat.  “Friends, Samwise Gamgee?” 
he asked as he held out his hand.  Sam accepted gratefully and shook his 
hand quickly.  “Oh no,” he exclaimed when he felt the stickiness between 
their palms.  “I done forgot ‘bout them.”  He released Frodo’s hand and 
looked at his own palm.  A red jelly appeared to be mashed into his 
fingers.  He gingerly reached into his pocket and brought out a double 
handful of bruised, slightly squashed strawberries.  “I’d planned on giving 
them to you as a gift sir, but they’re all wrecked now.”

“Of course they’re not,” Frodo laughed, “there’s no such thing as a bad 
strawberry, unless they’re yellow and hard.”  He picked a strawberry from 
Sam’s hand and bit into it with gusto.  “Yum!” he exclaimed, wiping the 
running juice from his chin.  

“Really sir?” Sam asked doubtfully.  Frodo grabbed another strawberry 
and popped it into Sam’s open mouth.  After a few chews, Sam agreed 
with Frodo that they were indeed “Yum.”

The young hobbits laughed at and with each other, and spent a lovely hour 
feeding each other squashed strawberries, as they sat on the bed and talked 
like they had been friends for years.


TITLE: Unavoidable: A Surprising Suggestion (2 of 8)

AUTHOR: Stella Hobbit

RATING: PG

PAIRING: F/S

WARNINGS: None

STATUS: Completed

SUMMARY: Frodo asks Sam an interesting question

AUTHOR’S NOTES: “It’s getting hot in here, so take off all your 
clothes”.  Remember how I warned you this story was going to get hotter?  
If this story were a horse, we’d be trotting right now.  Be prepared for 
some mean galloping in future.  Feel free to send me an email – all 
opinions, advice, encouragement and flames will be looked at (not 
guaranteeing I’ll answer you though 8P)

ARCHIVE: No problems, just tell me where you’re putting my babies. 

FEEDBACK: Hell yeah, I’m a glutton for punishment or praise :-).  
Contact me at thelaconiclibrarian@hotmail.com or check out my Live 
Journal at www.livejournal.com/users/stellahobbit/

DISCLAIMER: If you thought that I owned these characters, then you’re a 
fecking idiot!  The people and places belong to the estate of J.R.R. 
Tolkien.  I don’t make a profit from this (show me one slash writer who 
does!), I just share my stories with like-minded people.





When Bilbo performed his disappearing act at their shared birthday 
celebration, Frodo was not surprised.  He did not expect such a grand end 
to the evening but, after living with Bilbo for twelve years, had come to 
know his cousin well.  Not for Bilbo the stately address that one would 
expect of a hobbit of one hundred and eleven years old!  Not for Bilbo a 
formal, reflective speech worthy of the master of Bag End.  No, for Bilbo, 
life was about challenges and excitement, and what could be more exciting 
and challenging then to disappear in front of family and friends alike and 
smuggle himself off, chuckling at the expression on all their faces.  Frodo 
smiled to himself as he observed the shocked countenances of those 
surrounding him.  Bolgers, Boffins, Proudfeet and Smallburrows.  
Brandybucks, Baggins, Gamgees and Tooks.  All had stood in silence at 
the disappearing act until, eventually, some of the older hobbits realised 
that Bilbo had played a trick on them.  As their indignant voices grew 
louder, Frodo and Sam scurried amongst the crowd; ordering more food, 
exhorting the band to start up the music again, encouraging young hobbits 
to step up to the dance space.  With the sudden explosion of colours and 
lights caused by Merry and Pippin’s impromptu fireworks display, 
cheerfulness was restored to the party.

No, Bilbo felt this was the right way to end his time at Bag End, but he did 
feel a twinge of guilt for springing the surprise on Frodo as he did.  Their 
twelve years together had passed most admirably.  In Frodo, Bilbo had 
found a companion worthy of his intellect.  Their lives had been smooth 
sailing – not too much change, not too much dissention.  Perhaps this had 
made Bilbo’s going away easier for himself.  Whilst nearly all other 
hobbits required no more than a warm smial, a full belly and smoking 
pipe, Bilbo’s blood had been stirred many years ago and his feet became 
restless as he wished to go adventuring again.  In their time together, he 
had dropped hints of his desire to tramps the roads again, to meet new 
friends, to visit old ones.  Frodo had hoped that this desire to leave would 
pass with age, but Bilbo’s wanderlust had actually increased with his 
birthdays.  Bilbo hoped that Frodo understood how much their time 
together had meant to him, and would hold the memory of their friendship 
close as he lived out the rest of his quiet life.

Once all guests had left the property (or been escorted away by more sober 
friends), Frodo slowly tracked his way back to Bag End.  Although his 
cousins Pippin and Merry were staying with him, he did not expect to see 
them for many hours.  If there was music in the air and drink in the mug, 
the young hobbits would be pleased to roam around in the night, stirring 
up trouble and running away before the trouble caught them.  Frodo hoped 
that, at age nineteen, Merry was taking care of his eleven-year old cousin 
and not inducing him to more outrageous acts.  But the little Took had a 
way of twisting people around his little finger and, unfortunately, his own 
Merry was the most pliable in his hands.

As he pondered these thoughts and wondered where Bilbo had actually 
gotten off too, he opened the cheerful door of the smial and noticed the 
large grey cloak of Gandalf.  He could feel the warmth of the fire burning 
in the parlour, and smelt the sharp acid of mulled cider.  Gandalf stepped 
into the corridor when he heard Frodo’s footsteps.  He looked down at the 
young Master of Bag End – so new to his coming of age, so content with 
his life to this point.  Gandalf sighed quietly to himself and, with a heavy 
hand on his shoulder, led Frodo to sit.  He had many things to say that 
night; he spoke of mysterious objects, unfinished business and gave 
recommendations about the future.  Through this Frodo sat quietly.  He 
did not understand all that Gandalf was speaking of, but he did know one 
thing.  Bilbo was not coming back, and that meant that he was now alone.





When someone suffers a terrible loss, time seems to stand still.  Sounds 
are dull, words too fuzzy to discern meaning, your eye will be caught on 
an object and you could quite easily stare at it for hours.  Even as your 
body is heavy with grief and all movements feel like they are being 
performed under water, a body is expected to function.  What the people 
around you think is lethargy is incapacity.  You don’t want to perform the 
simple functions of day-to-day living; all actions and reactions seem 
meaningless.  It is of no surprise that great trauma brings these feelings.  
What is surprising is that the majority of people who have felt this way, 
have managed to carry on.

Ten years passed, and Frodo’s life did carry on.  After feeling like an 
impostor for the first two years, he settled into the privilege and 
responsibility of Master of Bag End.  The inhabitants of Hobbiton (apart 
from the Sackville-Baggins) welcomed his interest in their lives and knew 
him to be a fair and honest laird.  His situation was perfect – he had 
comfort, respectability and time to indulge in his passion of literature.  But 
he was lonely.

To be sure, every year he would visit Brandybuck Hall and be 
reacquainted with the lives and doings of his relatives.  He watched Merry 
and Pippin grow into the hobbits that they would be for the rest of their 
lives.  Merry changed from being a spoilt only child into a strong and fair-
minded hobbit nearly reaching his majority.  Pippin transformed from the 
plaything of sisters and aunts to a cheeky fun-loving creature that bought 
smiles whenever he entered a room.  The only thing that Frodo noticed 
didn’t change was the devotion the two hobbits showed towards each 
other.  If there was one, then the other was bound to be close by.  They 
shared secrets, caused mischief together, would pull faces and exclaim 
words that would make the other laugh out loud.  Far more than cousins or 
surrogate brothers, Pippin and Merry had grown into the two halves of one 
soul – each needing the other to breathe.  Sometimes Frodo would notice 
Merry looking at Pippin when he didn’t think anyone would notice.  His 
hazel eyes would cloud over, a furrow would appear in his brow and his 
fists would clench imperceptibly.  Then Pippin would look over at Merry 
and grimace behind the shoulder of a fat boring aunt, or attempt to stuff an 
entire cream puff in his mouth at once, and Merry’s face would clear and 
light up as if the sun had peeked through grey, heavy clouds.  

As much as Frodo enjoyed his visits, he never felt like staying for too 
long.  While he was away from Bag End, he had a niggling feeling in the 
back of his mind like he had forgotten to bank the fires or cover a pot of 
jam.  He just knew he needed to go back to set his mind at ease.





When Frodo had been Master of Bag End for three years, the Gaffer had 
requested a moment of his time.  He said in his respectful way that he 
didn’t believe he could keep up the garden of Bag End like it deserved 
and, now that his beloved Belle was gone, would like more time at his 
own hearth and home.  He suggested that, if it was acceptable to Master 
Frodo, that his son Samwise be allowed to continue on as Bag End’s 
gardener.  Sam knew about the garden just as much as his old Gaffer did 
(and Hamfast said that grudgingly, but with a modicum of pride) and, at 
twenty-four, was fit and healthy enough to provide many years of service.  
Frodo agreed with the Gaffer’s assessment of the situation, thanked him 
for his years of service and thought no more of it.

Until recently.  In the past seven years, Sam had graduated from gardener 
to housekeeper to cook.  There was not one part of Frodo’s life that was 
not touched on by Sam.  When Frodo awoke in the morning, Sam was 
there with his breakfast hot and ready.  When Frodo noticed he had run 
out of clean clothes, Sam would pull a bundle of neat laundered items out 
from behind the door.  When Frodo found that he was running out of ink 
or parchment or sausages or cream, Sam had already organised a trip to 
the market.  When Frodo was stuck on a particular translation of Elvish, 
Sam would listen and, with his fine ear for cadence, suggest ways that the 
piece could be interpreted.  When all Frodo wanted to do was sit outside in 
the dark and look at the stars, Sam would sit quietly beside him, pipes and 
weed in hand, ready to smoke in silence and admire the still beauty of the 
night.  It had reached such a point that the Gaffer had suggested, in one of 
his rare visits to Bag End, that since, he was here all the time anyway, Sam 
might as well move into Bag End with Master Frodo and be done with it.  
Hamfast’s house was full to the brim of children, son-in-laws and 
grandchildren, and one less wouldn’t hurt none.  The Gaffer had been 
speaking in jest but as soon as Frodo had heard the suggestion he pounced 
on the idea.  Why shouldn’t Sam live with him if they so desired?  There 
was more than enough room for them both, and because of the close 
proximity of their houses, the Gaffer would never fear not seeing his son.  
Hamfast was embarrassed that his random utterance had been seized on so 
readily by Master Frodo but, after an hour’s cajoling, acquiesced to the 
suggestion.  He left the details of the situation to Frodo.





Frodo returned to his study and sat at his desk.  Through his window, he 
could see the Gaffer trudge up to Sam as his son clipped a border hedge.  
After a few minutes of low conversation and recommendations, Hamfast 
slapped his son on the back and said loudly “I’ll see you at least tonight I 
expect Sam.  Don’t make Daisy keep your supper too late.”  The Gaffer 
looked over his shoulder at Frodo through his window, tugged his forelock 
and with a chuckle, made his way back to his own smial.  A good idea, the 
Gaffer thought to himself.  Young Sam was set up with a good position 
and a fine young master, and the steady varied work would keep him 
occupied until he was ready to marry and settle into his own house.  He 
would earn enough money to support his family, and become the steadfast 
pillar of the community that all Gamgees had been since time immemorial.  
Yes, a good idea.

At the sight of his father’s gesture, Sam turned around to see who he had 
been looking at.  Mister Frodo sat at his desk.  He could his fair master 
through the window that he kept surrounded with the most delicate, most 
fragrant flowers.  It pleased Sam to speculate that, in surroundings as 
beautiful as that, he in some way aided Mister Frodo’s work – 
transforming the poetry of Elvish words into the music that he could 
understand.  Sam noticed that Frodo still sat transfixed, staring out of the 
window.  Sam, slightly embarrassed, nodded politely and threw himself 
back into his work.

Frodo did not return back to his writing.  He watched the fluid movements 
of Sam’s shoulders under his shirt as he lopped branches and shredded 
leaves.  He noticed the glint of gold that shone from Sam’s head as the sun 
shone upon his hair.  He saw, with a hint of anxiety, the sheen of Sam’s 
arms and face as he perspired in his work.  Frodo shook himself.  What 
was he doing?  What was he thinking!  This was Sam after all.  Sam, his 
faithful friend and helper.  Sam, who swept his floors and heated his 
bathwater.  Sam who, if coaxed, would sing old ballads quietly as they sat 
under the stars until both their heads were nodding with sleep and would, 
with a mumbled good night, stroll home humming tunes.  Frodo took a 
deep breath, held it until his chest was nearly shaking, then released it in a 
slow soft hiss.  He would not let a perfectly good arrangement be ruined 
because he felt the sudden urge to stare at a hobbit twelve years his junior.  
He would ask Sam to move in with him tonight, after they’d eaten supper 
and before Sam had to go home.  Even though Sam would usually be the 
one to cook, Frodo decided he would make an extra special effort tonight.  
Really, it was quite sensible for Sam to move in – he would accomplish so 
much more work if he stayed in one place and Frodo would enjoy the 
company.  That’s it, Frodo thought, two male hobbits bunking in for 
laughter and company.  No more, no less.





By the time Sam had finished his work in the gardens and washed his 
upper body and feet clean, the sun was beginning to dip in the horizon.  
“’Taters,” he thought, “creamed ‘taters with a good chunk of beef.  
Steamed carrots drizzled in honey to start, cold cobbler with cream to end.  
Bread, cheese and tomatoes to nibble on through the meal.  And after 
dinner, I’ll make him a pot of that green tea herbal he likes so much, even 
if’n I think it smells like grass gone mouldy.”  With visions of food 
dancing in his head, Sam entered the kitchen to be greeted by the smell 
and heat of many pans being used.  Frodo, with apron wrapped under his 
arms for good measure, worked as if possessed, stirring this, tasting that, 
spoons and knives being thrown around wildly.  

“Mister Frodo” Sam exclaimed, “you needn’t have done this!  I was just 
coming in to start the meal now.”

“Never fear Samwise,” Frodo chortled, “I know it looks like chaos, but 
rest assured it’s organised chaos.”  Frodo smiled at Sam and, with a quick 
toss of his head, gestured that Sam should sit in a chair and watch the 
spectacle.  Sam sat down gingerly, uncomfortable at being an island of 
peace in a sea of activity.  

“Is there naught I can do to help Mister Frodo?”

“No Sam, you can sit right there and watch the master at work,” Frodo 
replied, to which both of them laughed.  While his Mister Frodo was 
capable of doing anything he set his mind to (in Sam’s opinion anyway) 
they both knew that in culinary pursuits, Sam was the unequalled 
champion.

With speed that Sam had never seen in his master before, Frodo hastily 
placed plates, cutlery and assorted extras on the table.  A loaf of bread and 
bowl of whipped butter was shoved at the end.  Two mugs were banged 
onto the table.  Frodo grabbed a tea towel, whacked a board in the centre 
of the table, flung open the door of the oven and pulled a heavy baking 
tray out.  He placed it onto the board and, with a flourish, showed Sam his 
masterpiece.  A brown lump surrounded by pale white potatoes and 
inflexible carrots stared back at them.  

“Ah,” said Frodo.

“Oh,” said Sam.

In the smoke and silence they looked at each other.  “Well Mister Frodo 
sir,” Sam began hesitantly, “you were quite a whirlwind right there.  I’ve 
never seen you attack the kitchen with such gusto ‘afore.”

“Hmmm,” said Frodo.

Sam got up from the table and grabbed the long carving knife from a 
drawer.  He picked up a fork and began carving away at the joint.  “I 
wonder what type of meat this is?” he thought to himself.  After the first 
few slices, charred bits of ash fell away to reveal a pink moist centre.  
“Ah, ‘tis beef,” Sam exclaimed, then wished he had bitten his tongue.  

“Well, it was until I had a go at cooking it,” Frodo replied with a smirk.  

“We’ll have none of that sir, sit yourself down.  There’s plenty of 
goodness still left here.  I’m thinking that maybe the outside might be a 
bit…”

“Inedible?” Frodo laughed.

“Tough,” Sam replied, “but the rest of it’s fine.  And I’m thinking the 
potatoes and carrots are just as good.”

“Well, if you’re willing to risk it Sam, I’ll eat it too.”

“’Course I am sir, didn’t you go through all this effort to make a nice 
surprise of me?  This smells and looks wonderful.”

“You are too kind to me Sam,” Frodo smiled as he sat down and pulled the 
loaf towards them.  The two hobbits piled their plates high and, if the meal 
did go a bit slower than usual as they picked and prodded the items on 
their plates, there was good cheer between them as they ate and 
entertained each other with stories of cooking disasters that had befallen 
them before.





Once the kitchen shone with its usual cleanliness, Sam and Frodo moved 
outside.  Some nights they sat on the front step and watched the wind play 
in the flowers and trees.  On other clear nights, they removed themselves 
to the back of the smial where Sam had placed a log under the willow tree 
that sat in one corner.  After tonight’s fiasco, both were content to look at 
the row upon row of straight strong plants that Sam tended.  The glossy 
green leaves and cheery yellow flowers of the pumpkin plant that ran 
along the wall glowed in the half moon.  Cucumber plants, ready to fall 
with the heaviness of produce, strained against the rope and pole that gave 
them support.  Bright strawberries peeked out from underneath heart-
shaped leaves.  Whatever had transpired in the kitchen, Frodo knew that 
neither of them would go hungry as long as there was sunlight, and water, 
and Sam’s capable hands to coax life out of seeds.

Sam lay on his back with a relaxed sigh, his pipe lit and puffing as he 
looked up at the stars.  Frodo leant with his back against the tree, pipe 
clamped in the side of his mouth.  He looked down at the glowing head of 
Sam lying beneath him and thought idly of smoothing down the errant 
curls that had started to spring up as Sam’s hair had dried in the heat of the 
kitchen and the warmth of his own body.  Frodo instead pulled the pipe 
from his mouth.

“Did ye say something Mister Frodo?” asked Sam, looking back up at his 
master.  Even upside down, Frodo’s face gleamed of goodness and light.  
Sam noticed how the moonbeams seemed to pick up the angles of his 
cheekbones and dip into the hollow underneath his lips.  Frodo’s eyes, 
always large at the best of times, seemed twice their normal size from 
Sam’s perspective.  “This won’t do at all, and I’m getting dizzy,” Sam 
thought.  He sat up, turned himself around, and looked expectantly up at 
Frodo.

“Uh, actually Sam, I did want to ask you something,” Frodo stammered.

“Ask away and with pleasure sir, there’s nowt I’d hide from you,” Sam 
replied eagerly.  

“Well, I’m not sure what your Gaffer said to you this afternoon,” Frodo 
started, pausing to allow Sam to fill in the gap.

“My Gaffer?” Sam said bewildered.  He scratched his head, shrugged his 
shoulders and said “Well’en, he told me that I hadn’t ought to cut so much 
leaf off’n the side of the hedge that faces the house ‘cause the sun don’t 
shine on it too much during the day.  But I don’t know why you’d want to 
know that sir.  I know you like your garden sir…”

“I love it Sam,” Frodo interjected.

“Yes well, be that as it may sir, am I not doing right by it?  Do you want to 
bring another gardener in?”  Sam held his breath as soon as the sentence 
was out of his mouth.  “Oh, why did you say that ye daft fool?” he thought 
to himself.  “Don’t be giving him any ideas or you’ll be out of here before 
you can say skip, hop ’n’jump.”  He felt like smacking himself in the 
forehead.  Leave Bag End?  Leave Mister Frodo?  What would he do with 
himself?  He never felt so alive as he did when he in his master’s presence.  
The mere thought of not being the one to wake Mister Frodo up in the 
morning caused his mouth to dry up.

“No, Sam,” Frodo exclaimed, “of course I don’t want another gardener.  I 
don’t want anyone around here but you.”  Frodo nearly swore under his 
breath, he hadn’t meant it to come out like that, even if that was the way 
he felt.  Sam blushed lightly underneath him.  

Frodo exhaled noisily.  “I can’t think properly with you sitting beneath me 
like that,” and, before Sam could get up, slid off the log until he was 
sitting beside Sam in the grass.  They faced each other, knees touching 
slightly, both pipes lying forgotten on the grass.

“Sam,” Frodo began again.

“Yes sir,” Sam whispered.

“I was wondering…, if it wouldn’t be an imposition…; that is, if you think 
it may be a good idea…,” Frodo’s words became more tangled as he 
thought of the right way to say it.

“Just say it sir!” Sam squealed, unable to hide his curiosity.

“Woulyoumovinwifme?” Frodo said swiftly.

“I beg your pardon sir?  I didn’t quite get that,” Sam said perplexed.

“Not your fault Sam, no need to beg my pardon,” Frodo sighed and, 
clenching his hands and taking a deep breath, repeated his request.  
“Would you move in with me Sam?”

Silence.  Frodo had not expected it.  Sam stared at him, his large brown 
eyes unblinking.  Frodo squirmed.  “Well say something Sam, say 
anything, don’t just look at me like I’ve grown two heads.”

“Do ye mean it sir,” Sam breathed.  

“Mean it?  Well of course I mean it.  I…I know this is unexpected and 
probably something you haven’t thought of before….”

“Oh but I have Mister Frodo,” Sam beamed back at him.  “I have long 
thought how good it would be to stay here all the time with you, and talk 
to you, and look after you…” Sam stopped, afraid he had said too much.

“Well,” now it was Frodo’s turn to blush.  “I’m glad that the thought had 
crossed your mind as well.  It’s just that I thought, you work so hard 
around Bag End, and you have to be here so early and leave so late…”

“I never minded staying sir,” Sam said hurriedly.  “I always loved hearing 
you read, or sharing a pipe, or just sitting with you staring at the fire sir.  
I…I’m very fond of you sir, begging your pardon for overstepping my 
boundaries.”

“And I am just as fond of you dear Sam,” Frodo replied, covering one of 
hands with his own.  At his touch, Sam’s eyes widen a fraction and he 
gasped without meaning too.  They both looked down; in the moonlight, 
the difference between their hands was obvious.  One was large and 
golden and firm with well-developed muscle, the other was slender and 
white and wiry with dormant strength.  

“I’m sorry Sam,” Frodo whispered and attempted to remove the offending 
body part.  It was obvious from Sam’s gasp that he had been shocked at 
the audacity of his master.  Never one to overstep boundaries, Sam had no 
doubt felt violated by Frodo’s unconscious desire to touch him.

Before he could remove his hand, Sam’s hand tightened around it, 
trapping it with steely strength.  “Nowt’ to be sorry about sir,” Sam 
murmured.  Frodo could feel the heat of Sam’s palm, could feel the fine 
hairs on his wrist that had been bleached into golden invisibility by the 
suns’ rays.  Sam moved his hand to clasp Frodo’s more securely in his 
own; he could feel the delicate play of bones in Frodo’s wrist and the 
smoothness of his fingers.  He looked into Frodo’s blue eyes which had 
trapped him just as he had trapped Frodo’s hand in his.

“When would you be wanting me to move in Mister Frodo?” Sam asked 
as he gently ran the pad of his thumb against the silk of his master’s skin.

“I was thinking…as soon as possible Sam,” Frodo swallowed, feeling a 
tingling sensation that started in his hand, ran up his arm and exploded 
into warmth in his chest.

“And how long would you be wanting me to stay Mister Frodo?” Sam 
enquired as he squeezed Frodo’s hand.

“Umm, I was thinking…how about forever?” Frodo replied as he moved 
his fingers within Sam’s hand, rubbing his fingers against the smooth 
calluses in Sam’s palm, formed by years of labour and toil.  Frodo had 
never known that hard work could make something feel so good.

“Alright sir,” Sam replied, eyes never leaving Frodo’s, thumb continuing 
to make love to the smooth stretch of skin between Frodo’s knuckles.  “I’ll 
return home tonight and pack my things, and tomorrow, when you wake 
up, I’ll be there.  For good.”


TITLE: Unavoidable: A Guilty Pleasure

AUTHOR: Stella Hobbit

RATING: NC-17

PAIRING: M/?, F/S

WARNINGS: Sex and rude words…tee hee

STATUS: Completed

SUMMARY: Merry and Pippin get confused, Frodo and Sam start to 
realize their feelings

AUTHOR’S NOTES: Ride that bronco!  Don’t you love the feeling of a 
galloping horse between your thighs, rubbing against your…hmm, 
shouldn’t start the slash here.  My first cliffhanger, I hope it makes you 
squee for more.  Thanks to all the people who sent me emails of 
encouragement – I hope you like the way this is going.  Feel free to send 
me an email – all opinions, advice, encouragement and flames will be 
looked at (not guaranteeing I’ll answer you though 8P)

ARCHIVE: No problems, just tell me where you’re putting my babies. 

FEEDBACK: Hell yeah, I’m a glutton for punishment or praise :-).  
Contact me at thelaconiclibrarian@hotmail.com or check out my Live 
Journal at www.livejournal.com/users/stellahobbit/

DISCLAIMER: If you thought that I owned these characters, then you’re a 
fecking idiot!  The people and places belong to the estate of J.R.R. 
Tolkien.  I don’t make a profit from this (show me one slash writer who 
does!), I just share my stories with like-minded people.






Merry closed his eyes and thrust his hard cock into the willing open mouth 
of the hobbit kneeling in front of him.  A slow hiss escaped his grimaced 
lips as he regulated the rhythm of his pushing.  In…out…in…out, starting 
to speed up, clutching onto the hair of the male in front of him with one 
hand as the other hand wiped the sweat that was starting to drip from his 
forehead.  “Muumbbaaww,” he heard mumbled from the floor.  “Shut up 
and suck,” Merry ordered, picking up speed again, feeling the slight graze 
of teeth on the underside of his dick.  He felt one hand clutch and roll his 
balls, whilst the other hand slid up the back of his thigh and dug into the 
pertness of his arse.  “That’s it, that’s it,” Merry whispered, “don’t stop, 
don’t you fucking stop.”  His thrusting kicked into overdrive, with a final 
powerful surge he pushed until he felt the tip of his cock hit the back of 
the hobbit’s throat and, as he started spilling his seed into his mouth, 
Merry clung onto the last few precious seconds of release, fingers 
clenched tight enough into his lover’s hair to cause a muttered snort of 
pain.  His orgasm finished and he felt empty.  Merry stood with his eyes 
closed, breathing heavily; sweat dripping from his body as he waited for 
his heart to slow down.  He felt a timid hand stroke his face and felt a 
whisper of air against his cheek as the hobbit attempted to kiss him.  
“Don’t,” Merry said, turning his face aside.





In the smial of Bag End, where there was once one light of life in the 
darkness, there were now two.  Sam and Frodo circled around each other; 
stepping from study, to kitchen, to garden, each shining brighter when he 
was in the presence of the other, each simmering with heat and longing as 
their bodies passed each other by, even though their thoughts were always 
of each other.  When Sam had arrived the very next morning, pregnant 
with unthought of possibility, Frodo opened the door with a solemnity 
worthy of a momentous occasion.  Sam’s room was located near the back 
entrance in close proximity to kitchen and cellar.  Frodo’s study was a 
quickstep down the hall and his master’s bedroom was at the end of a 
lonely corridor.  

The first few weeks Sam and Frodo were hesitant around each other, 
neither wanting to be an inconvenience.  They would sit in the parlour at 
the end of a day’s work and enjoy their usual pipes and conversation, but 
each would be waiting for the other to make a move to retire.  Neither 
wanted to be the one to cut the night short.  Eventually, Frodo saw past 
Sam’s attempts to hide his yawns and, since he knew his friend would get 
up at the crack of dawn, suggest that now might be a good time to say 
good night.  

For Sam, the situation was bliss.  Not only did he have the luxury of 
deciding what to do to run the household and when to do it, he also had 
unlimited access to his garden.  And of course, his master.  The early 
mornings of stepping into Frodo’s room, to quietly whisper “Good 
morning Mister Frodo” seemed like a benediction.  He did not rush 
through his chores, each movement was a dance of revelation.  Folding 
Frodo’s clothes and being able to still feel his master’s body heat captured 
in them sent tingles of cat-like enjoyment through his nerves.  To be able 
to steal into a room while Frodo was scribbling over a scroll, to place a 
tray of hot tea and warm buns at his elbow, to never expect but to always 
receive a vague “Thank you Sam, just what I needed”, these were the 
moments that Sam lay in bed at night reviewing.  Sam had always 
respected and loved his Mister Frodo for teaching him to read, for 
listening to his opinions, for silent walks through the outlaying lands; he 
started to realise that these feelings had grown into pure adoration.  He 
worshipped the ground that Frodo walked on.  A simple hobbit, Sam never 
let his feelings be dampened by what-ifs or shouldn’t-haves.  The distant 
ramblings of his Gaffer and keeping in his place did not bring him down.  
He knew his place, and it was with Frodo.  Even if Sam was the only 
hobbit in the world to ever know this, the knowledge made him happy.

Frodo took some adjusting to having Sam constantly at the house.  He was 
used to seeing him over the kitchen table or through his window, but the 
sound of another person walking through the smial at night still made his 
chest feel funny.  He had lived alone for so long and wasn’t sure if he 
would be able to be generous enough to share space with another.  But 
Sam was like a warm fire; there when you needed it, burning brightly in 
the corner until it was required.  It got so that Frodo would listen for his 
friend’s footsteps returning home after a night at the Green Dragon.  As he 
lay in bed, he could hear the low humming and unsteady tread of a slightly 
inebriated Samwise and would smile.  Now he was not alone.  Now he had 
a friend, a companion, a confidant.  He began to understand the depth of 
Sam’s devotion to him.  His hard work, while always appreciated, now 
seemed to be an extension of Sam’s regard.  Frodo would sit at his desk in 
the night after Sam had gone to bed, smoking his pipe and looking at the 
starlight shining on the flowers surrounding his window, recalling snippets 
of conversation they had had that day, or the way Sam had looked as he 
carried in firewood, or the smell of the breakfast that Sam would make to 
tempt him to eat, or the shiny look of Sam’s almond eyes as he listened to 
Frodo read from a book of poems.  For a hobbit of some years older than 
his friend, he was not so easily able to access his emotions.  He knew that 
there was something different about the way he felt about Sam now, 
something sweet and submerged.  But Frodo was a patient hobbit, and 
believed that, when the time was right, his mind and his heart would show 
him.





Merry woke the next day with a throbbing headache, a dry tongue and a 
weight pressed up on his stomach.  He grudgingly opened up one eye and 
stared into the green eye of a contented animal perched against his chest.  
“Oh, it’s you,” Merry sighed.

“Good gracious Merry, your breath is as bad as Prissy’s oatmeal cookies.  
How much did you drink last night?”

“Off Took, before I show you what I drank last night.”  Merry pushed his 
cousin aside and sat on the edge of the bed with a groan.  He hung his 
head in his hands.  He might not remember how many ales he had drank 
last night, but he definitely remembered what he had done.  Or who he had 
done.  “Darko Middlemarch,” he thought “you bastard.”

Pippin moved to the side of the bed and rubbed Merry’s back 
sympathetically.  “I saw you talking to Darko last night, but then you both 
disappeared before I could talk to you.  Not that I wanted to talk to Darko 
anyway,” Pippin said, wrinkling his nose.  “I thought you didn’t like him 
anymore Merry.  You said you had an argument with him and didn’t want 
to speak to him again.”

“I don’t like him and I don’t want to speak to him.  It was nothing.  Can 
you get out of here while I make myself presentable?” Merry said rudely, 
standing up from the bed suddenly and moving to pick up his clothes that 
were scattered around the room.

Pippin looked at his cousin and any sympathy he had flew out the window.  
“Don’t take it out on me you damn idiot if you can’t hold your drink.”  
Merry stayed silent at this obvious jest.  Pippin said in a huff “Fine, I’m 
going to have breakfast.  I’ll talk to you later if you’re in a better mood” 
and, with an evil grin on his face, deliberately slammed the door shut 
behind him.

Merry fell back onto the bed.  Why had he done it?  He had promised 
himself that he would never do that with Darko again.  Darko, a distant 
cousin with proud looks and a disdainful attitude had showed his affection 
to Merry one faithful night many years ago.  What had started out as 
youthful investigation had progressed to hot, hard meaningless sex 
whenever they got the chance, and every time they did it, Merry promised 
himself that that would be the last time.  He gained no mental or spiritual 
pleasure from using Darko’s body like that, the release was purely 
physical and a sick copy of the person he really wanted.  He never allowed 
himself to think while he went through the motions; he had an image 
trapped in his mind of his one true pure love, and would not sully it while 
using Darko like that.  Darko seemed to enjoy the feeling of being 
domineered, although he had, at their earliest stages, taken a more active 
role in their lovemaking.  Darko knew that Merry had no feelings for him, 
he was aware that Merry didn’t even particularly like him as a person.  
That is what made their sex so sweet.  Merry may not want him, and 
Merry may not like him, but Merry had no choice but to indulge with him 
while the object of his affection remained unattainable.  

Darko suspected that Merry’s feelings for Pippin were less than 
honourable, and he got sadistic pleasure from watching Merry’s tortured 
eyes follow his cousin.  Darko would always attempt to kiss Merry when 
they achieved their climaxes, he laughed on the inside at the look of 
disgust on Merry’s face.  No, Darko knew that Merry did not want him 
and he felt that their association would soon end.  But not before Darko 
had made one telling blow to Merry’s heart.  He wanted Merry to suffer 
pain as he had.  He wanted Merry to cry himself to sleep at night, knowing 
he could never have the one he wanted.  And he knew exactly how to do 
it.





It did not take long for Darko to put his plan into action.  After the 
miserable night he had had before, and the hung over day he had had 
today, Merry was in no mood to stay amongst his relatives.  He even 
avoided Pippin, who had attempted to cheer his cousin up many times.  
Pippin bought him food, regaled him with tales, snuck him into the kitchen 
for a between-meal snack.  Even though Merry thanked him warmly, 
something was not right.  Pippin felt as if he was being torn in two.  What 
good was it being Merry’s closest friend if he could not do anything to 
settle his mind?  

“Have I upset you Merry?” Pippin had asked softly amongst the bustle of 
staff in the kitchen.

“Of course not my dear Pip,” Merry replied, tugging at his cousin’s 
shoulder until the younger hobbit was nestled, warm and secure under his 
arm.  Pippin kept his face on Merry waistcoat; he found it easier to talk to 
Merry sometimes if he wasn’t looking at him.  Sometimes, looking into 
Merry’s eyes caused him to lose his train of thought mid-sentence, until 
Merry punched his arm or tickled his side and said “What are you thinking 
of now, my silly Took?”  And Pippin would have to lie and say he was 
remembering a specific tree in the plantation that would soon be ready to 
be raided, or a funny lyric that he had heard the night before.  He found it 
easier to speak his mind to Merry if he didn’t have to look at those warm 
eyes.

“Merry-mine,” Pippin tried again.

“Um?” Merry replied, settling his hand on Pippin’s back and stroking 
gently.  

“If it’s not me that’s done something to upset you, is it someone else?”

For long seconds Merry made no answer, and his hand stopped moving.  
Shaking himself slightly, Merry started the long strokes again and said, 
“It’s just something I’ve done Pippin.  I’m not too proud of it and I don’t 
want to do it again.”

“Is it Darko?” Pippin asked.  Merry sat up abruptly pushing Pippin from 
his arms.  

“What do you mean?”  Merry asked accusingly.  “What have you heard?”

“Nothing Merry, I promise,” Pippin replied quickly.  “It’s just that you 
didn’t look at him all day, and he kept looking at you.  He had a nasty grin 
on his face, I didn’t like it.  Is he going to hurt you Merry?  ‘Cause if he is, 
I’ll go sort him out straight away.  No one hurts my Merry-mine.”

Merry smiled and took Pippin back into his embrace, stroking his face as it 
once again lay against his chest.  “No Pippin, Darko can’t hurt me.  He 
and I….I’ve done things that I should not have done.  Well, not done with 
him anyway.  I thought that near enough was good enough and I know 
now it’s not.  I’ve been a fool and I’ll never do it again, I swear to you.”

“Will you tell me what you’ve done Merry?  I swear your secret is safe 
with me,” Pippin asked, raising his head and looking Merry straight in the 
eye.  “You know I’d never betray you.”

“I know you wouldn’t, my half-ling and I promise, when the right day 
comes along, I will tell you everything.  I will pour my heart out to you 
and you will know the secrets of my soul.”

“It’s not because you think I’m too young is it?  I’ll be 15 in a week you 
know,” Pippin said indignantly.

“No love, it’s not that,” Merry replied chuckling.  “It’s just that…I’m not 
ready yet.  Can you wait Pip?  Can you trust me to take care of you?”

“Merry-mine, I’d trust you to the end of the world and back again.  But I 
don’t trust you to leave me some supper,” Pippin shrieked and launched 
himself at a tray of fruit that had accidentally been left near them.





After their snack, Pippin had bid a weary Merry good night and decided to 
go for a walk before he went to bed.  Brandybuck Hall was starting to get 
quieter; the bundle of relatives and guests had made their way into their 
rooms for a good nights rest before the next day.  Pippin walked down the 
paths of the gardens, his way lit in silver and all features appeared to be 
cut out of marble.  He sat on a bench near the lake, watching the ripples of 
the water and wondering what had happened to Merry that had hurt him so 
much.  His twenty-three year old cousin was the hero in his life – he was 
more than a friend, Pippin felt they had a connection that went beyond 
blood and familiarity.  Pippin pegged some stones into the water, enjoying 
their short sharp sound.  As he approached his fifteenth birthday, he felt 
himself growing into his skin.  Alright, he would be the first one to admit 
he was the family clown.  His general charm and good humour was always 
appreciated by the older hobbits.  But Pippin began to feel the stirrings of 
something more.  He didn’t just want to be liked and laughed at, he 
wanted to be respected.  He wanted to be loved.  And he had the sneaking 
suspicion that the one person’s love and respect he felt he needed to make 
him complete would not be forthcoming.

A sudden footstep alerted him to the fact that he was no longer alone.  
“Merry?” he cried joyfully and turned in his seat.





Merry tossed and turned in his bed.  He was tired but he couldn’t reach a 
comfortable position in his sleep.  Something irked him.  At first he 
thought it was guilt – he had come too close tonight to telling Pippin of 
how he really felt about him.  It was too soon, Pippin deserved the right to 
grow into maturity before he had to confront the feelings that Merry had 
for him.  For Merry had made the secret confession to himself.  He loved 
Pip.  Not as one was supposed to love a friend and cousin.  He loved 
Pippin like a tree loved the seasons.  He wanted to bathe in the glory of his 
half-ling.  He wanted to gaze at his skin and worship him with his eyes.  
He wanted to feel him moving under him as their bodies pressed together 
in love.  He wanted to feel Pippin’ lips on his, he wanted to stroke his back 
without the barrier of cloth.  He wanted to lick the sweat on his neck and 
smell that individual smell that Pippin had trapped between his thighs.

Merry groaned loudly.  This would never do.  He would not sleep tonight 
while those thoughts raged in his mind.  He quickly got dressed by the 
moonlight streaming through his window and resolved to go for a walk.  
He would sit near the lake and stare at the water until the blue-green 
waves made him forget the blue-green of Pippin’s eyes.





He heard the noises before he understood them.  As he walked down the 
path, Merry could hear groans that were not expected at a time like this, in 
a place like that.  Before he had time to think his feet took him to the seat 
that lay in front of the lake.

“Darko!  Leave him alone you bastard!” Merry screamed.



TITLE: Unavoidable: An Auspicious Accident (4 of 8)

AUTHOR: Stella Hobbit

RATING: NC-17

PAIRING(S): F/S, P/?

WARNINGS: Angst, sex, violence, hurt/comfort

STATUS: Completed

SUMMARY: Sam and Frodo get wet, Pippin gets confused, Merry gets 
gone

AUTHOR’S NOTES: I know what some of you were thinking when you 
read the last chapter and I hope to surprise you all.  The story at this point 
is like a seesaw; light and happiness on one end, despair and sorrow on the 
other.  Thanks to fantastic words of encouragement from Losille and Rosie 
Gamgee at ‘Hobbits To Humans’ – you girls keep pushing me!  Feel free 
to send me an email – all opinions, advice, encouragement and flames will 
be looked at (not guaranteeing I’ll answer you though 8P )

ARCHIVE: No problems, just tell me where you’re putting my babies. 

FEEDBACK: Hell yeah, I’m a glutton for punishment or praise :-).  
Contact me at thelaconiclibrarian@hotmail.com or check out my Live 
Journal at www.livejournal.com/users/stellahobbit/

DISCLAIMER: If you thought that I owned these characters, then you’re a 
fecking idiot!  The people and places belong to the estate of J.R.R. 
Tolkien.  I don’t make a profit from this (show me one slash writer who 
does!), I just share my stories with like-minded people.





When Merry turned the corner of the path and observed the scene in front 
of him, he had an out-of-body experience.  His eyes literally could not 
understand what he was seeing.  There, in the moonlight, stood Darko.  
His back was towards the lake and his eyes were closed.  There, kneeling 
in front of him, was Pippin.  His arms were clutched around Darko’s waist 
and the moans and groans Merry had heard appeared to be emanating from 
him.  His face…his face was pressed in Darko’s crotch.  Merry felt the 
blood rush out of his head and he made a small mew of protest.  Darko 
heard the noise and his eyes snapped open.  He looked at Merry standing 
there, wide mouthed in incomprehension.  Darko smiled and caught 
Merry’s eye.  He glanced downward and drew Merry’s eyes to the hobbit 
kneeling in front of him.  Pippin was not aware they had been found out.  
He enthusiastically continued sucking Darko’s dick.  Darko began to 
chuckle at the look of despair on Merry’s face then entwined his fingers 
into Pippin’s hair, urging him to take him deeper into his mouth.  Pippin 
tried, but made a snort as he was choked suddenly.  The sound of Pippin in 
distress unfroze Merry.  He leaped towards them, grabbed Pippin by the 
shoulders and threw him down.

“What the…?” Pippin asked bewildered.  “Darko…MERRY!”

“You fucker Darko,” Merry intoned, pacing towards the grinning hobbit.  
“I’m going to kill you, you bastard.”

“Now, now Merry,” Darko smiled, “it’s not as if he didn’t want to do it.  
And since he was so keen to learn...,” Merry threw a punch suddenly at 
Darko’s jaw.  Caught off-guard, the cruelly handsome hobbit fell to the 
floor.  

“Stop it Merry, don’t hurt him,” shouted Pippin, running towards the two 
fighters.  Merry’s vision was clouded in hate; he hated what he had seen, 
he hated Darko for taking advantage of the situation, he hated Pippin for 
doing it.  “Why couldn’t he wait for me?” a small voice of sorrow sounded 
in the tiny bit of room left for logic in his brain.  Darko still lay on the 
floor and his fingers touched the blood trickling from his mouth.  

“Ah well Merry, some of us aren’t content to wait idly in the background.  
Some of us take what we want and make it ours.  Some of us have more 
courage,” Darko whispered.  Merry grunted in rage and threw himself on 
the wounded hobbit, both of them pushing and punching without thought.  
Pippin was mortified and confused; how could something that had felt so 
right have degenerated into this brawl?  He felt ashamed that Merry had 
seen Darko and he together, no doubt his cousin would be so disgusted 
he’d never speak to him again, but he couldn’t let Merry injure Darko.  
Darko had been so nice and so willing to listen to Pippin and, as one thing 
had led to another, promised to show Pippin the method of dealing with 
those troublesome urges he’d been having lately.

Pippin threw himself into the brawl, attempting to stop the fight by placing 
himself between the two combatants.  He succeeded in pushing Merry’s 
heaving body off Darko, who had lost consciousness due to the severity of 
his beating.  “Stop it Merry, please stop it, for me,” Pippin cried, clutching 
onto his cousin’s chest.  

“For you?” Merry repeated, eyes wide and uncomprehending as he stared 
at his beloved in front of him.  “For you?  I’m doing this for you.  He 
shouldn’t have…, it wasn’t meant to be him…, how could you choose 
him?” Merry screamed in agony, his heart dying.  

“Why not him?” Pippin screamed back.  “Who am I supposed to wait for?  
Alisha?  Beatrix?  I feel nothing for them,” he spat.  “At least he takes me 
seriously,” Pippin gestured to Darko’s silent bleeding body lying beneath 
them.  “He listens to me, he wanted me.  What was I supposed to do 
Merry?  Wait for you?  What makes you think you’re my type?” he asked 
contemptuously.  Merry swung without thinking and planted his fist into 
the side of Pippin’s face.  

Pippin feel to the ground like a sack of potatoes.  His head connected dully 
with the path and his eyes closed automatically, a dull redness appearing 
around one of them, foretelling an almighty bruise.  Merry stared at his fist 
without comprehension.  Had he just done that?  Had he just hit the only 
person he had loved his entire life; without thought or reason?  He fell to 
his knees, grief melting his face into an ugly mask.  “Oh my Pip, why, 
why?” he cried, stroking back the curls from Pippin’s face.  “I’m sorry 
Pip, I love you but I can’t stay here.  I can’t see you with him,” and with 
that Merry kissed the lips of his halfling softly, his tears falling into his 
curls.  Merry stood up and resolved to do the only thing he could think of.  
He would leave, and never darken his father’s door again.

“I’m sorry Merry,” Pippin whispered, his eyes still closed as he heard 
Merry leave.





Autumn days in the Shire are full of sound and scent.  The wind begins to 
pick up, the trees start to dress down for winter, and the hobbits enjoy the 
last carefree days of sunshine before snow requires them to stay more or 
less in their comfortable smials.  Everyone feels on edge, as if there is 
something significant just about to happen.  

The abrasive weather had an extraordinary effect on Frodo.  His eyes 
glistened, his skin felt ill-fitting on his slender frame, he wished to run 
until his sides seized up.  The feelings he had felt mounting increased in 
intensity; something was going to happen, something amazing.  He still 
did not know what it was, it pricked and teased the edge of his 
consciousness, and the sedentary life he had been leading lately only made 
him more eager for adventure.  He walked into the garden and 
unobtrusively observed Sam.  There was a hive of activity.  Even though 
the wind blew his curls into his eyes, he determinedly attempted to pile all 
the fallen leaves into a pile.  His bottom lip was tucked into his teeth; 
Frodo had only recently noticed the enduring way Sam nibbled on his lip 
when he was concentrating.  The wind gusted again and Sam let out a soft 
expletive as his pile became scattered.  Frodo laughed without thinking, 
and Sam looked up to notice his master leaning against the doorpost, 
hands tucked into his pockets, pipe jutting from his mouth.

“Well, and I expect it would be easier for a gentlehobbit such as 
yourself?” Sam asked annoyed.  Since Frodo and Sam had battled and 
cordoned off their territories, they both felt comfortable enough in each 
other’s presence to speak their minds.  Frodo delighted in the way that 
Sam had opened up to him, sharing his thoughts and opinions with ease.  
No matter that he apologised for speaking his mind at least once a day, 
and still insisted on calling him ‘Mister Frodo’.  Frodo felt blessed to have 
him living with him all the time, and still wondered what such a wonderful 
hobbit saw in a stuffed shirt such as himself.

“Sorry Sam,” Frodo chuckled, “it’s just that you were concentrating so 
hard, and you looked so angry when the wind ruined your plans.”

“I’ll not blame the wind for what it can’t help but be doing, and I’ll not 
blame you if you wish to stand there and make fun of a simple hobbit such 
as myself doing his best at his job” Sam said, trying to appear as forlorn as 
his statement.

“Fool of a Gamgee,” Frodo replied, taking off his coat, rolling up his 
sleeves and picking up the compost bag from near Sam’s feet.

“Obstinate Baggins,” Sam responded cheerfully, continuing the game of 
teasing each other with the names that older hobbits had called them.  Sam 
began to put the leaves into the bag with his bare hands.  They worked in 
silence and, with the two of them at it; the job was complete in no time.  
Both of them stretched out the creaks in their backs.  The wind had died 
down and the sun was beginning its slow descent into evening. 

“I’ve had an idea, Sam” Frodo said suddenly.

“Really?  I didn’t know that the week had passed so quickly,” Sam 
rejoined.

“I’m being serious,” Frodo replied, swatting Sam’s chest with his hand.  
“Let’s have a picnic down by the creek!  We’ve not many days until 
winter, and the afternoon looks to be warming up nicely.  Is there anything 
pressing that you need to get done?”

“Well,” Sam thought aloud, “I’d planned preparing another plot for the 
winter veggies, but I suppose I can do that tomorrow…” and a wicked 
gleam appeared in his eyes “that is if my master doesn’t find out I’ve been 
skiving off work today.  He’s old, but he’s crafty, my master is.”

“Ha ha, very amusing young Gamgee,” Frodo said, making his way back 
into the house.  “I’ll get the food, you get the blankets.”





Pippin knocked on the door of his Uncle Saradoc’s office, dreading the 
summons that had bought him here.  He opened the door at the 
authoritarian “Come” he heard and stepped into the chambers.  Saradoc 
looked at the yellow, green and black swelling surrounding his nephew’s 
eye and whistled in appreciation.  “Merry got you a good one, didn’t he?”

Pippin did not answer, preferring to stand and stare at his feet.  “Sit boy,” 
Saradoc commanded and gestured to the seat next to his.  “Want to tell me 
what all this is about?” he enquired.

Pippin let out a sigh of relief.  His uncle therefore did not know what had 
transpired last night and Pippin was not going to be the one to tell him.  
He planned on making up a story and hoped that Merry would go along 
with it as he always had.

“Nothing Uncle,” Pippin replied, “we were just teasing each other and one 
thing led to another and…” his voice trailed off.  After Merry had left last 
night, Pippin had woken Darko and managed to smuggle him into the 
house without being seen.  Neither of them were in any mood for 
conversation, but Darko let it be known that he was leaving in the morning 
and would have no reason to visit again, regardless of what their families 
would say.  Pippin was silent, he did not know what to say.  He regretted 
his impulsive action of last night – the attempt to soothe his own miserable 
heart with the one person that Merry most despised had been his worst 
action yet.  No wonder Merry had been so angry; it would be like Sam 
betraying Frodo with Lotho Sackville-Baggins!  Pippin didn’t regret his 
behaviour last night, the act had felt right even though he questioned his 
choice of partner, but he wished that he had time to speak to Merry last 
night.  He wanted to apologise for appearing to take Darko’s side.  He 
wanted to try and explain to Merry the feelings he had been having, the 
thoughts he had when he saw a strapping male pass close to him, the way 
his body reacted sometimes.  Even if Merry thought him vile, maybe there 
would be enough familial love to keep them friends and, if not friends, at 
least enough understanding for Merry to tolerate Pippin’s presence.  

“So it was Merry then,” Saradoc sighed, “I don’t know what you said to 
him to get him so riled up young Pip, but it must have been good.”

“Didn’t Merry tell you then Uncle?”

“No my boy, I’ve not seen him.  But I knew once I’d read his letter that 
you would have something to do with it.”

“Letter?” Pippin asked, confused.  

“Yes, your Aunty Esmeralda found it on his bed when she went to find 
him this morning.  Here,” he said, throwing the parchment into Pippin’s 
lap, “have a look.”

Pippin opened the sheet and read.


	My dear mother and father,
	
By the time you find this, I will be gone.  I can’t bear being here 
and have decided to go on a journey.  If you have any love for me, 
you won’t try to find me.  Know that, even though I love and will 
miss you both, I need this time to be alone.  I will write to you as 
often as I can.  Please let me be.

Your loving son,

Merry

P.S.  Please don’t be too hard on poor Pippin; the actions of last 
night are not his fault and I regret everything I said and did to him.  
Tell him that I wish him to be happy and I will not stand in his 
way, if that is the path he has chosen.  Tell him I will miss him, 
and will always be, his loving Merry-mine.


Pippin brushed at the tears that had formed in his eyes.  Saradoc looked at 
him in sympathy and said, “It must have been some argument.”

“It was my fault,” Pippin began to cry and crumpled into a ball.  “I never 
meant to hurt him Uncle I swear, I’m sorry I ever did it.”

“There there Pip,” his uncle murmured, stroking the shaking hobbit’s 
back.  “Don’t you know that you could never do anything to Merry that 
would make him angry at you for more than a day?  He’s loved you since 
the first day he saw you.  You and Merry are the two faces of the same 
coin, neither are complete without the other.  Don’t you fret so, he’ll calm 
down soon.”

“He won’t come back,” Pippin keened.

“Of course he will,” Saradoc replied, “I know my son and while he might 
be a bit flighty, he knows the right thing to do.  We’ll give him a couple of 
days to cool down and then he’ll back before you know it.  No doubt he’s 
gone to trouble poor Frodo for a bit.  You just let him get back to normal 
and all things will go back to the way they were.”  

Back to the way they were.  Pippin did not believe that could ever happen.  
He had hurt poor Merry in the worst possible way and could not envisage 
a way of making it right.  “Do you think so Uncle?” the young hobbit 
asked.  

Saradoc said purposefully “Peregrin Took, if my son isn’t here by the time 
your fifteenth birthday comes to pass, I’ll eat my belt!”





Frodo and Sam met on the path in front of the house and began their stroll 
to the creek.  Even though Frodo was twelve years older than Sam, and 
liked to complain about his age, there was no apparent difference in their 
appearances.  Both hobbits were of health – one, golden and strong; the 
other, sleek and sinewy.  As they walked, they unconsciously matched 
their steps so that they were always synchronised.  Sam had removed the 
basket from Frodo’s grasp (ignoring all complaints), tucked the blankets 
on top, and swung it in rhythm to their steps.  

The meadow was deserted when they arrived.  Sam quickly spread the 
blankets and started to unpack the basket.  He held up two jars to Frodo 
with an inquiring lift of his eyebrows.  “Apple cider,” Frodo replied, “one 
for now and one for later.  I’ll put one in the creek so it can stay cool.”

“You’d best let me do that Mister Frodo, it needs to be tied well or we’ll 
lose it down the river.”

“It’s alright Sam,” Frodo said, pulling some twine out of his pocket, “I’ve 
been watching you and I think my knot-tying would keep even you 
satisfied.”

Sam blushed and quickly bit into an apple.

Their afternoon luncheon was delightful; Frodo had grabbed a 
smorgasbord of items from the pantry.  Afterwards, they lay on their backs 
next to each other; in reach but not touching.  They looked up at the clouds 
whirling past in the sky, felt the sun on their bones and, inevitably, fell 
asleep.  





Pippin wandered around Brandy Hall aimlessly.  Nothing gave him 
pleasure; his heart was heavy in the certainty that Merry would never 
come back.  Regardless of what his uncle said, Pippin knew Merry better 
than anyone on the earth and knew that, if Merry said he wanted to be 
alone, he would do his utmost to make sure no one found him.

Merry had walked long since dawn.  With a few possessions in his pack, 
he left the main roads that would make his travelling easier and sought the 
seclusion of forests and dells.  Each step away from Pippin broke his 
heart, but he could not stay and watch the only person he’d loved ruin his 
life with someone like Darko.  “Better I was dead than to ever see that 
again,” Merry mumbled to himself, placing one tired foot after another.  
As the sun started to fall and the way became darker, Merry stopped in a 
clearing.  He lit no fire, he ate no food.  He simply leaned against the 
rough bark of a tree and, cuddling his own knees, replayed last night’s 
scene again and again.  Oh, to have hit the love of his life.  To cause him 
to fall and bleed.  To injure the skin he wanted to caress.  Merry was 
harder on himself than anyone else could ever have been on him; his sleep 
was restless and as he tossed to and fro, tears streaming from his face, his 
only words were “I’m sorry Pippin, oh I’m sorry my love.”





Frodo was the first to wake.  The sun was halfway down the horizon and 
there was a chill in the air.  He looked at his companion.  Sam had rolled 
onto his side in his sleep, one arm flung out recklessly, a slight grin on his 
open mouth.  Frodo marvelled at how peaceful, how pliable Sam looked at 
that moment.  He resisted the temptation to wake Sam by running his 
fingers through his hair and gently shook his shoulder instead.  “Sam,” he 
whispered.

Sam opened his eyes suddenly.  Frodo was amazed; he had never seen 
anyone pass from sleep to wakefulness so quickly.  “Must be all those 
dawn starts with the Gaffer,” Frodo thought.

“It’s nearly night Sam and it’s getting cold.  We’d best be off.”

“Right sir,” Sam replied and began to pack up their belongings with 
Frodo’s help   “Ah,” he exclaimed suddenly, “the cider.”

“I’ll get it Sam, you may not be able to undo the knots,” Frodo said to 
Sam’s retreating back.

Sam chuckled and threw over his shoulder “Begging your pardon sir but 
I’ll do my best, won’t take me a moment.”

In the twilight Sam easily located the string that connected the cider to a 
medium-sized willow.  He began to reel in the string when it stopped 
suddenly.  “Snag,” moaned Sam.  Oh well, there was nowt for it.  It was 
cold and Sam wasn’t letting Mister Frodo go into the water to retrieve the 
flask.  As much as Sam feared the water, he would go in to save Frodo 
from catching a cold.  He gingerly started edging down the bank; the water 
was moving rapidly and looked chilly.  He slipped slightly and nearly fell 
on his back.

“Sam?” he heard Frodo shout from the clearing.

“’Tis alright sir, the bottle’s got snagged,” Sam yelled back.  In those few 
seconds of lapsed concentration, the muddy side of the bank jilted and 
Sam slid into the water, an abrupt “Oh!” his only sound.  

Frodo heard the splash and started towards the creek.  Sam was nowhere 
to be seen.  A sudden movement from his right startled him.  Sam’s 
drenched head appeared above the water.  “Sam,” Frodo shouted, making 
his way down the bank, careless of the mud that flung over his clothes.  
Sam’s arms thrashed around widely and he disappeared under the water 
again.

“Sam!” Frodo screamed again, agitated beyond comprehension.  He knew 
how scared Sam was of the water and, even though it was not so deep, 
believed that Sam might lose his wits and drown.  He paced the riverside, 
not knowing where to jump in for he did not know if Sam had managed to 
fight the current.  Without warning, Sam threw himself up onto the mud 
like a confused fish, moss and leaves tangled in his hair, his face 
beginning to show blue from lack of oxygen and the freezing environment 
of the water.  Frodo clasped his hands and, with a strength he himself did 
not know he had, pulled Sam up to the meadow.

They both lay on the ground, panting and soaked.  Sam’s eyes were closed 
and he lay face down, his fingers dug into his beloved soil.  Frodo could 
not stop looking at Sam as if to reassure himself that his friend was still 
alive.  He began to wipe the moss and water and leaves from Sam’s face.  

“Mister Frodo,” Sam whispered, eyes still closed.  

“Yes Sam, yes my dear. I’m here,” Frodo replied, pressing his face to the 
dirt so he could look upon Sam more closely.  One of Sam’s eyes tiredly 
opened a crack, and Frodo smoothed the hair from his temple.  

“What is it Sam?” Frodo asked, heart still racing at the thought of his near-
loss.

“That was a grand knot you tied sir,” Sam said, chuckling a bit and started 
to cough as the water trapped in his lungs started to rise up.  Frodo sighed 
in exasperation and rolled Sam onto his side, supporting Sam to his feet.  
“The hobbit nearly dies, and all he can think about is making fun of me,” 
he muttered as he slung his arm around Sam’s waist.

“Ah!” Sam yelled and jolted so suddenly that they both nearly fell over.  
They looked down and saw a sharp stick that had speared Sam right 
through his foot.  There was no blood apparent; the coldness of the water 
had slowed down the flow to his extremities, but it would be a nasty 
wound when the wood was removed. 

“Oh Sam,” Frodo intoned, unable to tear his eyes away from the wood 
protruding from Sam’s foot, “I didn’t know.”

“Neither did I Sir, ‘till I just stood up.  I must have stepped on it whilst I 
was coming up the bank.”

“Does it hurt terribly?”

“Only if I put my full weight on it sir,” Sam gingerly tried putting pressure 
on his toes.  

“You wait here and I’ll go get the Cotton’s cart,” Frodo said quickly 
attempting to lower Sam back to the ground.

“No need Mister Frodo, ‘tis night already and I’ll not want to disturb them 
for a little thing like this.  I’ll be right getting home if you’d just help me.”

“Home,” Frodo repeated.  He had not heard Sam refer to Bag End as his 
home before, the sound made his insides roll like warm treacle.  

“Home,” Sam whispered his arm thrown over his master’s shoulders, close 
enough to smell Frodo’s sweat of fear and adrenalin.  

The two hobbits made their way slowly and steadily and, while it took 
them twice as long to get there, both of them knew they would never 
forget this slow, deserted march home.  





When they arrived at Bag End, Frodo quickly ensconced Sam in the 
parlour in front of the fireplace, where he lit a furious blaze.  He gently 
lifted the injured foot onto an ottoman and gathered candles to light up the 
room.  Sam lay back in the chair, his breathing shallow as the warmth of 
the room started to bring life back into his nerves.  He was now starting to 
feel his wound and hoped that the stick’s removal would not cause so 
much pain as to make him cry out in Frodo’s presence.  Frodo returned to 
the parlour, his hands and pockets full.  

“I’m going to clean you up Sam, and see if I can do anything to make this 
better.  Are you sure you don’t want me to call a healer to remove this?” 
Frodo asked, kneeling by Sam’s side as he looked at the injured foot 
propped up in front of him.

“No Mister Frodo, ‘tisn’t necessary if you’d just get it out.  I’ll try to be 
quiet,” Sam replied, becoming pale.

“You scream as much as you want to Sam, no one will hear you.”  Frodo 
took a deep breath and gently started to clean around the wound with a 
piece of soft cloth that had been sitting in a bowl of tepid water.  As Frodo 
began to remove the dried mud and muck from Sam’s feet, Sam’s breath 
quicken but he didn’t whimper.  When the area was as clean as it could 
get, Frodo steeled himself and, looking up at Sam asked “Ready?”

Sam nodded silently, his hands beginning to clench.  Frodo saw this and, 
taking Sam’s right hand, opened the palm gently and placed it on his own 
shoulder.  “You squeeze just as hard as you want, you won’t hurt me,” 
Frodo whispered.  Sam nodded again, his hand starting to squeeze his 
master’s shoulder.  Frodo looked back at the foot; the best thing for it 
would be to pull it out in one swift movement.  He placed his hands 
carefully around the stick, concentrating hard so they wouldn’t tremble.  
“On the count of three Sam,” Frodo said, as he felt Sam’s fingers convulse 
and tighten onto his collarbone.  “One, two…”

At three, Frodo pulled smoothly up and out and Sam’s fingers dug in 
desperately.  They were both panting with exertion and looked at the 
offending piece of wood.  Frodo’s eyes narrowed and he flung the stick 
into the fireplace where it was quickly engulfed.  He returned back to the 
injured foot, and Sam reluctantly removed his hand from Frodo’s 
shoulder.  There was minimal blood flow that was quickly halted with dry 
compresses.  Frodo took this opportunity to turn his attention to Sam’s 
other muddied appendage.  With a sureness and delicacy that surprised 
Sam, he gently cleaned Sam from toes to knees.  The water became cloudy 
with silt as Frodo ran his fingers through the wet curling hair of his feet.  
Sam lay back in amazement, the pain now a distant throbbing in the back 
of his mind.  He could not believe his eyes.  Here was his beloved Mister 
Frodo, tending to him as gently as if he was a newborn foal.  Frodo’s 
nimble fingers caressed Sam’s calves, going over each spot of taunt skin 
to make sure it was clean. 

In the fire and candlelight, Frodo’s dark hair shone red and black, his face 
a mask of concentration.  When he had finished cleaning Sam’s lower 
legs, he gently removed the bloodied compresses from Sam’s foot.  The 
bleeding had stopped and Frodo looked around for clean material to bind 
it.  Seeing none, and not wanting to remove his hands from Sam’s body 
for too long, he leaned back onto his heels, undid the buttons of his 
waistcoat and tossed it aside.  He undid the buttons of the soft linen shirt 
that he wore and, without looking at Sam, began to tear strips from it.

“Mr Frodo, no!” Sam implored.  

“This part of the shirt’s clean Sam, you won’t get infected” Frodo replied, 
winding strips of body-heated cloth around Sam’s foot and tying knots 
securely until the job was done to his satisfaction.  No spots of blood had 
welled through the dressing and the foot was back to its healthy golden 
glow.

“It’s not that Mister Frodo, you didn’t ought to ruin your shirt for me,” 
Sam was beside himself, he hadn’t wanted to be a bother.  

“I don’t care about the damn shirt, I want to make you better.  Will you let 
me Sam?” Frodo asked, his hand lightly resting on Sam’s thigh.  

“I’d let you do anything to me sir,” Sam replied huskily, his eyes trapped 
under Frodo’s gaze.  

“I wouldn’t want you to feel obliged,” Frodo murmured, raising himself 
onto his knees and moving his body closer to Sam’s.

“I’ve never done anything for obligation in my life Mister Frodo, and I’m 
not going to start now,” Sam said, raising himself up until he was sitting 
on the edge of his chair.  “I’d not want to be an imposition,” he continued, 
holding Frodo still in his mesmerising stare.

“Impose me Sam,” Frodo whispered, his face barely two inches from 
Sam’s.

Sam felt Frodo’s hand on his thigh tighten and he moved his own hand 
back onto Frodo’s shoulder.  With the gentlest of pressure, Sam inclined 
Frodo forward; until they were so close they could feel each other’s breath 
on their faces.

“Ah, but you are lovely,” Sam whispered and brushed his lips against 
Frodo’s.  Frodo’s eyes closed, feeling the gentlest of pressures moving on 
his mouth.  He leaned into the kiss, pushing his open mouth onto Sam’s.  
Sam’s hand moved from Frodo’s shoulder into the nape of his neck and, 
tilting his head, sighed, closed his eyes, and opened his lips up to his love.

They kissed languorously, lips and teeth rubbing against each other.  
Frodo moved his hands to Sam’s head, clasping the soft cheeks and pulled 
Sam deeper.  Sam’s tongue made a hesitant foray into Frodo’s mouth and 
Frodo replied by pushing his own tongue into Sam’s.  Their mouths did 
battle as their hands started to move down each other’s bodies.  Sam 
pulled Frodo up into his lap until Frodo sat on Sam’s thighs, his own legs 
trapping Sam’s torso in their tight grasp.  Their chests were melded, 
groans of pleasure emanating from them both until they did not know who 
made what sound.  Sam opened his eyes slowly, knowing Frodo was still 
there but not feeling his lips on him.  Frodo looked down into the eyes of 
his lover, tears welling in his own eyes.  

“I have wanted this for so long Sam,” Frodo’s breath hitched.

“And I’ve waited for this my whole life, my Frodo,” Sam said, voice 
thickened with emotion.

“My Sam,” Frodo said, caressing Sam’s hair, his shoulders, running his 
hands down the strong arms.

“My love,” Sam replied, catching Frodo’s lips to his own again.

Their kisses became harder; their breath more rapid, fingers seeking bare 
bits of skin.  Frodo trailed wet open-mouth kisses down the side of Sam’s 
neck until he found the place he wanted to suckle.  Sam gasped and, 
placing his hands into the small of Frodo’s back, pressed Frodo into his 
lap.  Their erections brushed into each other and Frodo let out a moan.  
Sam started to move under Frodo’s body, his hands playing gently on his 
bareback; rubbing, kneading, caressing.

Frodo’s lips found Sam’s again and his tongue dipped into that honeyed 
pot again.  “Sam” Frodo said indistinctly, for he would not stop kissing 
Sam to speak to him.  “What are we going to do?”

Sam’s hands moved from Frodo’s back and held his face gently.  Their 
eyes became locked in each other’s sight again.  “I would do all that you 
wish me to do master.”

“You are just as much my master as I am yours Samwise Gamgee,” Frodo 
smiled and kissed each palm that lay on his face.  “I don’t know what to 
say.”

“Say all that lies in your heart Frodo-dear, for I would have no secrets 
between us,” Sam replied, his thumbs massaging the soft skin of Frodo’s 
jaw.

“And will you do the same Sam?” Frodo asked, not sure how far Sam 
wanted this to go.

“I will and I will start, if it eases your heart,” Sam stopped his hands 
moving reluctantly, knowing that this moment was the most important in 
his life.  “You are my heart Frodo, and I feel it is breaking from want.  I 
have loved you from afar for so long, and if this is the only time in my life 
where I will feel your body against mine, and your eyes loving me, then I 
will die tomorrow happy and complete.”

“I love you Mister Frodo,” Sam continued, tears threatening to fall as his 
throat began to seize.  “I don’t know if I should, but I can’t help it.  You’re 
my life.”

“Mister Samwise,” Frodo said, giggling slightly as his head started to spin.  
He had hoped that Sam returned his feelings but never suspected that they 
were as deep as he felt.  “You are everything that is good in my soul, and I 
don’t have the words to tell you how my heart is singing.  I feel my chest 
is going to break open with the force of it.  I have never wanted, nor ever 
needed anyone but you, my darling Sam.”  Frodo paused, hoping that his 
voice would carry the conviction of his feelings.  “I love you Samwise 
Gamgee.”

“And I love you Frodo Baggins.”  Sam took a deep breath and said what 
was closest to his heart’s wish.  “Make me yours Frodo.”

Frodo lent in and kissed Sam softly on the lips.  He got out of Sam’s lap 
and helped him to his feet, making sure to support him so his sore foot 
would not carry his weight.  

“You have been mine since the first day I saw you, just as I have been 
yours since the day I was born.  Come to bed with me my darling.”

The two lovers leaned into each other’s embrace and began their slow 
walk to the waiting chamber.


TITLE: Unavoidable: A Momentous Decision (5 of 8)

AUTHOR: Stella Hobbit

RATING: NC-17

PAIRING(S): F/S

WARNINGS: Sex, angst

STATUS: Completed

SUMMARY: Oh, it hurts, it does.  This chapter makes me want to scream 
at the computer.  I know, I’m the one writing it, but even I don’t like some 
of the things that want to be told.

AUTHOR’S NOTES: This is the first time I’ve ever written a love scene; 
I hope it feels as right to you as it does to me.  People who have seen the 
behind the scenes stuff on LOTR will know where I got the idea of Sam 
hurting his foot like that.  Feel free to send me an email – all opinions, 
advice, encouragement and flames will be looked at (not guaranteeing I’ll 
answer you though 8P )

ARCHIVE: No problems, just tell me where you’re putting my babies. 

FEEDBACK: Hell yeah, I’m a glutton for punishment or praise :-).  
Contact me at thelaconiclibrarian@hotmail.com or check out my Live 
Journal at www.livejournal.com/users/stellahobbit/

DISCLAIMER: If you thought that I owned these characters, then you’re a 
fecking idiot!  The people and places belong to the estate of J.R.R. 
Tolkien.  I don’t make a profit from this (show me one slash writer who 
does!), I just share my stories with like-minded people.






Frodo’s bedroom was cold and dark.  After leading Sam to his bed so he 
could sit with his foot in comfort, Frodo began building the fire.  Sam, for 
once, was happy to sit quietly and let his master work in front of him.  As 
Frodo moved around the room, lighting candles, moving pillows, Sam had 
the opportunity to look at his love at will.  He feasted his eyes; now there 
was no need to hide his longing.  With each graceful step and precise 
movement, Frodo was opening another portal in Sam’s heart.  It was hard 
to believe that he could love him any harder or any more, but tonight had 
awakened things in Sam that could never be denied again.  He felt so 
happy he thought he might cry – how was it that he was so lucky?  Frodo 
finished preparing the room and looked at the muscular figure in front of 
him.  Even though he had been wounded only hours ago, his skin was still 
ruddy with health.  His smile showed his contentment.  

“Frodo?” Sam asked hesitantly.

“Yes my love,” Frodo replied, sitting on the bed beside him.

“If I hadn’t hurt myself today, would you have ever told me how you 
felt?” 

Frodo looked into his heart at this question.  It was something he had been 
considering since he’d bought Sam into his room.  He clasped Sam’s hand 
in both of his own and, stroking gently, said, “I’ve been thinking the same 
thing Sam.  And I thought…I always knew I loved you, but I don’t think I 
knew how much until I saw you in the water.  There’s been something on 
the edge of my mind recently and no matter how hard I tried to see it, it 
wouldn’t be found.  I think it was you.  I think it was us.  It’s the way we 
are together.  You are such a part of me that sometimes, I don’t even 
realise you’re there.  I know that sounds terrible…,” Frodo paused, unsure 
if Sam would take his words incorrectly.

“Keep going my sweet,” Sam interjected, filling the pause.

“I’ve felt for the longest time that something wasn’t right.  I mean, it was 
right, it just wasn’t there.  Do you know what I mean?  I don’t even know 
what I’m talking about,” Frodo said exasperated.

“I think I do,” Sam said thoughtfully.  “Loving you is just like breathing, 
it’s in the background of everything I do.  You don’t much think about 
breathing, but you certainly miss it when it’s gone,” he chuckled.

“Yes Sam, yes it’s like that but more.  It’s not just that I’d miss you if you 
weren’t here, it’d be like the world had no meaning anymore, that I had 
nothing to keep going on for anymore.  Oh, it’s not all about me,” Frodo 
said angrily.  “It’s you, it’s everything about you.  I so want the best for 
you; I want to do everything I can for you.  I want to serve you to the best 
of my ability Sam.”

“Ah my love,” Sam smiled, stroking Frodo’s curls from his face, “now 
you’re beginning to understand the pleasure I get from serving you.  I 
never want you to need without me being the one to fulfil it.  Making you 
happy is such a simple thing, but it fills my heart with such joy.  Every 
time I say Mister Frodo,” Sam’s voice dropped huskily, “I do it for my 
own pleasure.  It is my gift to myself, a way letting myself love you a 
million times a day.  I’m selfish in my service, because nothing on this 
earth has given me greater pleasure than being here for you.”

Frodo wept at the devotion in Sam’s voice, he now understood how 
precious this relationship had become to both of them.  It didn’t matter 
who was called master and who was called servant; the bonds of love they 
shared connected them like ribbon, love and devotion moving from one 
end of the bond to the other, a ceaseless wave of giving and receiving that 
crashed upon them, gathered force from their souls and was sent back, 
feelings reciprocated and reinforced.  

Sam kissed the tears that lay on Frodo’s cheeks, feeling a heated 
contentment that he was the one that could make Frodo cry, and that he 
was the one who would soothe Frodo’s heart.  With a gentleness that 
Frodo had observed but never experienced, Sam lay them down.

Clothes were stripped from bodies with reverence, fingers were stroked 
down skin to marvel at the sensations.  Sam sought Frodo’s neck and 
drank deeply from it.  Frodo pressed kisses from the tips of Sam’s fingers 
up to his chest, breathing deep of the musky tones of his lover.  After what 
seemed an eternity of kisses and licks of love, Frodo found himself lying 
on top of Sam, their naked bodies pressed together.  

“I have no words…” Frodo stammered.

“Then show me, my love,” Sam asked

Frodo kissed him deeply, mouth hungry and open.  Sam writhed 
underneath him, trapped in the pleasure of that tongue moving in his 
mouth.  He moved his hands down to the satin of Frodo’s buttocks, pulling 
him closer, squeezing the succulent globes.  Frodo responded by running 
his palms against Sam’s nipples, grazing and pulling them until they were 
hard to the touch.  He moved his mouth down, tongue circling the brown 
areola, licking the tiny whorls of hair that surrounded it.  Sam gasped in 
appreciation.  Frodo flicked his tongue over the surface of his nipple, 
enjoying the sudden buck that Sam gave.  He moved his mouth away and 
blew warm breath over it.  Sam moaned in want.  Frodo attached himself 
greedily to Sam’s chest, sucking and licking like this would be his only 
nourishment.  Sam’s hands moved haphazardly on Frodo’s back, not 
knowing what he wanted but knowing that this was only the first step in 
their lovemaking.

Frodo began to move his kisses down Sam’s body, licking and sucking at 
the healthy hard flesh.  He pressed his fingers into the rigid stomach 
muscles and enjoyed the tension in Sam’s body.  He moved himself down 
until he was kneeling between Sam’s legs. 

“Look at me Sam,” Frodo requested.  Sam was so overwhelmed that he 
could hardly see.  There kneeled his beauty, his love, his body so close 
that their wanting lay a hair’s breath from each other.  

“I love you my Sam,” Frodo said and he crouched over and took Sam in 
his mouth.  How to explain the sensations that Sam experienced at this 
moment?  A part of Sam’s consciousness seemed to be outside of his 
body.  It was if he was both in the bed and out of it.  He could feel the 
warm satin of Frodo’s mouth as he licked and nibbled Sam’s length.  He 
could see the white-heat of Frodo’s delectable body balanced over him, 
back shining and taunt in his quest to go deeper.  He saw Frodo’s head 
move up and down, tongue circling and delving, hands exploring and 
squeezing.  He felt that he would faint with the pleasure of it.

Frodo could feel Sam moving hard under him, pushing up and in.  He 
listened to Sam’s whispered utterances “Oh yes Frodo, oh yes my love.  
There my love, like that.  Oh don’t stop, don’t stop.”  Frodo had no 
intention of stopping until he had tasted his lover’s essence.

He began to suck with a vengeance now, wanting to feel the turgid heat of 
Sam’s erection in his mouth, wanting the flesh to split and spill.  He felt 
Sam’s fingers entwine in his hair, clutching on like he was about to fall of 
the surface of the earth.  Frodo tasted a bit of fluid, the time was near now.  
He stopped sucking, withdrew his mouth and teased the head with the 
tiniest of snake flickers.  Sam shuddered and moaned, his body rigid with 
feeling.  “How I do love you Sam,” he whispered into the curls of golden 
hair that framed the beautiful cock next to his face and, without warning, 
covered Sam entirely with his mouth.  His head moved up and down 
rapidly, his tongue swirled and quickened until Sam cried out “I’m 
coming!”  Frodo felt the warm shock of fluid running into his mouth, he 
licked and lapped it up like it was a bowl of fresh cream.  When Sam’s 
need was spent, Frodo gave an innocent kiss to the peaceful member that 
now lay there and returned to Sam’s mouth.  They kissed and Sam tasted 
himself for the first time.

The taste was intoxicating.  Not only could he taste himself, he could taste 
Frodo’s sweat and slightly spicy tongue.  He felt unable to speak for the 
sheer pleasure of it.

“Did you like that my love?” Frodo asked, leaving soft kisses against 
Sam’s jaw.  Sam nodded helplessly.  Frodo laughed and hugged the warm 
pliant body into his own.  They lay there for some time, arms tightly 
wound round each other, legs entangled. 

“Have you ever done that before?” Sam asked, his voice trembling as his 
heart sought to regain its normal tempo.  

“No,” Frodo chuckled, “although I’ve had it described to me before at 
Brandy Hall.  Has that ever happened to you before?”

“No sir!” Sam enthused.  Frodo snickered.  Sam looked into the eyes of 
his laughing lover and said, “Well, at least I was honest.  Although I’ve 
heard tell of such goings on, but didn’t truly believe them.”

“What else have you heard about Sam-dear?” Frodo asked shakily as Sam 
started to lick Frodo’s neck.  

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Sam chuckled into the crevasse of his neck.  

“That’s not fair at all Samwise Gamgee.  I’ve showed you something new, 
now it’s your turn to surprise me.”

“Is it now?” Sam asked and suddenly flipped Frodo onto his back, 
trapping his body underneath his heavier frame.

“Only if you want to,” Frodo said humbly.  

“Now don’t you get coy with me Frodo Baggins, it’ll not work anymore,” 
Sam laughed and moved up Frodo’s body.  “Oh,” he breathed, feeling the 
hard heat pressed into his stomach.  “Seems like I’ve got some unfinished 
business to attend to.”

“What do you have planned Master Gamgee?” Frodo asked, eyes glazing 
over as Sam continued to rub against him.

“This,” Sam said.  

Sam spun their bodies until Frodo was on top of him again, lifting Frodo’s 
hips easily until Frodo found himself perched on Sam’s chest. 

“I keep forgetting how strong you are,” Frodo said admiringly.  Sam’s 
face was close to his crotch, Frodo’s need obvious to both of them.  Sam 
gathered Frodo’s hands and made him brace himself on the bed head.

As Frodo was crouched above Sam’s head, Sam started to lick the heavy 
sack that played against his chin.  “Ahhh,” Frodo moaned, clutching onto 
the wood so as not to fall.  Sam’s tongue intensified, taking long slow 
sweeps of the warm balls.  His hand reached around Frodo’s waist and 
started to stroke his erection, pulling up and twisting, allowing him greater 
access to the sack.  

Frodo sucked air in between his teeth, he felt like a large satisfied cat had 
become trapped between his thighs.  He felt a hand push in the small of his 
back and now his position was changed, the tip of his cock rubbing against 
Sam’s lips.  Frodo looked down through his straining arms and saw Sam 
with his eyes closed, blissfully licking Frodo like he was the world’s most 
delicious lollypop.  “My Lady, you are beautiful,” Frodo said sultrily.  
Sam opened his eyes and, seeing he was being observed, decided to make 
a show of it.  Whilst his hands were squeezing Frodo’s arse, his tongue 
and mouth danced up and down his dick.  Sam’s eyes were half-closed in 
lust, but he could see Frodo mesmerised by his actions.

“I want you to come now Frodo,” Sam asked, hands never stopping. 

“Yes Sam, yes I will,” Frodo said, raising himself up on his knees and 
gyrating his pelvis into Sam’s face.  Sam was overcome with the feel and 
taste of Frodo, he was smothered in his scent.  His mouth began to move 
faster, encircling the head, playing up and down the shaft, hands busily 
squeezing and prodding.  

“Yes,” Frodo moaned, arms held stiff, head thrown back in pleasure.  He 
bucked again, and again.  Sam gripped onto his hips, urging him to move 
harder.  

“I want you to come over me,” Sam begged, and Frodo moaned at the 
wantonness of Sam’s statement.  To have Sam here beneath him, to have 
him ask for such things with the lust so apparent in his voice made Frodo’s 
head reel.  Frodo complied.  He moved back and fell heavily on Sam’s 
chest, his seed spilling and spurting generously onto Sam’s body.  Frodo 
moaned; he would have fallen onto the bed if Sam’s hands had still not 
had his hips trapped between them.  He opened his eyes and saw Sam 
lying beneath him, slick with sweat and semen, pearly and lovely.  Frodo 
moved his fingers through the liquid, feeling the stickiness between the 
curls.  Sam gripped his hand and encircled Frodo’s fingers with his 
tongue, licking the seed dripping from his hand, moaning at the delicious 
taste.

Frodo had no choice to remove himself from Sam’s body lest he fall off.  
He lay with his head pressed into Sam’s arm, their faces close.  Frodo 
licked the corner of Sam’s mouth, tasting the saltiness.  They both grinned 
deliriously.  

“And have you ever had that done to you before Mister Frodo?” Sam 
asked cheekily.  Frodo looked around the room, pretending to think.  Sam 
grumbled and kissed him hard.  

“Don’t get angry my love, I was only teasing,” Frodo said beneath his lips.

“I know you were Frodo-sweet, but I’ll not be teased in matters of love.”

“No one has ever touched me like you have touched me, dear Sam,” Frodo 
said, serious now.  “No one has ever made me feel like you’ve made me 
feel.”

“Good,” Sam said, placated.  He sighed and pulled Frodo back into his 
arms.  

“Sam, have you ever….done that before?” Frodo asked hesitantly.  This 
time Sam pretended to think, humming in thought.  Frodo punched him 
lightly in the chest to gain his attention back.

“Not so nice when someone else does it now, is it?” Sam chuckled.  He 
looked into the shining blue eyes of his loved one and said, voice low in 
sincerity “I’ve never done that before and you know it.  I’ve never wanted 
to do anything like that before to anyone.  You are the only one I think of, 
the only one I want to share this with.”  He kissed Frodo lightly, the 
weight of his words seemed to add to the solemnity.

“You’re my only one, Sam,” Frodo replied softly.  “The only one I’ve ever 
had, and the only one I’ll ever have.”

“Make sure you stick to that,” Sam sighed, kissing Frodo’s lips gently, 
“for I’ll not share you with anyone.”




Frodo always woke slowly.  First, the deep yawn.  Then, the unhurried 
stretch.  Finally he would open his eyes to view his surroundings.  And 
how different his room looked this morning.  There, peering close, were 
the warm brown eyes of his lover.  “Hello you,” he said and reached up to 
hug Sam to him.  Sam fell across his body and kissed the sleep-warm 
mouth.  

“Morning darling, seems like you’ve got a bit more energy this morn then 
usual,” Sam said after a moment, pressing his body into Frodo’s.  

“Ah, but you’re dressed,” Frodo said disappointed.  

“We can’t all be laze-abouts like some rich folk I know,” Sam teased.  
“I’ve only been up for a while, I wanted to clean off and start breakfast.  
Are you hungry yet?”

“Always,” Frodo said huskily, attempting to put his hands in unusual 
places on Sam’s body.

“Oi, none of that,” exclaimed Sam, jumping off the bed.  “I’ve got things 
to do and a master to take care of.”

“And take care of him you did Samwise,” Frodo said sultrily, stretching 
and pressing against the sheet that covered his lower half, displaying his 
morning need to his gardener.  Sam blushed and, leaning over quickly, 
pecked Frodo on the nose.

“I’ve put a bowl of warm water and your lavender oil on the table there, 
if’n you want to get cleaned up before breakfast.  Mind you don’t be too 
long,” Sam said mournfully, unwillingly to leave Frodo’s sight but unable 
to fight off feelings of slackening off his duties.

“I’ll be there before you know it,” Frodo replied, sitting up and swinging 
his legs off the bed.  “And Sam?”

Sam turned from the door.  “I love you Sam.”  Sam blushed again, and 
said quietly, “I love you too Frodo.”

After sitting for a moment and enjoying the sun streaming through his 
window, Frodo stood and began to swipe the warm wet cloth against his 
body.  As he cleaned himself, he imagined that it was Sam’s tongue 
moving against his skin.  He smiled and thought he might try to convince 
Sam to come to bed when he heard voices in the hallway.  No doubt it was 
a member of the Gamgees family visiting at this early hour, so Frodo 
endeavoured to make himself look respectable.  He quickly dressed in the 
clothes that Sam had thoughtfully set out for him.  The waistcoat was a 
particularly dark shade of blue; Frodo had said in the past it looked too 
garish for daywear, but Sam had thought it matched his eyes perfectly.  
His trousers were a dark tan with flecks of gold weaved into the material.  
Frodo wondered if Sam had realised he had matched the trousers to the 
colour of his own eyes.





When Frodo entered the kitchen he was surprised to see his cousin sitting 
at the table.  “Merry?” Frodo exclaimed, “I didn’t know you were 
coming.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t give you any warning cousin, I felt the need to get 
away from Brandy Hall, and couldn’t think of anywhere else to go,” his 
voice broke at that last statement.  Merry looked scruffy and tired, his 
head hung and his eyes showed a lethargy that was previously unknown.  

“Whatever is the matter Merry dear?” Frodo asked, lowering himself to 
his knees and holding his cousin’s arms.  “Is there something wrong with 
your parents?  Is Pippin alright?”

Merry started to weep quietly, shoulders shaking in despair.  Frodo looked 
up at Sam, who said quickly, “I’ll just go put some tea on.”  Frodo thanked 
Sam with his eyes and turned his attention back to his miserable cousin.  
“Merry dear, tell me who’s hurt.”

“No one’s hurt Frodo,” Merry said shakily, “there’s nothing wrong with 
any of them.  Except me!” he cried and broke down in Frodo’s arms.  
Frodo held his weeping cousin to his chest and rocked him, whispering 
little nothings to soothe.  

After Merry had cried his fill, fixed his face with the aid of Frodo’s 
handkerchiefs and drank the large cup of hot tea that Sam had provided, he 
felt more like himself.  Sam vacillated nervously between the kitchen table 
and the stove and Frodo felt no closer to the solution of the mystery than 
before.

“Would you like to talk about it Merry?” Frodo asked softly. 

“I’ll just be going to the garden then,” Sam said, making his way to the 
backdoor.

“No Sam, don’t leave on my account,” Merry called him back.  “Thank 
you both, you don’t know how much better I feel.  All I want to do is sleep 
Frodo, I feel like I haven’t slept in weeks.  Can we talk later?”

“Of course Merry, I’ll prepare a room for you,” Frodo said.  “You just 
finish off your tea and you’ll be comfortable in no time.  Sam, will you 
help me please?”

Sam gave Merry a look of sympathy and joined Frodo at the linen closet.  
They removed sheets and blankets and took them to the main spare room.  
As they made up the bed, they wondered what was wrong.  

“No doubt it’s a fight between him and Mister Pippin, the two of them is 
always at it hammer and tongs,” Sam said, expertly flicking and tucking a 
corner of the sheet.

“Yes, but I’ve never seen him so upset before Sam.”  Frodo wondered, 
pulling a clean case onto a thick pillow.  “I don’t know what Pippin could 
have done to make Merry so sad.”

“We’ll find out soon enough sir, just as soon as he’s had his rest,” Sam 
spoke wisely, tugging the final cover onto the newly made bed.

“Sir?” Frodo asked incredulously.  

“You forget me dear,” Sam said, moving close to Frodo and wrapping his 
arms around him.  “I’m a selfish hobbit, and when I say that, I’m meaning 
that I love you.”  He kissed Frodo tenderly on the lips, running his fingers 
through his curls.

Frodo gasped as he was released from the kiss.  “How could I forget, when 
you call me Mister Frodo and Sir a thousand times a day.”

“Good,” Sam replied, squeezing Frodo’s bottom.  “Will you be alright 
here?”

“Yes my love, get to your garden.  I know when I’ve got competition,” 
Frodo chuckled, placing one last wet kiss on Sam’s lips before pushing 
towards the door.

“Oh and Sir?” Sam asked, as he was about to leave.

“Yes Sam?”

“I love you Sir,” and winked as he left the room.





Frodo stood for a few minutes, trying to catch his breath and his thoughts.  
It would not do to stand around daydreaming when his cousin needed him.  
He gathered Merry’s meagre pack and directed his weary cousin to the 
room.  “I’ll be here all day Merry, call me if you need anything.”

“Thank you Frodo,” Merry replied, looking at the welcoming room and 
the comfortable bed.  “I’m sorry to be such a bother.”

“Be silent you fool,” Frodo scoffed and closed the door.

The rest of the day passed peacefully.  Sam went about his respective 
duties, only stopping for a quick kiss when Frodo hung out of the study 
window dangerously.  Sam’s injured foot did not slow down his progress, 
he moved from patch to path with ease and intent.  Frodo, after trying and 
not succeeding in his encouragement of Sam to have a decent break, 
turned his attention back to his writing.  At lunch they enjoyed a glorious 
few minutes of clutching and kissing before Sam smelt the soup burning.  
They ate lunch quietly, watching spoons move into each other’s delicious 
mouths, Frodo making sure that, when he rubbed his foot against Sam’s 
leg, he did not touch the injured limb.  





At twilight Sam re-entered the smial.  His head shone with water and he 
smelt delightfully of soap.  After a swift squeeze in the study (in which a 
bottle of ink came dangerously close to spilling over Frodo’s accounts), he 
returned to the kitchen to make dinner.  Frodo finished his work and 
knocked softly on Merry’s door.  

“Yes,” a voice asked creakily.

“Dinner’s on Merry, come out and have something to eat.”

“I’ll be out in a minute Frodo.”

When Merry entered the kitchen he found the table set for three.  Sam 
whizzed amongst the steamy pans, Frodo sat at the table admiring his 
talent.  Merry sat down heavily and poured himself a glass of wine.  He 
drank it down quickly and refilled his glass.  This too was downed and a 
third was poured.

“Steady on Merry, you won’t be able to taste your dinner,” Frodo said 
jokingly, although Sam could detect a note of worry in his voice.

“I’m sorry Sam, I know it will taste beautiful, I’m just not in the mood to 
eat,” Merry said sombrely.

“No need to apologise Mister Merry, you just eat what you can,” Sam 
said, bringing heavy dishes to the table.

The meal was one of the strangest Frodo had ever eaten.  The food was 
predictably beautiful.  He was so full of joy he wanted to shout it out, or 
share it with his love who sat distractingly close, looking lovely and hot.  
But his cousin sat to one side, so full of despair that he didn’t eat one 
quarter of the food on his plate.  Frodo had never seen Merry so 
despondent and felt helpless to alleviate his pain.  

When Merry had finished picking at his plate, Sam began to remove the 
dishes from the table.  Frodo rose as if to help him but Sam shook his 
head, silently gesturing to his cousin.  Neither Sam nor Frodo had had 
time to fully adjust to their new situation, and didn’t rightly know how to 
behave in front of other people.  ‘That needs to be sorted out soon,’ Frodo 
thought to himself.

“Come Merry,” Frodo bullied, “I’ve got just the place to smoke our pipes 
and have a good quiet chat.”  Frodo led Merry to the bench that sat to the 
side of his study window.  Frodo smiled at the sight of it; Sam had built it 
for him just this summer.  He knew that Frodo liked a place to sit and 
think and admire his flowers.  Sam had spent many nights carving the 
Elvish reliefs and floral tributes into the wood, until the back of the bench 
curled and flourished with a majesty not seen before in the Shire.  

As Merry and Frodo sat and puffed in silence, Sam finished cleaning the 
pots and plates, returning the kitchen back to its sparkling glory.  He 
decided to make a fresh pot of tea and take some tasty sweets out to tempt 
Merry’s appetite.  He placed the kettle on the fire, prepared a tray with 
teapot and leaf, cups, saucers, spoons, sugar, honey for his Frodo, and a 
selection of creamy biscuits that he had made the day before.  He stopped 
and contemplated.  Just the day before.  Just yesterday he was doing his 
job, loving from afar, heart being torn in two as he basked in his master’s 
presence, but never having the courage to do anything about it.  He 
hugged himself with glee and put his fist in his mouth lest he squeal for 
joy.  His love, his Frodo.  Frodo had let him, Samwise Gamgee, love him, 
and he had loved him back.  ‘Things such as this cannot be borne’ Sam 
thought to himself.  ‘How’s a hobbit to live and breath when such miracles 
as this was going on?’

He looked for the tea strainer that was needed for the leaves and 
remembered he’d left it in Frodo’s study in the afternoon.  Walking 
quickly, he moved around the study in darkness, he knew the lay of each 
room in this smial like the back of his hand.  He heard Frodo and Merry’s 
voices drift through the open window.

“Will you tell me Merry dear?’ Sam heard his master enquire.  His heart 
swelled; there never was as decent a hobbit as young Mister Frodo, always 
wanting to help.

“I’m afraid too Frodo, I don’t want you to think badly of…of him,” Merry 
said hesitantly.  Merry knew that, for all Frodo’s youth and vigour, he had 
at the core a thread of conservative strength.  He did not want to let Frodo 
know his feelings for Pippin, lest he be disgusted in them both.

“No matter what he’s done, I’ll still love him as much as I love you Merry.  
Come along, it can’t be all that bad.”

Merry’s next sentence was spoken so softly that Sam could not interpret it.  
He had small inkling of guilt which he quickly squashed; he wasn’t 
listening out of curiosity, he wanted to help Mister Merry if he could, and 
if by helping Mister Merry he also set his Frodo’s mind at ease, that was a 
bonus.   

“He was with Darko Middlemarch,” Merry repeated, breathing shallowly.

“So?” Frodo said.  “I know you don’t like Darko much Merry, but Pippin 
has a right to make his own mind up about people.”

“No you don’t understand,” Merry said angrily, hitting his fists into his 
legs.  “He was WITH Darko, he was making love to him.  Although,” 
Merry continued, angry tears streaming down his face, “I don’t know if 
you’d call it love.  He was kissing him, he was sucking him there!  Pippin 
was sucking Darko off and he was enjoying it Frodo.”

“Ohhh,” Frodo breathed, shocked.  He could see why Merry was so upset 
now.  Merry and Pippin had always had a special bond.  Merry must be 
torn between his feelings of love for his cousin and his feelings of disgust 
for what he had seen.  For all his rapscallion behaviour, Frodo knew that 
Merry, as the only heir to Buckland, was as straight down the line as his 
father.  He knew Merry must see this as a disgusting aberration, a thing to 
be mocked and prevented.  

“Yes oh,” Merry mocked.  “Can you believe it?  Darko, that pig, and 
Pippin…the stupid little fuck!”  Merry was beside himself with rage.  “I’m 
not an idiot, I know this sort of thing goes on.  You know as well as I do 
Frodo that some people will think any port in a storm will do, but that?  
Liking it?  Liking another male?  Pippin was moaning Frodo, he was 
liking it so much he was moaning,” and here Merry broke down, unable to 
hold against the tide of his tears. 

“There there,” Frodo said without thought, rubbing the back of his 
grieving cousin.  How could Frodo not agree with Merry at this time?  For 
him to speak on Pippin’s side would drive Merry away.  Who knew where 
he would go or what he would do in this state?  Frodo needed time to 
allow Merry to calm down.  He needed to speak gently and convincingly 
to Merry, to make him see that, even though he felt nauseated by the act, 
he could still love the participant.

“ I feel sick Frodo,” Merry lamented. 

“So do I,” Frodo replied.

“I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to look him in the face again.  How 
can I see him and not see…that.”

“He made a mistake Merry,” Frodo said, cautiously.  

“He bloody well did Frodo.  I’ll never forgive him for this, not as long as I 
live,” Merry exclaimed.  “He and Darko can go to hell.  Oh, I wish I’d 
never found out.”  Merry sobbed again, it hurt telling this story to Frodo, 
but he knew it would hurt even more if he told Frodo the truth.  How 
could he explain to his older cousin that the main feeling he had was one 
of regret?  He wished he had been in Darko’s position.  He knew that 
Frodo would speak nicely but distantly if he ever suspected the truth.  If he 
ever found out that Merry felt that way about other males.

“Yes,” Frodo said softly, “it was a mistake.  I bet Pippin never meant it to 
go that far Merry.  I bet,” and his voice hitched, “I bet he was sorry he’d 
ever done something like this, and doesn’t know how to make it go back 
to the way it was.”

Sam gasped inside the study, Frodo sounded like he was the one who was 
sorry; that he was the one that wished it had never happened.

“But you can’t make it go away, can you Frodo,” Merry asked, wiping his 
wet face on his sleeves.

“No Merry-love, what’s done is done.”

“And what are you supposed to do then?”

“You get on with life Merry.  You do your best with what you’ve got and 
you carry on.  You try not to cause trouble but in your heart,” and Frodo’s 
throat swelled at the lie he was about to say, “you wish it had never 
happened,” he whispered.

Sam left the study, shocked and dry-eyed.  He should have seen it coming.  
‘Stupid, stupid Gamgee,’ he berated himself.  ‘What made you think that 
this was alright?  Didn’t you just hear himself saying he’d wished it never 
happened?’  Frodo hadn’t known that Sam could hear them, so he must 
have been telling the truth to his cousin, pouring out his heart and 
wondering how to deal with his own foolishness.  Oh but his heart felt like 
it was being torn in two.  What could he do?  He couldn’t stay here with 
the knowledge that every whisper was a lie, every caress was forced, all 
acts of love pretence put on to spare both their feelings.  He needed to get 
out of here.  He needed to think.

He felt himself become resolved to his actions.  He would go, but first he 
had to take out the tea.  He could not be the one to tear this façade down.  
He would not let on that he knew anything was different; he would act his 
normal self and he would think.

Sam poured the boiling water into the teapot and, gathering the tray, put 
on a face of soft, dumb concern.  He approached Merry and Frodo who at 
this stage were relighting their pipes in silence.  

“Mister Frodo sir,” Sam said as he started to pour out the tea.

“Yes Sam,” Frodo replied, still looking at Merry’s sorrowful countenance.

“I’ve just had word from Marigold that my Da’s not feeling too well.  I 
think I’ll pop up the road and see if there’s nowt I can do to help.  Will 
that be alright sir?”

“Of course Sam,” Frodo replied, passing a cup to Merry’s trembling 
hands.  “Would you like any help?”

“No sir, thanks for asking.  I’ll just be along and see what I can do.  
There’s no need to keep the front door open for me, I’ll slip in through the 
back if I need to, but chances are I won’t be back till morning.  Is there 
anything you’ll be wanting done before I’m gone?”

Here Frodo looked up at Sam, his eyes sad.  It would be their first night 
apart after their first night together.

“Thank you Sam,” Merry interrupted, breaking the mood. He bit one of 
the creamy cakes.  “You’re a wonderful cook.”

“Just doing my job Mister Merry, just doing my best to take care of Mister 
Frodo,” and with that, Sam tugged on his forelock and was gone without 
another word or glance to Frodo.

“Send my best to the Gaffer,” Frodo yelled out to his retreating back.  It 
must be a serious situation for Sam to hurry off like that.  He wished he 
could go with him and assist the Gaffer, but he knew that Merry needed 
him more.  He sighed and took another suck of his pipe.





Sam ran out into the lane, not caring where he went as long as it was away 
from Bag End.  He felt like vomiting after seeing Frodo; how could he lie 
like that?  How could he bat those eyes at Sam, pretending he loved him 
when the very thought made him sorry for the time they’d spent together.  
Sam was an honest hobbit; even to himself, so he could not deny that 
Frodo had some feelings for him.  But love?  He’d been the first one to 
make a move, he had admitted that he would do anything for Frodo, he 
had leaned in and kissed Frodo first.  What was Frodo to do?  Of course he 
loved Sam, Sam was his friend and loyal employee.  And of course he had 
those feelings, what grown man didn’t?  But for Sam to twist those actions 
into a dream of love, to wish for something that couldn’t be his, to put 
himself above his place…

Yes, that was it.  He had put himself above his place.  He knew now where 
he could go.





He let himself quietly into Bag Shot Row.  It was very late and a small fire 
burned in the kitchen hearth.  Sam stole across the floor until a loud 
‘Hurmpp’ stopped him.  There was his Gaffer, sitting by the fire, pipe in 
mouth and feet up on a chair.  

“Da?” Sam asked alarmed.  

“Samwise?  What are you doing sneaking in here this time o’ night?  You 
been up to no good at Bag End?”

At that pronouncement, Sam felt the floodgates open.  He threw himself at 
his father’s feet, placed his head in his lap and sobbed hysterically.  After 
a few minutes, when the storm seemed to ease, Hamfast said “There there 
lad.”  He stroked his son’s hair and asked, “What’s got into you boy?”

“I’m sorry Da, I truly am, but I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Go? Why, what’s happened to Mister Frodo?  Has he been hurt?”

“No Da, he’s alright, it’s me,” Sam sobbed.

“What’s wrong with you boy?  Are you hurt?  Well, speak up!” Hamfast 
pulled his son to his feet, inspecting him from head to toe.  He saw the 
bindings on Sam’s feet and let out a gasp.

Sam looked down at his feet; truth be told, it hadn’t hurt since last night.  
He’d been poked, prodded and pierced innumerable times in his life, but 
nothing had hurt like this.  

“It’s not that Da,” Sam sighed, his tears halted by this stage.  

Hamfast grunted and said “Sit yourself down, you look tired.”  Sam sat in 
front of his father’s feet, gazing into the fire.  Hamfast looked upon his 
youngest; there was so much of Bell in him, and so much of himself, but 
there was something more that added to the completeness of Sam.  ‘He 
looks so young and strong’ Hamfast thought, ‘he is everything I wanted to 
be’.

“Do you want to talk now son?” he enquired.

Sam sighed and shook his head, not to say no, but to clear his mind.  He 
didn’t know a way of going around this so he came straight out with it.  
“I’ve got to leave here Dad.”

“Leave?  Leave us?  Leave Mister Frodo?  Why – has he said you must be 
leaving?”

“No, he doesn’t know I’m going,” Sam voice broke.  “It’s the right thing 
to do.  I can’t live with myself knowing…knowing what I’ve done.”

“But what is it you’ve done Samwise?  This makes no sense to me,” the 
Gaffer asked, annoyed and frightened.  He could not let his son leave 
without a fight.

“I’ve forgotten my place,” Sam whispered, looking at the floor.

“But Sam-lad, there’s nowt you could have done that would make it so 
bad.  You’re a good lad, I’m sure Mister Frodo will forgive you for any 
mistakes you’ve made.”

“I’m sorry Dad, I can’t tell you anymore.  Just…understand that if I could 
stay, you know I would.  I’ll find work up in Bree, and I’ll send you 
money regular, I just can’t stand to be here right now.”  Sam looked up at 
his stern father, grasping his hands.  “Please Dad, please, you’ve got to let 
me go.  I know I’ve not of age and you can tell me what to do, but I’ll not 
stay anymore and I’d rather I went with your blessing and your love than 
with your anger.”  Tears streamed down Sam’s face as he begged his 
father to let him be.

“Aye Sam,” the Gaffer said, smoothing the hands clenched between his.  
“You’ve always had my blessing and my love.  But, do you really need to 
go?” His voice cracked at the last statement.

Sam’s shoulders shook with the force of his tears.  “It breaks my heart to 
leave you sir, but I must be away.”

“Aye then lad,” Hamfast said heavily.  “If it’s what you must do, I’ll not 
stand in your way.  But what of Mister Frodo?”

“You’ll still be here to keep an eye on him Dad, he can hire another 
gardener and the girls can tend to his other needs. I’ll be gone for a while, 
but it’ll not be forever.  I’ll write to you most often and come back if you 
or the girls really need me to.”

“Don’t you worry about us Samwise, we can take care of ourselves.  I’ll 
explain it to the lasses and they’ll be sad, and they’ll not understand, but 
they’ll love you all the same.  But will you not say goodbye to your 
master?  

“No Da, there’s nothing to say to Mister Frodo that I’ve not said before.  
He’ll be fine without me and…I’ll be fine too,” Sam said, putting on a 
brave face.

Hamfast looked at the trembling lip, the filled eyes, the steady shoulders.  
As much as he wished to keep his son by his side, he knew that this was 
the only way he could grant Sam peace.  He placed a rough hand heavily 
on his son’s head and said, “Go with the Lady’s blessings Sam-lad, and go 
with mine.”

Sam threw himself into his father’s embrace, thanking him with a hard 
kiss on the cheek.  Hamfast stroked the golden hair for a moment, seeking 
to remember its texture then said, “Be off with you lad then.”

Sam stood up, wiped his tears from his eyes and said unsteadily “I love 
you Da.”

The Gaffer looked up at his son standing tall and proud and said, “And I 
love you son.  Don’t be gone too long.”





Sam let himself in quietly through the backdoor of the smial.  Without 
making a sound he packed his belongings into a sack, pausing to 
straighten the bedcover that he’d mussed.  He went into the kitchen and 
grabbed three apples and the loaf that remained from dinner.  He looked 
around the kitchen.  Even without fire or candles burning, there was 
enough light to see the glimmer of pots, the shine of knives, the 
comforting sacks of produce in the corner.  He wiped a tear from his eye, 
he had been happy here.  If this was to be the last time he stood in this 
house, he wanted to carry its memory with him.

He turned to leave, paused, debated with himself, then quickly placed the 
sack noiselessly on the table.  He walked slowly up the hall, listening for 
signs of life.  Behind the spare bedroom door he heard the muffled snores 
of Merry sleeping off his wine.  He paused in front of Frodo’s door, hand 
resting on the doorknob.  ‘Just one peek,’ he told himself, ‘just one last 
look before I go away.’

He shook his head; even though Frodo was a heavy sleeper, there was 
always a chance that he would still be awake reading.  Even though there 
was no sign of candlelight slipping under the door, Sam would not take the 
chance of seeing him again.  All it would take for Sam to change his mind 
and stay would be a simple ‘Please Sam’ from Frodo.  Sam knew he did 
not have the strength to turn him down, regardless of how he knew Frodo 
really felt.  He turned his hand and, running his knuckles along the wood, 
caressed the door.  ‘Goodbye my love,’ he whispered and was gone.





When Frodo and Merry awoke late the next morning, they were surprised 
to see the cold, sterile kitchen.  Frodo was worried, the Gaffer must be 
very ill for Sam to not come back and check his charges.  He left Merry 
with the job of starting breakfast, wrapped a scarf around his neck and 
walked down to Bag Shot Row.  

He knocked harder then he meant to.  The door opened and the Gaffer 
stood in front of him.

“Mister Frodo!” Hamfast said surprised.  “And what can I do for you?”

“I’ve come to see how you were Mister Gamgee.  Sam told me you were 
ill last night and when he didn’t return this morning, I thought something 
must be wrong.”

“Sick?  I’m not sick,” Hamfast replied.

“I wonder why Sam said that then,” Frodo said perplexed.  “Can I see him 
please?  Is he still here?”

“I’m sorry to tell you sir, but he’s gone,” the Gaffer said sadly.

“Gone?” Frodo repeated, confused.

“Aye sir, gone.  And he’ll not be coming back.”


TITLE: Unavoidable: A Fiery Interlude (6 of 8)

AUTHOR: Stella Hobbit

RATING: NC-17

PAIRING(S): M/?

WARNINGS: Swearing, sexual situations

STATUS: Completed

SUMMARY: Where have all the hobbits gone?  All four are on their own 
paths – will they meet up again?

AUTHOR’S NOTES: Some people say that a quickie is a goodie.  Whilst 
you may not agree, I thought it appropriate to write this calm before the 
storm.  Feel free to send me an email – all opinions, advice, 
encouragement and flames will be looked at (not guaranteeing I’ll answer 
you though 8P )

ARCHIVE: No problems, just tell me where you’re putting my babies. 

FEEDBACK: Hell yeah, I’m a glutton for punishment or praise :-).  
Contact me at thelaconiclibrarian@hotmail.com or check out my Live 
Journal at www.livejournal.com/users/stellahobbit/

DISCLAIMER: If you thought that I owned these characters, then you’re a 
fecking idiot!  The people and places belong to the estate of J.R.R. 
Tolkien.  I don’t make a profit from this (show me one slash writer who 
does!), I just share my stories with like-minded people.





My darling Meriadoc,

I was very pleased to receive your last letter - I am glad that you are 
working hard and learning a lot of new things on your travels in the 
county; although I do not know why you could not remain at the Hall and 
have the new things bought to you.  This winter has been a harsh one, I 
hope that you are taking care of yourself – remember to insist on having a 
room with a large fireplace at all times!  

Pippin’s fifteenth birthday celebrations were a pleasant affair, all the 
family had a most wonderful time although Pippin was not his usual 
effusive self – perhaps now that he is growing older he is becoming more 
sedate in his manner?  For his mother’s sake I hope so.

I wish you had stayed longer at dear Frodo’s; since he will not visit us, the 
thought of you installing a portion of Brandybuck sensibility into him sets 
my mind at ease.  We have not heard from him in the longest time, I have 
written seven letters in as many months but have not received one back!  I 
believe the solitude he has enforced upon himself since Bilbo left has 
addled his mind.  Please write to him and insist he visit us or, if that will 
not fit in with his schedule (although I’m sure his tenants could live 
without him for a while) press upon him the need to write to me.  

From letters I have received from my acquaintances in the area, he has 
become very strange.  He no longer leaves his house, not even to purchase 
new books!  His food is delivered fortnightly by one of the local 
merchants and the order (which I’m told is very plain) is never altered.  
Lobelia Sackville-Baggins has informed me that he has not even employed 
a new gardener to replace the one that went away.  His vegetable plots lie 
dormant, the hedges so unruly they are nearly impassable, the flowers 
have all died.  He has been seen (on several occasions, by completely 
different witnesses) to sit on his bench for hours at a time, staring at the 
barren dirt.  The only time he leaves his smial is at night where he walks 
for hours on end by himself until sunrise forces him indoors.  Apart from 
passing a few words to a local family that do his washing for him, he is a 
hermit.  I am perplexed at his behaviour and worried that he will come to 
no good.  Could you not break off your journey, collected him from Bag 
End and bring both of you back to me?  

This letter nearly reaches the end of the page and I know your father 
wishes to send you his regards as well.  Please Meriadoc, return as quickly 
as possible.  I miss my boy.

Your loving mother, Esmeralda


Son, 

I’ve been told that some farmers in the lower Shire are experimenting with 
a stronger tasting, wet-weather resilient pipe weed.  Send me a sample as 
soon as possible.

Your father





Eight months later


Merry arrived in Bree in the afternoon.  There was still enough light to 
find a decent hotel and see that his pony was well taken care off.  After 
dumping his bag in his room and having a quick bite to eat, he wandered 
aimlessly through the street watching the stall vendors pack up the last of 
their unsold goods.  Summer was nearly over but there was still enough 
strength in it to turn what should be a pleasant afternoon’s walk into a 
sticky affair.  His hair hung loose on his neck; since he had been gone 
from Brandy Hall, there was no parents or servants to remind him he must 
look his best.  He had not returned home since the night he had hit Pippin.

He had been dutiful in sending his letters, his parents were aware that he 
had spent a short time with Frodo at Bag End before moving on.  Seeing 
Frodo’s face the morning after Sam had left would be a memory he would 
be stuck with for life.  His older cousin had just frozen, all life appeared to 
leak out of his body, leaving a pasty white shell.  No matter how hard he 
tried to get Frodo to confide in him, all he could gain was that Sam had 
left Bag End, said his goodbyes to his Gaffer and disappeared.  

Merry was mystified at Sam’s unusually cruel behaviour.  Anyone who 
had seen Frodo and Sam together knew they had a deep respect and 
friendship for each other, it didn’t seem right for the loyal gardener to just 
up and leave.  After a few days of useless pestering, Merry realised that 
Frodo would not tell him anymore.  Merry tried to comfort him, make him 
laugh, give him hope but Frodo became more and more withdrawn.  He 
would sit for hours in his study, quill lying listlessly in his hand, eyes 
unblinking and staring out of the window.  But apart from wild birds and 
the occasional butterfly, nothing stirred in the garden anymore.

On the fourth day, Frodo woke up looking much lively.  He assured Merry 
that he was alright, would be alright, and there was no need for him to 
tarry if he didn’t want to.  They had not spoken of Pippin since the night 
that Sam left, but Frodo knew it weighed heavily on Merry’s mind.  He 
encouraged Merry to return to Brandybuck Hall and, if Pippin was not 
there, to immediately set out for Tuckborough to make up with his cousin.  
Merry listened and agreed with the same amount of sincerity that Frodo 
had displayed when Merry had suggested he not worry about Sam.

And so Merry left.  He wrote to his parents, thanked them for their 
patience and informed them he wished to continue his travels.  He gave 
the excuse that he wished to view the different planting techniques and 
crops that were endemic to the area.  The letter that Merry’s parents had 
forwarded on to him at his next stop contained opposing messages.  His 
mother wished her only child to return home to her for she missed his 
presence and did not believe that a hobbit male of his age was capable of 
fending for himself.  His father congratulated him on his devotion to his 
future position and suggested people and places to see.  

Since then, he had received and answered his letters dutifully.  There was 
no message from Pippin.





Twilight had arrived by the time Merry’s weary feet had carried him to the 
Prancing Pony.  His parents and he had stayed at the inn on many 
occasions and, while he remembered it fondly, did not wish to reside in it 
overnight.  It bought home feelings of past happiness’s that he did not 
wish to revisit.  He did not stop, continuing to walk past.  Even though his 
head had no idea where his going, his feet were sure of their path.  
Without meaning to, Merry realised he had arrived at the Bramble Hut.





Pippin sobbed and moaned around his house for two weeks after his 
birthday, upsetting the servants and depressing his sisters until the Thain 
warned him that if he did not snap out of his surly mood, he would be sent 
to stay at his Great-Aunt Petal’s smial for an entire year.  Pippin suspected 
that his father was joking but was not willing to take the risk.  He had 
waited and watched his fifteenth birthday arrive and go.  His family had of 
course been at the celebration, as well as innumerable relatives but Pippin 
found it difficult to even imitate enjoyment.  He was still relieved that no 
one knew of his indiscretion with Darko; Merry had at least spared him 
that embarrassment.  But to not hear from him in so long?  His Uncle 
Saradoc suggested that he was perhaps a bit to hasty in declaring he’d eat 
his belt if Merry didn’t return in time, but did his best to make Pippin see 
it was the best thing for Merry at his age to be experiencing the open road.  

Twenty-three was such a sharp age for a hobbit; no longer child, not ready 
for the responsibilities of adulthood.  Tweenager was the perfect name, for 
the hobbit lay ‘tween the carefree days of youth and the sober tasks of 
adult life.  For a while, Pippin was so convincing in his act to that the 
household believed he was back to his normal self, he almost believed it 
himself.  But there were moments when he managed to steal away from 
his sisters and hide in the orchard that let him know he wasn’t over it.  He 
loved Merry with a passion that was almost obsessive, and he had lost the 
object of his passion.  

Even though Pippin’s eyes had been closed as he lay bleeding and bruised 
on the path after Merry had hit him, he remembered the tone of Merry’s 
voice – the despair, the disgust.  As the months had gone on and Merry 
still had not contacted him, he began to gain back a bit of his old 
personality.  Whilst he did not laugh as loudly as he’d used to, and his 
pranks became more amusing than spiteful, he felt himself beginning to 
mend.  

The affair with Darko had been an awkward and dark time in his life but 
he was thankful for it.  He know knew where his interest lay, thus it was 
easier for him to spend time with the females his mother sporadically 
threw his way, in the hope of him forming an attachment that would hold 
until his coming of age.  He danced with the girls, he teased them with 
laughing eyes, he whispered poetry to them in deserted meadows, but it 
was just an act.  Never one to lie, not even to himself, Pippin realised and 
accepted the fact that he just wasn’t interested in girls that way.  They 
smelt nice and were not prone to making loud offensive noises as boys 
were wont to do, but there was no spark for him there.  His one night of 
experimentation quickly paved the way for other encounters; Pippin had 
the uncanny ability of locating and conquering like-minded males.  He 
was always discreet, always kind, but the romances never lasted long.  He 
hoped that by the time he had passed his upcoming birthday, he would feel 
more settled, more in tune with his soul.  The urges of his body he had 
accepted readily with Tookish logic, but the stirrings of his heart were yet 
to be understood.





All cities, no matter how prosperous, have their seedy underbelly.  There 
are places that one can go and experience any feeling.  Stimulants and 
depressants are available to anyone with the silver to pay for it, and some 
aspects were expressed without a coin changing hands.

The township of Bree was a nexus for travellers.  Men and hobbits alike 
visited, gambled, bartered, drank and moved on.  Some, who for all intents 
and purposes looked exactly like their colleagues, had a taste that was 
deemed unusually even for Bree’s standards.  The Bramble Hut had a 
number of features going for it.  It was in a discreet part of the township 
where civilised hobbits would not dream of going.  It had cold ale and 
warm food.  Even though its ground-floor rooms were musty with pipe 
smoke and dust, its upper floors were kept meticulously clean.  If a 
stranger were to accidentally walk into the Bramble Hut, there would see 
what looked like an ordinary drinking establishment; loud as patrons 
yelled over each other and the singing, bleary-eyed men leaning into 
bleary-eyes friends, goodwill and camaraderie that can be attributed to 
good alcohol.  It would take a person a while to realise that there was not 
one woman present in the whole building.

Merry had been to the Bramble Hut on two occasions in the past.  Once, 
he had managed to sneak away from his parents for a few hours.  He had 
heard the sort of rough, dark talk that a person in his station should not 
hear, a place where physical pleasures were sought and found.  The first 
time he had been, he sat shocked in a corner for half an hour, only sipped 
at the ale he had purchased, and returned to his room without his parents 
ever finding out he had been gone.  The second time he had been gone to 
the Bramble Hut, he was an active participant.





Merry’s breath quickened as he entered the inn.  Whilst the noise level did 
not drop and the patrons appeared not to notice him, he was aware he was 
being scrutinised from all sides.  After a few seconds, he passed the silent 
test and the males got back to their drinks.  He pressed himself through the 
throng surrounding the bar and purchased a cool ale.  Even though the 
rooms were full, he felt slightly cool and more relaxed in here then he had 
walking outside.  A red-haired hobbit next to him raised his eyebrows in 
greeting, Merry turned his back to him and finished his drink.  He pushed 
his way through the crowd and walked up a decrepit staircase that was 
partially hidden in the corner.

As he walked up the flights of stairs, the sounds below lessened and the air 
became sweeter in smell.  He arrived at the top floor and looked down the 
narrow corridor.  The only light visible shone through a soapy window at 
the end.  He walked quietly down the hallway, passed doors closed on 
either side of him that suppressed the muffled sounds from within.  He 
reached an open door and looked inside the room.  It was empty.  He 
continued walking, more closed doors.  The silence became so deep he 
could hear his furred feet slide along the floor.  He stopped at an open 
door, the room had an occupant.

A shirtless hobbit stood with his back to the door.  His arms pressed 
against a thin window that let in a sliver of starlight, he made no indication 
that he had heard Merry.  Merry entered the room and closed the door 
behind him.  Whilst the room was near complete darkness, there was still 
enough light shining for him to see the make of the male in front of him.  
Because his arms were raised, Merry could see the strong V-shaped 
stomach that led into a narrow waist.  He was fair this hobbit; fair-haired 
and brawny.  He wore leggings that had seen better days, and were tight 
enough to reveal the round strength of his cheeks. The shoulders were 
broad, the skin sun-kissed enough to be said to be golden, even under the 
silver tint of the moon.  Merry breathing increased in both rapidity and 
volume, still the hobbit did not move.  

Merry pressed himself against the males back, twining his arms around 
until his hands felt the rigid stomach muscles of his silent lover.  He 
nibbled the back of his neck, tasting sweat, weed, horses and hay.  His 
hands dipped lower, outlining a taunt bulge that was present in his pants.  
As he pressed down with his hands, his nibbles turned to love bites, casual 
swipes of the tongue mixed with his teeth.  He heard an appreciative groan 
that did not come from his own mouth.  This male was ready, his erection 
nearly poking through his threadbare pants.  The first and last time Merry 
had walked into one of the rooms in the upper floor of the Bramble Hut, 
his alien lover had been a shy lad, not much older than Merry himself at 
the time.  This one felt different; older, stronger.  From the bucking that 
was occurring under his hands, he suspected that this lover would be one 
of his most passionate to date.  A strong hand grasped Merry’s hand 
impatiently and slid it past the waistband of the leggings, into the ready 
crotch.  Merry panted at the heat and hardness, it was like holding an iron 
bar ready for smelting.

“Do you like that then?” Merry whispered, beginning to stroke the hard 
cock.  The hobbit tensed suddenly, turned and pushed Merry away.  With 
the starlight shining from behind, Merry could not see the males features, 
but it was obvious that he could be identified.

“Mister Merry?” Sam’s bewildered voice asked.


TITLE: Unavoidable: A Problem Resolved (7 of 8)

AUTHOR: Stella Hobbit

RATING: NC-17

PAIRING(S): M/S, M/P

WARNINGS: Sex, angst and swear words, an award-winning combination

STATUS: Completed

SUMMARY: Sam and Merry have a rewarding chat.  Merry asks Pippin’s 
forgiveness.

AUTHOR’S NOTES: Some things are inevitable.  I’m getting to the end 
of this fic and breath a sigh of relief as at least one pair of hobbits find 
happiness.  Feel free to send me an email – all opinions, advice, 
encouragement and flames will be looked at (not guaranteeing I’ll answer 
you though 8P )

ARCHIVE: No problems, just tell me where you’re putting my babies. 

FEEDBACK: Hell yeah, I’m a glutton for punishment or praise :-).  
Contact me at thelaconiclibrarian@hotmail.com or check out my Live 
Journal at www.livejournal.com/users/stellahobbit/

DISCLAIMER: If you thought that I owned these characters, then you’re a 
fecking idiot!  The people and places belong to the estate of J.R.R. 
Tolkien.  I don’t make a profit from this (show me one slash writer who 
does!), I just share my stories with like-minded people.





It was Sam.

Merry fell back horrified as Sam looked down at him.  His heart beat 
heavily in his chest – this couldn’t be happening!  Gardner Sam?  Young, 
likable Sam, pushing his arse into Merry’s bulging crotch?  Honest, 
reliable Sam, moaning and thrusting his erection into Merry’s hand?  But 
he hadn’t known it was Merry.  Did Sam do this with strangers too?

Merry was aghast at the changes he saw in Sam’s physical appearance.  
Sam was a hottie.  Merry didn’t know what Sam had been up to in the 
months since he’d left Bag End, but whatever it was, it had enabled him to 
become the exquisite physical specimen know looking angrily down at 
him.

“What are you doing here Sam?”

“I could ask the same of you Mister Merry, but I’m thinking we both 
know the answer to that.”  Sam sighed and extended a hand to Merry.  
After a brief hesitation, Merry clasped the outstanding peace offering.  He 
gained his feet, brushed himself off and sat heavily on the sparsely 
furnished double bed.  Sam leaned against the wall, arms crossed 
defensively across his chest, face hidden in the shadows.  They regarded 
each other silently.

Sam now took the time to study Merry.  The younger hobbit looked 
careworn; his clothes were not neatly pressed and still held the dust of the 
road.  Sam’s keen eyes noticed Merry’s longer hair and the presence of 
new lines around his mouth.  Merry’s eyes looked tired.

“So, do we sit here and pass pleasantries, or do we beat each other 
senseless?” Merry asked with a smirk.

“I’m thinking neither Mister Merry but it seems there’s some talking to 
do.”  

Merry nodded and gestured to the empty space behind him on the bed.  
“Sit?”

Sam regarded him warily and Merry inadvertently laughed out loud.  
“Don’t worry Sam, your virtue is safe with me.  I’ll not do…what I did 
before again.”

Sam sat on the bed, making sure to keep a good space between them.  
After a few moments of silence, he could no longer sit quietly and ran his 
fingers through his hair, causing wild whorls to poke up.  “I don’t 
understand it!” he said passionately.  “You, of all people.  What are you 
doing in a place like this?”

“I was hoping to get laid, much the same as you were Sam,” Merry 
snapped back. 

“But you.  You hate this sort of thing, you hate these sorts of people.  
What made you change your mind?”

“What makes you think I hated any of this Sam?  It’s not something that 
comes up in polite conversation,” Merry chuckled, “unless you are able to 
tell something of me that no one else suspects.”

“After that night.”  Sam whispered.

“What night?” 

“The night I left.”

Sam stood up abruptly.  Merry watched him pace the floor.  Something 
was definitely disturbing him but Merry did not believe it was just the 
situation in which they now found themselves.

“The night you left?  But nothing happened that…”

“I heard you,” Sam interjected, head hung mournfully.

“You heard me what?  Sam, you really must help me, I have no idea of 
what you’re talking about.”

“You were sitting outside with…with him and I’d planned on bringing out 
some supper.  I went to the study to get some such thing and I heard you 
through the window.  You were talking about Mister Pippin.  You were 
crying about what he’d done and how bad you felt about it.  It sounded 
like your heart was near tore out with disappointment.”

Merry felt his breath slide out of his body.  That night?  Merry had tried 
not to think of that night since he’d left Bag End.  To think of Frodo and 
that talk and that night – it brought back all the unresolved feelings he had 
for Pippin.  And Sam had heard all of this and jumped to the only possible 
conclusion.  But what had that to do with anything?

“You’re right Sam, I was talking of Pippin and I was upset that night.  
Okay, that’s an understatement,” he said wryly, “I still am upset by that 
night.  But not for the reasons you think.”  

Merry swallowed thickly.  “Sam, I want to say something to you that I’ve 
never said out loud to a single soul, not even myself.”

Sam raised his head and looked Merry squarely in the face.  “Aye sir?”

“Sam, I…” oh, this was much harder than he thought it would be.  He took 
a deep breath and started again.  “Sam, I love Pippin.  And not,” his voice 
dropped, “not as one would normally love a younger male cousin.”

“Ah,” Sam sighed, realisation setting in.  “So that’s why you were so upset 
with what Mister Pippin had done, not because you thought it was wrong 
for him to do, but because you wanted to be the one to do it with him.”

Merry started to cry noiselessly.  After all these years, the mere external 
expression of what he felt for Pippin acted like a catharsis.  All those 
nights of want, all those days of guilt came together and were released in 
one moment.  Merry felt cleansed; still devastated by his loss but strangely 
relieved that, if he died tomorrow, there would be one other person in this 
world that knew of his love.

Sam sat down beside Merry and engulfed him in his arms.  He let the 
younger hobbit weep onto his naked chest, rocking and soothing as 
Merry’s tears became nearly hysterical, then petered out into hitching 
breaths.  When Merry’s tears had dried up, Sam removed a clean 
handkerchief from the pocket of his breeches.  Merry took it, wiped his 
face and said shakily “What would I do without you Sam?”

At that Sam’s face showed a torrent of emotion – grief and pain mingled 
with horror, until Sam’s face became stoic.  “Please don’t say that sir, I’m 
nothing special.”

“Ah, but you are Sam.  I always knew there was something special about 
you before tonight, but now I know for certain.  And what of you 
Samwise?  How came you to this place?  Why did you leave Bag End?”

Sam pondered, rubbing the stubble that was beginning to appear on his 
chin.  Merry watched in fascination, it was a rare hobbit that grew 
whiskers and Sam looked as if he would be one of them.  Merry wondered 
briefly what it would feel like to have that jaw rubbing against his naked 
stomach then shook his head internally.  That was never going to happen.  
Best he focus on the problem at hand.

“When I left…Bag End, I needed to find a place to work, I promised my 
Gaffer I’d send him money regular.  I came to Bree because I thought it 
would be easy for a lad of strength to find something.  Old Butterbur, what 
owns the Prancing Pony, hired me as soon as he saw me.  I help Bob out 
in the stables, mucking and fixing the hay and taking care of the ponies 
and horses that come in.  Sometimes I cut and fetch wood to make life 
easier for Nob.  I’ve got me a little space above the stables and, it’s quiet 
like, but the pay is good and the work is hard and,” Sam shuddered 
slightly, “I don’t dream at night.”

“And this place?” Merry asked softly.

“This place.”  Sam snorted.  “This place I found by accident.  I was 
walking one night when I couldn’t sleep, wanted an ale and…saw what 
was going on.  I don’t come here every night,” he added hastily.

“Who am I to judge Sam?  Seems like, even though the way we got here is 
different, we seek it for the same things.”  Merry twisted his hands 
absently in his lap.  “Never suspected that you could turn so easily Sam.  
You must have been very lonely by yourself, and this place will sooth that 
loneliness until you return home to Rosie or some other girl.  I’ve heard 
that for some, it is but a passing phase.”

“No sir,” Sam said shaking his head, “I wasn’t turned and I’ll not be 
returning for any lass.  I…this place wasn’t the first time I’d done this.”

“Really?” Merry said, intrigued.  “Who was it Sam, if you don’t mind me 
asking?  One of the Cotton boys?”

Sam shook his head, tears beginning to well in his eyes.  Merry thought 
for a moment than the realisation hit him like a bolt of autumn lightning.  
“No,” he said, sceptically.  

Sam nodded despondently.

“Frodo?”

Again, Sam nodded, his crying becoming more stringent.  Merry was 
astonished.  His respectable cousin Frodo?  Frodo, who never had a hair 
out of place unless he was relaxing with his friends.  Frodo, who that night 
had tried to soothe Merry’s hurt by saying it was only a mistake.  Merry 
began to chuckle, not believing his own ears.  The chuckles turned into 
full-forced laughter, until Merry was actually panting to keep his breath.

“Oh, but we are fools,” Merry said, tears of laughter and sorrow escaping 
his eyes.  “What a pack of idiots we are.  So much hurt, so much time 
wasted, and all for nothing.”

“I don’t understand what’s so funny Mister Merry,” Sam said, beginning 
to get annoyed.  

“Don’t you get it Sam?  I was pretending to Frodo and he was pretending 
to me!  I didn’t want him to know how I felt about Pippin because I 
thought he’d hate me, and all the time he was sitting there thinking about 
protecting the two of you.  Oh, this would be one for the books if we 
weren’t so pathetic.”

“Mister Frodo weren’t pretending sir, I heard him with me own two ears.”  
Sam did not realise that he had said the one name he’d been avoiding for 
nearly a year, it slipped off his tongue as easily as it ever had.

“Sam, don’t get offended by what I’m about to say to you, but you are a 
fool.  Anyone who’d seen the two of you together would know that Frodo 
loves you more than he loves anyone in this world, and that includes 
Bilbo.  He was trying to protect you that night Sam.  It must have been 
fairly early on in your relationship because the Frodo I know would 
eventually tell everyone who disagreed with him to sod off.”

“We’d only been together the night before,” Sam whispered.  At his 
sorrowful face, Merry felt pity for the gardener.  To have heard what he 
had heard, to not have anyone to talk to – anyone would have jumped to 
the same conclusion and stormed out and demanded to know what was 
going on.  But not Sam.  His devotion to Frodo, his respect for his position 
kept his tongue silent.  Whatever Sam had felt, he had quashed it and gone 
away so as not to cause his employer pain.  

“Go back to him Sam,” Merry said soothingly.  “He needs you and you 
need him.  It was a stupid mistake but he’ll understand when you explain 
it to him.”

“I can’t sir, I can’t ever face him again.  If what you’re saying is true, I’ve 
hurt him bad.  He’ll never forgive me sir and I’ll never forgive myself for 
what I done to him,” Sam’s shoulders shook, he was quaking in fear and 
self-loathing.

“You know that’s not Frodo.  You know he’ll forgive you anything.  Trust 
him, go back to him.  You don’t belong here Sam, you should be in Bag 
End, tending the gardens and nurturing my cousin.  He loves you Sam, 
don’t try and fool yourself because of your stupid pride.  Trust me, for I 
have been eating pride for as long as I can remember and it’s making me 
bitter inside.”

“Even if I go back sir, ‘twon’t be the same.  I’ve no right to ask for my job 
back and take someone else’s place, and I can’t be by his side for no 
reason.”

“There is no one to take the place of, Sam.  Oh, I wish I had my mother’s 
letters with me!  Every one of them talks of Frodo, how he’s changed, how 
he doesn’t see anyone anymore.  The gardens are dead Sam.  He let all the 
flowers die and he still sits on his bench, staring at the empty spaces.  He 
has no one to take care of him and he’ll never admit to anyone he needs 
help.  I tried to tell him you’d be back, he said he knew you and that 
nothing would convince you to return to a place you wouldn’t want to be, 
regardless of how many of your family live there.  Do you know that, the 
whole time I was with him after you left, he never once went begging to 
the Gaffer?  After your dad told him you were gone and wanted to be left 
in peace, he accepted it.  Oh, I could tell his heart was breaking but he 
would not go against your will.”  Merry paused, folding Sam’s calloused 
hands into his own suntanned ones.  “I know my cousin, and I know now 
he thought you’d regretted what you had done, and didn’t love him 
anymore.”

“Not love him anymore?” Sam exclaimed, bewildered.  “How can I not 
love him?  I’ve adored him since the day I met him, ain’t no one on this 
earth that makes me feel like he does.  I’ve gone as far away as I can and 
punish my body every day to keep him out of my head, but the second I 
have a moment’s peace, ‘tis him that I think about.  Every single day I’ve 
been here has tortured me.  I’ve wanted to die so many times,” Sam said 
truthfully, looking Merry straight in the eye.

“Then what are you waiting for Sam?  Go to him, tell him what you feel.  
No doubt he’ll be angry at first, but you’ll make him sweet again,” Merry 
chortled.  

“I can’t sir, not after what I done.  How can he forgive me when I can’t 
ever forgive myself?” Sam said quietly.

Merry took Sam’s chin in his hands and raised his face until they were eye 
level.  “You have nothing to lose anymore Sam.  If he doesn’t love you, 
then you can leave again and spend the rest of your days trying to get over 
him.  But what if you’re wrong Sam, and spend the rest of your days away 
from the one you love, and the one who loves you back?  Be brave dear 
Sam.  Trust yourself, and trust him.”

Sam stared into Merry’s soft eyes for a moment and then stood up, putting 
on his shirt that had been lying on the floor.  He stopped near the door as if 
he’d forgotten something.  “And what of you Mister Merry?  What’ll you 
do now that this has come out?”

“Something I should have done a long time ago Sam, and done it with 
courage instead of sneaking off where I couldn’t be found.  I’ll speak to 
Pippin, explain to him how I feel, how I’ve always felt and I’ll…beg his 
forgiveness and ask if we can still be friends.  I hope he forgives me,” 
Merry added softly.

Sam held out his hand to Merry.  Merry smiled and shook it solemnly.  

“Best of luck to you sir.”

“Best of luck to both of us Sam.”





Merry decided to not give anyone an advanced warning of his arrival.  He 
knew that if he alerted his aunt Eglantine of his presence, she would have 
a letter dispatched to his mother in minutes, thus ensuring a family 
reunion.  Merry knew he would have to face his parents eventually but 
wanted to see Pippin alone.  What he had to say would be hard enough, 
without the added pressures of family.

Merry approached the Great Smial under the cover of darkness.  With all 
its twists and turns and leanings, it was easy to enter without being seen, 
as long as one knew where one was going, lest one wander around missing 
meals indefinitely.  He walked stealthily down a bendy corridor and hoped 
that Pippin had not changed rooms since he’d last visited.  

He stood in front of the door.  Not a sound was heard from the inside and 
the whole area was bathed in darkness.  Merry lifted his hand and traced a 
carving that, even if he couldn’t see, he knew was engraved in the door.  
Pippin’s scraggily name was above his own ordered, smaller signature.  
How the Thain had bellowed when he saw their work!  Pippin had laughed 
it off and said that there were so many doors in the Smial he needed the 
sign to remember where he should go when he was sent to his room for 
misbehaving.

Merry shook his head ruefully and, squaring his shoulders, stopped his 
procrastination by opening the door.  “Pippin?” he muttered as his eyes 
adjusted to the small amount of light leaking in through a high window. 

Pippin lay asleep, flat on his back with his legs twisted around the covers.  
Merry put down his bag, closed the door softly and stood over his cousin’s 
silent form.  How he had changed!  Not only had Pippin grown taller in his 
absence, his body had filled out.  Merry admired the straight form of his 
legs, the tangle of curls trapped near his toes.  One of his arms was thrown 
above his head and the bed sheet sat across his slightly rounded stomach.  
In sleep his face was peaceful, showing none of the animation and 
liveliness that made Merry smile without thinking.  Merry smiled now, 
enraptured by the sight of his lovely Pippin.  His breath slowed to match 
his cousin’s unhurried breathing, he finally felt at peace.  Regardless of the 
outcome, he would hide no more.  Better to admit his feelings for Pippin 
and be rebuffed, then to suffer in silence for the rest of his life.  

Merry lowered himself gingerly onto the bed, his weight causing Pippin to 
roll towards him slightly.  Merry lightly traced the bones of Pippin’s face, 
feeling the solidity of cheek, eyebrow and nose.  Pippin sighed in his sleep 
and a small grin appeared.  Merry became braver in his actions, rubbing 
his thumb against Pippin’s lips, feeling the soft flesh of under his jaw.  
“Pippin,” he breathed quietly, unaware that he had spoken aloud.

Pippin’s eyes opened sleepily, still grinning.  When he saw Merry leaning 
above him he cried out and sat up, now very much awake.  “Merry?”

“Hello my Pippin,” Merry grinned at his cousin.

“Merry!” Pippin screamed, throwing himself into Merry’s waiting arms.  
Their hug was brutal in its ferocity, each hobbit wanting to press the other 
into his skin.  

“Oh how I’ve missed you Pip,” Merry whispered into Pippin’s bed-tousled 
hair.  

“Oh Merry, I’ve missed you too,” Pippin replied, hugging him tightly 
around the neck.  Pippin stopped as he realised what he was doing.

“You!,” he cursed, pushing Merry away and scrambling back onto the bed.  
“You…you bastard!”

Merry sighed and said “I know you’re upset about what I did Pip, and I’m 
sorry I hit Darko.  It was wrong of me, and I’ll not stand in your way 
again.  And I can’t tell you how sorry I am that I hurt you half-ling,” he 
leaned forward and smoothed Pippin’s curls from his forehead.  “I’ll never 
touch you in anger again.”

“You…you,” Pippin was so angry he was lost for words.  Since that had 
only occurred on one other occasion in Merry’s memory (that being the 
time he and Frodo had encouraged Pippin to climb to the top of an orange 
tree and had left him stuck there all afternoon while they went for swim), 
Merry was impressed and a bit in awe.  He knew he was going to get it.

“You stupid fucker, why did you leave?” Pippin exclaimed furiously.  
“Did I ever tell you to leave?  And here Pippin began to punctuate his 
words with punches thrown at Merry’s body.  Merry hissed, Pippin had 
certainly grown stronger.

“Did I ever,” thwack, “ask you,” wallop, “to leave me?”  

Merry grew sick and sore of being a punching bag and grasped Pippin’s 
flying fists.  He gathered them up between their chests and fell forward on 
Pippin, trapping both of their arms between them.  “Will you listen to me 
now?” he asked as Pippin wiggled, trying to escape Merry’s clutches.  
Merry groaned, this was not the time for this to be happening.  He bit the 
inside of his cheek until he had regained his composure and tried again.

“Please Pippin, lie still and listen to me and then I’ll let you go.  Will you 
do that favour for me, please?”

Pippin stopped pushing against Merry.  His eyes were wild with fury as he 
realised he was trapped.  He nodded his head abruptly.

Merry sighed and lay his head on Pippin’s shoulder.  “Thank you Took, I 
promise I won’t take long, then I’ll get off and you can start hitting me 
again.”

“Well hurry it up then, you haven’t lost any weight on your journey, you 
know.”  This was said with a bitterness Merry had never heard in Pip’s 
voice before.  This was going to be harder than he’d thought.

“Very well.  I just wanted to say…I’m sorry I hit Darko, I shouldn’t have 
got involved in your affairs.”  Pippin opened his mouth and Merry 
shushed him.  “Let me finish will you, I’ve got a lot on my chest and I’d 
rather just get it out.”  Pippin closed his mouth and continued to eye Merry 
warily.

“Where was I?  Oh yes, Darko.  Look, I’m not sure if you know about 
Darko and I?”

Pippin nodded grudgingly.

“Okay, well you know now why I didn’t really like him.  I mean, I liked 
him for some things…” Pippin snorted at this.  Merry grimaced and 
continued bravely.  “What I mean to say is, I didn’t like him because I 
didn’t like myself at the time.  I thought what I was doing was wrong, and 
I knew, regardless of what I felt, he was the wrong person to be doing it 
with.  Being with him made me feel weak and dirty Pip,” Merry lowered 
his voice.  “I was afraid of what I’d do if I didn’t get it out of my system.  
You see, I was in love and…I didn’t want to hurt the one I loved.”

“You were in love, were you?  Seems a strange way to act if you’re in 
love,” Pippin said sarcastically.

Merry smiled wryly.  “The person I was in love with didn’t know that I 
was in love…with him.  You see, Pip, I’m just like you.  I like boys too,” 
he whispered ashamed.  

“And have you told him yet?” Pippin said bleakly.

“No, but I’m about to.”  Merry pressed Pippin’s trapped hands tighter.  “I 
love you Pip,” he said.

Pippin did not move for a full ten seconds, dark shadows flying behind his 
eyes.  Merry wondered what he was thinking, and if he’d ever forgive him.

“Oh you bastard,” Pippin finally said, and started to cry.

Merry was shocked.  He quickly let go of his hands and rolled off his 
body.  He had expected some strong emotion but not tears.  He stupidly 
had thought that Pippin may have been a bit annoyed, maybe even angry, 
but would then forgive him and they could go back to being best friends.  
He attempted to comfort his cousin but Pippin pushed him angrily aside.

“You leave me alone for all this time and you have the audacity to come 
back here and tell me that.”  Merry was stunned, not only at the emotion 
behind Pippin’s words but the words he had chosen.  “He has grown up,” 
he thought.

“You leave and not a single bloody word all that time.  Did you not think 
about how I would feel?”  Merry tried to speak but Pippin cut him off with 
an angry glare.  “You say you love me, but you couldn’t even trust me 
enough to tell me.  You went away and made me think,” his words started 
to thicken as his tears and anger increased, “you made me believe that you 
didn’t like me anymore.  That you didn’t want anything to do with me 
because of what you’d seen.”

“Pippin,” Merry moaned, “I’m sorry.  I didn’t know what to do!  I lost my 
mind.  The thought of him and you, watching you with him,…I couldn’t 
cope.  I was stupid and jealous and angry and hurt and…oh Pip, I’d give 
anything to take it back.”

“What would you take back Merry?”  Pippin raised himself onto his 
knees, a tower of rage above his cousin’s seated form.  “Would you take 
back the fact that you hit me?  Would you take back the fact that you left 
without saying goodbye?  Would you take back the fact that you loved 
me?”

“Not loved Pip, love,” Merry mumbled, “I’ve never stopped loving you.  I 
hoped if I went away that I could forget you and leave you in peace, but it 
just made things worse.  I’m sorry I hurt you Pip, but I’m not sorry I told 
you.  I’ll understand if you never want to see me again but I couldn’t live 
the rest of my life without telling you the truth.  I’ll go back home now, 
and if you never want to speak to me again,” Merry’s voice broke, “I’ll 
understand.  I’ll hate it, and I’ll love you for the rest of my life, but I’ll 
understand.”

Pippin threw himself into Merry’s arms, wrapping his body so thoroughly 
that Merry was unable to stand.  “Don’t you leave me again Meriadoc 
Brandybuck, or I’ll not forgive you for the rest of my life.  I don’t want 
you to go.”

Merry stroked Pippin’s shuddering back.  “Alright Pip, don’t take on so.  
I’ll stay if you want me to.  If you can forgive me, we can work things out, 
everything will go back to normal.”

“I don’t want things back to normal,” Pippin said and pressed his wet lips 
onto Merry’s stunned mouth.  A cool section of logic in Merry’s mind 
wondered at how the situation had changed so suddenly, whilst the rest of 
his mind felt the entirely new sensation of his cousin Pip kissing him on 
the lips with passion.

They were warm, those lips, and nimble.  They pressed and nibbled 
Merry’s lips with ardour.  Pippin moaned and entwined his fingers in 
Merry’s hair.  He forced Merry’s head back and stuck his tongue in the 
free space between Merry’s now open lips.  Merry groaned in reply and 
clutched onto Pip’s back, stroking and moulding the hard flesh.  “Don’t 
you ever leave me Merry,” Pippin whispered as he trailed kisses across 
Merry’s face, “don’t ever leave me again, you stupid lummox.”  

“Bah…what?” Merry stammered as Pippin’s hands dove under Merry’s 
shirt, pushing aside buttons to touch the warm chest.  

Pippin stopped abruptly.  He clasped Merry’s confused face between his 
soft hands and looked down at his cousin.  “Merry my love.”

“Ehmm?” Merry whimpered.  

“It was always you,” Pippin whispered, stroking the tops of Merry’s ears.  
“All this time, all my life, it was always you.  I only went to Darko 
because I didn’t think I could ever have you.  Even the others…”

“There were others?” Merry interjected angrily.

“Hush love, listen,” Pippin continued, resting his hands on Merry’s 
shoulders.  “Listen to me carefully Merry because I want you to 
understand me well.  I have loved you every day of my life.  I’ve always 
known it and I’ve always accepted it.  But in the last few years I’ve began 
to understand how I love you.  I love you Merry, with my entire heart.  If I 
have a soul and a conscience, then you are it.  There’s nothing I wouldn’t 
do for you.”

“Don’t tell me you’re only acting this way now because I want it?  I love 
you with everything I have Pip, but I’ll not have you doing this to satisfy 
myself.  I can love you without this.”

“Merry, my ignorant, fuddle-headed, bombastic cousin,” Pippin said 
patiently, “perhaps I’ve not made myself clear.  You’ve not convinced me 
to do a thing in my life that I didn’t plan on doing anyway, regardless of 
how I acted.  Allow me to show you how much I love you.”

Pippin’s tongue dipped back into Merry’s mouth.  His movements became 
slower, his body quivering as his hands returned to Merry’s bare chest.  
Pip pushed the shirt aside, allowing his fingers to graze the small patch of 
hair that grew between Merry’s nipples.  Merry, after a few seconds 
hesitation, grabbed the hem of Pippin’s nightshirt and lifted it clean off his 
body.  He adjusted his cousin’s position until they were pressed chest 
against bare chest, Pippin’s erection poking into Merry’s belly.  He started 
to rock gently, running his hands over Pippin’s bare back and flank.  His 
hands lingered on his delectable bottom, clutching until his hands were 
overflowing with the firm flesh.  Pippin’s sharp intake of breath told him 
that he approved of the rocking.  

Merry awkwardly moved his body until he was laying on his back, 
Pippin’s body moulded onto his.  This position allowed them both to move 
their hands across long strokes of skin, to feel heat and sweat.  Pippin 
moved his mouth down to Merry’s chest and nuzzled the fur.  Merry 
massaged Pippin’s shoulders.  Pippin gently sucked one of Merry’s 
nipples.  Merry opened his legs to allow Pippin to fall between them.  

The pace of their movement increased.  Merry ran his tongue over 
Pippin’s lips again and again, relishing the exquisite torture of being 
trapped inside his briefs while Pippin pressed new friction into him.  “I 
love you Pip, oh, how I love you,” Merry chanted, worshiping the bow 
mouth above his.

Pippin clutched Merry’s sides, the squeezing creating a feeling that was 
half ticklish, half sensuous.  He licked Merry’s neck whispering “Don’t 
leave me Merry, please don’t ever leave me again.”

“I won’t,” Merry promised, raising his knees and allowing Pippin’s stiff 
cock to brush against his bulge.  “Oh Pip, I don’t know if I can go on.”

“I love you Merry,” Pippin said as he gazed into Merry’s liquid eyes, 
watching him intently and he pushed hard.  He bucked again and again, 
trapping Merry’s face underneath him so they had no choice but to stare 
into each other’s eyes as they came together, slow steady spurts that 
calmed their bodies.  Whilst they did not feel the same breathlessness that 
generally followed the sexual act, both of them realised that this was 
something different.  This was the first time either of them had made love.





Merry awoke to find Pippin sitting next to him, fully dressed and 
completely awake before him for once.  “So it’s not a dream,” he said as 
he reached up to stroke Pippin’s smiling face.  

Pippin turned his head and kissed the palm opened in peace.  

They sat in silence, staring at each other as if it was the first time they had 
ever met.


TITLE: Unavoidable: An Oath Taken (8 of 8)

AUTHOR: Stella Hobbit

RATING: NC-17

PAIRING(S): F/S

WARNINGS: Sex, angst and swear words, an award-winning combination

STATUS: Completed

SERIES: Chapter 8 – An Oath Taken

SUMMARY: Every good slash story needs a kitchen scene.  Sam and 
Frodo come to a new understanding.

AUTHOR’S NOTES: Phew, I’m spent!  It’s unbelievably difficult to write 
angst.  Whilst I’m happy to have finished my first fic, I’m sad that this 
section of Frodo and Sam’s life is over (for me, anyway).  There’s a lot of 
love to go round!  Thanks go to “The Thain’s Book – An Encyclopaedia 
of Middle-Earth In The Middle Age” (found at 
http://www.tuckborough.net) for its fantastic help in solving cannon 
problems (although I don’t know if they’d approve of what I’m using the 
site for).  My heartfelt appreciation to Losille and Rosie Gamgee for their 
gracious encouragement, well thought out critiquing and kind offers to 
host.  And lastly, but certainly not least, to FrodosGirl for her inspirational 
pictures of sexy naked hobbits – I hope it was hot and smutty enough for 
you!  Feel free to send me an email – all opinions, advice, encouragement 
and flames will be looked at (not guaranteeing I’ll answer you though 8P )

ARCHIVE: No problems, just tell me where you’re putting my babies. 

FEEDBACK: Hell yeah, I’m a glutton for punishment or praise :-).  
Contact me at thelaconiclibrarian@hotmail.com or check out my Live 
Journal at www.livejournal.com/users/stellahobbit/

DISCLAIMER: If you thought that I owned these characters, then you’re a 
fecking idiot!  The people and places belong to the estate of J.R.R. 
Tolkien.  I don’t make a profit from this (show me one slash writer who 
does!), I just share my stories with like-minded people.






He heard him before he saw him.

It was only a few hours before dawn and the roads were silent and empty.  
Once Sam had made his decision to leave Bree, he had thanked Butterbur 
for his employment, gathered his things and set off.  In the near twenty-
four hours that he had been walking, he’d had plenty of time to think.  
Merry’s words had eased some of his feelings, but he was still unsure of 
the reception he’d receive at Bag End.  Could Frodo forgive him for 
leaving those many months before with not a word since?  Could Mister 
Merry be wrong?  Merry was right about one thing; it was better to know 
where he stood lest he wonder for the rest of his life.  And even if Frodo 
wanted nothing to do with him for the rest of his life, he would have set 
his mind and conscious at ease.  

When he had arrived at Bag End, he moaned aloud at the sight of the 
gardens.  It was one thing to hear of the barrenness and another to see it.  
Where there had been plots of lively colours and fragrances, now lay 
cracked soil, dead stalks lying onto top of the dirt.  The hedges were 
ragged and forlorn, huge gaps showing through what was once a seamless 
stretch.  Even the trees looked worse for wear, rotten branches lay atop 
garbled roots, crushing the grass and leaving sickly-looking brown patches 
beneath them.  

Sam knocked loudly on the door.  If he did not have the courage to do it 
now, he knew he would simply slink off to his Gaffer.  After a few 
minutes of steady pounding, it was apparent that no one was in.  Sam 
walked around the back of the Smial, searching for a sign of life and light, 
but the interior was bleak.  Well, if Frodo was not in, then Sam would wait 
here for him, regardless of how long he took.  Sam said a quick prayer to 
the Lady that Frodo had not gone visiting any relatives.

It was from his carved bench that Sam first heard a slow, steady tread 
making its way up the road.  After a few seconds, Sam saw Frodo opening 
the gate, his cloak wrapped securely around him and his hood pulled down 
to cover his eyes.  Sam stood up from the bench, taking a few hesitant 
steps forward.  Frodo whirled at the movement; he hadn’t known that 
anyone was about.  The two hobbits stood staring at each other.  Sam 
wished there was more light so he could see his master’s face.

“I’m back Mister Frodo,” Sam said shakily.  Frodo did not make any 
indication that he had heard Sam speak.  

“I was wondering sir, if you’d be good enough to give me a few minutes 
of your time for I’ve…things I would speak to you about.”  Frodo 
appeared to make a decision for he walked up the door, opened it and 
walked into the house.  Sam noted the door was still open so took that as 
an invitation to enter.  He shut the door quietly behind him and followed 
the sound of Frodo’s feet into the kitchen.  Frodo had lit a candle and 
taken off his cloak, throwing it untidily on the table.  Sam made a move to 
pick it up and fold it.

“Don’t,” Frodo muttered, not looking at Sam.  Sam stood and wrung his 
hands helplessly as Frodo laid tinder and wood in the fireplace, taking his 
time to nurse the blaze.  When the fire was burning to his satisfaction, he 
stood and turned to face Sam.

Sam gasped involuntarily.  Sam hadn’t known what to expect about 
Frodo’s appearance, but he did not think the change would be so dramatic.  
During the time he was gone, Frodo had changed from a willowy, striking 
hobbit to one so skinny (in hobbit terms) as to appear emaciated.  His 
cheek bones were more pronounced, his neck looked so slender it was a 
wonder it could keep his head up.  His dark hair was more dishevelled and 
longer than Sam was used to seeing, but all of these aspects could be 
changed to their former glory.  It was Frodo’s eyes that Sam could not 
face.  Once so blue and open and trusting, these eyes looked at Sam’s 
warily.  They appeared to be sunken in his skull, or perhaps the dark 
circles under his eyes made them look that way.  There were now lines of 
tiredness where there used to be laugh lines.  Sam wanted to cry right then 
and there, but knew if he started, he’d never finish.

Frodo watched Sam inspect him and, with a cruel smirk, sat himself into a 
chair.  He looked up at Sam expectantly; it was obvious he was not going 
to give Sam any assistance or encouragement.

“I don’t rightly know how to begin sir,” Sam stuttered, “I’ve thought about 
it since last night and all the words I had planned have clean escaped my 
mind.”

Frodo continued watching Sam struggle in front of him, his rigid posture 
unchanging.

“I…, I’d best just be out with it and then be on my way,” Sam said 
shakily.  He took a deep breath, this was the most difficult thing he had 
ever done.  A treacherous part of his brain teased him, ‘why bother with 
explanations, you can see he doesn’t want you here?  Get going before you 
make more of a fool of yourself than you already have.’  Sam 
determinedly ignored the words and jumped in without further thought.

“See sir, it was Mister Merry who made me see where I had it wrong,” 
Sam started.

“You’ve seen Merry?” Frodo asked.  His body did not move but his eyes 
sparked up for a second, then returned to their former dullness.

“Yes sir, I saw him at Bree, only last night.  We was, well, it don’t matter 
where we was, but we had a good chat and he helped me to see the error of 
my ways.”

“If you’re back because my interfering cousin Merry has convinced you to 
return, then you can hold your tongue now and leave.  I don’t need a 
gardener so badly that I’d have you return to a place you don’t want to 
be,” said Frodo sharpishly.

“No sir,” Sam said quickly, “’tis not that way at all!  Mister Merry 
explained things to me so now’s I understand, I should never have left in 
the first place.”

“I’m sure you left for the most…proper...of reasons, Sam,” Frodo said 
sarcastically.

“Oh this isn’t working at all,” Sam cried, mouth twisting.  “I can’t begin to 
apologise to you for what I’ve done, you’re so distant-like sir, it’s killing 
me.”

Frodo felt a tiny bead of compassion well in his heart at the sight of Sam 
in such despair.  He sighed and said, “Don’t apologise Sam, just get it 
out.”  He pushed a chair out next to him and gestured for Sam to sit.

Sam sat hesitantly, making sure no part of his body came in contact with 
Frodo’s.  He closed his eyes and decided to throw himself at Frodo’s 
mercy.  “See sir, after…after that night, I was so happy, I thought my face 
would break with the smiling.  And seeing you the next day, I was sure 
you felt the same.  And then I heard you sir,” his voice started to break as 
his throat thickened, “I heard you speak to Mister Merry and your voice,” 
he paused, sniffing back tears.  “Your voice Mister Frodo was so sad when 
you were telling Mister Merry ‘twas all a mistake.  And even though 
Mister Merry thought you were talking about young Mister Pippin, I knew 
you were talking about me.  About…us.”

Sam bravely opened his eyes and looked at Frodo’s rigid face.  “See sir, I 
thought, ‘Mister Frodo, he’s realised he’s made a mistake and he’s too 
kind to tell me about it.  He knows I’d not be able to be around him when 
I’ve caused such unhappiness’, and I couldn’t continue working at Bag 
End, even working ‘round the town, for I’ve no good reason to leave you 
sir, and I couldn’t not work, what with the Gaffer and my sisters to take 
care of.” Sam realised he was babbling and drew another breath, 
attempting to slow his speech and thoughts.

“I thought, if I leave, I’ll solve all these problems at once.  I’d be able to 
find work in Bree, the people ‘round town will not think it strange for me 
to stop working at Bag End if I’ve got a different job, and you wouldn’t 
need to keep pretending.”  Here Sam’s voice trailed off, he didn’t know if 
he’d explained the situation properly but it felt good to get it off his chest.  
He only hoped Frodo would forgive him.  He had no reason to believe 
they could ever go back to the way things were, let alone seeing him 
everyday knowing he’d caused such grief.  

Sam looked up to see Frodo leaning his head in his hands, elbows propped 
against the table.  He made not a sound, but Sam could see by the way his 
shoulders were shaking that he was crying.

“I’m sorry sir,” Sam said, kneeling beside Frodo’s trembling form, 
wanting to provide comfort but still not brave enough to touch him.  “I 
never meant to hurt you and I’m a damned fool for acting without 
thinking.  I was stupid sir,” Sam started to cry now, not shielding his face, 
his tears flowing freely.  “I had something so precious, so wonderful I 
didn’t know what to do with it, and I hurt you in the meantime.”  Frodo 
continued to weep silently.

“Oh talk to me Mister Frodo!” Sam exclaimed, “tell me I got it all wrong.  
Tell me you did think it was a mistake and you’re only crying ‘cause I left 
without saying goodbye.  Tell me you don’t look this way because of my 
own foolishness, for if that’s true I’ll not know what to do with myself.  
Please sir, say that you forgive your poor stupid Sam.”

“Sam,” Frodo sobbed, “I never thought you were stupid, not now and not 
then.  I thought you didn’t want to be with me anymore.  I thought you’d 
realised you’d made a mistake and couldn’t bear the sight of me.”

“Sir,” Sam whispered, forgetting his fear and raising Frodo’s face with a 
soft touch.  “That was no mistake we made, the only mistake was my own 
ignorant brain racing ahead and going topsy-turvy.  The sight of you…the 
sight of you clean makes my heart break.  I’ve thought of you every day I 
was gone and regretted what I did every second.  Can you forgive me 
Mister Frodo?  Can you forgive your poor stupid gardener whose caused 
you so much grief?”

“You were always more to me than just a gardener Sam,” Frodo said and 
embraced Sam to him, enfolding his strong form in his tremulous arms, 
tightening them to steel bands.  Sam hugged him back just as hard, 
stroking his hair and whispering ‘sorry’ and ‘forgive me’ over and over 
again.

After a time their movements stilled and Sam pulled back from the 
embrace, staring into Frodo’s eyes.  “Was I wrong to come back sir?”

Frodo trailed his fingers across Sam’s cheeks, gently touching the soft 
flesh he had been dreaming of since their first night together.  His eyes 
drank in the sight of Sam, noting small changes in his face and larger ones 
in his body.  His physique, which once was one of soft curves laid over 
hard muscle, had become pared down into a tight sheath.  The muscles in 
his forearms flexed and roiled with every movement.  Frodo looked Sam 
square in the eye for the first time since he’d returned.  He saw the 
glistening orbs, he noted the look of quiet desperation and hope that shone 
from their warm almond glance.  

These last months had been hard on Frodo; he had quietly withdrawn into 
his own depression, not being able to bear the sight or sound of another 
person.  He had doubted his own sanity; doubted Sam’s words, doubted 
his own actions.  Surely love was not meant to hurt so much?  In that 
whole time he had hoped that Sam would return or at least let him know 
what he’d done wrong, but as the days easily slipped from one to the next, 
any hope he had left in his heart died also.  There was no going back from 
this misery, no way to overcome it.  Frodo had finally relented to the fact 
that he would never see Sam again, and would live out the rest of his days 
alone.

“You weren’t wrong to come back Sam, you were wrong to leave me 
without saying goodbye.  I wished you had waited for me,” he said 
ferociously, squeezing Sam’s arms painfully.  “Why didn’t you trust me 
enough to talk to me?  After what we’d had, after everything we’d said, 
you still didn’t trust me enough to believe my feelings.  I hated you for a 
while Sam, I hated you and I loved you at the same time.  One minute I’d 
be wishing you were here just so I could kill you, then the next I’d be 
wishing you were here so I could make love to you until you swore you’d 
never go again.  You hurt me Sam, you hurt me so bad I don’t know if I’ll 
ever be able to forgive you,” Frodo cried angrily.

“Oh sir, I don’t care if you never forgive me, only tell me you’ll be alright.  
I can’t live if I know you’re hurting so bad and I was the one to cause it.  
Tell me what you want me to do sir.  I’ll do anything for you, only tell me 
how I can make this better,” he said in despair.

“I don’t know what I want anymore Sam.  I never expected to see you 
again and even now I don’t truly believe this is happening.  How can I go 
from what I was to what I should be?” he wondered aloud.  “No,” he 
shook his head to clear it, “I can’t think properly.  This is too much, I 
don’t know what to feel.  You’ll have to give me time Sam, I need to work 
things out.”

“I’ll give you all the time you want sir, I just want you to forgive me if 
you can and if you can’t…then I’ll understand.  I’ll not bother you again 
with my foolishness,” Sam said shakily.  “’Tis too much to ask, ‘tis too 
much to hope for.”

“What do you hope for Sam?  Why did you come back?  I know you say 
you want my forgiveness but what else?  Do you ask nothing for yourself 
apart from that?”

“I ask that you get better sir, that I see you start to smile again.  And 
anything else I want,…it’s not important.  I’ve no right to want when you 
are in such pain.”

Frodo looked at the serious face, saw a pulse beat rapidly at his throat.  
“What do you want Sam?  Truly, tell me please.  I’ve a right to honesty 
now.”

Sam cast his woeful eyes to the floor and said softly, “I wish you to make 
me yours Mister Frodo.”  When Frodo did not speak, Sam looked up at his 
face.  He could see Frodo biting the inside of his cheek, struggling with a 
plethora of unspoken emotions.  Frodo breathed heavily and his eyes 
snapped back to examine Sam’s, determination shining through.  





“If you wish to be mine Sam, then so be it,” he said steadily, getting to his 
feet and pulling Sam up abruptly.  The force of his actions slammed their 
bodies into each other; Sam got to feel the thinness of Frodo’s body 
hidden in silk, Frodo could feel the dark throb of muscles bunched and 
tensed in Sam’s waiting body.  

Frodo grabbed Sam’s hair and ruthlessly pulled his face into his, the kiss 
brutal in ferocity.  Sam was overwhelmed by the sensation, Frodo pushed 
with his lips and tongue, devouring his mouth greedily.  Sam raised his 
hands to Frodo’s waist, attempting to keep them upright in the onslaught.  
Frodo’s hands slipped down to Sam’s nape, pulling him into the kiss 
harder.  Their breath was ragged, Frodo grunting as he inserted his tongue 
into Sam’s mouth again and again, thrusting and plunging.  

Sam could do nothing but accept the kiss, even though he knew he was 
strong, he didn’t think he’d be able to break this off if he even wanted to.  
Frodo’s steel hands moved from Sam’s nape to his chest, tugging at the 
shirttails and popping the buttons, ripping the cloth from his body.  His 
hands roughly delved to Sam’s pants, pinching and bruising as he pulled at 
the ties, hastily pushing them away and down Sam’s legs.  Sam stood in 
front of Frodo naked, his excitement and fear showing in his body.  

“You want to be mine, do you?” Frodo asked angrily as he undid his own 
pants, fingers moving rapidly to free his bulging erection.

“Yes Frodo,” Sam said, eyes wide open at the sight of his master in full 
flight and fury.  Frodo pushed Sam roughly in the chest, Sam staggered 
back against the table.  His thighs stopped his fall, his arms went out 
behind him to halt his descent.  Frodo again claimed his mouth, punishing 
his lips as his hands surrounded Sam’s eager dick.  He started to stroke 
him roughly, pulling and twisting as he bit and sucked at Sam’s neck.  
Sam moaned at the overwhelming sensations, he had never experienced 
passion like this.  He attempted to hold Frodo to him, stroking his arms, 
but Frodo broke his hold, pushing against him until he lay flat on the table.  
Frodo grabbed Sam from under the knees and pulled them up until Sam 
lay prone and open in front of him.  He breathed heavily, eyes wild with 
fury and passion.  

“You want this?” he asked, as he teased Sam’s arse with the tip of his wet 
cock.  

“Yes,” Sam breathed.

Frodo did not hesitate.  He slammed into the offered orifice, sinking 
himself into Sam until his cock was ensheathed in Sam’s quivering flesh.  
He groaned at the tight heat, Sam had made one abortive cry as Frodo had 
entered him without lubrication, but was silenced as Frodo began to move 
in and out of him.  Frodo’s muscles were rigid as his body flexed, his 
turgid member pounding the small seed in Sam’s body that was causing 
him to writhe in bliss, eyes rolled up into his head as he panted with the 
pain and pleasure.  

“Are you mine now Sam?” he intoned as he opened his eyes, sweat 
stinging and blurring his vision.

“Oh yes Frodo, yours, only yours,” Sam moaned, voice shaking with each 
thrust.

“You’re mine Sam,” Frodo heaved as he thrust harder, deeper, balls 
slapping against the table as he sought to tame Sam’s body with his own.  
“Mine, mine,” he repeated angrily.

“Oh yes, yes, Frodo please, I’m yours,” Sam stuttered breathlessly, 
hanging onto the small portion of intelligibility that remained as he felt 
wave after wave of pleasure ride over his body.  He felt himself crest the 
wave, his body tensing as he wrapped his legs around Frodo’s back, 
forcing him in deeper.

Frodo felt the increase of friction and tautness and, knowing that he would 
not last much longer, clutched Sam’s legs and forced himself in again, and 
again, again until he heard Sam cry out and felt a splash of wetness spurt 
out and spread on their bodies.  Frodo was taken over the edge, he planted 
himself within Sam and froze, his seed pumping as he stood trembling.  
His legs weakened but he did not let go of Sam’s legs until he was spent.

Frodo stood panting, waiting for his head to stop spinning.  His breathing 
slowed and he opened his eyes to gaze at Sam’s prostate form lying 
beneath him.  Sam’s eyes were closed but Frodo could see a few tears had 
escaped and were trickling down his cheek and becoming lost in his curls.  
All feelings of anger and resentment left Frodo then, he felt curiously 
sedate.  He withdrew himself from Sam’s yielding body and leaned over, 
brushing the tears from Sam’s face.  Sam opened his eyes and saw the 
Frodo he knew, the older hobbit’s eyes shining with compassion and 
sorrow.  

“I’m sorry Sam, did I hurt you?” he asked gently, smoothing Sam’s hair 
from his face.  Sam shook his head and sat up quickly, engulfing Frodo’s 
body between his eager arms and strong legs.

“You didn’t hurt me Frodo, it’s just I love you so much and I’m that 
sorry,” he said, his tears increasing in number.

“Oh Sam,” Frodo moaned, his throat tightening. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry 
my love.  I love you Sam,” and he began to cry, leaning heavily against 
Sam’s waiting body.

The two hobbits remained trapped against each other for some time, each 
crying their sorrow, each pleading the other's forgiveness.  They 
comforted each other with murmured words and soothing touches, 
stroking and beseeching and letting each other wash away the pain they 
had inflicted upon themselves.  





Epilogue

Dawn’s early light made a weak appearance in the kitchen.  Sam and 
Frodo sat dressed and next to each, bodies pressed from shoulder to knee.  
Frodo watched in silence as Sam took the sharp carving knife and passed 
its blade through the candle flame a few times.  When he was satisfied 
with his work, he held it up and away from their bodies, silently asking 
Frodo’s approval.  Frodo looked at the gleaming metal and nodded.

“Are you sure Frodo?  I don’t want to hurt you,” Sam asked.

Frodo smiled and nodded again, “It feels like the right thing to do.  I want 
to make a pledge to you, I just didn’t know how to go about it.”

Sam nibbled his bottom lip as he watched the knife go from shiny red to a 
warm gleam.  “It’s different to what when we’re young hobbits,” Sam 
said, slowly shaking the blade.  “Back then, you’d prick your finger and 
promise to be best friends for ever.  ‘Tis a blood oath, and you do take it 
serious like when you’re young.”

“Do it all same, I’m not afraid,” Frodo said, offering his right wrist to 
Sam.  

“’Tis the other hand love, the one closest to your heart,” Sam said, gently 
picking up Frodo’s left arm.  Frodo pushed the sleeve up to his elbow, 
turning the translucent flesh to Sam.  

“I love you Sam,” Frodo whispered as Sam rested the point of the knife at 
Frodo’s wrist.

“I love you too Frodo,” Sam said, and made a quick twisting motion.  
Frodo’s short breath gasped out of him as he observed the well of blood 
begin to appear on his skin.  Sam moved the knife to his own wrist but 
Frodo stopped him.  He took the knife from Sam’s willing hand and, 
looking for Sam’s consent, said “My heart” and pressed the tip of the knife 
into Sam’s left wrist until a small red hole appeared.  Sam quickly raised 
Frodo’s left hand, pressing their bleeding wrists together.

“What now Sam?” Frodo asked, entwining his slender fingers into Sam’s.

“Now we make an oath,” Sam replied, watching a small rivulet of blood 
escape from between their wrists and drip onto the table.  “Do you want 
me to go first?”

Frodo nodded and his fingers tightened, his right hand seeking and finding 
Sam’s empty right hand.

Sam stared into Frodo’s eyes.  There were still darkness around them, but 
the blue had resolved and increased, a look of peace shining from his face.  
“I, Samwise Gamgee,” he began huskily, “do swear to you, Frodo 
Baggins, that from now until the day we die, I will love you, and I will 
never leave you again.”  He grinned poignantly at Frodo and qualified the 
statement by saying “And even if we’re dead, I’ll not stop looking for 
you.”  He leaned over and kissed Frodo gently on the lips.

Frodo’s vision blurred as he returned Sam’s chaste kiss.  He took a deep 
breath and sorted out the words he wanted to say.  “I, Frodo Baggins, do 
swear to you, Samwise Gamgee, that I will keep you and love you until 
the day I die.”  Frodo chuckled shakily at this, “and even if I’m dead, 
there’s nothing in this universe that can stop me from loving you.”

Frodo lent over and placed his tender kiss on Sam’s lips.  Sam raised their 
entwined right hands and, using both their knuckles, softly brushed 
Frodo’s tears away.  Frodo pulled their hands to his mouth and kissed 
Sam’s fingers, his eyes never leaving Sam’s.  

Their blood continued to pulse and flow from one to the other, wrists 
trapped and fingers entwined, love and trust and hope flowing from one to 
the other through their bleeding bodies and their exultant eyes.  


The End