Title: A Virgin of Choice, Part II
      Author: Veronica
      Author’s E-mail: vast_cool_and_unsympathetic@yahoo.com
      Pairings: F/S, F/OC
      Rating: NC-17 (Warning: includes non-con, coercion, etc.)
      Summary: Part two of my story, based on a plot bunny sent forth
by Nienora; after settling down and coming to terms with the attack on
Frodo, Sam and Frodo’s relationship flourishes. Unbeknownst to them
however, the attacker, his true name unknown to them has been plotting
up ways to steal Frodo away and keep him for whatever he desires. After
succeeding, Sam has to find him any way he most possibly can before it’s
too late.
      Author’s notes: Things get very detailed here, very graphic. Lots of
bad stuff with not much fluff (though there’s a **wee** bit). But hey,
that’s what Nienora wanted, so she gets it! ;)



      In the months that passed, the summer had come full force,
knocking back the memories of the spring and all of its comforts.
Bumbleboars buzzed around Sam’s head as he toiled at the earth, grinding
away weeds from the flowerbeds he worked upon. He was glad to see that
the Burilian had grown quite accustomed to their surroundings, growing
out well past where he’d originally planted them. He smiled as he took a
few blossoms in his fingers, admiring the deep blue and purple hues,
reflecting onto his fingers from the sunlight above him. Also above him
was Frodo’s window, where he slept soundly. He’d had a rough night last
night, drinking with his cousins at the Ivy Bush. They’d only gone to The
Green Dragon once since…
      ‘No, don’t think on it,’ Sam pushed back the memories in his
thoughts, though it was still hard. He didn’t care what his Gaff had to say
on the matter of staying at Bag End as a semi-permanent resident for the
summer, making sure Frodo was coping with his recent attack. Hamfast
had been wary but sympathetic, and chose to agree with him, just this
once. “I don’t care for the dangers you’re putting yourself in, but it would
be best to keep a good eye on that ‘un,” he’d told Sam. For days, that
bump on his head stuck out clearly, and both he and Frodo had been the
talk of the town.
      And they hadn’t caught him. Sam had never seen Fatty Bolger run
so fast in his life after Sam explained to him what dangers he thought
Frodo was in. But it had all been for naught; no matter how many hobbits
came out to scour out the roads, forests, and anything in betwixt, that
scoundrel had made his way out of Hobbiton. All he’d wanted was to see
him at trial for the horrible things he’d done. A stranger coming into town
was enough to raise a few eyebrows, and this only proved the paranoia.
People still huddled in groups on their way home, making sure no one was
alone. It was a sad sight to see such a trusting town grow so wary,
awaiting dangers that may never happen again. Still, it was good to see the
support from everyone in the weeks that had followed after the incident.
He was standing over the beautiful plants Lilac had sent Frodo, trying to
bring a little cheer to his broken heart. Sam smiled, watering them to keep
the soil full of life. He’d be making sure these plants were well taken care
of out of all of them.
      “Sam?”
      The small, just awakened voice coming from the bedroom made
Sam smile. “Yes, Mr. Frodo?”
      “I’d like my morning hug,”
      Sam didn’t need to hear any more. He put down his watering can
and briskly walked to the back door, walking inside to Frodo’s bedroom.
There he was, lying on the bed with a small smile, his arms raised. Sam
knelt onto the bed and lie with him, embracing him closely. This new
tradition had warmed both their hearts; it gave Frodo the morning
happiness he needed to get out of bed, and Sam the comfort of simply
loving his dearest Frodo. “Did you sleep well?” Sam asked, brushing hair
from Frodo’s eyes.
      “Yes, one of the best nights as of late,” he said, turning to his side
to face Sam. He kissed his nose lightly then drew back. “I dreamt that you
and I were treated by two princes to a great feast.”
      “You did?”
      “Yes, like in the story I’d told you about,” Frodo told him, his
lashes fluttering, wiping the last minutes of sleepiness away. “They
congratulated us on consummating our love,”
      Sam shuddered with a wide grin, knowing his face had gone beet
red. “Sir, that was at least a month ago,”
      “Yes. But it sticks with me, even in dreams it would seem,” Frodo
said, curling his arms around Sam’s sides. “It’s been a wonderful dream,
having you here all the time. I’ve never felt so safe knowing you’re here,”
      Sam kissed the top of his head, feeling the curls tickle his nose. By
Elbereth, he loved his Frodo so…
      Awhile later they sat down to enjoy their breakfasts. Pippin and
Merry emerged at the smells of fried toast, ham, and omelets being made,
yawning and scratching their heads. “Mornin’,” Merry said, sitting at the
table. Sam frowned with amusement at them as they lounged at the table
as he and Frodo scrambled around the kitchen, collecting their breakfast
needs.
      “Don’t help or anythin’. You just enjoy yourselves and your sloth,”
Sam told them with an eyebrow raised. Frodo giggled as he piled their
breakfasts on plates.
      “We’d have been up earlier if you’d both helped out more with the
wine!” Pippin protested then held his head in pain. “But nooo, you had to
have us drink it ALL.”
      “Just like us to force the both of you into drinking,” Frodo said
sarcastically, clucking his tongue. “We should be ever so ashamed of
ourselves, Samwise. How dare we.”
      “Yes, I know sir. How very disappointing, our behavior.”
      “You know,” Pippin started, taking up an apple and biting a large
chunk out for himself. He went on, food filling his mouth. “You bof shud
let gof of vove hitless, and get om wiff fuff fimpo mames,”
      “What?” both Sam and Frodo hissed in confusion.
      “Seriously Pip. Swa-llow!” Merry said with a drawl then slapped
him on the back. Pippin’s eyes fluttered open wide, casting his mouthful
into his ever-empty stomach.
      “Sorry! I’d just said, ‘you both should let go of those titles and get
on with just simple names’!” he said, making it clear. “Seriously though
Sam, really. You’ve bedded the Master of Bag End nearly every night
since we’ve been here, who knows how long before. Makes me wonder
about the very nature of the relationship,”
      Merry giggled as Sam blushed; Frodo cocked an eyebrow. “Really
now, how you meddle in other’s affairs.”
      “It’s all suggestion, take or leave,” Pippin said with a shrug. The
four of them began breakfast then, joking with each other about the night
before and all their folly. While Sam chided Merry out for running outside
in the gardens naked a knock came from the door. Frodo sighed and got up
from the table, still giggling over their silliness. Sam watched him go then
turned back to Pippin and Merry.
      “He’s gotten better,” he told them with a smile. Both nodded,
Merry groaned.
      “Still, wouldn’t mind that lout’s neck in my hands. Wouldn’t let go
until I was sure he’d been drained of all life.”
      “As would I,” Pippin said solemnly. “I mean, how could
something like that happen in Hobbiton? What have the shirriffs done
about it all?”
      Sam shrugged, taking a bite of toast. After swallowing he put his
hands together and sighed deeply. “They’ve been looking in the town
records of Bree, just to be sure of who he is. Nothing’s been found out
yet,”
      “Can’t they go into Bree and find him?” Pippin suggested.
      “I suppose not. Their laws are different than ours, and don’t allow
hobbit-hunts from other towns. I suppose it’s a ‘protection’.”
      “Nice protection. They’d rather harbor criminals then bring them
to justice,” Merry said, taking an angry bite from his own toast. “Still, I
take comfort in him not being likely to come back. That’s a good thing.”
      It was then that Frodo returned. He didn’t look as happy as he’d
been before, making Sam frown. “Frodo? Are you all right?”
      All heads turned to him. He shrugged indifferently. “It was a
shirriff. He came by to tell me to be watchful; they suppose that…
‘Darrin’ had been going by an alias. No records from Bree show a Darrin
Bramble.”
      Sam rolled his eyes. “No matter, Mr. Frodo. Neither these two nor
I think he’ll be coming back. He knows what could happen if he does.”
      “Yea. He’d be bloodied before he stepped both feet into Hobbiton
if I had my way,” Merry said, scornful. He looked with admiration at his
cousin, a twinkle in his eye. “You were very brave to have gone through
with the reporting and all. You’ve probably saved a lot of the hobbits
around here with your information.”
      Frodo couldn’t help a smile, no matter how uneasy he seemed. He
looked to Sam with a brightened expression. “It was all Sam’s doing,
really. If he hadn’t been there-“
      “Fiddlesticks,” Sam said with a frown. “I wasn’t the one who
spoke up, that was all you.”
      “Perhaps. But still.” Frodo said, going to sit by him. He put his
hand on his and smiled. Pippin watched on with a goofy smile. Merry
cleared his throat.
      “I suppose we should go off and get that grain for Mabel,” Merry
said, going to stand.
      “We got grain for her yesterday- OW!”
      “C’mon, Pip,”
      Pippin stood up with him, rubbing his knee. “You didn’t have to do
THAT, you know! A simple ‘let’s let Frodo and Sam get on with their
lovin’’ would have sufficed!!”
      Their voices drifted off as they went to the front, leaving entirely.
Frodo turned to Sam and pushed aside both their plates. “That does
suffice, for me,”
      Sam smiled, looking upon every inch of Frodo’s shining morning
glow. Sometimes he wondered if sunlight was needed to make Frodo shine
the way he did; a simple candle or firelight in the hearth made every
feature come alive, even at his saddest moments. Yet it was in the
moonlight where he’d gaze upon him, making sure his tired eyes drank all
Frodo’s beauty to the hilt, feeling graced by the Gods to just give it a
simple kiss while he slept.


      “It’s always such a sad thing to leave him behind,” Merry said as
he kept looking over his shoulder at Frodo and Sam later in the night.
Pippin tightened the reins, trying to make Mabel go a little slower.
      “Well, he has Sam to take care of him. I feel better knowing he’s
there,”
      “Yea, I know… but what about when summer is over, and Sam
heads back home? I hate to think what could happen during a long, cold
night alone.” Merry said, pushing back the sweat-tinged hair from his
eyes. “Dang this heat!”
      “I know. But anyways,” Pippin started, balancing his pipe betwixt
his teeth, giving Merry a knowing gaze. “It’s a well known fact that you
still pine for our dear cousin at times.”
      “I do not! Oh Pip, if you’re daring to go back when we were just
young lads-“
      “Oh no, I’m talking of the here and now,” Pippin stated, winking.
“After those nights, and especially when he left to live with his Uncle, not
a day goes by that you don’t bring him up somehow. Just look me in the
eye and tell me you wouldn’t trade places with Samwise Gamgee in a
heartbeat,”
      Merry looked to him, his lips parted. They closed again quickly,
his head turning back to the road. “Just pay attention to these roads,
they’ve gotten weary from all the travelers,”
      “Mmhmm,” Pippin said, a highly amused smile on his lips,
engulfing his pipe.


      It was later in the night now. Frodo was bent over papers, yawning
as he figured the last paragraph of his translation. He smiled through his
weariness, knowing he’d gotten plenty done that day. Once the last few
words inked themselves onto the page he sighed and placed them on the
desk to dry. He walked from the desk and left the room, ready for a nice
splash of water on his face. He first walked to the living room where Sam
had been reading, finding him sleeping soundly. A snore interrupted
Frodo’s gaze, making him giggle. He bent over and kissed him lightly on
the forehead. “Sweet dreams, my Sam,” he said softly into his ear. Sam
grumbled pleasantly, his face twitching into a smile. Frodo looked at the
clock; no wonder he was so tired and Sam had passed out in the clothes
he’d worn all day, it was just past one in the morning. Sighing, he walked
to the kitchen and to the water pump. Before he had the chance to get out
one splash he heard a cracking noise outside the window; he stopped dead,
staring out into the black just past the glass. It sounded like someone
stepping on a twig, and it sounded so close; too close for Frodo to ignore.
      He stepped back slowly, eyes fixed on the panes. His hand
fumbled to his right, where it found the skillet, bits of potato still 
crusted
along the inside. He felt its weight and surmised it would be enough.
      With all the bravery he could muster he went to the door and
opened it, peering outside. His breaths became short and rapid as he took
one small step, looking around the corner. Nothing seemed to be there, but
the bushes made an odd swaying motion near the bottom branches. He
swallowed, fear filling him. He’d hidden in these places before.
      Taking careful, soundless steps Frodo made his way along the
hole, both hands gripping the handle of the skillet. He clenched his teeth,
ready to knock the wind, if not entire life out of whatever-whoever-
resided there, spying. He wondered if he’d already been spotted and had
gotten ready with an even more powerful weapon, a sword, maybe a
spear… these thoughts plagued him as he finally reached the shrubbery,
lifted his arms and yelped-
      He jumped back as a small scuffling noise came from the bottom; a
small hare leapt out from below, scampering off into the gardens quickly.
Frodo heaved out a long breath, letting his arms fall. Convinced it was
only paranoia he walked back towards the hole, immediately running into
a panicked Sam. He jumped again, eyes wide. “SAM!”
      “Mr. Frodo!! Where were you??”
      “I…I heard a noise outside, I went to check-“
      Sam’s face went grave. “You went… to check?? Without waking
me?”
      “Sam… you were sleeping so soundly, I wasn’t about to just wake
you. It was just a rabbit, nothing more,” Frodo explained. Sam didn’t look
convinced whatsoever.
      “Mr. Frodo… I’m only going to say this once,” Sam went to say.
“I don’t care if I lie dead at your feet. You get me back alive and do NOT
go out on your own, do you understand? I don’t want you going off and
finding trouble you can’t handle.”
      Frodo blinked. “Sam, I can very well watch after myself, for the
most part,” he said. He noticed Sam blinking hard, registering what he
said. Before he could take it wrong, Frodo shook his head. “It’s not that I
don’t appreciate you being here. I do. But I can’t always run to you when
I’m the tiniest bit scared. I need to fend for myself.”
      “I know, sir.” Sam said softly. “But I don’t like to worry about
you, and it seems that’s all I can be doin’… especially when I find you
missing,”
      “I know, and I’m sorry, Sam,”
      “All right. Now let me tuck you into bed.”
      Frodo smiled, relaxed and walked back into the warmth of home.
He let Sam draw back his covers and help him out of his clothing,
enjoying the feel of Sam’s hands running over his skin as he did. Once
finished Frodo yawned himself into bed, feeling the covers go over his
tired self. The quiet changed so suddenly however in the form of pounding
at the front door. Frodo sat straight up as Sam turned on his heels. He
looked back at Frodo with warning in his eyes. “Stay here… and don’t
move.”
      Frodo nodded, pulling his legs up to his chest. Sam left the
bedroom, closing the door. Frodo got up and locked the door to be sure he
was safe, then pressed his ear to it to listen. Glancing around the room he
registered every single item that could be used against an attacker; some
sharp metal pens and a large bottle left behind by Merry and Pippin’s
night of wine was all he could think on.
      “Oh! You gave me a fright there, it’s so late!!”
      “Never mind that, Samwise, we have grave matters that need
tendin’,”
      Frodo recognized the voice as Sam’s Gaffer. Breathing a little
easier (though worried to what grave situation was now in store for them)
he exited the bedroom and walked out, meeting them at the door. “What’s
happened?” he said. Sam turned to him, his eyes wide with horror.
      “Mr. Frodo… there’s been an accident at the border,” Sam said
solemnly. Frodo blinked.
      “What? What’s going on?”
      “Your cousins… the wagon toppled over the road…”
      “They’re all right, from what we hear,” Hamfast interjected, seeing
the panic swim over Frodo’s face. “But we’ve yet to get there and sort it
all out. The shirriffs are there, making sure the scene is safe…”
      The rest of what Hamfast said went into oblivion, somewhere past
all horrors Frodo kept close, yet unwanted. He thought of what damage
there was, and if his cousins were alive and well. “I… I have to change, I
have to see them…”
      “No.” Hamfast said firmly. Frodo whipped back around.
      “Why not?? This is my family we’re speaking of!”
      “Frodo… they suspect foul play in this. There’s a worry that…”
      The pause that followed was louder than any word could sound off.
“That what.” Frodo stated coldly.
      “That it’s to lure you out.”
      Frodo jaw clenched tightly. Sam approached him, being careful to
not get too close with his Gaffer standing directly behind them. “Go to
bed, Mr. Frodo. I’ll go with my Gaff and sort this all out. Lock the doors,
then lock the bedroom door, and DON’T come out ‘til I’ve returned. All
right?”
      “Sam… I don’t… I don’t want to live like this…” Frodo barely
mumbled, staring off past Hamfast at the night sky. “Now they’re hurting
my family. Sam… Sam, I’d never forgive myself!”
      The rising of his voice made Sam wince. “It’s not your fault. Now
just do as I say, all right? I’ll be back as soon as I can and give you the
news. Then we can go out first thing tomorrow,”
      Frodo nodded dumbly. Sam turned to go with his father, stopping
on the stoop. “I’m not leaving until I hear this door being locked.”
      Frodo stepped forth and closed the door. He locked the first lock
tight; the second, just put in after the attack was also locked. He then 
heard
Sam and Hamfast’s voices fade off into the night, leaving him alone. He
walked with numbed steps to his bedroom, went inside, and locked the
door.
      “Lock... lock… lock,” he mumbled, feeling as if he may go mad.
He didn’t want to live like this. He didn’t want to live in fear.


      There would be no sleep.
      Frodo’s eyes, which had been tired only an hour before were now
wide open as he huddled into his bed, pulling the sheets up to his chest,
clinging. The last memories of his cousins ran through his mind… “Oh
Merry, Pip… what’s happened to you… what’s happened to you…” he
murmured to himself, over and over. Visions of them, hurt and bloodied
ran through his mind against his will. His wet eyes shut tight, his hand
reaching up to his head. Something was so terribly wrong.
      His throat was so dry. It hurt to swallow now, and the tears weren’t
helping. The saltwater tickled painfully at the back of his throat, making
him cough. He wanted a nice hot tea right now, though the action of
stepping into his kitchen sent shivers of fear down his spine. He shook his
head, trying to clear his throat but it was no good.
      His feet found the floor. “I mustn’t be scared of my kitchen. I
mustn’t be scared of my kitchen…” he mumbled to himself. He undid the
lock to his bedroom and walked out carefully, not making a sound. The
darkness of the smials made his head swim, his equilibrium fading
slightly. He held onto the doorway into the kitchen, trying to gain his
bearings. He stared towards the pot hanging in the small hearth, making a
pathway in his mind to it. Once sure he stepped away and walked over,
grabbing the pot securely in his hands. He lifted it, bringing it to the 
water
pump. He didn’t like making such loud noises, so he made sure that three
pumps worth was enough to make a pot of tea. His throat scratched even
more painfully as he lit a match and breathed in the remnants of wood and
smoke. The tiny flame calmed and Frodo took a slower breath; that’s
when his eyes looked up and went wide.
      He hadn’t left this window open. In fact… he hadn’t taken it off its
hinges completely. The sudden burst of cool air hit him, sliding over him
in the most unpleasant way. The match burned all the way to his finger,
striking him back to his senses just as a small creak came from behind
him.
      The cellar door…
      He didn’t turn to look; he snapped out of his trance and
immediately broke into a run, heading for the bedroom. A pair of rushed
footsteps followed closely, muffled voices accompanying them. His feet
stumbled over the small rug, making his escape falter. He yelped as he
found his feet again… but all too late. A pair of hands grabbed both sides
of him, making him fall into the doorway of his room. Feeling like the
hare he’d scared off that night his eyes widened in horror as a familiar
voice sounded off in the high, lofty ceiling.
      “Hold him down now, Slint!!”
      Frodo’s fingers dug into the wood uselessly, trying to crawl away.
The hands were now joined by a dead weight seemingly tossed on his
back, knocking the wind from him. He closed his eyes, wishing it was all
just a nightmare, it wasn’t real; it couldn’t be…
      “Now hold still, my love. This should only be a moment,”
      He panted in a panic as a hand holding a cloth pressed into his
face. He put both hands to it, trying to pry it off. He failed miserably, 
the
fingers clamped over his chin and lips. His hands slapped down hard on
the floor, his head going woozy.
      “That’s it, m’dear. Just sleep now.”
      His eyes rolled back… voices faded and nothing followed…


      Sam held his head in his hands as he and Hamfast rode back with
Ted Sandyman on his wagon. He wouldn’t have had Ted as his choice of
company, but it didn’t really matter right now. He just wanted to get back
to Bag End, to let Frodo know that yes, his cousins were bumped around
but alive and well. The sly little Took, while being carried away by two
young lads from the healer’s hut had made a few jokes about how it was
he being sober that caused the accident.
      Jokes aside however, everyone suspected that the log that had been
put in the road wasn’t there by accident. Thank goodness that Mabel had
made it, her only injuries being some large scrapes on her legs. She’d
taken a good tumble onto the side of the road then pulled by the wagon’s
weight, but had somehow made it through all right. Sam was sure to get
every detail he could, right down to the gentle pony’s state.
      Bag End came into view. Sam sat up, yawning. He craved a good
night’s… well, at this point morning’s sleep. Hamfast puffed his pipe and
looked out onto it with Ted making the horses slow down. “I suppose then
you’ll be wantin’ some sleep. I say you’d earned it right enough,” Hamfast
said, putting a kind hand on Sam’s shoulder. Sam smiled and yawned
again.
      “I’m sure Mr. Frodo wouldn’t mind either of you to stay as well,”
Sam offered.
      “Now don’t go makin’ offers that ain’t yours to give, Samwise,”
Hamfast said, pointing his pipe to him.
      “I know. But I still…”
      “Hush up, son,”
      Ted halted the horses in front of Bag End entirely now. Sam got
out and rushed up the walk, Hamfast getting down to go with him. “I’ll
just make sure everything is all right,” he told Ted, who nodded and sat
back, chewing on a piece of long grass. Sam walked to the door and
knocked. He waited a few moments, hearing nothing. “He must still be
sleeping,” Sam said, confused.
      “I’ll go out back. Perhaps the lad is in the kitchen and can’t hear,”
      Sam nodded, waiting by the front door as his Gaff walked around
the side of the hole. He tapped his foot, wanting to just climb into some
pillows and fall asleep. That changed when he heard his father cry out.
      “SAMWISE!!”


      The sudden cold splash crinkled Frodo’s entire brow, making him
open his eyes in a flash. They were extremely unfocussed, unable to make
out his surroundings. He knew he lie on a bed, though it was not his own.
He remained confused; “Where…” his feeble voice managed to irk out.
He instantly coughed, tasting something acrid and unpleasant on his
tongue. “Where am I?”
      “In the humble abode of Griffin Miller,”
      The voice seemed eerily familiar, though the name was a mystery.
“Who… who is… Griffin?”
      “I’m directly in front of you, sweet lad.”
      Frodo’s eyelashes fluttered, forcing his eyes to clear. As the
bleariness faded his eyes went wide. “Darrin…” he mumbled out,
completely horrified.
      “No, no, my sweet. Griffin. Might take some getting used to but I
assure you, you will,” he said, coming closer. Frodo’s lower lip quivered;
he went to move and found he couldn’t. His head tossed upwards and
found that his wrists were bound to the headboard of the large bed. He
squirmed, trying to free himself. Griffin chuckled coldly. “I’m a fantastic
knot-tier. I highly doubt you’d be able to free yourself. And… even if you
did, there’s no way you’d get out of here at all.”
      A sudden hand was at Frodo’s face; he flinched instinctively, terror
in his eyes. “Please… I don’t know… why you’ve chosen to do this,
but…”
      “You don’t know why??” Griffin said incredulously. “You’ve
already forgotten what we’d almost gotten to do, before that awful
gardener of yours busted in on us? Why, I thought you’d at least be half
glad to see me,”
      “Glad??” Frodo said, a scared chuckle in his throat.
      “Of course. I never got to finish with you, and it’s been very hard
for me to live with that these past few months.” Griffin said, putting his
fingers to Frodo’s lips. “With how hard I’d made you betwixt your thighs,
oh my poor boy… you must have needed those lovely hands of yours to
work hard on taming yourself,”
      Frodo opened his mouth quickly and took one of his fingers to his
teeth. He bit down hard, making Griffin howl loudly. He grunted and
pulled his finger free, then slapped Frodo’s face, making it jolt sideways
from the blow. Frodo saw stars as he cried out, tears starting to form in 
his
eyes. He realized his predicament fully now.
      Griffin shook out the pain from his finger. “That… is lesson
number one, my darling.” He said, looking back at him. “I hate to ruin that
pretty face, but I’ll do worse should you try something like that again.”
      Frodo closed his eyes tight. Where was Sam… oh by the Valar…
“My cousins… did you hurt them? Was it you??”
      Griffin smiled. “Just a distraction, I assure you. My aim was only
to cause an accident, not to kill per say. However…” he paused, climbing
towards Frodo with a menacing grin. He put his face to Frodo’s and kissed
it lightly. “I couldn’t tell you if they are still alive. They were both
knocked out cold when we left them,”
      Frodo’s chest heaved in sobs; he opened his eyes a crack to watch
his captor leaning over him. His breath stunk like cheap pipe-weed, his
breath as foul as the sight of his mangled teeth. “Please let me go.” He
pleaded softly. “I’ve done you no harm, and I’ll wish you no harm should
you just please let me go,”
      “You’re so sweet, m’dear,” Griffin slowly drawled to him, tracing
his sweated collar, touching his neck lightly. “You’ve gone beyond all my
reasoning, really. I’ve had many a young lad, not even of age as you are
but none compare with just the picture I’d acquired from your dear Uncle;
never mind having you to myself, completely in the flesh.”
      “I’m not yours to have.” Frodo boldly stated, though his voice
cracked.
      “I’ve made you mine, haven’t I?” Griffin said, his eyebrows rose.
He put his hand to his head, hoisting himself up to lie beside him calmly,
as if he were his lover. His other hand dipped below Frodo’s nightshirts’
collar, lining itself along his collarbone. Frodo couldn’t help the shudder,
sick as it felt. Griffin smiled. “It’s a delicious thing, touch. That’s what 
my
touch is, or at least will be to you. You’ll find me to be very
accommodating when listened to.”
      “I feel sick…” Frodo whined, choking back another sob.
      “From what?” Griffin inquired. He ignored Frodo’s silence,
smiling again. “I ask you, what luck… here I’d worried about trapping you
fully clothed, having such trouble getting you undressed. All I have to do
is make a small gesture downwards and there you are,”
      Frodo inhaled in halting breath feeling Griffin’s hand moving to
his thigh. The fingers grasped the hem and inched it up. “Please…
PLEASE don’t…” Frodo cried out, his eyes overflowing. “I’ll do anything
if you stop this…”
      “Oh, anything? That’s something you shouldn’t have said,” Griffin
told him, his fingers going still. “Anything is what I have in mind, m’dear.
Soon, I’m sure, you’ll be begging for me rather than against me.”
      “I’d never beg for more… of whatever sickness you’re planning,”
Frodo said, swallowing. He winced, the pain horrid. “Please… my throat,
it’s burning…”
      “You’d like something to drink, then?”
      “Yes.”
      “Well, anything I give you must be earned, you know. Kind of…
like trading off, favors for keeping you fed, bathed… whatever your
request may be. Sometimes I might not be able to fulfill them, or perhaps
I’ll take what I want with no trade at all. Just know that you’ll be kept
safe… as long as you listen, and listen well,”
      “I…” Frodo started; his confidence left him entirely as he began
crying aloud, unable to hold back his pain. “PLEASE, I am BEGGING
you. I cannot do this…”
      “Nonsense. I’m willing to help you with anything you desire-“
      “I DON’T DESIRE YOU!!” Frodo now screamed, uncaring to the
burn in his throat. He looked Griffin dead in his eyes, pulling at both his
arms and legs. He kept screaming out as he flailed, feeling like a rabbit
caught in a trap. “I’LL NOT STOP SCREAMING UNTIL YOU LET ME
GO!! THE WHOLE OF BREE WILL HEAR ME AND COME, THEN
WHAT WILL YOU DO???”
      Griffin bent back, his calm demeanor leaving him. “Your
screaming like a child does you nothing. It certainly doesn’t make you
very desirable.”
      “I’m NOT meant to be DESIRED BY YOU!! LET… ME…-“
      “Is there a problem, sir?”
      Frodo stopped dead in his wailing. He saw another hobbit, a tall
and round faced younger lad looking into the room. His eyes looked
entirely black as they scanned the room, his brown, greasy hair falling into
them in straight locks. Griffin smiled towards him with narrowed eyes.
“Oh yes, Wesley. It seems our little boy has no idea when to keep quiet.”
      “Is that right?”
      “Who…” Frodo said, his face screwed up in fear and confusion.
“Who’s this, now??”
      “My servant. Frodo Baggins, Wesley Slint. You’d best be as good
as you can for him, he’s not as forgiving as I,”
      Frodo stared; “Hold him down now, Slint!” Frodo’s chest rose and
fell in more halted breaths as Wesley smiled upon him as he walked in the
room.
      “I’ll give you this, Mr. Miller. You’ve got yerself some fine, rich
tastes,” he said. The long wooden stick he held, unknown to Frodo on its
use tapped his belly. “Though he’s a bit on the thin side, eh? My hands
could’ve wrapped ‘round him three times back at Bag End,”
      “That’s sort of the point, Slint,” Griffin chuckled out. To his
dismay, the stick lowered down to his nightshirt’s hem. He lifted it up,
putting his head down to peer inside.
      “Not thin there, I’ll say-“
      Frodo squirmed, pulling at his feet as far as he could to have the
nightshirt drop back down. Wesley sniggered to himself. “What, modesty?
Here, in the Miller home? Honestly boy, come to your senses,”
      “Come to yours, you filthy pig-“
      Once again, Griffin’s hand slapped him, harder this time. Frodo
tasted his blood instantly as his tooth cut into his lip. He yelped in pain,
burying his face into his shoulder. “How DARE you insult someone in my
own home!” Griffin bellowed, taking Frodo’s hair in his fingers, forcing
his face to his. “For THAT you can beg all you want for one sip of water.
You’ll have to earn it in FULL now.”
      Frodo felt his eyes shuddering violently in his head. His head
dropped back down, Griffin letting him go. He got off the bed and joined
Wesley by the door. “Do be quiet. I’m awaiting more guests in the
evening, and if you’re nice, maybe they could come up and meet you.”
      Frodo went numb, every part of him aching and pained as the dim
light from the hallway disappeared behind the closing door. The small
window near the ceiling provided next to nothing by way of sight or even
noises from outdoors. He let go, crying silently yet hard into the sleeve of
his nightshirt, murmuring Sam’s name in a futile attempt at comfort.


      “He’ll be found Sam… he’ll have to be.”
      Sam’s relentless tears fell down his cheeks, Fatty Bolger sitting by
his side. They hadn’t left the front stoop of Bag End for close to two hours
now as the shrriff and other officials walked around the hole, searching for
any clues. Sam saw it as a useless effort; they all knew who’d done it, but
didn’t. Not being able to find a “Darrin Bramble” in the books left them
with nothing. “What makes you say ‘he’ll have to be’, Fatty? Judging by
what’s happened already, this all doesn’t look like it was done by just one,
but two or more,” Sam cried out into his hands. “He’s probably in hiding
with someone, using more aliases we’ll never find out, oh Frodo… Frodo,
why didn’t I see…”
      “See what, Gamgee? You did what you thought was safest, you
told him to stay put. Who would have guessed that-“
      “I should have guessed!” Sam yelled, making Fatty jump. He stood
up now. “Honestly, ‘yes Frodo, stay here all by yourself instead of coming
out where you’re surrounded by others. Make sure you lock all the doors,
and put a spell on them windows so their useless hinges can’t be knocked
off’, DAMN!” he yelled more, his voice growing hoarse.
      “Sam, you’re NOT- HELPING.” Fatty stated loudly, his hands at
his hair.
      “No. Not right now,” Sam said, trying to ease himself. He looked
back to Fatty, whose face was now red, tears in his eyes. “Oh I… Fatty,
I’m so sorry,”
      “It’s all right.”
      “No it isn’t,” Sam said, going back to sit by him. His face stayed
calm as he spoke. “You’re right. It’s no good standing around screaming
about it. I just… there’s no way. Bree doesn’t like prying eyes, no matter
how many THEY may have. It’s doubtful much will be done about this.”
      “What do we do then? Just wait for Frodo like he’s on holiday
somewhere??” Fatty said in desperation. Sam shook his head.
      “If they come back with nothing… and can’t seem to get through
to Bree’s good senses,” Sam paused a moment. “The minute they can,
Pippin, Merry and I are going to head off into Bree ourselves. I don’t care
how long it takes. I’ll find him and bring him back. If I have to murder
that slimy bastard I will. It doesn’t matter to me now.”
      “I’d be coming as well, I’ll have you know!” Fatty said, his voice
demanding and angry. Sam looked to him.
      “I didn’t want to just volunteer you for it-“
      “You don’t have to. Don’t dare think I’ll be sitting around
Hobbiton on my arse waiting for news. I’d rather make it then hear it.”
      For the first time that morning, Sam felt a smile cross his lips.


      Frodo winced; the cut at his lip opened as he took a sudden breath
in awakening, making his first moment with eyes open painful. Not that he
wasn’t surrounded by pain to begin with… his wrists and ankles felt torn
open, the tough ropes grating into his skin callously. Nothing compared
however to the pain in his throat.
      It was growing hard to breathe; He forced a swallow, his eyes
closing so tight it hurt. Whatever substance they’d used to knock him out
left him feeling raw, and he couldn’t even bring a hand to rub at it. His
eyes overflowed again, and he cursed he tears; ‘stop that, right now,’ he
thought. ‘No use in feeling sorry for yourself. What’s done is done.
They’ll find you. They’ll find you…’
      The door opened a crack; Frodo closed his eyes, pretending to
sleep. He tried pushing his frantic breaths to sound normal, but it was
almost too hard as footsteps sounded across the floor, coming over to the
bed. “Darling?” Griffin’s voice softly said in the darkened room. “Are you
awake?”
      Frodo didn’t answer. He moved his head slowly to the other side,
crinkling his brow as if dreaming. Perhaps he’d leave, come back to check
again…
      The new weight on the bed shifted Frodo’s position, moving his
head slightly. He was there; laying next to him… his hand had found his
chest, rubbing it gently. Frodo held back a groan of disgust as lips met his
cheek, kissing lightly. “You’re so lovely. So, so lovely,” he whispered into
Frodo’s ear. He began mouthing it, making Frodo turn his head away, still
trying to fake sleep. “Wake up, m’dear. I’d like you to be receptive,”
      Frodo held back a sob. He heard a distinct sound come from what
he believed was the small side table next to the bed. It sounded like a mug.
“I have water for you. I’ll gladly give you some, should you be my sweet
boy,”
      Frodo twitched. He made a low groan, looking to be easing from
sleep. His eyelashes fluttered open and he turned his head. “Sam…” he
muttered, wanting to sting Griffin any way he could. He saw through slits
of eyes the look of disappointment on Griffin’s face. He went still, staring
coldly to Griffin.
      “No. Not Sam.” He coldly replied. “I come bearing gifts,”
      “Oh really.” Frodo said indignantly. Griffin clucked his tongue. He
grabbed the mug from the table. Frodo tried to hold back his desire to
quench his thirst and pain, blinking quickly. “All right…” he said, moving
his head closer to the rim. Griffin pulled it back, smiling wickedly.
      “Not until we’ve traded.” He said, putting it back. Frodo groaned,
his lip oozing new blood. Griffin stood up; the next sight stilled Frodo’s
heart and soul, watching him as he undid his breeches.
      “No…”
      “What was that? No?”
      “Don’t… don’t do that. Please.” Frodo pleaded.
      “I must say, as a beggar you’re very enticing.” Griffin said. He let
go of the undone strings, letting his breeches fall to the floor. “Makes me
want you more and more. I say keep on with it.”
      “I… can’t do this.”
      “Ah, so your mouth is a virgin to a lad? Come now,” Griffin said,
pulling his under things down unceremoniously. Frodo turned away with a
gasp, closing his eyes. Griffin knelt back on the bed and forced his face
back. “I’d be willing to bet… your gardener bastard has been atop you
many times with his cock down your throat. You’ll take mine as deep as I
desire, just as you would to him.”
      “P-Please…”
      “Yes begging is good… however,” he said, moving to straddle
Frodo’s chest. Frodo clenched his lids even tighter, feeling the heat climb
up from betwixt Griffin’s legs to his neck. “You’d best beg for me, instead
of against me,”
      “No…”
      He rubbed at his already hard cock, sliding a finger over the head.
“It’s… so good. Do you know how I’ve dreamed of this since I saw you,
drawn in fine pencils?”
      “Stop…”
      “Beg for me. I want you to want me.”
      “I… don’t…” Frodo said in a high-pitched whine, his voice gone
to a child’s desperate tone.
      “M’dear. Do it for me.”
      The inclination that Frodo would enjoy this in any way made bile
climb to Frodo’s mouth, stinging him thoroughly. He began coughing,
trying to hold back the further humiliation of vomiting over himself. He
imagined what reaction Griffin himself would have at being covered in
such things… he whined through his insistent coughs, shaking his head
listlessly from side to side. It all stopped so suddenly when Griffin threw
his hand to his hair and pulled him up, so close to the hard flesh…
      “DO IT for ME!!” he bellowed directly into his face. Frodo’s eyes
went as wide as saucers, staring into the angry, merciless brown orbs. His
face began to calm though his breath was still coming out in a high-
pitched hiss. Frodo’s lower lip shook.
      “Please… put…”
      Griffin nodded. “Go on.” He blankly said, his breaths calming.
      “Put it…” Frodo swallowed, trying once again to ignore the pain.
“In my… mouth,”
      “Put what in your mouth, m’dear?” Griffin said, his voice going
soft along with his fingers, unclenching Frodo’s hair. “Ask me fully. No
more pauses. Please, m’dear.”
      “Please put your cock…” Frodo said, wincing slightly at his saying
the word. “In my mouth,”
      “Oh, darling.” Griffin purred. Frodo immediately closed his eyes,
and didn’t have any time before he felt the hardened member enter his
mouth roughly. It took everything he had to not bite down, not wanting to
imagine the horrible punishments he’d receive in doing such. He held back
a deep choke as Griffin pushed in further, moaning deep as he slid his
body up and down Frodo’s chest, nearly crushing him. Griffin’s hand
found Frodo’s cheek and caressed it lightly, shaking his head. “You’re so
beautiful,” he murmured shakily. “I’m so glad you’re mine. I’m so glad
you’re here with me, oh Frodo…”
      Frodo’s eyes rolled back from the pain and revulsion, escaping for
just a few moments… yes, he was back home… lying in bed, and Sam
was in his mouth, he was telling him he loved him
      Frodo, my love…
      Frodo almost felt the spark of a smile hearing that sweet voice,
changed from a boy’s to an older tween. How lovely he was, the way he’d
move. Frodo let a moan escape no matter the aching. It pleased Sam, yes it
did… he was smiling down on him, he could see through the slits of his
eyes.
      Frodo… oh, I love you so much… “You’re… you’re beautiful…”
      Frodo suddenly didn’t know where that other voice had come
from, but it didn’t matter. Despite the burn he felt Sam’s heated product of
lust burst forth, sliding into his mouth. He swallowed back, loving and
hating at the same time. He bit back the pain deep inside until the swelled
flesh in his mouth grew smaller then left his mouth gaping open, air filling
it as he breathed in deep.
      “Frodo… that was… beyond what I’d imagined it would be…”
      Frodo smiled absently, nodding slowly. His eyes opened,
expecting to see Sam over him with a wide smile, ready for a small nap…
his smile faded looking upon Griffin, his eyes blinking hard. He was still
here… “Now for your reward,”
      Frodo watched as he leaned off the bed and grabbed the mug of
water. His eyes went wide with relief; he tried bending his head up,
animalistic urges overtaking him as he growled in want for the liquid.
“Easy now, let’s not spill it,” Griffin told him, taking the back of his 
neck
and gently lifting it. Frodo opened his mouth, reaching for the rim. It got
to his awaiting lips and was tipped back; there was nothing more
refreshing that Frodo could recall, no wine nor ale nor anything else. He
drank it back quickly, slathering his mouth and throat in its coolness. To
his dismay the mug was brought away from him, Griffin looking upon him
with a sickened love.
      “Mustn’t drink too much, m’dear. Wouldn’t want you getting sick
from the shock,”
      Frodo leaned back, Griffin’s hand moving away from him. The
pillow felt moist from his sweat as he turned his cheek to it. He remained
as blank as he could as Griffin leaned over him, kissing his shoulder. “I
must go downstairs now, get ready for my get together. Promise me you’ll
be a good boy?”
      Frodo didn’t answer. His eyes went still as Griffin touched his
chest with a fingertip then walked off. He gave one last smile before
closing the door. Here, Frodo’s eyes filled again, dripping softly onto the
already dampened pillow.


      “Merry, I SAID, get back in bed!!”
      Merry looked up from his suitcase in the corner of his and Pippin’s
healing room, his eyes aflame. “What do you think I’m going to do,
Sam?? Lie in bed when my cousin needs me the most??”
      “Merry, please. You’ll do no one no good in tromping off like this,
only to fall faint in the middle of the road,” Sam told him firmly.
      “It doesn’t matter. First the scoundrel tries to kill us, and then
kidnaps Frodo? Not happening, this will end as soon as I step foot in
Bree,”
      “Merry, Sam is right,” Pippin said from his bed, his legs held to his
chin. “There’s nothing we could do if we fall apart along the way.”
      Merry drew back from his suitcase, kicking it. “What am I
supposed to DO, then!? Oh, OW…”
      “There, see??” Pippin declared as Merry held onto his head. He
stumbled slightly, making Sam come forward to steady him.
      “Easy now, easy.” Sam said. He got him back to the bed, sitting
him down gently. He brought both hands to his head now, leaning onto his
legs.
      “What am I supposed to do…” he said pathetically, causing a sad
gasp from Pippin. Sam glanced to him, seeing him snuffle his nose into
the sleeve of his nightshirt. He sat down on the bed with a groan.
      “The mayor has sent a declaration to the mayor of Bree, stating
that he requests his own investigators to do the job. I don’t know how long
that could take,”
      “Why can’t they just march in there right now??” Pippin asked in
frustration. “It isn’t like they’d be harmed in losing a criminal!”
      “I’m not the head of Bree, I wouldn’t know,” Sam said through
gritted teeth. “But you two are being discharged in two days… by that
time, I’ll be in Bree with Fatty, doing our OWN work,”
      The room fell silent a moment. Merry raised his head, his hands
sliding over his mouth. “And… you figure you’re just going to find him
there with Frodo right on the border…”
      “Of course not.” Sam blurted. “Do you think I’d expect to just find
him like a lost, blown off hat?? No, I’m planning out the ways, the routes
around there.”
      “How?” Pippin asked, leaning forward slightly. Sam took a book
from his pack and placed it on the bed next to Merry.
      “A book of maps, relatively recent. Found it while I was looking
for any sort of clues at Bag End,” Sam told them. He opened it up to a
marked page. “It turns out that Bilbo made them, all the Shire and the
surrounding areas.”
      “Oh. Where’s the mark saying ‘Frodo is here’, then?” Merry said,
an acidic tone to his voice. Pippin went stone cold silent as Sam lifted his
head from the book.
      “What grand ideas have YOU then? So far you’ve come up with
nothing better than booming your way from here to pass out in the fields
leading to Bree!!” Sam burst out with. Merry’s ears twitched, growing red.
      “My FIRST idea would have been to let your Gaff handle our
accident, or take Frodo along!” Merry almost yelled.
      “Stop it, you two!”
      “I see! So you blame ME for what happened, as if I’d wanted it
this way!!”
      “YES! It IS your fault Sam! Because of you my Frodo is out there
having who-knows-what being done to him by some crazed criminal-“
      “Waaaait…” Sam drawled in his interruption.  “Your Frodo??”
      Merry immediately went quiet as Sam stared holes into his face.
“Lads…” Pippin started; Sam didn’t look his way, he simply held up his
hand to shush him as he kept his eyes on Merry.
      “What is this, Merry?” he asked, his voice calming yet cold. Merry
turned away, shaking his head.
      “It doesn’t matter.”
      “No, I think it does,” Sam said, nodding slowly. “He told me, you
know.”
      “Told you… what?” Merry said.
      “About Brandy Hall, when you were lads,”
      Merry’s head whirled back to return Sam’s stare. His anger
suddenly dissipated, replaced by blinking tearful eyes. “He did?” He
mumbled, his fingers intertwining nervously. Sam nodded in reply, his
own face gone soft and quiet. Merry nodded, looking back into his lap.
Sam watched as tears began sliding down his cheeks, his nose sniffling.
“I… it was so long ago, ages it feels like.” He started, his voice creaking
under the weight of sadness. His eyes shut tight, squeezing more tears out.
“But not once… not once- have I been able to erase the memory of his
skin,”
      For a while, the only sounds betwixt them all were sniffling and
light coughs. Sam stared at his feet, trying to find what words to say. He
realized he couldn’t think of one. Instead his hand reached back to the
book. He opened it back to the page and cleared his throat. “We’ll start at
the main road and branch out. With the four of us we’ll cover good
ground. Everyone knows everyone in Bree, we should find someone
who’s seen someone as distinct as Frodo.”
      “What if he’s being kept somewhere hidden?” Merry spoke up,
reason instead of anger in his voice.
      “Then we needle our way into the pubs, or other social like places;
the way this character works, he’s going to want some sort of attention for
this I think. We’ll have to be sure no one is watching us, seein’ as we’ll 
be
recognized pretty quickly. Myself more than you two, but we also have
Fatty. He won’t be recognized. We’d have to work on looking as if we’d
been dragged through the mud, peasant like so we don’t get more than a
glance. It’s dangerous, really,” Sam said, sighing. “But I’m willing to take
the risk,”
      “Me too,” Pippin said firmly.
      “Of course,” Merry added. “Sam… I’m sorry.”
      “It’s all right Merry. No more bickering. Let’s just work on getting
our Frodo home,”
      Merry looked up, the twitches of a smile forming in the corner of
his lips.


      Frodo hummed a light tune to himself as he lay on the bed in
complete darkness; he couldn’t remember where he’d heard it, perhaps it
was one Bilbo would hum whilst working on his books, or something Pip
had sung, drunk at whichever pub. It was comforting nonetheless.
      His throat wasn’t as scratchy anymore. It was easier to swallow
now, though nothing had passed his lips for nourishment since late last
night. Now hunger replaced the ache, and he wished for something to fill
his rumbling stomach.
      The door opened just then; Frodo’s eyes blinked furiously at the
light coming in the room. Wesley emerged from the hallway, carrying a
small piece of fabric. “Come now, time for yer bath,” he said abruptly.
Frodo grew confused as he came to the bed, sitting upon it in a thud.
“Now, mind you. You fight me and I snap that pretty neck. Understood?”
      Frodo didn’t know how to respond. He stared at Wesley in shock
as he slipped the fabric around his eyes, tying it tight in the back. It 
pulled
a lock of hair, making Frodo wince loudly. “Quiet now, the Master is
entertaining downstairs,”
      Frodo heard for the first time the noises downstairs. His door must
have been buffered for sound, as he couldn’t hear anything but low
rumblings through the floor before. Now Wesley undid the ropes at his
ankles and wrists, but not without firm warnings. “There are at least ten
hobbits and men downstairs, more on the way. If you value your safety,
you won’t even think of running away. Understood?” he warned. This
time Frodo nodded, not having his eyes being able to express himself.
“Good.”
      He was suddenly ripped from the bed, feeling as if it had become
his skin and now was torn clear from him. The sudden coolness of the
room hit his back as he moved blindly, being pulled forward by rough
hands. “Come on then,” Wesley said impatiently. Frodo saw light coming
through the blindfold, enough to make out shadows in the hall. They went
non-stop to its end, Wesley shutting the door behind them roughly. Frodo
stood shock still, feeling a warm mist around him.
      “Why am I having a bath?” he asked.
      “Quiet.”
      Frodo bit his lip; before he could take another breath the nightshirt
was pulled roughly from his legs and up, over his head then off
completely, all in one sudden, disturbing motion. He shivered, body
trembling at the feel of his naked body, overcome with sick sensation of
air and eyes. “Yes, I see why he likes yer so much. If I wasn’t goin’ to get
a beating for even touching you I’d take you right here and now, m’boy,”
Wesley said, snickering. The sound of a clang sounded.
      “Go.”
      “Go?”
      “Ugh, yes!”
      Frodo felt something freezing cold trace near his privates. He must
have been holding a basin to him, wanting him to relieve himself. He
hadn’t realized how much he actually had to until now, all other pains he’d
had superceding this. He let go and heard the familiar splash into the
basin, sighing shakily. He’d never done this in front of anyone, even Sam.
That was the one thing they’d been too shy to do in front of each other,
choosing different trees or politely excusing themselves. He finished up,
feeling slight relief. The basin was taken away and pushed underneath
something, most likely the tub. Now Wesley pulled his arm then picked
him up by the waist. Frodo’s arms flailed as his legs landed in a tub full 
of
warm water. No time was wasted here, as he wasn’t meant to sink into
comfort; Wesley had taken up his arm and began scrubbing with a coarse
sponge. He didn’t ease his harsh movements when he reached his wrist,
making Frodo cry out. “Buck up, you prissy,” he chided Frodo, moving to
his other arm. Frodo bit his lip to make the scream of yet more pain
subside, breathing hard through his teeth. “Stand up now,”
      Frodo paused. “Are we done?”
      “Stop with the QUESTIONS, and stand UP!”
      Frodo slid his shaking hands over the edges of the tub, fighting to
get on his feet. Wesley groaned in frustration and hoisted him up himself,
and kept hold on his arm to keep him from slipping. He started to clean
Frodo’s feet, knees, and legs, moving betwixt his thighs. Frodo whined
softly, not bothering to make vocal protests, as there was no need.
Wesley’s hands however became distracted from the cleaning and slipped
from the scratchy sponge and slid a finger low, going from front to back in
a slow sick motion. “You like?”
      “I’ll tell him.” Frodo said quickly, remembering what Wesley had
said about his ‘Master’. Wesley growled and took his hand away,
scrubbing again, harder this time at his behind. Frodo’s back bent as it
climbed up, scrubbed more up to his ears. He pushed Frodo’s shoulder
down to sit him once again. Before Frodo could regain his position in the
tub Wesley’s hand shoved his head underneath the water; Frodo panicked,
thinking he meant to drown him. His hands reached to his wrists, trying to
pry him off. He was brought up again however, and suddenly smooth
hands were digging into his scalp. He knew this smell.
      “Soap?”
      “Mr. Miller insisted on bringing one o’ yours from home.”
      Frodo choked back a sob. It smelled of rosemary and lavender… it
was one of Sam’s that he’d made for him… suddenly water poured over
his head, making him sputter as it fell to his mouth and nose. He waved
his arms wildly, grabbing the edges of the tub. One more dumping of
water and he was on his feet, a thin towel wrapping around him. Wesley
rubbed at him a few moments, grumbling incoherently to himself.
“Dang…” he said. “I forgot something; I’ll be back, do NOT take off the
blindfold.”
      Frodo heard him opening the door then leaving, shutting it firmly.
Footsteps went down the hall as Frodo clinging the towel close to his
shivering body, sinking onto a basket behind him. Before he could start
crying again he caught the scent of the soap Wesley had used on him. His
lips quivered into a smile, trying to breathe in deep.
      The door opened again; Frodo froze, awaiting more rough actions
being directed at him. “Hello…?”
      This voice was unknown to him completely. A hand found his
shoulder; he was surprised at its weight and size. This was no hobbit’s
hand. He dared not speak, not having any insight to who he was.
      “So… this is the fine treasure dear Miller has in store for us,”
      “HEY!” Wesley’s voice called down the hall. “Back downstairs!
Who told you that you could come up here??”
      “I was only looking for a washbasin! Someone told me it was up
here,”
      A small clang was heard as he must have grabbed up another
basin. “THERE! Now, BACK downstairs!!”
      “Fine, fine! No need for hysterics, little one,”
      “Little one…” Wesley grumbled once alone with Frodo.
      “Was… that a man?”
      “What do you think? My, you’re a thick one. Pretty. But thick,”
      One jolt up and Frodo was on his feet again. The towel was torn
away, making his skin go cold and shivery. Wesley replaced another
nightshirt on him, not his own; he could feel the fabric, much more thin
than his silk. Once Wesley finished he put his hand upon his chest. It still
felt so cold. Wesley sniggered at his apparent confusion.
      “Don’t know why ‘e’s bothering. I can see you right through this
flimsy thing,” Wesley told him. Frodo’s lower lip trembled; being pulled
hastily from the bathroom back down the hall into the room he’d been
kept in. The door shut again and the blindfold taken off. He focused his
eyes upon himself and put his arms together, feeling sickeningly exposed.
Wesley took him by the arm again and dumped him onto the bed,
returning to the ropes at each end of the bed.
      “Please, don’t- those hurt too much, I won’t run away!”
      “Can’t trust you,” Wesley told him gruffly, forcing his legs down.
Frodo breathed in sharp, feeling the tugging pull of the coarse ropes at his
ankles again.
      “What’s going on… why are all these people here…?”
      “It’s a party.”
      “Why… for?”
      Wesley looked to him with a sneer. “It’s Master Miller’s birthday
party,”
      Frodo nodded slowly, knowing it was inappropriate to curse his
birth to his servant. Wesley finished the ties at his feet and moved to his
wrists, pulling them up hastily. Frodo winced as Wesley worked at the
knots, sighing. “Yes indeed, he certainly knows how to have ‘em. He’s
giving the best gift of all to the patrons here, as part of hobbit 
tradition.”
      Frodo swallowed. “What’s that?” he asked, his voice breaking
slightly. Wesley finished the knots now and stood up, straightening his
weskit.
      “If you don’t know… I ain’t tellin’.” He said eerily. Frodo stared
with wide eyes as he left the room and left him in darkness behind the
closed door.


      “It’s… so hot,”
      “Never mind that. I can see the outskirts now, we’re close.”
      Fatty looked up past his heavy, woolen hood. “Good. I’ve never
been to Bree.”
      Sam shuddered deep inside. “Neither have I, but from what my
older brother told about it after he came back… I’d rather not think on it.
Keep riding.”
      They had their ponies go a little faster now, eager to start their
investigations. Sam wished so desperately that they’d simply see Frodo
right as they got within town lines, just as Merry had joked about. How
wondrous a feeling to just come across him to bring him home, without
fights or complications. He knew this wasn’t possible.
      He also knew that they were probably too, too late.
      He fought this feeling back all he could but it kept on creeping up
the closer they came to the town. Buildings of all sizes spanned out across
the wide expanse of land, and there was almost a buzz of noise coming
from within it. Sam peered over everything he could see; was that him? Is
he there? Is he alive? Sam shook his head vigorously. ‘Of course he’s
alive, you git,’ he thought to himself.


      “And how was he?”
      The tall, broad shouldered man looked to Griffin who sat outside
the room where he’d just come. He stuffed his shirt into his trousers,
grinning wildly at him. “Sweetest little mouth I’ve ever had,”
      “Good, good,” Griffin said, snuffing out his pipe.
      “When you have a birthday, it’s always eventful,” the man said,
clapping him on the shoulder. He leaned in close to the hobbit’s ear. “I’m
uh… leaving tomorrow. I well, need a companion,”
      Griffin’s eyebrows rose. “And…?”
      “I’m heading to Gondor, it’s an extremely long and very lonely
ride,” he said. He flashed Griffin a large coin bag, shaking it. “It’s all 
gold.
You can have it all if I can take…” he said, drifting off as he nodded
towards the door. Griffin smiled slyly.
      “There’s no price you could possibly pay. My apologies.”
      The man shuddered out a smile, accompanied by a blush. He gave
one last clap to Griffin’s shoulder and headed downstairs. Griffin watched
him go, rolling his eyes.
      In the room, Frodo lie motionless. What… had just happened? It
was all a flash in his blank mind, skimming across his thoughts like a hand
over water, swirling it, and then rippling into nothing. The last few hours
made him mindless, as if he’d been drugged by some terrible plant into
thinking that he’d been with many faces, all looking down on him,
choking him, moving on him… but no plants, or anything else had crossed
his lips. Nothing except flesh in whatever form…
      The door opened; Frodo snapped his head up, panting in fear. Not
again, please, no… then in stepped Griffin, his hands holding the same
mug as before. “Hello, m’dear,” he said kindly. He shut the door and
moved to the small table. He lit the small lantern there with a match, its
flare sending Frodo’s eyes into blindness. He closed them wishing them to
stay closed. He felt Griffin sitting on the bed next to him, bringing his
head up. “There, there my sweet,” he murmured, bringing the mug to
Frodo’s lips. He opened his mouth slightly, letting the cool liquid slide
into his mouth slowly. He was not as thirsty as before or as eager. He felt
that Griffin got so much pleasure from his feral actions of receiving water
before, he forced himself to remain as cool as the water going past his dry
lips. “Better?”
      Frodo left the mug of his own will and sank his head back into the
pillow, swallowing hard. Griffin put a hand on his chest, rubbing it 
lightly.
“I hope you enjoyed tonight. It’s just you and I for now, I assure you. I
wouldn’t put you through such things day after day.”
      Frodo didn’t answer. He felt his tongue would lash out violently,
causing Griffin to use brute force against him. But talking kindly was in
no way pleasurable, almost preferring a beating than false compliments or
simple chats. Nothing was simple about all this; this could only be the
work of a truly twisted and evil being. A finger curled by his cheek,
stroking it in a loving sort of manner. “Did you find anyone you may have
fancied? I’m sure a young lad like you must have something particular in
mind.”
      Finally; something Frodo felt like talking about. “I do fancy
someone. And you’ve met him, quite closely in fact.”
      “Ah. You’re talking of your gardener.”
      “Punched you right in the face he did. That was a moment I’d love
to see repeated.”
      “You won’t however, we’re well hidden here. No worries.” Griffin
said through a tight set jaw.
      “I loved the sound when he kicked you, over and over. The way
your body sounded on the stone steps as it fell and crumpled in a ball to
the dirt. Yes, I liked that very much.” Frodo said. He knew he’d said well
too much but didn’t care.
      “I remember it as well, though not as fondly as you’ve found it to
be,” Griffin said calmly. He leaned into Frodo’s face. “Where is he now?”
      “Probably on his way. He’s quite clever you know.” Frodo said,
trying to shrug. Griffin nodded, a sneer on his lips.
      “That’s wonderful. The more easier it will be to find him and put
an end to him.”
      Frodo narrowed his eyes, looking away. “You won’t, you know.
Like I said. He’s clever.”
      “Not as clever as I. You see, I knew he’d do one of a few things
after finding out about your cousins and their unfortunate mishap.” Griffin
went to explain. “One, he’d take you with him. That’s fine. The crowd
was large enough to get lost in. A quick grab, a thrust of my sleeping
potion…and there. All mine. Or two, he’d leave you home locked away,
not thinking there are other ways than getting past locks to get inside.
Now, for a simpleton like him, he’d most likely take the latter. Why?
Because he has a warm, cozy home with a warm and cozy family. Home
is safe to him, not out in the open. So that’s where he left you and where I
knew he’d leave you. Right at home. Only you’re all alone, aren’t you? No
ma or da to rescue you, no kind uncle to stand in the way. Just you.”
      Frodo’s lips shook, causing tears to fall on his cheeks. “Leave.”
      “This is my home, m’dear. I don’t leave lest I wish to.”
      “Get OUT.”
      Griffin shook his head, climbing over Frodo. He pushed at his
arms, causing the ropes to dig further. The pain was too much; Frodo put
his head back and wailed, more tears spilling. Griffin said nothing, only
moved his head down quickly to grab Frodo’s lips with his own. Frodo
bucked up, trying to move him away, but Griffin pulled the ropes, keeping
his position. Frodo felt as if his hands were about to be torn off the bone;
he screamed shrilly, accentuated by sobs and whines. He’d never felt so
broken in his life, so taken over by someone with complete control, trying
to bend his will to match theirs. He choked as one of Griffin’s hands
reached down and grabbed him roughly between the legs. He bucked up
once violently, being pushed down by Griffin’s other hand, leaving the
ropes.
      “Do you know why you only serviced with your mouth, darling?
Hmm? Do you know why they didn’t take liberties on your body the way
they begged me to allow??” Griffin said, pushing his mouth to Frodo’s
ear. “Because this-“ he sharply said, making an even tighter grab at his
genitals. Frodo arched his back completely, going against Griffin’s force.
“-Is mine. Don’t you dare think otherwise, and don’t dare even DREAM
of your pitiful little gardener coming close to it again. I’ll be spitting 
on
his grave before I let him come within a mile of you with his nasty
intentions. Why does he want to find you? Only because you’re his little
‘master’, his trophy to show that he’s worth more than what he was born
in. The idea that you would wish to please such filth is beyond me.”
      “Let go… you’re hurting me…” Frodo irked out of his gaping
mouth.
      “Not enough, m’dear, not enough,” he growled out then let him go.
Frodo fought against the ropes at both ends, wanting to double over to try
and find some sort of relief from the swelling pain between his legs. He
stood up and walked to the foot of the bed, holding each post. Frodo
glared at him with glazed eyes seeing his silhouette. He could see his
hands shaking nervously against the wood, not being able to hide whatever
insecurity he held now.
      “Why are you doing this…?” Frodo asked in a high-pitched
whisper. “I’ve not done anything to you. I don’t know why you take such
bad temper to how… I want to live, when you’ve never been a part of my
life.”
      “You don’t see…” Griffin said. “I’m helping you, m’dear.”
      Frodo stilled, staring at him. “How… is this helping me?”
      Griffin shook his head. His eyes glazed in a way that Frodo
couldn’t see past, or understand. “I was once like you. A lot like you. I
was born into good family and sought after by many lasses, mostly for my
wealth and power. I had many servants, many. And I had my way with
them as I pleased, lad and lass. I once thought like you do about it all in
having control over someone who was in a lower station, and how they’d
do anything- anything you desired as long as they kept their job.”
      It was silent a moment now. Frodo blinked at him in wild wonder.
“I don’t think that way about my Sam,” he said with trembling lips.
Griffin rolled his eyes and made a large eerie smile.
      “Your Sam? Do you see, do you honestly see what I mean?”
Griffin said quickly, his grip growing tighter on the bedposts. “He doesn’t
love you Frodo. He’s just afraid of losing his job. They all are.”
      “You’re wrong. You’re wrong.” Frodo insisted strongly.
      “I am not. Maybe one day you’ll see that while in my care.”
      “What happened to you?” Frodo asked; it was beyond obvious by
what he’d already done to him that he was utterly mad. Something had to
be a trigger, and he suddenly wanted to know so desperately. In asking
this question Griffins eyes went from hazy to flaring.
      “Why do you need to know? I’m not here to have a friend to chat
with, as you could tell already. I’ve brought you here to see.”
      “See what??” Frodo said, his breaths coming quicker again. “See
that a madman has decided to kidnap me, have his way with me, and that
it’s fully within his right to dole me out as a present, some twisted gift 
to
his friends??”
      “You’re mine to give, m’dear.”
      Frodo shook his head. “I am not.”
      “You’ll see soon enough.” He said; he then turned and left the
room, shutting the door behind him. Another night was to be had, alone in
the dark with no kindnesses or true love. No warm kisses before bed. No
stretching to a new day’s light to be given morning embraces. The act of
breathing was slowly becoming a privilege instead of a right.