Title: A Virgin of Choice, Part I
      Author: Veronica
      Author’s E-mail: vast_cool_and_unsympathetic@yahoo.com
      Pairings: F/S, F/OC
      Rating: NC-17 
      Summary: Frodo becomes the object of obsession from a man from Bree, leaving 
Sam to go on the defensive.
      
      
      (Warning: violence, non-con sexual situations/attempted rape)
      It seemed that in Hobbiton, the only thing that was on the entire town’s mind was 
the exhilaration of the spring season, and it came forth in such fervor it could barely be 
described. It was late in it’s life, showing more and more signs of summer yet holding 
onto the cool breezes well enough that not one of them suffered through the sweaty toils 
of merely taking a small walk to a neighbor’s hole. The scents aroused everyone out of 
bed each morning, smiles on faces that might normally hold frowns. This was a hobbit’s 
pure delight; to be out and about, toiling at the good green earth.
      And this, as anyone knew, was Sam’s most desirable time. Long gone were the 
days of crunching frosts on the browned grasses, his hands eager to fill themselves with 
warmed, sweet smelling soil. And on his first day back in the gardens of Bag End he 
sniffed long and hard, enjoying the scents and air around him. This was his true element, 
his passion and life’s blood. The fact that it was here only made him smile wider, for 
inside the large hole beside him Frodo Baggins slept soundly, awaiting his eyes to open 
to the new day. He wondered if there would be any sort of celebration to the new, first 
day of Sam’s continued work with Frodo’s gardens. Even if it were a nice walk into the 
woods to enjoy a nice picnic lunch together, clinking glasses to toast the fine weather. If 
the Gaffer knew of it he’d turn up his crooked nose and shake his head. “As long as you 
know yer place, though I’d be hopin’ Master Frodo knows of it already. Don’t you start 
straying from your position, even with his kindness,”
      Never mind all that, however. Nothing could dampen Sam’s mood today as he 
dug out his shovel from the tool shed, eager to start tilling the earth. Nothing that is, until 
he reached Frodo’s favorite plants.
      He sighed sadly; Frodo loved these deturas. While most of the other perennials 
had sprung back to life, glistening with dewdrops and looking healthy as a newborn babe, 
these hadn’t come as the others. The small budding life had browned and gone 
pathetically limp. Each stem hung low almost to the ground. Sam took one in his hands to 
inspect it closely to see if anything could help the poor darlings. After some careful 
prodding and clipping, he saw quite clearly that these were long gone. He didn’t know 
what had caused it, but it wasn’t going to matter to Frodo. All he’d know was that his 
most favorite flowers were gone.
      Sam walked up to Bag End once more to see if Frodo had awakened yet. The 
sounds coming from the kitchen windows showed that he had; the sizzling of breakfast 
could be clearly heard, and smelled. Before Sam’s stomach could rumble he walked in, 
giving a small knock to show his entrance. “Sir?” he called.
      “Sam!” Frodo called back. He walked over, a dishrag in his hands. Sam smiled, 
briefly forgetting why he’d come in the first place. He was still clad only in his nightshirt, 
rumpled and wrinkled from his sleeping. His hair looked like a toddler’s, all tousled and 
crazily set around his face and neck. Here he was, twelve years older, and Sam felt like 
he’d reverted back to childhood. “I’ve made us both a good breakfast to celebrate your 
first gardening day. Thought you might appreciate some bacon and eggs,”
      “That sounds fine,” Sam said, clearing his throat. “But I’m afraid I’ve some sad 
news,”
      “Oh?”
      “Yes,” Sam started. After a great, sad sigh he began. “Your beautiful deturas… I 
don’t think they made it through the winter.”
      “Oh.” Frodo said biting his lip. “That’s very sad.”
      “I know. I’m sorry, Mr. Frodo. I think if I’d started a little sooner, they might’ve 
been saved. I don’t know what caused it; p’raps the soil had gone acidic. Whatever the 
case, I’ll replace them,” 
      “All right. That sounds fine.” Frodo said with a small smile. Sam was relieved to 
see that Frodo had not grown too heartbroken. “In fact, why don’t we make a day of it? 
I’m sure we could find some wonderful things to buy at ‘Lilac’s’,” he offered, referring 
to the gardening shop in town. Sam beamed at this suggestion. 
      “Oh, that would be excellent,” Sam said eagerly. Frodo knew how his heart 
swelled at just looking through the wares of all that involved gardening, and Sam knew it. 
      “Yes, we should make the garden look a little different this summer. Any 
suggestions from you would certainly brighten it,”
      Sam blushed. The compliments he gave.
      
      
      Sam’s eyes traveled along the long rows of flowers, shrubs and all sorts of 
beautiful growth that lay ahead of him once at Lilac’s. Frodo followed closely, looking 
with sparkling blue eyes at everything there. “Those are beautiful,” he said, pointing to 
the purple and blue blossoms nearby.
      “Ah, trip-drops,”
      “Trip-drops? That’s a funny name,”
      “Yea. Named that because people trip over their beauty,” Sam said. Frodo 
blinked, a wide smile on his face. 
      “Well then, a very apt name for something that’s caught my eye. Shall we get 
them?” he asked. Sam saw how he looked so much like a child in a candy store and 
snickered.
      “Pick whatever you please, Mr. Frodo, and I’ll plant them just as you like,”
      Frodo nodded happily, reaching down to grab a few pots. As he did this task Sam 
continued walking on into the rows, searching. He was hoping to find something with an 
intense blue, perhaps Burilian- to match his Master’s eyes. He’d plant them underneath 
his window, so in the mornings when Frodo would poke his head out to say ‘good 
morning, Sam,’ he could clearly get the contrast. He didn’t know why or how he felt 
these things, but every time he did a flutter in his belly would rise up and make him 
blush. He only wanted the best for Frodo, for what he’d done for him. Not one morning 
would pass whatever the season when he didn’t think of him as his first thought, even if 
his stomach ached to eat from catching the scent of Marigold cooking breakfast. He’d not 
be able to tell anyone however, as someone might think it odd to think of their employer 
in any other way than just plain good hearted. Just then his eyes caught a Burlian plant 
just past the dewdrops. He looked up to find Frodo standing by a rack of tools, the trip-
drops still in hand. “I found some Burilian, I think that might be good,” he called. Frodo 
looked over.
      “Whatever you like, Sam,” he said. Sam beamed, picking up the flowers. Looking 
back towards Frodo he frowned. 
      An odd looking hobbit, probably aged around his fifties had arrived just then. 
Sam didn’t recognize him at all, and he knew just about every face in Hobbiton. His hair 
hung gray in his eyes, his face looking as if he’d had a few scuffles leaving him with 
permanent marks. He was walking with the aid of a cane though he looked well enough 
to go without it. His steps seemed confident as he made his way near Frodo. Before Sam 
could turn away he caught something strange.
      This hobbit was not here to peruse the wares of the shop, nay; his eyes were 
clearly on Frodo, his grin looking to grow as he made his way over. He spoke something 
and Frodo turned; Sam could tell that Frodo was trying to be gracious, extending his hand 
to this stranger. They talked a moment, making Sam frown with confusion. Was this 
someone Frodo knew? He had to find out; if it wasn’t, Sam knew Frodo to be much too 
trusting of those he didn’t know. He made his way down the aisles to Frodo once again, 
clearing his throat. “Here we are, Mr. Frodo,” he said clearly, making sure both knew of 
his presence. Frodo turned and smiled, looking at the Burilian. 
      “Oh, that’s fantastic! We’ll have to have some of those, then.”
      Sam turned, nodding to the stranger. “Is this a friend of yours, Mr. Frodo?” he 
asked. Frodo laughed a little.
      “No, I’m afraid I don’t know him. He was just here looking for plants and thought 
I worked here,”
      ‘Right,’ Sam thought sarcastically. Frodo, being dressed in his best clothes for 
their afternoon out, was working here. The hobbit tipped his hat Sam’s way and smiled.
      “Mr. Darrin Bramble, kind sir,” he said to Sam. 
      “I’ve never seen you here in Hobbiton before,” Sam said quickly. Darrin smiled 
broadly, revealing yellowed, small teeth.
      “No, I’m not from around here as you’ve guessed. I’m from Bree,”
      “Oh.” Sam said lightly; Bree, eh? Hopefully that would be enough for the both of 
them to leave quietly enough. “Well, we’d best look over on the other side there, Mr. 
Frodo. I saw some wonderful shrubs that would look lovely towards the back by your 
kitchen door,”
      “All right. Nice to meet you then,” Frodo said as they walked away from Darrin. 
Once Sam was sure they were out of earshot, he leaned in close to Frodo, pretending to 
be looking at some shrubs. 
      “Queer fellow, isn’t he?”
      “Hmm, a bit, yes,” Frodo said, catching a quick glance over his shoulder. Sam did 
as well, seeing the man edging around a row of poppies. He didn’t look like he was 
leaving anytime soon as Lilac Polander herself approached him. They both talked quietly 
about whatever he was here for; it seemed obvious to Sam what that was as he turned his 
head quick, seeing him looking over at the two of them.
      “Pardon me for sayin’, but… I’m thinkin’ he might have an eye for you.”
      “What?” Frodo said, a smile creeping onto his lips. Sam shrugged, bending down 
to inspect a large green plant. Frodo bent down to him, still bewildered. “Oh Sam, you 
can’t possibly mean that… well, he’d…”
      “P’raps not, sir. But I’ve seen that kind of look before, and t’ain’t really right, if 
you catch my sayin’.” He said. “Not that I think much is wrong with lads fancying other 
lads, it’s been said and done before and to each his own. But what would someone from 
Bree want from Hobbiton? Plants?”
      “Well, there’s no use in worrying, Sam,” Frodo said, putting a gentle hand on his 
shoulder. “Sometimes I worry if you’ll be turning into an old hobbit too soon with all the 
worries you give yourself,”
      “I suppose.” Sam said with a smile. 
      The two of them perused the shop some more, ignoring the others around them 
especially Darrin. Sam found it hard to leave Frodo’s side suddenly, wanting to make 
sure that this odd one from Bree knew that he wasn’t left alone for any reason. He didn’t 
know why but every glance his way made his sides ache slightly, as if bending the wrong 
way in just<I> looking </I>at someone. Soon they’d filled a wagon full of the plants and 
flowers they’d chosen. Frodo and Sam walked to the front, Frodo pausing by the racks of 
tools leaning near the counter. “Do you think you’d be needing any new tools for the 
garden?” he asked. Sam shrugged.
      “P’raps a new spade. The one I have is getting a little weary,”
      “Are you sure that’s all?”
      “Oh Mr. Frodo, stop now. I’m not here to drain your pockets,”
      “Well, my pockets need a little emptying from time to time being as filled as they 
are,”
      Sam felt an odd panic here; his head turned, seeing Darrin looking at them 
curiously. Frodo needed to learn how to keep his voice hushed; perhaps everyone here in 
Hobbiton knew of his wealth, but this character didn’t have to know anything, including 
his name. Sam turned to the tools and picked a spade quickly, then directed Frodo, 
himself and their wagon over to the counter. Lilac beamed at seeing them.
      “Hullo Mister Frodo, Master Samwise,” she said loudly. There went their 
anonymity… “Quite a selection you’ve made today. I take it the gardens of Bag End need 
some refreshing, eh?”
      Sam groaned, Frodo smiled. “Yes, we figured why not,” Frodo said, getting his 
coin bag. Sam felt his back go rigid, not wanting to turn to see if Darrin watched them or 
not. They chatted a moment of their choices then paid and made their leave. Sam dragged 
the wagon behind them as he directed them out. Frodo followed closely, trying to keep up 
with him. “Slow down, Sam! You’re acting as if the weather is ready to turn to storms!”
      “With how I feel about that weird Darrin back there, may as well happen.”
      “Oh come now. There’s no reason to panic-“
      Sam turned quickly, stopping the both of them in their tracks. “I know it’s not 
really my place at all to be tellin’ you how to do things, Mr. Frodo… but…” he started 
with a nervous swallow. “I sometimes think you’re a bit too trusting. You should be 
careful; everyone knows what strange things go on there in Bree, and with him havin’ no 
real good business here makes me think on why he’s here in the first place,”
      “Maybe I am trusting… but you seem to have a problem with paranoia, Sam,” 
Frodo said, trying to lighten their moods with a smile. 
      “Just promise me you’ll be careful with those types sulking around,”
      Frodo nodded slowly, his smile fading slightly. “All right Sam, I promise.”
      “Good.” Sam said then turned to walk off. Frodo followed along, the pace slower 
now. 
      “So…” he started, taking a tin of mints from his pocket. He handed Sam one then 
put one in his own mouth. “I’d say that was quite a productive morning, wouldn’t you?”
      Sam smiled now, looking back at the wagon and its contents. The little flowers 
seemed to bob their heads ‘hello!’ to him as they bounced along the path. Happiness 
returned to his face as he imagined where he could plant these beautiful growths, his 
work, love, and ever-present duty.
      
      
      A nice late night was in order today; Sam had successfully planted everything, 
bringing Frodo out to see the fruits of his labor. Frodo had surveyed it all happily, gazing 
at the new surroundings. Nothing made Sam beam like he did when Frodo was at his 
most cheery. So it was that Frodo invited him to stay for a late dinner of a lamb roast and 
potatoes, eager to stretch out their visit to its most possible lengths. 
      Sam knew why; Frodo had been so lonely, stuck up in the hole by himself for the 
last two years. His cousins would come on holiday to stay with him for a few weeks out 
of the year, and they always insisted that Sam go along with them on their jaunts off, 
making mischief and general fun for all. Pippin and Merry aside however, Frodo still had 
the dreary, helpless look to him even when they would all be together, as if knowing 
nothing lasted the way he’d like. As stifling as Sam’s home life could be at times, he’d 
never been afraid that he’d wake up someday to find everyone in the hole gone, leaving 
him entirely by himself. The death of his mother had taken its toll, but such was the 
wheel of life; when Bilbo had gone so suddenly Frodo was lost, even in Bag End. Where 
it had once been filled with exuberance and light, with just one occupant now it 
threatened Frodo with its loneliness. Sam would look in at times, seeing him pattering 
along in the smials, looking so small against the high lofty walls and ceilings. 
      But tonight, none of that would cross their minds as they went out to the front, 
pipes in hand. The dinner had proven to be most delicious; Sam was proud at his 
Master’s skills at cooking and how they’d improved. He’d always told him that as long as 
he kept on some sort of task, it could be accomplished well enough. Sam grunted and 
belched as he sat on the steps, lighting his pipe. “That was a fantastic meal, Mr. Frodo.”
      “I happened to like it myself. I’m getting better everyday at it,”
      “That you are,” Sam said. He offered his matches to Frodo who took them, 
lighting his own. He blew it out and they stared awhile at the skies, Frodo telling him of 
each star he could. Sam couldn’t really tell anyone afterwards what each one had been, 
even with his trying to retain the information; but he’d get lost sometimes in just hearing 
Frodo speak, so eloquently, his lips parting such intelligence. They were all wrong there 
in Hobbiton about him. He was no mad lark or foolish lad with nothing better to do, he 
just knew what he liked and did all he could to learn of it. He admired him for what he 
did, even if no one else would.
      “How many do you think are up there, Mr. Frodo?” Sam asked. Frodo smiled and 
leaned back.
      “Too many to count.” He said. He sat up again, looking out onto the road. “Eh, 
who’s this?” he hissed. Sam looked over, seeing a darkened figure coming up the moonlit 
path. Not many traveled this late at night alone, not that there were dangers; but usually 
hobbits went out with friends. This poor soul didn’t seem to have any. Before Sam could 
take pity he was being slowly revealed; yes, it was that Darrin Bramble, for certain. His 
long cane shone in the low light, going back and forth as he went. 
      “Let’s just sit quiet like, he’ll probably not notice us,” Sam said, sinking down. 
Frodo nodded and bent forward, putting his pipe to the side. Darrin made his way slowly 
past them then stopped; he looked out over Bag End curiously. It wasn’t a few seconds 
that passed when he noticed the two of them sitting on the stoop, trying to look occupied 
by anything around them. 
      “Oh!” he said, making their necks snap up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was 
there,”
      “Um, yes,” Frodo said. Darrin peered at them and smiled.
      “Ah, the two young lads I’d met in town today! What a surprise!”
      ‘What a surprise indeed,’ Sam thought gruffly to himself. “Good night for a walk, 
eh?” he said finally, tipping his pipe. Darrin nodded slowly. 
      “Yes, it is. I was on my way back to the Green Dragon, where I’m staying,” he 
said. “So this… is the famous Bag End,”
      Sam felt the pit in his stomach grow larger; he knew of this place, as any hobbit 
anywhere would. It made him sick. Frodo cleared his throat. “Yes, it is,” he replied 
kindly. 
      “Might I share a pipe with you lads? I’m afraid my business is keeping me lonely, 
knowing nearly no one around this town.”
      Frodo glanced to Sam, finding clearly the warning in his eyes. “Well actually, it’s 
quite late. We were thinking of retiring for the night after a smoke,”
      “I see. So, is this… Samwise, is it?” he said. The fact he knew his name, probably 
heard in the shop that morning, made Sam’s insides still eerily. “Does he live with you as 
your servant?”
      “No-“
      “I may as well though,” Sam blurted out with, trying to keep a kind smile on his 
face. “Many a night spent here, I say.”
      “Ah,” Darrin replied; the smile he wore was very telling of what he thought of all 
this. Sam’s eyes narrowed, not liking any sort of inclinations being made by a complete 
stranger. “Well I’ll be off then. Do try and stop by the Dragon sometime. It’d be nice to 
make acquaintances with some nice folk. Good night,”
      “’Night,” they both said, waving him off. As he disappeared in the shadows of the 
night, Sam let out a long breath. 
      “I think I’ll be stayin’ with you tonight, sir,”
      “Why?” Frodo asked. Sam turned to him, not saying a word. He hoped he didn’t 
have to, that his eyes would do enough speaking. Frodo’s own eyes softened. “You’re 
worrying again,”
      “And with good reason. Such a strange happenstance, him blunderin’ across us 
like this. I don’t like him, and that’s flat.”
      “Well, you’re always welcome to stay. Though won’t your family worry?”
      “I’ll go home for a touch, then come back right away.”
      “All right, Sam. If you insist.” Frodo told him, taking his shoulder with a gentle 
hand. “Though please, try not to worry. I can take care of myself, you know,”
      “I know.” Sam said as he stood, not knowing if he truly did or not.
      
      
      After informing his Gaffer that Frodo was in a desperate need to stay for the night 
(for reasons he tried to devise quickly, though a small cough didn’t worry Hamfast very 
much) Sam was back at Bag End. He found Frodo sitting amongst large piles of pillows, 
probably scavenged from every part of the hole, brought into the living room in a hasty 
manner. He beamed to Sam. “It might be fun to stay up late. I even made some hot 
chocolate,” he said proudly, holding up his mug.
      “Oh Mr. Frodo, honestly. You’re like my sisters having friends over for a 
sleepover.”
      “Quite right! We can’t let those lasses have ALL the fun, can we?” Frodo said 
firmly, making Sam laugh. After getting his own drink, he sat with Frodo by the fire, 
gleaming hot embers to warm them. 
      “It reminds me of when I was a young one,” Frodo said wistfully, taking a large 
sip of his drink. “I’d spend many nights in Brandy Hall with my cousins, staying up late 
in the main hall. Our parents never had the slightest clue either,”
      “Oh, I’m sure they did. All parents have that sixth sense when it comes to their 
children,” Sam said, lying back on a large stack of pillows, easing into them comfortably. 
      “Perhaps. Though if they knew what we were doing, that sixth sense would come 
down to us and drag us by our ears back to bed,” Frodo said with a giggle. Sam arched an 
eyebrow. He never knew his master to be anything but an innocent victim of pranks, 
instead of causing them in the first place.
      “Oh? And what would you be doing, then?”
      Frodo sat up, arranging his nightshirt at his legs. “Well, we’d tell stories. Mostly 
ones that were a bit… well, naughty. Merry had found some of his father’s books, ones 
his mother didn’t even know about. He’d stolen them and stashed them in his room, 
bringing them out for me to read for them. Oh Sam, it was sometimes so silly, reading 
these things,” Frodo told him, still chuckling. “I knew how to read, but some of the 
things… oh, I couldn’t get them out without a crimson blush on my face! It’d make them 
laugh,”
      “I’m sure. Sometimes I can’t even see a lad and lass holding hands without going 
a bit uneasy,” Sam confessed. 
      “Well it was more than holding hands… and it wasn’t lads and lasses, for that 
matter,”
      “It wasn’t?” Sam said, raising his head in interest. “What, then?”
      “All right…” Frodo said, leaning in closer to lie on his side by Sam. “One story 
was about two princes, from two different lands. Both were to be married, in the arranged 
manner anyways. They’d been friends since they were in nappies they had, and knew 
each other from head to toe. Both of them confessed to each other that they had no 
interest in marrying, and despaired. So they ran off together,”
      “But… how could that be possible? Any kingdom would search them out-“ Sam 
went to say, yet was interrupted by Frodo’s laugh.
      “Oh Sam, it’s just fiction. Not to mention that these stories weren’t built on the 
basis of keeping plots accurate,” he said in a knowing way. “So I read this out to them, 
and the scene grew ever so intense; as it turned out, these two princes grew so fond of 
each other that they ended up in love. Not the friend love either, but a lad to lass kind.”
      Something deep in Sam burned brightly at this; Frodo had been exposed to such 
tantalizing, if not scary ideas of love and all its many forms. As he’d said earlier in the 
day, Sam knew this type of thing existed. But to talk of it, never mind read of it in books 
was stunning to him. Now Frodo sat there plain as day, speaking of it with a large grin. 
Sam shifted his weight. “That sounds… so odd,”
      “Yes. Made us wonder why Merry’s father had them in the first place,” Frodo 
chuckled out. His hand traced a pillow’s edge as he stared at it absent-mindedly. “I’d go 
on with these silly stories, but… I don’t think it would be very proper.”
      Now Sam’s ears itched; he wanted to hear more, no matter how improper Frodo 
thought this all to be. “You can’t say things like that and not go on, you know.” Sam 
teased. Frodo bit his lip, smiling past his teeth.
      “If I tell, you can’t tell anyone, Sam. Can I trust you?”
      Oh, secrets… Sam turned on his side to face him. “Of course, Mr. Frodo.”
      “Well…” Frodo said in a slow drawl. “Mind you, we were young and silly. Just 
cousins reading silly books and all…”
      “Yes, yes. Go on,”
      “Merry said that we should… try a few of the things we read about.”
      A pause followed this as Frodo’s eyes were set on Sam’s; the intensity grew, 
making Sam feel weak. “Oh?”
      Frodo nodded, his eyes blinking slowly. “We drew straws to see who would go 
first. Pippin was extremely shy but you know him; even as young as he was, he didn’t 
want to be left out.” Frodo said with a wink. “But it was Merry and I who got paired first. 
We tried kissing as our first task, and we giggled horribly through it all. After some of the 
awkward moments faded and we realized Pip was staring at us in wild wonder, we 
realized what effect it had. So we kept on with it. Some buttons were undone, a little 
touching… it turned to groping after awhile, and Merry saw it fit to have me on my 
back…”
      Sam listened, blood pounding in his ears as Frodo continued. “… A hand went 
down my breeches, it was all I could do to not scream…” Sam swallowed hard, his 
mouth gone so wet in these tales… “… Pip had to hold my shoulders down, he did so 
gladly…” Oh this was too much… “… It was as if Merry hadn’t eaten all day, and I’d 
become a buffet…”
      Sam’s eyes closed and for the first time he realized to himself what those flutters 
were in his stomach when he’d look at Frodo, hear of him, talk to him, whatever. It 
wasn’t just their odd friendship, born out of the whole ‘master-servant’ idea. It was the 
thought that it could turn and go further if they’d wanted it this way. Sam took another 
gulp, his throat dry. He sat listening for what seemed like hours, each word Frodo spoke 
was like breakfast syrup, sliding in a slow, sweet drip motion; Sam wanted to be his 
breakfast right now, to be covered in that mouth that spoke so sweetly, wanting no more 
words, only his tongue touching his. 
      “Sam?”
      Sam’s eyes opened, finding Frodo once again in front of him. He cleared his 
throat. “Um, yes?”
      “I thought you’d fallen asleep.”
      With this kind of talk going on? “Certainly not,” Sam spoke. 
      “So yes…” Frodo said. Sam noticed the blush he wore and smiled. “That’s 
another small chapter of my youth that only I, Merry, and Pip know of. So… don’t you 
go off telling anyone,”
      “Of course I won’t,” Sam said, shaking his head. Frodo smiled.
      “I know. I trust you. Sometimes I think I trust you more than anyone I know.” 
Frodo said, putting his head down on his arm. The hand at the end fingered his hair, 
pulling it softly at the ends. “You’re a dear friend to me, Sam. Perhaps you’re my 
gardener, and others think that should be all betwixt us. But you’re not just that to me, 
you never have been.”
      Sam smiled; he’d never been so close to him like this. In one small motion he 
could have his hand on his, though he didn’t dare. “It’s the same for me, Frodo.”
      Frodo’s eyes sparkled at this. “What, no ‘mister’?”
      “Maybe not. Not when I’m not in the gardens.” Sam said. “Would you like that?”
      “Yes.” Frodo said, his voice deeper than before. “Kiss me.”
      <I>What? </I>“What?”
      Frodo smiled and closed his eyes. “That was a very… very silly thing to say…”
      “Say it again.” Sam stated; he wasn’t sure if he’d heard right the first time, though 
he did. He wanted to see those lips form the words without any doubts.
      “Kiss me.”
      Sam leaned forward, looking to Frodo’s eyes closed behind the lids. Oh, he was 
so sweet, that gorgeous little face peeking out from the dark curls nesting along his 
cheeks. He brushed them away fondly then bent forward completely, putting his lips to 
Frodo’s own. They were as soft as the flowers he’d planted that afternoon, full and 
luscious, his brain swam with what he did now… and Frodo certainly wasn’t putting a 
stop to this. Sam feared that he would, scared at being compared with his cousin on the 
subject and act of kissing. He’d never done it before, and didn’t know if he was doing it 
correctly. After a few moments of lying together, lips going apart slightly then coming 
together again, Sam grew more confident; especially when the small moan escaped 
Frodo’s mouth as he parted the lips with his tongue, eager to taste more of what Frodo 
had. 
      And it was glorious to be there, inside the hot wet folds of his mouth, suckling his 
tongue in a maddening twist and flare of ignited passion. He felt Frodo’s hand find his 
shoulder, touching it with ghost like fingers, tracing along and up to his neck. Their 
mouths shuddered together, coming apart slowly, still touching lightly. Frodo, his eyes 
still closed, smiled and licked his lips.
      “You’re beautiful,” he murmured then curled into Sam’s shoulder. They held each 
other now, easing into sleep. Before Sam’s eyes closed for the last time he kissed Frodo’s 
brow, making him wriggle into him closer, arms dangling around each other’s sides in 
sweet bliss.
      
      
      Frodo yawned deep, finding that his eyes opened in slits to greet the new day. 
Morning crept into the windows of the living room, finding him there lying by Sam. They 
fluttered and opened fully, peering at Sam intently. He smiled, curling a finger over his 
cheek. “Wake uuup…” he whispered in a sing song voice. “Wake, wake, wake up,”
      “Mmph…” Sam grunted out, turning his head away. Frodo giggled, sitting up. 
      “Hello, sleepyhead. The gardens are on fire.”
      Sam’s eyes opened in a flash. “What?” he groggily said, his voice finding panic.
      “Yes. All of the new flowers just burnt to cinders for no good reason.” Frodo said. 
Sam frowned and shook his head.
      “That’s an awful way to wake me, sir.” He said. 
      “I know. Now get up and get dressed, the healthy not-scorched gardens need 
tending, you,” Frodo said, nudging him in the side. He stood up and went to his bedroom 
to get dressed, not bothering to shut the door. Perhaps Sam would tumble by and catch 
him there, naked and awaiting to be pounced upon. The kisses they’d shared together 
were such a tease to him, though he wouldn’t have changed it for the world. Having those 
firm, beautiful lips on his had been like heaven, his fantasies fulfilled to their deepest 
cores. Perhaps there would be more, but judging by the sounds of groaning protests of 
being awake coming from the living room, Frodo was content in being fully dressed and 
leaving his room, combing his hair. He went to the kitchen and looked in the pantry; he 
groaned. He’d meant to do more shopping but had become preoccupied with the new 
flowers that he’d forgotten all about it. “Sam?”
      “Uh?”
      “I’m going to go into town. We have some bread and cheese, but I think that’s 
all.” He said, taking up a slice of bread to tide him over. He walked back to the living 
room, shaking his head. “I’m so scatter brained, I should have done food shopping ages 
ago,”
      “Do you want me to go with you?” Sam asked, sitting up with great difficulty.
      “No, no. I’ll get it done quicker by myself. You just get up and get into those 
gardens. What do I pay you for anyways??” Frodo teased with a wink. 
      “All right…” Sam said, winking to him as well. “Good morning.”
      “Yes. Good morning.”
      
      
      The basket of potatoes weighted down Frodo’s arm; he shifted it slightly, moving 
it to his elbow as he slid another basket onto it. He was used to doing the shopping, but 
this trip required more than just a simple filling of some spaces. He wanted to be sure the 
kitchen was well stocked for the most part, anyways. 
      After awhile filling his baskets with all sorts of good things to eat, he approached 
the counter, paid, and left. He was eager to get home as the baskets were becoming more 
than awkward. His arm with the potatoes felt numb; he figured it would feel better on the 
other arm, so he put his other baskets down. Before he could notice its odd angle he 
swung the basket absent-mindedly to the other arm, but found that it had already been 
ready to topple. He tried to still it before they spilled but to no avail; the entire basket 
spilled, potatoes scattering all around his feet. One bumped his toe hard, making him hop 
a moment. He bent down with a groan, imagining how ridiculous he must have looked. 
He hoped no one saw-
      “Here, let me help you with that,”
      Frodo looked to his side, finding Darrin bending down next to him. He blinked, 
wondering how far coincidences could go. “Well erm… thank you,” he told him as they 
both filled his basket. Once finished Frodo stood up, trying to smile. “Again, thank you. 
It’s a bit awkward with all these baskets, all I was trying to do was ease my sore arm.” 
      “Well then, I have no choice but to escort you home giving you a bit of help,” 
Darrin said, extending a hand. Frodo shook his head.
      “Oh no, it’s quite all right. I should be fine.”
      “Now, now, young lad. Nothing wrong with taking a bit of help.”
      Frodo nodded slightly, handing him his basket of rice, flour, and corn. Darrin 
smiled and walked alongside him, both heading for Frodo’s home. He hoped desperately 
that he wished for nothing in return, even if it were just a cup of tea to hold him on the 
way back. He knew it would be rude to refuse him. 
      “So,” Darrin spoke. “How is it your servant isn’t here to help you?”
      “Oh, he’s not really my ‘servant’, per say. He’s my gardener,” Frodo said. 
“Everyone assumes he does more, but he’s just a good help every now and again.”
      “I see,” Darrin said. “You both seem close, from what I’ve seen thus far.”
      Frodo nodded, though the way he spoke made him feel queasy. How could he 
know anything? He’d seen them together on only two very small instances, both being 
only around five minutes long. “He’s a good friend,” he finally replied. Darrin smiled in a 
knowing way, nudging his arm.
      “You know, you can tell me. It must get lonely sometimes being involved… in 
the way you might be,”
      “What… are you implying?” Frodo said, growing more and more suspicious of 
this Darrin’s attentions.
      “Back in Bree, it’s much more liberal than it is here,” Darrin told him, the odd 
smile still on his face. “The hobbits there are more free with their desires, and speak 
openly about them. You seem like the type to dwell there to me,”
      “What makes you say that?”
      “Well, Hobbiton is so quiet and reserved. I’ve already overheard at least four 
conversations on marriages, as if that’s anyone’s only concern. It makes things seem 
normal and calm, when perhaps they should enjoy themselves more before committing 
themselves,” Darrin explained. “You don’t seem to want that.”
      “Pardon me for saying such, but… how would you know?”
      “Because. It’s obvious you’re not interested in the lasses.”
      Frodo turned away here, him feeling like his entire heart had fallen out of his 
chest and into this hobbit’s hands. It wasn’t that he hadn’t ever taken a liking to a young 
lass or even experienced one (or more) in the sheets. It was as if Darrin had been 
underneath the window while he’d confessed to Sam last night about his times in Brandy 
Hall. His silence must have spoken volumes to the hobbit from Bree as he chuckled.
      “I’m right, aren’t I?”
      “Not… entirely,”
      “So, your gardener…”
      “I’m very sorry, but… I don’t think this is a very appropriate talk with someone I 
don’t know.” Frodo said sharply, hoping he didn’t sound as angry as he felt. “You seem a 
little too curious,”
      “Forgive me. I’m used to speaking freely with others,” Darrin apologized, yet 
kept the strange smile. Frodo nodded, knowing everything had been given away 
anyways. He was happy to see Bag End coming up ahead, wanting this awkward walk 
over with. They arrived at the gate, Frodo sighing and forcing a warm smile.
      “Thank you for your help. I appreciated it,” he said, taking the baskets from 
Darrin. Darrin folded his arms, smiling back.
      “No need. It’s always nice to help such a fine lad,” he said. Before Frodo could 
register anything Darrin reached forward, taking his chin in his hand. He brushed it with 
his thumb, making Frodo feel tense. “Has anyone ever told you how oddly beautiful you 
are for one? It’s really quite captivating. One of the reasons I stuck around so long in the 
gardening shop yesterday,”
      Frodo had no idea on what to say. The weather around him seemed to go from 
sunny and warm to freezing snow, freezing him to the spot. He’d never met anybody so 
bold in both their words and actions, and it frightened him. Darrin’s fingers were at his 
ear now, traveling around, cupping it gently. Frodo forced his feet to take a step 
backwards, finding that Darrin held a piece of his hair. “I… I…”
      “Mr. Frodo?”
      Sam’s voice had never sounded so sweet; or foreboding. Frodo turned his head to 
find him coming up to the front, his shovel in his hands. Frodo smiled. “Hi,” he weakly 
replied. He looked back to Darrin whose hands were now at his sides, his face still 
smiling. 
      “I suppose we’ll meet another time. I’m still at the Dragon, stop by anytime.”
      “Um…”
      “Mr. Frodo, let’s go make breakfast now.” Sam coldly stated, staring at Darrin 
with a heated expression. Frodo clung to his baskets, going inside without another word. 
Sam stayed behind only for a moment, keeping his gaze long and hard on the hobbit from 
Bree, hoping it warned him enough. 
      Frodo plopped the baskets down on the kitchen table, breathing fast. He hadn’t 
ever been approached like that by anyone in his life, and it struck him like a slap to the 
face. He had no idea whether to just take it as a mere compliment or if the pit in his 
stomach was there for the right reasons. The way Darrin had touched him, it wasn’t out of 
simple admiration. If Sam hadn’t been here, he wondered how fast he could have run 
inside, and if Darrin could have caught up with him before the door of his hole could be 
shut-
      Frodo swallowed and closed his eyes. “Stop this thinking,” he mumbled to 
himself. 
      “Mr. Frodo?”
      Frodo forced his face into a calm expression, unloading the baskets. “Yes, Sam?”
      Sam came from the front, walking into the kitchen cautiously. “Are you all 
right?”
      “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
      “I spoke with him.”
      Frodo frowned. “What?” he asked. Sam sighed deeply.
      “I saw what he was doing, and heard what he’d said,” Sam told him. “And I 
didn’t like it.”
      “Sam, it’s not that bad.” Frodo said, smiling as best he could. 
      “Well just the same, I told him that his attentions weren’t needed, nor wanted. 
Please forgive me if I overstepped any lines. I just didn’t like the look of him and what 
he’d done to you.” Sam explained, biting his lip. Frodo smiled.
      “It’s of no great consequence. I’m sure he’ll be back in Bree before we have a 
chance to run into him again.”
      “Was he inviting you to the Dragon? I heard him say something about it,”
      “Yes. But I think we’ll just go to the Ivy Bush until he’s gone,” Frodo said, trying 
to laugh. It seemed to work as Sam smiled back.
      “All right.” He said. He cleared his throat and crossed his arms. “I’ll head out to 
the garden; can you call me when breakfast is through?”
      “Of course.” Frodo said with a smile. Sam went to head back out, then stopped.
      “Mr. Frodo?”
      “Yes?”
      “Last night… maybe that’s why I got so protective,” Sam said softly. Frodo 
watched him as he fumbled for words. “I must say… I really, really liked what we’d 
done. I hope that wasn’t the only time,”
      Frodo smiled deep into the curves of his cheeks. Without a word he placed the 
basket he was busy emptying on the table and walked over to Sam, putting his hands on 
his hips. Sam took a deep breath as Frodo leaned in and kissed him gently, barely 
brushing his lips. The tease was enough to feel Sam’s body trembling; perhaps he could 
stay another night.
      
      
      Later that afternoon, just as the sun waned into evening Sam emerged from the 
gardens, huffing and puffing his way to the small washbasin next to the cabinets. “Good 
gracious,” he said. Frodo heard him from the living room as he read a book on elvish 
poetry. 
      “Rough day?” he called.
      “Not really, just those new shrubs we got. None of them wanted to stand on their 
own.”
      Frodo nodded with a smile. “Are you heading home then?”
      Sam came from the kitchen now, wiping his face with a small towel. “I figured 
that I would. Mari is cooking up a few hens tonight, my Gaff told me this afternoon on 
his way to Ted’s,” he told Frodo. “Told me I shouldn’t miss it like last night’s dinner,”
      “I see,” Frodo remarked sadly. 
      “It’s all right, Mr. Frodo. I’ll be back tomorrow. Then perhaps I can stay the 
night, seeing as my rest days are on the way.”
      “That’d be wonderful.” Frodo said, sitting up and closing his book. It was silent a 
few moments as Sam clenched the back of the couch, watching Frodo intently. Frodo 
cocked his head coyly. “What are you thinking of, Sam?”
      “How a delicious dinner of hens pales in comparison to a dinner of you,”
      The words he spoke sent shivers all along Frodo’s spine; oh, the way he said that 
was enough to make his groin go hot. “Don’t say such things. I might lock my door and 
swallow the key, never to let you go.”
      “I wouldn’t want to be rescued.” Sam said plainly. Frodo stood up.
      “Well, seeing as your family would have me strung up for such a thing, I won’t be 
using any such methods tonight,” Frodo told him softly. “But I can give you something to 
think about on your walk home,”
      “You could?”
      Frodo nodded slowly. He raised his hands to his shirt and began unbuttoning it in 
small, fragile movements. Sam simply stared- no, gawked, his eyes traveling to each 
button in anticipation. “Sir… I’m afraid I might lock that door myself.” He said with a 
deep swallow. Frodo giggled, letting his shirt fall off of his shoulders. Before he could 
get his cuffs off his wrists Sam rushed into him suddenly. He gasped loudly as he was 
backed into the front door, hard; oh my, Sam is strong, he thought to himself as he fought 
to regain his breath. The combination of being shoved forcefully and Sam’s mouth on his 
collarbone was enough to make him feel faint. He lifted a leg and draped it around Sam’s, 
pulling him to him close. He caught the musky scent of Sam’s sweat and skin in his nose, 
making him swoon. No lass could compare with this it seemed; Sam was working so 
diligently at every point Frodo could think of; while his mouth worked on his neck now 
his fingers traced around one taut, excited nipple, gone hard already. He pinched and 
pulled at it gently, making Frodo cry out shrilly. Those memories back in Brandy Hall 
seemed to fade away as Sam pulled back now, his palm now brushing against the raised 
lump on his chest. He stared at Frodo intensely, swallowing hard again.
      “Perhaps… perhaps after dinner…”
      “Come back,”
      “I will,”
      Frodo smiled, reaching for the doorknob. He opened it, stepping aside to let Sam 
out. As Sam went to leave Frodo reached out, brushing his back with his hand. “If you 
find you can’t… I wouldn’t try to sneak out your bedroom window when everyone is 
asleep,” he said, giving suggestion more than warning.
      “You’re a bad influence, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said, wagging a finger at him from the 
steps. Frodo couldn’t help himself; he didn’t care who would be walking up the road just 
then as he went to Sam one last time, kissing him in plain sight. Sam chuckled into the 
kiss, pushing him gently away. “Mr. Frodo…” he hissed, shaking his head. “You’re half 
naked in front of all in Hobbiton,”
      “I don’t see anyone,” Frodo coyly replied. 
      “Nonetheless. You go back inside, and your Sam will return against all odds,”
      Frodo nodded and stepped back into the doorway. “Goodbye, my Sam,”
      “Goodbye, sweet Frodo,” he said then walked down the pathway to the road. 
Frodo sighed, watching him go. 
      Later into the evening, Frodo changed into his nightshirt, freshly laundered and 
smelling of sweet handmade soaps; he’d made it a point to wash it in the soaps Sam had 
made for him, wanting Sam to catch the scent and find that Frodo appreciated his work. 
He’d done it long before they’d tried anything together, making Frodo blush at his 
intentions. He went to the living room, pulling a soft blanket to him as he read by the 
hearth. He’d kept the pillows all over the floor, loving the feeling of being cuddled up so 
warm and comfortable along his floor. Everyone dreamed of being in a bed with their 
lover, while Frodo found it more romantic to find firelight in the eyes of his beloved, 
splayed out along the floor so delicately. He tried to concentrate on his reading, though it 
was hard to do with the thoughts of what they could possibly do together.
      Hours passed; a yawn overtook Frodo’s face, making his hand rise up to catch it. 
He looked at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. He was surprised at the 
lateness of the hour, not realizing how much time had passed. He put his book down on 
the pillows and walked to the front window. Peering out onto the roads he saw no one 
upon them, making his eyes droop sadly. Perhaps Sam’s Gaffer had had enough of their 
nights out, and didn’t care to give in for the second time in a row. Frodo wasn’t all that 
surprised, but still the disappointment rang in his head like funeral bells. He stepped away 
and walked back to his pillows, fiddling with a loose thread on his nightshirt. 
      He felt so alone; so alone and tired of being such. If he could, if there were no 
way any suspicions could be raised he’d ask Sam to live with him. There was more than 
enough room here, only making him feel small against the surroundings. He went 
through every possible plan he could… “I’m afraid I need a live in servant to watch over 
the hole with me. I nearly burned down the hole with the simple act of cooking eggs…” 
he surmised possibilities; he’d grown into a fine cook, but he’d paint a different picture if 
it meant having Sam there. He lay down among the soft cushions, sighing. His eyes 
fluttered; if he were to fall asleep, Sam would just let himself in…
      He drifted into dreams now. Dreams he rather liked; he was in the garden with 
Sam in his head, looking over their new plants. It was all entirely different; the roses by 
the kitchen windows were a deep blue instead of pink, entrancing him. Sam was 
explaining how he’d done it. “A simple hybrid, sir, crossing Burilian with the roses. I 
thought you’d like it,” Oh the way they kissed now… so warm and delicious. It seemed 
so much more different than before; Sam was much more forceful and insistent, making 
Frodo’s head hit the wall of the hole behind him. “Calm, Sam…” he murmured to him, 
but he wasn’t. He simply ravaged Frodo’s mouth- it was starting to grow very unpleasant 
to him…
      “Sam… stop…”
      “It’s not Sam, little darling,”
      That… that was not Sam’s voice… nor was it part of the dream…
      Frodo’s eyes opened; they went wide with shock now, looking up into the face of 
Darrin Bramble. He jerked upwards to sit up but found himself slamming back down 
forcefully. He realized Darrin’s rough hands were holding down his wrists, fingers 
clenched tight around them.
      “You really should give that lad a key to let himself in, instead of leaving your 
door open for anyone to pass through,” Darrin said with a wicked sneer. 
      “What are you doing here?? How dare you come into my home like this!” Frodo 
yelled. He pulled with great futility at his wrists, wanting nothing more than to get up and 
away from this wretched hobbit. His breath stunk of ale as Frodo’s head lifted near his 
mouth; he turned away, writhing underneath him. Not only were his arms being held 
down but his torso seemed stuck to the floor; Darrin was atop of him, straddling his 
waist. 
      “How dare I? I’m sure this isn’t the first time you’ve been pleasantly surprised.”
      “Get OFF!” Frodo wailed, his intent of sounding forceful and strong diminished 
by the fear in his throat. Darrin replied by leaning forward; grabbing firmly at his wrists 
with one hand he brought the other to Frodo’s face, holding it still. He breathed over his 
lips, making Frodo wince. 
      “I couldn’t possibly. I came to Hobbiton but with one purpose. Remember how 
I’d told you this morning, how innocently blissful everyone was here? Well upon first 
glance at you I saw something more. Something I wanted just for myself.” He explained, 
his breath climbing into Frodo’s mouth. It made Frodo cough, his mouth trembling. 
Darrin grinned broadly. “I’d heard about you, all the way in Bree. And I knew who you 
were, oh yes, I did. The little rich boy from Hobbiton, master of Bag End left all alone 
with no one to care for him.”
      “I am no boy.”
      “Ah, but you’re barely of age, aren’t you? I like that, very much. But how old is 
your lover then? He looks barely able to be out of nappies,”
      Frodo blinked forcefully, staring up into the cold, beetle like eyes of his captor. 
“He IS coming back, I tell you. And if he finds you here, he’ll be more than glad to wipe 
that smile off with one punch.”
      “Oh, you think so? Funny that, I’ve assured that he won’t.”
      The inclination in what he said now made Frodo’s eyes open wide. What had he 
done?? “If you’ve hurt him, by the Valar, you’ll pay dearly,” Frodo coldly told him, 
mustering enough courage in his voice as he could. 
      “How do you figure that?” Darrin said, his breathing growing hard. 
      “Just let me up and I’ll show you. Pity on you, do you think you can hold me here 
forever? Get me on my feet and you’ll see what I’m capable of,”
      Darrin laughed loudly at this. “A basket of potatoes weighs you down, boy. I 
don’t feel very threatened,” he said. His face changed to an odd look of warmth, though 
Frodo didn’t trust it. “Do you know I’d met your uncle?”
      Frodo went absolutely still. “W-What?” he stammered. Darrin nodded slowly.
      “Oh yes. That’s how I came to know of you. He’d passed through Bree almost 
two years ago. I treated the old gentlehobbit to a few pints, said he’d never had a full pint 
before. Well, they made him quite loose-lipped, I say. Told me how torn apart he’d been, 
balancing his need to travel with staying back home with his sweet, dear nephew,” Darrin 
explained. “And he showed me a drawing he’d made of you, said he looked upon it 
everyday and cried. Oh, he was ever so pitiful, poor old fellow. I convinced him however 
that he had to follow his goals, especially after seeing that drawing. My needs superceded 
his at that very moment.” He said; he reached into his coat pocket with his free hand and 
pulled out a small folded paper. Frodo looked upon it as he unfolded it to his eyes. His 
visage peered back at him, making Frodo grow cold. Darrin snickered to himself, putting 
it back in his pocket. “Yes, poor fellow was too deep in his pints to notice I’d ever taken 
it,”
      Frodo breathed hard. “You’re a monster, taking advantage of him like that. 
You’re a vile being, and you’d best let me go now before I get free and report you,”
      “Oh no, dear heart. You’re coming with me,”
      “I’ll do no such thing.”
      “Really?” he said. He put his hand to Frodo’s pelvic bone, making him squirm. “I 
didn’t come here to simply gaze at you and write lovely little poems of your beauty. I 
came to partake of it, in full.”
      Frodo’s head spun as his hand traveled to the hem of his nightshirt, fingers 
shaking against his skin. “Oh my… you are a beautiful lad, I must say,” he spoke in such 
slimy tone bile reached Frodo’s mouth in a sickness he couldn’t describe.
      “P-Please,” Frodo now begged. “Just let me go… I don’t want-“ he stopped 
abruptly; Darrin’s hand had now firmly found him betwixt his legs, rubbing him firmly 
with his palm. Darrin breathed in sharply, closing his eyes. Frodo’s legs twitched with the 
disgusting feel of this stranger’s hand, now pulling eagerly at him. 
      “You act as if this hasn’t been done to you before,”
      “Let… let me go…” Frodo rushed out, tears in the corners of his eyes. Darrin 
peered at him curiously as he moved upon him, his lips parting.
      “You haven’t. Have you.” He stated, breathing harder. “Oh my. I’ve chosen a 
virgin… how absolutely delicious…”
      Frodo closed his eyes tight, unable to control the situation whatsoever. He tried 
sliding into dreams, wishing this scene away. He denied the rushing feeling of warmth to 
his groin, not wanting to satisfy this disgusting lout with the reaction he craved. It was 
growing more difficult, not being able to deny the powerful rush of blood coursing 
through him, desperate to release…
      Then as sudden as it all began, Darrin was suddenly gone, signified by the jolt he 
felt at his arms. Frodo’s eyes snapped open, seeing Darrin now on his back nearby, a 
figure standing over him. Frodo forced his eyes to focus and gasped in relief; there Sam 
stood, his legs parted over Darrin as he reached for his collar, dragging him up.
      “You CURSED LOUT!!” he bellowed, filling Frodo’s ears so suddenly it made 
him jump. The next movement he made, a forceful, backhanded punch sent Darrin into 
the floor, making a loud yelp at the pain. Sam continued his punishment, kicking him 
hard to the side. Darrin bent over himself, cursing loudly up at him though the words 
were lost in his pain. Frodo stood on shaky legs, arranging his nightshirt quickly.
      “SAM!” he yelled, getting over to him quickly. He noticed the large lump on his 
head as he clutched Sam’s arm, looking up at his face. Sam was steaming, his skin 
covered in hot sweat. He seemed to ignore Frodo now, intent on crushing the hobbit lying 
crumpled on the floor. He bent down and picked him up in full, holding him a few inches 
above the ground. 
      “My brothers taught me some good things,” he growled, voice shuddering with a 
deep, hot anger. “They taught me a kind way to end an injured bird’s life by snapping a 
certain part of the neck. I’d like to do that for you, you wretched pervert!!”
      Darrin coughed loudly. “So go on,” he said in a low, groaning rasp, a sneer still 
on his lips. Sam stared at him, his breath held making his face go crimson. Frodo stood 
next to him, shuddering in fear.
      “S-Sam… don’t…”
      Sam kicked open the door, already open from his hasty entrance and threw Darrin 
out on his back, tumbling down the stone steps. He groaned and howled at this burst of 
violence, finding himself on his knees at the path. Sam rushed forth, kicking him a few 
more times to the gate. He opened it with shaking hands and kicked him out onto the 
road. Darrin found some small but adrenalin based strength as he climbed up onto his 
legs, stumbling away down the path. Frodo stood in the doorway feeling as if he may fall 
over. He held the door, swaying with it as Sam stepped onto the road.
      “Don’t EVER show your face in our good land again!!” he yelled out after him. 
He held out a hand, pointing to him with a trembling finger. “We’ll be reporting you, so 
everyone knows of you!! Don’t DARE show your face, YOU HEAR!?”
      Frodo had started crying now, his chest heaving into sobs. Sam stood in the 
pathway until the darkened figure of Frodo’s attacker disappeared into the night. Sam 
turned, his entire body shaking with fury. He walked up slowly to Frodo, breath coming 
from his nose in a low hiss. “Mr. Frodo… Frodo, are you all right?” he asked, his voice 
calming into a sad tone. Frodo nodded quickly as Sam took his shoulders, taking him 
back inside. Frodo watched as he shut the door tight, locking the latch. He rushed to 
Frodo once again, inspecting him. “Tell me he hadn’t gotten to you in the way he’d 
wanted, please. Tell me that…”
      “N-N-No,” Frodo tried saying, though his voice faltered greatly. He chose instead 
to shake his head chaotically, staring with wide eyes to his rescuer. Sam immediately 
clutched him into a warm embrace, holding him the tightest he ever had. Frodo let out 
halted, choking sobs, his voice sounding strangled as he let it out, and the fear leaving 
him in a furious sadness. Sam pressed his lips firmly into his temple, staying there a few 
moments. 
      “You’re all right. Your Sam has you close, won’t let nothin’ happen to you now. 
You’re all right.”
      “Oh Sam… Sam it was horrible…” Frodo said, moving away from him slightly. 
Sam gently held him now, looking into his eyes. Frodo now stared at the rising lump on 
his head, feeling sick. He touched it lightly with his fingertips, wincing. “Sam, did he… 
do that to you…”
      “I was on my way home, it was too quick. He just came out of nowhere. I just 
remember seeing him step out of the trees alongside the path. Before I could say anythin’ 
his cane went up and… that was it,”
      “Oh Sam…” Frodo sobbed. 
      “There’s nothing to worry, ‘bout me that is. Fatty found me next to the trees; he’d 
tried to hide me. But Fatty, lucky for us, was out hunting for mushrooms,” Sam said, 
trying to smile. “Slapped me silly to wake me, and it worked, thank goodness,”
      “Where is he?? Does he know, what happened, oh Elbereth-“
      “He ran home to tell his da. I won’t doubt that they’re all out there now, lookin’ 
for ‘im. Nothing like a band of angry hobbits, going after someone attacking one of their 
own.” Sam said. His voice now stilled, looking at Frodo with soft eyes. “We’ll have to 
report this. If he should come back-“
      “No… no, no, no,” Frodo protested, head shaking side-to-side fast. “I-I can’t do 
that, it’s all too much…”
      “Be brave now, Mr. Frodo. The more done on this, the better. I don’t want him 
sneaking his way back here to come find you.”
      The thought stilled Frodo’s insides, making him feel cold. “He won’t come back. 
No, he won’t.”
      “Then let’s make sure he don’t.” Sam told him, rubbing his shoulders gently. 
Frodo’s face screwed up in fear.
      “Sam… I’d never been so scared in all my life. Not ever, not in my whole life…” 
he wailed, crushing his face back into Sam’s shoulder. Sam ran his fingers through his 
amber locks, shushing him quietly.
      “Your Sam is here, sweet Frodo. Don’t you think I’ll be leavin’ you now. I’m 
right here…”
      
      
      The pounding of his head made him feel as if he’d had a boulder thrown at him as 
he made his way deep into the forests. He could hear the townsfolk clamoring together 
behind him, though he knew he couldn’t be seen. He was well ahead of them all, all he 
needed was to get to the gates leading to Bree. A consolation of a false name made him 
breathe easier; they would be asking about a ‘Darrin Bramble’ instead of a ‘Griffin 
Miller’. His steps eased, hearing the voices drift away more and more. He chose now to 
rest a moment, his legs weary, unsure of the extent of his injuries. He bent down to 
check, feeling his knees; he winced, having to bite his lip at the pain as he felt a large 
bump across the bone. He looked down to see; yes, there it was. It must have occurred 
when that blasted gardener had cast him out onto the hard stony steps. It pounded now as 
he’d taken clear note of it. 
      He felt his face now, tracing a long line of blood that had come from his mouth 
down to his chin. No matter, he thought; just another scar to have. He tried to smile 
though it was hard. 
      Damn them… damn them all. His idea of luring that poor sweet boy away from 
home, taking him to his and keeping him for his own, all gone now. What would it matter 
in his taking him away, hmm? It wasn’t as if anyone in Hobbiton seemed to care for him 
much at all. And he lived so utterly alone, why<I> wouldn’t </I>he crave a little 
attention, as forward as it had been?
      “Oh that’s right,” he mumbled to himself, curling his fingers into a tight ball. “His 
wretched little lover. What the town would think of the both of them, holed up together 
the way they are…” That evening flashed into his mind; he’d been watching, waiting for 
the perfect moment hidden in the large bushes by Bag End. He’d seen them together, out 
in the gardens, discussing all the wonderful flowers, everything he’d wanted with Frodo 
for himself. Then, as if Mr. Baggins had done it just for him he stood outside the 
doorway, clutching his bare chest to his lover’s, kissing and loving the moment before he 
left. He watched with eager eyes, hoping this young fool would leave for good…
      <I>“Nonetheless. You go back inside, and your Sam will return against all 
odds,”</I>
      His eyes had closed here. Why these obstacles, why shouldn’t he be able to sweep 
Frodo away without anyone knowing?? He had been so angry, so furious with all that 
was holding him back. His cane being held in his tight hand seemed to talk to him then, 
and he knew what it was capable of. With no regrets he waited for that bastard to come 
by him and he lashed out, climbing from the shadows. The only thing he DID regret was 
that he’d caught him in his sights before he struck him. 
      He’d been a load to drag into the bushes, but he’d figured he wouldn’t be found 
until daylight. He thought he’d gotten him with a hard enough blow that the lad would 
simply sleep it off until his eyes awoke, finding that his Master had been gone, long, long 
gone… but it was not to be.
      His head jerked back, seeing torchlight off in the distance, still too far away. 
Taking no chances however he hoisted himself up with a groan, forcing the bruised and 
battered knee to carry him along. A few paces eased it back, going numb. His steps grew 
quicker now, making his flight to freedom become more and more possible. He would 
travel on into daylight, non-stop, while his head began devising new plans; yes, young 
Mr. Baggins would be his, and Griffin would have no less than that.